long."

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.

AT LAST!

But the Boers had received so severe a lesson that they did leave the
garrison severely alone for nearly a month, save that there were often
sharp encounters between patrols and the foraging parties which made a
dash whenever there was a chance of capturing something for the military
larder.

It had come to the colonel holding a private council, at which the
doctor was present to give his opinion how long it would be before the
wounded men would be sufficiently strong to undertake a night march and
then push on to try and join hands with the nearest post held by our
forces.

"If we could feed the lads as they ought to be fed, in about a month,"
replied the doctor quietly. "Going on as we are now--never." The
colonel started from his seat. "Do you mean this, Emden?" he said
excitedly. "The men's appearance speaks for itself. It is all the
healthy can do to keep body and soul together; the wounded are at a
standstill."

"No, no," said the colonel warmly; "all of our officers, though
certainly weak, have returned to their duty."

"Yes," said the doctor; "but then they all partook more of a certain
essence than the men do. The poor fellows had done marvellously well,
and the more educated, better-class fellows compare wonderfully well
with those of a lower station; but there is that difference."

"And pray what is the wonderful essence, doctor?" said Captain Edwards,
smiling.

"_Esprit de corps_, my dear sir," said the doctor.

"Well," cried the colonel, "then you have settled it, doctor. We are
not going to surrender."

"No!" came in chorus.

"We can't go and leave our weak ones behind."

"No!" came with double the force.

"We are too much reduced in available men to run any risks." There was
no reply to this, and the colonel continued: "Then there is nothing else
to be done, gentlemen, but take up another hole in our belts, keep on
sending messages when we can get a Kaffir runner, and wait patiently for
help."

As the officers sauntered away from the rough hut which had been built
in a niche for the colonel, Roby was limping along with the aid of a
stick and Lennox's arm, while Dickenson was rolling up a cigarette
composed of the very last dust of his tobacco, ready to hand it to the
captain, who suffered a good deal still from the bullet wound, the
missile having passed right through his thigh. They had to pass two of
their men, seated upon a roc