surrounded. Go. Ride fast. ' There was a murmur among them,
horrified as they listened to these orders. Miserably every eye turned
to Lyttelton, silently they pleaded with him, for he was the senior
officer present.
'General Buller. ' He spoke softly, but with an urgency that caught
even Buller's shell-shocked attention. 'At least, let me try to
recover the guns. We cannot abandon them. Let me call for
volunteers.
. ' 'I'll go, sir. Please let me try. ' A young subaltern elbowed
Garry aside in his eagerness. Garry knew who he was, all of them did,
for apart from being one of the most promising and popular youngsters
in Buller's command-he was also the only son of the legendary Lord
Roberts.
Assisted by his ADC, Buller moved to the shade of a mimosa tree and
sank down heavily with his back against the rough bark of the trunk. He
looked up at young Roberts, dully, without apparent interest.
'All right, Bobbie, Lyttelton will give you men. Off you go then.
' He pronounced the sentence of death upon him, and Roberts laughed
excitedly, gaily, and ran to his horse.
'I think we are all in need of refreshment. Will you join me in a
sandwich and a glass of champagne, gentlemen? ' Buller nodded to his
ADC, who hurried to bring food and drink from the saddle-bags. A stray
shell burst twenty yards away, scattering clods of earth over them.
Stolidly Buller brushed a piece of dry grass from his whiskers and
selected a smoked salmon sandwich.
Sean crawled down the drainage ditch towards the bank of the river. A
shell burst on the edge of the ditch and scattered clods of earth over
his back. He paused to brush a tangle of grass roots out of his
whiskers and then crawled on to where Colonel Acheson squatted on his
haunches in earnest conversation with a captain of the Fusiliers.
'Hey, Colonel Acheson. I doubt you'll need me again, will you?'
The Captain looked shocked at Sean's term of address, but Acheson
grinned briefly.
'A runner just got through. We have been ordered to with(]raw. I
'What a pity!' Sean grunted sarcastically. 'Just when we were
knocking the daylights out of old brother Boer,' and all three of them
ducked as a machine-gun hammered lumps of dirt out of the bank above
their heads. Then Sean took up from where he had been interrupted.
'Well, in that case-I'll be leaving you.
'Where are you going? ' the Captain demanded suspiciously.
'Not across that bridge.' Sean removed the stub of his cheroot from
his mouth and pointed with it at the grey structure with its gruesome
streaks of new paint. 'I've got a wounded man with me. He'll never
make it. Have you got a match?
Automatically the Captain produced a box of wax matches from his
breast-pocket. 'Thanks. I'm going to swim him downstream and find a
better place to cross. ' Sean re-lit his cheroot, blew a cloud of
smoke and returned the Captain's matches.
'A pleasure meeting you, Colonel Acheson. ' 'You have permission to
