send other men in to die,' the sentry chuckled again, but there was a
sardonic note in it.
'I've heard him swear that tomorrow he will be in front wherever the
fight is fiercest,' growled Jan Paulus.
'Oh, he said so? So that we fight more cheerfully? But when the
Lee-Metfords rip your belly open-how will you know where Oorn Paul
is?'
'I have told you he is my kin. When you insult him you insult me.
' Anger had closed Jan Paulus's throat so that his voice was hoarse.
'Good! ' The sentry stood up quickly. 'Let us settle it now.'
'Be still, you fools.' Karl spoke irritably. 'Save your anger for the
English,' and then more softly, 'all of us are restless, knowing what
tomorrow will bring. Let your quarrel stand.'
'He is right,' Jan Paulus agreed, still choked with anger.
'But when I meet you again. . . ! ' 'How will you know me?' the
sentry demanded.
'Here!' Jan Paulus jerked the wide-brimmed Terai hat from his head and
flung it at the man's feet. 'Wear that and give me yours in
exchange.
'Why?' The sentry stood puzzled.
'Then if ever a man comes up to me and says,
'You're wearing my hat,' he will be saying,
'Jan Paulus Leroux is a coward!'
The man grinned so that his teeth glittered in the firelight, then he
dropped his own black homburg into Jan Paulus's lap and stooped to pick
up the Terai. In that instant, faintly on the wind, soft as the
crackle of dried twigs, they heard the rifle-fire.
' Mausers! ' shouted Karl and he leapt to his feet sending the
coffee-pot flying.
'On the left, ' moaned Jan Paulus in anguish. 'Oh, God help us!
They've tried the left. ' The chorus of rifle-fire rose, swelling
urgently; and now blending with the crisp crackle of the mausers was
the deep belling of the Lee-Metfords.
'Spion Kop! They're on Spion Kop,' and Jan Paulus ran, hurling himself
down the path towards the laager with the black homburg jammed down
over his ears.
The mist lay heavily on the peak of Spion Kop that morning, so that the
dawn was a thing of liquid, pearly light. A soft uncertain thing that
swirled about them and condensed in tiny drops upon the metal of their
rifles.
Colonel John Acheson was breakfasting on ham sandwiches spread thickly
with Gentleman's Relish. He sat on a boulder with his uniform cloak
draped over his shoulders and chewed morosely.
'No sign of the jolly old Boer yet,' the captain beside him announced
cheerfully.
'that trench is not deep enough. ' Acheson glowered at the shallow
ditch which had been scraped in the stony soil and which was filled to
capacity with men in all the various attitudes of relaxation.
'I know, sir. But there's not much we can do about it. We're down to
bedrock and it would need a wagon-load of dynamite to sink another
