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Updated: May 29, 2025
I remember it all so well: seeing the foreloper come striding along by the foremost pair of oxen, holding one of them by its horn, and carrying a long, thin pole like a very big fishing-rod over his shoulder, for use instead of a whip to guide the oxen. Yes, I recollect it as if it were only yesterday. I looked at him, and he looked at me.
"Lying somewhere about, of course, asleep," I said excitedly; "but there would be no sentries over the wagons; and, as he says, the black foreloper and driver would be sleeping underneath." "Oh, that's right enough," said Denham impatiently. "But the noise, the rattle of the wagon, the getting of the oxen, and all the rest of it?"
"The oxen would be all lying down with the trek-rope between them, and they'll quietly do what their black driver and foreloper wish. I think it could be done." "My dear boy, it's madness." "It isn't," I said angrily. "Joeboy is right, and a trick like this would perhaps succeed when force would fail. We must capture one of those wagons."
"Joeboy," I said, beckoning him to one side after a furtive glance at the black foreloper, "we're a long way off, and the Boers will miss the wagons and see us soon." "Um? Yes," he said coolly. "Do you think that you can get the bullocks to go faster?" "Um? No," he said. "Must go like this." "But the Boers will come after us as soon as they see us." "Um? Yes; but can't see us yet.
Trek!" cried Joeboy in his hoarsest voice, and he ran from me towards the foreloper, leaving me half-stunned at the turn matters had taken.
"Boss shoot lion," said the black in a quiet, contented way; and from out of the darkness beneath the great wagon came the sound of the foreloper settling himself down once more to sleep. I remember wondering whether he had anything to cover himself, for the night was fresh and cold. I asked my father. "Yes; I saw him with a sheepskin over his shoulders. He won't hurt."
Next, on turning sharply to look in the direction of our comrades, there were the old piled-up walls of our stronghold clearly marked against the sky. "It's a long, long way yet, Joeboy," I said. "Yes, long way," he replied. "Can you see the Boers on the move?" He shook his head, and then hurried to the foreloper, a heavy-looking black, who was signalling to him. Charge! by George Manville Fenn
"Trek!" cried the black, who had climbed on to the box; then there was a tremendous crack of the huge whip he wielded, the oxen jerked at the trek-tow, the wheels creaked, and as I involuntarily took my rifle from where it was slung and cocked it, the huge wagon began to lumber heavily through the soft earth, and I walked by its side uninterrupted, finding that in turn first one and then another of the six wagons started and followed, till the entire row were in motion, following the lead of Joeboy with the first foreloper, the whole business growing, in the darkness, more and more like a feverish dream.
By a sudden effort I threw off the dreamy sensation the feeling that I was half-stunned by the pressure of the task I had undertaken, now that it had suddenly grown so much greater than I had anticipated and I walked alongside the wagon-box, breathing hard, and planning that at the first sound of approaching enemies I would rush forward to where Joeboy was tramping beside the foreloper, assagai in hand, and make a dash with him for liberty.
Leaving him with the foreloper of the first wagon, I stood fast and listened intently while the whole of the six great lumbering wagons, drawn by their teams averaging four-and-twenty oxen, crept past me.
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