The Young Colonists: A Story of the Zulu and Boer Wars

“I have heard that that makes you more thirsty,” Dick remarked; “hold some in your hands till it melts, and then sip the water.”

Four days passed; then they found that the snow no longer continued to cover up the hole, and knew that the snow-storm had ceased. The number of sticks required to reach the top was six, and as each of these was about four feet long they knew that, making allowance for the joints, the snow was over twenty feet deep.

Very often the boys talked of home, and wondered what their friends were doing. The first night, when they did not return, it would be hoped that they had stayed at the farm; but somebody would be sure to go over in the morning to see, and when the news arrived that they were missing, there would be a general turn out to find them.

“They must have given up all hope by this time,” Dick said, on the fifth morning, “and must be pretty sure that we are buried in the drift somewhere; but, as all the bottoms will be like this, they will have given up all hopes of finding our bodies till the thaw comes.”

“That may be weeks,” Tom said; “we might as well have died at once.”

“We can live a long time here,” Dick replied confidently. “I remember reading once of a woman who had been buried in the snow being got out alive a tremendous time afterwards. I think it was five weeks, but it might have been more. Hurrah! I have got an idea, Tom.”

“What is that?” Tom asked.

“Look here; we will tie three more sticks – ”

“We can’t spare any more sticks,” Tom said; “the snow is up to our knees already.”

“Ah! but thin sticks will do for this,” Dick said; “we can get some thin sticks out here. We will tie them over the others, and on the top of all we will fasten my red pocket-handkerchief, like a flag; if any one comes down into this bottom they are sure to see it.”

Chapter Two.

The Red Flag

Dick’s plan was soon carried into effect, and the little red flag flew as an appeal for help ten feet above the snow in the lonely valley.

Down in Castleton events had turned out just as the boys had anticipated. The night of the snow-storm there was no sleep for their parents, and at daybreak, next morning, Mr Humphreys and Mr Jackson set out on foot through the storm for the distant farm. They kept to the road, but it took them four hours to reach the farm, for the drifts were many feet deep in the hollows, and they had the greatest difficulty in making their way through.

When, upon their arrival, they found the boys had left before the gale began, their consternation and grief were extreme, and they started at once on their return to Castleton.

Search-parties were immediately organised, and these, in spite of the fury of the storm, searched the hills in all directions.

After the first day, when it was found that they were not at any of the shepherds’ huts scattered among the hills, all hopes of finding them alive ceased. So hopeless was it considered, that few parties went out on the three following days; but on the fifth, when the snow-storm ceased and the sun shone out, numbers of men again tramped the hills in the vague hope of finding some sign of the missing boys; they returned disheartened. The snow was two feet deep everywhere, twenty in many of the hollows.

The next day but few went out, for the general feeling was, that the bodies could not be discovered until the thaw came, and at present it was freezing sharply.

Among those who still kept up the search were several of the boys’ school-fellows. They had not been permitted to join while the snow-storm continued, and were therefore fresh at the work. A party of four kept together, struggling through the deep snow-drifts, climbing up the hills, and enjoying the fun, in spite of the saddening nature of their errand.

On arriving at the brow of a deep valley five miles from home, they agreed that they would go no farther, as it was not likely that the missing boys could have wandered so far from their track. That they had in fact done so was due to a sudden change in the direction of the wind; it had been driving in their faces when they started, and with bent down heads they had struggled against it, unconscious that it was sharply changing its direction.

“Just let us have a look down into the bottom,” one of the boys said; “there may be a shepherd’s hut here.”

Nothing, however, was seen, save a smooth, white surface of snow.

“What is that?” one exclaimed suddenly. “Look, there is a little red flag flying down there – come along.”

The boys rushed down the hill at full speed.

“Don’t all go near the flag,” one said; “you may be treading on their bodies.”

They arrived within ten yards of the flag, in which they soon recognised a red pocket-handkerchief. They were silent now, awestruck at the thought that their companions were lying dead beneath.

“Perhaps it is not theirs,” the eldest of the party said presently. “Anyhow I had better take it off and carry it home.”

Treading cautiously and with a white face, for he feared to feel beneath his feet one of the bodies of his friends, he stepped, knee-deep in the snow-drift, to the flag. He took the little stick in his hand to pluck it up; he raised it a foot, and then gave a cry of astonishment and started back.

“What is the matter?” the others asked.

“It was pulled down again,” he said in awestruck tones. “I will swear it was pulled down again.”

“Oh, nonsense!” one of the others said; “you are dreaming.”

“I am not,” the first replied positively; “it was regularly jerked in my hand.”

“Can they be alive down there?” one suggested.

“Alive! How can they be alive after five days, twenty feet deep in the snow? Look at the flag!”

There was no mistake this time; the flag was raised and lowered five or six times. The boys took to their heels and ran and gathered in a cluster fifty yards away on the hill-side.

“What can it be?” they asked, looking in each others’ pale faces.

The behaviour of the flag seemed to them something supernatural.

“We had better go back and tell them at home,” one of them said.

“We can’t do that; no one would believe us. Look here, you fellows,” and he glanced round at the bright sky, “this is nonsense; the flag could not wave of itself; there must be somebody alive below; perhaps there is a shepherd’s hut quite covered with the drift, and they have pushed the flag up through the chimney.”

The supposition seemed a reasonable one, and a little ashamed of their panic the group returned towards the flag. The eldest boy again approached it.

“Go carefully, Tomkins, or you may fall right down a chimney.”

The flag was still continuing its up and down movement; the boy approached and lay down on the snow close to it; then he took hold of the stick; he felt a pull, but held fast; then he put his mouth close to the hole, two or three inches in diameter, through which it passed.

“Halloa!” he shouted; “is any one below?”

A cry of “Yes, yes,” came back in reply. “The two Jacksons and Humphreys.”

“Hurrah!” he shouted at the top of his voice, and his companions, although they had not heard the answer, joined in the cheer.

“Are you all right?” he shouted down again.

“Yes, but please get help and dig us out.”

“All right; I will run all the way back; they will have men here in no time; good-bye; keep up your spirits.”

“They are all there below!” he shouted to his friends. “Come on, you fellows, there is not a moment to lose.”

Wild with excitement the boys made their way home; they rushed down the hill-sides, scrambled through the drifts in the bottoms, in which they sometimes disappeared altogether, and had to haul each other out, struggled up the hills, and, panting and breathless, rushed in a body into Mr Humphreys’ farmhouse, that standing nearest to them, on their way to Castleton.