Chronicle-1940

Arrived at the steel gate, he stared at the convict, who, making no answer, hung his head and gasped painfully. "Are you ill, man?" asked the warder roughly. Before Jordaan could answer a voice from the opposite side of the passage cut in. "Keep still," it commanded. Strydom wheeled, and Jordaan, jerk ing his hand from his shirt, brought the heavy file smashing down on the young warder's head. He was careful to clutch Strydom's belt before the warder fell, and, retaining his grasp, lowered the sagging form to the floor. The prisoners were by this time pressing anxiously against the cell doors, their eyes shining excitedly, and their hands gripping the cold steel of the bars. Still they remained silent as Jordaan's hairy hands wrestled with the keys fastened to the warder's belt by a short chain. Soon the belt was undone and, with a slight clash, Jordaan pulled belt and keys to him. The opening of his door was the work of but a moment. The cripple, Jackson, he who had a few moments earlier distracted Strydom's attention, laughed hysterically, but a sharp "sst"from Jor daan silenced him. Soon all six were standing in the corridor behind Jordaan, who, gripping Strydom's revolver in one hand and the file, smuggled from the workshop, in the other, led the way to the little steel door at the passage end. Their plan of campaign was simple. Once through the prison rear entrance they meant to strike out across the veld. It had been decided not to head for the Vrederust-Pieterfontein road, for that would un doubtedly be the direction they would be expected to take. Instead, under the guidance of the cripple, Jackson, formerly a farmer in this district, they intended making the long journey to the Johannesburg railway lines. A lack of hindrance would also give them some three hours start. Carefully the little steel door was swung open and cautiously the band stole into a larger and dimmer passage-way. It was deserted. Still headed by Jordaan, they swept hurriediy down its length, but Jordaan waved them to a halt. Spurred on by anxiety, they ignored his silent commands and stumbled round the corner. A warder, his rifle at the trail, was half risen from a chair, placed sideways to the advancing men, and as they came into view he swung round facing them and flung his rifle to his shoulder. His lips framed a warning, but the words were never sounded, for Big Shaunessy flung himself forward, smashing his great fist against the side of the warder's head. Simultaneously came the crash of a rifle, appealingly loud in that small space, and first the uniformed figure, and then Shaunessy's huge frame collapsed and fell to the floor. Momentarily the convicts stood agape, and then, urged on by a shout from Jordaan, they surged forward over the still figures. The cripple, Jackson, bringing up the rear, stooped and gripped the fallen warder's rifle by the barrel, but hurrying steps caused him to loose his hold and scuttle after his fellows. The five men burst out through the rear doors of the prison and swarmed over the low wall dimly outlined before them. A volley rang out from the right, and Jackson, the last to climb the wall, flung his arms high and pitched forward on his face. The remnants of the prison-breaking squad continued their flight into the darkness, and soon the vague bulk of the prison buildings was merged into the still blackness of the night. For some minutes they pressed onwards, their feet drumming un evenly on the iron-hard earth; then Jordaan, away out in the lead, turned and threw up his hands. The party halted and for a few moments 60

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