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Charge! - A Story of Briton and Boer, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 15. The Sergeant's Wound |
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_ CHAPTER FIFTEEN. THE SERGEANT'S WOUND There were the hard stones for our couches, and the air up in the pass was sharp and cold; but we were all pretty close together, and in five minutes it did not seem as if any one was awake, though doubtless the few poor fellows who had been wounded--I may say wonderfully few considering what we had gone through--did not get much sleep. I was one of those who did lie awake for a time, gazing up at the clear, bright stars which began to peer down through the clearing-off smoke, but only for a few minutes; then a calm, restful feeling began to steal over me, and I was sleeping as sound as if on one of the feather-beds at the farm, where in course of years they had grown plentiful and big. We were not, however, to pass the night in peace; for directly after, as it seemed to me, I started up in the darkness, roused by firing. Then the trumpet-call rang out, and we were all up ready for the rush that was in progress; while I was startled and confused, and unable to understand why the now mounted Boers should be guilty of such an insane action as to attack us there, nestling among the stones. We were all ready, but no orders came to fire, and all crouched or stood with finger on trigger, gradually grasping what it all meant, and listening to the trampling of hoofs going steadily on, till at last the Colonel's familiar voice was heard from close to where I stood. "Hold your fire, my lads. We should be doing no good by bringing a few down. Let them join their friends. They've come to the conclusion that this is too hard a nut to crack." This is what happened: the enemy's lower party had waited till nearly daylight, and then approached quietly till their coming had been noticed by our outpost sentries, who fired to give the alarm, when they made a sudden dash to get up the pass to join the detachment of Boers above. This they were allowed to do unmolested, the Colonel saying that nothing was to be gained by stopping them, and that an advance up the pass was work for infantry, not for a mounted force. Daylight came soon afterwards, I suppose; but I did not watch for the dawn, for, as soon as the last of the horsemen had passed and the word was given, I sank down again and slept as a tired lad can sleep. Again, as it seemed, only a few minutes expired before the trumpet once more rang out, and I had to shake myself together, when the first face that looked into mine was that of Joeboy, who was standing close by me with a heap of haversacks at his feet, and grinning at me with a good-humoured smile. I didn't smile, for I felt stiff and full of aches and pains; but before long fires were burning and water getting hot. I had a good shower-bath, too, in a gurgling spring of water which came down a rift by the gap in the pass. Then sweet hot coffee and slices of bread and cold ham out of one of the haversacks Joeboy had foraged for seemed to quite alter the face of nature. Perhaps it was that the sun came out warm and bright, and that the blue sky was beautiful; but I gave the bread, ham, and coffee the credit of it all. Ah! what a breakfast that was! It seemed to me the most delicious I had ever eaten; but before it was begun I had been to see Denham, who was sitting up with his chest tightly bandaged. He was ready to hold out a hand as soon as he saw me. "Hullo, Moray!" he cried, "how are you this morning?" "It's how are you?" I replied. "Oh, I'm all right. A bit stiff, and I've got a bruise in the back, the doctor says, like; the top of a silk hat." "You haven't seen it?" I said. "Have I got a neck like an ostrich or a giraffe? No, of course I haven't." "But is anything broken?" I asked anxiously. "No, not even cracked. The pot's quite sound, so the doctor hasn't put in a single rivet." "I am glad," I said heartily. "That's right--thank you," said the poor fellow, smiling pleasantly, and he kept his eyes fixed upon me for some moments. Then in a light bantering way he went on, "Doctor said the well-worn old thing." "What was that?" I asked. "Oh, that if it hadn't been for that bullet and brass cartridge-case, backed up by the thick leather belt, that Boer's bullet would have bored--now, now, you were going to laugh," he cried. "That I wasn't," I said wonderingly. "What is there to laugh at?" "Oh, you thought I was making a pun: bored a hole right through me." "Rubbish!" I said. "Just as if I should have thought so lightly about so terribly dangerous an injury." "Good boy!" he cried merrily. "I like that. I see you've been very nicely brought up. That must be due to your aunt--aunt--aunt--What's her name?" "Never mind," I said shortly; "but if you can laugh and joke like that there's no need for me to feel anxious about your hurt." "Not a bit, Solomon," he cried merrily. "There you go again, trying to make puns--solemn un--eh? I say, though, you do look solemn this morning, Val. I know: want your breakfast--eh!" "Had it," I said, smiling now. "I do, my young recruit. I'm longing for a cup of hot coffee or tea. But I say, Val, my lad," he continued, seriously now, "I haven't felt in a very laughing humour while I lay awake part of the night." "I suppose not," I said earnestly. "It must have been very terrible to lie here listening to the fighting--wounded, too--and not able to join in." "Well, yes, that was pretty bail; but I didn't worry about that. I knew the Colonel would manage all right. I was worried." "What worried you?" I said--"the pain?" "Oh no; I grinned and bore that. Here, come closer; I don't want that chap to hear." "What is it?" I said, closing up. "It was that business yesterday, when I was hit." "Oh, I wouldn't think about it," I said. "Can't help it. I did try precious hard to carry it off before I quite broke down." "You bore it all like a hero," I said. "No, I didn't, lad. I bore it like a big boarding-school girl. Oh! it was pitiful. Fainted dead away." "No wonder," I replied, smiling. "You're not made of cast-iron." "Here, I say, you fellow," he cried; "just you keep your position. None of your insolence, please. Recollect that you're only a raw recruit, and I'm your officer." "Certainly," I said, smiling. "I thought we were both volunteers." "So we are, old fellow, off duty; but it must be officer and private on duty. I say, tell me, though, about the boys and the Sergeant. Did they sneer?" "Sneer?" I cried indignantly. "You're insulting the brave fellows. They carried you down splendidly, and I believe there wasn't a man here who wouldn't have died for you." "But--but," he said huskily, "they must have thought me very weak and girlish." "I must have thought so too--eh?" "Of course," he said, in a peculiar way. "Then, of course, I didn't," I cried warmly; "I thought you the bravest, pluckiest fellow I had ever seen." "Lay it on thick, old fellow," he said huskily; "butter away. Can't you think of something a little stronger than plucky and brave--and--don't take any notice of me, Val, old lad. I'm a bit weak this morning." "Of course you are," I said sharply, and dashed off at once into a fresh subject. "I say, I must go and hunt out the Sergeant. That was a nasty wound he got after you were hit." My words had the right effect. "The Sergeant?" he cried. "Oh, poor old chap! we can't spare him. Was he hurt badly?" "Oh no, he laughed it off, just as you did your injury; but I am afraid he has lost one finger." "Ah, my young hero!" cried a cheery voice, and I started round and saluted, for it was the Colonel. "How's the wound--eh?" "Oh, it isn't a wound, sir," said Denham rather impatiently. "Only a bad bruise." "Very nearly something worse.--Morning, my lad:" this to me, and I felt the colour flush up into my cheeks. "You behaved uncommonly well last night, and we're all very much indebted to you. Pretty good, this, for a recruit. I heartily wish you had been with us two or three months, and you should certainly have had your first stripes." I mumbled out something about doing my best. "You did," said the Colonel. "I'm sorry I spoke so hastily to you in my error. I didn't know you two were friends." "We are, sir," said Denham warmly. "Oh, of course; I remember. You shot together some time ago." "Yes, sir," said Denham, "and I had a grand time with Val Moray, here-- big game shooting." "Not such big game shooting as you are going to have here," said the Colonel. "I'm glad to see you so much better, Denham. Be careful, and mind what the doctor says to you." He hurried away, and as soon as he had passed out of sight the Sergeant, with his arm in a sling, came up from where he had been waiting to ask how his young officer fared, giving me a friendly nod at the same time. "Oh, there's nothing the matter with me, Briggs," said Denham. "I shall be all right now. Thank you heartily, though, for what you did for me." "Did for you, sir?" said the Sergeant gruffly. "I did nothing, only just in the way of duty." "Oh, that was it--was it?" said Denham. "Then you did it uncommonly well--didn't he, Moray?" "Splendidly," I said, with a fair display of enthusiasm. "Look here, you, sir," said the Sergeant very gruffly as he turned upon me; "young recruits to the corps have got all their work cut out to learn their duty, without criticising their superior officers. So just you hold your tongue." "That's a snub, Moray," said Denham; "but never mind.--Look here, Sergeant, how's your wound?" "Wound, sir?" he replied. "I haven't got any wound." "Then why is your arm in a sling?" "Oh, that, sir? That's a bit of the doctor's nonsense. He said I was to keep it on, so I suppose I must. But it isn't a wound." "What is it, then?" said Denham sharply. "Bullet cut my finger; that's all." "Did it cut it much?" asked Denham. "Took a little bit off, and I went to the doctor for a piece o' sticking-plaster, and he as good as called me a fool." "What did you say, then, to make him?" "I said nothing, sir, only that I wanted the plaster." "Did he give you some?" "No, sir; but I suppose he wanted to try his new bag o' tools, and got hold of me. 'Hold still,' he says, 'or I shall give you chloroform.' 'Can't you make it a drop o' whisky, sir?' I says. 'Yes, if you behave yourself,' he says. 'Look here, I can't plaster up a place like this. Your finger's in rags, and the bone's in splinters.' 'Oh, it'll soon grow together, sir,' I says. 'Nothing of the kind, sir,' he says; 'it'll go bad if I don't make a clean job of it. Now then, shut your eyes, and sit still in that chair. I won't hurt you much.'" "Did he?" said Denham. "Pretty tidy, sir; just about as much as he could. He takes out a tool or two, and before I knew where I was he'd made a clean cut or two and taken off some more of my finger, right down to the middle joint. 'There,' he says, as soon as he'd put some cotton-wool soaked with nasty stuff on the place, after sewing and plastering it up--'there, that'll heal up quickly and well now!'" "Of course," said Denham. "Made a clean job of it." "Clean job, sir?" said the Sergeant. "Well, yes, he did it clean enough, and so was the lint and stuff; but it's made my finger so ugly. It looks horrid. I say, sir, do you think the finger'll grow again?" "No, Briggs, I don't; so you must make the best of it." "But crabs' and lobsters' claws grow again, sir; for I've seen 'em do it at home, down in Cornwall." "Yes; but we're not crabs and lobsters, Sergeant. There, never mind about such a bit of a wound as that." "I don't, sir--not me; but it do look ugly, and feels as awkward as if I'd lost an arm. There, I must be off, sir. I've got to see to our poor fellows who are to go off in a wagon back to the town." "How many were hurt?" said Denham eagerly. "Five; and pretty badly, too." "Any one--" Then Denham stopped short. "No, sir, not one, thank goodness; but those lads won't be on horseback again these two months to come. Doctor wanted me to go with the wagon, but I soon let him know that wouldn't do." "Poor fellows!" said Denham as soon as the Sergeant had gone. "That's the horrible part of it, getting wounded and being sent back to hospital. It's what I dread." "You won't attempt to mount to-day?" I said. "You'd better follow in one of the wagons." "Think so?" he said quietly. "Well, we shall see." I did see in the course of that morning. For, when the order was given to march, and the column wound down in and out among the stones of the pass, Denham was riding with the troop, looking rather white, and no doubt suffering a good deal; but he would not show it, and we rode away. For a despatch had been brought to the Colonel from the General in command of the forces, ordering the Light Horse to join him on the veldt a dozen miles away as soon as the British regiment of foot reached the mouth of the pass; and, as I afterwards learned, the Colonel's orders were to keep away from the kopjes and mountainous passes, where the Boers had only to lie up and pick off all who approached, and wait for opportunities to attack them in the open. It was Denham who told me, and also what the Colonel said, his words being, "Then we shall do nothing, for the Doppies will take good care not to give us a chance to cut them up in the plains." As we rode down the pass we could see some of the enemy's sentries high up among the mountainous parts; but we were not to attack them there; and, with a good deal of growling amongst the men, we kept on. Then every one seemed to cheer up when, a couple of hours later, we came in sight of a long line of infantry steadily advancing, and the rocks rang soon afterwards with the men's cheers as they drew up to let us pass. "No fear of the Boers getting past them," said Denham to me. "I shouldn't wonder if their orders are to mount the pass, go over the Nek, and hold it. Maybe we shall meet them again after we've made a circuit and got round the mountains and on to the plain." _ |
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