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Fix Bay'nets: The Regiment in the Hills, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 30. A Prayer For Light |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY. A PRAYER FOR LIGHT Gedge glided rapidly down the icy slope for a good fifty yards in the darkness, with the pace increasing, before he was able to turn on his back and check himself by forcing his heels into the frozen snow. "And my rifle gone--where I shall never find it again," was his first thought, as he forced back his helmet, which had been driven over his eyes: but, just as the thought was grasped, he was conscious of a scratching, scraping noise approaching, and he had just time to fling out his hands and catch his weapon, the effort, however, sending him gliding down again, this time to check himself by bringing the point of the bayonet to bear upon the snow. And now stopped, he lay motionless for a few moments. "Mustn't be in a flurry," he panted, with his heart beating violently, "or I shan't find the gov'nor, and I must find him. I will find him, pore chap. Want to think it out cool like, and I'm as hot as if I'd been runnin' a mile. Now then; he's gone down, and he must ha' gone strite down here, so if I lets myself slither gently I'm sure to come upon him, for I shall be pulled up same as he'd be." He lay panting, still, for a few minutes, and his thinking powers, which had been upset by the suddenness of the scare, began to settle themselves again. Then he listened as he went on, putting, as he mentally termed it, that and that together. "Can't hear nothing of him," he said to himself. "He must have gone down with a rush 'stead o' falling in a fit as I thought fust; but it ain't like a fall. He wouldn't smash hisself, on'y rub some skin off, and he'll be hollering to me d'reckly from somewheres below. Oh dear! if it only warn't so precious dark I might see him: but there ain't no moon, and no stars now, and it's no use to light a match. I say, why don't he holler?--I could hear him a mile away--or use his whistle? He'd know that would bring me, and be safer than shouting. But I can't hear nothing on him. Here: I know." Gedge rose to his feet and drove his bayonet into the snow to steady himself, without turning either to the right or the left. "Mustn't change front," he said, "or I may go sliding down wrong and pass him," he thought. Then raising his hand, he thrust two fingers into his mouth and produced a long drawn whistle, which was a near imitation of that which would be blown by an officer to bring his men together to rally round him and form square. "That ought to wake him up," he thought. "He'd hear that if he was miles away." There was a faint reply which made his heart leap; and thrusting his fingers between his lips, he whistled again in a peculiar way, with the result that the sound came back as before, and Gedge's heart sank with something akin to despair. "'Tain't him," he groaned. "It's them blessed eckers. I'll make sure, though." He stood listening for some minutes, and then, with his heart feeling like lead, took off his helmet and wiped his dripping brow. "Oh dear!" he groaned; "ain't it dark! Reg'lar fog, and cold as cold. Makes a chap shiver. I dunno how it is. When I'm along with him I feel as bold as a lion. I ain't afeared o' anything. I'd foller him anywheres, and face as many as he'd lead me agen. 'Tain't braggin', for I've done it; but I'm blessed now if I don't feel a reg'lar mouse--a poor, shiverin' wet mouse with his back up, and ready to die o' fright through being caught in a trap, just as the poor little beggars do, and turns it up without being hurt a bit. I can't help it; I'm a beastly coward; and I says it out aloud for any one to bear. That's it--a cussed coward, and I can't help it, 'cause I was born so. He's gone, and I shan't never find him agen, and there's nothing left for me to do but sneak back to the fort, and tell the Colonel as we did try, but luck was agen us. "Nay, I won't," he muttered. "I'll never show my face there again, even if they call it desertion, unless I can get to the Ghoorkha Colonel and tell him to bring up his toothpick brigade. "Oh, here, I say, Bill, old man," he said aloud after a pause, during which he listened in vain for some signal from his officer, "this here won't do. This ain't acting like a sojer o' the Queen. Standin' still here till yer get yerself froze inter a pillar o' salt. You've got to fetch your orficer just as much now as if if hailed bullets and bits o' rusty ragged iron. Here goes. Pull yourself together, old man! Yer wanted to have a slide, so now's your time." Grasping his rifle, he squatted down on his heels, and laid the weapon across his knees preparatory to setting himself in motion, on the faint chance of gliding down to where Bracy would have gone before him. "Would you have thought it so steep that he could have slithered away like that? But there it is," he muttered. "Now then, here goes." Letting himself go, he began to glide slowly upon his well-nailed shoes; then the speed increased, and he would the next minute have been rushing rapidly down the slope had he not driven in his heels and stopped himself. "Well, one can put on the brake when one likes," he muttered; "but he couldn't ha' gone like this or I should have heard him making just the same sort o' noise. He had no time to sit down; he must ha' gone on his side or his back, heads up or heads down, and not so very fast. If I go down like this I shall be flying by him, and p'raps never stop till I get to the end of the snow. I know--I'll lie down." Throwing himself over on his side, he gave a thrust with his hands and began to glide, but very slowly, and in a few seconds the wool of his _poshtin_ adhered so firmly to the smooth surface that he was brought up and had to start himself again. This took place twice, and he slowly rose to his feet. "Wants a good start," he muttered, and he was about to throw himself down when a fresh thought crossed his brain. "I don't care," he said aloud, as if addressing some one who had spoken; "think what yer like, I ain't afraid to pitch myself down and go skidding to the bottom, and get up with all the skin off! I sez he ain't down there. I never heerd him go, and there's something more than I knows on. It is a fit, and he's lying up yonder. Bill Gedge, lad, you're a-going wrong." He stood trying to pierce the thickening mist, looking as nearly as he could judge straight upward in the course they had taken, and was about to start: but, not satisfied, he took out his match-box, struck a light, and, holding it down, sought for the marks made by the bayonets in the climb. But there was no sign where he stood, neither was there to his left; and, taking a few paces to the right, with the rapidly-burning match close to the snow, the flame was just reaching his fingers when he uttered a sigh of satisfaction: for, as the light had to be dropped, there, one after the other, he saw two marks in the freshly-chipped snow glistening in the faint light. Keeping their direction fresh in his mind, he stalled upward on his search. "How far did I come down?" he said to himself. "I reckon 'bout a hundred yards. Say 'undred and twenty steps." He went on taking the hundred and twenty paces, and then he stopped short. "Must be close here somewhere," he muttered; and he paused to listen, but there was not a sound. "Nobody couldn't hear me up here," he thought, and he called his companion by name, to rouse up strange echoes from close at hand; and when he changed to whistling, the echoes were sudden and startling in the extreme. "It's rum," said Gedge. "He was just in front of me, one minute talking to me, and then 'Ha!' he says, and he was gone." Gedge took off his helmet, and wiped his wet brow again before replacing it. "Ugh, you idjit!" he muttered. "You were right at first. He dropped down in a sort o' fit from overdoing it--one as took him all at wunst, and he's lying somewheres about fast asleep, as people goes off in the snow and never wakes again. He's lying close by here somewheres, and you ought to have done fust what you're going to do last. "Mustn't forget where I left you," he muttered as he gave a dig down with his rifle, driving the bayonet into the snow, and sending some scraps flying with a curious whispering noise which startled him. "What does that mean?" he said, and he caught at the butt of his piece, now sticking upward in the snow, but dropped his hand again to his pocket and again took out his match-box. "Sort o' fancy," he muttered; and, getting out a match, he struck it, after shutting the box with a snap, which again made him start, something like an echo rising from close at hand. "Why, I'm as nervous as a great gal," he muttered, as the tiny match burst into a bright flame which formed a bit of a halo about itself, and, stooping to bring the tiny clear light burning so brightly close to the surface, he took two steps forward, the ground at the second giving way beneath him, and at the same moment he uttered a wild shriek of horror, dashed the match from him, and threw himself backward on to the snow. For the tiny light had in that one brief moment revealed a horror to him which was a full explanation of the trouble, and as he lay trembling in every limb, his shriek was repeated from a short distance away, and then again and again rapidly, till it took the form of a wild burst of laughter. "Get up, you coward!" growled Gedge the next minute, as he made a brave effort to master the terrible shock he had sustained, for he felt that he had been within an inch of following his officer to a horrible death. The self-delivered charge of cowardice brought him to himself directly, and he sprang to his feet. Then, with fingers wet with a cold perspiration, and trembling as if with palsy, he dragged out his match-box, took out one of the tiny tapers, and essayed to light it, but only produced streaks of phosphorescent light, for he had taken the match out by the end, and his wet fingers had quenched its lighting powers. With the next attempt he was more successful; and, setting aside all fear of being seen, he held out the flaming light, which burned without motion in the still air, and, holding it before him, stepped towards the edge of the snow, which ended suddenly in a black gulf, over which he was in the act of leaning, when once more he sprang back and listened, for the snow where he stood had given way, and as he remained motionless for a few moments, there suddenly came up from far below, a dull thud, followed by a strange whispering series of echoes as if off the face of some rocks beyond. "Oh!" he groaned. "That's it, then. It was down there he went; and he must be killed." It was one of the young soldier's weak moments; but his life of late had taught him self-concentration and the necessity for action, and he recovered himself quickly. The trembling fit passed off, and he look out another match, lit it, stepped as near as he dared to the edge of the gulf, and then pitched the burning flame gently from him, seeing it go down out of sight; but nothing more, for the place was immense. He lay down upon his breast now, and crawled in what seemed to be greater darkness, consequent upon the light he had burned having made his eyes contract, and worked himself so close that his hand was over the edge, a short distance to the left of where he had broken it away with his weight. Here he gathered up a handful of the frozen snow, threw it from him, and listened till a faint pattering sound came up. His next act was to utter a shout, which came back at once, as if from a wall of rock, while other repetitions seemed to come from right and left. Then, raising his fingers to his mouth, he gave vent to a long, shrill whistle, which he repeated again and again, and then, with a strange stony sensation, he worked himself slowly back, feet foremost, at first very slowly, and then with frantic haste, as it suddenly dawned upon him that he was going uphill. For the snowy mass was sinking, and it was only just in time that he reached a firmer part, and lay quivering in the darkness, while he listened to a rushing sound, for his weight had started an immense cornice-like piece of the snow, which went down with a sullen roar. "It's no use while it's like this," groaned Gedge. "I can't do nothing to help him till the day comes. I should on'y be chucking my own life away. I'd do it if it was any good; but it wouldn't be no use to try, and I might p'raps find him if I could only see." He had risen to his knees now, and the position brought the words to his lips; the rough lad speaking, but with as perfect reverence as ever came from the lips of man: "Oh, please, God, can't you make the light come soon, and end this dreadful night?" Poor, rough, rude Bill Gedge had covered his eyes as he softly whispered his prayer; and when he opened them again, it was to look upon no marvel greater than that grand old miracle which we, with leaden eyes sealed up, allow to pass away unheeded, unseen. It was but the beginning of another of the many days seen in a wild mountain land; for the watchings and tramps of the two adventurers had pretty well used up the hours of darkness; and, black though the snow lay where Bill Gedge knelt, right beyond, straight away upon the mighty peak overhead, there was a tiny point of glowing orange light, looking like the tip of some huge spear that was heated red-hot. For the supplicant was gazing heavenward, and between the sky and his eyes there towered up one of the huge peaks of the Karakoram range, receiving the first touch of the coming day. _ |
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