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Trapped by Malays: A Tale of Bayonet and Kris, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 36. A Strange Confession |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY SIX. A STRANGE CONFESSION The Doctor was busy with his patients in the heat of the day, loosening one poor fellow's bandage, and tightening another that an irritable sufferer had worked loose; while Mrs Smithers was thoroughly proving her ability at using basin and sponge over the brows of some poor, fevered fellow whose pillow-less head rolled slowly from side to side. Archie was taking the mess-room on his way to visit the chamber where Peter Pegg was stationed, and from whose window an occasional shot rang out from time to time, with the result of the gaudily robed Malay in a smart, cavalry-like cap, who had drawn the shot, being seen no more. "How am I, Mister Archie, sir? Oh, it's rather hot here, sir," said Mrs Smithers; and then, in response to a second: 'Yes, old lady, or, I should say, Madame la Duchesse'--"Now, please, sir, don't you get calling me names too. I don't mind from the Doctor, but it teases when it comes from a young gent like you. No, sir, I ain't cross, only a bit worried by the flies. They are terrible, and it's all due to its being so hot." "Yes, Mrs Smithers," said Archie meaningly. "It is hot, and no mistake. But how beautiful and tidy you have got everything!" "Well, it is a bit better, sir. I have been collecting all the mats I could find for the poor boys. Do you hear any news, sir, of reinforcements coming up?" "Not yet, old lady." "I do wish they'd come, sir; and oh, Mr Archie, can't I do anything for you?" "Me? No! I am not wounded." "No, sir; but, oh dear, what a state you are in! Some clean things would be a blessing to you." "Oh, wait a bit. One's got something else to think about now. Where's the Doctor?" "He was here just this minute, sir; and he's sure not to be long, for I never see such a man for watching everybody who's in hospital. There, I thought so! Here he is, with the mess water-can and a clean glass. He might have asked me to fetch some water if he wanted it. But he always will interfere with what's in my department." "Hullo, Maine, my lad, you here! You are just in time. I've been fetching a can of this clear, sparkling water for my poor fellows. Look sharp, for I can see several eyes looking at it hungrily--I mean thirstily," he added quickly. He filled the glass after the fashion of Dickens's butler, trying to froth it up with a heading of sparkling beads. "May I drink this, Doctor?" said Archie. "Drink it? Of course! You are one of my patients still." "Thanks. But ladies first.--Here, Mrs Smithers; you look tired and hot. I will have the next glass." "No, sir, please," said the woman firmly. "You want it worse than I do." "Don't waste time," said the Doctor sternly. "Drink the water, my lad." The deliciously cool draught trickled down Archie's throat till the bottom of the glass became top. "De-licious," he said. The Doctor took the glass, filled it, emptied it, smacked his lips, and then refilled and handed it to Mrs Smithers. "Your turn, nurse," he said. "Then take the can and go all round, and finish off by taking a glass up to the Frenchman." "Ah, I was looking round, sir, for him," said Archie. "Yes, I am getting too full here, my lad. I have had him carried up to that room where Pegg's on duty." "Oh, I'm going there, sir, and I shall see him." "One moment, Duchess; half a glass, please. I feel like a volcanic cinder.--As you say, my lad--de-licious," he continued, as he handed back the glass. "I am proud of that water, and so you ought to be." "I am, Doctor." "That's all due to me, sir. When we first came--you know the Major's way--'Nonsense,' he said. 'There will be three hundred idle men here with nothing to do, and they can fetch as much water as we want for the day's supply from the river.' And I said, 'No. In a hot country like this I want my men to have good, pure, sparkling well water, and not to be forced to drink croc and campong drainage soup. I want a thoroughly good well dug by an engineering company.' I got it, too, just when he was red-hot over his idea for a magazine. And now, sir, there's my well, always full of that delicious spring water that will do the men more good than any medicine I can exhibit; and where's his magazine? You tell me that." "If he were here, Doctor, he'd tell you that he'd rather have the magazine intact than the well." "Never mind. I've got the water." "Yes, Doctor. But how's Mrs Morley?" "Ah, poor dear soul!" replied the Doctor, and his eyes looked moist. "Worked to death, thank goodness!" "Thank goodness?" said Archie wonderingly. "Yes, my lad. It keeps her from thinking and fretting about Minnie. I'll tell her you asked after her, my boy. It will please her, for she doesn't know what a reckless young scamp you are, and she always talks of you as if you were her own boy. Going?" "Yes, Doctor." "All right and square, my boy? No shot or spear holes in you?" "No, sir; I'm as sound as sound." "That's right. If you do get into any trouble, you know where I am; and though I don't want you, you will be welcome to our mess--and a nice mess we are in, eh, Archie?--Come, look sharp, you British soldiers, and clear away all this scum." "Only too glad, sir," said Archie, and he hurried away to have a few words with the sentry who commanded the landing-place, and who was so intent at the window, watching the edge of the jungle, that he did not hear his visitor till he spoke. "Got company, Mister Archie, sir? Yes; that French chap. Doctor said if he was not brought up here where he'd be quiet he would go off sudden like. Not very cheerful company, for he's awful bad, and when he does talk it's all in his _parly-voo, kesky say, pally wag bang_ lingo that don't mean nothing as I can make out." "Ah, poor fellow! I suppose he's very bad." "Oh, that's right, sir! Poor fellow, and we are all very sorry for him and much obliged because he was kind enough to come and blow all our cartridges to Jericho, or elsewhere, as they say on the soldiers' letters. You stop here a little while, sir, and you will hear him begin to jabber. Talk about that mahout's _pa-ta-ta-ma-ta-ja-ja-ja_--this chap goes twice as fast." "Well, Pete, I can't stop talking to you. I only wanted to take you in my round. Are you all right?" "Right as a trivet, sir; only I am getting awful short of ammunition. I don't want to keep on potting these 'ere fellows, but somehow I took to rifle-shooting. There's some fun in hitting a mark at a distance, and that's the only thing I ever got a kind word for from old Tipsy. He said I could shoot." "Yes, you are a very good marksman, Pete; and that's why you are stationed here." "Yes, I suppose so, sir. But 'tain't my fault that I'm a good marksman, as you call it. It come quite easy like. I suppose it's good for us, but it's very bad for these 'ere Malay chaps, and it does make me feel a bit squirmy when one of them gives me a chance, and then it's _oracle, phit_, and down he goes, and me loading again. I don't want to shoot them. But then if I don't keep on knocking them over they'll knock us over, and I've got such a kind of liking for PP that I'd sooner shoot one of them than that they should shoot me. Still, there is something a bit queer about it." "You are doing your duty, Pete, fighting for your country." "I say, sir, that ain't quite right, is it? Seems to me that I'm fighting for these 'ere people's country." "We needn't go into that, Pete. You are doing your duty--fighting for your comrades in defence of this station and the women and children." "There he goes again, sir. Just you listen. It makes me wish I could understand what he's saying." Archie turned sharply, for from the part of the room where the Frenchman was lying upon one of the mats Mrs Smithers had placed for him, with another rolled-up to form his pillow, came the quick, excited utterance of the terribly injured man. He was delirious, and evidently in his wanderings was going over something that had impressed him strongly, and almost at his first utterances in his own tongue he attracted the subaltern to his side. Archie was no good French scholar, but that tongue had formed part of his studies at a public school, and he had been somewhat of a favourite with the French master, who had encouraged his pupils in acquiring French conversation by making them his companions in his country walks. The sufferer's first utterance was an expression of anger at somebody whom he was addressing, calling him an _imbecile_; and then Archie pretty clearly gathered his meaning. He was telling the man to be careful, and to give him something so that he could do it himself. "No," he said, "you don't understand. I wish I could tell you in your own tongue. There, your hands are trembling; you are afraid. You hate these people, but not with the great hate I feel towards them, who am their natural enemy. There, give me the two bags. Yes, it is bad powder; not such as, if I had known, I might have brought from my own country. What is it? You hear some one coming? Lie down. No one can see us here, shut in behind these trees. You are afraid they will shoot? Bah! Let them! They could not aim at us in this darkness. Be brave, as I am. Recollect what I told you before we started to creep here: if we fire, it will destroy all their ammunition. They will be defenceless, and it will be easy for your prince to slay and capture all these wretched British usurpers of your prince's country. And I shall be the Rajah's great friend and counsellor, and make him great, so that he will become a glorious prince and reign over a happy, contented people. There, you are not afraid now. Your hand trembles, though. Well, help me to pour out what is in this bag in a heap over that pile of boxes. Do not tremble so. Nothing can hurt us now. That is good. Now stand there, behind those bushes, and tell me if you hear any of the enemy coming. That is good, and there is the good work done. Quick! Now the other bag. My faith, how you tremble! Now my hand--hold it tight and lead me through the darkness back to the way we came--in silence, so that the enemy shall not hear. No, no--too fast! Do you not understand? You must lead me so that I can pour the powder from the bag as I walk backwards and lay the train." The Frenchman ceased his utterance, and though Archie missed some of his words, the scene that must have taken place in the darkness of the jungle surrounding the magazine seemed to start out vividly and picture itself before the listener's eyes. Then the sufferer began to speak again, in a low, quick, excited way. "Ah! Idiot! Clumsy! I could have done better without you. Do you not understand? You have trampled over the careful train I have laid, and I must scatter more, or the plan will fail. Stay here till I come back to you.--Curses! He has gone. What matter? I can finish now. That is well. There is plenty, and it cannot fail. Now the matches.--Stop. Is the way clear? I shall have time--and--yes, I can find my way as I did before. I was mad to bring that shivering idiot. He has been in my way all through. But no; he did carry the bag, and the task that brings ruin and destruction upon these English is nearly done. Now--the matches. Ah! Confusion! The box must have been wet. Now another; then quick! The moment the fire begins to run. Confusion! Is it that the matches are wet? No. I am all in water, and the touch from my fingers prevents the match from striking. Now--ah, that is better. But hark! Could the sentry have seen that? No. I am trembling like that coward Malay. Courage, my friend. It is such a little thing to do. But I must hasten, before the powder spoils upon the damp ground, where everything drips with the heavy dew. Courage, my friend--courage! It is such a little thing, and for the glory of my beautiful France, and for my great revenge against these English and their officers, while my prince will rule in peace, and--yes, my faith! I shall rule him now. Crack! That match burns, and--_hiss_--the train begins to run, and so must I. Ah! My faith! I am going wrong. These trees catch my feet with their frightful tangle, and the light dazzles my eyes. My faith! My faith! I am lost!" So vivid seemed the picture that the listener's brow grew moist, and he turned shuddering away, to see that Peter was watching him curiously; and both lads started now as a wild cry of horror and despair arose from the rough pallet on which the sufferer lay struggling feebly. "I'd say as you would, Mister Archie, sir: 'Poor beggar!' for he must be feeling very bad with his burns; but he don't deserve it. It was his own doing. Could you make out what he was talking about?" "A great deal of it, Pete." "What was he saying of, sir?" "Poor wretch! He's quite off his head. He seemed to be talking about how he tried to blow up the magazine." "Said he was sorry for it, perhaps, sir?" "No, Pete; I didn't catch that." "Ah, well, he would be, sir, because he didn't get away fast enough. A chap who would do a thing like that wouldn't feel sorry for it if he hadn't got caught.--I say, _pst_! Look here, Mister Archie." "What is it?" "I was only just in time to catch sight of them. Think of it! I only turned my head to talk to you, but two of them took advantage and crept right close up behind that bush. Can you see 'em?" "No." "Well, I can, sir, or think I can, because I saw them for a moment as they dashed in. You stand back from the window, sir. There's only shelter for one, and that's me." "Are you going to fire?" "Don't quite know, sir. Depends on them. They must have seen you when you stood looking out before that Frenchman began to talk. I could send a shot right through the bush, and it might hit one of them; but then it mightn't, and I should have wasted a cartridge. I think I'll wait till they come out to shoot or chuck a spear, and then I can be sure. What do you say?" "That will be quite right, Pete; and I will go on now. Why, Joe Smithers ought to be able to spot any one hiding behind that bush. I'll go round by where he's posted and see." "Ought to be able to see for hisself," grumbled Peter; and as Archie turned to reach the door, unaware of the fact that he was exposing himself a little, Peter raised his rifle to his shoulder and fired a snap shot, just as simultaneously Archie started at the brushing by his cheek of a spear which came through the window with a low trajectory and stuck with a soft _thud_ into something at the far end of the room. "Missed him!" said Peter in an angry, impatient way. "No, I ain't. It was only chance it, though. Ah! Would you?" For another spear flashed through the window, making one of the young men duck down, while the other started aside. Then their eyes met in a curious look of horror, and for a few minutes neither spoke. "Think of that, now, Mister Archie!" said Peter, as his trembling fingers were playing about the breech of his rifle. "Horrible!" said Archie, as he recalled the confession to which he had listened. "Yes, sir; 'orrid, ain't it? And that was a chance shot, too, though he meant it for you. I say, sir, he won't blow up no more magazines;" and Peter made a great smudge across his moist forehead with his powder-blackened hand. For the second spear had found its billet in the chest of the Frenchman, whose sufferings were at an end. _ |
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