Part 43 (2/2)

Still the men were cheerful, the Ridge strangely unlike a war-camp in some ways; for the country to the rear was peaceful, posts came every day, and there was no lack even of luxuries. Grain merchants deserting their city shops set up amid the surer payments of the cantonment bazaar, and the greed for gain brought hawkers of fruit, milk, and vegetables to run the gauntlet of the guns, while some poor folk living on their wits, when there was not a rag or a patch or a bit of wood left to be looted in the deserted bungalows, took to earning pennies by tracking the big shot as they trundled in the ravines, and bringing them to the masters, who needed them.

Between the rain-showers too, men, after the manner of Englishmen, began to talk of football matches, sky races, and bewail the fact of the racket court being within range of the walls. But some, like Major Reid, who never left his post at Hindoo Rao's house for three months, preferred to face the city always. To watch it as a cat watches a mouse to which she means to deal death by and by. Herbert Erlton was one of these, and so his old khansaman, with whom Kate used to quarrel over his terribly Oriental ideas of Irish stew and such like--would bring him his lunch, sometimes his dinner, to the pickets. It was quite a dignified procession, with a cook-boy carrying a brazier, so that the Huzoor's food should be hot, and the bhisti carrying a porous pot of water holding bottles, so that the Huzoor's drink might be cool. The khansaman, a wizened figure with many yards of waistband swathed round his middle, leading the way with the mint sauce for the lamb, or the mustard for the beefsteak. He used at first to mumble charms and vows for safe pa.s.sage as he crossed the valley of the shadow; as a dip where round shot loved to dance was nicknamed by the men. But so many others of his trade were bringing food to the master that he soon grew callous to the danger, and grinned like the rest when a wild caper to dodge a trundling, thundering ball made a fair-haired laddie remark sardonically to the caperer, ”It's well for you, my boy, that you haven't spilled my dinner.”

Perhaps it was, considering the temper of the times. Herbert Erlton, eating his lunch, sheltered from the pelting rain behind the low scarp which by this time scored the summit of the Ridge, smiled also. He was all grimed and smirched with helping young Light--the gayest dancer in Upper India--with his guns. He helped wherever he could in his spare time, for a great restlessness came over him when out of sight of those rose-red walls. They had a fascination for him since Jim Douglas' failure to return had left him uncertain what they held. So, when the day's work slackened, as it always did toward sunset, and the rain clearing, he had drifted back to his tent for a bath and a change, he drifted out again along the central road, where those off duty were lounging, and the sick had their beds set out for the sake of company and cooler air. It was a quieter company than usual, for some two days before the General himself had joined the rear-guard by the ca.n.a.l; struck down by cholera, and dying with the half-conscious, wholly pathetic words on his lips, ”strengthen the right.”

And that very day the auctions of his and other dead comrades' effects had been held; so that more than one usually thoughtless youngster looked down, maybe, on a pair of shoes into which he had stepped over a grave.

Still it was an eager company, as it discussed Lieutenant Hills'

exploit of the morning, and asked for the latest bulletin of that reckless young fighter with fists against the swords.

”How was it?” asked the Major, ”I only heard the row. The beggars must have got clean into camp.”

”Right up to the artillery lines. You see it was so beastly misty and rainy, and they were dressed like the native vidette. So Hills, thinking them friends, let them pa.s.s his two guns, until they began charging the Carabineers; and then it was too late to stop 'em.”

”Why?”

”Carabineers--didn't stand, somehow, except their officer. So Hills charged instead. By George! I'd have given a fiver to see him do it.

You know what a little chap he is--a boy to look at. And then----”

”And then,” interrupted the Doctor, who had been giving a glance at a ticklish bandage as he pa.s.sed the bed round which the speakers were gathered, ”I think I can tell you in his own words; for he was quite cool and collected when they brought him in--said it was from bleeding so much about the head----”

A ripple of mirth ran through the listeners, but Major Erlton did not smile this time; the laugh was too tender.

”He said he thought if he charged it would be a diversion, and give time to load up. So he rode--Yes! I should like to have seen it too!--slap at the front rank, cut down the first fellow, slashed the next over the face. Then the two following crashed into him, and down he went at such a pace that he only got a slice to his jacket and lay snug till the troop--a hundred and fifty or so--rode over him.

Then--ha--ha! he got up and looked for his sword! Had just found it ten yards off, when three of them turned back for him. He dropped one from his horse, dodged the other, who had a lance, and finally gashed him over the head. Number three was on foot--the man he'd dropped, he thinks, at first--and they had a regular set to. Then Hills' cloak, soaked with rain, got round his throat and half choked him, and the brute managed to disarm him. So he had to go for him with his fists, and by punching merrily at his head managed all right till he tripped over his cloak and fell----”

”And then,” put in another voice eagerly, ”Tombs, his Major, who had been running from his tent through the thick of those charging devils on foot to see what was up that the Carabineers should be retiring, saw him lying on the ground, took a pot shot at thirty paces--and dropped his man!”

”By George, what luck!” commented someone; ”he must have been blown!”

”Accustomed to turnips, I should say,” remarked another, with a curiously even voice; the voice of one with a lump in his throat, and a slight difficulty in keeping steady.

”Did they kill the lot?” asked Major Erlton quickly.

”Bungled it rather, but it was all right in the end. They were a plucky set, though; charged to the very middle of the camp, shouting to the black artillery to join them, to come back with them to Delhi.”

”But they met with a pluckier lot!” interrupted the man who had suggested turnips. ”The black company wasn't ready for action. The white one behind it was; unlimbered, loaded. And the blackies knew it.

So they called out to fire--fire at once--fire sharp--fire through them--Well! d----n it all, black or white, I don't care, it's as plucky a thing as has been done yet.” He moved away, his hands in his pockets, attempting a whistle; perhaps to hide his trembling lips.

”I agree,” said the Doctor gravely, ”though it wasn't necessary to take them at their word. But somehow it makes that mistake afterward all the worse.”

”How many of the poor beggars were killed, Doctor,” asked an uneasy voice in the pause which followed.

”Twenty or so. Gra.s.s-cutters and such like. They were hiding in the cemetery from the troopers, who were slas.h.i.+ng at everyone, and our men pursuing the party which escaped over the ca.n.a.l bridge--made--made a mistake. And--I'm sorry to say there was a woman----”

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