Part 19 (1/2)

”There's room here,” replied the doctor, setting his teeth. ”Orderly!

put a blanket in that corner and lift Smith to it--he's getting better--he'll do all right.”

So yet one more man found a cot and such comfort as skill and strength of purpose could give him, while the thunder crashed overhead and the pitiless rain hammered at the taut tent roof like a drum. One had to shout to make oneself heard.

”Lights! I say, lights! I've been calling for them these ten minutes.

Why the devil doesn't someone bring them? I can't see to do anything.”

The doctor's voice rang resonantly; but the lights did not come. The waggon with the petroleum tins was hopelessly bogged miles away, and in the confusion no one had thought of lights.

”Thank G.o.d for the lightning,” muttered the doctor with unwonted piety, as with awful blinding suddenness the whole hospital tent blazed into blue brilliance, putting out the miserable glimmer of the oil lantern that had been raised from somewhere. In that brief luminous second he could at least see his patients--thirty of them or more. It was not an encouraging sight. The livid look on many faces might be discounted by the lightning, but there was an ominous stillness in some that told its tale.

”Gone! Bring in another man from outside,” came the swift verdict and order after a moment's inspection with the oil lantern.

”Beg pardin', sir,” almost whined a hospital orderly ”but Apothecary Jones has sent to say he's took himself, an' can't go on no more; an'

beggin' your pardin, sir, I'm feeling awful bad myself.”

The doctor held up the lantern, and its bull's eye showed a face as livid as any in the tent; a face distorted by justifiable horror and fear.

”Go into the quarantine tent, it's up by now, and tell them to give you a stiff-un of rum with chlorodyne in it. You'll be better by-and-by.

I've no use for you here.”

And he had no use for him--that was true. Shaking hands and trembling nerves were only in the way in a tight corner like this. So, one by one, men fell away, leaving the one strong soul and body to wrestle with a perfect h.e.l.l.

For the rain never ceased, the thunder went on cras.h.i.+ng, the lightning was almost incessant. Thank G.o.d for that! Thank G.o.d for the inches of running water on the floor of the tent that swept away its unspeakable uncleanlinesses, for the thunder's voice that drowned all other sounds, for the blessed light which made it possible to work.

The very sweepers disappeared at last. No one was left save that one strong soul and body, and even he stood for a second, dazed, irresolute.

”How can this slave help the Protector of the Poor,” came a courteous voice beside him, and he turned to see a smile at once familiar and kindly.

”How?” echoed the doctor, stupidly; then he recovered himself. ”You can't. You're a br[=a]hman--high caste--all that----”

”This slave has come to help the Huzoor, so that he may be able to reach M[=a]nasa Sarovara,” was the quiet insistent reply. ”Where shall he begin?”

A sudden spasm almost of anger shot through the strong soul and body as it realised and recollected, vaguely, dimly, as rudely, roughly, it gave no choice save the most menial work. But instant obedience followed, and the doctor, dismissing all other thoughts, plunged once more into the immediate present. The rain pelted, the thunder roared, but every time that blue brilliance filled the tent, it showed two men at work, both doing their duty n.o.bly.

A born nurse! thought the doctor almost remorsefully, as he saw the old man moving about swiftly and remembered those blistered and bleeding feet. ”They must hurt you--awfully,” he said at last.

”G.o.d's healing water cools them, Huzoor,” replied the old man, with a radiant smile, ”I shall not be delayed in reaching the Lake of High Hope.”

So the long night drew down to dawn once more, and dawn brought peace again, even to the cholera camp. An hour and a half pa.s.sed without a fresh case, and the doctor, realising that the crisis was over, found time to notice the grey glimmer of light stealing through each crack and cranny of the tent. He set the flap aside and looked out. The primrose east was all barred with purple clouds, the distant _jheel_ lay in still s.h.i.+ny shadow, but there was no concerted dawn cry of the wild birds, and the flights of whirring wings were isolated, errant.

”The call has come to them, Huzoor,” said the suave old voice beside him. ”They have gone to M[=a]nasa Sarovara, leaving all things behind them.”

The Englishman turned abruptly, almost with an oath, and began to count the costs of the night. Thirty-six dead bodies awaiting burial; but no more--no more!

With the mysterious inconsequence of cholera, the scourge had come, and gone. Seen in the first level rays of the sun, the camp looked almost cheerful, almost bright. A couple of doctors had ridden out from headquarters--there was no more to be done.

”I'll go out for a bit, and shake off the h.e.l.l I've been in all night,”