Part 2 (1/2)
It was in one of the surgical tents of ”No. 6 General” at the base. The middle of the ward was illuminated by an oil-lamp, shaped like an hour-gla.s.s, which shed a circle of yellow radiance upon the faces of the nurse and the orderly officer, as they stood examining a case-sheet by the light of its rays. Beyond the penumbra were rows of white beds, and in the farthest corner lay the subject of our discourse. ”Can I talk to him?” I said to the nurse. ”Yes, if you don't stay too long,” she replied briskly, ”and don't question him too much. He's in a bad way, his wounds are very septic.”
He nodded to me as I approached. At the head of the bed hung a case-sheet and temperature-chart, and I saw at a glance the superscription--
Hunt, George, Private, No. 1578936 B Co. ---- Wilts.h.i.+res.
I noticed that the temperature-line ran sharply upwards on the chart.
”So you're a Wilts.h.i.+reman?” I said. ”So am I.” And I held out my hand.
He drew his own from beneath the bedclothes and held mine in an iron grip.
”What might be your parts, sir?”
”W---- B----.”
His eyes lighted up with pleasure. ”Why, zur, it be nex' parish; I come from B----. I be main pleased to zee ye, zur.”
”The pleasure is mine,” I said. ”When did you join?”
”I jined in July last year, zur. I be a resarvist.”
”You have been out a long time, then?”
”Yes, though it do seem but yesterday, and I han't seen B---- since. I mind how parson, 'e came to me and axed, 'What! bist gwine to fight for King and Country, Jarge?' And I zed, 'Yes, sur, that I be--for King and Country and ould Wilts.h.i.+re. I guess we Wilts.h.i.+remen be worth two Gloster men any day though they do call us 'Moon-rakers.' Not but what the Glosters ain't very good fellers,” he added indulgently. ”Parson, he be mortal good to I; 'e gied I his blessing and 'e write and give I all the news of the parish. He warnt much of a preacher though a did say 'Dearly beloved' in church in a very taking way as though he were a-courting.”
”What was I a-doin', zur? Oh, I wur with Varmer Twine, head labr'er I was. Strong? Oh yes, zur, pretty fair. I mind I could throw a zack o'
vlour ower my shoulder when I wur a boy o' vourteen. Why! I wur stronger then than I be now. 'Twas India that done me.”
”Is it a large farm?” I asked, seeking to beguile him with homely thoughts.
”Six 'undred yackers. Oh yes, I'd plenty to do, and I could turn me hands to most things, though I do say it. There weren't a man in the parish as could beat I at mowing or putting a hackle on a rick, though I do say it. And I could drive a straight furrow too. Heavy work it were.
The soil be stiff clay, as ye knows, zur. This Vlemish clay be very loike it. Lord, what a mint o' diggin' we 'ave done in they trenches to be sure. And bullets vlying like wopses zumtimes.”
”Are your parents alive?” I asked.
”No, zur, they be both gone to Kingdom come. Poor old feyther,” he said after a pause. ”I mind 'un now in his white smock all plaited in vront and mother in her cotton bonnet--you never zee 'em in Wilts.h.i.+re now.
They brought us all up on nine s.h.i.+llin' a week--ten on us we was.”
”I suppose you sometimes wish you were back in Wilts.h.i.+re now?” I said.
”Zumtimes, sir,” he said wistfully. ”It'll be about over with lambing season, now,” he added reflectively. ”Many's the tiddling lamb I've a-brought up wi' my own hands. Aye, and the may'll soon be out in blossom. And the childern makin' daisy-chains.”
”Yes,” I said. ”And think of the woods--the bluebells and anemones! You remember Folly Wood?”
He smiled. ”Ah, that I do: I mind digging out an old vixen up there, when 'er 'ad gone to earth, and the 'ounds with their tails up a-hollering like music. The Badminton was out that day. I were allus very fond o' thuck wood. My brother be squire's keeper there. Many a toime we childern went moochin' in thuck wood--nutting and bird-nesting.
Though I never did hold wi' taking more'n one egg out of a nest, and I allus did wet my vinger avore I touched the moss on a wren's nest. They do say as the little bird 'ull never go back if ye doant.”