Part 16 (1/2)

But by-and-by his jealousy of Jack Green began to wear away. Perhaps, after all, he argued, Tom only wanted to hide his trouble. Tom was a big lad, and was even more ashamed than Ted of being betrayed into weeping and such-like exhibitions of weakness. So, by the time they turned in for the night--the last night--Ted had forgotten the pain of the afternoon.

”Tom,” said he, going over to his chum's bed, which was next to his, ”Tom, I've come to talk to you.”

”Yes,” whispered Tom in reply. The lights were all out then, and most of the boys were fast asleep, so big Tom drew his chum's head down to his, and put his arm round his neck.

”It's the last night, Tom,” said Ted in a strangled voice.

”Yes,” said Tom, in a whisper.

”We've been chums for three years and more,” Ted went on, ”and we've never been out of friends yet. P'raps I shall get an exchange to your reg'ment yet.”

”Or me to yours,” answered Tom eagerly.

”I shan't have no chum now,” Ted went on, taking no notice of Tom's words.

”You'll have Jack Green,” said Tom.

”Yes, there'll be Jack Green, but he ain't you,” Ted answered mournfully. ”He'll never be my chum like you was, Tom; but if ever I've a chance of doing him a good turn, I will, 'cause _you_ liked him.”

”Will you, Ted?” eagerly.

”Yes, I will,” answered Ted steadily. ”And, Tom, it's our last time together to-night--we mayn't ever get together again.”

”I know,” sighed Tom.

”I wish,” Ted said hesitatingly--”oh, Tom,” with a sorrowful catch in his voice and a great gulp in his throat, ”I--I--do wish you'd kiss me--just once.”

And so Tom Boynton put his other arm around his chum's neck, and the two lads, who had been friends for three years, held one another for a minute in a close embrace; an instant later Ted Petres tore himself away and sprang into his bed, dragging the clothes over his head, and burying his face in the pillow in a vain attempt to stifle his sobs. And before another day had gone over their heads they had parted, to meet again--when--and where?

PART II

Seven years had gone by. A fierce and scorching sun shone down with glaring radiance upon long stretches of arid and sandy country, covered spa.r.s.ely with coa.r.s.e rank gra.s.s and brushwood--the country which is called the Soudan; the country where so many brilliant lives ended, sacrificed in the cause of a crusade as hopeless as the crusade of the children--who sought to win Heaven with glory where the flower of the nations had failed--sacrificed to the death in the too late attempt to succour a gallant soldier, the n.o.ble victim of an ign.o.ble policy.

And between the brilliant glaring sky and the sun-scorched arid earth, there hung a heavy cloud of gunpowder smoke while the flower of two races fought desperately for conquest. In the midst a square of British troops, with set white faces and sternly compressed lips, with watchful eyes well on the alert, and in each brave heart the knowledge that the fight was for life or death. And on all hands swarms of stalwart Soudanese, reckless of life and counting death their chiefest gain, shouting on Allah and the prophet to aid them, and dying happy in the certain faith of entering paradise if but one Christian dog should fall to their hand.

Oh, what a scene it was! Only a handful of men at bay, while ma.s.s after ma.s.s of the enemy came down upon them like the waves of the incoming tide upon the sea sh.o.r.e; and as at times a rock-bound coast gives way and falls before the encroaching advances of the ocean, so that ill-fated square gave way before the overwhelming numbers of the soldiers of the Prophet, and in a moment all chance for our men seemed over.

Ay; but the British lion can up and fight again after he has had a roll over which would crush the life out of most of his foes. And so that day, by sheer hard desperate fighting, the square closed up and was formed again, and of all the enemy who had dashed into the midst of it, not one lived to tell the tale.

But, oh! what though the enemy fell half a score to one? How many a brave life was laid down that day, and how many a bullet had found its billet was proved by the shrieks of agony which rose and rang above all the tumult of the fight.

It happened that our old friend, Ted Petres, no longer a short and st.u.r.dy boy but a fine-grown young fellow of one-and-twenty now, found himself not very far from the place where the square had been broken--found himself fighting hard to win the day and check the mad on-rush of the sons of the Prophet. As the ranks closed up once more, he, as did most others who were in the rear, turned his attention to the seething ma.s.s of blacks thus trapped, and to his horror saw his comrade, Jack Green, down on his knees, striking wildly here and there against the attacks of three Soudanese. Quick as thought--the thought that this was the first time he had ever had a chance of fulfilling his last promise to his boy's love, Tom--Ted flew to his aid, sent one shouting gentleman to paradise, and neatly disabled the right arm of a second just as the third put his spear through poor Jack's lungs.

To cleave him to the teeth was but the work of a moment, and Ted Petres accomplished it before the follower of the Prophet had time to withdraw his spear! but, alas! poor Jack's life was welling out of him faster than the sands run out of a broken hour-gla.s.s! It was no use to lift him up and look round for help; Jack Green had seen his last service, and Ted knew it. But he did his best for him in those last moments, and help came in the person of one of their officers, one D'Arcy de Bolingbroke who, though badly wounded in the arm himself, was yet able to lend a hand.

”Petres, you're a splendid fellow,” he exclaimed. ”I shall recommend you if we live to get out of this. You ought to get the Cross for this.”