Part 20 (1/2)

”Won't it?” cried Armstrong, looking up with a bright expression from a sheet of paper, on which he had just been writing. ”Here am I writin'

home to _my_ wife--in a hurry too, for I've only just heard that word has been pa.s.sed, the mail for England goes to-day. I'm warned for guard to-night, too; an' if the night takes after the day we're in for a chance o' suffocation, to say nothing o' insects--as you all know. Now, won't it mend matters that I've got a dear girl over the sea to think about, and to say `G.o.d bless her, body and soul?'”

”No doubt,” retorted the take-things-as-they-come-and-be-jolly man, ”but--but--”

”But,” cried Hall, coming promptly to his rescue, ”have not the Soudanese got wives an' children as well as us?”

”I daresay they have--some of 'em.”

”Well, does the thought of your respective wives an' children prevent your shooting or sticking each other when you get the chance?”

”Of course it don't!” returned Armstrong, with a laugh as he resumed his pencil. ”What would be the use o' comin' here if we didn't do that?

But I haven't time to argue with you just now, Hall. All I know is that it's my duty to write to my wife, an' I won't let the chance slip when I've got it.”

”Bah!” exclaimed the cynic, relighting his pipe, which in the heat of debate he had allowed to go out.

Several of the other men, having been reminded of the mail by the conversation, also betook themselves to pen and pencil, though their hands were more familiar with rifle and bayonet. Among these was Miles Milton. Mindful of his recent thoughts, and re-impressed with the word _Duty_, which his friend had just emphasised, he sat down and wrote a distinctly self-condemnatory letter home. There was not a word of excuse, explanation, or palliation in it from beginning to end. In short, it expressed one idea throughout, and that was--Guilty! and of course this was followed by his asking forgiveness. He had forgiveness--though he knew it not--long before he asked it. His broken-hearted father and his ever-hopeful mother had forgiven him in their hearts long before--even before they received that treasured fragment from Portsmouth, which began and ended with:

”Dearest Mother, I am sorry--”

After finis.h.i.+ng and despatching the letter, Miles went out with a feeling of lightness about his heart that he had not felt since that wretched day when he forsook his father's house.

As it was still early in the afternoon he resolved to take a ramble in the town, but, seeing Sergeant Gilroy and another man busy with the Gardner gun on the roof of the redoubt, he turned aside to ask the sergeant to accompany him; for Gilroy was a very genial Christian, and Miles had lately begun to relish his earnest, intelligent talk, dashed as it was with many a touch of humour.

The gun they were working with at the time had been used the day before in ascertaining the exact range of several objects on the ground in front.

”I'll be happy to go with you, Miles, after I've given this gun a clean-out,” said Gilroy. ”Turn the handle, Sutherland.”

”I'll turn the handle if it's a' richt,” said the cautious Scot, with some hesitation.

”It is all right,” returned the sergeant. ”We ran the feeder out last night, you know, and I want to have the barrels cleaned. Turn away.”

Thus ordered a second time, Sutherland obeyed and turned the handle.

The gun went off, and its contents pa.s.sed through the sergeant's groin, making a hole through which a man could have pa.s.sed his arm.

He dropped at once, and while some ran for the doctor, and some for water, others brought a stretcher to carry the poor fellow to hospital.

Meanwhile Miles, going down on his knees beside him, raised his head and moistened his pale lips with water. He could hardly speak, but a smile pa.s.sed over his face as he said faintly, ”She'll get my presents by this mail. Write, Miles--break it to her--we'll meet again--by the side of Jesus--G.o.d be praised!”

He ceased, and never spoke again.

Gilroy was a married man, with five children. Just before the accident he had written to his wife enclosing gifts for his little ones, and telling, in a thankful spirit, of continued health and safety. Before the mail-steamer with his letter on board was out of sight he was dead!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

DESCRIBES SOME OF OSMAN DIGNA'S ECCENTRICITIES AND OTHER MATTERS.

One day Miles and his friend Armstrong went to have a ramble in the town of Suakim, and were proceeding through the bazaar when they encountered Simkin hurrying towards them with a much too serious expression on his face!

”Have you heard the n-news?” he asked, on coming up.