"FOOD FOR POWDER."
"And so he lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes,
and gun after gun was fired over him."--_The Ugly Duckling_.
At last the wells were reached, and after the wants of the wounded had
been supplied, Jack and his comrades got a chance of quenching their
parching thirst.
Water! It was a moving sight--a crowd of men standing round a pit, at
the bottom of which appeared a little puddle, which when emptied out
would gradually drain in again, the spectators watching its progress
with greedy eyes. Never had "Duster's" celebrated home-made
ginger-beer tasted so refreshing as this muddy liquid. Jack sighed in
an ecstasy of enjoyment as he gulped it down, and Joe Crouch remarked
that he wished his throat was as long as a "hostridge's."
A body of three hundred men from the Guards, Heavies, and Mounted
Infantry started on a return journey to the zareba to bring up the
baggage, and the remainder of the force bivouacked near the wells. The
night was fearfully cold; the men had nothing but the thin serge
jumpers which they had worn during the heat of the day to protect them
against the bitter night air. Shivering and gnawed with hunger, Jack,
Joe Crouch, "Swabs," and two more men huddled together in a heap; and
finding it impossible to sleep, endeavoured to stay the cravings of
their empty stomachs with an occasional whiff of tobacco, those who
were without pipes obtaining the loan of one from a more fortunate
comrade. Jack's thoughts wandered back to Brenlands, and he smiled
grimly to himself at the recollection of that first camping-out
experience, and of Queen Mab's words as she promised them a supply of
rugs and cushions, "Perhaps some day you won't be so well off." His
mind was still full of his recent discovery. The thought that his
friends must regard him as guilty of the theft, and the feeling that he
could never give them proof to the contrary, had rankled in his heart
more, perhaps, than he himself suspected; and now that he had at last
discovered a solution to the riddle, and could prove beyond the
possibility of a doubt who was the guilty party, he longed to ease his
soul by talking the matter over with some one who knew the
circumstances of the case. Joe Crouch was the very man.
"Joe."
"Yes."
"You remember my cousin, Raymond Fosberton?"
Joe was not in the best of humours; he was cold, and his pipe had gone
out.
"Yes, I do," he grumbled. "I wish I had him here now in his white
weskit and them shiny boots!" The speaker drew hard at his empty clay,
which gave forth a fierce croak, as though it thoroughly approved of
its owner's sentiments.
"D'you remember that time when the watch was stolen out of Miss
Fenleigh's cupboard?"
"Yes; and that Fosberton said it might 'a been me as took it, and
Master Valentine told me afterwards that you said that though I'd
stolen some pears once, you knew I was honest. Ay, but I thought of
that the morning I seen you come into the barrack-room. And then he
told them as it was you 'ad done it. My eye! if I had him here now,
I'd knock his face out through the back of his head!" The clay pipe
literally crowed with rage.
"Well, you may be interested to hear that it was Raymond Fosberton
himself who took the watch." And Jack proceeded to tell the story of
his find.
"So he stole it himself, did he?" exclaimed Crouch, as the narrative
concluded. "Law me! if I had him here, I'd--"
"Never mind!" interrupted the other, laughing. "I may have a chance of
settling up with him myself some day."
"What shall you do when you see him?"
"Oh, I don't know!" answered Jack. "I daresay I shall have my revenge."
Joe relapsed into silence, but for some time sudden squeaks from his
pipe showed that he was still meditating on the terrible vengeance
which he would mete out to Raymond Fosberton, should that gentleman
leave his comfortable lodgings in England and appear unexpectedly in
the Bayuda Desert.
* * * * *
At length the morning came, and with it the report that the
baggage-train was in sight. The news was welcome, and the work of
knee-lashing and unloading the camels did not take long. The previous
morning's hasty breakfast under fire had not been, by any means, a
satisfying meal; and so, after a fast of nearly two days, the prospect
of food made the men active enough in unpacking the stores.
Jack seized his ration of bully beef and biscuit with the fierce
eagerness of a famished wolf; cold, hunger, and weary, sleepless nights
had never been the lot of the lead troops campaigning on the
lumber-room floor at Brenlands, or of their commanders either; nor, for
the matter of that, is it usual for youthful, would-be warriors to
associate such things with the triumph of a victory.
Our hero had finished his meal, and was cleaning his rifle, when he was
accosted by Joe Crouch.
"I say, Mr. Fenleigh wants to see you. He's over there by the guns."
Valentine was standing talking to some of his fellow-officers. He
turned away from the group as he saw his cousin approaching, and the
latter halted and accorded him the customary salute.
"Look here," said the subaltern, "the general is sending dispatches
back to Korti, and the officers have the opportunity of telegraphing to
their friends in England. I'm going to send a message home to let them
know I'm all right. Shall I put in a word for you? I'm sure," added
the speaker, "that Aunt Mabel would be glad to know that you are here,
and quite sate and sound after the fighting."
Jack hesitated, but there was no sign yet of the long lane turning.
"It's very good of you, sir," he answered, "but I'd rather they didn't
know my whereabouts. If I live through this, and return to England, I
shall still be a private soldier. I'm much obliged to you, sir, all
the same."
He saluted again, and walked away. Valentine looked after the
retreating figure with a queer, sad smile upon his face.
"You're a difficult fish to deal with," he muttered; "but we shall land
you again some day, though I hardly know how."
Late in the afternoon the column was once more in motion, and then
commenced an experience which Jack, and all those who shared in it,
have probably never forgotten. At first the march was orderly, but, as
the hours went by, progress became more and more difficult. Camels,
half-starved and exhausted, lagged and fell, causing continual delay
and confusion. The desert track having been abandoned in order to
avoid possible collision with the enemy, the road lay at one time
through a jungle of mimosa trees and bushes, when the disorder was
increased tenfold--baggagers slipped their loads, and ranks opening out
to avoid obstacles found it impossible in the dark to regain their
original formation. Utterly unable to keep awake, men fell asleep as
they rode, drifting out of their places, some, indeed, straying off
into the darkness, never to be seen again.
Worn out, and chilled to the bone with the bitter night air, Jack clung
to his saddle, dozing and waking; dreaming for an instant that Queen
Mab was speaking to him, and rousing with a start as the word was
passed, "Halt in front!" to allow time for the rear-guard closing up
with the stragglers. At each of these pauses poor "Lamentations" knelt
of his own accord; and his rider, dropping down on the sand by his
side, fell into a deep sleep, to be awakened by the complaining grunts
of the camels as the word, "All right in rear!" gave the signal for a
fresh start.
After each stoppage it was no easy matter to get the weary animals on
their legs again; and almost equally difficult in many instances to
rouse their riders from the heavy slumber into which they fell the
moment they stretched themselves upon the ground.
"Pass the word on, 'All right in rear!'"
"Oh, dear! I'd give a month's pay for an hour's sleep," mumbled Joe
Crouch.
"Get up, you fool!" answered Jack, kicking the recumbent figure of his
comrade. "D'you want to be left behind?"
On, on, through the endless darkness, now for a moment unconscious, now
half awake, but always with the sense of being cold and weary, the long
night march seemed to last a lifetime. Then, as sometimes happens in
similar circumstances, a half-forgotten tune took possession of his
tired brain, the once familiar melody of Queen Mab's hymn; and in a
dreamy fashion he kept humming it over and over again, sometimes the
air alone, and sometimes with snatches of the words, as they came back
to his memory.
"Rest comes at length;......
The day must dawn, and darksome night be past."
His head sank forward on his breast. It was Sunday evening at
Brenlands, and Helen was playing the piano. Queen Mab was standing
close at his side; and yet, somehow, the whole world lay between them.
"You may doubt us, but we have never lost faith in you." He turned to
see who spoke, and the figures in his dream vanished, leaving only the
echo of their voices in his mind.
"......Angels of light!
Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night!"
The tune was still droning in his head when the first grey streaks of
dawn gave warning of the approaching day, and, in the growing light,
the column gradually regained its proper formation.
The line of march lay down a vast slope covered with grass and shrubs,
which stretched away towards the distant Nile, as yet out of sight; and
ere long word was received from the cavalry scouts that the enemy, in
large numbers, were close at hand.
Once more the bullets of the sharpshooters whistled overhead; and the
Arabs appearing in considerable force on the left flank, the column was
halted on the summit of a low knoll, and orders were issued for the
construction of a zareba.
All hands now set to work to unload the camels and build walls of
saddles, biscuit-boxes, and other stores--parapets formed of almost as
incongruous materials as the old domino and pocket-knife works behind
which the lead warriors took shelter at Brenlands. Skirmishers were
thrown out to keep down the enemy's fire; but the men were worn out,
and having nothing to aim at but the feathery puffs of smoke rising
amidst the distant grass and bushes, they failed to dislodge the Arab
marksmen.
Jack and his comrades "lay low," glad to avail themselves of the
shelter afforded by the side of the zareba. The bullets whizzed
overhead, or struck the biscuit-boxes with a sharp smack, while some
dropped with a sickening thud into the mass of camels. They were
patient sufferers, and even when struck made no sound or attempt to
move. Stretchers being constantly carried to and fro showed that the
medical staff had plenty of work; but it was not until some hours later
that the news leaked out among the men that Sir Herbert Stewart himself
was mortally wounded.
Feeling inclined for a smoke, and having no tobacco about him, our hero
asked permission to fetch a supply from the zuleetah-bag attached to
his saddle. "Lamentations" acknowledged his approach with the usual
grumble; but it was the last greeting he was ever destined to give his
master. A bullet flew past with a sharp zip, the poor beast started
and shivered, and a thin stream of blood trickled down his shoulder.
Poor "Lam!" he was unclean and unsavoury, an inveterate grumbler, and
possessed apparently of a chronic cold in his nose; his temper was none
of the best--he had kicked, and on one occasion had attempted to bite,
he had fought his comrades in the lines, and had got the picketing
ropes into dire confusion; but, for all that, he was a living thing,
and Jack, who was fond of all dumb creatures, watched him with tears in
his eyes. It did not last long: the unshapely head sank lower and
lower; then suddenly turning his long neck round to the side of his
body, the animal rolled over, and all that remained of poor
"Lamentations" was a meagre meal for the jackals and vultures.
Hour after hour the men waited, huddled together behind the
hastily-formed breastwork of the zareba. "Swabs" occasionally peered
through a loophole in the boxes to get a snap-shot at any figure that
might be seen creeping about among the distant bushes. Jack, worn out
with the night march, stretched himself upon the sand, and, in spite of
the constant zip of bullets and discharge of rifles, sank into a deep
slumber.
At length he was awakened by a general movement among his comrades:
orders had been issued for a portion of the column to fight its way to
the Nile, and a square was being formed for the purpose a little to the
left of the zareba. In silence, and with anxious expressions on their
faces, the men fell into their places, lying down to escape the leaden
hail. The force seemed a ridiculously small one to oppose to the
swarming masses of the enemy, yet on its success depended the safety of
the whole column.
The bugle sounded, and the men sprang to their feet, to be exposed
immediately to a heavy fire. Slowly and doggedly they moved forward,
now halting to close up gaps, and now changing direction to gain more
open ground. The vicious bang of rifles, fired at comparatively close
range, told of innumerable sharpshooters lurking around in the grass
and shrubs. A bullet suddenly tore the metal ornament from the top of
Jack's helmet, and striking the sword-bayonet of a man behind, knocked
his rifle nearly out of his hands.
"A miss is as good as a mile!" remarked Sergeant Sparks; but as he
spoke Joe Crouch was suddenly flung to the ground as though felled by
the stroke of a hammer.
Jack involuntarily uttered a cry of dismay, and the sergeant dropped
down on one knee to assist the fallen man. To every one's
astonishment, however, the latter rose to his feet unaided, looking
rather dazed and gasping for breath, and picking up his rifle staggered
back into the ranks. A spent shot had struck him on the bandoleer,
demolishing one of the cartridges, but fortunately failing to penetrate
the leather belt.
Now and again the square halted to send a volley wherever the enemy
seemed to be gathered in any numbers, then continuing the advance in
the same cool, deliberate manner.
Jack was marching in the left side, close to one of the rear corners,
and, as fate would have it, the left half of the rear face was formed
of the ----sex, and from the first he had been close to Valentine.
They were within a dozen yards of each other, and every few moments
Jack turned his head to assure himself that his cousin was unhurt.
For more than an hour the little square had been doggedly pursuing its
forward movement, and now the enemy were seen in black masses on the
low hills to the left front.
"They're coming, that's my belief!" said Joe Crouch, turning to address
his chum. He got no reply; for, at that instant, as the other happened
to look round, he saw his cousin stagger and sink down upon the sand.
In an instant Jack had sprung to his assistance; but this time it was
no false alarm. The bullet had done too well its cruel work. For a
moment Valentine seemed to recognize him, and looking up, with his left
hand still clutching at his breast, made a ghastly attempt to smile.
Then, with a groan, he fell over on his side, and fainted.
A stretcher was brought, and Jack was ordered sharply to get back to
the ranks. As he took his place the square halted, and an excited
murmur rose on all sides:--
"Here they come!--Thank God! they're going to charge!"