"Look here, Roby," said Dickenson, three or four days later, when,
having a little time on his hands--the Boers, consequent upon their late
defeat, having been very quiet--he went in to sit with the captain of
his company, finding him calm and composed, and ready to talk about the
injury to his head, which seemed to be healing fast.
"Precious lucky for me, Dickenson," he said; "an inch lower and there
would have been promotion for somebody. Narrow escape, wasn't it?"
"Awfully."
"Such a nuisance, too, lying up in this oven. I tell Emden that I
should get better much faster if he'd let me get up and go about; but he
will not listen."
"Of course not; you're best where you are. You couldn't wear your
helmet."
"My word, no! Head's awfully tender. It makes me frightfully wild
sometimes when I think of the cowardly way in which that cur Lennox--"
"Hold hard!" cried Dickenson, frowning. "Look here, Roby; you got that
crotchet into your head in the delirium that followed your wound.
You're getting better now and talk like a sane man, so just drop that
nonsense."
"Nonsense?"
"Yes; horrible nonsense. Have you thought of the mischief you are doing
by making such a charge?"
"Thought till my head has seemed on fire. He'll have to leave the
regiment, and a good job too."
"Of course, over a craze."
"Craze, sir? It's a simple fact--the honest truth. Ask Corporal May
there.--It's true, isn't it, May?"
"Oh yes, sir; it's true enough," said the corporal, "though I'm sorry
enough to have to say it of my officer."
"It doesn't seem like it, sir," said Dickenson in a voice full of
exasperation.
"No, sir; you think so because you always were Mr Lennox's friend. But
it ain't my business, and I don't want to speak about it. I never do
unless I'm obliged."
"You--you worm!" cried Dickenson, for he could think of nothing better
to say. "Have you ever thought it would have been much better, after
your bit of fright in the cavern, if Mr Lennox had left you to take
your chance, instead of risking his life to save yours?"
"No, sir; I ain't never thought that," whined the man; "but I was very
grateful to him for what he did, and that's what keeps me back and makes
me feel so ill speaking about him. I wouldn't say a word, sir, but you
see I must speak the truth."
"Speak the truth!" growled Dickenson as he turned angrily away. "Look
here, Roby, if I stop here much longer I shall get myself into trouble
for kicking a patient. Now, once more, look here. You've done an awful
lot of mischief by what you said when your fit of delirium was on you,
and you're in such a weak state now that as soon as you begin thinking
about Lennox you make yourself worse by bringing the crazy feeling back
again."
"Crazy feeling? Bah! I know what I'm saying. A coward! I wish the
old days were back. I'd call him out and shoot him."
"No, you wouldn't, for you'd have to wait till the doctor took you off
his list, and by that time you'd be quite back in your right senses."
"Robert Dickenson!" cried Roby, flushing scarlet, and his features
growing convulsed.
"Yes, that's my name; but I'm not going to submit to a bullying from the
doctor for exciting his patient. Good-bye. Make haste and get well. I
can't stop here."
"Stay where you are," shouted Roby furiously. "Drew Lennox is--"
"My friend," muttered Dickenson, rushing out. "Poor fellow! I suppose
he believes it; but he doesn't know how bad he is. It's queer. That
idea regularly maddens him. Hullo! here's the boss."
"Ah, Dickenson, my lad! Been to cheer up Roby?"
"Yes, sir; I've been to cheer him up a bit," said Dickenson.
"That's right. Getting on nicely, isn't he?"
"Ye-es."
"What do you mean with your spun-out `yes'?"
"I thought he seemed a little queer in the head yet."
"Oh yes, and that will last for a while, no doubt. But he's mending
wonderfully, and I'm beginning to hope that there will be no need for
the operation: nature is doing the work herself."
"That's right, sir," said Dickenson dryly. "I'd encourage her to go
on."
The doctor smiled.
"Going to see Lennox?"
"If I may."
"Oh yes, you may go now. He's getting on too: picking up strength.
Don't let him talk too much, and don't mention a word about that report
of Roby's."
"Certainly not," said Dickenson; and the doctor passing on, the young
officer entered the next hut, to find his friend looking hollow-eyed and
pulled down, the nerves at the corners of his eyes twitching as he
slept.
Dickenson sat down upon a box watching him, and it was as if his
presence there acted upon the patient, who, at the end of a few minutes,
opened his eyes and smiled.
"How strange!" he said, holding out his hand.
"What's strange?"
"I was dreaming about you. How long have you been there?"
"Five or ten minutes."
"How are things going on?"
"Pretty quiet."
"No news of relief?"
"Not the slightest. We seem to be quite forgotten out here in this
corner."
"Oh--no," said Lennox; "we're not forgotten. The country is so big, and
our men are kept busy in other directions."
He turned as he spoke to got into an easier position, and then winced,
uttering an ejaculation indicating the pain he felt.
"Why didn't you speak, and let me help you?" said Dickenson.
"Because I want to be independent. It was nothing. Only my neck; it's
awfully sore still."
Dickenson winced now in turn. A chill ran through him, and his forehead
contracted with pain; but Lennox did not grasp the feeling of horror and
misery which ran through his friend.
"I shall be precious glad when it's better," continued Lennox. "Did I
tell you how it got in this state?"
"No. Don't talk about it," said Dickenson shortly.
"Why not? I'm all right now. Have I been raving at all?"
"Not that I have heard."
"I wonder at it, for until this morning I've felt half my time as if I
were in a nightmare."
"Look here; the doctor said that you were to be kept perfectly quiet,
and that I was not to encourage you to talk."
"Good old man. Well, I'm as quiet as a mouse, and you are not going to
encourage me to talk. I haven't felt inclined to, either, since I got
back. I don't suppose it has been so, but I've felt as if all the veins
in my head were swollen up, and it has made me stupid and strange, and
as if I couldn't say what I wanted, and I haven't tried to speak for
fear I should wander away. But I say, Bob, did I go in to see Roby
lying wounded when I came back?"
"Yes."
"Ah, then that wasn't imagination. It's like something seen through a
mist. It has all been like looking through glass cloudy and thick over
since we rushed the Boers."
"Look here," said Dickenson, rising; "I must go now."
"Nonsense; you've only just come. Sit down, man; you won't hurt me. Do
me good.--That's right. I want to ask you something."
"No, no; you'd better not talk."
"What nonsense! I'm beginning to suffer now from what fine people call
_ennui_. Not much in my way, old fellow. You're doing me good. I say,
look here. Something has been bothering me like in my dreams. You say
I did go in to see poor Roby?"
"Yes; but look here, Drew, old man," cried Dickenson, "if you get on
that topic I must go."
"No, no; stay. I want to separate the fancy from the real. I've got an
idea in my head that Roby turned upon me in a fit of raving, and called
me a coward and a cur for running away and leaving him. Did I dream
that?"
"No," said Dickenson huskily. "He has been a good deal off his head.
He did shout something of that sort at you."
"Poor fellow!" said Lennox quietly. "But how horrible! Shot in the
forehead, wasn't he?"
"Bullet ploughed open the top of his head."
"I didn't see what was wrong with him in the rush. I can remember now,
quite clearly, seeing him go down, with his face streaming with blood."
"You recollect that?" said Dickenson excitedly, in spite of himself.
"Oh yes. The light was coming fast, and we were near where a lot of the
Boers were making for their mounts to get them away. One big fellow was
leading his pony, and as poor Roby was straggling blindly about, this
Boer ran at him, holding his rein in one hand, his rifle in the other,
and I saw him shorten it with his right to turn it into a club to bring
it down on Roby's head."
"All!" cried Dickenson, with increasing excitement, and he waited by
Lennox, who ceased speaking, and lay gazing calmly at the door. Then
all the doctor's warnings were forgotten, and the visitor said hoarsely,
"Well, go on. Why don't you speak?"
"Oh, I don't want to begin blowing about what I did," said Lennox
quietly.
"But I want to hear," said Dickenson. "Go on--the Boer raised his rifle
to bash it down on Roby's head. What then?"
"Well, he didn't. I was obliged to cut him down. Then the pony jerked
itself free and galloped off."
"And you ran to catch it?" cried Dickenson excitedly.
"Nonsense!" said Lennox, laughing. "Why should I do that? What did I
want with the pony, unless it might have been to get poor Roby across
its back? But I never thought of it. I only thought of getting him on
mine."
"And did you?" cried Dickenson.
"Of course I did. I wanted to carry him to the rear, poor fellow."
"Ha!" ejaculated Dickenson.
"Well, don't shout. What an excitable beggar you are?"
"Go on, then. You keep giving it to me in little bits. What then?"
"Oh, I got him on my back, and it was horrible His wound bled so."
"But you carried him?"
"Yes, ever so far; till that happened."
"Yes! What?"
Lennox touched his neck, and his hearer literally ground his teeth in
rage.
"Will--you--speak out?" he cried.
"Will you take things a little more coolly?" said Lennox quietly.
"Didn't Emden say I was to be kept quiet?"
"Of course; of course," said Dickenson hurriedly. "But you don't know,
old chap, what I'm suffering. I'm in a raging thirst for the truth--I
want to take one big draught, and you keep on giving me tiny drops in a
doll's teaspoon."
"It's because I hate talking about it. I don't want to brag about
carrying a wounded man on my back with a pack of Boers on horseback
chivvying me. Besides, I'm a bit misty over what did happen. An upset
like that takes it out of a fellow. Since I've been lying here this
morning thinking it over the wonder to me is that I'm still alive."
Dickenson pressed his teeth together, making a brave effort to keep back
the words which strove to escape, and he was rewarded for his reticence
by his comrade continuing quietly:
"It all happened in a twinkling. Roby was balanced on my back, and I
was trying to get away from the retreating Boers, sword in one hand,
revolver in the other; and I kept two off who passed me by pointing my
pistol at them, when another came down with a rush, made a snatch at the
lanyard, and, almost before I could realise what was happening, poor
Roby was down and I was jerked off my feet and dragged along the rough
ground, bumping, choking, and strangling. For the brute had made a
snatch at my revolver, caught the lanyard, and held on, with the
slip-noose tight between the collar of my jacket and my chin, and his
pony cantering hard. I can just remember the idea flashing to my brain
that this must be something like the lassoing of an animal by a cowboy
or one of those South American half-breeds, and then I was seeing
dazzling lights and clouds that seemed to be tinged with blood; and
after that all was dark for I can't tell how long, before I began to
come to, and found myself right away on the veldt, with the sun beating
down upon my head, and a raging thirst nearly driving me mad. I suppose
I was mad, or nearly so," continued Lennox after a brief pause, "for my
head was all in a whirl, and I kept on seeing Boers dragging me over the
veldt by the neck, and hearing horses galloping round me, all of which
was fancy, of course; for at times I was sensible, and knew that I was
lying somewhere out in the great veldt where all was silent, the horses
I heard being in my head. Then I seemed to go to sleep and dream that I
was being dragged by the neck again, on and on for ever."
"Horrible," panted Dickenson.
"Yes, old fellow, it was rather nasty; but I suppose a great part of it
was fancy, and even now I can't get it into shape, for everything was so
dull and dreamy and confused. All I can tell you more is, that I woke
up once, feeling a little more sensible, and began to feel about me.
Then I knew that my sword was by my side and my hand numb and throbbing,
for the sword-knot was tight about my wrist. I managed to get that
loosened, and after a good deal of difficulty sheathed my sword, after
which I began to feel for my revolver, and got hold of the cord, which
passed through my hand till I felt that it was broken--snapped off or
cut. That was all I could do then, and I suppose I fainted. But I must
have come to again and struggled up, moved by a blind sort of instinct
to get back to Groenfontein. I say I suppose that, for all the rest is
a muddle of dreams and confusion. The doctor says you and a party came
and found me wandering about in the dark, and of course I must have been
making some blind kind of effort to get back to camp. I say, old
fellow, I ought to have been dead, I suppose?"
"Of course you ought, sir," said the doctor, stepping in to lay a hand
upon the poor fellow's brow. "Humph! Not so feverish as you ought to
be, chattering like that."
"Then you've heard, doctor?" cried Dickenson excitedly.
"I heard talking, sir, where there ought to be none," replied the doctor
sharply.
"But did you hear that your precious theory was all wrong?"
"No, sir; I did not," said the doctor sharply. "I based my theory upon
what seemed to be facts, and facts they were. I told you that my
patient here was suffering from the tightening of a ligature about his
neck."
"And quite correct, too, doctor," said Lennox, holding out his hand. "I
suppose if that lanyard had not broken I shouldn't be alive here to talk
about it."
"Your theory, my dear boy, is as correct as mine," said the doctor,
taking his patient's hand, but not to shake it, for he proceeded to feel
Lennox's pulse in the most business-like manner, nodding his head with
satisfaction.
"Much better than I expected," he said. "But you must be quiet now. I
was horrified when I came by and heard such a jabbering going on. Let's
see: where are your duds?"
He went to the corner of the hut, where the orderly had placed the
patient's uniform, everything as neatly folded as if it had been new
instead of tattered and torn; while above, on a peg, hung belts, sword,
pouches, and the strong cord-like lanyard stiffened and strained about
the noose and slipping knots, while the other end was broken and frayed
where the spring snap had been.
"Humph!" said the doctor. "I wonder this cord didn't snap at once with
the drag made upon it. All the same I don't suppose you were dragged
very far."
He looked at his patient inquiringly, but Lennox shook his head slowly.
"It may have been for half-an-hour, doctor, or only for a minute. I
can't tell."
"Probabilities are in favour of the minute, sir," said the doctor.
"Well, it's a strange case. I never had but one injury in my experience
approaching it, and that was when an artillery driver was dragged over
the plain by his horses. A shell burst close to the team, and this man
somehow got the reins twisted about his neck, and he was dragged for
about a mile before he was released."
"Much hurt?" said Dickenson.
"Yes," said the doctor, with a short nod of the head. "He was very much
hurt indeed."
"And I was not, doctor?" said Lennox, smiling.
"Oh no, not in the least," said the doctor sarcastically. "You only
wanted your face washed and you'd have been all right in a few hours, no
doubt. I've done nothing for you. The old story. Why, let me tell
you, sir, when you were brought in I began to wonder whether I was going
to pull you round."
"As you have, doctor, and I am most grateful."
Lennox held out both hands as he spoke, his right being still swollen
and painful; and this time the doctor took them non-professionally, to
hold them for a few moments.
"Of course you are, my dear boy, and I'm heartily glad to see you
getting on so well; but, upon my word, I do sometimes feel ready to
abuse some of our rough ones. I save their lives, and they take it all
as a matter of course--give one not the slightest credit. But there,
from sheer ignorance of course. You're getting right fast, and I'll
tell you why: it's because you're in a fine, vigorous state of health.
You fellows have no chance of over-indulging yourselves in eating and
drinking."
"Not a bit, doctor," said Dickenson, making a wry face.
"Oh yes, I know," said the doctor. "You have to go through a good many
privations, but you're none the worse. Primeval man used to have hard
work to live; civilised man is pampered and spoiled with luxuries."
"Especially civilised man engaged in the South African campaign against
the Boers," said Dickenson, while his comrade's eyes lit up with mirth.
"Sneer away, my fine fellow; but though it's precious unpleasant,
fasting does no man any harm. Now, look here, sir; if we were in
barracks at home you fellows would be indulging in mess dinners and
wines and cigars, and sodas and brandies, and some of you in liqueurs,
and you wouldn't be half so well, not in half such good training, as you
are now."
"The doctor hates a good cigar, Drew, and loathes wine," said Dickenson
sarcastically.
"No, he doesn't, boys; the doctor's as weak as most men are when they
have plenty of good things before them. But my theory's right. Now,
look at the men. Poor fellows! they've had a hard time of it; but look
at them when they are wounded. I tell you, sir, that I open my eyes
widely and stare at the cures I make of awful wounds. I might think it
was all due to my professional experience, but I'm not such an idiot.
It's all due to the healthy state the men are in, and the glorious
climate."
"And what about the fever, doctor?" said Lennox.
"Ah, that's another thing, my dear boy. When the poor fellows are shut
up in a horribly crowded, unhealthy camp, and are forced to drink water
that is nothing less than poisonous, they go down fast. So they would
anywhere. But see how we've got on here--the camp kept clean, and an
abundant supply of delicious water bubbling out of that kopje. Then--
Bless my heart! I forbade talking, and here I am giving you fellows a
lecture on hygiene.--Come along with me, Dickenson.--You, Lennox, go to
sleep if you can. No more talking to-day."
The doctor literally drove Dickenson before him, and hooked him by the
arm as soon as they were outside.
"I'm very glad we settled for that idea of mine to be private,
Dickenson, my dear boy. But it did look horribly like it."
"Perhaps," said the young man. "But you give it up now?"
"Certainly," said the doctor.
"And you give up the idea too about his running away?"
"Of course."
"Then the sooner you give Roby something that will bring him to his
senses the better."
"I wish I could; but the poor fellow seems to have got it stamped into
his brain."
"Yes; and the worst of it is he doesn't talk like a man touched in the
head."
"No, he does not; though he is, without doubt."
"Can't you talk quietly to the chief? There's he and the major and
Edwards take it all as a matter of course. They don't give poor old
Drew the credit for all that he has done since we were here, but believe
all the evil. It's abominable."
"_Esprit de corps_, Dickenson, my lad."
"Yes, that's all right enough; but they turn silent and cold as soon as
the poor fellow's name is mentioned; while that isn't the worst of it."
"What is, then?" said the doctor.
"The men sing the tune their officers have pitched, and that miserable
sneak, Corporal May, sings chorus. Oh! it's bad, sir; bad. Fancy:
there was the poor fellow knocked over when trying to save his captain's
life, and the man he helped to save turns upon him like this."
"Yes, it is bad," said the doctor; "but, like many more bad things, it
dies out."
"What! the credit of being a coward, doctor? No; it grows. _Ur-r-r_!"
growled the speaker. "I should like to ram all that Corporal May has
said down his throat. He'd find it nastier physic than any you ever
gave him, doctor. I say, I'm not a vindictive fellow, but when I keep
hearing these things about a man I like, it makes me boil. Do you think
there's any chance of the corporal getting worse?"
"No," said the doctor sternly; "he hasn't much the matter with him, only
a few bruises. But if he did die it would be worse still for poor
Lennox."
"No! How?"
"Because he'd leave the poison behind him. There, I'll do all I can
with the colonel; but all the officers believe Roby, and that Lennox was
seized with a fit of panic. There's only one way for him to clear it
away."
"Exchange? How can he?"
"Exchange? Nonsense! Get strong, return to his company, and show every
one that he is not the coward they think."
"There's something in that, certainly," said Dickenson sadly; "but he'll
want opportunities. Suppose he had the chance to save the major's life;
how do we know that he too wouldn't set it about that Lennox was more
cowardly still? Saving lives doesn't seem to pay."
"Nonsense, my lad! You're speaking bitterly now."
"Enough to make me, sir. It isn't only Roby; Lennox saved Corporal May
as well."
"Never mind that. You tell Lennox to try again. Third time, they say,
never fails."
"Humph!" said Dickenson. "Well, we shall see."
"Yes," said the doctor; "we shall see."