It was a strange country to struggle through, for roads hardly had any
existence. The rivers were the highways, and upon the banks the
villages or campongs of the Malays were invariably placed. There were a
few narrow tracks, such as the one the retreating party hurried along,
but all else was dense jungle, the untrodden home of wild beasts. So
dense was it that there was fortunately nothing to fear from attack on
either side. It must come from the front, or else from the rear.
Neither friend nor foe could penetrate many yards through the wall of
verdure that shut them in to right and left. To have tried to flank
them without literally breaking a way through the canes and interlacing
plants was impossible.
On being asked how long it would take to march to the river and strike
it high up, the Malay replied, three days of hard walking; and the
hearts of his hearers sank as they thought of their position, with
scarcely any provender, no covering against the night dews or heavy
rains, and only the earth for their resting-place, while a virulent
enemy was always on their track, striving hard to cut off all they
could.
There was no other course open, however, but to face it, for it would
have been madness to have tried to fight their way through the hostile
country; and every one bent manfully to the task.
As they struggled on through the steamy bush the rear-guard was changed
again and again, a fresh party of defenders taking up the task of
keeping the pursuers at bay, and to each man in turn was the warning
given that no shot must be fired unless it could be made to tell;
consequently the fire was less fierce, but, as the Malays found to their
cost, more fatal.
The end of the third day was approaching, and the progress of the party
had grown slower and slower, for their guide's strength had failed. The
poor fellow had fought on bravely in spite of his wounds, insisting that
he was well enough to walk, when all the time he was suffering intense
agony; and this was not to be without its result.
During the day the Malays had attacked far more fiercely than usual, and
though always repulsed, it had not been without loss. Several men had
fallen, while others were wounded, increasing terribly the difficulties
of the case, for the injured men had to be carried by those who found
that their task of fighting their way through the jungle in the midst of
the dense heat was already as much as they could bear.
Still no one murmured. The pleasure-trip had turned out to be one of
terrible misery, but each man, soldier or sailor, had a cheery word for
his neighbour; and whenever an unfortunate received a spear or bullet
wound, the doctor was on the spot directly, tending him; while a couple
of his comrades deftly cut a few canes and bound them together, making a
light litter, upon which the wounded man was placed, and carried on the
shoulders of four men.
The wounded made a terrible demand upon the sound; and now, to add to
their trouble, men began to fall out of the ranks stricken down by
disease.
It was no more than the doctor anticipated; but it was terrible work.
Captain Horton was one of the first--after fighting bravely in the
rear--to go to the doctor and complain of his head.
"I can't get on, doctor," he said. "The giddiness is dreadful, and the
pain worse. Give me something to ease it all."
The doctor said he would, and prescribed what he could from the little
case he had with him, but he knew what was coming. Captain Horton had
taken the jungle fever, and in an hour he was strapped down upon a
litter, raving with delirium.
Then another, and another, went down, the officers falling one after
another, till Major Sandars was left alone with the doctor, who had to
divide his time between attending to his many patients and handling a
rifle to help in their defence.
The consequence was that on the third night, instead of being near the
river, they were halted in the dense jungle, with their outposts on the
alert, and the rest throwing themselves beside the sick and wounded, too
much exhausted even to care for food.
Major Sandars and the doctor stood talking together beneath the shade of
a silk-cotton tree, whose leaves seemed to keep off a portion of the
heavy falling dew, and the former was waiting for an answer from his
companion, who, however, did not speak.
"Come, say something, doctor," exclaimed the major; "what do you think
of affairs?"
"What can I say?" replied the doctor, sadly; "we can go no farther."
"But we must," exclaimed the major, impatiently. "The river must be
reached, and a message sent down to the steamer."
"There is only one way," replied Doctor Bolter.
"How is that?"
"Leave the sick and wounded behind, and push on. The poor fellows can
carry them no farther."
"Then we'll stop where we are," said the major, sharply, "for I won't
leave a man behind."
"Of course you will not. I knew you would say so. Then all I can
recommend is that we stay as we are for a few days, and try and
recruit."
"With bad water, and hardly any provisions," said the major. "Ah,
Bolter, this is a terribly bad business."
"Yes," said the doctor, holding out his hand, which was eagerly grasped,
"it is a terrible business. But you know what the foreigners say of us,
Sandars?"
"No: what do you mean?"
"That the English never know when they are beaten. We don't know when
we are beaten, and our lads are like us. God bless them, poor fellows,
for they are as patient as can be!"
"What do you advise, then?" said the major. "It is your duty to
advise."
"I did advise," said the doctor, laughing. "I proposed lopping off the
bad limb of our little party, so as to leave the rest free to hobble
on."
"And suppose I had consented to it," said the major; "made the sick and
wounded as comfortable as we could, and pushed on with the rest, what
would you do?"
"Do?" said Doctor Bolter; "I don't understand you."
"I mean, of course you would have to come with us; for the Malays would
butcher the poor fellows as soon as they came up."
"Come with you, major? Are you mad? Why, who would tend the poor boys,
and see to their bandages? No, my dear Sandars. Your place is with the
sound, mine is with the unsound. Go on with your lot--poor fellows--and
see if you can reach the river. You might perhaps send help in time to
save us. If you didn't, why, I should have made them comfortable to the
end, and done my duty."
"My dear doctor," said Major Sandars, holding out his hand.
"My dear major," said the doctor. "Good-bye, then; and God bless you!"
"What!" cried the major. "And did you think I was going?"
"Of course!"
"More shame for you, then, for thinking me such a cur. Leave you and
these poor fellows here in the midst of the jungle, to be murdered by
those cowardly pirates? Not I. Why, the men would mutiny if I proposed
such a thing. No; we'll wait a few hours, and then get on a few miles
and rest again, the best way we can."
"But you will only get the poor fellows killed if you stay," said the
doctor.
"Well, hadn't we all better be killed like men doing our duty, than go
off and live like cowards and curs?"
"Of course you had," said the doctor, speaking huskily. "But I felt
that it was my duty to leave you free."
"Doctor," said the major, laying his hand upon the other's shoulder,
"there's nothing like trouble for making a man know what a deal of good
there is in human nature. You're a good fellow, doctor. Hang it, man,
you've made me feel as soft as a girl!"
He turned away his face, that staunch, brave soldier, for a few moments,
and then the weakness was past, and he turned sharply round to the
doctor.
"Now," he said, "you shall see what stuff our soldiers and sailors are
made of. Come here."
He led the doctor back to the rear, where the guard, sun-blackened,
haggard fellows, with their clothes hanging in rags from the thorns,
were on the watch, and this being out of earshot of the sick and
wounded, who were all ranged side by side beneath a couple of shady
spreading trees, he gave the order for the men to fall in, when, with
the precision that they would have shown upon a parade ground, the
soldiers fell in, making one line; the sailors another in the rear.
"Face inwards!" cried the major, and he turned first to the sailors.
"My lads," he said, "your officers being all down, the duty of
commanding you has fallen upon me, and I thank you for the ready way in
which you have obeyed my orders. You have been as willing and as trusty
as my own boys here, and that is saying a great deal."
There was a little shuffling of feet at this, and the men looked
uncomfortable.
"I am sorry to say," continued the major, "that matters have come to
such a grievous pass with us, that I have to make a statement, to which
I want to hear your reply. I have no occasion to speak to you, for I
know that you will to a man obey my orders to the last; but I want to
hear what you will say."