"Bad enough, poor fellow; but I think I can pull them both round.
Nothing vital, you see, touched, and these Mauser bullets make
wonderfully clean wounds!"
"And the other?"
"Bad flesh-wounds--great loss of blood. I just got at that artery in
time."
West heard these words spoken by someone whose head kept getting in his
way as he lay staring up at the great bright stars directly overhead,
and it seemed very tiresome.
He tried to speak and ask whoever it was to move aside; but his tongue
would not stir, and he lay perfectly still, trying to think what it all
meant, and in a dull far-off sort of way it gradually dawned upon him
that the people near him were talking about the Boers he had somehow or
another and for some reason shot down.
Then, as he thought, the calm feeling he was enjoying grew troubled, and
he began to recall the fact that he had been shooting somebody's ponies
to supply somebody else with food, and that he must have been mad, for
he felt convinced that they would not be nice eating, as he had heard
that the fat was oily and the flesh tasted sweet. Besides which, it
would be horrible to have to eat horseflesh at a time when his throat
was dry with an agonising thirst. Then the terrible thought forced
itself upon him that while shooting down ponies he had missed them and
killed men instead, and once more all was blank.
The next time the power of thinking came to the poor fellow all was very
dark, and a jarring pain kept running through him, caused by the motion
of his hard bed, which had somehow grown wheels and was being dragged
along.
Cattle were lowing and sheep bleating. There were shouts, too, such as
he knew were uttered by Kaffir drivers, and there were the crackings of
their great whips.
After a while he made out the trampling of horses and heard men talking,
while in an eager confused way he listened for what they would say about
those two wounded Boers, one of whom had nearly bled to death before
that artery was stopped. These, he felt, must be the Boers he shot when
he ought to have shot ponies.
And as he got to that point the trouble of thinking worried his brain so
that he could think no more, and again all was blank.
At last came a morning when West woke up in a great room which seemed to
be familiar. There were nurses moving about in their clean
white-bordered dresses, and he knew that he was in some place fitted up
as a hospital. Several of the occupants of the beds wore bandages
suggestive of bad wounds, and to help his thoughts there came from time
to time the dull heavy reports of cannon.
He did not recollect all that had preceded his coming yet; but he
grasped the fact that he had been wounded and was now in hospital.
He lay for a few minutes with his brain growing clearer and clearer, and
at last, seeing one of the nurses looking in his direction, he tried to
raise one hand, but could not. The other proved more manageable, and in
obedience to a sign the nurse came, laid a hand upon his forehead, and
smiled down in his face.
"Your head's cooler!" she said. "You're better?"
"Yes," he replied: "have I been very bad?"
"Terribly! We thought once that you would not recover."
"And Ingleborough?"
"Ingleborough? Oh, you mean your companion who was brought in with
you?"
West nodded: he could not speak.
"Well, I think he will get better now!"
"But his wound: is it so bad?"
"He nearly bled to death; but you must not talk much yet."
"Only a little!" said West eagerly. "Pray tell me, he will get better?"
"Oh yes: there's no doubt about it, I believe."
"Oh, thank goodness!" cried West fervently. "But what place is this?"
"This? Why, Kimberley, of course!"
"Ah!" cried West excitedly, and his hand went to his breast. "My
jacket!"
"Your jacket?" said the nurse. "Oh, that was all cut and torn, and
soaked with blood. I think it has been burnt."
"What!" cried West. "Oh, don't say that!"
"Hush, hush! What is this?" said a deep, stern voice. "Patient
delirious, nurse?"
A quiet, grave-looking face was bent over West's pillow, and the poor
fellow jumped at the idea that this must be the surgeon.
"No, sir; no, sir!" he whispered excitedly, catching at the new-comer's
arm. "I am better: it is only that I am in trouble about my clothes."
"Clothes, eh?" said the doctor, smiling. "Oh, you will not want clothes
for two or three weeks yet."
"Not to dress, sir," whispered West excitedly; "but I must have my
jacket. It is important!"
"Why?" said the surgeon, laying his hand upon the young man's brow
soothingly.
"I was bringing on a despatch from Mafeking when I was shot down, sir,"
whispered West excitedly.
"It was sewn up for safety in the breast."
"Indeed?" said the doctor, laying his fingers on the lad's pulse and
looking keenly in his eyes.
"Yes, sir, indeed!" said West eagerly. "I know what I am saying, sir."
"Yes, you are cool now; but I'm afraid the jacket will have been burned
with other garments of the kind. Of course, the contents of the pockets
will have been preserved."
"Oh, they are nothing, sir," cried West piteously. "It is a letter sewn
up in the breast that I want. It is so important!"
"Well, I'll see!" said the doctor gravely, and, signing to the nurse who
had been in attendance, he left the ward, with West in a state of
feverish anxiety.
At last, to West's intense satisfaction, the horribly blood-stained
garment was brought in, and his hand went out trembling to catch it by
the breast, fully expecting to find the missive gone.
"Yes," he cried wildly, "it is here!"
"Hah!" cried the doctor, and, taking out his knife, he prepared to slit
it up, but West checked him.
"No," he panted: "the Commandant. Send for him here!"
"My good lad, he is so busy, he would not come! Let me cut out the
message and send it to him."
"No," said West firmly; "I will not part from it till he comes."
"But really--"
"Tell him a wounded messenger from Mafeking has a letter for him, and he
will come."
West was right: the magic word Mafeking brought the Commandant to his
bedside; and as soon as he came up he stopped short and made what little
blood poor West had left flush to his face, for he cried:
"Hullo! Why, it is our illicit-diamond-dealer! I thought we were never
to see you again!"
"It is not true!" cried West. "The man who denounced me lied!"
"Then you have been to Mafeking?"
"Yes, sir: Mr Ingleborough and I."
"And brought back a despatch?"
"Yes, sir: here it is!"
"Where?" said the Commandant, glancing down at the stained tunic on the
bed.
"Open it now, sir," said West to the doctor, who took out his knife
again, slit the cloth, and drew out the big letter, terribly soaked with
its bearer's blood.
"Bravo! Brave messenger!" cried the Commandant, grasping West's hand
before tearing open the packet and finding enough of the despatch
unstained to allow him to decipher the principal part of the text.
"Hah!" he cried, when he had finished, "on the whole good news; but," he
continued, glancing at the date, "you have been a long time coming."
"Have I, sir? We lost no time!"
"The poor fellow has been lying here for a fortnight, sir," said the
surgeon.
"A fortnight ago? Why, that was the day when the reconnoitring party
returned with the captured sheep and cattle. Yes, I remember now: they
had a brush with the Boers up the river. Of course, yes: they were
attracted by the firing, and saved two young Englishmen. You are one of
them?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well done, then! Our raiding party did good work, though they did have
a desperate fight afterwards to get through the Boer lines. Getting
better?"
"Yes, sir," said West, with a sigh of relief: "now that I have got my
despatch safely into your hands!"
"But what about your bad character?"
"It was a false accusation, sir!" cried West indignantly. "The man who
denounced me was the criminal himself."
"Well, you have done your duty so truly that I believe you in preference
to him."
"But I shall be able to fully clear myself, sir, soon, for this man is a
prisoner now with the cavalry brigade. Has that come into the town yet,
sir, with the prisoners, guns, and the convoy they captured?"
"Hah!" cried the Commandant: "this is news indeed! Has the brigade
captured all you say?"
"Yes, sir," said West, and he told all that had taken place up to the
time of he and Ingleborough being cut off and chased by the Boers.
"We knew nothing of this!" said the Commandant. "We are prisoners
ourselves; but your news gives us hope of a speedy release, for the
General is not one to let the grass grow under his feet."
"He is not, sir!" said West. "Then you shall bring me and the man who
accused me face to face."
"The sooner the better, my lad!" said the Commandant warmly. "How soon
will he be up, doctor?"
"Within a fortnight, I hope, sir!" was the reply.
"Then goodbye for the present, my lad!" said the Commandant. "Your
long-delayed despatch will send a thrill of hope through all here in
Kimberley, for it breathes nothing but determination to hold the Boers
at bay."
"May I say one word more, sir?" said West excitedly.
"What do you think, doctor?"
"He has said enough, sir, and if he talks much more we shall have the
fever back. Well, perhaps he'll fret if he does not get something off
his mind."
"What is it, then?" said the Commandant.
"I had a brave comrade to ride with the despatch, sir."
"To be sure, yes, I remember. What about him? Not killed, I hope?"
"No, sir, but badly wounded, and lying somewhere here."
"Poor fellow! I must see him. There must be promotion for you both."
"If you would see him, sir, and speak to him as you have spoken to me,"
said West, with the weak tears rising to his eyes.
"Of course, yes! There, shake hands, my lad: you have done splendidly!
Don't worry about the diamond charge! I can feel that it was a
contemptible lie! Now, doctor, take me to your other patient."
"Ha!" sighed West, nestling back on his pillow with a calm look of
content in his eyes, which closed directly after for a sleep that lasted
ten hours at the least.