But the morning brought not only the horizontal rays of the great sun
which lit up the hut with its sad tale of death and suffering, but
likewise a renewal of the fight of the previous day, and this time the
tide of battle swept much nearer to the encampment of the wounded.
Punch started out of a state of dreamy calm, and wondered why the noise
he heard had not roused up his sleeping comrade, for from apparently
quite near at hand came the boom of artillery, a sound which for the
moment drowned all others, even the hoarse, harshly uttered words of
command, as large bodies of men swung past the doorway of the hut, and
the fitful bugle-calls which a minute before had fallen on his ear.
"Ah," he muttered, "it's a big fight going on out there. I wonder if
those are our guns;" and once more the air was rent by the dull, angry
roar of artillery. "Pen! Pen! Oh, I can't let him sleep! Why doesn't
he wake up? Here, I say, comrade!"
"Eh, what is it?" And Pen opened his eyes, to gaze wonderingly at
Punch's excited face.
"Don't you hear?"
"Hear? Yes, yes," And the dreamy look vanished from the other's eyes.
The two lads waited, listening, and then Punch put his lips close to
Pen's ear.
"I am sure we are winning," he said. "Hear that?"
"How can I help hearing it?"
"Well, it's English guns, I know."
"Think so?"
"Yes, and they will be here soon."
Pen shook his head.
"Afraid not," he said; "and--Ah, all right.--Punch, lad, I'm wanted."
For just then a man came hurriedly into the hut and made him a sign.
"What does he want?" grumbled Punch.
"It's the surgeon," said Pen, and he hurried away.
For some hours--long, hot, weary hours--Punch saw little of his
fellow-prisoner, the morning wearing on and the atmosphere of the hovel
becoming unbearably close, while all the time outside in the brilliant
sunshine, evidently just on the other side of a stretch of purple hilly
land, a battle was in progress, the rattle of musketry breaking into the
heavy volume of sound made by the field-guns, while every now and again
on the sun-baked, dusty stretch which lay beyond the doorway, where the
shadows were dark, a mounted man galloped past.
"Wish my comrade would come back," he muttered; and it was long ere his
wish was fulfilled. But the time came at last, and Pen was standing
there before him, holding in his hands a tin drinking-cup and a piece of
bread.
"Take hold," he said hoarsely, looking away.
"Where you been?" said Punch.
"Working in the ambulance. I--I--" And Pen staggered, and sat down
suddenly on the ground.
"What's the matter? Not hit?"
"No, no."
"Had anything yourself?"
"Bother!" said Pen. "Make haste. Toss off that water. I want the
cup."
"Had anything yourself?" repeated Punch firmly.
"Well, no."
"Then I sha'n't touch a drop until you have half and take some of that
bread."
"But--"
"It's no good, Pen. I sha'n't and I won't--so there!"
Pen hesitated.
"Very well," he said; "half." And he drank some of the water. "It's
very good--makes one feel better," and he ate a morsel or two of bread.
"I had a job to get it."
"What did that fellow want?" asked Punch as he attacked his share.
"Me to help with the wounded," said Pen huskily. "So you thought me
long?"
"Course I did. But the wounded--are there many?"
"Heaps," said Pen. "But don't talk so loudly."
"Poor chaps," said Punch, "they can't hear what we say. How are things
going? There, they are at it again."
"I think the French are giving ground," said Pen in a whisper.
"Hooray!"
"Hush!"
"What, mayn't I say hooray?"
"No, you mayn't. I have picked up a little since I went away. I fancy
our men have been coming on to try and take this village, but I couldn't
make out much for the smoke; and, besides, I have been with that surgeon
nearly all the time."
"Yes," said Punch. "Well, will they do it?"
Pen shook his head.
"Don't think so," he said. "They have tried it twice. I heard what was
being done. Our people were driven back, and--"
He said no more, but turned to the door; and Punch strained his eyes in
the same direction, as from away to the right, beyond a group of
cottages, came a bugle-call, shrill, piercing, then again and again,
while Punch started upright with a cry, catching Pen's arm.
"I say, hear that? That's our charge. Don't you hear? They are coming
on again!"
The effort Punch had made caused a pain so intense that he fell back
with a groan.
"You can leave me, Pen, old chap," he said.
"Don't mind me; don't look. But--but it's the English charge. Go to
them. They are coming--they are, I tell you. Don't look like that,
and--and--There, listen!"
The two lads were not the only ones in that hut to listen then and to
note that the conflict was drawing nearer and nearer.
Punch, indeed, was right, and a short time after Pen crouched down
closer to his companion, for now, quite close at hand, came volley after
volley, the _zip, zip_ of the ricochetting bullets seeming to clear the
way for the charge.
Then more volleys.
The dust was ploughed up, and Punch started as a bullet came with a soft
_plug_ in the hut-wall, and Pen's heart felt ready to stop beating as
there was a hoarse command outside, and half-a-dozen French infantry
dashed into the building, to fill the doorway, two lying down and their
comrades kneeling and standing.
"Don't speak," whispered Pen, for the boy had wrenched himself round and
was gazing intently at the backs of the soldiers. "Don't speak."
Silence, before a grim happening. Then a roar from outside, exultant
and fierce, and in the wide-open space beyond the hut-door the two lads
saw a large body of the enemy in retreat before the serried ranks of
British infantry who came on at the double, their bayonets flashing in
the sun's rays, and cheering as they swept onward.
The muskets in the doorway flashed, and the hut was filled with smoke.
"Pen, I must whisper it--Hooroar!"
There was a long interval then, with distant shouting and scattered
firing, and it was long ere the cloud of smoke was dissipated
sufficiently for the two lads to make out that now the doorway was
untenanted except by a French chasseur who lay athwart the threshold on
his back, his hand still clutching at the sling of his piece.
"Think we have won?" whispered Punch, looking away.
"Don't know," muttered Pen; but the knowledge that was wanted came soon
enough, for an hour later it became evident that the gallant attempt of
the British commander to take the village had been foiled.
The British cheer they had heard still echoed in their ears, but it was
not repeated, and it was speedily apparent that the fight had swept away
to their left; and from scraps of information dropped by the members of
the bearer-party who brought more wounded into the already crowded hut,
and took away the silent figure lying prone in the entrance, Pen made
out that the French had made a stand and had finally succeeded in
driving back their foes.
In obedience to an order from the grim-featured surgeon, he left Punch's
side again soon after, and it was dark ere he returned, to find the boy
fast asleep. He sank down and listened, feeling now but little fatigue,
starting up, however, once more, every sense on the alert, as there came
a series of sharp commands at the hut-door, and he realised that he must
have dropped off, for it was late in the evening, and outside the soft
moonlight was making the scene look weird and strange.