"HEAR THAT?"
It was still dark, but there were faint suggestions of the coming day
when Pen began to creep in the direction of a black patch which he felt
must be forest.
This promised shelter; but he had first to thread his way amongst the
wounded who lay sleeping around, and his difficulty was to avoid
touching them, for they apparently lay thickest in the direction he had
chosen.
Before he was aware of what he was doing he had laid his inert right
hand upon an outstretched arm, which was drawn back with a sharp wince,
and its owner uttered a groan. Bearing to the left and whispering to
Punch to take care, Pen crept on, to find himself almost in contact with
another sufferer, who said something incoherently; and then a whisper
from Punch checked his companion.
"Come on," said Pen hastily, "or they will give the alarm."
"Not they, poor chaps! They are too bad. That sentry isn't coming, is
he?"
Pen glanced in the man's direction, but he was not visible, for some low
bushes intervened.
"I can't see him," said Pen.
"Then look here, comrade; now's our time. It's all fair in war. Every
man for himself."
"What do you mean? Don't stop to talk, but come on."
"All right; but just this," came back in a whisper. "They can't help
themselves, and won't take any notice whatever we do, unless they think
we are going to kill them. Help yourself, comrade, the same as I do."
Pen hesitated for a moment. Then, as he saw Punch busily taking
possession of musket and cartouche-belt, he followed his example.
"It's for life, perhaps," he thought.
He had no difficulty in furnishing himself with the required arms from a
pile, and that too without any of the wounded seeming to pay the
slightest attention.
"Ready?" whispered Punch. "Got a full box?"
"Yes," was the answer.
"Sling your musket then. Look sharp, for it's getting light fast."
Directly after the two lads were crawling onward painfully upon hands
and knees, for every yard sent a pang through Pen's wrists, and he
thoroughly appreciated his comrade's advice, for there were moments when
he felt that had he been carrying the musket he would certainly have
left it behind.
He did not breathe freely till he had entered the dark patch of
woodland, where it was fairly open, and they had pressed on but a short
distance in the direction of the mountain, which high up began to look
lighter against the sky, when he started violently, for the clear notes
of a bugle rang out from somewhere beyond the spot where the wounded
lay, to be answered away to left and right over and over again, teaching
plainly enough that it was the reveille, and also that they were in
close proximity to a very large body of troops.
"Just in time, comrade," said Punch coolly, as he rose to his feet.
"Take care!" cried Pen. "It isn't safe to stand up yet."
"Think not? Oh, we shall be all right," replied the boy. "Lead on.
Didn't you know? The reveille was going right behind and off to the
left and right; so there's no troops in front, and all we have got to do
is to get on as fast as we can up the mountain yonder. And it's no
good; I must walk. My wristies are so bad that if I try to crawl any
more on my hands they will drop off. Ain't yours bad?"
"Terribly," replied Pen.
"Come on, then; we must risk it. There, right incline. Can't you see?
There's a bit of a track yonder."
"I didn't see it, Punch," said Pen, as they bore off to their right,
where the way was more open, and they increased their pace now to a
steady walk, a glance back showing them that they were apparently well
screened by the low growth of trees which flourished in the bottom
slopes of the mountains that they could now see more clearly rising in
front.
"We've done it, comrade," said Punch cheerily, "and I call this a bit of
luck."
"Don't talk so loudly."
"Oh, it don't matter," replied the boy. "They're making too much noise
themselves to hear us. Hark at them! Listen to the buzz! Why, it's
just as if there's thousands of them down there, just as you thought;
and we've hit on the right way, for those Frenchies wouldn't come
through here unless it was skirmishing with the enemy in front. Their
enemy's all behind, and they'll be thinking about making their way back
to the mine."
"To see if they can't make up for yesterday's reverses. I'm afraid,
Punch, it's all over with the poor King and his followers."
"Yes," said Punch thoughtfully, as he trudged on as close as he could
get to his companion. "It's a bad lookout for them, comrade; but
somehow I seem to think more of Mr Contrabando. I liked him. Good
luck to the poor chap! And when we get a bit farther on we will pitch
upon a snug spot where there's water, and make a bit of breakfast."
"Breakfast! How?" said Pen, smiling; but, wearied out and faint with
his sufferings, it was a very poor exhibition of mirth--a sort of smile
and water, like that of a sun-gleam upon a drizzly day. "Breakfast!" he
said, half-scornfully, "You are always thinking of eating, Punch."
"That I ain't, only at bugle-time, when one blows `soup and tater' for
breakfast or dinner. I say, do you know what the cavalry chaps say the
trumpet call is for stables?"
"No," said Pen quietly; and then to humour his companion he tried to
smile again, as the boy said, "Oh, I know lots of them! This is what
the trumpet says for the morning call:--
"Ye lads that are able
Now come to the stable,
And give all your horses some water and hay-y-y-y!"
And the boy put his half-crippled fist to his lips and softly rang out
the cavalry call.
"Punch!" whispered Pen angrily, "how can you be such a fool?"
"Tchah! Nobody can hear us. I wanted to cheer you up a bit. Well, it
has stirred you up. There: all right, comrade. For'ard! We are safe
enough here. But, I say, what made you jump upon me and tell me I was
always thinking about eating when I said breakfast?"
"Because this is no time to think of eating and drinking."
"Oh my! Ain't it?" chuckled the boy. "Why, when you are on the march
in the enemy's country you ought to be always on the forage, and it's
the time to think of breakfast whenever you get the chance."
"Of course," said Pen.
"Well, ain't we got the chance? We was too busy to think of eating all
yesterday, and while we were lying tied up there like a couple of calves
in a farmer's cart."
"Well, are we much better off now, Punch?"
"Much better--much better off! I should think we are! It was talking
about poor Mr Contrabando that made me think of it. Poor chap! I hope
he will be able to repulse, as you call it, the Frenchies at the next
attack. He is well provisioned; that's one comfort. And didn't he
provision us? My haversack's all right with what I helped myself to at
breakfast yesterday. Ain't yours?"
Pen clapped his hand to his side. "No," he said. "The band was torn
off, and it's gone."
"What a pity! Never mind, comrade. Mine's all right, and regular
bulgy; and, as they say, what's enough for one is enough for two; so
that will be all right. I say, ain't it getting against the collar?"
"Yes, we are on the mountain-slope, Punch."
"Think we are not getting up the same mountain where the old mine is?"
"No, Punch. That must be off more to the right, I think."
"Yes, I suppose so. But of course we ain't sure; and I suppose we are
not going anywhere near the old _padre's_ place?"
"No, Punch; that lies farther away still to the right."
"Yes. But, I say, how you seem to get it into your head where all the
places lie! I can't. It seems to me as if you could make a map."
"No, no. But I suppose if I wandered about here for long enough I
should be able to make out some of the roads and tracks."
"Then I suppose you haven't been here long enough," said the boy
banteringly. "If you had, you would be able to tell where the British
army is, and lead right on to it at once."
"That would be rather a hard job, Punch, when troops are perhaps
changing their quarters every day."
"I say, hear that?" said the boy excitedly, as a distant call rang out.
"Yes, plain enough to hear," replied Pen.
"Then we ought to turn back, oughtn't we?"
"No. Why?"
"Some of the Frenchies in front. That was just before us, half a mile
away."
Pen shook his head, and the boy looked at him wonderingly.
"There! There it is again! Let's get into hiding somewhere, or we
shall be running right into them."
For another clear bugle-note rang out as if in answer to the first.
"That's nothing to mind, Punch," said Pen. "These notes came from
behind, and were echoed from the mountain in front."
"Why, of course! But I can't help it. Father always said that I had
got the thickest head he ever see. I got thinking that we were going to
run right into some French regiment. Then it's all right, and we shall
be able to divide our rations somewhere up yonder where the echoes are
playing that game. I say, what a mistake might be made if some officer
took an echo like that for the real thing!"
"Yes," said Pen thoughtfully; and the two lads stopped and listened to
different repetitions of the calls, which seemed fainter and fainter as
the time went on; and the sun was well up, brightening as lovely a
landscape of mountain, glen, and green slope as ever met human eye.
But it was blurred to Pen by the desolation and wildness of a country
that was being ravaged by invasion and its train of the horrors of war.
As the lads tramped on, seeing no sign of human habitation, not even a
goat-herd's hut on the mountain-slopes, the sun grew hotter and the way
more weary, till all at once Punch pointed to a few goats just visible
where the country was growing more rugged and wild.
"See that, comrade?" he cried.
"Yes, goats," said Pen wearily; and he stopped short, to throw himself
down upon a heathery patch, and removed his cap to wipe his perspiring
forehead.
"No, no; don't sit down. Don't stop yet," cried Punch. "I didn't mean
those old goats. Look away to the left in that hollow. Can't you see
it sparkling?" And the boy pointed to the place where a little rivulet
was trickling down the mountain-side to form a fall, the water making a
bright leap into a fair-sized pool. "Let's get up yonder first and sit
down and see what I have got in my haversack. Then a good drink of
water, and we shall be able to go on, and perhaps find where our fellows
are before night."
"Yes, Punch--or march right into the lines of the French," said Pen
bitterly.
"Oh, well, we must take our chance of that, comrade. One's as likely as
the other. There's the French troops about, and there's our English
lads--the lads in red as well as the boys in green. No, it's no use to
be down in the mouth. We are just as likely to find one as the other.
I wonder how they are getting on up there in the old mine. Shall we be
near enough to hear if there's any fighting going on?"
"Perhaps," said Pen, springing up. "But let's make for that water."
But it was farther off than it had at first appeared, and it was nearly
half an hour after they had startled the browsing goats when the two
weary lads threw themselves down with a sigh of content beside the
mountain pool, which supplied them with delicious draughts of clear cold
water as an accompaniment to the contents of the haversack which Punch's
foresight had provided.
"Ah!" sighed the boy. "'Lishus, wasn't it?"
"Yes, delicious," said Pen.
"Only one thing agin it," said Punch.
"One thing against it," said Pen, looking up, "Why, it could not have
been better."
"Yes," said the boy sadly. "It waren't half enough."
"Hark! Listen!" said Pen, holding up his hand.
"Guns firing!" exclaimed Punch in a whisper. "Think that's in the
little valley that leads up to the old mine?"
"It's impossible to say," replied Pen. "It's firing, sure enough, and a
long way off; but I can't tell whether it's being replied to or whether
we are only listening to the echoes."
"Anyhow," said Punch, "it's marching orders, and I suppose we ought to
get farther away."
"Yes," replied Pen with a sigh. "But how do you feel? Ready to go on
now?"
"No, not a bit. I feel as if I want to take off my coat and bathe my
arms in the water here, for they ache like hooray."
"Do it, then," said Pen wearily, "and I must do the same to my wound as
well; and then, Punch, there's only one thing I can do more."
"What's that, comrade?"
"Get in the shade under that grey-looking old olive, and have a few
hours' sleep."
"Splendour!" said Punch, taking off his coat. "Hark at the firing!"
"Yes," said Pen wearily, as he followed his comrade's example. "They
may fire, but I am so done up that they can't keep me awake."
The water proved to be a delicious balm for the bruised limbs and the
wound--a balm so restful and calming to the nerves that somehow the sun
had long set, and the evening star was shining brilliantly in the soft
grey evening sky when the two sleepers, who had lain utterly unconscious
for hours, started awake together, wondering what it all meant, and then
prepared themselves to face the darkness of the coming night, not
knowing what fate might bring; but Pen felt a strange chill run through
his breast with a shiver as Punch exclaimed in a low, warning whisper,
"I say, comrade, hear that? Wolves?"