Corporal Connal paid the penalty of his crime before the sun was far
above the hill held by the enemy. There was abundance of circumstantial
evidence against him, besides the direct testimony of Raffles and
myself, and the wretch was shot at last with little ceremony and less
shrift. And that was the one good thing that happened on the day that
broke upon us hiding behind the bushes overlooking the donga; by noon
it was my own turn.
I have avoided speaking of my wound before I need, and from the
preceding pages you would not gather that I am more or less lame for
life. You will soon see now why I was in no hurry to recall the
incident. I used to think of a wound received in one’s country’s
service as the proudest trophy a man could acquire. But the sight of
mine depresses me every morning of my life; it was due for one thing to
my own slow eye for cover, in taking which (to aggravate my case) our
hardy little corps happened to excel.
The bullet went clean through my thigh, drilling the bone, but happily
missing the sciatic nerve; thus the mere pain was less than it might
have been, but of course I went over in a light-brown heap. We were
advancing on our stomachs to take the hill, and thus extend our
position, and it was at this point that the fire became too heavy for
us, so that for hours (in the event) we moved neither forward nor back.
But it was not a minute before Raffles came to me through the whistling
scud, and in another I was on my back behind a shallow rock, with him
kneeling over me and unrolling my bandage in the teeth of that
murderous fire. It was on the knees of the gods, he said, when I begged
him to bend lower, but for the moment I thought his tone as changed as
his face had been earlier in the morning. To oblige me, however, he
took more care; and, when he had done all that one comrade could for
another, he did avail himself of the cover he had found for me. So
there we lay together on the veldt, under blinding sun and withering
fire, and I suppose it is the veldt that I should describe, as it swims
and flickers before wounded eyes. I shut mine to bring it back, but all
that comes is the keen brown face of Raffles, still a shade paler than
its wont; now bending to sight and fire; now peering to see results,
brows raised, eyes widened; anon turning to me with the word to set my
tight lips grinning. He was talking all the time, but for my sake, and
I knew it. Can you wonder that I could not see an inch beyond him? He
was the battle to me then; he is the whole war to me as I look back
now.
“Feel equal to a cigarette? It will buck you up, Bunny. No, that one in
the silver paper, I’ve hoarded it for this. Here’s a light; and so
Bunny takes the Sullivan! All honor to the sporting rabbit!”
“At least I went over like one,” said I, sending the only clouds into
the blue, and chiefly wishing for their longer endurance. I was as hot
as a cinder from my head to one foot; the other leg was ceasing to
belong to me.
“Wait a bit,” says Raffles, puckering; “there’s a gray felt hat at deep
long-on, and I want to add it to the bag for vengeance.... Wait—yes—no,
no luck! I must pitch ’em up a bit more. Hallo! Magazine empty. How
goes the Sullivan, Bunny? Rum to be smoking one on the veldt with a
hole in your leg!”
“It’s doing me good,” I said, and I believe it was. But Raffles lay
looking at me as he lightened his bandolier.
“Do you remember,” he said softly, “the day we first began to think
about the war? I can see the pink, misty river light, and feel the
first bite there was in the air when one stood about; don’t you wish we
had either here! ‘Orful slorter, orful slorter;’ that fellow’s face, I
see it too; and here we have the thing he cried. Can you believe it’s
only six months ago?”
“Yes,” I sighed, enjoying the thought of that afternoon less than he
did; “yes, we were slow to catch fire at first.”
“Too slow,” he said quickly.
“But when we did catch,” I went on, wishing we never had, “we soon
burnt up.”
“And then went out,” laughed Raffles gayly. He was loaded up again.
“Another over at the gray felt hat,” said he; “by Jove, though, I
believe he’s having an over at me!”
“I wish you’d be careful,” I urged. “I heard it too.”
“My dear Bunny, it’s on the knees you wot of. If anything’s down in the
specifications surely that is. Besides—that was nearer!”
“To you?”
“No, to him. Poor devil, he has his specifications too; it’s comforting
to think that.... I can’t see where that one pitched; it may have been
a wide; and it’s very nearly the end of the over again. Feeling worse,
Bunny?”
“No, I’ve only closed my eyes. Go on talking.”
“It was I who let you in for this,” he said, at his bandolier again.
“No, I’m glad I came out.”
And I believe I still was, in a way; for it _was_ rather fine to be
wounded, just then, with the pain growing less; but the sensation was
not to last me many minutes, and I can truthfully say that I have never
felt it since.
“Ah, but you haven’t had such a good time as I have!”
“Perhaps not.”
Had his voice vibrated, or had I imagined it? Pain-waves and loss of
blood were playing tricks with my senses; now they were quite dull, and
my leg alive and throbbing; now I had no leg at all, but more than all
my ordinary senses in every other part of me. And the devil’s orchestra
was playing all the time, and all around me, on every class of fiendish
instrument, which you have been made to hear for yourselves in every
newspaper. Yet all that I heard was Raffles talking.
“I have had a good time, Bunny.”
Yes, his voice was sad; but that was all; the vibration must have been
in me.
“I know you have, old chap,” said I.
“I am grateful to the General for giving me to-day. It may be the last.
Then I can only say it’s been the best—by Jove!”
“What is it?”
And I opened my eyes. His were shining. I can see them now.
“Got him—got the hat! No, I’m hanged if I have; at least he wasn’t in
it. The crafty cuss, he must have stuck it up on purpose. Another over
... scoring’s slow.... I wonder if he’s sportsman enough to take a
hint? His hat-trick’s foolish. Will he show his face if I show mine?”
I lay with closed ears and eyes. My leg had come to life again, and the
rest of me was numb.
“Bunny!”
His voice sounded higher. He must have been sitting upright.
“Well?”
But it was not well with me; that was all I thought as my lips made the
word.
“It’s not only been the best time I ever had, old Bunny, but I’m not
half sure—”
Of what I can but guess; the sentence was not finished, and never could
be in this world.