I
"Now then, you fellows, step out there! Step out like the men you are!
Left--right! Left--right! That's the way! Holy Jupiter! Call those chaps
savages! They're gentlemen, every jack one of 'em. That's it, my
hearties! Salute the old flag! By Jove, Monty, a British squad couldn't
have done it better!"
The speaker pushed back his helmet to wipe his forehead. He was very
much in earnest. The African sun blazing down on his bronzed face
revealed that. The blue eyes glittered out of the lean, tanned
countenance. They were full of resolution, indomitable resolution, and
good British pluck.
As the little company of black men swung by, with the rhythmic pad of
their bare feet, he suddenly snatched out his sword and waved it high in
the smiting sunlight.
"Halt!" he cried.
They stood as one man, all gleaming eyes and gleaming teeth. They were
all a good head taller than the Englishman who commanded them, but they
looked upon him with reverence, as a being half divine.
"Now, cheer, you beggars, cheer!" he cried. "Three cheers for the King!
Hip, hip--"
"Hooray!" came in hoarse chorus from the assembled troop. It sounded
like a war cry.
"Hip, hip--" yelled the Englishman again.
And again "Hooray!" came the answering yell.
"Hip, hip--" for the third time from the man with the sword.
And for the third time, "Hooray!" from the deep-chested troopers halted
in the blazing sunshine.
The British officer turned about with an odd smile quivering at the
corners of his mouth. There was an almost maternal tenderness about it.
He sheathed his sword.
"You beauties!" he murmured softly. "You beauties!" Then aloud, "Very
good, sergeant! Dismiss them! Come along, Monty! Let's go and have a
drink."
He linked his arm in that of the silent onlooker, and drew him into the
little hut of rough-hewn timber which was dignified by the name, printed
in white letters over the door, of "Officers' Quarters."
"What do you think of them?" he demanded, as they entered. "Aren't they
soldiers? Aren't they men?"
"I think, Duncannon," the other answered slowly, "that you have worked
wonders."
"Ah, you'll tell the Chief so? Won't he be astounded? He swore I should
never do it; declared they'd knife me if I tried to hammer any
discipline into them. Much he knows about it! Good old Chief!"
He laughed boyishly, and again wiped his hot face.
"On my soul, Monty, it's been no picnic," he declared. "But I'd have
sacrificed five years' pay, and my step as well, gladly--gladly--sooner
than have missed it. Here you are, old boy! Drink! Drink to the latest
auxiliary force in the British Empire! Damn' thirsty climate, this."
He tossed his helmet aside, and sat down on the edge of the table--a
lithe, spare figure, brimming with active strength.
"I've literally coaxed those chaps into shape," he declared. "Oh, yes,
I've bullied 'em too--cursed 'em right and left; but they never turned a
hair--knew it was all for their good, and took it lying down. I've
taught 'em to wash too, you know. That was the hardest job of all. I
knocked one great brute all round the parade-ground one day, just to
show I was in earnest. He went off afterwards, and blubbed like a baby.
But in the evening I found him squatting outside, quite naked, and as
clean as a whistle. To quote the newspapers, I was profoundly touched.
But I didn't show it, you bet. I whacked him on the shoulder, and told
him to be a man."
He broke off to laugh at the reminiscence; and Montague Herne gravely
set down his glass, and turned his chair with its back to the sunlight.
"Do you know you've been here eighteen months?" he said.
Duncannon nodded.
"I feel as if I'd been born here. Why?"
"Most fellows," proceeded Herne, ignoring the question, "would have been
clamouring for leave long ago. Why, you have scarcely heard your own
language all this time."
"I have though," said Duncannon quickly. "That's another thing I've
taught 'em. They picked it up wonderfully quickly. There isn't one of
'em who doesn't know a few sentences now."
"You seem to have found your vocation in teaching these heathen to sit
up and beg," observed Herne, with a dry smile.
Duncannon turned dusky red under his tan.
"Perhaps I have," he said, with a certain, doggedness.
Herne, with his back to the light, was watching him.
"Well," he said finally, "we've served our turn. The battalion is going
Home!"
Duncannon gave a great start.
"Already?"
"After two years' service," the other reminded him grimly.
Duncannon fell silent, considering, the matter with bent brows.
"Who succeeds us?" he asked at length.
Herne shrugged his shoulders.
"You don't know?" There was sudden, sharp anxiety in Duncannon's voice.
He got off the table with a jerk. "You must know," he said.
Herne sat motionless, but he no longer looked the other in the face.
"You've taught 'em to fight," he said slowly. "They are men enough to
look after themselves now."
"What?" Duncannon flung the word with violence. He took a single stride
forward, standing over Herne in an attitude that was almost menacing.
His hands were clenched. "What?" he said again.
Herne leaned back, and felt for his cigarette-case.
"Take it easy, old chap!" he said. "It was bound to come, you know. It
was never meant to be more than a temporary occupation among these
friendlies. They have been useful to us, I admit. But we can't fight
their battles for them for ever. It's time for them to stand on their
own legs. Have a smoke!"
Duncannon ignored the invitation. He turned pale to the lips. For a
space of seconds he said nothing whatever. Then at length, slowly, in a
voice that was curiously even, "Yes, I've taught 'em to fight," he said.
"And now I'm to leave 'em to be massacred, am I?"
Herne shrugged his shoulders again, not because he was actually
indifferent, but because, under the circumstances, it was the easiest
answer to make.
Duncannon went on in the same dead-level tone:
"Yes, they've been useful to us, these friendlies. They've made common
cause with us against those infernal Wandis. They might have stayed
neutral, or they might have whipped us off the ground. But they didn't.
They brought us supplies, and they brought us mules, and they helped us
along generally, and hauled us out of tight corners. They've given us
all we asked for, and more to it. And now they are going to pay the
penalty, to reap our gratitude. They're going to be left to themselves
to fight our enemies--the fellows we couldn't beat--single-handed,
without experience, without a leader, and only half trained. They are
going to be left as a human sacrifice to pay our debts."
He paused, standing erect and tense, staring out into the blinding
sunlight. Then suddenly, like the swift kindling of a flame, his
attitude changed. He flung up his hands with a wild gesture.
"No, I'm damned!" he cried violently. "I'm damned if they shall! They
are my men--the men I made. I've taught 'em every blessed thing they
know. I've taught 'em to reverence the old flag, and I'm damned if I'll
see them betrayed! You can go back to the Chief, and tell him so! Tell
him they're British subjects, staunch to the backbone! Why, they can
even sing the first verse of the National Anthem! You'll hear them at
it to-night before they turn in. They always do. It's a sort of evening
hymn to them. Oh, Monty, Monty, what cursed trick will our fellows think
of next, I wonder? Are we men, or are we reptiles, we English? And we
boast--we boast of our national honour!"
He broke off, breathing short and hard, as a man desperately near to
collapse, and leaned his head on his arm against the rough wall as if in
shame.
Herne glanced at him once or twice before replying.
"You see," he said at length, speaking somewhat laboriously, "what we've
got to do is to obey orders. We were sent out here not to think but to
do. We're on Government service. They are responsible for the thinking
part. We have to carry it out, that's all. They have decided to evacuate
this district, and withdraw to the coast. So"--again he shrugged his
shoulders--"there's no more to be said. We must go."
He paused, and glanced again at the slight, khaki-clad figure that
leaned against the wall.
After a moment, meeting with no response, he resumed.
"There's no sense in taking it hard, since there is no help for it. You
always knew that it was an absolutely temporary business. Of course, if
we could have smashed the Wandis, these chaps would have had a better
look-out. But--well, we haven't smashed them."
"We hadn't enough men!" came fiercely from Duncannon.
"True! We couldn't afford to do things on a large scale. Moreover, it's
a beastly country, as even you must admit. And it isn't worth a big
struggle. Besides, we can't occupy half the world to prevent the other
half playing the deuce with it. Come, Bobby, don't be a fool, for
Heaven's sake! You've been treated as a god too long, and it's turned
your head. Don't you want to get Home? What about your people? What
about----"
Duncannon turned sharply. His face was drawn and grey.
"I'm not thinking of them," he said, in a choked voice. "You don't know
what this means to me. You couldn't know, and I can't explain. But my
mind is made up on one point. Whoever goes--I stay!"
He spoke deliberately, though his breathing was still quick and uneven.
His eyes were sternly steadfast.
Herne stared at him in amazement.
"My good fellow," he said, "you are talking like a lunatic! I think you
must have got a touch of sun."
A faint smile flickered over Duncannon's set face.
"No, it isn't that," he said. "It's a touch of something else--something
you wouldn't understand."
"But--heavens above!--you have no choice!" Herne exclaimed, rising
abruptly. "You can't say you'll do this or that. So long as you wear a
sword, you have to obey orders."
"That's soon remedied," said Duncannon, between his teeth.
With a sudden, passionate movement he jerked the weapon from its sheath,
held it an instant gleaming between his hands, then stooped and bent it
double across his knee.
It snapped with a sharp click, and instantly he straightened himself,
the shining fragments in his hands, and looked Montague Herne in the
eyes.
"When you go back to the Chief," he said, speaking very steadily, "you
can take him this, and tell him that the British Government can play
what damned dirty trick they please upon their allies. But I will take
no part in it. I shall stick to my friends."
And with that he flung the jingling pieces of steel upon the table, took
up his helmet, and passed out into the fierce glare of the little
parade-ground.