"No, no, don't do that," cried my companion in misfortune.
"You were wishing just now that you could make me laugh," I said, by way
of protest.
"Yes, old chap; but I didn't know then what the consequences would be.
It makes you look awful. I say, don't do it again, or I shall grow
horribly low-spirited. You did get knocked about. I say, though, do I
look as bad as you do?"
"I believe you look ten times worse," I said, trying to be cheerful and
to do something in the way of retort.
"No, no; but seriously, do I look very bad?"
"Awfully!" I said.
"Oh, I say! Come, now, how do I look?"
"Well, there's all the skin off your nose, where you scratched against
the rock."
"Ye-es," he said, patting his nose tenderly; "but it's scaling over
nicely. I say, what a good job I didn't break the bridge!"
"It was indeed," I said.
"Well, what else?"
"Your eyes look as if you'd been having a big fight with the bully of
the school."
"Are they still so very much swollen up?"
"More than ever," I said, in comforting tones.
"But they're not black?"
"No; only purple and yellow and green."
"Val," he cried passionately, "if you go on like that I'll sit up and
punch your head."
"You can't," I replied.
"No, you coward! Oh, if I only could! It's taking a mean advantage of
a fellow. But never mind; I'm going to hear it all. What else?"
"I won't tell you any more," I replied.
"You shall. Tell me at once."
"You don't want to know about that place on the top of your head, just
above your forehead, where you are so fond of parting your hair?"
"Yes, I do. I say, does it look so very bad?"
"Shocking. He has crossed the strips of sticking-plaster over and over,
and across and across, till it looks just like a white star."
"Oh dear," he groaned, "how horrid! I say, though, has he cut the hair
in front very short?"
"Well, not so short as he could have done it with a razor."
"Val!" he shouted. "It's too bad."
"Yes," I said; "it looks dreadful."
"No, I mean of you; and if you go on like that again we shall quarrel."
"Let's change the conversation, then," I said. "I say, oughtn't old
Briggs to have been here by now?"
"I don't know; but you oughtn't to give a poor weak fellow such a
slanging as that."
"I say," I said, "you wished we were up the veldt shooting lions."
"So I do," replied Denham. "Don't you?"
"No. I wish you and I were at my home, with old Aunt Jenny to nurse and
feed us up with beef-tea and jelly, and eggs beaten up in new milk, and
plenty of tea and cream and--"
"Val! Val, old chap! don't--don't," cried Denham; "it's maddening.
Why, we should have feather-beds and beautiful clean sheets."
"That we should," I said, with a sigh; "and--Ah! here's old Briggs."
"Morning, gents," said the Sergeant, pulling back the tilt curtain after
entering. "Hope you're both better."
"Yes, ever so much, Sergeant," cried Denham. "Here, come and sit down.
Light your pipe and smoke."
"What about the doctor, sir?" said Briggs dubiously.
"Won't be here for an hour. I'll give you leave. Fill and light up."
The Sergeant obeyed orders willingly.
"Now then," said Denham, "talk away. I want to know exactly how matters
stand since yesterday."
"All right, sir," said the Sergeant, carefully crushing out the match he
had struck, as he smoked away.
"Well, go on," said Denham impatiently. "You said yesterday that things
were as bad as they could possibly be."
"I did, sir."
"Well, how are they now?"
"Worse. Ever so much worse."
"What do you mean, you jolly old muddler?" cried Denham, rousing up and
looking brighter than he had been since he came under the doctor's
hands.
"What I say, sir," replied the Sergeant, staring. "Things are ever so
much worse."
"Val," cried Denham, turning to me, "poor old Briggs has had so much to
do with that scoundrel Moriarty that he has caught his complaint."
"I beg pardon, sir," growled the Sergeant stiffly; "I've always been
faithful to Her Majesty the Queen."
"Of course you have, Sergeant."
"Beg pardon, sir. You said I'd caught his complaint, meaning I was
turning renegade."
"Nothing of the kind; but you have caught his national complaint, for
there you go again--blundering. Can't you see?"
"No, sir," said the Sergeant, drawing himself up stiffer than ever.
"Then you ought to. Blundering--making bulls. If the state of affairs
was as bad as it could be yesterday, how can it be worse to-day?"
The Sergeant scratched his head, and his countenance relaxed.
"Oh!" he said thoughtfully, "of course. I didn't see that at first,
gentlemen."
"Never mind, so long as you see it now. But go ahead, Briggs. You
can't think what it is to be lying here in hospital, with fighting going
on all round, and only able to get scraps of news now and then."
The Sergeant chuckled.
"Here, I don't see anything to laugh at in that," cried Denham,
frowning. "Do you find it funny?"
"I just do, sir. Think of you talking like that to me? Why, twice over
when I was in the Dragoons I was bowled over and had to go into
hospital, up north there, in Egypt. Thirsty, gentlemen? I was thirsty,
double thirsty, in the nasty sandy country--thirsty for want of water,
and twice as thirsty to get to know how things were going on. That's
why I always come, when I'm off duty, to tell you gentlemen all I can."
"There, Val," cried Denham, beaming. "Didn't I always say that old
Briggs was a brick?"
"I don't remember," I replied.
"Well, I always meant to.--Now then, Sergeant, go ahead."
"Nay! I don't want to damp your spirits, sir, seeing how bad you are."
"I'm not bad, Sergeant; neither is Moray. We're getting better fast,
and news spurs us on to get better as fast as we can. Now then, don't
make us worse by keeping us in suspense. Tell us the worst news at
once."
"That's soon done, sir. These Doppies, as they call 'em--these Boers--
shoot horribly well."
"Yes," sighed Denham; "they've had so much practice at game."
"They've got so close in now, with their wagons to hide behind, that I'm
blessed if it's safe for a sentry to show his head anywhere."
"But our fellows have got stone walls to keep behind, and they ought by
now to shoot as well as the Boers," I said.
"That's quite right, Mr Moray," cried the Sergeant, angrily puffing at
his pipe; "they ought to, but they don't--not by a long way. Every time
they use a cartridge there ought to be one Doppie disabled and sent to
the rear. I keep on telling them this fort isn't Purfleet Magazine nor
Woolwich Arsenal; but it's no good."
"But, Sergeant," cried Denham anxiously, "you don't mean to say that
we're running out of cartridges?"
"But I do mean to say it, sir; and the time isn't so very far off when
we shall either have to hang out the white flag--"
"What!" cried Denham, dragging himself up into a sitting position.
"Never!"
"Or," continued the Sergeant emphatically, "make a sortie and give the
beggars cold steel."
"Ah! that sounds better," cried Denham, dropping back upon his rough
pillow. "That's what we shall have to do."
"Right, sir," cried the Sergeant. "Cold steel's the thing. I've always
been a cavalry man, and I've seen a bit of service before I came into
the Light Horse as drill-sergeant and general trainer. I've been
through a good deal, and learned a good deal; and I tell you two young
men that many a time in a fight I've felt wild sitting on horseback
here, and trotting off there, dismounting to rest our horses; finding
ourselves under fire again, and cantering off somewhere else--into a
valley, behind a hill, or to the shelter of a wood, because our time
hadn't come--and the infantry working away all the while. I'm not going
to run down the cavalry; they're splendid in war when they can get their
chance to come to close quarters. You see, we haven't done much with
our swords, for the Doppies won't stand a charge. Where we've had them
has been dismounted, as riflemen, and that's what our trouble is now.
We can't get at the enemy; what we want is a regiment of foot with the
bayonet. Just a steady advance under such cover as they could find, and
then a sharp run in with a good old British cheer, and the Doppies would
begin to run. Then we ought to be loosed at them, and every blessed
Boer among them would make up his mind that it was quite time he went
home to see how his crops are getting on."
"Yes, Sergeant," said Denham gravely; "that's exactly the way to do it,
and that's what people at home are saying. But we're shut up here,
ammunition is failing, and we have no regiment of foot to give the
brutes the cold steel and make them run; so what's the best thing to do
under the circumstances?"