The fight described in the last chapter was only one of the numerous
skirmishes that were taking place almost daily near Suakim at that time.
But it turned out to be a serious occasion to our hero, for it cost him
one of his hands, and put an end to his soldiering days for ever.
On being taken to the British lines the surgeons saw at once that
amputation a little above the wrist was absolutely necessary. Of course
Miles--although overwhelmed with dismay on hearing the fiat of the
doctors--could offer no objection. With the informal celerity of
surgical operations as practised in the field, the shattered limb was
removed, and almost before he could realise the full significance of
what was being done our poor hero was _minus_ his left hand! Besides
this, he was so cut and battered about, that most of his hair had to be
cut off, and his head bandaged and plastered so that those of his old
comrades who chanced to be with the troops at the time could recognise
him only by his voice. Even that was scarcely audible when he was
carried into Suakim.
At this time the hospitals at Suakim were overcrowded to such an extent
that many of the wounded and invalids had to be sent on by sea to Suez
and the hospitals at Ramleh. Miles was sent on along with these, and
finally found rest at Alexandria.
And great was the poor fellow's need of rest, for, besides the terrible
sufferings and hardships he had endured while in captivity, the wounds
and bruises, the loss of blood and of his left hand, and the fatigue of
the voyage, his mind was overwhelmed by the consideration that even if
he should recover he was seriously maimed for life. In addition to all
this suffering, Miles, while at Suakim, had received a blow which
well-nigh killed him. A letter came informing him of the sudden death
of his father, and bitter remorse was added to his misery as he lay
helpless in his cot on the Red Sea.
The consequent depression, acting on his already exhausted powers after
he reached Alexandria, brought him to the verge of the grave. Indeed,
one of the nurses said one day to one of her fellows, with a shake of
her head, "Ah! poor fellow, he won't last long!"
"Won't he!" thought Miles, with a feeling of strong indignation. "Much
_you_ know about it!"
You see Miles possessed a tendency to abstract reasoning, and could
meditate upon his own case without, so to speak, much reference to
himself! His indignation was roused by the fact that any one, calling
herself a nurse, should be so stupid as to whisper beside a patient
words that he should not hear. He did not know that the nurse in
question was a new one--not thoroughly alive to her duties and
responsibilities. Strange to say, her stupidity helped to render her
own prophecy incorrect, for the indignation quickened the soldier's
feeble pulse, and that gave him a fillip in the right direction.
The prostration, however, was very great, and for some time the life of
our hero seemed to hang by a thread. During this dark period the value
of a godly mother's teaching became deeply impressed on him, by the fact
that texts from God's Word, which had been taught him in childhood, and
which he seemed to have quite forgotten, came trooping into his mind,
and went a long way to calm and comfort him. He dwelt with special
pleasure on those that told of love and mercy in Jesus to the thankless
and undeserving; for, now that strength, health, and the high hopes of a
brilliant career were shattered at one blow, his eyes were cleared of
life's glamour to see that in his existence hitherto he had been
ungodly--not in the sense of his being much worse than ordinary people,
but in the sense of his being quite indifferent to his Maker, and that
his fancied condition of not-so-badness would not stand the test of a
dying hour.
About this time, too, he became desperately anxious to write to his
mother, not by dictation, but with his own hand. This being impossible
in the circumstances, he began to fret, and his power to sleep at length
failed him. Then a strange desire to possess a rose seized him--perhaps
because he knew it to be his mother's favourite flower. Whatever the
cause, the longing increased his insomnia, and as he did not say,
perhaps did not know, that the want of a rose had anything to do with
his complaint, no one at first thought of procuring one for him.
He was lying meditating, wakefully, about many things one day when one
of the nurses approached his bed. He did not see her at first, because
his head was so swathed in bandages that only one eye was permitted to
do duty, and that, as Molloy might have said, was on the lee-side of his
nose--supposing the side next the nurse to represent the wind'ard side!
"I have been laid up a long time," said a lady, who accompanied the
nurse, "and have been longing to resume my visits here, as one or two
patients whom I used to nurse are still in hospital."
The heart of Miles gave a bound such as it had not attempted since the
night he witnessed the murder on the battle-field, for the voice was
that of Mrs Drew.
"This is one of our latest arrivals," remarked the nurse, lowering her
voice as they advanced. "A poor young soldier--lost a hand and badly
wounded--can't sleep. He has taken a strange longing of late for a
rose, and I have asked a friend to fetch one for him."
"How lucky that we happen to have one with us!" said Mrs Drew, looking
back over her shoulder where her daughter stood, concealed from view by
her ample person. "Marion, dear, will you part with your rose-bud to a
wounded soldier?"
"Certainly, mother, I will give it him myself."
She stepped quickly forward, and looked sadly at the solitary, glowing
eye which gazed at her, as she unfastened a rose-bud from her bosom. It
was evident that she did not recognise Miles, and no wonder, for,
besides the mass of bandages from out of which his one eye glowed, there
was a strip of plaster across the bridge of his nose, a puffy swelling
in one of the cheeks, and the handsome mouth and chin were somewhat
veiled by a rapidly developing moustache and beard.
Miles did not speak--he could not speak; he scarcely dared to breathe as
the girl placed a red rose-bud in his thin hand. His trembling fingers
not only took the rose, but the hand that gave it, and pressed it feebly
to his lips.
With a few words of comfort and good wishes the ladies passed on. Then
Miles drew the rose down under the bed-clothes, put it to his lips, and,
with a fervently thankful mind, fell into the first profound slumber
that he had enjoyed for many days.
This was a turning-point. From that day Miles began to mend. He did
not see Marion again for some time, for her visit had been quite
incidental, but he was satisfied to learn that she was staying at the
Institute with her mother, assisting the workers there. He wisely
resolved to do and say nothing at that time, but patiently to wait and
get well, for he had a shrewd suspicion that to present himself to
Marion under existing circumstances would be, to say the least,
injudicious.
Meanwhile, time, which "waits for no man," passed on. As Miles became
stronger he began to go about the hospital, chatting with the
convalescent patients and trying to make himself generally useful. On
one of these occasions he met with a man who gave him the sorrowful news
that Sergeant Hardy was dead, leaving Miles his executor and residuary
legatee. He also learned, to his joy, that his five comrades,
Armstrong, Molloy, Stevenson, Moses, and Simkin, had escaped with their
lives from the fight on the hillock where he fell, and that, though all
were more or less severely wounded, they were doing well at Suakim.
"Moreover," continued his informant, "I expect to hear more about 'em
to-night, for the mail is due, and I've got a brother in Suakim."
That night not only brought news of the five heroes, but also brought
themselves, for, having all been wounded at the same time, all had been
sent to Alexandria together. As they were informed at Suakim that their
comrade Miles had been invalided home, they did not, of course, make
further inquiry about him there.
While they stayed there, awaiting the troop-ship which was to take them
home, they made Miss Robinson's Institute their constant rendezvous, for
there they not only found all the comforts of English life, but the joy
of meeting with many old comrades, not a few of whom were either drawn,
or being drawn, to God by the influences of the place.
It chanced that at the time of their arrival Mrs Drew and her daughter
had gone to visit an English family living in the city, and did not for
several days return to the Institute; thus the invalids failed to meet
their lady friends at first. But about this time there was announced a
source of attraction in the large hall which brought them together.
This attraction--which unites all creeds and classes and nationalities
in one great bond of sympathy--we need hardly say was music! A concert
was to take place in the great hall of the Institute for some local
charity, we believe, but are not sure, at which the _elite_ of
Alexandria was expected, and the musical talent of Alexandria was to
perform--among others the band of the somethingth Regiment. And let us
impress on you, reader, that the band of the somethingth Regiment was
something to be proud of!
This brought numerous friends to the "Officers' House," and great
numbers of soldiers and Jack-tars to the various rooms of the Institute.
In one of these rooms, towards evening, our friend Stevenson was
engaged, at the request of the Superintendent, in relating to a number
of earnest-minded men a brief account of the wonderful experiences that
he and his comrades had recently had in the Soudan, and Jack Molloy sat
near him, emphasising with a nod of his shaggy head, or a "Right you
are, messmate," or a slap on his thigh, all the marine's points,
especially those in which his friend, passing over second causes,
referred all their blessings and deliverances direct to his loving God
and Father. In another room a Bible-reading was going on, accompanied
by prayer and praise. In the larger rooms, tea, coffee, etcetera, were
being consumed to an extent that "no fellow can understand," except
those who did it! Games and newspapers and illustrated magazines,
etcetera, were rife elsewhere, while a continuous roar, rather the
conventional "buzz," of conversation was going on everywhere. But,
apparently, not a single oath in the midst of it all! The moral
atmosphere of the place was so pure that even bad men respected--perhaps
approved--it.
Just before the hour of the concert our friends, the five invalids, sat
grouped round a table near the door. They were drinking tea, and most
of them talking with tremendous animation--for not one of them had been
wounded in the tongue! Indeed it did not appear that any of them had
been very seriously wounded anywhere.
While they were yet in the midst of their talk two lady-workers came
down the long room, followed by two other ladies in deep mourning, the
younger of whom suddenly sprang towards our quintet, and, clasping her
hands, stood speechless before them, staring particularly at Jack
Molloy, who returned the gaze with interest.
"Beg pard'n, Miss Drew," exclaimed the sailor, starting up in confusion,
and pulling his forelock, "but you've hove me all aback!"
"Mr Molloy!" gasped Marion, grasping his hand and looking furtively
round, "is it possible? Have you _all_ escaped? Is--is--"
"Yes, Miss, we've all escaped, thank God, an' we're all here--'cept John
Miles, in coorse, for he's bin invalided home--"
"He's no more invalided home than yourself, Jack," said a seaman, who
was enjoying his coffee at a neighbouring table; "leastwise I seed John
Miles myself yesterday in hospital wi' my own two eyes, as isn't apt to
deceive me."
"Are ye sure o' that, mate?" cried Molloy, turning in excitement to the
man, and totally forgetting Marion.
"Mother, let us go out!" whispered the latter, leaning heavily on Mrs
Drew's arm.
They passed out to the verandah--scarcely observed, owing to the
excitement of the quintet at the sailor's news--and there she would have
fallen down if she had not been caught in the arms of a soldier who was
advancing towards the door.
"Mr Miles!" exclaimed Mrs Drew, as she looked up in amazement at the
scarred and worn face.
"Ay, Mrs Drew, through God's mercy I am here. But help me: I have not
strength to carry her _now_."
Marion had nearly fainted, and was led with the assistance of her mother
to a retired part of the garden, and placed in an easy-chair. Seeing
that the girl was recovering, the other ladies judiciously left them,
and Miles explained to the mother, while she applied smelling-salts to
Marion, that he had come on purpose to meet them, hoping and expecting
that they would be attracted to the concert, like all the rest of the
world, though he had scarcely looked for so peculiar a meeting!
"But how did you know we were here at all?" asked Mrs Drew in surprise.
"I saw you in the hospital," replied Miles, with a peculiar look. "Your
kind daughter gave me a rose!"
He pointed as he spoke to a withered bud which was fastened to his coat.
"But--but--that young man had lost his hand; the nurse told us so,"
exclaimed Mrs Drew, with a puzzled look.
Miles silently pointed to the handless arm which hung at his left side.
Marion had turned towards him with a half-frightened look. She now
leaned back in her chair and covered her face with both hands.
"Mr Miles," said the wise old lady, with a sudden and violent change of
subject, "your friends Armstrong and Molloy are in the Institute at this
moment waiting for you!"
Our hero needed no second hint. Next minute he dashed into the entrance
hall, with wonderful vigour for an invalid, for he heard the bass voice
of Molloy exclaiming--
"I don't care a button, leave or no leave, I'll make my way to John Mi--
Hallo!"
The "Hallo!" was caused by his being rushed into by the impetuous Miles
with such force that they both staggered.
"Why, John, you're like the ram of an iron-clad! Is it really yourself?
Give us your flipper, my boy!"
But the flipper was already in that of Willie Armstrong, while the
others crowded round him with congratulations.
"Wot on airth's all the noise about in that there corner?" exclaimed a
Jack-tar, who was trying hard to tell an interminable story to a quiet
shipmate in spite of the din.
"It's only that we've diskivered our captin," cried Molloy, eager to get
any one to sympathise.
"Wot captin's that?" growled the Jack-tar.
"Why, him as led us on the hillock, to be sure, at Suakim."
When acts of heroism and personal prowess are of frequent occurrence,
deeds of daring are not apt to draw general attention, unless they rise
above the average. The "affair of the hillock," however, as it got to
be called, although unnoticed in despatches, or the public prints, was
well-known among the rank and file who did the work in those hot
regions. When, therefore, it became known that the six heroes, who had
distinguished themselves on that hillock, were present, a great deal of
interest was exhibited. This culminated when a little man rushed
suddenly into the room, and, with a wild "hooroo!" seized Molloy round
the waist--he wasn't tall enough to get him comfortably by the neck--and
appeared to wrestle with him.
"It's Corporal Flynn--or his ghost!" exclaimed Molloy.
"Sure an' it's both him an' his ghost togither!" exclaimed the corporal,
shaking hands violently all round.
"I thought ye was sent home," said Moses.
"Niver a bit, man; they tell awful lies where you've come from. I
wouldn't take their consciences as a gift. I'm as well as iver, and
better; but I'm goin' home for all that, to see me owld grandmother. Ye
needn't laugh, you spalpeens. Come, three cheers, boys, for the `heroes
o' the hillock!'"
Most heartily did the men there assembled respond to this call, and then
the entire assembly cleared off to the concert, with the exception of
Miles Milton. "He," as Corporal Flynn knowingly observed, "had other
fish to fry." He fried these fish in company with Mrs and Marion Drew;
but as the details of this culinary proceeding were related to us in
strict confidence, we refuse to divulge them, and now draw the curtain
down on the ancient land of Egypt.