Soldiers of the Queen Part 34

The bugle sounded, and the men sprang to their feet, to be exposed immediately to a heavy fire. Slowly and doggedly they moved forward, now halting to close up gaps, and now changing direction to gain more open ground. The vicious bang of rifles, fired at comparatively close range, told of innumerable sharpshooters lurking around in the gra.s.s and shrubs. A bullet suddenly tore the metal ornament from the top of Jack's helmet, and striking the sword-bayonet of a man behind, knocked his rifle nearly out of his hands.

"A miss is as good as a mile!" remarked Sergeant Sparks; but as he spoke Joe Crouch was suddenly flung to the ground as though felled by the stroke of a hammer.

Jack involuntarily uttered a cry of dismay, and the sergeant dropped down on one knee to a.s.sist the fallen man. To every one's astonishment, however, the latter rose to his feet unaided, looking rather dazed and gasping for breath, and picking up his rifle staggered back into the ranks. A spent shot had struck him on the bandoleer, demolis.h.i.+ng one of the cartridges, but fortunately failing to penetrate the leather belt.

Now and again the square halted to send a volley wherever the enemy seemed to be gathered in any numbers, then continuing the advance in the same cool, deliberate manner.

Jack was marching in the left side, close to one of the rear corners, and, as fate would have it, the left half of the rear face was formed of the ----s.e.x, and from the first he had been close to Valentine.

They were within a dozen yards of each other, and every few moments Jack turned his head to a.s.sure himself that his cousin was unhurt.

For more than an hour the little square had been doggedly pursuing its forward movement, and now the enemy were seen in black ma.s.ses on the low hills to the left front.

"They're coming, that's my belief!" said Joe Crouch, turning to address his chum. He got no reply; for, at that instant, as the other happened to look round, he saw his cousin stagger and sink down upon the sand.

In an instant Jack had sprung to his a.s.sistance; but this time it was no false alarm. The bullet had done too well its cruel work. For a moment Valentine seemed to recognize him, and looking up, with his left hand still clutching at his breast, made a ghastly attempt to smile.

Then, with a groan, he fell over on his side, and fainted.

A stretcher was brought, and Jack was ordered sharply to get back to the ranks. As he took his place the square halted, and an excited murmur rose on all sides:--

"Here they come!--Thank G.o.d! they're going to charge!"

CHAPTER XX.

THE RIVER'S BRINK.

"Then he could see that the bright colours were faded from his uniform; but whether they had been washed off during his journey, or from the effects of his sorrow, no one could say."--_The Brave Tin Soldier_.

Darkness had fallen, and a thick mist rising from the river made the still, night air damp and penetrating; but the weary men, stretched out upon the sand, slept soundly in spite of the cold, and of the scanty protection from it afforded by their clothing. The dark figures of the sentries surrounding the bivouac, moving slowly to and fro, or pausing to rest on their arms, seemed the only signs of wakefulness, except where the occasional gleam of a lantern shone out as the surgeons went their rounds among the wounded.

Jack, however, was not asleep. He seemed instead to be just waking up from a troubled dream, in which all that had happened since he had seen Valentine placed upon the stretcher had pa.s.sed before his mind in a confused jumble of sights and sounds, leaving only a vague recollection of what had really taken place:--The oncoming ma.s.s of Arabs; the crash of the volleys, changing into the continuous roar of independent firing; the pungent reek of the powder as the rolling clouds of smoke enveloped the square; and the sight of the enemy falling in scores, wavering, slackening the pace of their advance, and finally retreating over the distant hills, not one having reached the line of bayonets.

Then, in the growing dusk, as the square advanced, the sight of the silver stream showing every now and again amidst the green, cultivated strip of land upon its banks; the wild joy of men suffering the tortures of a burning thirst, which swelled their tongues and blackened their lips; and the pitiful sight of the wounded being held up that they might catch a glimpse of the distant river; the wait on the brink of the broad stretch of cool, priceless water, as each face of the square moved up in turn to take its fill; and then, no sucking the dregs of a warm water-bottle, but a long, cold, satisfying drink.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "The oncoming ma.s.s of Arabs."]

All this, though so recently enacted, seemed to have left but a faint impression of its reality on Jack's mind; his one absorbing thought being that Valentine was. .h.i.t, badly wounded, perhaps dying, or even dead.

A man approached, and in the darkness stumbled over one of the slumberers.

"Now, then, where are you coming to?"

"Dunno--wish I did. D'you men belong to the Blanks.h.i.+re? Where's your officer?"

"Can't say. Wait a minute; that's he lying by that bit of bush--Captain Hamling."

Our hero raised himself into a sitting posture. He had recognized the new-comer as a hospital orderly, and in the surrounding stillness heard him deliver his message:--

"Surgeon Gaylard sends his compliments, and would you allow one of your men named Fenleigh to come and see an officer who's badly wounded?

He's some relative I think, sir."

"Very good," answered the captain drowsily; "you can find him yourself."

The orderly had no difficulty in doing that, for in a moment Jack was at his side.

"Is he dying?"

"Dunno; he's badly hurt--shot through the lungs, and he's asked for you several times."

It was a cruel night for the wounded, with nothing to shelter them from the bitter cold. Valentine lay upon the ground, with his head propped up against a saddle. The surgeon was stooping over him as the two men approached, and the light of his lamp tell on the pale, pinched features of the sufferer. Within the last three days Jack had seen scores of men hurried into eternity, and his senses had become hardened by constant a.s.sociation with bloodshed and violent death, yet the sight of those unmistakable lines on that one familiar face turned his heart to stone.

"You're some relative, I believe. He seemed very anxious to see you, so I sent the orderly. What?-- Yes, you may stay with him if you like; but keep quiet, and don't let him talk more than you can help."

"Is--is he dying, sir?"

"He may live till morning, but I doubt if he will."

Jack went down on his knees. There was no "sir" this time--sword, and sash, and shoulder-strap were all forgotten.

"Val!" The great, grey eyes, already heavy with the sleep of death, opened wide.

"Jack! my dear Jack!"

"Yes; I've come to look after you. Are you in much pain?"

"No--only when I cough--and--it's dreadfully cold."

The listener stifled down a groan. Ah, dear thoughts of long ago!

Such things had never happened on the mimic battlefields at Brenlands.

This, then, was the reality.

"Jack, I want you to promise me something--your word of honour to a dying man."

A fit of coughing, ending in a groan of agony, interrupted the request.

"Don't talk too much," answered the other in a broken voice. "What is it you want? I'll do anything for you, G.o.d knows!"

"I want you to promise that you'll take this ring to Queen Mab--and give it to her with your own hands. Say that I remembered her always--and carried my love for her with me down into the grave.

Promise me that you will give it her--_yourself_!"

Valentine ceased speaking, exhausted with the effort.

"I will, I will!" returned the other, taking the ring. "But don't talk about dying, Val; you'll pull through right enough."

The sufferer answered with a feeble shake of his head, and another terrible fit of coughing left him faint and gasping for breath.

"Stay with me," he whispered.