All for a Scrap of Paper Part 34

"I should like to speak to Beel," and Bob's voice was very quiet as he spoke.

Instantly an order was given, and a few minutes later Sergeant Beel was saluting him.

"You say you saw Captain Trevanion fall?" said Bob.

"Yes, sir."

"Can you point out the spot?"

"Yes, sir."

A few minutes later Bob was in possession of all the information which the Sergeant could give.

"Heavens, you are not going, Nancarrow?"

"I'm going to have a try," was Bob's reply.

In the few seconds which it took Sergeant Beel to tell his story, Bob had been fighting the greatest battle of his life. It seemed to him as though thousands of devils were pleading with him to let his rival die, and all the time every particle of manhood he possessed was telling him where his duty lay.

If Nancy Tresize had promised Trevanion to be his wife, she must love him, and if she loved him, the death of her lover would be like death to her. Anyhow, it was for him to make the attempt.

He crept from his place of safety, and threw himself flat on the ground, while the others, with whispered exclamations of surprise, watched him.

Keeping his body as close as he could to the ground, he crawled forward. When he had been a boy, he, like thousands of other English boys, had played at fighting Indians, and the old trick of crawling close to the ground served him well now; but it was painfully slow, and every yard he took he expected to hear the whistle of bullets--to feel the baptism of fire.

When he had crawled perhaps one hundred yards, a rifle shot rang out, and he heard a bullet cut its way through the leaves of the trees in the near distance. Was it aimed at him? He didn't know, but he did know that the nearer he went to the enemies' lines, the greater chance they would have of seeing him.

"Why should I go any further?" he asked himself. "It is a madman's trick I am playing. No one but an idiot would take such a risk; besides, it is useless--I can never reach him. Even if I get to the spot Beel described, I may not find him, and then I shall have simply thrown away my life for nothing." Then for the first time that day he really felt what fear meant.

Since early morning he had been in the midst of the fray, now directing his soldiers, now fighting hand-to-hand battles, but never once had he felt fear; even when his comrades on his right hand and on his left had fallen, he had not felt even a tremor. His nerves had been wrought up to such a pitch that fear was almost impossible; rather he had known a kind of mad joy in fighting. When in answer to the German charge the English soldiers had rushed forward, bayonets fixed, to meet them, he knew he had become almost a savage in his l.u.s.t for blood. More than once he had laughed aloud as slowly, amidst cries of pain, savage yells of joy, and feverish pa.s.sion, they had fought their way, inch by inch, and driven the Germans back; but now he felt fear.

It was one thing to rush forward amidst the clash of arms and the cheers of his comrades; it was another to crawl along like an Indian savage, in the silence of the dying day. And for what purpose? To save a man who, half an hour before, he had wished dead.

But he knew he could not go back. Something, he could not explain what, urged him forward. How could he go back with his purpose unfulfilled? What would the others say? In spite of the fact that he had undertaken what every man of them had said was a madman's act, they would in their heart of hearts scorn him for having played the coward.

Every muscle in his body ached; his hands were torn and bleeding; it seemed to him as if there were hammers striking his temples; sparks of fire were in his eyes,--still he struggled forward.

He lifted his head and looked around. Yes, he was near the spot which Sergeant Beel had described. Daylight was now falling, and half an hour later darkness would be upon them. If his mission were not accomplished whilst the light lasted, the Captain would have to lie until the morning, and if he were wounded, he might during those hours die from loss of blood.

Again there was a crack of rifles, and he heard the whistle of bullets as they pa.s.sed by him; one of these was not more than a yard away.

What the Germans meant, he did not know, neither could he tell whether he had been seen, but he was sure that his life was not worth a pin's purchase.

He had left his sword behind--that was of no use to him now and would be only an enc.u.mbrance--but he had his revolver ready to hand.

Feverishly he looked around him, but nowhere could he see the man he sought. Still, he had done his duty; he could go back to Pickford and the other fellows and tell them he had done his best and had failed.

But he stayed where he was.

He realised that he was faint and hungry. Since, early that Sunday morning he had scarcely partaken of food; all day long there had been mad fighting and deadly carnage, and in his excitement he had forgotten hunger; now he thought he was going to faint. Then suddenly every nerve became tense again. He saw not more than a dozen yards away a man in German uniform; like lightning his hand flew to his revolver, and he held himself in readiness. Scarcely had he done so, when he heard a groan. The German also evidently heard it, for he quickly made his way towards the spot from which the sound came.

A moment later Bob heard the German give a low laugh as if he were pleased, but the laugh died in its birth; before it was finished, a bullet from Bob's revolver had pierced his brain. Forgetful of danger, he rushed forward, and saw that he had not been a moment too soon. The German was about to drive his sword into the body of a prostrate man.

"It is he!" cried Bob, in a hoa.r.s.e whisper; he had found the man he had come to seek. There, partly hidden by a small bush, lay Captain Trevanion, and on his face was a pallor like the pallor of death.

"He is alive," reflected Bob; "I heard him groan just now."

He put his ear close to Trevanion's heart and listened. Yes, he was faintly breathing, but his clothes were saturated with blood.

With trembling hands Bob undid the other's uniform, and was not long in finding a wound from which oozed his life's blood. He called to mind all the medical knowledge he had, and set to work to stop the bleeding; in a few minutes had partially succeeded.

But how to get him back to the English lines! That was the question.

He did not think Trevanion was in any immediate danger now. All he could do was to wait until the daylight was gone, and then carry the wounded man to a place of safety. But he dared not wait. The wound began bleeding again. Trevanion was a heavy man, almost as heavy as Bob himself, and in carrying him he knew that he must expose himself to the German fire; but that risk must be taken.

He thought he might carry him two or three hundred yards before being shot, and by that time he would be near enough to the English lines to enable those who were watching, to reach them.

Bob could never call clearly to mind any details of the next few minutes. He knew that he was stumbling along in the twilight, bearing a heavy burden--knew, too, that bullets whizzed by him; but, heedless of everything, he plodded forward. He had a vague idea, too, that he must be seen; but all thought of danger had gone.

If he were killed, he was killed, and that was all.

Then suddenly cheers reached him. It seemed to him as though a thousand arms were around him, and wild excited cries filled the air.

After that he knew no more.

When he came to himself again, he was lying in a tent, and bending over him was a face he had never seen before.

"There, you'll do now; you're all right."

"Who are you?" asked Bob.

"I'm Doctor Grey; but that doesn't matter. You haven't a wound or a scratch, my dear chap; you just fainted--that was all. How the devil you got through, I don't know; but there it is, you're as right as rain."

"Have I been long here?"

"Not more than five minutes. Heavens, man, it was the maddest thing I ever heard of! Trevanion is in a bad way; whether he'll pull through or not, I don't know; but if he does, he'll owe his life to you. He was slowly bleeding to death, and of course your getting him here didn't help him. Still, he's in good hands."

"He's alive, then?"

"Oh, yes, he's alive, and I think he'll live; still, he'll have a bad time. Oh, yes, you can get up, if you want; you're all right. When did you have food last?"

"I don't think I remember," said Bob. "It must have been about midday, I think."

"I thought so. Now drink this. Do you mind seeing the fellows?

That's right; here they come. Now, Pringle--oh, yes, and Colonel Sapsworth too--no wonder you are proud of your subaltern; there are men who've got the Victoria Cross for less."

Colonel Sapsworth caught Bob's hand and wrung it without a word.

Bob saw his lips tremble beneath his grey moustache, saw too that his eyes were filled with tears; but Colonel Sapsworth was a man who didn't talk much. "You're a plucky young devil," he said, "but I thought you had it in you. There, there, do you feel better now? By Jove, you're the talk of the whole division! Yes, Trevanion will do all right--at least, I hope so," and then the Colonel rubbed his eyes.

"That is enough," said Dr. Grey. "I'm chief in command here; he wants a few hours' rest, and then he'll be as right as ever. Meanwhile, let him alone; the young beggar has had a hard day."