Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > Charge! - A Story of Briton and Boer > This page
Charge! - A Story of Briton and Boer, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 47. A Clear Sky |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
|
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN. A CLEAR SKY The rising sun showed that the enemy had disappeared; but ample stores had been secured for those who had so long suffered severe privations. "Val," said Denham, "we must ride with our troop this week." "Of course," I said cheerfully; but I had my doubts. Some time later, after we had met our comrades again, we had a long visit from the Colonel. "Look here, young fellows," he said; "you're both invalids and cripples, so I'll wait till you're well before I have an inquiry into your conduct in leaving the fort without leave. I'm too busy now, and you are both too weak; but it will wait a bit. This matter must be thoroughly investigated." "He'll never say another word about it, Val," prophesied Denham. He never did. Immediately after our interview with our Colonel, Denham and I lay in our wagon--ours by right of conquest--with the doctor looking at our injuries in evident perplexity. "I never saw such a pair of scamps," he said. "Why, if every man behaved in the same way the life of a regimental surgeon wouldn't be worth living. Just as if I hadn't enough to attend to. Always in trouble." "Don't bully us, doctor," said Denham, "we're both in such pain." "Of course you are, my dear boys; so I'm going to have this wagon made into a sick-room for you." "Into a what?" cried Denham. "Nonsense; we want to join the ranks again to-morrow." "I suppose so," said the doctor fiercely; "but--you--will--not. Your wrists are bad enough, but look at your legs." "Bah! Hideous!" cried Denham. "Who wants to look at them?" "Then your head's not healed. Now, my dear boys, experience has told me that in this country very slight injuries develop into terrible ulcers and other blood-poisoning troubles. That renegade beast you tell me about is to answer for your limbs being in a very bad condition, and it will take all I know to set them right." "But, doctor, I wouldn't have cared if they were good honest wounds." "All wounds are wounds, sir, and injuries are injuries, to a surgeon. Frankly, neither of you must put a foot to the ground for weeks." "Oh doctor!" we exclaimed together. "My dear boys, trust me," he said. "I want to see you stout men, not cripples on crutches, and--How dare you, you black-looking scoundrel!" "Joeboy!" we shouted together excitedly. "Jump in. Hurrah!" As the doctor had spoken we noticed Joeboy's black face, with gleaming eyes and grinning mouth, rising above the big box at the end of the wagon. He wanted no further orders, but swung himself in lightly. "Um?" he exclaimed. "Boss Val, Boss Denham right?" "Yes," I cried, holding out my hand, which he took. "Joeboy, you frightened me; I thought you were killed." "Um? Joeboy killed? What for? Been look all among the dead ones and broken ones; um dead quite." "Who's dead?" I cried. "Um? Ugly white boss captain, Irish boss Boer. Joeboy meant to kill um, but um run away too." "That will do," said the doctor. "Just listen to my orders before I go off to the poor fellows waiting for me. You two are not to set foot to the ground. Promise me. I'll let you keep that black fellow to lift you about. He will do so, I suppose?" he added, turning to me. "He will. He'd be only too glad." The doctor rose, nodded, and went away; and soon after we had visits from the colonels of both the regiments, and from the young captain who had saved us from the zeal of his men, all these visitors congratulating us warmly upon our escape, and praising Joeboy for his bravery. That afternoon we were on the march in what Denham called our peripatetic hospital; but he was not happy. Pain and disappointment seemed always uppermost in spite of the friendly attentions we received from his brother-officers. "Yes, it's all very good of you," he said sadly; "but fancy being laid aside now, after the Boers have been thrashed and there's nothing to do but give them the finishing-cuts to make them behave better in the future." As days glided by, Denham, to his surprise, learned that there was no more fighting to do. First of all, our little forces of the Light Horse and the infantry were depressed by the news that the General, with the main body, had met with a terrible reverse from the Boers, whose peculiar way of fighting had stood them in good stead and made up for the qualities they lacked. Thus the making of history rolled on; and, to the rage and indignation of the fighting-men, the order went forth that there was to be peace; that the troops were to be withdrawn, volunteers disbanded, and everything settled by diplomacy and treaty. I need not go into that matter; my father only shook his head and said that such an arrangement could never mean lasting peace. "I'm glad the fighting is over, my boys," father said to Denham, who was sharing our new temporary home. "Oh, Mr Moray," he replied, "how can you talk like that?" "Because I am a man of the ploughshare and not of the sword. I want to get back to my quiet farming life again, and that is impossible while war devastates the land." "But you'll never start a home again in the old place?" "Never," said my father--"never." "No," I said; "the Boers ruined you. They ought to be made to pay." "Not ruined, Val," said my father, "though the burning and destruction meant a serious loss; but I had not been idle all the years I was there, and I dare say we can soon raise a home in Natal, where we can be at peace. Nature is very kind out here in this sunny, fruitful land; and I dare say when Mr Denham comes to see us, as I hope he will often do in the future, we can make him as comfortable as in the past days when the farm was younger, and perhaps find him a little hunting and shooting within reach." "You'll come, Denham?" I said. "Come? Too much, I'm afraid. I'm to have no more soldiering, I hear. I've been corresponding with my people, and asking my father if it is possible for me to get into the regulars. He wrote back 'No,' with three lines underneath, and said I must go back to stock-raising till my country wants me again to unsheath the sword." "Well," said my father, smiling, "what do you say to that?" "Nothing at all, sir," replied Denham, with a smile. "Somehow I always do what I'm told." "That's what makes him such a good soldier, father," I said, laughing. "Do you hear that, Bob?" said Denham. "You ought to take example from me. But, I say, can't we have the horses out for a run?" "Of course," said my father, "if you feel strong enough." "Oh, I'm strong enough now," replied Denham. "Nothing whatever's the matter, except that one leg gives way sometimes. Here, let's go and rouse up Joeboy. Will you come with us, Bob?" That question was unnecessary; and soon Joeboy the faithful and true had brought round Sandho, Denham's horse, and a fine young cob the black had captured on the night of the fight and given to my brother. The horses were all fresh and sprightly from want of work; and when the three were brought to the veranda of the farm which my father had leased for a time, Aunt Jenny--who had rejoined us, and was looking as if nothing had occurred--warned us to be careful, for the horses looked very fresh. We promised to be careful, and were off cantering towards the veldt, the horses soon making the dust fly beneath their hoofs in a wild gallop. "Oh Val," cried Denham, with flashing eyes, "isn't this glorious?" "Delightful," I replied. "Doesn't it make you think of being in the troop once more?" "No," I said bluntly; "and I hope we shall never again ride knee to knee to cut down men." "But if the need should arise," he shouted, "you would volunteer again-- yes, and you too, Bob?" "Of course," cried my brother, flushing; "and so would Val." "You hear that, Val?" said Denham. "Don't say you wouldn't come and help?" "How can I?" was my reply. "This is sandy Africa, with savages who might rise at any time; but I am English born, with a touch of Scottish blood, I believe." "I've got a dash of Irish in mine," said Denham. "I say, shall we ever see Moriarty again?" "I hope not," I answered, turning red up to my hair. "I don't want to see him now," Denham said. "But answer my question, Val. Will you volunteer again if a bad time comes!" "So long as you mount a horse, and want me," I answered. It was very stupid and boyish; but we were excited, I suppose, with the motion of our horses and the elasticity of the morning air. Just then Bob rose in his stirrups in answer to a sign from Denham, clapped his fist to his mouth, and brought forth a capital imitation of a trumpet's blast, which made the horses stretch out and tear away close together over the open veldt as if in answer to the cry which thrilled me with recollections. For Denham, too, had risen in his stirrups, thrown his hand above his head, and shouted, "Charge!" [THE END] _ |
||