Kitabı oku: «The Kopje Garrison: A Story of the Boer War», sayfa 12
Chapter Eighteen.
The Corporal Relates
The party at the head of the cavern stood for a few moments perfectly motionless, listening to the dying away of the strange gurglings and whispering echoes which followed the heavy splash, and then Dickenson uttered a wild cry of horror and despair.
“Pull!” he shouted. “Pull up!” and, spurred into action by his order, Sergeant James and the two men behind him who helped with the rope hauled away rapidly, till the rigid-looking form of the corporal rose out of the darkness into the light shed by the lanterns, to be seized by the sergeant and dragged into safety.
“Is he dead?” said Captain Roby hoarsely. “I dunno, sir,” growled the sergeant, loosening the noose around the rigid sufferer, and then with a few quick drags unfastening the knot which had troubled Lennox in his helpless state.
“Silence a moment,” cried the captain, “while I hail!” and he made the place echo with his repetitions of the subaltern’s name.
There were answers enough, but given only by the mocking echoes; otherwise all below was still save the weird, rushing sound of the water.
“Here, what are you doing, Dickenson?” cried the captain, who suddenly became aware of the fact that the young lieutenant had seized the sergeant and was hindering him from securing the end of the rope about his chest.
“He’s not going down: I am,” cried Dickenson hoarsely.
“You?”
“Yes; I think I’m going to leave my friend in a hole like this?”
“Hole indeed!” thought the captain. Then aloud: “Let him go down, sergeant. Here, two lanterns this time;” and as the sergeant obeyed and began securing the rope about Dickenson, Roby seized and began unbuckling the young officer’s belt, and himself passed the stiff leather through the ring-handles of a couple of lanterns, and rebuckled the belt, adjusting it so that Dickenson had a light on either side.
“Ready, sergeant?” said the young officer sharply.
“All right, sir; that’ll hold you safe.”
“What are you going to do, Dickenson?” said Roby, in a voice that did not sound like his own.
“I don’t know,” cried the young officer, with a curious hysterical ring in his voice. “Go down. – See when I get below. – Now then, quick! – Lower away. – Fast!”
He began gliding down the sharp slope directly after.
“Faster!” shouted Dickenson before he was half-way down; and the sergeant let the rope pass through his hands as quickly as he could with safety let it go, while the lanterns lit up the glistening sides with weirdly-strange, flickering rays, till the rope was nearly all out and Dickenson stopped with a sudden jerk.
“Got him?” shouted Roby.
“No!” came up in a despairing groan. “I’m on a dripping ledge. Lower me a few feet more till I call to you to stop.”
The sergeant obeyed, and the call came directly after. For there was a splash and the lights disappeared – not extinguished, but they seemed to glide under a black projection that stood out plainly as a rugged edge against the light, which made the water flash and sparkle as it could be seen gliding swiftly by.
“Well?” shouted Roby again.
“Hold on with the rope,” came up. “The water’s close up to the foot of the lanterns. If you let it any lower they will go out.”
“Right, sir,” roared Sergeant James.
“Now,” shouted Roby; “see him?”
“No; the water goes down here in a whirlpool, round and round, and I can feel it sucking at me to drag me below.”
“Yes, sir; I can feel it along the rope. Look at my arms,” growled the sergeant.
There was a quick glance directed at the sergeant, and those who were nearest could see that, while his arms jerked and kept giving a little, the rope was playing and quivering in the light.
“Can’t you see anything?” cried Roby wildly.
“Place like a big well ground in the rock,” came up in hollow tones; “the water all comes here, and goes down a great sink-hole. Shall I cut myself free and dive?”
“No!” came simultaneously, in a hoarse yell, from a dozen throats.
“Madness!” shouted Roby. “Look round again; he may be clinging to the rocks somewhere.”
Dickenson uttered a strange, mocking laugh, so loud and thrilling that it made his hearers shudder.
“There’s nothing but this hole, smoothed round by the water. I can see all round.”
“Yah!” roared the sergeant. “Haul!” For suddenly his arms received a heavy jerk which bent him nearly double, and the light which glowed down by the water disappeared; while, but for the rush made to get a grip at the rope by Roby and a couple more men, the sergeant would have gone down.
As it was, the sudden snatch made dragged him back; and then, without further order, the men hauled quickly and excitedly at the rope till Dickenson’s strangely distorted face appeared in the light.
“Hold on!” shouted the sergeant, and stooping down, he got his hands well under his young officer’s armpits, made a heave with all his strength, and jerked him out of the horrible pit on to the hard rock.
Roby had helped by seizing the sergeant and dragging him back as soon as he had a good hold, and it was his captain’s eyes that Dickenson’s first met in a wild, despairing look, before, dripping with water from the chest downwards and the lights both extinguished, he sank upon his knees and dropped his face into his hands, no one stirring or speaking in the few brief moments which followed, but all noticing that the poor fellow’s chest was heaving and that a spasmodic sob escaped his lips.
The silence was broken by the sergeant, who stood rubbing his wet hands down the sides of his trousers.
“Thought I was gone too,” he said huskily.
His words reached Dickenson’s understanding, but not their full extent. His hands dropped to his lap, and he looked up, gazing round in a strangely bewildered way, his lower lip quivering, and his voice sounding pathetically apologetic.
“Yes,” he said feebly, “I thought I was gone. The water seemed to rise up round me suddenly to snatch me down. I did all I could – all I could, Roby, but it seemed to make me as weak as a child. Look at that – look at that!” he groaned, holding out one arm, which shook as if with the palsy. Then clasping his hands together he let them drop, and gazed away before him into the darkness through the arch, and said, as if to himself, “I did all I could, Drew, old lad – I did all I could.”
“Dickenson,” whispered Roby, bending over him. “Come, come, pull yourself together. Be a man.”
The poor fellow turned his head sharply, and gazed wildly into the speaker’s eyes.
“Yes, yes,” he said, and drawing a deep breath, he eagerly snatched at the hand held out to him and stood up. “Bit of a shock to a fellow’s nerves. I never felt like that when we went at the Boers. Thank you, sergeant. Thank you, my lads. I never felt like that.”
“No,” said the captain quickly. “It would have unmanned any one.”
“Did me, sir,” said Sergeant James. “And I never felt like that.”
“Ha!” sighed Dickenson, giving himself a shake, and beginning to unbuckle his belt to get rid of the dripping lanterns. “I’m better now. Ought I to go down again, sir?”
“Go down again, man?” cried Roby. “Good heavens, no! It would be madness to send any one into that horrible pit. – Here, I had forgotten Corporal May. Where is he?”
“We laid him down in yonder, sir,” said one of the men, indicating the interior of the cavern with a nod.
“Not dead?”
“No, sir, I don’t think so,” was the reply as the captain passed through the archway, followed by the sergeant, who snatched up a lantern; while Dickenson turned to the great pit, steadied himself by the tree-trunk which led up, and gazed into the black place.
“Poor old Drew!” he groaned softly. “If it had only been together – in some advance!”
And then, soldier-like, he drew himself up as if standing to attention, turned, and went to his duty again, walking pretty steadily after Roby to join them where the sergeant was down on one knee with his hand thrust inside the corporal’s jacket.
“Heart’s beating off and on, sir,” growled James. “I don’t think he’s hurt. Seems to me like what the doctor called shock.”
“Yes. What did he say?”
“I dunno, sir. Sort of queer stuff: sounded like foolishness. I’m afraid he’s off his head. – Here, May – me, May, my lad. Hold up. You’re all right now.”
The man opened his eyes, stared at him wildly, and his lips quivered.
“What say?” he whispered.
“I say, hold up now.”
“Hurts,” moaned the poor fellow, beginning to rub his chest. “Have I been asleep?”
“I hope so, my lad,” said Roby, “for you have been saved a good deal if you have.”
“Ugh!” groaned the man, with a shiver. “Mind that light don’t go out. Here,” he cried fiercely, “what did you go and leave me for?”
“Who went away and left you?”
“I recklect now. It was horrid. I dursen’t try and climb that tree again with the water all cissing up to get at me.”
“What!” cried Roby sharply.
“It was when the orders were given to retire, sir. I kept letting first one chap go and then another till I was last, and then I stood at the bottom trying to make up my mind to follow, till the lights up atop seemed to go out all at once. Then I turned cold and sick and all faint-like, holding on by the tree, till there was a horrid rush and a splash as if something was coming up to get at me, and I couldn’t help it – I turned and ran back through that archway place in the big hole, feeling sure that the water was coming to sweep me away. ’Fore I’d gone far in the black darkness I ketched my foot on a stone, pitched forward on to my head, and then I don’t remember any more for ever so long. It was just as if some one had hit me over the head with the butt of a rifle.”
“Where’s the lump, then, or the cut?” said Sergeant James sourly.
“Somewhere up atop there, sergeant. I dunno. Feel; I can’t move my arms, they’re so stiff.”
The sergeant raised his lantern and passed his hand over the man’s head.
“Lump as big as half an egg there, sir,” he said in a whisper.
“It’s a bad cut, ain’t it, sergeant?” said the corporal.
“No; big lump – bruise.”
“Ah, I thought it was a cut; but I’d forgotten all about it when I come to again in the dark, and couldn’t make it out. My head was all of a swim like, and I couldn’t recklect anything about what had happened, nor make out where I was, only that I was in the dark. All I could understand was that my head was aching awful and swimming round and round, and I seemed to have been fast asleep for hours and hours, and that I had woke up. That was all.”
“Well, go on,” said the sergeant, in obedience to a hint from Roby.
“Yes, direckly,” said the man. “I’m trying to think, but my head don’t go right. It’s just as if some sand had got into the works. Ah, it’s coming now. It was like waking up and finding myself in the dark, and not knowing how I got there.”
“Well, you said that before,” said the sergeant gruffly.
“Did I, sergeant? Well, that’s right; and I tried to get up, but I couldn’t stand, my head swam so. Then I got on my hands and knees, and began to crawl to the ladder; and I went on and kept stopping on account of my head, till I knocked against my helmet and put it on, and began crawling again, thinking I must be where I’d lain down and gone to sleep. Then I went on again for ever so long till I could go no farther, for I was in a place where the rock came down over my head so that I could touch it; but it was all narrow-like, and I was so tired that I lay down, got out my pipe, lit up, and had a smoke.”
“What next?” said the sergeant, exchanging glances with Roby and Dickenson, who were listening.
“That’s all,” said the man quietly. “So I’ll just have a nap to set my head right. It’s a touch of fever, I think.”
“Stop a moment, my lad,” said Roby. “Can’t you recollect what came next?”
“No, sir,” said the man drowsily. “Oh yes, I do. I know I began crawling again without my helmet after I’d smoked a pipe of tobacco – for the hard rim hurt my head – and went on and on for hours, till I thought I could hear water running; and then in a minute I was sure, and I made for it, for at that time I was so thirsty I’d have given anything for a drink to cool my hot, dry throat. Yes, it’s all coming back now. I crept on till all at once the water falling sounded loud, and the next moment I was sinking down sidewise into a deep place where I was hanging across a stone to get at the water in the dark, and couldn’t. It was just like a nightmare, sergeant, that it was, and I felt my head go down and my legs hanging till my back was ready to break, but I couldn’t get away, and I lay and lay, till all at once I was snatched up, and that hurt me so that I yelled for help, and then the nightmare seemed to be gone and I was lying all asleep like till I saw you and the captain; and here I am, somewhere, and that’s all.”
It was all, for the corporal swooned away, and had to be lifted and carried up.
“Poor fellow!” said Captain Roby; “he’ll be better when we get him out into the open air. See to him, my lads. If he cannot walk you must carry him.”
The men closed round the corporal, while the captain and Dickenson walked back to where a couple of the men, looking sallow and half-scared with their task, stood holding one of the lanterns at the month of the water-chasm.
“Heard anything?” said the captain, in a low tone of voice which sounded as if he dreaded to hear his own words.
“Nothing, sir,” was the reply; “only the water rushing down.”
“It seems to me,” – began the other, and then he paused.
“Yes: what? How does it seem to you?” asked the captain.
“Well, sir, as we stand listening here it sounds as if the hole down there gets choked every now and then with too much water, and then the place fills up more, and goes off again with a rush.”
The captain made no reply, but stood with Dickenson gazing down into the chasm till there was a difference in the sound of its running out, when the latter caught at his companion, gripping his arm excitedly.
“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely; “that’s how it went while I was down there. Oh Roby! can’t we do anything more?”
The captain was silent for some little time, and then he half-dragged his companion to the rough ladder.
“Come up,” he said; “you know we can do no more by stopping thinking till one is almost wild with horror. Here, go up first.”
It was like a sharp order, but Dickenson felt that it came from his officer’s heart, and, with a shiver as much of horror as of cold from his drenched and clinging garments, he climbed to the next level and stood feeling half-stunned, and waiting while the sergeant climbed up and joined them with some rings of the rope upon his arm.
“May’s going to try and climb up by himself, sir,” said the sergeant in a low voice, “but I’ve made the rope fast round him to hold on by in case he slips. We don’t want another accident.”
The sight of the rope, and the sergeant’s words, stirred Dickenson into speaking again.
“James,” he said huskily, “don’t you think something more might be done by one of us going down to the water again?”
“No, sir,” replied the sergeant solemnly; “nothing, or I’d have been begging the captain to let me have another try long enough ago.”
“Yes, of course, of course,” said Dickenson warmly. “How are we to tell the colonel what has happened?”
The young officer relapsed into a dull, heavy fit of thinking, in which he saw, as if he were in a dream, the corporal helped out of the pit by means of the rope, and then go feebly along the cavern, to break down about half-way, when four men in two pairs crossed their wrists and, keeping step, bore him, lying horizontally, to the next ladder, up which he was assisted, after which he was borne once again by four more of the men; and as Drew’s comrade came last with the captain, the procession made him nearly break down with misery and despair.
For, what with the slow, regular pacing, the lights carried in front, and the appearance of the man being carried, there was a horrible suggestion in it all of a military funeral, and for the time being it seemed to him that they had recovered his comrade and were carrying him out to his grave.
Chapter Nineteen.
Not dead yet
The entrance at last, with the glorious light of the sun shining in, man after man drawing a heavy sighing breath of relief; and as they gathered outside on the shelf where the sentries were awaiting their coming, it seemed to every one there that for a few moments the world had never looked so bright and beautiful. Then down came the mental cloud of thought upon all, and they formed up solemnly, ready to march down.
“Well, Corporal May,” said the captain, “do you think you can walk?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the man. “My head’s thick and confused-like, but every mouthful of this air I swallow seems to be pulling me round. I can walk, sir, but I may have to fall out and come slowly.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” said the captain, with whom the corporal had always been a petted favourite. “Don’t hurry, my lad. – Sergeant, you and another man fall out too, if it is more than he can manage.”
Then turning to the rest of the party, the captain glanced along the rank at the saddened faces which showed how great a favourite the young lieutenant had been, and something like a feeling of jealousy flashed through him as he began to think how it would have been if he had been the missing man. But the ungenerous thought died out as quickly as it had arisen, and he marched on with the men slowly, so as to make it easier for the corporal, till half the slope of the kopje had been zigzagged down, when he called a halt.
“Sit or lie about in the sunshine for ten minutes, my lads,” he said, and the men gladly obeyed, dropping on the hot stones and tufts of brush, to begin talking together in a low voice, as they let their eyes wander over the prospect around, now looking, by contrast with the black horror through which they had passed, as if no more beautiful scene had ever met their eyes.
“How are you, Dickenson?” said the captain after they had sat together for a few minutes, drinking in the sunlight and air.
The young lieutenant started and looked at him strangely for a few moments before he spoke with a curious catch in his voice.
“Is it all true?” he said.
The captain’s lips parted, but no words came; he only bowed his head slowly, and once more there was silence, till it was broken by Dickenson.
“Poor old Drew!” he said softly. “Well, I hope when my time comes I shall die in the same way.”
“What!” cried the captain, with a look of horror which brought a grim smile to the subaltern’s quivering lip.
“I did not mean that,” he said sadly; “by a bullet, I hope, but doing what poor old Drew was doing – saving another man’s life.”
He turned his head on one side, reached out his hand, and picked from the sun-dried growth close at hand a little dull-red, star-like flower whose petals were hard and horny, one of the so-called everlasting tribe, and taking off his helmet, carefully tucked it in the lining.
“Off the kopje in which he died,” said Dickenson, in reply to an inquiring look directed at him by the captain. “For his people at home if I live to get back. They’ll like to have it.”
Captain Roby said nothing aloud, but he thought, and his thoughts were something to this effect: “Who’d ever have thought it of this light-hearted, chaffing, joking fellow? Why, if they had been brothers he couldn’t have taken it more to heart. Ha! I never liked the poor lad, and I don’t think he liked me. There were times when I believe I hated him for – for – for – Well, why did I dislike him? Because other people liked him better than they did me, I suppose. Ah, well! like or not like, it’s all over now.”
He sat thinking for a few minutes longer, watching Dickenson furtively as he now kept turning himself a little this way and that way and changed his seat twice for a fresh piece of hot stone. Suddenly at his last change he caught the captain’s eye, and said quite cheerfully:
“Getting a bit drier now.” Then, seeing a surprised look in his brother officer’s countenance, he said quietly, “I’m a soldier, sir, and we’ve no time for thinking if there’s another comrade gone out of our ranks.”
“No,” said Roby laconically, and he hold out his hand, in which Dickenson slowly laid his own, looking rather wistfully as he felt it pressed warmly. “I – I hope we shall be better friends in the future, Dickenson,” said the captain rather awkwardly.
“I hope so too, sir,” replied Dickenson, but there was more sadness than warmth in his tones as his hand was released.
“Yes; soldiers have no time for being otherwise. – There!”
The captain sprang up, and Dickenson stiffly followed his example.
“Fall in, my lads. – Well, corporal, how are you now?”
“Head’s horrid bad, sir; but this bit of a rest has pulled me together. I should like to fall out when we get near the way down to the spring.”
“Of course, my lad, of course. – Here, any one else like a drink?”
“Yes, sir,” came in chorus from the rank.
“All of us, please, sir,” added the sergeant.
“Very well, then; we’ll fall out again for a few minutes when get down. ’Tention! Right face – march!”
The men went on, all the better for their rest, while the captain joined Dickenson in the rear, and marched step by step with him for some minutes in silence.
“What confoundedly bad walking it is down here!” he said at last. “Shakes a man all to pieces.”
“I hadn’t noticed it,” said Dickenson, with something like a sigh.
“I say!”
Dickenson turned to look in the captain’s face.
“Come straight to the chief with me, Dickenson. I don’t like my job of telling him. He’ll say I oughtn’t to have let the poor fellow go down.”
“I don’t think he will,” replied Dickenson, after a few moments’ silence. “The old man’s as hard as stone over a bit of want of discipline; but he’s always just.”
“Think so?” said the captain.
“Yes. Always just. I’ll come with you, though I feel as weak as water now. But I shall be better still when we get down to the quarters; and it has got to be done.”
No more was said till the bottom of the kopje was nearly reached, and at a word from the sergeant the men went off left incline down and down and in and out among the loose blocks of weathered and lichen-covered stone which had fallen from the precipices above, while, as glimpses kept appearing of the flashing, dancing water, the men began to increase their pace, till the two foremost leaped down from rock to rock, and one who had outpaced his comrade bounded down out of sight into the deep gully along which the limpid water ran.
“Oh!” exclaimed Dickenson, suddenly stopping short with his face distorted by a look of agony.
“What’s the matter?” cried the captain anxiously. “Taken bad?”
“No, no. The men!” said the young officer huskily. “The water – the men are going to drink. That place in the cavern – it is, of course, where Groenfontein rises.”
“Yes, of course,” replied the captain; “but it is too late now.”
He had hardly uttered the words before there was a yell of horror which made him stop short, for the foremost man came clambering back into sight, gesticulating, and they could see that he looked white and scared.
“Oh!” cried the captain. “It will be sauve qui peut! The Boers have surprised us, and the lads have nothing but their side-arms. Got your revolver? I’ve mine. Let’s do the best we can. Cover, my lads, cover.”
“No, no, no!” cried Dickenson in a choking voice. “I can’t help it, Roby. I feel broken down. He has found poor Drew below there, washed out by the stream!”
“Come on,” cried the captain, and in another few moments they were with the men, who were closing round their startled comrade.
“Couldn’t help it,” the poor fellow panted as his officers came within hearing. “I came upon him so sudden; I thought it was a ghost.”
“Hold your tongue, fool!” growled the sergeant. “Fall in! Show some respect for your poor dead officer. – Beg pardon, gentlemen. They’ve found the lieutenant’s body, and – thank Heaven we can – we can —Ur-r-r!” he ended, with a growl and a tug at the top button of his khaki jacket.
The men shuffled into their places and stood fast, imitating the action of their officers, who gravely doffed their helmets and stepped down into the hollow, where, upon a patch of green growth a few feet above the rippling water foaming and swirling in miniature cascades among the rocks, poor Lennox lay stretched out upon his back in the full sunshine, which had dried up the blood from a long cut upon his forehead, where it had trickled down one side of his face.
He looked pale and ghastly, and there was a discoloration about his mouth and on one cheek where he seemed to have been battered by striking against the stones amongst which he had been driven in his rush through the horrible subterranean channel of the stream; but otherwise he looked as peaceful as if he were asleep.
The captain stopped short, gazing at him, while Dickenson dropped lightly down till he was beside his comrade, and sank gently upon one knee, to bend lower, take hold of the right hand that lay across his chest, and then – “like a girl!” as he afterwards said – he unconsciously let fall two great scalding tears upon his comrade’s cheek.
The effect was magical. Lennox’s eyes opened wildly, to stare blankly in the lieutenant’s face, and the latter sprang to his feet, flinging his helmet high over his head as he turned to the line of waiting men above him and roared out hoarsely:
“Hurrah! Cheer, boys, cheer!”
The shout that rang out was deafening for so small a detachment, and two more followed, louder still; while the next minute discipline was forgotten and the men came bounding down to group about the figure staring at them wildly as if not yet fully comprehending what it all meant, till the lookers-on began shaking hands with one another in their wild delight.
Then Dickenson saw the light of recognition dawn in his comrade’s face, a faint smile appear about his mouth and the corners of his eyes, which gradually closed again; but his lips parted, and as Dickenson bent lower he heard faintly:
“Not dead yet, old man, but,” – His voice sounded very faint after he had paused a few moments, and then continued: “It was very near.”
