Kitabı oku: «The Kopje Garrison: A Story of the Boer War», sayfa 21
The doctor literally drove Dickenson before him, and hooked him by the arm as soon as they were outside.
“I’m very glad we settled for that idea of mine to be private, Dickenson, my dear boy. But it did look horribly like it.”
“Perhaps,” said the young man. “But you give it up now?”
“Certainly,” said the doctor.
“And you give up the idea too about his running away?”
“Of course.”
“Then the sooner you give Roby something that will bring him to his senses the better.”
“I wish I could; but the poor fellow seems to have got it stamped into his brain.”
“Yes; and the worst of it is he doesn’t talk like a man touched in the head.”
“No, he does not; though he is, without doubt.”
“Can’t you talk quietly to the chief? There’s he and the major and Edwards take it all as a matter of course. They don’t give poor old Drew the credit for all that he has done since we were here, but believe all the evil. It’s abominable.”
“Esprit de corps, Dickenson, my lad.”
“Yes, that’s all right enough; but they turn silent and cold as soon as the poor fellow’s name is mentioned; while that isn’t the worst of it.”
“What is, then?” said the doctor.
“The men sing the tune their officers have pitched, and that miserable sneak, Corporal May, sings chorus. Oh! it’s bad, sir; bad. Fancy: there was the poor fellow knocked over when trying to save his captain’s life, and the man he helped to save turns upon him like this.”
“Yes, it is bad,” said the doctor; “but, like many more bad things, it dies out.”
“What! the credit of being a coward, doctor? No; it grows. Ur-r-r!” growled the speaker. “I should like to ram all that Corporal May has said down his throat. He’d find it nastier physic than any you ever gave him, doctor. I say, I’m not a vindictive fellow, but when I keep hearing these things about a man I like, it makes me boil. Do you think there’s any chance of the corporal getting worse?”
“No,” said the doctor sternly; “he hasn’t much the matter with him, only a few bruises. But if he did die it would be worse still for poor Lennox.”
“No! How?”
“Because he’d leave the poison behind him. There, I’ll do all I can with the colonel; but all the officers believe Roby, and that Lennox was seized with a fit of panic. There’s only one way for him to clear it away.”
“Exchange? How can he?”
“Exchange? Nonsense! Get strong, return to his company, and show every one that he is not the coward they think.”
“There’s something in that, certainly,” said Dickenson sadly; “but he’ll want opportunities. Suppose he had the chance to save the major’s life; how do we know that he too wouldn’t set it about that Lennox was more cowardly still? Saving lives doesn’t seem to pay.”
“Nonsense, my lad! You’re speaking bitterly now.”
“Enough to make me, sir. It isn’t only Roby; Lennox saved Corporal May as well.”
“Never mind that. You tell Lennox to try again. Third time, they say, never fails.”
“Humph!” said Dickenson. “Well, we shall see.”
“Yes,” said the doctor; “we shall see.”
Chapter Thirty Four.
The Mud that Stuck
“It’s a bad business, Mr Lennox,” said the colonel sternly, some weeks later, when matters looked very dreary again in the camp, for the supplies of provisions had once more begun to grow very short, and the constant strain of petty attacks had affected officers and men to a degree that made them morose and bitter in the extreme.
“But surely, sir, you don’t believe this of me?” said Lennox, flushing.
“As a man, no, Mr Lennox; but as your commanding officer I am placed in a very awkward position. The captain of your company makes the most terrible charge against you that could be made against a young officer.”
“But under what circumstances? He was suffering from a serious injury to the head; he was delirious at the time.”
“But he is not delirious now, Mr Lennox, and that which he accused you of in a state of wild frenzy he maintains, now that he is recovering fast, in cold blood.”
“Yes, sir; it seems cold-blooded enough after what I did for him.”
“Unfortunately he maintains that this is all an invention on your part.”
“And my being dragged away for some distance by one of the Boers, sir?”
“Yes; he declares that he was not insensible for some time after his hurt, and that had what you say occurred he must have seen it.”
“Then it is his word against mine, sir?” said Lennox.
“Unfortunately it is not, Lennox,” said the colonel gravely. “If it were only that I should feel very differently situated. Your conduct during the war has been so gallant that, without the slightest hesitation, I should side with you and set down all that Captain Roby has said to a hallucination caused by the injury to his head. But, you see, there is the testimony of Corporal May, who declares that he witnessed your conduct – conduct which I feel bound to say seems, when weighed by your previous actions, perfectly inexplicable.”
“Then I am to consider, sir, on the testimony of this man, that I am unworthy of holding a commission in Her Majesty’s service?” said Lennox bitterly.
“Stop,” said the colonel. “Don’t be rash, and say things of which you may repent, Lennox.”
“An innocent man defending himself against such a charge, sir, cannot always weigh his words. Look at my position, sir. I am fit now to return to my duty, and I find a marked coldness on the part of my brother officers and a peculiarity in the looks of the men which shows me plainly enough that they believe it true.”
“I have noticed it myself,” said the colonel, “save in two instances. Mr Dickenson is downright in his defence of you; and I freely tell you for your comfort that the bravest non-commissioned officer in the regiment, when I was speaking to him on the subject, laughed the charge to scorn, and – confound him! – he had the insolence to tell me he’d as soon believe that I would run away as believe it of you.”
“Ha!” ejaculated Lennox, with his eyes brightening. “Sergeant James?”
“Yes; Sergeant James. A fine, staunch fellow, Lennox. He’ll have his commission by-and-by if I can help it on.”
“Well, sir,” said Lennox slowly, “I suppose it is of no use to fight against fate. Am I to consider myself under arrest?”
“Certainly not,” said the colonel firmly. “This is no time for dealing with such a matter. I have enough on my hands to keep the enemy at a distance, and I want every one’s help. But as soon as we are relieved – if we ever are – I am bound, unless Captain Roby and the corporal retract all they have said and attribute it to delirium – I am bound, I say, to call the attention of my superiors to the matter. I shall do so unwillingly, but I must. Out of respect to your brother officers, and for your sake as well, I cannot let this matter slide. It would be blasting your career as a soldier – for you could not retain your commission in this regiment.”
“No, sir,” said Lennox slowly, “nor exchange into another. But it seems hard, sir.”
“Yes, Lennox, speaking to you not as your colonel but as a friend, terribly hard.”
“Then the sooner I am arrested and tried by court-martial, sir, the better. I was ready to return to my duty, but to go on with every one in the regiment looking upon me as a coward is more than I could bear.” The colonel was silent. “Have I your leave, sir, to go back to my quarters?” said Lennox at last.
“Not yet,” said the colonel. “Look here, Lennox; this wretched charge has been made, and I cannot tell my officers and men what they shall and what they shall not believe. An inquiry must take place – by-and-by. Till it is held, the task rests with you to prove to your brother officers and the men that they have misjudged you.”
“And to you, sir,” said Lennox coldly.
“I do not judge you yet, Lennox,” said the colonel gravely. “I am waiting.”
“And how am I to prove, sir, that I am not what they think me?”
The colonel shrugged his shoulders and smiled sadly.
“You need not go and publish what I say, Lennox,” he replied; “but I have very good reason to believe that the Boers are heartily sick of waiting for us to surrender, and that they have received orders to make an end of our resistance.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“They have been receiving reinforcements, and the blacks bring word in that they have now two more guns. There will be plenty of chances for you to show that you are no coward, and that before many hours are past.”
“Do you mean, sir, that I can take my place in the company?”
“I do.”
“Thank you, sir. Something within me seems to urge me to hold aloof, for the coldness I have experienced since the doctor said I was fit for service is unbearable.”
“Would not standing upon your dignity, Lennox, and letting your comrades face the enemy, look worse than manfully taking your place side by side with the men who are going forward to risk wounds or death?”
“Yes, sir; much,” said Lennox, flushing. “I will live it down.”
“Shake hands, Lennox,” said the colonel, holding out his own. “Now I feel that you have been misjudged. Those were the words of a brave man. Mind this: the matter must be properly heard by-and-by, but let it remain in abeyance. Go and live it down.”
The young officer had something more to say, but the words would not come; and the colonel, after a glance at him, turned to a despatch he had been writing, and began to read it over as if in ignorance of his visitor’s emotion.
“Oh, by the way, Lennox, one word before you go. About this man May. Have you ever given him any cause to dislike you?”
“No, sir, I think not. I must own to always having felt a dislike to him.”
“Indeed,” said the colonel sharply. “Why?”
“I would rather you did not ask me, sir.”
“Speak out, man!” said the colonel sternly.
“Well, sir, I have never liked him since he obtained his promotion.”
“Why?”
“I did not think he deserved it so well as some of the other men of his standing.”
“Humph! Let me see; he was promoted on Captain Roby’s recommendation.”
“Yes, sir; he was always a favourite with his captain.”
“Have you been a bit tyrannical – overbearing?”
“I have only done my duty by him, sir. Certainly I have been rather sharp with him when I have noticed a disposition on his part to hang back.”
“Perhaps he has never forgiven you for saving his life,” said the colonel, smiling.
“Oh, surely not, sir.”
“I don’t know,” said the colonel. “But think a minute.”
“I was certainly very sharp with him that time when we explored the cavern, for that was one of the occasions when he hung back as if scared. But no, no, sir; I will not suspect the man of accusing me as he has through spite. He believes he saw me run, no doubt. But I did not.”
“There, Lennox, you’ve had a long interview, and I have my despatch to write up. I have plenty to worry my head without your miserable business. Now, no rashness, mind; but I shall expect to hear of you leading your men in the very front.”
“If they will follow me, sir, I shall be there,” said Lennox quietly. “If they will not, I shall go alone.”
Chapter Thirty Five.
Company at Dinner
“Why didn’t you tell me you were going to have it out with the chief?” said Dickenson, encountering his comrade directly he had left the colonel’s quarters.
“Because you told me never to mention the wretched business again.”
“Did I? Oh, that was when I was in a wax. Well, what does the old man say?”
“That I am to go on as if nothing had happened.”
“That’s good. Well, what else?”
“Take my place in my company, and wait till we’re relieved, and then be ready for a court-martial.”
“That’s good too, for no one can prove you guilty. What else?”
“Keep well in the front, and get myself killed as soon as I can.”
“If he said that, he’s a brute!” cried Dickenson. “Gammon! I don’t believe the old man would say such a thing. But look here, I’m precious glad. This means you’re going to live it down.”
Lennox nodded. “Here,” he said, “let’s go into our hut.”
“No, not yet. I want to walk up and down in the fresh air a bit.”
“But the sun is terribly hot.”
“Do you good,” said Dickenson abruptly. “Let’s go right to the end and back three or four times.”
“Bah!” said Lennox. “You want to do this so as to ostentatiously show that you mean to keep friends with me.”
“Suppose I do. I’ve a right to, haven’t I?”
“Not to give me pain. It does. Help me to live it down quietly.”
“Very well; if you like it better. But I say, you’ll show up in the mess-room to-night?”
“Why should I?”
“Because the place is wretched and the fare’s – beastly. There, that doesn’t sound nice, but I must say it.”
“I had rather stay away. It would only provoke what I should feel cruelly, and I could not resent it.”
“No, but I could; and if any one insults you by sending you to Coventry, I’ll provoke him. I suppose I mustn’t punch my superior officer’s head, but off duty I can tell him what I think of him, and I’ll let him have it hot and strong.”
“Then I shall stay away.”
“No, you sha’n’t. I will instead.”
“That would be worse, Bob. Look here; I want you to help me to live this charge down, to treat it with quiet contempt. If you make yourself so fierce a partisan you will keep the wound sore and prevent it from healing up.”
“Very well, then; I’ll give it a good chance. There, I promise you I won’t show my temper a bit; only play fair.”
“In what way?”
“Don’t turn upon me afterwards and call me a coward for not taking your part.”
“Never fear. I don’t want you to get into hot water for my sake.”
“My dear boy,” said Dickenson, chuckling like a cuckoo in a coppice in early spring, “that’s impossible.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in hot water now with everybody, and have been ever since.”
“I am sorry.”
“And I am glad – jolly glad. Oh, don’t I wish there was duelling still!”
“Haven’t you killed enough men to satisfy you?” said Lennox sadly.
“More than enough. I don’t want to kill brother officers, only to give them lessons in manly faith. But bother that! I say: you promise to come and take your place this evening?”
“Yes; I promise,” said Lennox quietly.
“Then I’ll tell you something. Roby’s coming too.”
“Roby!”
“Yes; for the first time since he got his wound.”
Lennox was silent.
“There, I’m not going to try and teach you, old fellow,” continued Dickenson; “but if I were you I should ignore everything, unless the boys do as they should do – meet you like men.”
“Well,” said Lennox, “we shall see.”
That dinner-time came all too soon for Lennox, who had sat in his shabby quarters thinking how wondrously quiet everything was, and whether after what the colonel had hinted it was the calm preceding the storm.
“Come along,” cried Dickenson, thrusting his head into the hut.
Lennox felt his heart sink as he thought of the coming meeting, for this was the first time he had approached the mess-room since the night of the attack upon the kopje. He winced, too, a little as he passed two sentries, who seemed, he thought, to look curiously at him. But the next moment his companion’s rather boisterous prattle fell upon deaf ears, for just in front, on their way to the mess-room, were Roby and the doctor walking arm in arm, and then they disappeared through the door.
“Oh, won’t I punish the provisions when the war is over!” said Dickenson. Sniff, sniff! “Ah! I know you, my friend, in spite of the roasting. I’d a deal rather be outside you than you inside me. And yet it’s all prejudice, Drew, old man, for the horse is the cleanest and most particular of vegetable-feeding beasts, and the pig is the nastiest – cannibalistic and vile.”
They passed through the door together, to find the colonel present, and the other officers about to take their places. Roby had evidently not been prepared for this, and he looked half-stunned when the doctor turned from him, advanced to Lennox, and shook hands.
“I wish we had a better dinner in honour of my two convalescents.”
“This is insufferable,” said Roby in a voice choking with anger.
“Let that wait, doctor,” said the colonel.
“Come along, Lennox,” cried Dickenson, after darting a furious glance at Roby. “Very, very glad to see you once more in your place.”
No one else spoke for a few moments, and the dinner was about to be commenced, when Roby suddenly rose to his feet.
“Colonel Lindley,” he said, in a husky voice full of rage, “are you aware who is present here this evening?”
“Yes, Captain Roby,” said the colonel sternly. “I desired Mr Lennox, now that he is convalescent, to return to his usual place at the mess-table.”
Roby’s jaw dropped, and he stared at the officers around as if silently asking them whether he heard aright. But every man averted his eyes and assumed to be busy commencing the miserable meal.
“Well!” exclaimed Roby at last; and then in a tone which expressed his utter astonishment: “Well.”
“Sit down, Captain Roby,” continued the colonel, raising his eyebrows as he saw that his subordinate was still standing.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Roby stiffly, after looking round in vain for something in the way of moral support from his brother officers, who all sat frowning at their portions.
“Yes?” said the colonel calmly.
“I have no wish to be insubordinate, but, speaking on behalf of all present here, I desire to say that we feel it impossible to remain at the table in company with one who – ”
“That will do,” said the colonel, fixing Dickenson with his eyes, for that individual had suddenly given vent to a sound that was neither sigh, grunt, ejaculation, nor snort, but something that might have been the result of all these combined.
“I beg your pardon, sir?” said Roby hotly.
“I said that would do, Captain Roby,” replied the colonel. “I did not gather that you had been elected to speak for your brother officers upon a subject about which I consider myself to be the proper arbiter. Moreover, if any officer feels himself aggrieved respecting any one whom I elect to join us at the mess-table, I am always open to hear his complaint.”
“But really, sir,” began Roby indignantly, “this is an assembly of honourable gentlemen.”
“With an exception,” growled Dickenson.
“Yes,” cried Roby passionately, “with an exception – I may add, two exceptions.”
“Look here, Captain Roby,” cried Dickenson, springing up, “do you mean this as an insult to me?”
“Silence!” cried the colonel, rising in turn. “Mr Dickenson, resume your seat.”
Dickenson dropped down so heavily that the empty cartridge-box that formed his seat cracked as if about to collapse.
“Captain Roby,” said the colonel, “I beg that you will say no more now upon this painful subject. Resume your seat, sir.”
“Sir,” said Roby, “I must ask your permission to leave the mess-table. Whatever my brother officers may choose to do, I absolutely refuse to sit at the same table with a – ”
“Stop!” roared Dickenson, springing up again in a furious passion. “If you dare to call my friend Lennox a coward again, court-martial or no court-martial, I’ll knock you down.”
Every man now sprang to his feet as if startled by the sudden verbal shell which had fallen amongst them. Then there was a dead silence, till Lennox said huskily, “Will you give me your permission to return to my quarters, sir?”
“No, Mr Lennox,” said the colonel quietly. “Take your places again, gentlemen. – Captain Roby – Mr Lennox – if we are alive and uninjured in the morning I will see you both at my quarters with respect to this painful business. To-night we have other matters to arrange. I have just received trustworthy information that another reinforcement has reached the enemy. I have doubled the number of scouts sent out, and as soon as we have dined we have all our work to do in completing our arrangements to meet what the Boers intend for their final attack. Gentlemen, sit down. Our duty to our country first; minor matters of discipline after.”
There was a low buzz of excitement as every man resumed his seat, Roby alone hesitating, but dropping sharply back into his place in unwilling obedience to a sharp tug given at his tunic by the officers on either side.
“What about your promise?” said Lennox in a whisper to Dickenson.
“Hang my promise!” growled his comrade. “Do you take me for a stump?”
Chapter Thirty Six.
“What a Brick!”
Every one burst into the hurried flow of conversation that now followed the colonel’s announcement, the excitement growing at the thought of the dreary siege at last coming to an end, while, to judge from the remarks, the feeling at the table was one of relief at the prospect of at last trying final conclusions with the Boers.
“Yes,” said Captain Edwards to those near him, “I am heartily glad. Let them come on and give us a chance of some real fighting. All this miserable sniping and lurking behind stones has been barbarous. People say that the Boers are patriotic and brave: let them act like soldiers and give us a chance.”
The conversation grew more and more exciting, till the meagre repast was at an end, when the colonel rose and walked round to the back of Dickenson’s seat.
“Come to my quarters,” he said quietly, and he walked out, followed by the young subaltern.
The stars were out, shining brightly, and all looked peaceful and grand as the colonel led on to his hut, with Dickenson stringing himself up for the encounter he was about to have with his chief, and growing more and more determined and stubborn as the moment approached.
“I don’t care,” he said to himself. “I’ll tell him I’ll challenge Roby, whether it’s allowed or not;” and then he felt as if some one had thrown cold water in his face, for the colonel said quietly:
“What a grand night, Dickenson! I wonder what our friends are doing at home, and whether they are thinking about us.”
Dickenson stared at him, but it was too dark for him to distinguish the play of his officer’s countenance.
“No light,” said the colonel as he turned into his quarters. “Have you a match?”
“Yes, sir,” said the young officer rather gruffly, and the little silver box he took from his pocket tinkled softly as he searched for a match and struck it, the flash showing the colonel turning up the lamp wick.
“That’s right,” he said; “light it.”
A minute later the mean-looking hut, with its camp table, lamp, and stools, was lit up, and the colonel seated himself.
“I’ve very few words to say, Dickenson,” he said kindly, “but those are about your conduct to-night. You are young, hot-headed, and unwise.”
“Can’t help it, sir. My nature,” said the young man shortly.
“I suppose so. But of course you are aware that you have been guilty of a great breach of etiquette, and that your conduct cannot be passed over very lightly.”
“I suppose not, sir. I’m ready to take my punishment.”
“Yes,” said the colonel; and then, after a pause, “You seem to attach yourself more than ever to Mr Lennox since this affair.”
“Yes, sir; we are very old friends. I should not be his friend if I did not stick to him now he is under a cloud.”
“Rather unwise, is it not? You see, you cut yourself apart from your brother officers, who are bound to stand aloof till Mr Lennox has cleared himself.”
“I’m sorry not to be friendly with them, sir,” said Dickenson sturdily; “and if there is any cutting apart, it is their doing, not mine. I am ready to do my duty in every way, sir; but I must stand by my friend.”
“Then you have perfect faith in his innocence?”
“Perfect, sir; and so would you have if you knew him as well as I do.”
“I do know him pretty well, Dickenson,” said the colonel quietly. “Well, I suppose you know that I ought to be very severe with you?”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“And that I was bound to summon you to come to my quarters?”
“Or put me under arrest, sir.”
“I cannot spare any of my officers to-night, Dickenson, so I suppose it must be deferred till after the attack.”
“Thank you, sir. I don’t want to be out of the fight.”
“I suppose not. By the way, have you seen much of Roby since he has been about again?”
“Oh yes; a great deal, sir, on purpose. I’ve been trying to get him into a better frame of mind.”
“Well, I must say that you have not succeeded very well.”
“Horribly, sir. I thought he’d think differently as his wound healed up; but he is worse than ever.”
“Now then,” said the colonel, “tell me frankly what you think of Captain Roby’s state.”
“I think he puzzles me, sir. One hour I think he is as mad as a hatter – ”
“Say as mad.”
“Yes, sir; one hour he’s as mad as mad, and the next he’s perfectly sane.”
“Perfectly sane, I should say, Dickenson,” said the colonel.
“Yes, sir, in all things but one, and over that he’s just like that fellow in the story.”
“What fellow in what story?” said the colonel coldly.
“That Mr Dick, sir, who couldn’t write anything without getting King Charles’s head into it.”
“I see; and you think Captain Roby cannot help getting what he considers to be Lennox’s cowardice into his head?”
“Exactly, sir.”
“Humph! Well, there may be something in that. There, I have no more to say to you now. No rashness to-night, but do your best with your men. I’d rather hear that you saved one of our lads than killed half-a-dozen Boers.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Understand this too. If you have any conversation with your brother officers, say I have had you here to give you a severe reproof for the present, and that probably something more will follow when we have crushed the Boers. If they crush us you will get off. That will do, Dickenson. I expect our friends will visit us to-night, though more probably it will be just before daylight. Ask the major to step here as you go. By the way, you and Lennox were at school together?”
“Yes, sir; and at Sandhurst too.”
“Well, I hope he has as good an opinion of you as you have of him. Good-night for the present.”
“Good-night, sir,” said the young man as he went out into the starlight to deliver his message. – “Well, I hope we shall win to-night, for the chief’s sake! Hang it all,” he muttered, “what a brick he is!”
