Charge! Part 20

"So we are, old fellow, off duty; but it must be officer and private on duty. I say, tell me, though, about the boys and the Sergeant. Did they sneer?"

"Sneer?" I cried indignantly. "You're insulting the brave fellows. They carried you down splendidly, and I believe there wasn't a man here who wouldn't have died for you."

"But-but," he said huskily, "they must have thought me very weak and girlish."

"I must have thought so too-eh?"

"Of course," he said, in a peculiar way.

"Then, of course, I didn't," I cried warmly; "I thought you the bravest, pluckiest fellow I had ever seen."

"Lay it on thick, old fellow," he said huskily; "b.u.t.ter away. Can't you think of something a little stronger than plucky and brave-and-don't take any notice of me, Val, old lad. I'm a bit weak this morning."

"Of course you are," I said sharply, and dashed off at once into a fresh subject. "I say, I must go and hunt out the Sergeant. That was a nasty wound he got after you were hit."

My words had the right effect.

"The Sergeant?" he cried. "Oh, poor old chap! we can't spare him. Was he hurt badly?"

"Oh no, he laughed it off, just as you did your injury; but I am afraid he has lost one finger."

"Ah, my young hero!" cried a cheery voice, and I started round and saluted, for it was the Colonel. "How's the wound-eh?"

"Oh, it isn't a wound, sir," said Denham rather impatiently. "Only a bad bruise."

"Very nearly something worse.-Morning, my lad:" this to me, and I felt the colour flush up into my cheeks. "You behaved uncommonly well last night, and we're all very much indebted to you. Pretty good, this, for a recruit. I heartily wish you had been with us two or three months, and you should certainly have had your first stripes."

I mumbled out something about doing my best.

"You did," said the Colonel. "I'm sorry I spoke so hastily to you in my error. I didn't know you two were friends."

"We are, sir," said Denham warmly.

"Oh, of course; I remember. You shot together some time ago."

"Yes, sir," said Denham, "and I had a grand time with Val Moray, here-big game shooting."

"Not such big game shooting as you are going to have here," said the Colonel. "I'm glad to see you so much better, Denham. Be careful, and mind what the doctor says to you."

He hurried away, and as soon as he had pa.s.sed out of sight the Sergeant, with his arm in a sling, came up from where he had been waiting to ask how his young officer fared, giving me a friendly nod at the same time.

"Oh, there's nothing the matter with me, Briggs," said Denham. "I shall be all right now. Thank you heartily, though, for what you did for me."

"Did for you, sir?" said the Sergeant gruffly. "I did nothing, only just in the way of duty."

"Oh, that was it-was it?" said Denham. "Then you did it uncommonly well-didn't he, Moray?"

"Splendidly," I said, with a fair display of enthusiasm.

"Look here, you, sir," said the Sergeant very gruffly as he turned upon me; "young recruits to the corps have got all their work cut out to learn their duty, without criticising their superior officers. So just you hold your tongue."

"That's a snub, Moray," said Denham; "but never mind.-Look here, Sergeant, how's your wound?"

"Wound, sir?" he replied. "I haven't got any wound."

"Then why is your arm in a sling?"

"Oh, that, sir? That's a bit of the doctor's nonsense. He said I was to keep it on, so I suppose I must. But it isn't a wound."

"What is it, then?" said Denham sharply.

"Bullet cut my finger; that's all."

"Did it cut it much?" asked Denham.

"Took a little bit off, and I went to the doctor for a piece o' sticking-plaster, and he as good as called me a fool."

"What did you say, then, to make him?"

"I said nothing, sir, only that I wanted the plaster."

"Did he give you some?"

"No, sir; but I suppose he wanted to try his new bag o' tools, and got hold of me. 'Hold still,' he says, 'or I shall give you chloroform.' 'Can't you make it a drop o' whisky, sir?' I says. 'Yes, if you behave yourself,' he says. 'Look here, I can't plaster up a place like this. Your finger's in rags, and the bone's in splinters.' 'Oh, it'll soon grow together, sir,' I says. 'Nothing of the kind, sir,' he says; 'it'll go bad if I don't make a clean job of it. Now then, shut your eyes, and sit still in that chair. I won't hurt you much.'"

"Did he?" said Denham.

"Pretty tidy, sir; just about as much as he could. He takes out a tool or two, and before I knew where I was he'd made a clean cut or two and taken off some more of my finger, right down to the middle joint. 'There,' he says, as soon as he'd put some cotton-wool soaked with nasty stuff on the place, after sewing and plastering it up-'there, that'll heal up quickly and well now!'"

"Of course," said Denham. "Made a clean job of it."

"Clean job, sir?" said the Sergeant. "Well, yes, he did it clean enough, and so was the lint and stuff; but it's made my finger so ugly. It looks horrid. I say, sir, do you think the finger'll grow again?"

"No, Briggs, I don't; so you must make the best of it."

"But crabs' and lobsters' claws grow again, sir; for I've seen 'em do it at home, down in Cornwall."

"Yes; but we're not crabs and lobsters, Sergeant. There, never mind about such a bit of a wound as that."

"I don't, sir-not me; but it do look ugly, and feels as awkward as if I'd lost an arm. There, I must be off, sir. I've got to see to our poor fellows who are to go off in a wagon back to the town."

"How many were hurt?" said Denham eagerly.

"Five; and pretty badly, too."

"Any one-" Then Denham stopped short.

"No, sir, not one, thank goodness; but those lads won't be on horseback again these two months to come. Doctor wanted me to go with the wagon, but I soon let him know that wouldn't do."