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Chapter Thirty Eight.
The Doctor’s Diplomacy
It was a couple of days later, when the kopje was dotted with the rough shelters that the uninjured men had worked hard to erect from the ruins of the village, the principal being for the benefit of the wounded. The position was the same, or nearly the same, as it had been before. The Boers had retreated to their laagers, which were more strongly held than ever, and the investment was kept up with more savage determination; while the defenders had only the kopje to hold now, the village being a desolation, and the colonel’s forces sadly reduced.
The doctor was in better spirits, and showed it, for he had managed to get something like order in his arrangements for his wounded men. But the colonel and the major were in lower spirits, and did not show it, for matters looked very black indeed, relief seeming farther off than ever.
“My last orders were to hold this place,” said the colonel to the major, “and I’m going to hold it.”
“Of course! Keep on. Every day we shall be having another man or two back in the ranks. Ah! here is Emden. – Well, how are the lads?”
“Getting on splendidly. My dear sirs, I have heard people abuse the Mauser as a diabolical weapon. Nothing of the sort; it is one of the most humane. The wounds are small, cleanly cut, and, so long as a bone is not touched, begin to heal with wonderful rapidity. Come and have a look round.”
“Yes; we have come on purpose,” said the colonel. “By the way, though, before we go into the officers’ shelter, I wish you had contrived differently about Roby and Lennox. It seemed very short-sighted, after what has occurred, to place them next to one another.”
“My dear sir,” cried the doctor, “I did all I could to try and save the poor fellows’ lives as they were carried in to me, without thinking about their squabbles and quarrels and rank.”
“Yes, yes; of course, doctor. I beg your pardon. You have done wonders.”
“Thankye! Done my best, of course. But don’t you worry about those two; they’ll be all right. Come and see.”
“But about the men? Nothing more serious, I hope.”
“N-n-no. Had to take that fellow’s leg off to save his life.”
“What poor fellow? Oh yes – Corporal May?”
“Yes. He objected strongly, but it had to be done. He threatens to commence an action against me when he gets home – so I hear.”
They had been moving towards the shelter of corrugated iron beneath which the officers lay, each of whom greeted them with a smile. They were all badly wounded, but looked restful and contented, as wounded men do who have achieved a victory.
Roby seemed to be the most cheerful, and he beckoned to the colonel to come closer, while the doctor cocked his eye rather drolly and in a way that the chief did not understand.
“Well, Roby,” said the colonel, “you look better.”
“Well, for a man who has had the top of his head rasped by a bullet and got a hole right through his leg, I call myself a wonder.”
“Does your wound pain you much?”
“Quite enough; but there, I don’t mind. We’ve whipped.”
“Yes,” said the colonel, smiling; “we’ve whipped, thanks to every one’s gallant behaviour. You did splendidly, Roby.”
“Did my best, sir,” said the captain quietly. “But I’m not quite as I should like to be,” he continued confidentially. “Don’t take any notice. I can’t quite understand about my hurt on the head.”
“Indeed?” said the colonel, frowning.
“I recollect, of course, getting the stinging pain in my leg, and going down, and then it seemed to me that one of the Boers kicked me at the top of the forehead with his heavy boot, and I was trampled on. After that I fainted, and didn’t come to until the firing was going on and Lennox came running through it to pick me up. Colonel, that’s about the bravest thing that has been done since we’ve been here.”
“Quite,” said the colonel, watching the speaker curiously.
“I want you to promise me that you’ll mention it well in your despatch about the taking of the laager.”
“If I ever get a despatch to headquarters it shall contain that, I promise you.”
“Thank you,” said Roby warmly, and with the tears now in his eyes. “I say, colonel, I’m sorry I went down; but the doctor says the lads got back after another skirmish, with plenty of cattle and stores.”
“Yes,” said the colonel; “it was a splendid addition to our supplies and – ”
“Stop! stop! please, colonel,” said the doctor. “Roby’s weak yet.”
“Oh no, doctor.”
“My dear fellow, I say yes; and I say,” said the doctor, bending down to whisper to his patient, “Lennox and Dickenson are both very feeble. Think of them.”
Roby took the doctor’s hand and pressed it, accompanying the pressure with a significant look.
“Thank you for coming, colonel,” he said, “and you too, major. Emden’s an awful tyrant when he gets us on our backs.”
“Right,” said the doctor. “Nero was nothing to me. – Now, gentlemen, just a word or two with the rest of my nursery folk, and then I must order you off.”
The colonel nodded, passed on to Captain Edwards, and said a word or two; the same followed at Dickenson’s side, where the young officer, forgetful of his wounds, gave his chief a look full of exultation, receiving a good-humoured nod in return, and Dickenson turned his face sidewise with a sigh of content.
“Wait a bit,” he said to himself. “I’ll have it out with the old man as soon as I get better. He’s bound to ask poor old Drew’s pardon. But fancy Roby turning like this.”
Meanwhile the colonel had passed on to Lennox’s side, to find him far the greatest sufferer of the party present, and unable to do more than smile his thanks and lie back, extremely weak, but with a look of calm restfulness in his eyes that told that there was nothing mental to trouble him and keep him back.
“What do you think of them, colonel?” said the doctor as soon as they were outside.
“All much better than I expected,” said the colonel.
“But what about Roby? He is quite delirious from his wound, is he not?”
“Perfectly calm, sir, with his mens much more Sana than his corpus. I thought he was all wrong at first, but he’s only weak – pulse regular, temperature as cool as a hot iron roof will let it be.” (Note: Mens sana in corpore sano.)
“But, hang it all, doctor! his head’s all in a muddle about storming the little kopje and getting the cattle and stores away.”
“Yes; that’s the comical part of it. He’s a bit mixed, and in his present state I let him think what he likes, so long as it is not likely to do him any harm.”
“But really, Doctor Emden, I fail to follow your reasoning,” said the colonel rather stiffly.
“Never mind, colonel; leave it. I don’t follow all your military manoeuvres, so I leave them to you. Let the cobbler stick to his last. There, man, don’t look mystified. Let me explain. Roby had bad concussion of the brain from that first shot. There was no fracture, but the bone was, so to speak, a little dented down, and the consequence was that, though he rapidly recovered his health bodily, he did not get his mental balance quite right at the same time.”
“Then you think that charge of his against Lennox was a trifling aberration that’s now over. I hope you are right, doctor; but – ”
“But me no buts,” said the doctor. “I stake my reputation upon it. Surely, man, you can see the proof? The poor fellow showed you that he has not the slightest recollection now of what has been going on since the expedition to the laager.”
“To be sure,” said the major. “I see now. That explains it. He talked as if he thought this was the result of being shot down there.”
“To be sure he does. He thinks, too, that Edwards is wounded from a skirmish with the Boers during the retreat.”
“Then there was no nonsense, no unreality, in his display of interest in poor Lennox?”
“Not a bit. He’s delighted with the poor fellow’s gallantry, and talks to me about how much he owes him.”
“But his charge of cowardice?”
“Wind, my dear sir; wind. Let it blow away. If any one were to tell him of it now he would stare with astonishment and ask you if you meant to insult him. Take my word for it, the hallucination has completely passed away. The fresh wound, with its loss by haemorrhage, and the reaction, has acted antagonistically to his mental trouble. He has, so to speak, stepped mentally from the attack on the Boers to their attack on us, and as soon as he recovers his strength he’ll be as good a man as ever.”
“But when we tell him about his charge?” said the colonel.
“Why tell him, sir? Let it rest. If it ever comes out by accident, that’s quite another thing. The trouble has settled itself, as some troubles will.”
“I wish this one would,” said the major, “for I’m getting very sick of being penned up here on very reduced rations. Have they quite forgotten us at headquarters?”
“No,” said the colonel. “Their hands are full. – Meanwhile, doctor, our ranks are very thin, so as fast as you can send the poor lads back to the ranks, let us have them again. The Boers will not let us rest like this for long.”
Chapter Thirty Nine.
At Last!
But the Boers had received so severe a lesson that they did leave the garrison severely alone for nearly a month, save that there were often sharp encounters between patrols and the foraging parties which made a dash whenever there was a chance of capturing something for the military larder.
It had come to the colonel holding a private council, at which the doctor was present to give his opinion how long it would be before the wounded men would be sufficiently strong to undertake a night march and then push on to try and join hands with the nearest post held by our forces.
“If we could feed the lads as they ought to be fed, in about a month,” replied the doctor quietly. “Going on as we are now – never.” The colonel started from his seat. “Do you mean this, Emden?” he said excitedly. “The men’s appearance speaks for itself. It is all the healthy can do to keep body and soul together; the wounded are at a standstill.”
“No, no,” said the colonel warmly; “all of our officers, though certainly weak, have returned to their duty.”
“Yes,” said the doctor; “but then they all partook more of a certain essence than the men do. The poor fellows had done marvellously well, and the more educated, better-class fellows compare wonderfully well with those of a lower station; but there is that difference.”
“And pray what is the wonderful essence, doctor?” said Captain Edwards, smiling.
“Esprit de corps, my dear sir,” said the doctor.
“Well,” cried the colonel, “then you have settled it, doctor. We are not going to surrender.”
“No!” came in chorus.
“We can’t go and leave our weak ones behind.”
“No!” came with double the force.
“We are too much reduced in available men to run any risks.” There was no reply to this, and the colonel continued: “Then there is nothing else to be done, gentlemen, but take up another hole in our belts, keep on sending messages when we can get a Kaffir runner, and wait patiently for help.”
As the officers sauntered away from the rough hut which had been built in a niche for the colonel, Roby was limping along with the aid of a stick and Lennox’s arm, while Dickenson was rolling up a cigarette composed of the very last dust of his tobacco, ready to hand it to the captain, who suffered a good deal still from the bullet wound, the missile having passed right through his thigh. They had to pass two of their men, seated upon a rock in a shady corner, one of them being minus his right leg, which had been removed half-way between knee and hip; the other was recovering very slowly from a bullet wound in the face, an injury which had mended very slowly and kept him low-spirited, fretful, and ready to affect the companionship of one as fretful and as great a sufferer as himself. The group of officers stopped to say a few kind words to the men, and then, having nothing hopeful to hold out for their comfort, passed on.
“See that Captain Roby?” said the one-legged man.
“Of course I do.”
“Well, I did have some hopes of him as being a man, but he isn’t. He’s a sneak, that’s what he is – a sneak.”
“Better not let him hear you say so,” said the other.
“Tell him if you like.”
“Tell him yourself.”
“You know how he let on about Mr Lennox running away in the fight?”
“Oh yes, of course; but it was all a mistake. He was off his head, Captain Roby was.”
“Tchah! Not he. It was all true, but the captain wouldn’t hold to it. They hang together, these officers, and make things up, so that when their turn comes to be in trouble the others back them. I was out here the other day, and old Roby came doing the civil and asking me how I was, so I rounded upon him about giving up saying Mr Lennox was a coward. What do you think he says?”
“Said you were cracked.”
“Yes; only he said mad. What do you think of that?”
“That he ought to have said you were a sneak and a cur,” said the man, getting up and walking away, but only to stop and turn round. “Look here, corporal,” he said; “take a bit of advice. Drop that altogether, or some day the chaps may turn upon you and forget that you’re a crippled man, and give you what you don’t like.”
“Why?” cried Corporal May wrathfully.
“Because every one of us thinks Mr Lennox is about the pluckiest fellow in the regiment, and would follow him into the hottest fire the enemy could get up.”
Affairs, after gliding sluggishly along for months, began to move swiftly now. Two weeks after there was an announcement that a Kaffir, a despatch-runner, had reached the kopje, and he was hurried before the officers, to prove to be the Zulu who had brought in the warning of the last attack. He had fresh news now – that once more the Boers had been reinforced, and that they had received three heavy guns. Preparations were again made for the reception of the enemy, but the men moved about looking grave and stern. The old hopeful elasticity seemed gone. Dickenson noted this, and called Lennox’s attention to it.
“Yes,” he said; “but the first shouts will rouse them, and they’ll fight as well as ever.”
“Of course,” said Dickenson. “Still, one can’t help feeling dull.”
There was no attack that night; but the scouts had reports to make of the advance of the enemy from all the laagers, and the next morning soon after sunrise half-a-dozen Boers rode up under the white flag – their leader being blindfolded and led into the colonel’s presence, with the other officers gathered round.
“I have come from our general with a message,” said the Boer officer shortly. “He knows that you are all nearly starved, and that the kopje is covered with sick and wounded. He tells me to say he does not wish to attack and shoot you all down, though you deserve it. He says he will be merciful, and gives you ten minutes to consider whether you will haul down and surrender. What am I to tell him?”
“Tell the officer who sent you that we do not want ten seconds to consider, and that we do not know how to haul down the British colours. Let him come here and drag them down himself.”
“What do you mean?” said the man roughly, and opening his eyes wider than was his wont in wonder.
“War!” cried the colonel sternly, and he signalled to those who had brought the messenger to re-tie the bandage across his eyes and lead him back through the lines.
Two hours later a heavy gun began the attack, one which was to be no night surprise entailing a heavy loss to the assailants, but a slow, deliberate shelling of the gallantly defended place to destruction; while now the difficulty was felt by the garrison for the first time of how to reply, for the new guns which had come upon the scene were served with smokeless powder, and the best glasses failed to show whence the bursting shells had come.
The officers had nothing to do on the kopje but keep going about among their men in the trenches and behind the walls, to say a few encouraging words and insist upon them not exposing themselves, for it was waste of cartridges to use a rifle; while the firing from the big gun and its smaller brothers too was infrequent for the reasons above given. Hence it fell about that more than once the officers paid what may be called visits from time to time, just to exchange a few words, and on one of these occasions Captain Roby, who walked fairly well with a stick, joined Lennox and Dickenson.
“This is cheerful,” he said. “Did you over know anything more exasperating?”
“Horrible!” said the two young men in a breath. “What’s the chief going to do?” added Dickenson.
“I’ve just come from him,” replied Roby. “Nothing. What can he do but hold the dogs of war in leash until the Boers think they have shelled us enough, and come on?”
“Nothing, of course,” said Dickenson, carrying on the captain’s simile; “but the dogs are grinding their teeth, and when the enemy does come, by Jingo! he’ll find them pretty sharp.”
Hour after hour the Boers kept on throwing heavy shells on to the kopje, while the shelter was so good that not a single life was lost; but the casualties from the shattering shells provided the doctor and his aids with quite sufficient work, and it was with a sigh of relief that he ceased attending to the last man brought in, for with darkness the firing ceased.
Then came the night full of alarms with the terrible anxiety and expectation of the assault which did not come. For, as it proved, the Boers had been furnished with too awful a lesson in the former attack to venture upon another surprise, with its many accidents and risks to themselves. They preferred to wait for daylight, and with the first pale streaks of dawn the bombarding began once more, and went on briskly till an hour after sunrise, when the lookouts from the top of the kopje passed the words, “Here they come.”
Just about the same time the scouts came running in bearing the same warning, and now the kopje guns began to play their parts more effectively.
For from three directions, covered by their own pieces, quite a cloud of the Boers could be seen approaching fast to get within rifle-range, dismount, and then begin a careful skirmishing advance, seizing every spot that afforded cover, completely surrounding the defenders, and searching the kopje from side to side with a terrific fire.
This was vigorously replied to; but the advance was never for a moment checked, the manoeuvring of the enemy being excellent, and their skill in keeping hidden and crawling from place to place exasperating to the defenders, for in spite of careful aiming and deliberation the Boer losses were remarkably small.
“They mean it this time, Bob,” said Lennox sadly.
“Yes, they mean it; and somehow I don’t feel up to the work at all. I didn’t know I was so weak. Feel your wounds much?”
“Horribly. I can only use my glass and watch the stubborn brutes coming on.”
“Same here. I’ve had six shots at ’em, and then I handed the rifle back to the Tommy who lent it to me.”
“How many times did you hit?” asked Lennox.
Dickenson looked round to see if either of the men could hear him, and then he whispered softly, “Not once.”
Lennox took no notice, for he was resting his field-glass upon the rough top of the stone wall, looking outward over the veldt.
“Well, didn’t you hear what I said?”
“Yes. Don’t worry,” replied Lennox shortly. “Here, quick!” he cried excitedly. “Take your glass and look straight away yonder to the left of the laager we took.”
“Eh? Yes! All right. I see. Here, send word to the chief. They’re coming on fast now; three clouds of them. Reinforcements. Why don’t those fellows make the big gun begin to talk?”
“Because they can see what I can, Bob,” cried Lennox joyously. “Look again. Lance-tips glittering in the sun. Our men. Hurrah! Strong bodies of cavalry. Why, Bob, they’ll catch the enemy in the open now. The siege is up. Hush! Don’t shout.”
“Why, man? It will encourage the lads.”
“And warn the enemy that help is coming. Five minutes more ignorance will be worth anything to the relief force. I’ll go to the chief at once.”
There was no need. Almost at that moment the colonel had caught sight of the lance-tips through his glass; but quite ten minutes more – minutes crowded with excitement – elapsed before the attacking party were aware of the danger in their rear, and then came the terrible reverse. Boers began running back to where their ponies were being held out of rifle-shot, but running in vain, for the British cavalry were there first, spurring their steeds and stampeding the ponies, sending them in all directions prior to charging through and through the retreating parties, and keeping up the pursuit until recalled.
Others of the relief force had meanwhile been aiming at the three laagers, into which the infantry dashed, the first warning of this received at the kopje being through the cessation of the shelling, for the guns were either silenced or put out of action, the whole of the Boer force literally melting away.
It was one of the most brilliant episodes of the war; and that night, the supplies having come up, the relief party were hoarse with cheering the men whom they dubbed British heroes, and all was festivity and joy.
No, not all; for during the long watches of that night, with the stars looking piercingly through the cold, clear air, parties were out, British and Boer, searching far and wide, and the ambulance-wagons creaked and rattled with their terrible loads, while Doctor Emden, the doctors of the relief expedition, and those working for the Boers were busy till morning.
It was Lennox and his comrade who, being still only invalids, had the forethought to make their way at sunrise to where the doctor had been working all the night, and they found him lying utterly exhausted upon an old greatcoat, fast asleep.
Lennox touched him gently, and he sprang up.
“Yes, all right,” he said; “I’ll come. How many this time? – Eh? What! you, my dear boys? Hurt?”
“No, no, doctor; drink this,” said Lennox gently, and he held out a steaming tin.
“Coffee! Eureka!” cried the doctor. “My dear boy, I began to think I was never to taste the – ha, delicious! – infusion of the berry – again. Ha! Another? Yes, please. No; wake up and give it to that poor fellow there. He has been working with me all the night. – That’s right,” said the doctor, after seeing his wishes fulfilled. “Ah, it’s all very well for you, my fine fellows, who have the rush and dash and wild excitement of battle, but it’s horrible for us who have all the cold-blooded horrors afterwards. You have the show and credit too, and the rewards.”
“But we have the wounds too, doctor,” said Lennox.
“To be sure, my dear boy; to be sure. Don’t take any notice of what I say. I’m worn out. We get our rewards too, in the shape of the brave fellows’ thanks. But if those people at home who shout for war only knew what it means when the fight is over, they’d alter their tune. But I say, this day’s work ought to bring it to an end.”
It did, in the Groenfontein district; and for Colonel Lindley’s battle-scarred, hunger-weakened veterans there came a time of rest and peace.
By way of postscript to this narrative of South African adventure, here is the letter received from Mark Roby by Drew Lennox soon after the voyage home and the ovation which he and his comrades had received in their march through London streets:
My Dear Lennox, – I have just seen the Gazette, and am of course delighted to find the word “Major” prefixed to my name. I do not write out of vanity; it is from the sincere desire to be one of the first to congratulate my brave old companion in arms, Drew Lennox, V.C. Bravo! You deserved it. May I live to see you a general, with a lot more orders on your breast. But there is something more I want to say. I dined with Bob Dickenson and old Sawbones last evening, and in the chat after dinner over the promotions Dickenson told me about that episode which occurred after I was bowled over by that shot and you saved my life, according to your noble custom. When Bob D. told me how I accused you of being a coward, I felt quite knocked over. Of course it is as Emden says – I was, in a way, mad as half-a-dozen hatters, and enough to make me, with a part of my something or another – I forget what the doctor called it, but he meant brain-pan – bent in on my thinking apparatus. You a coward! Why, I confess now that a petty feeling of jealousy often worried me, through every one thinking so much of you and the way in which you always came up smiling after no end of brave doings. A coward! My word! Why didn’t you punch my head? There, I don’t say forgive me, because I know you do one who is proud to call you his best and bravest friend. That last is what I told Bob Dickenson you were, and he looked quite proud. You will be glad to hear that my wound is quite healed up; and as to the lump on my skull, the absolute truth, honesty, and sincerity of every word in this letter must show you that there is no trouble as to my knowing what I say. – Yours always, my dear Lennox, Mark Roby. Captain Drew Lennox, V.C.
