Fix Bay'nets: The Regiment in the Hills

“Well, then, my dear boy,” said Bracy, “I do think you are about the most rash fellow I ever met.”

“Oh!” cried Drummond, with a look of distrust.

“You do things that no thoughtful fellow would ever think of doing.”

“I? Come now; when?”

“Over those sheep, then, to-day. I felt quite sick to see you walk along that shelf of snow, when the slightest slip would have sent you down headlong a thousand feet on to the jagged rocks below.”

“Yes, it was horrible,” said Roberts.

Drummond exploded into a tremendous burst of laughter, and sat at last wiping his eyes.

“Oh, I say, come. That is good. I like that. Dangerous – made one of you feel sick and the other think it was horrible!”

“Well, it’s the truth,” said Bracy.

“And you both came along it afterwards, and we got that magnificent sport.”

“I came along it after you had set the example,” said Bracy quietly.

“But you are a couple of years older than I am, and ought to know better.”

“I was not going to show the white feather after what you had done.”

“Same here,” said Roberts sharply.

“Oh, that was it – eh? I was a boy to you, and you wouldn’t let me think you daren’t.”

“Something of that kind,” said Bracy.

“Humph!” said Drummond thoughtfully. “I suppose it was dangerous.”

“Of course it was,” replied Bracy. “You saw that the guide wouldn’t venture.”

“Yes; but that made me determined to do it. We can’t afford to let those chaps think we’re afraid to go anywhere. Come now – didn’t you two think something of that kind too?”

“Probably,” said Bracy.

“But it didn’t seem dangerous when I was doing it,” cried Drummond. “I never thought about toppling down, only about getting right across and after those moufflons.”

“Same here,” said Roberts.

“Well, I did look down once and think of what might happen,” said Bracy.

“Ah, that’s where you were wrong. Never do that, lad. Keep perfectly cool, and you can get almost anywhere up yonder in the snow. I’ve got to be quite a climber since I’ve been here.”

“Well, I gave myself the credit of being pretty good on ice and snow to-day,” said Bracy, smiling. “I mean pretty well for a cripple. I wish I had done as well over the shooting. That was a miserable show of mine. Thanks for not exposing me at the mess.”

“Rubbish!” said Drummond. “Who’s going to tell tales out of school? I say, though, that ice-climbing in the mountains is splendid – isn’t it? The more one does the easier it seems. It feels quite cool and comfortable.”

“Which one can’t help feeling on the ice,” said Bracy, laughing. “But seriously, we are getting pretty good at it up yonder in the snow.”

“Regular climbers,” said Drummond; “and I vote that we do as much of it as we can while our shoes are good. There, don’t look at a fellow like that – your shoes, then, that you gave me. But I didn’t mean shoes literally. I mean before the old man puts a stop to our hunting and climbing.”

“He soon will, you may depend upon that,” said Roberts. “He’s getting nervous about us all.”

“Because we are such splendid officers,” put in Bracy merrily.

“Well, we are what he has; and, judging from the way we are shut in and left by the authorities, he is not likely to get a fresh supply if he loses us.”

“What about the messengers he has sent, Bracy? Think they get through with the despatches? I feel sure they do not. Either they are killed or so scared by the dangers they run that they destroy their despatches and dare not show their faces again.”

“Well, I hope that’s not the case,” said Bracy. “I don’t want to give the poor fellows the credit of being treacherous.”

“Like enough it is that, treacherous as we deem it; but they are so much accustomed to the tricks and cunning amongst which they have been brought up that they look upon such a thing as being very venial – a kind of cleverness by which we, their conquerors are bested.”

“Here, I say, don’t get into a dissertation upon the moral character of the natives,” cried Drummond, “because there is no end to that. Here, I say – ”

“Say away,” said the others.

“I’ve been thinking about what old Graves said as to the shikarees selling us to the enemy. They won’t.”

“I hope not,” said Bracy, laying his hand upon his chest.

“Hullo! What’s the matter? Wound hurt?”

“Gives me a stab like that sometimes when the weather is going to change. We shall have rain, I think.”

“Ha! and that means snow higher up. Hoo-roar! as the lads say. A nice light coating of fresh snow, and every bear footprint showing clearly. We mustn’t miss one. Bear ham is good, and then there are the skins. We shall want ’em in the winter for warm rugs.”

“You mean to stay the winter, then?” said Bracy, laughing.

“We shall have to; see if we don’t.”

“We shall get no bearskins,” said Roberts. “The Colonel will stop our going on account of his uneasiness. I heard him say that we should be running upon some prowling body of the enemy one of these times, and never be heard of any more.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Just as if it were likely. They sneak along in the lowest valleys; they never go up among the snowfields. No one does but the hunters. It’s the same as it was in Switzerland; you never caught the people climbing the mountains till the English taught them, and bribed them to come as carriers. They’d never have made the ascent of any of their mountains. I tell you that in our shooting-trips up yonder we’re as safe as we are here. Safer, for the beggars keep away from there, while here they’re lying up in every hole and corner all around.”

“He’s about right,” said Roberts thoughtfully; “and, now you’re strong enough again, I don’t like to lose our trips. We don’t get much pleasure up here. Let’s make our hay while the sun shines.”

“Even if it is in the snow,” said Bracy. “Very well; I’m glad enough to go, for the mountain air seems to send fresh vigour through me every time I climb.”

The result of this was that whenever the way up into the mountains was clear, and the Dwats who acted as guides to the different hills came in with news, the young officers had their excursions, and generally returned with their men pretty well laden, while the three friends became masters of the district among the heights in a way that suggested years of active residence in that silver land.

There were plenty of alarms, plenty of little encounters with the parties who were always on the lookout to harass the occupants of the fort; but a little extra work for the Doctor and excitement for the men, to keep off the stagnation which threatened them, was all that ensued.

In the interim the Colonel sent off five more messengers with despatches, in the hope that they would get through the enemy and bring back letters; but they were seen no more; and the Colonel’s face grew more serious day by day.

“Thinks the tribes mean to starve us out,” said Roberts one evening when the Colonel went away from the table looking more depressed and anxious than usual.

“And they won’t,” said Drummond. “Why, there are mountain sheep enough up yonder to keep us for years.”

“They get more difficult to shoot, though,” said Bracy.

“Pooh! not they. A few close by are a bit shy; but, look here, when we get right up on the shoulder of that left-hand peak and look north what do we see?”

“Mountains,” replied Bracy.

“And when we were right up on that farthest peak last week, and looked north, what did we see then?”

“More mountains.”

“That’s it; and you might go on and on for a month, and it would be the same – more mountains.”

Bracy nodded and looked thoughtful.

“Yes,” he said at last; “the world’s a long way from being played out yet. We can see hundreds of peaks, and the soft blue valleys between them, which I suppose have never been traversed by man.”

“That’s right enough, and that’s where the wild sheep and goats are just as they always have been, perfectly undisturbed. Thousands – perhaps millions, without counting the goats and yaks, which look as if they were a vain brood of beast who try to grow tails like a horse.”

“I suppose you’re correct, Drummond,” said Bracy.

“Of course I am; and if we shoot down all the sheep near at hand one month, more will come down from the north next month.”

“Just the same as when you catch a big trout out of a hole at home, another is sure to come within a day or two to take his empty house.”

“Why, they do up here, and the little seer in the river too,” cried Drummond. “I say, I wish this was a bigger and deeper stream, so that it held the big forty and fifty pound fish.”

“Quite deep and swift enough for us,” said Bracy merrily.

“Ah, yes,” said Drummond slowly; “I haven’t forgotten our going for that nice long walk.”

“No,” said Roberts; “that was a close shave for all of us. How many more times are we going to run the gauntlet and not get hit?”

“Hundreds, I hope,” replied Drummond; and Bracy, who was very quiet, thought, by no means for the first time, of his escapes, and of how it would be at home if a letter reached them some day reporting that one of the lieutenants had been checked once for all in his career.

Chapter Twenty Four

Peril in a Poshtin

Another fortnight passed, during which the officers had a day’s shooting as often as they could be spared; and, though the Colonel’s face grew more and more serious he made no further objection to these excursions so long as they were sensibly carried out, for he had realised how thoroughly the enemy avoided the higher portions of the mountains, the snow-line being rarely crossed; and when they did break through their rule, it was only in crossing from one valley to another, and it was necessitated by the pass which linked the two being more than usually high.

It was a bright, sunny morning, and glasses had been busy in the fort, for certain well-known signs suggested that the day would not pass without their hearing from the enemy, of whom glances were obtained, first in one well-known locality, then in another, which they seemed to affect as a matter of course, showing very little disposition to break out of their regular routine, while one tribe followed in the steps of another so closely that it was generally possible to prognosticate where the attack would be made, and make arrangements to foil it.

The officers were chatting together; and in the group where Drummond stood with his friends he started a good grumbling discourse, something after this fashion:

“It’s always the case. So sure as I overlook my tackle, and have a good clean up of the rifles ready for a long day amongst the muttons, some of these beggars come and plant themselves just in the way we mean to go.”

“Mr Bracy,” said an orderly, coming up and saluting, “the Colonel wishes to see you.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Drummond; “it’s to tell you that we are not to attempt a shoot to-day. Tell him, Bracy, that we had given it up.”

Bracy nodded, and went straight to the Colonel’s room, to find him busily writing.

He just glanced up and nodded.

“Sit down, Bracy,” he said, and he went on writing, his table being a couple of bullock-trunks, with a scarlet blanket by way of cover.

“Enemy are out pretty strong this morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ha! yes.”

There was a pause, filled up by a good deal of scratching of the pen, before the stern-looking officer began again.

“You are quite strong now, Bracy?” he said at last, without looking up.

“Never felt better in my life, sir.”

“I said strong, Bracy.”

“Nor stronger, sir.”

“That’s right,” said the Colonel, reading over his despatch and crossing i’s and dotting i’s here and there.

“Wound trouble you much still?”

“Gives me a sharp sting, sir, at times, back and front; but I always find that it is when we are going to have a change of weather.”

The Colonel paid no heed, and Bracy added:

“I dare say it will soon pass off, though.”

“It will not,” said the Colonel quietly, and to the young man’s dismay. “You will feel it more or less all your life. Yes,” he added, looking up and smiling, “a twinge to remind you that you were once a brave officer of the Queen.”

Bracy coughed, for he felt a little husky, and as if he were standing near a fire.

“Now, Bracy, business. I cannot go on sending despatch after despatch, none of which reach their destination. Either going or coming, my messengers have come to a bad end or been unfaithful.”

Bracy made no reply, for none was expected; and the Colonel now looked up, and, with his hands resting upon the table, gazed full in the young man’s eyes.

“I want a messenger whom I can trust,” he said, “a man who will undertake the task of delivering my despatch as a duty to his country. There are plenty of good, trusty lads in the regiment. Whom would you select – the best you know?”

Bracy was silent for a few moments before speaking.

“I should be sorry to see him go upon so dangerous a mission, sir; but if I had to select a lad in whom I should have perfect confidence, I should choose Private Gedge.”

“A very good selection, Bracy; but I want an officer.”

The young man stalled, and drew his breath hard.

“There is Andrews, or Elder, or Morrison,” continued the Colonel, “or Drummond, of Wrayford’s; but he is too volatile. Roberts would be a splendid fellow for the task, for, like Drummond, he is strong amongst ice and snow, and my messenger will have to take to the snow nearly all the way to save being stopped.”

“A wise plan, sir,” said Bracy eagerly; “one that should succeed.”

“I think it will; but my messenger will be face to face with death from the hour he starts, doubly facing it – from nature as well as man. But I cannot spare Roberts. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir; you wish me to volunteer.”

“Yes, Bracy,” said the Colonel, holding out his hand, which Bracy caught in both his. “God bless and protect you, my dear boy! I do.”

“Yes, sir,” said the young man firmly. “I’ll go.”

“Not alone. Take that man Gedge with you; he has had little to do amongst the snow, but – ”

“Yes, sir; he’ll learn anything. When am I to start?”

“As soon as you can be ready. Then, I will clear the way for you by making a feint, so that you can make at once for the upper ground.”

“Not by the mountains above the Gor Pass, sir?”

“No; the other direction entirely. You are to make for the Ghil Valley, and bring back the Ghoorkas, Bracy. It is time that we took the offensive; the enemy must be driven back before the autumn closes in. No; you are going upon an extremely dangerous mission, Bracy; I tell you so frankly. I will be quite open with you. I am sending you upon this horribly risky journey; but it is as a soldier to risk your life to save ours.”

“To save yours, sir?” said Bracy wonderingly.

“Surely the fort is quite safe if you act on the defensive.”

“It would be, my dear boy, if we had an ample supply of ammunition.”

Bracy started, and gazed wide-eyed at his Colonel, who had leaned across the table and said these last words almost in a whisper.

“I am speaking quite openly to you, Bracy – telling you what must be a secret between us two; and I tell you because it is just to one sent upon such a perilous enterprise that he should feel satisfied as to the urgency of the need.”

Bracy made a gesture, but the Colonel checked him.

“Yes; I know what you would say,” he continued: “that dangerous or no, you would do your duty. I know you would. I have perfect faith in my officers; but this is a matter of conscience on my side. Bracy, I find that our ammunition will not last a month. Once that is gone, we are no longer the superiors of the enemy. The bayonet is a splendid weapon; but these hill-tribes are magnificent swordsmen, and when, many times outnumbering us as they do, they come on to a hand-to-hand fight, adding their reckless religious fervour to their natural bravery, they must master us in the end; and that means taking the fort, and – you know what would follow.”

Bracy bowed his head; he could not speak.

“An indiscriminate massacres a horrible death to every man and woman in the place.”

“Horrible, sir,” cried Bracy excitedly. “Oh, Colonel Graves, surely things are not so bad as you think!”

The Colonel smiled.

“You ought to know me by this time, Bracy,” he said quietly. “I don’t think I am a man likely to raise bugbears.”

“No, no, sir! I beg your pardon.”

“That will do,” said the Colonel quietly. “When you leave me, be prepared to start. You must not confide in your nearest friend; go about your work cheerfully, and as if only to bear a despatch, but conscious the while that our lives here depend upon your success. You understand?”

“Yes,” said Bracy gravely, “I understand; and if I do not bring the help, sir, it is because – ”

“You have died trying to do your duty to your friends. I know. There, we need no more words, Bracy. Look here.”

He took the despatch from the table and tore it up into bits.

“Your appearance before the Ghoorka Colonel will be sufficient, and you will have no alarming announcement upon you if you are taken prisoner. Certainly it would be by people similar to those who are besieging us; but one never knows what soldiers of fortune may be among them, ready to be summoned by a chief to interpret the message.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Once you are well on the road you must make your companion fully understand the importance of the mission, so that if you go down there may still be the chance left to us of this man carrying on the news of our urgent need.”

Bracy nodded shortly and drew a deep breath, waiting for the Colonel to speak again.

“As to preparations,” said Colonel Graves at last, “go as you are; but you will each need a poshtin (long sheepskin coat) to cover your Kharkee uniforms, for concealment and warmth. You will be a great deal among the snow and rocks, and nothing can be less likely to attract attention. You will take sword, revolver, rifle, and bayonet. See that Gedge carries the same weapons. In addition, take as much simple provisions and ammunition as you can carry.”

“And rob you all at such a time of need, sir?”

“The amount you two can carry away in cartridges will not be missed if it comes to the worst, Bracy,” said the Colonel, smiling. “Once more, are you quite satisfied that you have selected the right lad?”

“A man who will carry his wounded officer, with the enemy firing down at him from both sides of a rocky defile, cannot be bettered, sir,” said the young officer quietly.

“Right, Bracy,” cried the Colonel. “He is the man. Ha! here comes Roberts to announce the advance of the enemy. I could hear the war-cries. – Yes, Roberts – the rascals worrying us again?”

“Yes, sir; coming down the right gully in strong numbers. Will you come and look?”

The Colonel picked up his glass and held out his hand.

“I shall lead the men to-day, Bracy,” he said, “for a change. Major Graham will be in command here. I shall tell him of your mission. Within an hour I shall depend upon you making your start.”

“Within an hour, sir,” said Bracy, as Roberts looked on in wonder.

“I have been thinking that a mule would help your journey at the first. What do you think?”

“I think not, sir,” said Bracy quietly. “We should be better free to climb anywhere. A baggage animal would tie us down to tracks.”

“Quite right. Go as we arranged. – Roberts,” he continued, turning to the Captain, “Bracy is going to take a despatch for me. He starts directly.”

“Directly, sir?” said Roberts, looking aghast.

“Yes; he has his instructions. You can have half-an-hour with him before he starts; but you will ask no questions, only help him in any way you can to start without delay, while I am keeping the enemy well employed at this end of the valley.”

“Yes, sir.”

“After Bracy has started you can bring your company along the upper track to act as a reserve, and cover us if it is necessary when we retire. That will do.”

The two officers left the Colonel’s quarters and hurried out.

“My dear boy,” cried Roberts excitedly, “this is horribly sudden. Had you any idea of it before this morning?”

“Not the slightest,” said Bracy gravely.

“Glad of it, for I should have been hurt if you had not told me.”

“But you will not be hurt now? You heard what Graves said.”

“I was not to question you? Yes. Still, you have some confidences to make?”

“Not one, old fellow.”

“But surely – it is such a risky thing. Oh! it is preposterous; he ought not to have sent you. It is like sending a good man and true to his death.”

“The Colonel thinks it best, and I agree with him. As to the risk – is it not risk enough to stay?”

“But Bracy, old fellow, if – ”

“If,” said the young man calmly. “Soldiers should not talk to one another about the ‘if.’ Let that be.”

“Tell me this, though: are you satisfied to go?”

“Quite. Help me to get off – ”

“I will; but – ”

“By being silent, and then putting everything in one good grip of the hand.”

“I see,” he said, accompanying Bracy to his quarters. “Now, what can I do?”

“Send for Gedge.”

“What for? Surely you have not chosen him for your companion?”

“I have. The Colonel said he could not spare you.”

“Ha! That’s better, old fellow. I was beginning to feel horribly set aside.”

“I was to have one of the men for my companion. Can you suggest a better?”

“No,” said Roberts, and he hurried out to seek the lad, who was standing in line with his fellows of the company, looking gloomy and discontented, for the sally-party to follow the Colonel, who was to lead them himself, did not include “Roberts’s lot,” as they were termed.

“Fall out, Private Gedge,” said Roberts sharply.

“Didn’t hear what I said, did he?” muttered the lad, with an anxious look, for he had been growling at what he called the favouritism served out to some of the companies in choosing them to go out and have the first chance of being shot; and this, he told himself, was mutinous.

But he pulled himself together and stood as erect as a ramrod, waiting for the next order, which came directly:

“Right face; march!”

And he marched after his Captain, with heart beating heavily, and then sinking deeper and deeper, as he found himself led to the officers’ quarters.

“It’s court-martial for a threep’ny-bit,” he muttered. “Next thing ’ll be ‘Disarm!’ and all because I wanted to go and fight. Oh! they are jolly ’ard on us chaps in the ranks.”

“Come in, my lad,” said Roberts, stooping to enter the low door, and Gedge’s heart went down to its lowest point as he found himself face to face with Bracy.

“Them two to drop on me!” he thought. “Wouldn’t ha’ keared if it had been the Major.”

The next moment poor Gedge’s heavily plumping heart jumped, as he afterwards expressed it from his boots right up to his throat.

“Gedge,” said Bracy coldly and quietly, “I am going on a very dangerous mission.”

“Oh, sir, please don’t go without me!”

“I have sent for you to say that I have selected you for my companion.”

“Hoo – beg pardon, sir,” cried the lad, turning scarlet.

“No cheering, no nonsense, no boy’s tricks, my lad. This is desperate men’s work. I have chosen you to go with me on a journey of many days, during which we shall suffer terrible hardships.”

“That’s right, sir; used to it ever since I was – ”

“Silence, man!” said Bracy sternly. “We shall go with our lives in our hands, and probably never get to our journey’s end; but we shall have to try. Now then, if you feel the slightest qualm, speak out honestly, and I will choose some one else.”

“Don’t do that, sir, please; but I will speak out honest. I must, when you axes me to.”

“Ah!” cried Bracy.

“I’m strong as a horse again, sir; but sometimes I do get a sorter dig in the back, just as if a red-hot iron rod were touching up my wound when the bit o’ iron – ”

“No, no, man,” cried Bracy, laughing. “I mean qualm of dread, or shrinking about running the risk.”

“Oh, that, sir? Not me. Ain’t I just as likely to be shot if I stop quiet here? They’re allus trying to do it. I gets more sniping than any chap in the company.”

“Then you will go with me?”

“I just will, sir. Anywheres.”

“Thank you, Gedge. I’ll say no more, for I know that you will stick to me like a man.”