Captain Desmond, V.C.

The slope ended in a twenty-foot wall of rocks, massed so as to form huge irregular steps, that led to an abrupt bit of level, whereon the fighting appeared to be taking place. Sounds came to him now that lashed him to a frenzy; the clash of knives and sabres, the thud of many feet; the fierce shouts without which it is impossible for primitive man to slay or be slain.

Desmond never quite knew how he climbed those formidable steps; and as he vaulted up the last of them, the whole dread scene sprang abruptly into view.

Denvil and his fifteen Pathans had been ambuscaded and outnumbered; and in the cramped space a sharp hand-to-hand encounter was in progress. A small party of Sikhs had already come up with him; but even so the odds were heavily on the wrong side. It was simply a case of "dying game"; – of adding one more to the list of "regrettable incidents" which figure too frequently in the record of Border warfare.

A new risen sun smiled serenely down upon it all; and the awakened earth was frankly indifferent to the issue.

But amid the stirring confusion of a struggle at close quarters Desmond saw one thing only; and the sight struck at his heart like a sword-thrust.

Harry Denvil, hard pressed by four Afridis brandishing long knives and leathern shields, stood with his back against a rock, fighting for dear life.

Five of his men and several of the enemy lay dead or wounded around him. His left arm was disabled; his helmet gone; his hair gleaming red-gold in the sunlight; his young face, white and desperate, disfigured by an ugly cut across the forehead and cheek-bone, from which the blood trickled unheeded in a sluggish stream.

He had flung away his empty revolver; and was warding off blows right and left, using his sword with a coolness and dexterity which would have surprised him had he been aware of it. But he was aware of nothing except a fierce desire not to die yet – not yet; and to get a straight cut at one of the dark faces that pressed in upon him with such pitiless persistence.

At sight of Desmond a great cry broke from him.

"Desmond!" he shouted; "Desmond – thank God!"

For answer Desmond ran blindly forward, sheer lust of slaughter in his heart; trumpeter, bodyguard, and the foremost troopers following as closely as their captain's ardour would permit.

But an unreasoning sense of safety put Harry momentarily off his guard. He took a hasty step away from the rock, making it possible for the first time to strike at him from behind: and, in the same instant, Desmond fired. Before his bullet could reach its destination, the long knife had descended, swift and certain. And even as the man who wielded it dropped like a log, Harry Denvil stumbled forward; and, with a thick sob, fell face downward at Desmond's feet.

There was no time to stoop and ascertain whether the knife had completed its work. Striding across his subaltern's body, Desmond turned upon his assailants, all the natural savage in him lashed to a white heat of fury, and fired twice in quick succession, with deadly effect. But the knife of a third man bit into his flesh like fire, inflicting deep gashes on the left arm and hand, while another slipped behind him, his uplifted blade glinting in the sunlight.

By this time Rajinder Singh was behind him also; and like a lightning-streak, his tulwar whizzed through the air, cleaving the man's head from his body at a blow.

Desmond swung sharply round to find his reinforcements swarming over the plateau's edge.

"Well struck, Sirdar Sahib! – "

But the sentence was never finished. A puff of smoke from behind a distant rock, the boom of a jezail, and Desmond fell beside the Boy, stunned by a well-aimed shot on the edge of the cheek-bone, the slug glancing off perilously close to the right eye.

A shout of rage went up from his men. "The Captain Sahib, – the Captain Sahib!" But Rajinder Singh promptly assuming command, bade them turn upon the Afridi devils and smite their souls to hell; and, forming a protective ring about their fallen officers, they obeyed with right goodwill.

The arrival of supports, however, made it clear to the enemy that they themselves were now heavily outnumbered; and after a desultory resistance they broke up and fled, the sowars zealously speeding their departure.

The whole incident had passed in an incredibly short space of time; and now, with a low cry, Rajinder Singh sank on his knees beside Desmond, cold fear at his heart, his lean fingers trembling as they pushed up the watch-strap and pressed the smooth tanned wrist.

"He lives! —Parmeshwar27 be praised; – the Captain Sahib lives!" the old man murmured ecstatically, shaking his head at the same time over the wound in the cheek-bone, which had an ugly look.

In Denvil's wrist no flutter of life was left. The Boy's soul had passed unstained to its account; and the Ressaldar's stern eyes softened as they rested on the bright, blood-stained hair.

Very gently, as though Denvil were merely asleep, he turned him over and closed the unseeing eyes. No shadow of pain marred the repose of the lips. They looked as if they had just left off smiling and meant very soon to smile again.

The Ressaldar sighed, and shook his head thoughtfully once again.

"Doubtless it was written, … it was the will of God," he decided, with the pious stoicism of the East; and thereupon issued immediate orders to his signallers to open up communication with the main body of troops in the valley, enumerating casualties, and adding an urgent request for an ambulance party to be pushed forward at the utmost speed.

A short stab of pain jerked Desmond back to consciousness with a curse upon his lips. He found himself lying in a hospital doolie set in the shade on a slab of rock. Both flaps had been flung up, and James Mackay stood beside him, investigating the wound in his face with conscientious thoroughness. It was not a pleasant proceeding. Hence Desmond's protest, which brought a twinkle of satisfaction to the doctor's eyes.

"Curse away, old man. It's a treat to hear you," he said heartily, "Just take a drop of this now, to keep you all there," and he held a glass of brandy and water to Desmond's lips. "They've given you a nasty wound here. Wants looking to at once. I'm going to hurt you like hell, I know; but you must put up with it. Swear at me as much as you please, if it eases you at all."

He probed a peculiarly tender spot as he spoke. Desmond clenched his teeth and "put up with it" in silence. Free permission to swear had quenched the desire – a common trick of human perversity; and just as he began to feel that one minute more of it would stretch endurance to breaking-point – the thing was done. A sloping bandage encircled his head, eclipsing his right eye; and he discovered that the Colonel was standing by the doolie, tugging at his grey moustache – sure sign of mental disturbance – and listening attentively to the wiry little doctor, who spoke in an urgent undertone.

He turned when Mackay left off speaking.

"Bad business this, Desmond," he said laconically. "Thank God it was no worse, though."

And Desmond had but two words for answer, sharp and anxious.

"The Boy?"

"We've lost Denvil," Buchanan growled between his teeth. "And we could very ill spare him."

Desmond closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Speech was beyond him. His mind, dizzy with pain and loss of blood, refused to grasp the truth. Two hours ago the Boy had been radiantly, vigorously alive. It was rank foolishness to expect a man to believe that he would never hear him speak or laugh again.

He was roused by Buchanan's hand on his arm.

"Look here, Desmond," he said, "we must be moving again now. I merely came to see how things were going with you before pushing on."

"Thank you, Colonel. I'm in the rear for the present, I suppose?" And he tried to smile.

"Not exactly. As we are within two days' march of the station and there's little left to do but sweep up the rubbish, I have told off a strong escort to return to Kohat with the wounded men, – Denvil, and yourself. You've been badly knocked about, and you need careful seeing to at once."

"Won't you leave me out of the programme, sir? You know I'm hard as nails; I'm sure I could manage to hang on to the saddle, and be fit for light duty in a few days' time. Give me the chance, anyway. I'll do my level best."

"Never knew you do anything else," Buchanan answered gruffly.

Then there was a short silence. Hard as he was, the man rebelled against the thing he had to say; and Desmond's unconquerable spirit put him in no better humour for his task.

"My dear fellow," he began, "I'm no hand at beating about the bush; I can only tell you straight that for the present you must give up all hope of getting back to duty, light or otherwise. Mackay is not satisfied about that wound in your face. The slug went too close to the eye, and may possibly – have injured the nerve."

Desmond started and clenched his hand.

"Good God, Colonel!" he broke out hoarsely. "D'you mean – blindness?"

The ring of open fear in a brave man's voice is not a pleasant thing to hear. Buchanan felt he had been too blunt, and regretted not having allowed Mackay to speak.

"Don't jump to hasty conclusions, man," he said quickly. "We have to recognise the possibility in order to prevent it, – that's all. Mackay returns with you. He'll get a second opinion, if necessary; and we've signalled the news to Wyndham in full. All you've got to do now is to knock under like a man, and give your eyes every possible chance; even if it means lying in the dark for a week or two; you understand?"

"Yes – I understand."

There was bitterness in the studied resignation of his tone.

Colonel Buchanan put out his hand and kept firm hold of Desmond's arm while he spoke.

"You'll be reasonable then, and – obey orders? You ought to find the coast clear going back and have no trouble. Young Spence commands the party, and Rajinder Singh takes thirty of your men. The old chap begged for permission to accompany you. See you again in a fortnight, if not sooner. Keep up a good heart; and take every possible precaution, for your own sake and – for the sake of the Regiment."

The final injunctions, jerked out brusquely, were in the nature of an achievement for this man of few words; and Desmond knew it. He wrung the iron-hard hand that held his own with all the force still left in him; and Colonel Buchanan returned to his waiting charger.

That afternoon, under a brilliant sky, the little ambulance party set out for Kohat – thirty cavalry and twenty infantry, with six swaying doolies in their midst. And among all the occupants of those comfortless conveyances, Harry Denvil was the only one for whom that journey was not a prolonged torment of pain and unrest.

CHAPTER XXIII.

YOU GO ALONE

"It is poor work beating butterflies with a cart-rope."

– Lucas Malet.

On the morning of that eventful 17th of March, Evelyn and Honor left the bungalow directly after breakfast, bent upon such shopping as Kohat could afford.

The nearest approach to shops, in the accepted sense of the word, were the open stalls in the native city. But there could be no question of exploring these; and the manifold needs of Western womanhood were inadequately met by the regimental go-downs attached to each corps in the cantonment. These consisted of spacious buildings, shelved from floor to ceiling, and stocked with a fine medley of human requirements, ranging from bone buttons to champagne, from quinine and chlorodyne to rolls of silk for evening gowns. A new consignment from "down-country" came up every month or so; and it was quite one of the events of life in Kohat to go the round of the go-downs as soon as possible after the arrival of these, so as to secure the pick of the market while the goods were fresh and the choice comparatively varied. Herein lay ample scope for those small spites and jealousies that are more than bread and meat to women of a certain type.

Evelyn had actually sent for gloves and shoes by this means, from a cheap Calcutta firm, instead of despatching an order to Simla regally regardless of cost. They by no means satisfied her fastidious taste; but she felt exalted to a superhuman pitch of virtue as she bore them home in her dandy.

"I don't believe Theo will like these shoes one bit!" she remarked with a satisfied laugh to Honor who rode beside her. "He will tell me to order the next ones from Simla straight away, and I shall be ever so dutiful and obey him without any fuss – shan't I, you grave, wise Honor?"

"I should be an inhuman monster if I could keep grave and wise in your company!" Honor answered, laughing back at her. "You will go on buying expensive shoes to the end of the chapter, if that's what you are driving at. Why have your spirits gone up with such a run this morning?"

"I don't know. It's nice enough that they are up. I got a lovely letter from Theo – that's partly why, perhaps." Her eyes softened at the remembrance of that letter. "He'll be home again in less than a fortnight."

"Yes; in less than a fortnight," Honor repeated, and wondered where she should go when that time arrived. She had not yet found courage to face the idea in detail.

Evelyn kept up an unbroken ripple of hilarity till the verandah was reached, laughing as Honor had not heard her laugh since Theo had left.

"You're 'fey,' child," she said, as she helped her out of the dandy. "I shall have you in floods of tears before night."

"No, you won't; I don't feel as if anything could happen to make me cry to-day. Hullo! there's Major Wyndham's horse out there."

Honor started.

"What can he want over here so early? Come in quick and find out."

They hurried through the hall into the dining-room, Evelyn leading, a swift premonition of evil killing the laughter on their lips.

Paul stood by the piano looking at Desmond's photograph; his arms folded; his "February face" more eloquent than he knew.

"Good-morning, Mrs Desmond," he said; and his sympathetic hand-clasp sent her mercurial spirits down to zero.

"What is it?" she asked, blanching visibly. "You have brought bad news?"

Paul assented in silence.

"If it is very horrible – don't tell me – I won't hear it!" She held up both hands, as if warding off a blow. But Honor, coming quickly forward, put both arms round her.

"Hush, dear, hush!" she said soothingly. "That is nonsense. We must know what has happened, at once."

"Let him tell you, then; it won't hurt you like it hurts me." And disengaging herself, she went over to the verandah doorway, and stood there, looking out into the sunshine; her back to the room; her small hands clasped; every nerve strained to miss no word of what was passing behind her.

Honor turned promptly on Paul, an anguish of suspense in her eyes.

"Is it – the worst?"

"No – no – not that," he reassured her hastily.

"Tell me everything, please."

"I only know bare facts; the news came by helio. It seems there was a sharp hand-to-hand engagement. The Boy and some of his men were taken by surprise. Just as Theo reached them Denvil was – killed!"

A stifled sound broke from Evelyn.

"And – Theo?" Honor's low voice seemed to come from very far away.

"Theo has been badly cut about. Four wounds. The most serious is a bullet wound in his face – close to the right eye. They seem afraid that he may possibly – lose his sight."

"It is not true – oh, it is not true!" Evelyn's hands went up to her head with a desperate cry. Then she swayed, tottered backward, and fell prone among the sofa cushions.

"Honor – come to me – I'm frightened!" she moaned, without lifting her head; and in an instant Honor was bending over her, murmuring brave words of encouragement, removing her hat, and mechanically smoothing her hair.

"Is – he still here?" Evelyn asked under her breath.

"Yes, dear. Do you want him?"

"No – no; send him away. I want you – only you!"

Wyndham was already nearing the door and Honor followed him out into the hall.

"You see she's a little off her balance, poor child."

"Yes, I see," he answered wearily. "And I thank God with all my heart that you are here. Will you tell Mrs Desmond that an escort is returning to-day with Theo and – the Boy. They will reach Kohat to-morrow evening."

Honor straightened herself suddenly.

"I will tell her. To-morrow evening. Does Frank know too?"

"Yes; she was in when I came. It upset her very much. Not a soul in the regiment – officers or men – will have a minute's peace of mind till the result of this wound is known for certain. In all the misery of it, one is proud to realise that."

Something of his own grief showed in his voice for the first time, and Honor's heart contracted with too keen a sympathy.

"Ah, Paul! you speak of it so calmly – as if you were just one with the rest. But I, at least, can guess what the pain and suspense must be for you."

His face softened at the tender inflection of her voice.

"No," he said, "even you cannot guess that. Now go back to his wife. If I can be of any use at all send for me. I shall not come round otherwise till I bring him here to-morrow evening. I mean to ride out with a small escort and meet them on the way."

Honor found Evelyn rigid and tearless among her cushions. The strange mingling of coldness and terror in her eyes startled the girl. She hurried to the sofa and knelt down at her side.

"Don't look like that, Evelyn," she said. "It's horrible! Only think, Theo will be here to-morrow evening. Paul told me so just now."

"To-morrow – to-morrow? He will be here, in this house – to-morrow?" She repeated the word with stunned iteration, and there was no feeling in her tone, only an uncanny fear, that chilled the blood in Honor's veins.

"I never thought – it would be so soon. How can we manage about getting away?"

"Getting away – where – in Heaven's name?" Honor rose abruptly. She began to feel as though she were moving in a nightmare.

"Oh, anywhere, away from here. I can't – I won't see him, when he is 'badly cut about' and – half blind. I thought – if you would take me to Murree – Mrs Olliver would be quite glad to look after him. And when he is better, he could come up too. But if – if he is really going to be – blind – "

She closed her eyes and shuddered. No flicker of pity stirred in Honor's heart. It needed all her force of will to control her temper, even for a few minutes longer. But a grim curiosity urged her to discover how far it was possible to travel along such incredible lines of thought and feeling.

"Well, what then?" she demanded coldly.

"Then – I know I could – never come back to him – never!" Theo's wife answered slowly, without raising her eyes, or the look in Honor's face would surely have frozen the words on her lips. "To feel that he was always in the dark would frighten me out of my life. And he would never be left alone, I know. There are so many – others."

But Honor could bear no more. Bending down, she caught hold of Evelyn's shoulders and fairly shook her, as though she would shake her back to life and human feeling. Her blue eyes blazed with indignation.

"How dare you talk like that!" she said in a low note of concentrated wrath. "How dare you think such despicable thoughts! Of course there are others who would give their lives to save him from a minute's pain; and you would let them take your place, – yours? And you can actually expect that I– of all people – will back you up in your desertion of him? No indeed! If you go, you go alone; and I shall never have a word to say to you again. I may be speaking hotly, because I am furiously angry. But I mean every word I say; and my actions will prove it. What's more, I will not let you go. You shall stand by him, however frightened you may be. You talk of – loving him, and you would treat him as I should be ashamed to treat a dog! Evelyn! Evelyn!" – her voice broke suddenly, and tears started to her eyes, – "tell me you did not mean what you said; or I don't know how I am to go on helping you at all!"

There was more of command than of entreaty in the last words, and Evelyn looked up at the transfigured beauty of her face with a slow shivering sigh.

"You are very wonderful, and very – terrible, Honor," she said. "I never imagined you could be as terrible as that." Then her lips quivered, and she caught at the girl's skirt, drawing her nearer. "You must go on helping me, or everything will go to pieces."

"So long as you remain a loyal wife to – Theo, I cannot choose but do so, with all my heart."

She knelt down again now; and Evelyn, flinging both arms round her neck, broke into a passion of weeping.

"I think I was half mad," she moaned through her tears, clinging to Honor as a drowning woman clings to a spar. "And I am dreadfully frightened still. But I will do whatever you tell me. I will try to be a loyal wife, even if – "

"We won't think of that at all," Honor interposed hastily. "It cannot – it shall not happen!"

But Evelyn's tears flowed on unchecked. The fire of Honor's just anger had melted the morsel of ice in her heart; and in a very short time she had cried herself to sleep.

Then Honor gently unlocked the clinging fingers, and went straight to Frank Olliver's room.

CHAPTER XXIV.

I WANT LADYBIRD

"So free we seem; so fettered fast we are."

– Browning.

A low sun was gilding the hill-tops when two doolies, borne by sturdy kahars and escorted by Wyndham and Mackay, passed between the gate-posts of Desmond's bungalow. Honor stood with Evelyn at the head of the verandah steps; but as the kahars halted, and the officers prepared to dismount, she moved back a space, leaving her to welcome her husband alone.

The blood ebbed from Evelyn's face as she watched Theo mount the steps, slowly, uncertainly, supported on either side by Wyndham and the doctor – he who, in normal circumstances, would have cleared them at a bound and taken her in his arms. His appearance alone struck terror into her heart. Was this the splendid-looking husband who had ridden away full of life and energy, – this strange seeming man, whose face was disfigured and more than half-hidden by an unsightly bandage and a broad green shade; whose empty coat-sleeve, slashed and blood-stained, suggested too vividly the condition of the arm strapped into place beneath?

It was all she could do not to shrink back instinctively when the men moved aside, as Honor had done, to afford husband and wife some small measure of privacy, and Theo held out his hand.

"They've sent me back rather the worse for wear, Ladybird," he said, with a smile; "but Mackay will put the pieces together in good time."

"Oh, Theo – I hope so! – It's dreadful to see you – like that."

The hand she surrendered to him was cold as ice; and the attempt at welcome in her voice was checked by a paralysing fear and constraint. Thirty-six hours of severe pain in body and mind had failed to break his spirit; but the thing was achieved by a dozen words from his wife. He knew now what to expect from her; and for the moment he was stricken speechless.

"I am so – sorry," she murmured, "about – "

"Yes – yes, I know," he took her up quickly; and there was an awkward silence.

"Who – what – is in that other doolie?" she asked, in a hurried whisper.

"The Boy."

"But, Theo – you're not going to – "

"For God's sake shut up!"

He swayed a little in speaking, and promptly Paul was at his side. No one had heard what passed; and when Mackay, returning to his post by the wounded arm, gently urged Desmond forward, Paul signalled to Evelyn to take his place, while he went back to the doolie.

"Just a minute, Mrs Desmond," he said in a low tone.

Evelyn, startled by the request, stood irresolute; and since there was no time for hesitancy, Honor came forward and put her hand under Theo's elbow. She felt a jar go all through him at her touch, and knew that he had heard Wyndham's request.

"Ah, Honor," he said, by way of greeting, "I'm afraid I've come back a mere log on your hands."

An undernote of bitterness in his tone gave her courage to speak the thought in her mind. "We are only too thankful to have got you back safe – in any condition," she murmured.