*CHAPTER XXI*
*The Morning Cables*
'With rending of cheek and of hair, Lament ye, mourn for him, weep.'
Bart came clattering at a great pace up the path with the mail. It wasthe midday dinner-time; and such pleasant appetising foods were theorder of the day now, boylike he did not care to be a moment late.
He took the saddle off, laid it down on the verandah, drove the horsedown to the first paddock, and hastened in to the dining-room.
His father was just unfolding the daily paper he had brought, andopening it to find the war cables.
'Read them out, Jim,' said Mrs. Cameron, looking up from her task ofapportioning the peas and cauliflower and potatoes.
Cameron read out the headings:
'"DESPERATE FIGHTING AT KRUG'S SPRUIT."
"GALLANT ATTEMPTS TO RESCUE GUNS."
"OFFICERS SERVING THE ARTILLERY."
"FIFTEEN THOUSAND BOERS IN ACTION."
"BRITISH UNDER A GALLING CROSS-FIRE."
"BRITISH CASUALTIES."
"CONSPICUOUS GALLANTRY BY A NEW SOUTH WALES PRIVATE."
"LOSSES OF AUSTRALIAN TROOPS."'
The last two headings sent Cameron's eyes hurrying down the long columnto seek details.
'Oh,' he said, 'poor lad, poor lad! Oh, I'm sorry for this--sorry forthis!'
'Not old Morty,' said Bart--'not poor old Morty, dad?' Yet even as hespoke he knew it must be, for who else of all the contingent had they apersonal interest in? He pushed his chair back and went to his father'sshoulder. His eyes read the meagre paragraph, and burnt with swifttears for his friend.
'CONSPICUOUS GALLANTRY BY A NEW SOUTH WALES TROOPER'
was the heading of the cable. Below it said:
'During the engagement, Trooper Stevenson, of the N.S.W. BushContingent, made a most gallant rescue. He galloped to the assistanceof General Strong, whose horse had fallen, and bore him under a scathingfire to a place of safety. General Strong escaped unhurt, and obtainedanother horse, but while galloping after his troop through the dusk,Stevenson was hit by a bullet, and killed instantaneously.'
'Just the sort of thing old Morty would do,' Bart said, his throatthick.
'I am thinking of the poor old man,' said Mrs. Cameron. 'It will killhim. Jim, you had better go up; you might be able to do something.None of the other sons are at home.'
'I'll go, certainly,' Cameron said; 'but it won't kill him. His pridein the lad's courage will keep him up.'
'I say,' said Bart, 'he won't have got the paper yet. That fellowBarnes was waiting for the mail while I was, and he had been drinkingfrightfully. It'll be hours before he gets back. I saw him turn in tothe Golden Fleece as I came along.'
A strange stifled cry came from the end of the table. It was no use;Miss Browne had fought desperately to keep her self-control, but naturewas too strong for her, and she was struggling with a piteous fit ofhysterics.
Mrs. Cameron went round to her, got her to the sofa, opened the neck ofher dress, administered cold water, spoke firmly and decidedly to her.There was nothing in the poor woman's cries for a long time, and sheonly pushed at Mrs. Cameron, as if trying to force her away. Finally aword came from her choking throat:
'Hermie!' she cried, and pointed to the open door. 'Go--to--Hermie.'
Where was Hermie? Mrs. Cameron looked round in surprise. It seemedonly two minutes since she had been cutting the bread, and laughing atRoly because he had arranged his plate as a battle-field, with the peasfor the army, the cauliflower as a kopje, the mashed potatoes in dotsfor the tents, while a slice of beef made the enemy's laager, and agravy river flowed between the troops. Why had she left the table likethis?
'Go--to--Hermie!' gasped the shivering, sobbing woman on the sofa.'I--am--all right--quick, quick!'
Where had the girl gone? No one but Miss Browne had even noticed herchair was empty.
Mr. Cameron armed himself with another tumbler of cold water, and cameacross to the sofa.
'I will look after Miss Browne,' he said. 'You go to Hermie; perhaps shewas a little faint.'
'Down--the--path,' gasped Miss Browne, 'near the wattles, most likely.'
Mrs. Cameron made her way down the path, looking from left to right, apuzzled expression on her face. The girl was nowhere to be seen. Shelooked among the roses, in the various shady corners, beneath the trees.Finally she came to the thick-growing wattles near the fence, and agleam of blue cambric showed through the leaves. The mother went inamong the bushes, and found the girl face downward on the ground,sobbing in so bitter and heartbroken a way that she was quite alarmedfor a moment. Then a wondering comprehension came; her girl was almosta woman. Was it possible she had cared for this friend of the family ina different way from Bart and Floss and Roly?
'My poor little girl!' she said, and sat down on the ground beside her,and lifted the bright head that had been Morty's perpetual delight on toher knee.
But Hermie pulled herself away, and rose wildly to her feet, and ranthis way among the bushes with her broken heart, and then that way.
'Oh,' she sobbed, 'go away, go away--I want to be alone! Oh, it is myfault!--I want to be alone--oh, mother, mother!'--and she came back toher mother's side, and fell down beside her again, clinging to herpiteously. The mother said nothing at all--just stroked her hair and lether weep as she would, and soon a little calmness came back to the girl.
'Oh,' she said, 'if you knew how I loved him, mother!'
'Did you, my darling?' said the tender mother, and never showed the achethat was at her heart because her child had kept so great a thing asthis from her confidence.
'Ever since he went I have been loving him,' Hermie said, 'and yet whenhe told me, I sent him away, and he was so miserable. I am sure that iswhy he went to the war.'
'And you thought you did not care for him, then?' said Mrs. Cameron.'Well, darling, that was not your fault.'
'Oh, it was--it was!' said Hermie. 'You don't understand, of course.You never could. But I shall be miserable now all my life!'
'You found you had made a mistake, and you cared for him after all?'said Mrs. Cameron.
'I didn't know quite how much till to-day!' sobbed Hermie. 'I have keptthinking of him and thinking of him ever since he went; out now--oh, nowit is too late! I know I shall love him till I die.'
The mother's heart ached, as all mothers' must do when their childrenhave to stand alone in a grief, and there can no longer be any kissingof the place to make it well.
'It seems as if I have been blind,' went on the girl, sometimes wipingthe tears away and hiding her swollen eyes, sometimes letting themtrickle unchecked down her cheeks. 'I can't tell you how silly andsmall I have been--thinking men ought to be just like men in books, andnever looking at what they really are. Oh, he was so good, such a bravefellow; ever since he has gone, people are always telling differentbrave or kind things he has been doing ever since he was a boy. And,just because he wore clothes and ties I didn't like, and sometimesknocked things over, I----'
Her voice choked, and she fell to sobbing again heart-brokenly.
Mrs. Cameron was silent again for a space; but when as the time went onthe girl seemed to abandon herself more and more to her grief, she roseto her feet and drew the sobbing figure up also.
'There is a hard task before you, dear one,' she said, 'but I know youwill do it.'
Hermie gazed at her helplessly.
'His poor old father does not know yet, for Bart tells me his man Barnesis still drinking in Wilgandra. I want you to go up to Coolooli andbreak it to him.'
'Me?' gasped Hermie. 'Me?'
'Yes, you, my dear. You cared for his son; it will establish a bondbetween you, and make it a little easier for him.'
'Oh, I couldn't!' cried the girl, shrinking back, actual ala
rm on herface. 'Oh, it is cruel of you to even ask me, mother! Why should I dosuch a thing? Surely it is hard enough already for me!'
'Because you are a woman, my dear, and must always think of yourselflast,' the mother said quietly. 'How soon can you be ready to start?'
One glance the girl gave at her mother's face that was so quietlyexpectant that she would do the right thing. Her head lifted a little,and her mouth tried to compose itself.
'I have only my skirt to put on,' she said; 'I can do it while Bartsaddles Tramby for me.'
Up to the cottage she walked again, and put on the neat blueriding-skirt her mother had lately made her. She bathed her red eyes;she drank two tumblers of cold water, to take the choking from herthroat.
'Father will go with you,' the mother said, coming to the door; 'butwhen you get to Coolooli you can ride on ahead.'
Through the pleasant winter sunshine they rode, up hill, down dale,across bush stretches where Mortimer's horse had worn a path for them.Coolooli faced them at last, secret stern-looking, with its curtainlesswindows, its garden barren of sweet flowers. It was the first time thegirl had been so near her lover's home.
She was among the trees now that lined the drive leading up to thehouse; her father had dropped behind, and was to follow on in half anhour.
Her heart seemed fluttering in her throat; a deadly sickness possessedher.
The old man was standing at a table on the verandah; he had a great mapof the Transvaal spread open before him, and, with small flags stuck init here and there, was following his son's footsteps.
He turned at the sound of the horse's hoofs. When he saw the rider hewent down instantly on to the path, to help her to dismount.
'Well, little missie,' he said, 'it's not often you ride this way.' Helooked at her colourless cheeks keenly. 'What is the matter--can't youjump down?'
She absolutely could not, and he had almost to lift her off her saddle.He tied the horse's reins loosely round the verandah-post, and looked ather again from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. He told himself he knewwhat was the matter. The family was in difficulties again, and had sentthis particular member of it as an emissary to borrow money. Well, thisfreak of his son's was going to cost him dear. Still, the little thingwas trembling dreadfully, and evidently did not like her task. He puthis hand on her shoulder reassuringly.
'Out with it, lassie,' he said; 'how much do you want?'
Hermie clung to his arm--her very lips were white.
'Mortimer has been very brave,' she said; 'he has done somethingmagnificent.' Her voice fell.
'My lad!' he cried, in a changed tone. 'Where? show me--I haven't seenthe paper yet.'
She clung to it.
'You will be very proud of him,' she said 'All Australia is talking ofhim to-day.'
He pulled vigorously at the paper; his creased old face had a strangelyillumined look; his hands were trembling with eagerness.
'I knowed it,' he said; 'he always had grit. I've kep' expectin' this.Well, I'll lie quiet in me grave now, whenever the Lord up there likes.'
'Yes,' the girl continued, and gave him the paper. 'All the world isproud of him to-day, so that must help you. He gave his life to savethe general's.'
The old man drew a curious breath, and sat down on his chair; he openedthe paper and read the paragraph. Then he read it again, and again, andagain, until his eyes had carried the news to his brain twenty times atleast.
'It was a fine thing to do,' he said at last.
'Yes,' said Hermie.
'No other Australian's been mentioned like that.'
'No,' said poor Hermie.
'It was a fine thing to do,' he repeated. He got little further thanthat all the time the girl stayed; even when Cameron came up, alla-quiver with deep sympathy, he still only said, 'It was a fine thing todo.' After an hour or so, he looked at them expectantly.
'I suppose you'll have to be getting back?' he said; and Cameron andHermie rose at once.
He saw them down the steps, and even helped Hermie on her horse again.Cameron rode on.
'Good-bye, missie,' he said. Then he shot an almost aggressive look ather. 'You ought to be fine and set up that a fellow like that lovedyou.'
'I am,' said Hermie bravely. 'I shall be proud of it just as long as Ilive, Mr. Stevenson.'
He softened a little, then looked suddenly old and very tired.
'I want to be alone now,' he said. 'But I don't mind if you come upagain to-morrow.'
With that he went back to the house, the paper still in his hand. Butthe next day, when she went, she found him pacing the place like awounded tiger. The servants told her he had been very quiet all themorning and the previous evening, and had told them all several timesabout the fine thing his son had done. But Barnes had brought in theday's papers an hour ago, and he had been raging like this ever since.The girl found him with bloodshot eyes and clenched hands, walking thebig verandahs.
'Go away!' he shouted when he saw her. She turned and went into thehouse at once, to wait the passing of the mood. She stood at the windowof one of the handsome rooms, and looked with dreary eyes out to thetwin hill that lay bathed in the clear sunshine half a mile away, andnever knew how often Mortimer had sat at that same window, smoking hisafter-dinner pipe, and building his sunny cottage for her on the brighthill-top.
Presently the old man came in to her.
'Take the paper from me,' he said quaveringly, and held it out to her.'If I read it any more, I'll lose me reason!'
The girl looked startled.
'I didn't know there was anything new to-day,' she said. 'Bart told mehe had lost our paper on the way.' Her eyes, large with fear and grief,tore through the cables they had kept back from her at the selection.
'Private Stevenson,' said a paragraph, 'did not die instantaneously. Hewas shot through the jaw and through one lung, and dragged himself to arock, leaving a long trail of blood behind. He must have lingered infrightful agony all night, for when his body was picked up by theambulance, it was found that he had written the word "Cold" on theground with his finger.'
'Dear God, how can they do this?' Mrs. Cameron had cried, when she sawthe paragraph. 'Have they no sense of pity or decency, that they printthese frightful details? This is more terrible a thousandfold for thosewho loved him than the plain news that he was dead.'
The poor little girl, who had gone up so resolved to be calm and brave,screamed out uncontrollably at the cruel news, then buried her head inher hands to keep the moans back.
The old man brought her a glass of water from the sideboard.
'Let's tear it up,' he said, and rent the horrid news in pieces. 'Let'sonly remember the boy did the right thing, and died like a man.'
He found himself comforting the girl who had come to comfort him. Shefound herself telling him with streaming eyes how she had loved his boyand thought of him, even though at the time he asked her she had said,'No.'
'If only he could have known!' she sobbed. 'Perhaps, perhaps he wasthinking of me part of that night when he--was cold.'
The next day there was another cable about the affair.
'The trooper who saved General Strong's life at Krug's Spruit wasPrivate Mark Stevenson, of the Queensland Contingent, not MortimerStevenson of the New South Wales, as reported yesterday.'
Hermie tore along the road to Coolooli to rejoice with the old man,since before she had gone to grieve with him.
He was sitting on the verandah looking very shaken and bewildered, andreading the third cable as often as he had read the first.
'I--hardly understand,' he said feebly.
Hermie had seized his two hands, and was shaking them joyously.
'He is alive--alive!' she cried.
He looked at her piteously.
'Didn't he do that fine thing at all?' he said.
'No,' she cried. 'Some other man did it, thank God! He is alive,alive--Mortimer--he is not dead!
He drew his hands out of her eager ones a l
ittle pettishly.
'They should be more careful with these cables,' he said.
'Oh,' she cried happily, 'we will forgive them anything! He isalive--alive!'
'But he never did that fine thing,' he repeated sadly.
The Wonder-Child: An Australian Story Page 21
