CHAPTER NINETEEN.
REFERS TO SERGEANT HARDY, AMYTOOR-LAWYER SUTHERLAND, AND OTHER MATTERS.
Among the wounded in the great fight which we have just described wasHardy the sergeant.
His position at the time the Arabs broke into the square was close tothe right flank of the Indian Native Regiment, which gave way, so thatit was he and a number of the flank men of his company who had to domost of the hand-to-hand fighting necessary to repair the disaster anddrive back the enemy. Of course every soldier engaged in that part ofthe fight was, for a time, almost overwhelmed in the confusion, and manyof them were surrounded and severely wounded.
When the Native Infantry broke, Hardy's captain sprang to the front,sword in hand, and cut down two of the foe. As he did so, he was, for amoment, separated from his company and surrounded. A powerful Arab wason the point of thrusting his spear into the captain's back when Hardyobserved his danger, bayoneted the Arab, and saved the officer. But itwas almost at the cost of his own life, for another Arab, with whom hehad been fighting at the moment, took advantage of the opportunity tothrust his spear into the chest of the sergeant, who fell, as wasthought, mortally wounded.
This, however, was not the case, for when the fight was over, his wound,although dangerous, was not supposed to be fatal, and he went intohospital on returning to Suakim. He was a Blue Light, and histemperance habits told in his favour. So did his religion, for the calmequanimity with which he submitted to the will of God, and bore hissufferings, went far to assist the doctor in grappling with his wound.But his religion did more than that, for when he thought of the heaventhat awaited him, if he should die, and of being "for ever with theLord," his heart was filled with joy; and joy not only "does notkill,"--it is absolutely a source of life. In the sergeant's case itformed an important factor in restoring him to partial health.
One evening, some time after the battle of McNeill's zereba, Sutherlandand Gaspard Redgrave were seated beside the sergeant's bed--cheering himup a bit, as they said--and chatting about the details of the recentfight. Once or twice the sergeant had tried to lead the conversation toreligious subjects, but without success, for neither Sutherland norGaspard were seriously disposed, and both fought shy of such matters.
"Well, it's very kind of you to come an' cheer me up, lads," said Hardyat last; "and I hope I may live to do the same for you, if either of youever gets knocked over. Now, I want each of you to do me a favour.Will you promise?"
"Of course we will," said Gaspard quickly.
"If we can," said the more cautious Scot.
"Well, then, Gaspard, will you sing me a song? I think it would do megood."
"With the greatest pleasure," answered the soldier; "but," he added,looking round doubtfully, "I don't know how they might like it here."
"They'll not object; besides, you can sing low. You've got the knack ofsingin' soft--better than any man I ever heard."
"Well, what shall it be?" returned the gratified Gaspard.
"One of Sankey's hymns," said the sergeant, with the remotest semblanceof a twinkle in his eye, as he took a small hymn-book from under hispillow and gave it to his friend.
Gaspard did not seem to relish the idea of singing hymns, but he hadoften heard the Blue Lights sing them, and could not plead ignorance ofthe tunes; besides, being a man of his word, he would not refuse tofulfil his promise.
"Sing Number 68, `Shall we gather at the river?' I'm very fond of thathymn."
In a sweet, soft, mellow voice, that charmed all who were withinhearing, Gaspard began the hymn, and when he had finished there washeard more than one "Amen" and "Thank God" from the neighbouring beds.
"Yes, comrades, we shall gather there," said the sergeant, after a briefpause, "for the same Almighty Saviour who saved _me_ died for _you_ aswell. I ain't used to wettin' my cheeks, as _you_ know, lads, but Is'pose my wound has weakened me a bit! Now Sutherland, the favour Ihave to ask of--"
"If ye're thinkin' o' askin' me to pray," broke in the alarmed Scotsman,"ye may save your breath. When I promised, I said, `if I _can_.' Noo,I can _not_ pray, an' it's nae use askin' me to try. Whatever I maycome to in this warld, I'll no be a heepycrit for ony leevin' man."
"Quite right, Sutherland--quite right. I had no intention of asking youto pray," replied Hardy, with a faint smile. "What I want you to do isto draw out my will for me."
"Oh! I'm quite willin' to do that," returned the relieved Scot.
"You see," continued the sergeant, "one never knows what may be theresult of a bad wound in a climate like this, and if it pleases myFather in heaven to call me home, I should like the few trifles Ipossess to go in the right direction."
"That's a wise-like sentiment," returned his friend, with an approvingnod and thoughtful frown.
"Now, as you write a capital hand, and know how to express yourself onpaper," continued Hardy, "it strikes me that you will do the job betterthan any one else; and, being a friend, I feel that I can talk freely toyou on my private affairs. So you'll help me?"
"I'm wullin' to try, serjint, and ac' the legal adviser--amytoor-like,ye ken."
"Thank you. Can you come to-morrow morning?"
"No, serjint, I canna, because I've to start airly the morn's mornin'wi' a pairty to meet the Scots Gairds comin' back frae Tamai, but themoment I come back I'll come to ye."
"That will do--thank you. And now, Gaspard, what's the news fromEngland? I hear that a mail has just come in."
"News that will make your blood boil," said Gaspard sternly.
"It would take a good deal of powerful news to boil the little bloodthat is left in me," said Hardy, languidly.
"Well, I don't know. Anyhow it makes mine boil. What d'you think ofMcNeill's brave defence being represented in the papers as a disaster?"
"You don't mean that!"
"Indeed I do. They say that it was a disaster! whereas it was asplendid defence under singularly adverse circumstances! They say thatGeneral McNeill permitted himself to be surprised! If he had tried tocarry out his instructions to the full extent, it would indeed have beensuch a surprise that the surprising thing would have been if a singleman of us had returned alive to tell the tale--as you and I know fullwell. The truth is, it was the fault of the Intelligence Departmentthat nearly wrecked us, and it was McNeill's prudence and our pluck thatsaved us, and yet these quill-drivers at home--bah!"
The soldier rose in hot indignation and strode from the room.
"He's a wee thing roosed!" remarked Sutherland, with a good-humoured yetslightly cynical grin. "But guid-nicht to ye, ma man. Keep up hert an'I'll come an' draft yer wull i' the mornin'."
So saying the "amytoor" lawyer took his departure, and was soon trampingover the desert sands with a band of his comrades.
They were not, however, permitted to tramp in peace, for theirindefatigable foe hung on their skirts and annoyed them the greater partof the way. Toward evening they met the Guards, and as it was too lateto return to Suakim the force bivouacked in McNeill's deserted zereba,surrounded by graves and scarcely buried corpses.
Only those who were there can fully understand what that meant. Allround the zereba, and for three miles on the Suakim side of it, theground was strewn thickly with the graves of Europeans, Indians, andArabs, and so shallow were these that from each of them there oozed adark, dreadful stain. To add to the horrors of the scene, portions ofmangled and putrefying corpses protruded from many of them--ghastlyskulls, from the sockets of which the eyes had been picked by vulturesand other obscene birds. Limbs of brave men upon which the hyena hadalready begun his dreadful work, and half-skeleton hands, with fingersspread and bent as if still clutching the foe in death-agony, protrudedabove the surface; mixed with these, and unburied, were the putrefyingcarcases of camels and mules--the whole filling the air with a horriblestench, and the soul with a fearful loathing, which ordinary language ispowerless to describe, and the inexperienced imagination cannotconceive.
Oh! it is terrible to th
ink that from the Fall till now man has gone oncontinually producing and reproducing scenes like this--sometimes, nodoubt, unavoidably; but often, too often, because of some triflingerror, or insult, on the part of statesmen, or some paltry dispute abouta boundary, or, not infrequently, on grounds so shadowy and complex thatsucceeding historians have found it almost impossible to convey themeaning thereof to the intellects of average men!
Amid these dreadful memorials of the recent fight the party bivouacked!
Next day the troops returned to Suakim, and Sutherland, after breakfast,and what he called a wash-up, went to see his friend Sergeant Hardy,with pen, ink, and paper.
"Weel, serjint, hoo are ye the day?"
"Pretty well, thank you--pretty well. Ah! Sutherland, I have beenthinking what an important thing it is for men to come to Jesus forsalvation while in their health and strength; for now, instead of beinganxious about my soul, as so many are when the end approaches, I amrejoicing in the thought of soon meeting God--my Father! Sutherland, mygood fellow, it is foolish as well as wrong to think only of this life.Of all men in the world we soldiers ought to know this."
The sergeant spoke so earnestly, and his eyes withal looked so solemnlyfrom their sunken sockets, that his friend could not help beingimpressed.
"I believe ye're no' far wrang, serjint, an' I tak' shame to mysel' thatI've been sic a harum-scarum sinner up to this time."
Sutherland said this with a look so honest that Hardy was moved to putout his large wasted hand and grasp that of his friend.
"Comrade," he said, "God is waiting to be gracious. Jesus is ever readyand willing to save."
Sutherland returned the pressure but made no reply; and Hardy, prayingfor a blessing on the little that had been said, changed the subject bysaying--
"You have brought paper and ink, I see."
"Ay, but, man, ye mauna be speakin' o' takin' yer depairture yet. Thisdraftin' o' yer wull is only a precaution."
"Quite right, lad. I mean it only as a precaution," returned Hardy, ina cheerful tone. "But you seem to have caught a cold--eh? What makesyou cough and clear your throat so?"
"A cauld! I wush it was only a cauld! Man, it's the stink o' thaecorps that I canna get oot o' my nose an' thrapple."
Hereupon Sutherland, by way of entertaining his invalid friend, launchedout into a graphic account of the scene he had so recently witnessed atMcNeill's zereba. When that subject was exhausted, he arranged hiswriting materials and began with all the solemnity of a lawyer.
"Noo, serjeant, what div ye want me to pit doon?"
"Well, I must explain first that I have very little to leave, and no oneto leave it to."
"What! Nae frien's ava?"
"Not one. I have neither wife nor child, brother nor sister. I haveindeed one old cousin, but he is rich, and would not be benefited by mypoor little possessions; besides, he's a cross-grained old fellow, anddoes not deserve anything, even though I had something worth leaving.However, I bear him no ill-will, poor man, only I don't want what I doleave to go to him, which it would if I were to die without a will;because, of course, he is my natural heir, and--"
"Haud ye there, man," said the Scot abruptly but slowly. "If he's yournait'ral heir, ye're _his_ nait'ral heir tae, ye ken."
"Of course, I am aware of that," returned the sergeant with an amusedlook; "but the old man is eccentric, and has always boasted that hemeans to leave his wealth to some charity. Indeed, I know that he hasalready made his will, leaving his money to build an hospital--forincurables of some sort, I believe."
"Ma certy! If I was his lawyer," said Sutherland, with ineffable scorn,"I wad advise him to erec' an hospital in his lifetime for incurableeediots, an' to gang in himsel' as the first patient. But, come awa wi'yer wull, serjint."
"Get ready, then, my lawyer, and see that you put it down allship-shape, as poor Molloy would have said."
"Oh, ye needna fear," said the Scot, "I'm no' sic an ass as to trust tomy ain legal knowledge. But jist you say what ye want an' I'll pit itdoon, and then write it into a form in the reg'lar way."
After mentioning a few trifling legacies to various comrades, Hardy saidthat he had managed to save a hundred pounds during his career, which hewished to divide between his two comrades, John Miles and WillieArmstrong, for whom he expressed strong regard.
Sutherland, instead of noting this down, looked at his friend in sadsurprise, thinking that weakness had caused his mind to wander.
"Ye forget, serjint," he said softly, "that Miles an' Airmstrang arebaith deed."
"No, lad; no one can say they are certainly dead."
"Aweel--we canna exactly say it, but when ye consider o' the borndeevils that have gotten haud o' them, we are entitled to _think_ themdeed ony way."
"They are reported as `missing,' that is all, and that is enough for me.You write down what I tell you, lad. Now, have you got it down?"
"Ay, fifty to each."
"There may be some interest due on the account," said the sergeantthoughtfully; "besides, there may be a few things in my kit that I haveforgotten--and it's not worth while dividing such trifles between them."
"Weel, weel, ye've only to mak yin o' them yer residooary legitee, an'that'll pit it a' richt."
"True, my lawyer. Let it be so," said Hardy, with a short laugh at thethought of making so much ado about nothing. "Make Miles my residuarylegatee. And now, be off, draw it out fair, an' leave me to rest, forI'm a trifle tired after all this legal work."
The will thus carefully considered was duly made out, signed, andwitnessed, after which Sergeant Hardy awaited with cheerful resignationwhatever fate should be appointed to him.
His strong frame and constitution, undamaged by youthful excess, foughta vigorous battle for life, and he began slowly to mend; but the climateof Suakim was so bad for him that he was finally sent down to thehospital at Alexandria, where, under much more favourable circumstances,he began to recover rapidly.
One of the nurses there was very kind to him. Finding that the sergeantwas an earnest Christian, she had many interesting talks with him on thesubject nearest his heart.
One day she said to him with unusual animation:
"The doctor says you may go down to the Soldiers' Institute that hasrecently been set up here, and stay for some time to recruit. It is notintended for invalids, you know, but the ladies in charge are intimatefriends of mine, and have agreed to let you have a room. The Institutestands on a very pleasant part of the shore, exposed to the freshsea-breezes; and there are lots of books and newspapers and games, aswell as lectures, concerts, prayer-meetings, Bible-readings, and--"
"Ay, just like Miss Robinson's Institute at Portsmouth," interruptedHardy. "I know the sort o' thing well."
"The Alexandrian Soldiers' Institute is _also_ Miss Robinson's,"returned the nurse, with a pleased look; "so if you know the one atPortsmouth, there is no need for my describing the other to you. Thechange will do you more good in a week than months at this place. AndI'll come to see you frequently. There is a widow lady staying therejust now to whom I will introduce you. She has been helping us to nursehere, for she has great regard for soldiers; but her health havingbroken-down somewhat, she has transferred her services to the Institutefor a time. She is the widow of a clergyman who came out here not longago and died suddenly. You will find her a very sympathetic soul."
Blue Lights: Hot Work in the Soudan Page 19
