Soldiers of the Queen

These signs of approval were still being showered down upon him, when Sergeant Sparks touched his elbow.

"Here's an officer wants to speak to you, Fenleigh. There he is, standing over by that tree."

With his heart in his mouth, the singer stepped out of the crush, and approached the figure standing by itself under the heavy shadow of the palm.

"Jack!"

The private soldier made no reply, but raised his hand in the customary salute. The action was simple enough, and yet full of meaning, showing the altered relationship between the two old friends.

"Why, man, didn't you tell us where you were? and what had become of you?"

"There was no need; and, besides, I didn't wish you to know, sir?"

"Surely you are not still offended over what happened that summer at Brenlands? You must have known that we, none of us, suspected you for a moment of having stolen that watch. It was only a cad like Raymond Fosberton would ever have thought of suggesting such a thing."

"Appearances were very much against me, sir – and – well, it's all past and done with now."

Valentine was silent. That "sir," so familiar to his ear, and yet seemingly so incongruous in the present instance, baffled him completely. In the first moment of his discovery he had intended, figuratively speaking, to fall upon the prodigal's neck, and converse with him in the old, familiar style; but now, between Valentine Fenleigh, Esq., of the – sex, and Private Fenleigh, of the Royal Blankshire, there was a great gulf fixed, and the latter, especially, seemed determined to recognize that the former conditions of their friendship could now no longer exist. After a moment's pause, Jack spoke.

"Could you tell me, sir, if they are all well?"

"Who? my people? They're all right, thanks. Helen's just gone and got married; and little Bar's just the same as ever, only a bit older. She was twenty-one last month."

Jack smiled. "And Aunt Mabel, have you seen her lately?"

"Oh, yes! she's very well, and doesn't seem to alter at all. She often talks of you, and is always sad because you never write. Why have you never been to see her?"

"I have seen her once. I passed her in the street in Melchester; but I was in uniform, and she didn't notice me."

"But why didn't you go over to Brenlands?"

"Oh, I couldn't do that! I struck out a path for myself. It may be a bit rough, like the way of transgressors always is; but it suits me well enough. I've been in it now for three years, and mean to stick to it; but it'll never bring me to Brenlands again."

"Oh, yes, it will," answered the other cheerily, "At the end of the long lane comes the turning."

There was another pause; the conversation had been running more freely, but now Jack fell back again into his former manner.

"I beg pardon, sir, but I should like to ask if you'll be good enough not to mention my name in any of your letters home."

"Why not?"

"I should be glad, sir, if you wouldn't. I've managed hitherto to keep my secret."

"Well, if it's your wish, for the present I won't," answered Valentine; "but if we both live through this business, then I shall have something to say to you on the subject."

"Good-night, sir."

"Good-night, old chap, and good luck to us both!"

CHAPTER XVII

UNDER FIRE

"The tin soldier trembled; yet he remained firm; his countenance did not change; he looked straight before him, and shouldered his musket." – The Brave Tin Soldier.

Five days afterwards the camp was all astir, and presented an unusual scene of activity and animation.

On the twenty-eighth of December, orders had been issued for a portion of the force to march across the desert and occupy the wells at Gakdul; and on this, the morning of the thirtieth, the Guards Camel Regiment and the Mounted Infantry (to which latter force Jack and his comrades of the Royal Blankshire were attached), together with detachments of the Engineers and Medical Staff Corps, a squadron of the 19th Hussars, and a large train of "baggagers," were preparing for the start, amid much bugle-blowing, shouting of orders, and roaring of camels as the loads were being placed on their backs. Gradually, as the hour approached for the assembly of the force, the noise grew less; even "Lamentations" ceased his protestations, and stalked off to the parade ground without further murmuring.

Lord Wolseley inspected the force, and shortly before three o'clock the cavalry scouts started. As Jack stood by the side of his kneeling steed, with Joe Crouch on his right, his heart beat fast. This was something different from any of his previous military experiences; the cartridges in his pouch and bandoleer were ball, not blank. It was to be the real thing this time; the stern reality of what he and Valentine had so often pictured and played at far away in the peaceful old house at Brenlands.

Though showing it in different ways, all his comrades were more or less excited at the prospect of a move: some were silent, others unusually noisy; Joe Crouch puffed incessantly at a little clay pipe; Sergeant Sparks seemed to have grown ten years younger, and overflowed with reminiscences of Afghanistan and the Ghazees; while Lieutenant Lawson might, from his high spirits and cheery behaviour, have been just starting on a hunting expedition or some pleasure excursion.

At last it came: "Prepare to mount!"

"Well, here goes!" said Jack, drawing his steed's head round, and putting his foot in the stirrup. "Here goes!" echoed Joe Crouch.

"Mount!" The bugle sounded the advance, the word was given, and the column moved off across the undulating plain – the Guards in front, baggage camels in the centre, and the Mounted Infantry bringing up the rear; the length of the column extending to nearly a mile.

Scared gazelles sprang up from among the rocks and bushes, and bounded away.

"Hi, Swabs! where's yer catapult?" inquired Tommy Briggs.

"Keepin' it for the niggers," answered the marksman significantly.

After an hour's going, many of the riders sought to ease themselves, and vary the peculiar swaying motion by a change of position: some crossed their legs in front of them; while Jack and his chum sat side-saddle, facing each other, and for the twentieth time that day exchanged opinions as to when and where they would first come in touch with the enemy.

In addition to the heat, the clouds of dust raised by the force in front rendered it choky work for those in rear; and no one was sorry when, about five o'clock, the bugles sounded the halt.

Jack dismounted, feeling uncommonly sore and stiff, but was soon busily engaged helping to make fires of dry grass and mimosa scrub, on which to boil the camp kettles for tea.

Never, even when poured from Queen Mab's old silver teapot, had the steaming beverage tasted so refreshing; and the men, sitting round in groups, mess-tin in hand, seemed to regard the whole business in the light of a gigantic picnic. The sun dropped below the horizon; and after a rest of about an hour and a half, the march was continued, the column closing up and proceeding with a broadened front.

The clear, brilliant light of the moon flooded the scene with silvery splendour, throwing up in strange contrast the black, dark hills in the distance. Gradually, as the men grew sleepy, their laughter and conversation died away, the padded feet of the camels made no sound as they passed over the sand, and the silence remained unbroken save for the occasional yelping bark of some hungry jackal. Jack felt cold and drowsy, and, in spite of the movement of his camel, had hard work to keep awake.

Once or twice, when the loads of some of the baggagers slipped, a halt was called while they were refixed; and men, dismounting from their saddles, fell fast asleep on the sand, only to be roused again in what seemed a moment later by the "advance" being sounded.

Hours seemed drawn out into weeks, and Jack, glancing with heavy eyes to his left front, wondered if the sky would ever brighten with the signs of dawn. At length the east grew grey, then flushed with pink, and the sun rose with the red glare of a conflagration, sending a glow of warmth across the desert. For about two hours the march was continued; then, at a spot where a number of trees were growing, a halt was made, camels unloaded, and preparations made for a well-earned breakfast.

In spite of the excitement of this first bivouac, as soon as the meal was over Jack stretched himself out upon the ground and fell fast asleep, only returning to consciousness when wakened by the flies and midday heat; and so ended his first experience of a desert march.

For the purposes of this story it will not be necessary to follow closely all our hero's doings during the next fortnight; and we shall therefore rest content with describing, as briefly as possible, the movements of the force during that period of time which preceded its coming in actual contact with the enemy.

Starting again on the afternoon of the thirty-first of December, the column pushed forward with occasional halts, until, early on the morning of the second of January, Gakdul was reached, and the wells occupied without resistance. Leaving the Guards and Engineers to garrison the place, the rest of the column marched the same evening on the return journey to Korti, to collect and bring on the remaining troops and stores necessary for continuing the advance to Metemmeh. Ten days later, the remainder of the force arrived at Gakdul; and after a day spent in watering and attending to arms and ammunition, a start was made on the afternoon of the fourteenth in the direction of Abu Klea. Soon after sunset the column halted, and resuming the march early on the following morning, by five o'clock in the evening had reached Jebel-es-Sergain, or the Hill of the Saddle, which was to be the resting-place for the night.

The men lay down as usual, with piled arms in front and camels in rear; the order for perfect silence was hardly needed; the sandy water-channels made a comfortable couch for wearied limbs; and the tired warriors were glad enough to wrap themselves in their blankets, and enjoy a few hours of well-earned repose.

In spite of the long and fatiguing day through which he had just passed, Jack did not fall asleep at once, like the majority of his comrades. Ever since his meeting with Valentine, his mind had been continually going back to the days when they were at school together; and now, in the solemn stillness of the desert, as he lay gazing up at the bright, starlit sky, his thoughts flew back to Brenlands, and he pictured up the dear face that had always been the chief of the many attractions that made the place so pleasant. He almost wished now that he had written to her before leaving England. She knew where Valentine was, and every morning would glance with beating heart at the war headings in the newspaper. It would have been a great satisfaction to feel confident of having a share in her loving thoughts. Since Christmas Day, our hero had only caught an occasional glimpse of his cousin, but that was sufficient to revive his old love for the bright, frank-looking face.