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A Dash from Diamond City, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 38. The Surgeon's Words |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT. THE SURGEON'S WORDS "Bad enough, poor fellow; but I think I can pull them both round. Nothing vital, you see, touched, and these Mauser bullets make wonderfully clean wounds!" "And the other?" "Bad flesh-wounds--great loss of blood. I just got at that artery in time." West heard these words spoken by someone whose head kept getting in his way as he lay staring up at the great bright stars directly overhead, and it seemed very tiresome. He tried to speak and ask whoever it was to move aside; but his tongue would not stir, and he lay perfectly still, trying to think what it all meant, and in a dull far-off sort of way it gradually dawned upon him that the people near him were talking about the Boers he had somehow or another and for some reason shot down. Then, as he thought, the calm feeling he was enjoying grew troubled, and he began to recall the fact that he had been shooting somebody's ponies to supply somebody else with food, and that he must have been mad, for he felt convinced that they would not be nice eating, as he had heard that the fat was oily and the flesh tasted sweet. Besides which, it would be horrible to have to eat horseflesh at a time when his throat was dry with an agonising thirst. Then the terrible thought forced itself upon him that while shooting down ponies he had missed them and killed men instead, and once more all was blank. The next time the power of thinking came to the poor fellow all was very dark, and a jarring pain kept running through him, caused by the motion of his hard bed, which had somehow grown wheels and was being dragged along. Cattle were lowing and sheep bleating. There were shouts, too, such as he knew were uttered by Kaffir drivers, and there were the crackings of their great whips. After a while he made out the trampling of horses and heard men talking, while in an eager confused way he listened for what they would say about those two wounded Boers, one of whom had nearly bled to death before that artery was stopped. These, he felt, must be the Boers he shot when he ought to have shot ponies. And as he got to that point the trouble of thinking worried his brain so that he could think no more, and again all was blank. At last came a morning when West woke up in a great room which seemed to be familiar. There were nurses moving about in their clean white-bordered dresses, and he knew that he was in some place fitted up as a hospital. Several of the occupants of the beds wore bandages suggestive of bad wounds, and to help his thoughts there came from time to time the dull heavy reports of cannon. He did not recollect all that had preceded his coming yet; but he grasped the fact that he had been wounded and was now in hospital. He lay for a few minutes with his brain growing clearer and clearer, and at last, seeing one of the nurses looking in his direction, he tried to raise one hand, but could not. The other proved more manageable, and in obedience to a sign the nurse came, laid a hand upon his forehead, and smiled down in his face. "Your head's cooler!" she said. "You're better?" "Yes," he replied: "have I been very bad?" "Terribly! We thought once that you would not recover." "And Ingleborough?" "Ingleborough? Oh, you mean your companion who was brought in with you?" West nodded: he could not speak. "Well, I think he will get better now!" "But his wound: is it so bad?" "He nearly bled to death; but you must not talk much yet." "Only a little!" said West eagerly. "Pray tell me, he will get better?" "Oh yes: there's no doubt about it, I believe." "Oh, thank goodness!" cried West fervently. "But what place is this?" "This? Why, Kimberley, of course!" "Ah!" cried West excitedly, and his hand went to his breast. "My jacket!" "Your jacket?" said the nurse. "Oh, that was all cut and torn, and soaked with blood. I think it has been burnt." "What!" cried West. "Oh, don't say that!" "Hush, hush! What is this?" said a deep, stern voice. "Patient delirious, nurse?" A quiet, grave-looking face was bent over West's pillow, and the poor fellow jumped at the idea that this must be the surgeon. "No, sir; no, sir!" he whispered excitedly, catching at the new-comer's arm. "I am better: it is only that I am in trouble about my clothes." "Clothes, eh?" said the doctor, smiling. "Oh, you will not want clothes for two or three weeks yet." "Not to dress, sir," whispered West excitedly; "but I must have my jacket. It is important!" "Why?" said the surgeon, laying his hand upon the young man's brow soothingly. "I was bringing on a despatch from Mafeking when I was shot down, sir," whispered West excitedly. "It was sewn up for safety in the breast." "Indeed?" said the doctor, laying his fingers on the lad's pulse and looking keenly in his eyes. "Yes, sir, indeed!" said West eagerly. "I know what I am saying, sir." "Yes, you are cool now; but I'm afraid the jacket will have been burned with other garments of the kind. Of course, the contents of the pockets will have been preserved." "Oh, they are nothing, sir," cried West piteously. "It is a letter sewn up in the breast that I want. It is so important!" "Well, I'll see!" said the doctor gravely, and, signing to the nurse who had been in attendance, he left the ward, with West in a state of feverish anxiety. At last, to West's intense satisfaction, the horribly blood-stained garment was brought in, and his hand went out trembling to catch it by the breast, fully expecting to find the missive gone. "Yes," he cried wildly, "it is here!" "Hah!" cried the doctor, and, taking out his knife, he prepared to slit it up, but West checked him. "No," he panted: "the Commandant. Send for him here!" "My good lad, he is so busy, he would not come! Let me cut out the message and send it to him." "No," said West firmly; "I will not part from it till he comes." "But really--" "Tell him a wounded messenger from Mafeking has a letter for him, and he will come." West was right: the magic word Mafeking brought the Commandant to his bedside; and as soon as he came up he stopped short and made what little blood poor West had left flush to his face, for he cried: "Hullo! Why, it is our illicit-diamond-dealer! I thought we were never to see you again!" "It is not true!" cried West. "The man who denounced me lied!" "Then you have been to Mafeking?" "Yes, sir: Mr Ingleborough and I." "And brought back a despatch?" "Yes, sir: here it is!" "Where?" said the Commandant, glancing down at the stained tunic on the bed. "Open it now, sir," said West to the doctor, who took out his knife again, slit the cloth, and drew out the big letter, terribly soaked with its bearer's blood. "Bravo! Brave messenger!" cried the Commandant, grasping West's hand before tearing open the packet and finding enough of the despatch unstained to allow him to decipher the principal part of the text. "Hah!" he cried, when he had finished, "on the whole good news; but," he continued, glancing at the date, "you have been a long time coming." "Have I, sir? We lost no time!" "The poor fellow has been lying here for a fortnight, sir," said the surgeon. "A fortnight ago? Why, that was the day when the reconnoitring party returned with the captured sheep and cattle. Yes, I remember now: they had a brush with the Boers up the river. Of course, yes: they were attracted by the firing, and saved two young Englishmen. You are one of them?" "Yes, sir." "Well done, then! Our raiding party did good work, though they did have a desperate fight afterwards to get through the Boer lines. Getting better?" "Yes, sir," said West, with a sigh of relief: "now that I have got my despatch safely into your hands!" "But what about your bad character?" "It was a false accusation, sir!" cried West indignantly. "The man who denounced me was the criminal himself." "Well, you have done your duty so truly that I believe you in preference to him." "But I shall be able to fully clear myself, sir, soon, for this man is a prisoner now with the cavalry brigade. Has that come into the town yet, sir, with the prisoners, guns, and the convoy they captured?" "Hah!" cried the Commandant: "this is news indeed! Has the brigade captured all you say?" "Yes, sir," said West, and he told all that had taken place up to the time of he and Ingleborough being cut off and chased by the Boers. "We knew nothing of this!" said the Commandant. "We are prisoners ourselves; but your news gives us hope of a speedy release, for the General is not one to let the grass grow under his feet." "He is not, sir!" said West. "Then you shall bring me and the man who accused me face to face." "The sooner the better, my lad!" said the Commandant warmly. "How soon will he be up, doctor?" "Within a fortnight, I hope, sir!" was the reply. "Then goodbye for the present, my lad!" said the Commandant. "Your long-delayed despatch will send a thrill of hope through all here in Kimberley, for it breathes nothing but determination to hold the Boers at bay." "May I say one word more, sir?" said West excitedly. "What do you think, doctor?" "He has said enough, sir, and if he talks much more we shall have the fever back. Well, perhaps he'll fret if he does not get something off his mind." "What is it, then?" said the Commandant. "I had a brave comrade to ride with the despatch, sir." "To be sure, yes, I remember. What about him? Not killed, I hope?" "No, sir, but badly wounded, and lying somewhere here." "Poor fellow! I must see him. There must be promotion for you both." "If you would see him, sir, and speak to him as you have spoken to me," said West, with the weak tears rising to his eyes. "Of course, yes! There, shake hands, my lad: you have done splendidly! Don't worry about the diamond charge! I can feel that it was a contemptible lie! Now, doctor, take me to your other patient." "Ha!" sighed West, nestling back on his pillow with a calm look of content in his eyes, which closed directly after for a sleep that lasted ten hours at the least. _ |
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