Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > Middy and Ensign > This page
Middy and Ensign, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 61. How Bob Roberts Turned The Tables |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER SIXTY ONE. HOW BOB ROBERTS TURNED THE TABLES Never was daylight looked for with greater anxiety than that night on board the steamer. With the first flush she was allowed to float lower down, till abreast of the spot where the two men were taken on board, and then every available hand was landed, under Bob Roberts' command, to try, by firing signals and listening for the reply, to reach the place where the worn-out party were making their last stand. The two poor fellows who had come on board were in too pitiable a plight to move, and, even if they had gone, they could not have guided the relief party, who, only twenty strong, leaped ashore, eager to reach their friends, and inflict some punishment on the Malays, while the others retreated towards the ship. Every man was laden heavily with food and ammunition, Lieutenant Johnson's difficulty being to keep the brave fellows from taking too much, and hindering their fighting powers, as, with a hearty cheer, they plunged in amidst the interlacing canes. The task was hard, but less so than they expected--resolving itself as it did into hacking the canes and forcing their way through; for before they had gone far they could hear firing before them, and it was kept up so vigorously that there was no occasion to fire a single signal. Hour after hour did they toil on, till the firing suddenly ceased, and they were for a moment at fault; but Bob Roberts and Old Dick, who were leading, suddenly heard voices close at hand, where the forest growth was thinner; and hacking and chopping away, they had nearly reached the spot when the firing suddenly began again furiously for a few moments, and then once more stopped. The next minute the way was clear, and Bob Roberts, with his twenty blue-jackets and marines, went in at the double to an opening in the jungle where the remains of the hunting-party were making a desperate stand against a strong body of Malay; who, spear against bayonet, were pressing them home. The middy took it all in at a glance, and saw that in another minute the weak helpless wielders of rifle and bayonet would be borne down, and they, and the sick and wounded lying in the long grass, massacred to a man. Major Sandars said afterwards that the oldest colonel in the service could not have done better; for, with his sun-browned face lighting up with excitement, and waving his sword, Bob Roberts shouted his orders to the men, sprang forward, giving point at a great bronze-skinned Malay who had borne the major down and was about to spear him, while with a hearty British cheer the marines and blue-jackets dashed up, poured in a staggering volley amongst the thronging enemy, and followed it up with a bayonet charge along the beaten-down jungle alley, till, dropping spear and kris, the Malays fled for their lives. Others were hurrying up to be present at the massacre; for the news had spread that the English had fired their last cartridge and were weak with starvation; but as they met their flying comrades the panic spread. The reinforcements were magnified a hundred times; and it wanted but Bob Roberts' quick sharp halt, form in line two deep, and the firing in of a couple of volleys, to send all to the right-about, a few of the hindmost getting a prick of the bayonet before they got away. Pursuit would have been in vain, so Bob left a picket of five men under Old Dick to keep the narrow path, bidding them fell a tree or two so that their branches might lie towards and hinder an attack from the enemy, before hurrying back with fourteen men to the little jungle camp. He tried hard, but he could not keep back his tears as the gaunt bleeding remains of a fine body of men gathered round him to grasp his hands and bless him; while, when one strange-looking little naked object came up and seized him by the shoulders, he felt almost ready to laugh. It was hard to believe it was Dr Bolter standing there, in a pair of ragged trousers reduced in length to knee breeches, and nothing else. "Bob, my dear boy," he said, "I can't tell you how glad I am; but give me some rum, biscuits, anything you have, for my poor lads are perishing for want of food." The men's wallets were being emptied, and food and ammunition were rapidly distributed, for not a scrap of provision nor a single cartridge was left with the major's party. "Why, you are laughing at me, you dog," cried the doctor, as he came back for more provisions; "but just you have forty patients, Bob Roberts, many of them wounded, and not a bandage to use, Bob, my lad! My handkerchiefs, neck and pocket, went first; then my Norfolk jacket, and then my shirt. Poor lads! poor brave lads!" he said piteously; "I'd have taken off my skin if it would have done them good." "Ah, doctor," said Bob, in a voice full of remorse, "I'm only a boy yet, and a very thoughtless one. Pray forgive me. I meant no harm." "God bless you, my lad; I know that," cried the doctor, warmly. "You've saved us all. Boy, indeed? Well, so you are, Bob; but as long as England has plenty of such boys as you, we need not trouble ourselves about the men--they'll all come in time." It was a pitiful task, but every one worked with a will; and now that they were refreshed with food, reanimated by the presence of twenty fresh men, supplied with ammunition, and, above all, supported by the knowledge that not a mile away, through the newly-cut path, there lay a haven of rest in the shape of the steamer--men who had been fit to lie down and die, stood up, flushed, excited, and ready to help bear the sick and wounded towards the river; while, to make matters better, the Malays had had such a thrashing in this last engagement that they made no fresh attack. The consequence was that half-a-dozen weak men under Major Sandars made a show in the rear, and all the strong devoted themselves to helping to carry the invalids to the steamer. More help was afforded too from the steamer itself, as soon as Lieutenant Johnson found that there was no fear of attack, and in the end all were got safely on board; and long before night Dr Bolter, clothed and comfortable, had all his sick men in berths and hammocks, well tended, already looking better, and he himself walking up and down the deck chuckling and rubbing his hands. The losses had been severe, but far less than might have been expected, owing to the devotion of the men, who had struggled on till they could get no farther, and would have perished one and all but for the timely succour brought by the middy, and indirectly by the emissary of Rajah Gantang, who little thought when he took the steamer, by his clever ruse, up the solitary river, that he was leading them where it would be the salvation of the hunting-party, who were doomed to death. Not a moment had been lost, and as soon as all were on board, the steamer recommenced her downward course towards the residency, where all felt that help must be urgently needed, by the little party who had its defence. _ |
||