Littell's Living Age/Volume 127/Issue 1643/The Dilemma - Part XIV
THE DILEMMA.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
The appointments made provisionally by Kirke to his regiment, of the officers selected from the residency garrison, were all confirmed in due course at headquarters; and when it joined the force assembled in the field, Yorke found himself gazetted adjutant, Braddon being second in command, while Egan and Cowper were attached to do duty. Thus the opportunity had come to Yorke so often longed for, and in a form which his most sanguine day-dreams had failed to picture. An adjutant of irregular cavalry, in the thick of active service, what better place could a young officer find in the whole army?
The scorching heat and blinding dust of the hot season were now succeeded by the rains, and although still very hot, the weather was bearable enough for men who did their work on horseback, and the change from their previous confinement to the freedom of an open-air life in the saddle, combined with the confidence inspired by success to send up their spirits; and the officers of Kirke's horse marched into camp at the head of their five hundred gallant troopers all in a state of the highest enthusiasm. Kirke was deservedly complimented by the general in command on the good form into which he had already brought his levy, the timely arrival of which and its soldier-like appearance procured for it a hearty greeting from all ranks of the little army which it had come to reinforce. There was plenty for it to do; for although the camp was stationary — the little English force standing at bay awaiting reinforcements, itself on the defensive though professing to carry on a siege — the cavalry were in constant movement to protect the flanks and rear of the camp, continually threatened by the enemy. Thus Kirke's horse from the very first came almost daily into contact with the enemy; and although the spirit and natural quality of the men were excellent, there was need for caution and judgment as well as courage in handling these young soldiers, for the mutineers were both better mounted and better trained. But Kirke was just the man for the occasion. A good swordsman and rider, and perfectly fearless, he was cool and wary also, and by keeping his men well in hand at first, and only engaging when he could do so at advantage, he saved his young troopers from sustaining any serious check at the outset, and every day saw an improved discipline grafted on the natural fine bearing of the men, and increase of mutual confidence between them and their officers. The regiment, however, being very much broken up into detachments, good officers were as necessary as a good commandant to bring it into shape; and Kirke had made a happy selection in the men he chose. Braddon, although still disposed to be cynical, had shaken off his moroseness and the bad habit which had caused his former downfall. The cloud which had overshadowed him had passed away, his gallant bearing at the residency having gained him a new reputation, and he came out now in his proper colours as the good officer and genial comrade, cool and clever as Kirke himself; and he soon gained the respect and confidence of the men, like all Indians readily disposed to hero-worship. Egan, too, now that he had some fitting occupation, had shaken off the betting-ring manners which he had been wont to affect, and there remained plenty to admire in the little fellow's courage, good riding, and endurance. The very model of a light cavalry soldier, and never so much at ease as when in the saddle, he was able to tire down even Kirke himself, who was said to be one of the toughest men in the army. Cowper, like Yorke, was eager, to distinguish himself, and Yorke, although nominally adjutant, could not be spared for camp work, but was as much on outpost duty as any one. Thus handled, Kirke's horse came well out of all the numerous skirmishes in which it was engaged, either collectively or in detachments; and success begat the confidence which is the first element of superiority in war. The officers were seldom together; but occasionally the whole regiment would be united in camp for a brief space, when the officers joined together for their frugal meals in what was called the mess-tent, off such food as was procurable. But if the diet was simple, it was seasoned with high spirits. There was always plenty to tell each other on such occasions, and the little party felt like a band of brothers; for Kirke, although a hard man, was both good-tempered and good-natured, and was perfectly free and unaffected off duty. Mackenzie Maxwell made up the complement of, officers. In ordinary course a young assistant surgeon would have been attached to an irregular cavalry regiment, but those were not days of routine; Maxwell preferred active life in the field to remaining at the Mustaphabad residency, and asked to be allowed to remain with Kirke's horse, and all the officers treated the older man with a respect which made his position sufficiently agreeable.
During this time the field forces to which the regiment was attached had, as we have mentioned, been compelled to remain stationary, encamped before a great rebellious city, and itself the assailed rather than the assailant; but at last the little army had accomplished the task it had been set to do, after a struggle the brunt of which was borne by the other branches of the service, and the time now came for a move onwards, with diminished numbers indeed, but of men who had achieved a victory against desperate odds, and looked on the work remaining to be done as a light thing after that which had been accomplished. Notwithstanding the harassing duty which had been required of it, Kirke had drilled his regiment on every opportunity, and when the time came for moving on, the men were not only adepts at outpost duty, but tolerably well trained to move together, while the officers had been able to get proper mounts and accoutrements, for sales were of almost daily occurrence in camp. Some wounded men were left behind with Cowper, who was disabled by a fall of his horse, but many recruits had joined; and the regiment marched at the head of the advance, over five hundred sabres, fairly well mounted and equipped, and ready for anything. The damp heat of the rainy season was now giving way before the first approach of the cold weather, the morning air was fresh and cool, the sky was clear, the earth was covered with a mantle of fresh green crops; and as Yorke rode over the boundless plains clad in all the charms of the early Indian winter, his heart bounded within him for joy. He had never felt so happy before. Campaigning seemed the perfection of life. This was no mere political quarrel, when men might deplore the necessity for shedding blood, and feel no rancour against the enemies whose lives they were seeking. The business in hand caused no regrets or mistrust whether the end justified the means; it was to subdue a cruel enemy and revenge bitter wrongs; while, mingled with other feelings, there was the satisfaction of knowing that the result of the war was no longer doubtful. The tide had been stemmed, and final success was plainly in view. Spirits ran high in camp, and nowhere higher than in Kirke's horse. The men had been frequently engaged, and with small loss, than which nothing more begets confidence in troops. But in Yorke's heart there was also a feeling of tumultuous joy as it confessed to hopes that the love still so deep and ardent might now be rewarded hereafter. Olivia must know, he thought to himself ever and again, that I worship the very ground she treads on. True, she does not love me yet, although I am sure of her regard; she would not be the Olivia of my adoration if she could be so soon untrue to the memory of her husband. But so brief a wedded life needs not a prolonged widowhood. Falkland must be to her rather a noble memory to be remembered with veneration than a lover to be passionately cherished. Surely the deepest chords in her heart have never yet been stirred; I have gained her respect and regard, I may yet gain her love. And the thought that she was no longer beyond his reach filled the young man's heart with wild ecstasy. And yet, he continued to himself, what meanness in me to be thus rejoicing in that noble man's death! But no, I don't rejoice in it. While he lived there was not one disloyal thought about either of them in my mind. But it is our fate that she should be free again; mine be now the task to prove worthy of her: and as these thoughts passed through the young man's mind, he pressed his charger till the gallant Selim bounded under him as if responsive to the rider's feelings, and the orderly who followed him as he galloped along, carrying orders across the plain, had much ado to keep up to his proper distance in rear.
The amount of actual fighting which the cavalry of an army goes through, as compared with the business in that line which falls to the infantry, is usually but trifling, and its losses small in proportion. But the rule did not hold on this occasion. Almost all the cavalry of the Indian army having mutinied, the great advantage possessed by the enemy in this respect over the raw levies raised to replace them, gave them a confidence at first which was wanting in contests between the infantry. The nature of the country, too, a vast plain on a dead level, bare of obstacles, favoured the movement of cavalry; and frequent encounters and skirmishes took place on the front and flanks of the advancing British column, amounting sometimes to regular stand-up fights. In this war the experience of such work which men could hardly gain in a lifetime of ordinary campaigns, was crowded into a few months; and the troopers who fought their way through it were veterans at the end. Nevertheless Kirke and his officers escaped unhurt for a long time; yet the fighting was sometimes sharp enough. As, for example, one afternoon the advancing column, marching along the main road with Kirke's horse in front, came to a village surrounded by a grove of trees, to clear which the cavalry on the flanks had to diverge somewhat to the right and left. Braddon, with a squadron, was on the right front; Egan with another on the left front; Kirke led the way along the road with the advance-guard of the third squadron, Yorke riding beside him. The enemy's cavalry had been showing in the front all day, but always retiring at a respectful distance without opposition, while the squadrons thrown out in advance on the flanks kept the front of the main column clear. Here, however, owing to groves and gardens coming in the way of the flankers, and obliging them to make a long detour, the column on the road got to be somewhat in advance, and, as the leading horsemen turned round a bend in the road through the village, a body of rebel cavalry could be seen drawn up not fifty yards in front, which, instead of retreating, moved down on them at a trot. The leading detachment, of six men only, were cut down, and the enemy came bearing down, somewhat thrown out of order in overcoming this first obstacle, but still a compact body filling up the road and open space up to the line of village huts on each side, with a front of some sixteen files. They had evidently got it in them to strike a blow.
With Kirke and Yorke were the support, of ten men riding two deep, and at some little distance behind came the rest of the squadron.
Kirke had but a moment for decision. To have fallen back on the main body was to cause panic and rout. His resolution was taken in an instant. There was not even time to form the party into single file, so, drawing his sword he waved it on high, and, shouting "Charge!" dashed forward at a gallop, and the little party of twelve were upon the enemy almost in an instant. The latter slackened speed instinctively, but the opposing sides came together so quickly that the two officers had passed the enemy's leading files before they were pulled up, in the midst of a mass of horsemen jammed close together. A strange position truly, after following your enemy for days at the distance of a mile or so, to find yourself in his midst, knee pressing against knee, and to feel his hot breath against your cheek: seconds at such times seem like hours, and yet the whole scene passes like a sudden dream. Yorke had no time to think of method, or to recall the lessons he had taught himself to practise in his mind for use in such emergencies. Instinct, for the moment, took the place of method. There is no time to speak; the only sounds are the scuffling of men and tramping of horses, as the riders try to get their sword-arms free, and cuts and parries are exchanged with desperate speed. Yet, amid the hurry, Yorke has time to feel with a sense of satisfaction that he is not flurried, and that his head is cool, as, seizing the man on his left by the collar, he pulls him from his saddle with a sudden jerk, and the man falling down amongst the horses, gives a cry of anguish as he is trampled upon below. Kirke, for his part, was too close to the men right and left of him to hit them effectually, but swinging round he cut down the man whom he passed on the right, after which he had enough to do for an instant to parry his two nearest assailants, whose short curved scimitars were more handy at these close quarters than his long sword. But Kirke at last ran one of them through, and Yorke stunned the rider on his right by a blow delivered close to the hilt of his sword. So close was the crowd, that as these men sank down there was no room for them to fall between the horses to the ground; the head of one rested on Yorke's knee, and, for the instant, the riderless horses interposed between the combatants. But the leading files of the enemy, on the right and left of the road, who had no one opposed to them, were now closing round, and the little party must soon be overwhelmed if help comes not. But help was nigh. The native officer with the third squadron, on seeing what had happened in front, delayed only long enough to extend his front to the width of the ground, and galloped up in support. Then the roadway was filled with a seething mass of horsemen, whereof only those leading on each side could engage, and they were jammed up by those pressing on from behind. A few more seconds pass — slowly, as it seems, so many blows are crowded into them — and then there is a yielding of the rebel cavalry; the whole mass seems moving slowly in one way. For, by this time, the outer squadrons under Braddon and Egan, working round the village, descry the enemy massed on the road between them, and press forward to attack them, separated, however, by the mud wall of a garden which borders the road for some quarter of a mile along either side. But the enemy, thus caught between the two lines, are bewildered, and the rearmost men begin to tail off, and ride out of the way along the road; the impulse is to those in advance, and soon there are left only a few facing Kirke's men, who in their efforts to turn and get away are all cut down. But the victorious party are too broken up to pursue them far, and the enemy gets off with a loss of about thirty killed, and nearly as many horses captured, while of Kirke's horse eight are killed, including the advance-guard which was surprised, and sixteen wounded, some slightly. "A sharp thing while it lasted," said Kirke to his subaltern, wiping his long sword, "and might have been awkward if Subahdar Tej Singh had not been up to time. All's well that ends well; but this will be a lesson to you for all your life, young man, to take care how you march round a corner."
On another day, Kirke's regiment, in advance of a detached column moving across country, had made out the enemy occupying a line of villages in strength, and apparently intending to await an attack in the position. The officer commanding the force on coming up determined to make a flank movement to turn the position, and accordingly diverted the main column to the right, leaving Kirke's horse still in front to occupy the enemy's attention and cover the manœuvre. It was a clear bright morning of the cold season, and every object could be distinguished plainly in the still, clear air. In front were the low mud walls of a couple of villages, about half a mile apart from each other, and connected by a grove of well-grown trees. Between Kirke's men and this position, more than a mile distant, was a perfectly open plain, green with young corn, and unbroken by a single obstacle; the view was bounded on the right and left by the still unreaped crops of the previous wet season, as high as a horseman's head.
Kirke, with his orderly, and trumpeter behind him, advanced over the plain, reconnoitring, a little distance ahead of his regiment, which moved at a walk in column of squadrons at deploying distance. They had arrived pretty near to the line of villages, when fire was suddenly opened by a battery which had been concealed in the grove. The practice was bad, but Kirke ordered the regiment to retire; and it fell back, deployed in line so as to offer a smaller obstacle to the artillery-fire. On seeing this, a large body of the rebel cavalry emerged from the grove and formed up in front of it. The effect of this movement was to stop the fire from the guns, as the new-comers were in the way. They too deployed into line, which somewhat overlapped Kirke's force, and they moved forward as if intending to attack.
"Now look out," said Kirke jocosely to his orderly, in Hindustani; "we may get a chance."
Kirke continued to retire the regiment, the enemy's cavalry following. He even gave the word to trot. The rebel cavalry began to trot too, halting, however, when Kirke halted, and advancing whenever he retired.
In this way the two bodies of horse moved across the plain till they had got to be a full mile from the enemy's main position. The rebel cavalry meanwhile were getting nearer to Kirke's men, coming so close that their faces could be distinguished, and it looked as if, were a determined rush made, Kirke and his attendants would be cut down before the regiment could turn to help them. And the rebels, seeing that the retreat continued, began to grow excited. Shouts were raised, and swords waved. Some of them broke their ranks and began curveting about in front of their line, abusing the Feringhee runaways.
"It's about time now," said Kirke to himself, drawing his sword. Then he gave the order, and his trumpeter sounded the halt, and then immediately afterwards, as the regiment turned to its front, the canter; and putting himself at their head, he led the way towards the enemy.
The enemy's line continued to move on at a slow trot, and the interval between the two was rapidly diminishing; but a spectator looking merely at the British line might have thought he was viewing a parade exercise, so cool and leisurely did the advance appear. Kirke, in front of the centre on Kathleen, with drab felt turban-covered helmet and tunic and breeches, and high boots of untanned leather, riding with stirrups somewhat short, and a strong seat, erect, his long straight sword held upright, a sinister smile on his dark resolute face. In front of the right squadron comes Braddon, tall and heavy, under whom even the big steed he bestrides seems undersized, a powerful Australian recaptured during the campaign, which perhaps erst bore some portly civilian in more peaceful times. Before the centre squadron rides Egan, dapper and light, horse and man seeming as one. Yorke leads the left squadron, spare and little, and with an easy seat, riding Selim with a light hand, the little horse bounding along with the short springy action of the Arab, like a mad thing, as if panting for the fray.
When barely fifty paces remain, Kirke's trumpeter sounds the charge, and the whole regiment echo the shout which their leader gives, as, waving his sword, he lets Kathleen go. Some of the enemy, pressing forward, respond to the challenge, but some halt, some turn round — their line is broken and their chance gone. It is no fight, but a running pursuit. The bravest, who stop to fight, fall first, overmatched and outnumbered. Those save themselves who fly first, as the two bodies gallop together helter-skelter across the plain. The rebel horsemen parry and cut backwards; but the game goes against those who fight an enemy behind, and many a one rolls from his saddle under the pursuers' sharp sabres. Not until the battle has rolled on to within less than a furlong from the enemy's position does Kirke sound the halt, and the pursued are able to disengage themselves and take refuge in the grove. Then Kirke re-forms his men and retires, not too soon, for the enemy's artillery after a pause begins to open fire, although the plain is covered with the bodies of their comrades. But the fire is scarcely opened when it stops again, for the enemy's attention is now diverted by the movement of the troops threatening their flanks; a panic seizes them, and they limber up and retire, and Kirke and his men remain in possession of the field, sprinkled with the bodies of fallen men and riderless horses.
Some of these bodies move, and one man, disengaging himself from his horse, is seen walking leisurely towards the grove, in full face of the regiment, now drawn up in order.
Kirke looks at his orderly, giving a little jerk of his hand towards the rebel trooper, and the orderly taking the hint, gallops after him. The man hears the sound of his pursuer's horse, and, looking round for an instant, sets off at a run. He is not far from the grove, and will find shelter there; but he cannot run fast in his heavy boots, and the horseman soon overtakes him. Once or twice he tries to evade his fate by doubling, but presently the trooper gets him within reach of his tulwar, and there is a laugh among the onlookers as the man falls under the blow, while his pursuer dismounts to rifle the body, for the soldiers of both sides usually carry their wealth about them, and a score or so of rupees may often reward the victor in single combat.
"Our fellows will expect to get any loot that is to be had," said Kirke, riding up to Egan. "Leave ten files of your squadron; and see that everything is brought in to be shared equally amongst the whole. And mind," he added, as Egan turned round to give the order, "we don't want to be bothered with any wounded prisoners." Then the regiment passed on at speed to join the field force, whilst the detachment moved about the field engaged on their office, looking after their fallen comrades among other things, and catching loose horses. Two of the regiment only were found to be killed; fifteen had been dismounted; about twice as many altogether were wounded or bruised by falls. More than eighty bodies of the enemy were counted. Many of these were of men wounded, cut down, or ridden over and trampled down; and some of them lay as dead when the fatigue-party came up. But the pretence was of course seen through; a carbine-shot or slice of the tulwar settled the affair; and when the detachment passed on to join the regiment, nothing stirred on the plain to resist the wild dogs and jackals when they should arrive for their banquet in the evening. An hour later the camp-followers would come up, and the dead be stripped of what clothing remained to them. Perhaps hereafter the mothers and wives in some distant villages would wonder why their sons and husbands did not come home, and would be fain to console themselves with the reflection that they must have fallen in a good cause. For, strange as it may seem, it was not the English only who deemed themselves to have the right in this quarrel. To many of these benighted creatures it seemed to be quite a noble thing to stand by their comrades, and strike a blow to avert the pollution which they believed their crafty Feringhee rulers to be preparing for them.
"This is the neatest job we have done during the war," said Kirke, as, an hour or two later, the little group of officers lay resting under a tree at their ease, waiting for the late breakfast which the servants, who had come up with the mule bearing the mess-equipment, were busy preparing, the regiment being now encamped for the day, and pickets duly posted. "It is not often one gets a chance to have three squadrons all going to work together, and over such splendid ground too."
"And yet," said Braddon, "although perhaps one ought not to say so, those men were better fellows than ours, if the truth must be confessed — better mounted, better riders, better trained. If their leaders were worth anything, they might have shown us a thing or two. But the scamps have no heart for their work. They are ashamed of themselves, to begin with, and all at cross-purposes. I suspect that they only keep together now because they don't know what else to do."
"Yes," observes Kirke, "it will take all of a year to bring the regiment up to the mark of one of the best of the old irregular corps; but the lads take to the business very kindly, don't they? But here is breakfast ready at last."
"It can't be more ready than I am," responded Braddon; "this 'pursuing practice' is the very deuce for giving a fellow an appetite."
CHAPTER XXXV.
About this time the Gazette arrived from England, containing the first Mutiny brevet. Kirke was made a major; while Braddon was made both major and C.B. for his gallant share in the defence of the residency. Kirke, although he might naturally have felt annoyed at his junior being more distinguished than himself, took the matter on the whole very well. He was a hard man, but jealousy was not a part of his character. Yorke being still a subaltern, although now nearly at the top of the list, was not yet eligible for brevet promotion. It was in this brevet that Dumble, as already mentioned, was made a brevet-colonel and C.B. Braddon was good-humouredly satirical about the value of a reward which embraced Dumble, but the profession of indifference to distinction was not carried very far; with the rise in public estimation his self-respect had returned, and his moroseness disappeared, and he was now as blithe and gay as any one in the regiment. As for Yorke, he did not want reward or promotion to maintain his spirits; indeed, to belong to Kirke's horse was in itself a sufficient passport to consideration throughout the camp of the main army, which the regiment had now joined. One regiment of British cavalry was also, like themselves, a corps of veterans, who had been in the thick of the fighting; but to the officers and men of the dragoons lately arrived as reinforcements from Europe, and who had not yet had an opportunity of crossing swords with an enemy, the famous corps which had already been mentioned over and over again in despatches, and whose exploits were in everybody's mouth, was naturally an object oi curiosity and respect; nor could Yorke help contrasting the sort of reception he now received whenever his duties brought him in contact with the officers of other branches of the service, with the obscurity of his position a few months ago.
Then, too, as the avenging army swept the country clear of wandering rebel hordes, the post was re-established, and English letters began to reach the camp, so long cut off from news of the distant West. Yorke's letters, like those of many of his comrades, were written in the strain which the times made natural, full of rejoicings that those so dear to the writers had been spared thus far, full of anxieties for the dangers still to be undergone. As Yorke's sister, who was his chief English correspondent, expressed it, life in England at this time was one of continued suspense. "Indeed," said the fair writer, "I sometimes feel as if the strain was more than could be borne, as we have to wait from day to day for more tidings from India. But as Mr. Morgan always says [Mr. Morgan was the new incumbent of a chapel-of-ease at Wiltonbury], everything is ordered for the best, and this must be our precious consolation whatever befalls those dear to us. The Mills's cousin, whom of course you know, as he is in the army, has just sent them tidings of his safety. All the officers of his regiment were treacherously murdered, but he was away on leave at the time, and so was preserved. Truly, as Mr. Morgan says, there is a special providence which guards over us in all our dangers. And you, my dearest Arthur, how mercifully have you been saved almost out of the lion's mouth! The papers are quite full of Captain Kirke's heroic deliverance of your garrison just as you were at the point of destruction; and everybody has been reading Colonel's Dumble's beautiful affecting despatch; no wonder the garrison fought bravely with such a noble commander as he must be: still our hearts are strained almost to bursting when we think that you are still set in the midst of so many and great dangers; but should my dearest Arthur be spared to receive these fond lines, I know that we shall have his sympathy in our dreadful anxiety."
In these days of irregular posts, it often happened that more than one mail arrived at the same time, and in fact Yorke received by this same post another letter from his sister — for his mother was not a good correspondent — written a month later than the first, expressed much in the same terms as the other in the beginning, but containing also a piece of news at the end which could not be withheld. Her dearest Arthur's affectionate heart would be made glad on hearing that his fond sister was about to become the wife of the new incumbent of St. Clement's. With so estimable a man for husband, to say nothing of his being so brilliant a preacher, she felt sure that her happiness was secured. Mr. Morgan was a widower, the letter went on to say; "indeed he has been sorely tried, poor dear fellow, for his first wife died after a long and very painful illness; but I trust he has now many years of happiness before him." The letter concluded by saying that the marriage was to take place in a few weeks. The writer would have wished to defer it till her dearest Arthur should be at home; but she supposed he could not be spared from his military duties just at present, and dear William had made such a point of the new vicarage being now ready for occupation, that she was forced to consent to a speedy union.
The tide of war had now completely turned. It was no longer a struggle on terms of equality, where discipline and courage on one side were balanced against numbers on the other. The British army was now in great strength, and moving triumphantly over the country. The rebel cavalry had pretty well given up fighting on its own account, and the opportunities for engaging it had become rare; but the enemy still held out in force here and there, occupying strong positions from which they had to be dislodged; and the British cavalry, moving in advance of the army, more than once suffered losses from artillery and infantry fire, to which they were unable to reply. This happened one day to Kirke's horse, now brigaded with two other regiments under Colonel Tartar, and in advance of the army moving on a point where the enemy seemed disposed to make a stand. Kirke's horse was drawn up in reserve while one of the other regiments was skirmishing in their front among some high crops, in which the horsemen were almost concealed, and which surrounded a flat-roofed town hardly to be made out above the tall grain, but from the outskirts of which a desultory fire was proceeding. The younger troops, who had never been in action before, were in a state of great excitement, as a squadron told off for skirmishing was engaged in front soon to be reinforced by another — Kirke's men meanwhile, who were in the rear, conducting themselves with the nonchalance of old campaigners, the men dismounted, the officers in a little group on horseback.
"They seem very lively in front there," said Kirke, as the dragoons might be seen trotting round in circles discharging their carbines in reply to the enemy's fire; "but I should doubt anything coming out of the business, except that some of the youngsters will get hit. I wonder the brigadier don't send us up instead. Not that we should be able to do much better, but our men would be cheaper."
"It would be an awful nuisance though," said Egan, "to have a lot of our fellows knocked over for nothing, merely because the general wants us cavalry to do infantry work. A regiment of Sikhs would clear out these fields in a jiffey."
"My good fellow," observed Braddon, "if you deduct all the men who are knocked over in war without satisfying any useful purpose, the casualties in this noble pastime would undergo a perceptible reduction."
"May be so, but it must be a horrid bore to be hit about in this way without getting any good by it."
"But you may get a great deal of good by it, my dear fellow; there, for example, goes a man who will get a good deal," — and as Braddon spoke, a doolee was borne to the rear with an officer, whom they could make out to be the commandant of the regiment engaged, wounded in the leg by a gunshot: "that man arrived from England about three days ago, and has been in action about five minutes, but he is safe for his C.B. now, and will be a great authority on cavalry for the remainder of his life."
"Ah! here are the infantry at last," said Kirke, as a regiment of Sikhs came up in haste at a long swinging stride, and sent a couple of companies in skirmishing order into the high crops.
"Now, there goes a really brave man," said Braddon, pointing to the commandant of the regiment, a stout, middle-aged officer, who rode at the head of it. "That man has a wife and eight children in England to my knowledge. I declare I don't think I could muster up courage to go into action if I had such a frightful load on my shoulders."
"I don't see that at all," said Yorke; "if a man has all the comfort of married life in peace time he must pay for it on active service. You can't have everything without alloy in this world. But I don't observe that married men make a bit worse soldiers than bachelors."
"Then they ought to. As for comfort, I don't fancy old Swaby there has had too much in that line; he has been always dreadfully hard up, but it has been luxury compared to what is in store for his family if he comes to grief. I fancy I can see them, settled in some small country town, a picture of old Swaby in full uniform the only ornament left remaining, and the poor mother telling the children what a splendid soldier their father was (which won't put food into their little bellies however), and besieging the court of directors continually for an appointment for her eldest boy. No, if I were a married man I should be an awful coward."
Yorke laughed as Braddon finished his outburst, knowing that his friend could afford to play with the subject of bravery; but he could not help thinking that although the hope of winning the fair prize now before him was a source of strength and courage at present, what a hard wrench it would be to leave her side to go campaigning again, although he felt sure enough that, once in the field, a wife at home would make no difference in his conduct any more than it would in that of Braddon or any other soldier. But these reflections were interrupted by an order to mount. The infantry were now coming up in force, and advancing to the attack of the enemy's position, and Kirke's horse were ordered off to the right to guard the flank.
Passing through a grove of trees, the regiment came on to a piece of barren ground, some half a mile wide, and extending right up to the town, the left end of which was from this point clearly exposed to view, a wall surrounding the flat-roofed houses and huts within; while still further to the left could be made out a considerable body of the enemy, both horse and foot. It was to guard against any counter-attempt from this force that Kirke's horse had been detached to the right, while the main attack was made in front under cover of the high crops.