Kitobni o'qish: «Fix Bay'nets: The Regiment in the Hills»

Chapter One
On the March

Trrt – trrt – trrt. Just that little sound, as the sticks flirted with the drumheads to keep the men in step; for Her Majesty’s 404th Fusiliers were marching “easy.” So it was called; and it meant with the men smoking, and carrying their rifles as they pleased – shouldered, at the trail, slung muzzle up or muzzle down. But, all the same, it was a miserable fiction to call it marching easy, for it was impossible to make that march anything but hard. Why? Because of the road.

No; that is a fiction, too. It is absurd to call that stony shelf of rock, encumbered with stones of all sizes, full of cracks and holes, a road. It was almost in its natural state, with a smooth place here and there where it had been polished in bygone ages by avalanches of ice or stones.

But the sun shone brightly; the scenery was glorious, and grew in places awe-inspiring, as the regiment wound up and up the pass, and glimpses of snow-capped mountain and glowing valley were obtained.

To any one perched on high, as were a few scattered goats, the regiment, with its two mounted officers, its long train of mules, ambulance, and baggage-guard, and the native attendants, must have looked like a colony of marauding ants on their march, so wonderfully was everything dwarfed; even the grand deodar cedars growing far down the precipitous slopes below the track, which were stately trees, springing up to a hundred and a hundred and fifty feet, looking like groups of shrubs in the clear, pure air.

It was as much climbing as marching, and, as Bill Gedge said, “all agin the collar;” but the men did not seem to mind, as they mounted higher and higher in the expectation of finding that the next turn of the zigzag was the top of the pass.

“Here, I say,” cried the owner of the just-mentioned name, a thin, wiry-looking fellow, whom so far drill and six months in the North-west Territory of Her Majesty’s Indian dominions had not made muscular-looking; though, for the matter of that, he did not differ much from his companions, who in appearance were of the thorough East-end Cockney type – that rather degenerate class of lads who look fifteen or sixteen at most when twenty. Stamina seemed to be wanting, chests looked narrow, and their tunics covered gaunt and angular bodies, while their spiked white helmets, though they fitted their heads, had rather an extinguisher-like effect over the thin, hollow-cheeked, beardless faces.

Defects, all these, that would naturally die out; but at the time now under consideration any newspaper writer would have been justified in calling them a regiment of boys.

But, boy-like, it did not trouble them, for, apparently as fresh as when they had started hours before, they seemed to be revelling in the wonderful air of the mountain region, and to be as full of antics as a party of schoolfellows out for a day. Songs had been sung, each with a roaring chorus; tricks had been surreptitiously played on the “pass it on” principle – a lad in the rear tilting the helmet of the file in front over his eyes, or giving him a sounding spank on the shoulder with the above admonition, when it was taken with a grin and passed on right away to the foremost rank; while the commissioned officers seemed to be peculiarly blind and deaf so long as their lads marched well, and there was no falling-out of done-up fellows waiting for the ambulance to overtake them for the rest of the march.

“Here, I say,” cried Private Gedge, “I ain’t a-going to drop no coppers in no blessed hats when that there band comes round. They don’t ’arf play.”

“Don’t keep on,” said the file on his left.

“Play? Yah! Why, we might jest as well have a dozen of them tom-tomming niggers in front saying ‘Shallabala’ as they taps the skins with their brown fingers.”

“You are a chap, Bill,” said another. “Talk about yer Syety for Cruelty to Hanimals! Why, yer orter be fined. It’s all I can do to keep wind enough to climb up here, let alone having to blow a brass traction-engine, or even a fife.”

“Gahn! They’re used to it. They don’t half play. Pass the word on for ‘Brish Grannydiers.’”

Bang – bang – bang – bang! Four distinct beats of the big drum, which were taken up by the echoes and repeated till they died away in the distance, in company with volleys of notes in a spirited crash from the brass instruments far in front, as the band struck up a rattling march, whose effect was to make breasts swell, heads perk up, and the lads pull themselves together and march on, many of them beginning to hum the familiar melody which had brightened many a long, up-country tramp.

“Talk about telly-phoning, Billy; they heered you without.”

“Yes, that’s your style,” cried the first speaker, bursting out with a very good imitation of Punch in one of his vocal efforts, and supplementing it with a touch of the terpsichorean, tripping along in step with a suggestion of a nigger minstrel’s jig.

Marching easy does not mean free and easy: and this was too much for one of the sergeants of the company, a tall, gaunt, particularly bony-faced fellow, frowning and full of importance, but almost as boyish of aspect as those who bore no chevrons on their sleeves.

He came up at the double, unnoticed by the dancer, and tried to range up alongside; but the rocky shelf was for some minutes not wide enough. Consequently he had time to grow redder in the face and more angry.

At last, though, he was in a position to speak.

“Here, you, sir,” he shouted; “drop that. You’re not on a cellar flap now. Recollect where you are.”

Private Gedge gave a start, and squinted horribly for the benefit of his comrades right and left, as he pulled himself together, jerked his rifle over from one shoulder to the other, and marched on with his body stiff as a rifle-barrel.

“You’re too full of these monkey-tricks, sir; and if there’s any more of them I shall report you.”

Private Gedge squinted more horribly than ever, as he marched on now as stiffly as if being drilled – too stiffly to satisfy the sergeant, who kept close behind.

“March easy, sir! march easy!” he cried importantly, and the offender dropped his rigidity, the result being that the sergeant returned to his place in the rear of the company, while Private Gedge relieved his feelings in a whisper.

“Yah! Gee up! Gee! Who wouldn’t be a sergeant? Bless his heart! I love him ’most as much as my mother dear – my mother dear – my gee-yentle mother deear.”

He sang the last words, but in a suppressed voice, to the great amusement of his fellows.

“Oh, I say, I wish I warn’t a swaddy,” he whispered.

“Why?” asked the lad on his left.

“So as to give old Gee one on the nose, and then have it out with him. I’d make him warm. It’s this sort o’ thing as makes me hate it all. The orficers don’t mind us having a bit of a lark to make the march go light. They takes no notice so long as we’re ready for ’tention and ’ll fight. It’s on’y chaps like Tommy Gee as has got his stripes that comes down upon you. Why, I was singing and doing that plantation song on’y yesterday, and Mr Bracy and Cap’en Roberts come along, and they both laughed. Bet sixpence the Colonel would have looked t’other way. – Oh, I say, ain’t I hungry! Is it much farther?”

“I dunno,” said another; “but ain’t the wind cold up here?”

“Band’s done again,” said Gedge. “That was a short un. I s’pose if I was to cry ‘Hongcore’ old Gee ’d be down upon me again.”

Ten minutes later the men had something more substantial to think about than music, for the shelf-like track came to an end in a great natural amphitheatre, whose walls were dwarfed mountains streaked with rifts and ravines which glistened white and sparkling as they scored the green grassy slopes, while the floor of the great hollow was a beautiful mead through which a fairly rapid torrent ran.

The halt was called upon a tolerably smooth level, arms were piled, and with the celerity displayed in a regiment on the march, the camp kitchens were formed, the smoke of fires rose, and videttes being thrown out after the fashion observed in an enemy’s country, the men were free for a couple of hours’ halt for rest and refreshment, to their great delight.

Pending the efforts of the regimental and camp follower cooks, some of the men began to roam about within bounds; and the group to which Private Gedge was joined made for one of the little ravines which glistened white in the sunshine, and the joker of the company soon made his voice heard.

“Oh, I say,” he cried. “Only look! Here yer are, then. Here’s yer hoky-poky. Here’s yer real ’apenny ices laid on free gratis for nothing. Here yer are, sir; which ’ll yer ’ave, strorbry or rarsbry? The real oridgenal ’stablishment, kep’ by Billi Sneakino Pianni Organni. Who says hoky-poky?”

“Why, ’tis real ice, Bill,” said one of the men.

“Snow,” said another.

“Gahn!” cried Private Gedge, scooping up a couple of handfuls. “It’s hailstones, that’s what it is. You on’y get snow atop o’ the high mountains.”

“But it is snow, my lad,” said a voice from behind, and the party started round, to see that a couple of their officers had followed to look at the glittering rift which ran right up hundreds of feet. “We’re pretty high now.”

“How high, sir?” said Gedge, saluting.

“We’re at the top of the pass now,” said the young officer who had spoken; “ten thousand feet above the sea.”

“Why, that’s higher than the top of Saint Paul’s, sir,” said one of the men.

“Top o’ Saint Paul’s,” cried Gedge scornfully. “Why, it’s higher than the Monniment atop o’ that. Higher than ’Amstead, ain’t it, sir?”

“Yes,” said the young officer, smiling. – “Don’t straggle away, my lads. Keep close in.”

The speaker strolled away back with his companion towards where the native servants were busily preparing the mess meal, and their men looked after them.

“Ain’t them two chummy?” said one.

“They jest are,” said Gedge. “That Captain Roberts aren’t a bad sort; but Mr Bracy’s the chap for my money. He looks as if he could fight, too, if we had a row with the niggers.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said another superciliously; “you can’t never tell. Some o’ them nice-looking dossy chaps ain’t up to much. They can talk, but they talk too fast. How could he know we were ten thousand foot high? Why, that must be miles, and that’s all stuff.”

“What do you know about it, stoopid?” cried Gedge fiercely. “Miles. Why, of course it is. Ain’t we come miles this morning?”

“Longwise, but not uppards.”

“Not uppards? Why, it’s been sich a gettin’ upstairs ever since we started this morning. Don’t you be so jolly ready to kick again’ your orficers. Mr Bracy’s a reg’lar good sort; and if we comes to a set-to with the niggers he’ll let some of yer see. I say, though, think we shall have a row?”

“You bet! I heered Sergeant Gee say we should be at it ’fore long, and that these here – what do they call ’em?”

“Dwats,” said one of the men.

“Yes, that’s it,” cried Gedge. “That’s right. I remember, because I said to myself if we did we’d jolly soon give ’em Dwat for.”

Just then a bugle rang out, and the men doubled back for the lines, where, thanks to the clever native cooks, a hastily prepared meal was ready and made short work of, the keen mountain air and the long march having given the men a ravenous appetite.

Chapter Two
The Colonel

“Well, Colonel,” said Dr Morton as the officers sat enjoying their lunch, breathing in the crisp mountain air and feasting their eyes at the same time upon the grand mountain scenery, “I must confess to being a bit lazy. You may be all athirst for glory, but after our ride this morning pale ale’s good enough for me. I’m not a fighting man, and I hope when we get to the station we shall find that the what you may call ’em – Dwats – have dissolved into thin air like the cloud yonder fading away on that snow-peak. If, however, it does come to a set-to, here I am, my dear boys, at your service, and I’ll do the best I can.”

“Thank ye, Doctor,” came in chorus from the officers; “but the less the better.”

“We shall have something to do, for certain,” said the Colonel, a keen-looking, deeply bronzed man of fifty, “for these hill-tribes will never believe in England’s strength till they have been well thrashed; but a fight does not mean for certain that we shall want the doctor’s help afterwards.”

“So much the better,” said that gentleman, laughing. “But, as I said, here I am if you want me, and I’ve got as well-arranged an ambulance as – ”

“Oh, I say, Doctor, don’t talk shop,” cried the young officer spoken of as Captain Roberts, a handsome, carefully dressed young fellow of seven or eight and twenty. “They’re regular curs, are they not, sir – these Dwats?” he added, turning to the Colonel.

“Certainly not,” replied the latter gravely. “They are decidedly a brave, bold, fighting race. Tall, dark, big-bearded, just such fellows as hill-tribes are; restless, pugnacious fighting-men, always engaged in petty warfare with the neighbouring chiefs, and making plundering expeditions.”

“I see, sir,” said the Captain; “like our old Border chieftains used to be at home.”

“Exactly,” said the Colonel; “and each chief thinks he is one of the greatest monarchs under the sun. England is to them, in their ignorance, only a similar nation to their own, and the Empress a lady-chief.”

“We shall have to teach them better,” said the Major, a gentleman with an eyeglass and a disposition to become stout. “We shall soon do it. A good sharp lesson is all that’s wanted. The only difficulty is that, though they are as a rule always busy cutting one another’s throats, as soon as one of the tribes is attacked they all become friends and help one another.”

“Save us trouble.”

“What’s that, Bracy?” said the Colonel.

“Save us trouble, sir,” said the young man, laughing; “we can thrash half-a-dozen of the tribes together.”

“With a regiment of raw boys?” said the Major, frowning so fiercely that he shot his glass out of his eye and replaced it angrily.

“Look here, Graham, you and I are going to quarrel.”

“What about, sir?”

“Your bad habit of depreciating our lads.”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, nodding his head sharply. “You do, Major, and it isn’t good form to cry bad fish.”

“But it’s true,” said the Major sharply. “The War Office ought to be ashamed of itself for sending such a regiment of boys upon so arduous a task.”

“The boys are right enough,” said the Colonel. “What do you say, Bracy?”

“I say of course they are, sir.”

“Yes, because you’re a boy yourself,” said the Major in a tone which made the young man flush.

“I wish I had some more boys like you, Bracy, my lad,” said the Colonel warmly. “Graham’s a bit touched in the liver with the change from warm weather to cold. He doesn’t mean what he says – eh, Morton?”

“That’s right, Colonel,” said the Doctor. “I have my eye upon him. He’ll be asking for an interview with me to-morrow, re, as the lawyers say, B.P. and B.D.”

“Hang your B.P.s and B.D.s!” said the Major hotly. “I mean what I say, Colonel. These boys ought to have had three or four years in England before they were sent out here.”

“But they are sent up into the hills here where the climate is glorious, sir,” cried the Doctor, “and I’ll answer for it that in a year’s time they will have put on muscle in a wonderful way, while in a couple of years you’ll be proud of them.”

“I’m proud of the lads now,” said the Colonel quietly.

“I’m not,” said the Major. “I feel like old Jack Falstaff sometimes, ready to say, ‘If I be not ashamed of my soldiers, I’m a soused gurnet.’ They’re boys, and nothing else.”

“Nonsense,” said the Colonel good-humouredly. “I’ve seen some service, and I never had men under me who marched better or more cheerfully than these lads have to-day.”

“And not one fell out or came to me with sore feet,” said the Doctor stoutly. “Boys? Well, hang it all! they’re not such boys as there were in the old 34th.”

“What do you mean?” said the Major, shooting his eyeglass again.

“In the Peninsular War, sir,” said the Doctor; “a regiment of boys, whose ages were from fourteen to sixteen, and they behaved splendidly.”

“That’s right,” said the Colonel, nodding his head.

“Oh yes,” cried the Major superciliously; “but they had only the French to fight against. Any English boy could thrash a Frenchman.”

“Don’t despise the French, Graham,” said the Colonel quietly. “They are a very brave and gallant nation; and as to our lads, I certainly agree that they are very young; but when, as the Doctor says, they have been out here a bit, and put on more muscle – ”

“But, hang it all, sir!” cried the Major, “they didn’t come out here to put on muscle, but to fight. And as to your 34th, our fellows haven’t got to fight Frenchmen, but these big hill-tribes. The boys are right enough in their place, and we shall make soldiers of them in time; but suppose to-morrow or next day we come plump upon the enemy – what then?”

“Our boys will make them run, sir,” cried Bracy, flushing up.

“You mean they’ll make our lads run,” growled the Major.

“No, I don’t, sir. I’ll answer for our company. What do you say, Roberts?”

“Same as you do, old man. Go on; you can put it stronger than I can.”

“No,” said Bracy: “perhaps I’ve said too much, as the youngest officer in the regiment.”

“Not a bit, my lad,” cried the Colonel warmly. “I endorse all you say. They are terribly young-looking, but, take them all together, as bright and plucky a set of fellows as any officer could wish to command.”

“Yes,” said the Major through his teeth; “but look at them to-day. Hang me if they didn’t at times seem like a pack of schoolboys out for a holiday – larking and shouting at one another, so that I got out of patience with them.”

“Better like that than limping along, discontented and footsore,” said the Colonel gravely. “The boys are as smart over their drill as they can be, and a note on the bugle would have brought every one into his place. I don’t want to see the life and buoyancy crushed out of lads by discipline and the reins held too tightly at the wrong time. By the way, Graham, you dropped the curb-rein on your horse’s neck coming up the rough pass, and thoroughly gave him his head.”

“Yes,” said the Major; “but we were talking about men, not horses.”

“Bah! Don’t listen to him,” cried the Doctor, laughing. “He’s a bit yellow in the eyes, and he’ll be singing quite a different song soon. The boys are right enough, Colonel, and all the better for being young – they’ll mould more easily into your ways.”

“Humph!” growled the Major, frowning at the Doctor, who responded by raising his glass, nodding, and drinking to him.

It did not seem long before the bugle sounded, and the men fell in, every lad drawing himself well up, trying to look his best and as proud as a peacock, when the Colonel rode along the ranks, noting everything and ready to give boy after boy a look of recognition and a word of praise about something which had been improved; for Colonel Graves had one of those memories which seem never to forget, and it had long been borne in upon the lads in the ranks that their leader noted and remembered everything, ready for blame or praise.

In this case he drew rein opposite one very thin-looking fellow, making his sallow face turn red.

“Felt any more of that sprain, Smith?”

“No, sir; right as can be now. Ain’t felt it a bit.”

“That’s right. Fall out, my lad, if it turns weak in the least, and get a ride.”

“Yes, sir; thanky, sir. I will, sir.”

A little farther on there was another halt.

“Those boots right, Judkins?”

“Yes, sir; fit splendid, sir.”

“Good. Take care for the future; you and all of you. A man can’t march well unless he has a comfortable boot, and a chafe once begun and neglected has sent many a good soldier into hospital.”

“These are fust-rate, sir,” said the man quickly. “Easy as a glove.”

And so on as the Colonel rode along the ranks, making every man feel that his officer had a real interest in his welfare.

The inspection over, the advance-guard set off, then the order, “Band to the front,” was given, and the regiment filed off past the Colonel’s horse, making for a narrow opening between two hills which seemed to overlap, and sent back the strains of the musical instruments in a wonderful series of echoes which went rolling among the mountains, to die away in the distance.

Half-an-hour later the only signs left of the occupation of the pass were a few birds hovering about and stooping from time to time after some fragment of food. But all at once the birds took flight, as if in alarm, and the cause was not far to seek; for there was a flash in the afternoon sunshine among the rugged masses of half-frozen rocks on one side of the amphitheatre; then another flash, and a looker-on would have seen that it came from the long barrel of a gun.

Directly after appeared a tall, swarthy man in white which looked dingy by comparison with the beds of snow lying on the northern side of the mountains.

The man stole cautiously from stone to stone, and after making sure that the last soldier forming the baggage and rear-guard had disappeared, he ran quickly back to one of the snow-filled ravines and made a signal by holding his gun on high.

This he did three times, and then turned and ran steadily across the meadow-like bottom of the halting-ground, till he was near the narrow gap through which the regiment had passed, to recommence his furtive movements, seeking the shelter of stone after stone till he disappeared between the folding rocks, while in his track came in a straggling body quite a hundred active-looking men of the same type – strongly built, fierce-looking, bearded fellows, each carrying a long jezail, powder-horn, and bullet-bag, while a particularly ugly curved knife was thrust through the band which held his cotton robe tightly about his waist.

By this time the last of the rear-guard was well on its way, and the hill-men followed like so many shadows of evil that had been waiting till the little English force had passed, and were now about to seek an opportunity for mischief, whether to fall upon the rear or cut up stragglers remained to be seen. Possibly they were but one of many similar parties which would drop down from the rugged eminences and valleys which overlooked the track, completely cutting off the retreat of Colonel Graves’s regiment of boys, of whose coming the tribes had evidently been warned, and so were gathering to give them a warm reception when the right time came.