AMONG FRIENDS AGAIN.
McKay lay where he fell, and it was perhaps well for him that he was prostrate. The attacking parties soon desisted from firing, and charged forward at racing-pace, driving all who stood before them at the point of the bayonet. They swept over and past McKay, trampling him under foot in their hot haste to demolish the foe.
But the wave of the advance left McKay behind it, and well within the shelter of his own people.
Although badly wounded, he was not disabled, and he took advantage of the first pause in the fight to appeal for help to some men of the 38th who occupied the wall behind which he fell.
"You speak English gallows well for a Rooskie," said one of the men, brusquely, but not without sympathy. "What do you want? Water? Are you badly hit?"
"A bullet in my leg and a flesh-wound in my arm."
"Hold hard! Sawbones will be up soon. Meanwhile, let's try and staunch the blood. We'll tear up your shirt for a bandage."
And with rough but real kindness he tore open McKay's old greggo so as to get at his underlinen. This action betrayed the red cloth waistcoat he still wore.
"Why, that's an English staff waistcoat. Quick! How did you come by it, you murdering rogue?"
"I am a staff officer."
"You! What do you call yourself?"
"Mr. McKay, of the Royal Picts: deputy-assistant-quartermaster-general at headquarters."
"Save us alive! This bangs Bannagher. Wait, honey—wait till I call an officer."
Presently, when the wounds had been rudely but effectively bound up, a captain of the 38th came up, and to him McKay made himself known.
"This is no time or place to ask how you came here. Taken prisoner, I suppose?"
"Who are you? What force?"
"Eyre's Brigade: of the Third Division. Told off to attack the Creek Battery. We have carried the cemetery, but what else we've done I have not the least idea."
"Haven't you? Well, I'll tell you. You've taken Sebastopol."
"Not quite, I'm afraid."
"You're well inside the fortress anyway. I can tell you that for certain. Just above is the place in which I was kept a prisoner."
"Is that a fact? By Jove! what tremendous luck!"
"But can you hold your ground?"
"Eyre will. He'll hold on by his eyelids till reinforcements come up, never fear. And the French have promised us support."
"Is yours the only attack?"
"Dear no! The French have gone in at the Malakoff, and our people at the Redan."
"How has it gone—have you any idea?" asked McKay, anxiously.
"No one knows, except the general, perhaps. Here he comes; and he don't look over pleased."
General Eyre, a tall, fierce-looking soldier, strode up with a long step, talking excitedly to a staff-officer, whom McKay recognised as one of Lord Raglan's aides-de-camps.
"Hold our ground!" the general was saying. "Of course we will, to the last. But if the French could only come up in force we might still retrieve the day. You see we are well inside, though I cannot say exactly where."
At this moment the officer who had been speaking to McKay touched his hat and said to the general—
"There is some one here who can tell you, I think, sir."
"Who is that? A prisoner?"
"One of our own people. McKay, of the headquarter staff. A man whom the Russians took, and whom we have just recovered."
"McKay!" cried the aide-de-camp, joyfully. "Where is he?"
Our hero was speedily surrounded by a group of sympathetic friends, to whom he gave a short account of himself. Then he briefly explained to the general the position in which they were.
"It is as I thought," said the general. "We have pierced the Russian works above the man-of-war harbour, and, if reinforced promptly, can take the whole of the line in reverse. Will you let Lord Raglan know? and the attack might then be renewed on this side."
"I fear there is no hope of that," said the aide-de-camp, gloomily.
"Have we failed, then?" asked McKay.
His friend shook his head.
"Completely. I cannot tell why exactly, but I know that part of the French started prematurely. There was some mistake about the signal-rocket. This gave the alarm to the whole garrison."
"Yes; I heard them turning out in the middle of the night."
"And the consequence was they were ready for us at all points. Our attacking parties at the Redan were met with a tremendous fire, and literally mowed down. Our losses have been frightful. All the generals—Sir John Campbell, Lacy, yea, and Shadford—are killed, and ever so many more. It's quite heartbreaking."
"And will nothing more be tried to-day?"
"I fear not, although Lord Raglan is quite ready; but the French are very dispirited. Goodness knows how it will end! The only slice of luck is Eyre's getting in here; but I doubt if he can remain."
"Why not?"
"The enemy's fire is too galling, and it appears to be on the increase."
"I fancy they are bringing the ships' broadsides to bear."
"Yes, and we are bound to suffer severely. But you, McKay; I see you are wounded. We must try and get you to the rear."
"Never mind me," said McKay, pluckily; "I will take my chance and wait my turn."
The chance did not come for many hours. Eyre's brigade continued to be terribly harassed; they were not strong enough to advance, yet they stoutly refused to retire. The enemy's fire continued to deal havoc amongst them; many officers and men were struck down; General Eyre himself was wounded severely in the head.
All this time they waited anxiously for support, but none appeared. At length, as night fell, Colonel Adams, who had succeeded Eyre in the command, reluctantly decided to fall back.
The retreat was carried out slowly and in perfect order, without molestation from the enemy. Now at last the wounded were removed on stretchers as carefully and tenderly as was possible.
McKay's hurts had been seen to early in the day. He was placed as far as possible out of fire, and his strength maintained by such stimulants as were available.
While the excitement lasted his pluck and endurance held out. But there was a gradual falling-off of fire as the night advanced, and the pains of his wounds increased. He suffered terribly from the motion as he was borne back to camp, and when at last they reached the shelter of a hospital-tent in the Third Division camp he was in a very bad way: fits of wild delirium alternated with death-like insensibility.
But he was once more amongst his friends. Next morning Lord Raglan, notwithstanding his heavy cares and preoccupation, sent over to inquire after him.
Many of the headquarter-staff came too, and Colonel Blythe was constantly at his bedside.
On the second day the bullet was removed from the leg, and from that moment the symptoms became more favourable. Fever abated, and the wounds looked as though they would heal "at the first intention."
"He will do well enough now," said the doctor in charge of the case; "but he will want careful nursing—better, I fear, than he can get in camp."
"Why not send him on board a hospital ship? Could he bear the journey to Balaclava?"
"Undoubtedly. I was going to suggest it."
"There is the Burlington Castle, his own uncle's ship: she is now fitted up as a hospital, with nurses and every appliance. He will soon get well on board her."
There were other and still more potent aids to convalescence on board the Burlington Castle. A band of devoted female nurses tended the sick; and amongst them, demurely clad in a black dress, her now sad white face half hidden under an immense coif, was one who answered to the name of Miss Hidalgo.
It was Mariquita, placed there by the kindness of the military authorities, anxious to make all the return possible by helping in the good work. The relationship of the captain to Stanislas was remembered by Colonel Blythe, and the Burlington Castle seemed the fittest place to receive the poor girl.
Good Captain Faulks had been taken into the secret.
"Poor child!" he had said. "I will watch over her for dear Stanny's sake. I was fond of that lad, and she shall be like a daughter to me."
At first she seemed quite dazed and stupefied by her grief. She gave up her lover as utterly lost, and would not listen to the consolation and encouragement offered.
"He'll turn up, my dear," said Captain Faulks; "you'll see. He was not saved from drowning to die by a Russian rope. Wait; he'll weather the storm."
Mariquita would shake her head hopelessly and go about her appointed task with an unflagging but despairing diligence that was touching to see.
Uncle Barto, as he always wished her to call him, was the first to tell her the good news.
"He's found, my dear. What did I tell you? They couldn't keep him; I knew that."
"The Holy Virgin be praised!" cried Mariquita. "But is he well—uninjured? When shall we see him?"
"Soon, my dear, soon. He will be brought—I mean he will come on board in a few days now."
A simple pressure of the hand, a half-whispered exclamation of joy in her own fluent Spanish, was the only greeting that Mariquita gave her wounded lover when they lifted him on to the deck of the hospital-ship. But the vivid blush that mantled in her cheek, and the glad light that came into her splendid eyes, showed how much she had suffered, and how great was her emotion at this moment of trial.
As for Stanislas, he was nearly speechless with surprise.
"You here, Mariquita! What strange adventure is this? Tell me at once—"
"No, no," interposed the doctor; "it is a long story. You are tired now, and will have plenty of time to hear from Miss Hidalgo all about herself."
It was the telling of this story as she sat by the side of his couch, hand locked in hand, and he learnt by degrees the full measure of her self-sacrificing devotion, that did McKay so much good. It braced and strengthened him, giving him a new and stronger desire to live and enjoy the unspeakable blessing of this true woman's love.
They would have been altogether happy, these long days of convalescence, but for his enforced absence from his duties, and the distressing news that came from the front.
Lord Raglan had never recovered from the disappointment of the 18th of June. The failure of the attack, and the loss of many personal friends, preyed upon his spirits, and he suddenly became seriously ill. He never rallied, sank rapidly, and died in a couple of days, to the great grief of the whole army.
No one felt it more than McKay, to whom the sad news was broken by his old chief.
"It is very painful to think," said Sir Richard Airey, "that he passed away at the moment of failure; that he was not spared to see the fortress fall—for it must fall."
"Of course it must, sir," said McKay. "This last attack ought to have succeeded. The Russians were in sore straits."
"It was the French who spoiled everything by their premature advance. I knew we could do nothing until they had taken the Malakoff. That is the key of the position."
"You are right, sir. I myself heard Todleben say those very words."
"Did you? That is important intelligence. It must not be forgotten when the time comes to organise a fresh attack."
"I shall be well then, I hope, sir, and able to go in with the first column. I think I could show the way."
"At any rate you can say more than most of us, for you have been actually inside the place."
"And shall be again, if you will only wait another month!" cried McKay.
But the doctors laughed at him when he talked like this.
"You will not be able to put your foot to the ground for three months or more, and then you must make up your mind to crutches for another six."
"I shall not see the next attack, then?"
"No; but you will see England before many weeks are gone. We are going to send you home at once."
"But I had much rather not go—" began McKay.
"It's no use talking; everything is settled."
And so it came to pass. The good ship Burlington Castle, Bartholomew Faulks, master, having filled up its complement of invalids and wounded men, including Captain Stanislas McKay, steamed westward about the middle of July.