CHAPTER XXVIII.
A WOUNDED MAN.
The General sent Elizabeth away very kindly. She sent the weary Nancy to bed and went back to the hospital. But anxiety mastered her so that she could not keep her hands from trembling or her voice from faltering when there was most need for steadiness.
"You are exhausted, Mistress Royal, you ought not to be here," said one of the surgeons sternly. "Go and rest."
"Oh, please let me stay," she pleaded with a humility so new that he looked at her with curiosity.
"Hush!" said his assistant making an excuse to draw him aside. "Don't you know she's been watching the men set out for the Fort?"
Elizabeth found words of comfort for a soldier who was mourning because his wife would have no one to look after her, if he died. "I will help her," she said. And then, by the light of the flaring candle, she wrote down the woman's address. She repeated verses of Scripture for some who asked her for them, and found a little steadiness of voice in doing it. But through everything she saw Archdale's vigorous form and heard Edmonson's passionate voice and his words. With such a marksman, and at such range, how could a shot stray!
But she dreaded still more the time when the expedition should return. To-night she bitterly regretted that the General had not been told her errand, and saw that when Mr. Royal urged it, it had been the wish to save her that had made Stephen Archdale ask him not to do it.
Three hours after the start she heard that the expedition had failed. All that was left was returning, the wounded would soon be brought in. Her little strength deserted her for the moment She sank down helpless in the shadow. Then she rose and went forward.
As the boat lay rocking on the waves waiting for the others, Archdale took his bearings. Leaning towards the stern, he said to one of his men:—
"Greene will you change places with me?" If the man had thought the request more than a whim, he would have supposed it to be because the captain considered his new choice a more dangerous post. Archdale seating himself again glanced toward the bow. He was now on the same side with Edmonson and the fourth man from him. It would be somewhat difficult to have the latter's gun go off by accident and be sure of its mark, and Greene was safe so far as exemption from an enemy at hand was concerned. Archdale would have preferred Edmonson's left hand but when it came to disembarking, his enemy should precede him.
"Better cushions?" asked Edmonson with a sneering laugh under which he tried to hide his anger. "Can't see any other motive for your running the risk of capsizing us."
"It is very presumptuous to do anything for which Captain Edmonson cannot see the motive," returned Archdale haughtily.
"By Heavens!" cried Edmonson in another moment "You're bound to die in character if it come to a question of dying and of course it will with some of us."
Stephen made no answer. He felt more strongly than ever that he needed good eyes and firm nerves. To be killed like a rat in a trap! His blood ran too warm in his veins to submit tamely to this. When the struggle should come yonder it mattered little whether it was by Edmonson's shot or another's, for if he fell in the heat of the conflict it would always be said that he died a soldier's death. And if he lived to come back Edmonson, should take boat first. He turned himself slightly toward his foe, and sat silent and observant.
Had Elizabeth noticed them enter the boat together? He had thought of saying good-by, for his volunteering was no sudden resolve, but had been his determination from the first. But if he died, what real difference would that make to her? And if he came back, the leave taking would seem an absurdity. He seemed still to see the outline of her slender figure, as with her shawl wrapped about her like a mantle she had stood bare-headed in the cold May evening.
Had he dreamed that Edmonson had learned of Katie's desertion, and was full of rage at every word of courtesy or interest that he spoke to Elizabeth, he would have felt his chance of life still less.
"Can't you hitch along, you fellow next me?" cried Edmonson. "I'm so cramped here I can't move a muscle, and I suspect we shall want them all in good order pretty soon. We are coming up to the old walls. Swift and steady, boys. Every man be ready with his muskets."
As he spoke, he took up his own weapon and examined it in the dimness. Then, still holding it in his right hand, he laid that arm along the edge of the boat as if to relieve it from the cramped position he had complained of. Archdale saw that the muzzle was pointed directly at him and that the hand which held it in apparent carelessness was working almost imperceptibly towards the trigger. That would not be touched quite yet, however, a shot now would alarm the garrison and be inexcusable. The accident would happen in the excitement of landing. Archdale's left hand that he with as great indifference as Edmonson's laid upon the boat's edge was steady. He leaned forward a little to be out of range, and they went on in silence.
The clouds grew denser, the waves swelled more and more at the violence of the wind, and the storm, nearer every minute, seemed about to unite with the fiery storm that awaited the devoted band.
"Look," said Archdale suddenly, "I believe they have discovered us." He raised his left hand as he spoke, and pointed to the Battery. Lights were glancing there, and something had given it an air of ponderous observation, as if eyes were looking through the walls and movements going on behind them. All the men scanned the battery earnestly except the speaker whose eyes were watchfully turned upon his neighbor, and who for reward saw Edmonson's fingers covertly placing themselves on the trigger, while his face was still toward the fortifications.
"Yes, it's all up with us," cried the latter, "we are discovered," In the movement of speech he was turning to Archdale, preparatory to dropping measuring eyes upon the musket, when the latter called out:—
"See! they are going to fire." And with the words he dropped his left arm with a swift and accidental sweep by which his hand hitting forcibly against Edmonson's which was unprepared, struck it off the boat into the water. The pistol sent its ball spinning into the sea, running along Archdale's sleeve as it passed. The pistol itself lay under the water for the instant that Edmonson's hand rested there. The flintlock was wet, the weapon was useless.
Its owner turned upon his clumsy companion in a rage. But before he could speak the guns of the battery blazed out, and in the iron shower that followed there was no thought for anything but that of saving themselves as much as possible.
Round shot would have danced over the water and left them comparatively safe; but in the deadly hail of langrage such escape was impossible. Every moment of it inflicted torturing wounds or death. The boats were beeched with all speed at the foot of the monster which belched forth this red hot torrent wounding wherever it fell. But they had been thrown into confusion, and while some of them struggled to the shore, the occupants of others in their terror drew back out of harm's way, and left their comrades to their fate. Edmonson's was not the only flintlock wet, as the soldiers, weary and dispirited, toiled up from the surf. They tried their scaling ladders, they fought for a time with that desperate courage which never forsook them. Their captain cheered them with his bravest words and deeds, and Archdale and Edmonson were foremost in every post of danger until one fell badly wounded.
But from the first the expedition was doomed. After an hour's conflict the recall was sounded, and the remnant of the scaling party straggled and staggered to their boats, some carrying wounded comrades, some themselves wounded and faint. But many had been taken prisoners by the French, and many lay dead and dying. Elizabeth stood waiting for the wounded to be brought in, and for the roll of the dead. The first man who came walking steadily toward her, turning about at every few steps to see that the men behind him were carrying their burden on their stretchers carefully, was Archdale.
"You?" she said wonderingly. "I thought—I was afraid—."
"Yes, I have come back," he answered; "and it is through your warning. Such as my life is, you have saved it."
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
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Copyright, 1884, by Frances C. Sparhawk.