“It seemed to us an age,” Amy Hunter replied; “it was dreadful not to be able to see what was going on; it seemed to me everyone must be killed with all that firing.”
“It was sharp while it lasted,” the Major said; “but we were all snug enough except against a stray bullet, such as that which hit poor young Richards. He behaved very gallantly, and none of us knew he was hit till it was all over.”
“But how did Captain Forster get his bayonet wound?” Mrs. Doolan asked. “I saw him go in just now into the surgery; it seemed to me he had a very serious wound, for his jacket was cut from the breast up to the shoulder, and he was bleeding terribly, though he made light of it.”
“He jumped down into the middle of them,” the Major said. “Bathurst jumped down first, and was fighting like a madman with a mace he has got. We could do nothing, for we were afraid of hitting him, and Forster jumped down to help him, and, as he did so, got that rip with the bayonet; it is a nasty cut, no doubt, but it is only a flesh wound.”
“Where is Mr. Bathurst?” Mrs. Doolan asked; “is he hurt, too? Why did he jump down? I should not have thought,” and she stopped.
“I fancy a sort of fury seized him,” the Major said; “but whatever it was, he fought like a giant. He is a powerful man, and that iron mace is just the thing for such work. The natives went down like ninepins before him. No, I don't think he is hurt.”
“I will go out and see,” Mrs. Doolan said; and taking a mug half full of champagne from the table, she went out.
Bathurst was sitting on the ground leaning against the wall of the house.
“You are not hurt, Mr. Bathurst, I hope,” Mrs. Doolan said, as she came up. “No, don't try to get up, drink a little of this; we are celebrating our victory by opening a case of champagne. The Major tells us you have been distinguishing yourself greatly.”
Bathurst drank some of the wine before he replied.