“I know, sir,” said the Sergeant, nodding his head. “When you talk in that bitter way I know it isn’t my brave, clever young officer speaking; and I say to myself, ‘Wait a bit, old man; he’ll soon come round.’”
“Thank you, Sergeant; thank you,” said Denham, holding out his hand, which Briggs grasped, shook warmly, then turned to me to go through the same business; he did so hotly, for my hand felt crushed, and I vainly tried to respond as heartily, while the tears of pain rose in my eyes, but did not dim them so much that I could not see my torturer’s eyes were also moist.
“Well, what are you looking at?” he growled. “I say, don’t squeeze a man’s hand like that. Why, you’ve made my eyes water, lad. Look, they’re quite wet. Phew! You did squeeze.”
“It’s because he has so much vice in him, Briggs,” said Denham, smiling.
“That’s it, Mr Denham. Well, we must wait, for there’s nothing to be done but send one or two smart fellows to creep through the enemy’s ranks in the night, on foot. You can’t get horsemen through.”
“You mean, send for help from the nearest British force?” said Denham.
“That’s it, sir—some one to tell the officer in command that we shall soon be on our last legs here; but if he’ll como on and attack them in the rear, we’ll be out and at ’em as soon as we hear the shooting; and if we didn’t polish off the Doppies then, why, we should deserve to lose.”
“Briggs,” said Denham warmly, “of course that’s the plan. You ought to have been in command of the corps yourself.”
“Ah! now your head’s getting a bit the better of you again, sir,” replied the Sergeant, “or you wouldn’t talk like that. What I say’s only second-hand. That’s the chief’s plan.”
“Then why doesn’t he carry it out?” I said indignantly.