“I can’t stop here and have my little troop shot down on account of your black.”
“But—”
“Come on, sir!” shouted Denham; “obey orders. Here, you’re a pretty rough sort of a pup for me to lick into shape,” he added, in a friendly way, as he trotted back amongst the stones. “Recollect you’re a soldier now, without any will of your own. You hand everything over to your officer, and obey him, whether it’s to ride forward into the enemy’s fire or to retire.”
“But it’s horrible to leave that poor fellow to his fate,” I said.
“More horrible to lose the lives of the party of men entrusted to me. Look here, my lad; it’s an officer’s duty never to throw away a man. If he is obliged to spend a few to carry some point, that’s war and necessary; but to dash them bull-headed against double odds to gain nothing is folly.”
“But I can’t go on. Let me stay back and try and help him,” I said passionately.
“Certainly not. Be sensible. Look here: you don’t know that he’s hit.”
“But he dropped from behind that stone.”
“Yes; but that may be his dodge. Perhaps he’s gliding back under cover from stone to stone.”
“Perhaps,” I said bitterly. “Look here: if this is your way of going to work I’ve had enough of soldiering.”