Gedge’s face now looked as if if had been carved in oil-stone, it was so hard, and he made no reply. But mentally he was discoursing vigorously in his wild state of excitement, for he could judge of his own appearance by that of his officer.
“Just like a couple o’ second-hand Robinson Crusoes out of a pantymime, and bound for the North Pole. Talk about a lark. Oh, don’t I wish my poor old mother could see her bee-u-tiful boy!—Poor old chaps! Poor old pardners! Won’t they be waxy when they knows I’m gone! Here, blessed if I can get, at my clean pocket-’ankychy, and I wants to shed a purlin’ tear for poor old Sergeant Gee.”
“Ready!” came to check the flow of Gedge’s thoughts, and, picking up his rifle, the fellow to that placed ready for Bracy, he stepped out into the court, to find all the men left in the fort gathered to see them start, for the news was every one’s property now; and as they marched towards the gates there was a low murmur, but no man stirred.
It was different, though, with the women; though here, too, all was done in silence. Officers’ wives stepped forward to press Bracy’s hands, with the tears standing in their eyes, and many a “God-speed!” was murmured in the ears of both.
“But no one shakes a hand with me,” said Gedge sadly to himself; and then, “Well, I’m blessed!”
For Sergeant Gee was on one side of him to lay a hand upon his shoulder.
“Good-bye, Gedge,” he said in his harsh, uncompromising way; “you’ll stick to your officer like a brave lad, I know.”
“Thank ye, Sergeant; and same to you,” growled Gedge; and then the tears stood in his eyes, for Mrs Gee had hold of his unoccupied hand, to press it hard, with a grip, in fact, like a man’s.
“Here,” she said, taking a small, flat, black packet from her breast, and Gedge saw that it was envelope-shaped, but home-made in oil-skin, and instead of being adhesive; there was a neat button and buttonhole. “Put that in your breast-pocket, my boy,” she said, “and never part with it. Bandages, oiled silk, needles and thread, and a pair o’ scissors. And mind this: plug a bullet-hole directly; and whatever you do, clean water, and lots of it, for all wounds.”
“Thank ye, missus.”