There was no reply, and Punch went on softly, “It’s my turn now to say what you said to me. Sleepy, are you? Well, go on, and have plenty of it. It’s the best thing for you. What did you say? Nature sets to work to mend you again? No, he didn’t. I forget now, but that’s what he meant. Now, I wonder whether it’s safe for me to go away and leave him. No, of course it isn’t, for I may tumble up against the French, who will make me a prisoner, and I sha’n’t be able to make them understand that my comrade is lying wounded under this tree, and if I could I don’t want to. That’s one thing. Another is that if I start off and leave him here I sha’n’t be able to find him again. Then, what am I going for? To try and find water, for my throat’s like sand, and something to eat better than these chestnuts, for I don’t believe they are anything like ripe. Oh dear! This is a rum start altogether. I don’t know what to do. This is coming to the wars, and no mistake! There never was really such unlucky chaps as we are. It will be dark before long. Then I shall seem to be quite alone. To be all alone here in a great wood like this is enough to make any fellow feel scared. It’s just the sort of place where the wolves will be. Well, if they do come, we have got two muskets, and if it isn’t too dark I will have two wolves, and that will keep the others off as long as they have got the ones I shot to eat.—Did you speak, comrade?” he whispered, as he once more bent over Pen. “No, he’s fast asleep. Wish I was, so as to forget all about it, for the sun’s quite down now, and I don’t know how I am to get through such a night as this. However, here goes to try. Ugh! How cold it is turning!”
The boy shivered as the wind that came down from the mountains seemed bitterly cold to one who had been drenched in perspiration by the exertion and excitement that he had passed through.
“Poor old Private Gray!” he muttered. “He will be feeling it worse than me if he don’t turn feverish.”
The boy hesitated for a few moments, and then, stripping off his jacket, he crept as close to his wounded companion as he could, and then carefully spread the ragged uniform coat over their breasts.
“Ought to have got his off too,” he muttered, “but I mustn’t. Must make the best of it and try and go to sleep, keeping him warm. But no fellow could go to sleep at a time like this.”
It was a rash assertion, for many minutes had not passed before the boy was sleeping soundly the sleep of utter weariness and exhaustion; and the next time he unclosed his eyes as he lay there upon his back, not having moved since he lay down, it was to gaze wonderingly at the beautiful play of morning light upon the long, glossy, dark-green leaves over his head; for the sun had just risen and was bronzing the leaves with ruddy gold.
The birds were singing somewhere at the edge of the forest, and all seemed so wonderful and strange that the boy muttered to himself as he asked the question, “Where am I?”
So deep had been his sleep that it seemed to be one great puzzle.
He knew it was cold, and he wondered at that, for now and then he felt a faint glow of warm sunshine. Then, like a flash, recollection came back, and he turned his head to gaze at his companion, but only to wrench himself away and roll over and over a yard or two, before sitting up quickly, trembling violently. For he was chilled with horror by the thought that his companion had passed away during the night.
It was some minutes before he dared speak. “Pen!” he whispered, at last. “Gray!” He waited, with the horror deepening, for there his companion lay upon his back motionless, and though he strained his neck towards him he could detect no movement of his breath, while his own staring eyes began to grow dim, and the outstretched figure before him looked misty and strange.