He was delirious, and evidently in his wanderings was going over something that had impressed him strongly, and almost at his first utterances in his own tongue he attracted the subaltern to his side.
Archie was no good French scholar, but that tongue had formed part of his studies at a public school, and he had been somewhat of a favourite with the French master, who had encouraged his pupils in acquiring French conversation by making them his companions in his country walks.
The sufferer’s first utterance was an expression of anger at somebody whom he was addressing, calling him an imbécile; and then Archie pretty clearly gathered his meaning. He was telling the man to be careful, and to give him something so that he could do it himself.
“No,” he said, “you don’t understand. I wish I could tell you in your own tongue. There, your hands are trembling; you are afraid. You hate these people, but not with the great hate I feel towards them, who am their natural enemy. There, give me the two bags. Yes, it is bad powder; not such as, if I had known, I might have brought from my own country. What is it? You hear some one coming? Lie down. No one can see us here, shut in behind these trees. You are afraid they will shoot? Bah! Let them! They could not aim at us in this darkness. Be brave, as I am. Recollect what I told you before we started to creep here: if we fire, it will destroy all their ammunition. They will be defenceless, and it will be easy for your prince to slay and capture all these wretched British usurpers of your prince’s country. And I shall be the Rajah’s great friend and counsellor, and make him great, so that he will become a glorious prince and reign over a happy, contented people. There, you are not afraid now. Your hand trembles, though. Well, help me to pour out what is in this bag in a heap over that pile of boxes. Do not tremble so. Nothing can hurt us now. That is good. Now stand there, behind those bushes, and tell me if you hear any of the enemy coming. That is good, and there is the good work done. Quick! Now the other bag. My faith, how you tremble! Now my hand—hold it tight and lead me through the darkness back to the way we came—in silence, so that the enemy shall not hear. No, no—too fast! Do you not understand? You must lead me so that I can pour the powder from the bag as I walk backwards and lay the train.”
The Frenchman ceased his utterance, and though Archie missed some of his words, the scene that must have taken place in the darkness of the jungle surrounding the magazine seemed to start out vividly and picture itself before the listener’s eyes. Then the sufferer began to speak again, in a low, quick, excited way.
“Ah! Idiot! Clumsy! I could have done better without you. Do you not understand? You have trampled over the careful train I have laid, and I must scatter more, or the plan will fail. Stay here till I come back to you.—Curses! He has gone. What matter? I can finish now. That is well. There is plenty, and it cannot fail. Now the matches.—Stop. Is the way clear? I shall have time—and—yes, I can find my way as I did before. I was mad to bring that shivering idiot. He has been in my way all through. But no; he did carry the bag, and the task that brings ruin and destruction upon these English is nearly done. Now—the matches. Ah! Confusion! The box must have been wet. Now another; then quick! The moment the fire begins to run. Confusion! Is it that the matches are wet? No. I am all in water, and the touch from my fingers prevents the match from striking. Now—ah, that is better. But hark! Could the sentry have seen that? No. I am trembling like that coward Malay. Courage, my friend. It is such a little thing to do. But I must hasten, before the powder spoils upon the damp ground, where everything drips with the heavy dew. Courage, my friend—courage! It is such a little thing, and for the glory of my beautiful France, and for my great revenge against these English and their officers, while my prince will rule in peace, and—yes, my faith! I shall rule him now. Crack! That match burns, and—hiss—the train begins to run, and so must I. Ah! My faith! I am going wrong. These trees catch my feet with their frightful tangle, and the light dazzles my eyes. My faith! My faith! I am lost!”
So vivid seemed the picture that the listener’s brow grew moist, and he turned shuddering away, to see that Peter was watching him curiously; and both lads started now as a wild cry of horror and despair arose from the rough pallet on which the sufferer lay struggling feebly.
“I’d say as you would, Mister Archie, sir: ‘Poor beggar!’ for he must be feeling very bad with his burns; but he don’t deserve it. It was his own doing. Could you make out what he was talking about?”
“A great deal of it, Pete.”
“What was he saying of, sir?”