It was well for Graham, Hunter, McNeill, and their brigades that William Connor and the Berkshires and the Subadar Goordit Singh had no idle time in which to sear their difficulties, for, before another khamsin gorged the day with cutting dust, every department of the Service, from the Commissariat to the Balloon Detachment, was filling marching orders. There was a collision, but it was the agreeable collision of preparation for a fight, for it was ordained that the Berkshires and the Sikhs should go shoulder to shoulder to establish a post in the desert between Suakim and Tamai.
“D’ye hear that, William Connor dear?” said Private Coolin when the orders came. “An’ y’ll have Subadar Goordit Singh with his kahars and his bhistis and his dhooly bearers an’ his Lushai dandies an’ his bloomin’ bullock-carts steppin’ on y’r tail as ye travel, Misther Connor!”
“Me tail is the tail of a kangaroo; I’m strongest where they tread on me, Coolin,” answered Connor. “An’ drinkin’ the divil’s chlorides from the tins of the mangy dhromedairy has turned me insides into a foundry. I’m metal-plated, Coolin.”
“So ye’ll need if ye meet the Subadar betune the wars!”
“Go back to y’r condinsation, Coolin. Bring water to the thirsty be gravitation an’ a four-inch main, an’ shtrengthen the Bowl of the Subadar wid hay-cake, for he’ll want it agin the day he laves Tamai behind! Go back to y’r condinsation, Coolin, an’ take truth to y’r Bowl that there’s many ways to die, an’ one o’ thim’s in the commysariat, Coolin—shame for ye!”
Coolin had been drafted into the Commissariat and was now variously employed, but chiefly at the Sandbag Redoubt, where the condensing ship did duty, sometimes at the southeast end of the harbour where the Indian Contingent watered. Coolin hated the duty, and because he was in a bitter mood his tongue was like a leaf of aloe.
“I’ll be drinkin’ condinsed spirits an’ ‘atin’ hay-cake whip the vultures do be peckin’ at what’s lift uv ye whip the Subadar’s done wid ye. I’d a drame about ye last noight, William Connor dear—three times I dramed it.”
Suddenly Connor’s face was clouded. “Whist, thin, Coolin,” said he hoarsely. “Hadendowas I’ve no fear uv, an’ Subadars are Injy nagurs anyhow, though fellow-soldiers uv the Queen that’s good to shtand befront uv biscuit-boxes or behoind thim; an’ wan has no fear of the thing that’s widout fear, an’ death’s iron enters in aisy whip mortial strength’s behind it. But drames—I’ve had enough uv drames in me toime, I have that, Coolin!” He shuddered a little. “What was it ye dramed again, Coolin? Was there anything but the dramin’—anny noise, or sound, or spakin’?”
Coolin lied freely, for to disturb William Connor was little enough compensation for being held back at Suakim while the Berkshires and the Sikhs were off for a scrimmage in the desert.
“Nothin’ saw I wid open eye, an’ nothin’ heard,” he answered; “but I dramed twice that I saw ye lyin’ wid y’r head on y’r arm and a hole in y’r jacket. Thin I waked suddin’, an’ I felt a cold wind goin’ over me—three toimes; an’ a hand was laid on me own face, an’ it was cold an’ smooth-like the hand uv a Sikh, William Connor dear.”