“Here’s to ye thin!” shouted Connor, as the enemy poured down on their zeriba on the west and the Bengalese retreated on them from the east, the Billy Bagshot detachment of Berkshires rallying them and firing steadily, the enemy swarming after and stampeding the mules and camels. Over the low bush fence, over the unfinished sand-bag parapet at the southwest salient, spread the shrieking enemy like ants, stabbing and cutting. The Gardner guns, as Connor had said, were “fer the inimy,” but the Lushai dandies were for the men that managed them that day; for the enemy came too soon—in shrieking masses to a hand-to-hand melee.
What India lost that hour by the Bengalese the Sikhs won back. Side by side with them the Berkshires cursed and raged and had their way; and when the Sikhs drew over and laid themselves along the English lines a wild cheer went up from the Berkshires. Wounded men spluttered their shouts from mouths filled with blood, and to the welcoming roars of the Berkshires the Sikhs showed their teeth in grim smiles, “and done things,” as Billy Bagshot said when it was all over.
But by consent of every man who fought under McNeill that day, the biggest thing done among the Sikhs happened in the fiercest moment of the rush on the Berkshire zeriba. Billy Bagshot told the story that night, after the Lushai dandies had carried off the wounded and the sands of the desert had taken in the dead.
“Tyke it or leave it, ‘e ‘ad the honours of the day,” said Bagshot, “‘e and Janders—old Subadar Goordit Singh. It myde me sick to see them Bengalesey, some of ‘em ‘ookin’ it to Suakim, some of ‘em retirin’ on the seraphim, which is another name for Berkshires. It ain’t no sweet levee a-tryin’ to rally ‘eathen ‘ands to do their dooty. So we ‘ad to cover ‘em back into the zeriba of the seraphim—which is our glorious selves. A bloomin’ ‘asty puddin’ was that tournamong, but it wasn’t so bloomin’ ‘asty that the Subadar and William Connor didn’t finish what they started for to do when the day was young.”
“Did Janders stick the b’y?” asked Coolin, who had just come in from Suakim with the Commissariat camels. “Shure, I hope to God he didn’t!” He was pale and wild of eye.
“Did a bloomin’ sparrow give you ‘is brains when you was changed at birth? Stick William Connor—I believe you not! This is what ‘appened, me bloomin’ sanitary. When I got back be’ind the ‘eavenly parapet, there was William Connor in a nice little slaughter-house of ‘is own. ‘E was doin’ of ‘isself proud—too busy to talk. All at once ‘e spies a flag the Osnum Digners ‘ad planted on the ‘eavenly parapet. ‘E opens ‘is mouth and gives one yell, and makes for that bit of cotton. ‘E got there, for ‘e would not be denied. ‘E got there an’ ‘e couldn’t get back. But ‘e made a rush for it—”
“A divil he was on rushes,” broke in Private Coolin, wiping his mouth nervously.
“‘E’s the pride of ‘is ‘ome and the bloomin’ brigade, bar one, which is the Subadar Goordit Singh. For w’en the Subadar sees Connor in ‘is ‘ole, a cut across ‘is jaw, doin’ of ‘is trick alone, away goes Subadar Goordit Singh and two of ‘is company be’ind ‘im for to rescue. ‘E cut with ‘is sword like a bloomin’ picture. ‘E didn’t spare ‘is strength, and ‘e didn’t spare the Osnum Digners. An’ ‘e comeback, an’ he brought with him William Connor—that’s all what come back.”
“How long did William live?” asked Coolin. “He was a good frind to me was Connor, a thrue frind he was to me. How long did the b’y live?”
“‘E lived long enough to ‘ave McNeill shake ‘im by the ‘and. ‘E lived long enough to say to the Subadar Goordit Singh, ‘I would take scorn uv me to lave widout askin’ y’r pardon, Subadar.’ And the Subadar took ‘is ‘and and salaamed, and showed ‘is teeth, which was meant friendly.”