“Terrible,” replied Major Ashley, who had just left the table, and was lighting his third cigar since dinner, “why, a march up-country in India is always terrible work, as you’ll find out before you are many weeks older. There was some dispute about our destination when we were ordered up here three years since,” continued the Major, “and so we were detained until the hot weather set in, and cholera caught us up. The road we took may even yet be traced by the mounds of stones which cover our dead.”
“It was a fearful time,” said Captain Hughes. “When we arrived in sight of the walls of yonder fort, the men were dropping fast, the sentries over the hospital had often to be changed from outside to inside the tent, the surgeon and assistant-surgeon had to be carried to see their sick, so worn were they with fatigue, while round our lines all night long the wailing of the camp followers was to be heard, for they perished by hundreds, the dead being found, when the grey light of morning broke, lying stiff and stark among the tent ropes.”
“But you reached the fort at last?” asked the Ensign.
“Yes, we did reach it at last, didn’t we, Hughes?” answered Major Ashley. “Do you remember the day an orderly rode into our lines, bearing an order from General Black Jack, as we used to call him, forbidding us to enter the fort; and how, for the sake of doing something, we marched short marches daily round yonder walls, until at last our colonel saw that the men were growing mutinous, and told Black Jack that he would storm the fort if not allowed to enter?”
“I remember it well; and he gave way. The gates were thrown open, and the scourge left us. But it’s late; and if we are to have any chance of the tiger, you had better get your rifles, and we will have the sheep picketed. See, they are closing the messroom doors, and putting out the lights.”
“So they are,” returned a third, yawning; “I shall wish you luck, and turn in.”
“I say, Harris, mind you don’t make a vacancy in the Light Company yourself,” said a captain of Grenadiers, as a group of the late billiard-players went laughing and talking down the steps into the moonlight. “I don’t believe you ever saw a tiger, or know anything about a rifle.”
“Never fear for me, Hunt; an ensign’s not worth a tiger’s trouble. If you would consent, now, to be picketed instead of the sheep, Captain—”
“Go to the devil! Good-night, Hughes.” And “Good-night—a pleasant journey,” rang out cheerily from one after another as they crossed the mess-compound, and took their way to their respective quarters.
“You are an old hand, Hughes,” said the Ensign, after a short pause. “Do you remember the Rajah who was a prisoner on the top of Bellary rock?”