“Mirhbani, Sahib,” whispered the man again. “Kuch nahin hai. Hamko mut pukkaro.” [134c]
He lurched free, stumbled forward a dozen yards, and fell again.
There was no difficulty about placing him upon the stretcher this time, and he made no remonstrance, as he was dead.
Bertram went to his banda, sat on the edge of his bed, and wrestled manfully with himself.
By the time Hall had made his report to the Colonel and come to the hut for a wash and rest, Bertram had conquered his desire to be very sick, swallowed the lump in his throat, relieved the stinging in his eyes, and contrived to look and behave as though he had not just had one of the most poignant and disturbing experiences of his life. . . .
“Ripping little show,” said Captain Hall, as he prepared for a bath and change. “The Gurkhas did in their pickets without a sound. Gad! They can handle those kukris of theirs to some purpose. Sentry on a mound in the outpost pooped off for some reason. They must just have been doing their morning Stand-to. . . . All four sides of the post opened fire, and we were only attacking on one. . . . They’d got a Maxim at each corner. . . . Too late, though. One hurroosh of a rush before they knew anything, and we were in the boma with the bayonet. Most of them bunked over the other side. . . . Got three white men, though. A Gurkha laid one out—on the Maxim, he was—and the Sergeant of the Swahilis fairly spitted another with his bayonet. . . . Third one got in the way of my revolver. . . I don’t s’pose the whole thing lasted five minutes from the time their sentry fired. . . . The Hundred and Ninety-Eighth were fine. Lost our best Havildar, though. He’d have been Jemadar if he’d lived. He was leading a rush of his section in fine style, when he ‘copped a packet.’ Stopped one badly. Clean through the neck. One o’ those beastly soft-nosed slugs the swine give their askaris for ‘savage’ warfare. . . . As if a German knew of any other kind. . . .”
“Many casualties?” asked Bertram, trying to speak lightly.
“No—very few. Only eleven killed and seven wounded. Wasn’t time for more. Shouldn’t have had that much, only the blighter with the Maxim was nippy enough to get going with it while we charged over about forty yards from cover. The Gurkhas jumped the ditch like greyhounds and over the parapet of the inner trench like birds. . . . You should ha’ been there. . . . They never had a chance. . . .”
“Yes,” said Bertram, and tried to visualise that rush at the belching Maxim.
“Didn’t think much of their bundobust,” continued Hall. “Their pickets were pretty well asleep and the place hadn’t got a yard of barbed wire nor even a row of stakes. They hadn’t a field of fire of more than fifty yards anywhere. . . . Bit provincial, what? . . .”