The Thorogood Family

by R. M. Ballantyne

When day broke the Russians commenced firing, and every now and then a shell would pass roaring over the men’s heads. Sometimes one would drop in amongst them. When this happened the men fled right and left, or threw themselves flat on their faces until the shell had exploded.

On one of these occasions a shell dropped close to a wounded man, to whom Bob was giving a drink at the time. The men near it sprang away or lay down as usual, but the wounded man lay in such a position, with his shoulders raised by a little knoll of earth, that he could not escape, and had not strength even to move. With a look of horror he gazed at the hissing shell. Bob Thorogood saw this all at a glance. In a moment he had the live shell in his arms, rushed to the top of the earthworks, and hurled it over, only just in time, for it burst as it reached the ground, and blew the spot on which Bob stood, with Bob himself, back into the trenches, where the big Irishman received him in his arms.

“Not hurt, darlin’, are ye?” he asked anxiously.

“No, thank God, only shaken a bit,” answered the Corporal.

Next day, however, our hero was not so fortunate, although he gained a reward for which many of his comrades panted.

He was on duty at the time in the trenches. The Russians had been pretty quiet that night, but just before daybreak they made a sortie in considerable force. Our Corporal’s company had to bear the brunt of the fighting, and suffered much. It was broad daylight before the Russians were driven back. Some of the more fiery men of the company pursued them too far, and were cut off. At last all the survivors returned to the trenches, and then the enemy commenced a furious cannonade, as if to revenge themselves for the repulse. Their sharpshooters, too, were on the alert, and if a man chanced to show the top of his shako above the earthworks, several bullets went through it instantly.

Among those who had fallen on the exposed ground outside was a young officer—almost a boy, with fair curling hair and a soft little moustache.

He lay severely wounded under the frail protection of a bush round which shot and shell were raining fearfully. Corporal Thorogood observed him, leaped over the earthworks, ran through the iron storm, raised the youth in his strong arms, and brought him under cover in safety. The Corporal’s shako was riddled, and his clothes were torn in all directions, but nothing had touched his body save one bullet, which cut off the forefinger of his right hand.

For this gallant deed Corporal Robert Thorogood afterwards received the Victoria Cross. What pleased him far more, however, was the fact that the young officer’s life was saved, and he ultimately recovered from his wounds.