“I don’t know,” he said dubiously. “This spot is shockingly exposed—no defence of any kind—— Oh, look there! I might have known Sir Henry would have some plan of his own. This is what they do at the Cape in repelling Kaffir attacks—but there they have waggons for their breastwork. D’ye see—between those two tents—the camels kneeling with their heads outwards, and the baggage piled up between ’em, to make a barricade to fire over? A regular fortification! The Arabits will think twice before they try to spread panic among our camp-followers now—all herded inside, and a strong guard—though it reduces our numbers——”
“Never mind! The fewer the greater honour,” said Eveleen, and after a time they walked back towards the spot designated as headquarters, where Sir Henry and the staff were just preparing to mount. A cloud of dust to the right showed where the artillery was taking up its position, while on the left the Bengal Cavalry were moving off to support the Khemistan Horse. In front, drawn up in serried ranks, as if on parade, was the infantry—the Queen’s —th in the post of honour next to the guns.
“Hanged if I’d let my enemy take up his position as calmly as at a review, if I was an Arabit commander,” said the General. “I wonder if they have anything in the watercourse that Keeling did not see—any sort of trap. We shall soon find out for ourselves.”
“A frontal attack, General?” asked Richard.
“Necessarily. Keeling sends word that he tried to ride round their left, but the jungle is full of nullahs, all scarped, and matchlockmen in the trees. I myself reconnoitred to the right just now with the Bengalis, and it’s equally bad there—thick woods on either bank of the watercourse, which is deep in wet mud. No matchlockmen showed their noses, but that’s their cunning. They must be there, they would be fools if they didn’t hold that shikargah, and worse fools if they told me they were doing it. We caught sight of a smoke in the distance, so Bayard has done his work, though miles away from the enemy’s position. I wish I had that detachment back, but that’s crying over spilt milk. Good-bye, Mrs Ambrose; give us your prayers.”
He bowed from his saddle to shake hands, and Eveleen looked up at him with brimming eyes. “God bring you safe through, Sir Harry—and you, my boy Brian and you——” she could not utter her husband’s name, but gave her hand to each man as he bent towards her in passing. By the cloud of dust that followed their movements she could see that Sir Harry was taking up his position at the head of his array, and the line moved off, rather to the right, while the firing continued on the left. Had the baggage-guard occupied a hill of any sort, it might have been possible to follow the fortunes of the fight; but the plain was perfectly flat, and there was not even a house-roof to mount. Eveleen wandered about with a white face, listening to the cannonade, and wondering, whenever a momentary pause came, what terrible meaning it might bear. The surgeons and their native assistants were fidgeting in and out of the hospital tents, having few preparations to make compared with their successors of to-day, and they also were listening. At last the sound of the enemy’s fire was drowned by a nearer roar—more sustained and regular.
“D’ye hear that, ma’am?” cried the nearest doctor, waving an unrolled bandage about his head like a conjuror. “That’s blessed old Brown Bess. We’ve got into touch with ’em! Now we shall soon have plenty to do. There are our guns now!”
It was thrilling, but not enlightening. The rival roars continued, now one predominating, now the other, then both uniting in a crash that made the earth shake; but there was nothing to be seen but dust below and distant smoke mounting into the blue sky above. Then curious little forms appeared on the edge of the dust-cloud, looking like some new kind of quadruped, and resolved themselves into doolies, each carried by two brown men, running and panting as if in terror, but bringing in their burdens faithfully through the gap left in the barricade, and depositing them at the hospital tents.
“Better go round the other side of the tope, ma’am,” said the surgeon, advancing with dreadful determination.
“Perhaps I could help?” suggested Eveleen half-heartedly.