Henty George Alfred
The Curse of Carne's Hold: A Tale of Adventure

The three officers proceeded together to the ward in which Ronald was lying.

"Well, sergeant, how do you feel yourself?" Captain Twentyman asked.

"Oh, I am all right, sir," Ronald answered cheerfully. "My back smarts a bit, of course, but that is nothing. I hope I shall be in the saddle again before long – at any rate before the advance is made."

"I hope so, Blunt. And now, if you feel up to telling it, I want to hear about your adventure. Colonel Somerset asked me to inquire, as it will throw some light on the numbers and position of the Kaffirs; besides, the whole camp is wanting to know how you succeeded in getting Miss Armstrong out of the hands of the Kaffirs. I can assure you that there is nothing else talked about."

"There is nothing much to talk about, as far as I am concerned, sir," Ronald said. "It was the Fingoes' doing altogether, and they could have managed as well, indeed better, without me."

"Except that they would not have done it, unless you had been with them."

"No, perhaps not," Ronald admitted. "I was lucky enough down at Port Elizabeth to fish out the son of Kreta, the head man of the party, who had been washed off his feet in the surf; and it was out of gratitude for that that he followed me."

"Yes, we heard about that business from Mr. Nolan, and although you speak lightly of it, it was, he tells us, a very gallant affair indeed. But now as to this other matter."

"In the first place, Captain Twentyman, I admit that going off as I did was a great breach of duty. I can only say that I shall be willing, cheerfully, to submit to any penalty the colonel may think fit to inflict. I had no right whatever to leave my detachment on what was really private business; but even if I had been certain that I should have been shot as a deserter on my return to the regiment, I should not have hesitated in acting as I did."

"We all understand your feelings, Blunt," Captain Twentyman said, kindly, "and you have no need to make yourself uneasy on that score. To punish a man for acting as you have done would be as bad as the sea story of the captain who flogged a seaman, who jumped overboard to save a comrade, for leaving the ship without orders. Now for your story: all we have heard is that your Fingo says you carried off the young lady from Macomo's kraal, but, of course, that is not believed."

"It is quite true, nevertheless," Ronald said. "Well, this is how it was, sir," and he gave a full account of the whole adventure.

"Well, I congratulate you most heartily," Captain Twentyman said when he finished; "it is really a wonderful adventure – a most gallant business indeed, and the whole corps, officers and men, will be proud of it."

"I should be glad, sir, if there could be some reward given to Kreta and his men; as you will have seen from my story, any credit that there is in the matter is certainly their due."

"I will see to that," the officer replied. "The Fingo desires are, happily, easily satisfied; a good rifle, a few cows, and a barrel of whisky make up his ideal of happiness. I think I can promise you they shall have all these."

In the afternoon, Mr. Armstrong again dropped off to a quiet sleep. This time he was not holding his daughter's hand, and as soon as she saw that he was fairly off she stole out of the room, and finding the surgeon, asked if he would take her up to the ward where Sergeant Blunt was lying.

"Yes, I shall be happy to take you up at once, Miss Armstrong. Everything is tidy just at present, for I have had a message from Colonel Somerset that he and the General are coming round the wards. I don't suppose they will be here for half an hour, so you can come up at once."

The sick men in the wards were surprised when the surgeon entered, accompanied by a young lady. She passed shyly along between the rows of beds until she reached that of Ronald. She put her hand in his, but for a moment was unable to speak. Ronald saw her agitation, and said cheerfully: "I am heartily glad, Miss Armstrong, to hear from the doctor such a good account of your father. As for me, I shall not be in his hands many days. I told you it was a mere scratch, and I believe that a good-sized piece of sticking-plaster was all that was wanted."

"You haven't thought me unkind for not coming to see you before, I hope," the girl said; "but I have not been able till now to leave my father's room for a moment."

"I quite understood that, Miss Armstrong, and indeed there was no occasion for you to come to me at all. It would have been quite time enough when I was up and about again. I only wish that it was likely that Mr. Armstrong would be on his feet as soon as I shall."

"Oh, he is going on very well," Mary said. "I consider that you have saved his life as well as mine. I feel sure it is only having me with him again that has made such a change in him as has taken place since yesterday. The doctor says so, too. I have not told him yet how it has all come about, but I hope ere very long he may be able to thank you for both of us."

"You thanked me more than enough yesterday, Miss Armstrong, and I am not going to listen to any more of it. As far as I can see, you could not have done me any greater service than by giving me the opportunity you have. Every one seems disposed to take quite a ridiculous view of the matter, and I may look forward to getting a troop-sergeantship when there is a vacancy."

The girl shook her head. She was too much in earnest even to pretend to take a light view of the matter. Just at that moment there was a trampling of horses outside, and the sharp sound of the sentries presenting arms.

"Here is the General," Ronald said, with a smile, "and although I don't wish to hurry you away, Miss Armstrong, I think you had better go back to your father. I don't know whether the Chief would approve of lady visitors in the hospital."

"Good-bye," the girl said, giving him her hand. "You won't let me thank you, but you know."

"I know," Ronald replied. "Good-bye"

She looked round for the surgeon, who had, after taking her up to Ronald, moved away for a short distance, but he was gone, having hurried off to meet the General below, and with a last nod to Ronald, she left the ward. She passed out through the door into the courtyard just as the group of officers were entering.

"That is Miss Armstrong," the surgeon said, as she passed out.

"What, the girl who was rescued?" Colonel Somerset said; "a very pretty, ladylike-looking young woman. I am not surprised, now that I see her, at this desperate exploit of my sergeant."

"No, indeed," the General said, smiling. "It's curious, colonel, what men will do for a pretty face. Those other two poor creatures who were carried off were both murdered, and I don't suppose their deaths have greatly distressed this young fellow one way or the other. No doubt he would have been glad to rescue them; but I imagine that their deaths have not in any way caused him to regard his mission as a failure. I suppose that it's human nature, colonel."

Colonel Somerset laughed.

"You and I would have seen the matter in the same light when we were youngsters, General."

The officers went through the wards, stopping several times to speak a few words to the patients.

"So this is the deserter," Colonel Somerset said, with some assumed sternness, as they stopped by Ronald's bedside. "Well, sir, we have had a good many of those black rascals desert from our ranks, but you are the first white soldier who has deserted since the war began. Of course, you expect a drumhead court-martial and shooting as soon as the doctor lets you out of his hands."

Ronald saw that the old colonel was not in earnest.

"It was very bad, colonel," he said, "and I can only throw myself on your mercy."

"You have done well, my lad – very well," the colonel said, laying his hand on his shoulder. "There are some occasions when even military laws give place to questions of humanity, and this was essentially one of them. You are a fine fellow, sir; and I am proud that you belong to my corps."

The General, who had stopped behind speaking to another patient, now came up.

"You have done a very gallant action, Sergeant Blunt," he said. "Captain Twentyman has reported the circumstances to me; but when you are out of hospital you must come to head-quarters and tell me your own story. Will you see to this, Colonel Somerset?"

"Certainly, sir. I will send him over, or rather bring him over to you, as soon as he's about, for I should like to hear the whole story also."

In ten days Ronald Mervyn was on his feet again, although not yet fit for duty; the wound had healed rapidly, but the surgeon said it would be at least another fortnight before he would be fit for active service. As soon as he was able to go out and sit on the benches in the hospital yard, many of his comrades came to see him, and there was a warmth and earnestness in their congratulations which showed that short as his time had been in the corps, he was thoroughly popular with them. Sergeant Menzies was particularly hearty in his greeting.

"I knew you were the right sort, Harry Blunt, as soon as I set eyes upon you," he said; "but I did not expect you were going to cut us all out so soon."

"How is my horse, sergeant?"

"Oh, he's none the worse for it, I think. He has been taking walking exercise, and his stiffness is wearing off fast. I think he misses you very much, and he wouldn't take his food the first day or two. He has got over it now, but I know he longs to hear your voice again."

Sometimes, too, Mary Armstrong would come out and sit for a time with Ronald. Her father was progressing favourably, and though still extremely weak, was in a fair way towards recovery.

"Will you come in to see father?" Mary said one morning; "he knows all about it now; but it was only when he came round just now that the doctor gave leave for him to see you."

"I shall be very glad to see him," Ronald said, rising. "I own that when I saw him last I entertained very slight hopes I should ever meet him alive again."

"He is still very weak," the girl said, "and the doctor says he is not to be allowed to talk much."

"I will only pay a short visit, but it will be a great pleasure to me to see him; I have always felt his kindness to me."

"Father is kind to every one," the girl said, simply. "In this instance his kindness has been returned a hundred-fold."

By this time they had reached the door of the ward.

"Here is Mr. Blunt come to see you, father. Now you know what the doctor said; you are not to excite yourself, and not to talk too much, and if you are not good, I shall take him away."

"I am glad to see you are better, Mr. Armstrong," Ronald said, as he went up to the bed, and took the thin hand in his own.

"God bless you, my boy," the wounded man replied; "it is to you I owe my recovery, for had you not brought Mary back to me, I should be a dead man now, and would have been glad of it."

"I am very glad, Mr. Armstrong, to have been able to be of service to your daughter and to you; but do not let us talk about it now; I am sure that you cannot do so without agitating yourself, and the great point at present with us all is for you to be up and about again. Do your wounds hurt you much?"

"Not much; and yours, Blunt?"

"Oh, mine is a mere nothing," Ronald said, cheerfully, "it's healing up fast, and except when I forget all about it, and move sharply, I scarcely feel it. I feel something like the proverbial man who swallowed the poker, and have to keep myself as stiff as if I were on inspection. This ward is nice and cool, much cooler than they are upstairs. Of course the verandah outside shades you. You will find it very pleasant there when you are strong enough to get up. I am afraid that by that time I shall be off, for the troops are all on their march up from the coast, and in another ten days we expect to begin operations in earnest."

"I don't think the doctor ought to let you go," Mary Armstrong said. "You have done quite your share, I am sure."

"I hope my share in finishing up with these scoundrels will be a good deal larger yet," Ronald laughed. "My share has principally been creeping and hiding, except just in that last brush, and there, if I mistake not, your share was as large as mine. I only fired three shots, and I think I heard your pistol go four times."

"Yes, it is dreadful to think of now," the girl said; "but somehow it didn't seem so at the time. I feel shocked now when I recall it."

"There's nothing to be shocked at, Miss Armstrong; it was our lives or theirs; and if your hand had not been steady, and your aim true, we should neither of us be here talking over the matter now. But I think my visit has been long enough. I will come in again, Mr. Armstrong, to-morrow, and I hope each day to find you more and more able to take your share in the talk."

In another ten days Ronald rejoined his troop, and the next day received an order to be ready at four o'clock to accompany Colonel Somerset to the General's.

"Now, sergeant, take a seat," the General said, "and tell me the full story of your adventures."

Ronald again repeated his story. When he had done, the General remarked:

"Your report more than bears out what I heard from Captain Twentyman. I have already talked the matter over with Colonel Somerset, and as we consider that such an action should be signally rewarded, Colonel Somerset will at once apply for a commission for you in your own corps, or if you would prefer it, I will apply for a commission for you in one of the line regiments. I may say that the application under such circumstances would certainly be acceded to."

"I am deeply obliged to you for your kindness, sir, and to you, Colonel Somerset; but I regret to say that, with all respect, I must decline both offers."

"Decline a commission!" the General said in surprise. "Why, I should have thought that it was just the thing that you would have liked – a dashing young fellow like you, and on the eve of serious operations. I can hardly understand you."

Ronald was silent for a moment.

"My reason for declining it, sir, is a purely personal one. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than a commission so bestowed, but there are circumstances that absolutely prevent my mingling in the society of gentlemen. The name I go by is not my true one, and over my own name there is so terrible a shadow resting that so long as it is there – and I have little hope of its ever being cleared off – I must remain as I am."

Both officers remained silent a moment.

"You are sure you are not exaggerating the case, Blunt?" Colonel Somerset said after a pause. "I cannot believe that this cloud of which you speak can have arisen from any act of yours, and it would be a pity indeed were you to allow any family matter to weigh upon you thus."

Ronald shook his head. "It is a matter in which I am personally concerned, sir, and I do not in any way exaggerate it. I repeat, I must remain in my present position."

"If it must be so, it must," the General said, "though I am heartily sorry. At least you will have the satisfaction of seeing your name in General Orders this evening for an act of distinguished bravery."

"Thank you, sir," and Ronald, seeing the conversation was at an end, saluted to the two officers, went out, and rode back to his quarters.

The town was full of troops now, for the regiments that had been despatched from England had nearly all arrived upon the spot, and the operations against the Kaffirs in the Amatolas were to begin at once. Some of the troops, including two squadrons of the Rifles, were to march next morning.

Ronald went about his duties till evening, and then turned out to walk to the hospital. As he passed through the streets, he saw a group round one of the Rifles, who had just come out from a drinking shop, and was engaged in a fierce altercation with a Fingo. The man was evidently the worse for liquor, and Ronald went up to him and put his hand on his shoulder.

"You had better go off to the barracks at once," he said, sharply; "you will be getting into trouble if you stay here."

The man turned savagely round.

"Oh, it's you, Sergeant Blunt? Hadn't you better attend to your own business? I am not committing any crime here. I haven't been murdering women, or anything of that sort."

Ronald started back as if struck. The significance of the tone in which the man spoke showed him that these were no random words, but a shaft deliberately aimed. In a moment he was cool again.

"If you do not return to the barracks at once," he said, sternly, "I will fetch a corporal's guard and put you in the cells."

The man hesitated a moment, and then muttering to himself, reeled off towards the barracks. Had the blow come a month before, Ronald Mervyn would have felt it more, for absorbed in his active work, on horseback the greater portion of his time, the remembrance of the past had become blunted, and the present had occupied all his thoughts. It was only occasionally that he had looked back to the days when he was Captain Mervyn, of the Borderers. But from the hour he had brought Mary Armstrong safely back to her father, the past had been constantly in his mind because it clashed with the present.

Before, Ronald Mervyn and Harry Blunt had almost seemed to be two existences, unconnected with each other; now, the fact of their identity had been constantly in his thoughts. The question he had been asking himself over and over again was whether there could be a permanent separation between them, whether he could hope to get rid of his connection with Ronald Mervyn, and to continue to the end of the chapter as Harry Blunt. He had told himself long before that he could not do so, that sooner or later he should certainly be recognised; and although he had tried to believe that he could pass through life without meeting any one familiar with his face, he had been obliged to admit that this was next to impossible.

Had he been merely a country gentleman, known only to the people within a limited range of distance, it would have been different; but an officer who has served ten years in the army has innumerable acquaintances. Every move he makes brings him in contact with men of other regiments, and his circle goes on constantly widening until it embraces no small portion of the officers of the army. Then every soldier who had passed through his regiment while he had been in it would know his face; and, go where he would, he knew that he would be running constant risks of detection. More than one of the regiments that had now arrived at King Williamstown had been quartered with him at one station or another, and there were a score of men who would recognise him instantly did he come among them in the dress of an officer. This unexpected recognition, therefore, by a trooper in his own corps, did not come upon him with so sudden a shock as it would have done a month previously.

"I knew it must come," he said to himself bitterly "and that it might come at any moment. Still it is a shock. Who is this man, I wonder? It seemed to me, when he first came up, that I had some faint remembrance of his face, though where, I have not the least idea. It was not in the regiment, for he knows nothing of drill or military habits. Of course, if he had been a deserter, he would have pretended ignorance, but one can always tell by little things whether a man has served, and I am sure that this fellow has not. I suppose he comes from somewhere down home.

"Well, it can't be helped. Fortunately, I have won a good name before this discovery is made, and am likely to reap the benefit of what doubt there may be. When a man shows that he has a fair amount of pluck, his comrades are slow to credit him with bad qualities. On the whole, perhaps it is well that it should have come on this evening of all when I had quite made up my mind as to my course, for it strengthens me in my decision as to what I ought to do. It is hard to throw away happiness, but this shows how rightly I decided. Nothing will shake me now. Poor little girl! it is hard for her, harder by far than for me. However, it is best that she should know it now, than learn it when too late."