The Spanish Bride

2

He had got his company in February, but because it had been Uniacke’s he said very little about it (which was unlike him), and received the congratulations of his friends with less than his usual vivacity.

‘Harry is the luckiest devil going,’ Stewart said lazily. ‘Except in his horses. Where did you get that clumsy brute, Harry?’

‘I bought him from poor old Vandeleur.’ ‘I’ll sell you a real horse,’ offered Stewart coaxingly. ‘You won’t! I’ve got your Tiny already.’

‘Well, don’t go into action on that brute,’ Stewart said. ‘I don’t wonder Vandeleur sold him.’ ‘Talking of going into action,’ said Eeles, ‘when is it to be? Speaking for myself, I’ve had enough of this siege.’

‘God, so have I!’ Harry replied. ‘The men say it’s the turn of some of the other divisions to do trench-work. Damn it, did we take Rodrigo, or did I dream it?”

‘I seem to remember that we did,’ said Stewart. ‘I must own, though, that I did catch sight of some of Picton’s fellows.’

‘Oh, damn Picton’s fellows!’ said Eeles, with all a Rifleman’s cheerful contempt for the rest of the army. ‘I hope his lordship leaves this business to us. Picton’s lot had all the honour and glory of the Picurina affair.’

‘Oh no, they didn’t!’ Harry retorted, his expressive eyes sparkling. ‘I told off one of our working-parties to fetch the scaling-ladders from the Engineers’ Park. When they brought ’em up, Kempt ordered them to be planted, and the boys of the 3rd told our fellows to stand out of the way while they went up. That didn’t suit our men’s notions at all! They said: “Damn your eyes, do you think we Light Bobs fetch ladders for such chaps as you to climb up? Follow us!”

His companions shouted with joy at this story, but Stewart said: ‘Harry, you liar!’ ‘No, upon my word! It’s true as death! One of the Sergeants told me-Brotherton.’ Eeles remarked that Brotherton was a good fellow, but Stewart only laughed. Harry was still defending the story when they reached the vicinity of the rabbit-warren, for his energy led him into vehement argument as easily as it led him into impetuous action. A hare, getting up suddenly, put an end to the discussion; sport drove sieges and assaults temporarily out of mind. An unusually strong hare was presently found; Harry, always agog to demonstrate the speed of his dogs, gave her twenty yards law before hallooing the hounds out of the slips. She twice gave them the go-by, and although the dogs fetched round a dozen times, she kept on working her way towards the warren.

‘By God, I’ll have to head her off!’ exclaimed Harry, seeing tomorrow’s dinner escaping from his clutches.

‘No, don’t!’ said Eeles, intent only upon the sport. ‘Damn it, you can’t do that!’ ‘Oh, can’t I, by thunder!’ Harry flung over his shoulder.

‘You fool, ’ware rabbit-holes!’ shouted Stewart, seeing Harry clap spurs to his horse’s flanks, and career away at a gallop in the direction of the warren.

Harry, however, was off in his headlong way, trusting to his horse, his whole attention concentrated on the hare. Irish Paddy put a hoof in a rabbit-hole, and came down heavily, and rolled over Harry.

Stewart was up with him in a flash, and had leapt out of the saddle, all thought of the hare forgotten. ‘Oh you fool, you damned fool!’ he said, on his knees beside Harry’s inanimate body.

‘Is he dead?’ Eeles asked anxiously.

‘No-yes-I don’t know!’ replied Stewart, ripping open Harry’s tight green jacket. ‘No, I can feel his heart beating! Harry! Come on, old fellow, wake up! Open your eyes, now!’ It was soon seen that such adjurations were of no avail. When they raised him, Harry’s head lolled alarmingly, and although Eeles, who boasted a rough knowledge of surgery, pronounced that no bones were broken, no amount of coaxing, of chafing of hands, of slapping of cheeks, produced any sign of returning consciousness. ‘It’s no use: we shall have to bleed him,’ said Stewart. ‘Try some brandy!’ urged Eeles, pulling a flask out of his pocket. The brandy ran out of the corners of Harry’s mouth. ‘Oh, Harry, why will you be such a careless devil?’ Eeles said distractedly. ‘It all comes of trying to head the hare! Damned unsportsmanlike! I told him not to!’

‘Never mind talking! You hold him, while I bleed him!’ said Stewart. Eeles made a knee for Harry’s slight, wiry frame, while Stewart pulled his jacket off. A whip-thong made a serviceable tourniquet about one limp arm, and Stewart had just opened a blunt-looking pocket-knife, and had made a slight incision with it in the flesh, when Harry’s head, which was resting on Eele’s shoulder, moved, and Eeles, eyeing Stewart’s preparations with some misgiving, cried: ‘Stop! Wait a minute, he’s coming round!’ A drop or two of blood welled up from the scratch on Harry’s arm; his eyes opened, blurred and dazed for a few instants, but regaining brightness and clarity in surprisingly little time. They blinked up into Stewart’s anxious face, travelled to the knife in his hand, and widened. The next instant, Harry had leapt to his feet, rather shaky still, but in full possession of his faculties. ‘Keep off, you villain!’ he exclaimed, swaying on his feet. ‘What the devil-?’ He became aware of the thong bound round his upper arm, and plucked at it, weakly laughing, ‘God save me from my friends! Why, you old murderer! Oh, look! If I’m not bleeding to death! Where’s Moro?’

In the agitation of the moment, his friends had forgotten both hare and hounds, but at this inquiry they looked round involuntarily, to find that the sagacious hound, Moro, had killed the hare without any assistance from his master. Relief made them scold, but Harry, dabbing at the scratch on his arm with his handkerchief, was quite unrepentant, and merely abused the clumsiness of his horse.

Paddy, having picked himself up, was quietly grazing a few yards away. While agreeing that he was the clumsiest brute alive, Stewart told Harry that he deserved to be dead. But Harry was making much of Moro, and paid no attention to him. It was evident that he had sustained no serious injury, for though dizzy at first, he soon declared himself to be well enough to mount, and ride back to camp.

‘What made you buy a stupid brute like this?’ demanded Stewart, leading Paddy up to him. ‘What’s wrong with Tiny? He’d not let you down like that!’

‘Strained a tendon,’ replied Harry, hoisting himself into the saddle. Stewart cast his eyes up to heaven. ‘Ridden him to death, I suppose!’ ‘Will you stop scolding?’ retaliated Harry. ‘There’s no harm done, I tell you! What’s the time? Oh, by God, I shall be late! Come on, Charlie!’

‘The luckiest devil in the whole army!’ said Stewart.