Chapter XII: Part 12

"You shall have them. You'll start from here at eight to-night, moving by the west road. Shove on as hard as you can till you meet Michael. Then take up a position and fight him till you've not a man left. Under no circumstances is he to be allowed to interfere with me. Send back word now and again to let me know how it goes."

"That all, sir?"

"That's all, except to say good-bye. Perhaps meet you later in the brimstone duck-pond." Roy went out with a light in his dark eyes, leaving Hector considering.

"Thank God for a lunatic," he muttered, "stroke of luck for me striking him. Now, what will I do to pass the time? Ah, I know. Godwin."

"You called, sir?" answered the long-nosed one, appearing.

"Which is the worst division, the absolute bloodiest bloody?"

"The 15th, sir."

"I'm going round to call on them. You carry on; you know what you have to do."

"I--I--if I might suggest, sir, I shouldn't. They're almost in open mutiny."

"That's how I like them." He picked up his gloves and hat, and walked to the door, where he paused for a second. "Look out for cheering from the 15th division, Old Un," he said, and went out.

"Trumpeter, come with me; not you, orderly--only Sykes there. On for a lark, William?"

"Yes, sir," from the trumpeter, a friend of many campaigns.

"Come on, then," and mounting his horse he rode away through the driving rain, the trumpeter following at some distance. At length they reached an open space, deep in slush, in which could be seen lying rusty rifles and accoutrements. These had been thrown down by their owners, who were now in the surrounding tents, where they lay sleeping or cursing their officers.

In the centre of the square Graeme stopped.

"Fifteenth division this, ain't it, Sykes?" he asked the trumpeter.

"That's her, sir," answered the man. "Gawd! look at them guns."

"Tu-whoo, tu-whoo then, bust yourself."

"What's it to be, sir?"

"We'll start with reveille."

Without a word, Sykes raised his trumpet and blew, the first notes evoking a faint "booing" from the closed tents. This ceased, however, as the call continued, and it dawned upon the hearers that it was the reveille sounding at three o'clock in the afternoon. Soon a few heads were thrust out to ascertain what the unusual departure portended.

"Again, William," and a second time the notes rang out. More heads appeared, followed by bodies, and then there was a general exodus from the tents. All faces were turned toward the quaint figure in the middle of the parade ground, and faint sounds of mirth arose.

"Laughing, that's something, anyway," muttered Graeme; "now the 'Assembly' quick, Bill."

The man obeyed. The figures hesitated for a moment, a buzz of conversation arose, and then a few came lounging forward. The remainder, a lead having once been given, followed, till a sea of sullen upturned faces surrounded the pair.

"Men of the 15th division," said Graeme, regarding them. "I'm the Commander-in-chief. 'Mad Jack' they call me. Allow me to introduce myself." He took off his hat and bowed all round.

There was a puzzled silence, broken by a voice:

"Go to 'ell! We don't want no bloody Commander-in-Chiefs 'ere."

Graeme turned, and for a second sat looking at the speaker, a pale-faced Cockney; then, pulling out his revolver, he forced his way to where the man was standing, and shot him through the head. After this, wheeling his horse about, he faced each section of the crowd in turn, with the smoking weapon brandished in his hand. Back surged the mob, growling and calling on their leaders, but one was now gone and the others failed to appear.

"Dogs!" shouted Graeme, "hounds! Oh, snarl away if you like; it's all you can do, and I'm not afraid of you, though I'm only one against your thousands. Small wonder you got beat last night; they're soldiers yonder, but you, you're only jackals, noisy enough when there's no fighting, but slinking to your holes once a gun's fired. Hullo, you want to speak, do you?" pressing forward again; "out with it then."

"Nuthin', sir, I ain't got no call to say nothink."

"Forgotten it, eh? Funny how one does sometimes. Anyone else got a call to say anything, what, no one? Then I have," and thereupon Hector proceeded to let loose on the now silent crowd a torrent of blasphemous abuse, before which their own limited vocabularies sank ashamed. For full five minutes the flow poured on unchecked, nor was a single epithet repeated, and gradually at such proficiency a faint feeling of admiration dawned in his hearers' hearts, and replaced their former resentment. In this, at all events, he was their master, and, their minds admitting it, they listened in silence, with growing interest on their faces.

Graeme, noting the change, thereupon abandoned the mere bludgeon work of vituperation--for of sarcasm, knowing soldiers, not one word had he uttered--and then, discussing the matter in the light of cold common sense, he asked them if they wished for death, death at the lance-point and sabre, for such would assuredly be theirs in their present helpless state. On a memory that never failed he drew now, giving them many instances of what flight with cavalry in pursuit meant, painting its horrors in terms that caused a general feeling of uneasiness.

While he spoke, Graeme was closely watching them--waiting for the change of mood when he could make the final effort. Till then he knew he must refrain from an appeal to the emotions, which proves irresistible when the ground is ready, but when made too soon only excites ridicule.

At last it came. A voice from the crowd said: "We aren't afraid of no green-coats, we're Englishmen," a speech that was followed by a murmur of applause. At the sound Graeme stopped, the thrill running through him that every orator knows when he feels that his audience is his.

For a moment his throat seemed to close, and his heart to swell in his breast; then off went his hat, and he stood bareheaded before them, holding up his hand in an appeal for silence. Shouts of "Order" arose, and then there was a hush. For a few seconds Hector sat motionless, gazing over their heads with eyes blurred with tears, and then, as if fire were running through his veins, he threw back his head and spoke. With a face pale with exaltation, with eyes alight and grey hair streaming in the wind, he addressed them--his voice now sinking to a whisper, now rising to a shout.

"Men, soldiers of England," he concluded, "the eyes of those who love you are on you now. They are misty with tears for your wounds, men; they run over with water for the dead. But torn with grief though they are, that grief is tempered with pride, for those they mourn have given their lives for the Flag. Will you change that pride into shame, men? Will you bring disgrace on your homes?"

Fustian, emotional fustian, of the lowest, but now was the time and here the audience for fustian.

"No. No."

"We ain't no cowards."

"Take us there; we're ready for 'em, sir."

"I will. That's what I've come here to tell you, for fight you shall, and this time, men, it's not defeat, but ... victory. I promise it you.... I----"

He got no further, for at the word a roar burst from the men, whose faces were white with emotion, and caps were thrown in the air. Then again there was silence, for Hector's hand a second time was raised. "Now, go back to your lines, pick up those arms lying there in the mud"--a rush for the discarded weapons--"you'll want them soon enough. See, the rain has stopped and the sun is shining. Go and get ready."

The crowd melted away, leaving Graeme and the trumpeter alone, save for a rigid figure lying huddled in the mud, with a blue mark on its forehead. With tired eyes Hector looked around him, for he was worn out and shaken with the strain of his emotions.

"Sykes, I'm done, tired out."

"Why not 'ave a sleep, sir?"

"Why not? You're right, I will. We must get rid of that, though, first," glancing down; "it's as poisonous dead as alive. Here you," he called to a passing sergeant, who instantly came running up at the summons, and, smartly saluting, stood at attention before him, "take that away, and bury it. Dig a hole anywhere and shove it in."

The man touched the corpse with his foot contemptuously. "Very good, sir," he answered, "I'll have him put in the refuse pit--best place for 'im. Glad he's dead, sir; he was the cause of 'arf the trouble."

Graeme made no answer, but rode away, with a cynical look on his face, for he had seen the speaker amongst his late audience, as sullen-looking and mutinous as any; but there was no purpose to be gained by alluding to that now. He passed on, through the lines of tents--alive with men, polishing, cleaning, now and again bursting into snatches of song--and made his way back to his tent, where he found Glover awaiting him, with a face of contrition.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said. "I didn't know you were going out, or I'd have been ready. I tried to find you, but no one knew where you had gone."

"I didn't want you, Bobby," answered Graeme. "I shan't till ten to-night. Be here then with the horses and one orderly. I don't wish a crowd."

"Your dinner, sir?"

"Bring a bottle when you come. I shan't want anything till then. I'm going to sleep." He turned into the tent, closed the flap, and lying down on the bed, covered himself with rugs and blankets. "Stara," he murmured, "I want sleep; give it to me." He sighed, smiled happily, and then almost instantly fell asleep.

* * * * *

Darkness fell, and confused sounds began to arise from the camp. They soon swelled to a clamour: words of command were heard; the clang of rifle-butts; then the steady tramp of marching feet and the rumble of passing wheels. The army was starting on its way. The hours flew by, the beat of feet and rattle of wheels died to a dull murmur, and ceased.

The heap of rugs stirred and were cast aside. Graeme got up, unfastened the tent-flaps, and looked out.

The muffling canopy of storm-clouds was gone from overhead, leaving the black vault a-glitter with a myriad points of flame. It was Christmas Eve and freezing hard.

Through the darkness a figure loomed dimly, its footsteps crushing the rapidly hardening ground.

"That you, Glover?"

"No, sir, it's I--Godwin, may I come in? It's urgent." He lowered his voice as he spoke.

"Men refused to turn out?"

"No, sir, no trouble at all. It seems what you said to the 15th division has gone all over the camp, and----"

"Bah! What is it then?"

"Two cables, sir, one for you and one for Sir Thomas. You told me to bring any that came. You have the cipher, sir."

"Yes, hand them over and wait outside." He tore open the envelopes, and with the aid of the cipher read the contents in turn, that addressed to Moleyns first. It bore no signature.

"Acted on your suggestion," it ran; "wire again if necessary."

"Oh, have you?" muttered Graeme, "and now for the suggestion." He opened the second. It came from Whitehall, and was signed "Gribble."

"Commence retreat to coast at once; on no account assume offensive."

Graeme stared at the paper for a moment, and then laughed.

"I suppose," he said slowly, "there are some who might obey that. I ... won't."

He tore the cables into small pieces, and striking a match carefully burnt the fragments.

"Godwin," he called, "old Gneisenau, come in."

"What is it, sir? Nothing serious, I hope?"

"Serious be hanged, nothing is serious in this life, haven't you found that out in your sixty years? It's all a big joke, Old Un, with someone overhead splitting his sides over it. We don't laugh sometimes, because we're fools; but we should, if we were wise. Ah, there's Bobby outside with the bottle. Come in, Bobby, and fill the glasses. It may be the last we'll have together, and this time to-morrow we'll be laughing at the moon as we pass. We'll have wings up there, Long Nose, bloody wings, and a harp apiece. God! I'll be a trial to the bandmaster, I'll never get the damned thing in tune, give me a month of Sundays to do it. Pop! there she goes; fill up and drink. Here's the bloody toast:

"Damnation to our green friends yonder, and a rope to their best friend, Lawyer Quibble, Secretary of State for War. He'll have it too, when I get back, I promise him.

"But that's treason, Bobby, or near it, anyway, so I'll change it to one we can all drink.

"Here's to the one gentleman in the whole scurvy crowd--the King." He paused. Then with a loud cry of "The King! The King!" he drained his glass, dashed it to the ground, and rushing out of the tent, he mounted his waiting horse, and galloped away into the night.

*CHAPTER XXVI*

The shadow of death hovered over the sleeping armies. But a few miles apart they lay, thousand upon thousand, covering the frozen earth like a pall--the one exultant with victory gained, and eager for the morning to reap their harvest, the other equally eager and equally confident. But Death, looking down, laughed, well pleased. What mattered to him the paltry triumph of green or red. His feast he knew was assured.

The hours passed, the darkness deepened, and then rapidly began to fade, the splendour of the stars dulled. A figure--one of three British soldiers lying apart from the rest--stirred in his sleep, and suddenly awoke. He sat up, with a loud clanging in his ears, for the telephone-bell at his feet had spoken sharply, and now it was ringing again, a continuous vibrating sound.

The signal for the curtain's rising had come.

"That you, Sir Hector?" breathed a voice along the wires, that of Lord Fellowes, five miles ahead. "I'm going on, sir."

A quarter of an hour, half an hour, three-quarters of an hour passed, but still the silence remained unbroken, though the black was all grey now. Then suddenly Graeme sprang up, his body quivering and his eyes staring ahead.

"Surely that was a shot? And, yes, another; heavy firing now and--and it is--it is cheering. They've done it," and Hector pounced on the sleeping Godwin and shook him awake.

"Bloody victory!" he shouted. "D'ye hear, Old Slugabed? Get up, blast you, and rouse the army. Bring 'em on at a double after me, Hearts of Oak leading, don't forget that. Sound the 'rouse,' Trumpeter; Bobby, come on with me," and away flew Graeme to his horse, the high notes of the bugles now ringing through the dawn--their sound soon to be drowned in the swelling roar of the waking army.

"Forward, forward," he shouted, and was gone, swallowed up in the icy morning mist. His horse's hoofs rang on the iron-bound road, as he thundered on to the ridge ahead, whence a confused shouting was heard, punctuated with the dull thudding of shots and the scream of dying horses. On he rushed, the ridge rising darkly before him, and then he was at its foot, and up and through the trees that clothed it, his horse shying at prone green figures and grim silent shapes of guns.

At length he reached the top and drew rein, looking down into a huge cauldron of mist beyond, where a mighty conflict was now raging--a strange phantasmagoria of overturned tents, riderless horses, and fleeing phantom shapes of men.

Truly, a merry Christmas for Uriel, lying still and silent, with a broken bayonet in his breast, and his erstwhile jubilant army a shrieking mob of fugitives.

In his dreams death had found him, for the pickets, believing only too readily his and their officers' words concerning British demoralisation, had abandoned the irksome duty of watching, and, soundly sleeping, had, like him, died where they lay. And over their dead bodies the Guards had rushed, pouring into the sleeping camps, stabbing the half-naked wretches as they sat up blinking at the bayonets, and, loudly laughing, chased such as fled, pouncing on them when they tripped and fell over the tent-ropes.

Lead by Mike Curran in person, a band of Irishmen had headed straight for the Headquarter marquee, and in a second the ropes were cut and the mass of canvas billowing on the ground. Into this men were now thrusting bayonets and officers emptying revolvers, till through the white canvas red patches began to show, which rapidly spread till they merged into one great crimson pool, and the writhings and groanings ceased.

Through the artillery and cavalry lines the skirted Highlanders were running, some busy hamstringing the fast-tethered horses, whose screams rang high and shrill above the uproar, others killing the hapless owners, as they ran confusedly to and fro searching for sword, lance, or carbine with which to defend themselves.

Beyond, barring escape to the north, east, and west, the cavalry divisions were leisurely sweeping across the plain, picking up, as they rode, such as sought refuge by flight from the death behind.

As Graeme looked, a loud shout of joy burst from his lips. "Coney's Drift again," he roared, "oh, where, where are my Hearts of Oak? Turn them loose in this; give them a taste of blood, and they're made. They'll think it's all like this. Ah! here they are," as, panting and breathless, a brigade of pale-faced volunteers came running up, gasping with haste and astonishment at what they saw. "Leu in! Leu in!" he cried; "have at 'em, boys, worry, worry!" and thereupon, with loud cries of delight, off rushed the Hearts of Oak, tugging at their bayonets as they ran. Graeme sat down and rocked with laughter.

"God, but it will be the death of me, this," he gasped. "Hullo, Long Nose, you're here, are you? Good, I wouldn't have you miss this for the world. Oh, look, man, look! See that tall chap there? He's prodded his man three times, and ain't settled him yet.

"Holy God, what's _he_ up to, I wonder, he is--blow me tight--he _is_ going through his man's pockets. That ain't cricket quite, my friend; but never mind, it will make his pals all the keener when they see that watch.

"Ha! here are the regulars coming up; they'll be on to it too in a minute. Damn, but the whole army will be all over the place if we don't watch it. Hi, you blokes there," turning to a group of staff officers who were now standing behind him, "three of you hurry off to Fellowes. Tell him when he's finished to get his men together--not before he's finished though, mind. Two more of you round up the Hearts of Oak; take care they don't shoot you though; they're after loot, and fierce. The rest of you cut away to the other divisions and tell them to halt as they come up. Godwin."

"Yes, sir."

"That's our position over there," pointing to a long line of wooded hills two miles ahead. "As soon as Fellowes has drawn off, bring the whole lot on there and post them as I told you. Three divisions and six batteries to line its length, the reserve in the centre behind that conical hill there. Tell the three divisions to dig themselves in at once; they'll have a thin time if they don't.

"Move as quick as you can; it's close on eight, and Gabriel will be thereabouts by one. There's Fellowes' lot getting together now. I'm going on with the cavalry; join me when you've finished by that tree there. Come, Bobby," and Graeme galloped off, threading his way through the muddle of fallen tents and corpses, the Guards roaring a welcome as he passed. When clear of the ruined camp he joined Maitland, the cavalry commander.

"What sport, Maitland?"

"A few, sir; nothing much."

"No prisoners, I hope."

"None, sir."

"Come on then," and the two rode off together, the cavalry following in line of brigade mass, the ground being open and going good.

The plain crossed, the force halted and dismounted, Graeme, Maitland, and the two A.D.C.'s ascending the ridge, from the top of which the country could be seen for miles ahead and around.

The line of hills--on the highest point of which they now stood--was about five miles in length, rocky in parts, and sparsely covered with trees. Through the centre, close beside them, lay the road to the north, along which, fifteen miles distant, Gabriel was known to be advancing; while far away to the left could be seen a double line of trees, marking the course of the Western Road. In front of them spread a wide open plain, similar to that they had just traversed, but crossed, parallel to their front and some two thousand yards away, by a brook, or small river, with steep, overhanging banks. Towards this the ground fell gently, subsequently rising till it reached another ridge, four miles away, which was also crossed about its centre by the Northern Road. The passage over the brook was by a small wooden bridge.

To the right and left the country was open for miles; the left, however, being scantily covered with trees, which became thicker until they formed a dense woodland, and somewhere in this Roy was now lying, waiting for Michael.

Graeme surveyed the scene through his glasses, and regarded for some minutes the ridge ahead, where a faint twinkle could now and again be seen.

"Enemy there," he muttered, "cavalry, a good many of them too. Have to turn them out of that, Maitland. Too close--see everything."

"I'll go now, sir," said Maitland, turning.

"And look here, when you've outed them, hold on to that ridge for a bit. No heavy losses, mind; your time for that's later. Just tickle up Gabriel, matador him, make him mad to come on. Then join the reserve."

Maitland went, and soon from below the sound of movement arose from the waiting cavalry. A word of command rang out, taken up by other voices; then followed a loud clatter and jingle as over the hill, close beside Graeme and Glover, passed a cavalry division, which, on reaching the level beneath, trotted briskly forward.

"Thud, thud, thud" came in instant greeting from the enemy's horse artillery on the ridge ahead, followed later by the stuttering of a maxim and then by a crackle of musketry.

The leading squadrons opened out fanwise, their front being now well-nigh a mile in breadth; from a trot they broke into a canter, then into a gallop, as they resolutely pressed on, despite the storm beating in their faces. Small dark heaps began to strew the ground; tiny figures could be seen running and clutching at the trailing reins of the now numerous loose horses, or holding sturdily on to the stirrup-leathers of more fortunate comrades.

The rattle swelled to a roar, for magazine fire, the last hope, had opened; the clamour of the guns rose to one continuous rapid thudding, and then suddenly ceased. The thin, clear notes of bugles sounding the charge were borne back on the breeze, followed by a faint echo of cheering, and over the distant ridge surged the black tide of horsemen, their swords flashing and lance-points glittering as they rose and fell.

Graeme chuckled as he looked. "Ha, ha, Old Un," he said, turning to Godwin, who had ridden up some minutes before, "that's one up, ain't it, for the military expert? The term 'sabres' has lost its meaning, has it, cavalry in the future must rely on rifles?[#] Poor old weak-kneed Army Council! Thank the Lord, I never would have it, though they threatened to break me if I didn't. What have you got to say, eh? You were one of the Whitehall lights at the time, you know."

[#] Referring to a work by one Colonel Caldwell, at the time of its writing a garrison artillery man. This masterpiece, probably in deference to the British civilian public, who at that time developed views on military matters, was for a while adopted as the text-book for officers' promotion examinations in India till saner councils prevailed, when it, and not the sword and lance, were relegated to obscurity. During the short period of its existence, however, it was successful in doing an infinity of harm. This and a somewhat similar effort by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle exemplify the folly of writing on current events till sufficient time has elapsed to allow of the mind being cleansed of purely personal impressions.

"It was a fine performance, sir, though a bit risky, don't you think?"

"That's what cavalry are for, my friend. Stop their taking risks and they're useless. Army up yet?" he asked abruptly.

"They're nearly all here, sir. The three divisions and the batteries are now digging themselves in. There are some of them, sir," pointing to a group of khaki-clad figures close by busy with picks and shovels.

"All we want now, then, is old Gabriel. Hope he will come on, and not wait for Michael. That would dish us rather."

"I don't think you need fear that, sir; the two, I happen to know, have little love for each other. It's jealousy, sir; they've been rivals for years. Gabriel would sacrifice Michael, or Michael Gabriel, without the smallest hesitation."

"Good heavens, man," said Graeme, turning furiously on him, "here's information I'd have given a thousand pounds for, and you casually mention it as if it were of no consequence whatever. How do you know it, though?"

"I've relations in the country, sir, and they know both men. I'd have told you if I'd thought it of consequence, sir."

"Of consequence? It's the whole blessed thing. It makes it a certainty, can't you see? Why, but for knowing it I might have shoved on to meet Gabriel--a risky job with my lot. Now I sit here and smoke my cigarette in peace. Hullo, hear that?" suddenly gripping Godwin by the arm, and staring westward, whence a faint dull boom had sounded.

"It must be Roy, sir."

"Of course it's Roy, don't be an obvious fool. There it is again," as a second dull boom was heard, followed by another, and then more, merging into a low, intermittent muttering.

"It's begun now, Old Un--seconds out of the ring, first round, time. See there," pointing ahead, "Maitland's helio going; what does he say, you?" to the officer in charge of the Headquarter signalling station close by, whose own helio was now clicking violently in answer. The man spelt out the message, rapidly jotting it down as it came, and then brought it over to Graeme.

"To C.-in-C. (it ran) from O. C. Cavalry:

"Patrols report large column advancing North Road, about eight miles distant. Artillery fire heard towards west."

"Eight miles only. Gad, but Gabriel's shoving on. Here, Bobby, give me a cigarette, and don't talk to me, either of you, till I've finished. You'll upset me for the day if you do." He lay back and luxuriously proceeded to fill his lungs with smoke, his eyes closing in great content.

"Message for you, sir, just come in," and a staff officer stood before him holding out a missive.

"Eh, what?" answered Hector dreamily, and then burst out in sudden fury: "Go to hell, sir, take your damned letter away and yourself too. I'm having my first cigarette, blast you!"

Nonplussed, the officer stood staring, then, catching Godwin's warning eye, handed him the letter and turned on his heel, with a sneer on his face.

"Good sort of Commander-in-Chief, that," he muttered, "can't read an important despatch because he's smoking a cigarette. Thank God for old Godwin and Fellowes, that's all I can say. Beakey must be a blooming wonder; no one thought it of him before this, either," and thus reflecting he joined a group of his _confreres_, who were fidgeting about in rear, anxious to do something, and to whom he proceeded to retail his reception by the Commander-in-Chief.

"Read it out, Old Un, I've finished," said Hector, regretfully discarding the last atom of the cigarette.

"It's from General Roy, sir, headed from Blay. He says, 'Taken up a position here. Enemy three miles distant and coming on.'"

"Blay," repeated Graeme, "that's about twelve miles from here. They've been at it now for close on an hour, and it's getting pretty hot, judging from that," looking as he spoke towards the west, where the intermittent cannonading had now become a steady, continuous rolling. "Hullo, there's Maitland begun," as the sudden sharp rapping of a maxim came from the ridge ahead, mingled with a few scattered shots, and then heavy firing. "Noisy lot of devils they all are--on Christmas Day too! Peace on earth and goodwill towards men. Lord, what a row. Ha! there's his helio; look sharp with it. Well?"

"From O. C. Cavalry, to C.-in-C.:

"Enemy's advanced guard attacking me. Cavalry, infantry, and guns. Shall hold on for a bit, and then fall back."

"That firing to the west's getting louder, seems coming this way. God! it will be a near thing. Ah! there's Maitland coming back, about time too, I should say. Lord, what a stampede; and, by Jove, there are the enemy at last, up on the hill he's left, shooting after them. Shoot away and be hanged to you. Ha, ha, like that, do you?" as the six batteries in position on the ridge on which he was standing suddenly roared out together, and the crest ahead grew blurred with a mist of white smoke starred with tiny sparkles of flame.

"Keep it up, keep it up," he shouted, "long as you can; it's the last chance you'll have, for outed you'll be soon enough once Gabriel gets on to you. That's part of the game, though; if I made you too strong you might check Gabriel, and I don't want old Gabriel checked. I want him here."

"They've cleared, sir," said Godwin, suddenly pointing to the hill ahead, whence the figures had now disappeared. "No, there they are again--guns, sir, the whole crest's bristling with them."

"Time for umbrellas then, Old Un," answered Graeme, rising and sauntering away to a rock hard by; "it's going to rain pretty hard, and that rain will hurt if it hits. Come along, Bobby, what'll I do for cigarettes if you get outed?" and reaching the rock he flung himself down behind it, the other two crouching beside him.

Then with a sudden earthquake roar the storm burst, and the ridge seemed to tremble and rock. Over the sun a curtain seemed to fall; the green landscape vanished from before their eyes, hidden by a thick pall of sulphurous smoke, torn with crimson flame and alive with flying fragments of iron.

Crashing and shrieking, the huge shells thundered down on the quaking ground, throwing up great fountains of earth and splintered stone, splitting the trees, and seaming the green hill with ragged brown wounds.

Faintly to be heard through the tumult, the sharp thudding of the defenders' guns sounded in defiant answer, rapid and well-sustained at first, then intermittent, and at last sinking into silence. But still the tempest roared on, increasing in fury till blackness shrouded the vision and the brain was numb from the continuous crash and hammer of iron on stone.

A cloud of black stinking smoke eddied round the rock, under the lee of which the three were crouching, with handkerchiefs bound round their mouths and eyes streaming with grimy tears.

Glover's face was white and scared; on Godwin's there was a look of studied calm; Graeme was staring out, his eyes vainly trying to pierce the murk before him. A touch on his foot from behind made him start and look round to where a staff officer, who had just crawled up, was holding out a paper.

"Message from General Roy," he shouted.

"What? Speak louder, can't you? Oh, from Roy; give it here," and taking the missive he tore it open and read:

"Heavily engaged. Forced to fall back to avoid being surrounded. At least six divisions against me. Enemy's losses very heavy."

"Don't mention yours, I notice. God damn it, if only this infernal smoke would clear away and I could see what Gabriel's up to. Row seems to be slackening a bit; must be his infantry coming on. Ah, at last, a breeze," as a sudden puff of wind moaned through the shattered trees, and then, growing stronger, tore away the muffling veil, and he could see.

A cry of delight broke from his lips at what he saw, for the plain in front was no longer empty, but covered with line upon line of green-clad infantry, rapidly advancing. The leading ranks--being more or less opened out--were already almost up to the brook, but behind them came dense masses of men, and beyond these, descending the hill, three huge columns, the whole surging forward like some rolling dark-green sea.

"Means to rush us, Godwin," said Hector, "walk right over us. You're a trump, Gabriel, old man."

"That firing to the west is coming nearer, sir."

"I know it is, so does Gabriel; that's what's bringing him on so fast, the jealous old dog."

Hector was right, for the sound of the hourly swelling roar of the western battle was rapidly goading Gabriel to frenzy. This victory was his--his, not Michael's. It was all but won now, for no longer did the British guns answer his, and though their infantry might make some show of resistance, still that could be but short-lived, for half of them were volunteers, demoralised, moreover, as his information had told him, and not for a moment capable of withstanding such troops as his.

True, they had managed to destroy Uriel, but this, though possibly unfortunate for Uriel, might nevertheless be viewed in the light of a blessing, for by his death the British had been encouraged to stand, and had thus given themselves into his hands; also, Uriel was one of the Michael faction, and worthless, as were all that gang.

If only Michael too could be beaten--he was having a hard time out there to the west, he knew--well, perhaps if fortune were kind, he would be, and the Emperor no longer be blinded to his own superior merits. But then a message had been received from that same Michael, telling not of defeat, but success, and his hopes of being in time to aid Gabriel in his battle; at this, Gabriel had thrown all remnants of prudence to the winds. Scorning reserves, he launched his whole force to the attack, shouting to his generals to rush their men on, and not to mind the losses, assuring them that before them lay a beaten army, to crush which they had only to press on.

Gabriel having, despite the one fatal flaw in his nature, the soul of a great leader, the spirit that possessed him was felt in the hearts of his followers, and forward they rushed, ignoring distance and interval, for these meant delay, and delay was not now to be thought of. Into the brook's swollen waters plunged the leading lines, their weapons held aloft as they struggled through the torrent, and then, shaking themselves like dogs, they hurried on to the smoking ridge ahead.

Fifteen hundred, one thousand yards only lay between, and with the lessening of the distance the thunder from behind slackened, and then, but for the tramp of feet, all was silent.

Then suddenly from among the trees a whistle blew, its shrill piping echoed by others, and at the sound that battered shot-torn hill awoke to life.

From crumbling trench and lead-splashed stones a line of thin brown tubes rose up, wavered for a moment distractedly, and then together came down, and row upon row of tiny, steel-ringed eyes peered inquiringly on the green waves rolling towards them.

A second time the whistle was blown, which was again taken up to right and left; and then the heavy silence was broken by the scream of cordite and the stammering voice of maxims.

The leading ranks of the enemy went down, some falling forward on their faces with a groan--this was death--others reeling sideways to the ground, where they lay writhing and shrieking in the torture of splintered bone or bullet-ripped vitals.

Those checked in rear flung themselves down, their hands tugging at buckled cartridge-belts, but in a second their officers were on them, kicking them up and driving them on with shouts and curses, and once more the lines surged slowly forward, men dropping in hundreds as they came.

"Two messages from General Roy, sir," shouted a voice in Hector's ear; "they came within a few minutes of each other, sir." The speaker's voice was strained and his face white.

Graeme opened them in turn. The first ran:

"Lost half my force and all guns. Enemy's losses enormous; shall hold on here till all is over. Done my best.--Roy."

Hector's face was unmoved as he read. He opened the second:

"General Roy dead. All lost.--Maddox, Captain."

"Just where you're out, my friend," muttered Hector; "it's all won now."

"What does he say, sir?" asked Godwin.

"Nothing much. He's done what I wanted. Michael's had his bellyful."

"Wh--what are those, sir?" came suddenly from Glover, staring towards the west. "They're wearing our uniform, but ... God!"

Together Graeme and Godwin looked towards the spot at which the boy was pointing, and saw far away to the left a scattered band emerging from the trees. A band of fugitives they were, seemingly, some thousand in all, without order or semblance of order. Over their heads shells were bursting, and clouds of dust were flying up around their feet; but, unheeding, they slowly toiled on, till at last they were hidden from view behind the left of the ridge upon which the three stood watching.

"It--it's Roy's force," stammered Godwin, "all that's left of twenty thousand men."

"Well, what of it?" snapped Graeme. "We knew that would happen, didn't we? You old corncrake you, what's the good of crying over it? Can't you see he's won the battle for us. Look there, look at Michael's force after him; see what a mob they are, bad as the lot they're pursuing. Thank ye, Roy, the goose is cooked and now we'll eat it--for I'm hungry." His teeth bared in a grin. "Come on, and God help Gabriel now."

* * * * *

The leading ranks of the enemy were now but a few hundred yards distant--ragged lines of weary, smoke-blackened men dragging painfully onward. Behind them thick, green-clad masses, all pressing forward to assured triumph, on towards those grimy figures, now opening on them with magazine.

On they came, cheering lustily, their ranks glittering with bayonet and waving sword, but even as victory's laurel seemed within their grip the god of battles averted his head, and Death sat grinning in their faces.

For the ridge in front was now echoing to the blast of bugles and the shrill tone of pipes, and at the summons the crouching khaki-clad figures rose up together and stood looking calmly down upon them. And as the green men halted, wondering what this might mean, with a shattering roar the hidden batteries of the reserve, silent so long, flamed into life, cleaving wide lanes in the crowd below, till their cheering ceased and died.

"Charge!" clanged the bugles again, and obeying, carrying the lines forward with them, the mass of the reserve came pouring over the hill, fresh and thirsty for battle--a solid phalanx bristling with sharp, gleaming bayonets.

For one moment, and for one only, the green men stood, wildly firing in the face of the approaching host, who paid no heed, but with one loud pealing shout of triumph rushed on, a living wave of steel, and rolled like a sea over the now terror-stricken masses. Away to the left, Michael and his men, toiling on in pursuit, heard the uproar, and as they took in its meaning stopped and hesitated.

"March to the guns" is the soldiers' motto all the world over, and here were guns thundering in their ears, comrades too in dire need of assistance. But ... yet ... bad as was the case, their own was nearly as desperate, for Roy and his men had done their work right well, and of Michael's eighty thousand barely ten thousand had been scraped together for pursuit.

While they stood debating, the cry of "Back!" arose from the rear: "Back! back! see the cavalry waiting for us," and straightway the groups, glad at heart, turned, and that same night were tramping hurriedly away whence they came.... Gabriel was abandoned to his fate. And the hand of that fate was heavy on Gabriel this Christmas evening, as he stood looking down with desperate eyes on what, only one short hour before, had been a jubilant army, but was now a shrieking, terrified herd of humanity.

Almost superhuman efforts had he and his staff made to turn the tide, to show a front, even to form a rear-guard, but in vain. With his own self-control had also gone his and his officers' hold over the army; by his own orders had the reins of discipline been abandoned, and, strive as he and they might now, they had passed from his hands never to be recovered. Plainly he could see now, so very plainly, the simple trap into which he had fallen; like some maddened bull in the arena he had rushed at the red flag held out, and fallen on the sword behind, and as he stood staring down on the welter below, a horror of despair came upon Gabriel and the will to live died. He raised his hand, fired, and fell.

Far away, on the ridge opposite, his figure sharp-cut against the pale green of the sky, the British leader stood watching, with madness in his eyes also--but the madness of a great triumph, and not of despair. For here was glory at last--glory such as crowns the very few. But a few short hours, and English steeples would be rocking with the clash of joy-bells, and the voice of an empire would be shouting his name to the skies. The adoration of a multitude, the approval of a King--all, all was his. Ah! to die now, now when glory's gold was untarnished, and the green of laurel fresh. "God kill me now, now," he breathed, and with the prayer came the answer. A blinding flash overhead, the snap of a breaking harpstring, and Hector was down on the frozen ground, life's bright crimson bubbling from his breast.

In a second an arm was thrust beneath him where he lay, with his head fallen back on a khaki-clad shoulder. Green eyes, horrified and appalled, looked down into the dimming violet of a dying man's.

"Old Un," he gasped, "that--that you? What's h--happened, Old Un?"

"Shrapnel, sir, burst right over you. I--I am afraid you're hurt, sir. Oh, fetch that doctor, damn you, damn you."

"Old Un, you're crying, blast you. There are tears running down that long nose of yours. You look damned absurd. What's the harm in dying?"

"No, no. Oh, will you hurry?"

"Shut up. I'll be gone before he comes. Put your bill closer, I--I want to say something; a bloody swan sings when he's dying, Old Un, and I--I can't shout. Where the devil are ye? I can't see you."

"Here, sir, close beside you," sobbed the other.

"The devil's got his own at last, Godwin. D'ye hear him chuckling, the old Satan? Ha! ha! Chuckle away, my friend; I'm not afraid; I'll twist your tail yet, blast ye. Old Un."

"Yes, yes."

"I'll tell you something, Old Un, it's about the ghost. It was all delusion, I know it now, death's laid the bloody phantom at last. But come closer--closer. There was one thing real--no delusion, old boy, I loved something once--a child--my own, sh--she was blind. Will that count, d'ye think, where I'm going?"

"Of course it will, sir. God----"

"Damn your preaching, I want her--not G--God. A--ah!" His voice suddenly rose to a scream, and he sat up, stretching out his arms. "She's there--and--and look, Old Un, she sees, she sees. Ruby! Ruby!" and Hector Graeme fell back dead.