Chapter LV: Retribution

The following day saw Jim joggling down the miry way to Balaclava Harbour on a French mule-cacolet. He had said good-bye to the others in camp, and begged his father not to venture down into the inferno again. So the Colonel sent his own servant in charge of him, with full instructions where to find the boat Captain Jolly had promised to have waiting.

The hopeless confusion in the little harbour appalled Jim, and the dank misery of the rows of wounded men awaiting shipment, with ill-bound wounds, cold blue faces, and heavy hopeless eyes, chilled him to the heart.

And suddenly a familiar face caught his eye, and he stopped the mule and sat up.

"Why, Seth, old chap! I'm sorry to see you like this"--for Seth's left leg was gone, and the roughly bandaged stump stuck out forlornly along the ground.

"My fightin's done, Mester Jim. 'Twere a shell took it off in the battery."

"When are you going over?"

"God knows, We bin waiting over a week."

"An' dyin' as quick as we could, just to save 'em trouble," said his neighbour.

"I wish I could take you all," said Jim, and the bleached leather faces turned wistfully on him. "But I can take one, and I must take you, Seth. You understand, boys: he's from my own part, and twice he's saved my life."

"That's right, sir. You take 'im home, and God bless you! Wish there was more like you! We'll die off as quick as we can, just to save 'em trouble," said the jocular one, who had lost both an arm and a leg. "If they ask where 'e is we'll tell 'em 'e's gone on in front to engage us quarters."

"Lift him in," said Jim, and with the assistance of the bystanders Seth was lifted into the other side of the cacolet.

An official came hurrying up with a brusque, "Now then, what's all this?"

"Oh, go and hang yourself!" said Jim, sinking back wearily. "Can't you see I'm saving you trouble by taking him off your hands?"

"Yes--but----"

"Go ahead!" said Jim, and left the other staring after them.

Captain jolly's boat was waiting for them, and presently they were swung up on to the deck of the _Carnbrea_.

"So you've both come, after all?" said the hearty old fellow to Jim, who came up first.

Jim explained, and the captain said he had done quite right, and they would find a corner for Seth between decks, though they were pretty full already; and then he helped him across to a seat by the wheel, and the _Carnbrea_ crept away out of the noisome harbour at once, and Jim counted no less than six dead horses, washing about in the water or cast up on the rocks, before the sweet salt air outside gave him something better to think about.

They passed the warships, and a multitude of vessels hanging about outside, and the monastery perched up on the cliff, and the white lighthouse at the point, and presently, through a rift in the dull November sky, the sun shone red on Sebastopol, and set it all aglow. Here and there, on its outer edge, there were little cotton-woolly puffs of white smoke, and the plateau behind was dotted with similar ones.

Captain Jolly was as good as his name and Colonel Carron's opinion of him. He made Jim very much at home, got him to tell him all he could about the great charge, and in return gave his own free and unrestrained opinions on men and things in general, with a special excursus on harbour masters and transport officials.

"Too many head cooks--that's what's the matter, and not a man below 'em dare lift his little finger unless he's got permission in writing. Why, sirs, there's things rotting there in that harbour that'd be worth their weight in gold up above, but it's nobody's business to send 'em up, and there they stop. It's a crying shame and--and an infernal sin! What do you say to it all, doctor?"

This was a grave, thin-faced young fellow who had joined them in the cabin for a cup of tea, and Captain Jolly had simply introduced him with a wink as Dr. Subrosa.

"It's heartbreaking," he said, with deepest feeling. "We have lost thousands of good men from sheer want of the simplest necessaries, and almost every one of them might have been saved. For weeks I had not a single drug except alum! Think of it! And to see those poor fellows in torture, and dying like flies, when you knew you could save them if you could only lay your hands on the proper remedies!"

"I'll be bound there's piles of all you wanted stowed away in Balaclava somewhere," said the captain.

"I fear so. I came down, day after day--and it was no easy matter, I can assure you--and begged them to give me any mortal thing they had for my fevers and rheumatisms and diarrh[oe]as; and the reply was always just a parrot-like 'Haven't any--Haven't any--Haven't any,'--till I would willingly have poisoned every man who said it. They're getting calloused to it all, and, as Captain Jolly says, not a man among them dare lift his finger without a written order."

"Take my own case," he said, turning to Jim. "The continuous wear and tear, and the constant sight of nothing but sickness and death and broken men, were beginning to tell on me----"'

"My God, I don't wonder!" jerked Jim.

"My chief on the medical staff told me I must get away for fourteen days or so or I'd break down, and he signed me the proper form for the purpose. I found it had to be countersigned by the quartermaster-general, then by the colonel of the regiment to which I was attached, then by the general of the division, and finally by the adjutant-general. It is probably still going round among them, if it hasn't got lost. I waited six days and could get no word of it, and my chief advised me to take French leave and bring back some drugs if they're to be had. I'm told there is a _Times_ man come out with money, to help make good some of the shortcomings in the official providence, and I'm hoping he'll help me. I'm actually a deserter, you see. That's why this dear old chap calls me Subrosa. My name is McLean, and I'm attached to the 63rd."

"And a rare good sort he is," said Captain Jolly. "Did I tell you about my load of boots?"

"No; what was it about the boots?"

"Last voyage I came out with nothing but boots--more boots than you ever dreamt of, thousands and thousands of pairs. The whole ship stank of 'em--smelt like a tannery. Well, when they let us into Balaclava Harbour at last, and we were hoping to get rid of the boots----"

"They're going barefoot yet, many of them," said McLean.

"I know. Well, before we could begin to break cargo there came a couple of dandy fine gentlemen, with a peremptory order to take them to Constantinople as fast as we could go, and we were hustled away before you could say 'boots.' We were less than a day's sail from Constantinople, when one of the dandy men mentioned in confidence to me that the men up there were barefoot and they were going to buy boots for them."

"What did you say?" asked Jim expectantly.

"Well, I said more'n I should perhaps. Dandy men or no dandy men, I said, 'Why, you ---- fool, I'm loaded to the hatches with boots and nothing but boots! Why in thunder couldn't you open your mouth sooner?' 'Our instructions,' says he, 'were to buy boots, captain, not to go talking about it, and I'll thank you not to use language unbecoming a gentleman when talking to me.' And he walked away to talk to the other, who was sick in his bunk."

"And what did you do?" asked Jim.

"I shut off steam," said the captain, with a meaning wink, "and presently he came up again and said they'd decided we'd better turn back again and take the boots to the feet that were waiting for them. And I've no doubt they're rotting on Balaclava Quay now with all the other things. Why, if my owners did their business as the Government does its they'd be bankrupt in a year."

After his cup of tea Jim went below to see that Seth was comfortably stowed.

He found him, with a couple of hundred others, lying in long rows in the 'tween decks, which had been adapted to their use as far as it was possible to do so. They lay pretty close, and each man had a couple of blankets to soften the wood and keep out the cold.

At one end were half a dozen wounded officers. Between them and the men had been left a space of a few feet, and that was the only distinction between them. To make room for Seth this space had been encroached upon, and he lay next the officers.

As Jim rose from his knees after a short chat with him, in which he had done his best to put a little heart into the poor fellow, by assuring him that he should be properly provided for when he got home to Carne, he heard his name called weakly from the officers' quarters, and, bidding Seth good night, and promising to see him first thing in the morning, he turned that way.

"Why, Harben!" he said. "I'm sorry to see you here. What is it?"

"Nothing. I'm sick--very sick. Who is that they've put there?" asked Ralph, in a low eager whisper.

"That? Why, it's Seth Rimmer--young Seth, you know, from down along."

"He's a dangerous man that, Jim. Put him somewhere else! Take him away!"

"Nonsense, old man. Seth's as true as they make 'em. Besides, he's lost a leg. And anyway I couldn't ask them to move him now. There's no room anywhere else."

"He's dangerous, I tell you," said Harben, with a shiver. "He thinks . . . he thinks . . . but I haven't, Jim. I swear I haven't. I'd nothing to do with it. I swear I hadn't."

"Don't you worry, old man," said Jim soothingly, for it all sounded to him like the ravings of a disturbed brain. "Can I get you anything, or make you more comfortable?"

"Only take him away," whispered the other insistently.

But that Jim could not do. He and Seth were only there on sufferance, as it were, and he wanted to give as little trouble as possible.

Captain Jolly had insisted on giving up his own bunk to him, but had only prevailed on him to take it by asserting that he would be on deck most of the night. And the clean cold sheets were so delightful, after the threadbare amenities of the camp, that he felt as if he could sleep on for a week.

Very early next morning Jim was wakened by a hand on his shoulder. He jumped up so vehemently--forgetful of the narrowness of his quarters, and with a mazy impression that the Russians were upon them--that his head was sore for days after it.

"Mr. Carron," said a grave quiet voice, "there is trouble on board." And he saw that it was Dr. McLean.

"Trouble? What trouble, doctor?"

"We want you to explain it if you can. Slip on some things and come along." And Jim tumbled wonderingly into his jacket and trousers and followed the doctor--to the 'tween decks--to the officers' quarters.

And there lay the end of a tragedy.

Seth's pallet was empty. Seth himself--what had been Seth--lay partly on the body of Ralph Harben. His rough brown fingers still gripped Harben's throat, with a grip that had started the dead man's eyes almost out of his head and had prevented him uttering a sound.

And Seth lay in a pool of his own blood, for his vehemence had burst his hastily bandaged amputation, and he had bled to death in the act of wreaking his vengeance.

"Good God!" gasped Jim, and felt sick and ill at the sight.

"Are they dead?" he whispered, as though he feared to wake them.

"Both quite dead. Been dead several hours," said McLean, and led him back to the captain's cabin, where the steward brought them hot coffee.

"DO you know what it all means, Mr. Carron?" asked the captain.

"I'm afraid I do, captain, but I'd no idea of it, and it's a terrible shock to me." And he briefly explained as far as was necessary.

"Ay, ay," said the old man soberly; "I can see it all. He came out on purpose to find the other, to pay him out for the wrong he'd done him, and when his chance came he took it . . . I don't hold with murder myself, but . . . well, I'm bound to say I can feel for this poor lad."

There were eight others who had died in the night, and they buried them all at the same time, and Captain Jolly read the service over them, and entered in his log the simple fact that ten died and were buried.

And Jim said no word of it in his letters home, and only told Jack about it when he got back to camp.