Chapter LIX: Touch and Go for the Coil

Jim followed Jack's body with the single-minded persistency of a faithful dog whose master has come to grief.

His original captor would have taken him elsewhere, but he flatly declined to go anywhere but where Jack went. He thrust aside all interfering hands, and to all attempts at coercion in any other direction simply pointed to Jack and himself and said, "My brother!"--but with so grim and determined and dejected a face that at last the other gave way and followed them into the hospital.

It was very full--crammed with broken and dying men--but Jim had no thought save for Jack. Whether he was alive or dead he did not know, but he must stick to him and do what he could.

There was difficulty in finding room for him. A harassed surgeon, to whom the officer spoke, shook red hands at them and poured out a spate of hot words, but, arrested by something the other said, looked worriedly round and at last pointed to a corner; and Jim's captor explained to him, in his peculiar English, that the man who lay there would be dead in a minute or two, and then they could put Jack in his place.

And presently the attendants came along and carried the dead man away, and Jim and the officer lifted Jack on to the pallet, and the worried surgeon came round and knelt down and opened up his things, and examined him with quick, practised hands and a keen eye for causes and effects.

Jim's heart ran slow at sight of a bullet-hole in the white breast, and he watched the surgeon hypnotically as he carefully turned the body over and pointed to the place where it had come out at the back, just under the shoulder, and then spoke hurriedly to the officer.

"He says," said the other, in his broken English, helped out with very good French--which it would be but a hindrance to attempt to reproduce in detail--"he cannot tell. It has gone right through. He may live, he may die. It will take time to tell. Now you come."

"May I come again to see him?"

"I will try. You will give your parole?"

"Yes," said Jim; for Jack was more to him than all the chances of escape.

"Then we will see. Now come!"

"Beg him to do everything he can for him. Couldn't we take him somewhere else?"

"He is better here, for the present. Later we will see. Now come!" And since he could do no more at the moment, Jim went with him.

"For to-night you will come to the guard-room. To-morrow you will go to Head-quarters and be properly paroled, Then we will see."

And Jim spent the rest of the night on three chairs in the guard-room, brooding gloomily most of the time on the disastrous results of "seeing the fun" of the Ovens, and full of fears as to the end of it all.

In the morning his keeper came for him, and Jim, for the first time, took the opportunity of looking at him. He had been too busy with other matters the night before.

He was a young fellow of about his own age, dark-haired, and of a thin sallow face, bright-eyed, pleasant-looking. Under other circumstances Jim thought they might have become friendly. He had certainly, treated him well.

"How is my brother?" asked Jim anxiously.

"We will see as we go. Have you eaten? No?" And he took him away to a mess-room just alongside, where a number of officers were drinking coffee from bowls, and smoking and talking.

They saluted Jim politely, and stared at him without restraint while he ate a chunk of very good white bread and drank his coffee, which was excellent, and meanwhile they plied his friend with questions.

And one, after much observation of Jim's uniform, suddenly made some remark which carried all eyes to him and made him extremely uncomfortable at so much observation.

"He is saying that your regiment was in that mad charge outside Balaclava," said his particular officer.

"Yes; I was in it," said Jim quietly.

And at that, to his immense surprise, every man in the room sprang to his feet and gravely saluted him again.

"And you got through whole?" was the next question.

"No. I had a lance wound and three bullets into me, but I've been a voyage to Constantinople since then, to brace up, you know."

And they crowded round him, and pressed cigars on him, and showed themselves right good fellows.

Then his new friend took him along to the hospital, and they learned that Jack had come to himself and was sleeping, and so they went on across the bridge of boats, and through the public gardens, and past the cathedral, to Head-quarters.

After waiting some time, they were conducted down many long passages to a room where a tall fair man, of high face and autocratic bearing, sat at a table piled with papers and plans. Another stood looking out of the window, with his back turned to them, and a white English terrier, standing by his side on its hind legs, was trying hard to make out what he was looking at.

Jim's keeper saluted deferentially and made his statement to the tall man at the table.

"I understand you are prepared to give your parole not to attempt to escape, or to hold any communication with the outside?" said he, somewhat brusquely, first in French and then in understandable English.

"I am," bowed Jim. And at the sound of his voice the white dog came dancing across to him as though he were an old friend, and accepted his caresses with delight.

"And your brother is also a prisoner, in hospital, and you wish to attend on him."

"I do."

"What is your name and standing?"

"James Denzil Carron--cornet, 8th Hussars!" And at that the man at the window turned suddenly and looked at him, and came and stood by the table.

"You were, then, in the mad charge at Balaclava, perhaps?"

"I was."

"It was a foolish business."

"It was."

"Ah--you agree? How was it?"

"Some mistake. But no one quite knows."

"What are your total forces up there now?"

At which Jim's lip curled in a smile.

"You can hardly expect me to tell you that," he said quietly.

The tall young man who had been standing by the window said a word or two to the other, who seemed surprised, and turning to Jim, said: "Very well, Monsieur Carron. I accept your parole, and Lieutenant Greski will be personally answerable for you."

The lieutenant bowed, and plucked Jim backward by the sleeve, and Jim bowed, and gave the white dog's ear a final friendly pull, and they went out.

"Who is he?" he asked, as soon as they were in the corridor.

"Menchikoff, the one at the table. The other is the Grand Duke Michael. How does he know you?" And he looked at Jim with new curiosity.

"Who--Menchikoff?

"No--the Grand Duke."

"Know me?" jerked Jim. "Some mistake. I never set eyes on him before."

"He told Menchikoff to do what you wanted, and said he knew you, or something about you, or something of the kind. He dropped his voice so that I couldn't catch it all."

"That's odd. I certainly know nothing of him."

"He thinks he knows you, anyway, and so much the better for you. You shall come with me and stop at my house. It is not far."

"You are very good. I shall have a better opinion of Russians in future."

"Russians! I am no Russian. I am a Pole. I hate the Russians, and would love the English if I might."

"I see. But why do you fight for them, then?"

"Because I didn't my kin in Poland would have to pay for it."

"That's jolly hard, to have to risk your life, and maybe give it, for people you hate."

"There are many more like me. But what can we do? If we go against them they visit it on the innocent ones at home. If I could destroy the whole of Russia, Tsar and Grand Dukes and all, at one blow, I would strike it so"--and he dashed his fist into the palm of his other hand--"and then I would die with a glad heart. . . . But one does not talk of these things, you understand, except among one's friends."

He stopped at a house which stood about midway down the slope overlooking the harbour, and led Jim into a room on the ground floor. From the window he could see Fort Constantine, shining white in the sun on the other side of the water, and the bristling line of the masts of the sunken ships, and the harbour itself dotted all over with plying boats.

"One moment," said Greski, and left him there, but came back in an instant with a very beautiful white-haired old lady, whom he must have met in the passage. Her dark eyes were shining like stars at the joy of seeing her boy again.

"My mother," said Greski, and explained matters to her in a torrent of Polish.

She assented without any demur to all her son's proposals, and shook hands very heartily with Jim, giving him what was evidently warm welcome, in a tongue he did not understand.

Then the door opened again, and a girl rushed in and flung her arms round the lieutenant's neck, and kissed him, between broken ejaculations of joy, as one come back from the dead, while two long plaits of black hair gyrated wildly at her back.

When the tails had settled down, Greski laughingly swung her round facing Jim, and introduced her as his sister Tatia, and Tatia blushed charmingly, and said, in very passable English: "You must excuse us, sir. You see, when he goes out we are never quite certain that we shall ever see him again. And when he does return our hearts are joyful. Those terrible pointed shells you send us--ah, _mon Dieu!_ one came through the side of the cathedral this morning when I was there praying for Louis, and we all ran and ran."

"They are not supposed to fire at the cathedral," said Jim.

"Ah, when one plays with monsters you never know what may happen."

Then they all three spoke together for a minute or two in Polish, since madame knew no tongue but that and Russian, and a little French, and then the ladies went off on household duties.

"I hope I shall not put you to any trouble," said Jim, "and--and"--he stumbled--"you will please let me pay my way. I have heaps of money----"

"We can discuss that later. We shall be glad to be of service to you. Our hearts go out to Englishmen."

But it was a little later, when they sat down to breakfast, that a new and very surprising development took place.

Madame Greski's eye suddenly lighted on Jim's ring--the one pressed upon him by the young officer whose life he had saved on the heights of Alma. She stared hard at it, and then said a quick word to the others, and, to Jim's surprise, Greski caught hold of his hand, held it for the others to see, and they all stood up in great excitement, and all spoke at once as they stared down at the ring.

"Where did you get it?" asked Greski quickly.

"It was given me by a Russian officer at the Alma. He was wounded and I gave him a hand, and he made me take this in return."

And madame came round and put her trembling white hands on his shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks, and her eyes were full of tears. Tatia looked as if she would have liked to do the same, and Jim would not have minded very much if she had.

"It was my brother John," said Greski. "He wrote to us from Odessa telling us all about it. You saved his life."

"I am very glad I was able to be of service to him."

"And now we will repay you as far as we can," said Tatia joyously. "Oh, I am glad! But the marvel that you should fall into Louis's hands!"

Madame spoke quickly to her son, and he translated.

"My mother says your brother must come here too and they will nurse him."

"I am very grateful. Can we go and see him after breakfast? Are you on duty?"

"Not again all this week, _Dieu merci!_ There are many more of us than are needed for the batteries, you see. If there were any signs of a general assault we should all be called, of course. But that is not likely yet."

So Jim had fallen more than comfortably, and, for Jack's sake especially, he was glad. For if the hospitals inside were anything like those outside, it might make all the difference between life and death to a sick man, to be in such good hands.

They set off at once for the hospital. It was a cold raw day, and up on the hillsides, as they crossed the bridge of boats, the dull boom of the guns sounded now and again at long intervals. In that quarter, however, there were but few results of the bombardment visible, and when Jim remarked on it, Greski said,

"So far you are kind to us: you keep your fire for the forts and batteries and Government buildings. But in time you will lose patience, and then we shall suffer. Why didn't you come straight in when you landed? After Alma you might have done it, I think."

"I don't know why," said Jim. "But I wish we had. It would have saved much loss on both sides. You must have suffered terribly in the last fight--Inkerman."

"Horribly, horribly!" said Greski, with an expressive gesture.

At the hospital they found Jack looking very white and washed out, and visibly in great pain.

His face brightened at sight of Jim, but a bad spasm twisted it as he tried to smile, and the smile faded like a winter sunbeam and left his face hard and set.

"Dear old boy," said Jim, kneeling down by his side and holding his hand, "I've got good news for you. We've found friends, and you're to come to their house and get the best of nursing and attention."

Jack brightened again at the prospect, and Jim told him how it all came about, and introduced Greski, who nodded and smiled encouragingly.

When the doctor came round he made no difficulty about Jack's removal. He was only too glad to get another bed.

He talked with Greski for a few seconds, and then hurried away to his work.

"I will get an ambulance," said Greski, "and we will take him at once. He will be happier there." And Jim had no chance to ask him what the doctor had said, until they were walking slowly behind the litter, which, on second thoughts, Greski had brought as entailing less discomfort.

"He says it is a very bad wound. The bullet went right through the lungs, but we will do everything that is possible for him." And Jim went heavily, and his heart was full fears.

"But you must not look like that," said Tetia reprovingly to him, when they had got Jack stowed away in bed, in such outward comfort as soft clean sheets and a warm pleasant room could afford. "That is not the face of a good nurse, no indeed! I shall not let you in to see him till you look more cheerful." But Jim found a cheerful face no easy matter.

They had, however, still another surprise during the afternoon, which raised his spirits somewhat if it did not at the moment kindle his hopes.

The special doctor attached to the Grand Duke Michael came in, and informed them that the Grand Duke himself had ordered him to take the English officer in hand. He had been to the hospital and had been sent on to Mme Greski's house. So, between them all, no possible chance for Jack would be missed.

He examined his patient most carefully, and when Jim followed him anxiously out of the room he told him plainly, and in excellent English, that the hospital doctor was right--it was a very serious case, and they could only do their best and trust in Providence. If he did pull through it would probably leave him weakly all his days; but ---- and the great man pursed his lips and shook his head doubtfully.