The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVII, Issue 8, 23 February 1899, Page 23

The Storyteller.

WARRINGTON, V.C. ON THE FIELD. A pitch-black night in a rocky valley of Afghanistan ; a few stars in the heavy, black, moonless sky only intensifying the almost palpable darkness. A mile or two southward, where the rocky valley swelled into rocky heights, little flashes of light recurring at intervals, followed by sharp little cracks, showed where the late skirmish and retreat wus fighting itself out around about the camp. Where one of the innumerable broken ridges that seamed the valley made a darker wall across the darkness two figures were dimly discernible, (when you knew where to look for them), the one semi-recumbent, propped against a boulder, the other tall and straight beside him. ' Clear out, Warrington — please go, Bir,' the voice came faintly from the recumbent figure. ' You can get back to camp and send 'em for me.' • Not likely, young 'un,' observed the other. ' What says the great R.K. : When you're wounded and left on Afghanistan plains, And the women came out — to cut up what remains — Just' — 1 Don't 1' said the wounded man, and almost succeeded in stopping a groan between his clenched teeth. • Poor old Vieary,' said Warrington. bending over him. ' Let me undo your belt. . . . Now grasp yourself with both hands.' 1 Fellows in books,' said the weak voice drowsily, ' never get hit in the tummy. . . . Always — head in a bandage— or — arm — in sling. . . . Those Johnnies that write books— -ought to come out with us.' There was silence for a time ; the far off flashes grew more rare. The wounded man shifted himself a little and spoke again. • You're a brick, Warrington !' he said. ' Slightly different from Piccadilly and the Strand this— eh, Vie?' ' I wish the mater could see us now,' said Vieary ; ' she's going to bye-bye just about now. She'd stick you pretty high up in her prayers if she knew.' 'The next time you start talking nonsense,' said Warrington, ' I shall consider y«u delirious and past hope ; and I shall turn tail and make tracks for camp.' A long silence. ' It's getting beastly cold,' said Vieary. with a shiver : 'I shall never pull through to-night.' ' Cheer up, lad,' said Warrington, and pulled at his mousta g-e and glared at the darkness ; ' only a few hours till daybreak. . . . Pity you're six foot four in your boots and solid in proportion. I'm not equal to two miles with you on my back, my dainty midget.' ' Can't see how you got me this far. . . . Why don t you sheer off now and get back, and— o God ! No ' Warrington. . . . You're not goiDg ?' ' Another word like that, my son, and I leave you for Mr. and Mrs. Pathan and all the little Pathans to play with. ' All right — all right, I w^n't. . . . Let me hold your boot I can hardly see you. Oh, Warry, what a funk lam ; all the bit of pluck I had's run out of the leak in my tunic— and lam beastly cold. 1 Warrington knelt beside him and cursed beneath his breath, and felt his head and hands. The former was very cold and damp, the latter were very wet and warm. ' I must let them know they're wanted, Vie !' he muttered. The latter did not hear him. 1 It'll be in to-morrow's dispatches,' he murmured : ' " Missing Lieutenant Beverley Warrington and Second Lieutenant Vieary of the " What's up, Warry ?' His companion had touched his forehead lightly with his lips, risen to his feet, and, with his arm raised above his head, had emptied his revolver into the silence of the night. ' They'll know there's a British officer where that revolver is,' he said, cheerily. 1 But — but you fool— you dear old silly fool — so will those brown devils !' ' Can't help that !' said Warrington, with a little laugh, ' its too chilly to stop out late to-night.' Then in a lower tone, ' For the sake of auld lang syne, Vie, my boy.' He reloaded his revolver. When the echoes had rattled away into deeper silence they heard the distant shots suddenly recommence, and distant shouts and howls came to them like whispers. From the invisible hills facing them came din and confused scuffling and scraping sounds as of cats scrambling down rocks. A moving white blue appeared somewhere in the thick darkness, then another, and another : and a suggestion of low-toned guttural conversation reached Warrington's straining ears. He shifted his revolver to his left hand and gently drew his sword. Then from over there where he knew the camp lay six revolver shots in quick succession. ' That's Welby !' he said to himself. Vicary's hand had been grasping the heel of his foot tightly. Now he felt the grip relax, and in a moment more the wounded subaltern slipped a little with a slight tinkle of steel on a rock and groaned. In another moment a dozen of howling billmen were blazing away at random toward the spot whence the groan seemed to have come. They aimed low and erratically, and Warrington held his fire for a few interminable seconds. Then they close in, and one stumbled over Vicary's outstretched legs before they could realise that two British officers were within a yard of them.

Warrington felt the man grab him as he fell, and he fired with the muzzle of his revolver touching bare skin. After that he fired and slashed very much at random, and the darkness around him shrieked and howled and spat fire, and long, graceful knives suggested themselves to the imagination of the man who had seen them at work before. . . . For ten long minutes Warrington was busy— wondering all the time what Vicary was doing down there between his legs, and how he liked it, and which of them would die firat. Then suddenly in a lull he heard faintly a sound that sent the blood to his head with a rush — the scraping of many boots over rocks, hundreds of yards away, and the dim echo of a word of command. He shouted and fired his last cartridge above his head that they might see the flash, and flung the empty weapon at a white eyeball that was too near to be pleasant, and cut and pointed and slashed away with renewed vigour. Down the valley and over the rocks came a hoarse, breathless cheer, and pith helmets gleamed faintly in the near distance. He answered the cheer with a croak, and went on carving and hacking as though his foes still confronted him. But they did not wait to meet his friends They left. All but five, to whom British troops were a matter of indifference now, as they stayed behind, huddled into a grim semi-circle around Lieutenant Warrington and Second Lieutenant Vicary. When his men came up to him they found him with Vicary in his arms, leaning against the wall of rock, looking, as Private Billimore said, ' as though e'ed 'ad a nasty messy accident with red paint.' Vicary opened his eyes as he entered the camp feet foremost. ' Warrington, V.C.,' he said, and tried to cheer, but the others did it for him. AT HOME. 1 An afternoon in early November, a cosy room, bright fire, big j armchairs, piano, pipes, photographs, and decanters ; a male figure extended to enormous length in one armchair, with feet stretched out on the hearthrug ; another male figure with back turned toward the room, gazing out of window at the unceasing rain. Thick clouds of tobacco smoke and silence. 'Of all the brutal, filthy, miserably depressing days !' said the man at the window suddenly. • Weather seems to worry you, old man,' said the man by the fire settling down a little deeper into the depths of his armchair. ' Third time in twenty minutes you have got up to look at it — and talk about it.' ' Sorry, Vie," said the other, and turning he came slowly toward the fire. ' I must be lively company to-day j but this weather seems to upset one altogether.' ' Not me,' said Vicary, blowing a cloud. ' I'm pretty comely, thankq. I prefer rain in St. James's to starlight in Chuknndra.' The other did not answer, but stood nervously opening and shutting his hands over the cheering blaze. ' By George !' said Vicary, meditatively, ' it seems almost like a dream now — all but the souvenirs we carry — eh, Warry V Warrington's hand went up to the livid band that ran across forehead, nose and cheek, and almost bisected his strong face. ' One comfort,' Vicary went on, ' mine don't show. Not but what that has its drawbacks,' he added, with a chuckle, 'no one seems to believe they touched me— think I got my sick leave on the bounce. And I can't continually strip to prove it.' Still his eenior was silent. Vicary edged round a little to look at his face. Then his eyes opened and his voice changed. ' Warrington,' he said, • d'you remember that very first dust up we had the second day out from Kir Wallah ?' Warrington nodded. 'That was my first taste of the walk-up-and-down-as-a-target business,' said Vicary, solemnly ; ' and I was in a blue funk. Couldn't help it. Knees all flabby and face all twitchy when those bullets began whispering and pattering.' Warrinston laughed nervously. ' I gave you the right sort of a dressing down,' he said. 'It pulled me through,' said Vicary ; then, leaning forward, and still more solemly, ' I say, what did I look like— all drawn up and ghastly ?' • A bit,' admitted Warrington. ' Look in the glass now,' said Vicary, in an awestruck voice, for Warrington was senior officer and brother and Ajar and Wellington and Lord Roberts all rolled into one, in the subaltern's estimation. Warrington started, and looked not at the glass, but at Vicary. ' You're right, young 'un,' he said in a moment, and dropped into the other armchair. 'I'm in an awful funk at this very moment.' ' Oh !' breathed Vicary, and allowed the amazing fact to sink into his consciousness. 'Fact,' said Warrington, and dragged at hi 3 moustache and gnawed the end. 'In heaven's name,' said Ensign Vicary, ' what are you frightened of ?' ' Of one little girl I could pick up and carry under one arm, said Lieutenant Warrington, V.C. Vicary drew a long breath. ' Yog gave me quite a turn,' he said. 1 It's serious, boy,' said the other man, bending his long, gaunt body forward, his gray eyes all alight, ' I haven't the pluck to face her.' ' Name /' said Vicary, judiciously. ' Rivers,' said Warrington, with reverence, ' Catherine Rivera ' Pretty Kitty Rivers !' cried Vicary. ' Old man, I oongratula you.' ' Don't be a fool !' said Warrington, angrily, and walked to the window. ' On your good taste,' said Vicary, with a grin, 'Is it a bad case V

' I shall — ask her to be my wife,' said Warrington with a rush, ' as soon as I dare call — which I haven't done since we've been back — more than a week.' 'But, Warrington,' said Vicary, puzzled, 'she's not Buch a Tartar.' • She the best girl in the world,' said Warrington, V.C. ; ' and the only thing in it I'm afraid to face.' 1 Why, what would she do ?' said Vicary. ' Do I' said Warrington, with both hands at his moustache. 'Do I Why, she'll drop her eyelashes, or fhe'U curl the corners of her mouth or she'll glance at me over her shoulder, with her chin up, and then — • And then V said Vicary, twinkling. ' Then I shall sweat like a coolie, and stand gaping like a stuck pig,' said Warrington, savagely ; 'and my knees will go flabby and my face twitchy, as you elegantly put it. Good -by.' 'Eh?' ' I'm going there now. I mean to go there now.' ' Yes,' said Vicary ; ' and directly you're outside you'll stand for a quarter of an hour, and then cut off home and spend the evening practicing profanity in solitude.' Warrington stood in front of his junior, and dared not contradict. ' Unless — ' said Vicary, and stopped and grinned. • Unless,' said Warrington, with painful eagerness. 1 Unless,' said Vicary, coolly, knocking his pipe out in the grate, ' unless I come with you.' Warrington drew a long breath. ' Thanks,' he Baid shortly, and watched Vicary putting on his coat and hat, and pulled his moustache violently. As they left the room he slipped his hand through Vicary's arm. ' Three doors down the square,' said Vicary to the cabman through the trap. ' Tell him to drive once round first,' said Warrington, pulling a glove off and then beginning to put it on again. ' I've got something to say to you — ' ' It'll keep,' said Vicary. ' Out you get.' < No — I say — half a minute, Vicary ! Is my tie straight ? I ought to have my collar. Hang it — all right, I'm coming. Wait for us, cabby — we shan't be five minutes. Vicary, don't ring, I— l don't think I'll call to-day, after all it's a bit late, don't you think? You have rung ? Dash it ! I — I — let me ask.' The door was opened. 'Is Mr. Rivers in / No ? Oh, thank you. It doesn't matter. I'll call again. Good—' Vicary caught him as he turned and teld him fast. ' Is Mips Rivers in ?' he asked. 1 Yes sir,' said the man, who knew him well. 'Say Lieutenant Beverley Warrington wishis to pee her for a few moments on most important — come here, you old idiot— on most important businew. Inside the house Warrington mopped his face and rehearsed Bpeeches in a low monotone until the man reappeared. ' Will you walk upstairs, sir, please /' ' Walk up,' said Vicary, sternly, and marched him out of the room. ' Right half face I Quick march 1 Go on you conquering hero, and good luck attend you.' Warrington did not answer, but breathed stentorously and fingered the balustrade. ' Up you go I' said Vicary. ' There sno retreat. She's waiting for you.' < £ — r wish you could come, too,' said Warrington in a loud, hoarse whisper. Vicary grinned, shaking with internal laughter. Warring-ton glared at him, groaned, and went slowly upstairs, where the man stood patiently waiting to announce him. Vicary heard him say breathlessly, ' Wait a minute!' but the man preferred not to hear him, and opened the door with a most portentious ' Lieutenant Beverly Warrington.' Vicary waited in the library. He smoked one cigarette, and another, and another. He tried to read, but he gave it up. He tried to laugh at the scene in which he had just tak, n part, but gave that up to. After all, he was in no Lm^hiug mood where Wamng'on'h happiness was concerned. And at last when the hands of the clock showed three-quarters of an hour gone, Wamngton's voice from upstairs called hoarsely, ' Vicary !' He paused a moment, breathless. Then another voice, far clear* r and sweeier, but with just a faint tremor in it, repeated, Vicary !' And then he flew upstairs as fast as his wound allowed him. — Exchange. ____________ _____