Part 26

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.