My suspense must have been written on my face, for the little doctor began to babble soothingly to me, and then the door opened and in walked Sale, his big, kind, stupid face all beaming as red as his coat, and behind him a tall, flinty-faced, pulpit-looking man; there were others peeping round the lintel as Sale strode forward and plumped down into a chair beside the bed, leaning forward to take my hand in his own. He held it gently in his big paw and gazed at me like a cow in milk.
"My boy!" says he, almost in a whisper. "My brave boy!"
Hullo, thinks I, this don't sound too bad at all. But I had to find out, and quickly.
"Sir," says I - and to my astonishment my voice came out in a hoarse quaver, it had been so long unused, I suppose - "sir, how is Sergeant Hudson?"
Sale gave a grunt as though he had been kicked, bowed his head, and then looked at the doctor and the gravedigger fellow with him.
They both looked damned solemn.
"His first words," says the little doctor, hauling out a handkerchief and snorting into it.
Sale shook his head sadly, and looked back at me.
"My boy," says he, "it grieves me deeply to tell you that your comrade - Sergeant Hudson - is dead. He did not survive the last onslaught on Piper's Fort." He paused, staring at me compassionately, and then says: "He died -like a true soldier."
"'And Nicanor lay dead in his harness'," says the gravedigger chap, taking a look at the ceiling. "He died in the fullness of his duty, and was not found wanting."
"Thank God," says I. "God help him, I mean - God rest him, that is." Luckily my voice was so weak that they couldn't hear more than a mumble. I looked downcast, and Sale squeezed my hand.
"I think I know," says he, "what his comradeship must have meant to you. We understand, you see, that you must have come together from the ruins of General Elphinstone's army, and we can guess at the hardships - oh, my boy, they are written all too plainly on your body - that you must have endured together. I would have spared you this news until you were stronger ..." He made a gesture and brushed his eye.
"No, sir," says I, speaking a little stronger, "I wanted to know now."
"It is what I would have expected of you," says he, wringing my hand. "My boy, what can I say? It is a soldier's lot. We must console ourselves with the thought that we would as gladly sacrifice ourselves for our comrades as they do for us. And we do not forget them."
'"Non omnis moriar'," says the gravedigger. "Such men do not wholly die."
"Amen," says the little doctor, sniffing. Really, all they needed was an organ and a church choir.
"But we must not disturb you too soon," says Sale. "You need rest." He got up. "Take it in the knowledge that your troubles are over, and that you have done your duty as few men would have done it. Aye, or could have done it. I shall come again as soon as I may; in the meantime, let me say what I came to tell you: that I rejoice from my heart to see you so far recovered, for your delivery is the finest thing that has come to us in all this dark catalogue of disasters. God bless you, my boy. Come, gentlemen."
He stumped out, with the others following; the gravedigger bowed solemnly and the little doctor ducked his head and shooed the nigger attendants before him. And I was left not only relieved but amazed by what Sale had said - oh, the everyday compliments of people like Elphy Bey are one thing, but this was Sale, after all, the renowned Fighting Bob, whose courage was a byword. And he had said my deliverance was "the finest thing", and that I had done my duty as few could have done it - why, he had talked as though I was a hero, to be reverenced with that astonishing pussy-footing worship which, for some reason, my century extended to its idols. They treated us (I can say "us") as though we were too delicate to handle normally, like old Chinese pots.
Well, I had thought, when I woke up, that I was safe and in credit, but Sale's visit made me realise that there was more to it than I had imagined. I didn't find out what, though, until the following day, when Sale came back again with the gravedigger at his elbow - he was Major Havelock, by the way, a Bible-moth of the deepest dye, and a great name now.(22) Old Bob was in great spirits, and entertained me with the latest news, which was that Jallalabad was holding out splendidly, that a relief force under Pollock was on its way, and that it didn't matter anyway, because we had the measure of the Afghans and would probably sally out and break the siege whenever we felt like it.
Havelock looked a bit sour at this; I gathered he didn't hold a high opinion of Sale - nobody did, apart from admiring his bravery - and was none too sure of his capabilities when it came to raising sieges.
"And this," says Bob, beaming with enthusiasm, "this we owe to you. Aye, and to the gallant band who held that little fort against an army. My word, Havelock, did I not say to you at the time that there never was a grander thing? It may not pay for all, to be sure; the catastrophe of Afghanistan will call forth universal horror in England, but at least we have redeemed something. We hold Jallalabad-bad, and we'll drive this rabble of Akbar's from our gates -aye, and be back in Kabul before the year is out. And when we do -" and he swung round on me again "- it will be because a handful of sepoys, led by an English gentleman, defied a great army alone, and to the bitter end."
He was so worked up by his own eloquence that he had to go into the corner and gulp for a little, while Havelock nodded solemnly, regarding me.
"It had the flavour of heroism," says he, "and heaven knows there has been little enough of that to date. They will make much of it at home."
Well, I'm not often at a nonplus (except when there is physical danger, of course), but this left me speechless. Heroism? Well, if they cared to think so, let 'em; I wouldn't contradict them - and it struck me that if I did, if I were idiot enough to let them know the truth, as I am writing it now, they would simply have thought me crazy as a result of my wounds. God alone knew what I was supposed to have done that was so brave, but doubtless I should learn in time. All I could see was that somehow appearances were heavily on my side - and who needs more than that? Give me the shadow every time, and you can keep the substance - it's a principle I've followed all my life, and it works if you know how to act on it.
What was obvious was that nothing must now happen to spoil Sale's lovely dream for him; it would have been cruel to the old fellow.
So I addressed myself to the task at once.
"We did our duty, sir," says I, looking uncomfortable, and Havelock nodded again, while old Bob came back to the bed.
"And I have done mine," says he, fumbling in his pocket. "For I conceived it no less, in sending my latest despatch to Lord Ellenborough - who now commands in Delhi - to include an account of your action. I'll read it," says he, "because it speaks more clearly than I can at present, and will enable you to see how others judged your conduct."
He cleared his throat, and began.
"Humph - let's see - Afghans in strength - demands that I surrender - aye, aye - sharp engagement by Dennie - ah, here we have it. 'I had despatched a strong guard under Captain Little to Piper's Fort, commanding an eminence some way from the city, where I feared the enemy might establish gun positions. When the siege began, Piper's Fort was totally cut off from us, and received the full force of the enemy's assault. In what manner it resisted I cannot say in detail, for of its garrison only five now survive, four of them being sepoys, and the other an English officer who is yet unconscious with his wounds, but will, as I trust, soon recover. How he came in the fort I know not, for he was not of the original garrison, but on the staff of General Elphinstone. His name is Flashman, and it is probable that he and Dr Brydon are the only survivors of the army so cruelly destroyed at Jugdulluk and Gandamack. I can only assume that he escaped the final massacre, and so reached Piper's Fort after the siege began."