And he went with his long silent step through the forest, taking with him only the silent lad.
… Sheng would have said he did not sleep, so vivid was the pain in his arm, and yet he did sleep for it was out of sleep that Charlie waked him at the end of three hours. Sheng felt Charlie’s touch on his wounded arm lightly enough, but he leaped to his feet with a yell, and stood for an instant in the hot darkness shaking with agony.
“Elder Brother, what is the matter with you?” Charlie whispered in amazement.
Now Sheng was awake indeed and he licked his dry lips. His whole body was as dry as bone, and his skin was tight and burning.
“Nothing,” he said shortly. “I was dreaming of an evil thing.”
“Well, then, put it aside,” Charlie said. “For I have found the white men. They are caught in a trap indeed. The devils are between them and the river, and between them everywhere. But they are too strong to the south and the east and the only hope is toward the west and the bridge. There you must attack. The enemy are stretched thin there in a line not more than a half a mile along the river. I say that if you press through that half mile you can relieve the white men, and they will push to the bridge. But it must be suddenly, so that the devils do not destroy the bridge, for then shall we all be trapped. The river is swelling with the new rains, and there are no boats.”
“No boats?” Sheng asked. “It is very strange to see a river with no boats.”
Charlie wiped his sweating face with the tail of his coat.
“The white men are leaking away from their leaders,” he said. “But they are not all white — some are men of India. Yet they all know that they are caught, and who can blame them? Every time one bribes a Burmese with his gun for a boat, why, the boat is soon gone, and it drifts down the river on the current when the men leap out on the other shore.”
“Do they give their good guns to these Burmese traitors?” Sheng cried. For a moment his head cleared with rage.
“What have they else to offer as a bribe?” Charlie said. “They are human, as other men are, white men and brown.”
“But a good gun!” Sheng groaned, “when we have no good guns!”
His throbbing head caught these words and his hot brain spun them into a twist—“a good gun—” he muttered, “a good gun — a good gun—”
“Are you drunk?” Charlie shouted.
Sheng’s brain cleared again for a moment. “No,” he said.
But he thought to himself that he was drunk with pain, but could he heed pain now? He laughed out loud. “I am only drunk with what lies ahead of me this day,” he shouted to Charlie, and he went back to his men and roared at them and he bellowed that they were to delay for nothing but they must follow him.
He did not stop for food and they followed him without food, frightened at the sound of his voice. He ran ahead of them and they ran, and he felt his whole body filled with strength and fire, and his brain whirled, and his eyes burned, and he ran on, and there was strength in him beyond anything he had ever known.
Behind him he heard men gasping and muttering, but he paid no heed, but he kept them to the utmost speed of forced marching. Before the dawn broke, he saw ahead the low tents of the encamped enemy. But still he would not rest, and he bellowed like a bull when he saw them, and he shrieked to his men to bellow with him and roaring together they fell upon the enemy while they were still half asleep and expecting no attack.
Now those who followed Sheng followed him as though he were a god, and when they saw his madness and rage, they became mad, too, and they plunged their bayonets into the enemy wherever they found them. First they fired, but the weapons of many were old and could not fire more than once without delay for reloading, and rather than delay, they stabbed and cut and tore the enemy, and they choked men with their bare hands and gouged out their eyes with two thumbs digging into their eyeballs, and they jerked off men’s ears and ground their heels into their bellies and mauled them and threw them dying into the river. And ahead of them all was Sheng like a demon, his eyes red and burning and his square mouth open and yelling without stop. All who saw him were filled with fright, and his own men swore to each other that never had they seen any man so fierce as Sheng was in that battle. He used his wounded arm as though it were whole, for now his entire body was filled with pain as a vessel is filled with dark wine, and he was drunk.
Thus led, his men swept aside the enemy, and into the breach the weary white men poured, and the Indians with them, and they escaped from the trap in which they had been held. Those of Sheng’s men who were in the rear, holding fast, saw white men stream by on foot, wounded, some in broken machines, some in whole machines. A few waved their arms and shouted to their deliverers, but they were few. The many went on without heed to any except themselves and to save their lives. Six and seven times, pushing and pressing each other, some fell into the swirling muddy water of the river, but none stayed to help whose who fell.
Now at the head of his men Sheng had pushed on after there was need, and in his feverish strength and confusion he had forgotten why he was here, except that he was sent to defeat the enemy. He led on and behind him pressed the ones who followed, and they fought until suddenly Sheng felt himself laid hold on by a hand, strong in his girdle.
“You fool!” he heard Charlie shout. “Do you plan to fight straight through to India this day? Turn — turn — your men are being murdered at your rear! The enemy is counter attacking from the south, you son of a dog!”
Then Sheng turned, staggering and panting, “Have we — have we passed the bridge?” he gasped.
“The bridge is a mile-and-a-half behind you!” Charlie shouted. He gave Sheng a great push as he spoke, and Sheng began to run back and with him his men whom he had led too far, and they ran like hounds that mile-and-a-half along the river bank to the place where the bridge had been. There they stood, and they stared across the river.
The span of the bridge was broken at the other end and the river rushed between. The current caught the hanging farther end and twisted it hard, and before their eyes yet another piece of the bridge was wrenched off and carried it in triumph away.
“The bridge—” Sheng stammered, “the bridge—” But his giddy brain could not finish. It was the silent lad who finished for him. His young voice rose in a clear and piercing scream. “Oh my mother, my mother!” he wailed. “The white men have cut the bridge!”
At these words Sheng’s blood rushed upward and filled his head. He laughed in a great howl of laughter, “Our allies,” he howled—“our allies—”
He felt his head burst and split in two, as though an ax had cleaved it and he knew no more.
XVIII
HE WOKE, HOW MANY days later he did not know or where. He was enveloped in a soft green light which he could not understand, for it was neither the light of day nor of night. For a moment he thought he was under water. His body felt clean and cool and thin. He lay on his back and above him and about him there was nothing but the green. Then he heard a sharp clear whistle made from some one’s lips, and a voice began to speak in English. But he could not understand English and these strange harsh sounds made the place more strange to him. Where had he waked out of death? He could not lift his head to see, and he opened and closed his weak eyelids.
Again he heard the sharp harsh sounds. Now some one answered, and this voice he knew. It was Charlie’s voice. Still he could not make a sound. He forced his eyes open and lay staring up into the green. Then a face came between him and the green and it was the dark face of the Indian. This fellow shouted with joy and now his face changed and it was Charlie’s face, looking down at him from very far up above him and he heard Charlie’s voice, speaking now words which he understood.