A Sacred Trust: a story of military life

Preface

. A book with such small pretensions as the one I now offer to the public needs little or no pre face, suffice it is to say that the events related with regard to Egypt are founded upon fact ; and if my critics will show their indulgence by not lavishing too much severity upon this my first novel I shall be content. Faithfully yours, THE AUTHOR. 1889. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. On the Field of Tel-el-Kebir 1 II. The Surgeon of the Guards 10 III. George Norman ... ... ... 18 IV. Ghastly Details 25 V. In Cairo ... 32 VI. A Serious Adventure ... ... ... 38 VII. An Explosion! 50 VIII. A Ball-room 58 IX. Stories in the Sergeants' Mess ... 69 X. Where is the Locket ? 75 XI. The Locket Changes Hands 83 XII. The Surgeon Takes a Walk 91 XIII. Cohen, the Jew 101 XIV. A Dinner at Halburton Hall 108 XV. SmaU Matters of Detail 120 XVI.

A Consultation 130 XVII. A Fire! 137 XVIIL In Hospital 146 XIX. Bertie gets over Sir Lionel ... ... 156 XX. The Surgeon receives a Visitor ... 162 XXI. Good News from Bertie 170 XXII. Jack's Wooing 175 XXIII. Life and Death 183 XXIV. Halburton Hall 192 XXV. The Recovery ofthe Locket 201 XXVI. A Wedding is Arranged ... ... 215 XXVII. Bertie is Astonished 222 XXVIII. An Awful Crisis ! 232 XXIX. The Other Wedding 244 XXX. A Chapter of Sorrow 253 XXXI. Forgiveness 265 XXXII. Conclusion BOOK FIRST. EGYPT.

Chapter I. On The Field Of Tel-el-kebir

Those who, as a matter of habit, take up the morning newspaper and scan through the chief events of the time, may perhaps ponder with double interest over the description of a great battle such as that which was fought at Tel-el-Kebir. Few, however, think seri ously of the terrible reality of such a bloody record of events ; or, indeed, can grasp or contemplate the awful details that abound in the field of battle, or the subsequent E horrors that must necessarily follow such a scene of carnage. Man fighting for dear life and honour of country against man ; over whelming masses of cavalry hurled against walls of foot soldiers, the rattle of myriads of bullets, the flood of iron belched from a hundred cannon, cheers, victory! — All these furnish a brilliant although awful narrative to be greedily devoured by those who sip their coffee at home and scan with a cold blooded curiosity the list of casualties.

But there is yet another side to this bril liant picture which is practically unknown and seldom thought of by the general public. It can, indeed, only be realized by those who are obliged to share in its details, and can but poorly be depicted or described by the news-giver. I mean the field after the battle. The peaceful moon may, perhaps, be shedding its solemn and appropriate light over the sad picture of dying and dead, while the night air alone re-echoes the cries and moans of the helpless. Or, maybe, a boisterous wind and driving rain are lending more misery to the already sad and wounded soldiery. After the battle of which I am now writing:, O*** more than a thousand Egyptians dead and wounded lie on the field. The corpses of to-day are the companions of the corpses of to-morrow, as they lay huddled together, tbe living and the dead.

The weary but stout hearted surgeons are bravely wending their difficult paths between the bodies of their comrades to succour and relieve as best they can. Here a man with outstretched haud may be seen craving for one drop of water, there a man with hatred still in his face is trying to mend his shattered limbs with a supreme effort, and grasp his rifle to give the death-blow to the brave soldier who a moment before had relieved him. Now follow the afore-mentioned surgeons into the trenches, and you will see bodies packed one above the other with every ex pression of peacefulness, happiness, despair, and pain upon their countenances — men crouching down before you as slaves before their tyrant masters, helpless to move. Gun carriages hurled upon the fallen, torn clothes and accoutrements scattered about the field, soldiers embracing their country's standards even in the agony of death, and officers holding tightly to their hearts, relics of those they love in a far-off land.

All such terrible and weird pictures pass before one's eyes like a dream, the awakening from which would be but to destroy all faith in the reality of such an episode. A fair young English youth, clothed in the uniform of an officer of the Guards, and lying a little distance apart from a cluster of dead and wounded, attracts more than ordinary attention. He has sunny auburn hair which is now tossed about in dishevelled locks over his white forehead. His head sinks upon his breast, his eyes are closed, and the blood of life is steadily trickling from a small but cruel wound in his left side. He has not many moments to live. Kneeling by his side is a brother officer, the surgeon of his regiment, who is about ten years his senior in age, a strong, well-built man with an honest countenance, deep grey eyes, and almost black hair.

He leans over his dying comrade with the tenderness of a woman, speaking to him words of sweet comfort. He holds one of his hands in his, which tells him that the spring of life is fast wearing out. " It's all over with me, Jack, old fellow ; I can see it by your face," sighs the wounded soldier, in sad undertones. " I never thought it would be ended so soon. Oh ! look at the boys in front; I wish I could join them ! " Here, with a smile on his face, he tries to raise himself. "Hush, Percy!" replies the surgeon, kindly but firmly. " Your time has come a little sooner than the rest of us, that's all ; you're a brave fellow. Just let me put a little lint to your side," and with this he called his orderly, and opening the surgical wallet, procured some lint and carbolic oil to apply to the wound.

He then put some brandy and water to the lips of the dying man, and said, quietly : " Percy, my dear old fellow, they are calling for me in front, and I must leave you ; the Major was, as you know, hit some time ago, and requires my assistance. Tell me, have you any parting message that I might take home (if I am spared) for you — any wish I could carry out for you ? Let me be now the true friend I have always tried to be to you. Percy, speak ! " Here the surgeon put his ear a little closer to his comrade's face. " Jack, old fellow, you're right, we have no time to lose, and you must leave me to succour others. Just open my collar more. Do you see a little gold chain round my neck with a locket attached ? Yes, you do. If you look at the locket, Jack, you will see that some diamonds are set in the centre of it.

It is very valuable, but not more worthy than the face inside. It has been my safeguard from temptation for a long time, and the sweet face in the locket has been my charm. I love that face, Jack, as I love none other." Here he gasped for breath. " That sweet girl and I have been engaged for more than a year, but as my father forbade my marrying until I got my captaincv it has necessarily been a secret between us, which we have both sworn never to divulge to a living being. Ah ! she is but a child, Jack. TYill you keep this secret for me, and let it now be your secret as it dies with me ? Let it be unknown to the world for ever, and safe in your honest heart. She, poor dar ling, will, doubtless, mourn for me. God in Heaven bless her ! " Here he fell back exhausted. The surgeon once more put the stimulant to his lips, and as he did so a sergeant came running up almost breathless, exclaiming — " Sir, Major Brabazon's wound is bleeding fast, and the other medical officer was shot dead a short time back in the second trench.

Can you come, sir?" Jack Crawford, with tears in his eyes, once more took his comrade's hand, holding it tightly in his, and said, hurriedly — " Percy, is there anything else you wish to say to me, for I must now run off to the front ? " " Jack, listen. You have the locket. Yes. Let me kiss it once more." Here he put it to his lips reverentially. " Listen. She promised me when first I learned to love her that she would never marry anyone but me, and this will be a hard promise for the poor darling to keep. Now I want you to swear to me that you will never open this locket until your wedding-day. You will think this a mad and foolish request, but you are so good and noble that I am sure you will do as I ask. You have never seen her, Jack, and perhaps never will, but these are my last words.

Promise me, Jack, old fellow." " I swear it, Percy. I will never see the face of your beloved until my marriage-day, and even then I do not see why I should be curious in the matter." Here he kissed the cold brow for the last time, and looking over his shoulder as he ran forward saw his dearest friend and com rade breathe his last.

Chapter II. The Surgeon Of The Guards

Percy Dennys was laid in his grave the next morning. The funeral ceremony was per formed by an army chaplain attached to the Brigade, and the body of the young English man was carried to its last resting-place by four stalwart men of his Company. A simple sheet bound round the corpse took the place of more spotless shrouds, and with out a coffin the body was placed in its sandy grave. A truly mournful sight it was, and many a soldier present shed a silent tear and offered up a few words of prayer for the brave young officer. Percy had been be loved by all his comrades, and also by the men. His nature was kindly and frank, and he was brave as a lion ; indeed, rashness and anxiety to be ever in the front gave him his death-wound. Percy was the second son of Colonel Dennys, who had been in the Guards before him.

His mother died ten years previous, leaving a daughter and two sons to mourn her loss. The elder son was at the present time making a fortune in Australia, where he had married and settled down. Colonel Dennys, therefore, looked upon Percy as an only son, idolized him, and allowed him an income of five hundred a year, on the condition that he was not to marry until he had been promoted to the rank of captain. This condition the young officer had ever tried to fulfil, although he found it very difficult under the circumstances of his secret engagement. Let us now follow the fortunes of Surgeon Jack Crawford and the army in front. He, with many other of his brother medicos, had his work well cut out, for over four hundred Englishmen had been struck down at the hands of the enemy. That awful fifteen minutes from the time the British infantry were ordered to charge Arabi's trenches, until the Egyptians were turning their backs upon them, seemed like hours of hard fighting.

But the Briton of to-day was as the Briton of yore, and no army in the world would have stopped the onward rush of the different brigades as they charged across the sandy plain and fought their way hand-to-hand in and out of Arabi's earthworks. It was no mean effort that carried the day. Sixty well found guns in position, mounted along a line extending nearly two miles, and supported by thirty thousand desperate men, was a hard nut to crack. Jack Crawford found the Major's (Major Brabazon was always known in the regiment as "the Major") wound rather serious, for since its first temporary dressing, bleeding had commenced again, which complicated matters seriously. That night was an awful one for the wounded who lay on the field, and a heavy dew fell, which chilled to the very bones the many sufferers, who had little vital energy left to support them.

" Well, Jack, and how are you getting on ? " exclaimed Bertie Monsel, a young subaltern of the regiment, as he came into the tent where lay the wounded Major and half-a dozen other officers. Bertie's forage cap was well on the back of his head, his fore head was wet with perspiration, and his round, jolly, rubicund face was deeply flushed with excitement. " Lots of practice to-day, old fellow," continued he; "better than three years' walking at Barts." " Do be serious, Bertie, for once in your life ; why, what's that on your sword ? " " Only a little hair from the head of a fighting Pasha. A rough tussle I had with him, too, I can tell you, and upon my word that scrimmage in the trenches was enough to make your very cap turn grey. But to return to the fighting Pasha. "Well, the beggar was polite enough to single me out (as being the most respectable-looking chap he saw), and came on like a fencing-master, capering about after the fashion of a mad marionette if there be such a thing.

Thank the Lord, however, dear old Sergeant Brown's in struction (how I used to swear at him, too !) stood to me, and I polished off my noble, Pasha as clean as a whistle, and tMs, gentle men, behold, is a slight token of affection from the beggar's scalp. Now you see it, now you don't ! " said Bertie, without taking breath, and suiting the action to the word, he flung the ghastly memento from the point of his sword outside the tent door. " You young bloodthirsty rascal ! " suddenly chimed in the Major with a grunt, and in rather a husky voice. " Never mind, Bertie, my boy ; after all you are the right sort for this kind of life. Just give us a hand, ray boy ; this blessed arm of mine is feeling very cramped." " Heigh up, Major ! " shouted Bertie, preparing to lift the wounded arm. " Oh, do be gentle, Bertie," said Jack Crawford, stepping quickly over and holding the rough but good-natured arm of the young subaltern.

" My dear Jack, I would not hurt him for worlds, and as to gentleness, why doves and those worthy ' sisters ' of yours would have to take back seats with me, I can tell you. "Why, what on earth have you got there ? " exclaimed Bertie, pointing to the locket that had belonged to poor Percy Dennys, and which Jack, in his hurry, had put round his neck, thinking that he had tucked it carefully in the breast of his patrol jacket, but which at that moment had slipped out. " Oh, that is a keepsake from poor dear Percy ; don't ask me any more about it, like a good fellow." Here Jack Crawford turned aside, feeling a lump in his throat as he was once more re minded of his dead comrade. " All right, Jack, I apologize if I have hurt your feelings. Poor old Percy ! what a good chap he was," replied Bertie.

" Ah, that he was," exclaimed the Captain of his Company, who was sitting huddled up in a corner of the tent suffering from a shot in the neck. During this conversation the surgeon was attentively going round his patients, followed by his orderly (a surly -looking thick-set man, George Norman by name), giving medicine to quiet the nerves of some, dressing the wounds of others, and speaking to all, words of comfort from his honest heart. " Well, boys,'' said he, as the last post was being sounded, " you will all be the better for a night's rest, and I think I have made you as comfortable as possible, so will bid you good-night. You know that my tent is close at hand, and should anything be required in the night, the orderly on duty will call me. Good-night all, I am a bit tired myself," and as he said this he left the tent and entered his own, where a stretcher and a blanket formed his bed for the night.

As he left the wounded men you might have heard whispers of — " Good fellow, Jack, gentle as a woman ; " " God bless Jack Crawford ! " Before lying down he carefully took the locket, noticing that it had a cross of very fine diamonds on it, and placed it with the chain in a small box together with another token of love, a tress of golden hair that was cut from a dead sister whom he had been everything to. Having locked the little box and placed it at the bottom of a valise as he would not require it any more, he lay on his stretcher and was soon fast asleep. He had not, however, looked at the locket and put it away before it had also been seen and admired by a face which had been stealthily peeping round the tent door at the time. The night, too, was dark, so that anyone might have passed to and fro without being observed. The man who was watching Jack Crawford was Norman, the orderly. c

Chapter III. George Norman

George Norman, otherwise Medical Orderly to the Surgeon of the Guards, had not many minutes to wait, as he paced quietly up and down, before his master was sound asleep. Jack Crawford was thoroughly tired out after his day's work, and nothing short of the bugle sound of alarm would have awakened him to-night. He was lying (unfortunately for the orderly) with his face towards the tent door, but with the stealth and cunning of an " old hand '' and accomplished robber, Norman went straight up to his master, GEORGE NORMAN. 19 slightly tickled his face as if it were a fly buzzing casually about, and managed by this manoeuvre and with a little patience to get the surgeon to turn over of his own accord so that he might the more easily accomplish his diabolical scheme. Norman's skill in this instance was some thing akin to that of the native of India, who, it is said, can steal a sheet from under you while you are asleep.

The surgeon's small oil lamp was at a glimmer, but there was sufficient light, indeed just the right light, for the robber to act. Kneeling down by the side of the valise, Norman took everything carefully out — first Jack's prayer book, then three pairs of socks, a couple of tins of Liebig's extract of beef, one of condensed milk, a small box of meat lozenges, a pocket filter, a book on operative surgery, a cork screw (Oh, thrice blessed corkscrew!), a large red handkerchief, and then the box containing the locket. Norman now took a rest, surveying carefully his master. He then got up, stepped forward, and reached a small key which, with Jack's watch and pocketcase of instruments, lay upon a camp stool beside the stretcher. The box was now quietly opened, and the diamond locket and chain extracted.

Having replaced everything in the valise in the same order as they were taken out, and having put the key back upon the camp stool, the orderly crept into the open air just as the lamp commenced to sputter. Jack turned uneasily over, but only to fall asleep again. " Now I call that a werry clever hopera tion, as the little boy said to the fly when he 'ad pulled 'is leg out," said Norman to him self as he strolled back to his tent with a smile of intense satisfaction upon his face. " That 'ere group of diamonds was quite lost on my brave master. He valued the thing as a keepsake, I dessay, but George Norman, as a perfessional, values it hintrinsi cally. Why, wot would my pal Ned Smith think of me if 1 was to let such a hoppertunity GEORGE NORMAN. 21 slip by ? Why, flyin' right in the face of Providence."

Norman had a good look at the stolen prize, and in his mind valued the stones at pretty nearly their real worth. He then rolled it up very carefully and hid it in a corner of his knapsack. A few words about this soldier-thief may not be out of place here. George Norman as a boy had belonged to that class of street ruffian that nobody seems to know whence they come or whither they go. Brought up in vice, he had learned to look upon the pursuit of robbery as a perfectly legitimate and praiseworthy calling. Before he had arrived at the age of sixteen he had been five times before the magistrates for pocket picking, and his face was as well known on the race field as it was at some of the seaside resorts during the time of regattas, where he usually made a fine harvest. A desperate character within a muscular frame, a fearless, bold, and vicious man, he was beaten in the end at his own game, and exposed by one of his boon companions in sin, and finally con victed for housebreaking and violence to the police at the age of eighteen, and sentenced to two years' imprisonment with hard labour.

After his term of punishment was completed he enlisted into the army, and for the first two years of his new life managed to get along fairly well. Having obtained a second-class certificate of education at the regimental school he became assistant to the sergeant compounder in the hospital. The mixing of drugs and the application of various remedies, etc., seemed to come easily to him ; this he had evidently a natural talent for. It was no wonder, then, that Surgeon Crawford applied for Norman as his orderly when the regiment was ordered on active service. His quiet demeanour, sobriety, (drinking was not one of his vices ; he said " he always liked to keep 'is 'ed cool ") determination with the men under his care in hospital, and the clever way in which he manipulated everything in GEORGE NORMAN. 23 the shape of surgical appliances and dressings, thoroughly fitted him for the post, and justified Jack Crawford in selecting him for the duties required.

He was, moreover, generally liked by the men of his Company, his dry wit, cool temper, and natural courage placing him high in their estimation. There were a few, however, who disliked him thoroughly and seemed to read under his suave manner a deep guiltiness — a hidden blackness of character. Among these was a Sergeant Hall. In the sergeant's plain and unvarnished mind Norman was a " deep one," as he called him, and the observant soldier saw in the orderly's eye a "something" which he did not like and could not trust. At times, therefore, when Sergeant Hall had more direct control over him than at present, that is to say, when Norman was at his ordinary duty, he more than once saw little things in the man's character and small double dealings in his intercourse with his barrack-room comrades that made him suspicious.

Sergeant Hall was of too open and kind a nature to find fault with Norman publicly, or bring these matters to the notice of the Captain of his Company, unless he were perfectly satisfied in his own mind that he was acting justly, and not misjudging or taking a false impression of the man. Two more opposite characters, indeed, could not be found than Sergeant Hall and the surgeon's orderly. Norman, however, up to the present time had managed to keep his head well above water, while his daring nature, as I have already mentioned, caused him to be held in high estimation by most of his comrades.

. The British soldier is not always used for fighting purposes, and for some time after the battle of Tel-el-Kebir, he was engaged forsooth, the greater part of the day in burying dead Egyptians. Yes, the bodies of these unfortunates were not suffered to lie on the open sand there to rot or have their flesh eaten from their bones by animals and birds. Burial parties, as they were called, were formed every day from the different regiments, and these carried out the tiring and, to say the least, unpleasant occupation of digging graves and depositing corpses therein. Now, in command of one of these parties, on the morning: after the events related in the last chapter, was Sergeant Brown, the very man who had instructed Bertie Monsel in fencing. One of the old-fashioned school was Sergeant Brown, a man of about forty two, who had always been a pattern soldier as far as smartness, punctuality, and strict honesty were concerned, and a regular machine at every kind of drill.

He was not, however, well enough educated to warrant his promotion to a commission. Nor did he want it ; he was a true soldier at heart, and did not crave for a false posi tion — that of gentleman — which he knew well he could not fill. " I am quite satisfied," he would remark in the sergeants' mess, " to be what I am. Those young gentlemen who come into the Queen's army to be patro nized and patted on the back and pushed over better and older men's heads to be GHASTLY DETAILS. 27 made officers of, are not my sort. They are not rankers at all, I take it." Here the worthy sergeant would take a long pull of relief from his pipe and march off with pre cision as if someone had insulted him, or disputed the point with him. On this particular morning, while the burial of the dead was going on briskly, and Sergeant Brown was sitting over a trench soliloquizing, one particular body being carried past him attracted his attention.

The men bearing it had thrown an old piece of linen over it, but the smallness of the bundle drew the sergeant's observant eye upon it. " What have you got there, Private Murphy ? " said he to one of the men. " Well, sarjint, it's as pretty a cratur as Oi iver set eyes upon, bless her heart ; nothing more nor less than one of Arabi's harems ! " The Irishman's description was a little puzzling, but Sergeant Brown immediately stepped forward, raised the sheet, and saw that they were carrying a very beautiful girl of about sixteen years old. She had been wounded in the chest by a bullet. " Well, mercy on me ! what a place for a young lady to be in ! " ejaculated our worthy sergeant — " terrible ! " Sergeant Brown had a habit of emphasiz ing almost all his sentences which required effect, with the appendix, " terrible !

" It did not matter whether the subject were a serious one, it might be jocular or otherwise, but in order to give it more weight the word " terrible " was duly applied, which came like a thunderbolt from the sonorous voice-box of the sergeant. In the present instance, perhaps, the epithet was more suitable than usual, for looking down as he did upon the pale sweet face of the girl on the stretcher, it was a pitiable sight, and one which brought him face to face with another of the horrors of war. The countenance of the girl was decidedly neither that of an Egyptian or Arab, and her GHASTL Y DETAILS. 29 skin was not so tawny as theirs. Sergeant Brown turned the matter over in his mind and came to the conclusion that the dead girl was a Jewess, but of what nationality he could not surmise. No doubt Arabi had other followers than Arabians and Egyptians in his camp, and, indeed, is not Cairo a home for every variety of the human species extant ?

One has only to walk the streets of that city, and such a concourse, such a medley of races never was imagined before. From the ebony-coloured face of the Nubian to the yellow-visaged Chinese, every shade is depicted. " Be careful with the little body," said Sergeant Brown, " and if you can find a small piece of stick, just place it at the head of her grave, and perhaps it will be respected even by Egyptians. Terrible ! " The men carried the corpse away, and, as their sergeant wished, showed every care and respect possible in placing it in its desert resting place. As time ran gaily on I daresay this little incident was soon forgotten by the soldiers, who had so much to do and think of all around them. A few days after, a party of sick and wounded, under the care of Surgeon Jack Crawford, was ordered to proceed to Cairo, where they would obtain better shelter and attendance in the military hospital which had been formed there in one of the buildings of the citadel.

The journey from the field of Tel-el-Kebir to Cairo was but a few miles, but on the wretched railway that existed between the two places, the time occupied in traversing the distance was twenty-four hours. Add to this that the poor men and officers accompanying them had to shake down as best they could in open trucks, and my readers can imagine, although they will scarcely be able to realize, what their suffer ings were. The scorching sun in the day time which blistered their faces, the intense suffering from thirst, the falling dew at night, GHASTLY DETAILS. 31 the hard floor of the trucks, with only a little straw to make an excuse for a bed, these were some of the trials and discomforts from which our brave men suffered. As the train went slowly along in the night the moon shone brilliantly as it does in Egypt.