!Tention Part 49

"That your old wound throbs and burns just the same as mine does?"

"Oh, it does," said Punch, "and has for ever so long; but I wasn't thinking that."

"Then you were thinking, the same as I was, that you were glad that this horrible business was nearly over, and that these Spanish fellows, who have done nothing to help us, must now finish it themselves?"

"Well, not azackly," replied the boy. "What I was thinking was that it's all over now--as soon as we have had another shot apiece."

"Yes," said Pen; "one more shot apiece, and we have fired our last cartridges."

"But look here," said Punch, "couldn't we manage with powder and shot from their blunderbusters?"

"I don't know," said Pen wearily. "I only know this, that I shall be too heart-sick and tired out to try."

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

FOR THE KING.

As the evening drew near, it was to the two young riflemen as if Nature had joined hands with the enemy and had seemed to bid them stand back and rest while she took up their work and finished it to the bitter end.

"It's just as if Nature were fighting against us," said Pen.

"Nature! Who's she? What's she got to do with it?" grumbled Punch.

"Phew! Just feel here! The sun's as low down as that, and here's my musket-barrel so hot you can hardly touch it. But I don't know what you mean."

"Well, it doesn't matter," said Pen bitterly. "I only meant that, now the enemy are not coming on, it's growing hotter and hotter, and one's so thirsty one feels ready to choke."

"Oh, I see now. It's just the same here. But why don't they come on.

Must be half an hour since they made their last charge, and if they don't come soon my gun will go off all of itself, and then if they come I sha'n't have a shot for them. Think they will come now?"

"Yes," said Pen; "but I believe they are waiting till it's dark and we sha'n't be able to see to shoot."

"Why, the cowards!" cried Punch angrily. "The cowardly, mean beggars!

Perhaps you are right; but, I say, comrade, they wouldn't stop till it's dark if they knew that we had only got one cartridge apiece, and that we were so stupid and giddy that I am sure I couldn't hit. Why, last time when they came on they seemed to me to be swimming round and round."

"Yes, it was horrible," said Pen thoughtfully, as he tried to recollect the varied incidents of the last charge, and gave up in despair. "I wish it was all over, Punch!"

"Well, don't be in such a hurry about that," said the boy. "I wish the fighting was over, but to wish it was _all_ over sounds ugly. You see, they must be precious savage with us for shooting as we have, and if they charge home, as you call it, and find that we haven't got a shot, I want to know what we are going to do then."

"I don't feel as if it matters now," said Pen despondently.

"Oh, don't you! But I do, comrade. It's bad enough to be wounded and a prisoner; that's all in the regular work; but these Frenchies must be horribly wild now, and when we can't help ourselves it seems to me that we sha'n't be safe. You are tired, and your wound bothers you, and no wonder. It's that makes you talk so grumpy. But it seems to me as if it does matter. Course soldiers have to take their chance, even if they are only buglers, and I took mine, and got it. Now my wound's better, I don't feel like giving up. I feel as if I hadn't half had my innings.

I haven't even got to be what you are--full private. But, I say, it ain't getting dark yet, is it?"

"No, Punch. But I feel so giddy I can hardly see."

"Look out, then!" cried the boy excitedly. "Here they come; and you are all wrong."

For the boy had caught sight of another rush being made, with the enemy scattered wildly; and catching up his musket, Punch fired, while it was as if mechanically and hardly knowing what he was about that Pen raised his piece and followed his companion's example.

What ensued seemed to be part of a nightmare-like dream, during which Pen once more followed his comrade's example; and, grasping his musket by the heated barrel he clubbed it and struck out wildly for a few minutes before he felt that he was borne down, trampled upon, and then lay half-conscious of what was going on.

He was in no pain, but felt as if he were listening to something that was taking place at a distance. There were defiant shouts, there was the rushing of feet, there was firing. Orders were being given in French; but what it all meant he could not grasp, till all at once it seemed to him that it was very dark, and a hot, wet hand was laid upon his forehead.

Then a voice came--a familiar voice; but this too seemed to be from far away, and it did not seem natural that he should be feeling the touch upon his forehead while the voice came from a distance.

"I say, they haven't done for you, have they, comrade? Oh, do try to speak. Tell me where it hurts."

"Hurts! That you, Punch?"

"Course it is. Hooray! Where's your wound? Speak up, or I can't make it out in all this row. Where have you got it?"

"Got what?"

"Why, I telled you. The wound."

"My wound?" said Pen dreamily. Why, you know--in my leg. But it's better now. So am I. But what does it all mean? Did something hit me on the head?

"I didn't half see; but you went down a horrid kelch, and must have hit your head against the rocks."

"Yes, yes, I am beginning to understand now. But where are we? What's going on? Fighting?"

"Fighting? I should just think there is! Can't you hear?"

"I can hear the shouting, but I don't quite understand yet."

"Never mind, then. I was afraid you were done for."

"Done for! What, killed?"

"Something of the kind," grumbled Punch; "but don't bother about it now."

"I must," said Pen, with what was pa.s.sing around seeming to lighten up.

"Here, tell me, are my arms fastened behind me?"

"Yes, and mine too. But I just wriggled one hand out so as to feel for you. We are prisoners, lad, and the Frenchies have chivied right back to where the King and his men have been making a bit of a stand. I can't tell you all azackly, but that's something like it, and I think they are fighting now--bad luck to them, as O'Grady would say!--right in yonder where we had our braxfas'. I say, it's better than I thought, comrade."

"In what way, Punch?"

"Why, I had made up my mind, though I didn't like to tell you, that they'd give us both the bay'net. But they haven't. Perhaps, though, they are keeping us to shoot through the head because they caught us along with the smugglers. That's what they always do with them."

"Well,"--began Pen drearily.

"No, 'tain't. 'Tain't well, nor anything like it."

The boy ceased speaking, for the fight that had been raging in the interior of the cavern seemed to be growing fiercer; in fact, it soon became plain to the listeners that the tide of warfare was setting in their direction; the French, who had been driving the _contrabandista's_ followers backward into the cavern, and apparently carrying all before them, had met with a sudden check. For a fairly brief s.p.a.ce they had felt that the day was their own, and eager to make up for the long check they had suffered, princ.i.p.ally through the keen firing of the two boys, they had pressed on recklessly, while the undrilled _contrabandistas_, losing heart in turn, were beginning, in spite of the daring of their leader, who seemed to be in every part of their front at once, to drop back into the cavern, giving way more and more, till at last they had shrunk some distance into the old mine, bearing back with them the royal party, who had struggled to restrain them in vain.