"You've no idea," says Harry, "what a nip it was. I thought it was all
over; but all the same, the poor brute didn't mean it, I'd swear."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
STORY ONE, CHAPTER FOUR.
Who could have thought just then that all that nonsense of Harry Lant's
with the elephant was shaping itself for our good? But so it was, as
you shall by and by hear. The march continued, matters seeming to go on
very smoothly; but only seeming, mind you; for let alone that we were
all walking upon a volcano, there was ever so much unpleasantry brewing.
Let alone my feeling that, somehow or another, Harry Lant was not so
good a mate to me as he used to be, there was a good deal wrong between
Captain Dyer and Lieutenant Leigh, and it soon seemed plain that there
was much more peace and comfort in our camp a week earlier than there
was at the time of which I am now writing.
I used to have my turns as sentry here and there; and it was when
standing stock-still with my piece, that I used to see and hear so much;
for in a camp it seems to be a custom for people to look upon a sentry
as a something that can neither see nor hear anything but what might
come in the shape of an enemy. They know he must not move from his
post, which is to say that he's tied hand and foot; and perhaps from
that they think that he's tied as to his senses. At all events, I got
to see that when Miss Ross, was seated in the colonel's tent, and
Captain Dyer was near her, she seemed to grow gentle and quiet, and her
eyes would light up, and her rich red lips part, as she listened to what
he was saying; while, when it came to Lieutenant Leigh's turn, and he
was beside her talking, she would be merry and chatty, and would laugh
and talk as lively as could be. Harry Lant said it was because they
were making up matters, and that some day she would be Mrs Leigh; but I
didn't look at it in that light, though I said nothing.
I used to like to be sentry at the colonel's tent, on our halting for
the night, when the canvas would be looped up, to let in the air, and
they'd got their great globe-lamps lit, with the tops to them, to keep
out the flies, and the draughts made by the punkahs swinging backwards
and forwards. I used to think it quite a pretty sight, with the ladies
and the three or four officers, perhaps chatting, perhaps having a
little music, for Miss Ross could sing like--like a nightingale, I was
going to say; but no nightingale that I ever heard could seem to lay
hold of your heart, and almost bring tears into your eyes, as she did.
Then she used to sing duets with Captain Dyer, because the colonel
wished it, though it was plain to see Mrs Maine didn't like it, any
more than did Lieutenant Leigh, who more than once, as I've seen, walked
out, looking fierce and angry, to strike off right away from the camp,
perhaps not to come back for a couple of hours.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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