Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N.: A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-dayJeans, T. T. (Thomas Tendron)
General
Mr. Midshipman Glover, R.N.: A Tale of the Royal Navy of To-day
Jeans, T. T. (Thomas Tendron)
Adventure stories; Great Britain. Royal Navy -- Fiction; Seafaring life -- Fiction
Ugh! How it rained and blew! That zigzag path was a miniature torrent,
and my feet slipped backwards in the squelching mud at every pace. The
idiot, too, who was training the _Laird’s_ search-light thought, I have
no doubt, he was lighting my way; but he kept his beam fixed on me and
the men who went with me, with the result that I was nearly blinded.
The shadows were made still more intense, and it was more difficult than
ever to avoid stumbling over the bodies of the dead Chinamen which
littered the path.
Two hours’ hard work it was before the wounded were patched up and made
fairly ship-shape.
The Mauser bullet wounds did not bother me much, but quite a number of
men had deep flesh wounds inflicted by cutlasses, swords, or bayonets
during the hand-to-hand fighting, and it does not require much
imagination to understand the difficulty—the impossibility, in fact—of
making a good job of these, dressing them by the unsteady light of the
_Laird’s_ search-light, with the rain pouring in torrents and driving
almost horizontally across the top of the hill before the gale.
As each case was finished, and the poor fellow, blue with cold (the skin
of their hands and faces was wrinkled like a washerwoman’s hands), was
laid down somewhere in the lee of the dripping sand-bags, I injected
morphia to ease his pain, and could only hope that he would be
sufficiently alive in the morning for us to get him safely down to the
ships, where he might have a chance of being properly looked after.
Little Cummins had about the worst wound of the lot, and even if he
managed to pull through, I had little hope that his left arm would be of
much use to him.
However, he tried to be cheery, especially when I told him that young
Glover was safe and sound aboard the _Laird_, and gave one or two of his
irritating chuckles before he fainted. He then lay quiet for the rest
of the night. There was no need to give him any morphia, for he was
absolutely "played out".
Saunderson, with a bullet through his right lung, did not worry me much,
because so long as he kept still and was tightly bandaged, nothing more
could be done for him, and his grand physique would carry him safely
through the night’s exposure.
Things were made more comfortable when the men who had come with me
pulled some logs across from one of the breast-works and made a fire
close to the Krupp gun parapet, and probably more lives were saved by
this means than by anything I did.
The men who had defended the hill all day were now fast asleep, most of
them absolutely unprotected from the cold rain, so I made my fellows
bring them nearer to the fire. Many were so exhausted that they were
carried across without being awakened. In fact, it was so difficult to
distinguish the dead from the living, that they actually carried over
two dead men and laid them down round the fire, nor was their mistake
discovered till morning.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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