In the Irish Brigade by G. A. Henty (summer reads .txt) 📖

he had brought with him, together with some flat splints, bound the hand in its proper position, and then laid the arm from the elbow to the fingers in the cradle, round which he tightly put a few bandages to keep it in position.

"Now for your scarf," he said, and with this made a sling to support the arm.

The whole operation did not take five minutes.

"Now, Mr. Kennedy, you had best lie down and get what sleep you can. I will take the other half of your boot, and the other boot also. It will be no use without its fellow. It will make three wounded men comparatively comfortable, and I will send for some more from the troopers."

"Yes, lie down at once, Kennedy," Berwick said. "We are going to march off at daybreak, and the marshal and I have arranged everything between ourselves. You had better try and eat something, if it is only a wing of that chicken and a few mouthfuls of meat. Your faintness must be due as much to hunger as to your wound, for you have been at work since early morning, and cannot have had time to eat anything."

This was indeed the case, and Desmond managed to swallow a few mouthfuls, and then lay down upon the sofa, where, in spite of the pain of his wound, he presently dozed off, being utterly worn out with the work and excitement of the day.

Before morning, some five thousand of the troops from Diepenbeck had marched into the camp, in good order and with their arms, and as soon as it was daylight the whole force started for Ghent. With deep regret, Desmond had learned from the marshal, before lying down, that none of his comrades had returned; and as they had not reached Diepenbeck, he felt sure that they were either killed or prisoners.

"D'Eyncourt will, of course, be treated as a prisoner of war; but if the identity of O'Sullivan or O'Neil is proved with the officers of that name who escaped from Newgate, it is likely to go hard with him."

After repulsing the cavalry sent in pursuit, the army marched away unmolested, being joined as they went by large numbers of fugitives, who had made their way through the allied lines in small parties. Marlborough's army remained on the ground they had won, collecting and caring for the wounded of both armies.

Two days later, Berwick's corps joined Vendome, and that of Eugene marched into Marlborough's camp. In spite of the loss that he had suffered at Oudenarde, this reinforcement raised Vendome's army to over one hundred and ten thousand men, which was about the same force as Marlborough had under his command.

After Eugene had joined him, standing as he did between Vendome's army and Paris, Marlborough proposed that the enemy's fortresses should be neglected, and that the army should march directly on Paris. The movement might have been attended with success, but was of so daring a description that even Eugene opposed it, while the commanders of the Dutch, Danes, and Prussians were unanimously against it; and he consequently decided to lay siege to Lille--a tremendous undertaking, for Lille was considered the strongest fortress in France, and Vendome, with over a hundred thousand men, was within a couple of days' march of it.

His dispositions were made with extreme care, and a tremendous convoy of heavy artillery, ammunition, and provisions was brought up from Ostend, without the French being able to interfere with its progress. Marlborough, with his British contingent and the Hanoverians, was to cover the operations of the siege, which was to be undertaken by Prince Eugene with the rest of the allied army.

Vendome marched at once with his army, and, making a circuit, placed himself between Lille and Paris, deserting his recent conquests in Ypres, Ghent, and Bruges, all of which fell into the hands of the allies.

Chapter 13: Convalescent.

Desmond was not present with the French army, for many hours after their arrival at Ghent. He suffered intense pain on the ride thither, and was then taken to a hospital that had been hastily formed for the reception of wounded officers. Here the surgeons had agreed that there was nothing for it, but to amputate the arm halfway between the wrist and the elbow. The limb was already greatly swollen.

"Under ordinary circumstances," the surgeon said, "we should wait until we had reduced the inflammation, but this might be a matter of a week or ten days, and there is no time to spare, as the army will probably march away in a few days, and travel would increase the inflammation to such an extent that your life might be sacrificed."

"I would rather have it taken off at once, doctor," Desmond said. "The operation cannot hurt very much more than the arm is hurting already, and the sooner it is over, the better."

Surgery was in its infancy at that time. Anesthetics were undreamt of; but the surgeons of the French army had large experience, and the operation was very skilfully performed, for the time. The stump was then seared with a hot iron.

"You have stood it well," the surgeon said, for, except when the iron was applied to the wound, no groan had issued from Desmond's lips. "Now, your servant must keep these dressings continually soaked with water, and, in a few days, we may hope that you will be able to travel in a waggon without danger."

When the army marched away a week later, Desmond was placed in a waggon, half filled with hay, with several other wounded officers. At Arras, where there was a large military hospital, he was kept for a few days, and then sent on to Amiens, only the most severe cases being retained at Arras, as another engagement might take place at any moment, and the resources of the town would be taxed to the utmost. He gained strength very slowly, and it was six weeks before the surgeons pronounced him to be sufficiently convalescent to be moved.

"It would," they said, "be probably some months before he would be fit to return to active service."

He was sitting, looking listlessly out of the window of the chamber that he and three other officers occupied, when Mike came in, followed, to Desmond's intense surprise, by Monsieur de la Vallee.

"My dear Desmond," the latter exclaimed, hurrying forward and grasping his hand, "you must have thought that we had all forgotten you."

"Indeed, I never thought anything of the kind, Philip. I did not suppose that you had ever heard of me, since we parted at Moulins."

"News travels but slowly, but we did hear that fifteen subalterns of O'Brien's regiment were captured in the Salisbury. I wrote to a friend in Paris, and he told me that you were among the number, but that, on making enquiries, he found you had, in some manner or other, effected your escape, and that you and two other officers had had an audience with the king, and had then gone to the northern frontier on the staff of the Duke of Berwick. I wrote begging him to get, if possible, a sight of the despatches, and if your name appeared, to let us know. Ten days ago, I received a letter from him, to say that you had been wounded at Oudenarde. The Duke of Berwick had, in his private despatch to the king, mentioned your name with very high praise, saying that it was due to you, alone, that so many of the troops hemmed in at some village or other--I forget its name--managed to make their escape during the night, for, although he sent off four aides-de-camp with orders, you alone managed to get through the enemy, though wounded by a bullet which had caused you the loss of your hand. He said he had written to the chief surgeon on Berwick's staff, who was a personal friend of his, to ascertain, if possible, where you were. Of course, I set out as soon as I received his letter."

"What! Have you ridden all the way from the south of France to come to me, Philip?"

"Of course I have, and should have ridden all across Europe, if it had been necessary. I went round by Pointdexter. The baron is laid up with an attack of gout, or he would have accompanied me. He sent all sorts of messages, and so did Anne, and the latter informed me that I need not show my face at the chateau again, until I came accompanied by you. When I reached Paris my friend had learned from the surgeon that you were at Amiens, and so, here I am.

"I met your faithful Mike at the gate of the hospital. I was glad, indeed, to see that he had come out unharmed from that terrible fight. When I told him I had come to take you away, he almost cried with joy."

"It will be the saving of him," he said. "He has been going down the hill for the last fortnight, and it is change and good nursing he wants."

"He will get good nursing, I warrant," I said, "and the soft air of the south will soon set him up."

"It is wonderfully kind of you, Philip; but I am sure I am not strong enough to ride."

"No one is thinking of your riding, at present, Desmond. I have brought down a horse litter with me, and four of my men, with the quietest horses on the estate, and all you have to do is to lie down in it, and talk with me whenever you are disposed. You have a whole batch of adventures to tell me."

"I feel better already, Philip. I own that I have been downhearted of late, for it seemed to me that I should be an invalid for months, and be living in Paris without a friend except Mike, for all the regiments of the Brigade are either with Vendome or in Spain. The sight of your face, and the thought of your kindness, so cheers me that I feel capable of anything."

"Well, we will start tomorrow morning, Desmond. I shall go at once and see the director of the hospital, and get an order for your discharge."

The next morning they set out. Desmond had to be assisted downstairs. There he was laid on a litter, packed with soft rugs. This was raised and placed between two horses, ridden by two of de la Vallee's men. De la Vallee himself took his place by the side of the litter, Mike rode on ahead leading Desmond's charger, and the other two servants fell to the rear, in readiness to change with those bearing the litter, when half the day's journey was done.

Seeing that the exertion of being moved had exhausted his friend, de la Vallee rode for some time in silence. Then, when Desmond opened his eyes and smiled at him, he said:

"I hope you are feeling comfortable?"

"Perfectly. I hardly feel any motion."

Every care had been taken to prevent jolting. The poles of the litter were unusually long, thus adding to their elasticity. The ends passed through leathern loops suspended from the saddle; and were, at this point, covered with a thick wrapping of flannel bandages, which aided in minimizing the effect of any jar. The first day's journey was performed at a walking pace, and they reached Beauvais, twenty-five miles being accomplished.

The fresh air and the slight easy motion were beneficial, and in the afternoon, Desmond was able to talk cheerfully with his friend. There was, however, no continued conversation, Philip saying he would ask no questions about Desmond's doings until he was stronger. His story had better be told while sitting quietly in a room, where it would not be necessary, as it was on the road, for the voice to be raised.

In the evening, however, after partaking of supper, Desmond, without being asked, related the incidents, so far as he knew them, of the battle of Oudenarde, and of the