Captain Jinks, Hero Ernest Howard Crosby (best management books of all time TXT) 📖

then, as the return fire was feeble, he ordered the squadron of cavalry to charge, leading it himself. The natives turned and fled as soon as they saw them coming, and the cavalry, skirting the enclosure of the temple, followed them beyond and cut them down without mercy.

“Give them hell!” cried Sam. “Exterminate the vermin!” and he swore, quite naturally under the circumstances, like a trooper.

Some of the natives fell on their knees and begged for quarter, but it was of no use. Everyone was killed. They numbered about two hundred in all. When the horsemen returned to the temple they found the infantry already at work at the task of looting it. Everything of value that could be carried was taken out, and the larger statues and vases were broken to pieces. Then the woodwork was cut away and piled up for firewood, and finally the whole pile set on fire. In all this work the leader was a sergeant of infantry who seemed to have a natural talent for it. Sam had noticed him before at the burning of the other temples, but now he showed himself more conspicuously capable. As the work of piling inflammable material against the walls of polished marble, inlaid with ivory, was nearing completion, Sam sent for this man so that he might thank and congratulate him. The soldier came up, his hands black with charcoal and his face smudged as well.

“You’ve done well, sergeant,” said Sam. “I will mention you to the general when we return.”

“Thank you, sir,” said the man, and his voice sounded strangely familiar. Sam peered into his face. He had certainly seen it before.

“What is your name, sergeant?”

“Thatcher, sir.”

“Why, of course, you’re Thatcher⁠—Josh Thatcher of Slowburgh. Don’t you remember that night at the hotel when we had a drink together? Don’t you remember Captain Jinks?”

“Yes, sir, but I didn’t know you was he⁠—a colonel, too, sir,” said the man, as Sam shook his hand warmly.

“I’m glad to see that you’re doing credit to your town,” said Sam.

“They’ll be surprised to hear it at home, sir,” said Thatcher. “They was always down on me. They never gave me a chance. Here they all speaks to me like you do, sir. Why, Dr. Amen slapped me on the back and called me a fine fellow when I brought him in a big load of stuff. I got it from houses of people I didn’t even know, and he said I was a good fellow. At Slowburgh I took a chicken now and then, and only from somebody who’d done me some mean trick, and they said I was a thief. Once or twice I burned a barn there just for fun, and never anybody’s barn that wasn’t down on me and rich enough to stand it, and they said I was a criminal. And as for women, if they ever seed me with one, they all said I was dissolute and a disgrace to the place, and here I have ten times more of ’em than I want, and everybody says it’s all right, and they made me corporal and sergeant, and the generals talked to me like I was somebody, and I swear as much as I like. I never shot anybody at home. I suppose they’d have strung me up if I had, and here I just pepper any pigtail I like. They called me a criminal at Slowburgh, just think of that! I say that criminals are just soldiers who ain’t got a job⁠—who ain’t had any chance at all, I says. I wasn’t ever judged right, I wasn’t.”

There were tears in Thatcher’s eyes as he ended this speech.

“You’re a fine chap,” said Sam. “I’ll tell all about you when you get home. This war has been the making of you. How are the other Slowburgh boys?”

“They’re all right, except my cousin Tom. He’s down sick with something. He’s run about a little too much. He always was a-sparking. He never knowed how to take care of himself. Jim Thomson was wounded once, but he’s all right now. We’ve all had fever, but that’s over too. But the fire’s spreading, sir; we’d better get out of this.”

As he spoke a heavy charred beam fell just in front of him, and the end of it came down with its full weight on Sam’s leg, snapping the bone in two near the ankle. The foot lay at right angles, and the bone protruded. Several soldiers lifted the log and Thatcher drew Sam out, and they bore him in haste out of the building. He was laid on the ground quite unconscious, at some distance from the temple, while the flames roared and leaped toward heaven, wrapping the graceful, lofty nine-story pagoda in their folds. It was in a beautiful garden that he lay, near a pool filled with lotus flowers and at the end of a rustic bridge. The air was heavy with the perfume of lilies. A surgeon was called, and before long he was able to put the foot in place, but only after sawing off a large piece of bone. A cart was obtained, Sam was laid in it, a bottle of whisky was poured down his throat, and the journey to the city began. The patient on coming to himself experienced no pain. The liquor he had taken made him feel supremely happy. He was in an ecstasy of exultation, and would have liked to embrace all mankind. But gradually this feeling wore off and his leg began to pain him, at first slightly, then more and more until it became excruciating. The road was almost impassable, and every jolt caused him agony. For twelve hours he underwent these tortures until he reached the camp in the city, and was at once transferred to a temporary hospital which had been improvised in a public building. Here he lay for many weeks, suffering much, but gradually regaining the use of his leg. He was in charge of