" The Man Who Didn't Go Back."

Free Lance, Volume I, Issue 40, 6 April 1901, Page 19

" The Man Who Didn't Go Back. "

MAIIViN had sent his card to Miss Robertson, and he waited for her coming with a strange sense of shame. He had oome back ii om South Africa wounded and ill, or, to be exact, ho had left Capetown m that condition. JbJut he had arrived in .London the picture ot health, and what had become ot the bullet hole through his body he really did not know. In jest, he had accused the ship's doctor ot stealing it as a surgical curiosity. He telt that he had no right to be at home, he should be serving his paper at the front. If he had been dblo to decide the matter for himself, he never would have left the scene ot active operations, but the doetois had "rail-roaded" him in the first days ot lus weakness, and he had found himself aboard the transport in Capetown harbour without fully knowing how he had come there. No word had come to him from the "Gazette." It was almost certain that Jus employers were ignorant of his arrival in .London, indeed, considering the condition ot the cable service, there was a fair chance that they had not yet found out what had become ot him. Certainly, no one had met him at the pier. Two reasons had determined him to go to the Robertson residence direct trom the steamer. He was ashamed to go to the office, and he was in love with Miss Robertson. He glanced at the mirror in the drawing-room, and almost swore. "I'd give £-30," said he to himself, "for the pallor of a corpse." There was a rustle like the flight ot many little birds. Marvin turned just in time to meet the arms that clasped him around the neck, and the lips that did not shrink from his. It was a greeting such as his fondest fancy had not dared to picture, and he fairly groaned with pleasure. "Harold'" she cried, starting back, "I have hurt you. Your wound!" This time he groaned with woe. "I wish I had one.," he said, "but the wretched thing got well. And I'm not ill m the least. Norma, are not you ashamed of me?" " Her eyes and mouth opened with such sudden, surprised perplexity as might strike a child. "Ashamed!" she gasped. "Harold, my hero!" _ Then he groaned worst of all. It shook the soul of him. "Norma," he said, hoarsely, 1 was shot nine miles from anywhere. .Nobody knows where the bullet came from. It had probably been wandering round for two or three days looking tor the most useless man in South Africa, and at last it found him. I was sitting on a cracker box, playing a banjo, and the only good thing that got hurt was the unfortunate instrument. Ihey tell me that I fell on it and smashed it all to pieces." She bent forward, and looked up into his face, her hand upon his arm. "But the charge?" she said. "They said you were wounded in the charge. "What charge, in the name of heaven?" he demanded. "Wait, wait'" she cried, and ran out of the room. Marvin remained there in a trance. He could not have testified positively whether she was gone two minutes or a week. He knew that she returned some tune, and that she brought a mass of papers. She selected one from the bundle, and put it into his hands. It was a special edition of the 'Gazette, of a date long past, and it told how "our special correspondent" had accompanied the famous charge ot the Glen Bannock highlanders, and had behaved with such gallantry as to secure mention in the dispatches of General Wardner. Obscure reference was made to some special service which he had rendered to Colonel Cluny, who led the charge, and it was directly asserted that he was by Cluny's side from first to last of that desperate adventure. Marvin's practised eye discovered at once that the writer of the story had had a very slender basis of fact to go upon , indeed, he knew that all the news about Cluny's charge and the operations immediately preceding and following it had been rigidly censored. The writer had drawn liberally u^on his imagination, yet he could hardly have invented General Wardner's despatch, which was printed in black S 1 pc, and contained the name of Harold arvm, correspondent. The young man had had a fever following his wound, and had experienced the possibilities of delirium, but he had never dreamed anything to match this for absurdity. He was stunned by the shock of it, and could hardly collect his thoughts. He stood there with the paper in his hands, and the type danced a Highland fling before his oyes. Norma's voice seemed to come from a distance. "Well?" she said, "isn't that true?" "True 1 " he gasped. "If it is, there are no liars in the world Norma, how could this thing have happened ? I am utterly ruined."

The girl turned pale. "Weren't you in the charge'^" she w hisnered. "J saw it," he replied. "I sat on a rock, the safest one that I could find fiom which a person could see anything, and I viewed Cluny's charge through my field glass. JSorma, believe me, I am not a coward, I was never afraid one second in South Afnca. But I did not expose myself to peril. I was there to serve my paper, and if I got shot I couldn't serve it. So I tried to keep out of harm's way. "I saw Cluny make that charge, and wrote — confound me — while he and his men fought. After he was driven back I had a few words with him, and later I saw General Wardner. That's the queerest part of it. Wardner knew me W ell— he saw me after the charge, for I carried a message to him from Cluny. I wish I'd got shot doing that, but I didn't get a scratch, and Wardner knew it Of course, he couldn't have sent that idiotic despatch. The meaning of it must have been changed by the bungling censor. "But how the deuce my name got into it " He shook his head, and groaned once more. I saw Wardner," he continued, tor about fourteen seconds, and then lost him. It was many hours later, when the day's fighting was over, and I was far from the front, that that bullet fell out of the sky upon my back." "Harold, ' said the girl, "this is the most dreadful thing that ever happened. My poor, poor love ' What shall we do?" "Do!" he repeated in confusion. "You're a hero all over England," she said. "People have been trying to nnd out what ship you sailed in, and two banquets that I know of have been arranged for you. And I have been so proud! I have wept with pride at the mention of your name." Marvin's forehead was wet with perspiration; the drops were starting up trom the roots of his hair, and the tension of the nerves caused the track of his wound to be drawn through his body as if by the phantom finger of pain. "I must get out of here," he said. "I never can stand it. They have done for me. I will go back there and get shot. They never shall know I was in England/ "If you do that," said the girl calmly, "I shall really be ashamed ot you. JNow lam only sorry. Mo, Harold, dear. Dear boy, you nave to face the music. Tell the exact truth. Tell it everywhere. Make the paper publish it. And then go back to the front, it they wish you to, and do your work as you did it before, with fidelity and without recklessness." "I can never stand it," he replied, with tears in his eyes. "Think fhat the other papers will do to me. Anything but ridicule. I can bear all else." "You must bear even that, said she, "if any one is unjust enough to write it. Your part in this " The butler, entering with a card, interrupted her. She motioned to him to come forward. "The gentleman wishes to see Mr. Marvin," said he. "Mr. Morns," said Norma, glancing at the card. "Of the 'Gazette' 1" exclaimed Marvin. "How did he know that I was here? Well, I must see him." Morris entered, lank, pale, tall, tremulous as ever — more so, indeed, for excitement shook him until he seemed to rustle. "My dear Marvin 1" he cried. "Miss Robertson, I beg your pardon, but at such a moment formalities are almost impossible. Our hero has returned, and " "Morns," demanded Marvin sternly, "are you responsible for this awful nonsense ?" It has been said for years that Morris's heart was weak to the verge of death, and it is a wonder that this scene did not finish him. He survived it, however, though hardly. "We had General Wardner's despatch to the War Office,"' he protested when Marvin laid the case before him. "That is absolutely authentic. We had as much as the censor would pass of your account of Cluny's charge, which was mighty little, but the last word we had from you. What were we to conclude? We did our best, Marvin, and we wrote what we thought had occurred." "Have you any idea why Wardner sent it p " asked Marvin. "Has any attempt been made to communicate with him?" "We shall communicate with him in a very few hours," renlied Morris. "He reached London this morning. He was wounded on the day after you were hit, and was sent home. Various mishaps have prevented our seeing him as yet, but we learn indirectly that he has spoken highly of you, and we expect him to attend our banquet in your honour this evening."

"A banquet to me! Was ever anything bo monstrous?" "Well, I'll tell you frankly Marvin," rejoined Morris, rallying, "that your work before this thing happened was worth a banquet, and, by heavens, you shall have it. We'll get Wardner if we can, and clear this whole thing up. The truth must come out, and, if it comes out boldly, the less harm to all concerned. We have all acted in good faith." "I can't — I can't go," Marvin began. And then he caught Norma's eye. "But I will," he added. "Only this one thing I insist upon, the speeches before the dinner. And, for the love of mercy, get Wardner if you can. Let me die all in a heap, and not linger !" Morris glanced at his watch. "There isn't much time," he said. "The hour was five o'clock. You see, we thought you were coming on the same boat with Wardner, and you ought to have seen the reception we had prepared for you. We were pretty sore when we found that you were not there, and that Wardner had dodged ashore in a boat." "I will go with you," said Marvin, writhing with mental anguish. "Norma, pray for me. I shall see you tomorrow, when it is all over." "But I shall be there!" she cried. "There are to be ladies present." "Then — then some one will — will not laugh at me!" he said, almost with a sob, as he pressed her hand hard. ******* Marvin rose in his place at the head of the table. His face was as pale as he had wished it to be that morning, and his knees shook under him. Though a whisper had gone about among the company to explain his speaking before the banquet, a wild burst ot applause greeted him. He extended his hands imploringly. They were silent for an instant, and then came another sudden outburst. "The general !" cried some. And Marvin turned to see the old warrior entering. They had despaired of his coming. The little, grizzled old man advanced toward his place on the other side of the presiding officer, and then suddenly wheeled, and took both of Marvin's hands. "Speak to them," whispered the youn" 1 man, nearly fainting. "Tell them about this terrible mistake." "This terrible what?" demanded the general in his singular, piping, penetrating voice, and then, seeing clearly that both Marvin and the company wished him to speak, he bowed, and there was silence. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I'm a poor speaker, but the facts speak for themselves. This is the whole story in a nutshell • After Cluny's famous charge he sent Captain Harris with despatches to me, and our young friend here accompanied the officer. "Our forces were in the form of a horseshoe on a range of low hills, Colonel Cluny on one side and I on the other. The plain between us was under the fire of both parties, for the Boers were right across the end of the horseshoe. "Colonel Cluny would never have ordered a man to go across that plain. It was his intention that Captain Harris should go round through the line of hills that we held. "The captain rode down to the edge of cover, near the place where the signal corps was, trying to get us, and not making a success of it. He was shot there, and fell off his horse, and in one second this young man had taken the despatches out of the officer's hand and had dashed straight out on the plain. How he got across God only knows, but he did. And I don't mind telling you, in confidence, that it was a mighty good thing for England that he made the run." An indescribable storm of applause broke forth, in the midst of which Marvin's voice could be heard pleading with Wardner. At this silence came with startling abruptness. "But, general " he repeated, almost in tears, "what was Ito do? Captain Harris said, 'Get these to Wardner,' and he handed them to me." "Why did not you go around bv the hills?" demanded the general. "You knew we held them." "Upon my soul, I didn't. I thought we were split in two, and that the force on my left was Boers. I went across the plain because I did not think there was any other way. Besides, I did not know there would be any great danger." "11l warrant you found out about it when you got out of the cover," retorted the general. "Bullets pretty thick weren't they ?" "But I couldn't help that," pleaded Marvin. "It was the only way. What could I do?" The general's shrill voice sounded comically sharp and high. "Why didn't you go back?" he demanded. Marvin struck his forehead with his hand. The room seemed to whirl around. He was trying to tell the exact, absolute truth, for Norma's eyes were on him. Why hadn't he gone back? He searched his mind with agonised haste.

But there was no clue. He raised his hand, and answered with perfect truth — "I never thought of it. From that moment to this one the idea never came into mv mind." The general seized a glass from the table, and held it high. His piping voice rang through the room. "Here's to the man who never thought of going back?" And the roar that followed shook the roof.