Cinderella in the South | Page 6

the accredited gunlayer's. We shelled another position, and
then another. Afterwards came a lull, and some of us hurried up to
breakfast.
There was much talk there of the possible or probable slaughter we had
effected. Doubtless the store ship that had followed us and hung behind
us had served us well. Those on shore Had surely been more disposed
to hold to their positions, fearing that she carried troops, and meant to
land them. Now she was steaming slowly away. How many did our bag
amount to? The Intelligence Officer was sanguine, so was my colleague,
but the gunnery officer was rather pessimistic. 'Two or three of those
rounds went just wrong,' he grunted. 'We've struck a bad day.' After
that the porridge and the bacon and the eggs were done with; we were
soon back at our stations. Once more our gun bombarded. Once more
no answer came. Now occurred the cruise of the motor boat; the best
adventure of the day so far, as it seemed to me.
The boat was lowered, and the shore Maxim mounted in it. Sand bags
were piled up in plenty. A Naval Reserve officer, fair-haired and young
faced, sprang in to join the gun's officer. There was also a British
bluejacket ready to go, and there were African soldiers and sailors, as
well as the two engine-men, English and Goanese. They were to beat
up the river, and hunt down canoes, should any appear.
My heart thrilled as I uttered God-speed to the Maxim warden. I think
he was unmarried, but his fellow officer was both husband and father;
they might have a fiery time in front. Last my graceful friend, with no
stars or badges on his khaki, slipped into the boat. He seemed to come
and go as he liked, and none refused his services. The boat hummed
away from us, past some rocks, and round a headland into the unseen.
Then our ship traveled on slowly, before she stopped and fired again.

She shot away many rounds that time. I was sick and weary of the
firing as I sat on the deck by the doctor's cabin. My colleague was
much more alert and cheerful. He had secured a shell-case by the naval
commander's bounty. 'They make such splendid trophies,' he told me.
But I did not covet one much. I thought of how such war trophies were
in demand for Christmas decoration vases in a church by the lakeside. I
also thought of the quite possible horror and havoc of shattered askaris'
bodies that those splendid trophies might be supposed to have wrought.
How one thought besides of the adventurers in that whizzing
motor-boat during that next half-hour. But as it turned out, according to
their disappointed report, not a shot was fired at them.
'We let fly with the Maxim at some natives and one European on shore,'
the gun-worker shouted, as they drew up at the ship's side. 'We saw
some canoes, three of them. Askaris were in them, and urging the
paddlers on. Then, of all times, the Maxim took it into its head to jam
badly. So we didn't get them.' I happened to catch my friend in khaki's
eye as the other lamented. He looked quite cheerful about things, while
the other went on, 'We'd have sunk the lot, if it hadn't jammed just
then.'
The thought flickered into my mind as to whether anybody was
responsible for that singular coincidence. I looked in my friend's face
with some sort of an uneasy question. But he only smiled. His face was
strangely prepossessing, so entirely fearless, yet not the least truculent.
His brown eyes and boy's lips answered my question with the most
engaging of smiles. Those brown eyes assorted piquantly with his very
fair hair. He had pushed his white helmet far back on his yellow head.
Half an hour later we were in our action stations once more. Our
riflemen were firing at individual askaris (were they all askaris, and not
unhappy villagers?) who could be descried upon the shore. The
signalman, passing by again, snatched a rifle and fired just beside me.
One of the Maxims meanwhile was working away grimly, the officer's
face was set firm as he steadied his coughing machine. Then it was that
I saw my unattached friend step towards him, and take up his stand
behind him. Ping! A bullet came just over the gun-director's head. 'That
was a near shave,' the warrant officer told me afterwards. 'Someone

aimed too high, or he'd have got him that worked the gun.'
Yet it was a mystery to me why the bullet did not get that handsome
head behind and above him, the head that I reflected had doubtless
helped to draw the fire so high. He who