The Thorogood Family | Page 9

spare a Russian officer yesterday after he had cut off the little finger of your left hand."
"What good would it have done to have killed him?" asked Bob, with a smile, as he looked at the bloody stump, which had just been dressed by the surgeon; "the poor fellow's leg was broken by a bullet the moment after he had done it, so he could do us no more harm in this campaign. Then, his death would not make my little finger grow on again. Besides, I don't like killing men."
"Why did you join the army, then, if you did not do so for the honour and glory of fighting, (which means killing), our enemies?"
"Ah, you may ask that indeed! I mistook my profession, I suppose. However, I'll do my duty while I remain in the service."
As he spoke, firing was heard in the distance, and the men were ordered to fall in hastily before breakfast had been quite finished.
The firing increased, and soon the advance guard was seen falling back in good order over the brow of a small hill or slope. Rifle balls began to fly overhead, and a few to drop unpleasantly near the troops. Suddenly our Corporal was startled by an appalling cry behind him. He turned quickly, and saw the young soldier with whom he had been so recently conversing lying on his back stone dead, with the blood oozing from a hole between his eyes.
There was no time to think, however. His battalion was ordered to the front to defend a narrow rocky pass which the enemy were attempting to carry by storm. Twice already they had made the assault, and had almost succeeded on the second attempt. A third assault was being made when Thorogood's company came up. They rushed forward just as the Russians crowned the heights and were driving the British back. The reinforcements checked them, but did not turn the scale at first.
There was one gigantic Russian who stood towering above his fellows with clubbed rifle, furiously knocking down all who came within his reach, like Horatius or one of the other heroes of ancient Rome. At him Corporal Thorogood sprang, grasping his rifle by the muzzle as he ran, and whirling it on high. The Russian saw him coming. The two rifles met with a crash, and flew into splinters. Bob dropped his weapon, grasped his adversary by the throat, thrust him back, and bore him headlong to the ground. This incident turned the scale. A cheer followed. The British swept forward with such irresistible fury that the men in front were thrust upon the foe in a mass, Bob and his enemy being turned heels over head in the rush. A well-sustained fire scattered the foe like chaff, and those who had been thrown down were taken prisoners. Among them was the gigantic Russian, with the Corporal still holding his collar tight in his iron grasp.
"Well done, my man!" said the Colonel of the regiment as he rode past Bob.
The Colonel was a man of few words. He said no more on that occasion, but every one knew that he would not forget the man who had so bravely turned the tide of battle that day.
Bob, however, did not escape altogether unhurt. He had been rather severely wounded, and afterwards had to spend a considerable time in hospital. As his wound did not prevent him from moving about, he soon became a valuable assistant to the surgeons and nurses in the hospital.
"Ah!" said he one night, when smoothing the pillow and attending to the wants of a severely wounded soldier, "this comes more natural to me. It suits me better than fighting."
"I wish you were one of the regular nurses, Corporal," said one of the surgeons heartily; "you do everything so thoroughly, and with such a will."
But Bob was not allowed to remain long at his peaceful work. Being a healthy and temperate man he soon recovered, and ere long found himself in the trenches before Sebastopol.
It was winter. One bleak, raw morning, just before daybreak, Bob plodded down with his party through slush and mud to take his turn of fighting before the great fortress. It was bitterly cold and dark. Some of the men were grumbling terribly.
"Ah, then, won't you shut your 'tatie traps?" said a big Irishman, who had won the Victoria Cross the week before for conspicuous gallantry.
"We engaged for this sort o' work, lads, when we 'listed," remarked Bob, "an' are paid for it; so let's stick to our bargain wi' the Queen, an' do our duty well."
"Troth, that's well said," remarked the Irishman. "`What's worth doin' at all is worth doin' well,' as my ould grandmother used to say when she whacked me."
There was a faint laugh at this, and the grumbling