XIX

IT was now almost day; the fighting was over. A smart shower had fallen during the struggle, and the wet pipeclay within the stockade was strewn with dead and wounded diggers, and along the line of attack taken by the three companies of infantry wounded and dead soldiers lay scattered, their red coats dotting the white ground with curious blotches of colour, the figures of the men still vague and indefinite in the mist and the feeble light of the dawning day. A wounded soldier near the logs writhed in his agony, with worm-like movements terrible to see. Confusion remained within the stockade. The killing was ended, but the prisoners were to be collected and guarded. Many of the insurgents had escaped, some by hiding in the claims, others by making a run for the surrounding diggings. A few brave friends who had hidden Peter Lalor under slabs sloped against a log succeeded in carrying the wounded leader away under the noses of the soldiers, and he escaped.

The fight had not lasted half an hour, and by the time the people of Ballarat fully realized what was happening it was too late to give help to the devoted few within the stockade; and the men gathered as near the miniature battlefield as they were permitted to go, with white faces, awed and penitent, many feeling the keenest pangs of remorse, knowing how bitterly the earnest souls had paid for their neglect.

One woman had made her way into the stockade within a few minutes of the firing of the last shot. She pa.s.sed unnoticed in the confusion; her face was hidden in a shawl, and she went quickly amongst the fallen rebels.

Some of the wounded men lay in puddles--these she helped; but it was evident that she was seeking someone she knew as she pa.s.sed from one to another, peering into their faces, seeking to identify them in the feeble light.

This was Aurora Griffiths, and she was seeking Jim Done, cherishing an agonized hope that she might not find him. One wounded man dragged himself to a puddle to satisfy his craving for drink, and died with his face in the thick water; another, a mere boy, was sitting with his back to a log, staring with a puzzled expression at the gory fingers he had dipped in his wound. Presently, coming to a man lying face downward where the soldiers had broken through, Aurora uttered a sharp cry. The figure was familiar. Quickly she turned the face to, the light. It was pale and bloodless; the only disfigurement was a small purple wound in a slight depression near the temple, but the man was dead.

'It's Mike!' murmured Aurora. She knelt in the mud; her trembling hand sought his heart. 'Dead!' she cried. She looked about her in terror, then, rising to her feet, she ran to others lying near. They were strangers. 'Thank G.o.d!' she cried--' thank G.o.d!' Aurora returned to Mike's side, and, kneeling there, gazed upon him with streaming eyes.

Burton's face had a.s.sumed a Spartan dignity in death. 'Poor, poor boy!'

she said, and with her fingers upon his eyelids she whispered a prayer for his soul. It was long since she had minded to pray for her own, but the dead are so helpless. They invite even the intercession of the faithless.

A soldier touched her on the shoulder.

'You'll have to get out of this, miss,' he said. Glancing at the dead face, he corrected himself, and called her Mrs.

Aurora went with him. She looked closely at the prisoners as they pa.s.sed, but Jim Done was not amongst them. Beyond the cordon of troopers she was liberated, and returned wearily to Mrs. Kyley's tent, for the Kyleys had shifted their prosperous business to the vicinity of Bakery Hill a month before. At the tent-door she was met by Mary.

'He is not amongst the dead, thank G.o.d!' said Aurora, 'and he's not with the prisoners. Jim is safe, but poor Mike Burton--'

'Wounded, is he?'

'Dead. Shot through the head.'

Mrs. Kyley threw up her hands. 'My G.o.d!' she said. 'The poor lad! Oh, Aurora, my dear girl, it's a bad, bad business!' The tears were trickling down Mrs. Ben's plump cheeks.

'Why, Mary, what else has happened?'

Mrs. Kyley had set her large bulk before the girl, barring the door.

'You'd better not go in yet awhile, Joy darling.'

'What is it--is it Ben?'

'No, no, it's not Ben, but someone is in there who is hurt pretty badly.'

Somebody I know?' Aurora clutched Mary Kyley's arm, and stared into her face with a sudden new fear.

'Yes, deary, somebody you know.'

It's Jim!'

Mary Kyley nodded her bead, and mopped her tears. 'Yes, it's Jimmy Done.'

Aurora paled to her eyes, her lips tightened to thin purple lines across her white teeth, and she fought with Mary for a moment, seeking to make her way into the tent; but Mrs. Kyley was a powerful woman, and in her grasp, when she was really determined, Aurora was as a mere child.

'For G.o.d's sake, let me see him!' said the young woman.

'You mustn't be a fool, Aurora,' the washerwoman said firmly. 'I can't let you go blundering in on to a sick man--and this one is a very sick man.'

'He's dying!'

'No, no; he'll not die easily--he's tough stuff; but he's got two ugly wounds, and we'll have to handle him fine and gently. Pull yourself up, Aurora dear.' She wound her strong arms fondly about the girl and kissed her cheek, and, with a restraining arm still about her, led her into the tent.

Jim Done lay on Mary Kyley's comfortable white bed. His face was ghastly.

Aurora uttered a little cry of pain and terror at the sight of him. There was blood upon the sheets and the pillows, and Wat Ryder, working in his shirt-sleeves, was deftly closing a gaping scalp wound with horsehair st.i.tches.

Ryder had carried Jim straight to Kyley's tent, and Mrs. Ben received the wounded man with open arms.

'We may be followed,' he said. 'I've brought him out of the thick of it.

Keep watch, please, and give me warning if you see anything of the troopers. May I use your bed?'

'My bed! Yes, and my blood and bones if they're any good to you.'

'Your eyes can do me better service. I'm a done man if the police lay a hand on me, and Jim here needs attention.'

'Then, go to work with an easy mind.'

So Mary kept watch while Ryder worked over Jim with the quickness and decision of a surgeon. It was not the first time by many that he had dealt with ugly wounds.

'Don't neglect the watch,' he said, a minute after Aurora's entrance.

Mary looked at Aurora. The girl was now apparently quite composed; she had cast aside the shawl, and was hastily tying on an ap.r.o.n. So Mrs.

Kyley slipped out again, quite rea.s.sured.

'It would be better, perhaps, if I held his head,' said Aurora.

'Yes,' answered Ryder shortly.

She seated herself on the bed, and took Done's head between her hands, raising it, and Ryder continued his work rapidly. No further words were spoken till the scalp wound was st.i.tched, and Aurora, gazing into the seemingly lifeless face of the patient, had a strange feeling of insensibility, as if all her emotions were numbed for the time. There was not a tremor in her fingers; she felt that under the influence that possessed her she could have suffered any trial without a cry.

'Now hunt up anything that will do for bandages,' said the man.

She lowered Jim's head gently to the pillow again, and made haste to obey, while Ryder examined the bullet-wound. He showed her how to tear the material, and then bandaged the patient's head.

'I was a.s.sistant in a hospital for a time,' he said, in explanation of his masterly work, but he did not say that it was a gaol hospital in which he had gathered his experience.

Aurora watched the man's hands. They were extraordinary hands, long and very narrow--wonderfully capable they seemed. They inspired her with complete faith. He was feeling for the ball in Jim's shoulder. She helped him to turn the young man upon his face, and the slim, dexterous fingers probed the flesh above the shoulder-blades.

'Ah!' he said, with a sigh of relief; and taking his knife, he cut boldly, and, behold--the bullet! It was like a feat of legerdemain. This cut was washed with fluid from a small bottle on the table, smartly st.i.tched, and then, after the wound in front had been treated, the shoulder was firmly bandaged, and Ryder seemed satisfied. He was none too soon, for at that moment Mary Kyley darted in.

'Half a dozen troopers are coming along the hill,' she said.

'Bluff them!' said Ryder quickly. 'If they insist on searching, swear the boy was hurt at a blast. Cover his shoulders. Show no surprise in any alteration in my appearance. I am a customer.' 'He s.n.a.t.c.hed his coat and revolver, and sprang into the next tent.'

At that moment the sound of horses' hoofs was heard on the gravel, and a voice cried 'Halt!' Mrs. Kyley's broad figure filled the doorway.