“What! you drunken talkin’ parrot,” roared the incensed Sergeant. “’Ere, sling ’is drunken rotten carkis—”
“What’s the row here?” cut in a quiet curt voice. “Noise enough for a gang of crows——”
Surgeon-Captain Blake of the Royal Army Medical Corps had just left the Hospital, having been sent for by the night Nursing Sister. The men sprang to attention and the Sergeant saluted.
“Drunk sentry left ’is post, Sir,” he gabbled. “’Spose the Dead ’Ole—er—Morshuerry, that is, Sir, got on ’is nerves. ’E’s given to secret boozin’, Sir——”
“Excuse me, Sir,” broke in Dam, daring to address an Officer unbidden, since a life was at stake, “I am a total abstainer and Trooper Priddell is not dead. It must have been cataleptic trance. I heard him groan and I climbed up and saw him lying on the ground.”
“This man’s not drunk,” said Captain Blake, and added to himself, “and he’s an educated man, and a cultured, poor devil.”
“Oh, that’s how ’e goes on, Sir, sober as a judge you’d say, an’ then nex’ minnit ’e’s on the floor aseein’ blue devils an’ pink serpients——”
“The man’s dying while we talk, Sir,” put in Dam, whose wrath was rising. (If these dull-witted ignorant louts could not tell a drunken man from a sober, nor realize that a certified dead man may _not_ be dead, surely the doctor could.)
The Sergeant and the Corporal ventured on a respectful snigger.
“Bring me that lamp,” said Captain Blake, and Trooper Bear raised it to his extended hand. Lifting it so that its light shone straight in Dam’s face the doctor scanned the latter and examined his eyes. This was not the face of a drunkard nor was the man in any way under the influence of liquor now. Absurd! Had he fever? Was he of deranged intellect? But, alas, the light that shone upon Dam’s face also shone upon Captain Blake’s collar and upon the badge of his Corps which adorned it—and that badge is a serpent entwining a rod.
It was the last straw! Dam had passed through a most disturbing night; he had kept guard in the lonely Snake-haunted darkness, guard over a mortuary in which lay a corpse; he had had to keep knocking at the corpse’s door, his mind had run on funerals, he had thought he heard the dead man groan, he believed he had seen the dead man moving, he had wrestled with thick intelligences who held him drunk or mad while precious moments passed, and he had had the Snake before his mental vision throughout this terrible time—and here was another of its emissaries _wearing its badge_, an emissary of high rank, an Officer-Emissary!… Well, he was in the open air, thank God, and could put up a fight as before.