The boy began to walk back to the cutter. As he went, Melville walked beside him wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The boy’s shoulders still shuddered with sobs. Melville guided him around to the west side of the cutter, through the wounded, to the front of the water barrel. There the young lieutenant drew a cup of water.
Beside him the other midshipmen, perpetually hungry, were gnawing on ship’s biscuits and discussing the advisability and practicality of cooking “monkey meat.” “Them apes clearly aren’t sentient,” Archer was saying, “and there’s nothing wrong with eating something that tries to eat you. ‘S only fair . . .”
“Mister Archer,” said Melville.
“Aye, sir?”
“Mister Aquinar has discovered that there is a very slow leak coming from the underside of the water cask. Get something down there to catch any water, and be sure it’s put to good use.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Lieutenant Melville?” Lady Elphinstone asked softly as she walked over.
Melville turned to the Sylvan healer. Her green sash on her yellow gown emphasized her likeness to a lovely flower, but now she was a yellow flower that had stood upon the field of battle. A flower much splattered with blood. “Yes my lady?”
“Josiah’s dog is dead. We could not save him.”
Melville felt crushed by the loss. He felt so foolish. Six men had died, yet somehow the loss of this noble dog was almost too much to bear. He felt shamed and confused by the tears that welled in his eyes. He didn’t want his men to see him weep but there was no choice. He must do his duty and offer his condolences, even if his tears shamed him. Not to do his duty would be a far greater shame.
“Thank you, my lady.” He turned to where the two rangers knelt upon the ground. Josiah was stroking the gray fur of his dog’s corpse. Valandil’s dog lay next to the Sylvan ranger. Her black fur was streaked with gold, her ears large and erect. She looked up at Melville with intelligent brown eyes, head cocked slightly to the side. He walked to them and dropped to one knee. Great pain and loss could be seen in their weary faces.
“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” he said, looking at Josiah.
Josiah turned to him with a sad smile. “Well, he knew the job was dangerous when he took it.”
It was the ranger’s way to make jest of grave events. Melville grinned appreciatively through his tears. He placed a hand on the shoulder of Josiah’s dog, and said his benediction. Like Josiah’s jest it was his way, and it was all he had to give.
” . . . The burning sun no more shall heat,
Nor rainy storms on him shall beat;
The bryars and thornes no more shall scratch,
Nor hungry wolves at him shall catch;
His erring pathes no more shall tread,
Nor wild fruits eate instead of bread;
For waters cold he doth not long,
For thirst no more shall parch his tongue;
No rugged stones his feet shall gaule,
nor stumps nor rocks cause him to fall;
All cares and fears he bids farewell,
and meanes in safity now to dwell . . .”
“Thank you, sir,” said Josiah. Melville saw that there were tears welling up in the rangers’ weathered, leathery eyes. Little midshipman Aquinar was sobbing openly. There had been so very much death in the boy’s life, so very suddenly.
Josiah stared off into the distance and spoke musingly, in his slow drawl. “Ah can’t properly communicate to you, sir, the joy of exploring a virgin world. Together, just me and mah dog, we would strike out into the great unknown. The true unknown. Nothing can be known about any place until a man has actually put his foot upon it. No satellite imagery, no previous explorers, nothing, absolutely nothing to tell you what might be around the next corner. Ancient civilizations and vast, living cities. Strange creatures and alien races. Flowers and trees, rivers and mountains, like no man has ever seen before.”
He looked at Melville and asked, “Have you ever played any of the computer games on high-tech worlds?”
“Yes,” said Melville, “an extensive trip to Old Earth was part of our academy training.”
“Well, sir, ah think the thing that makes many of them so addictive is the fact that you start with a blank screen.” Usually quite laconic, the ranger was saying more now than Melville had ever heard him say before. “As you take each step, it’s truly into the unknown, with no idea what might be waiting for you. Monsters, rivers, treasure, mountains, lost civilizations, alien species, anything can be in that next ‘hex.’ When you’re done you have, in a way, almost created a world, a world where no man has gone before. That is what our life together has been like, except it was real. That is what it’s like to be a ranger in the wilderness. Now mah partner of lo these many years is gone, and ah shall miss him. And ah do thank you for your benediction, it’s most apt and befitting.” The ranger looked off into the distance again, seeing the distant echoes of wonders and past glories such as few men will ever know.
Valandil looked at the midshipman and the cup of water in the Lieutenant’s hand. “What errantry art thou and the young gentleman upon?”
“There’s been too much death today,” replied Melville, “we go to save one small life.”
” ‘Tis well,” replied Valandil. “An apt benediction upon the day. And, Lieutenant?”
“Yes?”
“Thou hast done well today. I know that ’tis hard to tell, of one’s own accord. So I tell thee. Well done, Lieutenant.”
“Aye,” echoed Josiah.
“Thank you. ‘Praise from the praiseworthy is above all rewards.'”
Then Melville put an arm around the boy’s shoulder, and walked with him back into the trees. The young lieutenant stood back from the place where the little monkey lay, holding the cup of water. He poured a dollop into Aquinar’s little hand and let him tend the monkey. Periodically the boy came back out, and the lieutenant solemnly poured another handful of water for the little midshipman.
Melville watched the boy’s grubby, tear-streaked, sunburned face, and he had a sudden memory of the brave little midshipman standing on tiptoes to shove a pistol in a ravaging ape’s mouth. He looked down in wonder at the boy. Where before he had seen a grubby white worm, suddenly he saw a butterfly, an angel. Tears began to fill the lieutenant’s eyes, and he wept with pride.
It was foolish. Six of his men lay dead. Three noble dogs and a cat, too! Eleven men lay wounded. And here they were, expending precious water to tend a little cousin of the creatures who had attacked them. It was foolishness. It was madness. But Melville wouldn’t have it any other way.
Tears welled up in his eyes. A teardrop escaped, ran down his cheek and hit the ground. A tear of pride. Water for the dead . . . and water for the living. Water for the gentle, water for the kind and compassionate, water for the values that his men had died for. Water for Westerness and all that it represented.
Suddenly another drop hit the ground. And another. And then more. Melville looked up through the tree branches at the sky. While he had been mesmerized by the scene unfolding before him, above him clouds had crept in from the south and a gentle rain began to fall.
Perhaps, thought Melville, just maybe, someone . . . someone Else was also weeping with pride.
The rain that fell that day saved their lives. First the tarps and sailcloths were set to collect water. The precious fluid was lovingly funneled into the water barrel and into every other available container. After that, as the water continued to flow from the heavens, they drank. The healthy helped the wounded to drink. They all drank their fill, and then they drank some more. Finally they bathed.
Pickets still stood, looking downslope, fully dressed with rifles in hand. The healthy helped their wounded mates to bathe first. The rest stood naked in the rain, passing around bars of soap, while the warm water flowed down their bodies.
Lady Elphinstone and Sergeant Broadax bathed out of sight in the center of the woods. It occurred to Melville that under different circumstances a sailor or marine might have tried to catch a glimpse of the fair Elphinstione as she bathed. But the presence of the Dwarrowdelf NCO seemed to bring any such thoughts to a sudden halt. Because of her wrath, and because . . . well, because no one wanted to see just exactly what there was . . . to see . . . there.
The aid station had expanded out to the west side of the cutter and this became the male bathing area. Petreckski and the rangers took shifts looking after the wounded, so that they could bathe.