Snake and Sword: A Novel

hen ColonelMatthew Devon deWarrenne, V.C., D.S.O., of theQueen'sOwn (118th) Bombay Lancers, pinned his Victoria Cross to the bosomof his dying wife's night-dress, in token of his recognition that she was thebraver of the twain, he was not himself.He was beside himself with grief.Afterwards he adjured the sole witness of this impulsive and emotional act,Major John Decies, never to mention his "damned theatrical folly" to anyliving soul, and to excuse him on the score of an ancient sword-cut on thehead and two bad sun-strokes.For the one thing in heaven above, on the earth beneath, or in the watersunder the earth, that Colonel de Warrenne feared, was breach of good formand stereotyped convention.And the one thing he loved was the dying woman.3 PERCIVAL CHRISTOPHER WRENThis last statement applies also to Major John Decies, of the Indian MedicalService, Civil Surgeon of Bimariabad, and may even be expanded, for theone thing he ever had loved was the dying woman....Colonel Matthew Devon de Warrenne did the deed that won him his Victo-ria Cross, in the open, in the hot sunlight and in hot blood, sword in handand with hot blood on the sword-hand-fighting for his life.His wife did the deed that moved him to transfer the Cross to her, in dark-ness, in cold blood, in loneliness, sickness and silence-fighting for the lifeof her unborn child against an unseen foe.Colonel de Warrenne's type of brave deed has been performed thousands oftimes and wherever brave men have fought.Hiswife's deed of endurance, presence of mind, self-control and cool courageis rarer, if not unique.To appreciate this fully, it must be known that she had a horror of snakes, soterrible as to amount to an obsession, a mental deformity, due, doubtless, tothe fact that her father (Colonel Mortimer Seymour Stukeley) died of snake-bite before her mother's eyes, a few hours before she herself was born.Bearing this in mind, judge of the conduct that led Colonel de Warrenne,distraught, to award her his Cross "For Valour".One oppressive June evening, Lenore de Warrenne returned from church(where she had, as usual, prayed fervently that her soon-expected first-bornmight be a daughter), and entered her dressing-room. Here her Ayah di-vested her of hat, dress, and boots, and helped her into the more easefultea-gown and satin slippers."Bootlair wanting ishweets for dinner-table from go-down,[1] please, Mem-Sahib," observed Ayah, the change of garb accomplished.