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Updated: June 11, 2025
He did not ride up, but left Peter, much to that creature's disquiet, tied in the bush some fifty yards from the place. His interest became at once absorbed. He chatted pleasantly for a few moments with Mr. Blundell, the traveling Methodist minister, and greeted those of the villagers whom he had come to know personally.
The brave Guardsmen lay thickly on the slopes, but their comrades crowned the heights. The Boers held on desperately and fired their rifles in the very faces of the stormers. One young officer had his jaw blown to pieces by a rifle which almost touched him. Another, Blundell of the Guards, was shot dead by a wounded desperado to whom he was offering his water-bottle.
"Shame!" said the bystanders, briefly, as they, watched anxiously for signs of returning life on the part of Mr. Blundell. He lay still with his eyes closed, but his hearing was still acute, and the sounds of a rapidly approaching barrel trundled by a breathless Samaritan did him more good than anything. "Good-bye, Venia," he said, in a faint voice; "good-bye."
"And I don't much care if I'm drowned," pursued the younger man, gloomily. Mr. Turnbull thrust his hands in his pockets and took a turn or two up and down the room. His brows were knitted and his lips pursed. In the presence of this mental stress Mr. Blundell preserved a respectful silence. "We'll all four go for a walk on the quay on Sunday afternoon," said Mr. Turnbull, at last.
Nobody paid any attention to him; even Venia, seeing that he was safe, was on her knees by the side of the unconscious Blundell. "He he's shamming," bawled the neglected Mr. Turnbull. "Shame!" said somebody, without even looking round. "He pushed me in," repeated Mr. Turnbull. "He pushed me in." "Oh, father," said Venia, with a scandalised glance at him, "how can you?"
Turnbull's. To Venia he related strange adventures by sea and land, and on subjects of which he was sure the farmer knew nothing he was a perfect mine of information. He began to talk in low tones to Venia, and the heart of Mr. Blundell sank within him as he noted her interest. Their voices fell to a gentle murmur, and the sergeant's sleek, well-brushed head bent closer to that of his listener.
"It's cooler outside," said Mr. Turnbull, with a wilful ignoring of facts; "much cooler when you get used to it." He led the way with Blundell, and Venia and the sergeant, keeping as much as possible in the shade of the dust-powdered hedges, followed.
"You'll have half Dunchurch round you, praising you and patting you on the back all in front of Venia, mind you. It'll be put in all the papers and you'll get a medal." "And suppose we are both drowned?" said Mr. Blundell, soberly. "Drowned? Fiddlesticks !" said Mr. Turnbull. "However, please yourself. If you're afraid " "I'll do it," said Blundell, decidedly.
We saw a lot of the 50th Divisional R.F.A. about this time and a fine lot of fellows they were. On the left our H.Q. were next door to the B.H.Q. of the 251st Artillery Brigade, commanded by Lieut.-Col. Moss Blundell. I got to know and like him well, and he did everything he could to assist our brigade, and especially in matters of intelligence.
Had he not denounced the Reverend Albert Blundell for heresy, and thereby exhibited himself in active opposition to his late diocesan, the sagacious Bishop of Kidderminster, who had been compelled to express disapproval of his Suffragan's bigotry by appointing the Reverend Albert Blundell to be one of his examining chaplains? "We view with the gravest apprehension the appointment of Dr.
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