Gil the Gunner by George Manville Fenn (e book reader free .TXT) 📖

with the officers of our troop, and of the foot regiment stationed in the lower part of the town, so that the months soon glided by, and whenever any of us could be spared from duty, we were off on some expedition.

Brace cared little for sport, but he used to join the shooting-parties got up by the nawab; and gloriously exciting beats we had through the jungle; those when Brace was my companion being far more enjoyable than when Barton had leave. For the latter’s sole idea was to slay everything; while Brace, who was a dead shot, and who laid low several tigers during our stay, always seemed to be fonder of studying the habits of the birds and smaller animals that we came across. As for myself, I believe I shared to some extent the tastes of both; but to me the whole expedition, with its elephant-ride and train of picturesque servants, and the tiffin in the tent set up by the nawab’s people, was the great attraction.

It was a merry life we all led, with some festivity always on the way, from hunting-parties down to lunches at the different civilians’, and then up again to dinner-parties and balls, given by the mess of the artillery, or the sepoy regiment, which had an excellent band.

The officers of this black regiment were as pleasant and sociable a’s could be, and the colonel as fine a specimen of an English country gentleman as could be found. There was quite an emulation as to which corps should be the most soldierly and perfect in their evolutions.

The colonel took to me, and we were the best of friends. He told me why.

“Because of your seat in the saddle, boy. I used to be passionately fond of hunting at home, and my heart warmed to you the first day I watched you in a gallop. However did you learn to ride like that?”

“I suppose it came almost naturally to me,” I said, laughing. “My father always insisted upon my having a pony, and spending several hours a day in the saddle.”

“Your father was a wise man, sir; and you ride capitally.”

“Our riding-master said my seat was everything that was bad.”

“Bah! He is a mechanic, and wants every man to ride like a pair of compasses slung across a rail. Don’t you spoil your seat to please any of them. I like to see a man sit a horse as if he belonged to it. Then he can use his sword.”

How proud he was of his regiment. “Look at them,” he would say; “only that they are a little curved in the upper leg, they are as fine a set of men as you will find in any English regiment; and if it was not for their black faces, they would pass for Guards.”

He was very kind to them, and set a splendid example to his officers, but, unfortunately, they did not follow his example. In fact, the whole of the English people at the station treated the black race as if they were inferior beings; and though every one in Rajgunge was humble and servile to the whites, it always seemed to me as if they were civil only because they were obliged.

I used to talk to Brace about it sometimes, and he would agree.

“But what can you expect?” he said. “They are a conquered race, and of a different religion. I question whether, with the kindest treatment, we should ever make them like us; but we never try.”

I did not say anything, but thought that the black servants were always ready and eager to attend to him, and I never had any difficulty in getting things done; and often after that I used to wonder that a man like Ny Deen should patiently put up with the brutal insult and ill-usage he met with from Barton, who treated him like a dog, while like a dog the Indian used to patiently bear all his abuse and blows.

“Does him good,” Barton said to me one day, with an ugly grin, because it annoyed me. “See what a good servant it makes him. You’re jealous, Vincent. You want him yourself.”

“Yes,” I said, “I should like to have him, and show him that all English officers are not alike.”

“Do you mean that as an insult, sir?” he cried.

“I meant it more as a reproach,” I replied coolly.

“Look here, Vincent,” he said hotly, “I have put up with a good deal from you since you have been in the troop, and I don’t mean to stand much more from such a boy.”

“Really, Barton—” I began.

“Stop, sir, please, and hear me out. Ever since I joined, and as far back as I can hear of, it has been considered a feather in a man’s cap to belong to the horse artillery. Many a fine fellow has put down his name and wanted to be transferred from the foot, and want has been his master. But nowadays the service is going to the dogs.”

“I don’t want to—”

“Stop! you are going to hear me out,” he cried, interposing between me and the door. “I’ve long wanted to come to an understanding with you, but you have always sneaked behind your nurse.”

“I don’t understand you,” I said angrily; but it was not true.

“Then I’ll tell you what I mean. You have always hung on the apron-string of Mr Brace, and a nice pair there are of you. The troop’s going to ruin, and I shall tell Lacey so. I’m not going to stand it. Here, you came out, a mere schoolboy, and before you’ve been two years in the foot, you are selected to come into what used to be the smartest troop in the Company’s service. I’m not blind. It’s all grossly unfair. You’ve got relatives on the board, and it’s all money and interest. It’s a disgrace to the service.”

“Do you mean I am a disgrace to the troop?” I said hotly.

“Yes, I do,” he cried savagely; “and I know well enough one of these days how it will be. There will be some excuse made, and you will be promoted over me; and if you are, I warn you I won’t rest until the whole miserable bit of trickery has been exposed.”

“You would be clever if you did expose anything, for there is nothing for you to expose. My uncle did write to head-quarters, I know, but I read his letter first.”

“What did it say?”

“And he only asked for my wishes to be acceded to, if I was found worthy.”

“Found worthy!” he cried, with a mocking laugh, which made my cheeks burn. “Found worthy! It’s a disgrace to the service!”

“Oh, there, I’m not going to quarrel with you,” I said, fighting down my annoyance.

“No, and I am not going to quarrel with you, but for a couple of annas I’d give you a downright horsewhipping.”

I started up from my seat, but a hand was laid upon my arm, and I was pressed down as I swung my head round and gazed up in Brace’s stern face.

“Be quiet,” he said, grimly; and then—“May I ask, Mr Barton, what this means?”

“No, you may not,” cried Barton, offensively.

“But I do ask, sir. I heard you threaten to horse-whip your junior officer as I entered the room.”

“And most creditable for an officer and a gentleman to stand at the door listening,” cried Barton, in a mocking tone. “Eavesdropping.”

Brace’s pale sallow face changed colour, but he spoke very calmly, for he realised that Barton had made up his mind to quarrel with him.

“What has been the matter, Vincent?”

“Mr Barton has thought proper to accuse my friends of gross favouritism, and he tells me that I have no business in the horse brigade.”

“Lieutenant Barton is not the judge of what officers are suitable for our troop; and you may take it for granted that if you had not proved yourself worthy of the selection made, you would very soon have been transferred back.”

“Don’t you believe it, Vincent,” cried Barton, whose face was flushed, and whose manner indicated that he had been drinking overnight, with the consequence that he was irritable and bitter with every one about him. “The whole service is being neglected, or else there would very soon be a weeding out in this troop.”

Brace had been very grave and calm so far. Again and again he had turned aside the sneers and innuendoes of Barton, who for months had grown more and more offensive as he found that he could insult Brace with impunity; but now he was startled by the change which came over his brother-officer, for Brace flushed up, his eyes glittered, and in a voice that I did not recognise as his own, he said—

“Yes, sir, and Lieutenant Barton would be removed, perhaps disgraced, for insolence to his brother-officers, brutality to the people under him, and conduct generally unworthy of an officer and a gentleman.”

“What?” cried Barton.

“You understand my words, sir,” said Brace. “You have forced me by your treatment to turn at last, and tell you that I will submit to your insults no longer, neither will I allow you to annoy Vincent.”

“You will not allow me!”

“I will not. Do you think I am a child because I have been forbearing? Your insolence has been beyond bounds.”

“Then why did you bear it?” cried Barton.

“For the honour of the service, sir. Because I would not degrade myself and you in the eyes of our men by descending to a quarrel.”

“How brave!” cried Barton, mockingly; but Brace paid no heed, and went on.

“Because, sir, I would not be your boon companion, and drink and generally conduct myself in a way unworthy of an English officer in the high position I hold in this country, I have been constantly marked out as the butt for your offensive sarcasm, even as far back as the time when, if you had possessed a spark of manliness or feeling, you would have respected me and shown consideration for one who was passing through such an ordeal as I pray Heaven you may be spared.”

“Bah! A parade of your sufferings,” said Barton, mockingly.

Brace winced, but he went on calmly.

“I have seen all and borne all, and even now I should not have spoken but for your insult to Vincent, whom I heard you threaten to horse-whip.”

“Which he daren’t do,” I cried angrily.

“Silence!” cried Brace sternly. “You are no longer a boy, and this is not a school.”

“Indeed!” said Barton, looking me up and down with an offensive laugh. “I thought it was.”

I winced now in my turn, and then looked wonderingly at Brace, who uttered the word—

“Contemptible!”

Barton took a step forward angrily.

“Keep your bullying looks and words, sir, for the poor Hindoos, whom you have so disgracefully trampled down. They are wasted upon me, for I know your nature now only too well. I am not going to quarrel, though I have easy excuse.”

“Then what will you do?” said Barton. “Fight?”

“Yes, when my duty renders it necessary, sir. As matters stand, I feel bound to report what has taken place to Major Lacey, and to leave it in his hands to reprimand you, and call upon you to apologise.”

Barton sank back into a chair, uttering a forced laugh that made Brace turn pale.

“‘And out crept a mouse!’” cried the lieutenant. “Is that all, my brave, fire-eating captain? Report all to Major Lacey! By Jingo, sir, I’ll spare you the trouble. I’ll go and tell him what a miserable, contemptible, beggarly coward he has in his troop, and that he is allowing you to drag down your wretched pupil to your own level. There, stand out of my way.”

He thrust Captain Brace aside, as he strode toward the door—a thrust that was almost a blow, and then aloud, “Here you: open that door—quickly. Do you hear?”

I looked across sharply, and saw that a couple of the native servants had entered the room, and felt that they must have heard every word.

They opened the door, Barton