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

sharp look round for danger, stood gazing at the beautiful city, so calm and peaceful, with the golden riband-like river curving round in the evening glow, that it was impossible to think that anything could be wrong.

In fear of such a catastrophe, we looked forward to seeing the smoke rising from a conflagration. But no; there was the faint haze caused by the dust trampled up by many thousand feet, and softening the outline of some of the dazzling white buildings. That was all.

“Can it be possible?” said the doctor at last, after he had gazed through the little field-glass handed to him by Brace. “One could fancy it was all a false alarm, and that poor Denny’s injuries were the result of some troubles in the bazaar.”

“Hist! quick!” I said sharply; and I pointed to a cloud of dust far away before us.

“Our men!”

But as the words were spoken, we caught sight of the glint of steel just above the dust cloud; and knowing, as we did, that they were lance-points, we obeyed a sign from Brace, and took refuge among the trees by the roadside.

We were none too soon, for the cloud swept nearer, and, headed by a splendidly mounted man in a yellow caftan, belted with a rich cashmere shawl, about a couple of dozen white-clothed troopers swept by, and disappeared as they had come, in a cloud of dust.

“What are they?” said the doctor, inquiringly.

“Soldiers of some irregular regiment,” replied Brace, looking after the horsemen thoughtfully.

“Then there is no reason why they may not be friends,” I said.

“Where is their regular officer, then?” said Brace, drily. “They would not be led by a man like the one we saw.”

The opinion was unanswerable, and we tramped on along the dusty road, wearied out, but kept going by the excitement; till, coming upon a group of people, whose appearance suggested that they had journeyed from the city, Brace stopped them to question them about the state of the place.

For answer they rushed by us, and pursued their way, an action telling pretty plainly that some great change must have taken place, or these people would have been obsequious to a degree.

The sun went down, but the heat was as great as ever; and feeling at times as if I must drop, I kept on that weary tramp. Then darkness fell, the great stars came out, and feeling that our prospects would be better of getting unnoticed into the city, now not very distant, we took heart, and tramped forward in regular military time, the swing of the march seeming to help us forward.

Group after group of people were passed, but none heeded us, and no further efforts were made to stay and question them.

“No,” said Brace; “we will get our answer at head-quarters.”

Then, calling a halt for ten minutes, we sank down by the roadside to rest before starting for the finishing stage of our painful journey.

But we had no sooner thrown ourselves down, than from the darkness ahead came the murmur of voices and the tramp of feet, very low and distant, but peculiar enough to make Brace spring up, while my heart began to beat heavily.

“Draw farther back,” he whispered; “they are not country people.”

Just then there was a click familiar enough to us all, and then another.

“It must be some of our lads,” whispered Brace; and the next minute, as a little body of men came by, in regular military step, I heard him mutter, “Must be;” and he cried, “Halt!”

“Draw—swords!” rang out in answer, and there was the peculiar grating rattle of sabres being drawn from steel scabbards.

“Who is that? Sergeant Craig?” cried Brace.

“Captain!” shouted a familiar voice. “Thank God, we’ve found you at last!” and a faint cheer rose up.

“Quick! tell me,” cried Brace, as we pressed up to the men—“is it all true?”

“You’ve heard, then, sir?” said the sergeant, with a groan.

“Yes; Denny escaped and reached us.”

“Poor lad! I thought he was one of the goners.”

“How was it?” said Brace, sternly.

“I hardly know, sir. A surprise. Everything was as usual, just at the hottest time, when they were down upon us like a thunder clap. One party made for the officers’ quarters, another for the guard, and shot down the sentries; another made the men fast in their quarters, and before we could grasp it, they had seized the whole place, and we were helpless.”

“But the major—Lieutenant Barton?”

“Don’t ask me, sir,” said the man, hoarsely.

“Speak, man.”

“I saw the major run out, sword in hand, followed by a dozen of the scoundrels, and he was shouting for the trumpeter; but before Dick Dobbs could get out, the poor major was cut down, and we were locked in, could hear the lieutenant crying for help, and there was firing going on in his quarters, and then the scoundrels came out, shouting wildly.”

“Killed?”

The sergeant uttered a low groan.

“The wretches! the cowardly, traitorous wretches!” cried Brace. “They had murdered their own officers, and then came up to the barracks.”

“Beg pardon, sir.”

Brace repeated his words.

“What! were the niggers mutinied too?”

“Yes; did you not know?”

“Not a word, sir. We were like being in prison till we managed to creep out; and then after a bit of a talk among us non-coms, as were left, we determined, as our officers were gone, to come and try and find you, sir.”

“Then you were kept locked in the barracks?”

“Yes, sir; and if any of us showed a head, it was made a mark for a bullet. But we could hear all that was going on. One of them sounded boot and saddle as well ’most as little Dick.”

“Nay!” cried a boyish voice from the darkness.

“Well, tidy enough; and then we could hear them bringing out the horses, and limbering up and forming up in the barrack yard, sir, till I could bear it no longer, and I risked the bullets so as to get a peep now and then; and I did till, with everything in order, and the ammunition chests and waggons crammed, they rode out of the yard, with the people yelling and tom-tomming like mad.”

“But who—who did all this? The sepoys of the native regiment?”

“No, sir,” cried the sergeant.

“Then who did?”

“The syces, sir.”

“What?”

“The whole gang of them, sir; led by Ny Deen.”

“What?” said Brace again.

“It has been a plot, sir, all slowly worked out. That Ny Deen is some big chief, from his ways to-day; and others with him are somebodies. They’ve been watching our drill, and quietly learning everything, till the time came, and then, at some word of command, they rushed in, carried all before them; and, after a way, they’ve gone off with guns, ammunition, and every horse except the officers’, which somehow they overlooked.”

“Is this some horrible dream?” panted Brace.

“No, sir; but horrid wide-awake truth,” said the sergeant, sadly. “Twenty-two of our men cut up, and as fine a troop of horses and battery of guns gone as there is in the army; and as for me, sir, I feel as if I was that disgraced, that if I’d had a carbine, I believe I should have gone up in some corner, said a bit of a prayer, and then—good-bye to it all, and shot myself dead.”

“But the sentries?” said Brace, after an interval, during which we had stood as if utterly crushed by the news. “They could not have been doing their duty.”

“Nay, sir, but they were,” said the sergeant, speaking with energy now, the last words he had uttered having been in a hoarse, broken voice, which told of his sorrow and despair. “Poor chaps! they saw a party of syces coming toward them in white—men they knew well enough. Was it likely, sir, that they’d think them enemies?”

“No,” said Brace, sadly. “Poor lads! poor lads!”

“God save the Queen, sir!” cried the sergeant, hysterically, for the poor fellow was utterly broken down, “and long life to one’s officers, whom I for one would follow anywhere, even to certain death. Yes; I’d have followed him, poor chap. But it was his doing, sir, and the likes of him; and I’ll say it now, even if I’m court-martialled for it. Lieutenant Barton brought it on us. The niggers ’ll bear a deal, but it’s only natural that they’d turn some time; and quiet as Ny Deen was, I’ve seen his eyes flash sometimes when Mr Barton was rating him, and not because he deserved it, for a better groom and a man more proud of turning out a horse well, never came into cantonments.”

“Silence in the ranks,” said Brace, shortly. “Lie down all of you and rest. Gentlemen,” he continued, turning to us, “this way, please. We must consider what is to be done.”

We followed him a few yards into the darkness, and Brace whispered to us to sit down, setting the example himself; but though we waited he did not speak, and at last the doctor whispered to me to say something to the captain.

He heard the whispering and spoke at once, hurriedly.

“I beg your pardon,” he said; “I was thinking hard about our position.”

“Yes? Well?” said the lieutenant with us.

“What have you decided?” whispered the doctor.

“To act,” said Brace, with decision. “This mutinous rising may be one that is extending, or merely a local trouble here, at Rajgunge; but that is no affair of ours, gentlemen. We were away from our duties, on our own pleasure. We allowed ourselves to be inveigled—”

“No, no,” said the doctor. “Poor Lacey gave us leave after accepting the invitation.”

“The major kept to his post, and died defending it, sir,” said Brace, sternly. “We were away, and the position in which we find ourselves is a disgrace which we must wipe off.”

“How?” cried my brother-officers.

“As men should,” replied Brace, sternly. “As I have said, the rising is nothing to us, whether great or small. We have only one thing to study.”

“To get back the guns!” I cried excitedly.

Brace’s hand gripped my arm with all his force.

“Yes,” he cried. “Right. To get back those guns and horses at any cost.”

“Impossible!” muttered the doctor.

“Tell me that, doctor,” cried Brace, “when I am wounded to the death, and you press my hand, tell me you can do no more, and say ‘Good-bye.’ There is no such word as impossible in a British soldier’s thoughts when he has to charge. Duty says forward! and he advances with a cheer. Now, gentlemen, are you with me? I am going to get back those guns. Doctor, you are a non-combatant; I am not speaking to you. Haynes, will you follow me?”

“As long as I can lift an arm.”

“I don’t ask you, Vincent. You are a soldier’s son, and I know that I can depend on you. There, I see my way now. Let us go back to the men.”

We rose and followed him, the doctor whispering sharply, “Am I a non-combatant, Brace? This is a case of emergency, and perhaps I can use a sword as well as I can use a rifle. At any rate, I am going to try.”

“’Tention!” said Brace, in a low quick voice, and the men sprang to their feet and formed in line, their figures looking weird and strange in the darkness. “Can you all hear me?”

The silence which followed his question was proof that his words were heard, and he stepped back a few yards and stood listening intently before returning to face the men.

“Now, my lads,” he said, “we are a mere handful in the midst, perhaps, of thousands of enemies; but we are Englishmen.”

There was a loud murmur like the precursor of a shout.

“Silence! Not a sound, my lads. Listen. We have been taken by surprise, and our comrades have many of them met their death through treachery, while the officers and men are disgraced by our position.”

There was another murmur, but it was in protest.

“Yes; I say disgraced. Ours, the smartest troop in the Company’s army, has been disarmed, and there are two courses open to us—to fly for our lives and try