Gil the Gunner: The Youngest Officer in the EastFenn, George Manville
General
Gil the Gunner: The Youngest Officer in the East
Fenn, George Manville
Great Britain. Army -- Colonial forces -- India -- Juvenile fiction; Young men -- Juvenile fiction
"Ah, if you could have shot them to a man! We were called away to help
at Miapore, where a sepoy regiment mutinied. It was a long march, and
as soon as we had gone--the European officers of that cursed regiment
answering for their men's fidelity--they rose and murdered the poor
fellows who trusted them, and then--"
He stopped there and groaned.
"My wife--her sister--two of my little children--the whole of the
English residents, and--Oh, why don't you pursue? Hah!"
"Take care!" I roared, as I snatched sword from sheath, pistol from
holster, and fired, for, from out of the gathering darkness, a dozen of
the sowars, men who had recovered their horses, or those of slain men,
dashed down upon us like a whirlwind right for where Brace stood talking
to the Highland officer.
As I fired into the thick of them, I saw one man throw up his sword, but
I also saw a fierce-looking savage charge right at Brace, who was
unprepared; the sowar's sword was raised, and he made a tremendous cut
at our captain, one which must have ended his career; but, quick with
the quickness begotten by practice and peril, our new friend caught and
raised the point of his sword; and in the act of delivering his cut, the
man was literally transfixed. He fell back over the cantrel of his
saddle, and as his horse dashed on, he was dragged out of the saddle by
Captain Mason's jerk to withdraw his sword.
I saw all this, and almost at the same moment was conscious of a
crushing blow on the head, accompanied by a terrible shock, and then I
was looking stupidly at the doctor, who was kneeling by me in the road.
"Here, what is it?" I cried angrily. "Who was it rode me down? Is my
horse hurt?"
"Never mind your horse, Gil. Speak, lad. Doctor. His head?"
"Oh, his head's right enough," said the doctor, as I struggled into a
sitting position, and felt very sick and giddy. "I say, Vincent, my
lad, you will have to send the accoutrement-maker a testimonial. Here's
a tremendous dint in your helmet, but it has saved your life."
"Then he isn't killed, sir?" cried a familiar voice.
"No, my lad; only a bit stunned," said the doctor.
"Hooray!" rose in a tremendous cheer, in which every man in the troop
seemed to join.
"Nice to be a favourite," I heard Haynes say.
"But, look here," I cried in an irritated way, "I don't quite understand
it. My head's all--I--Why, some one must have knocked me down. Did I
pitch on to my helmet, then?"
"My dear boy, you were struck down by a sowar, and your helmet saved
your life."
"The savage brute!" I cried pettishly. "It couldn't have been the one
who rode at you, because--Yes, I remember. Then the man who rode at me
got off free."
"Humph!" ejaculated the doctor, turning round and looking off to our
right.
I followed his eyes, and saw a white figure lying face downward among
some green corn.
"Yes," said the doctor, "that is he; and you may thank Haynes for saving
your life."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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