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
But there was in those exciting moments no time for thought. Shot after
shot was sent at the advancing regulars, which began to leave horses and
men struggling on the plain, while their formation was broken up. But
onward they came now in what more resembled a drove than the line of a
regiment, and into this the grape shot was poured with such terrible
effect, that they broke, turned, and swept away, never coming within
fifty yards of us.
Our men sent up a cheer, but we had to canter off, and take up a fresh
position, for the sepoy skirmishers were close upon us, and shots began
to whizz by our heads.
Hardly were our men mounted again, and we were moving off, before my
heart leaped to my throat, for from the other side of the tope I saw the
second sowar regiment dash into sight and race down to attack our foot
regiment.
"Look, look!" cried Brace, excitedly; "they'll be through them. What is
he about?"
But almost as the words left his lips, the double line of infantry,
advancing toward the rajah's main force, folded back, as it were, upon
itself, and by the time the horsemen were getting close, they were faced
by a triple line of bayonets, and a sputtering line of fire curled out,
emptying saddles and checking the advance, the sowars sweeping round and
galloping away.
"I knew they would not face the bayonets," cried Brace. "Gallop," he
shouted; and he led us toward a bit of an eminence, where he evidently
meant to take up position, and rake the retreating enemy in their
flight.
But they were not retreating. Quick in their action nearly as we were,
they wheeled round, and instantly it was evident that their leader was
about to try and capture the guns.
I saw it all at a glance, so did every man in the troop, as we galloped
on toward the eminence which it would be impossible to reach before they
were upon us, while it was equally impossible for us to halt, unlimber,
and bring the guns into action. The infantry regiment was too far off
to help us, and our only chance appeared to me to be to wheel off to the
right, and race for our lives.
Brace rightly saw the position differently.
"Draw--swords!" he roared; then changing our form of advance by a rapid
movement taken at the gallop, the trumpet rang out, and I felt for the
moment as if I was at the head of the mutineers once more, when we
recaptured the guns; then, with sword on guard, I was gazing full at the
long line of sowars charging us as we tore on at a frantic gallop, the
guns now in echelon, leaping and bounding over the ground, the men on
the limbers, sword in hand, holding on with the other, and every driver
of the three to each gun holding his sabre at the charge.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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