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
He had hardly finished the words when I saw him give a quick look and
seize one of the guns, for the six horsemen had suddenly ridden back, to
make for the rajah's elephant, followed by a mounted sowar, who passed
between them as they opened out, and came close up to the side of the
elephant.
"Well?" cried the rajah, fiercely, and speaking in Hindustani. "News?"
My heart gave a bound as the sowar announced the approach of the enemy,
and I glanced at Ny Deen, in whose face I saw astonishment and disbelief
for the moment. But it was only for the moment. Directly after, he
gave several orders in a quick, decisive manner, and the officer to whom
he spoke dashed off to obey his instructions.
Then he turned to me. "You heard?" he said.
I bowed.
"Will you help me--will you take charge of the guns at once?"
I looked full in the fierce, questioning face, and in those anxious
moments I could not help feeling the danger of my position; but I had to
speak. To refuse, now that he was driven to bay, might mean an order
for immediate execution, and, cowardly or no, I could not speak. I
suppose that I ought to have been brave, and exclaimed boldly, "Kill me,
if you like; I will not fight against my countrymen." But I was very
young; I had been badly wounded, and was just recovering and beginning
to feel how beautiful, in spite of all my sufferings, life was, so I
remained silent.
"You refuse, then?" he cried fiercely.
I was still silent, and he turned from me in a rage, making a fierce
motion for me to descend from the elephant, which I obeyed, while Ny
Deen gave a short, sharp order in an angry tone, whose result was that
one of his men seized me on either side, and I was more a prisoner than
ever, with six men in front and six behind, fresh summoned from the
guard-house, to march me away.
It was to my death, so it seemed in those terrible moments; while I had
but to raise my voice and give my promise to the rajah, to be at once
his honoured and trusted friend, commissioned with great power.
But I could not say the necessary words, any more than I could speak a
minute before, and in the silence of despair I walked as firmly as I
could in the direction taken by the men, feeling giddy with excitement,
and as if all this were not real, but part of some terrible trouble
befallen another.
I did not see what was about to happen, and was so wrapped up in my
position, that I did not hear the huge elephant from which I had just
descended shuffling after me, till the rajah's voice called to my guard
to halt. Then, leaning down from the howdah, he said to me--
"This is blind obstinacy. Come, say you will be my friend, and help me
now that I want your services."
"I cannot," I said huskily.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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