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
Our marches were always made in the very early morning, many of our
starts being soon after midnight, and a curious scene it was in the
moonlight, as the long train, with its elephants laden with tents, and
camels moaning and grumbling at the weight of the necessaries they were
doomed to carry, the light flashing from the guns or the accoutrements
of the mounted men, and all on and on, over the sandy dust, till I grew
drowsy, and nodded over my horse's neck, rousing myself from time to
time with a start to ask whether it was not all some dream.
Just as the sun was getting unpleasantly hot, and the horses caked with
sweat and dust, a halt would be called in some shady tope, where the
tents rose as if by magic, fires were rapidly lighted by the attendants,
and, amidst quite a babel of tongues, breakfast was prepared, while
parroquets of a vivid green shrieked at us from the trees, squirrels
leaped and ran, and twice over we arrived at a grove to find it tenanted
by a troop of chattering monkeys, which mouthed and scolded at us till
our men drove them far into the depths of the jungle with stones.
Here, with our tents set up in the shade of the trees, we passed the hot
days, with the sun pouring down with such violence that I have often
thought it might be possible for a loaded gun to get heated enough to
ignite the powder. There would be plenty of sleeping, of course, with
the sentries looking longingly on, and wishing it was their turn; and
then, soon after midnight, the column would be _en route_ again, to
continue its march till seven, eight, or nine o'clock, according to the
distance of the camping-place, the same spots being used by the
different regiments year after year.
There was very little variety, save that we had more or less dust,
according to the character of the road material over which we travelled;
and I heard the news, after many days, that the next would be the last,
as eagerly as I had of the one which had been nominated for our start.
It was a brilliant morning when we came in sight of a sparkling river,
beyond which were the white walls and gilded minarets of Rajgunge, with
squat temples and ghauts down at the riverside, and everywhere dotted
about tall waving palms, groves of trees, and again, beyond these, the
rich green of cultivated lands, rising up to mountains blue in the
distance, where the wild jungle filled up the valleys and gorges which
seamed their sides.
"Lovely!" I ejaculated, as I feasted my eyes on the glorious scene.
"Eh? What?" said Barton, who heard me. "Bah! what a gushing girl you
are, Gil Vincent! Does look, though, as if we might get a bit of
shooting."
He rode on, and I hung back till Brace came abreast of me, and looked at
me inquiringly.
"Well, Vincent," he said, "you wanted some beautiful country to look at.
I have not exaggerated, have I?"
"No; it is glorious!" I cried.
"Yes; beautiful indeed, and the more lovely to us who have been so long
in the plains."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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