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
"Stop!" said Brace, sharply, as the old man moved toward the door.
"Stay here; don't try to leave."
The old man bowed.
"Where are the budmashes gone?"
"Thy servant cannot tell."
I could just understand enough of the colloquial language to grasp all
this.
"Well," said Brace, "stop and keep watch, so as to give us warning if
they come."
The old man salaamed again, and then stood with his arms folded near the
door, while I lay back on the charpoy with my eyes half-closed, watching
him by the faint light of the candle, and thinking how miserably thin
the old man was, and how his bones showed through the slight cotton
garment he wore. His hollow cheeks and eyes looked dark, and strange
shadows were cast over his features, but from time to time I could see
his deeply sunken eyes flash, and a sensation of dread came over me as I
thought how easy it would be for him, weak old man though he was, to
wait till we were both asleep, and then seize us one after the other by
the throat with his long, thin, bony fingers, and hold us till we had
ceased to breathe. And as this idea strengthened, I told myself that it
would be madness to close my eyes. I would lie there and watch him, I
thought; and in this intent I lay thinking how wet my feet were, how
coated my legs were with mud, and how, in spite of the drenching I had
had with perspiration, I was now growing rapidly dry.
But oh, how weary I felt, and how my back and legs ached! It would be
_so_ restful, I thought, to go soundly off to sleep, if for only five
minutes, and then resume my watch.
I could not go off, though. It would have been like inviting the old
Hindu to rid himself of two enemies of his people and of his religion;
and as I watched him I saw, or thought I did, an ugly evil look in his
eyes: the shadows played about his face, and his lips seemed to be
pressed together in a thin, malignant-looking smile, as if he were quite
satisfied that in a few more minutes we should be both at his mercy.
For Brace had no sooner thrown himself back on the charpoy, with his
arms crossed upon his breast, than his head sank on one side so that his
face was toward me, while one arm slowly began to give way, and glided
from his chest down by the side of the charpoy, and hung at last at full
length, with the back of his hand resting upon the earthen floor.
With Brace fast asleep, I felt that it was my duty to watch, and after
carefully scrutinising the Hindu's face, which now looked malignant to a
degree, I determined to hold myself in readiness to cut the old wretch
down the moment he approached and tried to attack Brace.
My sword was so near that I could let my hand rest upon it, and planning
carefully how I could in one movement spring up, and with one swing
round of my arm drag out my blade and cut him down, I waited.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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