British -- India -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
“What in the world are you driving at?” demanded Fitz. “Story? bless
you, ladies! I’ve none to tell. We got across the irrigated land and
into the hills just as we had intended, settled ourselves in our
_cache_, and then sent up our rockets and opened fire. At first it was
exactly like upsetting a beehive, there was such a rushing about and
shouting in the camp underneath and all over the town. But we hadn’t
allowed for one thing. Bahram Khan is far cleverer than we thought
him. He could tell by the sound of our firing that we were only a
small party, and he guessed at once that our attack was nothing but a
feint, arranged to cover a dash on the guns. So he didn’t waste any
time in trying to rush our position, but simply left us alone, which
was truly mortifying, for we had been looking forward to no end of fun
among the rocks, leading the fellows off on false scents, and
astonishing them with unexpected volleys, and all that sort of thing.”
“Fun, indeed!” cried Mabel indignantly. “You ought to be thankful they
let you alone.”
“I’m sorry, Miss North. I didn’t know your heart was so tender towards
the enemy. At any rate, they escaped us that time, you see. Well, as
soon as we made sure that the tide of battle was taking its way
elsewhere, we evacuated our sangar, and started off at the double for
the rendezvous. But there were difficulties in the way of getting
there. While we were slipping and sliding down into the valley, making
for the canal, we heard tremendous firing in the direction of the
bridge, which sent our hearts into our sandals, for we knew that the
Colonel’s column had no business to be anywhere near there.”
“Yes, I cannot make out how you managed to get so far to the right,”
said Flora, addressing Haycraft, and speaking more in sorrow than in
anger, as beseems the arm-chair critic.
“We didn’t manage anything of the sort,” answered Haycraft. “As a
matter of fact, we were not there at all. The only explanation we can
suggest for the mysterious fusillade is that the Commissioner and his
command were making a record display of wild firing from the walls
here--simply blazing away in every direction--and that some of their
bullets fell among the enemy posted at the bridge-head, and started
them off too. We were marching by compass on the right road when we
heard them a good way off, repulsing, as they imagined, an attack in
the rear. They can’t make out that their shooting is much better than
ours, at any rate, for some of their bullets went wide too, and fell
into our ranks, which threw the native followers into an awful panic.
One or two men got flesh-wounds, that was all, but the doolie-bearers
and _bhistis_ scattered in a moment, and tried to hide. We had to rout
them out of all sort of places, but at last we did think we had found
them all, though it seems now that one of them succeeded in getting
away. He is being dealt with--suitably--at this moment.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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