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Gil the Gunner; or, The Youngest Officer in the East, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 16 |
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_ CHAPTER SIXTEEN. "What?" cried Brace, excitedly; and he raised his voice, so that I sprang to my feet, and snatched my sword from its scabbard with the edge grating in an ominous way as it left the steel sheath. My companion also stood upon his guard, and we stood there in the darkness listening, but there was not a sound, though we were within a few feet of houses at each side. "No challenge," he whispered, and going down on one knee, he felt about the wet earth for a few moments. "Yes," he said, drawing in his breath with an angry hiss; "we are going wrong." Then, after a pause, as he stood behind me--"Never mind; we'll trace them this way first, and find where the ruts enter the village. It will be a guide." We resumed our steady progress, walking with one foot in the wheel-tracks for about twenty yards further, and then Brace's sword suddenly struck something, either tree or upright. It proved to be the latter, being the support of a great shed, and here I found that the ruts suddenly became confused--branching off, and directly after I found traces of horses having been picketed about where we stood. "Yes," said Brace quickly, "here's where they have been tethered. They must have altered their position. Quick! let's follow them up." We went off at once, finding no difficulty in keeping to the trail, which, as far as we could tell in the darkness, swept round the outside of the village, for every now and then we tried off to right and left, to find cottages on the latter side, what seemed to be cultivated fields on the other. Then, all at once, the houses ceased, and the tracks grew deeper with the wheel-ruts half filled with water, and it was evident that the horses had struggled hard to drag the guns through soft ploughed fields. "Brace," I said, after we had tramped on through the heavy ground for about a quarter of a mile. "Yes." "I hope I'm wrong, but I'm very much afraid--" "That settles it, Gil, lad," he said quickly. "You are thinking as I have been for the last quarter of an hour, are you not? That we are too late?" "Yes. They have deserted the place." "Undoubtedly. I ought to have grasped the notion at once. We could not have got into this village unchallenged. We have not been drilling before these men so many years for them to occupy a place like this without sentries." "Can we have failed?" I said despondently. "Oh no; say we have not succeeded yet," he cried cheerily, as he clapped me on the shoulder. "You and I are going to recapture those guns, Gil, my lad. We must; we must." "But what are you going to do now?" I asked. "Practise patience, lad. We have spent many hours over this vain struggle, and it is madness to go wandering about in the darkness, so let's get back to the village and pick out the best house we can, and rest till daylight. It is the only course open to us. There, we need not whisper now." "I wish I was stronger," I said rather despondently. "Bah! you are tired. So am I. Cheer up, lad. You'll feel like a new man when you've lain down for an hour. Nothing like it. Flat down on your back. It is the most refreshing thing there is." As he was speaking, we were following the track back toward the village, and as there was no need now to practise caution, the distance did not seem great before we were abreast of the houses again, and after passing his hands over the entrances of one or two, Brace entered the third cautiously, stood within; there was a rustling noise, a sharp crackling, and the match he had struck blazed up and spread what appeared to me quite a brilliant glare around. "No," he said sharply, "we are not dogs, to rest in such a kennel as this. There must be a decent house somewhere." But for a long time it seemed as if there was not, and I was ready to say, "Anything will do," when we cautiously entered another door; a light was struck, and though the place was deplorable enough, it did not look so desolate, and it had evidently lately been occupied, for there was a half-burned candle standing on a rough stool, and to this candle Brace applied his match. "Officers' quarters, I should say," he cried cheerily. "Why, Gil, this is the very thing; three charpoys, and there has been eating and drinking going on. But, look out!" He raised the candle with one hand, and with his sword advanced, made for a ragged purdah or curtain hanging from the roof just beyond the farthest native bedstead. "Here, Gil," he said sharply, "I'll defend you; come and snatch away this piece of hangings." I did as he told me, with my heart beating heavily the while, and, holding my sword ready, I snatched the purdah aside, when the light fell upon the thin, deeply lined face of an extremely old-looking Hindu, whose white beard seemed to quiver as he threw up his arms and fell down before us. "My lord will not slay his servant," he cried in a trembling voice in his own tongue. "He has done no harm." "Come out," cried Brace in Hindustani. "Why were you hiding there?" "Thy servant was afraid that the white sahib would slay him." "What are you doing here?" "Thy servant was too old to go when the budmashes came, and all the others fled away." "Where are the budmashes now?" "Thy servant knoweth not. They all rode off with the great guns directly it began to grow dark to-night." "Put up your sword, Gil," said Brace. "The poor old fellow is frightened out of his wits." Then, turning to the old Hindu-- "Is there no one left in the village?" "No, sahib. They have all fled but me." Brace was silent for a few minutes, and then he said sharply-- "Look here, old man, you can walk?" "Yes, sahib, a little way; not very far." "Gil," said Brace, thoughtfully, "he could walk well enough to guide us back to the tope. The doctor will be back by now, and anxious. Shall I make him do it?" "No," I said excitedly. "He may see some of the mutineers afterwards, and tell them we are following." "Of course. No, he must not know; and I suppose we must not kill him in cold blood to keep him from telling tales." "Brace!" I cried, but he only smiled, and, turning to the Hindu-- "Get water," he said. "We are thirsty." The old man went to a corner of the room, trembling in every limb, and taking a brass lotah from where it was hidden, he went out of the place into the darkness. "Do you think he is treacherous?" I whispered, "and will bring back others?" "No. The old man is honest enough, Gil. There, lie down on that charpoy." "But you?" I said. "I shall lie down too. Go to sleep after you have had some water. I will keep watch till daybreak." Just then the old man came back with the brass vessel full of clear, cold water, and handed to Brace. "I hope the old fellow has not poisoned it," he said. "I'll taste it first, Gil," and he raised the vessel to his lips, took a hearty draught, and then handed it to me. "Pure water," he said; and I gladly partook of the refreshing draught, while Brace felt in his pocket for a coin. "There," he said, taking out a rupee, "that's as much as his lotah is worth. I don't know for certain, but I expect he will consider that we have denied his vessel, and will throw it away when we are gone." "Then why doesn't he think the rupee is defiled?" I said, as the old man received the coin with a salaam, and then hid it in the folds of his turban. "Can't say," replied Brace, making the bamboo bedstead creak as he threw himself down. "Here, grandfather," he continued in the old man's native tongue, "keep watch, and warn us if there is any danger. Your caste will not let you betray those within your house." "The sahibs are quite safe here," he replied. "There is no one in the village but their servant. But I will watch." "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. The candle burned more dimly, but the Hindu's eye grew more bright, while his face and that of my brother-officer darkened in the shade. Now and then the wretched light flickered and danced, and as the little flame played about, the smile upon the old man's lips grew more ghastly, till it broadened into a laugh that sent a shiver through me. The light grew more dim and the shadows deeper, then darker still, and rapidly darker, till the room was quite black, and the old Hindu's face was completely blotted out, but I knew he was creeping nearer and nearer, and felt that he had by slow degrees reached the side of Brace's charpoy, and was bending himself down, till his fingers, now spread out like the long ugly talons of some horrible bird of prey, were within a few inches of poor Brace's throat, then nearer and nearer till he seized his prey, and as a dull, low sound of painful breathing rose in the dark room, I knew that it was time to swing my arm round, snatching the sword from the scabbard, and laying the horrible old miscreant lifeless upon the floor. The time had come, my right arm was across my chest, my hand tightly holding my sword-hilt, but that arm was now heavy as lead, and I tried in vain as I lay there upon my back to drag out that blade. But it was impossible. I was as if turned to stone, and the horrible gurgling breathing went on, heard quite plainly as I lay in that terrible state. How I tried to struggle, and how helpless I felt, while the mental agony was terrible, as I seemed to see the old wretch's features distorted with a horrible joy at his success, and I knew that as soon as poor Brace was dead, he would come over and find me an easy victim, and then I should never see the light of another day; I should never meet father, mother, sister again out on the hot plains of India; and the guns would never be recaptured; and yet they seemed so near, with the wheels sinking deeper, and ploughing those deep ruts which I was walking in with one foot, so as to keep to the track, for poor Brace was so set upon recovering them; and now he was dead, it was ten times my duty to keep on and get them, if the old Hindu would only spare my life. Poor old Brace! and I had thought him a coward, and yet how brave and determined he was, but yet how helpless now that the tiger had crept up closely and sprung into the howdah to force him back and plant its talons in his throat. No, it was not the tiger, it was the Hindu, the old old-looking man with the bony fingers. No, the tiger, and it was not Brace who was making a horrible, strangling noise, but the elephant snorting and gurgling and moving its trunk in the air, instead of snatching out its bright sword and with one stroke cutting off the tiger's--the Hindu's--the tiger's head, because it had left its sword in its quarters when it went out shooting that morning, and it had all grown so dark, and its arm was as heavy as lead, because I was turned into an elephant and the tiger had leaped on to me, and then into the howdah to attack poor Brace, while we were trying to find the guns of our troop, and it was too dark to see them, and how long the Hindu was killing him, and I could not help, and-- "Asleep, Gil?" A pause, and then again, as I lay panting on my back, streaming with perspiration, and with my arm feeling numb as I listened to the horrible, strangulated breathing once more-- "Asleep, Gil?" "No--yes--not now;" and I was all of a tremble. "Cheerful style of watchman that, lad. Hear him? Any one would think he was being strangled. What shall I do to wake him? Prick him with the point of my sword?" "No, no; don't do that," I whispered, as I tried hard to realise that I was awake, and had been dreaming. "Well, I'm too tired to get up. I've had a nap too, and you've been breathing pretty hard, but not snorting and gurgling like that old wretch. Here, hi! you, sir," he cried in Hindustani. "The sahib wants his servant?" "Yes--no," cried Brace. "What are you doing?" "Thy servant was keeping watch over his masters, and smoking his chillum." Brace's charpoy creaked, and he uttered a curious laugh even in Hindustani. "That's right; go on. I did not know what it was in the dark." Then to me: "Did you understand what he said?" "Only partly. Didn't he say he was smoking?" "Yes; puffing away at his old hubble-bubble. There he goes again." For the snorting, gurgling sound recommenced, and I knew that the candle had burned out, while I was struggling in the horrors of a nightmare-like dream. "Is it near morning, Brace?" I said. "It must be; but try and go to sleep again, lad. If it is only for one hour, it will do you good, and make you fresher for the day's work." "You think I need not mind sleeping?" "Not in the least, lad. There is no danger till daybreak, and I am afraid not then, for our enemies are miles away by now." He was silent, and I lay listening to the old man's hubble-bubble for a time, till a delicious feeling of repose stole over me, and the next thing I heard was the chattering song of minahs--the Indian starlings-- in the trees somewhere outside of the hovel where I lay, and, on opening my eyes, they rested on the ancient face of the old man, squatting down on his heels at a short distance from the foot of my bedstead, the level rays of the sun pleasantly lighting up his calm old face; and as he saw that I was looking at him, he rose to his feet and salaamed to me. "It is morning, sahib," he said in Hindustani. "Eh, morning?" cried Brace, springing up. "Thank Heaven! Now, Gil, lad, for the work of another day." _ |
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