Gil the Gunner, George Manville Fenn [fun books to read for adults txt] 📗

My toilsome marches through a country that was generally deserted, we came to village after village in following the track of those guns; and generally it seemed as if the force of mutineers frightened the simpler ryots away from their tiny farms and rice-grounds; for the villages were generally empty. When they were not, our appearance was sufficient to send man, woman, and child flying; for already the land was being delivered up to the horrors of war. Ny Deen’s men plundered as they went, and helped themselves to all they required; while we, in turn, were forced to follow their example; and where food was not given, we were obliged to take it.

Our marches ought to have been made by night, so as to avoid the heat of the sun; but this was impossible, for the track of the guns would have been lost, and hence we had to journey on by daylight, rarely finding any difficulty, for the wheels made distinctive marks in the dusty roads; while in the open country, where Ny Deen made short cuts, the deep ruts were so plain that, had we been mounted, we could have galloped after them.

It was very rarely that we could get any information from a native; but when we did, it was invariably to learn that the enemy was a full day ahead; and, in spite of our efforts, he always keep that distance.

I remember that terrible broiling march with a shudder, for our men suffered horribly from heat and thirst, often from want of food, while our constant dread was lest any of the poor fellows should go down with sunstroke.

But we were spared that, though every night, when we halted, the doctor confided to me his opinion that it was miraculous.

Craig was very weak and ill, and more than once he asked Brace to have him laid down under a shady tree to die, so that better use might be made of the bearers.

“Impossible, my good fellow,” Brace used to say. “I can’t spare you—the smartest sergeant in the troop.”

“Smartest, sir?” repeated Craig, with a piteous smile. “A helpless invalid, too weak to lift a sword, let alone use it, or sit a horse.”

“Wait, Craig, and you will sit a horse yet, and help me to redeem this terrible reverse.”

The days wore slowly on, and we seemed no nearer; and, but for the energy and knowledge of Dost, we should have starved; but his knowledge of the natives of the country people enabled him somehow or another to provide for our commissariat, and we marched on with the sepoys always bearing poor Craig’s dhooly, and making no attempt to escape.

I said something about it one night to Brace.

“Wait,” he said, “and then we shall have to be doubly watchful. They will try to escape when we have overtaken the enemy; and our great peril will be their betraying our presence; for we cannot play the lion now, Gil; we must play the fox.”

It was a wonder to me that we did not come upon any stragglers from the force we were pursuing; but we did not overtake any; neither did we come upon a broken-down horse.

“Plain proof,” said Brace, “that they are taking care of them. Gil, my lad, if we do not recapture those guns, they will prove to be deadly in their injury to our side; for, depend upon it, those daring fellows will train themselves to use them, and they will be terrible weapons in an enemy’s hands.”

“More need for us to get them back,” I said. “You don’t despair of overtaking them?”

“I will not,” he said firmly; and then, to change the subject, “How did you think our horses looked?”

“Very well. Why don’t you ride?”

“Why don’t you?” he retorted.

“Because all our poor fellows have to walk.”

“Exactly, Gil; my reason. Wait a bit, and we’ll mount them all. Ah, if that time would only come!”

It did not then, nor yet for many days, during which we had steadily followed the track, never once losing it; but I could note how weary both Haynes and Brace grew.

“You see,” said the former, “they must be making for some trysting-place—one of the big towns, perhaps; and if they reach it, our chance has gone.”

“Don’t let Brace hear you say that,” I whispered; but from hints the captain dropped that night, I was certain that he was thinking something of the kind.

It was toward evening, after a fearfully hot day, during part of which we had been forced to rest, while Dost had gone on in advance to investigate, that we were toiling on through a very beautiful part of the country—all green, and a succession of park-like patches and plains, that were wonderfully refreshing after weary tramps over brown deserts of dust, that we were suddenly checked by our advance men announcing a native some distance ahead.

But as we reached the front, the distant figure held up its turban in a peculiar way, and I exclaimed—

“Dost!”

The order was given to advance; and before we had gone far, the man, who was hurrying to meet us, signed to us to bear off to the left; and five minutes later, when we met, he pointed to a beautiful patch of forest, into which we filed.

“Well, Dost, what now?” said Brace, gloomily.

“They are halting, sahib, only a short distance in front.”

“Is there a town there?”

“No, sahib; only a large village at the end of a wide plain. We can get round to the end, and perhaps see them.”

“But are you sure it is the party we are tracking?” I cried excitedly.

“Oh yes, sahib. There are all the horses and guns. They were drawn up in front when I came away.”

“Ready to start once more,” said Brace, eagerly. “Let’s get on and see if anything can be done.”

Leaving Haynes in charge of the men who were allowed to rest in the grateful shade of the forest edge, Brace called to me to accompany him, and with Dost for our guide, we threaded our way among the trees for nearly an hour, when Dost suddenly stopped short, as a shout fell upon our ears, followed by a familiar trampling sound, with the jingle of accoutrements, and rattle of gun and limber.

“They are going,” said Brace, quickly; and hurrying forward, he made for a spot where the forest looked lighter; and in another minute we had to stoop down and shelter ourselves, for where we were the trees ended, and a wide plain spread out far as eye could reach, while on the right was a large village with a temple just on the banks of a river, whose bright waters looked welcome in that thirsty land.

But we had no eyes for river or plain with such a scene between us and the village as greeted us; for there, in very fair order, thanks to our highly trained horses, was our little battery of six six-pounders, with their limbers and mounted men complete; but, in place of the English gunners and drivers in their laced jackets, breeches and boots, brass helmets, and long scarlet horsehair plumes, the battery was manned by dark-faced men in white, with turbans to match, and under the command of a noble-looking chief in a turban that flashed in the sunlight with gold or gems; while, even at the distance we were, we could make out that the man in gay shawls and rich stuffs, who waved his sword as he cantered along upon a magnificent arab, was Barton’s old syce, Ny Deen.

“The scoundrel!” muttered Brace, whose hand played with the hilt of his pistol as we crouched there, and I felt that if ever he came within range, a bullet would lay him low.

As the troop went along at a trot, a thrill ran through me, and I felt an intense longing to be mounted once more in my place; and from that moment shared more intensely Brace’s longing to recover the guns.

“They are on the march again,” my companion whispered, as he used his glass and went on making comments. “The guns look bright and clean; the scoundrels, they know their value to them. But they cannot manage them like our lads. Oh, Gil, boy, it is maddening to see them going off under