Gil the Gunner - George Manville Fenn (people reading books .TXT) 📗

At the appointed time the men fell in, rested a little, no doubt, but not one had slept, and after a few words respecting the importance of silence, Brace placed himself at their head, whispered to me to come to his side, and the word was given—March!

It was a strange, weird tramp along the deserted road, for not a soul was encountered; but as we drew nearer, the lights in the city were many, and from the noise and drumming it was evident that there were festivities in progress, possibly rejoicings among the natives at the fall of the British rule.

But as we got on to lower ground the illuminations disappeared, and Brace pointed out that the part in the direction of our barracks seemed to be all dark.

But we could, of course, make out little at that distance, and as we neared the river, Brace struck off to the right, so as to avoid the houses as much as possible, his intention being, he said, to get round till we were about opposite to our quarters, and then march boldly and silently on.

“The probabilities are,” he said, “that at this hour of the night we shall not meet a soul.”

About this time he called up the sergeant and questioned him, but there was little more to be communicated. Apparently there had been very little plundering; the party led by Ny Deen having its one important object in view—the capture of the horses, guns, and ammunition; and after cutting down those who resisted, and securing the rest in their quarters, they had busied themselves over their task, and marched out in triumph.

“But I’m expecting, sir, that when we get back we shall find that the mob from the bazaar has been busy, and plundered and burned the whole place; and if so—”

He stopped short.

“Well, speak up, man. What do you mean—the wounded?”

“No, sir,” replied the sergeant, as I shuddered at the horrors these words suggested; “I don’t think there were any wounded left; they did their work too well. I was thinking of the poor chargers.”

“Oh!” I ejaculated, as I thought of my noble-looking Arab and its companion, and I involuntarily quickened my pace.

“Steady, Vincent,” whispered the captain; and I checked myself. “Let’s hope it is not so.” Then, turning to the sergeant—“You feel sure that the officers’ horses are not gone?”

“I can’t say that, sir. Only that the mutineers did not take them. They wanted to get the gun-horses and the others; that was all they seemed to be thinking about.”

“Yes, that would be all,” assented Brace.

“The mob may have carried off the poor creatures since, sir; I don’t know.”

As we approached the outskirts, all was as anticipated, quite still, and after another whisper to the men to keep as silent as possible, we marched boldly in through the narrow lanes, threading our way for some time without hardly seeing a soul, and those whom we encountered only looked at us with curiosity or else fled at once.

Twice over we became confused, losing our way, but our good luck aided us, for we recognised places which we had passed through before, and resumed our march, getting nearer and nearer to our barracks, and now hearing shouting, drumming, with the clash of music, but right away from us; and at last it was left well behind to our right.

From time to time the captain halted and let the men pass by him, so as to keep a sharp look-out, and see whether we were followed.

But that did not seem to enter into the thoughts of any of the natives we had passed. They were apparently thinking solely of their own safety, and at last, trembling with eagerness, we approached the gateway that we had left so short a time before; and a painful sensation of sorrow smote me as I recalled the genial face of the major and his words wishing us success as he saw us off on our pleasant expedition.

“And now dead!—cruelly murdered by treachery,” I said to myself; while the painful feeling was succeeded by one of rage, accompanied by a desire to take vengeance on the men who had cut him down.

But I had something else to think of now, for Brace halted the men and took me to examine the gateway, where all was silent and black. There was no armed sentry on duty, no lights in the guard-room, and a chill struck through me, and I searched the ground with my eyes in dread lest I should trip over the remains of some man by whose side I had ridden during many a parade or drill.

Brace stepped forward boldly, and we passed through the gateway into the yard when, suddenly, and as silently as if barefooted, a white figure started up near us, and would have fled had not Brace caught it by the arm.

“Silence!” he said in Hindustani.

“Don’t kill me, master,” came in a low supplicating whisper.

“Dost!” I exclaimed, for I recognised the voice.

“Yes, master,” he cried, turning to me.

“What were you doing here?” said Brace, sternly.

“I came up when all was dark and the budmashes were all gone, master,” said the man with trembling accents. “I have been to master’s quarters.”

“To plunder?” said Brace, sternly.

“Master’s servant is honest and never steals,” said Dost, quickly. “Master can search and see.”

“I think—I’m sure he is honest,” I said hastily. “Tell us, Dost. Who is in the barracks now?”

“The dead men, master,” said the Hindu solemnly. “There is no one living there. Yes,” he added quickly, “I did hear sounds, but I could find nobody. And the mem sahib is gone.”

“Where did you hear the sounds?” I asked.

“By the stables, my lord. If the budmashes had not taken away all the horses I should have thought the horses were there still.”

“And they are,” I whispered to Brace.

“Be cautious,” he whispered back. “We must not trust this man. Dost, tell me; the major—where is he?”

The man sighed, and said softly—

“The burra major is dead. I have laid his body inside the mess-room. The mem sahib must have escaped or been carried off.”

“You did this, Dost?” I cried, after a pause.

“Yes, sahib. It was dreadful for him to lie there.”

“Take us where you have laid him,” said Brace, sternly; “but mind, if you attempt to escape, I shall fire.”

“Why should thy servant try to escape?” said the man simply. “This way.”

“You do not trust him?” I said to Brace.

“Trust?” he replied bitterly. “Who can ever trust a Hindu again?”

We followed Dost across the compound, to where the blank windows of the mess-room loomed out of the darkness, and we saw that they and the door were carefully closed.

“I have misjudged him, Gil,” whispered Brace; “he has been here.”

As the Hindu began to open the door, we glanced sharply about the place, each holding his double rifle, ready for immediate action against human tigers, as I told myself. But all was silent and deserted, and as I looked toward the major’s quarters and thought of the pleasant English lady who had so often made me welcome in the little drawing-room she fitted up so charmingly wherever we stayed, and whose soft carpets, purdahs, and screens came back to my memory in the soft light of the shaded lamps, I shivered, and wondered what had been her fate.

“I could not find the lieutenant, sahib,” said Dost, as he threw open the door.

“Be on your guard, Gil,” whispered Brace to me in French; “it may be a trap after all. Hush! Look out. I thought so,” he cried; and I swung round the muzzle of my rifle, as four figures suddenly came upon us from out of the darkness at our back.

The alarm was momentary, for a familiar voice said, as the point of a sword gritted in the sand at the speaker’s feet—

“All right. I was growing uneasy about you, and brought three of the boys in case of accident.”

“Thank you, doctor,” said Brace. “We are going in here. The major—”

“Hush!” said the doctor, drawing in a hissing breath. “Stand fast, my lads.”

“If you hear anything wrong,” said Brace to the three men who stood sword in hand, “you know what to do.”

There was a low hiss, more than a murmur, and then we were in the darkness of the mess-room.

“I’ll shut the door,” said Dost, softly.

“Why?” said the doctor, quickly.

“The sahib doctor can trust me,” said the man, quietly. “It is dark. I am going to light a candle. I think the barracks are quite empty, but some of the budmashes might be about seeking to rob, and they would see the light.”

He closed the door, and the darkness for the moment was intense, while my heart beat with a heavy throb as I wondered whether, after all, there was treachery intended, and Brace’s words rang in my ears—“Who can ever trust a Hindu again?”

The silence was awful in the moments which followed the closing of the door. There was a faint rustling sound followed by a sharp click click, which I knew was the cocking of a rifle or pistol; then came a scraping sound as of a sword-edge touching the wall—sounds which told me that my suspicions were shared; but, directly after, they were dispelled, for there was a crackling noise and a faint line of light; a repetition of the scratching, accompanied by a few sparks, and, at the third repetition, there was a flash which lit up the dark face of Dost and his white turban; then the match began to burn, and we could see his fingers look transparent as he sheltered the flame and held it to a piece of candle, which directly after lit up the mess-room, one wreck now of broken glass, shattered chairs, and ragged curtain and cloth.

I saw all that at a glance, but as my eyes wandered