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

“Awake, Gil?” said a voice by me, and I started up to see that Brace was seated close by me, with his elbow upon his knee and his chin resting in his hand.

“Yes,” I said. “Have I been asleep long?”

“About seven or eight hours, my lad.”

“Oh, why didn’t you rouse me?” I cried.

“Because there was no work for you to do, and it was better for you to have a good long rest ready for when I want you. Come and have some breakfast—such as it is.”

“Can’t I wash first?” I asked.

He laughed.

“No, my lad. There is the river below us yonder, and you can see the barracks, what is left of them.”

“Left of them?”

“Yes. They were set on fire about nine o’clock, and the smoke is rising thickly still.”

I uttered an angry ejaculation.

“Bah! never mind them. We can soon have better ones built.”

He led me to where there was some bread and a little meat, and as I went among the trees I could see that we had sentries stationed, while the rest of the men lay about resting or smoking, while the doctor was seated by Sergeant Craig, whose arm lay upon a folded coat.

I felt no appetite. The heat beneath the trees was terrible, and I was stiff and sore with the previous day’s exertions; but I ate a little in obedience to Brace’s wish, and he sat watching me.

“Go on, my lad,” he said.

“I cannot,” I replied.

“You must. You will want all your strength for to-night’s work. Eat.”

I went on again with the bread tasting like chaff, and the meat tainted, but at last I turned away in utter disgust.

“It will do me harm, not good,” I said. “Now tell me, what are we going to do?”

“Wait till dark,” he said, “and then try and reconnoitre the village over yonder. As far as I can make out the rebels are making it their quarters for the day. I want to see whether it will be possible to do anything by a night surprise, but whether I shall attempt it must depend on the position they have taken up.”

“Where is the village?” I asked.

He led me to the edge of the patch of forest in which we were hidden, and pointed out a cluster of mud-houses about a couple of miles away, right in an open part of the plain which spread away from us for miles.

“Keep back behind the leaves,” he said, “in case watchful eyes might be directed this way.”

I obeyed, and tried to make out the glint of steel or the white garments of the rebels. But nothing was to be seen but the glaring sunshine bathing the trees which overhung the cottages. Not a soul was in sight.

“They can’t be there,” I said, after watching for some time.

“They are there,” replied Brace, quietly. “Look under that tree, the one with a couple more standing out from it at intervals. Tell me what you can see.”

I looked as well as the glare of the sun and the distance would allow me.

“I can only see a cottage,” I said.

“It is not a cottage; it is a tent.”

“But surely they would not stop at a place like that.”

“Why not?” he replied. “They have something to do now that they have seized the guns—to manage them.”

“Then you think they have stopped there to drill?” I cried.

“I fancy so; but we shall see after the reconnaissance to-night.”

“Whom shall you send?” I cried eagerly. “Let me go.”

“It is too important a task to trust to another,” he replied. “I am going myself. You can go with me if you like.”

I eagerly snatched at the opportunity, and then sat down with him near the edge of the jungle patch to watch the village and note everything that passed. In the course of conversation Brace told me that the doctor would also start on his expedition at dark, Dost accompanying him to the lane in the city, where he could attend to the major’s wounds and learn whether there was any news of the women.

Brace kept on chatting to me; but I soon found out that it was to keep down his excitement, and his mind employed, so that he should not dwell upon the terrible enforced delay; for quite a fever was consuming him, his eyes looked unnaturally bright, and his fingers kept twitching and playing with the handle of his sword.

That night seemed as if it would never come, and I never suffered so from the heat; but it came at last, and, almost before I realised it, Brace was giving the doctor his final instructions and a message for the major.

“Tell him,” said Brace, in a low voice, “that I shall never rest till I have retrieved our disgrace. Tell him to be of a good heart, for I will get back the guns.”

“My dear Brace,” said the doctor coldly, “our poor friend is not likely to understand anything for some days to come, perhaps weeks. Your message is all in vain. Now, Dost—ready?”

The white figure of my servant glided up to us, and the next minute the pair had disappeared, while, after a few words had been addressed to Haynes as to keeping the men well under cover, we two stepped out of the shelter of the jungle, and the darkness swallowed us from the sight of the sentry.

We had carefully mapped our way that afternoon, and I saw it all in my mind; how we must go down that nullah, along by those trees, and make straight for the cultivated land, which spread out around the village, evidently one whose inhabitants cultivated largely for the benefit of the city. And in all our discussions as to our course, Brace and I had thoroughly agreed, for the task was, or seemed to be, simplicity itself; but in the intense darkness of the Indian night it proved to be very different in character.

As we started we could see the distant lights of the city across the river, and, keeping them on our right, they formed sometimes a guide for a few minutes; but they were soon hidden from us by the trees, and, with the darkness growing more intense, we had literally to feel our way along.

“Are we going straight?” I said, after we had been walking for about a quarter of an hour. “We ought to have reached the cultivated land before now. We are still among the trees.”

“Distances are deceptive in the sunshine,” replied my companion. “Keep close behind me.”

“As close as I can,” I whispered, as it struck me that distances seemed to be more deceptive in the darkness.

Brace had drawn his sword, and was using it as a guide, to keep from walking into some bush or against a tree; and as I followed him I could hear the blade rustle amongst the bushes, and tap against small tree trunks; but, though it saved him, I was not so guarded, for I tripped twice, and once went down headlong through getting my foot caught in some kind of wild vine.

At last, after what had seemed to be a tremendous while, we found ourselves brought up by an irrigation ditch; but we managed to clear it, and alighted at once upon soft earth, which we knew was cultivated ground, and stepped out more freely.

It seemed to me a mad venture, but, without daring almost to madness, it was not likely that we could rescue our guns from the enemy’s hands, though how we were going to reconnoitre that night, or gain any information as to the movements of the enemy, I could not see. Still I was on duty; my superior officer was leading, and I felt no other inclination than to blindly obey.

Whenever I recall that expedition now, I begin somehow to think about blind men and their feelings; for we might almost as well have been thus. Our eyes were not of the slightest use to us, the stars being blotted out as it were by the thick mist into which we had plunged, and through which we slowly groped our way.

“Keep tight hold of my hand,” said Brace, in a whisper.

“We shall never find the village,” I said.

“We must find it, Gil,” he said, as he gripped my hand hard. And on we went, with my companion feeling his way step by step, still using his sword as guide, and for the peaceful object of guarding us from such enemies as trees, against which we might run, and ditches into which we might fall.

The heat was terrible—a hot, steamy, misty heat, which helped to saturate us—as we slowly struggled on, pausing every now and then to listen, knowing, as we did, that almost at any minute now we might hear a voice challenging us out of the darkness, and see the flash of a musket or rifle as it sent a leaden messenger in our direction.

But all was still as death for a time, and then I stopped short with a horrible feeling of dread; for from a short distance in front there suddenly rang out the terrible cry as of one in mortal peril. Some one was being killed I was sure; and to hear that sound in the pitchy darkness, overwrought as I was by exertion and nervous excitement, robbed me for the moment of the power to move or speak.

“What is it?” said Brace at last, as he tugged at my hand to get me forward.

“That—that horrible cry!” I whispered.

“Bah!” he replied.