Gil the Gunner - George Manville Fenn (people reading books .TXT) 📗
- Author: George Manville Fenn
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I was silent, and after a few moments’ thought, he continued—
“I know; it is my horse. Well, I love him, but I give him gladly. He is yours. Get well quickly, and you shall ride.”
“No, no, rajah,” I cried, unable to repress a feeling of emotion at his generosity, which was indeed princely; “indeed it was not that.”
He looked at me gently, and said slowly—
“Name what you wish;” and he passed his hand over the great emeralds and diamonds sparkling about his throat, breast, and turban.
I involuntarily followed his hand as it played about the gems, conscious the while that, in spite of his gentle smile, he was watching me very keenly.
“Is it any or all of these?” he said. “I will give them freely to my friend.”
“No,” I cried eagerly; “it is something greater to me than all you have offered.”
“And what is that?” he said, with his eyes half-closed.
“Give me my liberty, and let me go to my friends.”
He took my extended hand and held it, as he said softly—
“I have been told that some of you English are great and good. Men who cannot be tempted by riches; who would not take from another any gift unless it was some little token—a ring of silver or plain gold; but I never met one before. I called you my friend; I felt from the first that you were noble and great of heart; now I know it ten times more, and I am glad. I should have given you everything I wear if it would have pleased you; but I should have felt sorry, for my friend would not have been so great as I wished.”
“Then you will give me what I ask?”
“Your liberty?” he said, smiling. “My poor brave boy, you do not know what you ask.”
“Yes,” I cried. “As soon as I am strong. I am grateful, and will never think of you as an enemy; always as a friend. You will let me go?”
“No,” he said gravely, “I could not lose my friend.”
“No?” I cried passionately. “Is this your friendship?”
“Yes,” he said, holding the hand firmly which I tried to snatch away, but with a poor feeble effort. “Say I gave you leave to go. Where would you make for? The country is all changed. Our men scour it in all directions, and your freedom would mean your death.”
“Is this true?” I cried piteously, as his words told me that our cause was lost.
“I could not lie to my friend,” he said. “Yes, it is true. The Company’s and the English Queen’s troops are driven back, while our rajahs and maharajahs are gathering their forces all through the land. No; I cannot give you liberty. It means sending you to your death; for I am, perhaps, the only chief in this great country who would take you by the hand and call you friend.”
He ceased speaking, and I lay back, feeling that his words must be true, and that hope was indeed dead now.
“There,” he said, “I have done. Your bearers are coming. I will go now, and return soon. Come, you are a soldier, and must not repine at your fate. Give me your hand, and accept your fall as a soldier should. Rest and be patient. Good-bye, more than ever my friend.”
I believe I pressed his hand in return as he held it in his, and laid his left upon my brow, smiling down at me. Then in a low whisper he said, as softly as a woman could have spoken—
“You are weak, and need sleep.” He drew his hand over my eyes, and they closed at his touch, a feeling of exhaustion made me yield, my will seeming to be gone, and when I opened them again, Salaman was kneeling by me, waiting with two of the attendants standing near holding trays of food. “Have I been asleep?” I said. “Yes, my lord. Long hours.”
“And the rajah? Did he come, or was it a dream?” I added to myself.
“The great rajah came, and went while my lord slept. It is time he ate and drank, for he is still weak.”
“Yes,” I replied, as I recalled all that had passed—“so weak, so very weak, that this man seems to master even my very will.”
The doctor came the next day, and did not seem satisfied; the fact being that, on awakening, my mind was all on the fret. For I was always face to face with the thought of what had become of my mother and sister at Nussoor. Of course I sorrowed, too, about my father’s fate; but I was not so anxious about him. He was a soldier, with some hundreds of trusty Englishmen at his back, and I knew that he would be ready to meet any difficulties.
Then there was Brace to fidget about, and my other friends of the troop. I wanted to know whether they had been scattered, as Ny Deen had assured me, and whether the English rule really was coming to an end.
“He thinks so,” I said; “but I will not believe it yet.”
Then I worried about being a prisoner, and with no prospect of getting free. It was very pleasant to be waited on, and treated as the rajah’s friend, and there were times when I almost wondered at myself for refusing the costly gifts he had offered. But I soon ceased wondering, and began to feel that jewelled swords and magnificent horses were worthless to one who was a prisoner.
The days passed drearily by in spite of bright sunshine and breezes and delicious fruits, with every attention a convalescent could wish for. By degrees I reached the stage when I was borne out through the shady edge of the forest in a palanquin, plenty of bearers being forthcoming when needed, and then disappearing again, leaving me wondering whence they came, and how far away the rajah’s principal city might be.
Everything I asked for was obtained directly; but I was a prisoner, and not the slightest information could I get. The only inkling I had of my whereabouts was obtained one day when I was being borne along in the shade by my bearers, with Salaman at my side. They halted at the edge of what was almost a precipice, to give me a view through an opening of a far-spreading plain at a considerable depth below; and this taught me at once that I had been placed, of course by the rajah’s command, in the shady forest somewhere on a mountain slope, where the air was comparatively cool, and where I was far more likely to recover than in some crowded city in the broiling plains.
That was all that the view down the precipitous slope taught me. I could not recognise a single landmark, and returned to my prison-tent as low-spirited as ever.
It must have been a day or two after, when I was making my first essays in walking, that, unexpectedly as usual, the rajah came riding in among the trees quite alone, and as he drew rein, smiling, close to where I was standing, I could not help envying him the strength and ease with which he managed his splendid charger.
He was quite simply dressed on this occasion, and his appearance indicated that he must have ridden far.
As we shook hands, I was wondering that he should have come without any escort, but just then I heard the snort of a horse at some distance, which made the beautiful arab by my side throw up his head and challenge loudly, when two more horses answered, and I felt that I had been premature in thinking the country so peaceful and free from troops that the rajah could ride alone.
He swung himself down, and a man sprang forward to lead away the horse, while, taking my arm, the rajah led me to the cushioned carpets spread beneath the tree, looking at me smilingly the while.
“Come,” he said; “this is better; up and walking. You look different, too. Why, I might venture to send your horse over for you to try and mount, but not yet.”
“Why not yet?” I said, as we sat down among the cushions.
“For several reasons,” he replied, smiling at me. “I want to see you stronger.”
“But I think I could mount now; and, at a gentle walk, the exercise would do me good.”
“Perhaps,” he said; “but we must see.”
He clapped his hands, and Salaman glided up.
“Bring coffee and a pipe,” he said.
Salaman bowed and retired.
“I have ridden far,” he said to me, “and am tired.”
“Tell me about the state of the country,” I said eagerly, after we had sat some moments in silence.
“It is not peaceful yet,” he replied. “The English are making a little struggle here and there. They do not like to give up the land they have held so long.”
We were silent again, and Salaman and the two servants I had seen most often, came up, bearing a tray with coffee, a long snake pipe, and a little pan of burning charcoal. A minute after the pipe was lit, and the great amber mouthpiece handed to the rajah, who took it after sipping his coffee, and the men retired as he began to smoke, gazing at me the while.
“It is useless,” he said at last. “A lost cause.”
I sat frowning and thinking that he did not understand Englishmen yet, or he would not talk of our cause being lost.
“Well,” he said at last, “I am very glad to see you getting so strong. In another fortnight you will be well enough to come back to the city.”
“What city?” I asked.
“Mine. To my palace,” he replied proudly; but he turned off his haughty manner directly, and continued. “I have had rooms set apart for you, and a certain number of servants, so that you will be quite free, and not dependent upon me.”
“Free!” I cried, catching that one word; it had such a delightful ring. “Then you will let me go as soon as I have visited you at your palace.”
“To be cut down—slain, after I have taken such pains to save your life?” he said, with a smile.
“Oh, I am very grateful for all that,” I cried hastily; “but you must feel that even if they are unfortunate, my place is with my own people.”
“No,” he said quietly, as he went on smoking and gazing straight away at the densely foliaged trees. “I cannot feel that. For I know that it would be folly for you to return to meet your death. It would be impossible for you to get across the plains to the nearest place where your people are trying to hold out. Even if you could get there, the army besieging them would take you, and no one there could save your life.”
“Let me try,” I said.
He shook his head.
“It would be madness. If I let you have your horse now, you would try some such folly.”
“You call it a folly,” I replied. “I call it my duty.”
“To rush on your death? Look here, my friend; why do you want to get back? To take up your old position as a junior officer?”
“Yes, of course!”
“I thought so,” he said, with animation, and his eyes flashed as he went on. “You are young and ardent. You wish to rise and become the chief of a troop of artillery?”
“Of course,” I said.
“And some day a general, to command others?”
“I hope so—a long way ahead,” I replied, smiling.
“Of course. I knew it,” he said, as he let fall the tube of his pipe, and grasped my arm. “It would be long years before you could command a troop?”
“Oh yes—long, long years.”
“And you would be quite an old man before you became a general?”
“Perhaps never,” I said, wondering at his eagerness, and yet feeling something akin to a suspicion of his aim.
“Then why wish to go?” he said, with a smile.
“Why wish to go?” I replied. “I do not understand you.”
“I
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