Gil the Gunner - George Manville Fenn (people reading books .TXT) 📗
- Author: George Manville Fenn
- Performer: -
Book online «Gil the Gunner - George Manville Fenn (people reading books .TXT) 📗». Author George Manville Fenn
No one attempted to man the barricades again, the task was too perilous, for gun after gun sent its iron messenger ploughing through the archway.
As I stood there midway between the gateway and the wall on my left, at right angles to my window, I did not stir, for I knew that though the balls came by within ten feet from where I stood, none was likely to injure me. There was a kind of fascination in listening to the heavy report, and then instantly for the whistling of the ball as, after demolishing a portion of the barricade, it struck the wall with a heavy crash, and sent the splinters of stone flying.
Opposite to me were the soldiers, densely packed, forming one side of the lane, down which the balls came plunging. Now and then one was deflected by the part of the barricade it struck, and it flew higher against the wall, or lower so as to touch the paving, and then ricochet; but the work was being thoroughly well done; and as I saw the great gaps made, and the clearance in the gateway, I knew the final attack must come before long.
It was much sooner than I expected, for the firing from the roof suddenly blazed out furiously, and it was as if shots were being poured from every window, as a fierce roar literally followed the next shot—a roar of men’s voices, and beating feet, and my heart seemed for a moment to stand still, but then began to bound as I leaned out to watch the struggle, from which I could not have torn myself even to save my life.
I could see nothing outside, only hear the coming of men, whose cheering was mingled with many a shriek and groan, as poor fellows dropped under the terrible fire poured down upon them. Then I saw the men within the court running round to defend the gateway; but ere they could fire a shot, there was the flashing of steel, and a little ridge of bristling bayonets appeared; their banners changed hands; the sepoys broke and rushed for the doorway and windows of the inner court; and in a wonderfully short time, so rapidly flowed in the stream of glittering bayonets through the archway, the court was cleared, and the firing came now, as I had expected, from the inner windows and the roof.
I heard the orders ring out. “No firing! In with you, lads; the bayonet!” and with a rush, our men leaped in at the door, climbed in at the windows, and as the stream still flowed in through the gateway, the fighting was going on in room after room, and our foot regiment chased the flying sepoys from floor to floor, to finish the deadly strife upon the roof.
It was horrible, but through it all there would come the remembrance of the horrors perpetrated by the savage mob and the brutal soldiery. There was a wild fascination about it, too, and I could not turn away, but stood with staring eyes and stunned ears, noting how the fire rapidly ceased, and wild cheering rose as room and roof were cleared.
I was standing by the window full of exultation, triumphing in the bravery and daring of the Englishmen, who must have been outnumbered by six to one, when I heard shots close at hand, yells, shouts, and the rush of feet; and the next minute my attendants and guards came backing in, fighting desperately as much in my defence as for their own lives, for they were driven from room to room by half a dozen men of the foot regiment that had stormed the place, and then for the first time I recalled that I was standing there in turbaned helmet and regular Eastern uniform, girt with jewelled belts, and with a magnificent tulwar at my side.
“They’ll take me for a Hindu chief,” I thought as, quick as lightning, I snatched out the blade.
I was just in time.
Half my defenders were down, the others had dropped from the windows in spite of the depth, and two men with levelled bayonets dashed at me.
I did not think I could have done it, but I had worked hard at sword practice, and with a parry I turned one bayonet aside, avoided the other with a bound, and sent the man who would have run me through, down on his knees, with a terrible cut across the ear.
The others turned upon me, but I had found my tongue.
“Halt! Back, you idiots!” I roared. “I am a friend.”
“Oh, bedad, an’ I don’t belave ye,” cried one of the party, as the others hesitated; and he held his bayonet to my breast. “Give up yez sword, or I’ll make a cockchafer of ye.”
I turned his point, and cut at another man frantically, for they were too much excited to listen to explanations. But in another instant I believe I should have been bayoneted, if there had not been a wild cry, and a dark figure rushed between me and my dangerous friends.
“Stop, he’s a sahib,” roared the new-comer, and I saw it was Dost.
“Then he’s me prisoner, and that sword’s me loot,” cried the Irishman.
“Stand back!” I roared. “I am Lieutenant Vincent, of Captain Brace’s troop.”
I took off my helmet as I spoke, and the men were convinced.
“Look at that now,” said the Irishman; “jest, too, when I thought I’d got a bit of lovely shpoil.”
At that moment there was a rush of feet, and a tall grey officer hurried in, followed by another, and quite a crowd of men.
“Have you found him?” cried the tall officer.
“Oh, bedad, yis, colonel,” cried the Irishman.
“What! the rajah?”
“Yis, sor. There he is, only he shwears he’s a liftinant in a troop.”
“That!” cried the officer; and then, in a choking voice, “Why, Gil, my boy, is this you?”
I could not speak, only cling to him who had a thousand times nursed me in his arms.
“Hold up, boy, be a man,” he whispered; but his arms tightened round me. “I thought you were dead, Gil,” he cried excitedly. “But why are you like this?”
“I am a prisoner, father,” I said.
“But the rajah?” he said excitedly. “Where is he?”
“He left here an hour ago to head his men,” I said. “But, father, if you take him, defend him; he has been very good to me.”
“Let’s take him first,” cried my father. “Now, my lads, forward! He must be somewhere in the place.”
“Three cheers for the colonel’s boy!” cried the Irishman. “Your hanner should have been here a bit sooner to see him foight. Hi, Sam Raggett, get up and show the colonel your ear. You’re not half killed yet.”
“Forward!” cried the colonel. Then to the officer with him. “Smith, take charge of my son. A sergeant’s guard, Gil,” he cried from the door. “Take off some of those things. You look like a sepoy chief. It is not safe with the lads like this.”
He hurried after his men, and the young officer held out his hand.
“Tell me,” I said quickly; “Captain Brace—my troop?”
“Yonder, not a hundred yards away,” he said. “Didn’t you hear him speak?”
“Yes,” I cried. “Thank Heaven, then, it was he.”
“Let’s get out of here,” said my new friend; “but hadn’t you better change your clothes?”
“He cannot, sahib,” said a voice behind me. “He has none here.”
“Hallo! who are you?” cried the officer.
“My servant,” I cried, as I laid my hand on his arm. “Dost, you saved my life.”
“And he’ll have to save it again,” cried my new friend, “if we stay here. Come along, and let’s get among our men, for this palace swarms with the enemy yet.”
Even as he spoke, a couple of shots rang out, and as they were aimed at us, we rapidly beat a retreat.
My appearance excited plenty of surprise as we reached the front of the palace, where a portion of my father’s regiment had now fallen in, the enemy having taken flight, and a couple of squadrons of lancers were in full pursuit. But in a very short time it was whispered through the regiment that I was the colonel’s son, and I was saluted with a cheer.
Just then there was the clattering of hoofs, and an officer galloped up, “Where’s Colonel Vincent?” he cried; and I looked at him wildly.
“Scouring the palace with a couple of companies of men.”
“But the people are pouring out of the town, and only those lancers after them.”
“He’s trying to catch the rajah.”
“Got away safe,” cried the officer. “I want orders to pursue; I can’t stay here. Whom have you got there—the rajah’s son?”
“Brace, don’t you know me?” I cried, in a choking voice.
“Gil!” he shouted, and he swung himself off his horse, and rushed at me. “I thought I should never see you again. A prisoner?”
“Yes, yes,” I cried.
“But—”
He loosened my hands.
“You haven’t—? Oh, Gil, my lad!”
That seemed the unkindest cut of all—to be suspected after what I had gone through; and I half turned away.
Brace saw it as a confession that I had turned renegade, and his face was growing very dark as my father strode up.
“Pursuit, Captain Brace,” he said; “the rascal has escaped.”
Brace sprang into his saddle, and galloped away, while, in spite of my father being at hand, my heart sank, and I felt more miserable than I had been for days.
I stayed by my father, who, in the intervals of giving orders for the occupation of the palace by the troops, the planting of sentries and pickets, and the stoppage of all pillaging, told me how he, with his regiment and two squadrons of lancers, had joined the other foot regiment and Brace’s horse artillery. That plans had been made for the attack on Ahdenpore, the Maharajah Ny Deen’s chief city, and this had been carried out by one regiment of foot, half the horse artillery battery, and two troops of light horse, the rest, the larger part of the force, remaining at a distance quite out of sight.
The object had been to make a bold attack, and if the rajah’s people gave way, to advance and send for help from the hidden force. But, if they fought stubbornly, to retire, and keep on making so sturdy a defence as should lure the rajah’s army on to a long pursuit, leading them right away from the town, which was then to be attacked by Colonel Vincent’s force while the greater part of the rajah’s men were away.
This had all been carried out. The retreating party would be by this time retiring or holding its ground, and as soon as it was day, if the rajah’s men had not heard of the defeat through the fugitives from the town, they would be attacked, and taken between two fires.
“But ought you not to advance at once, father?” I said. “Your men are flushed with success, and you are sure of meeting the enemy as he comes back.”
He clapped me on the shoulder.
“Good!” he said, looking at me proudly. “Quite right, if the men were fresh, but they are worn out with marching, fighting, and want of food. They must have a few hours’ rest.”
“But if the rajah, with his fugitives, meets the returning force, and they come back and attack us?”
“Let them,” said my father drily. “I wish they would, and save us a long march to-morrow morning.”
“But,” I said, hesitating, and afraid to hear the news, in case it should be very bad, “mother and sister Grace?”
We had by this time entered
Comments (0)