Gil the Gunner by George Manville Fenn (rainbow fish read aloud TXT) 📕

Bajgunge proved to be strongly occupied by the enemy, and after due reconnoitring, Brace felt that nothing could be done there, and determined to strike off across country for Arbagh, a town where one of the queen’s foot regiments was stationed, so as to form a junction with the infantry, and co-operate in holding the place, or marching with them to one of the larger towns, or to some place where help might be required.

Five days were taken up in hot, weary marches, but the men were all full of eagerness, and looking longingly forward to having a brush with the enemy.

We passed village after village, sometimes to be well received, at others meeting with heavy, sullen looks, which told too plainly of the disaffection spreading everywhere, and the knowledge in the country that an attempt was being made to throw off the English rule.

It was toward the evening of the fifth day that we suddenly came upon a party of dusty, weary-looking natives, who at a glance were seen not to be villagers, for they wore the aspect of being domestic servants, and, as we approached, they made no attempt to imitate the action of the villagers on our route by taking flight, but drew up on one side to let us pass.

Brace halted, and signed to Dost to approach and act as interpreter.

But there was no need, for one of the party, a venerable-looking, grey-headed man in a white turban, salaamed, and then waited with crossed arms to be questioned.

“Salaam, sahib,” he said humbly.

“Where are you from?” said Brace.

“Arbagh, sahib. You come too late.”

“Too late? What is their trouble, then?”

“Trouble, sahib? The mem sahibs, and the little children and their fathers—”

He did not finish, but groaned.

“Speak out. What is it?”

“All slain.”

“But there was a regiment there—a whole regiment of foot.”

“Yes, sahib; but they were called away to fight the budmashes, and the evildoers from the bazaar at Miapore; and when they had marched away the budmashes came. The sahibs strengthened one of the houses, and fought bravely for two days, but they were only few in number, and there was neither food nor water at last.”

“And then?”

The old man shook his head, and uttered a low groan.

“And the wretches who have done all this?” cried Brace.

“They are there, sahib, with two regiments who have risen up against their officers. It is not safe to go. The white sahibs have marched to Miapore, away yonder to the west.”

“And where are you going?” asked Brace, who looked suspiciously at the people behind their spokesman.

But they were unarmed, and carried no plunder. The words of the old man were evidently the truth, as he said—

“To be at peace, and away from those who rob and slay. To Rajgunge, sahib.”

“Turn back,” said Brace. “You are going to where there are worse troubles, man. Better follow us.”

There was a low moan from the little group, for Brace’s words filled them with consternation.

“But you will not go on to Arbagh, sahib?” said the old man, who seemed to have been the native butler to some family.

“Yes; to drive these wretches out,” was the reply; and the march was resumed. “Yes, we must drive these scoundrels out, Gil,” he said again. “We need have no compunction about firing now. Likely enough our friends the sowars may be there. They headed for the south. Now, if we could send a message on to Miapore.”

I turned round soon afterwards, and found that the weary, footsore party were tramping back with us, close to the elephants, apparently trusting in Brace’s power to protect them, and restore peace in the place that had been their home.

Dost came alongside soon after to tell me more of these people’s experience, for they had all been servants to the European residents at Arbagh. It was a terrible experience, but very similar to our own at Rajgunge. The English residents and officers had been in utter ignorance of the impending peril. They had heard rumours of troubles in connection with cartridges being issued to the men greased, so that they might pass more easily down the rifle barrels, the Mahommedan soldiers considering that they would be defiled by touching paper moistened with the fat of the pig; and the Hindus, jumping at the conclusion that the fat used was that of the cow—an animal held sacred in their religion; while, in all probability, the fat used would be prepared from neither of these animals, the whole being an excuse for the irruption in which Mahommedans and Brahmins made common cause.

“It has all been hatching for a long time, sahib,” Dost said to me; “and the men have been waiting for an excuse. You English officers and gentlemen have known nothing; but the sepoys and sowars have been prepared.”

“And you knew this?” I said sternly.

“I? No, sahib; not till after the men broke out. The soldiers had their message sent round to be prepared to rise, and slay every white man, woman, and child, to destroy all Nazarenes, and restore the great king again at Delhi.”

“At Delhi?” I said. “Then there are troubles there too?”

“There are troubles all through the country by now, sahib. Of course they did not trust us, who were our lord’s servants, and not fighting men. They said to themselves, these men have blood now like water; they live amongst the white people, and have defiled themselves by eating their food and drinking out of their vessels—they will go and betray us to their lords. We know nothing, sahib; but they, the men of the native regiments, had the lotus flower sent round to them.”

“The lotus flower?” I said, wonderingly.

“Yes, sahib. It was a secret way of communication. A man came to a regiment bearing a lotus flower, and this was passed on from man to man right through the regiment, till the last had the blossom, and he had to take it to the next regiment.”

“But what did it mean?” I asked.

“I can tell you no more, sahib. It was their secret sign. And then, after a time, the chupatties were sent round to the villages.”

“Chupatties? The little cakes?”

“Yes, sahib, and that was a sign. A messenger went to the head man of a village, and gave him six little cakes of Indian corn. ‘These are for you,’ he said. ‘You will make six more, and send them on to the next village.’ This the head man did, and the cakes passed on from village to village, as a sign that the rising was to take place, and all were to be ready when the time came.”

“But it seems so stupid,” I said. “Why not have sent a messenger?”

“The cause was too great to risk anything. It was more mysterious to send like that. They knew what it meant; but if the collector or the police heard, and said, ‘What is this?—ye are plotting against your lords;’ they could reply, ‘No, it is nothing; the head man of the next village has only sent me a few chupatties.’ Who else would think it was a secret sign?”

I knew comparatively little about the people then, and the question seemed to me unanswerable.

I rode on, depressed and thoughtful, for a terrible idea had taken root in my breast. These people of Arbagh had been surprised, and, saving a few who had escaped, murdered without mercy, and with horrible indignities. Suppose there had been such a sudden rising at Nussoor, where my father’s regiment was stationed, what of my mother and my sister Grace?

A cold perspiration broke out all over me, and a mist rose before my eyes, through which the horrors that had taken place at Arbagh rose out, at first dimly, and then clearer and clearer; but with those I loved as victims, and I was shuddering with horror, and so wrapped up in my own thoughts, that I did not notice that Brace had ridden up alongside, and he had gripped my arm before I knew he was there.

“Why, Gil, lad,” he said sharply, “what is it? The sun? Come, I can’t afford to have you ill.”

“Ill?” I gasped. “No, I’m not ill.”

“Then why do you look so strange?”

I made an effort to recover myself, and told him as calmly as I could all that Dost had said to me.

“Yes,” he said, after hearing me patiently to the end, “the man is honest enough; and there must have been some such mystic message sent round. These people are believers in symbolism and parable. It is bad news, Gil, and I am afraid too true. The rebellion is widespread; but what of that? We must put it down. England is not going to have her great conquests wrenched from her hands like this.”

“Put it down?” I faltered.

“Yes, man. If you and I and a trumpeter could do such a thing as we did at a hint from our brave sergeant yonder, don’t you think that the many regiments of Englishmen here in India, with all our magnificent troops of horse artillery, moved by the combined brain-power of our most gallant officers, will be able to restore order through the country?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” I said, but in an unconvinced tone of voice.

“You are getting hungry, Gil, my lad,” he said merrily. “You will not be depressed like this when we have halted at Arbagh, scattered those dogs, and had a good meal. For we must fight first,” he cried fiercely. “Gil,” he said, sinking his voice, “I was never meant for a soldier—this blood-shedding is abhorrent to me. I shrink from using my sword; but since I have heard the horrors these wretches are perpetrating—slaying English ladies, murdering sweet innocent children, my nerves thrill as I grasp my blade, and I feel as if I would gladly aim every gun, and send the grape and canister hurtling amongst the hounds—no, it is an insult to a dog to call them so—these savage, bloodthirsty tigers. Come, lad, you must set aside compunction, and be ready to strike—for you can.”

“You do not understand me,” I said sadly.

“Oh yes, I think I do, Gil. I have studied you pretty well. You were thinking that we shall be beaten, after listening to Dost’s account of the rising at this town.