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

and out here, my Hindustani was very imperfect, for the man smiled in a deprecatory way which seemed to mean that he hoped my lord would not be angry with him for not understanding his words.

“Take me out now,” I said.

Salaman clapped his hands softly, and the two men I knew by sight entered at once, followed by two more whom I had not previously seen. These four, at a word from my attendant, advanced to stand two at the head, two at the foot of my couch.

“Tell them to be very careful how they lift me,” I said; “and have some water ready in case I turn faint.”

For I had a painful recollection of the horrible sensation of sickness which attacked me sometimes when the doctor was moving me a little in dressing my wounded arm; and, eager as I was to go out in the open air, I could not help shrinking at the thought of being moved, so as the four men stooped I involuntarily set my teeth and shut my eyes, with a determination not to show the pain I should be in.

To my astonishment and delight, instead of taking hold of me, the four men at a word softly rolled over the sides of the rug upon which my couch was made, until it was pretty close to my side, when they seized the firm roll, lifted together, and I was borne out through the open side of the tent, so lightly and with such elasticity of arm and hand, that instead of being a pain it was a pleasure, and I opened my eyes at once.

I was very eager to see where I was, and what the country was like all round. In fact, I had a slight hope that I should be able to recognise some point or another, even if it were only one of the mountains.

But my hopes sank at once, for as we passed from out of the shadow of the tent and into the beautiful morning sunshine I could see trees, and trees only, shutting me in on every side, the tents being pitched partly under a small banyan, or baobab tree, and standing in an irregular opening of about a couple of acres in extent, while the dense verdure rose like a wall all around.

I could not help sighing with disappointment; and, at a sign from Salaman, the bearers stopped while he held the cup he had taken from a stand to my lips.

“No, no,” I said; “not now. Let them go on.”

He signed to the bearers, and they stepped off again all together, and the next moment almost they stopped in a delightful spot beneath the spreading boughs of a tree, where carpets were spread and pillows already so arranged that the men had only to lower down the rug they bore, and I was reclining where the soft wind blew, and flowers and fresh fruits were waiting ready to my hand.

In spite of my disappointment, there was a delightful feeling of satisfaction in resting down there on the soft cushions, able to see the bright sky and drink in the fresh air which seemed a hundred times better than that which floated in through the side of the tent; and when Salaman bent over me anxiously with the cup of cool water in his hand, the smile I gave him quieted his dread lest I should faint.

The four men glided away into the shadow of the trees, but after a minute I saw them reappear in front and glide silently into a long, low tent, standing at a little distance from the one I had left, and beyond which I could see another.

But my eyes did not rest long on the tents, for there were the glistening leaves of the trees and the clustering flowers which hung in wreaths and tangles of vines from their spreading boughs, all giving me plenty of objects of attraction without counting the brightly plumaged birds, which flitted here and there at will; while just then a flock of brilliant little parrots flew into the largest tree, and began climbing and hanging about the twigs, as if for my special recreation.

I had seen such places scores of times, but they never attracted my attention so before, neither had I given much consideration to the brilliant scarlet passion flowers that dotted the edge of the forest, or the beautiful soft lilac-pink cloud of blossoms, where a bougainvillea draped a low tree.

So lovely everything seemed that I felt my eyes grow moist and then half close in a dreamy ecstasy, so delicious was that silence, only broken by the cries of the birds.

I must have lain there for some time, drinking in strength from the soft air, now rapidly growing warmer, when I started out of my dreamy state, for I heard a familiar sound which set my heart beating, bringing me back as it did to my position—that of a prisoner of a war so horrible that I shuddered as I recalled all I had seen and heard.

The sound was coming closer fast, and hope rose like a bright gleam to chase away the clouds, as I thought it possible that the trampling I heard might be from the horses of friends; but as quickly came a sense of dread lest it might be a squadron of bloodthirsty sowars, and if so my minutes were numbered.

“What folly!” I said to myself, with a sigh; “it is the rajah’s escort.” And a few minutes later the advance rode in through an opening among the trees at the far end, bringing the blood rushing to my heart as I recognised the long white dress of a native cavalry regiment, one that had joined the mutineers, and, as I fancied then, that which had been stationed at Rajgunge. Immediately after, as they drew off to right and left, the rajah himself rode in, turning his horse toward the tent, dismounting and throwing the rein to one of his escort, he was about to enter, but Salaman and the four bearers stepped up salaaming profoundly, and the chief turned in my direction, to stride across the opening, with the sun flashing from the jewels and brilliant arms he wore.

By the time he reached my couch, the men, horse and foot, had withdrawn, so that we were alone as he bent down, offering his hand, but without any response from me, and the smile on his handsome face died out to give way to a frown.

That passed away as quickly, and with his countenance quite calm, he said in excellent English—

“Not to the enemy, but to your host.”

“I beg your pardon, rajah,” I said; and I could feel the colour coming into my cheeks as I felt how ungrateful I was to the man who had saved my life, and was sparing nothing to restore me to health.

My hand was stretched out as I spoke, but it remained untouched for a few moments.

“It will not be a friendly grasp,” he said coldly.

“Indeed it will,” I cried; “for you have saved those who love me from a terrible time of sorrow.”

“Those who love you?” he said, taking my hand and holding it.

“Yes; mother, father, sister.”

“Ah, yes,” he said; “of course. You have friends at home in England?”

“No: here,” I said.

He did not speak for a few moments, and still retaining my hand, sank down cross-legged on the carpet close to my pillow, gazing at me thoughtfully.

Then, with the smile coming back to light up his face in a way which made me forget he was a deadly enemy, he said cheerfully—

“I am glad to see this. I knew you were better, and now you must grow strong quickly.”

He held my hand still, and let the other glide on my arm, shaking his head the while.

“This will not do,” he continued. “You always were slight and boyish, but the strength has gone from your arm, and your cheeks are all sunken and white.”

“Yes, I am very weak,” I said faintly, and with a bitter feeling of misery at my helplessness.

“Of course. Such wounds as yours would have killed many strong men. It was a terribly keen cut. The wonder is that it did not take off your arm. As it is, you nearly bled to death.”

“Don’t talk about it,” I said, with a slight shudder; “it is healing now, and after lying so long thinking, I want to forget my wounds.”

“Of course. Let us talk about something else. Tell me,” he said gently, “do your servants attend you well?”

“Yes; they do everything I could wish for.”

“Is there anything you want? I have been a long time without coming.”

“Yes,” I said; but hesitated to make the request that rose to my lips, and deferred it for the moment; “where have you been?”

His eyes brightened, and he gave me a curious look. Then, gravely—

“Fighting.”

I winced, for his manner suggested that he had been successful, and I knew what that meant.

“Don’t look like that,” he said kindly. “You are a soldier, and know that only one side can win. You and yours have carried all before you for many years; it is our turn now.”

“But only for a little while,” I said quietly. “You must be beaten in the end.”

“Indeed!” he said, frowning, but turning it off with a laugh. “Oh no; we carry everything before us now, and we shall be free once more.”

My brows knit, and I tried to say something, but only words which I felt would anger him seemed to come to my lips, and after watching me, he smiled.

“You do not agree with me, of course?” he said. “How could you? But you did not tell me if there was anything you wanted,” he continued pleasantly.

I looked in his eyes, then my own wandered over him and his dress; and as he sat there by my pillow, looking every inch an Eastern king, the scene once more suggested some passage out of the “Arabian Nights,” and there was an unreality about it that closed my lips.

Just then my eyes rested upon the beautiful tulwar that he had drawn across his knees when he sat down. It was a magnificent weapon, such as a cunning Indian or Persian cutler and jeweller would devote months of his life in making; for the hilt was of richly chased silver inlaid with gold, while costly jewels were set wherever a place could be found, and the golden sheath was completely encrusted with pearls. It must have been worth a little fortune; and, while my eyes rested upon the gorgeous weapon, he smiled, and drew it nearly from the sheath, when I could see the beautifully damascened and inlaid blade, upon which there was an inscription in Sanscrit characters.

“There is no better nor truer steel,” he said, turning it over, so that I could see the other side of the blade. “Get strength back in your arm, and you could kill an enemy with that at a blow. You like it?”

“It is magnificent.”

He quickly unfastened the splendid belt, twisted it round the weapon, and held it to me.

“It is yours, then,” he said. “You are weak from your wound, but you are still a soldier at heart. I give it gladly to my dear friend.”

“No, no,” I cried excitedly, surprised now at the strength of my voice, as startled by the richness of the gift, and ashamed that he should think I wanted it, I thrust it back, and he frowned.

“You refuse it?” he said. “Is it not enough?”

“You do not understand me,” I said. “I could not take such a rich present.”

“Not from your friend?” he cried, interrupting me.

“Well, yes, if he had thought of giving it to me,” I said; “but you fancied I wanted it, and I did not. It was not that; it was something else.”

“Ah,” he cried eagerly, “something else. Well, ask. I am very rich; I am a prince now, not your brother-officer’s syce. Tell me,