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

I could not speak for some minutes. I dared not even try, lest he should hear how my voice trembled. At last, though, after lying quite still, holding my faithful follower’s hand, I whispered—

“How did you get here?”

“Cut the bottom of the tent, sahib,” he said in the same hard tone, “with this knife, and scrambled through.”

“But they will see the opening, and you will be taken.”

“Yes; they will see it,” he replied, “but you must make the hole larger, and fasten it open. They will think you have cut the tent to make it cool. You are the master here, and can do as you please.”

“Yes; but tell me—Captain Brace?”

“Quite well, sahib.”

“Then he was not beaten and driven away?”

“No, sahib; but the fight went against him and the white colonel. They were obliged to draw back. Their enemies were too many. As fast as they killed, others came to take their place.”

“And Lieutenant Haynes, the doctor, and Sergeant Craig?”

“All well when I left them, sahib. I came away many days ago, and reached here, finding you, after a long, long search. Then I gave you a letter, telling you to be hopeful, for your friends were near, and went away again to tell the captain sahib, and ask him what I should do, for he was waiting to find out whether you were alive, and how we could help you.”

“Yes; and what did he say?” I asked.

“Nothing, sahib.”

“Nothing?”

“I could not find him. I had been away so long that he must have supposed that I was killed, and he had gone.”

“But where?”

“How can I tell, sahib? He was gone, and, as I could not find him, I said I would come back and help you to escape without, but I could not get near you. There were men watching everywhere at night, and all day there were evil-minded budmashes of sowars for miles round. Oh, sahib, they take great care that you shall not escape.”

“Yes; I am watched in every direction.”

“Yes, sahib, and I was in despair till a few days ago I was in a village where a tiger sprang on a man, and mauled him, and then let him go, and hunted him again till he got away at last. And then I said I would be that man, and come here as soon as the tiger let me go.”

“What! you ran that risk on purpose?” I said excitedly.

“Hush! not a word, sahib,” said the man laughing. “I meant a sham tiger to fly at me and claw me. They would not know that it was not a real one.”

“But the wounds—the clawings?”

“I made those, sahib, with a hook fastened in a tree.”

“Dost!”

“Oh, it hurt a little, sahib; but there was no other way to come. And even then, when I was ready to tear and wound, I stopped, for I said to myself, ‘If I run there for help and refuge, they will not let me stay, and I was ready to pull my hair and bewail myself.’ But that would not help me, and I sat down and thought all one day and all the next night, and no help came, till it was gaining light, when I jumped up and shouted, for I could see the way.”

“To disguise yourself as a fakir?”

“Yes, sahib, for I said that no one would dare to say no to a holy man. And you see I am here, and can stay, and—”

“Hist!” I said; and in a few moments he was lying beside my couch with the light coverlid and two of the cushions tossed over him, effectually hiding him as he lay on the side of the tent farthest from the lamp.

It was only just in time, for the tent door opened, and Salaman came in softly, peering in my direction as I lay pretending to be asleep, but I jumped up on the instant.

“Yes? What is it?” I cried. “Ah, Salaman, is it morning?”

“No, my lord. Thy servant came to see if he could bring anything.”

“No,” I said with a yawn; “nothing. But call me quite early, as soon as it is light. I shall walk while it is cool.”

Salaman bowed and drew back softly, whilst, after waiting till he had been gone some time, I turned to Dost, and was about to speak, but his hand was laid upon my lips by way of warning.

For at that moment, unheard by me at first, there was a light step outside, followed by one that was heavier, and I knew, though I could not see, that some one was making the rounds of the little camp, and anything I might have said would have been heard.

There was no time to lose when the rounds had been made, and after listening patiently for some minutes, I urged Dost to go, though I would gladly have kept him.

“There is no need for haste,” he replied. “If I can get out of the tent, it will not matter much if I am met. They would not stop me, and they will never think that we are friends.”

“But I could not bear for you to be found out,” I said. “It would be like depriving me of all hope.”

“Leave it to me, sahib,” he replied. “You shall not be deprived of hope. I have no plan ready yet, but very soon I shall have made one, and you and I will return to the troop and gladden the captain sahib’s heart.”

“Then you must make haste, Dost,” I said, “for the rajah will soon be taking me away to his town.”

“Ah!” he said, “I am glad you told me that. But you have been wounded. Are you strong enough to walk or run with me many days?”

I was silent, for I could not say “yes.”

“No, you are not, sahib. Then we must wait. For the land is full of enemies. Troops of budmashes roam everywhere robbing and slaying. We might have to fight. Who knows, and the young sahib must be able to use a sword.”

“Dost,” I whispered, “my horse will soon be here.”

“Ah? Then we must wait and take that—wait until the sahib is quite strong.”

“And suppose the rajah takes me away?”

“I shall follow you, sahib; never fear.”

“But tell me this,” I whispered. “I hear that the English are being driven out of the country, and that the rajahs and begums are going to call the land their own once more.”

Dost laughed silently.

“Yes; they may call the land their own once more, but it never will be again.”

“You believe that, Dost?” I said.

“Yes, I believe that, sahib, for the rajahs will never hold together, and fight as one man. The English will. The budmashes have won some fights where they were many against few, but the English will come again and drive them back, as you know. No; the rajahs will never hold the land again. Now I must go.”

“But when will you come again?”

“Soon, sahib, but when I cannot tell. We must wait and see. I shall be near you even when you do not know it, and sooner or later I shall set my master free.”

“But let it be soon, Dost,” I said, “for the rajah is trying to make me promise to enter his service, and drill his men.”

“But you are not strong and well yet.”

“No, but he is trying to make me give my word, and he promises me great rewards.”

“But the young sahib does not want his great rewards?”

“No, of course not; but I expect him directly to ask me again.”

“Well, you must promise him, sahib, to gain time.”

“What?” I cried indignantly.

He made no reply, and I repeated my question, but still he was silent.

“Do you think an English gentleman would make such a false promise, knowing that he could not keep it?”

He was silent.

“Do you hear me, Dost?” I said indignantly.

He still made no reply, and feeling that he was repentant for having made so base a proposal, I went on whispering.

“It is impossible, Dost,” I said. “You are a good, brave fellow, but you do not understand these things as an English officer would. If I gave my word to the rajah, I should be obliged to keep it, and it would be a disgrace. I might have a grand position in the rajah’s army, but I should be degraded from my own, and be a traitor in training men to fight against our flag. No; I cannot promise the rajah, and I shall have to refuse him again. The next thing will be that he is fiercely angry, and I shall be imprisoned—if he spares my life,” I said sadly. “You will have a harder task to set me at liberty then. Better wait till my horse comes, and then we can both make a rush for liberty, and try and find out the captain. If the horse comes to-morrow, shall we try and escape at night?”

He did not answer.

“Dost! Shall we try and escape to-morrow night?”

There was no answer, and I stretched out my hand to touch him as a curious suspicion flashed through me.

I touched carpet, cushion, the coverlid. That was all, and hurriedly creeping to the canvas opening, I found that it hung loose, so that a man could easily pass through.

While I had been trying to teach my faithful follower the value of an English gentleman’s word, he had glided silently out of the tent, leaving me to wonder at his skill, and to fasten open the canvas wall, so as to make it seem as if I had done it for ventilation. But I could not do that till morning.

To have opened it now was to invite some savage beast of the forest to enter therein, so I left it as it was, and returned to my couch to wonder when it was that Dost had gone.