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

I remember feeling a kind of angry contempt for the magnificently dressed men who bowed down before this eastern potentate, and I believe I drew myself up stiffly in face of all this abject humility. I suppose it was pride—the pride of race; of one who knew that these were a conquered people, men of an old-world, barbaric civilisation, which had had to bow before the culture and advance of England; and in the midst of all the gorgeous display of show and wealth, I could not help, as I clasped hands with the rajah, thinking of the syce, Ny Deen, standing patient and humble by our barracks at Rajgunge, ready to spring forward obediently at Lieutenant Barton’s call.

As the rajah grasped my hand with friendly warmth, I glanced round at his followers, expecting to see looks of contempt directed at me; but every face was fixed in one solemn, respectful stare, and all drew back, so as to form a half-circle before us, while the rajah led me to the tent, making way for me to enter first, and then following.

I could feel my face flush a little, and it was impossible to help a kind of self-consciousness at the honour paid me; for it was plain enough that the rajah was not only treating me before his followers as his friend, but as one whom he was seeking to place next him in authority.

“Hah!” he said, smiling, as he seated himself, after making a sign that I should follow his example; “I am glad there are refreshments. I am hungry after a long, tiring day. You are better?”

“Yes,” I said; “much better and stronger.”

“Your face tells it before your lips,” he said, as we began our meal, with half a dozen attendants gliding rapidly about us, but so silently that we hardly realised their presence till they handed curry, or some other carefully prepared dish.

For some time scarcely anything was said beyond matters relative to the dinner, the journey he had made, and the elephant he had ridden; but I was holding myself ready for what I knew must follow as soon as the servants had left the tent; and as soon as we were alone it came, as I anticipated.

“Well, Gil,” he said familiarly, as he leaned back and began to smoke from the great pipe Salaman had ignited and placed ready to his hand, “what do you think of those of my people whom you saw this evening?”

“They make a good display,” I replied, “and seem to hold you in great reverence.”

“They do,” he said, without a shadow of conceit. “They believe in me because they know that for their sakes I suffered a kind of martyrdom, going, as I did, amongst your people to serve in the lowest state, and all to help free my country.”

I was silent.

“You do not share their admiration,” he said, with a laugh.

“How can I?” was my reply. “You tried to rise by the downfall of me and mine.”

“And I have risen, and they have fallen,” he said firmly. “But you have not—you rise with me.”

I was silent.

“I am going to present you to my people this evening, by-and-by, when they have eaten and rested. My servants are waiting for you in the little tent at the back.”

“Waiting? What for?” I said in surprise.

“You will see,” he said, smiling. “Oh, well, there need be no reserve or form between us. You have been badly wounded, and you are dressed as one who has suffered. I have had more worthy garments brought for the great chief and brave young warrior, my friend.”

“My own uniform?” I said sharply.

“Yes; of your own design,” he said quietly.

“No, no; I mean my own—the Company’s uniform.”

“A noble uniform,” he said warmly; “because it is stained with a brave swordsman’s blood. I have it still, but it is cut, torn, and spoiled, Gil. It is something to have—to treasure up as one would a good weapon that has done its duty.”

“I must wear that or none,” I said firmly.

“No,” he replied gravely, as he leaned toward me; “you will never wear the Company’s uniform again. The great Company has passed away, as other great powers have passed before.”

The fierce words rose to my lips to say that this was nothing, for my people were; fighting hard to recover lost ground, but I checked myself. I did not want to insult a brave man who was my friend, neither did I wish to show that I had had news of the state of the country, so I said quietly—

“I told you last time that what you wish is impossible.”

He frowned, but smiled again directly.

“Yes, when you were weak and suffering. You are stronger now, and have thought better of my proposal.”

“I have thought it a great honour, Ny Deen—rajah—your highness, I mean.”

“No, no; Ny Deen always to you, Gil Vincent,” he said warmly. “I am a maharajah, but only a man. I have not forgotten.”

His words, and the way in which they were uttered, moved me, and I held out my hand, which he grasped and held as I went on excitedly—

“Yes, I know you are my friend,” I cried. “You love me, and you are great and noble and chivalrous. You would not wish to see me degrade myself?”

“By becoming my greatest officer?” he said, in a low, reproachful voice.

“No,” I cried; “that would be a great honour, far too great for such a boy as I am.”

He shook his head.

“You are only a boy yet, but you have had the training of a man, and you have the knowledge of a great soldier growing in you rapidly. The boyhood is going fast, Gil, and life is very short. You will make a great soldier, and I hold you in honour for that, as I love you for a brave, true gentleman—my friend.”

“Then you would not wish me to degrade myself by becoming false to my oaths—to see me, for the sake of promotion, turn from my duty to those I have sworn to serve—see me become a renegade. You would never believe in me or trust me again. No, rajah—no, Ny Deen—my friend; you think so now, but by-and-by, in some time of danger, you would say, ‘No; I cannot trust him. He has been false to his people—he will be false to me.’”

“No,” he said, looking at me earnestly, “I shall never doubt you, Gil, and it is vain to resist. Every word you say, boy—every brave piece of opposition makes me more determined. You are proving more and more how worthy you are of the great honours I offer you. Come, you have fought enough. You are conquered. Give up your English sword, and take the tulwar I will place in your hands.”

“No,” I cried passionately. “I am the Company’s officer.”

“There is no Company,” he cried. “You have fought to crush down a conquered people; now fight to raise them up into a great nation; to make me into one of the greatest kings who ever ruled in Hindustan. It will be a great work.”

“I cannot,” I said passionately.

He turned a furious look upon me, and dashed away my hand.

“Ungrateful!” he cried fiercely.

“No,” I retorted. “I must do my duty to my Queen.”

“I tell you that you are mine now,” he cried furiously. “You must obey me. I am your maharajah and your king.”

“No; you are the great chief who has made me his prisoner, sir. I am English, and you will have to give account to my people for my life.”

“Pish! Your life! What are you among so many? I tell you my purpose is fixed. You are my officer, and—”

“You will have me killed?”

“Killed!—imprisoned till you grow wiser. I should not kill you yet.”

“Very well,” I said, trying to speak calmly; but a crowd of faces seemed to come before my eyes, and I believe my voice shook.

“What?” he raged out.

“I said ‘Very well,’” I replied. “I am ready.”

My words only drove away his anger; and he sat gazing at me for some moments before bursting out into a merry laugh.

“My dear Gil!” he cried, rising and coming closer to plant his hands upon my shoulders, giving me such pain that I felt faint, for one was over my wound, “it is of no use to fight. I tell you that everything you say makes you more mine. Come, my brave, true lad, accept your fate. Go into the next tent, and come back my chief. I have brought many of my best officers over to be presented to you—noble men who will place their swords at your feet, for they know what you have done, and they are eager to receive you as their brave young leader. There, I cannot be angry with you, boy. You master even me, and make me quite your slave. Kill, imprison you! It is impossible. You accept?”

I shook my head.

I thought he was going to flash cut again in his anger; but though his brow wrinkled up, it was only with a puzzled look; and then he looked alarmed, for I sank back half fainting, and for a few moments everything before me was misty.

But it passed off as I felt a vessel of cold water at my lips; and directly after I came quite to myself.

“What is it?” he said anxiously. “You are ill.”

“Your hand was pressing my wounded shoulder,” I said rather faintly.

“My dear Gil!” he cried, as he took and pressed my hand, “I did not know.”

“Of course not,” I said, smiling. “It is long healing. I’m better now. It was very weak and cowardly of me to turn so. There,” I cried, with an attempt at being merry; “you see what a poor officer I should make.”

“You cowardly!” he cried. “It is wonderful how you have recovered so quickly. But, come, it is getting late, and we have a long journey back. Go and put on your uniform.”

“I cannot,” I said sadly.

“I am not