Gil the Gunner by George Manville Fenn (rainbow fish read aloud TXT) 📕
I did--badly, but I could not do it, for the news had already leaked out, and there was Morton at the head of all the other fellows, ready to raise a hearty cheer for the new officer about to depart from their midst.
The cheering was followed by a chairing, and when at last I escaped, I hurried off to my room with the whirl of confusion greater than ever, so that I began to wonder whether it was not all a dream.
CHAPTER TWO.
I was horribly suspicious about that military tailor in Saint James's Street. Over and over again I felt that he must be laughing at me, as he passed his tape round my chest and waist.
But he was a pattern of smooth politeness, and as serious as a judge, while I sought for little bits of encouragement, painfull
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We hunted about some moments, with the cries of the men outside sounding wonderfully close to my ears, and then found the way to the upper floor, which, though well-furnished, was utterly deserted.
Here we made at once for the end, to find a way on to the roof, but it was at the other end, and proved to be, as we reached it, exactly like that of the palace—flat, and with a parapet all round.
Dost signed to me to stoop, for I was a striking object with my bright uniform, and the reflection from the lanthorns and torches down below was sufficient to make us visible to each other.
Bending low, we approached the side whence the light came, and, taking off my helmet, I cautiously peered down, to see the great court beneath crowded with soldiers, all standing to their arms, as if expecting instant orders to join in the search.
“No go down there, sahib,” said Dost, softly.
I shook my head, and followed him to the end, where a stronger light shone up, and on looking down there, we found that the officers were collected, as if waiting for orders.
Dost shook his head again, and walked back along the roof, with the grounds on our left, the well-filled square on the right, and the dark end of the large summer-house before us.
There everything was black, and we had no need for caution in looking over.
I could not help shuddering as I drew back my head, on hearing a loud slapping noise below me, and a peculiar whishing, rushing sound.
“No,” said Dost. “No boat. Muggers. Can’t go that way.”
For the swift river was gliding by just beneath the walls of the summer-house; whose windows looked down upon what by day would be doubtless a lovely scene, but which now was gloomy and repulsive in the extreme.
“What shall we do, then?” I asked.
“Wait,” said Dost, quietly, and he unwound the rope from me, and carefully made it into a coil, which he passed over his left arm.
“Wouldn’t it be better to stop till later? They will not search this place again.”
“I don’t know, sahib. They may come up here, and there is nowhere to hide.”
“Shall we go back into the garden, and try some other way.”
“There is no other way,” he replied. “The river shuts off all one side, sahib, and the other is full of Ny Deen’s soldiers.”
“Tell me,” I whispered. “What about the fighting? Our people were not beaten?”
“I don’t know, sahib. I can’t understand. The rajah drove all before him, and they retreated far away.”
That was piteous news, and I drew a long breath as I felt how hopeless my condition was growing. It had seemed so easy to escape when once I was out of the palace, but on putting it to the test, the difficulties had increased with every step.
“Let’s look down into that great court again, Dost,” I said softly. “There may be a part that is not watched.”
We looked over, and Dost drew back shaking his head.
“No, sahib,” he said; “we have done that twice. Once I hung down over the guards’ heads. We must not try again. It might mean death.”
He was quite right, and I remained silent for a few moments. He spoke at last.
“If we could only get among the houses, sahib,” he said, “and walked quietly—you like that, I like this. No one would speak to us. Come, we must try the garden again.”
It seemed to be the only way, and I followed him down from the roof to the first floor, and then down to the bottom, where our position was very precarious, for the men outside had only to reach up to the windows, raise their torches, and gaze in to see us in one or other of the great rooms.
But as they had thoroughly searched the place, this was not done, and we reached the door in safety, and stood looking out into the extensive grounds, with their walks, great trees, and clumps of shrubs.
The place seemed to be just the same as before; intensely dark, surrounded as it was by high buildings, and the moving lanthorns looked in the distance like sparks in tinder, gliding here and there.
“Where shall we make for, Dost?” I said.
“The big house in the corner, sahib,” he whispered back. “It is close to the river; but we may be able to get through there, and into a part not watched. If we cannot get away then, we must wait till morning.”
I could do nothing but obey, and following him closely, we began our dangerous walk through the great gardens, always on the point of being seen by one of the guards; but, thanks to the darkness, and the effect the lights had on the men’s own eyes, escaping, though often enough it was by the merest chance.
We had passed about half-way toward the building at the right-hand corner, its lights in the windows acting as our guide, and were crouching down among some bushes while a couple of the guards went by, when, all at once, there was a light flashed up from behind us, one which grew brighter every moment, and, looking back, we made out that the men we had seen were coming into the grounds through the great summer-house, and were spreading across, evidently to thoroughly search the grounds again.
Dost uttered a low murmur of dismay, as, by the distribution of the lights, he saw that there was to be a regular hunt of the gardens, after the fashion of beating up a tiger.
“Come, quick!” he whispered. “The rajah must be there.”
He snatched my hand, and led me on toward the far end of the garden, but only to stop short, for, to my horror, I saw a door open, a blaze of light flash out, and a body of men bearing torches troop down some steps and spread across that end where they were quickly marshalled by some one in authority, and began to advance toward us.
Our position was hopeless, for now the two lines of men advancing from either end were making the place as light as day, and gradually narrowing the ground in which we could be free. It was only a matter of minutes before we should be caught between them.
Dost pressed my hand hard as he looked wildly about him.
“No trees, sahib, no trees to climb,” he whispered. “I did try so hard to save you, but I have failed. Good-bye, sahib. I was thy faithful servant. Good-bye!”
“Why do you say that?” I said huskily.
“Why?” He uttered a little laugh, and passed his hands about his neck. “They will make short work of me.”
“No,” I said; “you are my servant, and no one shall harm you. I will appeal to the rajah myself.”
I drew my sword, and thrust my injured arm through poor Dost’s, meaning to defend him; but before I could even think of what I should do next, there was a sharp rustle, a rush, and half a dozen of the original searchers, with their lanthorns, urged by their position to make a capture before the two lines of men came up and shut us in, pounced upon us, drawn there by our voices, and then in the midst of a scuffle, I saw two men go down while I was pinioned from behind. Then my captors shouted for lanthorns, there was the heavy beat of feet, and in a blaze of light, I saw Ny Deen advance, and stand before me smiling in his triumph, but making me shrink with anger and mortification, for there was a good deal of contempt in his look, as he signed to me to approach, and to the man who held me to remove my sword.
As soon as I could drag my eyes from Ny Deen’s mocking gaze, I looked round sharply for Dost, and a chill ran through me as I failed to see him. For the moment I hesitated to speak, in the hope that he might have escaped, and inquiries might only lead to his pursuit; but it was such a forlorn hope that I gave it up at once, and turned to speak to the rajah.
“Where is my servant?” I said. “Salaman?” he replied. “No, no; my old servant, Dost.”
“The man who was with you just now?”
“Yes,” I cried.
“I do not know,” replied Ny Deen. “I suppose killed, as the result of his rashness.”
I gave him a glance full of horror, and then looked round at the crowd of armed men so fiercely, that the rajah spoke.
“Where is the man,” he said. There was a dead silence, which I interpreted to mean that he had been killed.
The rajah took a step or two forward, glaring round so savagely that one of the men who had seized us prostrated himself.
“You have killed him?” said Ny Deen, in a low guttural voice, which made me shiver.
“My lord, no. The man was seized, and in the fight he fell, and we thought him dead, for he was bleeding. Then we held the English lord here, and when we went to pick up the man, he was gone.”
“Then he has escaped?”
The man remained silent, and Ny Deen turned to me with his eyes full of mockery and a strange light, as they flashed in the glare of the torches.
“Well,” he said, “are you satisfied?”
“Yes,” I replied, “if it is true.”
“It is true enough,” he said carelessly. “Come.”
He signed to me to approach his side, and to my surprise, instead of my being led off as a prisoner, the rajah laid his hand upon my shoulder, and walked by me as if nothing had happened, right back to my room, when he threw himself upon the cushions and laughed.
“You foolish boy!” he said good-humouredly; “how could you be so weak as to commit such a folly. I am angry with you, not for offending me, for I suppose it was natural, but for lowering yourself so before my people, forcing me to have you—the man I meant to be my chief officer—hunted like an escaping prisoner. You might have been killed in your mad climbing, or by my people by accident in a struggle. That man came and tempted you to go?”
“I wanted no tempting,” I replied.
“It is a pity,” he said, after a moment’s pause. “You degraded yourself, and you lowered me before my people.”
“I want my liberty,” I cried angrily.
“Well, boy, I offer you liberty,” he said quietly; “liberty and honour. I only stand in your way when I see that, in a blind madness, you are going to rush headlong to destruction. You do not know; I do.”
I was silent.
“Where would you have gone to-night,” he said, “supposing that you had not fallen and killed yourself, or been cut down by my guards?”
“To my friends.”
“You have no friends,” he said sternly. “You would have escaped, perhaps, to the wild country or the forest to starve, or to be killed by the wild beasts. No one would give you food, and you would scarcely have found one who would not have sought to slay you as an enemy. You say you would, have fled to your friends. Where are they?”
“You should know best,” I said sullenly. “You have been fighting with them.”
“Yes,” he cried, with his eyes flashing. “I have been fighting with enemies of my country. I have nothing to hide from you. I will tell you all, so that you may know, and see how mad it is for you to fight against the decrees of fate. Yes, I fought with those you call your friends to-day, and drove them before me till after sundown. My men are following them now to complete the pursuit, scattering them like dead leaves before the blast which heralds the monsoon. You heard the firing?”
“Yes,” I said sadly.
“And know that it grew more distant as they were beaten off, till they turned and
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