Owen had indeed been very modest when describing the contest at the native fort, and it was only when Mulha was appealed to that the full details became known. And as they filtered from mess to mess, they came in time to the headquarters' mess, and the General heard the tale.
"Send for him," he said abruptly. "A little affair of that sort is often more difficult to arrange than one of greater magnitude. I wish to question this officer."
Very hot and uneasy did Owen feel when, dressed in his cavalry uniform, belted, and with his sabre on, he was ushered before the General. He was still a little hampered by the wound he had received in the affray with the pirates, while the slash he had received across his ankle in the affair of the fort, though a trifling affair, was sufficient to increase the limp. He drew himself up[Pg 193] to attention and saluted stiffly, keeping his eyes steadily on the General. Then he dropped his hand, retaining his position at attention. The leader of the troops stood in front of his tent, with two other officers beside him, and for the space of a few seconds he returned the glance of this cavalry ensign, his sharp eyes seeming to pierce to the back of Owen's head. It was an ordeal at which many an old soldier would have flinched, and do what he would Owen could hardly contain himself. A moment later the tension was broken.
"Mr. Jones, sir," said one of the officers. "You wished to see him."
"Yes. How old are you, please?"
Owen gave his age as correctly as was possible, considering the fact that the unusual circumstances surrounding his birth made a precise answer impossible.
"Tell me about this fort. Who was with you?"
"My servant, sir. A Mahratta."
"How many helped in the defence?"
One after another the General shot off his questions, demanding the size of the place, the number of the enemy, and the dispositions taken for defence.