The officer kept on nearly to the end of the village, and then opened a door and went in. "Mansfield, you understand Punjaubi. These two fellows are the servants of that young civilian—Groves, I think, is his name—the man that was with Edwardes, you know, at Mooltan, and was taken prisoner by Sher Singh, and escaped after the battle of Sadoolapore."
"Yes, I know him. What of him?"
"They have just brought him in with his head laid open badly with a tulwar. He has pretty nearly bled to death, but the surgeon who has dressed his wounds thinks he will get over it. I want you to ask these fellows where they have brought him from. I expect he is one of the party who were fallen upon by the Sikhs who came on after our cavalry. I know there were two of them killed, and Fullarton is desperately wounded. I cannot understand how it was our fellows didn't find Groves when they were collecting the wounded."
"Where did you bring your master in from?" Major Mansfield asked in Punjaubi.
"We have brought him in from the jungle over there, sahib," Akram Chunder replied.
"From the jungle?" Major Mansfield repeated.
"He joined the Lancers who came up and drove back the Sikh horsemen; he went on with them into the jungle, and in the fight there he was cut down by a Sikh just after he had run another through."
"The dickens he was!" the officer exclaimed. "Then how on earth was it that he wasn't killed when the Lancers fell back again? They have never spared any wounded that fell into their hands."
Akram Chunder related how he and his comrade had dismounted and concealed his master, had kept him in the midst of the Sikh infantry till they retired, and had then carried him up to the village.
"You are fine fellows," the officer said warmly, "noble fellows;" and he shook them both by the hand, to the astonishment of the colonel who had brought them in, and of the other officers who crowded the little cottage. Turning round Major Mansfield repeated the story he had heard. All broke into loud exclamations of admiration.