Gil the Gunner: The Youngest Officer in the East

by George Manville Fenn

This thought made me listen intently for the sound of guns; but all was still, and my impatience began to get the mastery, and the feeling that I had taken up the wrong idea to make itself clear; for there could be no serious fighting such as would keep the doctor away, or else I must have heard the firing.

Still the doctor did not come, and in consequence I began to think that my wound was hot and fretful; and this brought up the fight on that eventful day about which I had lost count, save that it must be going on for three weeks since it occurred; and all that time I had been lying there, a miserable, wounded prisoner. So I was proceeding to silently bemoan my fate, when my common sense stepped in to point out that the enemy who had captured me evidently respected the British, and that no one could have been better treated than I.

But I wanted news. I was burning to hear what had taken place since I had been cut down; whether the fire of revolt had been checked, but was still holding its own, or spreading—and I knew nothing.

“But I will know,” I said, as my ear, grown quick by constant listening, detected distant sounds, followed by a hurried rustling, as of people leaving the adjoining tent.

“They heard the doctor coming,” I said to myself. “I’ll make him speak somehow; and, by the way, I’ve never asked him where they have put my uniform and sword.”

I strained my ears and listened, for the sound was drawing nearer, and a feeling of disappointment stole over me as I made out that it was the trampling of horses; and I had never heard that when the doctor came before. I had always believed that he came in a palanquin; while these certainly were horses’ feet—yes, and the jingling of accoutrements.

“Why, it must be our troop,” I thought, but crushed the delightful thought on the instant, for there was none of the peculiar rattle made by the guns and limbers. Could it be a body of sowars? If softly thoughts went back to the wild gallop I had had in their company, and one hand stole to my wounded arm, which was there as a reminder of what I might expect from them.

No wonder my heart beat fast as recollections of their merciless treatment of their officers came flooding my brain, and I felt that if they behaved like this to their officers, whom they had sworn to obey, there would be scant mercy for a prisoner.

The trampling and jingling came nearer, and there was the familiar snorting of horses, while I was now experienced enough to be able to say that there was a body of forty or fifty mounted men approaching nearer, nearer, till a loud order rang out, such as would be given by a native cavalry officer; a sudden halt; a fresh order, and then one for the men to dismount, and I was listening for the next ordering the men to draw swords, when I felt with beating heart that it need not come, for the men would be lancers. “I’ll try and meet it like a man,” I said to myself, “for father’s sake, and that of my mother and sister;” but I could not feel brave, and my eyes were fixed upon the purdah which screened the entrance to the tent, and, in spite of my weakness, I struggled up on one arm looking wildly round for a weapon that I could not have used.

Then there was a quick footstep. The doctor’s? No; that of an armed man. The purdah was swept aside, and a gorgeously dressed chief, robed in white muslin and shawls of the most delicate fabric, and richly ornamented with gold, strode into the tent. His white turban glittered with pearls and diamonds, while his breast and sword-belt and slings were also encrusted with the same rich gems, so that at every movement some cluster of precious stones scintillated in the subdued light.