“Oh, Flora will prompt me. Don’t be afraid, Georgie. The boy’s first public appearance shall do credit to us all, and the regiment too.”
But when Mabel stepped out into the verandah, carrying the gorgeous bundle, she was met by Ismail Bakhsh, who held out his arms with an air of proprietorship which she resented. “No, no!” she said, shaking her head vigorously; “I am going to hold him.”
“Nay, Miss Sahib, am I not his bearer? Was I not for ten years orderly to Sinjāj Kīlin Sahib? Have I not served Nāth Sahib and the Mem——?”
“Don’t hurt his feelings, Miss North,” laughed Dr Tighe.
“Well, he can stand beside me and lift the boy’s hand to touch the swords and presents and things. People will really have to understand that he belongs to us as well as the regiment.”
The honourable post assigned to him served to mollify Ismail Bakhsh, and he took his stand beside Mabel with immense dignity. The members of the deputation were all in full uniform, and advanced to pay their respects strictly in order of rank. All unconsciously, the baby itself struck the right note at the very outset. When Ressaldar Badullah Khan came forward and held up the hilt of his sword, there was no need for Ismail Bakhsh to guide the little hand to it. The glittering metal, rendered dazzling by a ray of light which came through a bullet-hole in the curtain, seemed to catch the baby’s eye, and the aimless movements of both arms which followed were immediately interpreted as indicating a desire to seize the sword.
“Shabash! Shabash!” came in eager accents from the men behind. “He is the true son of Sinjāj Kīlin. The sword will never be out of his hand.”
Badullah Khan retired, much gratified, and Ghulam Rasul, taking his place, was careful to hold his sword where the light fell upon it. Again the baby stretched out its arms to the gleam, and this was accepted as confirming the omen. The rest of the deputation were content when Ismail Bakhsh raised the baby’s hand to touch their sword-hilts, and the same was the case with regard to the two or three gold coins which were brought forward as a mark of respect. The bearer of this nasr was just retiring when an untoward incident occurred. There was a sudden whirr, and a bullet, piercing the matting curtain, ploughed up the skin of Ismail Bakhsh’s wrist and passed through the fleshy part of his arm, before burying itself in the wall behind him. The group in the verandah stood staring at one another. Flora declared afterwards that Mabel dropped the baby in her fright, and that it was only rescued by a frantic effort on the part of Dr Tighe, but Mabel repudiated the accusation with scorn. Certain it is that her nephew was still in her arms the moment after, when a cry of “A hit! a palpable hit!” came from the nearest tower, following closely upon the report of a rifle.
“Are you trying to pot the baby, Winlock?” shouted the doctor, recognising the voice, and stooping under the curtain to step out into the courtyard.
“No, but I’ve sniped the sniper. There’s no cover on Gun Hill now, and I saw his head when he raised it to fire. No harm done, I hope?”