Part 27

"To the right there!" Mr. Fullarton shouted, "or these madmen will ride us down."

They had but just got clear of the front when the cavalry swept past; before they could go farther half a dozen Sikh horsemen rode at them. The civilians all carried pistols, and these they used with some effect. Two of the Sikhs fell, the rest rushed on them. Percy had no sword, and thought that his end had come; when there was a shout, and his two followers rode past him, and fiercely fell upon the Sikhs.

Percy turned round in time to see two of the civilians cut down by the tulwars of the other Sikhs, while Mr. Fullarton tried with his pistol to ward off a blow aimed at him. The force of the blow struck it down and the sword fell on his shoulder. Before the Sikh had time to strike again he was shot by Bhop Lal, and the latter and his comrade then attacked the remaining two Sikhs furiously. Akram Chunder ran one through with his sword. Bhop Lal seriously wounded the other, who wheeled his horse round and fled at full speed.

A moment later there was a thunder of hoofs, and the Lancers who had rallied, came dashing down. Percy, furious at seeing Mr. Fullarton fall, exclaimed, "Give me one of those tulwars, Bhop Lal." The man sprang from his horse and handed him the one that had fallen from the hand of the Sikh he had shot.

As the Lancers came along Percy with his two companions fell in behind them. They rode over many of the Sikh horsemen; the rest fled, and were hotly pursued back to the jungle, many of them being cut down. The impetus of the charge took the Lancers well into the wood. A blaze of musketry flashed out in front of them; a fresh troop of horsemen charged down, and a moment later they were engaged in a hand-to-hand contest. A tall Sikh rode at Percy, and they at once engaged in single combat. Percy's steady training at the fortress with sword and tulwar was useful to him now. The Sikh's shield gave him an advantage, but this was counter-balanced by Percy's being accustomed to thrust as well as strike. For some time the contest was doubtful, and then, after feinting at the Sikh's head to make him throw up his shield, Percy ran him through the body. He heard a warning shout from Bhop Lal as he did so, and the next moment another Sikh rode at him, knocking his horse off its legs, while at the same moment a crashing blow fell on his helmet. After that he remembered nothing.

When he opened his eyes it was dark. Presently he could hear talking all round him; he listened, and heard that the language was Punjaubi. He wondered to himself how he had got there, then he recalled a fight and gradually recollected his horse falling. "I must be wounded," he said to himself. "Yes, my head throbs fearfully; but how is it that I am here? the Sikhs always kill the wounded."

He made an effort to raise himself on one elbow, when he felt a hand laid on him, and a voice which he recognized as that of Akram Chunder whispered in his ear:

"Do not stir, sahib; thanks to the Great One that you have recovered. We were sure that you were not dead; the blow was a heavy one, but as you were falling when he struck, the tulwar did not catch you quite fairly, and the helmet helped to turn it, so that, instead of cleaving your skull, it has but shaved off a portion of your scalp and half your ear."

"But how is it you are here with me?"

"We were both fighting, sahib, and knew that you could hold your own against the Sikh you were engaged with. Suddenly, just as from the corner of my eye I saw that you had disposed of him, another rode at you. I gave a shout, and cut down the man I was fighting with; but before I could turn my horse you were down. I shot the Sikh, and then I and Bhop Lal, who had just rid himself of his man, leapt off our horses, intending to lift you on to one of them; but at that moment the Lancers began to fall back, and we saw that it was too late, so each seizing you under one arm, we sprang with you into a bush.

"Then, while Bhop Lal stayed with you, I ran out again, caught up the mantle of a Sikh who had fallen within a yard of the bush, and sprang in again. We wrapped you in the mantle, then crawled on, dragging you with us into a very thick patch of bush, where you are lying now. A moment later half a dozen Sikh infantry, pushing their way through the bushes, came close. One of them caught sight of us, and cried, 'What are you doing here, comrades!' 'My brother is sorely wounded,' I said, 'and we have stopped to close his eyes before we go on to have another fight with the Feringhees.' 'You must make haste, then,' he said, 'or there will be none of them left to fight with.'

"We heard large numbers of them pass along a short distance off, then volley after volley of grape came crashing through the jungle, and they fell back again. 'I will mix with them,' Bhop Lal said; 'you stop with our sahib. One is less likely to be seen than two. Your story is good enough to account for one if they catch sight of you, but it is not good enough for two of us.'

"For two hours the battle went on, but not near us again. The banging of cannons and muskets was as bad as at Ferozeshah. Sometimes I thought one side was winning, sometimes the other. Sometimes I could hear Sikh yells of triumph, sometimes a deep roar even above the din of the musketry, and knew that it was an English cheer, for I had heard it before. Occasionally men came along, having strayed from their parties; and each told a different story. Some said that many of their cannons had been captured by the Feringhees; others declared that the Feringhees were almost destroyed. Bhop Lal sat down only ten or twelve yards away, and I could hear him talking to them. Presently I heard him ask had anyone any water? 'I have a wounded comrade somewhere not far off in the jungle, and I want some for him.' Somebody lent him a water-gourd. He went off behind, and some minutes later worked round here with it. He would not come straight, for some of them might have followed him into the bushes, to see if they could do anything for his comrade, but this was not likely, for there are scores of wounded men round here. However, we tore off some rags and wetted them, and laid them on your wound, and we poured a little of it into my water-flask to sprinkle your face, and drop between your lips from time to time, and then Bhop Lal went back again with the remainder."

"But how has the battle ended, Akram?"

"It has ended just as it began--the white troops have all gone up to Chillianwalla and the other villages there. The Sikhs hold the jungle. They captured six of the guns our cavalry rode over, and they have lost twelve, but all small ones. I hear that almost all their gunners are killed, for the British took several of the batteries, though they could not hold them; and you know, sahib, the Sikhs will never leave their guns, but will stand by them till they are cut down. The men about here don't know what is going to be done. Some say that they will attack to-morrow; others say that though they have shown that they are more than a match for the Feringhees, it would be too much to attack them in their own positions, especially as they have not enough gunners to work the pieces.

"Perhaps we shall attack in the morning, Akram."

"I do not think so, sahib; they say that one of the white regiments had scarcely a man left, and that the others have lost half their strength. The general, sahib, is a great man for fighting, but he must see that until he gets more troops he can never force his way through the jungle up to Russool."

There was presently a sound of someone forcing his way through the bushes, then a voice said, "I bring orders that all are to fall back. It is not that we are beaten, as everyone knows; we have won a great victory, and have taught the Feringhees that they are not invincible, but food and water cannot be brought down here, therefore all must go up and get food and drink and rest for the night. The Feringhees have had enough, and will not attack again to-morrow morning; but if they do, we will come down again and welcome them."

There was a murmur of satisfaction, for the Sikhs had taken up their position some hours before the British attacked them, and were eager for food, as although spirits had been freely served out, the supply of food in the camp was small, and many had eaten nothing that day. Bhop Lal moved off with the others, but in five minutes was back again. As in the dark he was unable to find the clump of bush in which Percy was hidden, Akram called to him in a low voice.

"How is the sahib?" Bhop Lal asked, as he pushed his way in.

"I am better," Percy answered. "You have saved my life between you. Have they all gone?"

"All that can walk, sahib; there are numbers of wounded lying about, but there is nothing to prevent our starting off now."

"I don't think that I can walk yet," Percy said. "Perhaps in a little time I may be able to do so."

"I am afraid not, sahib; but that makes no difference; we can carry you easily. Akram, do you stoop down on one side, and I will do so on the other. Now, sahib, put your arms round our necks; we will clasp our hands under you, and you can sit then as in a chair."

Percy himself was able to give but little assistance, but he felt himself lifted up and held firmly; then slowly and steadily the two men carried him through the jungle. Once or twice they were asked by a figure on the ground who they were, but the answer in their own language, that they were looking for a comrade who had fallen, sufficed, as it was too dark under the trees for it to be seen that they were already carrying a burden.

"It was well that they didn't know we had you with us, sahib. Had they done so, we should like enough have had a musket-ball after us. A wounded Sikh is as dangerous as one standing on his feet."

But Percy did not reply; he only heard the words as if spoken a long distance off. A little farther and he was conscious of nothing. His bearers carried him a hundred yards beyond the jungle, and then laid him down again, sprinkled some water in his face, and poured a few drops between his lips; but as he gave no sign of returning consciousness, Akram Chunder said, "We had better take him on again. It is from loss of blood he has fainted, and we must get him to camp. First, I will again try to bandage his wound."

He unwound several yards of muslin from his turban, and bound up Percy's head. Then they lifted him and went forward, this time at a faster pace than before, for there was now no fear of giving Percy pain. They had to be careful, however; the ground they were crossing was that over which the cavalry had retreated, and it was thickly dotted with the bodies of the fallen. Once past this, they pressed rapidly up the slope to Chillianwalla. To their surprise they approached unchallenged, for they had been afraid that their reply in a native tongue would have brought a shot from a sentry; but such was the confusion, and so exhausted were the men, that while some regiments had thrown out sentries, others had not done so, and they were fortunate in having come upon an unguarded spot. A little farther and they entered the village. Numbers of men were lying asleep in the streets. Presently an officer came along.

"What have you there?"

"An officer, sahib, wounded," Akram Chunder, who had picked up a few words of English, replied.

"Where have you got him from?" the officer asked in Hindustani.

Akram could understand the question, but could not answer it in the same language, and answered him in Punjaubi.

"We brought him out from the jungle over there, sahib."

"I don't understand you," the officer muttered; and then aloud in Hindustani, "Come along with me to those lights, that is one of the hospitals."

They went with him to the door of one of the largest buildings in the village, and entered. The floor was covered with prostrate figures. Four or five surgeons with orderlies holding torches were engaged in bandaging, probing for bullets, or, in one case, in amputating.

"Doctor," the officer said, "here are two fellows who look like Sikhs, though I suppose they are not; they have got a wounded officer, but where they found him I have no idea. Do any of you speak Punjaubi? They may be able to tell us what those fellows over there are doing."

But none of the surgeons spoke the language.

"We will just see who the man is they have brought in," the officer, who was a colonel, said; "he seems dead by his attitude. Put him down there, men."

The two men understood his gesture, and laid Percy on the floor.

"He is not dead, but he is mighty near it," the surgeon said, as he felt his pulse. "Ah, this is what it is, a cut from one of those tulwars. He is bleeding to death. Give me that brandy bottle, orderly."

He poured a spoonful or two between Percy's lips, then laid some lint over the wound, and firmly bandaged it.

"Give him another spoonful, orderly, while I go on to the next; he will come round presently."

"Is it mortal, doctor?"

"No, it is a very nasty wound, but I don't think it has cut through the skull; the sword must have been turned a little. I will examine it in the morning when I get breathing time."

"I know him now," the colonel said; "it is that young civilian who came in the day we crossed the Chenab. Yes, these are the two native servants who always rode behind him. Come along with me, men; I must take you to someone who talks Punjaubi. You shall come back to your master afterwards; he is lucky in having two such faithful servants."

The men did not fully understand him, but Akram Chunder gathered the meaning, and with a look at their master they followed the officer from the hospital.

*CHAPTER XX.*

*GUJERAT.*

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.

"Wait a moment," the colonel said, "we shall have time to talk about that afterwards. The important point is to find out from them whether they know what the Sikhs are doing to-night."

The question was then put, and when Akram Chunder repeated the order he had heard given, that the Sikhs were all to retire to Russool, there was a deep and general feeling of relief.

"That is the best news I have heard for many a day," the colonel exclaimed; "for if they had fallen upon us to-night, which I half expected they would do, it would have been a frightful business. I must take these men to Lord Gough at once. He will be even more glad than I am to hear the news, for he must feel the responsibility terribly. You might as well come along, Mansfield, to act as interpreter; he may have no one with him just at present who speaks the language."

The story was told to the commander-in-chief and Sir Henry Lawrence, who was now his chief political adviser.

"The information is most valuable if true," Sir Henry Lawrence said. "I suppose there is no doubt these two men are Mr. Groves' servants; because, as you say, he was brought in insensible. That is a very important point, for they might be two Sikhs sent in with this story to put us off our guard."

"Major Mansfield says that he recognizes their faces, Sir Henry."

"I would not say that I absolutely recognize them, but they certainly look to me like the two men whom I have seen riding with Mr. Groves."

"Do not let us make any mistake about it. The matter can be easily settled. If these men have been in camp for a month they must be well known."

"I will find one of Mr. Fullarton's men, sir. Groves was living in his tent, so any of the servants there would know them."

While the major was away Sir Henry Lawrence cross-examined Akram Chunder and Bhop Lal as to their story. In three or four minutes Major Mansfield returned, bringing with him Ram Singh.

"This is Mr. Fullarton's servant, sir."

"Do you know these two men?" Sir Henry asked.

"Yes, sahib, I know them well. They are Mr. Groves' servants. They have been with him for four or five years; they were with him at Ferozeshah and Sobraon."

"So they were," Lord Gough said, getting up from the camp-chair in which he was sitting and looking at them closely. "I remember their being with him at Ferozeshah. Mr. Groves carried messages for me several times when most of my staff were down, and I noticed then how coolly those fellows rode after him whenever he moved away from my side."

"There is no farther doubt about the story," Sir Henry Lawrence said, "and these men have clearly saved Mr. Groves in the way they have stated."

"Tell them, Sir Henry," Lord Gough said, "that I consider them to be very fine fellows, and that I thank them for their conduct in having rescued their master. As for the information they have given, that is our affair, and we can reward it. I should be glad if you could give them a hundred rupees each as a present out of your information fund."

Sir Henry repeated Lord Gough's message to the men, laying stress upon the difference between the action of saving their master's life and the information they had brought. "For the first," he said, "the commander-in-chief desires to pay you honour. Had you belonged to one of our native regiments he would have made you officers. As it is, he can only say that he honours you for your conduct, and himself thanks you for having saved the life of that very promising young officer, Mr. Groves. The information you have brought is valuable, and for that he asks me to make you a present of a hundred rupees each. You lost your horses, of course?"

"Yes, sahib, ours and the master's."

"Come round to me in the morning. I will give you an order to receive the two hundred rupees and to take the three horses, as it is likely enough they came back with the Lancers; if not, to take three of the Sikh horses that came in with them. How is your master going on?" he asked Ram Singh.

"He is better, sahib; he can talk now, and he has asked several times whether Mr. Groves has been heard of. It will do him good to know he has been brought back."

The interview was now over, and the two men went back to the hospital, and on their arrival there, were delighted to find that Percy was conscious, and sat with him by turns through the night. He was greatly pleased to hear that Mr. Fullarton had not been killed, as he feared.

"Have you had anything to eat?" he asked towards morning.

"No, sahib, but that does not matter."

"It matters a great deal," he said. "I am sure I do not know how you are to draw rations here, and there will be no means of buying anything."

He thought a little, and when, half an hour later, the principal surgeon stopped beside him to ask him how he felt he said, "I feel queer about the head, and weak, but that is all. I am worrying about my men, sir. I do not see how they are to draw rations."

"I can manage that," the surgeon replied. "If they are willing to help here I will put them on the list as hospital orderlies and draw rations for them with the others. I shall be very glad if they will do so, for I am short of hands, and want help terribly. We never calculated on such a crowd of wounded as we have got, and as, at present, they certainly won't be able to spare us fighting men to act as hospital orderlies, I shall be very pleased to have your fellows. Then one of them will be able to look specially after you."

Akram Chunder and his companion embraced the offer with great satisfaction when Percy translated it, and were soon at work in their new duties. As soon as the morning meal had been served Percy told Akram that he had better go at once to Sir Henry Lawrence to get the order for their horses. "There is no time to be lost about that," he said. "They are so good that they will be snapped up at once for the use of officers who have lost their own chargers."

Akram found the horses, as he had hoped, in the lines of the Lancers, but when he produced his order and claimed them he was scoffed at.

"Look here, Bill; here is a likely tale," one of the men said to another. "This chap has got an order signed Henry Lawrence, to take the horses belonging to himself and another chap wherever he may find them in camp, and I am blowed if he doesn't pitch upon these two chargers that the major and Captain Wilkins have chosen for themselves. Why, anyone can see with half an eye that they are English hunters, or have got a lot of English blood in them anyway. You get out of this, Johnny, or I may put my fist between your two eyes."

Akram quietly walked off, and held the paper out to the first officer he met.

"Are your horses here?" the latter asked after reading it.

"Yes, sahib."

The officer was as incredulous as the troopers had been, that a native, evidently of no high position, could have owned such horses; and the major, coming up and hearing the story, angrily ordered Akram out of camp as a rogue. The man went quietly back towards the political officer's house, but on the way he met Major Mansfield. He saluted and told him the story, "I will go back with you," the major said; "it is no use troubling Sir Henry Lawrence." Major Mansfield's interposition proved efficient, and as soon as the story of how the two men had sacrificed their horses and had saved their master's life was told, the major gave orders that Akram should take the two animals. "I heard there was a civilian and two men joined our squadron when they charged, though nobody noticed them fall back with it. But how on earth came two Sikh servants to have such horses as those?"

"Groves' uncle is the Colonel Groves who was in the Sikh service under Runjeet Singh, and he has held the fortress of Djarma ever since. I know he got two or three English thoroughbreds over, and bred some horses. The third horse is evidently a native, and not a particularly good one."

"Which is your master's horse, man?"