



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Draw Swords! by George Manville Fenn.

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DRAW SWORDS! BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.



CHAPTER ONE.

A FEATHER IN HIS CAP.

"Oh, I say, what a jolly shame!"

"Get out; it's all gammon.  Likely."

"I believe it's true.  Dick Darrell's a regular pet of Sir George
Hemsworth."

"Yes; the old story--kissing goes by favour."

"I shall cut the service.  It's rank favouritism."

"I shall write home and tell my father to get the thing shown up in the
House of Commons."

"Why, he's only been out here a year."

Richard Darrell, a well-grown boy of seventeen, pretty well tanned by
the sun of India, stood flashed with annoyance, looking sharply from one
speaker to another as he stood in the broad veranda of the officers'
quarters in the Roumwallah Cantonments in the northern portion of the
Bengal Presidency, the headquarters of the artillery belonging to the
Honourable the East India Company, commonly personified as "John Company
of Leadenhall Street."  It was over sixty years ago, in the days when,
after a careful training at the Company's college near Croydon, young
men, or, to be more correct, boys who had made their marks, received
their commission, and were sent out to join the batteries of artillery,
by whose means more than anything else the Company had by slow degrees
conquered and held the greater part of the vast country now fully added
to the empire and ruled over by the Queen.

It was a common affair then for a lad who had been a schoolboy of
sixteen, going on with his studies one day, to find himself the next, as
it were, a commissioned officer, ready to start for the East, to take
his position in a regiment and lead stalwart men, either in the
artillery or one of the native regiments; though, of course, a great
deal of the college training had been of a military stamp.

This was Richard Darrell's position one fine autumn morning a year
previous to the opening of this narrative.  He had bidden farewell to
father, mother, and Old England, promised to do his duty like a man, and
sailed for Calcutta, joined his battery, served steadily in it for a
year, and now stood in his quiet artillery undress uniform in that
veranda, looking like a strange dog being bayed at by an angry pack.

The pack consisted of young officers of his own age and under.  There
was not a bit of whisker to be seen; and as to moustache, not a lad
could show half as much as Dick, while his wouldn't have made a
respectable eyebrow for a little girl of four.

Dick was flushed with pleasurable excitement, doubly flushed with anger;
but he kept his temper down, and let his companions bully and hector and
fume till they were tired.

Then he gave an important-looking blue letter he held a bit of a wave,
and said, "It's no use to be jealous."

"Pooh!  Who's jealous--and of you?" said the smallest boy present, one
who had very high heels to his boots.  "That's too good."

"For, as to being a favourite with the general, he has never taken the
slightest notice of me since I joined."

"There, that'll do," said one of the party; "a man can't help feeling
disappointment.  Every one is sure to feel so except the one who gets
the stroke of luck.  I say, `Hurrah for Dick Darrell!'"

The others joined in congratulations now.

"I say, old chap, though," said one, "what a swell you'll be!"

"Yes; won't he?  We shall run against him capering about on his spirited
Arab, while we poor fellows are trudging along in the hot sand behind
the heavy guns."

"Don't cut us, Dick, old chap," said another.

"He won't; he's not that sort," cried yet another.  "I say, we must give
him a good send-off."

"When are you going?"

"The despatch says as soon as possible."

"But what troop are you to join?"

"The Sixth."

"The Sixth!  I know; at Vallumbagh.  Why, that's the crack battery,
where the fellows polish the guns and never go any slower than a racing
gallop.  I say, you are in luck.  Well, I am glad!"

The next minute every one present was ready to declare the same thing,
and for the rest of that day the young officer to whom the good stroke
of fortune had come hardly knew whether he stood upon his head or heels.

The next morning he was summoned to the general's quarters, the quiet,
grave-looking officer telling him that, as an encouragement for his
steady application to master his profession, he had been selected to
fill a vacancy; that the general hoped his progress in the horse brigade
would be as marked as it had been hitherto; and advising him to see at
once about his fresh uniform and accoutrements, which could follow him
afterwards, for he was to be prepared to accompany the general on his
march to Vallumbagh, which would be commenced the very next day.

Dick was not profuse in thanks or promises, but listened quietly, and,
when expected to speak, he merely said that he would do his best.

"That is all that is expected of you, Mr Darrell," said the general,
giving him a friendly nod.  "Then, as you have many preparations to
make, and I have also, I will not detain you."

Dick saluted, and was leaving, when a sharp "Stop!" arrested him.

"You will want a horse.  I have been thinking about it, and you had
better wait till you get to Vallumbagh, where, no doubt, the officers of
the troop will help you to make a choice.  They will do this, for they
have had plenty of experience, and are careful to keep up the prestige
of the troop for perfection of drill and speed."

"No one would think he had been an old school-fellow of my father," said
Dick to himself as he went out; "he takes no more notice of me than of
any other fellow."

But the general was not a demonstrative man.

The preparations were soon made, the most important to Richard Darrell
being his visit to the tailor who supplied most of the officers with
their uniforms.  The little amount of packing was soon done, and, after
the farewell dinner had been given to those leaving the town, the time
came when the young subaltern took his place in the general's train, to
follow the detachment of foot artillery which had marched with their
guns and baggage-train for Vallumbagh, where the general was taking
charge, and preparations in the way of collecting troops were supposed
to be going on.

Travelling was slow and deliberate in those days before railways, and
the conveniences and comforts, such as they were, had to be carried by
the travellers themselves; but in this case the young officer found his
journey novel and pleasant.  For it was the cool season; the dust was
not quite so horrible as it might have been, and the tent arrangements
were carried out so that a little camp was formed every evening; and
this was made the more pleasant for the general's staff by the fact that
there were plenty of native servants, and one of the most important of
these was the general's cook.

But still the journey grew monotonous, over far-stretching plains,
across sluggish rivers; and it was with a feeling of thankfulness, after
many days' journey, always north and west, that Richard Darrell learned
that they would reach their destination the next morning before the heat
of the day set in.

That morning about ten o'clock they were met a few miles short of the
town, which they could see through a haze of dust, with its temples and
minarets, by a party of officers who had ridden out to welcome the
general, and who announced that the detachment of artillery had marched
in during the night with the heavy guns, elephants, and bullock-wagons.
In the evening, after meeting the officers of his troop at the
mess-table and not being very favourably impressed, Richard Darrell took
possession of his quarters in the barracks overlooking the broad
parade-ground, and, utterly tired out, lay down to sleep once more under
a roof, feeling dreary, despondent, and utterly miserable.

"India's a wretched, desolate place," he thought as he lay listening to
the hum of insects, and the night felt breathless and hot.  He wished
himself back among his old companions at Roumwallah, for everything now
was depressing and strange.

A couple of hours later he was wishing himself back at the old military
college in England, and when midnight arrived without a wink of sleep he
began to think of his old country home, and how different a soldier's
life was, with its dreary routine, to the brilliant pictures he had
conjured up as a boy; for everything so far in his twelvemonth's career
had been horribly uneventful and tame.

At last, when he had arrived at the most despondent state possible to a
lad of his years--when his skin felt hot and feverish, and his pillow
and the one sheet which covered him seemed to be composed of some
irritating material which grew hotter and hotter--a pleasant moisture
broke out all over him, bringing with it a sudden sense of confusion
from which he slipped into nothingness and slept restfully till the
morning bugle rang out, when he started from his bed wondering where he
was.

Then it all came back, and he was bathing and dressing long before he
needed to leave his couch, but the desire for sleep was gone.  He had to
nerve