Gil the Gunner Part 62

I looked at him, and saw that his face was lighted up, and that he was in thorough earnest.

"But we'll talk about that another time, Gil," he said.

I stared at this familiar usage of my name, and he smiled.

"Yes, Gil," he said; "my friend Gil, who will be my counsellor, and help me to rule over my people with strength and justice."

"But--"

"No, no," he said; "don't speak yet. You are going to decide hastily, and a great judge is slow, and thinks much before he speaks. We were talking about your dress. I did think of taking you back with me to my city."

"No, no," I cried excitedly, and completely thrown off my guard; "not yet."

I felt that I had made a mistake, for I saw his eyes flash, and a curious watchful look in his face.

"Very well," he said; "there is no need for haste. You find that you are steadily growing strong up here?"

"Yes; fast," I replied. "It is cooler than it would be in a town."

"Quite right. Then I will not hurry you away to-day. Perhaps to-morrow. Let us talk about your dress. I want you to help me think out a suitable uniform for my gun regiment. Not like yours. It is too hot and wearisome for the men. The helmet is too heavy, and shines too much. What do you think of a little steel cap, something like mine, with a white puggaree round it, and a little plume in front?"

"It would be excellent," I said.

He looked pleased.

"Then a white tunic, with gold binding across the chest. Light, not heavy, like yours."

"That would be quite right," I said.

"And then they shall wear boots like your men. They are heavy, but a man rides so much better in boots."

"Yes; you are quite correct," I said eagerly. "It gives him firmness in the saddle, and he never notices their weight. The tunic, too, should be fairly loose and light, so that the men have perfect freedom for their arms. Our lads were too tightly trussed up, and stiff. A man wants to be so that every muscle is free to play."

"Quite right," he said; and in imagination I saw a troop of men uniformed as he proposed, and thought how admirably suited the dress would be.

"Then, for their arms," he continued, "a long light lance, without pennon."

"Nonsense!" I cried. "They must not carry lances."

"Well, then," he continued, "short guns--carbines."

"No, no," I said impetuously, for he had led me on so that I was thoroughly interested. "The carbine would only be in the men's way."

"Ah! What, then--pistol?"

"No," I said; "artillerymen want no pistols. They have their guns, which can deal with their enemies a mile away."

"Then you would not give them any arms but the cannon?"

"Yes," I cried, "certainly; swords."

"Ah, yes; swords," he said quietly; "like your men had."

"No!" I said emphatically; "not those heavy, clumsy, blunt sabres, but well-made, keen-edged cutting and thrusting swords, something like your tulwars, but with a better hilt and grip. I would make the men perfect with their blades--thorough swordsmen. Let them use them well, and be clever with their guns; that is all that a horse artilleryman needs-- except, of course, the power to ride anywhere at full speed, and stop at nothing."

"But I like the lance," said the rajah, thoughtfully. "It is a grand weapon well managed."

"Of course," I said; "but you must keep that for your light horse regiment; well trained, mounted, and officered, they would be a most valuable force."

"I think you are right," he said thoughtfully.

"I am sure I am," I cried. "The mounted artilleryman must be light and active, a good horseman, perfectly daring; and as to the dress, such a one as you proposed might be made to look smart and handsome, while it gave the men freedom to move."

"Yes," he said thoughtfully; "and the officers' uniforms might be made very striking with gold ornaments and silver caps."

I was silent, for it had suddenly occurred to me that I had allowed my enthusiasm for military matters to carry me away.

He smiled. "It is of no use to draw back," he said; "your heart is in it, and you know that you must accept the position."

"Must?" I said sharply.

"Oh, we will not talk about 'must,'" he replied, laughing; "we are friends, and you have been showing me what a thorough soldier you are, with bright original thoughts of your own. Why, even if you could go back to your people, you would never have such an opportunity as this.

Gil, you must make me an army that shall carry everything before it."

"No," I said gravely; "it is impossible."

He frowned slightly, but his face was calm directly.

"Oh no, it is not impossible; you have shown me that your heart is in it, but you naturally shrink from so great a work, and feel, too, that you must not forsake your people. But it will not be so. If anything, they will have forsaken you. Come, Gil," he continued, with a smile, "you have held out as you should, but it is now time to give way, and take my hand, meaning to be my faithful friend and follower to the last."

"No," I said firmly, "I cannot."

"Suppose I tell you that you must?" he said.

"It would make no difference," I replied. "I must do my duty as a soldier."

"You have done it, boy. Now come and do your duty by me."

I shook my head.

"It is of no use for you to try and tempt me," I said.

"I am not tempting you, only trying to show you that your fate has thrown you with me, and that you can do good here."

"As a renegade," I said hotly.

"No," he rejoined; "I have not asked you to change your religion. But we will say no more to-day. You are angry, and an angry man makes more.

I should be sorry to say harsh things to one who is weak, and whom I have made my friend."