Chapter XXVI: Sunshine's Heroism

Kirke insisted upon Ralph's wound being redressed at intervals all through that dreadful day, whatever else was being done.

"What's the use?" said Ralph, with a quaint smile.

"I don't mean to leave a stone unturned," replied Kirke. "Somehow, I feel as if _you_ had a future before you whatever comes to the rest of us. You have nine lives, like that poor cat, which really seems content in the little one's lap after all its suffering."

Ralph gave a short laugh, with a ring of bitterness in it. "While there is life there is hope, you think," said he.

"Just so," replied Kirke.

Again the day wore on, and the sun sank in the west.

"It must soon be decided now," said Kirke. "Shake hands, old fellow, I am glad we met here, whatever befalls."

"God for the right!" exclaimed Ralph, as their hands met. They then separated, for they had agreed each to command at one edge of the circle, and it was time to assume their places.

None too soon, either, for, directly that the dusk made all things obscure, the attack once more began.

It was probable that the dacoits themselves had run short of powder on the previous evening, and had utilised the day by going to their homes to fetch more, for again they commenced by blazing away at long range.

But Kirke made the people crouch low, and had, through the day, considerably strengthened his defences, so that the firing caused few casualties for a long time. The besieged could only have returned the attack by stone throwing, which would have been of little use as long as the enemy remained under cover, and at a distance, while it would have betrayed the exhaustion of their ammunition.

He therefore counselled a passive endurance of the firing, hoping by this means to lure the dacoits out of their cover into closer quarters; and this subterfuge took effect.

The dusky figures crept out from behind the trees, and advanced stealthily.

Kirke waited until they were within a couple of yards of the stockade, then sprang suddenly to his feet, and shouted--

"Now, my friends!"

A pelting shower of stones seconded his cry; the enemy's advance was checked, the line wavered, broke, and began to retreat, when a shot rang out from the jungle,--a fatal, too well-directed shot, aimed at Kirke's tall commanding figure, and he fell.

With a cry of dismay, Ralph sprang to the side of his friend, but the dacoits took fresh courage, and dashed at the defences in a body, like a dark wave pouring over a rocky shore.

The flimsy barriers rocked and gave way before them, and all were inextricably mixed up at once in a deadly hand-to-hand warfare.

Ralph, standing astride the body of his friend, fought like a madman. The ground beneath his feet grew slippery with blood; one--two dacoits fell beneath the desperate blows of his clubbed gun, over which he found that his hands took a better purchase than over the shaft of a spear; but his strength was deserting him, his adherents were falling around him, his head reeled, his sight began to fail him, and the sickness of a fainting fit nearly overpowered him. He believed his last moment was come, when--what sound met his ear? He must be delirious, mad--it could not be an English cheer! It could never be the gallop of horses' feet--many horses, tearing madly along the forest path?

But again it came, nearer and nearer. "Hallo! hallo! Hurrah! There they are!" and a party of horsemen in white uniform dashed upon the scene.

The tide of battle was turned, the dacoits tried to fly; the English police officers rode them down, shot them down, struck them down;--no mercy was shown. The robbers fought like demons, desperate in their turn, but all were killed or taken prisoners in half an hour, bound, cowed, conquered, and the fray was over.

The English officer came up to shake his rescued countrymen by the hand, with frank, hearty greeting on his lip, but Ralph had thrown himself down on the ground, his face buried on the breast of his dead friend, choking with sobs.

Mr. Brudenel, for it was he, felt a moisture arise to his own eyes at the sight. He turned aside, and brushed his hand across them, then knelt by Ralph's side, and laid a kindly hand upon his shoulder.

"I am very sorry," said he; "would to God that I had been here but one hour sooner."

"But one hour, but one little hour," moaned the boy. "Oh, my friend! my dear, true friend!"

"It was the fortune of war, sir," said the officer. "It was the will of God. Be a man, sir; your friend did not suffer."

"No," said Ralph, rising, "it was all in one minute. Oh, Kirke, Kirke! I cannot yet believe it that you are gone."

He sank down again, for he could really not stand. The excitement which had given him fictitious strength was over, and all his powers were exhausted.

Brudenel signed to his men to lift and carry him to a short distance, where they laid him down upon a mat, cast water on his face, and poured some drops of stimulant into his mouth.

Some of the Burmese women drew round and fanned him, others brought all they had which they fancied might be of service.

Leaving him to the best among these, Mr. Brudenel turned to his other duties. The wounded must be attended to, the dead buried, the surviving dacoits marched off to prison.

Moung Shway Poh, who seemed to bear a charmed life, for he had come out of the affray unharmed, was clamouring a farrago of boastful explanations, servile gratitude, and accounts of his own great bravery in defending the countrymen of his royal lord's self. Fatigued by the clamour, of which he believed nothing, Mr. Brudenel swore at him for a noisy nuisance, and Mr. Grandfather turned to bestow his eloquence upon one of the native policemen, whose politeness was greater.

All was done at last, some sort of order restored, the dead were buried, and Brudenel engaged to send assistance to the villagers in rebuilding their houses. Two or three of his men were left as a guard, with plenty of powder and shot, and the little encampment made as comfortable as circumstances permitted for the present.

A hasty litter was prepared for Ralph, and carried by four of the villagers, hired for the purpose; and the horsemen mounted for their return journey.

"By the bye," said Mr. Brudenel, turning back in the saddle as he prepared to start,--"By the bye, my wife has taken good care of that brave child, and she shall return in the bullock-bandy which will bring you the things I have promised to send you, along with your friends here who are carrying this gentleman."

"Child,--brave child? Who do you mean, paya?"

"Why, the brave little maid who came alone through the jungle to send us to your assistance. You must make much of her, for it was the deed of a heroine. You would not find many, much older than she, who would have done so brave a thing."

Ralph raised himself upon his elbow. "Oh!" cried he, "was it Sunshine, the little maid whom we missed?"

"I did not ask her name," replied Brudenel. "She said that the white boy had saved her life, and that of her grandmother; and she had walked twenty miles, over mountains and through jungle paths, to fetch us. She was quite exhausted on her arrival, and Mrs. Brudenel kept her to rest and recruit. You all owe your lives to her."

"God bless her!" murmured Ralph.

Yes, it was little Miss Sunshine to whom they had all owed their rescue. She knew of what the dacoits were capable; she was very fond of both Kirke and Ralph, who had petted her, taught her many things, given her many little treasures, ingeniously contrived after English fashion.

They had played with her, and been always courteous to her--as gentlemen should ever be. No sooner had Ralph fetched her down from the blazing hut, than she hid herself in the jungle to watch the course of events. She saw the repulse of the dacoits, and tracked them to their lair in the jungle afterwards.

There, understanding their speech so thoroughly, she discovered that the leader was the terrible Moung Nay Nya, the tiger, the terrible robber who was tattooed by the "Bandee-tha," and carried a ghastly "beloo" upon his chest, inoculated with a preparation compounded of dead men's flesh, which he had also chewed during the whole time that the operation had lasted.

The "beloo" nature had thus entered into him, and given him the strength and ferocity of a wild beast itself. Sunshine had often heard of him, and shuddered, from the place of her concealment, to observe the marks which she had so often heard described.

There was the horrible demon face on the man's broad muscular chest, with tail wound in voluminous folds around it, and claws extended beneath. There were the square-shaped charmed indentations which prevented bullet or sword-thrust from injuring the tiger-man, tattooed in both red and blue; there was a row of charmed stones let in beneath the skin of his neck, each of which endowed him with some wizard power or ensured him safety in combats.

She noticed the long lean arms, the powerful hands, the muscular body, the sunken cheeks and cruel determined mouth, and trembled in every limb to think of his seizing her. She softly slipped farther and farther back under the shadow of the trees, and thought.

Did this terrible tiger-man succeed in capturing her dear English boy, what tortures might he not inflict upon him were the ransom which he would certainly demand not paid! She could not bear to think of it. The tales which she had been told might have been exaggerated, but many of them were too true, nor did the appearance of the man belie them. Sunshine believed them all.

While she hesitated, uncertain what to do, little Golden-leaf's pet cat came crying up to her, telling, in its own fashion, its story of fright and trouble, and glad to meet with a well-known friend. But, fearful lest the little creature should betray her whereabouts to the dacoits, she turned and fled, followed for a little way by the cat, but soon beyond the boundaries familiar to it, and it turned back to meet with the cruelty which the girl escaped.

She ran and ran till she was tired, then sat down to rest, and cry. All at once, a resolution entered her mind. She would make her way to the police-station, where she would be safe, and whence aid for her friends would certainly be sent to them.

She wished that she had thought of it before. The day was bright now, she knew in which direction the station lay, but she did not know how far off it was.

Bravely did she set out, walking on, on, on; climbing steep hills, wading through marshy places, cutting her bare feet with stones,--hungry, tired, and disheartened, but persistent. She had to rest many times, and the day wore away and night fell.

She struggled on to a pagoda which she saw on the side of a hill, and where she thought that she would pass the dark hours safely. She did not expect to find shelter there, for she knew that these erections were solid blocks of bricks, not buildings with chambers and apartments in which people lived. This one was deserted and ruinous. It had been a pious work to build it, but, the original founder having long been dead, it was not the business of anyone else to repair it as it became dilapidated under the influence of wind and weather. The piety which might have induced such a proceeding would not be counted to the score of the man who repaired, but to that of the first builder, in the other world.

"Let everyone take care of himself," the Burman says, and leaves his father's good deeds to fall into decay, while he ensures his own salvation by putting up another showy building.

Sunshine made her way to this place, holy in her simple eyes; and there, climbing up a pile of fallen bricks, found a fairly comfortable and sheltered seat, where she crouched all night long.

At first she clasped her arms around her knees, and looked out upon the dim landscape, the winding stream shining in the valley beneath her, the brilliant stars in the deep blue sky above,--seeing nothing of the beauty of nature, but deeply impressed by its mystery, gazing straight before her with wide-open eyes of awe and distrust. But gradually fatigue overpowered her, and, leaning her head back against the stones, she fell asleep.

Her sleep lasted long, and she woke when the sun was already high; arising stiff, hungry, and thirsty, to another toiling journey. First she would go down to the stream and drink. As she stooped, she saw a troop of horsemen cantering along the farther bank, taking their morning exercise. She knew the British dress--these were the people whom she was seeking; she stumbled through the stream, limped up to Mr. Brudenel, and implored him to ride fast to the rescue of her friends.

"Oh, paya! paya!" she cried, "the dacoits burn our village, they murder all,--ride quickly and save my father. There are Englishmen there, they will murder them too,--ride fast, fast to save them!"

Mr. Brudenel put quick questions to her; eliminated the chief features of the case; ordered one of the men to take the poor weary girl up to the station, and ask Mrs. Brudenel to look after her; galloped back for arms and reinforcements; and, on fresh horses, headed his troop for the rapid ride to the scene of action; arriving, as we have seen, when the besieged had come to their last gasp, and not in time to save all.