Summary

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Draw Swords! In the Horse Artillery

I was not!” cried Dick indignantly.
“You weren’t sitting like a soldier, sir. It made me wild to see it, after the pains I took with you, walloping about in your saddle just as if you were at home in quarters rolling in an arm-chair.”
“But we were riding easy,” cried Dick.
“I wasn’t, sir. I was riding downright uneasy, and as if the saddle was stuffed with thorns. I like a man to rest himself in a long ride, but I don’t like him to forget that he’s a soldier.”
“No; you want us all to be as stiff as if we had been starched, Stubbs.”
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Draw Swords! In the Horse Artillery

A rush was made for the ground-floor of the palace opposite to the stables, where some kind of firework was hissing and spitting fiercely, and as the men ran there was a blinding flash by the door of the place used as an ammunition-store, just as if some powder had been thrown there and the sparks had set it alight.
“Forward, my lads, before it gets worse,” shouted Wyatt.—“Darrell, lad, you must risk it,” he cried; “we can’t leave them to perish. Up with you, and bring out Hulton and the doctor.”
Source: Gutenberg

Portrait of George Manville Fenn George Manville Fenn Draw Swords! In the Horse Artillery

The blade of a tulwar fell quivering on the marble floor.
“Stand back,” cried Wyatt in a deep, hoarse voice. “I don’t strike at unarmed men.”
“I appeal to your highness,” cried the Wazir. “I appeal to all who love me. An insult, an outrage!” he snarled, as his eyes seemed to blaze with the deadly hatred he felt towards the two Englishmen.
The Rajah looked at him with his own eyes flashing now, and held up his hand to quell the storm, while the chief Brahmin crept shivering to the door, to stand half behind the Rajah’s guards and cling to the curtains of rich stuff hanging from the arch.
Source: Gutenberg

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