The Disputed V.C.

by Frederick P. Gibbon.

CHAPTER I

Ted Disapproves

Ted Russell, ensign of the 193rd Bengal Native Infantry, stationed at Aurungpore, in the Punjab, was disgusted and irritable on this first day of the never-to-be-forgotten year of 1857--a year destined to bring untold misery to thousands of homes and families, and to many a race and creed throughout Hindustan and the British Isles; a year that would henceforward lie as a dark stain across the page of history.

But our young friend's ill-humour could be traced to a much simpler cause than a mere prophetic dread of the future. Ensign Russell had not been in India many months, and during the whole of that short period he had looked forward with lively and pleasant anticipation to a visit from his brother Jim, whom he had seen but twice in the past ten years, and who was quite a veteran warrior in Ted's admiring eyes. For Captain Russell had been engaged in the Sikh war as well as in several affrays with the border Pathans; he was the proud possessor of more than one medal, and had quite a prominent scar across his face--the mark of a Khyber knife. For the past twelve months he had held the rank of captain in the ten-year-old corps of Guides, stationed near Peshawur across the Indus, the town that guards the Khyber Pass--the gate of India.

At length this hero-brother had obtained leave of absence to visit Aurungpore, and great was the delight of both.

Now, here is what had disgusted the ensign. Before the stalwart captain, who had successfully held his own against Sikhs and Afghans, had been with Ted a couple of days, he had actually suffered defeat at the hands of a slip of a girl of twenty-one--a girl about five feet in height, the daughter of Ted's colonel! Jim, who of all men should have been proof against such silly nonsense--such idiocy!--had succumbed at first sight, and instead of spinning yarns about his campaigns and his defence of Chiras Fort, he was mooning about all day long in the wake of this Ethel Woodburn.

Ensign Russell quickly found that, whatever plans he might make for the day, his brother would be sure to demur, unless the programme provided some chance of their meeting or seeing Miss Woodburn. He would plead fatigue or lack of interest, and then propose as an alternative something either much more fatiguing, or--in the boy's eyes--much less interesting. The paltry excuses he made for altering the plans! Poor fellow, he thought that the "kid" would not see through his transparent subterfuges; but that sharp-witted youngster was not so easily befooled, and he voted the proceedings slow, and did not fail to express the opinion that his brother was no better than a milksop.

"You say you don't 'feel inclined' to ride to Khasmi to-day," exclaimed Ted in disgust, "because your horse is not quite fit! Bosh! Nimrod never was better in his life, and he's just eating his head off. I was looking at him this morning; he's in the pink of condition, and he simply begged me to take him out. Would he be in any better condition, I wonder, if Ethel Woodburn was likely to be there?"

Jim turned red, and sharply asked: "What had Miss Woodburn to do with it?"

"That's what I should like to know!" Ted retorted. He then looked up at the ceiling, placed his hands in his pockets, and calmly observed: "You've no chance there, Jim, she's hooked already."

"What d'you say?" exclaimed the excited captain. "It's not true. What d'you mean?" he repeated. "You don't say that Miss Woodburn is engaged?"

"Oh, never mind Miss Woodburn!" drawled Ted in his most exasperating manner. "What's she got to do with it? The question is whether we ride to Khasmi or not."

"Tell me what you mean, you little beggar," Jim went on, half angry, yet laughing in spite of himself.

Ted crossed his legs, and, still gazing at the ceiling, drawled: "Why, be calm, Russell Major. You just asked what she had to do with the matter of our ride to Khasmi. Why this sudden interest?"

Captain Russell kept his temper and laughed.

"Don't try to be too smart, young 'un," he advised. "But it isn't true that she's engaged to be married, is it?"

"Well--p'r'aps not exactly that she's engaged," Ted admitted.

There was a tone of pompous condescension in his voice as he went on: "But I hear that Sir Arthur Fletcher, the commissioner here, you know, is gone on her, and, of course, as he's a splendid catch, the 'old man'

will want her to marry him, and I don't suppose she'll need much pressing, for he's a jolly decent fellow. And besides him, half of our fellows are in love with her, though I don't know why. I don't see much in her myself; she seems a very ordinary sort of girl to me. And she's such a little thing, you know!"

"You conceited young booby!" Jim laughed. "I shall have to take the bounce out of you, young man."

Captain Russell began to hate the Commissioner of the Aurungpore district very cordially, as well as all the unmarried officers of the 193rd--half of them for daring to aspire to the hand of his charmer, and the other half for being such soulless clods as to refrain from kneeling before the shrine at which he worshipped. Needless to add, then, that he spent a most unhappy day and sleepless night.

Jim was the eldest son, and Ted the third, of Major-General Russell, a soldier who had distinguished himself as a youngster in the Gurkha war of 1815, and later in the Afghan and Sikh campaigns. Jim had been ten years in India, and had fought against the Sikhs and helped to conquer their country, the Punjab, before he had been out many months. A year or two later he and his cousin, Charlie Dorricot, had been shut up in the small fort of Chiras, with a mere handful of sepoys, and they had come through the siege with credit. Dorricot was now a lieutenant in the Sirmur Battalion, stationed in the Dehra Dun, near Simla.

The evening following the above conversation, Jim burst into Ted's quarters. His face was flushed but beaming, and his eyes seemed to dance through sheer happiness. By way of brotherly greeting he struck the ensign in the chest.

"Well, young 'un," he cheerfully exclaimed, "you may congratulate me!"

"I'll--I'll knock you down!" answered Ted, staggering from the blow.

"You bully, why am I to be permitted to congratulate you?"

By way of reply, Jim took hold of his scandalized brother and whirled him round the room.

"Because I'm engaged to be married, Ted, to the dearest, sweetest, best girl in the world!"

"Oh!" gasped Ted. He had divined the cause of Jim's excitement, but the opportunity for making fun of his senior was too good to be thrown away.

"And what's the dearest, sweetest, best, loveliest, most adorable girl in the world thinking of to have you? Besides, what about Miss Woodburn?

I thought you were sweet on her, you know."

Captain Russell was a sterling good fellow, but his nature was somewhat slower than that of his brother. He stared at the cheeky youngster for a moment before he grasped the meaning of the sarcasm. He recollected that these events formed privileged occasions for youthful wit, and grinned affably; having gained his heart's desire he could afford to be easy-tempered and tolerant of satire.

"You young cub," he laughed, "you're too facetious for a small boy. It's Ethel Woodburn I'm engaged to, as you know very well."

"Oh!" said Ted slowly. "I didn't recognize her from that glowing description."

Russell Minor dodged out of reach, keeping the table between them.

"Pax, old man, I'll apologize; I s'pose she's not a bad sort--for a girl. So I congratulate you--that is, if you _had_ to go and get hooked I don't know that you could have done better. Have you written home yet?"

"Do be sensible. How could I? Only settled it a couple of hours ago, and I'm going to write now. Wonder what the mater'll think!"

Captain Russell sat down and took out a pen and some writing-paper. He shortly rose, however, and pushed the paper from him.

"No, I'll wait till to-morrow," he muttered. "I'm not quite sure that I'm not dreaming now, so I'll go and walk it off."

This was going from bad to worse, thought Ted, as two more days passed and his brother was spending all his precious leave walking or riding about with the girl, who seemed just as stupidly happy as he. Though Ted believed (in spite of his chaff) that no one could help liking and admiring his brother, he could not see the sense of this falling in love. Why on earth was this foolish Ethel Woodburn continually casting hurried glances across the room at Jim? Still more incomprehensible was the look of gloom that settled on his brother's face whenever Ethel quitted the room for however short a period, or the sudden access of joy when she returned.

"Thank goodness, I shall never make such a fool of myself!" he reflected; but even this thought did not console him for the loss of his brother's society. True, both Jim and Ethel frequently asked him to join in their rides and walks, but, recognizing the truth of the old saying that "two's company, three's none", he decided not to become a nuisance to the lovers. He was far from satisfied with the new conditions, however, and considered himself ill-used.

"Why should Ethel Woodburn come between us in this way," he grumbled to himself, "when I'd been looking forward to such a good time with old Jim? I wish she'd stayed in England."

He became morose and irritable, answering curtly when Jim spoke to him, and keeping out of Miss Woodburn's way as much as possible. Captain Russell was too happy to take much notice of the change in the "young 'un's" manner, but Ethel observed it with pain. She liked Ted, and had always considered him the nicest boy in the regiment, and her love and admiration for Jim and the pleasure she found in being with him made her see more clearly how the ensign felt the loss of his brother's society.

She hated the idea of causing a coolness between them, and determined to do her utmost to gain Ted's friendship and reconcile him to the inevitable.

She therefore took the first opportunity to speak to him when Jim was not present.

"Ted," she began, "won't you come a ride with us to-morrow? I wish you would."

"Oh, you won't want me!" the ensign ungraciously replied. "I shall only be in the way."

"But we do want you, really. Jim came here to see you, and it seems horrid of me to monopolize him as I have been doing, when you ought to have the first claim. You know," she continued with a sparkle of fun in her eyes, "that one can't help falling in love, so you must not be too hard on us. You and I are to be brother and sister, and I do want us to be good friends, and I wish to know you better, Ted. Do join us to-morrow!"

"Would you really like me to?"

"I should, honestly. You'll come, won't you?"