The Adventures of Akbar | Page 4

vivid flash
of lightning made her give a shriek and cover her face with her hands.
But little Prince Akbar having got a hold of the hilt, would not let go.
And to Old Faithful's huge delight he pulled and pulled till the sword
came out of the scabbard.
"An omen! An omen!" cried the old man. "Like his grandfather, he will
fight battles ere he be twelve!"
Then there was Roy, the Râjput lad, whom the royal fugitives had
found half dead from sunstroke in the wide, sandy Râjputana deserts,
and whom, with their customary kindness, they had succoured and
befriended, putting him on as a sort of page boy to the little
Heir-to-Empire. He was a tall, slim lad for his twelve years, was Roy,
with a small, well-set head and a keen, well-cut face. And his eyes!
They were like a deer's--large, brown, soft, but with a flash in them at
times.
For the sunstroke which had so nearly killed the lad had left his mind a
little confused. As yet he could remember nothing of what had
happened to him before it, and could not even recollect who he was, or
anything save that his name was Roy. But every now and again he
would say something or do something which would make those around
him look surprised, and wonder who he could have been to know such
things and have such manners.
After him came Meroo, the misshapen cook-boy. He was an odd fellow,
all long limbs and broad smiles, who, when his time arrived, shambled
forward, cast himself in lowliest reverence full length on the ground
and blubbered out his delight--now that the princely baby could really
eat--at being able to supply all sorts of toothsome stews full of onions
and green ginger, to say nothing of watermelons and sugar cane. These
things, strange to say, being to little Indian children very much what
chocolate creams and toffee are to English ones.
So far all had gone well, and now there only remained one more salute
to be made. But little Adam, who was Head-nurse's own son, and who
had hitherto been Baby Akbar's playmate, refused absolutely to do as

he was bid. He was a short, sturdy boy of five, and nothing would
induce him to go down on his knees and touch the ground with his
forehead. In vain Meroo, the cook-boy, promised him sweets if he
would only obey orders; in vain Old Faithful spoke of a ride on his old
war-horse, and Roy, who was a most wonderful story-teller, promised
him the best of all, Bopuluchi. In vain his mother, losing patience at
such a terrible piece of indecorum, rushed at him and cuffed him
soundly. He only howled and kicked.
And then suddenly Baby Akbar, who had been listening with a solemn
face, brought his little bare foot down on the mule trunk with such a
stamp that the golden anklets jingled and jangled, and his little
forefinger went up over his head in the real Eastern attitude of royal
command.
"Salute, slave, salute," he said with a tremendous dignity. And there
was something so comical about the little mite of a child, something so
masterful in the tiny figure, something so commanding in the loud,
deep-toned baby voice, that every one laughed, and somehow or other
Adam forgot his obstinacy and made his obeisance like a good boy.
And then once more pretty Queen Humeeda hugged and kissed her
little son, and all the rest applauded him, and made so much of him that
he began to think he had done something very fine indeed, and crowed
and clapped his hands in delight.
But the merriment did not last long, for there was a clatter of horses
and swords outside the tent.
"My husband!" cried Queen Humeeda in a flutter. "What news does my
lord bring?"

CHAPTER II
THE FIRST VICTORY

The next moment a tall, handsome man entered the tent; but one look at
his pale, anxious face was enough to tell those inside that the news was
bad. So for an instant there was silence; and in the silence, with a
deafening roar and a blinding blaze of blue light, came a terrific crash
of thunder followed by a sudden fierce pelt of hail upon the taut tent
roof.
It sent a shiver through the listeners. They felt that the storm had
broken indeed upon their heads, that danger was close beside them.
Then the King stepped to his wife's side and took her hand, and as he
spoke there was a sob in his breath as of an animal who after a long
chase finds himself at last driven to bay.
"Come!" he said briefly, "there may yet be a chance for us. My horse,
weary