Flashman in the Great Game by George MacDonald Fraser

Author:George MacDonald Fraser [Fraser, George MacDonald]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780452263031
Google: 3P5WPgAACAAJ
Amazon: 0007217196
Barnesnoble: 0007217196
Goodreads: 142459
Publisher: Plume
Published: 1975-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

I leaned out and cadged five rupees off him, explaining it was a bribe for an old sick man who knew the way; he passed it up, I struggled into my wet fugs, kissed my giggling Delilah goodnight, and scrambled down, feeling fit for anything.

It took us another two hours, though, for Kavanaugh was about done, and we had to keep dodging behind trees to avoid parties of peasants who were making for Lucknow. I was getting a mite alarmed, because the moon was up, and I knew that dawn couldn't be far off; if we were caught by daylight, with Kavanaugh looking as pale as Marley's ghost, we were done for. I cursed myself for a fool, whoring and wasting time when we should have been pushing on — what had I been thinking of? I )'you know, I suddenly realised that in my exasperation with Kavanaugh, and all that aimless wandering in wrong directions, and watching him fall in tanks and canals, I'd forgotten the seriousness of the whole thing — perhaps I was still a trifle light-headed from my illness, but I'd even forgotten my fears. They came back now, though, in full force, as we staggered along; I was about as tuckered as he was, my head was swimming, and I must have Livered the last mile in a walking dream, because the next thing I remember is bearded faces barring our way, and blue-tunicked troopers with white puggarees, and thinking, "These arc 9th Lancers."

Then there was an officer holding me by the shoulders, and to my astonishment it was Gough, to whom I'd served brandy and smokes on the verandah at Meerut. He didn't know me, but he poured spirits into us, and had us borne down into the camp, where the bugles were blowing, and i he cavalry pickets were falling in, and the flag was going up, and it all looked so brisk and orderly and safe you would have wept for relief — but the cheeriest sight of all, to me, was that crumpled, bony figure outside the headquarter tent, and the dour, wrinkled old face under the battered helmet. I hadn't seen Campbell close to, not since Balaclava; he was an ugly old devil, with a damned caustic tongue and a graveyard sense of humour, but I never saw a man yet who made me feel more secure.

He must have been a rare disappointment to Kavanaugh, though, for at the sight of him my blundering Paddy threw off his tiredness, and made a tremendous parade of announcing who he was, fishing out the message, and presenting it like the last gallant survivor stumbling in with the News; you never saw suffering nobility like it as he explained how we'd come out of Lucknow, but Campbell, listening and tugging at his dreary moustache, just said "Aye", and sniffed, and added after a moment: "That's surprising." Kavanaugh, who had probably expected stricken admiration, looked quite deflated, and when Campbell told him to "Away you and lie down", he obeyed pretty huffily.

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