“Go, weep for those whose hearts have bledWhat time their eyes were dry,”—
“Go, weep for those whose hearts have bledWhat time their eyes were dry,”—
“Go, weep for those whose hearts have bled
What time their eyes were dry,”—
and she knew that the only chance was to leave her not a moment for thought. It did not surprise her when, after the guests were gone, Penelope took up the guitar once more, and deliberately snapped the strings one after the other. It would be long before she could touch it again without living through that evening’s agony afresh.
Morning came, and with it Ferrers, but by no means in a lover-like frame of mind. His feelings were deeply injured, and he was full of grievances. After leaving the fort the night before, his comrades, taking their cue, as they considered, from Major Keeling, had all but cut him. It had been understood that Ferrers had made a full apology, and expressed his deep regret for the charges he had brought, and that Mr Crayne’s mediation had induced the Commandant to overlook the matter. But Major Keeling’s attitude at the dinner-party, his apparent inability to address a single word to Ferrers, had given the other officers a welcome opportunity of marking their sense of the younger man’s conduct. Ignorant as they were, and as Ferrers himself was, of the new cause of quarrel between the two, they came to the conclusion that his behaviour had been so unpardonable that only the strongest pressure from Mr Crayne had prevailed upon Major Keeling to overlook it even officially, and in their loyalty to their Chief they hailed the chance of copying his demeanour. The faithful Colin, who was much perplexed by Major Keeling’s uncharitable behaviour, and almost felt impelled to remonstrate with him, was the only exception, and managed, quite unintentionally, to fan the flame of Ferrers’ indignation by the fulness of his sympathy. Fortunately for Penelope, Ferrers had not time to recount his ill-treatment at length, and was only concerned to have the engagement fully recognised before he started to escort his uncle back to the river.
“Now, Pen,” he said as he came in, without troubling himself to bid her good morning, “I must have this thing settled. My uncle wants to see you before he goes, so don’t try and play fast and loose with me any more.”
Silently Penelope held out her hand, and he put the ring on her finger, only to find that it would not stay on.
“Why, your hand must have got thinner since I had the ring made!” he cried, taking the fact as a personal injury. “And I wish you wouldn’t look so white and washed-out. It was quite unnecessary for you to sing so much last night—though of course it was just as well to try to cover Keeling’s bearish behaviour as much as possible—and naturally you’re tired after it. This place doesn’t suit you, I’m certain.”
“I will wind some silk round the ring to keep it on,” said Penelope wearily; “and I shan’t sing any more, George.”
“While I’m away, do you mean? How fearfully touching! Well, you won’t see much of me for some time now. I mean to go back to Shah Nawaz and see if I can’t do something to cut the ground from under the feet of these fellows who think they’re too good to speak to me. Then I shall be off to Gamara, and when I come back we’ll be married, and my uncle will find me a berth somewhere. Hang it, Penelope! can’t you look pleased? I never saw such a girl for throwing cold water on everything. You know how fond I am of you, and how I want to have a good position to give you, and you don’t care a scrap! I might as well be going to marry a statue.”
“I am very sorry,” she said, screwing up her courage for the effort, “but you know how it is. I have asked you to release me, and you refuse.”
“Oh, it’s that again, is it? You’re trying to work on my feelings by looking pathetic? Then just understand, once for all, that I won’t release you, and it’s no good trying to drive me to it. You haven’t the least idea what it means to a fellow to be really in love with a girl; but I can tell you this, that I won’t give you up to any man alive—do you hear?—to any man on earth. So you may as well make up your mind to it.”
Did he suspect? Penelope could not decide, but she resigned her hope of freedom once more, and allowed him to take her to his uncle, who received her very kindly, and promptly despatched Ferrers to see whether things were nearly ready for the start.
“I wanted to say this to you, my dear,” he said, with obvious embarrassment, “that you’ll be wanting to send for pretty things from home, and I should like you to look upon me as your father for the occasion. Young brothers don’t know anything about gowns and fallals, do they?”
Penelope looked at him, unable to speak. Pretty things from home for a wedding at which sackcloth and ashes, or the deepest mourning, would be the only wear that could accord with her feelings! The old man misunderstood her look.
“There, there! don’t thank me, my dear. I’ll settle it with your friend Lady Haigh, but I thought you might like to know. Pretty gowns for pretty girls, eh? And I’m doing it with an eye to my own advantage, too. Don’t stint yourself in frocks, Miss Pen. I rather want a lady to do the honours down there at Government House. What if I gave George some post that would keep him at Bab-us-Sahel, and you two set up housekeeping with the old man, eh? How would you like that, my dear? Better than the frontier, eh?”
Penelope owned to herself frankly that it was. Latterly the possibility of finding herself alone with Ferrers in some isolated station, with no other Europeans within reach, had weighed upon her day and night. In Mr Crayne’s house, eccentric as he might be, she would find protection if she needed it. She did not ask herself from what she would need protection, or renew the useless reflection that the prospect in which she expected to need it was hardly a hopeful one. She looked up at Mr Crayne again.
“I should like it much better,” she said; “and it is very, very kind of you to think of it.”
Mr Crayne did not seem wholly satisfied. Perhaps it struck him as strange that his company should be welcome in the circumstances. He pushed back Penelope’s hair, and kissed her forehead.
“My dear,” he said, “the pleasure will be wholly mine. And if George beats you—why, I shall be at hand to interfere, you see.” He looked for a laughing, indignant denial, but Penelope started guiltily, and flushed crimson. For the moment she felt as if he had read her secret thoughts. “My dear,” he cried, in real alarm, “I don’t think you are quite happy about this. What is it?”
But Penelope had regained her self-possession. Bad as the state of affairs might be, she had too much loyalty to discuss it with Ferrers’ uncle. “I am going to try to be happy,” she said, looking him straight in the face. “And Captain Ferrers is satisfied.”
“Yes, George is satisfied, and so he ought to be, lucky young dog! Found a wife much too good for him, eh? I don’t mind saying that George has disappointed me in the past; but with you to help him, my dear, he must do well. And you mean to keep him in order, eh? So much the better! Why, there he is clinking his spurs outside. Thinks I’m encroaching on his privileges, eh?”
Bestowing a second kiss on Penelope, Mr Crayne left her to his nephew, and went out to see the camels loaded, and incidentally to wrestle with his misgivings, which were difficult to banish.
“It’s Keeling if it’s any one. I thought so from the first, and his face last night makes it almost certain. And the girl ain’t happy either. But why should I look after Keeling? He’s old enough to manage his own affairs. No one could expect me to take his side against George. Besides, this is George’s one chance. If any one can keep him straight it’ll be a woman. Keeling can get on all right by himself. Daresay the girl sees it. She seems to have made up her mind—wouldn’t thank me for interfering. Hang it all! I’m not going to interfere, if she’s willing to take George in hand. Must think first of one’s own flesh and blood.”
And his meditations having thus led him, by a somewhat different route, to much the same conclusion as that which Colin had long ago reached, Mr Crayne bade his scruples trouble him no more.
Four days later Ferrers dropped in at the fort again, on his way back to Shah Nawaz, after leaving his uncle at the river, and was asked to stay to tiffin. The invitation was given, with impressive solemnity, by Sir Dugald, Lady Haigh having flatly refused to offer Ferrers any hospitality. She would have liked to see him forbidden the house, and urged that Penelope would be much happier if he were, to which Sir Dugald replied that in that case it was a pity she had promised to marry him, but that it was not her hostess’s business to keep them apart. The Chief had accepted the man’s apology, considering that he had acted in good faith, and it was impossible to go behind his decision. Nothing could have been more correct than Sir Dugald’s attitude, nothing more heroic than his efforts to treat Ferrers as he might have done any other comrade; but the old frank friendliness was gone. Come what might, Ferrers had put himself out of the circle of those who loved to call themselves “Keeling’s men.” It was not merely the charges he had brought, but the attitude of mind that they revealed—the readiness to admit the possibility of a stain on Major Keeling’s honour—which had made the difference. Sir Dugald’s anxious cordiality and laborious attempts to make conversation on indifferent topics confirmed the impression produced by the scarcely veiled aversion of the other men the night of the dinner-party, and showed Ferrers that he had committed the unpardonable sin of the frontier. Many things could be forgiven, but not a want of loyalty to the leader. From henceforth he was an outsider.
Out of sheer pity for Penelope, Lady Haigh softened so far as to second her husband’s efforts, and do her best to make the meal less uncomfortable, but the harm was done. Ferrers had come in excited, brimful of some news which he was anxious to tell, but withheld in order that he might be pressed to tell it, until the constraint by which he found himself surrounded sealed his lips. It was no better when he was alone with Penelope afterwards. She did all in her power to make him feel himself welcome, and questioned him on every point of his journey, with the double object of convincing him of her interest in him, and of keeping Major Keeling’s name out of the conversation. It was far easier not to mention him at all than to hear him belittled, and she knew Ferrers’ opinion of him by this time. But her efforts to please her lover were vain, perhaps because of this very reservation, and Ferrers expressed his disappointment to Colin as they rode out of the town together.
“It’s pleasant to feel that there’s some one who cares for one’s news,” he remarked. “You could guess I had something to tell, couldn’t you?”
“I was sure you had news of some sort. Well, what is it?”
“I gave Penelope a hint of it the other day, but she didn’t seem to take any interest,” Ferrers grumbled on; “and to-day again—I said I’d tell her about it if she’d ask me nicely, but she wouldn’t. There’s no meeting you half-way with Pen; one has to make all the running oneself. She doesn’t care what happens to me; but when I said that as soon as we were married we would drop that fellow Haigh and his ugly wife, she looked ready to cry.”
“She and Lady Haigh are great friends,” said Colin, anxious to make peace, “and they have both been very kind to her. You would not wish her to be ungrateful, surely? But I haven’t heard your news yet.”
“Ride as close to me as you can, then. I don’t want those sowars of yours to hear. Well, then, my chance is in sight at last. I know where to find Shir Hussein!”
“The outlaw?” asked Colin, rather disappointed.
“Of course. And I mean to catch him and his gang, and so leave Khemistan in a blaze of glory. You shall have a share in it, because you’re the only fellow that has treated me decently over this business. The rest will look pretty blue when they hear about it.”
“But where is he? Is his band a large one?”
Ferrers looked round mysteriously. “A good deal bigger than most people think. No wonder he has given us so much trouble! But he makes his headquarters in one of the ruined forts in my district, not so far from Shah Nawaz. The fact is, that’s why he has gone free so long—I never thought of looking for him there. But one of my spies met me on my way back from the river with the news, and the joke of it is that I know the place. I camped there for a week once, trying to get some shooting. Well, you see, since I know my way about there, we can do with a much smaller force than would otherwise be needed. I shall have to ask for some help from here, which I should hate if Porter or Haigh, or Keeling himself, had to come too, but I shall only ask for a small detachment with you in charge. Then we’ll astonish them all.”
“But why don’t you want the Chief or any one to know about it?”
“They’ll have to know that I want help to capture Shir Hussein, unfortunately, but I don’t want them to know what a stiff job it is until it’s over. Don’t you see that they would do me out of the credit of it if they could? They’re jealous of me—horribly jealous—because I happen to be the Commissioner’s nephew. Can I help it? Is it my doing if he gets me a post somewhere else? I didn’t come here because I liked the frontier—merely as a sort of favour to Old Harry—and if I’m offered a chance of leaving it I won’t refuse, but I don’t want to go as if I had been kicked out. Of course they would do anything rather than let me end up with a blaze of fireworks, but I think we can manage it in this way. Only mind you keep things dark, and make a point of coming when I send for help.”
“Am I to tell the Chief what you think of doing?”
“Certainly not. He’s as bad as any of them, now that I’ve managed to put his back up. It’s all his own fault, too. If he had been like some men, one could have asked him long ago in a chaffing sort of way about the suspicious facts that had come to one’s knowledge, and we should have been saved a lot of trouble. You stand by me, and keep your mouth shut, and we shall do it.”
Itwas not long before Ferrers’ request for an accession of force reached Major Keeling, but it came at an unfortunate moment, for the Commandant was just setting out in the opposite direction, taking with him every man he could muster except those needed to guard the town. News had arrived that a band of Nalapuri raiders had crossed the frontier to the westward two days before, and as nothing more had been heard of them, it was evident they were hiding in the hills and waiting for an opportunity to swoop down and attack the labourers engaged upon the new canal works. The various raids of the kind which had occurred hitherto had been dealt with by the native police, but having received timely warning of this organised and more formidable incursion, Major Keeling meant to make an example of its promoters. They should not cut up his coolies in future, however tempting and defenceless the prey might appear. The matter was urgent, for delay would enable the raiders either to accomplish their object, or, on learning his intention, to make good their retreat over the frontier. Once in their own country they need only separate and mingle among their fellow-countrymen, who were all as villainous in looks and character as themselves, and there would be no hope of tracking them. Hence Major Keeling’s face was perturbed when he sent for Colin to his office shortly before the hour fixed for starting.
“I have just had achitfrom Ferrers, asking for a small reinforcement in order to effect the capture of Shir Hussein, and suggesting that you should be sent in charge of it,” he said. “Had you any idea that he had found out where he was?”
“He mentioned to me that he had reason to believe Shir Hussein had taken refuge in a fort which he knew very well, sir.”
“And that was when he was here the other day? Most extraordinary of him not to have said anything to me.”
“I think he meant to reconnoitre the place, sir, and see how large a force would be needed, before he said anything about it.”
“Lest I should rush in and carry off the honour, I suppose? And he promised to ask for you—and you are wild to go? It won’t do, Ross. He can’t have reconnoitred the place to much purpose, I fear, from his letter. He talks about Shir Hussein’s ‘sheltering in a ruined fort,’ and ‘hopes to turn him out of it.’ Curiously enough, independent information on the subject reached me only this morning, from which it appears that Shir Hussein has between two and three hundred men with him, and that he has repaired his ‘ruined fort’ in a very workmanlike way.”
“Perhaps his strength is exaggerated, sir?” pleaded Colin, seeing Ferrers’ chance of distinction fading away; but Major Keeling shook his head.
“The information comes from one of my most trusted spies. No; I should certainly have dealt with Shir Hussein myself if I had not been starting on this business. How he can have managed to support such a following in that district is most mysterious, and argues a good deal of slackness on Ferrers’ part.”
“I—I think perhaps he was outwitted, sir. I mean that he seems to have looked for the man everywhere except comparatively near at hand.”
“Possibly; but he ought not to have been outwitted. Well, Ross, you see that it’s out of the question for you to go. Shir Hussein and his fort won’t fly away, and I’ll take them in hand when this raiding-party is disposed of, Ferrers co-operating from Shah Nawaz. No; it’s his discovery, after all, and he shall have the credit of it and be in command. If I go, it will be as a spectator.”
“But they might escape first, sir—when they know they are discovered, and that messengers are going backwards and forwards between here and Shah Nawaz, I mean—and Ferrers will lose his chance.”
“I can’t sacrifice my coolies that Ferrers may distinguish himself. But look here. I will call out the doctor and his Hospital Fencibles to guard the town again, and you shall take the detachment I was intending to leave here, and join Ferrers. Then he will be strong enough to keep the fellows from breaking away as you suggest. It’s really important that they should not vanish and give us all the trouble of looking for them over again. But mind, there is to be no fighting. The troops—your detachment and Ferrers’ own—are to be used purely for keeping guard over the approaches to Shir Hussein’s fort and preventing his escape. My orders are stringent—I will send them in writing as well as by word of mouth—that no attack is to be made on the fort until I come up with the reinforcements. I know Ferrers would be perfectly ready to run his head against a stone wall, expecting to batter it down. Perhaps he might, but I distrust his prudence, and I won’t have the town left open to an attack from Shir Hussein. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” said Colin dolefully. He knew by intuition that not even Major Keeling’s chivalrous offer of self-suppression would make his orders palatable to Ferrers, and his foresight was justified when he arrived at Shah Nawaz with his small detachment, and found the whole place in a turmoil of preparation. Ferrers was first incredulous, then wrathful.
“Didn’t I tell you how it would be?” he cried furiously. “Keeling is determined that I shan’t leave the frontier with flying colours. It’s nothing but mean, miserable jealousy on his part—and you side with him. I expected it of the others, but you——!”
“But your force is not large enough. Major Keeling believes that Shir Hussein has over two hundred men with him.”
“As if I didn’t know that! A surprise would make it all right.”
“But he has repaired his fort, so the Chief says.”
“He has made a new gate, which I am going to blow in, and piled up a few of the stones which had fallen down. Do you think I don’t know more about it than Keeling, when I reconnoitred up to the very gate two nights ago, and not a soul stirred?”
“If you had only said so in your letter! He thought you underrated the difficulties.”
“You fool! If I had told him all I knew about the strength of the place, would he ever have sanctioned my attacking it? I thought I had made that right, at any rate, and then this cursed spy of his turns up! What business has he sending spies into my district?—to spy upon me, I suppose, and make sure I get no chance of distinguishing myself.”
“You are unjust, George. He will let you have all the credit when he brings up the reinforcements. You are to be in command, and he will only be a spectator.”
“You are too green. Don’t you know his dodge of getting these chaps to surrender by the magic of his name? Where should I be then? If they surrender, he gets the credit; if they don’t, he’ll get the fighting. You don’t catch him sitting still and looking on, or joining as a volunteer under me.”
“I really think that was what he meant, and you couldn’t expect it of any one else,” said Colin thoughtfully.
“And I don’t expect it of him, you may be sure. I am going to carry out my original plan, and surprise the fort to-night.”
“But that would be disobeying orders!”
“What do I care for orders? It’s a plot to rob me of my last chance of distinction while I’m here. Dare you look me in the face and say it isn’t? Porter and Haigh and the rest hate me like poison, and all toady the Chief, so it’s no wonder that he tries to push them on, and not me. But I won’t stand it.”
“Then you must attack with only your own men—not mine.”
“What! are you afraid?” There was an unpleasant smile on Ferrers’ face. “Then you shall stay in command here, and I’ll take over your men for the occasion.”
“No, you won’t. They are under my orders, not yours.”
Ferrers flung an ugly word at him, but could not alter his determination, and all might have been well if Colin had not felt moved to improve the occasion. “Don’t think I don’t sympathise with you,” he said. “I know how hard it must be, but I can assure you Keeling means well by you. After all, it is only keeping our men on outpost duty for a day or two, and having the fight then.”
“No,” said Ferrers earnestly—his mood seemed to have changed—“that’s not all. I know the place too well to think we can guard all its outlets. Shir Hussein and his men will simply make themselves scarce, and we shall lose them. Colin, I’m going to put the glass to my blind eye.” Colin moved uneasily. “Isn’t it Keeling’s boast that he commands men, not machines—that he can trust his officers to disobey an order if circumstances make it desirable?” Colin gave a doubtful assent, and Ferrers went on, “I call upon you to second me. If you are afraid of the responsibility, stay behind here; but unless you are bent upon my death, you will let me have your men. We shall never have such an opportunity again. By to-morrow morning Shir Hussein will have heard you are here, and the chance of a surprise will be over. To-night he knows nothing; there is no watch kept. I have the powder and the fuse all ready for blowing in the gate, and once inside, we shall have them at our mercy. Dare you risk the responsibility and come?”
“I do. We will come,” said Colin, carried away by his friend’s unusual earnestness, and Ferrers went out well pleased. His preparations were in such a forward state that they had not suffered from his temporary withdrawal, and at the appointed time all was ready for the night-march. It was his intention to reach the fort about an hour before dawn, and this part of his plans was carried out admirably. After posting Colin and the larger portion of his force in readiness to rush forward as soon as the smoke cleared away, Ferrers himself went forward with one of the native officers to place the powder-bag against the gate. It was impossible to follow their movements with the eye, but as Colin gazed into the darkness, there came a crash, a glare, a blinding explosion, shouts of dismay. He gave the word to the eager men behind him, and they rushed forward with a cheer. But before they were half-way across the space which separated them from the fort gate, Colin became aware that bullets were whistling round him, that men behind him were falling. Could it be that the men left in reserve with their carbines loaded to keep down any fire that might be opened from the wall were firing too low? No, the bullets came from before, not from behind. As Colin realised this, he tripped over something and fell into a hole, and was followed by several of his men. Before they could extricate themselves, there was a tremendous rush from in front, and a band of swordsmen, cutting and slashing with their heavy tulwars, threw themselves upon the disordered force. The men behind durst not fire, for fear of hitting their comrades; Colin, struggling vehemently to his feet at last, was cut down and trampled upon; and if a wild figure, with face streaming with blood, and hair partially burnt off, had not burst into the fray, scarcely one of the storming-party would have escaped. But Ferrers, who had been flung senseless to a distance when the burst of firing from the wall—which proved that it was he and not Shir Hussein who was surprised—had exploded the gunpowder he was carrying and killed his companion, was able to rally his force, and even press the enemy’s swordsmen back to the gate. There was no prospect now of pushing in after them; all he could do was to send orders to the men held in reserve to fire at any flash of a matchlock from the wall, while he extricated Colin’s body from the hole torn in the ground by the explosion, and his men carried off their wounded comrades. The dead must be left behind—disgrace unprecedented in the history of the Khemistan Horse. To retire on the reserve, then to retreat slowly, with frequent halts to drive back the pursuers, to the spot where the horses had been left, and to return with sorely diminished numbers to Shah Nawaz, was all that could be done. Had Shir Hussein chosen to follow up his advantage there would have been little hope of defending the place successfully; but the tradition of the invincibility of the regiment stood it in good stead in this dark hour, and Ferrers was able to despatch a messenger to Alibad, and then turn to and help the native hospital assistant who was doing his best for Colin’s ghastly wounds.
The news of the repulse created great excitement at Alibad; and as soon as Dr Tarleton had sent off another messenger to Major Keeling, he summoned Lady Haigh and Penelope and as many other non-combatants as could be accommodated there to take refuge in the gaol, while he armed his volunteers and appointed them their stations. But all fear of an attack was at an end on the following morning, when Major Keeling and his force swept like a tornado through the town, flushed with victory over the Nalapuri invaders, and burning to avenge the most serious check which the Khemistan Horse had met with since its first formation. Kīlin Sahib had roared like a bull, the messenger said, when he heard the news, and his face was black towards the officers who sought to dissuade him from setting out at once for Shah Nawaz. The men had had a severe fight and a long march, they reminded him; to which he replied that the Khemistan Horse had often met with hard knocks before, but had never retired. He was prevailed upon at last to allow the force a night’s rest; but before daylight he was parading the men, and selecting the freshest and best mounted to accompany him, while the others were to escort the prisoners and spoil to Alibad, and remain to guard the town. Sir Dugald was sent on ahead to pick up two of his field-pieces, and he rejoined the force with them as it passed through Alibad, bound first for Shah Nawaz, and then for Shir Hussein’s stronghold.
Shir Hussein was a man who knew when he was beaten. His first overwhelming success was entirely unexpected, for, once run to earth, he had only hoped to make his fortress a hard nut to crack, and keep the Shah Nawaz detachment occupied with it for some time, while he stood out for better terms. When he found all his approaches commanded by marksmen posted among the rocks, and learned that it was the height of folly for a man to show so much as his head above the parapet, he congratulated himself on having made such an impression upon the foe that they had decided upon a blockade rather than an assault, and made up his mind that he could hold out for weeks. But when a small group of men and two disagreeable-looking objects made their appearance at the top of a precipitous cliff, the steepness of which seemed to suggest that wings would be needed to get guns up there, and a far from charming variety of round-shot, shell, and grape began to fall inside his enclosure, Shir Hussein followed the example of the historic coon, and intimated that he would surrender without further persuasion. The resistance had been much too brief to satisfy the outraged feelings of the regiment and its Commandant, but it afforded these some relief to blow up the fort, and tumble the shattered fragments down into the valley. Major Keeling ordered a halt at Shah Nawaz on the way back, that he might install Lieutenant Jones there a second time in place of Ferrers, whom he had already suspended; but found to his disgust that there was no punishment involved in this, since Ferrers had just received his appointment as envoy to Gamara. The only thing to be done was to cold-shoulder him out of the province as quickly as possible.
“Envoy or no envoy,” said Major Keeling savagely to Lady Haigh in a rare moment of confidence, “I’d have court-martialled him if it hadn’t been for the private grudge between us. You can’t go persecuting the man who’s cut you out.”
Ferrers’ departure from Alibad, hurried and almost ignominious as it was, was not wholly without its compensations, for Penelope and he were drawn nearer together than ever before by their common anxiety about Colin. Ferrers was so genuinely anxious and distressed for his friend that he could think of nothing else, and his farewells to Penelope consisted almost entirely of charges to take care of Colin, and to let him know exactly how he was getting on. Penelope was not likely to resent this preoccupation—indeed, she caught herself reflecting what a sympathising friend she might have been to Ferrers if he had not insisted upon being regarded as a lover,—and she parted from him with kinder feelings than she would have thought possible before. Thus he started on his journey to the river, whence he was to cross the desert to the eastward and to travel to Calcutta, so as to receive his orders and credentials from the Government before he betook himself beyond the bounds of civilisation. Major Keeling saw him depart with unconcealed pleasure, and promptly ordered up from the river to replace him a young officer on whom he had had his eye for some time, sowing the seeds of future trouble by seconding him from his regiment and appointing him to the Khemistan Horse on his own authority.
As for Ferrers, he discovered very soon that his mission was not likely to be either an easy or a particularly glorious one. When the unfortunate Lieutenant Whybrow had disappeared, the Government expressed its official regret at his probable fate, and seemed to think it had done all that could be expected of it. But Whybrow had possessed relations and many friends, and these were so unreasonable as to hold the opinion that the Government was responsible for the lives of its accredited agents. They induced a section of the home press to take up the subject, and there was something like an agitation about it in London. Finding that it was not to be left alone, the Government decided on a compromise. Nothing but overwhelming physical force could bring the fanatics of Gamara to their knees, and this could only have been applied by an army, under the command of Sir Henry Lennox or an officer of his calibre, whose calculated rashness might, like Faith, “laugh at impossibilities, and say, It shall be done.” But no one would have ventured to propose such an expedition at this time, and it was therefore determined to try moral suasion once more. Ferrers was supplied with the means of obtaining abundance of money (which was to be rigorously accounted for), but denied an escort; instructed to obtain the release of Whybrow, if he was still alive, by all possible means, but strictly forbidden to indulge in threats which might seem to pledge the Government to take action. To most people the affair seemed hopeless from the first; but Ferrers’ failing was not a lack of self-confidence, and he felt that he had it in him to secure success where other men would only suffer signal defeat.
His journey to Gamara seemed to justify him in this opinion, for it was a triumph of what a later age has learnt to call bluff. Taking with him only his personal servants, he attached himself, for the greater part of the way, to a trading caravan, and speedily made himself the chief person in it. It could only be some very important man, with unlimited power behind him, who would dare to adopt such an insolent demeanour, and bully his travelling companions so unconcernedly, thought the merchants. Somewhat sulkily they accepted him at his own valuation, and the marches and halting-places came to be settled by reference to him. He it was also who rebuked the guides when it was necessary, bringing those haughty mountaineers to reason by displaying a proficiency in many-tongued abuse which astonished them, and who forced the headmen of inhospitable villages to turn out of their own houses for his accommodation. True, the merchants sometimes looked forward with misgiving to the next time they would traverse these regions, when there would be no champion to help them; but such a splendid opportunity of paying off old grudges was not to be let slip, and the caravan led by the overbearing Farangi was long a proverb on the route.
When the mountains had been crossed, and the irrigated plains of Gamara were in view, the caravan broke up into several portions, and Ferrers pursued his way to the city in company with one of these. His heart was high, for his reputation had preceded him, and the villagers received him with marked respect. It was clear, he thought, that the men who went before him had failed by going to work too gently, and truckling to the prejudices of the people. The right thing was to go on one’s way regardless of opposition, to browbeat the haughty and meet the insolent with an insolence greater than their own, and in general to act as no sane man, alone and without support in a hostile country, could be expected to act. The natives, like his fellow-travellers, would conclude that he had some mysterious reserve of strength, or he could never be so bold. Thus he saw without misgiving the distant masses of green which marked the neighbourhood of the city, and rode calmly along the narrow dikes, which were the only roads between the sunken fields, without a thought of turning back while there was time. Dimly seen through their screen of trees, the brick towers and earthen ramparts of Gamara had nothing very terrible about them, and was not Ferrers entering the place as an accredited envoy, with permission from the Khan to reside there until the business on which he came was done? Even the contemptible little dispute into which he was forced by the action of the officials at the gate, who wished to make him dismount from his horse, did not trouble him. What did it signify that the law of Gamara forbade a Christian to ride in her streets? He, at least, was going to ride where he liked, and ride he did. It was when he had passed triumphantly through the gate that he was first conscious of a sense of uneasiness, of a feeling that a net was closing round him. The city boasted flourishing bazaars, and streets bordered by canals of clear water and shaded by trees, but his way did not lie through them. Possibly by reason of his self-assertion at the gate, or merely in order to avoid the crowds which thronged the business part of the town, he was led through the dullest bylanes of the residential quarter. The narrow alleys through which he passed looked absolutely blank, the houses on either side presenting nothing but high bare walls to the public eye. Their roofs were flat, and such windows as there were looked into the inner courtyards. It was like passing a never-ending succession of prison-walls with occasional doors. Where the line was broken by a mosque, which generally served also as a college, there was some little relief in the shape of stately dome and lofty minaret, and occasional dashes of colour produced by the use of enamelled tiles; but it gave forth a throng of young fanatics clad in black, who made outrageous remarks about the Kafir, which were as audible to their object as they were intended to be. For convenience’ sake, and to avoid attracting a crowd round him by his mere presence, Ferrers had made the journey in native dress; but he had not attempted to alter his appearance in any other respect, and his fair colouring rendered him distinguishable at once.
Having presented his credentials to the favourite who occupied the position of the Khan’s foreign minister for the nonce, he was received with suitable compliments, and assured that his arrival had been expected, and a house and servants prepared for him. He was half afraid that this house might prove to be within the circuit of the inner wall enclosing the hill on which the Khan’s palace and the public offices stood, in which case he would have anticipated the possibility of foul play, but it turned out to be one of the ordinary houses of the town. It was furnished sufficiently, according to oriental ideas, with carpets and cushions; the servants in it accepted with remarkably little friction the direction of those he had brought with him; and when he had seen to the securing of the door opening into the street, he felt that what looked like a prison from without might be a fortress from within.
Aftera night’s rest Ferrers prepared to pursue the inquiry on which he had come, but he found that the blank walls of the city were only a type of the passive opposition to be offered to his efforts. The mob of the place was so fanatical and so threatening that, as he persisted in maintaining his right to ride, he found it advisable to comply with the request of the Khan’s advisers, and only show himself when he was to be granted an audience at the palace or the house of one of the ministers. Visitors he had none—none at least of the type that in most oriental cities delights in calling upon a new-comer and spending long hours in eliciting all manner of useless information. Gamara was the scene of a perpetual reign of terror, exercised from above by the Khan, and from below by the mob, reinforced by the hordes of theological students, and between these two forces the mere moderate man was crushed out of existence or frightened into silence. A whisper against the orthodoxy of even a high official would send a raging crowd to attack his house or to tear him limb from limb in the public street, and the truth of the rumour would only be inquired into afterwards, if at all. The Khan maintained his unquestioned ascendancy by outdoing all his subjects in their zeal for orthodoxy, which had no connection with morals, and by repressing that zeal with atrocious severity when it clashed with his own wishes. Mob-law offered a very useful means of getting rid of undesirable persons; but one or two stern examples had been needed to teach the mob not to proceed to extremities unless they were smiled upon by the palace. The presence of a Christian in the sacred city was a standing defiance of its inhabitants, and it was only the drawn scimitars of the Khan’s bodyguard that protected Ferrers from certain death as he rode to and from the palace in full uniform.
There was a community of Jews in the place, and it was from this that his unofficial visitors were drawn—scared, furtive men, distinguished from the true believers by their dress, who skulked along back-lanes, and entered the house by a private door in terror of their lives, but emboldened to the enterprise by the hope of turning a more or less honest penny. They were anxious to be Ferrers’ agents in communicating secretly with personages whom he could not directly approach, and, in general, to do any dirty work that might be requisite. One of them, more courageous than the rest, actually offered to disguise Ferrers and take him about the city, but he felt compelled to refuse the offer, much against his will. The man was only too probably a spy, and what could be easier than to lead the stranger, ignorant of his whereabouts, into the precincts of one of the mosques, and raise the cry of “Kafir!” after which the Indian Government would have to lament the loss of another envoy who had mysteriously disappeared. It was very likely that the missing Whybrow had been trapped in some such way, but Ferrers was beginning to doubt whether exact information as to his fate would ever be obtained. The one indisputable fact was that he had disappeared, and not he alone, but his servants, horses, arms, and equipment, as completely as if they had never existed. The last of his written reports which had reached Calcutta was dated half a day’s march from the city, and in it he said that in view of his projected entry thither he thought it well to send off beforehand the results of his explorations up to this point. From inquiries made on the spot, Ferrers was certain that he had left this camping-ground and gone towards the city, but there his information stopped. No one could or would testify to the lost man’s having passed the gates, though rumour was rife on the subject of his doings and his fate. Ferrers’ emissaries brought him a different report every day. Whybrow had been turned back at the gates and had returned to India; he had been arrested on entering; he had been honourably received by the Khan and provided with a house and escort; he had performed his business and gone away in peace; he had been arrested during an audience at the palace and straightway beheaded; he had been torn to pieces in the streets; he had turned Mohammedan and been admitted to the Khan’s bodyguard; a mutilated body alleged to be his had been subjected to disgusting indignities at the place of execution,—all these mutually contradictory reports were submitted, apparently in perfect good faith, by the very same men, but they shed no certain light on the fact of Whybrow’s disappearance.
Ferrers had recourse to bribery. Presents judiciously distributed, by means of his Jewish agents, among the Khan’s chief officers, brought him the honour of an audience of each of the gentlemen so favoured, and various interesting confidences. Whybrow Sahib had never entered the city; he had died in it from natural causes; he had left it and started safely on his return journey to India,—it seemed a pity that the worshipful hypocrites had not taken counsel together beforehand to tell one story and stick to it. Ferrers gathered only one more grain of fact after all his expenditure, namely, that Whybrow had actually been in Gamara. If he had not, there would not have been such anxiety to assert that he had left it in safety. But nothing of this sort was officially acknowledged. At each successive audience the Khan inquired blandly whether Firoz Sahib had yet been able to learn anything as to his friend’s fate, and even condescended to remark further that it was most extraordinary a stranger should be able to disappear so completely just outside Gamara, and leave no trace.
Thus time went on, and Ferrers began to feel that he might remain in Gamara for the rest of his days and get no further. Meanwhile, the failure of his efforts and the restricted life he led were telling upon his nerves and temper, and he began to say to himself that if there was much more prevarication he would beard the Khan in his very palace, and give him the lie to his face. When he had reached this point, an excuse for the outburst was not long in offering itself. One of his agents came to him one day with even more than the usual secrecy, and produced from the inmost recesses of his garments something small and heavy, wrapped up many times in a piece of cotton cloth. It was a miniature Colt’s revolver—then a comparatively new invention—beautifully finished and mounted in silver, and bearing on a small silver plate the letters L. W., the initials of Leonard Whybrow. Questioned fiercely as to where he had found it, the man confessed by degrees that he had stolen it from the palace—“borrowed it” was his way of expressing the fact. It had been in the charge of the keeper of the Khan’s armoury, with whom he had some acquaintance, and recognising from its make that it was a Bilati (European) pistol of a new kind, he had secured it when the keeper’s back was turned, intending to return it to its place at the earliest opportunity after Ferrers had seen it. He further put in a claim for the repayment of a sum of money which had been needed to induce the keeper to turn his back at the right moment, and urged that the pistol should be given back to him at once, or both the keeper and he would lose their heads, since the Khan often amused himself by firing away the ammunition which had come into his possession at the same time as the weapon. To this, however, Ferrers refused to accede, paying the money with an alacrity which made the agent wish he had asked double the sum, but refusing to surrender the pistol. He was to have an audience of the Khan on the morrow, and he would confront him with this proof of his treachery.
The next day came, and Ferrers rode to the palace with his usual escort. The audience proceeded on the ordinary lines; but when the Khan asked the stereotyped question as to the envoy’s success in his mission, he did not receive the usual answer. Ferrers took the revolver from his sash, held it up to the light, pointed out the significance of the letters, and threw it on the floor at the Khan’s feet. Then, without another word, he went back to his place and sat down, but not in the cramped position prescribed by Eastern etiquette, for instead of sitting on his heels, he turned the soles of his feet towards the Khan—thus offering him the worst insult that could be devised—and waited calmly for the result. The court was in an uproar immediately; but the Khan, pale with anger, contented himself with announcing that the audience was at an end, and dismissed the assembly. Perfectly satisfied with the result of hiscoup, purposeless though it was, Ferrers rode home with much elation. The news of his action had quickly spread from the palace into the town, and his path was beset by an angry mob, who threw stones until they were charged by the escort; but he felt an absolute pleasure in facing them. The long succession of insults heaped upon him had been more than revenged at last.
As he neared the house, it occurred to him for the first time that it would have been prudent to be prepared to take his departure immediately after defying the Khan. His servants should have been warned to pack up as soon as he started for the palace, and to await him with the laden horses at the gate nearest to the house. Even now it was not too late. He might ride straight to the gate himself, sending word to the servants to bring whatever they could snatch up and follow him, or he might go to the house and fetch them. This was the best plan, for he did not like the thought of abandoning all his possessions, and he almost decided to adopt it. It was vexatious to appear to run away, of course, but he could scarcely doubt there was danger in remaining. He had just turned to the officer in command of the escort, intending to request his company as far as the gate, when a messenger from the palace clattered along the street and dashed up, shouting his message as he came. In the most insulting terms Firoz Sahib was bidden take his servants and depart from Gamara immediately. The Khan’s safe-conduct would protect him to the gates, and no farther. The effect on Ferrers was instantaneous. Submit to be ordered out of the city—driven forth with insults—never!
“Tell his Highness that I leave Gamara to-morrow, and at my own time,” he said to the messenger, in tones quite audible to the crowd which had collected. “Am I a beggar to be driven forth with words?”
The crowd listened with something like awe, and the messenger, apparently impressed, made answer that he would return to the palace and represent to the Khan that the envoy had had no time to make preparation for the journey, and could not, therefore, start at once. The officer of the escort, seeming to be satisfied that the plea would be allowed, asked whether Firoz Sahib would like a guard left in the house for the night, in case of an attack by the mob; but Ferrers declined, with a shrewd idea that the danger might be as great from the one as from the other. Remarking that he would be ready to start on the following afternoon, he was about to enter the house, when an elderly woman, not of the best character, with whom he had several times exchanged a smile and a jest, looked out at her doorway on the opposite side of the narrow street.
“When the wolf sees the trap closing upon him, he does not wait to escape till it is down,” she cried, with a shrill burst of laughter, and Ferrers recognised that a timely warning was intended. But he set his teeth hard. Depart in obedience to the Khan’s insulting mandate he would not, even though he had been prepared to start at once before receiving it. It seemed to him, however, that it would not materially compromise his dignity if he stole a march on the authorities, and made a dash for the gate with his servants as soon as it was opened in the morning. They would not expect him to start until the time he had mentioned, and the mob would not have opportunity to collect in sufficient numbers to bar the passage of several resolute, well-armed men. He gave his orders accordingly; but the process of packing up was interrupted by the servants belonging to the house, who collected in an angry group, and demanded loudly to be given their wages and allowed to depart. The house and all in it were marked for destruction, they said, and why should they be sacrificed to the madness of the Kafir?
“The rats desert the sinking ship,” said Ferrers grimly; but he paid the men their wages, and allowed them to steal out separately by the private door, each hoping to lose himself in the labyrinth of narrow lanes, and so elude the vengeance of the authorities until he could find refuge with his friends. One of the men Ferrers had brought from India also petitioned to be allowed to take his chance in this way, and lest his presence in the house should be an element of weakness, he was suffered to depart. The rest obeyed in silence the orders they received. They could not understand their master’s proceedings, but they knew well that all Sahibs were mad, and that it was expedient to humour them even at their maddest. Moreover, this particular Sahib had brought them through so many dangers already, apparently by virtue of his very madness, that they felt a kind of confidence in him, and provisions were prepared and loads made ready for an early start on the morrow—the morrow which, for all but one in the house, was never to come.
The street was quiet when Ferrers went his rounds before going to bed, but he posted a sentry at the door and another at the postern, lest an attempt should be made to break in. He had little fear of an attack while he was behind stone walls, however; it was the ride through the city to the gate which he really dreaded. But in the night he was roused by the clank of metal: some one had dropped a weapon of some sort on a stone floor. Hastily catching up his sword, he seized his revolver and rushed out into the courtyard, to descry dimly against the starry sky a man climbing over the wall which separated his roof from that of the next house, and dropping down. Before he had time to wonder whether the man was alone or had been preceded by others, he was borne down by a sudden rush from the dark corners of the courtyard. The revolver was struck from his hand, his sword was wrenched away, and though he fought valiantly with his fists, he was tripped up by a cunning wrestler and thrown to the ground, and there bound hand and foot with marvellous celerity. Without a moment’s pause his assailants lifted him and carried him to the door, where they tied him upon a horse which was waiting. Hitherto he had been absolutely dazed. Not a word had been uttered, not a sound made since that first clang which had awakened him; and while the men were evidently armed, they had been careful not to wound him, though he had caught sight of more than one dead body in the courtyard and the passage. The very stillness roused him at last to coherent thought. There was not a soul in the street, not a ray of light nor the creak of a cautiously opened door from the blank houses on either side. He knew the truth now. As Whybrow had disappeared, so he was to disappear, without a sound or cry to attract the attention of the prudent dwellers in the neighbourhood. The bodies of his servants and all traces of their fate would be removed, his horses and possessions conveyed away before daybreak, and only the empty house would be left, and the usual sickening uncertainty as to one more envoy’s fate. And what would that fate be? His blood ran cold at the thought, but it nerved him to one supreme effort. This street, after many windings, ended at the city wall; if he could once reach that point, he might scale the sloping earthen rampart and succeed in escaping, destitute of everything and in a country swarming with enemies, but with life and honour left him. Gathering all his strength, he burst one of the cords that held him, and flung himself upon the men nearest him, fighting hopelessly with his bound hands. For a moment astonishment made the group give way; but before he could free himself further, one of them, grasping the situation, struck him on the head with a club, and he dropped senseless on the horse’s neck.
When he recovered consciousness he was lying on a stone floor. His hands were free, but heavy fetters were round his ankles, and these were connected by a chain to which was attached a heavy weight. He could drag himself slowly about, but to move fast or far was impossible. He felt about his prison; it was all of stone, small and filthy, but dry, and from this, and the fact that a gleam of light came through an aperture near the top of one of the walls, he gathered that he was what might be considered a favoured prisoner. He was in the dungeons of Gamara, which were a name of terror throughout Asia, but not in one of the horrible underground cells. Not that this softened his feelings towards the gaolers. Escape was out of the question, but failing that, his mind fastened itself on the possibility of a speedy death, accompanied preferably by as much damage to his captors as he could succeed in effecting. What was needed was a weapon of some sort. He did not expect to find furniture in the dungeon, but he hunted about for some time in the hope of lighting upon a loose stone, or even a bone from some predecessor’s rations. Nothing of the kind offering itself, he felt about for a jagged edge in the wall, and at last found one, not too far from the floor. Crouching beside it, he lifted the chain attached to the weight, and began to use the rough stone as a file. He worked away with frenzied eagerness, though his hands were soon streaming with blood, and the cramped position caused him intense agony. His mind had no room for anything but the one idea, the obtaining of a weapon. At last his task was accomplished—the link gave way. He was free from the weight, though his feet were still fastened together by a chain only some eight inches long. He tried to work on this next, but in vain, as he could not get the chain into such a position as to reach his file with it. But he had his weapon, and he lifted it with difficulty and placed it where he thought it would be most useful. Then he took up a position behind the door and waited.
At last there were sounds outside, and the door creaked slowly open. A man’s head appeared, looking round in surprise and alarm for the prisoner. By a tremendous effort, Ferrers raised the weight as the gaoler advanced into the cell, and brought it down on his head. He fell with a crash, and an earthen vessel of water which he had been carrying was shivered on the floor. Ferrers had formed some vague plan of dressing himself in the gaoler’s clothes and taking possession of his keys, but this was now out of the question, for there was a sound of voices and a rush of steps towards his cell. He drew back into the shadow, intending to knock down the first man that entered as he had done the gaoler, but his temporary strength was gone. His arms refused to raise the weight more than an inch or two. With a cry of rage he dropped it, and charged furiously into the group of men who had been attracted by the noise, and were trying to screw up one another’s courage to enter the cell. One or two of them went down before his blows, others fled at the sight of the apparition, but there remained two who flung themselves upon Ferrers and grappled with him. Weakened by fasting and the blow he had received, he yet fought manfully, but they were slowly and surely forcing him back towards the cell, when one of them caught his foot in the chain. All three went down, Ferrers undermost, and once more he lost consciousness, the last thing he heard being a warning cry, “Do not kill him: it is his Highness’s order.”
When he awoke next he was again in his cell, but now his hands were also fettered, and he was chained to a ring in the wall. The death he desired had eluded him, and he was worse off than before. He was stiff and sore all over after his fight, and his head gave him excruciating pain. At his side were a cake of rough bread and a very moderate allowance of water, and he seized upon them greedily, then lapsed into semi-consciousness. For an unknown length of time after this he lived in a kind of delirium, in which past, present, and future were inextricably mingled in his mind, and his only clear feeling was a vehement hatred of any one who came near him. When his brain became less confused he gave himself up to imagining means of gratifying this hatred, walking ceaselessly backwards and forwards in the semicircle of two or three paces’ radius, which was all that his chains would allow. His new gaoler never ventured within his reach, and put his food where he could only touch it by dint of strenuous efforts, and the difficulty was to induce him to come closer. But the words he had heard recurred to Ferrers’ half-maddened brain, and when the gaoler entered the cell one day, expecting to find the prisoner walking about and muttering to himself as usual, he saw only a confused heap by the wall. He called, but received no answer, and in terror lest the Khan should have been baulked of his revenge by the death of his captive, ventured near enough to touch him. The moment he came within reach Ferrers sprang up with a howl like that of a wild beast, and, joining his two fettered hands, smote him on the head with all his strength. The man fell; but the authorities had learnt wisdom from the fate of his predecessor, and Ferrers’ triumph was shortlived. Several men rushed in from the passage, dragged out the gaoler, and, turning upon the prisoner, beat him so cruelly with whips of hide that he sank on the ground bleeding and exhausted. When they left him at last, it was with a promise that he should taste the bastinado on the morrow, and, unhappily for him, his mind was now sufficiently clear to understand all that this implied.
All day he lay more dead than alive, and when the door of his cell opened gently, hours before the usual time, he had not strength to look up, even when a light was flashed in his eyes. It was not until a leathern bottle was held to his lips, and a voice said, “Drink this, sahib,” that he awoke from his lethargy, to see a well-known face bending over him.
“What, is it you, Mirza?” he asked feebly.
“Hush, sahib; I am come to save you,” was the whispered answer. “Only do what I tell you, or both our lives will pay for it.”
Ferrers drank obediently, and as he drank his strength seemed to return. He sat passive while the Mirza unlocked the fetters from his ankles, and filed through the chain which fastened him to the wall, but the thought in his mind was that now he would run through the prison and kill any one he met. He felt strong enough to face an army. But the Mirza’s hand was on his arm as he sprang up.
“Nay, sahib, we must go quietly. Put on the turban and garments I have here, and hide your hands in the sleeves, for it would take too long to file the fetters from your wrists now. Then follow me without a word. You are my disciple, and under a vow of silence. If we meet any one, I will speak for both.”
The authoritative tone had its effect in calming Ferrers, and he obeyed, putting on the clothes as best he could with his trembling, fettered hands, assisted by the Mirza, and pulling the loose sleeves down to hide his wrists. Then the Mirza took up his lantern and beckoned him to follow, fastening the door of the cell noiselessly as soon as they were both outside. They passed along a corridor with cell-doors on either side, and then through a kind of guardroom, where several men were lounging, either asleep or only half-awake. These saluted the Mirza, and looked with something like curiosity at his disciple, making no objection to their passing. Then came a courtyard which was evidently that of the common prison, for from a high-walled building on one side came shouts and groans and cries and wild laughter, making night more hideous even than day, and the ground was strewn thickly with bones and all kinds of filth. The Mirza did not turn towards the gateway, but to a corner near it, where he opened a small door and secured it carefully again when Ferrers had passed through. Then he led the way up a flight of stone steps and through various passages, and finally brought his guest into a room fairly furnished and—joy of joys!—clean.
“This house is yours, sahib,” he said, turning to him. “There are slaves at your orders, a bath, food, clothes. I myself will dress your wounds, since there might be danger in calling in a physician from the town, but here for the present you are safe.”
Ferrers looked round him like one in a dream. The thing was absolutely incredible after the squalor and brutality, the ineffectual struggles, of the days and nights since he had been captured. “I—I don’t understand,” he said feebly. “I thought you and I had quarrelled.”
“Am I one to forget the kindness of years in the hasty words of a night?” asked the Mirza reproachfully. “Nay, sahib; now the time is come for me to repay all I have ever received from you.”
“I don’t understand,” murmured Ferrers again, and reeled against the Mirza, who laid him on a divan, and called for the servants. Still half unconscious, the prisoner was stripped of the horrible rags he had worn in the prison, and clothed afresh in rich native garments. His wounds were dressed, food and cooling drinks were brought him, and he was left to rest in comfort and security.
Hisarrival at the Mirza’s house was the beginning of what appeared, in contrast with the days that had gone before it, a period of perfect bliss to Ferrers. The extreme peril of his position, and the danger which would face him if he wished to leave the city, occurred to him only as considerations that enhanced the comfort of the present moment. He had nothing to do but to enjoy life within somewhat circumscribed limits, and to feel his strength returning day by day under the care of the Mirza and his household of obsequious slaves. From time to time the Mirza would appear perturbed, and a question would elicit the admission that a rigorous search was being made, now in one part of the city and now in another, for the escaped prisoner. But Ferrers thought this an excellent joke; and under its influence the gloomy brow of his host would also relax, for was not the Mirza the keeper of the prison, and was not his house the last place where the fugitive would be sought? Still, there were certain precautions to be taken, and for gratitude’s sake Ferrers was careful to observe them. He found that the Mirza was far more strict in the performance of his religious duties than he had ever known him—in fact, the man who had posed at Shah Nawaz as a freethinker was here the most orthodox of Moslems, and Ferrers, as became a disciple, also reformed his earlier heterodox behaviour. In the course of his adventures in disguise at Bab-us-Sahel he had gained a fair working knowledge of the points of Mohammedan ritual; now he became acquainted with its extremest minutiæ, even to the incessant use of the Fattha, or first verse of the Koran, with which, in the contracted form of “Allahu!” the devout Gamaris were wont to preface most of the actions of life. Even had any of the slaves been ill-disposed, they could have alleged nothing against the orthodoxy of their master and his disciple; but they seemed to vie with one another in showing a deference to Ferrers only second to the veneration with which they regarded the Mirza.
It was but to be expected that as Ferrers grew strong again he would begin to chafe against the close confinement which his host assured him was necessary, and even to hint that it was time he made some attempt to escape from the city. These hints were always turned aside by the Mirza, however, and it was impossible to know whether he had understood them or not; but he was more accommodating in the direction of providing for his guest a certain amount of recreation. At the beginning, when visitors appeared, Ferrers was always smuggled out of the way in good time; but by degrees he was allowed to remain, at one time only hovering on the outskirts of the circle, ready to do the Mirza’s commands like a dutiful disciple, then, keeping in the shadow, to lean against a pillar and listen to the words of wisdom that fell from his teacher, and at last to make one of the group. He had grown a beard by that time, and this, with the aid of various skilful touches from the Mirza, altered his appearance completely, while his earlier practice in behaving as an Oriental stood him in good stead. At length the Mirza considered that it was safe to take him out of doors, and they entered afresh on their old course of adventures, the zest of which was heightened now to Ferrers by the imminent presence of extreme peril. The scenes which they passed through were many and various, showing under-currents of life in the sacred city which it would be by no means profitable to describe. Ferrers was wont at first to salve his conscience by assuring himself that this all formed part of an exhaustive inquiry which would have important results when he returned to civilisation; but he soon began to feel a fascination in the life he was leading,—to feel that he was being gripped by something to which one side of his nature, and that not the highest, responded with fatal facility.
It was one night that this idea came to him, bringing with it the unpleasant conviction that he was a great deal happier in Gamara than he had any business to be; and in the morning he was moody and troubled, almost making up his mind to speak plainly to the Mirza and demand the means of escape, then deciding that it was better not to touch on a subject which his host so pointedly avoided. They were bidden to an entertainment that day at the house of Ghulam Nabi, one of the Mirza’s friends, an old and trusted servant of the Khan, and renowned even in Gamara for the strictness of his orthodoxy. The company was a very small one, for only a few could be trusted with the secret that besides the invariable tea and sherbets, fruit and sweetmeats, Ghulam Nabi was wont to amuse his confidential friends with entertainments of a more questionable character; but among them was a nephew of the old man’s who was a student at a neighbouring mosque, and who threatened to be a disturbing element. Ferrers had become by this time so used to his assumed character that he no longer took the precaution of seating himself with his back to the light under the pretence that his eyes were weak, as he had done at first, and he found the student’s gaze fastened on him almost continuously. Aware that to show agitation would be the worst possible policy, he nerved himself to maintain his usual calmness, and succeeded, as he believed, in dispelling the youth’s suspicions. But presently, as the guests rose to accompany their host to a pavilion in the garden, the student flung himself forward with a shout.
“That man is a Kafir!” he cried, pointing at Ferrers. “I have been to India, and seen the Sahibs, and he is one. He does not eat like us, he rises from his seat differently. He is here in the holy city to spy upon us!”
There was a stir among the guests, and they fell away from Ferrers as if he had been denounced as plague-stricken. He himself, as if by a sudden inspiration, attempted no defence. He looked at the Mirza, then bowed his head, and stood in a submissive attitude. The Mirza came to his rescue at once.
“The man is my disciple, and no Sahib,” he said. “Is this the way that the Sahibs receive an accusation, O far-travelled one? Nay, but I have been training this disciple of mine in patience and submission, until I verily believe he thinks I have devised this scene to test him. Truly he has learnt his lesson, and when I go hence, my mantle shall be his. Is he not a worthy successor, brethren?”
“He is no true believer,” protested the student, but less confidently than before. The rest of the company were evidently coming over to Ferrers’ side, and Ghulam Nabi clinched the matter.
“It can easily be proved,” he said. “I am not wont to put tests to those who come under my roof; but in order to quiet the foolish tongue of this low-born nephew of mine, let the Mirza’s disciple repeat theKalima, that the ill-spoken boy may bow down in the dust before him.”
Much relieved by so easy a solution of the difficulty, Ferrers repeated promptly the Moslem creed, without hurry and with the proper intonation. The confusion of the student was complete, and his uncle and the other elders heaped reproaches upon him, while the Mirza’s face beamed. No further incident disturbed the harmony of the evening, and Ferrers returned home with his host in good spirits. His nerve, at any rate, must be untouched by the trials through which he had passed, since he could confront such an emergency without a single tremor. He had forgotten all about the remonstrance he had intended to address to the Mirza, and was going straight to his own room, when he was called back.
“A load has been removed from my mind to-day,” said the Mirza. “I had not looked to hear Firoz Sahib confess himself of his own free will a follower of Islam, and it has often grieved me to think of his returning to the dungeons whence I took him.”
“It was merely a joke, of course,” said Ferrers lightly, “but it served its purpose. Good thing I remembered the words all right!”
“There can be no jest in repeating theKalimain the presence of witnesses,” was the reply. “It saved Firoz Sahib’s life to-day.”
“And will save it a good many times yet, I daresay; but of course it’s nothing but a joke. Hang it, Mirza! you don’t expect me to go on pretending to be a Mussulman when I get back to India?”
“You will never get back to India, sahib. Those that have seen the things that have been shown to you do not leave Gamara.”
“What in the world do you mean? I shall leave Gamara as soon as I can—in a few days, I suppose.”
“When you leave this house you will either leave it as a Mussulman, in which case honour and riches await you, or as a Christian, when you will return to the dungeon from which I brought you. Or rather, as one who has once professed the faith of Islam and afterwards denied it, you will pass to such tortures as are reserved for renegades. But you will never leave Gamara.”
Ferrers stood gazing at him, unable to utter a word, and the Mirza went on, speaking in a meditative tone—
“Yet is there no cause for sorrow in this, for there is greater honour for you here than you would ever have attained in India. And when the alternative is death—— Nay, is it not better to command the Khan’s bodyguard, and to receive at his Highness’s hand houses, and riches, and fair women, and all marks of favour, than to be roasted alive, or flung headlong from the minaret of the Great Mosque, only to fall upon the sharp hooks set midway in the wall, there to hang in torture until you die?”
“You don’t seem to think it worth while to enter upon the religious side of the question,” sneered Ferrers savagely.
“Nay, Firoz Sahib and I have lived and talked together too long for that. He knows that among unbelievers I am even as they, among Sufis I am a Sufi, among the Brotherhood of the Mountains I am one of themselves. To Rāss Sahib I have even presented myself as an inquirer into Christianity. In Persia I should be a Shiah, here in Gamara I am the most orthodox of Sunnis. To the wise man all creeds are the same, and he adopts that one which is most expedient for the moment. And as it is with me, so is it with Firoz Sahib, my disciple. To no man is it pleasant to change the customs in which he has grown up. When Firoz Sahib came to Gamara he put on the garments of this land; when he came into this house he shaved his head, according to the custom of the people, and these things he did of his own free will for a protection. But had any man ordered him to do them with threats, he would have stiffened his neck and refused with curses. So is it with this matter of creeds. Christianity is to Firoz Sahib as the garments of his own land, which he will lay aside of his own free will, for the sake of his own safety. He is too wise a man to see in the change anything but a matter of expediency.”