'But how about the man?' said Lucy.
'Oh, he is a good simple soul! I will buy one or two of his trinkets and dismiss him.'
A few minutes later the salesman left the compound. He looked all round him carefully, and chanced upon Tikaram, pacing back slowly on his mistress's pony. Both of them pulled up.
'I was looking for you, O brother,' said Hoosanee. 'The sale has been good, and she of the lotus eyes has charged her servant to return. Here is backsheesh for my brother's good will.'
Tikaram, though surprised at the generosity of the gift, took it carelessly.
'Their raj is nearly done,' he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the bungalow. 'The treasures of the land will now be for its own, and not for the sons and daughters of strangers. But the lotus-eyed has a soft tongue and a noble presence.' He spoke meditatively, almost sadly.
'I know nothing of your politics,' said Hoosanee, indifferently; 'I am a poor man, and I love those who bring me gain.'
'Then come back our way,' said Tikaram, 'and I will keep the lotus-eyed for thee—if she is not by that time food for her masters.'
'Will my brother keep her?' said Hoosanee, his face brightening as if a new idea had struck him.
'I might,' said Tikaram.
'I have a master who is a prince. He would give a lakh of rupees for the two women and the child.'
'A lakh!' said Tikaram, his mouth watering.
'A lakh of rupees if they were given to him unhurt.'
'But three! What can he want with three?'
'Who knows? Great men have their caprices, and if they will pay for them, let the little keep silence! Perhaps he will keep a museum, and show them as curiosities when the English are all swept into the sea. But this is what he said: "Bring me three of these English—a small woman, a large woman, and a child with golden hair. Let them be well nourished, and of fair countenance. I will pay a lakh to thee for thy trouble, and another lakh to the man who helps thee." What does my brother say?'
'I would save the lotus-eyed without money,' said Tikaram, and then he turned away. 'There is time, O brother; they have not risen yet,' he murmured.
Hoosanee did more good work at Nowgong. Professing to be a discontented native official from Gumilcund, he insinuated himself into the confidence of the two or three uneasy spirits in the station, and made one of them promise to communicate with him when matters should seem ripe for a revolt. He was relieved to find that the discontented were in a minority, and that they had no present hope of increasing their numbers, or of being able to take any decided step. As it was in Nowgong, so it was elsewhere. Whether from fear of the vengeance that seemed so strangely to halt, or from some remnant of right feeling, it is impossible to say. Possibly the revolt at Meerut, hurried on by the punishment of mutineers, and the consequent taking of Delhi, took the native as well as the English army in India by surprise. However this may have been, it is certain that, between the middle of May and the beginning of June, there was a lull, during which the scattered groups of English, who were absolutely in the power of native troops, took heart once more. A body of Ghoorka soldiers, sent across the Nepaul border to strengthen the hands of the English, under command of that gallant young soldier, Gambier Singh, was recalled by the Governor's orders, and a proclamation, promising pardon to the mutineers who had not actually taken part in the murder of Europeans, was issued.
This last was a most disastrous step. No one understanding the nature of Asiatics could have taken it. The mutinous troops and agitators, staggered by their own successes, and secretly dreading the vengeance of the White Man, whom they had insulted and defied, began now to breathe more freely. The White Man was afraid, or he would not seek to propitiate them. And who could wonder? They were but a little number in the land, and England, which at best was a small country, and hemmed in, as some of them had heard, by hosts of enemies, was hundreds of miles away across a stormy sea. Let them but be true to their colours for a short time, and the word of prophecy would be fulfilled. The raj of the stranger-race would pass away for ever.
Thinking thus, they were ready to bide their time and do nothing rashly.
It was this lull which threw dust in the eyes of the English officers.
One of these was General Elton.
He had, as it happened, no distinct command. What his personal influence might have effected if he had been at Meerut when the storm broke it is impossible to say. He might have shamed the authorities into action, and saved the honour of the English name. But he was absent, in pursuance of the mission that had been entrusted to him. As an old regimental and brigade officer, supposed to be well versed in the native character, he had been deputed, on the first rumour of discontent in the army, to travel through the North-West Provinces and the Central Indian Agency, examining into grievances, and reporting on the general condition of the troops.
On the terrible Sunday afternoon when the storm broke he was at Jhansi, enjoying the hospitality of the Ranee, and conferring with her on the curious portents of the time. They were actually together when the news came, and the General, who prided himself on his knowledge of character, was more than satisfied by her surprise and indignation.
Alarmed for his safety, she entreated him to remain at Jhansi until he could obtain more certain news, but the General, while touched by her solicitude, would not hear of delay. He took horse at once, and, surrounded by the small body of English soldiers with whom he had been travelling, set out on a forced march to Meerut.
A tremendous march it was, and fuller of peril, than any one of the little band imagined! Their audacity served them for strength. Those who plotted their destruction hesitated to strike, for some at least must fall victims to these watchful and resolute men. Besides, who could say that an army was not marching at their heels? As, in their dress of scarlet and gold with their sabres flashing in the sun, the General and his guard rode through the country, every one made way for them. From the villages, hostile as many of them were, and infested withbudmashesand disbanded soldiers, they had no difficulty in obtaining supplies. To many of the workers of mischief, the gallant old soldier, with his hard face, keen sight and short sharp words of command, came as the first of the avengers, while those amongst ourselves who saw him ride by were inspired with fresh confidence.
I was one of these. I was exercising the sullen-looking handful of troops for which I was responsible, on the parade-ground outside our station, when the General passed. He halted for a few moments and watched us. I and my men saluted, and it seemed to me that they drew themselves together and stepped out more briskly.
I looked at him—a small man, muscles tense, face stern, lips set firmly together, blue eyes, full of fire and energy, looking out steadily. He was in full-dress uniform, all his accoutrements as spotless as if he were on court parade at home. He rode a little Arab horse, well-fed and groomed, and as highly bred as himself. 'Game to the very finger-tips,' so I said to myself, as I looked at him. While England had such men as the General in reserve, our raj would not pass away. The General rode on. In spite of the fearful anxiety which, as we all knew, was consuming him, he did his duty gallantly. He called at the most important stations on the route, at Gwalior, Agra, Mynpoorie and Secunderabad, doing what he could to encourage the loyal and to awe the discontented. But to Delhi, the most important of them all, he was obliged to give a wide berth, for he knew that the rebels were congregating there in force.
It was nearing the end of the month before he reached the neighbourhood of Meerut. He had not, in the meantime, met any of the English force. He had not so much as heard of it; and he grew more and more troubled and perplexed. Was, then, the awful tale which he had heard true? Were his countrymen taken so completely by surprise that not one of them was left alive to fight for the honour of his country? A thousand soldiers, Englishmen all of them! It was impossible. And there was one native regiment at Meerut which he had made up his mind would be faithful. He had commanded it himself for years. Its native officers were veterans, men of high birth and fine breeding, who had fought by his side in many a frontier war. One of them had saved his life at the imminent risk of his own, and to the General he had long been as a personal friend. He would almost as readily have believed in his own failure from duty as in Sufder Jung's. As for the men, he had called them his children. Big children and little children, the old men, who were recruits when he took up the command, and who had learned under him the warrior's art, and the young men, only lately enrolled, who were learning it from others, he loved them all. Riding through the desolate plain, with the fierce rays of an Indian sun beating upon him, and this awful thing at his heart, the old man felt a curious moisture bedewing his eyes. Only a few weeks before he had held a review of all arms at Meerut, and his pet regiment had distinguished itself beyond all the others. Like a picture it flashed before him, the noble stature, proud carriage, flashing eyes and perfect accoutrement, and again, sweeter than the incense of flattery, there fell upon his ears the shouts of applause which broke forth on every side, as, at a double-quick march, but moving with the precision of a machine, his children swept by the saluting point. 'Efficiency could not be carried further,' he had said, shaking hands warmly with the colonel of the regiment. 'I congratulate you.' And now to hear it said that these men were disloyal, that then, when they were responding with joyful shouts to the shouts of their English comrades, they were actually plotting to betray them! It could not, it should not be.
With stern face the General rode on. No one molested them; but, in the deserted huts and silent villages, in the procession along the road of trains of frightened peasants, men and women, with all their household utensils about them, and in the occasional presence of bands of ragged, fierce-looking men, armed with clubs and ancient rifles, he saw ominous signs of disorder and panic.
They came at last to within five miles of Meerut. No one came out to meet them, although the General had sent forward native scouts, nor could they hear anything of the English troops. It was now the hottest hour of the afternoon, and the men, who had been in the saddle since early morning, were dead beat. Not knowing what they might have to meet at Meerut, the General, desperately anxious as he was to be at his goal, determined to call a halt. There was a little grove of mango and neem trees a few yards from the road. He led his men thither, and while some were set to watch, the others, exhausted by their long ride under the burning sun, emptied their drinking-flasks and flung themselves down for an hour's rest.
The General was amongst the watchers. He would not even unsaddle. He stood by his horse, his left arm flung over its neck, and his right grasping a loaded revolver, while his wide-open, sleepless eyes were piercing the recesses of the wood. For an hour he watched. There was no disturbance, nothing to break the deep silence of the camping-ground. Then his men changed guard. One of them, his personal servant, came up to him and entreated that he also would rest for an hour. But the General refused, and again there was silence.
Evening was drawing on. His eyes had begun to smart with the long strain of watchfulness, and it was on the tip of his tongue to give the order to saddle and mount, when his practised ear caught the sound of stealthy movement in the wood.
'Some one is skulking about the ground,' he said to the nearest trooper, 'perhaps a messenger from Meerut. Beat round cautiously and find out!'
The man disappeared amongst the withered underwood, and emerged a few moments later with a tall figure, shrouded from head to foot in a white chuddah, at his heels.
'Who are you?' said the General, 'and what are you doing here?'
At his word the chuddah dropped, and he saw the uniform of his own favourite regiment, while, in the next moment, he recognised the dark features of the officer who had saved his life in battle so many years before.
'Sufder Jung!' he said reproachfully. 'You here! Where are your children?'
Sobbing like a child the man prostrated himself on the ground. 'Let not my General look at me so!' he cried. 'Is it my fault that they rebelled?'
'Theyhaverebelled?' said the General, drawing a deep breath.
'Not all, my General. There is a detachment which is faithful yet.'
'In Meerut?'
'No, my General. They forced us away with them, and to save our lives, we went on—escaping one by one, and banding ourselves together, for we hoped in a few days to meet your Excellency. But before we went we provided for the escape of those in your Excellency's house, the mem Sahib, and the Miss Sahibs. The house was on fire and the fiends were yelling round it, crying to the servants to throw out to them the Sahib-log, and let them deal with them as they would. We forced them away and put out the flames, and carried the ladies to a place of safety within the walls. One was hurt. I know not which. I carried her in my arms and she moaned with pain.'
A groan broke from the General. 'This is true?' he said; 'you are not deceiving me?'
'True by the Prophet's beard, your Excellency! Why should Sufder Jung deceive you?'
'But where were our own troops? Did they look on like frightened children?'
'The English were taken by surprise, your Excellency.'
'Do you mean to tell me they were slain, every one of them?'
'Pardon me, my General. Some were killed; but there are still a thousand men within the walls of the city.'
'A thousand, within the walls, doing nothing! Now I know that you are lying, Sufder Jung.'
'Let his Excellency have patience, and he will see whether his servant has spoken the truth. I hear, from friends of my own, that to-morrow a detachment will set out for Delhi.'
'To-morrow!' burst out the General. 'To-morrow! and how long has Delhi been in the hands of the rebels, Sufder Jung?'
'It was on the 11th of May that the rebels rushed out of Meerut. If his Excellency will believe me, they were like a herd of frightened sheep. I and my men could have taken them all, without help from the English, if the whole of my troop had stood firm. They entered the Imperial city on the 12th.'
'And it is now the 23rd. A fortnight lost—lost in inaction!' said the General. 'By heaven it may cost us the raj! And we deserve it.' But here, remembering to whom he was speaking, he pulled himself up. 'I speak hastily,' he said. 'No doubt the General in command had reasons of state, about which we know nothing. You, in any case, have done well to come to me. What boon would you have, Sufder Jung? Will you join my bodyguard, until I can find you a command?'
'If I were alone, your Excellency,' said Sufder Jung, joining the palms of his hands together and bowing low, 'I would ask to be made your Honour's servant, and I would follow to the ends of the earth. But I am not alone. A little remnant of our troop has remained faithful. They are crying out to be led against their mutinous brethren; but some of them are fearful lest their professions of faithfulness be discredited. They are encamped not far from here. It is their hope to re-enter the city of Meerut under the protection of his Excellency. Will not my lord see and comfort them?'
By this time the English soldiers constituting the body-guard, several of whom had been near enough to the General to hear every word that had passed between him and Sufder Jung, were closing round them, and an angry murmur rose from their ranks. The General caught it and looked round on them sternly. His personal servant stood near him. 'Beg your pardon, sir,' he said, saluting. 'We didn't mean no harm like; but——'
'But what?' thundered the General. 'Go on, now you have begun!'
'Them pandies isn't to be trusted, sir—not a mother's son of them all.'
'You know so much about them, Tommy,' said the General. 'How long have you been in India?'
'Six months, sir.'
'And you?' to another.
'Same time, General.'
'Six months' service, and you can judge the people in this sweeping way! Bravo, my men! Now, I have spent thirty years of my life in India. I have marched for hundreds of miles with the men whom you despise, and they have fought by my side like gallant gentlemen. I have lived with them in times of peace as a father lives with his sons. I have called them my children. Again and again, I have owed my life to their care. Here is one,' pointing to the Soubahdar, 'who interposed with his own body between me and destruction. And yet, I confess,' his strong voice faltered, 'I do not understand them as I thought I did, or as I should wish to do. This that has happened is a mystery to me. I cannot fathom it. But that all are faithless, that a man like Soubahdar Sufder Jung should come to his general with affection on his lips and black treachery at his heart, this I can never believe. Stand back, while I hear what more he has to tell me.'
Reluctantly the men fell back, while the Soubahdar, who, understanding part but not all of this discourse, had been standing aside, with bowed head and streaming eyes, approached the General again, and spoke in a voice so low that none of the English soldiers could catch what he said.
Presently the General addressed them. His face was radiant, and his voice was strong and full. 'Wait for me here, my men,' he said, 'but be ready to start at the word of command. We have friends and comrades close by. I will join you with them in less than half-an-hour.'
This time no one, not even the General's servant, ventured on a word of protest, for the will of the old soldier was known to be like iron; but as, the Soubahdar riding at his right hand, he went off slowly to where the wood was thickest, they clustered together and held a council of war.
'And where are our friends?' said the General, when they had ridden for some considerable distance, leaving, in the meanwhile, the wood in which his men were stationed, and entering another of wider extent. 'I thought you said it was within a stone's throw.'
'We are close upon them now,' said the Soubahdar. He gave a low whistle, and instantly the ground seemed to tremble and there was a rumbling as of thunder beneath their feet.
In the next instant a native officer, of a lower grade than Sufder Jung, but as well known to the General, appeared, and saluted.
'What is the meaning of this jack-in-the-box business?' said the General, frowning.
'We are in hiding from our mutinous brethren,' said Sufder Jung abjectly.
'Then there are only a few of you?'
'Nay, your Excellency, there are a hundred good men under this wood, all waiting for a word of encouragement from their General.'
'They would have understood their duty better if they had remained in their lines till they were ordered out on duty,' said the General. 'Where is your captain?'
'Alas! your Excellency, our captain Sahib is dead. He was one of the first to be struck down.'
'By his own men?'
'By his own men, Excellency.'
In the meantime the men were coming up one by one from the cave where they had hidden themselves. They were the veterans of the regiment, and the General knew them all; as in the dim light of the wood they fell into their ranks, he called one and another by their names.
'I did not think to seeyouhiding in caves and holes of the earth, my ancients,' he said. And a voice from the ranks muttered, 'The General Sahib will see stranger things than these.'
'Who spoke?' said the old soldier, his hand closing on his revolver.
'Silence!' thundered Sufder Jung; then to the General with the deepest humility, 'Forgive them, Excellency; they have been waiting, in hunger and darkness for your Presence, and some of them are impatient.'
'But what are they doing now? Do you see, Sufder Jung, the line is wavering. By heaven they want to surround us! Back, you hounds, back!' shouted the General. 'Is discipline at an end, or have you forgotten to stand at attention? Halt, I say, this instant, and ground your muskets, or by the beard of your Prophet, the life of some of you will be short!'
As he spoke, his revolver was raised and pointed at the men, and they, being awed by his presence and manner, and none of them wishing probably to be the first to bite the dust, obeyed him sullenly. Scarcely had they done so before the General's horse, which was an old campaigner, and accustomed to stand like a rock, gave a sudden plunge. With the shock the revolver went off, lodging its contents in a tree. Then Sufder Jung seized the rein of the horse, which was snorting with pain and fear, and immediately the silence that had followed the General's stern command was exchanged for the fiercest excitement. Uttering yells of hatred and defiance, the men in the ranks swung round, closing in as they moved, so as to make a circle about the two men and the horse. In a moment the General saw what they were about, saw that he was alone in the midst of enemies, but he lost neither his spirit nor his presence of mind. Quick as thought, he faced round to where the line was weakest, encountering, as he did so, the ashen countenance of Sufder Jung. 'If you are not the son of a traitor,' he roared, 'open a way for me!'
He had dropped his revolver, which was useless to him now, and had drawn his sword.
'My General,' moaned the wretched man, 'it is useless. Let his Excellency wait to hear what his children will say to him.'
'You are false!' said the General, and with a lunge which sent his sword through the Soubahdar's arm, provoking a yell that echoed through the wood, he set spurs to his horse.
The poor beast, which had been wounded already, was wild with terror and pain. It gave a mad plunge right into the living wall that was forming in front of it. The General sat as if he and his horse were one. His face never moved from its stern composure. To some of the guilty and unhappy men in the ranks his eyes were as the eyes of an avenging deity. As, like a whirlwind, he plunged on, his naked sword swinging through the air, there came from one or two a cry of 'We repent! Come back to us.'
But while those in the front were wavering, those in the rear and not under the immediate spell of his presence, were plucking up heart.
One of them sprang forward and levelled his musket. A bullet whizzed through the air, the General's horse gave one bound and fell, and he, having been prepared for some such treachery as this, sprang to his feet.
What was he to do? To attempt to fly on foot would be useless, and result in such humiliation as he did not intend to encounter. There was nothing for it but to stand his ground.
Quietly he turned and faced the men. The high soul of him had risen to meet the danger that threatened him. Death it might be, but he would meet death, as he had met life, a soldier—a man in possession of himself.
'Now then,' he said to the men, who were rushing up to seize him, 'what is it that you want with me? Speak at once!'
Not a voice answered, and one or two of the foremost slunk back.
'Do you want your precious leader, Sufder Jung, to speak for you?' said the General. 'He has spoken to good effect already. Wounded, is he? Then let him be brought before me and we will confer together.'
No one spoke, but there was an ominous sound of clanking arms.
'Perhaps you would prefer to kill me at once,' suggested the General ironically. 'There is nothing to prevent you. I ought to know how excellent your aim is. You have won many a prize from me for your efficiency. It never occurred to me then that I should one day be your target. I am angry with myself, my men, that I did not know you better.'
'You did know us,' sobbed one or two.
'What?' said the General, 'are some of you faithful still!' A party of about twenty men—privates all of them, rushed across the space that separated the General from the mutineers and ranged themselves on his side. 'Welcome!' said the old man, in a strong hearty voice. Then two or three came up, dragging Sufder Jung between them. 'So!' said the General, 'this is the spokesman of the loyal troops. Quick, Soubahdar! What do you and these want of me?'
'Will his Excellency pardon me?' whined the wretched creature, who was faint with loss of blood; 'I am the instrument of others. For myself——'
'Do I want to hear about yourself, hound? You are a traitor. That is enough. What do the rascals yonder want?'
'They want the promise of your Highness to stop the troops marching from Meerut to-morrow.'
'And if I give this promise?'
'Your Excellency will be conducted back safely to his guard.'
'And if I do not, you will shoot me?'
'His Highness knows that there is no dependence to be placed upon these men. They might do worse.'
'Well said, Sufder Jung! You are an admirable spokesman,' said the General. 'And now listen to me! You deserve death, and it is in my heart to kill you as you stand there. But, as you are in some sort an envoy, I will let you live out the miserable remnant of your days. Vengeance will overtake you. Mark my words, and call them to mind when your hour comes! You and the miserable creatures who have sent you will suffer the penalty of your deeds. I suffer for having trusted you, for I can have little doubt now that, instead of saving my family——'
'No—no, by my master's head, by the beard of the Prophet!' cried Sufder Jung. 'What I have told my lord is true. We guarded his house, and it was only when we had put the women of his Honour's family in safety that we left the city.'
'If you speak truly, your folly is all the greater. I would have rewarded you. I would have treated you as friends. But that is over now. Go back and tell the rascals out yonder that I refuse their conditions. Yes,' said the General, 'and tell them further that I will hold no parley with rebels. Let them kill me if they can. I defy them!'
The loyal twenty closed round him. It was time, for the ring of bullets began to echo through the woods. One or two were wounded. The General had them picked up by their comrades, as they moved back slowly with their faces to the foe. 'See what it is to be a traitor!' he said to the man nearest to him. 'The villains are shooting wild. If they had shot so underme, there are a few of them who wouldn't have survived to see this day. Come on, you hounds! Come on, if you dare!'
The foremost of the dark mass, almost indistinguishable in the gloom of the evening, were so near that they could have touched him; but they did not. Muttering curses of baffled rage, they fell back confusedly, and their comrades received them with yells of derision. 'Seize him yourselves!' they said sullenly. 'The gods fight for him. He has a charmed life.'
The little band, meanwhile, with the General in the midst of them, were nearing the outskirts of the wood. They had increased the distance between them and their assailants, who, in the gathering gloom, could scarcely catch more than the outline of their figures. 'Fools!' cried one of them—the man who had killed the General's horse—'you are letting him escape.' He was known as the most deadly shot in the regiment, and he had eyes like a cat's. Over and over again the General had boasted of his powers.
This man took aim deliberately, the scarlet coat serving him as a guide. Almost by a miracle the General escaped; but the nearest of his escort fell. 'That was Koolraj Sing, I know,' rang out the voice of the indomitable old man. 'Well aimed! Another like that, my man, and—Ha! You villain—would you? Others can see in the dark as well as you. Have at him, Kullum Khan! Steadily, my friend! Aim low! There is the moon, thank heaven! Now! Halt and fire!'
Ping! Ping! Sharply and clearly the detonations rang out. The smoke cleared away. The General still stood his ground, but Koolraj Sing, the dead shot of the regiment, the man whose eyes could pierce through a stone wall, was writhing in the agonies of death.
'Well done, Kullum Khan! said the General. 'You shall have a medal for this! Keep together, my little ones! We shall be out of this soon.'
'They are coming up behind,' said Kullum Khan. 'Listen, Excellency!'
For a moment the General halted. Kullum Khan had spoken truly. Close in their rear they could hear sounds, the crackling of the dry branches of the underwood, and the heavy breathing of men and animals. 'Who's there?' cried the General in English. He was answered with an English cheer. 'Courage, my men!' he cried joyfully to the little band of the faithful, 'and keep close to me, lest they mistake you for the rebels. Hurry up, my hearties!' to his own men, who, having missed him and feeling certain that treachery was on foot, were searching the wood. 'These,' pointing to his escort, as one and another of his troopers rode up, 'are comrades. I owe my life to them. They have stood by me gallantly. Your horse, Tommy,' to his own servant, who was first to come up. 'Never fear, you shall have your hand in the fun. Now then, are we all ready? You see those black-hearted scoundrels out yonder. Three times our number, boys, but cowards every mother's son of them. Charge for old England's sake, and mow them down!'
A ringing cheer, clear and joyful, which echoed and re-echoed through the wood, that seemed peopled by hundreds instead of tens, greeted these gallant words. The mutineers answered it with a scream of defiance. Then, crash, crash, thundering over the dry underwood, came the tramp of the English horsemen. The Pandies, who were on foot, stood their ground, firing wildly. Several horses fell, and their riders joined the faithful Indians, who were coming up behind them at a quick march.
'Force them into the open,' cried the General. 'See—where the light shines in!'
At his word the little band of horsemen swung round to the left. The mutineers, expecting a front attack, were taken by surprise, and, instead of facing round, as the only surviving officer commanded them, they broke into confused groups, some of which stood their ground, while by far the greater number took to their heels. Uttering a cry of despair and hatred, the officer drew his tulwar across his throat and fell at the very feet of the General's horse, which started and plunged aside. At the same moment a mutineer, who had been lying in ambush close by, sprang forward and discharged his musket at the General. The gallant old man's bridle arm fell helpless by his side; but he gathered up his reins in his right hand and pressed on. As for the men, English and Indians, they had eyes and ears for nothing but the foe. Stumbling and plunging, now in close order, and now separately, they rode and ran over the broken ground. Meanwhile, with the fatality that comes of abject dread, the mutineers were rushing towards the open.
Night had fallen, but the moon, which rose early at this season, was flooding all the plain with silver light, and when the Englishmen emerged from the wood they saw the fugitives—grey figures in the ghostly light—only a short distance in front of them. 'Halt!' cried the General, 'and fire!'
They obeyed with alacrity. Every shot took effect. Some who had not been touched fell prone with fright and weariness, and over the plain the bodies of dead and dying lay scattered.
'Quick march!' cried the General.
It was like the loosing of an arrow from a bow. In skirmishing order, but keeping well in line, they cantered madly across the plain. Passionate wrath and the wild thirst for vengeance made demons of them all. There was no quarter given. The black-hearted wretches they were pursuing had laid a net for the feet of their open-hearted General, and had nearly succeeded in entrapping him. For their treachery they should die. Group after group was overtaken. Some were speared, some were shot. Not one of them all turned to bay, or lifted up his hand against the avengers. For, lying heavy as lead at the heart of each one and making him a coward, was the consciousness that he had played the part of traitor.
A short half-hour, and it was all over. Some few, who were the first to fly, and were particularly fleet of foot, escaped into the country. The others lay dead on the plain outside Meerut. One of them only, Soubahdar Sufder Jung, who had been wounded, but not mortally, remained behind in the wood. All that night and the following day he kept in hiding. Then, having stripped off his uniform, and clothed himself in the garments of a peasant, whom he slew in the fields, he took to the road.
Their work done, the English soldiers halted, and discovering that the General, who up to the moment when they emerged from the wood had been foremost in the advance, was not with them, they rode back to seek him. Loss of blood from his wound, with the exhaustion which followed hard upon his excitement, had been too much for the old man, who, for the first time in all his life, had swooned away. Fortunately his English servant was by his side. He saw him reel in his saddle and caught him in his arms. By this time, however, the General's senses had returned. When his men rode back for him, he was sitting on the ground under a tree, Kullum Khan supporting him on one side, and his soldier-servant on the other.
Within the walls of Meerut, meanwhile, all was confusion and despair. Those of the English and Eurasian residents who had escaped from the massacre of the 10th of May were gathered together, in much closer quarters than they had ever occupied before, tremulously expecting the worst. The British soldiers, burning to be led against the mutineers, were kept day and night upon guard, for the rebels' return with reinforcements, to finish the deadly work they had begun, was hourly expected; but they did not come, and at last it dawned upon the minds of those in authority that, seeing they were within entrenchments, a smaller number of soldiers might serve to guard them. It took some time for this idea to work in the official mind; but, at last, to the intense satisfaction of the soldiers and regimental officers, five hundred men were told off to join the English force which was supposed to be marching on Delhi.
It was on the 23rd that the General encountered the detachment from his mutinous regiment in the wood; and, early on the 24th, the force from Meerut was to be in readiness to march. Hence the ambush. The rebels, whose intelligence department was much better managed than ours—they had spies everywhere—knowing exactly what was going to happen, had imagined that, through the General, whom, they believed, they could easily entrap, they might paralyse the action of the English, so far, at least, as to delay, for some days, the march of a detachment from Meerut.
They had, as we have seen, most grossly miscalculated. But, meanwhile, the firing had been heard at Meerut, and a gallant young officer, well known to the General, who had been burning to distinguish himself and to redeem the honour of the English arms, gained permission to go out and reconnoitre with a party of fifty horsemen.
It was late in the evening; but the moon was well up, and there was light enough to guide them to the scene of the little skirmish. It was over by the time they rode out upon the plain. The General and his men had taken their own vengeance; but, exhausted as they were, their chief wounded, their horses dead-beat, and their situation precarious—since, for all they knew to the contrary, the woods behind them might be full of rebels—the sight of this little band of their countrymen coming out to meet them was, beyond expression, cheering.
'They are not all dead then, thank God!' said the General. 'Two of you gallop out to meet them, boys, and tell them how it is with us.'
'Can you sit a horse, sir,' said Tommy, 'or shall we send for a litter?'
'Litter! Nonsense! I'm not going to give up the ghost yet,' said the old soldier, testily. 'But,' to himself, 'I shan't mind being at home. I believe the scoundrel spoke the truth so far. Poor little monkeys! I wonder which of them is hurt. Oh, God, if I had only listened to reason, and left them all at home!'
'Do you want anything, sir?' said one of his men, who saw him speaking, but could not catch his voice.
'No, thank you,' he answered, 'except to get away from this. Ah! here they are! Friends this time, not foes! Welcome, Bertie,' to the young officer, who had sprung from his horse, and was looking down upon him mournfully. 'Don't look so glum, you young rascal. They are safe?' sharply.
'Your people escaped, General. One of the young ladies was hurt, not seriously, I believe. Lady Elton has been in the most terrible state of anxiety.'
'No doubt! No doubt! Well, I shall hear all about it from themselves soon. Lift me into a saddle, Bertie. We'd better be moving.'
Kullum Khan, who was sobbing like a child, took the General under one arm, the young officer under the other, and in a few moments they had him mounted on the quietest and strongest of the horses, a trooper getting up behind him, to keep him in his place. Then, carrying the wounded Indians between them, the cavalcade set off across the plain.
The mango grove where the skirmish had begun was within three miles of Meerut; but as, for the sake of the wounded, they were obliged to move slowly, the transit took some time. Scouts, meanwhile, were thrown out in every direction, to keep the coasts clear, and warn them of danger. But there was not even an alarm. The combatants, as the General said grimly, were on their faces, and the non-combatants kept out of their way.
They came upon the outskirts of Meerut. The General was moaning heavily, with pain and anguish. There was nothing now to keep up his proud heart, and it fell.
He knew all the landmarks, and each one had some memory for him. There was the little grove where, one glorious evening, he and his men had picnicked when they came down upon Meerut from the Sikh war, to enjoy a little rest after the hardships of the campaign. How splendid they had looked, and how handy and helpful they were, living on next to nothing, and going through fatigue and privation that would have floored half a European regiment!
And now they were close on the cantonments. He had built several of the bungalows here and laid out their gardens—the mess-house for the officers of his regiment, the colonel's house, the spacious and beautiful bungalow, finished while he was in England, to which only a few weeks before he had brought his wife and children. This last was outside cantonments and nearer to the native lines than any other English house.
He remembered now, pacing slowly and sadly over the blackened ground, with the charred ruins of what had so lately been a happy home staring him in the face, how one or two had warned him that, in case of a rising, the situation would be dangerous, and how proudly he had smiled at the absurdity of the notion. 'While my family and I are in the station,' he said, 'a rising would be impossible, and I don't ask anyone else to occupy the house.' And now it was literally gutted.
As they were crossing what had been the garden of the General's bungalow, an old man came out from the ruins and confronted them. The young officer who, with drawn sword, was leading the cavalcade, would have swept him aside, but he cried out so piteously to be heard that the General, who was some yards behind, ordered that he should be brought to him.
'I think I know your voice,' he said.
'The Sahib should know,' replied the man, weeping bitterly; 'for I have served him these twenty years.'
'You are Yaseen Khan, my bearer.'
'I am Yaseen Khan, Sahib General, and my son Kullum——'
'I am here, Yaseen,' said the Sepoy from behind. 'I could not go on, and I slew Koolraj Sing, who tried to deceive me.'
'The gods be praised!' murmured the old man. 'Sahib, by the God you worship, I beseech you to take me on with you!'
'Why are you here, Yaseen Khan?' said the General.
'Have patience, Excellency, and I will tell you everything. They surrounded this house and set it on fire in three places. Then I ran to the lines and called my son, Kullum, who, with Soubahdar Sufder Jung and others, came up, and thebudmashesfled. Trixy Sahib was hurt; I know not how. They carried her in their arms—my son Kullum and the Soubahdar—as if she had been their own child. The others walked, for no carriage was to be found; but the men guarded them carefully, and not a hair of their heads was touched. I thought of the General Sahib's gold, and I went back to get it. I could not carry it away; but I buried it in a secret place. Then thebudmashescame round the house again, yelling like evil spirits. They found me, and said they would kill me if I did not find them gold. I said I would find it, and, in going, I escaped. I was close to them, Sahib, and I heard their cries. They would have torn me to pieces if they had found me; but there was an alarm. Some one said, "The Sahibs are coming!" and they ran out, and I saw and heard them no more. But I dared not move; I kept in hiding, waiting for your Honour's return, and living on the food I could pick up. For two days I have not eaten. Have pity on me, Sahib, and take me on!'
'Mount him on one of the horses, and bring him on behind me,' said the General. 'I believe that what he tells me is the truth.'
A few moments later they came upon the vedettes, and then, the young officer having answered the challenge, they entered the town.
Here the General insisted upon dismounting.
'I can't present myself to my wife and children in this guise,' he said. 'Dismiss your men to their quarters, Bertie, and let them find quarters for my men, and for the natives who were faithful. You give me your arm and we will find Lady Elton.'
The officer gave the necessary directions, adding, on his own account, that the surgeon of his regiment should be sent to the General's quarters, and they set off together, the General leaning heavily on the arm of his guide, and Yaseen Khan, the bearer, following them.
Lady Elton and her children were under canvas. They had preferred this arrangement to accepting shelter from any of the houses thrown open to them, and the Soubahdar and his men having succeeded in saving many of their things, they had been able already to give their new quarters a tolerably home-like appearance. It was only in this way—in exerting themselves to set things straight 'for father,' who, they felt sure, must come in soon—that the girls could keep their mother cheerful, or that any of them could chase away the terrible despondency and shuddering fear which would, at times, take possession of them. For upon these unfortunate ladies, bred up in the traditions of the old Anglo-Indian, who looked upon a native as a cross between a machine and an animal—a creature to be treated with kindly contempt when he behaved himself, and to be promptly licked into shape when he did not—the mutiny fell like a bolt of fire out of a clear sky. They had heard rumours of discontent, but nothing came of them. They were disposed to think that the repressive measures had not been sufficiently severe, and when on May 9 the mutineers of the 3rd Native Cavalry, who had been condemned by their own countrymen, and sentenced to ten years' imprisonment, were stripped of their uniform and put in irons, while sorry for the unhappy men who had been so miserably deluded, they believed that this one severe example would be sufficient, and that no more would be heard of mutiny. Lady Elton was fond of quoting her husband in those days. 'The General says all they want is firmness. They are the best fellows in the world when you take them the right way. He ought to know, for he has had so much experience.' And then Maud would repeat her saucy little phrase about the riding-whip, and the ladies, who had come to consult them, would go away reassured. 'You may depend upon it,' they would say, 'General Elton and his wife know more about these people than we do.'
To be awakened from this dream of security by the rattle of musketry from the lines; and, after a few minutes of terror-stricken silence, the tramp of armed men upon the plain, and the shock of contending forces, was terrible beyond description. How, stirred up by Yaseen Khan, who ran in hot haste for his son, they barricaded themselves into the innermost room of the bungalow, piling furniture against the doors to keep out the mutineers; how, sitting huddled together, clasped in one another's arms, they heard the defiant shouts and yells of rage come nearer and nearer; how Trixy, the first to recover presence of mind, climbed up to a peep-hole under the roof, and came back with the awful intelligence that the stables and kitchens were in flames; how they heard the wretches, who were mad with bhang and fanaticism, getting on to the roof; then the yell, when the thatch was torn aside, and one of the fierce creatures looked down on them; the screams of the girls, and brave little Trixy's pistol-shot, followed by a shriek from the first scoundrel, and a shot from the man behind him, which brought the poor girl to the ground,—all this lives still in these poor women's remembrance as a dream of horror!
They were rescued as we have seen. Those surrounding the General's house werebudmashesfrom the bazaars and the criminals who had rushed out when the gaol doors were opened, and at the approach of the disciplined force under Soubahdar Sufder Jung every one of them took to their heels. The ladies, half dead with fright, and some of their choicest possessions, were escorted safely to the English barracks, where they lodged that night. Then began that weary waiting-time, which to poor Lady Elton was even worse than the scene of horror through which they had passed. Her husband was away. She had not heard from him for some days, and did not know where he was. Her beloved eldest daughter Grace and her niece, only lately married, were in the heart of a district said to be unsettled before, and which now, when this terrible news from Meerut went abroad, would be almost certain to rise. She had friends at Cawnpore, friends at Delhi, friends at Jhansi. None of them all were so well guarded as they of Meerut. If massacre and destruction could run riot here, what would it be there?
Day by day she looked for her husband's arrival. She never feared for his personal safety. She had still the firmest belief in his power over the native soldiery; but if he came something might be done. For this made one element in the misery of the old soldier's wife and daughters. Nothing was being done. 'If I were in command here,' Trixy would say, clenching her little fists, 'not one of those brutes should have reached Delhi. Bertie Liston says the men were burning to be off. He could scarcely keep them quiet. I think I should have let them go—gone with them.'
'Trixy is a great warrior since she fired that pistol,' said Maud; 'but, seriously, mother, don't you think something ought to be done?'
'My dear children, be patient! We are women. We know nothing. Soldiers must obey orders,' said Lady Elton sadly. 'If your father would only come!'
'He will come soon, mother darling, don't be afraid,' said gentle little Lucy.
Some such conversation as this had taken place on the afternoon of the day when firing was heard outside the walls. The five women heard it distinctly as they sat over their tea in the tent. Then Bertie Liston came rushing in with a radiant face. 'Good-bye,' he said, 'I am sent out to reconnoitre. What will you give me if I bring you back the General?'
'Anything, everything—all we have,' cried Trixy impulsively. She was lying on a charpoy, for she had not yet recovered from her wound. Bertie looked at her, and her pale face flushed; but there was time for no more words. He went out: she heard his horse's hoofs clattering over the paving-stones in the compound of the barracks, and covering her face with her hands she burst into tears.
An hour or more passed by. The firing outside had ceased. Nothing could be heard but the pacing of the sentinels and the chowkedars crying out one to the other. Darkness had fallen; but the little company in the tent did not stir. Then Maud, crying out that she could stand it no longer, lighted a lamp; Trixy, who was very much ashamed of her little outburst, asked for a book, and Lady Elton fell back upon her never-failing resource—the silk stockings she was knitting for the General. 'Do you think, dears,' she said to the two youngest girls, Lucy and Mildred, 'that you could sing one of your duets? If father did come home to-night, it would please him to hear your voices.' They said they would try, and in a few moments their sweet clear young voices rose above the stillness. It was one of the sentimental ditties that we used to admire in those days, neither the words of the song nor the music to which it was set of a particularly high order; but as, supported by his young friend, the old General approached the lighted tent, and heard in his girls' sweet voices of wild waves whispering and red roses fading away, his heart thrilled with a rapture such as no artistic music could have given. 'Bless them,' he said, in a low and heartfelt voice. 'All right, isn't it, Bertie? They couldn't sing like that if the shock had been too much for them. There! what an old donkey I am! I knew the children had the pluck of—Come on, Bertie. They are stopping. They hear us. Back, Yaseen Khan, you old fool! I don't want you to announce me.'
And now the curtain before the tent is thrown aside, and he sees them—his sweet wife and the children, who are dearer to him than his life, and his stern eyes fill with tears, and the voice of thunder, which only a few moments before had roared out defiance to a hundred foes, is as weak as that of a little child. 'Well, here I am! How are you all?' he says, feebly.
He is in the gloom; they are in the light. They have not seen, but they have heard. In a moment they spring up, all but poor Trixy, who is crying quietly, and there are cries of 'Wilfrid! Thank God! Father! Father!' And a little voice from the corner is heard to say, 'Bertie has brought him. Don't let Bertie go away!'
All at once there is a lull. They have drawn him under the light, and they see that his face is pale and drawn, and one of them discovers that his arm is roughly bandaged. 'Father has been wounded. Children, don't press round him so,' cries Lady Elton. 'Will some one run for a doctor?'
'The Doctor Sahib is here,' says a voice outside; a quiet voice, which contrasts strangely with the agitated tones of those within the tent. In the next instant Yaseen Khan, the bearer, clad in snow-white tunic and dhootie, and having on his head a voluminous turban—how he had set himself in order no one ever knew—steps forward, and having, with his usual dignity, saluted those in the tent, ushers in the doctor.
Then from that irrepressible little person in the corner there comes a peal of laughter. 'Bravo, Yaseen Khan!' she cries. 'You are decidedly master of the situation. Have you been hiding yourself in a band-box all this time, you most unconscionable old man?'
Yaseen Khan merely salaams and smiles. He is busy attending to his master, and has no time for banter.
It was on that very night, the night of the 23rd of May, that Hoosanee returned to Gumilcund, after his unsuccessful effort to save Grace Elton and her cousin. He reported himself to his master at once, and gave an account of what he had done. It was his opinion that the rising at Nowgong would be speedy and cruel. Many of the Sahibs, he said, were disliked by the people and soldiers, and would not be spared. He did not venture to repeat his conversation with the chuprassie; but he said that he believed there was one servant in the Captain Sahib's service who might be trusted. 'The lotus-eyed,' he averred, must be saved at all hazards, and he offered, should his master desire it, to go to the station again, and to linger about in disguise, watching over her, until the danger was over, or the rising had come. In case of a rising, he would provide for some temporary refuge in the neighbourhood, whence, if they could not escape in any other way, his master would fetch them at the point of the sword.
Tom agreed to the proposal, suggesting only that he should go in place of Hoosanee; or, if that were impossible, that they should go together. But both his servant and Chunder Singh, who was present, pointed out to him so clearly that his presence, instead of helping, might spoil everything, that he was obliged to give way. Hoosanee should have the honour and joy of watching over the sweetest woman on all the earth; Chunder Singh should hold himself in readiness to obey the first summons to arms, and Tom had spies posted in the different villages on the route between Nowgong and Gumilcund, so that Hoosanee's messages might be passed on from one to another, and that help could reach him speedily.
He was himself meditating a dangerous enterprise, nothing less than marching into Jhansi alone, presenting himself before the Ranee, and persuading her, under promise of his personal support, and his influence with the Government in case of her failure—for he had now certain knowledge that she intended soon to raise the standard of revolt—to allow him to carry off to Gumilcund the English women and children in the station.
But many things had to be done before he could start. June was nearly in when, riding Snow-queen, and dressed as an Indian of rank, he left Gumilcund. In despite of all Chunder Singh urged to the contrary, he was unattended, it being his belief that the Ranee would be more likely to listen to him if he entered her palace alone.
The hot season being well in, he travelled principally at night, resting by day in a grove or peasant's hut. He was treated with consideration everywhere. Now and then a greybeard would reprove him for travelling so heedlessly in these unsettled times, and once or twice he was asked his business. To this he would answer that he was a kinsman of the Ranee of Jhansi, and that she had sent for him; but that what her will was he knew not. Everything, in fact, went well, so that, but for the adventure I am about to relate, he would have been in Jhansi before the rising; and it is just possible that, by his influence, the memory of a proud and not ungenerous woman would have been saved from a foul blot, and many innocent people delivered from destruction.
He came to within a few miles of the borders of Jhansi. For the last two days he had been pressing his pace, for sinister rumours were abroad, and he feared to be too late. But there had been terrible rain, and the ways were miry, and Snow-queen was hanging her head dejectedly. For her sake rather than his own he determined to rest for a few hours. There was a village close by. He rode in slowly, and asked for the house of the headman, where, after a little parley, he was allowed to rest, while he watched his horse being fed and watered.
He was on the little mud platform in front of the house. Snow-queen was tethered close by. It was mid-day and the place was silent as the grave, so that presently, in spite of strenuous efforts to hold his eyes open, he fell into a dog's sleep. How long it lasted he could not tell. He was aroused by the trampling of feet and clamour of many voices. He sprang up, and, almost at the same moment, the headman came to him, with a strange look in his eyes.
'You must go on,' he said, 'the Ranee is here.'
'Ranee—what ranee—of Jhansi?' he asked.
'I know not,' the man answered; 'but we want this place.'
'And you shall have it. I am ready to go on,' answered Tom. 'First let me pay you for your trouble.'
The man took the money hurriedly, and Tom turned aside to where he had left Snow-queen, and vaulted into the saddle. He had scarcely done so before the foremost of the troop of horsemen that were clattering through the village came up with him and seized his bridle-rein.
'What do you want with me?' said Tom, trying to free himself.
In a trice two or three more rode up, and he found himself surrounded.
'Now, then,' he cried out, angrily. 'What is the meaning of this?'
'Our lady, the Ranee, would have speech with you, sir stranger,' said the first of the troop.
'Where is she; and what does she mean by stopping a peaceful traveller?'
'You are alone. She has armed men at her back,' said the horseman cynically. 'But she means you no hurt. You had better come quietly.'
'Loose my bridle-rein, then,' cried the young rajah. 'And you,' to the two or three ragged-looking figures that were crowding about him, 'fall back!'
They obeyed and he went forward slowly, with all the dignity he could command. Had he seen any chance of escape, he would have given a touch to Snow-queen, and in a few moments she would have shown them a clean pair of heels. But he was not in open ground; he was in the long straggling street of the village, with horsemen in front of him and horsemen behind, and there was no possibility of getting away. Wit, he felt, must serve him for strength, and if, as these men had said, their leader was really a woman, he did not doubt that he would be able so far to humour her as to be allowed to proceed.
Presently he lifted up his eyes and saw her. She was in the midst of the cavalcade, borne in an open palanquin, and covered from head to foot in a saree of black gauze richly spangled with gold.
As he approached, the men-at-arms who accompanied her separating to right and left to let him pass, she ordered her bearers to stop. Tom drew up in front of her and made a low salute. He could not discern the features of the lady's face; but he saw enough to make him sure that she was not the Ranee of Jhansi. A few seconds passed. He would not speak until she addressed him; he sat with head bowed humbly, after the Oriental fashion, while the piercing eyes behind the black and gold saree looked him through and through.
Then came a curious and unexpected shock. She was speaking. He thought, at least, that she was speaking; but he could not be quite sure that his senses had not deceived him. For this high, clear voice, winged, to his fancy, with mockery, was not, certainly, the voice of one of the daughters of the land. Yet the language was the supple Urdu that the educated natives use.
'Who are you, sir stranger? And what brings you to our dominions?' she said.
He gave an involuntary start, then answered, bowing low, 'Were it not that the whole world is under the dominion of beauty, I might ask my gracious lady her right to stop the traveller on his journey. As it is, I bow to her will. I am a kinsman of the Ranee of Jhansi, and I go in hot haste to confer with her on the strange portents of the time.'
From behind the saree came a sound like the repressed gurgle of laughter; but it was stopped instantly, and the high, disdainful voice went on. 'I believe that you are lying, sir stranger; but the truth of your saying shall be proved. We, too, propose to visit our sister of Jhansi. Remain you with our escort, and we will take you in with us. If you are really what you profess to be, the delay will be of no account to you, and you may save your skin.'
'My skin is not of so much account to me that, for its sake, I should neglect my duty. The business on which I have come is urgent, and I cannot delay. Will your Highness permit me to take my leave?'
There was another suppressed gurgle. He could have sworn, moreover, that from under the black and gold gauze there came a little English 'No'; but in the next moment he thought that his fancy must have been playing tricks with him, for the veiled lady was speaking in stern, slow accents.
'I will not permit you to leave us. Fall back, and take your place amongst my men.'
'Your Highness——'
'Silence! I have listened to you long enough. Abdul, seize his bridle-rein. If he resists, dismount him, and bring him on foot.'
Seeing that there was, for the moment, no possibility of successful resistance, Tom fell back amongst the escort, who, so long as he walked on with them quietly, did not seem disposed to show him any violence.
The headman of the village came out, meanwhile, to meet them, bringing provisions, and laying himself and all he possessed at the feet of the Ranee. She accepted his homage, but did not deign to speak to him, and, after halting for a few moments, she ordered her bearers and escort to proceed.
Tom had been longing to leave the village, for he thought that, on the open ground, he might easily escape; but he found himself so closely watched, that no such effort was practicable. Reluctantly he made up his mind to wait until the night.
He had gone over this ground before, making himself well acquainted with the bearings of the country, and when, soon after leaving the village, the leaders of the cavalcade swung round to the left, he knew perfectly well that they were going away from Jhansi, and not towards it. This he said to Abdul, but he was vouchsafed no answer. Tired and irritated, wondering what was to be the end of this strange adventure, and blaming himself bitterly for having halted when he was almost within a stone's throw of his goal, he went on the way he was led.
It was afternoon when the veiled lady met him, and they tramped on until nightfall.
By this time, so far as Tom, who had begun to lose his bearings, could judge, they were many miles distant from Jhansi. They encamped in open ground, there being no village or grove of trees at hand. A tent was pitched for the lady, who had been travelling for some time with the curtains of her palanquin closed. Tom, who felt that she was dealing treacherously with him, and who was haunted, moreover, by a bewildering suspicion that she was something very different from what she gave herself out to be, made an effort, when the cavalcade halted, to spring forward from his place in the rear, that he might speak to her, or at least catch a glimpse of her figure; but the fierce and burly Abdul placed himself in front of him. The vigilance of this man had never for one moment faltered, and it was evident to Tom that he was keeping up the other men to their duty of watchfulness.
Thinking it well to appear submissive, he dismounted with the rest of the horsemen, tethered and fed Snow-queen, and joined one of the groups that were assembled round the little fires that had been lighted to cook the men's evening meal. A place was made for him, and he was given a supper of chupatties and dal, which, as he was simulating the manners of a person of high rank, he received in his own bowl, retiring a few yards distant from his attendants to eat it.
Then he returned to the spot where he had left Snow-queen, wrapped himself up in his chuddah, and, with his back propped against the tree to which she was tethered, fell into a deep sleep.
Tom was one of those favoured mortals who have the gift of sleep. No matter how anxious and harassed he might have been in the daytime, night always brought him peace and refreshment. Afterwards he thought of it as a strange thing. Here he was alone in the midst of strangers. What they wanted with him he did not know; but he knew full well that he had upon his person what, if they discovered it, would tempt their cupidity past any reasonable limit of endurance; he knew also that he had a great stake to fight for, and a hard problem to solve, and yet he slept—slept as peacefully as if he had been in his own little room in the cottage that looked down upon the silver Thames.
Two hours passed away. His attendants had looked at him several times, and, at last, being satisfied of his perfect unconsciousness, they had followed his example, and now no one but Abdul was awake.
Abdul had received his orders. He was to watch over the prisoner, but not to molest him in any way; he knew very well that, if he were detected in any attempt at outrage or robbery, he would pay the forfeit of his life for the crime; but the stillness of the moment and the perfect unconsciousness of the sleeping man were too much for his prudence. He would not hurt him. That would be to betray himself; but he would cautiously feel about him to see if he had valuables concealed in his sash or turban. If he had not, no harm was done. If he had, and if Abdul purloined them, then Abdul would be so much the richer, and the high-born youth, who would not venture, surrounded as he was by hostile strangers, to make any ado about his loss, would be the poorer. And that would be all.
Thinking thus he crept closer to Tom, and, having softly drawn his chuddah aside began to finger his fine satin tunic. Once or twice the sleeping youth stirred, and then the robber drew back, but supposing himself in a dream, he settled down again, and Abdul went on with his work. The heart of the robber was jubilant and his fingers were light, for he was sure now that there was gold in the youth's waistband, gold which would soon be transferred to his own. The gold was almost within his grasp, he heard its jingle, his long fingers swept it, as they moved to and fro. Why then did he stop suddenly and draw back? Had he seen the youth's breast and shoulders white in the moonlight, and did he recognise him as one of the hated race, whom, in a few short weeks, the children of the Prophet would scatter and slay? But this should have given him courage, for he knew very well that he had but to say that a Feringhee spy had entered the camp, and the youth whom he purposed to rob would have his lips sealed effectually. Surely it was something more that stayed Abdul's hand. And, in that moment's pause, his prey escaped him. Strong, and with all his wits about him, Tom awoke; seeing his chuddah and tunic open, and Abdul glaring at him, like a startled wild animal, he sprang to his feet and struck out with the dagger which he carried in his belt.
At the same moment the robber was smitten from behind. As, with a muttered cry, he fell to the ground, a voice broke upon the stillness of the camp: 'So the White Ranee punishes treachery. Let all take notice and beware!'
As for Tom, he laid himself down again, not to sleep this time, but to watch. There was, however, no further alarm, nor, when, long before dawn, the camp began to stir and the morning fires were lighted, was any remark made with regard to the incident of the night. A narrow trench was dug; the robber was laid in it, and, once more, the cavalcade moved forward. Throughout that day they went on steadily. The prisoner was continually on the alert, but he was given no chance either of escaping or of speaking to the veiled lady in the litter. His passionate irritation over the delay grew, meanwhile, to such a height, that he was on the point once or twice of making some mad effort that would have had the effect of either seriously jeopardising his life or putting fetters on his limbs. That he restrained himself was due not so much to prudence as to fatality. He could never find a moment when his will-power and his surroundings leapt together. When he might have acted he could not. When all his nerves were braced and the blood coursed like fire about his heart, something would always happen to make action impossible. So, with throbbing brain and a heart as heavy as lead, he travelled on. Every hour was taking them further away from Jhansi, and nearer Gumilcund, although they were not shaping their course directly for the last-named city. The men were reticent before him, but he gathered from a stray word here and there that they were themselves uncertain about their movements, which would depend upon the result of an enterprise undertaken by some of their comrades.
Towards mid-day they halted, and a man, who appeared to be a moulvie, or priest, joined them, was admitted to the tent, and held a conference with the lady, travelling on with the cavalcade as far as the next village, where he took his leave. What news he brought Tom did not hear, but he judged from the jubilant faces of the men, and the laughter and rude jests, some of which made his blood curdle, that there had been another triumph over the Europeans, and that these men were expecting to share in its results.
Evening came and they halted again. It was in the neighbourhood of a large village, to the right of which stretched a mere or shallow pond, half covered with red pond-weed and overshadowed with some fine acacia and fig trees. By order of the lady in the litter, her tent, which always formed the centre of the camp, was pitched on the shores of the mere, being separated from the village by its waters.
Immediately the men unsaddled, tethered and fed their horses, and lighted their evening fires. The villagers, meanwhile, who were hiding behind every tree and angle of wall, having satisfied themselves that those in camp had no hostile intentions, poled themselves over the mere in flat-bottomed boats, bringing with them fruit and vegetables, and grain and milk, so that presently the camp was like a fair.
Sitting by the mere, and listening absently to the jabber and turmoil of the camp, where buying and selling and wrangling and gossiping were going briskly forward, Tom watched the curious scene. He was trying to devise some scheme either of escape or of making his situation known to Chunder Singh, when, suddenly, and in obedience to no act of volition of his own, so at least it seemed to himself, the current of his thought changed. It darted upon him with the force of an electric current that the scene upon which he was gazing was not new. The livid sky behind the mud walls of the village, the blood-red pavement at his feet, the fierce dark faces about him, surely, in some other life, he had seen them before. A moment more, and he remembered. He was living again over the strange night when all the conditions of his life were changed; his feet trod the banks of the stream that washed the gardens of his tranquil home; the dawn, the sweet dawn of an English June, was breaking, and the trees that he knew and loved were swaying to and fro over his head to the delicious breeze of the morning.Thenhe had seenthis! It was his dream, his very dream; but not all!
The effect upon his mind was overpowering. His strength, and the presence of mind, upon which he had always relied, seemed to be oozing away. Fate! Fate! and no hand of man was fighting against him! What could he do but submit? Shuddering, he covered his face with his hands. He must hide it away. He must forget. He must clear his mind from the stupefaction that was stealing over it, or all would be lost. But it was in vain, for, with his every effort, he seemed only to sink more deeply into despondency and bewilderment.