How little did any of the party dream that, at that very moment, Ramsurun Duss and his six murderous Ghoojurs were crouching near the entrance, impatiently waiting for him and his companions to come within range of their guns!
Dr. Avery led the way down the steps into the gloom of the underground passage. Pausing there, he struck a match, and then helped Marian to follow him. Her parents came next, the breadth of the tunnel allowing each couple to walk side by side.
"Close the door after you," said Avery, "for as likely as not there will be a search through the temple for us. Is there any means of fastening it?"
"There is not, fortunately."
"Why do you say fortunately?"
"If there was, do you suppose it would have been left so that we could open it?"
"The point of order is well taken," remarked the surgeon, whose spirits rose with the prospect before them.
Avery deemed it best to walk in front of Marian, so that if any slip took place it should not involve her. He kept burning matches at brief intervals, until they had progressed so far that Mr. Hildreth suggested that the light might attract attention from the other end of the passage way.
The tiny flame was allowed to flicker out, and for a time the journey was pushed in darkness. The surgeon's outstretched arms and shuffling feet could find no irregularity in the admirably made tunnel, which must have been constructed by some master mason of ancient times.
It has been stated that the distance from the ruined temple to the river was about two hundred yards, so that the subterranean passage was undoubtedly the same. When it seemed to Dr. Avery that he had gone that distance, he walked more slowly, and felt his way with extreme care.
At this juncture all the party heard the soft flow of water but a short distance beyond.
"I see a faint light," said Marian, touching the arm of the doctor just in front of her.
"It is the starlight at the mouth of the tunnel: this is a good time to strike another match."
All stood still while their leader rasped the phosphorus against the dry cement at his side. The tiny light did not give the view they sought, but it showed there was no need of stopping on the way.
Fifty feet further and the end of the tunnel was reached. They emerged from the mouth close to the river, wondering why it was they found no means of closing the entrance. It must have been hidden in some way, since one of the essentials of underground passages is secrecy. A moment later it was observed that there was quite a growth of vegetation around the mouth, which was not likely to be observed from the river or bank above.
The most natural thing to do first was to learn whether any of their foes were in sight. So far as they could see none of the Ghoojurs was within call, and the little company made their way to the water's edge, where they dipped up enough with their hands to quench their thirst.
"We have been fortunate beyond our deserts," said Mr. Hildreth, "and I have an abiding faith that we shall be delivered from all our perils. Luchman instructed us to approach the river bank a quarter of a mile above, but we have been unable to follow his directions, since the tunnel does not trend that way."
"We can soon reach the place which we may consider our starting point. Let's be off, for this is a chance that will not come a second time."
The stream upon whose bank they stood was insignificant at that time, though during the rainy season it was a huge muddy volume rolling tumultuously over the entire bed. The shore was dry and sandy, with trees scattered at rare intervals, the river showing the peculiarity that strikes the traveler in ascending the Ganges for the first time. The bed over which the water flowed was so soft and free from obstructions that the current made hardly any sound at all.
Like the Ganges, too, the waters were turbid, but the fugitives gladly drank from them. Possibly in time they might have acquired a liking for its roiled current, as do those who voyage up and down our own Mississippi.
Luchman had told them to lose no time, but to push on without thought of him. It was important, above everything else, to lessen the distance between them and Kurnal, and the few hours thus gained more than likely would be decisive of their fate.
All this time the Ghoojurs were squatted near the entrance to the temple, awaiting the coming of the fugitives.
The long, enforced rest made the exercise of walking acceptable to each, even though the night was suffocatingly hot. Mrs. Hildreth told her friends to feel no anxiety because of her, as she was able to walk a long way.
They followed the stream rather than any beaten path. Since the course of that in its upper portion was north and south, any one who traveled toward its source must draw near Kurnal.
A couple of miles further, they were startled by the appearance of a small boat, which shot around a curve in the stream above, and was upon them before they were aware. It contained five or six men, who were doubtless fully armed.
The fugitives could do nothing except to hide behind a clump of peepul trees, and hope for the best. The stream was so shallow that the occupants of the craft seemed to devote their whole efforts to prevent it from sticking fast on the numerous bars. It was this fact probably that prevented them catching sight of the figures on shore. The latter moved on as soon as the danger was past, and kept in the shelter of trees whenever possible. In this they were favored by the great number of groves which are scattered all through India, planted many years before by wealthy men, who thought thus to obtain enough merit to outweigh just such atrocities as their descendants were then committing.
The night was a memorable one to the fugitives, pushing steadily northward, knowing that in front was safety and behind was death. There had been other nights of more dangerous adventure, but somehow the feeling was within all that this was the crisis of their long and trying wanderings.
Directly in the east the glare of some conflagration was thrown against the sky. It was not far off, and it may have had no special significance, but to the fleeing fugitives it seemed to be a part of the lurid drama just opening, before which the whole civilized world was to stand aghast.
The friends indulged in little conversation, for all were oppressed with anxious thought. Where the nature of the ground permitted, Avery drew the arm of Marian within his own, and husband and wife did the same, for they were an example of beautiful love that grew brighter with the passage of years.
Eager as they were to push on they could not escape the enervating effect of the temperature, which at times seemed as if it would smother them. There are days and nights in the Deccan and other parts of India when only a salamander can be considered proof against the extreme heat.
All were moving languidly along, suffering greatly, when the missionary was overcome by a faintness which plainly was the result of the high temperature. It was a warning that it was death to disregard, and he knew it. Without any evidence of alarm he told his friends that he would have to ask them to allow him to rest for a brief while.
Fortunately, they were on the edge of a large grove at the time. Avery thought there was little to be feared from wild beasts, the monkeys, though in great numbers, being harmless. They sat down near the margin, where they decided to stay till morning, which could not be far away.
The elderly gentleman felt very ill, but he did not let the others know it, and they did not suspect that anything serious was the matter with him. He parried their inquiries so well that they concluded he needed nothing but rest. When he lay down on the ground and sank into slumber no one had a doubt that he would not be fully recovered in the morning. It may as well be said that they were not disappointed.
The night was well spent, and Dr. Avery told his friends to make themselves as comfortable as they could, for he intended to stay where they were until dawn.
But with such a smothering temperature comfort was out of the question. The leaves over their heads did not give out the faintest rustle, and the heat was of that trying nature which causes a person when sitting still to feel the perspiration trickling down his body, while the oppressed chest vainly seeks relief by means of deep, long drawn sighs.
The ladies spread their shawls on the ground, and Marian, resting her head against the tree behind her, compelled her mother to place hers in her lap. In this posture they at last fell asleep, and were not awakened until daylight. It was much the same with the missionary.
It was different, however, with Dr. Avery. He seemed to need little more sleep than Luchman himself, and he was so wide awake that he felt slumber was out of the question, no matter how hard he might try to woo it. So it was unnecessary to walk back and forth as he did while guarding the temple. With both guns at his side he threw himself upon the ground at the edge of the grove, while the other three were sleeping just within it.
"Confound it!" he growled, mopping his forehead; "talk about the Upper Nile and the Red Sea being hot, they can't beat this, for if they did no one would ever live to tell of it. If England had to live in India she would give her up in a jiffy. Now what would I do without this?"
Drawing a hookah from his pocket, he filled it with the tobacco which Luchman had procured for him at the same time, and, striking a match, smoked with the slow, deliberate enjoyment which cannot be appreciated by one who does not love the weed.
"My supply is rather scant, and this doesn't equal the cheroots I brought from Calcutta, but it beats nothing by a thousand per cent. It is such a solace in these horrible nights that I pity those who don't use it. How nice now it would be if Mr. Hildreth could enjoy a good pipe, and what a comfort for Mrs. Hildreth and Marian—Ah!" he exclaimed, "I must draw the linethere."
He smoked until there were ashes only, when he refilled the cocoanut bowl.
"Kurnal isn't such a great distance from Delhi," he added, his thoughts drifting in another direction, "and it seems to me we have journeyed far enough to reach it, but I suppose our course has not always been a direct one—I declare!" he muttered, looking around in the grove, "I've heard that noise a dozen times; what can it mean?"
A low, tremulous whistle sounded on the still night, as it had sounded several times. Rising to his feet, Dr. Avery returned the call, which was immediately repeated. Several exchanges followed, and then Luchman walked forward, and the two cordially greeted each other.
"That was the very signal we agreed upon," remarked the surgeon; "but I forgot all about it until I heard it several times."
In answer to the inquiries of the guide, Avery said that the family of the missionary were sleeping but a few yards away, while he was acting as sentinel—a stupid one, he confessed—but thus far everything had gone well.
Luchman listened with interest to the story of his friend, after which he told his own. When he entered the temple he found that Wana Affghar had betrayed him, and he resolved that, come what might, he would slay the perfidious miscreant, no matter what the consequences to himself might be.
By means of lighted matches he examined the well trodden soil in front of the arched way, but was surprised when he failed to find the delicate imprint of the ladies' shoes leading outward. He began to think matters might not be as bad as he supposed. Then came the suspicion he had entertained all along, namely that there was underground communication with the temple, and that providentially the fugitives had availed themselves of it.
Hurrying to the stream, it did not take him long to learn the thrilling truth: there in the soft soil he saw the tracks of the two men and the two ladies.
Luchman was happy again, and, despite the frightful temperature, he pressed on with greater ardor than before. He saw that while Wana Affghar had played him traitor, Heaven had brought his schemes to naught.
"Won't he pursue us when he finds we are gone?" asked the doctor.
"No; the distance is too far; he knows he cannot overtake us. Besides, it was the diamond, not we, that he was seeking."
"What a pity he should have got it after playing us false!"
"Without it, sahib, we could not have got away."
"I know that, but he is entitled to no thanks therefor: he broke his pledge to us. But it is too late now to remedy it. A fortune has gone, but what would not a man give for his life? Perhaps, Luchman, some day you may get the Star of India back."
The native made no reply, but there were strange thoughts filtering through his brain—thoughts which he kept to himself, but the time came when they were known to Dr. Avery.
"What is to be our course?" asked the latter, observing that his friend did not wish to talk about the diamond. "Shall we follow the stream to its source?"
"No, sahib, since it makes a turn to the west a few miles further on, and we shall have to leave it. But the task is easier now than at any time since we left the Cashmere Gate."
"In what respect?"
"We can follow paths through the jungle, since it extends to within four miles of Kurnal, and we may get a ride with some ryot, that will give the ladies help on their way."
"But will that be safe?"
"We would have had little trouble after leaving Delhi, sahib, had we been fugitives like the others were. All our peril, if you will pause to think, came mainly from Wana Affghar of Puneput and his Ghoojurs: that was not because he wanted us, but because he sought the Star of India. He has been following me more than a year; had you taken one direction and I another he would have paid no heed to you, but followed me. He will follow me no more."
"It is near morning, is it not, Luchman?"
"It is, sahib; it is growing light now; the people will need food; stay here till I bring it to them."
Before the rest of the fugitives awoke Luchman came back.
"I have found a hut, sahib, where we can get all we want."
"Why didn't you get it, then?"
"It will be more pleasant for the ladies to go there; they can bathe if they choose, attend to their toilet, and be in a house while the hot wind is blowing."
"Is the hut along the main highway?"
"It is some way back from the village, where there can be no danger to any of them. I shall urge the ladies to go there."
"They will not need much urging."
By the time it was light all the parties were awake, and they warmly greeted Luchman, whose escape from Wana Affghar was hardly less striking than their own.
When he explained about the hut they were glad to act upon his invitation, for it can be understood how acceptable such accommodations are to persons whose experience is like theirs.
The mud house was occupied by a man, his wife and two children, all of whom thought themselves highly honored by receiving such visitors beneath their roof. The simple people had never before been spoken to by a foreign lady.
The dwelling was a tidy one with two rooms. It was made of sun dried bricks, thatched with corn stalks, but to the refugees it was a palace, after their toil and sufferings. The low caste of the native permitted him to supply them with food and entertainment. From the neighboring well he drew the water for bathing, while his wife ground the grain in a hand mill, and soon supplied her guests with chuppaties and a kind of grain porridge known as dalbhat. This simple food, eaten in safety, was delicious and nourishing.
The furniture of the house consisted of a charpoy or native bedstead and some cooking utensils. Outside, under the shade of a mango tree, was another charpoy, which was used for a seat during the day.
While our friends were seated on the ground, eating their simple meal, the housewife stood over them with a dried palm leaf, which she used deftly as a fan, thus enabling her visitors to eat in comfort. Having been accustomed in their own home to the huge punkahs, suspended from the ceiling and kept going day and night during the burning season, and having undergone such misery on the way to this primitive hut, it can well be understood how grateful the service of the housewife was to the weary fugitives.
The ladies spent as much of the day in slumber as they could, for they expected to travel during the entire night. Dr. Avery tumbled into the charpoy under the tree outside, but tumbled out again when he found that a venomous serpent had pre-empted it.
"The mischief take the snakes!" he growled with a shiver; "you never know where to look for them in India except just where you don't want to find them. We have escaped them thus far, and that particular pest is doomed."
After some manipulation Avery wriggled out the reptile with the aid of a long stick, and dispatched it. Making certain that none of its friends remained in the charpoy, he rolled into it, and slept until the afternoon was gone.
When the day was drawing to a close, the gentle housewife prepared the evening meal for them. As she moved about, she was accompanied by a musical tinkle from her toe rings and the jingle of her bracelets and amulets on her ever busy arms.
Shortly after the evening meal was finished, it was noticed that Luchman was absent, and there was some wonder expressed as to the cause. There was no misgiving, however, as he had the faculty of being on hand whenever needed.
A liberal gift of money was made to the natives, who were profuse in their thanks, and urged their visitors to come to see them again, and to spend many weeks under their humble roof.
The good missionary was improving the occasion by telling them of the claims and beauties of the Christian religion, when he was startled by the sound of wagon wheels in the road, which it will be remembered was some distance away.
Instantly he and his friends retreated within the house, and with no little apprehension peered out at the suspicious vehicle.
The next minute all laughed heartily.
They saw a large cart, drawn by a couple of hump shouldered oxen, and occupied by a single individual as superintendent of motive power. The name of the individual was Luchman.
He did not explain by what means he had acquired the property, but there can be no doubt that it was by honest purchase.
The entire party speedily entered the vehicle, and, after profound salaams from the native and his wife to the "Guriparwan" or protectors of the poor, headed northward toward Kurnal.
The journey was not without incident, but nothing of a serious nature took place. The sight of a native driving such a cart, and accompanied by several others who seemed to be natives, was so common as to attract little notice. They were beyond the ring of fire that encircled Delhi, and the next day they reached the little town where the position of the British government was so strong that it may be said all peril of the flight from the capital of the newly proclaimed Mogul Empire was at an end.
This narrative touches only the fringe of the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857. Its subsequent history is written in letters of flame. Never has the world witnessed such scenes of atrocity, perfidy and massacre as swept over India during those lurid months, when the legions of darkness were loosed for a season.
The Mogul Empire was proclaimed at Delhi in May. On the last day of the same month took place the mutiny at Cawnpore; the city was invested by Nana Sahib on the 6th of June; it surrendered twenty days later, and the garrison were butchered the next day. On the 16th of July, General Havelock was so close that the most awful massacre of all (that of the women and children) was perpetrated and Nana Sahib withdrew, Havelock relieving it the it the day following.
The principal massacres down to the close of July were at Mutta, Delhi, Lucknow, Bareilly, Neemuch, Fyzabad and Cawnpore.
But the wail of British India was borne across the thousands of miles of land and sea to England, who arose in the might of her wrath and sent her veterans of the Crimea to visit retribution on the merciless Sepoys. In the face of a flaming climate, malignant disease and wholesale treachery on every hand, her heroes hurled themselves against the united Hindoos and Mussulmans, and her vengeance was all the more terrible because it was delayed.
Delhi, the Mogul capital, was invested by General Barnard on June 8, assaulted September 14, and captured on the 20th. The wretched puppet, Mohammed Suraj-oo-deen Shah Gezee, over four score years old, fled before the furious hosts. He was pursued and captured by Captain Hodson, who promised his life in case of surrender. On the same day, two sons and one grandson of the Emperor, all three among the leading demons of the numerous atrocities, were shot dead by Captain Hodson with his revolver, as they were sitting in a carriage, surrounded by a frenzied mob that was about to rescue them.
Order having been ultimately restored in Delhi, a military commission was appointed to try such leading mutineers as had been captured in or near the city. Such commissions generally convict, and by the sentence of this one twenty members of the Delhi royal family were executed, together with a number of red handed Ghoojur chiefs.
In the month of January, the King himself was put on trial. He was found guilty of each of the four charges alleged against him, the penalty of which is death as a traitor and felon, but, because of the assurance given at the time of his surrender to Captain Hodson, he was sentenced to a life transportation to the Andaman Islands. This was changed to British Kaffraria, and this in turn to a station in British Burmah, known as Tonghoo, some three hundred miles inland from Rangoon, where he arrived on the 9th of December, 1858. And there, in 1861, miserably ended the career of the last sovereign of the race of Timur.
Nana Sahib was the leading fiend in the Sepoy Mutiny. His ultimate fate will never be known. The British government offered a reward of a lac of rupees (fifty thousand dollars) for his capture, and several persons were arrested because of their resemblance to him. It was reported that he had crossed the Himalayas, and found refuge among the tribes to the north. It was claimed that he was afterwards seen in different parts of Hindostan, while others were convinced that he was killed during the closing scenes of the insurrection. Strange as it may seem, there are people today in India who believe that Nana is still alive, so changed by years and so disguised that none but his most intimate friends would suspect his identity. It is incredible, however, that such can be the case.
The author of the "Land of the Veda" uses the following impressive language:
"When again defeated, for the fifth time, he fled to the congenial society of Khan Bahador at Bareilly, where he made his last stand; and he then, having filled to overflowing the measure of his guilt, passed away like a thief in the night, and left his wealth to the spoiler. He and his followers entered the jungles of Ouda, and penetrated deep into desolate wilds, where the malarious fever soon thinned out his company and reduced the remnant to the final distress. For the last that is known of this man's doom we have to depend upon the reports of two native spies who followed him, and two of his servants who subsequently found their way out of those Himalayan solitudes. Wasted and worn at last by fever and starvation, they are reported to have held a council and concluded to put their swords each through his own women, and then to separate and die alone. Certainly a remnant of any of them has never since been seen. The Nana Sahib wore that great ruby which was so celebrated for its size and brilliancy. His priests had told him that it was an amulet which secured to him a charmed life. He trusted in it, no doubt, to the very last. It was probably in his turban when he wandered up the deep ravine to die alone; and if so, there it lies today, for no human hand will penetrate those pestilential jungles to gather it/ The eagles of the Himalayas alone, as they look down from their lofty heights for their prey, are the only creatures that will ever see the burning rays of that ruby, as it shines amid the rags of the vagrant who perished there long years ago."
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Early in the year 1858, Reverend Francis Hildreth, the missionary, and his family, reestablished themselves in the royal city of Delhi. Their house was destroyed during the commune of the preceding twelve months, but the good man had enough means left to procure another, and he resumed his work in his Master's vineyard.
Luchman did good service as a guide for the British forces, and proved, as did every native convert, faithful under all temptations. It is one of the most striking facts connected with the Sepoy Mutiny that not a single instance is known where a native professing Christianity swerved from his faith.
Surgeon Baird Avery was professionally employed during the closing scenes of the rebellion. He and Luchman were generally within communicating distance of each other, and one evening they met at the house of the missionary, where no two persons could have been made more welcome.
Dr. Avery had done his full duty to his friend, George Harkins, and the little company were indulging in reminiscences of those memorable days and nights following the flight from Delhi, when Luchman, who was in unusually high spirits, asked Mr. Hildreth whether he would be kind enough to write a letter for him. The gentleman said he would do so with pleasure, and ink, pen and paper were brought forth.
"We will withdraw," said Marian, supposing there leas something private about the matter.
But the native protested: he wanted all to have a hand in the composition of the missive. He had some knowledge of written English, and spoke it remarkably well, though, for the sake of smoothness in our narrative, we have always aimed to give him help in that respect.
"I am ready," said the missionary, with a smile; "to whom shall it be addressed?"
"To Wana Affghar of Puneput."
"Ah," exclaimed the amanuensis, while all looked at Luchman in astonishment; "do you mean to give him a lecture on his wickedness?"
"No, sahib; I have something to tell him which will surprise him."
"But how is the communication to be delivered?"
"I will get it to him, sahib."
"I am ready: proceed."
Luchman moved uneasily as he sat on the floor: this was not the kind of business to which he was accustomed. Noticing his embarrassment, Mr. Hildreth addressed the letter.
"Unto Wana Affghar of Puneput, Luchman sends salaams."
Reading this aloud, the writer added:
"Now, my good friend, instead of trying to think of the form, tell me what you want to say, and I will put it together for you."
Still the native was restless.
"Recall to Wana Affghar the agreement which I made for the ransom of the Feringhees that were shut in the temple."
This was done in proper form.
"Tell him I meant to keep my part as a Christian."
"I will write that youdiddo so."
"No, sahib, write it as I said."
It was so written.
"But I distrusted him, and so I waited until I was sure he had not broken his word."
It took the rapidly moving pen but a minute or so to put this in shape, while every one began to wonder what was coming next.
"Say that if he had been faithful I would have given him the great diamond, the Star of India."
Every one was breathless with amazement, and, instead of writing the words as dictated, Mr. Hildreth stared at Luchman. The latter smiled and said:
"I am waiting, sahib."
"But—but—I do not understand."
And then the guide explained:
"I did not give him the real diamond; I gave him a false one, and brought away the Star of India with me. It was in my turban all the time, close to the false one. Had I found that he had kept his promise, I would have given him the true diamond afterwards, for I had promised to do so, and I am a Christian. But he broke his vow; therefore he had no right to the Star of India. I had the false one made when I was in Calcutta, and carried it with me alongside the real one."
"It wasn't the paste one which you showedme?" ventured Dr. Avery, when he could find his breath.
"No, sahib; no one ever saw that after I brought it away until I placed it in the palm of Wana, but you could hardly know any difference. Wana Affghar will never see the Star of India, for I have given it to another."
The pen of the writer dropped to the floor.
"Can this be possible?"
"Will you write that, sahib?"
The old gentleman picked up his pen in a mechanical way, but it was some time before he could recover from the daze in which he was thrown by the astounding declaration.
At last the words were written, and when the excitement grew less the story was completed.
Between Wana Affghar and Luchman the game was a genuine one of "diamond cut diamond;" and though the reader of this narrative may have concluded that the Ghoojur chieftain overmatched the Hindoo, yet I am sure he will now revise that verdict and decide the other way.
During one of the visits of Luchman to Calcutta, he secured the services of a native lapidary, who, by some alchemy unknown out of his country, made a perfect imitation of the Star of India, which Luchman took with him, impelled by a vague idea that it might serve him in some such contingency as arose.
Inserting his fingers again in his turban, he brought forth a piece of soft brown paper, as he had done before, and partly turning so as to face Marian Hildreth, tossed the gem into her lap.
"I have saved it for you," said he, "but did not give it before, because I was afraid you could not keep it while the war was raging about you. Now it is safe: will you take it?"
"But why do you give it to me, Luchman?"
The native was silent a moment, as if struggling to control his emotion. Then in a low, touching voice, he said:
"Your father, the sahib, told me so much about Christianity that I could not sleep for thinking; I was sorrowed by the words of your good mother; but I had been such a bad man that I did not believe God would pardon me. But it was you, the daughter, who showed me that my Heavenly Father would pardon the greatest of sinners. I asked God to forgive me, and He did so; I found the jewel of great price; you had it long ago; take this not from me, but from myheart."
There could be no refusing such a request.
Thus it was that the Star of India came into the possession of Marian Hildreth.
"It is a fortune," said Dr. Avery some weeks later, "but vast as is its worth, a thousand such are not to be compared with my jewel,—my own beloved wife."
And she did not say him nay.
THE END.