“At least I don’t drop the mask until I think I’m alone.” The emphasis was marked.
“Now don’t be angry with me for having my eyes open. I only want to see you happy. Why, child, you needn’t be afraid to confide in me; I have lived a good deal longer than you, and seen about ten times as much. You’re not the first person that has done a foolish thing in a hasty moment, and been sorry for it afterwards.”
“I—I don’t know what you mean,” stammered Mabel.
“Why, dear me! what a pity it is to see two people going on at cross-purposes like this! Can’t you bring yourself to let him know you’re sorry? He’s a proud man, we all know that, but he won’t be proud to you. Why, he is suffering as much as you are, and the least word from you would bring him back.”
“It never struck me that pride had anything to do with it,” said Mabel, surprised.
“That’s where a looker-on can see more than you do. Now, don’t you be proud either. I suppose he made too much of his authority over you, and you were angry and insisted on giving him back his ring——”
“His ring!” gasped Mabel.
“Well, you are not wearing it, so I presume you gave it back. Now, just let me hint to him, in the very most delicate way in the world, of course, that you miss that ring from your finger, and trust me, it will be back there before another hour is over, and you and he both as happy as——”
But, to Mrs Hardy’s astonishment and indignation, Mabel burst into a wild peal of laughter. “Oh, you meanthat?” she cried. “Why, that happened centuries ago. I had forgotten all about it!”
Thedays dragged slowly by in the beleaguered fort. The enemy’s extraordinary dislike of coming to close quarters, and the consequent absence of direct attacks, tried the endurance of the garrison sorely. It showed, no doubt, that the tribes retained a wholesome remembrance of past hand-to-hand encounters, and were now actuated rather by a desire for loot than by any fanatical hatred of British rule; but it showed also that their leaders believed they had abundance of time before them. Moreover, while Bahram Khan maintained the investment with a cynical contempt for the relieving force which did not appear, the numbers of the defenders were dwindling. The death-roll did not indeed increase by leaps and bounds, as would have been the case after a series of fierce assaults, but the relentless monotony of its daily growth was scarcely less terrible. Disease had obtained a firm foothold in the crowded courtyards and narrow passages, and the supply of medicines and disinfectants was as limited as that of food had proved to be. A sowar dropped here, a Sikh there, next two or three of the wretched Hindu refugees, then one of the wounded in the hospital, unable to resist the poisoned atmosphere of the place. The tiny patch of garden—once the despair of the Club committee, because nothing but weeds would grow in it—which had been used as a cemetery, was soon over-full, and now silent burying-parties stole down nightly to the water-gate, and were ferried across the canal to conduct a hasty funeral on the opposite bank. Mabel and Flora will never forget the night they stood on the south rampart to see Captain Leyward’s body carried out. He had been desperately wounded when he took command of the escort in the Akrab Pass, after Dick was struck down, and although Dr Tighe was hopeful at first, it was not long before the case took an unfavourable turn. In order that the enemy should not discover these sallies of the garrison, the funeral rites were maimed indeed. There was no question of a band or a firing-party, and as it was not allowable even to use a lantern, Mr Hardy repeated portions of the Burial Service from memory. The grave, which had been hastily dug as soon as darkness came on, was made absolutely level with the surrounding sand as soon as it had been filled up. Its bearings were taken by compass in the hope of happier days to come, but no mark was placed upon it, for to point out that a British officer lay there would have been to invite the desecration of the spot. The two girls watched the dark mass of figures melt into the blackness beyond the embankment, and strained their eyes in vain to catch a glimpse of the group round the grave. They could see and hear nothing until the sudden creaking of the ferry-wires announced that the burial-party was returning, and soon afterwards Colonel Graham came up to the rampart and ordered them down to bed.
Mabel wondered very much what Georgia’s thoughts were at this time. She never alluded to the wild impulse which had led her to try and leave the fort, but she seemed to shrink into herself, and liked to be left alone with the baby for hours. When her friends came to speak to her, she showed an impatience that surprised them, until at last, in a burst of contrition for the irritation she had shown, she explained that she was listening for Dick’s voice. She could hear it sometimes when the baby and she were alone together, but if there were other people in the room, their voices seemed to drown it. “What did he say?” Mabel ventured to ask, awed by her sister-in-law’s tone of absolute conviction, and Georgia confessed, with some disappointment, that he had not said anything particular. It was as if they were just talking together as usual about things in general, and the conversation would break off abruptly, as if she was waking out of a dream. Mabel was disappointed also. If Dick could really speak to his wife from the dead, surely he would communicate his wishes about the boy’s bringing-up, or some subject of similar importance; but this casual talk—what could it be but a delusion of Georgia’s troubled brain, which could not distinguish between dreams and realities?
In the meantime, the reconnaissance which Fitz had made in company with Sultan Jān was not entirely destitute of results. The news that a mine was in course of construction had alarmed Colonel Graham more than he cared to show, although the most careful investigations possible in the circumstances went to prove that the tunnel had not at present reached the neighbourhood of the walls. Runcorn, who took the matter very much to heart, regarding it as a sign that he had not been sufficiently on the alert, obtained permission to make a solitary reconnaissance on two successive nights, and managed on the second occasion to creep across the cleared space, and up to the very walls of General Keeling’s house. By dint of long and careful listening, with his ear to the ground, he satisfied himself that work was going on briskly, but that the tunnel was not yet nearly long enough to threaten the east curtain. After this, he held much consultation with Fitz, and the two formulated a desperate scheme. They proposed to creep into the enemy’s entrenchments, carrying with them a supply of explosives, and blow up the mine before it was carried any farther, destroying at the same time General Keeling’s house, in the compound of which was the entrance shown to Fitz. The Colonel vetoed the plan promptly, but its inventors were not to be discouraged, and produced a fresh modification of it every day, until circumstances intervened with decisive effect to prevent its execution.
On a certain night Mabel awoke with the impression that she was passing anew through the most disagreeable experience of her voyage out—a gale in the Bay of Biscay. She could feel the ship trembling—it had been rolling just now—the passengers were screaming, and the wind seemed to be howling on all sides at once.
“A mast gone!” she said to herself, with a vague recollection of sea-stories read in youth, as she heard a fearful crash; “but the wind howls just as if we were on land. I wonder whether I had better try to get on deck? Why!—but how can we be on land?”
It was most confusing. She was awake now, and realised that the voyage had ended long ago, but it seemed impossible not to believe that she was still on board ship, for the floor was shaking when she stood upon it, and the little square of grey darkness which marked the position of the window was wavering about just as a porthole would naturally do in rough weather.
“Am I going mad?” Mabel demanded of herself, yielding to a sudden lurch, and sitting down unsteadily on the side of her bed. “No, I am actually beginning to feel sea-sick—that must be real, at any rate. Why, it must be the mine!”—she sprang up, and threw on her dressing-gown and a cloak over it—“and what about Georgie and the boy?”
She tried to open her door, but the handle refused to act, and she was struggling with it frantically when she heard Mr Hardy’s voice calling to her from outside.
“Kick, please!” she cried through the keyhole. “I can’t get it open.”
A violent blow on the lower part of the door released the handle, at the same time that it sent Mabel staggering back into the room. In the semi-darkness she could dimly discern the old clergyman supporting himself by one of the pillars of the verandah, his white beard blown hither and thither by the wind.
“Your sister and the baby!” he cried. “We must get them out. My wife has sent me to see that they are safe.”
“What has happened?” gasped Mabel, as they made a dash side by side for Georgia’s verandah.
“Our roof has fallen in. My wife is partly buried, but she won’t let me do anything for her till Mrs North is safe. What’s this?”
A groan answered him, and the object over which he had stumbled proved to be Rahah, pinned to the ground by one of the beams from the verandah, which had struck her down and imprisoned her foot. Mr Hardy and Mabel succeeded in releasing the foot, not, however, in response to any appeal on Rahah’s part, for she entreated them incessantly to go and save the doctor lady and the Baba Sahib.
“We must carry her out on her bed,” panted Mabel, as they reached Georgia’s door, which had shut with a bang after Rahah had rushed out to see what was the matter. Mr Hardy forced it open with an effort of which Mabel would not have believed him capable, and they found Georgia sitting up in bed, with the baby clasped in her arms.
“Lie down again, Mrs North, and hold the child tight,” said Mr Hardy cheerily, and he and Mabel seized the bedstead, and succeeded in dragging it to the door. Here, however, it stuck fast, and in the darkness they could not see what was the matter. To add to the horror of this detention, the ominous shaking began again, and fragments of wood and tiles began to clatter down from the part of the verandah which remained standing.
“Oh, what shall we do?” cried Mabel in an agony, as she pulled and pushed, and Mr Hardy tugged and strained, without effect. “We must leave the bed, and help her to walk.”
“No, no,” said a voice behind her, and she felt herself moved gently aside. “Take the boy and carry him into the middle of the yard, and we will manage this.”
She obeyed unquestioningly, and saw Fitz strike a match, which shed a flickering light on the scene. Extinguishing the light carefully, he called to Mr Hardy to pull the bedstead back and turn it slightly, thus bringing it through the doorway without difficulty. They carried it out to the spot where Mabel was standing, and Fitz raced back immediately into the room, to return with an umbrella and all the rugs he could lay hands upon.
“Hold it over her head. We shall have torrents of rain in a minute or two!” he cried, as he went to the help of Mr Hardy, who was trying to lift Rahah away from the dangerous spot where she lay.
“Are there mines all round us?” asked Mabel in bewilderment, as they returned, just escaping the fall of another portion of the roof.
“Mines! This is an earthquake!” he called back, starting again to the relief of Mrs Hardy, of whose uncomfortable position her husband’s stammering and excited accents had only just made him aware.
“Where is the Baba Sahib?” cried a frantic voice, and Ismail Bakhsh crawled up, bruised and dishevelled; “and what of my Memsahib?”
“Safe, fool!” answered Rahah contemptuously, as she sat nursing her injured foot, “and no thanks to thee.”
“Peace, woman! Did not the verandah roof descend upon me as I sat beneath it, and did I not lie there senseless until I came to myself and fought my way out to help the Baba Sahib and his mother?”
“If you are able to move, Ismail Bakhsh, go and help the sahibs to dig out the Padri’s Mem,” said Georgia faintly, cutting short the squabble, and Ismail Bakhsh obeyed. Before very long the rescuers came back triumphant, in company with Anand Masih, who had refused to leave his mistress, even at her express command, and had succeeded before help came in removing a good deal of the weight that pressed upon her.
“Well, my dear, all’s well that ends well,” said Mrs Hardy, hobbling up and dropping stiffly on a rug beside Georgia. “Hurt? Oh, nonsense!” in response to the anxious inquiries showered upon her; “bruised and knocked about a little, but that’s all, and we ought to be very thankful that it’s no worse. If those roofs hadn’t been jerry-built, probably none of us would have escaped with our lives, but the beams were not solid enough, as I have often said. And now the worst is over, so we had better make ourselves as comfortable as we can here for the rest of the night.”
But this consoling view of things proved to be premature, for even as Mrs Hardy spoke, there came another long-drawn, moaning gust of wind, and the ground trembled slightly, then rocked.
“Couldn’t we move to a safer place?” asked Mabel, for whom the sight of the shaking buildings round the little courtyard had an awful fascination. They seemed to her to be actually leaning towards her.
“There is no safer place inside the walls,” said Fitz quickly.
“Will the wall over the canal stand this?” asked Mr Hardy, in a low voice, of Fitz, who shook his head and raised his eyebrows, just as a stentorian voice rang out from the nearest tower.
“Come down, you fools! Don’t you see that wall will go in a minute?”
“That’s Woodworth calling down the Sikhs,” explained Fitz, with a smile that did him credit. “If a volcano opened at their very feet, they would stay where they were until they received orders to retire. How will it fall?” he muttered to Mr Hardy.
“If it falls inwards, that will be the end of us,” was the calm reply of Mrs Hardy, who had caught the words.
“Heaven is as near to Khemistan as to England,” said Mr Hardy, laying his hand gently on Georgia’s shoulder. She had started up wildly.
“I don’t mind for myself; it’s the boy!” she cried. “Oh, won’t some one save him? What will Dick do when he comes back and finds no one left?”
“I would take him, Mrs North, indeed I would, if I thought there was a better chance anywhere else,” said Fitz, to whom her agonised eyes appealed; “but it would be much worse in the passages, or under any roof. We are safer here than in most places.”
“May God have mercy upon us all!” said Mr Hardy solemnly, as the ground began to rock so violently that they found it impossible to keep their feet. Half-kneeling, half-crouching, they waited. There was a moment of awful expectation, then a crash louder than any that had come before. To Mabel’s eyes, the dark line of wall visible above the roofs was slowly but surely descending upon them, and horror seemed to freeze her blood. Without knowing it, she seized Fitz’s hand, and clung to it desperately. It was a support to have any companionship at that dreadful moment, but she did not trouble to ask herself why she should suddenly feel safe, almost happy. And still the mass of wall hung poised above them for a long, long time—at least, so it seemed, for no appreciable interval can in reality have elapsed; but at the same moment that it struck Mabel that the line against the sky was becoming lower instead of higher, some one called out: “It’s falling the other way!” There was a sound which could only be likened to the simultaneous discharge of a whole battery of 81-ton guns, a shock which threw them all down, and immediately the air was thick with dust and pieces of brick and stone. When it had cleared a little they rubbed their eyes. The line of wall was gone.
Before any one could utter a word, down came the rain in torrents, and the baby relieved the strain of the situation by expressing his dissatisfaction at the very top of his voice. Every one else became conscious at once of a sense of guilt, and Ismail Bakhsh and Fitz, jumping up, set to work to contrive a shelter for his royal highness. Before very long, he and his mother were packed away underneath the bed, with all the rugs and umbrellas that could be found arranged over, under, or around them; and when he had permitted himself to be comforted, the rest felt easier in their minds. Uncertain whether any further shocks were likely to occur, they durst not return to their rooms; but the matting which had been hung along the front of the verandah was supported on sticks to form a sort of tent, and under this they sat, wishing for the day. Fitz hurried away when he had helped to erect the tent, saying that he might be needed elsewhere, and Mabel was left to wonder whether his arm had really been round her when the wall fell. He had sheltered her afterwards from the flying fragments, that she knew, but her mind was not quite clear as to what had happened first.
Fortunately for the dwellers in the inner court, they did not in the least realise the full extent of the damage caused by the earthquake, alarming though their own experiences had been. The whole south front of the fort now lay open to the enemy, for both lines of defence had disappeared simultaneously. Not only had the wall given way, tearing down with it half of the south-western tower, which had been partially undermined by the flood at the beginning of the siege, but in its fall it had completely choked the canal as far as the south-eastern angle. The other walls and towers, the bases of which were sound, had resisted the shocks with wonderful tenacity, but the temporary defences built up of stones and sand-bags, as also the shelters erected as a protection against a cross-fire, were absolutely wrecked. A portion of the materials used had fallen inside the fort, but the greater part was scattered about on the cleared space round. This was the situation at three o’clock in the morning.
“If only the enemy knew the state we are in!” said Colonel Graham, when the extent of the disaster had been roughly estimated.
“I rather hope their own troubles are giving them enough to do, sir,” said Beltring. “I am certain I heard an explosion in their lines just before our wall fell, and there were screams enough for anything.”
“Let us hope they are too busy to attend to us, then. What is it, Runcorn? I see you have something to propose.”
“May I suggest, sir, that we should set to work at once to clear out the canal, even before repairing the walls? If the flow continues to be stopped, we shall soon have a marsh all round us, and yet there will be no way of getting water but by digging.”
The Colonel looked doubtful. “But surely it is impossible to move all that mass of rubbish with the means we have?”
“Yes, sir; we can’t hope to restore the whole channel. But I think we could clear a passage just wide enough to keep the water running, and perhaps to check the enemy’s rush for a moment, and the current itself will soon make it wider.”
“It’s worth thinking of. But while the canal is being cleared out we must build a breastwork behind it, or there will be no cover against a fire from the opposite bank; and we must restore our traverses and sangars on the other walls and the towers. Every man in the fort must set to work, for we can only count on two hours or so more of darkness. See that the men are mustered by word of mouth, Woodworth. We don’t want to force the fact of our wakefulness on the enemy.”
In a very few minutes the fort and its surroundings presented a scene of intense activity. In the cleared space men were collecting the stones and sand-bags dashed from the parapets, and sending them up again by means of ropes, while beyond them were several scouts, lying flat on the ground, and trying hard to pierce with their eyes the darkness and the pouring rain in the direction of the enemy. At the back of the fort Runcorn, with a number of volunteers and a large fatigue party, was levering away huge masses of mud-brick, and digging through heaps of broken rubbish, while behind him Colonel Graham was superintending the construction of the work which was to replace the vanished rampart. There was no attempt to build anything at all answering to the curtain which had been destroyed, for weeks of labour would be needed to clear the canal-bed of the rubbish that choked it up; but such stones and bricks as could be found were piled together, and backed by heaps of earth, and then the work ceased perforce for want of material. There was no time to burrow into the muddy chaos for suitable fragments, and the remaining masses of brickwork were too large to be moved with the means at hand. But the pause was only a short one. All the empty boxes in the fort were requisitioned, filled with earth, and built into the wall, but still more were needed. Officers rushed to their quarters, hurled their possessions on the floor, and reappeared with portmanteaus and uniform-cases. Fitz brought the tin boxes that had held the documents of which he was guardian, and the refugees were forced to resign the gaily painted wooden chests some of them had succeeded in bringing in with them. Before very long the excitement penetrated to the Memsahibs’ courtyard, the inmates of which had now returned to their rooms.
“Georgie, let us give them our boxes!” cried Mabel.
“Yes, anything!” returned Georgia, sitting up with flushed cheeks. “Turn all the things out, Mab. Oh, I wish I could come and help!”
“Give them that plate-box, Anand Masih,” said Mrs Hardy to the faithful bearer, who was sitting stolidly upon the piece of property in question, which was his own particular charge. He obeyed with a heart-rending sigh, tying up the silver carefully in a blanket before he surrendered the box.
“Georgie, they want more!” cried Mabel, flying back into the court. “They are filling greatcoats with earth and tying them up by the sleeves. What can we give them?—pillow-cases?—mattresses?”
“Skirts,” said Georgia, with the ardour of a sudden discovery. “They would make beautiful sacks if they were sewn up at the hem.”
“Oh, my poor tailor-mades!” groaned Mabel; “but for my country’s sake—” and she dashed into her own room, and reappeared with two or three tweed skirts and a supply of needles and thread.
“Oh, really, Miss North, I haven’t asked for this sacrifice,” said Colonel Graham, unable to restrain a smile when he found himself solemnly presented with the results of her handiwork.
“No, but it’s made now, and Flora will bring you some of hers in a minute. She hasn’t quite finished sewing them up. Oh, do use them quickly, please, or I shall repent, and lose the credit of the self-denial after all.”
“The shape is a little unusual,” said Colonel Graham, considering the skirts gravely, “but we can certainly use the—the contribution for strengthening the breastwork. You ladies deserve well of your country, I am sure.”
“The women of Carthage are quite outdone,” said Mr Burgrave, who was standing by; but at the sound of his voice Mabel fled back into the court. Her own feelings during the past few days had taught her to understand something of the pain she had inflicted on him, and she could not face his eyes.
“All the scattered material collected and brought in, sir,” reported Haycraft, who had been in command of the party at work on the cleared space, “and I have recalled the scouts. It’s a queer thing, but the enemy have had a mounted man patrolling between their lines and ours the whole time. It was too dark to see him, but I heard him distinctly. He was riding round the fort, or rather round three sides of it, from one point on the canal to the other.”
“That encourages one to hope that they have suffered as much as we have,” said the Colonel. “Very likely, if we only knew it, they are in deadly fear of an attack from us; but I couldn’t venture to leave our rear exposed while we made a sortie.”
“The water runs, sir,” said Runcorn, coming up, “and with a few poles and some canvas I could make a shelter for the water-carriers at a point where it’s fairly easy to get down to the edge.”
“Take them, by all means. What about the south-west tower?”
“I have tested it in every way I can, sir, and I think what’s left of it will stand all right, but there’s no hope of patching it up at present.”
“I foresee that this breastwork will be the burden of our lives,” said Colonel Graham to the Commissioner, as Runcorn departed. “We shall have to keep the guard there always under arms, and extra sentries in the tower ruins, for the enemy could take it with a rush at any moment, even if it didn’t topple down under their weight.”
“Yes, it strikes one that there is a certain lack of privacy about the new arrangement as compared with the old,” said Mr Burgrave. “It is like finding the public suddenly in possession of one’s back garden.”
“I should very much like to know what damage the enemy have sustained. Do you care to come with me to the gateway? It ought soon to be light enough to see.”
An exclamation broke from both men as the dawn revealed to them the outlines of the enemy’s position. Half-way across the cleared space extended a curious fissure, and when this was traced back, it lost itself in a heap of ruins to the right of General Keeling’s house. The house itself still stood, although the stone sangars on its roof were destroyed, but the loopholed buildings which had faced it were gone.
“The mine!” was the cry that leaped to the lips of both Colonel Graham and Mr Burgrave, and the former added, “It must have exploded prematurely when Beltring heard the noise, but in the crash of our own wall the rest of us did not notice it.”
“This explains the enemy’s anxiety to keep us at a distance,” said the Commissioner. “But why employ a mounted patrol, and only one man?”
“It was simply to give an impression of watchfulness, I suppose. Can you suggest any other explanation, Ressaldar?” and the Colonel turned to Badullah Khan, who stood beside them.
“That was no enemy, sahib. It was Sinjāj Kīlin Sahib Bahadar.”
“Nonsense!” cried Mr Burgrave. The native officer drew himself up.
“We who knew Kīlin Sahib can judge better than the Kumpsioner Sahib what he would do. When we have heard him riding all night between us and the enemy, preventing them from attacking us, are we to doubt the witness of our own ears—nay, our eyes, since certain of the sowars swear that they beheld him?”
“I beg your pardon, Ressaldar,” said the Commissioner, with marked politeness. “I suppose it will now be an article of faith all along the frontier that General Keeling saved the fort last night?”
“Without doubt, sahib. Is it not the truth?”
“I must say I wish my faith was as robust as the regiment’s!” said the Commissioner with a smile, as they turned to descend the steps.
“A white flag, sir!” reported Winlock, who was on guard at the gateway, when they reached the ground.
“Who is carrying it?”
“A Hindu with two servants. The sowars say that it is Bahram Khan’sdiwan, Narayan Singh.”
“Let him come within speaking distance—no farther.”
“Perhaps I ought to say, sir, if you are thinking that he wants to see what state we are in, that they have found that out already. A scout on a swift camel rode along the opposite bank of the canal a few minutes ago. He was near enough to see what we were doing, but he came and went like the wind, before the men could take up their carbines. Since he was gone so quickly, I did not call you.”
“I wish we could have caught him, but we can’t expect to keep them from discovering our plight. But certainly we won’t have them spying about under the walls. Let the Sikhs have their rifles ready, in case of treachery.”
Before inviting Mr Burgrave to return with him to the turret, Colonel Graham went the round of the defences, to make sure that the sentries were all on the alert. He had in his mind more than one occasion on which the tribes had advanced to the attack under cover of a parley, and with the rear of the fort in its present condition he could not neglect any precautions. The heaps of rubbish on the opposite bank of the narrow channel which Runcorn had cleared for the water were a cause for constant anxiety, since a small force of resolute men posted behind them might render the new breastwork untenable, but nothing could be done to them at present.
“I would give ten years of my life for a forty-eight hours’ armistice!” said the Colonel to Mr Burgrave, as they mounted the steps to the loophole of the turret, below which the Hindu was waiting, his two attendants having paused at a respectful distance.
“What message do you bring?” asked Colonel Graham, after the usual salutations had been exchanged.
“This unworthy one brings to your lordship the words of Syad Bahram Khan, Sword-of-the-Faith: ‘Who can stand against the will of Allah? This night His hand has been heavy upon my army, even as upon that of the sahibs, and many men are killed, and many also buried while yet alive under the ruins of their quarters. Let there then be peace between us for three days. We will continue to hold our lines from the bridge to the godowns, but we will not cross the canal, nor come out upon the open space; and I would have the sahibs swear also that they will keep to their fort and the other bank of the canal, and not cross it on either side to attack us. Then shall the dead be buried and the injured cared for, and both sides may also repair their damaged defences, but it is forbidden to raise any new ones. What is the answer of the Colonel Sahib?’”
“Can’t be much doubt, can there?” said Colonel Graham to the Commissioner.
“I suppose not. But how coolly they talk of wasting three days! It seems as if they thought they had a lifetime before them to spend on this siege.”
“Well, so much the better for us—on this occasion, at any rate. When is the armistice to begin?” he asked of Narayan Singh; “now, or to-morrow morning?”
“At daybreak to-morrow, sahib,” was the answer, after a moment’s consideration.
“So be it,” said Colonel Graham. “Then theyhavesomething on hand!” he added to Mr Burgrave. “If Bahram Khan were all anxiety for his wounded, as he would like us to think, of course he would want the armistice to begin at once. But he knows we shan’t fire at his men if they begin digging out the poor wretches now, and he would like three clear days for some plot of his own. What can it be?”
“Perhaps he merely hopes to catch us off our guard to-day,” suggested the Commissioner.
“But if that’s his game, no scruples of conscience would have kept him from making use of the armistice for the purpose. No, he’s up to something, and I should very much like to know what it is. I shall post a lookout at the top of the north-west tower with the best field-glass we have, to keep an eye on all that goes on in their camp.”
The Colonel’s prevision was justified early the next morning, when the lookout announced that a small body of fully armed men, all mounted, among whom he believed he could distinguish Bahram Khan himself, had left the town and were proceeding towards the north-east, apparently in the direction of Nalapur.
“I am very much afraid that bodes ill to poor old Ashraf Ali,” said the Colonel. “I only wish we could warn him.”
“After all, sir,” said Haycraft, to whom he had spoken, “Bahram Khan may only be off to see how the blockade of Rahmat-Ullah is going on. It’s evident he thinks we’re stuck pretty fast here, for really, if we had the proper number of horses, and anywhere to go to, we might take advantage of the armistice to disappear, they have left so few men in their lines.”
“I prefer the shelter of even our tumble-down walls to being surrounded in the desert,” said the Colonel shortly. “And now to work!”
Therewas some grumbling when it became known that only half the garrison was to go to work on the defences at a time, the other half remaining under arms, but Colonel Graham knew the enemy too well to omit any precaution. He thought it most unlikely that the armistice would be allowed to expire without an attempt to surprise the defenders of the fort, and it was highly probable that Bahram Khan’s departure was intended purely as a blind. Hence the sentries were posted as usual upon walls and towers, and scouts were thrown out in both directions along the line of the canal, so that the working-parties might safely give their full attention to the matter in hand. As usual, the first work to be done was the digging of several graves, for the earthquake had found victims both in the refugees’ quarters and in the hospital, where two of the wounded had died of sheer terror, but when the funerals were over, the rubbish-heaps were attacked with a will. Stones and pieces of brickwork of manageable size were put aside to strengthen the makeshift rampart on the inner bank, while the dust and loose earth was carried some little distance, and spread evenly over the ground, so as to offer no cover whatever. When this had been done, Runcorn pressed forward the all-important work of the further clearing of the canal, a dirty and laborious job which it would require months to accomplish properly. As things were, the whole of the time at the disposal of the garrison produced very little apparent effect, and it needed unfailing tact and the constant force of example to keep the weary labourers at work. Colonel Graham took his turn with the rest, so that the younger men could not for very shame rebel against the task, while Mr Burgrave, for whom active labour was out of the question, stimulated the ardour of the native workmen by offering rewards for the best record of work done.
To the inmates of the Memsahibs’ courtyard, the armistice brought little change. They were allowed to cross the canal, and walk about a little on the opposite bank, but they were forbidden to venture upon the irrigated land by themselves, and no one was at liberty to escort them even as far as the outlying pickets. Mabel and Flora carried the baby across, that it might breathe the air outside prison walls for the first time in its life, as Mabel said, and they sat upon a heap of crumbling rubbish amidst clouds of dust and watched the men at work, until it dawned upon them that their room was more desired than their company, whereupon they returned to the fort, and found a seat upon the ramparts. On ordinary occasions this was forbidden ground, but the armistice had been faithfully observed so far, and in spite of his misgivings Colonel Graham gave them leave to enjoy the air and sky while they might.
“Oh dear! I feel like the naughty little boy in the spelling-book,” sighed Mabel. “Everybody is too busy to talk to me. Isn’t it dull, Flora? I do wish something would happen.”
“Why, what a martial spirit you are developing!” said Flora. “Do you yearn for an attack at this moment?”
“Oh, nonsense! I don’t mean that sort of thing. I mean something interesting.”
Her eyes strayed involuntarily to the spot where Fitz was at work down below, and the thought crossed her mind that she would make him look up at her.
“But I won’t,” she decided. “He would know I was thinking of him, and he doesn’t deserve it.” She had only spoken to him once since the earthquake, and then it seemed to her that his manner was almost apologetic, as if he knew he had offended her, but was anxious to show that she need not fear a repetition of the offence. “So I suppose he did put his arm round me,” she reflected, “but if I wasn’t angry, why should he behave as though I had been? If he does care for me still, why should he be so anxious to pretend he doesn’t? Flora!” she turned suddenly upon her friend, who was engrossed in trying to read some meaning into the baby’s inarticulate gurglings, “have you said anything to Mr Anstruther about our talk the other day? about wholesome neglect, I mean?”
“I?” asked Flora, looking up quickly, “to him, about you? Mab! as if I would ever give away another girl to any man in the world! Of course not. You ought to know me better than that.”
“I didn’t really think you had,” said Mabel lamely. “It was only—” she stopped, for the thought in her mind was that she wished there had been some such explanation of Fitz’s silence, since in that case she could at least have felt sure that he had not changed his mind.
It was the evening of the third day of the armistice, and as the sun began to set, the tired labourers in what was pleasantly called the “back garden” were able to look with pride upon the result of their toil. It is true that all were not satisfied with it, for the inexorable Runcorn, finding the work he had mapped out actually accomplished, was anxious to make further improvements. Since, however, the erection of sangars on the roof of Mabel’s room and of the hospital had rendered it possible to bring a converging fire to bear on all parts of the temporary breastwork, the Colonel considered any more tampering with the canal-banks unadvisable, and work was declared to be at an end. The sowars and other natives had already been marched back into the fort, but the white men lingered for a few minutes’ idleness in the fresh air. Runcorn was still urging his point on the rest, who were lounging in various attitudes of ease on the bank, when a shot was fired overhead.
“What’s up?” shouted Woodworth.
“There’s a fellow on Gun Hill,” answered Winlock’s voice from the ruined tower. “He seemed to be displaying a good deal of interest in our arrangements, so I sent a gentle reminder pretty near him.”
“Don’t you go breaking armistices, or we shall get into trouble,” Fitz called out, and the subject dropped, but presently a hail from the farthest scout in the direction of the bridge brought every man to his feet.
“He’s stopped some one—only one man—perhaps it’s a messenger!” cried Beltring. “Take your guns, you idiots! it may be a trap,” as the rest started off at a run. “Bring him with you, and retire on the next man,” he shouted to the Sikh, who obeyed, keeping his bayonet pointed at the stranger’s breast.
“What is it?” inquired the white men breathlessly, as they ran up, to find the two stolid Sikhs guarding a feeble figure in native dress.
“Don’t fire,” said the new-comer in English. “Don’t fire!”
“No, no, they won’t,” said Woodworth impatiently. “Who are you?”
“Don’t f—” began the stranger again, then looked round helplessly. “I can’t—I can’t—” he faltered, then threw off his turban with a hasty movement of the hand. “Don’t you—any of you——?” he murmured.
“Are you English?” demanded Woodworth, with considerable misgiving, as he took in the details of the man’s appearance—the unkempt hair, the scanty grey beard, the lack-lustre eyes, and the bony face, with the lips trembling pitifully.
“Not one of you?” went on the stranger, recovering himself a little. “Anstruther!”
“I do! I do!” cried Fitz, with a mighty shout. “You fellows, are you blind? It’s the Major!”
“The Major? Impossible!” was the cry, as Fitz wrung the new-comer’s hand with painful warmth. The idea seemed absurd, but gradually conviction grew upon the rest, and they stood round in awkward silence. Dick’s eyes sought their faces one by one.
“What is it?” he asked, turning anxiously back to Fitz. “Will no one tell me? Is—is—how is——?”
“As well as possible,” cried Fitz joyously. “Never given you up for an hour, Major. And thebabais a boy, the pride of the whole place.”
“Thank God!” said Dick fervently, and at the words the last remnants of the distrust with which the rest had regarded him melted away.
“Forgive us, Major. We’ve thought of you so long as dead that we couldn’t believe our eyes,” said Woodworth. “Have you been a prisoner all this time, after all?”
“North, my dear fellow!” Colonel Graham broke into the group and seized Dick’s hand. “Thank God you’re alive! This will be new life to Mrs North. But look here, we mustn’t let her see you like this. The fright would undo any good she might get.”
“I suppose I am rather a scarecrow,” said Dick slowly. He spoke with a curious hesitation, as though the words he wished to use would not come to his lips. “But I have been at death’s door until very lately, and now I have had no food for three days.”
“Woodworth,” said Colonel Graham, “post a sentry before the door of the ladies’ courtyard, and don’t let any one go in to carry the news. Happily they are none of them on the walls this evening. Now, North, for your wife’s sake, to save her an awful shock, you’ll come to my quarters and have a bath and a shave and something to eat, and get into some of my clothes. You’ll be a different man then. Can you walk?”
“I have walked a good deal yesterday and to-day, but I can do a little more,” said Dick, accepting gratefully the arm which was offered him.
“Close round, and let us smuggle him in,” said Colonel Graham to the rest. “We don’t want the men to hear the news before Mrs North. Let them think it’s a messenger who has got through in disguise.”
The other men waited outside the Colonel’s quarters until, after the lapse of a miraculously short space of time, Dick came out again. They raised a subdued cheer when they saw him, for once more in uniform, he looked his old self. The feebleness was gone from his gait, and he held himself erect again. His hair and moustache, though greyer than before, had resumed their usual aspect, and the straggling beard was gone, so that but for the excessive thinness, which made the clothes hang loosely about him, he seemed little changed. The rest pressed forward to shake hands with him.
“We were a set of fools not to know you, Major,” said Beltring, “but at the moment I hadn’t a doubt you were a spy.”
“Well,” said Dick, as the others laughed shamefacedly, “that didn’t matter; but when you all stood and looked at me without speaking, I made certain something frightful had happened. See you all afterwards; I can’t wait now.”
He passed on into the inner courtyard, where Mabel and Flora were sitting talking in the verandah. Both sprang up as his shadow came between them and the sunset.
“Dick!” shrieked Mabel. “Then Georgie was right after all! But don’t stay here.” She was dragging him in the direction of Georgia’s room. “I daren’t keep you from her a moment.”
Forgetful of everything but the unconquerable faith which was justified at last, she would not detain him even to greet him herself, but he drew back on the threshold.
“Oughtn’t you to break it to her? The shock might be too great.”
“The shock? She’s expecting you, has been for weeks!” cried Mabel hysterically. “Oh, Dick, I could die of joy!”
“Mab,” came in Georgia’s tones through the half-closed door, “I hear Dick’s voice. Bring him in—bring him in.”
“Oh, go on. She mustn’t get up; it’ll hurt her,” cried Mabel, pushing the door open.
“Georgie, if you get up,” cried Dick, charging into the room, “I’ll—Oh, Georgie, Georgie!” He fell on his knees by the bed, and there was a long silence, interrupted only by broken words and sobs. As for Mabel, she banged the door, and rushed away to cry somewhere in private.
“My poor dear boy!” said Georgia at last, her voice still trembling, as she passed her hand over Dick’s forehead, “you have wanted me very much, haven’t you?”
“Your boy is a very old boy, I’m afraid—quite grey-haired now, Georgie. Wanted you? of course I have—words can’t express how much.”
“I know. And you called to me one whole day and night, didn’t you?”
“Why, yes, I suppose so. But how did you know?”
“I heard you. I tried to get to you, Dick, but they wouldn’t let me.”
“It’s a mercy they didn’t. Oh, Georgie, you blessed woman, what it is to see you again!”
“And—?” cried Georgia. “Oh, you’ve forgotten—I’ve forgotten! Look here, Dick. You have never even thought of him. Take him up, and hold him in your arms.”
“Don’t you think it’s happier as it is?” inquired Dick, poking the baby gingerly with a tentative finger.
“It? It’s your son, Dick. Take him up at once. I want to see you together. Now, isn’t he splendid?”
“Little beggar’s not a scrap like you,” grumbled Dick.
“No,” said Georgia, with entire satisfaction; “every one says he’s the image of you.”
“Oh no; not really?” protested Dick in dismay.
“Why not? He’s a beautiful baby. Look what lovely eyes he has. And see how good he is;mens aequa in arduisought to be his motto, I always say.”
“Oh, very well; if he feels it a hardship for me to hold him, I quite agree,” and the baby was returned with elaborate gentleness to the basket which served as a cradle.
“Dick, aren’t you pleased? Don’t you really like him?” Georgia’s eyes were full of tears.
“Likehim? My dear girl, in a day or two I shall be prouder of him than you are. But you see, it’s you I’ve been thinking of all this time, and I can’t think of anything else yet. I want to sit by you and look at you and hold your hand for hours and hours, and think of nothing but that I’ve got you again.”
“I won’t accept compliments at my baby’s expense,” laughed Georgia through her tears.
“Ah, he’s quite taken my place, I see. Now, old girl, I’m only joking. There!” Dick lifted the baby again, and laid it carefully in Georgia’s arms; “you hold him, and let me look at you both.”
Mabel, in the meantime, was sobbing in a corner of the verandah. Her tears were purely tears of joy, but her attitude, as she sat crouched on the floor (for the boxes which had once served as seats were now a portion of the breastwork), was desolate enough to melt the heart of any sympathetic spectator. So, at least, it seemed to Fitz, who came hurrying through the passage, and pulled up, in astonishment and alarm, just in time to avoid stumbling over her.
“What is it, Miss North? Anything wrong?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh no; it’s only—that I’m so—happy,” said Mabel, between her sobs. “I came here to be out of the way,” she added, rising with all the dignity she could muster, and shaking the dust from her skirts, “but it seems impossible to find a place where one can be by oneself.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon. Please don’t let me interrupt you. I only came to ask when the Major would like to see the men. They are wild to welcome him back. If you will just ask him, I’ll go away directly.”
“I won’t disturb him and Georgia now,” said Mabel. “If the men come in an hour’s time, I’ll tell him before that, and he will be ready to see them.”
“Oh, thanks.” He turned to go, then hesitated a moment, and came back. “I want just to say one thing, Miss North—about that promise you gave me.”
“Oh, don’t!” cried Mabel hysterically. “You haven’t treated me fairly about it. It’s cruel to keep such a thing hanging over me, so that I am in terror whenever I see you.”
“Why, what a low brute you must have thought me! But really I didn’t mean to be such an out-and-out cad as all that. I thought you knew me better—and I did try to show you what I meant. You couldn’t imagine that I would hold you to a promise which I practically forced you to make?”
“Oh!” said Mabel. An unprejudiced listener would have said that she had not only expected but desired to be held to her promise. But Fitz was not unprejudiced, and he went on earnestly.
“This is how it was. I told you I should go on hoping, you know (and I do still, for the matter of that). And I had a sort of idea that you might be changing your mind just a little—of course it was awful cheek on my part—and I thought I’d put it to the test. So I asked you for that promise, just to see how you’d take it. But when I saw how you felt about it, I never thought of going any further. Didn’t you understand, really? I thought I must have made it clear that I was quite content to be your friend until you could give me more—of your own free will. Oh, you must have seen.”
Mabel’s heart felt like lead, but she made a gallant effort to appear indifferent. “Of course I saw that you avoided me——” she began.
“Oh no—it has been you who avoided me,” protested Fitz.
“Oh, well, it’s very much the same,” wearily. “And I am sorry to say I misjudged you. I thought you were trying to make me feel that you had a hold over me. I must apologise for that. Then you give me back my promise?” she added suddenly.
“Not at all. I am keeping it for another time.”
“But that’s a trick. You are just as bad as I thought.”
“You must really imagine that I have a perfect mania for being refused. I have told you that I believe you’ll have me yet, and that I shall go on hoping until you do. Don’t you see that I’m keeping your promise in store solely out of consideration for you—to save you from the very unpleasant necessity of letting me know when you do make up your mind?”
“I believe—you are laughing at me!” said Mabel, in wounded and incredulous amazement.
“Laughing—I? Not a bit of it. Look at me and see. I am serious, if you are not. Well, you see, I have only got back the freedom of which I deprived myself at first. Say it was by a trick, if you like—though I didn’t intend it so—but I don’t think you need be afraid of the way I shall use it. I shan’t waste the promise, I assure you. Until the right time comes, I am nothing but your friend, and the promise is exactly as if it didn’t exist.”
“But,” protested Mabel, “you seem to expect me to—to——”
“Haven’t I just said that I want to save you from anything of the kind? You see, it’s not as if I had any number of opportunities to waste. I have only the one, and I don’t mean to use it until I can lay it out to good advantage.”
“Well,” said Mabel desperately, “I think you are most ungenerous. You want me to feel myself entirely dependent upon your forbearance—and you call yourself a gentleman!”
“Miss North, do you wish me to give you back your promise?”
“Yes, of course. Why not?”
“Because, if I do, you will naturally feel bound in honour to give me a hint when your feelings change. You couldn’t intend us both to go on in misery because my mouth was shut and you wouldn’t speak?”
“You seem to put me in the wrong at every turn,” sobbed Mabel. “Oh, I wish you would go away!” and he went.
Now, at least, Mabel ought to have been happy. But she was not. After assuring herself several times over that she hated Fitz, she proceeded to give the lie promptly to her assurances, while looking the situation in the face.
“Hewillmake it depend on me,” she lamented to herself, “and it’s simple cowardice on his part, because he thinks I should refuse him again. Well, I know I said I should, but I meant to give him a little hope. As it is, I don’t like him to be so masterful, and I won’t give in. He has managed to get a horrible hold over me, but I will not let him see it. I won’t give in. Oh dear, why can’t he ask me properly? why can’t something happen to put things right? If he knew how I cared for him, I wonder whether he would say anything? But I am glad he doesn’t guess; yes, I—am—glad. If I let him see it, he would think he could ride roughshod over me ever after. No, he wouldn’t, he’s too generous, but I should hate his being generous at my expense. I suppose I don’t care for him enough, or I should be glad to give in. So it’s better as it is.”
She dried her eyes with great determination, whereupon another thought came immediately to fill them again with tears.
“What shall I do to-morrow morning? Each day I have thought, ‘Perhaps he will speak to-day!’ and now I know he won’t, unless I let him see in some way—but I won’t! I won’t! I won’t! What an idiot I am! I feel like the foolish woman who plucks down her house with her own hands. Oh, why has Georgie got everything and I nothing? But I have, of course. I have got Dick back again just as much as she has, and I suppose I don’t deserve anything more. But I don’t know why this particularly horrible thing should happen to me. It’s not as if I had ever led any one on—except poor Eustace. I did really flirt with him at first, so I suppose this is my punishment. If he knew he would say it was only just. But the rest—why, Captain Winlock or Mr Beltring or Captain Woodworth would propose to-morrow if I held up my little finger. I could have any of them I liked—except the right one. It would serve him right if I flirted with one of them now, and made him jealous—” she grew suddenly cheerful, for the idea pleased her. “I should like to make him miserable a little, after the way he has treated me, and I could do it so splendidly. But I suppose he was rather miserable when I was engaged to Eustace, and it would be distinctly hard on the other man. I never thought I was such a wretch,” with a repentant sigh, “but it was a temptation for the moment. And to think that I should be going on in this way when I ought to remember nothing but that Dick’s alive! I’m a perfect beast, and Iwillbe glad. I’ll try and think only of Georgie, and perhaps I shan’t feel quite so miserable then. Oh dear, I wish there was some way of letting people know you were sorry without giving in!”
No such paradox offered itself, however, and suddenly remembering her duty, Mabel went to give Dick the message Fitz had brought from the men. A short time afterwards they filed into the courtyard, first the half who were off duty, and then those from the walls, who came as soon as they were relieved. On all of them Dick impressed his absolute command that the enemy should not be in any way informed of his return. The men were disappointed, for they had looked forward to publishing the tidings in one of those contests of scurrility in which they engaged at every opportunity, sometimes with the invisible defenders of General Keeling’s house, and sometimes with the rash spirits who crept up under the ramparts at night, risking their lives for the sole delight of taunting the garrison. But Dick’s word was law, and the Ressaldars assured him that nothing should leak out to give the enemy an inkling of what had happened. When they had retired, and the guards had been set for the night, a festal gathering took place in the inner courtyard. Georgia was carried into the verandah, and Mr and Mrs Hardy and Mabel and Flora brought out all the seats they could muster, and placed them round her couch; Colonel Graham, the doctor, and Fitz came in, and Dick related his adventures.
“There really is awfully little to tell,” he said, “because, you see, I was knocked silly at once, and I can only remember one moment in a whole long time. I suppose it was the evening of the fight in the Pass. I was being carried along by a lot of native women—at least, that is how I interpret the thing now, but at the moment I couldn’t tell what to make of it. It might have been rather weird if I had had time to think of that, but no sooner had I opened my eyes than the woman who was holding my feet saw that I was looking at her. She screamed and let me drop—that she might put on her veil, I suppose—but that finished me for the moment. I don’t remember anything more until I found myself in a cave, with an oldfakirsitting a little way off, absorbed in meditation. I was too weak to talk, and I seem to have had visions of the cave and the old man, off and on, for hundreds of years. At last, when I had been sensible rather longer than usual, I managed to get out sufficient voice to ask him where I was. He told me I was in his cave, which was not much information, but I couldn’t think of anything else to ask him at the time. The next day I asked him how I had got there, and he said the Hasrat Ali Begum had sent and asked him to take care of me, and I had been let down into the cave by ropes from above. He evidently believed in letting his patients severely alone, for he pursued his meditations assiduously except when I worried him with my impertinent questions. I couldn’t think how I came to be there, and I hammered at him until he let out the truth. I daresay he was wiser not to tell me before, for as soon as the whole thing flashed upon me, I was mad to get away. You see, the old chap was so very holy that he had no disciples and never went out into the world, and even his food was brought to an appointed place by his admirers, and left there for him to fetch. He knew about the fight in the Pass, but he couldn’t say whether any of the escort had escaped, or whether this place had been taken by surprise and everybody wiped out. You may imagine the state I was in, and the threats and prayers and promises I lavished upon the old man, until he was at his wits’ end to know what to do with me. He preached me a long sermon one day upon patience and resignation, pointing out, first, that I must not think he bore me ill-will—quite the contrary, since I had saved him from being hung for murder in a very hard-sworn case when I first came here; second, that if he departed from his usual custom so far as to go out and ask the news, suspicion would immediately be excited, and I should be done for; third, that it was not he that was keeping me there, but the wounds I had got, which prevented me from moving.”
“I should think so!” cried Dr Tighe, unable to keep silence longer. “Ladies and gentlemen, the patient before you was as good as dead, ought by rights to be dead now, yet there he sits and talks. Will you think of it, Mrs North? This husband of yours has had a bullet actually through his heart. He’s a living miracle. The difference of the minutest fraction of an inch of space, the minutest fraction of a second of time, would have meant that you would be a widow at this moment. How it is you are not, I cannot explain—I tell you frankly. Though it may seem to the vulgar mind to reflect upon our common profession, I imagine that being let absolutely alone may have had something to do with it, but I can’t tell. Be thankful that you’ve got him back, and take good care of him in future.”
“I will; I will, indeed,” said Georgia fervently, squeezing Dick’s hand.
“I regard you with an evil eye, Major, I don’t deny it,” went on the doctor. “You’re a living falsification of every canon of surgery. You had no business to survive that wound, much less to live through the absence of treatment you met with. It’s a slap in Mrs North’s face, I call it, to say nothing of mine. But let us hear some more of your reprehensible proceedings.”
“Well,” said Dick, “I remember that sermon very well, because I was panting the whole time to get away. I thought that some day, when old Faiz-Ullah was saying his prayers, I might crawl past him, and slip out. I did manage to crawl to the entrance, though I thought I should have died in doing it, but when I got there I found only a precipice in front. At the side was a rope-ladder by which my elderly friend was accustomed to get to the spot where his food was left, but of course I could as soon have flown as climbed it. I simply lay there like a log, until the old fellow happened to miss me, and came to look. I must have got a touch of fever or sunstroke, for I had awful nightmares after that—oh, horrors and tortures beyond conception! Faiz-Ullah must have been frightened, for at last he made me understand that he had seen the Begum’s servant, and she was going to try and bring my wife to cure me. That set me off on a new tack. The horrors went on just the same, but Georgia was always there, on the other side of a gulf, and I couldn’t get at her. She knows how much I wanted her”—he stole a glance at Georgia, down whose face the tears were streaming—“but I don’t think any one else can ever guess how bad it was. Well, she didn’t come, as you know, but the old woman who had tried to fetch her sent me a message, which I suppose she took the trouble to invent, just to satisfy me. If I insisted upon it, Georgia would come, she said, but to reach me she must run the gantlet of so many dangers that it was scarcely possible she could get through. Was she to come? I’m thankful to remember that I had strength of mind enough to say she wasn’t to think of it. Of course she couldn’t get the message, but a man doesn’t like to feel——”
“Oh, Dick, as if I should have thought of the danger!” murmured Georgia.
“We know you didn’t, Mrs North,” said Colonel Graham, “and that’s why I agree with North that it’s a good thing he left off calling you.”
“I don’t know why,” said Dick, “but after that I was happier, somehow. I used to have the idea that Georgia was there, and we held long conversations”—Georgia’s eyes met Mabel’s significantly—“and so I grew better. Of course I was wild to get away, but there was always that rope-ladder, and the very thought of it turned me sick. Old Faiz-Ullah promised faithfully that in a few days he would help me up it, and escort me through the mountains to this place, so that I might get in if I could, and three nights ago he went to meet the Begum’s servant when she brought the food, intending to ask if they could find me a pony. But that night there was the worst earthquake I have ever felt”—the rest exchanged glances—“and he never came back. The noise was fearful, and as shock after shock came, I never for a moment expected to live through it. But the cave was not damaged, and when I crawled out in the morning, the rope-ladder was still there. I waited for the old man, but he did not come, and there was no food left. At last I decided that something must have happened to him, and I determined to make the attempt sooner than starve to death. I don’t know how long I hung between heaven and earth on that awful ladder, but I got to the top at last, and followed Faiz-Ullah’s track. Before very long I found him, poor old fellow! crushed under a fallen rock, quite dead. I hunted about for some stones that I could lift to put over him, to keep off the leopards, and then I started. If any food had been brought the night before, it was buried under the rock with him, so I had no time to lose. I knew roughly where I was, and I set my course as best I could by the sun. I went from hiding-place to hiding-place, sometimes crawling, and sometimes able to walk. I dared not rest long anywhere, for I knew I should starve even if the enemy didn’t find me. I got across the Akrab Pass almost by a miracle. Bahram Khan was holding ajirgahwith the tribesmen, and they had no scouts out except in the direction of Nalapur. After taking a good look at them, I crept round below and got through. And after that I went on somehow, I don’t remember how, and at last I worked round by our house, and into the hills where the canal comes from, and got across on a landslip, where the water was shallow, and here I am.”
“When you ought to be in bed,” said Dr Tighe. “You don’t deserve it, after your outrageous behaviour in defying the profession, but I’d like to overhaul you, and see if nature hasn’t left any little crevices that art may manage to patch up.”
“Art must go to work quickly, then,” said Dick. “I want to get hold of the tribes before Bahram Khan comes back.”
“That will be to-morrow morning, when the armistice ends,” said Colonel Graham. “No, we have got you again now, North, and you won’t start out on any fools’ errands just yet, let me tell you.”
“Ah!” said Colonel Graham sharply. “So that is the little dodge, is it?”
He and Dick were standing in one of the gateway turrets as the day broke, and it was the sight of a long column of men marching into the town from the north-east that had called forth the exclamation.
“Look behind you!” said Dick laconically. A second force was moving along the south bank of the canal in the direction of the fort.
“Nice use to make of an armistice!” said the Colonel.
“Well, you didn’t expect anything else, did you? You see they have got us between two fires? That means a simultaneous attack on the gateway and the breastwork, at any rate, if not on all four sides at once. We have no time to lose.”
“Have you any suggestions to offer?” The Colonel spoke with the calmness of despair, and Dick glanced at him in surprise.
“Of course you know our possibilities better than I do, but I should certainly occupy Gun Hill, so as both to cover our west face, and enable us to deliver a flank attack on the fellows on the opposite bank if they come any nearer.”
“We have no guns, unfortunately, as you know, and worse than that, we have not men enough to send out a detachment to the hill and hold the place at the same time. Look there!” he handed Dick his field-glass. “The buildings facing us are packed with men ready to advance in response to any movement on our part.”
“I see. But at any rate we can line the earthwork and the roofs and our bank of the canal with sharpshooters, and keep the enemy at a distance on the south face?”
“No doubt we could, but for one thing. Do you recollect that we have now been besieged over a month? What is the natural corollary?”
“That the ammunition is running out?”
“Exactly. There is so little left for the rifles that I have forbidden it to be used except for picking off any specially troublesome snipers. We are slightly better off as regards the carbines, but a single day of hard fighting would leave us with nothing but cold steel.”
“Good heavens!” said Dick, beginning to pace backwards and forwards in the narrow limits of the turret; “and with the men they are bringing up now they can overwhelm us by sheer weight of numbers. You see it’s the Nalapur army that is marching in? No doubt Bahram Khan was on his way to fetch it when I saw him in the Pass. Now, either the Amir has been got rid of, or he has decided to throw in his lot with his precious nephew. If he’s dead, it’s all up, but if not, there’s just a chance. You said he seemed to turn reckless when he thought he had done for me; well, I may be able to sober him down again.”
“You are not thinking of venturing into their camp?”
“Scarcely, since Bahram Khan would very soon repair his unfortunate omission if I did. But if he doesn’t propose a parley, you must, and insist on the Amir’s taking part in it. Then I will show myself suddenly, and see whether there’s any hope of working upon the old man’s feelings.”
All morning the garrison watched in gloomy helplessness the assembling of the force which was to crush them. When Bahram Khan’s reinforcements had taken up their positions, the fort was practically surrounded. On the north-west, and extending under cover of the trees to the reconstructed bridge, were the tents of the tribes, now once more fully occupied, and humming like a hive of bees. Clearly, the news had gone out that victory was at hand. On the north and east was the town, now held by a strong contingent of Nalapuris, in addition to Bahram Khan’s original force, and on the south the main body of the Nalapur army in a roughly fortified camp. Famine and pestilence had proved too slow in their work, and the final arbitrament was to be sharp and short.
In the course of the afternoon a white flag was hoisted on General Keeling’s house, and when the garrison had replied to it, Bahram Khan rode out on the cleared space, surrounded by his own guard and the Nalapuri officers. Colonel Graham and Mr Burgrave faced him at the loophole of the turret, Dick lurking in the shadows behind them, and received what was announced as a final offer of terms. Stripped of the verbiage in which it was enwrapped, this was simply a demand for unconditional surrender. Bahram Khan would do his best to save the lives of the garrison, but the fury of the Amir was so great that he could not guarantee even that, and every shred of public and personal property was to be relinquished. Colonel Graham returned a prompt refusal. To propose a surrender was preposterous, unless the besiegers were prepared to guarantee the lives of all in the fort. Upon this Bahram Khan sent a messenger back into his own lines, ostensibly to consult the wishes of the Amir, and when he returned, announced joyfully that the stipulation was accepted. The instant and obvious retort was that the Amir must show himself in person, and swear to observe the conditions, if the thought of capitulation was to be entertained; but to this Bahram Khan demurred for a long time, displaying a singular fertility of excuse. The Amir was ill, he was resting, he had sworn not to exchange another word with an Englishman who was not his prisoner, he was in such a frenzied state that to insist upon his appearance would probably goad him to order a general massacre forthwith. Colonel Graham pointed out politely that since the besieged were still under the protection of their own walls and weapons, there was no immediate fear of such a contingency, and at last Bahram Khan himself withdrew into the town, in order, as he explained, to lavish all his entreaties upon his uncle, and persuade him to appear.
Presently a state palanquin was seen approaching, borne by sixteen men, who carried it out upon the cleared space, and set it down.
“What’s this?” murmured Dick. “Ashraf Ali in apalki? I’ve never seen him in one in my life.”