Begumbagh: A Tale of the Indian Mutiny

  STORY ONE, CHAPTER EIGHT.

  Chunder didn't like the looks of Harry, I suppose, so he walked off,turning once to spit and curse, like that turncoat chap, Shimei, thatyou read of in the Bible; and we two walked off together towards ourquarters.

  "I ain't going to stand any of his nonsense," says Harry.

  "It's bad making enemies now, Harry," I said gruffly. And just then upcomes Measles, who had been relieved, for his spell was up now; andanother party were on, else he would have had to be in the guard-room.

  "There never was such an unlucky beggar as me," says Measles. "If achance does turn up for earning a bit promotion, it's always some oneelse gets it. Come on, lads, and let's see what Mother Bantem's got inthe pot."

  "You'll perhaps have a chance before long of earning your bit ofpromotion without going out," I says.

  "Ike Smith's turned prophet and croaker in ornary," says Harry,laughing. "I believe he expects we're going to have a new siege ofSeringapatam here, only back'ards way on."

  "Only wish some of 'em would come this way," says Measles grimly; and hemade a sort of offer, and a hit out at some imaginary enemy.

  "Here they are," says Joe Bantem, as we walked in. "Curry for dinner,lads--look alive."

  "What, my little hero!" says Mrs Bantem, fetching Harry one of herslaps on the back. "My word, you're in fine plume with the colonel'slady."

  Slap came her hand down again on Harry's back; and as soon as he couldget wind: "Oh, I say, don't," says Harry. "Thank goodness, I ain't amarried man.--Is she often as affectionate as this with you, Joe?"

  Joe Bantem laughed; and soon after we were all making, in spite ofthreatened trouble and disappointment, an uncommonly hearty dinner, for,if there ever was a woman who could make a good curry, it was MrsBantem; and many's the cold winter's day I've stood in Facet's doorthere in Bond Street, and longed for a plateful. Pearls stewed insunshine, Harry Lant used to call it; and really to see the beautiful,glistening, white rice, every grain tender as tender, and yet dry andready to roll away from the others--none of your mesh-posh rice, if MrsBantem boiled it--and then the rich golden curry itself: there, I'veknown that woman turn one of the toughest old native cocks into whatyou'd have sworn was a delicate young Dorking chick--that is, so long asyou didn't get hold of a drumstick, which perhaps would be a bit ropey.That woman was a regular blessing to our mess, and we fellows said so,many a time.

  One, two, three days passed without any news, and we in our quarterswere quiet as if thousands of miles from the rest of the world. Thetown kept as deserted as ever, and it seemed almost startling to me whenI was posted sentry on the roof, after looking out over the wide, sandy,dusty plain, over which the sunshine was quivering and dancing, to peerdown amongst the little ramshackle native huts without a sign of lifeamongst them, and it took but little thought for me to come to theconclusion that the natives knew of something terrible about to happen,and had made that their reason for going away. Though, all the same, itmight have been from dread lest we should seek to visit upon them andtheirs the horrors that had elsewhere befallen the British.

  I used often to think, too, that Captain Dyer had some such feelings asmine, for he looked very, very serious and anxious, and he'd spend hourson the roof with his glass, Miss Ross often being by his side, whileLieutenant Leigh used to watch them in a strange way, when he thought noone was observing him.

  I've often thought that when people are touched with that queercomplaint folks call love, they get into a curious half-delirious way,that makes them fancy that people are nearly blind, and have their eyesshut to what they do or say. I fancy there was something of this kindwith Miss Ross, and I'm sure there was with me when I used to go hangingabout, trying to get a word with Lizzy; and, of course, shut up as weall were then, often having the chance, but getting seldom anything buta few cold answers, and a sort of show of fear of me whenever I was nearto her.

  But what troubled me as much as anything was the behaviour of the fourIndians we had shut up with us--Chunder Chow, the old black nurse, andtwo more--for they grew more uppish and bounceable every day, refusingto work, until Captain Dyer had one of the men tied up to the trianglesand flogged down in a great cellar or vault-place that there was underthe north end of the palace, so that the ladies and women shouldn't hearhis cries. He deserved all he got, as I can answer for, and that madethe rest a little more civil, but not for long and, just the day beforesomething happened, I took the liberty of saluting Captain Dyer, afterhe had been giving me some orders, and took that chance of speaking mymind.

  "Captain," I says, "I don't think those black folks are to be trusted."

  "Neither do I, Smith," he says. "But what have you to tell me?"

  "Nothing at all, captain, only that I have my eye on them; and I've beenthinking that they must somehow or another have held communicationoutside; and I don't like it, for those people don't get what we callcheeky without cause."

  "Keep both eyes on them then, Smith," says Captain Dyer, smiling, "and,no matter what it is--if it is the most trivial thing in any wayconnected with them, report it."

  "I will, sir," I says; and the very next day, much against the grain, Idid have something to report.