CHAPTER VI.
DUSK.
"I entreat you to leave, sir. Believe me, there is nothing else to bedone now. It will be dark in half an hour, and we shall need everyminute of the night to reach Kurnal."
It was said openly now by many voices. It had been hinted first when,the corona of red dust having just sprung to hide the swelling whitedome of the distant mosque, a dismal procession had come slowly up thesteep road to the tower with a ghastly addition to the little knot ofwhite faces there--slowly, slowly, the drivers of the oxen whackingand jibing at them as if the cart held logs or refuse, as if thedriving of it were quite commonplace. Yet in a way the six bodies ofEnglish gentlemen it held were welcome additions; since it wassomething to see a dear face even when it is dead. But they werefateful additions, making the disloyal 38th regiment, posted furthestfrom the Tower--partly commanded by it and the guns, in case ofaccident--shift restlessly. If others had done such work, ought notthey to be up and doing? And now another procession came filing upfrom the city--the two guns returning from the Cashmere gate. Theycame on sullenly, slowly, yet still they came on; another few minutesand the refugees would have been the stronger, the chances of mutinyweaker. The 38th saw this. Their advanced picket rushed out, drove offthe gunners and the officers, and, fixing bayonets, forced the driversto wheel and set off down the road again at a trot. And down the road,commanded by other guns, they went unchecked; for the refugees did notdare to give the order to fire, lest it should be disobeyed. Theeffect, we read, would probably have been "that the guns would havebeen swung round and fired on the orderers; and so not an Europeanwould have escaped to tell the tale; this catastrophe, however, wasmercifully averted and the crisis passed over." It reads strangely,but once more, there were women and children to think of. And few menare strong enough to say, much less set it down in black and white asJohn Nicholson did, that the protection "of women and children in somecrises is such a very minor consideration that it ceases to be aconsideration at all."
Still, it began to be patent to all that there was little good inremaining in a place where they did not dare to defend themselves.There were carriages and horses ready; the road to Karnal was stillfairly safe. Would it not be better to retreat? But the Brigadier heldout. He had, in deference partly to others, wholly for the sake of hishelpless charges, weakened the city post. Why should he have done thatif he meant to abandon his own? Then he was an old sepoy officer whohad served boy and man in one regiment, rising to its command at last,and he was loath to believe that the 38th regiment, which had beenspecially commended to him by his own, would turn against him, if onlyhe were free to handle it.
And this hope gained color from the fact, that to him personally andto his direct orders, the regiment was still cheerfully obedient.
So the waiting went on, and there were no signs of the 74th returning.What had happened? Fresh disaster? The voices urging retreat grewlouder.
"Have it your own way, gentlemen," said the Brigadier at last. "Thewomen and children had better go, at any rate, and they will needprotection; so let all retire who will, and in what way seems best tothem. I stay here."
So on foot, on horseback, in carriages, the exodus began forthwith;hastening more rapidly when the first man to jump from the embrasureat the Cashmere gate arrived with that tale of hopeless calamity.
But still the Brigadier refused to join the rout. He had been hangingon the skirts of Hope all day, trying, wisely or unwisely, to shieldwomen and children behind that frail shelter. So he had been tied handand foot. Now he would be free. True! the mystery of oncoming duskmade that red city in the distance loom larger, but a handful ofdesperate men unhampered, with plenty of ammunition, might hold such apost as the Flagstaff Tower till help arrived. He meant to try it, atany rate. Then nearly half of the 74th had got away safely--they werelong in turning up certainly--but when they came they would form anucleus. The 54th were not all bad, or they would not have saved theirMajor. Even the 38th, if they could once be got away from the sight ofweakness, from that ghastly cart with its mute witness to successfulmurder, might respond to a familiar commonplace order. They werecreatures of habit, with drill born in the blood, bred in the bone.
"I stay here," he said shortly. Said it again, even when neither theescaped officers nor men turned up. Said it again, when the gunsrolled off toward Meerut, leaving him face to face with a sprinklingof the 74th and 54th, and the mass of the 38th, sullen, but stillobedient.
The sun, now some time set, had left a flaming pennant in the sky,barring it low down on the horizon with a blood-red glow marking thetop of the dust-haze, and the quick chill of color which in Indiacomes with the lack of sunlight, even while its heat lingers to thetouch, had fallen upon all things--upon the red Ridge, upon thedistant line of trees marking the canal, upon the level plain betweenthem where all the familiar landmarks of cantonment life still showedclearly, despite the darkening sky. Guard-rooms, lines, bells-of-arms,wide parade-grounds--all the familiar surroundings of a sepoy's life,and behind them that red flare of a day that was done.
"There is no use, sir, in stopping longer," said the Brigade-major,almost compassionately, to the figure which sat its horse steadfastly,but with a despondent droop of the shoulders.
"No possible use, sir," echoed the Staff Doctor kindly. The three werefacing westward, for that vain hope of help from the east had beengiven up at last; and behind them, barely audible, was the faint humof the distant city. A shaft of cormorants flying jheel-ward withbarbed arrow head, trailed across the purpling sky; below them the redpennant was fading steadily. The day was done. But to one pair of eyesthere seemed still a hope, still a last appeal to something beyondeast or west.
"Bugler! sound the assembly!"
The Brigadier's voice rang sharp over the plain, and was followed,quick as an echo, quick from that habit of obedience on which so muchdepended, by the cheerful notes.
"Come--to the co-lors! Come quick, come all--come quick, comeall--come quick! Quick! Come to the colors!"
Last appeal to honor and good faith, to memory and confidence. Butthey had passed with the day. Yet not quite, for as the rocks andstones, the distant lines, the familiar landmarks gave back the call,a solitary figure, trim and smart in the uniform of the loyal 74th,fell in and saluted.
In all that wide plain one man true to his salt, heroic utterly,standing alone in the dusk. A nameless figure, like many another hero.Yet better so, when we remember that but a few hours before hisregiment had _volunteered to a man_ against their comrades and theircountry! So sepoy----, of company----, can stand there, outlinedagainst the dying day upon the parade-ground at Delhi, as a type ofothers who might have stood there also, but for the lack of that cloudof dust upon the Meerut road.
Brigadier Graves wheeled his horse slowly northward; but at the sightthe sepoys of the 38th, still friendly to him personally, crowdedround him urging speed. It was no place for him, they said. No placefor the master.
Palpably not. It was time, indeed, for the thud of retreating hoofs toend the incident, so far as the master was concerned; the actualfinale of the tragic mistake being a disciplined tramp, as the sepoywho had fallen in at the last Assembly fell out again, at his own wordof command, and followed the master doggedly. He was killed fightingfor us soon afterward.
"God be praised!" said the 38th, as with curious deliberation theytook possession of the cantonments. "That is over! He has gone insafety, and we have kept the promise given to our brothers of the 56thnot to harm him." So, joined by their comrades from the city, they setguards and gave out rations, with double and treble doses of rum.Played the master, in fact, perfectly; until, in the darkness, arumble arose upon the road, and one-half of the actors fled citywardincontinently and the other half went to bed in their huts like goodboys. But it was not the troops from Meerut at last. It was only theirold friends the guns, once more brought back from the fugitives bycomrades who had finally decided to stand by t
he winning side.
So the question has once more to be asked, "What would have happened,if, even at that eleventh hour, there really _had_ been a cloud ofdust on the Meerut road?"
As it was, confidence and peace were restored. In the city theyhad never been disturbed. It seemed weary, bewildered by thetopsy-turvydom of the day, desirous chiefly of sleep and dreams. Sothat Kate Erlton, peering out through a chink in the wood-store, feltthat if she were ever to escape from the slow starvation which staredher in the face, she could choose no better time than this, whentraffic had ceased, and the moon had not yet risen. She had settledthat her best chance lay in creeping along the wall at first, then,taking advantage of the gardens, cutting across to that samesally-port through which the heroes of the magazine had told her theyhad made their escape. She did not know the exact situation, but shecould surely find it. Besides, the ruins would most likely bedeserted, and the other gates of the city, even if they were notclosed for the night, as the gate here was, would be guarded. Once outof the city, she meant to make for the Flagstaff Tower; for, ofcourse, she knew nothing of its desertion.
So she set the door ajar softly, and crept out. And as she did so, thewhiteness of her own dress, even in the dense blackness, startled her,and roused the trivial wish that she had put on her navy-blue cottoninstead, as she had meant to do that day. Strange! how a merechance--the word was like a spur always, and she crept along the wall,hoping that the smoking, flaring fire of refuse in the oppositecorner, round which the guard were sitting, so as to be free ofmosquitoes, might dazzle their eyes. It was her only chance, however,so she must risk it. Then suddenly, under her foot, she felt somethinglong, curved, snakelike. It was all she could do not to scream; butshe set her teeth, and trod down hard with all her strength, her heartbeating wildly in the awful suspense. But nothing struck her, therewas no movement. Had she killed it? Her hand went down in the darkwith a terror in it lest her touch should light on the head--perhapswithin reach of the fangs. But she forced herself to the touch,telling herself she was a coward, a fool.
Thank Heaven! no snake after all, only a rope. A rope that must havebeen used for tethering a horse, for here under her foot was straw,rustling horribly. No! not now--that was something soft. A blanket; ahorse's double blanket, dark as the darkness itself. Here was achance, indeed. She caught it up and paused deliberately in thedarkest corner of the square, to slip off shoes and stockings,petticoats and bodice; so, in the scantiest of costumes, winding thelong blanket round her, as a skirt and veil in ayah's fashion. Herface could be hidden by a modest down-drop over it, her white handshidden away by the modest drawing of a fold across her mouth. Herfeet, then, were the only danger, and the dust would darken them. Shemust risk that anyhow. So, boldly, she slipped out of the corner, andmade for the gate, remembering to her comfort that it was not Englandwhere a lonely woman might be challenged all the more for herloneliness. In this heathen land, that down-dropped veil hedged even apoor grass-cutter's wife about with respect. What is more, even if shewere challenged, her proper course would be to be silent and hurry on.But no one challenged her, and she passed on into the denser shadowsof the church garden to regain her breath; for it had gone somehow.Why, she knew not; she had not felt frightened. Then the questioncame, what next? Get to the magazine, somehow; but the strain oflooking forward seemed far worse than the actual doing, so she went onwithout settling anything, save that she would avoid roads, and givethe still smoking roofless bungalows as wide a birth as possible,lest, in the dark, she should come on some dead thing--a friendperhaps. And with the thought came that of Alice Gissing. The houselay right on her path to the magazine. Surely she must be near it now.Was that the long sweep of its roof against the sky? If she could seeso much, the moon must be rising, and she could have no time to lose.As she crept along through the garden, she wondered why the bungalowhad not been burned like the others. Perhaps the ayah's friends hadsaved it, or, perhaps, there had not been much to attract them in thelittle hired house. Or, perhaps----
Hark! She crouched back, from voices close beside her, and doubled abit; but they seemed to follow her. And straight ahead the treesended, and she must brave the open space by the house itself; unless,indeed, she slipped by the row of servant's houses to the veranda, andso--through the rooms--gain the further side. Or she might hide in thehouse till these voices passed, There they were again! She made abreathless dash for the shadow, ran on till she found the veranda, anddeciding to hide for a time, passed in at the first door--the door ofthe room where she had left Alice Gissing lying dead a few hoursbefore. But it was too dark, as yet, to see if she lay there still,too dark to see even if the house had been plundered. It must havebeen, however, for the very floor-cloths were gone; the concretestruck cold to her feet. And a sudden terror at the darkness, theemptiness, coming over her, she passed on rapidly to the faintlyglimmering square of the further door, seen through the interveningrooms. There were three of them; bedroom, drawing room, dining room,set in a row in Indian fashion, all leading into each other, allopening on to the veranda; the two end ones opening also into the sideveranda. She could get out again, therefore, by this further door. Butit was bolted. She undid the bolts, only to find it hasped on theoutside. A feeling of being trapped seized upon her. She ran to theother door. Hasped also. The drawing-room door? Firmer even than theothers. But what a fool she was to feel so frightened, when she couldalways go out as she had come in when the voices had passed. She stoleback softly, knowing they must be just outside, and almost fancying,in her alarm, that she heard a step in the veranda. But there was theglimmering square of escape, open. No! shut too! shut from theoutside.
Had they seen her and shut the door? And there, indeed, werefootsteps! Loud footsteps and voices coming up the long flight ofsteps which led to the veranda from the road. Coming straight, and shelocked in, helpless.
She threw up her hands involuntarily at a bright flash in the veranda.Was it lightning? No! a pistol shot, a quick curse, a fall. A yell ofrage, a rush of those feet upon the steps, and then another flash,another, and another! More curses and a confused clashing! She stoodas if turned to stone, listening. Hark! down the steps, surely, thistime, another rush, a cry, a scuffle, a fall. Then, loud andunmistakable, a laugh! Then silence.
Merciful Heavens! what was it? What had happened? She shook at thedoor gently, but still there was silence. Then, gripping the woodwork,she tried to peer out. But she could only see the bit of veranda infront of her which, being latticed in and hung with creepers, was verydark. The rest was invisible from within. She leaned her ear on theglass and listened. Was that a faint breathing? "Who's there?" shecried softly; but there was no answer. She sank down on the floor insheer bewilderment and tried to think what to do, and after a time, afaint glimmer of the rising moon aiding her, she went round to everydoor and tried it again. All locked inside and out. And now she couldsee that the house had been pillaged to the uttermost. There wasliterally nothing left in it. Nothing to aid her fingers if she triedto open the doors. By breaking the upper panes of glass, of course,she could undo the top bolt, but how was she to reach the bottom onesbehind the lower panels? And why? why had they been locked? Who hadlocked the one by which she had come in? What was there that neededprotection in that empty house. Was there by chance someone else?Then, suddenly, the remembrance of what she had left lying in the endroom hours before came back to her. She had forgotten it utterly inher alarm and she crept back to see if Alice Gissing still kept hercompany. The bed was gone, but by the steadily growing glimmer of themoon she could see something lying on the floor in the very center ofthe room. Something strangely orderly, with a look of care andtidiness about it; but not white--and her dress had been white. Kateknelt down beside it and touched the still figure gently. What had itbeen covered with? Some sort of network, fine--silken--crimson. Anofficer's sash surely! And now her eyes becoming accustomed to whatlay before them, and the light growing, she saw that the curly headrested on an officer's scarlet coat. The gold epaulette
s were arrangedneatly on either side the delicate ears so as not to touch them. Whohad done this? Then that step she had thought she heard in the verandamust have been a real one. Someone must have been watching the deadwoman.
She was at the door in an instant rapping at a pane, "Herbert!Herbert! are you there? Herbert! Herbert!" He might have done thisthing. He might have come over from Meerut, for he had loved the deadwoman, he had loved her dearly.
But there was no answer. Then wrapping the blanket round her hand shedashed it through the pane, and removing the glass, managed to craneout a little. She could see better so. Was that someone, or only aheap of clothes in the shadow of the corner by the inner wall? By thistime the moonlight was shining white on the orange-trees on thefurther side of the road. She could see beyond them to the garden, butnothing of the road itself, nothing of the steep flight of stepsleading down to it; a balustrade set with pots filling up all but thecenter arch prevented that.
"Herbert!" she cried again louder, "is that you?" But there was not asound.
God in heaven! who lay there? dying or dead? helplessness broke downher self-control at last, and she crept back into the room, back tothe old companionship, crying miserably. Ah! she was so tired, soweary of it all. So glad to rest! A sense of real physical relief cameto her body as, for the first time for long, long hours, she let hermuscles slacken, and to her mind as she let herself cry on, like achild, forgetting the cause of grief in the grief itself. Forgettingeven that after a time in sheer rest; so that the moon, when it hadclimbed high enough to peep in through the closed doors, found herasleep, her arms spread out over the crimson network, her head restingon what lay beneath it. But she slept dreamfully and once her voicerose in the quick anxious tones of those who talk in their sleep.
"Freddy! Freddy!" she called. "Save Freddy, someone! Never mind, ayah!He is only a boy, and the other, the other may----" Then her wordsmerged into each other uncertainly, after the manner of dreamers, andshe slept sounder.
Soundest of all, however, in the cool before the dawn; so that she didnot wake with a stealthy foot in the side veranda, a stealthy hand onthe hasp outside; did not wake even when Jim Douglas stood beside her,looking down vexedly on the blanket-shrouded figure pillowed on thebody he came to seek. For he had been delayed by a thousanddifficulties, and though the shallow grave was ready dug in thegarden, the presence of this native--even though a woman,apparently--must make his task longer. Was it a woman? One hand on hisrevolver, he laid the other on the sleeper's shoulder. His touchbrought Kate to her feet blindly, without a cry, to meet Fate.
"My God! Mrs. Erlton!" he cried, and she recognized his voice at once.Fate indeed! His chance and hers. His chance and hers!
She stood half stupefied by her dreams, her waking; but he, after hisnature, was ready in a second for action, and broke in on his ownwondering questions impatiently. "But we are losing time. Quick!you must get to some safer place before dawn. Twist that blanketright--let me, please. That will do. Now, if you will follow close, Imust get you hidden somewhere for to-day. It is too near dawn foranything else. Come!"
She put out her hand vaguely, as if to stave his swift decision away,and, looking in her face, he recognized that she must have time, thathe must curb his own energy.
"Then it was you who fired," she said in a dull voice. "You who shutme in here? You who killed those voices. Why didn't you answer when Icalled, when I thought it was Herbert? It was very unkind--veryunkind."
He stared at her for a second, and then his hand went out and closedon hers firmly. "Mrs. Erlton! I'm going to save you if I can. Come. Idon't know what you're talking about, and there is no time for talk.Come."
So, hand in hand, they passed into the side veranda, through which hehad entered, and so, since the nearest way to the city lay down thatflight of steps, to the front one.
"Take care," he cried, half-stumbling himself, and forcing her toavoid something that lay huddled up against the wall. It was a deadman. And there, upon the steps which showed white as marble in themoonlight, were two others in a heap. A third lower down, ghastlierstill, lying amid dark stains marring the whiteness, and with a gapingcut clearly visible on the shoulder.
But that still further down! Jim Douglas gave a quick cry,dropped Kate's hand, and was on his knees beside the tall youngfigure--coatless, its white shirt stiff with blood, which lay headdownward on the last steps as if it had pitched forward in some madpursuit. As he turned it over on its back gently, the young faceshowed in the moonlight stern, yet still exultant, and the sword,still clenched in the stiff right hand, rattled on the steps.
"Mainwaring! I don't understand," he said, looking up bewildered intoKate's face. The puzzle had gone from it; she seemed roused to lifeagain.
"I understand now," she said softly, and as she spoke she stoopedand raised the boy's head tenderly in her hands. "Don't let usleave him here," she went on eagerly, hastily. "Leave him there,beside--beside--_her_."
Jim Douglas made no reply. He understood also dimly, and he onlysigned to her to take the feet instead. So together they managed toplace that dead weight within the threshold and close the door.
Then Jim Douglas held out his hand again, but there was a newfriendliness in its grip. "Come!" he said, and there was a new ring inhis voice, "the night is far spent, the day is at hand."
It was true. As they stepped from the now waning moonlight into theshadow of the trees, the birds, beginning to dream of dawn, shiftedand twittered faintly among the branches. And once, startling themboth, there was a louder rustling from a taller tree, a flutter ofbroad white wings to a perch nearer the city, a half-sleepy cry of:
"_Deen! Deen! Futteh Mohammed!_"
"If I had time," muttered Jim Douglas fiercely, "I would go and wringthat cursed bird's neck! But for it----" Kate's tighter clasp on hishand seemed like an appeal, and he went on in silence.
So, as they slipped from the gardens into the silent streets, themuezzin's monotonous chant began from the shadowy minaret of the bigmosque.
"Prayer is more than sleep!--than sleep!--than sleep!"
The night was far spent; the day was indeed at hand--and what would itbring forth? Jim Douglas, with a sinking at his heart, told himself hecould at least be thankful that one day was done.
BOOK IV.
"SUCH STUFF AS DREAMS ARE MADE OF."