CHAPTER II.
PEACE? PEACE?
Three weeks had passed, and still the dream of sovereignty went onbehind the closed gates, while all things shimmered and simmered inthe fierce blaze of summer sunlight. The city lay--a rose-red glaredazzling to look at--beside the glittering curves of the river, andthe deserted Ridge, more like a lizard than ever, sweltered and sleptlazily, its tail in the cool blue water, its head upon the cool greengroves of the Subz-mundi. And over all lay a liquid yellow heat-hazeblurring every outline, till the whole seemed some vast mirage.
And still there were no tidings of the master, no cloud of dust uponthe Meerut road. None.
Amazing, incredible fact! Men whispered of it on the steps of theGreat Mosque when, the last Friday of the fast coming round, itscommination service brought many from behind closed doors to realizethat by such signs of kingship as beatings of drums, firing ofsalutes, and levying of loans, Bahadur Shah really had filched thethrone of his ancestors from the finest fighters in the world. Filchedit without a blow, without a struggle, without even a threat, adefiance.
So here they were in a new world without posts or telegraphs, laws ororder. Time itself turned back hundreds of years and all power ofprogress vested absolutely in one old man, the Light of Religion, theDefender of the Faith, the Great Moghul. If that were not a miracle itcame too perilously near to one for some folk's loyalty; and so theydrifted palaceward when prayers were over to swell the growing crowdof courtiers about the Dream King. And even the learned and most loyallingered on the steps to whisper, and call obscure prophecies andingenious commentaries to mind, and admit that it was strange,wondrous strange, that the numerical values of the year should yieldthe anagram "_Ungrez tubbah shood ba hur soorut_," briefly "TheBritish shall be annihilated." For the Oriental mind loves suchtrivialities.
And, to all intents and purposes, the English were annihilated, duringthat short month of peace between the 11th of May and the 8th of June,1857; for Delhi knew nothing of the vain striving, the ceaselessefforts of the master to find tents and carriages, horses, ammunition,medicine, everything once more, save, thank Heaven! courage, and thedetermination to be master still.
Even Soma admitted the miracle grudgingly; for he had so far bolsteredup his disloyalty by thoughts of a fair fight. He had not, after all,gone to Delhi direct, but had cut across country to his own villagenear Hansi, and had waited there, hoping to hear of a regular outbreakof hostilities before definitely choosing his side; and he was stillwaiting when, after a fortnight, his greatest chum in the regiment hadturned up from Meerut. For Davee Singh had been one of the many sepoysof the 11th who had gone back to the colors after that one brief nightof temptation was over. Soma had known this, and more than once as hewaited, the knowledge had been as a magnet drawing him back to the oldpole of thought; for that his chum should be led to victory and he beamong the defeated was probable enough to make Soma hate himself inanticipation.
But here was Davee Singh, a deserter like he was, sulkilyuncommunicative to the village gossips, but to his fellow admittingfiercely that the latter had been right. The Huzoors had forgotten howto fight. Meerut was quiet as the grave; but there was no word ofDelhi, and folk said--what did they not say?
So these two, with a strange mixture of regret and relief in theirhearts, set out for Delhi to see what was happening there; not knowingthat many of their fellows were drifting from it, weary likethemselves of inaction.
They had arrived there, two swaggering Rajpoots, in the midst of thethanksgivings and jollity of the Mohammedan Easter which followed onthe last Friday of Fast; and they had fallen foul of it frankly. Asfrankly as the Mohammedans would have fallen foul of a HindooSaturnalia, or both Mohammedans and Hindoos would have fallen foul ofthe festivities in honor of the Queen's Birthday which, on this 25thof May, 1857, were going on in every cantonment in India as if therewas no such thing as mutiny in the world. So, annoyed with what theysaw and heard, they joined themselves to other Rajpoot malcontentspromptly. They sneered at the old pantaloon's procession, which was intruth a poor one, though half the tailors in Delhi had been impressedto hurry up trappings and robes. Perhaps if Abool-Bukr had still beenin charge of squibs and such like, it would have been better; but hewas not. The order he had given to let the Princess Farkhoonda'sdhoolie pass out, before the gates were closed on that day of thedeath-pledge, had been his last exercise of authority; for the nextCourt Journal contained the announcement that he was dismissed fromhis appointment. So he, hovering between the Thunbi Bazaar and theMufti's quarter, had nothing to do with the procession at which theRajpoots sneered, criticising Mirza Moghul, the Commander-in-Chief'sseat on a horse, and talking boastfully of Vicra-maditya and Pertap aswarlike Hindoos will. Until, about dusk, words came to blows amid atinkling of anklets and a terrible smell of musk; for valor drifted asa matter of course to the wooden balconies of the Thunbi Bazaar duringthe month of miracle. So that the inmates, coining money, called downblessings on the new regime.
Soma, however, with a cut over one eye sorely in need of a stitch,swore loudly when he could find none to patch him up save a dodderingold Hakeem, who proposed dosing him with paper pills inscribed withthe name of Providence; an incredible remedy to one accustomed to allthe appliances of hospitals and skilled surgery.
"Yea! no doubt he is a fool," assented the other sepoys in frankcommiseration, "yet he is the best you will get. For see you, brother,the doctors belong to the Huzoors; so many a brave man must expect todie needlessly, since those cursed dressers are not safe. There wasone took the bottles and things and swore he could use them as well asany. And luck went with him until he gave five heroes who had beendrunk the night before somewhat to clear their heads. By all the godsin Indra's heaven they were clear even of life in half an hour. So wefell on the dresser and cleared him too. Yea! fool or no fool, paperpills are safer!"
Jim Douglas, who, profiting by the dusk and confusion, had lingered bythe group after recognizing Soma's voice, turned away with a savagechuckle; not that the tale amused him, but that he was glad to thinksix of the devils had gone to their account. For those long days ofpeace and enforced inaction had sunk him lower and lower into sheeranimal hatred of those he dare not rebuke. He knew it himself, he feltthat his very courage was becoming ferocity, and the thought thatothers, biding their time as he was, must be sinking into it also,filled him with fierce joy at the thought of future revenge. And yet,so far as he personally was concerned, those long days had passedquietly, securely, peacefully, and he could at any time climb out ofall sight and sound of turmoil to a slip of sunlit roof where a womanwaited for him with confidence and welcome in her eyes. With somethingobtrusively English also for his refreshment, since tragedy, even thefear of death, cannot claim a whole life, and Kate took to amusingherself once more by making her corner of the East as much like theWest as she dare. That was not much, but Jim Douglas' eye noted theindescribable difference which the position of a reed stool, thepresence of a poor bunch of flowers, the little row of books in aniche, made in the familiar surroundings. For there were books and tospare in Delhi; for the price of a few pennies Jim Douglas might havebrought her a cartload of such loot had he deemed it safe; but he didnot, and so the library consisted of grammars and vocabularies fromwhich Kate learned with a rapidity which surprised and interested herteacher. In truth she had nothing else to do. Yet when he came, as heoften did, to find her absorbed in her work, her eyes dreamy with thepuzzle of tense, he resented it inwardly, telling himself once morethat women were trivial creatures, and life seemed trivial too, for intruth his nerves were all jangled and out of tune with the desire toget away from this strange shadow of a past idyll; to leave allwomanhood behind and fall to fighting manfully. So that often as hesat beside her, patient outwardly, inwardly fretting to be gone evenin the nightmare of the city, his eye would fall on the circlet ofgold he had slipped, out of sheer arrogance and imperious temper,round that slender wrist, and feel
that somehow he had fetteredhimself hopelessly when, more than a year past, he had given thatpromise. His chance and hers! Was this all? One woman's safety. Andshe, following his eyes to the bangle, would feel the thrill of itsfirst touch once more, and think how strange it was that his chanceand hers were so linked together. But, being a woman, her heart wouldsoften instinctively to the man who sat beside her, and whose facegrew sterner and more haggard day by day; while hers?--she could seeenough of it in the little looking-glass on her thumb to recognizethat she was positively getting fat! She tried to amuse him by tellinghim so, by telling him many of the little humorous touches which comeeven into tragic life, and he was quite ready to smile at them. Butonly to please her. So day by day a silence grew between them as theysat on the inner roof, while Tara spun outside, or watched themfurtively from some corner. And the flare of the sunset, unseen behindthe parapeted wall, would lie on the swelling dome and spiked minaretsof the mosque and make the paper kites, flown in this month of May byhalf the town, look like drifting jewels; fit canopy for the City ofDreams and for this strangest of dreams upon the housetop.
"Has--has anything gone wrong?" she asked in desperation one day, whenhe had sat moodily silent for a longer time than usual. "I wouldrather you told me, Mr. Greyman."
He looked at her, vaguely surprised at the name; for he had almostforgotten it. Forgotten utterly that she could not know any other. Andwhy should she? He had made the promise under that name; let themstick to it so long as Fate had linked their chances together.
"Nothing; not for us at least," he said, and then a sudden remorse athis own unfriendliness came over him. "There was another poor chapdiscovered to-day," he added in a softer tone. "I believe that you andI, Mrs. Erlton, must be the only two left now."
"I dare say," she echoed a little wearily, "they--they killed him Isuppose."
He nodded. "I saw his body in the bazaar afterward. I used to know hima bit--a clever sort----"
"Yes----"
"Mixed blood, of course, or he could not have passed muster so long asa greengrocer's assistant."
"Well--I would rather hear if you don't mind."
His dark eyes met hers with a sudden eagerness, a sudden passion inthem.
"What a little thing life is after all! He only said one word--onlyone. He was selling watermelons, and some brute tried to cheat himfirst, and then cheeked him. And he forgot a moment and said:_Chup-raho_,' (be silent)--only that!--'_chup-raho_'! They werebragging of it--the devils. We knew he couldn't be a coolie, theysaid, that is a master's word.' My God! What wouldn't I give to say itsometimes! I could have shouted to them then, _Chup-raho_, you fools!you cowards!' and some of them would have been silent enough----"
He broke off hurriedly, clenching his hands like a vise on each other,as if to curb the tempest of words.
"I beg your pardon," he said after a pause, rising to walk away; "I--Ilose control----" He paused again and shook his head silently. Katefollowed him and laid her hand on his arm; the loose gold fetterslipped to her wrist and touched him too.
"You think I don't understand," she said with a sudden sob in hervoice, "but I do--you must go away--it isn't worth it--no woman isworth it."
He turned on her sharply. "Go? You know I can't. What is the use ofsuggesting it? Mrs. Erlton! Tara is faithful; but she is faithful tome--only to me--you must see that surely----"
"If you mean that she loves you--worships the very ground you treadon," interrupted Kate sharply, "that is evident enough."
"Is that my fault?" he began angrily; "I happened----"
"Thank you, I have no wish to hear the story."
The commonplace, second-rate, mock-dignified phrase came to her lipsunsought, and she felt she could have cried in sheer vexation athaving used it there; in the very face of Death as it were. But JimDouglas laughed; laughed good-naturedly.
"I wonder how many years it is since I heard a woman say that? Inanother world surely," he said with quite a confidential tone. "Butthe fact remains that Tara protects you as my wife, and if I were togo----"
Kate looked at him with a quick resentment flaming up in her facebeneath the stain.
"I think you are mistaken," she said slowly. "I believe Tara would bebetter pleased if--if she knew the truth."
"You mean if I were to tell her you are not my wife?" he repliedquickly. "Why?"
"Because I should be less of a tie to you--because----" She paused,then added sharply, "Mr. Greyman, I must ask you to tell her thetruth, please. I have a right to so much, surely. I have my reasonsfor it, and if you do not, I shall."
Jim Douglas shrugged his shoulders. "In that case I had better tellher myself; not that I think it matters much one way or another, solong as I am here. And the whole thing from beginning to end ischance, nothing but chance."
"Your chance and mine," she murmured half to herself. It was the firsttime she had alluded openly to the strange linking of their fates, andhe looked at her almost impatiently.
"Yes! your chance and mine; and we must make the best of it. I'll tellher as I go out."
But Tara interrupted him at the beginning.
"If the Huzoor means that he does not love the mem as he loved Zora,that requires no telling, and for the rest what does it matter to thisslave?"
"And it matters nothing to me either," he retorted roughly, "but ofthis be sure. Who kills the mem kills me, unless I kill first; and byKrishnu, and Vishnu, and the lot, I'd as lief kill you, Tara, asanyone else, if you get in my way."
A great broad flash of white teeth lit up her face as she salaamed,remarking that the Huzoor's mother must have been as Kunti. And JimDouglas understanding the complimentary allusion to the God-visitedmother of the Lunar race, wished as he went downstairs, that he waslike the Five Heroes in one respect, at least, and that was in havingonly a fifth part of a woman to look after, instead of two whole oneswho talked of love! So he passed out to listen, and watch, and wait,while the fire-balloons went up into the velvety sky, replacing thekites. For May is the month of marriages also, and night after nightthese false stars floated out from the Dream-City to form newconstellations on the horizon for a few minutes and then disappearwith a flare into the darkness. Into the darkness whence the masterdid not come. Yet, as the month ended, villagers passing in with grainfrom Meerut averred that the masters were not all dead, or else Godgave their ghosts a like power in cursing and smiting--which was allpoor folk had to look for; since some had appeared and burned avillage.
Not all dead? The news drifted from market to market, but if itpenetrated through the Palace gates it did not filter through the newcurtains and hangings of the private apartments where the King tookperpetual cooling draughts and wrote perpetual appeals for moreetiquette and decorum. For nothing likely to disturb the unities ofdreams was allowed within the precincts, where every day the old Kingsat on a mock peacock throne with a new cushion to it, and listenedfor hours to the high-flown letters of congratulation which poured in,each with its own little covering bag of brocade, from the neighboringchiefs. And if any day there happened to be a paucity of real ones,Hussan Askuri could supply them, like other dreams, at so much adozen; since nothing more costly than the brocade bag came with them.So that the Mahboob's face, as Treasurer, grew longer and longer overthe dressmaker's and upholsterer's bills, and the Court Journal wasdriven into recording the fact that someone actually presented abottle of _Pandamus odoratissimus_, whatever that may be. Some subtleessence, mayhap, favorable to dreaminess; since, in the month ofpeace, drugs were necessary to prevent awakening.
Especially when, on the 30th of May, a sound came over the distanthorizon; the sound of artillery.
At last! At last! Jim Douglas, who, in sheer dread of his own growingdespair, had taken to spending all the time he dared in moody silenceon that peaceful roof, started as if he had been shot, and was downthe stairs seeking news. The streets were full of a silent, restlesscrowd, almost empty of soldiers. They had gone out during the night,he learned, Meerutward; tidings of an army
on the banks of the Hinduriver, seven or eight miles out, having been brought in by scouts.
At last! At last! He wandered through the bazaars scarcely able tothink, wondering only when the army could possibly arrive, feeling amad joy in the anxious faces around him, lingering by the groups ofmen collected in every open space simply for the satisfaction ofhearing the wonder and alarm in the words: "So the master lives."
He lived indeed! Listen! That was his voice over the eastern horizon!Kate, when he came back to the roof about noon, had never seen him inthis mood before, and wondered at his fire, his gayety, his youth. Butthe recognition brought a dull pain with it, in the thought that thiswas natural to the man; that gloomy moodiness the result of herpresence.
"You are not afraid, surely?" he said suddenly, breaking off in therecital of some future event which seemed to him certain.
"No. I am only glad," she replied slowly. "It could not have lastedmuch longer. It is a great relief."
"Relief," he echoed, "I wonder if you know the relief it is to me?"And then he looked at her remorsefully. "I have been an awful brute,Mrs. Erlton, but women can scarcely understand what inaction means toa man."
Could they not? she wondered bitterly as he hastened off again,leaving her to long weary hours of waiting; till the red flush ofsunset on the bubble dome of the mosque brought him back with a newlook on his face; a look of angry doubt.
"The sepoys are coming in again," he said; "they claim a victory--butthat, of course, is impossible. Still I don't understand, and it is sodifficult to get any reliable information."
"You should go out yourself--I believe it would be best for us both,"replied Kate, "Tara----"
He shook his head impatiently. "Not now. What is the use of riskingall at the last. We can only have to wait till to-morrow. But I don'tunderstand it, all the same. The sepoys say they surprised thecamp--that the buglers were still calling to arms when their artilleryopened fire. But so far as I can make out they have lost five guns,and from the amount of bhang they are drinking, I believe it was arout. However, if you don't mind, I'll be off again--and--and don't bealarmed if I stay out."
"I'm not in the least alarmed," she replied. "As I have told youbefore, I don't think it is necessary you should come here at all."
He paused at the door to glance back at her half-resentfully. To besure she did not know that he had slept on its threshold as a rule;but anyhow, after eating your heart out over one woman's safety forthree weeks, it was hard to be told that you were not wanted. But,thank Heaven! the end was at hand. And yet as he lingered round thewatch-fires he heard nothing but boasting, and in more than one of themosques thanksgivings were being offered up; while outside the wallsvolunteers to complete the task so well begun were assembling to goforth with the dawn and kill the few remaining infidels. Some drunkwith bhang, more intoxicated by the lust of blood which comes tofighting races like the Rajpoot with the first blow. It had come toSoma, as, with fierce face seamed with tears, he told the tale againand again of his chum's gallant death. How Davee Singh, brother inarms, his boyhood's playmate, seeing some cowards of artillerymenabandoning a tumbril full of ammunition to the cursed Mlechchas, hadleaped to it like a black-buck, and with a cry to Kali, Mother ofDeath, had fired his musket into it; so sending a dozen or more of thehell-doomed to their place, and one more brave Rajpoot to Swarga.
"_Jai! Jai! Kali ma ki jai!_"
An echo of the dead man's last cry came from many a living one, asmuskets were gripped tighter in the resolve to be no whit behind. Afew more such heroes and the Golden Age would come again; the age ofthe blessed Pandava, who forgot the cause in the quarrel.
And so for one day more Jim Douglas strained his ears for that distantthunder on the horizon, while the people of the town, becoming moreaccustomed to it, went about their business, vaguely relieved atanything which should keep the sepoys' hands from mischief.
The red sunset glow was on the mosque again when he returned to thelittle slip of roof to find Kate working away at her grammars calmly.The best thing she could do, since every word she learned was anadditional safeguard; and yet the man could not help a scornful smile.
"It is a rout this time, I am sure," he said; "and yet there is nosign of pursuit. I cannot understand it; there seems a Fate about it!"
"Is that anything new?" she asked wearily, as she laid down her book,and with the certain precision which marked all her actions, saw thatthe water was really boiling before she made the tea. It was made in a_lota_, and drunk out of handleless basins, yet for all that it wasWestern-made tea, strong and unspiced, with cream to put to it also,which she skimmed from a dish set in cold water in the coolest,darkest place she could find. Dreamlike indeed, and Jim Douglas,drinking his tea, felt, that with his eyes shut, he might have dreamedhimself in an English drawing room.
"Nothing new," he retorted, "but it seems incomprehensible. Hark!That is a salute; for the victory, I suppose. Upon my soul I feel asif--as if I were a dream myself--as if I should go mad! Don't lookstartled--I shan't. The whole thing is a sham--I can see that. But whyhas no one the pluck to give the House-of-Cards a push and bring itabout their ears? And what has become of the army at the Hindun? Ittook three days to march there from Meerut, I hear--not more thantwenty-four miles. No! I cannot understand it. No wonder the peoplesay we are all dead. I begin to believe it myself."
He heard the saying often enough certainly to bring relief during the1st and 2d of June, when there was no more distant thunder on thehorizon, and the whole town, steeped and saturated with sunshine, layhalf-asleep, the soldiers drowsing off the effect of their drugs.
Dead? Yea! the masters were dead, and those who had escaped were infull retreat up the river; so at least said villagers coming in withsupplies. But someone else who had come in with supplies also, satcrouched up like a grasshopper on a great pile of wool-betasseledsacks in the corn market and laughed creakily. "Dead! not they.As the _tanda_ passed Karnal four days agone the camping groundwas white as a poppy field with tents, and the soldiers likethe flies buzzing round them. And if folk want to hear more, I, TidduBaharupa-Bunjarah, can tell tales beyond the Cashmere gate on theriver island where the bullocks graze."
The creaking voice rose unnecessarily loud, and a man in the dress ofan Afghan who had been listening, his back to the speaker, moved offwith a surprised smile. Tiddu had proved his vaunted superiority inthat instance; though by what arts he had penetrated the back of adisguise, Jim Douglas could not imagine. Still here was newsindeed--news which explained some of the mystery, since the seemingretreat up the river had been, no doubt, for the purpose of joiningforces. But it was something almost better than news--it was a chanceof giving them. He had not dared, for Kate's sake, to risk anyconfederate as yet; but here was one ready to hand--a confederate,too, who would do anything for money.
So that night he sat in tamarisk shadow on the river island talking inwhispers, while the monotonous clank of the bells hung on thewandering bullocks sounded fitfully, the flicker of the watchfiresgleamed here and there on the half-dried pools of water, the firefliesflashed among the bushes, and every now and again a rough, rude chantrose on the still air.
"They have been there these ten days, Huzoor," came Tiddu'sindifferent voice. "They are waiting for the siege train. Nigh onthree thousand of them, and some black faces besides."
Jim Douglas gave an exclamation of sheer despair. To him, living inthe House-of-Cards, the Palace-of-Dreams, such caution seemedunnecessary. Still, the past being irretrievable, the present remainedin which by hook or by crook to get the letter he had with him, readywritten, conveyed to the army at Kurnal. And Tiddu, with fifty rupeesstowed away in his waistband, being lavish of promise and confidence,there was no more to be done save creep back to the city, feeling asif the luck had turned at last.
But the next morning he found the Thunbi Bazaar in a turmoil of talk.There were spies in the city. A letter had been found, written in thePersian character, it is true but with the devilish knowledge of theWe
st in its details of likely spots for attack, the indecision ofcertain quarters in the city, its general unpreparedness for anythinglike resistance. Who had written it? As the day went on the camps werein uproar, the Palace invaded, the dream disturbed by denouncings ofAhsan-Oolah, the giver of composing draughts--Mahboob Ali, the checkerof the purse strings; even of Mirza Moghul, commander-in-chiefhimself, who might well be eager to buy his recognition as heir bytreachery.
The net result of the letter being that, as Jim Douglas, with wrath inhis heart, crept out at dusk to the low levels by the Water Bastion,intent on having it out with Tiddu, he could see gangs of sepoys stillat work by torchlight strengthening the bridge defense, and had tododge a measuring party of artillerymen busy range-finding. Hissuggestions had been of use!
But the old Bunjarah took his fierce reproaches philosophically. "'Tisthe miscreant Bhungi," he assented mournfully. "He is not to betrusted, but Jhungi having a tertian ague, I deemed a surer footadvisable. Yet the Huzoor need not be afraid. Even the miscreant wouldnot betray his person; and for the rest, the Presence writes Persianlike any court moonshee."
The calm assumption that personal fear was at the bottom of hisreproaches, made Jim Douglas desire to throttle the old man, and onlythe certainty that he dare not risk a row prevented him from going forthe ill-gotten rupees at any rate. His thought, however, seemed readby the old rascal, for a lean protesting hand, holding a bag,flourished out of the darkness, and the creaking voice saidmagnificently:
"Before Murri-am and the sacred neem, Huzoor, I have kept my bargain.As for Jhungi or Bhungi, did I make them that I should know the evilin them? But if the Huzoor suspects one who holds his tongue, let thebargain between us end."
His hearer could not repress a smile at the consummate cunning of thespeech. "You can keep the money for the next job," he said briefly; "Ihaven't done with you yet, you scoundrel."
A grim chuckle came out of the shadows as the hand went back intothem.
"The Huzoor need not fret himself, whatever happens. The end is nigh."
It seemed as if it must be with three thousand British soldiers withinsixty miles of Delhi; or less, since they might have marched duringthose five days. They might be at Delhi any moment. Three thousandmen! Enough and to spare even though in the last few days a detachmentor two of fresh mutineers had arrived. Ah! if the blow had been strucksooner. If--if----
Kate listened during those first days of June to many such wishes,despairs, hopes, from one whose only solace lay in words; since withrelief staring him in the face, Jim Douglas crushed down his cravingfor action. There was no real need for it, he told her; it mustinvolve risk, so they must wait--sleep and dream like the city!
For, lulled by the delay, stimulated to fresh fancy by the newcomers,the townspeople went on their daily round monotonously; the sepoysboasted and drank bhang. And in the Palace, the King, in new robes ofstate sat on his new cushion and put the sign-manual to such triflesas a concession to a home-born slave that he might "continue, asheretofore, a-tinning the royal sauce-pans!" though Mahboob Ali's facelengthened as he doled out something on account for faith and finery,and suggested that the army might at least be employed in collectingrevenue somewhere. But the army grinned in the commander-in-chief'sface, scorned laborious days, and between the seductions of the ThunbiBazaar gave peaceful citizens what one petitioner against plundercalls "a foretaste of the Day of Judgment."
But one soul in Delhi felt in every fiber of him that the Judgment hadcome--that atonement must be made.
"Thou wilt kill thyself with prayers and fastings and seekings ofother folks' salvations, Moulvie-sahib," said Hafzan almost petulantlyas, passing on her rounds, she saw Mohammed Ismail's anxious face,seeking audience with everyone in authority, "Thou hast done thy best.The rest is with God; and if these find death also, the blame will lieelsewhere."
"But the blame of those, woman?" he asked fiercely, pointing withtrembling finger to the little cistern shaded by the peepul tree.
Hafzan gave a shrill laugh as she passed on.
"Fear not that either, learned one! This world's atonement for thatwill be sufficient for future pardon."
It might be so, Mohammed Ismail told himself as he hurried offfeverishly to another appeal. He had erred in ignorance there; butwhat of the forty prisoners still at the Kotwali--forty stubbornChristians despite their dark skins? They were safe so far, butif the city were assaulted?--if some of the fresh, fiery-faithednewcomers---- The doubt left him no peace.
"If thou wilt swear, Moulvie-jee, on thine own eternal salvation thatthey are Mohammedans, or stake thy soul on their conversion," jeeredthose who held the keys. A heavy stake, that! A solemn oath with fortystubborn Christians to deal with. No wonder Mohammed Ismail feltjudgment upon him already.
But the stake was staked, the oath spoken on the 6th of June. Therecord of it is brief, but it stands as history in the evidence of oneof the forty. "We were released in consequence of a Moulvie of thename of Mohammed Ismail giving evidence that we were all Mohammedan;or that if any were Christian they would become Mohammedan."
And it was given none too soon. For on the 6th of June as the sun set,a silhouette of a man on a horse stood clear against the red-gold inthe west, looking down from the Ridge on Delhi. Looking down on thecity bathed in the dreamy glamour of the slanting sunbeams; rose-redand violet-shadowed, with the great white dome hovering above thesmoke wreaths, and a glitter of gold on the eastern wall, where,backed by that arcaded view of the darkening Eastern plains, an oldman sat listening to sentiments of fidelity from a pile of littlebrocaded bags.
It was Hodson of Hodson's Horse, reconnoitering ahead. So there was anEnglishman on the Ridge once more as the paper kites came down on the6th of June. But the fire balloons did not go up; for the night set ingusty and wet, giving no chance to new constellations.
Jim Douglas did not sleep at all that night, for Tiddu had broughtword that the English were at Alipore, ten miles out; and nothing butthe dread of needless risk kept him in Delhi. For any risk wasneedless when to a certainty the English flag would be flying over thecity in a few hours.
And Hodson of Hodson's Horse back at Alipore slept late, for helingered, weary and wet after his long ride, to write to his wife ereturning in, that "if he had had a hundred of the Guides he could havegone right up to the city wall."
But Mohammed Ismail slept peacefully, his work being over, and dreamedof Paradise.