CHAPTER VI.
VOX HUMANA.
The five days following on the 2d of August were a time of festivityfor the Camp, a time of funerals for the City. There was a break inthe rains, and on the Ridge the sunshine fell in floods upon the freshgreen grass, and the air, bright and cool, set men's minds towardmaking the best of Nature's kindness; for she had been kind, indeed,to the faithful little colony, and few even of the seniors couldremember a season so favorable in every way. And so the messes talkedof games, of races; and men, fresh from seeing their fellows killed byballs on one side of the Ridge, joined those who, on the other side,were crying "Well bowled!" as wickets went down before other balls.
But in the city the unswept alleys fermented and festered in thevapors and odors which rose from the great mass of humanity pentwithin the rose-red walls. For the gates had been closed strictly savefor those with permits to come and go. This was Bukht Khan's policy.Delhi was to stand or fall as one man. There was to be no sneakingaway while yet there was time. So hundreds of sepoys protestingillness, hunger, urgent private affairs--every possible excuse forgetting leave--were told that if they would not fight they could sulk.Starve they might, stay they should. The other Commanders-in-Chief, itis true, spent money in bribing mercenaries for one week's morefighting; but Bukht Khan only smiled sardonically. He had tried buglesand fifes, he had tried the drum-ecclesiastic; he was now trying hislast stop. The _vox humana_ of self-preservation.
In the city itself, however, the preservation of life took for thepresent another form, and never within the memory of man had therebeen such a pounding of pestles and mortars over leaf-poultices. Thesound of it rose up at dawn and eve like the sound of the querns,mingling with the _vox humana_ of grief as the eastern and southerngates were set wide to let the dead pass out, and allow the stores forthe living to pass in.
It formed a background to the gossip at the wells where the women metto draw water.
"Faiz-Ahmed found freedom at dawn," said one between her yawns. "Hewas long in the throes. The bibis made a great wailing, so I could noteven sleep since then. There are no sons, see you, and no money nowthe old man's annuity is gone."
"Loh, sister!" retorted another, "thou speakest as if death were amorsel of news to let dissolve on the tongue. There be plenty suchsoppets in Delhi, and if I know aught of wounds there will be anotherat nightfall. My mistress wastes time in the pounding of simples, andI waste time in waiting for them till my turn comes at the shop; forif it be not gangrened, I have no eyes." The speaker jerked her pot toher shoulder deftly and passed down the alley.
"Juntu is wise in such matters," said a worn-looking woman with sadeyes; "I must get her to glance at my man's cut. 'Tis right to mymind--he will put naught but water to it, after some foreignfashion--but who can tell these times?"
"Save that none pass their day, sister. Death will come of the GreatSickness, or the wound, as it chooses," put in a half-starved soul whohad to carry a baby besides her pot. "The cholera rages in our alley.'Tis the smell. None sweep the streets or flush the gutters now."
"Ari, Fukra!" cried a fierce virago, "thou art a traitor at heart! Shebewails the pig-eating infidels who gave her man five rupees a monthto bring water to the drains. Ai teri! If they saved one life fromgood cholera, have they not reft a hundred in exchange from widows andorphans? Oo-ai-ie-ee!"
Her howling wail, like a jackal's, was caught up whimperingly by theothers; and so they passed on with their water pots, to spread throughthe city the tale of Faiz-Ahmed's freedom, Juntu's suspicions ofgangrene, and Kartina the butcher's big wife's retort. And, in theevening, folk gathered at the gates, and talked over it all again asthe funerals passed out; old Faiz-Ahmed, in his new gold shoes,looking better as a corpse, tied up in tinsel, than as a martyr, sothe spectators agreed. Whereat _his_ family had their glow of pridealso.
Then, when the show was over, the crowd dispersed to pay visits ofcondolence, and raise the wailing _vox humana_ in every alley.
Greatly to Jim Douglas' relief, for there was another voice difficultto keep quiet when the cool evenings came, and all Kate's replies inHindustani would not beguile Sonny's tongue from English. He was thequaintest mother's darling now, in a little tinsel cap fringed withbrown silk tassels hiding that dreadful gangway, anklets, andbracelets on his bare corn-colored limbs, the ruddy color showingthrough the dye on his cheeks, his palms all henna-stained, his eyesblackened with kohl, and a variety of little tinsel and brocadedcootees ending far above his dimpled knees. There were little muslinand net ones too, cunningly streaked with silver and gold, for Tarawas reckless over the boy. She insisted, too, on a great black smudgeon his forehead to keep away the evil eye; and Soma, coming now withthe greatest regularity, brought odd little coral and grass neckletssuch as Rajpoot bairns ought to wear; while Tiddu, the child's greatfavorite, had a new toy every day for the little Huzoor. Paperwhirligigs, cotton-wool bears on a stick, mud parrots, and such like,whereat Sonny would lisp, "_Tha bath_, Tiddu." Though sometimes hewould go over to Kate and ask appealingly, "Miffis Erlton! What hasa-come of my polly?"
Then she, startled into realities by the words, would catch him up inher arms, and look around as if for protection to Jim Douglas, who,having overdone himself in the struggle with Tiddu, had felt it wiserto defer further action for a day or two. The more so because Tidduhad promised to help him to the uttermost if he would only bereasonable and leave times and seasons to one who had ten times thechoice that he had.
So he would smile back at Kate and say, "It's all right, Mrs. Erlton.At least as right as it can be. The lot of them are devoted to thechild."
Yet in his heart he knew that there was danger in so manyconfederates. He felt that this incredibly peaceful home on thehousetop could not last. Here he was looking at a woman who was nothis wife, a child who was not his child, and feeling vaguely that theywere as much a part of his life as if they were. As if, had they beenso, he would have been quite contented. More contented than he hadbeen on that other roof. He was, even now, more contented than he hadbeen there. As he sat, his head on his hand, watching the prettypicture which Kate, in Zora's jewels, made with the be-tinseled,be-scented, bedecked child, he thought of his relief when years beforehe had looked at a still little morsel lying in Zora's veil. Had itbeen brutal of him? Would that dead baby have grown into a Sonny? Orwas it because Sonny's skin was really white beneath the stain that hethought of him as something to be proud of possessing; of a boy whowould go to school and be fagged and flogged and inherit familiarvirtues and vices instead of strange ones?
"What are you thinking of, Mr. Greyman? Do you want anything?" cameKate's kind voice.
"Nothing," he replied in the half-bantering tone he so often usedtoward her; "I have more than my fair share of things already, surely!I was only meditating on the word 'Om'--the final mystery of allthings."
So, in a way, he was. On the mystery of fatherhood and motherhood,which had nothing to do with that pure idyl of romantic passion on theterraced roof at Lucknow, yet which seemed to touch him here, wherethere was not even love. Yet it was a better thing. The passion ofprotection, of absolute self-forgetfulness, seeking no reward, whichthe sight of those two raised in him, was a better thing than thatabsorption in another self. The thought made him cross over to whereKate sat with the child in her lap, and say gravely:
"The _creche_ is more interesting than the convalescent home, at leastto me, Mrs. Erlton! I shall be quite sorry when it ends."
"When it ends?" she echoed quickly. "There is nothing wrong, is there?Sonny has been so good, and that time when he was naughty thesweeper-woman seemed quite satisfied when Tara said he was speakingPushtoo."
"But it cannot last for all that," he replied. "It is dangerous. Ifeel it is. This is the 5th, and I am nearly all right. I must getTiddu to arrange for Sonny first. Then for you."
"And you?" she asked.
"I'll follow. It will be safer, and there is no fear for me.
I can'tunderstand why I've had no answer from your husband. The letter wenttwo days ago, and I am convinced we ought."
The frown was back on his face, the restlessness in his brain; andboth grew when in private talk with Tiddu the latter hinted atsuspicions in the caravan which had made it necessary for him to bevery cautious. The letter, therefore, had certainly been delayed,might never have reached. If no answer came by the morrow, he himselfwould take the opportunity of a portion of the caravan having a permitto pass out, and so insure the news reaching the Ridge; trusting toget into the city again without delay, though the gates were verystrictly kept. Nevertheless, in his opinion, the Huzoor would be wiserwith patience. There was no immediate danger in continuing as theywere, and the end could not be long if it were true that the greatNikalseyn was with the Punjab reinforcements. Since all the world knewthat Nikalseyn was the prince of sahibs, having the gift, not only ofbeing all things to all people, but of making all people be all thingsto him, which was more than the Baharupas could do.
In truth, the news that John Nicholson was coming to Delhi made evenJim Douglas hesitate at risking anything unnecessarily, so long asthings went smoothly. As for the letter to Major Erlton, it was nodoubt true that the number of spies sending information to the Ridgehad made it difficult of late to send any, since the guards were onthe alert.
It was, indeed, even for the Queen herself, who had a missive she waspeculiarly anxious should not fall into strange hands.
"There is no fear, Ornament of Palaces," said Ahsan-Oolah urbanely; "Iwill stake my life on its reaching." He did not add that his chiefreason for saying so was that a similar letter, written by the King,had been safely delivered by Rujjub Ali, the spy, whose house layconveniently near the physician's own, and from whom both the latterand Elahi-Buksh heard authentic news from the Ridge. News which madethem both pity the poor old pantaloon who, as they knew well, had beena mere puppet in stronger hands. And these two, laying their headstogether, in one of those kaleidoscope combinations of intrigue whichmade Delhi politics a puzzle even at the time, advised the King to usethe _vox celeste_ as an antidote to the _vox humana_ of the city,which was being so diligently fostered by the Queen and Bukht Khan.Let him say he was too old for this world, let him profess himselfunable longer to cope with his coercers and claim to be allowed toresign and become a fakir! But the dream still lingered in the oldman's brain. He loved the brocaded bags, he loved the new cushion ofthe Peacock throne; and though the cockatoo's crest was once moreshowing a yellow tinge through the green, the thought of jehadlingered sanctimoniously. But other folk in the Palace were beginningto awake. Other people in Delhi besides Tiddu had heard that Nikalseynwas on his way from the Punjab and not even the rose-red walls hadbeen able to keep out his reputation. Folk talked of him in whispers.The soldiers, unable to retreat, unwilling to fight, swore loudly thatthey were betrayed; that there were too many spies in the city. Ofthat there could be no doubt. Were not letters found concealed ininnocent looking cakes and such like? Had not one, vaguely suggestingthat some cursed infidels were still concealed in the city, beenbrought in for reward by a Bunjarah who swore he had picked it up bychance? The tales grew by the telling in the Thunbi Bazaar, makingPrince Abool-Bukr, who had returned to it incontinently after thedisastrous failure of faith on the 2d, hiccough magnificently that,poor as he was, he would give ten golden mohurs to anyone who wouldset him on the track of a hell-doomed. Yea! folk might laugh, but hewas good for ten still. Ay! and a rupee besides, to have the offercried through the bazaar; so there would be an end to scoffers!
"What is't?" asked the languid loungers in the wooden balconies, asthe drum came beating down the street.
"Only Abool offering ten mohurs for a Christian to kill," said one.
"And he swore he had not a rupee when I danced for him but yesterday,"said another.
"He has to pay Newasi, sister," yawned a third.
"Then let her dance for him--I do it no longer," retorted thegrumbler.
So the crier and his drums passed down the scoffing bazaar. "He willfind many at that price," quoth some, winking at their neighbors; forthe Prince was a butt when in his cups.
Thus at earliest dawn next morning, the 7th of August, Tiddu gave asignal knock at the door of the roof, rousing Jim Douglas who, sincethe child's arrival, had taken to sleeping across it once more.
"There is danger in the air, Huzoor," he said briefly; "they cried areward for the infidels in the bazaar yesterday. There is talk of someletter."
"The child must go--go at once," replied his hearer, alert in aninstant; but Tiddu shook his head.
"Not till dark, Huzoor. The bullocks are to pass out with the moon,and he must pass out with them. In a sack, Huzoor. Say nothing tillthe last. Then, the Huzoor knows the cloth merchant's by the Delhigate?"
Jim Douglas nodded.
"There is a court at the back. The bullocks are there, for we aretaking cloth the Lala wants to smuggle out. A length or two in eachempty sack; for he hath been looted beyond limits. So he will have noeyes, not the caravan either, for secret work in dark corners. Bringthe boy drugged as he came here, the Rajpootni will carry the bundleas a spinner, to the third door down the lane. 'Tis an empty yard; Iwill have the bullock there with the half-load of raw cotton. We havetwo or three more as foils to the empty bags. Come as a Bunjarah, thenthe Huzoor can see the last of the child, and see old Tiddu'sloyalty."
The familiar whine came back to his voice; he could scarcely resist athrust forward of his open hand. But dignity or no dignity, JimDouglas knew that itching palm well, and said significantly:
"It will be worth a thousand rupees to you, Tiddu, if the child getssafe."
A look of offended virtue came over the smooth face. "This slave isnot thinking of money. The child is as his own child."
"And the mem as your mother, remember," put in the other quickly.
Tiddu hesitated. "If his servant saves the baba, cannot the mastersave the lady?" he said with the effrontery of a child trying how farhe might go; but Jim Douglas' revolver was out in a second, and Tiddu,with an air of injured innocence, went on without a pause:
"The mem will be safe enough, Huzoor, when the child is gone, if theHuzoor will himself remain day and night to answer for the screened,sick woman within. His slave will be back by dawn; and if he smellstrouble, the mem must be moved in a dhoolie to another house, theRajpootni must go home, and I will be mother-in-law. I can play thepart, Huzoor."
He could indeed! If Kate were to be safe anywhere, it would be withthis old scoundrel with his thousand-faces, his undoubted gift forinfluencing the eyes of men. Three days of passing from one place toanother, with him in some new character, and their traces must belost. A good plan certainly!
"And there is no danger to-day?" he asked finally. Tiddu paused again,and his luminous eyes sought the sahib's. "Who can say that, Huzoor,for a mem, in this city. But I think none. We can do no more, dangeror not. And I will watch. And see, here is the dream-giver. TheRajpootni will know the dose for the child."
The dream-giver! All that day the little screw of paper Tiddu hadtaken from his waistbelt lay in a fold of Jim Douglas' high-twinedpugri, and its contents seemed to make him dull. Not that it mattered,since there was literally nothing to be done before dusk; for it wouldbe cruel to tell Kate and keep her on tenterhooks all day to nopurpose. But after a while she noticed his dullness, and came over towhere he sat, his head on his hand, in his favorite attitude.
"I believe you are going to have fever and ague again," she saidsolicitously; "do take some aconite; if we could only get somequinine, that would end the tiresome thing at once."
He took some to please her, and because her suggestion gave him areasonable excuse for being slack; but as he lounged about lazily,watching her playing with the boy, seeing her put him to sleep as theheat of the day came on, noting the cheerful content with which sheadapted herself to a simplicity of life unknown to her three monthsbefore, the wonder of the circumstances which had led to it fa
ded inthe regret that it should be coming to an end. It had been threemonths of incredible peace and good-will; and to-day the peace andgoodwill seemed to strike him all the more keenly because he knew thatin an hour or so at most he must disturb it. It seemed hard.
But something else began the task for him. About sunset a suddenflash dazzled his eyes, and ere he grasped its vividness the wallswere rocking silently, and a second after a roar as of a thousandthunder-claps deafened his ears. Kate had Sonny in her arms ere hecould reach her, thrusting her away from the high parapet wall, which,in one already cracked corner, looked as if it must come down; whichdid indeed crumble outward, leaving a jagged gap halfway down itsheight, the debris falling with a rattle on the roof of the nexthouse.
But ere the noise ended the vibration had passed, leaving him withrelief on his face looking at a great mushroom of smoke and steamwhich had shot up into the sky.
"It's the powder factory!" he exclaimed, using Hindustani for Tara'sbenefit as well, since she had rushed in from the outer court at thefirst hint of danger to cling round his feet. "It is all over now, butit's lucky we were no nearer."
As he spoke he was wondering if this would make any difference inTiddu's plans for the night, since the powder factory had stoodequa-distant between them and the Delhi gate. He wondered also whathad caused the explosion. Not a shell certainly. The factory hadpurposely been placed at the furthest point from the Ridge. However,there was a fine supply of powder gone, and, he hoped, a fewmutineers. But Kate's mind had reverted to that other explosion whichhad been the prologue to the three months of peace and quiet. Was thisone to be the epilogue? A vague dread, a sudden premonition made herask quickly:
"Can it mean anything serious? Can anything be the matter, Mr.Greyman? Is anything wrong?"
It was a trifle early, he thought. She might have had another halfhour or so. But this was a good beginning, or rather a fitting end.
"And you have known this all day?" she said reproachfully when he toldher the truth. "How unkind of you not to tell me!"
"Unkind!" he echoed. "What possible good----"
"I should have known it was the last day--I--I should have madethe--the most of it."
He felt glad of his own impatience of the sentimentality as he turnedaway, for in truth the look on her face hit him hard. It sent him topace up and down the outer roof resting till the time for action came.Then he had a whispered consultation with Tara regarding the dose ofraw opium safe for a child of Sonny's years.
"Are you sure that is not too much?" he asked anxiously.
Tara looked at the little black pellet she was rolling gravely. "It islarge, Huzoor, but it is for life or death; and if it was the Huzoor'sown son I would give no less."
Once more the remembrance of the still little morsel in Zora's tinselveil brought an odd compunction; the very possibility of this strangechild's death roused greater pain than that certainty had done. Hefelt unnerved at the responsibility; but Kate, looking up as herejoined her, held out her hand without a tremor.
"Give it me, please," she said, and her voice was steady also; "hewill take it best from me. I have some sugar here."
The child, drowsy already with the near approach of bedtime, was inher lap, and rested its head on her breast, as with her arms stillround him her hands disguised the drug.
"It is a very large dose," she said dully. "I knew it must be; that'swhy I wanted to give it--myself. Sonny! Open your mouth, darling--it'ssweet--there--swallow it quick--that's a good Sonnikins."
"You are very brave," he said with a catch in his voice.
She glanced up at him for a second with a sort of scorn in her eyes."I knew he would take it from me," she replied, and then, shifting thechild to an easier position, began to sing in a half voice:
"There is a happy land----"
"Far--farze--away," echoed Sonny contentedly. It was his usuallullaby, chosen because it resembled a native air, beloved of ayahs.
And as she sang and Sonny's eyelids drooped the man watched them bothwith a tender awe in his heart; and the other woman, crouching in thecorner, watched all three with hungry, passionate eyes. Here, in thisgroup of man, woman, and child, without a personal claim on eachother, was something new, half incomprehensible, wholly sweet.
"He is asleep now," said Kate after a time. "You had better take him."
He stooped to obey, and she stooped also to leave a long, lingeringkiss on the boy's soft cheek. It sent a thrill through the man as herecognized that in giving him the child she had given him more thankisses.
The feeling that it was so made him linger a few minutes afterward atthe door with a new sense of his responsibilities toward her to say:
"I wish I had not to leave you alone."
"You will be back directly, and I shall be all right," she said,pausing in her closing of the door, for Tara had already passed downthe stair with her bundle.
"Shall I lock it outside?" he began. Tara and he had been used to doso in those first days when they left her.
She laid her hand lightly on his arm. "Don't," she said, "don't getanxious about me again. What can happen in half an hour?"
He heard her slip the catch on the staple, however, before he randownstairs. He was to take a different road to the Delhi gate from thequiet, more devious alleys which Tara would choose in her character ofpoor spinner carrying her raw stuff home. She was to await hisarrival, to deposit the bundle somewhere close to the third door inthe back lane by the cloth merchant's shop, leaving it to him to takeinside, as if he were one of the caravan; this plan insuring twothings--immunity from notice in the streets, and also in the yard.But, as Tara would be longer than he by a few minutes in reaching thetryst, he purposely went through a bit of the Thunbi Bazaar to hearwhat he could of the explosion. He was surprised--a trifle alarmed--atthe excitement. Crowds were gathered round many of the balconies,talking of spies, swearing that half the court was in league with theRidge, and that, after all, Abool-Bukr might not have a wild-goosechase.
"There will be naught but slops and slaps for him in _my_ information,I'll swear," said one with a laugh. "I'll back old Mother Sobrai tobeat off a dozen princes."
"And blows and bludgeons in _mine_," chuckled another. "I chose thehouse of Bahadur, the single-stick player."
And as, having no more time to lose, he cut across gateward, he sawdown an alley a mob surging round Ahsan-Oolah, the physician's, house,and heard a passerby say, "They have the traitor safe." It made himvaguely uneasy, since he knew that when once the talk turns on hiddenthings, people, not to be behindhand in gossip, rake up every trivialdoubt and wonder.
Still there was a file of bullocks waiting by the cloth merchant's asarranged. And as he passed into the lane a dim figure, scarce seen inthe dark, slipped out of the further end. And there was the bundle. Hecaught it up as if it belonged to him, and after knocking gently atthe third door, pushed it open, knowing that he must show nohesitation. He found himself in a sort of outhouse or coveredentrance, pitch dark save for a faintly lighter square showing anoutlet, doubtless into the yard beyond. He moved toward it, andstumbled over something unmistakably upon the floor. A man! He droppedthe bundle promptly to be ready in case the sleeper should be astranger. But there was no movement, and he kneeled down to feel if itwas Tiddu. A Bunjarah I--that was unmistakable at the first touch--butthe limpness was unmistakable too. The man was dead--still warm, butdead! By all that was unlucky!--not Tiddu surely! With the flint andsteel in his waist-cloth, he lit a tuft of cotton from the bundle as atorch.
It was Jhungi!--Jhungi, with a knife in his heart!
"Huzoor!" came the familiar creak, as Tiddu, attracted by the suddenlight, stole in from the yard beyond. "Quick! there is no time tolose. Give me the bundle and go back."
"Go back!" echoed Jim Douglas amazed.
"Huzoor! take off the Bunjarah's dress. I have a green turban andshawl here. The Huzoor must go back to the mem at once. There istreachery."
Jim Douglas swore under his brea
th as he obeyed.
"I know not what, but the mem must not stay there. I heard himboasting before, and just now I caught him prying."
"Who, Jhungi?"
Even at such a moment Tiddu demurred.
"The Huzoor mistakes. It is the miscreant Bhungi--Jhungi isvirtuous----"
"You killed him then?" interrupted the hearer, putting the last touchto his disguise.
"What else could I do, Huzoor? I had only my knife. And it is not asif it were--Jhungi----"
But Jim Douglas was already out of the door, running through the dark,deserted lanes while he dared, since he must walk through the bazaar.And as he ran he told himself that he was a fool to be so anxious.What could go wrong in half an hour?
What indeed!
As he stood five minutes after, staring into the dark emptiness of theroof, he asked himself again and again what could have happened? Therehad been no answer to his knock; the door had been hasped on theoutside, yet the first glance as he entered made him realize that theplace was empty of life. And though he had lit the cresset, with afierce fear at what it might reveal, he could find no trace, even of astruggle. Kate had disappeared! Had she gone out? Impossible. Had Taraheard of the danger, returned, and taken her elsewhere? Possible, butimprobable. He passed rapidly down the stairs again. The story belowthe roof, being reserved for the owner's use on his occasional visitsto Delhi, was empty; the occupants of the second floor, pious folk,had fled from the city a day or two before; and when he paused toinquire on the ground floor to know if there had been any disturbancehe found the door padlocked outside--sure sign that everyone was out.Oh! why, he thought, had he not padlocked that other door upstairs? Hepassed out into the street, beginning to realize that his task wasover just as he had ceased to gird at it. There was nothing unusual tobe seen. The godly folk about were beginning to close their gates forthe night, and some paused to listen with an outraged air to thethrummings and drummings from the Princess Farkhoonda's roof. And thatwas Abool Bukr's voice singing:
"Oh, mistress rare, divine!"
Then it could scarcely be he, and Kate might have found friends inthat quarter, where so many learned folk deemed the slaughter of womenunlawful. But there was no use in speculating. He must find Tarafirst. He paused, however, to inquire from the cobbler at the corner."Disturbance?" echoed the man. Not much more than usual; the Prince,who had passed in half an hour agone, being perhaps a bit wilder afterhis wildgoose-chase. Had not the Agha-sahib heard? The wags of thebazaar had taken up the offer made by the Prince, and his servants hadsworn they were glad to get him to the Princess', since they had beenwhacked out of half a dozen houses. He was safe now, however, sincewhen he was of that humor Newasi Begum never let him go till he wastoo drunk for mischief.
Then, thought Jim Douglas, it was possible that Jhungi might havegiven real information; still but one thing was certain--the roof wasempty; the dream had vanished into thin air.
He did not know as he passed through the dim streets that their dreamwas over also, and that John Nicholson stood looking down from theRidge on the shadowy mass of the town. He had posted in a hundred andtwenty miles that day, arriving in time to hear the explosion of themagazine. The city's salute of welcome, as it were, to the man who wasto take it.
He had been dining at the Headquarters mess, taciturn and grave, a wetblanket on the jollity, and the Moselle cup, and the fresh cut ofcheese from the new Europe shop; and now, when others were callingcheery goodnights as they passed to their tents, he was off to wanderalone round the walls, measuring them with his keen, kindly eyes. Agiant of a man, biting his lips beneath his heavy brown beard, makinghis way over the rocks, sheltering in the shadow, doggedly, moodily,lost in thought. He was parceling out his world for conquest? settlingalready where to prick the bubble.
But, in a way, it was pricked already. For, as he prowled aboutthe Palace walls, a miserable old man, minus even the solace ofpulse-feeling and cooling draughts, was dictating a letter to Hafzan,the woman scribe. A miserable letter, to be sent duly the next day tothe Commanders-in-Chief, and forwarded by them to the volunteers ofDelhi. A disjointed rambling effusion worthy of the shrunken mind andbody which held but a rambling disjointed memory even of the advicegiven it.
"Have I not done all in my power to please the soldiery?" it ran. "Butit is to be deplored that you have, notwithstanding, shown no concernfor my life, no consideration for my old age. The care of my healthwas in the hands of Ahsan-Oolah, who kept himself constantly informedof the changes it underwent. Now there is none to care for me but God,while the changes in my health are such as may not be imagined;therefore the soldiers and officers ought to gratify me and releasethe physician, so that he may come whenever he thinks it necessary toexamine my pulse. Furthermore, the property plundered from his housebelonged to the King, therefore it should be traced and collected andconveyed to our presence. If you are not disposed to comply, let me beconveyed to the Kutb shrine and employ myself as a sweeper of theMosque. And if even this be not acceded I will still relinquish everyconcern and jump up from my seat. Not having been killed by theEnglish I will be killed by you; for I shall swallow a diamond and goto sleep. Moreover, in the plunder of the physician's house, a smallbox containing our seal was carried away. No paper, therefore, of adate subsequent to the 7th of August, 1857, bearing our seal, will bevalid."
A miserable letter indeed. The dream of sovereignty had come to an endwith that salute of welcome to John Nicholson.
BOOK V.
"THERE AROSE A MAN."