CHAPTER V
A WOMAN INTERVENES
That ominous order filled Malcolm's soul with a fierce rage. He was notafraid of death. The wine of life ran too strongly in his veins thatcraven fear should so suddenly quell the excitement of the combat thathad ended thus disastrously. But his complete helplessness--the factthat he was to be hanged like some wretched felon by men wearing theuniform of which he had been so proud--these things stirred him to theverge of frenzy.
Oddly enough, in that moment of anguish he thought of Hodson, the manwho rode alone from Kurnaul to Meerut. Why had Hodson succeeded? WouldHodson, knowing the exceeding importance of his mission, have turned torescue a servant or raise a fallen horse? Would he not rather havedashed on like a thunderbolt, trusting to the superior speed of hischarger to carry him clear of his assailants? And Nejdi! What had becomeof that trusted friend? Never before, Arab though he was, had he beenguilty of a stumble. Perhaps he was shot, and sobbing out his gallantlife on the road, almost at the foot of the tree which would be hismaster's gallows.
A doomed man indulges in strange reveries. Malcolm was almost as greatlyconcerned with Nejdi's imagined fate as with his own desperate plightwhen the trooper who answered to the name of Abdul Huq brought theheel-rope that was to serve as a halter.
The man was a Pathan, swarthy, lean, and sinewy, with the nose and eyesof a bird of prey. Though a hawk would show mercy to a fledgling sparrowsooner than this cut-throat to a captive, the robber instinct in himmade him pause before he tied the fatal noose.
"Have you gone through the Nazarene's pockets, sirdar?" he asked.
"No," was the impatient answer. "Of what avail is it? Thesechota-sahibs[7] have no money. And Cawnpore awaits us."
[Footnote 7: Junior Officers.]
"Nevertheless, every rupee counts. And he may be carrying letters ofvalue to the Maharajah. Once he is swinging up there he will be out ofreach, and our caste does not permit us to defile our hands by touchinga dead body."
While the callous ruffian was delivering himself of this curious blendof cynicism and dogma, his skilled fingers were rifling Malcolm'spockets. First he drew forth a sealed packet addressed to Sir HughWheeler. He recognized the government envelope and, though neither ofthe pair could read English, Abdul Huq handed it to his leader with an"I-told-you-so" air.
It was in Frank's mind to revile the men, but, most happily, he composedhimself sufficiently to resolve that he would die like an officer and agentleman, while the last words on his lips would be a prayer.
The next document produced was the Persi-Arabic scrawl which purportedto be a "safe-conduct" issued by Bahadur Shah, whom the rebels acclaimedas their ruler. Until that instant, the Englishman had given no thoughtto it. But when he saw the look of consternation that flitted across theface of the subadar when his eyes took in the meaning of the writing,despair yielded to hope, and he managed to say thickly:
"Perhaps you will understand now that you ought to have asked mybusiness ere you proposed to hang me off hand."
His active brain devised a dozen expedients to account for his presencein Bithoor, but the native officer was far too shrewd to be beguiledinto setting his prisoner at liberty. After re-reading the pass, to makesure of its significance, the rebel leader curtly told Abdul Huq andanother sowar to bring the Feringhi into the presence of the Maharajah,by which title he evidently indicated Nana Sahib.
The order was, at least, a reprieve, and Malcolm breathed more easily.He even asked confidently about his horse and the members of his escort.He was given no reply save a muttered curse, a command to hold histongue, and an angry tug at his tied arms.
It is hard to picture the degradation of such treatment of a Britishofficer by a native trooper. The Calcutta Brahmin who was taunted by aLascar--a warrior-priest insulted by a social leper--scarce flinchedmore keenly under the jibe than did Malcolm when he heard the tone ofhis captors. Truly the flag of Britain was trailing in the mire, orthese men would not have dared to address him in that fashion. In thatbitter moment he felt for the first time that the Mutiny was a realthing. Hitherto, in spite of the murders and incendiarism of Meerut, therisings in other stations, the proclamation of Bahadur Shah as Emperor,and the actual conflicts with the Mogul's armed retainers on thebattle-field of Ghazi-ud-din Nuggur, Malcolm was inclined to treat theoutburst as a mere blaze of local fanaticism, a blaze that would soon bestamped under heel by the combined efforts of the East India Company'stroops and the Queen's Forces. Now, at last, he saw the depth of hatewith which British dominion was regarded in India. He heard Mohammedansalluding to a Brahmin as a leader--so might a wolf and a snake makecommon alliance against a watch dog. From that hour dated a new andsterner conception of the task that lay before him and every otherBriton in the country. The Mutiny was no longer a welcome variant to thetedium of the hot weather. It was a life-and-death struggle between Westand East, between civilization and barbarism, between the laws ofChristianity and the lawlessness of Mahomet, supported by the cruel,inhuman, and nebulous doctrines of Hinduism.
Not that these thoughts took shape and coherence in Malcolm's brain ashe was being hurried to the house of Nana Sahib. A man may note thedeadly malice of a cobra's eye, but it is not when the poison fangs areready to strike that he stops to consider the philosophy underlying thecreature's malign hatred of mankind.
Events were in a rare fret and fume in the neighborhood of Cawnpore thatnight. As a matter of historical fact, while Malcolm was hearing fromthe villager that Roshinara Begum had come to Bithoor, the 1st NativeInfantry and 2d Cavalry had risen at Cawnpore.
Nana Sahib was deep in intrigue with all the sepoy regiments stationedthere, and his adherents ultimately managed to persuade these two corpsto throw off their allegiance to the British Raj. Following therecognized routine they burst open the gaol, burnt the public offices,robbed the Treasury, and secured possession of the Magazine. Then, whilethe ever-swelling mob of criminals and loafers made pandemonium in thebazaar, the saner spirits among the mutineers hurried to Bithoor toascertain the will of the man who, by common consent, was regarded astheir leader.
He was expecting them, eagerly perhaps, but with a certain quaking thatdemanded the assistance of the "Raja's peg," a blend of champagne andbrandy that is calculated to fire heart and brain to madness morespeedily than any other intoxicant. He was conversing with his nephew,Rao Sahib, and his chief lieutenants, Tantia Topi and a Mohammedan namedAzim-Ullah, when the native officers of the rebel regiments clatteredinto his presence.
"Maharajah," said their chief, "a kingdom is yours if you join us, butit is death if you side with the Nazarenes."
He laughed, with the fine air of one who sees approaching the fruitionof long-cherished plans. He advanced a pace, confidently.
"What have I to do with the British?" he asked. "Are they not myenemies, too? I am altogether with you."
"Will you lead us to Delhi, Maharajah?"
"Why not? That is the natural rallying ground of all who wish thedownfall of the present Government."
"Then behold, O honored one, we offer you our fealty."
They pressed near him, tendering the hilts of their swords. He touchedeach weapon, and placed his hands on the head of its owner, vowing thathe would keep his word and be faithful to the trust they reposed in him.
"Our brothers of the 53d and 56th have not joined us yet," said one.
"Then let us ride forth and win them to our side," said the Nanagrandiloquently. He went into the courtyard, mounted a gaily-caparisonedhorse, and, surrounded by the rebel cohort, cantered off towardsCawnpore.
Thus it befell that the mob of horsemen pressed past Malcolm and hisguards as they entered the palace. The subadar tried in vain to attractthe Nana's attention. Fearing lest he might be forgotten if he were notin the forefront of the conspiracy, this man bade his subordinates taketheir prisoner before the Begum, and ran off to secure his horse andrace after the others. He counted on the despatches gaining him ahearing.
Abdul Huq, more
crafty than his chief, smiled.
"Better serve a king's daughter than these Shia dogs who are so ready tofawn on a Brahmin," said he to his comrade, another Pathan, and a Sunnilike himself, for Islam, united against Christendom, is divided intoseventy-two warring sects. Hence the wavering loyalty of two sepoybattalions in Cawnpore carried Malcolm out of the Nana's path, and ledhim straight to the presence of Princess Roshinara.
The lapse of three weeks had paled that lady's glowing cheeks anddeepened the luster of her eyes. Not only was she worn by anxiety, inaddition to the physical fatigue of the long journey from Delhi, but theday's happenings had not helped to lighten the load of care. Yet she wasgenuinely amazed at seeing Malcolm.
"How come you to be here?" she cried instantly, addressing him beforeAbdul Huq could open his mouth in explanation.
"As your Highness can see for yourself, I am brought hither forcibly bythese slaves," said Frank, thinking that now or never must he display abold front.
"How did you learn that I had left Delhi?"
"The journeyings of the Princess Roshinara are known to many."
"But you came not when I summoned you."
"Your Highness's letter did not reach me until after the affair on theHindun river."
"What is all this idle talk?" broke in Abdul Huq roughly. "This Feringhiwas carrying despatches--"
"Peace, dog!" cried the Begum. "Unfasten the Sahib's arms, and be gone.What! Dost thou hesitate!"
She clapped her hands, and some members of her bodyguard ran forward.
"Throw these troopers into the courtyard," she commanded. "If theyresist--"
But the Pathans were too wise to refuse obedience. Not yet had therebels felt their true power. They sullenly untied Malcolm's bonds, anddisappeared. Using eyes and ears each moment to better advantage, Frankwas alive to the confusion that reigned in Nana Sahib's abode. Men ranhither and thither in aimless disorder. The Brahmin's retainers werelike jackals who knew that the lion had killed and the feast was spread.The only servants who preserved the least semblance of discipline werethose of the Princess Roshinara. It was an hour when the cool brainmight contrive its own ends.
"I am, indeed, much beholden to you, Princess," said Frank. "I pray youextend your clemency to my men. I have an escort of six sowars, and aservant. Some of them are wounded. My horse, too, which I valuehighly--"
He paused. He saw quite clearly that she paid no heed to a word that hewas saying. Her black eyes were fixed intently on his face, but she wasthinking, weighing in her mind some suddenly-formed project. He was apawn in the game on the political chess-board, and some drastic move wasimminent.
Some part of his speech had reached her intelligence. She caught him bythe wrist and hurried him along a corridor into a garden, muttering asshe went:
"Allah hath sent thee, Malcolm-sahib. What matters thy men and a horse?Yet will I see to their safety, if that be possible. Yes, yes, I must dothat. You will need them. And remember, I am trusting thee. Wilt thouobey my behests?"
"I would be capable of little gratitude if I refused, Princess," saidhe, wondering what new outlet the whirligig of events would provide.
Leading him past an astonished guardian of the zenana, who dared notprotest when this imperial lady thought fit to profane the sacred portalby admitting an infidel, she brought Malcolm through a door into alarger garden surrounded by a high wall. She pointed to a pavilion atits farthest extremity.
"Wait there," she said. "When those come to you whom you will have faithin, do that which he who brings them shall tell you. Fail not. Your ownlife and the lives of your friends will hang on a thread, yet trust methat it shall not be severed while you obey my commands."
With that cryptic message she ran back to the door, which wasimmediately slammed behind her. Having just been snatched from the verygate of eternity by the Begum's good offices, Malcolm determined tofall in with her whims so long as they did not interfere with his duty.Although Cawnpore was in the hands of the mutineers and he had lost hisdespatches, he determined, at all costs, to reach Sir Hugh Wheeler ifthat fine old commander were still living. Meanwhile, he hastened to thebaraduri, an elegant structure which was approached by a flight of stepsand stood in the angle of two high battlemented walls.
The place was empty and singularly peaceful after the uproar of thevillage and of that portion of the palace which faced the Grand TrunkRoad.
Overhead the sky was clear and starlit, but beyond the walls stretched alow, half luminous bank of mist, and he was peering that way fully aminute before he ascertained that the garden stood on the right bank ofthe Ganges. Almost at his feet, the great river was murmuring on itsquiet course to the sea, and the mist was due to the evaporation of itswaters, which were mainly composed of melted snow from the ice-cappedHimalayas.
When his eyes grew accustomed to his surroundings he made out the shapeof a native boat moored beneath the wall. It had evidently brought acargo of forage to Bithoor. So still was the air that the scent of thehay lingered yet in the locality.
Between Bithoor and Cawnpore the Ganges takes a wide bend. At firstMalcolm scarce knew in which quarter to look for the city, but distantreports and the glare of burning dwellings soon told him more than itsmere direction. So Cawnpore, in its turn, had yielded to the cankerthat was gnawing the vitals of India! He wondered if Allahabad hadfallen. And Benares? And the populous towns of Bengal--perhaps even thecapital city itself? The Punjab was safe. Hodson told him that. Butwould it remain safe? He had heard queer tales of the men who dwelt inthe bazaars of Lahore, Umritsar, Rawalpindi, and the rest. Nicholson andJohn Lawrence were there; could they hold those warrior-tribes insubjection, or, better still, in leash? He might not hazard an opinion.His sky had fallen. This land of his adoption was his no longer. He wasan outlaw, hunted and despised, depending for his life on the caprice ofa fickle-minded woman. Then he thought of the way his comrades of the60th, of the Dragoons and the Artillery, had chased the sepoys from theHindun, and his soul grew strong again. Led by British officers, thenative troops were excellent, but, deprived of the only leaders theyreally respected, they became an armed mob, terrible to women andchildren, but of slight account against British-born men.
His musings were disturbed by the sound of horses advancing quietlyacross a paddy field which skirted that side of the wall running at aright angle with the river. It was impossible to see far owing to themist that clung close to the ground, but he could not be mistaken as tothe presence of a small body of mounted men within a few yards. They hadhalted, too, but his alert ears caught the occasional clink ofaccouterments, and the pawing of a horse in the soft earth. He rackedhis brain to try to discover some connection between this cavalry postand the parting admonition given by the Begum Roshinara, and he mighthave guessed the riddle in part had he not heard hurried footsteps inthe garden. They came, not from the door by which he was admitted, butfrom the Palace itself. Whoever the newcomers were they made straightfor the pavilion, and, as he was unarmed, he did not hesitate to showhimself against the sky line. For ill or well, he wanted to know hisfate, and he determined to spring over the battlements in the hope ofreaching the river if he received the slightest warning of hostileintent by those who sought him.
"Is that you, Malcolm?" said a low voice, and his heart leaped when herecognized Mr. Mayne's accents.
"Yes. Can it be possible that you are here?"
He ran down the stone steps. On the level of the garden he could seethree figures, one a white-robed native, one a man in European garments,and the third a woman wrapped in a dark cloak. A suppressed sob utteredby the woman sent a gush of hot blood to his face. He sprang forward.In another instant Winifred was in his arms. And that was theirunspoken declaration of love--in the garden of Nana Sahib's house atBithoor--while within hail were thousands who would gladly have tornthem limb from limb, and the southern horizon was aflame with thelight of their brethren's dwelling-places.
"Oh, Frank, dear," whispered the girl brokenly, "what evil fortune hasled you
within these walls? Yet, I thank God for it. Promise you willkill me ere they drag me from your side again."
"Hush, Winifred. For the sake of all of us calm yourself," said heruncle. "This man says he has brought us here to help us to escape.Surely you can find in Malcolm's presence some earnest of his goodfaith."
The native now intervened. Speaking with a certain dignity and using thelanguage of the court, he said that they had not a moment to lose. Theymust descend the wall by means of a rope, and in the field beyond theywould find three of the officer-sahib's men, with his horse and a coupleof spare animals. Keeping close to the river until they came to atree-lined nullah--a small ravine cut by a minor tributary of theGanges--they should follow this latter till they approached theGrand Trunk Road, taking care not to be seen as they crossed thatthoroughfare. Then, making a detour, they must avoid the village, andendeavor to strike the road again about two miles to the north ofBithoor, thereafter traveling at top speed towards Meerut, but lettingit be known in the hamlets on the way that they came from Cawnpore.
This unlooked-for ally impressed the concluding stipulation strongly onMalcolm, but, when asked for a reason, he said simply:
"It is the Princess's order. Come! There is no time for further speech.Here is the rope."
He uncoiled a long cord from beneath his cummerbund, and, running upthe steps, adjusted it to a pillar of the baraduri with an ease andquickness that showed familiarity with such means of exit from aclosely-guarded residence.
"Now, you first, sahib," said he to Malcolm. "Then we will lower themiss-sahib, and the burra-sahib can follow."
There was nothing to be gained by questioning him, especially as Maynemurmured that he could explain a good deal of the mystery underlying theBegum's wish that they should go north. The exterior field was reachedwithout any difficulty. Within twenty yards they encountered a littlegroup of mounted men, and Malcolm found, to his great delight, thatChumru, his bearer, was holding Nejdi's bridle, while his companionswere Akhab Khan and two troopers who had ridden from Agra. To make themiracle more complete, Malcolm's sword was tied to the Arab's saddle andhis revolvers were still in the holsters.
Winifred, making the best of a man's saddle until they could improvisea crutch at their first halt, would admit of no difficulty in thatrespect. The fact that her lover was present had lightened her heartof the terror which had possessed her during many days.
They were on the move, with the two sharp-eyed sowars leading, when thenoise made by a number of horsemen, coming toward them on the landwardside and in front, brought them to an abrupt halt.
"Spread out to the right until you reach the river," cried a roughvoice, which Malcolm was sure he identified as belonging to Abdul Huq."Then we cannot miss them. And remember, brothers, if we secure thegirl unharmed, we shall earn a rich reward from the Maharajah."
Winifred, shivering with fear again, knew not what the man said, butshe drew near to Malcolm and whispered:
"Not into their hands, Frank, for God's sake!"
The movement of her horse's feet had not passed unnoticed.
"Be sharp, there!" snarled the Pathan again. "They are not far off, andonly six of them. Shout, you on the right when you are on the bank."
"None can pass between me and the stream," replied a more distant voice.
"Forward, then! Keep line! Not too fast, you near the wall."
Frank loosened his sword from its fastenings and took a revolver in hisleft hand, in which he also held the reins. He judged Abdul Huq to besome fifty yards distant, and he was well aware that the fog becamethinner with each yard as he turned his back on the river.
"Take Winifred back to the angle of the wall," he whispered to Mayne."You will find a budgerow[8] there. Get your horses on board, ifpossible, and I shall join you in a minute or less. If I manage toscatter these devils, we shall outwit them yet."
[Footnote 8: A native boat.]
It was hopeless, he knew, to attempt to ride through the enemy'scordon. There would be a running fight against superior numbers, andWinifred's presence made that a last resource. The most fortunateaccident of the deserted craft being moored beneath the palace walloffered a far more probable means of escape. What blunder or treacheryhad led to this attack he could not imagine. Nor was he greatly troubledwith speculation on that point. Winifred must be saved, he had a swordin his hand, and he was mounted on the best horse in India. What betterhap could a cavalry subaltern desire than such a fight under suchconditions?
In order not only to drown the girl's protest when her uncle turned herhorse's head, but also to deceive opponents, Frank thundered forth anorder that was familiar to their ears.
"The troop will advance! Draw swords! Walk--trot--charge!"
Chumru, though no fighting-man, realized that he was expected to make arow and uttered a bloodcurdling yell. Inspired by their officer'sexample the two sowars dashed after him with splendid courage. They wereon their startled pursuers so soon, the line having narrowed morequickly than they expected, that they hurtled right through the opposingforce without a blow being struck or a shot fired. As it chanced, nobetter maneuver could have been effected. When they wheeled and Frankmanaged to shoot two men at close range, it seemed to the amazed rebelsthat they were being attacked from the very quarter from which they hadadvanced.
Under such conditions even the steadiest of troops will break, and atleast endeavor to reach a place where their adversaries are not shroudedin a dense mist. And that was exactly what occurred in this instance.Nearly all the mutineers swung round and galloped headlong for thelandward boundary of the paddy field. Shouting to his two pluckyassistants to come back, Frank called out to Chumru and bade him jointhem. He was hurrying towards the corner of the palace grounds when ashriek from Winifred set his teeth on edge.
"I am coming," he cried. "What has happened? Where are you, Mayne?"
"Here, close to the boat. Look out there! Two sowars are carrying off myniece. For Heaven's sake, save her! I am wounded, but never mind me."
Malcolm had the hunter's lore, a species of Red Indian cunning in thestalker's art. Instead of rushing blindly forward he halted his menpromptly and listened. Sure enough, he heard stumbling footsteps by thewater's edge. Leaping from Nejdi's back, he sprang down the crumblingbank and came almost on top of Abdul Huq and his brother Pathan. Theirprogress was hindered by Winifred's frantic struggles and their ownbrutal efforts to stop her from screaming, and they were taken unawareby Frank's unexpected leap.
A thrust that went home caused a vacancy in a border clan, but, beforethe avenger could withdraw his weapon, Abdul Huq was swinging histulwar. He was no novice in the art, and Malcolm must have gone downunder the blow had not Winifred seen its murderous purpose and seizedthe man's arm. That gave her lover the second he needed. He recoveredhis sword, but was too near to stab or cut, so he met the case bydealing the swarthy one a blow with the hilt between the eyes that wouldhave felled an ox. Never before had the Englishman hit any man with suchvigorous good will. This rascal was owed a debt for the indignity he hadoffered the sahib in the village, and now he was paid in full.
He fell insensible, with part of his body resting in the water. It was aqueer moment for noting a trivial thing, yet Frank saw that the man'sturban did not fall off. He had lost his own turban during the melee onthe Grand Trunk Road, and, as it would soon be daylight, he stooped tosecure Abdul Huq's headgear. Oddly enough, it was fastened by a piece ofcord under the Pathan's chin--an almost unheard-of device this, to beadopted by a native. With a sharp pull Frank broke the cord and jammedthe turban on his head. He was determined to have it, if only because nogreater insult can be inflicted on a Mohammedan than to bare his head.
The incident did not demand more than a few seconds for its transactionand Winifred hardly noticed it, so unstrung was she. Without more adoMalcolm took her in his arms and carried her up the bank. He told thetroopers and his servant to follow with the horses as quietly aspossible and led the way towards the budgerow.
&
nbsp; Arrived at the boat, they found Mayne standing in the water and leaninghelplessly against the side of the craft. He had been struck down by oneof the precious pair who thought to carry off Winifred, but, luckily, itwas a glancing blow and not serious in its after effects.
With a rapidity that was almost magical the horses were put on board,the boat shoved off, and the huge mat sail hoisted to get the benefit ofany breeze that might be found in mid-stream. The current carried themaway at a fair rate, and, as they passed the place where Abdul Huq hadfallen in the river Malcolm fancied he heard a splash and a gurgle, asthough a crocodile had found something of interest.