CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH
The Missy Sahib
During this little encounter the bearers had done what might have beenexpected of men of their class. They had set the palki down, and staredin open-mouthed confusion, irresolutely watching the course of events.When Ahmed had disposed of his opponent, who lay groaning on the ground,they laid hands on the poles as if to make an attempt to escape withtheir burden. But Ahmed called to them to stand fast. He used words ofUrdu, the common language of Hindustan, though to him it was a foreigntongue. The Guides, being drawn from many different races of thenorth-west, had developed a patois of their own--a strange compound ofhill dialects with Urdu and even English. Ahmed in his early childhoodhad learnt to prattle in Urdu with his ayah and the other servants, andin Hoti-Mardan he had quickly picked up more than he had known before,so that his cry was quite intelligible to the bearers. But even if theyhad not understood his words, they could have been under nomisapprehension of the meaning of his tone. They let the palki fallagain, and stood trembling.
"What have you got in the palki?" asked Ahmed sharply.
The men remained silent, looking one at another: it was as though nonecared to accept the responsibility of being spokesman. Ahmed hadcontemptuously sheathed his sword after the fall of his adversary, thecringing bearers being of no account to a Pathan. But now he made amovement as if to draw it again. It was enough. The four men made hasteto speak at once, and in faltering tones confessed that there was aperson in the palki.
"The headman?" cried Ahmed quickly.
"Not so. It is not a man."
"One of his wives, then?"
"Not so, O strong one: verily it is a person of the Feringhis; a missysahib."
A missy sahib! This was strange news. Ahmed scarcely knew what to makeof it.
"How comes the missy sahib here?" he asked.
"Thy servants tell the truth," said one of the men. "The missy sahib wastaken this very morning by the master that now lies on the ground."
"Taken? Where from? What means this? Speak the truth, and quickly, orverily, thou son of a dog, my sword will taste somewhat of thy jelliedflesh."
"This is the truth," said the man. "The missy sahib was in the city ofthe king, but she escaped the killing by the aid of an ayah and akhitmutgar, who took her to the housetop of a man that was friendly tothe sahibs. But there were some that suspected he was not faithful tothe true king Bahadur Shah----"
"Dog, remember that I serve the sahibs, and name not that master ofcut-throats to me."
"Have mercy, O right-hand of the sahibs, we are but poor men. It was asthy servant said: some suspected him of favouring the sahibs, and thehousetop was no longer a safe place for the missy sahib. So the ayahclad her as our women are clothed, and put ornaments about her arms andfeet, and a veil over her face, and by ill-luck they passed through thegates----"
"By ill-luck, thou dog! 'Twas by the favour of Heaven."
"How should our humbleness know? They came through the gates--by thefavour of Heaven--the missy sahib being called the new wife of one ofthe princes. We were even on our way--the missy sahib, and the ayah, andthe khitmutgar, and we hired bearers also--to Karnal, when behold wewere met by a zamindar of the village which your mightiness has laidwaste this day. To him--it is even he that lieth now at the point ofdeath--the khitmutgar said even as I have told, that in the palki satthe new wife of one of the princes of Delhi, supposing that he wouldsalaam and pass on with reverence. But he saw through their pretence,and demanded that the cover should be lifted that he might see the noblelady with his own eyes. And behold, the missy sahib, being hot and in agreat fear, had taken the veil from her face, and sat even as theshameless women of the Feringhis----"
"Son and grandson of dogs," cried Ahmed, "tell thy tale without thisinsolence, or verily I will slice thee and leave thee for carrion."
"I but repeat the words of the zamindar, O merciful. He cried out withgreat laughter when he saw the white face of the missy sahib, and badeus carry the palki to his village. And but a little after we had enteredcame one running, to say that your mightinesses were riding fast uponthe place. The zamindar is not a man of war, and he lay for a time inhis house, hoping that if his face was not seen by the Feringhis hewould escape the edge of the sword. But when it was told him that themen of Lumsden Sahib had entered and were burning, he stowed some jewelsin his pockets, and placed more in the palki--they are even beneath thecushion whereon the missy sahib sits--and he bade us hasten out of thegate with the palki, purposing to reach Gungah, ten koss to thenorth-east, and there dwell with his brother. And then thou didst comeupon us like a swift breath, and the zamindar hath not escaped the edgeof the sword. It is fate: who can strive against it? I have spoken thetruth."
"Well for thee!" cried Ahmed. "And what became of the ayah and thekhitmutgar?"
"Truly we left them in the house, and without doubt they are burnt up inthe flames kindled by the Feringhis' servants."
Ahmed was nonplussed. He looked round for Sherdil and his party; therewas no sign of them. The sooner he rejoined them the better. Suddenly heheard a voice from the interior of the palki; it was thrown open, andturning, he saw the face of a young English girl.
"You are a friend of the sahibs?" she said in faltering Urdu.
"Truly," said Ahmed, and then stood speechless. Into his mind came a dimrecollection of having seen ladies such as this long years before, whenhe was a tiny child, before that terrible day when his father had beenkilled in his tent. The girl's voice recalled other voices; he seemed tohear them speaking to him, and to see tall ladies with unveiled facesbending over him, and--yes, surely one of them had given him the woodensword which had so much amused Rahmut Khan when he had first seen him,and another had given him a little horse, on which his ayah used to drawhim about the room.
"You will help me?" said the girl again in the native speech.
"Yes!" Ahmed was on the point of telling the girl that he was Englishlike herself; she would then have greater confidence in him. But hechecked himself; it was not time for that, especially with Hindus inhearing and possible danger all around. "I will help the missy sahib,"he said. "What would the missy sahib wish me to do?"
"Oh, I do not know. I cannot tell what would be best. My father andmother were killed in Delhi" (her speech was broken by sobs), "and manyof my friends, and I do not know whether even one of them escaped. Ifyou take me to the sahibs you shall have much bakshish."
"I am of the Guides of Lumsden Sahib," said Ahmed simply. And then hebade the men lift the palki with its fair burden and follow him. Theyleft the zamindar where he lay.
He reached the nullah about half-an-hour after he had left it. To hissurprise, Sherdil and his comrades had disappeared. Examining theirtracks he saw that they must have gone back the way they had come. Whyhad they deserted him? He felt uneasy. It was already late in theafternoon; Karnal, so far as he could judge after his riding acrosscountry, was at least three koss distant; and no doubt between that townand the place where he now was there were scores of villagers whosehomes had been burnt, but who had themselves been more lucky than thezamindar, and escaped.
He made for the shelter of an adjacent copse, so that the party might atleast be safe from observation while he decided what to do. When theywere among the trees, Ahmed ordered the men to squat down beside thepalki and beware of his sword if they attempted to move. A sudden rushof four men upon one would have been dangerous; but these palki-wallahswere not enterprising, and Ahmed's bold and contemptuous attitude didnot encourage them to run any risks. Keeping a wary eye on them,however, he went a little apart to consider.
It was drawing towards night, and he was, as he guessed, several kossfrom Karnal, the nearest place where he knew there were white men. Hecould not ride thither and bring help for fear of what might happenduring his absence. If the party set off to walk, they might easily losethe way, and possibly encounter bands of hostile villagers or evenroving mutineers. In a few hours the Guides would no doubt leave Karn
alfor their usual night march, and his duty was to rejoin them as soon aspossible. It seemed on the whole best to remain in hiding until darknessfell, and then attempt to reach the Delhi road, so as either tointercept the Guides, or, if they had already passed, to follow in theirtracks. Whether he could gain the road in the darkness would dependmainly on the knowledge of the palki-wallahs, for though his own senseof locality and direction was keen, as became one accustomed to wanderamong the hills of the Afghan border, his course had been so erraticsince he left Karnal with the Guides in the morning that he was nowquite at a loss.
There was one risk to be guarded against: the escape of any of the menin the darkness. If one of them should get away, he might bring thewhole countryside down upon the party. A few minutes' thought sufficedto settle that problem. As a preliminary, Ahmed made the men hand overtheir knives to him; the rest of his device he would put in operationwhen the time for starting came.
The party was not unprovided with food. Ahmed had already seen the meneating chapatis, which they had taken from their wallets, and when hewent up to the palki to acquaint the missy sahib with his purpose hefound her eating some fruit. The zamindar had shown forethought in thusproviding against a possibly prolonged march. Ahmed found it ratherdifficult to explain his design to the girl, whose stock of Urduextended little further than the ordinary phrases used between mastersand servants. The girl acquiesced in his plan; she was indeed toofrightened, and too anxious to gain a shelter with white people, to beable to criticize or suggest.
Before it became completely dark, Ahmed collected some long strands of acreeping plant that grew plentifully in the copse. With these he tiedthe bearers two by two together, in such a way that while theirmovements in carrying the palki would not be sensibly impeded, anyattempt to take flight would be hopeless. The legs of the two men whowent in front were fastened to those of the two behind, so that whenthey set off they would have to keep step. He had never seen athree-legged race; but if they tried to run away the result would be notunlike that when two boys insufficiently practised in that sport attemptto run: one would trip the other. The ends of the strands were so firmlyknotted that they could not be undone easily, and Ahmed would haveplenty of time to catch the men if they were so ill-advised as to bolt.These preparations having been made--not without sundry complaints andprotests on the part of the men--Ahmed asked them whether they couldfind their way to the Delhi road. They eagerly professed that they knewthe way perfectly; they were, in fact, so desirous of getting rid ofthis masterful Pathan that they would have agreed to lead him anywhere.He made them understand that any attempt at treachery would be fatal tothem, while, on the other hand, there would be much bakshish if themissy sahib was brought safely to her friends. Then, a little afterdarkness had fallen, he mounted his horse, which had meanwhile beenquietly browsing, bade the men take their places at the poles, and gavethe order to start.
They marched on steadily for an hour or more, then took a short rest andset off again. Ahmed was by no means easy in mind. While he felt prettysure that there was no enemy in sufficient force across the Delhi roadto interrupt communications, he suspected that the whole country wasinfested with disaffected persons, and that parties of rebels androbbers were roving about, ready to swoop down upon any one worthplundering. It would matter nothing whether such a person were well orill affected to the sahibs: unless he were accompanied by an adequateescort he would stand small chance against the rebel troops and thelawless element of the population, who had taken advantage of thedisturbances to plunder their own countrymen and the hated Feringhisimpartially. As he rode, therefore, Ahmed was ever on the alert to catchthe first sound of a body of men approaching, or anything that shouldindicate the neighbourhood of a village.
But nothing occurred to cause alarm. The party marched on, throughfields, over slight nullahs and across small streams, until, some timeafter midnight, they struck into a broad dusty track which the men saidwas the high-road to Delhi. Here Ahmed called a halt, and sat his horseintently listening. Had the Guides passed? he wondered. For the momenthe could not tell. He heard nothing but the faint barking of dogs in thedistance. He asked the men the name of the village whence the soundcame. It was Panipat, they told him, about six koss south of Karnal, andprobably half-a-koss from where they were at that moment standing. Hewas in a quandary. If the Guides had not passed, it would be well towait for them. On the other hand, if they had passed he stood a poorchance of overtaking them. Well he knew the rate at which they couldmarch! The four bearers, encumbered with the palki, could not move atanything like the pace of the Guides. He dared not leave them; theycould not be relied on, no matter what bakshish were promised, when itwas a Feringhi lady who was concerned: they might get more bakshish bydelivering her up. He thought for a moment of setting her behind him onhis arab and making a dash for Karnal, where she would be safe with LeBas Sahib; but Panipat was in the way: if it were not held by the sahibsthe risk was too great. On the other hand, even if he knew that theGuides were now on the road south of him, he might not overtake thembefore daylight, and no doubt there were other villages to pass through.Were the girl seen by any passing native, he would soon have everyfreebooter of the countryside upon his tracks, for he knew theextraordinary speed with which the news of such a discovery wouldtravel. Then, his horse bearing a double burden, he could scarcely hopeto outride any pursuers.
But, since delay was dangerous, it was necessary for him to make up hismind to some course, and he thought it best to push along the highwaysouthward, keeping a sharp look-out for hostile parties. No doubt hewould have sufficient warning of their presence to give him time to findsome temporary hiding-place by the roadside. The absence of any soundfrom the north persuaded him that the Guides had already passed, andthen he bethought himself that he might possibly prove it by examiningthe dust of the road. Dismounting, he struck a light with flint andsteel, ignited his tinder, and, shielding it with his pagri, blew up asufficient glow to throw a faint light on the road. The dust was markedwith a great number of foot-prints, both of men and of horses, many ofthem so blurred as to be indistinguishable. But after a little Ahmed'strained eye noticed several which were clearer than the rest; withoutdoubt they were made by the horses coming at the end of a troop. Heeasily distinguished the four hoof-marks of a single horse: the mark ofthe hind-foot coming close behind that of the fore-foot: and by thedistance between the successive impressions he knew that the horse hadbeen going at a walking pace. The print was very like that which wouldbe made by the shoe of one of the horses of the Guides; and the evidencewas so clear that a considerable troop had passed along the road notmany hours before that he felt sure his comrades were ahead of him.
He wondered whether there was any chance of catching them up. Itoccurred to him that he might quicken the pace of the party by relievingthe palki-wallahs of their burden for a time, so he asked the missysahib, through one of the men, to alight and mount his horse while heled the animal. Tired as she was of her cramped position in the palki,and not a little discommoded by the jolting movements of the vehicle asthe men trudged over the rough ground, the girl consented with alacrity.Thus lightened, the men stepped forward at a good pace--probably as fastas the Guides, whose progress was of course limited by the marchingpower of the infantry portion of the corps.
The march continued for several hours at a brisk rate. They skirted onevillage by making a detour into the fields beside the road. When theyreturned to the highway Ahmed noticed that the men were flagging; thepalki, even without its occupant, was no light weight to bearers who hadalready carried it for many hours; and one of the men plucked up courageto tell their hard taskmaster that his strength was failing. But Ahmedcould not venture to delay. In a fierce whisper he bade the man, who haddropped his pole, bringing the party momentarily to a halt, to push on,if he valued his life. The man obeyed with a groan, but the party hadnot gone much further when the girl, who had hitherto endured thefatigues and anxieties of the journey without a murmur, suddenly brokedown. She
would have fallen from the horse but for Ahmed's arm, and whenhe had carried her back to the palki he found that she had fainted. Hewas utterly ignorant of what to do to restore her; nothing of the kindhad ever come within his experience before. But one of the men explainedthat she must have water, and volunteered to go and find a brook; he hada small lotah with him. Ahmed dared not trust him; the reasons for notleaving the party himself were as cogent as ever; there was nothing forit but that the whole party should leave the road and search for astream.
The girl recovered from her swoon before their search was rewarded. Thenshe broke into a fit of weeping, which to Ahmed was almost as alarming.But a draught from a brook they by and by discovered revived her, andthey returned to the road. The delay had cost them a good hour.
It was nearing daybreak when Ahmed heard the sound of trotting horses onthe road behind. He instantly ordered the bearers to make for a patch ofwoodland bordering the roadside. He hoped that the horses might prove tobe those of the Guides, but it was necessary to prepare for the worst.It was useless to attempt any deception in case the horsemen turned outto be enemies and discovered him: his khaki uniform would betray him. Ifhe should pretend to have deserted from the Guides and joined themutineers, a word from one of the palki-wallahs would be his undoing.The only chance was to remain in hiding in the copse and trust that theriders would pass by. He wondered whether any of the bearers would havesufficient courage to cry out, and so disclose their hiding-place.Dismounting from his horse, he handed the girl his knife, and stood overthe four men with his sword drawn, bidding them not to make a sound ifthey valued their lives.
They had been but a minute or two in their place of concealment when thehorsemen came up at a trot. It was still very dark, but Ahmed, peeringout from among the trees, was able to see them dimly, and thought fromtheir general appearance, and the sounds made by the horses' furnishingsas they trotted past, that they were sowars. If that were the case, itwas almost certain that they were mutineers; he knew that they were notGuides because they were riding in one compact troop, without an advanceguard. As nearly as he could guess, they numbered about fifty.
They passed by; the immediate danger was over. But it was disconcertingto find a body of the enemy now between him and the Guides. He wonderedfor a moment whether the Guides were after all behind them, butdismissed that idea when he remembered the leisurely pace of thehorsemen who had just gone by; they would have made greater speed hadthey feared pursuit. There was clearly need for redoubled carefulness.Ahmed waited a full quarter of an hour after the troop had ridden bybefore he gave the word to proceed. Then he went after them slowly,listening more intently than ever, both for sounds from ahead, in casethey should return, and for sounds from behind, in case others werefollowing. But after a time the tramping of the receding horses fadedquite away; he heard nothing from the opposite direction, and hoped thatwith the morning light he would reach the bivouac of the Guides.