CHAPTER THE TENTH
The Delhi Road
"Just overhaul him, doctor," said Lumsden, when he reached his quarterswith Ahmed. "He has had a narrow squeak."
"Hair singed, eyes a trifle inflamed; nothing else wrong," said thedoctor, after a rapid examination. "Who tied you up, youngster?"
"Let us begin at the beginning," Lumsden interposed. "What were youdoing in that hut?"
Ahmed told his story in as few words as possible. The officers did notinterrupt him until he began to relate what he had heard the pretendedfakir say about the Maulavi. Then Lumsden brought his fist down heavilyon the table before him and said--
"That's the rascal I saw at Lahore a few months ago, without a doubt--atall, lean, lantern-jawed fellow with a beak like the old Duke's. Theytold me he seemed to be very busy, though no one knew what his businesswas. Now, Ahmed, could you judge by what you heard whether this fakirhad spoken to any other men in the corps?"
"I do not think he had, sahib. He was persuading these men to speak tothe others."
"Very well. Go on with your story."
Ahmed repeated, as nearly as he could remember them, the actual wordsused by the fakir, and then described how he had been seized andcarried, bound, into the tent, and lay gagged while his captorsdiscussed how they should dispose of him. When he had related the mannerin which he had set the hut on fire, Lumsden looked pleased.
"It was a good thought, and cleverly done, my lad. That's the kind ofthing I like to see in my Guides--quickness, decision, willingness totake risks. I shall keep my eye on you. But now, you fellows," he addedin English, the other officers having entered the room, "what are we todo about an explanation? The men will be desperately excited, you may besure; those three scoundrels must be marked off as deserters, and Ahmedmust have some tale for the rest of the men."
"Say they were in a funk at burning down the hut," suggested LieutenantBattye.
"Won't wash, Quintin. The punishment would only be stopping of leave orsomething of that kind: none of the men would run away from that."
"Ask the youngster," said the adjutant. "These Pathans are good at fairytales."
The question was put to Ahmed.
"It might be done thus, sahib," said the boy. "The fakir was not a truefakir. He is one Minghal, once chief of Mandan, and we blew up his towerand captured his village."
"I remember. Sherdil told me of that little piece of trickery--a box ofporcelain from Delhi, eh? Well?"
"He is my enemy, sahib. We could say that he came to kill me, and indeedhe tried to stick his knife into me just before Hawes Sahib came, but Ikicked him down. The rest might be told even as it happened, except forwhat the fakir said."
"Very good. An excellent notion: you others agree? You shall tell themthat. Now get to your hut: you have done very well."
Ahmed saluted and went away. He found Sherdil awaiting him in greatexcitement. The story he told seemed perfectly convincing. The conductof Minghal was just what might have been expected of him, and the threeGuides who abetted him clearly had no other course than to take flight.And the explanation spread through the whole corps next day, and wasaccepted with equal belief.
When Ahmed had gone, the officers sat up far into the night discussingthe incident. It indicated the possibility of grave disorders arising.They were all aware of an undercurrent of disaffection in many regimentsof the native army. Apart from the fears aroused by the threatenedintroduction of the new cartridge, there were other causes of discontentand suspicion, both among the sepoys and the native populationgenerally. The native officers did not take kindly to the system ofpromotion by seniority instead of by merit. Slight instances ofinsubordination had been too leniently dealt with by the officers, andthe men had begun to regard themselves as of vast importance. Tales hadbeen spread of the difficulties of the British army in the Crimea; manyof the sepoys believed that it had been almost entirely destroyed, andthe British prestige had fallen in consequence. They had a grievance,too, in the matter of foreign service. When they were enlisted they wereexpressly guaranteed against service over sea. But the Government, withreprehensible disregard of this engagement, ordered some nativeregiments to sail across the dreaded kala pani, and when they refused,neither enforced the order nor punished the refusal as mutiny. Sincethen a law had been passed withdrawing the reservation in the case ofnew recruits, and the older men believed that the guarantee was to be nolonger observed in their case.
Attempts to graft Western ideas and customs on an Oriental people hadembittered the populace generally. Changes in the land system which hadprevailed from time immemorial had exasperated the zamindars.Interference with the native customs in regard to succession had enragedthe princes, and the recent annexation of the province of Oudh hadalienated an immense population from which the native regiments werelargely recruited.
These and other matters bred a spirit of unrest and distrust, and madethe minds of the sepoys fit soil for the seeds of disaffection whichreligious fanatics were beginning to sow among them.
The possibility of a general rising caused grave disquiet to a few ofthe more thoughtful of the British authorities--those who knew thenatives best, and were aware of the lengths to which superstition mightdrive them. But the great majority were blind to what was passing undertheir eyes, and disregarded the warnings of the keener-sighted. Evenwhen, on February 27, the 19th Native Infantry at Barhampur rose inmutiny, impelled by a panic fear that the greased cartridges were to beforced on them at the muzzles of our guns, the incident was regarded asan isolated eruption instead of a symptom of general uneasiness, and astrange lack of firmness was shown in dealing with it. "A little fire isquickly trodden out which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench."
Major Lumsden felt that he could trust the Guides. They were notaffected by many of the matters that agitated the other nativeregiments. Their officers had shown such tact and wisdom in respectingtheir religious scruples that the men had no fears of enforcedconversion to the Christian faith. Peculiar ties of personal loyalty anddevotion bound officers and men together; the latter had "eaten thesahibs' salt," and had developed a singular pride in the honour of thecorps. They had, further, a vast contempt for the sepoys of the nativeregiments of the line. The latter assumed insufferable airs ofsuperiority towards the Sikhs, Panjabis, and hill-men, from whom theGuides were mainly recruited, and turned the cold shoulder on such ofthem as enlisted in their own regiments. But though Lumsden had thisconfidence in his men's loyalty, he was not blind to the necessity ofwatchfulness. At the first hint of trouble he gave orders that anywandering fakir who might be discovered in the neighbourhood of the fortshould be intercepted and severely dealt with.
A few weeks after news arrived of the rising at Barhampur, Lumsden leftHoti-Mardan at the head of his mission to Kabul. Among the officers whoaccompanied him was Dr. Bellew. The command of the Guides during hisabsence was given by Sir John Lawrence to Captain Daly, commander of the1st Panjab Cavalry. The Guides awaited with considerable curiosity thearrival of their new commander. He reached Hoti-Mardan at sunset on the28th of April, and the genial manner of his address to the men on theparade-ground next day, coupled with his reputation as a gallantsoldier, won their instant confidence.
"Daly Sahib is a good man," said Sherdil to Ahmed, "though in truth hehas not so much hair as Lumsden Sahib."
Thus he alluded to his new commander's premature baldness. Sherdil wasrejoicing in the rank of naik, to which Lumsden had promoted him beforeleaving the fort. The good fellow was perfectly convinced that he owedhis new dignity not merely to his merits, but to the broad hint he hadgiven his commander, and suggested that Ahmed should look out for anopportunity to make a similar suggestion to Daly Sahib.
"I must wait until I have been in the corps as long as you," repliedAhmed, with a laugh.
Daly had been but a fortnight in his command when he received grave newsin a letter from Colonel Edwardes at Peshawar. Edwardes had heard bytelegraph that on Sunday, the 10th of May, the sepoys at
Meerut hadmutinied. Five days before, when cartridges were served out to the menof the 3rd Native Light Cavalry for the parade ordered for the nextmorning, eighty-five troopers refused to receive them. They were triedfor this breach of discipline by a court-martial of native officers, andcondemned to various terms of imprisonment. On the evening of thefollowing Sunday, when the bells were tolling for church, the sepoys ofthe 11th and 20th line regiments and the 3rd Cavalry broke out of theirlines, and while some set fire to the bungalows of the Europeans, othershastened to the prison, loosened the gratings of the cells, and draggedout their manacled comrades. Their fetters were struck off; then themutineers set off on a mad riot of destruction, burning houses, smashingfurniture, massacring every white man and woman whom they met.
General Hewitt had with him at Meerut a regiment of cavalry, the 60thRifles, and a large force of artillery. With incredible lack ofenterprise he kept them at bivouac during the night, allowing themutinous sepoys to set off unmolested on the thirty-six miles' march toDelhi. Horse and foot made all haste through the darkness, reached theJumna at sunrise, crossed by the bridge of boats, and entered the gatesof Delhi exultant. Their arrival was the signal for a general rising.They massacred without mercy all the English people upon whom they couldlay hands, men, women and children, and the streets of the ancient citywere a scene of plunder and butchery.
With this terrible news Daly received orders to march for Delhi with theGuides. The men had been fasting all day: it was Ramzan, the MohammedanLent; but at six o'clock the same evening they set off, five hundredstrong, a hundred and fifty being cavalry, on their long march of fivehundred and eighty miles. At midnight they reached Nowshera, the firststage of their journey, and were up again at daybreak. It was thehottest season of the year; the sun beat mercilessly down upon them; andthe burning march to Attock, the next stage, taxed their endurance tothe uttermost. But not a man fell out, and after resting until twoo'clock next morning they were on foot again, springing up with cheerfulalacrity at the sound of the bugle. A dust-storm swept upon them as theystarted; they plodded steadily through it, marched for thirty-two mileswith only the briefest halts, rested during the day at Boran, and wereoff again soon after midnight on the next stage of thirty-two miles toJani-ki-sang.
Another night march brought them to Rawal Pindi. There they heard howthe mutiny was spreading--a terrible tale of rapine, incendiarism andmassacre; and--a little light amid the darkness--how native princes invarious parts were showing a noble loyalty, and placing their swords atthe service of the British. There, too, Sir John Lawrence reviewed thecorps, gave the men unstinted praise for their patience and enduranceunder fatigue, and did all he could for their comfort. He spoke to manymen personally as he passed down the lines, and, halting before Ahmed,said in his gruff voice--
"Where did I see you last, young man?"
"At Peshawar, sahib, when I spoke to your honour about my father, RahmutKhan."
"Ah yes, I remember. I am glad to see you in such good company."
And he passed on, leaving Ahmed in a glow of pleasure.
Night after night the march continued. Sometimes the troopers dozed ontheir horses and had to dismount and go on foot in order to keepthemselves awake. Even that remedy failed, and once Ahmed slept as hewalked, and still trudged on when the rest halted, until Sherdil tookhim by the shoulder and shook him into wakefulness.
Early in the morning of June 6, when the corps had been marching formore than three weeks, they arrived at Karnal, about three days' marchfrom Delhi, their goal. They had scarcely halted when Mr. Le Bas, themagistrate, came to Captain Daly with a request that he would destroytwo or three villages in the neighbourhood whose inhabitants had provedvery troublesome and were threatening the lines of communication. Dalywas loath to delay; there was sterner work before him than theoperations of a police officer; but the magistrate being very pressing,he at last consented to devote a day to the work required. After a fewhours' rest a portion of the Guides marched out to the villages inquestion, forced their way into them with the loss of one man killed andthree wounded, and set fire to the houses.
A party of about a dozen Guides, Ahmed among them, with Sherdil at theirhead, set off to ride down a body of armed villagers mounted on hardycountry-bred ponies. The Guides' horses were feeling the strain of theprevious three weeks' marching, while the villagers' mounts were fresh;but it was a point of honour with the Guides never to let their enemyescape, and Sherdil pushed on for mile after mile, gradually overhaulingthe fugitives. Captain Daly's orders were that no prisoners were to betaken; not one of the hapless villagers escaped.
As the little party was returning at a foot pace to rejoin theircomrades, they caught sight of a group of bearers carrying a palki, andescorted by a couple of horsemen. Thinking it probable that the palkicontained a village headman endeavouring to escape in a vehicleordinarily used only by native ladies, Sherdil decided to give chase; itwould be a notable feather in his cap if he could march into Karnal andhand over to Captain Daly the ringleader in the recent troubles.
"Daly Sahib will make me a dafadar at once," he said, with a chuckle, toAhmed. "True, the palki may hold no person at all, but only treasure; Iknow their ways. But we shall have something for our pains, Ahmed-ji."
The men carrying the palki could not go quickly, but they were more thana mile distant, and the Guides' horses were so done up that they wereincapable of more than a canter. Still, unless the quarry should be ableto hide, they might be overtaken in the course of a quarter of an hour.Sherdil led the way, the sowars following in a scattered line. They hadscarcely ridden three or four hundred yards when they came suddenly to adeep nullah. Sherdil attempted to leap his horse over it, but the animalwas too wearied for the effort; it failed to clear the gully, and fellwith its rider. The trooper next behind his leader met with the samemishap. Then came Ahmed. Being a little in the rear of the others, hehad had time to prepare for the leap, and his horse Ruksh, besides beingsuperior to the rest, was less fatigued through having had to carry alighter weight. He took the leap gamely and landed safely on the otherside, although with only an inch or two to spare.
Being safely over, Ahmed pulled up his horse and called down to Sherdilto hear if he was hurt.
"A sprained ankle, no more, Allah be praised," his friend replied.
"And the horse?"
"I am feeling his joints. Do not wait, Ahmed-ji; ride after the sons ofperdition. Hai! It will not be I that am made a dafadar, but you a naik.It is fate. Go on; we will follow."
Ahmed at once set his horse to a gallop. The palki-wallahs were out ofsight now, hidden by a slight wooded undulation of the ground. Eagerthat they should not escape him, and fired with the excitement of thechase, Ahmed did not wait to see how the rest of his comrades fared, butpressed on as fast as he could. He glanced round once and saw that thetroopers had halted on the further side of the nullah; but he had nodoubt that they would soon find a means of crossing or skirting it andfollow at his heels.
As he reached the crest of the rising ground, he saw the fugitiveshurrying across the plain not more than half-a-mile distant. Apparentlythey were aware of the chase, for they were straining every effort, andthe horsemen every now and then plied the flats of their swordsvigorously on the bearers' backs to encourage them. Again theydisappeared from Ahmed's view, entering a small copse. He gave Ruksh atouch of the spur, followed the party through the copse, and caughtsight of them again, now no more than two hundred yards away.
The two horsemen were at some little distance apart. They were bothsomewhat corpulent, and there was no look of the warrior about them. Oneof them turned, and, catching sight of the figure in khaki coming atspeed, he shouted to his companion and then dug his spurs into his horseand rode with all haste towards a patch of woodland beyond. Ahmed sethim down as a cowardly Hindu, yet felt some surprise at his flight.Surely six men might have the courage to try conclusions with a singlehorseman. If he had had time to think he might have concluded that therunaway was not aware that
his pursuer was for the moment alone; buthaving previously seen the whole party of Guides, feared that they wereclose behind. Whatever his thoughts may have been, his companion wasmade of sterner stuff. He disregarded the other's warning shout; at thevery instant when his companion fled, he wheeled his horse and stood toface the attack.
Ahmed now saw that the man had a pistol in one hand and a talwar in theother. But it was clear that he was not a practised combatant. Had hetaken aim without flurry he could have shot Ahmed with ease, for thelad's carbine was empty, all his powder and shot having been used upduring the recent fight. The horseman took a hurried snap-shot at him,and missed. At the moment when the man fired Ahmed was approaching himfrom the near side. By a slight touch on the flank of his horse--a touchso slight that an ordinary horse in full gallop would have been quiteunaffected by it--he changed the direction of the arab and came up onthe off-side of his adversary. The man seemed bewildered by the suddenchange in the point of attack. Before he could swing round to parry thestroke, Ahmed's sword caught him at the shoulder; he toppled sidewaysfrom his saddle to the ground; and his horse bolted.
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