The Cossacks conducted him a long way on the road which leads from Anar Kali to the Meean Meer cantonment. Heideck looked about him and observed the changes that had taken place in Lahore, just like a traveller who already in spirit lives in the new world that he intends to visit and who looks upon familiar objects as something strange. Everywhere he saw small detachments of cavalry, who were preserving order. Only faint clouds of smoke still marked the place of the fire in the city, which had evidently been extinguished. The splendid gardens of Donald Town, through which their way led, the agricultural plantations, and Lawrence Park wore the same aspect as in the time of profoundest peace.
Heideck was not chained, but the Cossacks who walked beside him had their carbines presented, ready to fire should he attempt to escape. But how could he escape? Everywhere round and about, outposts of the Russian cavalry were discernible; behind him a body of Cossack horse escorted a whole troop of Indians. Probably they were incendiaries and robbers who were, like him, being led out for execution; and it did not improve his frame of mind to find himself on his last road in the company of such a crew.
After a long march they at length reached the encampment which had been occupied by the English, the barracks and tents of which were now filled with Russian troops. It was only with difficulty that his escort could make their way through the crowd that had assembled; the report that a number of criminals were being brought into camp must have arrived here before them, for soldiers of all arms pressed forward inquisitively from all sides, in order to have a close view of the poor wretches.
Suddenly, Heideck felt the clutch of a small but firm hand upon his arm.
“Oh, master, what is this? Why are they bringing you here like a prisoner?”
At the first word Heideck recognised the soft voice, that in the excitement had assumed its natural feminine tones. In the same fantastic page’s livery in which he had last seen him in Chanidigot, the pretended servant of his friend Prince Tchajawadse here stood quite unexpectedly before him, as though he had suddenly sprung from the earth, while the most pained consternation showed itself in his fair, expressive face.
“Is it you, Georgi?” exclaimed Heideck, into whose sadness of heart the sight of the Circassian brought a faint gleam of hope; “and your master—the Prince? Is he also close at hand?”
But the Cossacks did not seem inclined to permit their prisoner any further private conversation.
“Be off with you, young fellow!” one of them exclaimed to the supposed page; “this is a spy, who is to be shot on the spot; and no one is allowed to speak to him.”
He made a movement as though with a slight motion of his powerful fist to thrust the slender lithe figure aside, when Georgi fearlessly pushed back his arm and glared at him with flashing eyes.
“Hold your blasphemous tongue, you liar! You are a thousand times more of a spy than this gentleman. If you do not leave go of him at once, you will have a knouting that you will not forget until the end of your life!”
The Cossacks looked at him and laughed. It was only the handsome face and the aristocratic bearing of the bold young fellow that prevented their seizing him.
“Take care, little fellow, that you do not first get the stick,” one of them said good-humouredly; “and be off with you, before we, by accident, crush you between our finger and thumb.”
“Go now, Georgi,” Heideck now said, in his turn, on perceiving that the Circassian was not inclined to obey their orders; “if your master is near by, go and tell him that I am about to be shot against all the rules of international law. But tell him to make haste, if he wants to see me again alive; for it looks as though his comrades intend to make short work of me.”
He did not doubt that the beautiful, hot-blooded daughter of the mountains had completely understood him. At all events he saw how she suddenly turned like a flash of lightning, and with the lithe rapidity of a slender lizard threaded her way through the crowd of rough soldiers.
A new hope awoke in Heideck’s breast, and he felt himself once more fettered in a thousand bonds to life, which he just before thought he had entirely parted from. He endeavoured to walk more slowly, in order to gain time. But the Cossacks, who had until now treated him with a certain amount of consideration, appeared to have become irritated by the scene with the page, for one of them urged the prisoner in commanding tones to greater haste, while the other raised his fist in his face with a menacing gesture.
Perhaps he would even have struck him; but the German officer looked into his face with such a proud, commanding glance that he let his raised arm sink to his side. The sullen-looking fellow felt at once that he was not here dealing with an ordinary spy, and from this moment neither curses nor abuse passed his lips.
The rattle of a rifle volley struck Heideck’s ear, and although he was sufficiently accustomed to the crack of shots, a cold shiver passed over him. The bullets that had just been fired had—he knew it well without anyone telling him—been the portion of some poor devil who had been in the same position as himself. That was why these rifle shots were so full of a significance for him, quite different from that caused yesterday by the rattle and the crash of the raging battle. Truly, one need not be a coward to feel an icy shudder at the thought of ten or twenty rifle barrels directed at one’s own breast.
And now they had reached the fatal spot which was to be the goal of all his earthly wanderings. The parade at the rear of the barrack camp had been selected for the place of execution, and so summarily was the punishment being dealt out, that no time had been found to cart away separately the corpses of those who had been shot. They simply left them lying in the trench before which the delinquents were posted, probably because burial in a common grave was more convenient.
An officer was handed the execution warrant, which had been issued by the President of the court-martial, and handed over the prisoner to a non-commissioned officer, who, regarding him with an expression of pity, bade him in an almost apologetic tone to follow him.
Only a few minutes after his arrival on the parade ground, Heideck also was standing before the fatal ditch, and saw a company of infantry, with their arms at attention, drawn up before him.
He had now abandoned all hope. Since the verdict of the court-martial only a miracle could have saved him; and this miracle had not happened. For a few short minutes he had, after the accidental meeting with the Circassian, been foolish enough to entertain new hopes of life, but now even those had vanished. Even had she been animated by the keenest desire to save him, what, after all, could she do to make the impossible possible? He was sorry now that he had not confined himself to begging the Prince through her to allow him decent burial and to send word to the German General Staff. These last wishes would, perhaps, have not been impossible of fulfilment, and he did not doubt that his amiable Russian acquaintance would have gladly rendered him this trifling service.
The word of command rang out, and the soldiers posted opposite to him had already, with clank and rattle, shouldered arms, when from the other side a loud peremptory shout reached Heideck’s ear, and he saw a horseman in Russian dragoon’s uniform dashing up, in whose dark red face he immediately recognised the Prince Tchajawadse.
Close before Heideck he reined in his dripping charger and sprang from the saddle.
“Little brother! little brother!” he cried, quite breathless from his ride in such hot haste, clasping, with genuine Russian impetuosity, his friend, whom he had found again under such strange circumstances, to his breast. “By all the saints—I should think it was quite time that I came!”
Then, turning to the astonished officer commanding the firing squad—
“There must be a mistake here. No harm must happen to this gentleman, for he is not only a personal friend of my own, but he is also a comrade, an officer of the allied German army.”
The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders.
“I have to carry out my orders, Colonel! I can undertake no responsibility for any mistakes on t
he part of my superior officers or of the court-martial.”
“I take, then, all the responsibility on my own shoulders for preventing you from carrying out your instructions, lieutenant! This gentleman will accompany me, and I give my guarantee for him.”
He gave his horse to one of the soldiers, linked his arm in that of Heideck, and took him off to the tent he occupied in the camp, giving the while most exuberant expression to his delight at having seen him again. The breakfast, from which Georgi’s message had startled him, was still on the table, and Heideck needed not much encouragement to partake of it; for only now he properly realised how much he was in want of bodily sustenance. Prince Tchajawadse would not hear of any thanks for what he had done; but when Heideck asked him if he had really correctly understood that the Prince had spoken of an alliance between the Russian and German armies, the latter was not slow to give all information on this head.
“Yes! yes!—it is the fact! The German Empire is hand-in-hand with us. The first piece of good news that I heard on reaching the army was that William II. had declared war upon England. The world is in flames. Only Austria and Italy are neutral.”
“And I had no notion of it! But, after all, that is easy enough to explain. All the telegraph cables are in the hands of the English, and it was easy for them to suppress every unwelcome despatch. The Indian newspapers are only allowed, of course, to publish what is agreeable to the Government; but I am burning with curiosity to learn more. Do you perhaps know how matters have developed as yet, and in what way Germany thinks of carrying on the war?”
“It appears that an invasion of England is contemplated. Germany has mobilised one half of her army, and has occupied Holland. The French troops, on the other hand, have entered Belgium, so that the two Powers control the whole coast opposite England.”
“And has any action taken place at sea as yet?”
“No; at least down to the present no news has reached us of a naval battle having been fought. Things are evidently still in the stage of preparation, and nothing has been heard about the movements of the German and French fleets. However, the latest intelligence that I have is now fairly old. We with the army only learn the news that the Cossacks bring us.”
Heideck struck his forehead.
“I feel utterly astonished. To comprehend and digest at one time all that you have told me almost passes the capacity of a single brain. But pardon me, Prince, if I trouble you, who have already done so much for me to-day, with a further request. I am in great anxiety about a lady, the widow of an English officer who fell in yesterday’s battle, and who was committed to my care. I only left her this morning early, when I was arrested to be taken before the court-martial, at the mausoleum of Anar Kali, where she had been interned with other prisoners. Advise me what to do, in order to send the lady, whose welfare is nearest my heart, a reassuring message as to my fate, and at the same time shield her from annoyance and discomfort.”
“That is a very simple matter. Do you object to giving me the name of the lady?”
“Not at all. It is Mrs. Edith Irwin, the widow of Captain Irwin, whom you also perhaps met in Chanidigot.”
“I think I have some recollection. There was something about a gambling affair, with which he was not very creditably connected—wasn’t it so? Well, then, while you take a good sound sleep in my tent here I will ride over to Anar Kali, visit the lady, and find out how she is situated. Be quite sure that no unpleasantness shall happen to her, if only I succeed in finding her.”
“Your kindness puts me quite to shame, Prince. I—”
“You would do precisely the same if fate had happened to have exchanged our roles. Why, then, waste words about it? I cannot, unfortunately, offer you a more comfortable couch than my camp-bed there. But you are a soldier, and I think both of us have, before now, had a worse shakedown. So, then, pleasant dreams, my friend! I will take care that you are not disturbed for the next two hours.”
Hurriedly, as though to escape all further expressions of gratitude, the Prince left the tent.
XVI
THE PROFESSOR
Sound though Heideck’s sleep was, the confused din that penetrated through the sides of the tent would have recalled an unconscious person to life. Confused and drowsy as he was, he hurried out just in time to prevent a wild-looking, dark-skinned Indian from dealing a heavy blow with a thick staff, which he held in his right hand, upon a thin, black-garbed gentleman, who was surrounded by a whole band of natives. The European, with his emaciated, beardless face, looked like a clergyman, and all the greater was Heideck’s surprise that none of the Russian non-commissioned officers and soldiers, who were spectators of the assault, raised a hand to protect him. It was certainly not his duty to act in this place as one in authority, but the danger in which he perceived this perfectly defenceless man to be, made him forget all personal considerations. With a menacing shout he drove off the excited Indians, and, taking the stranger’s arm, led him into the tent.
None of the Russian military prevented his doing so. He had been seen in confidential conversation with the Colonel, and his position as a friend of the Prince procured him respect.
The stranger, half dead from fear, gratefully accepted the glass of wine which Heideck poured out for him, and, having recovered somewhat, thanked his protector in simple, but cordial terms. He introduced himself as Professor Proctor, of Acheson College, and explained that he had come to the camp to look after a relation who had probably been seriously wounded. He had on a sudden found himself threatened by a band of excited Indians, who were probably misled by his dress to take him for a cleric.
“You, also, are no Russian, sir. Judging from your accent, I should take you for a German.”
Heideck assented, and narrated his history in a few words. Having done so, he could not help expressing his amazement at the attack of which the Professor had been the victim.
“Never during my whole stay in India have I ever before observed any outburst of hatred on the part of the Indian natives against the English clergy,” he said.
To this the Professor replied: “Even a few days ago not one of them would, I should think, have had anything to fear; but in the face of such terrible upheavals as are now taking place all ideas are thrown into confusion, all slumbering passions are unfettered. I do not venture to think of the horrors that will take place throughout the whole of India now that the bridle that curbed the people has been rent asunder; and the worst of all is that we have only ourselves to blame.”
“Do you mean on account of the carelessness with which the defence of the country was organised?”
“I do not mean that alone. Our fault is that we have ignored an eternal truth, the truth that all political questions are only the external expression, the dress, so to say, of religious questions.”
“Pardon me, but I do not quite follow the sense of your words.”
“Please consider the slow, steady advance of the Russians in Asia. Every land that they have brought under their sway—all the immense territories of Central Asia have become their assured, undisputed possessions. And why? Because the Russians have known how to win over the hearts of their subject races, and how to humour their religious views. The victors and the vanquished thus better assimilate. The English, on the other hand, have governed India purely from the political side. The hearts of the various races in India have remained strange and hostile to us.”
“There may be some truth in what you say. But you must allow that the English have in India substituted a new civilisation in return, that inculcates a spirit of intellectual progress, and I conceive that no nation can for any length of time remain blind in the face of higher ideals. All history forms a continuous chain of evidence for the truth of this statement.”
“The word ‘civilisation’ has various significations. If it is only a question of investigating whether the government and administration of the country have improved, the answer is that the civilisation we brought to India has, beyond a
ll doubt, made enormous strides, in comparison with the conditions that obtained in former centuries. We have broken the despotism of the native princes, and have put an end to the endless sanguinary wars which they waged with each other and with their Asiatic neighbouring despots. We have laid down roads and railways, drained marshes and jungles, constructed harbours, won great tracts of lands from the sea, and built protecting dams and piers. The terrible mortality of the large cities has considerably decreased. We have given them laws assuring personal security and guaranteeing new outlets for trade and commerce. But the aspirations of our English Government have been purely utilitarian, and as regards the deeper-lying current of development no progress is anywhere perceivable.”
“And, pray, what do you exactly mean by this?”
“Your views in this matter are possibly divergent. I discern in most of our achievements in India only another manifestation of that materialism which has ever proved the worst obstacle to all real development.”
“It appears to me, Mr. Proctor,” Heideck interrupted, with a smile, “that you have become a Buddhist, owing to your sojourn in India!”
“Perhaps so, sir, and I should not be ashamed of such a creed. Many a one, who on first coming here regarded India with the eyes of a Christian, has, on nearer acquaintance, become a Buddhist. Greek wise men once expressed the wish that kings should be chosen from among the philosophers. That may possibly be an unrealisable hope, but I do not believe that a ruler who has a contempt for philosophy will ever properly fulfil the high duties of his station. A policy without philosophy is, like an unphilosophical religion, not established on firmer ground than those houses there on the river Ravi, whose existence is not safe for a single day, because the river at times takes it into its head to change its course. A government that does not understand how to honour the religious feelings of its people, does not stand more securely than one of those huts. The fate that has now overtaken the English is the best proof of what I say. We are the only power in Asia that has not founded its political sway upon the religion of the people. In our folly we have destroyed the habitual simplicity of a nation, which, until our coming, had been content with the barest necessities of life, because for thousands of years past it cared more about the life after death than for its earthly existence. We have incited the slumbering passions of this people, and by offering to their eyes the sight of European luxury and European over-civilisation, have aroused in them desires to which they were formerly strangers. Our system of public instruction is calculated to disseminate among all classes of the Indian race the worthless materialistic popular education of our own nation. Of all the governors and inspectors of schools who have been sent hither by England not a single one has taken the trouble to penetrate beneath the surface of the life of the Indian people and to fathom the soul of this religious and transcendentally gifted race. What contrasts are not the result! Here a holy river, priests, ascetics, yogis, fakirs, temples, shrines, mysterious doctrines, a manifold ritual; while side by side, without any transition, are schools wherein homely English elementary instruction is provided, a State-supported university with a medical school and Christian churches of the most varied confessions.”
The Coming Conquest of England Page 14