by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER X
WHEREIN FATE PLAYS TRICKS WITH MALCOLM
If it is difficult for the present generation to understand the mannersand ways of its immediate forbears, how much more difficult to ask it toappreciate the extraordinary features of the siege of Lucknow! Let thereader who knows London imagine some parish in the heart of the citybarricading itself behind a mud wall against its neighbors: let himgarrison this flimsy fortress with sixteen hundred and ninety-twocombatants, of whom a large number were men of an inferior race and ofdoubtful loyalty to those for whom they were fighting, while scores ofthe Europeans were infirm pensioners: let him cram the rest of theavailable shelter with women and children: let him picture the networkof narrow streets, tall houses and a few open spaces--often separatedfrom the enemy only by the width of a lane--as being subjected tointerminable bombardment at point-blank range, and he will have a clearnotion of some, at least, of the conditions which obtained in Lucknowwhen that gloomy July 1st carried on the murderous work begun on theprevious evening.
The Residency itself was the only strong building in an enclosure sevenhundred yards long and four hundred yards wide, though by no meansso large in area as these figures suggest. The whole position wassurrounded by an adobe wall and ditch, strengthened at intervals by agate or a stouter embrasure for a gun. The other structures, such asthe Banqueting Hall, which was converted into a hospital, the Treasury,the Brigade Mess, the Begum Kotee, the Barracks, and a few nondescripthouses and offices, were utterly unsuited for defense against musketryalone. As to their capacity to resist artillery fire, that was a grimjest with the inmates, who dreaded the fallen masonry as much as therebel shells.
Even the Residency was forced to use its underground rooms for theprotection of the greater part of the women and children, while theremaining buildings, except the Begum Kotee, which was comparativelysheltered on all sides, were so exposed to the enemy's guns that whensome sort of clearance was made in October, four hundred and thirty-fivecannon-balls were taken out of the Brigade Mess alone.
Before the siege commenced the British also occupied a strong palacecalled the Muchee Bhowun, standing outside the entrenchment andcommanding the stone bridge across the river Goomtee. A few hours'experience revealed the deadly peril to which its small garrison wasexposed, and Lawrence decided at all costs to abandon it. A rudesemaphore was erected on the roof of the Residency, and on the firstmorning of the siege, three officers signaled to the commandant of theoutlying fort, Colonel Palmer, that he was to spike his guns, blow upthe building and bring his men into the main position. The three didtheir signaling under a heavy fire, but they were understood. Happily,the prospect of loot in the city drew off thousands of the rebels aftersunset, and Colonel Palmer marched out quietly at midnight. A fewminutes later an appalling explosion shook every house in Lucknow. TheMuchee Bhowun, with its immense stores, had been blown to the sky.
That same day Lawrence received what the Celtic soldiers among thegarrison regarded as a warning of his approaching end. He was working inhis room with his secretary when a shell crashed through the wall andburst at the feet of the two men. Neither was injured, but CaptainWilson, one of his staff-officers, begged the Chief to remove his officeto a less exposed place.
"Nothing of the kind," said Sir Henry, cheerfully. "The sepoys don'tpossess an artilleryman good enough to throw a second shell into thesame spot."
"It will please all of us if you give in on this point, sir," persistedWilson.
"Oh, well, if you put it that way, I will turn out to-morrow," was thesmiling answer.
Next morning at eight o'clock, after a round of inspection, the general,worn out by anxiety and want of sleep, threw himself on a bed in acorner of the room.
Wilson came in.
"Don't forget your promise, sir," he said.
"I have not forgotten, but I am too tired to move now. Give me anotherhour or two."
Lawrence went on to explain some orders to his aide. While they weretalking another shell entered the small apartment, exploded, and filledthe air with dust and stifling fumes. Wilson's ears were stunned by thenoise, but he cried out twice:
"Sir Henry, are you hurt?"
Lawrence murmured something, and Wilson rushed to his side. The coverletof the bed was crimson with blood. Some men of the 32d ran in andcarried their beloved leader to another room. Then a surgeon came andpronounced the wound to be mortal. On the morning of the 4th Lawrencedied. He was conscious to the last, and passed his final hours planningand contriving and making arrangements for the continuance of thedefense.
"Never surrender!" was his dying injunction. Shot and shell batteredunceasingly against the walls of Dr. Fayrer's house in which he laydying, but their terrors never shook that stout heart, and he died as helived, a splendid example of an officer and a gentleman, a type of allthat is best and noblest in the British character.
And Death, who did not spare the Chief, sought lowlier victims. Duringthe first week of the siege the average number killed daily was twenty.Even when the troops learnt to avoid the exposed places, and began topractise the little tricks and artifices that tempt an enemy to revealhis whereabouts to his own undoing, the daily death-roll was ten formore than a month.
There was no real safety anywhere. Even in the Begum Kotee, whereWinifred and the other ladies of the garrison were lodged, some of themwere hit. Twice ere the end of July Winifred awoke in the morning tofind bullets on the floor and the mortar of the wall broken within a fewinches of her head. That she slept soundly under such conditions is aremarkable tribute to human nature's knack of adapting itself tocircumstances. After a few days of excessive nervousness the mosttimorous among the women were heard to complain of the monotony ofexistence!
And two amazing facts stand out from the record of guard-mounting,cartridge-making, cooking, cleaning, and the rest of the every-daydoings inseparable from life even in a siege. Although the rebels nownumbered at least twenty thousand men, including six thousand trainedsoldiers, they were long in hardening their hearts to attempt thatescalade which, if undertaken on the last day of June, could scarcelyhave failed to be successful. They were not cowards. They gave proof inplenty of their courage and fighting stamina. Yet they cringed beforemen whom they had learnt to regard as the dominant race. The otherequally surprising element in the situation was the readiness of thegarrison, doomed by all the laws of war to early extinction, to extracthumor out of its forlorn predicament.
The most dangerous post in the entrenchment was the Cawnpore Battery.It was commanded by a building known as Johannes' House, whence anAfrican negro, christened "Bob the Nailer" by the wits of the 32d,picked off dozens of the defenders during the opening days of the siege.What quarrel this stranger in a strange land had with the English no oneknows, but the defenders were well aware of his identity, and annoyedhim by exhibiting a most unflattering effigy. Needless to say, thewhites of his eyes and his woolly hair were reproduced with markedeffect, and "Bob the Nailer" gave added testimony of his skill with arifle by shooting out both eyes in the dummy figure.
Winifred had heard of this man. Once she actually saw him while she waspeeping through a forbidden casement. Knowing the wholesale destructionof her fellow-countrymen with which he was credited, she had it in herheart to wish that she held a gun at that moment, and she would surelyhave done her best to kill him.
He disappeared and she turned away with a sigh, to meet her unclehastening towards her.
"Ah, Winifred," he cried, "what were you doing there? Looking out, I amcertain. Have you forgotten the punishment inflicted on Lot's wife whenshe would not obey orders?"
"I have just had a glimpse of that dreadful negro in Johannes' House,"she said.
Mr. Mayne threw down a bundle of clothes he was carrying. He unslung hisrifle. His face, tanned by exposure to sun and rain, lost some of itsbrick-red color.
"Are you sure?" he whispered, as if their voices might betray them. Likeevery other man in the garrison he longed to check the career of "Bo
bthe Nailer."
"It is too late," said the girl. "He was visible only for an instant.Look! I saw him at that window."
She partly opened the wooden shutter again and pointed to an upper storyof the opposite building. Almost instantly a bullet imbedded itself inthe solid planks. Some watcher had noted the opportunity and taken it.Winifred coolly closed the casement and adjusted its cross-bar.
"Perhaps it is just as well you missed the chance," she said. "You mighthave been shot yourself while you were taking aim."
"And what about you, my lady?"
"I sha'n't offend again, uncle, dear. I really could not tell you why Ilooked out just now. Things were quiet, I suppose. And I forgot that theopening of a window would attract attention. But why in the world areyou bringing me portions of Mr. Malcolm's uniform? That is what you havein the bundle, is it not?"
"Yes. The three men who shared his room are dead, and the place iswanted as an extra ward. I happened to hear of it, so I have rescued hisbelongings."
"Do you--do you think he will ever claim them, or that we shall live tosafeguard them?"
"My dear one, that is as Providence directs. It is something to bethankful for that we are alive and uninjured. And that reminds me. Theyneed a lot of bandages in the hospital. Will you tear Malcolm's lineninto strips? I will come for them after the last post."[12]
[Footnote 12: Non-military readers may need to be reminded that the"last post" is a bugle-call which signifies the close of the day. It isusually succeeded by "Lights out."]
He hurried away, leaving the odd collection of garments with her. Theclothes were her lover's parade uniform, which Malcolm had carried fromMeerut in a valise strapped behind the saddle. The other articles werepurchased in Lucknow and had never been worn. In comparison with thesmart full-dress kit of a cavalry officer and the spotless linen, asoiled and mud-spattered turban looked singularly out of place. It wasas though some tatterdemalion had thrust himself into a gathering ofdandies.
Being a woman, Winifred gave no heed to the fact that the metal badge onthe crossed folds was not that worn by an officer, nor did she observethat it carried the crest of the 2d Cavalry, whereas Malcolm's regimentwas the 3d. But, being also a very thrifty and industrious littleperson, she decided to untie the turban, wash it, and use its many yardsof fine muslin for the manufacture of lint.
The folds of a turban are usually kept in position by pins, but when shecame to examine this one she discovered that it was tied with whip-cord.Her knowledge of native headgear was not extensive, so this measure ofextra security did not surprise her. A pair of scissors soon overcamethe difficulty; she shook out the neat folds, and a pearl necklace and apiece of paper fell to the floor.
She was alone in her room at the moment. No one heard her cry ofsurprise, almost of terror. One glance at the glistening pearls told herthat they were of exceeding value. They ranged from the size of a smallpea to that of a large marble; their white sheen and velvet puritybespoke rareness and skilled selection. The setting alone would vouchfor their quality. Each pearl was secured to its neighbor by clasps andlinks of gold, while a brooch-like fastening in front was studded withfine diamonds. Winifred sank to her knees. She picked up this remarkableornament as gingerly as if she were handling a dead snake. In the vividlight the pearls shimmered with wonderful and ever-changing tints. Theyseemed to whisper of love, and hate--of all the passions that stir heartand brain into frenzy--and through a mist of fear and awed questioningcame a doubt, a suspicion, a searching of her soul as she recalledcertain things which the thrilling events of her recent life had dulledalmost to extinction.
Her uncle had told her of the Princess Roshinara's words to Malcolm onthat memorable night of May 10, when he rode out from Meerut to helpthem. At the time, perhaps, a little pang of jealousy made its presencefelt, for no woman can bear to hear of another woman's overtures to herlover. The meeting at Bithoor helped to dispel that half-formedillusion, and she had not troubled since to ask herself why the PrincessRoshinara was so ready to help Malcolm to escape. She never dreamed thatshe herself was a pawn in the game that was intended to bring Nana Sahibto Delhi. But now, with this royal trinket glittering in her hands, shecould hardly fail to connect it with the only Indian princess of whomshe had any knowledge, and the torturing fact was seemingly undeniablethat Malcolm had this priceless necklace in his possession withouttelling her of its existence. Certainly he had chosen a singularhiding-place, and never did man treat such a treasure with such apparentcarelessness. But--there it was. The studied simplicity of itsconcealment had been effective. She had heard, long since, how he partedfrom Lawrence on the Chinhut road. Since that hour there was no possiblemeans of communicating with Lucknow, even though he had reachedAllahabad safely.
And he had never told her a word about it. It was that that rankled.Poor Winifred rose from her knees in a mood perilously akin to herhatred of the negro who dealt death or disablement to her friends of thegarrison, but, this time, it was a woman, not a man, whom she regardedas the enemy.
Then, in a bitter temper, she stooped again to rescue the bit ofdiscolored paper that had fallen with the pearls. Her anger was notlessened by finding that it was covered with Hindustani characters.They, of course, offered her no clue to the solution of the mysterythat was wringing her heartstrings. If anything, the illegible scrawlonly added to her distress. The document was something unknown;therefore, it lent itself to distrust.
At any rate, the turban was destined not to be shredded into lint thatday. She busied herself with tearing up the rest of the linen. Whennight came, and Mr. Mayne could leave his post, she showed him the paperand asked him to translate it.
He was a good Eastern scholar, but the dull rays of a small oil lampwere not helpful in a task always difficult to English eyes. He bent hisbrows over the script and began to decipher some of the words.
"'Malcolm-sahib ... the Company's 3d Regiment of Horse ... heaven-bornPrincess Roshinara Begum....' Where in the world did you get this,Winifred, and how did it come into your possession?" he said.
"It was in Mr. Malcolm's turban--the one you brought me to-day from hisquarters."
"In his turban? Do you mean that it was hidden there?"
"Yes, something of the kind."
Mayne examined the paper again.
"That is odd," he muttered after a pause.
"But what does the writing mean? You say it mentions his name and thatof the Princess Roshinara? Surely it has some definite significance?"
The Commissioner was so taken up with the effort to give each spiderycurve and series of distinguishing dots and vowel marks their properbearing in the text that he did not catch the note of disdain in hisniece's voice.
"I have it now," he said, peering at the document while he held it closeto the lamp. "It is a sort of pass. It declares that Mr. Malcolm is afriend of the Begum and gives him safe conduct if he visits Delhi withinthree days of the date named here, but I cannot tell when that would be,until I consult a native calendar. It is signed by Bahadur Shah and isaltogether a somewhat curious thing to be in Malcolm's possession. Isthat all you know of it--merely that it was stuck in a fold of histurban?"
"This accompanied it," said Winifred, with a restraint that might havewarned her hearer of the passion it strove to conceal. But Mayne wasdeaf to Winifred's coldness. If he was startled before, he waspositively amazed when she produced the necklace.
He took it, appraised its value silently, and scrutinized theworkmanship in the gold links.
"Made in Delhi," he half whispered. "A wonderful thing, probably worthtwo lakhs of rupees,[13] or even more. It is old, too. The craftsman whofashioned this clasp is not to be found nowadays. Why, it may have beenworn by Nurmahal herself! Each of its fifty pearls could supply achapter of a romance. And you found it, together with this safe-conduct,in Malcolm's turban?"
[Footnote 13: At that time, $100,000.]
"Yes, uncle. Do you think I would speak carelessly of such a preciousobject? When one has discovered a t
reasure it is a trait of human natureto note pretty closely the place where it came to light."
Mayne was yet too much taken up with puzzling side-issues to pay heed toWinifred's demeanor. He remembered the extraordinary proposal made byRoshinara to Malcolm ere she drove away to Delhi from her father'shunting lodge. Could it be possible that his young friend had met theprincess on other occasions than that which Malcolm laughingly describedas the lunging of Nejdi and the plunging of his master? It occurred tohim now, with a certain chilling misgiving, that he had himself brokenin with a bewildered exclamation when Frank seemed to regard thePrincess's offer of employment in her service as worthy of seriousthought. There were other aspects of the affair, aspects so sinisterthat he almost refused to harbor them. Rather to gain time than with anydefinite motive, he stooped over the pass again, meaning to read it wordfor word.
"Of course you have not forgotten, uncle, that Mr. Malcolm took us intohis confidence so far as to tell us of the curious letter that reachedhim after the second battle outside Delhi?" said Winifred. "It saved himat Bithoor when the men from Cawnpore meant to hang him, and, seeingthat he had the one article in his possession, it is passing strangethat he should have omitted to mention the other--to me."
Then the man knew what it all meant to the girl. He placed his armaround her neck and drew her towards him.
"My poor Winifred!" he murmured, "you might at least have been sparedsuch a revelation at this moment."
His sympathy broke down her pride. She sobbed as though her heart wouldyield beneath the strain. For a little while there was no sound in theroom but Winifred's plaints, while ever and anon the walls shook withthe crash of the cannonade and the bursting of shells.
* * * * *
Ahmed Ullah, Moulvie of Fyzabad, had a quick ear for the arrival of thenative officer of cavalry from Lucknow.
"Peace be with thee, brother!" said he, after a shrewd glance at thetravel-worn and blood-stained man and horse. "Thou has ridden far andfast. What news hast thou of the Jehad,[14] and how fares it atLucknow?"
[Footnote 14: "Religious war."]
"With thee be peace!" was the reply. "We fought the Nazarenes yesterdayat a place called Chinhut, and sent hundreds of the infidel dogs to thefifth circle of Jehannum. The few who escaped our swords are penned upin the Residency, and its walls are now crumbling before our guns. Bythe tomb of Nizam-ud-din, the unbelievers must have fallen ere thepresent hour."
The moulvie's wicked eyes sparkled.
"Praise be to Allah and his Prophet forever!" he cried. "How came thisthing to pass?"
"My regiment took the lead," said the rissaldar, proudly. "We had longchafed under the commands of the huzoors. At last we rose and made shortwork of our officers. You see here--" and he touched a rent in his rightside, "where one of them tried to stop the thrust that ended him. But Iclave him to the chin, the swine-eater, and when Larrence-sahib attackedus at Chinhut we chased him over the Canal and through the streets."
"Wao! wao! This is good hearing! Wast thou sent by some of the faithfulto summon me, brother?"
"To summon thee and all true believers to the green standard. Yet had Ione other object in riding to Rai Bareilly. A certain Nazarene, Malcolmby name, an officer of the 3d Cavalry, was bidden by Larrence to makefor Allahabad and seek help. The story runs that the Nazarenes aremustering there for a last stand ere we drive them into the sea. ThisMalcolm-sahib--"
"Enough!" said the moulvie, fiercely, for his self-love was wounded atlearning that the rebel messenger classed him with the mob. "We have himhere. He is in safe keeping when he is in the hands of Ahmed Ullah!"
"What!" exclaimed the newcomer with a mighty oath. "Are you the saintlyMoulvie of Fyzabad?"
"Whom else, then, did you expect to find?"
"You, indeed, O revered one. But not here. My orders were, once I hadsecured the Nazarene, to send urgently to Fyzabad and bid you hurry toLucknow with all speed."
"Ha! Say'st thou, friend. Who gave thee this message?"
"One whom thou wilt surely listen to. Yet these things are not for everyman to hear. We must speak of them apart."
The moulvie was appeased. Nay, more, his ambition was fired.
"Come with me into the house. You are in need of food and rest. Come! Wecan talk while you eat."
He drew nearer, but a woman's voice was raised from behind a screen inone of the rooms.
"Tarry yet a minute, friend. I would learn more of events in Lucknow.Tell us more fully what has taken place there."
"The Begum of Oudh must be obeyed," said Ahmed Ullah with a warningglance at the other. He was met with a villainous and intriguing lookthat would have satisfied Machiavelli, but the officer bowed low beforethe screen.
"I am, indeed, honored to be the bearer of good tidings to royal ears,"said he. "Doubtless I should have been entrusted with letters for yourhighness were not the city in some confusion owing to the fighting."
"Who commands our troops?" came the sharp demand.
"At present, your highness, the Nawab of Rampur represents the King ofOudh."
"The Nawab of Rampur! That cannot be tolerated. Ahmed Ullah!"
"I am here," growled the moulvie, smiling sourly.
"We must depart within the hour. Let my litter be prepared, and send menon horseback to provide relays of carriers every ten miles. Delay not.The matter presses."
There could be no mistaking the agitation of the hidden speaker. Thatan admitted rival of her father's dynasty should be even the nominalleader of the revolt was not to be endured. The mere suggestion ofsuch a thing was gall and wormwood. None realized better than thisarch-priestess of cabal that a predominating influence gained at theoutset of a new regime might never be weakened by those who were shutout by circumstances from a share in the control of events. Even thefanatical moulvie gasped at this intelligence, though his shrewd wittaught him that the rissaldar had not exchanged glances with himwithout good reason.
"Come, then," said he, "and eat. I have much occupation, and it willfree thy hands if I see to the hanging of the Feringhi forthwith."
"Nay, that cannot be," was the cool reply, as the two entered thebuilding. "I would not have ridden so hard through the night for themere stringing up of one Nazarene. By the holy Kaaba, we gave dozensof them a speedier death yesterday."
"What other errand hast thou? The matter touches only the Nazarene'sattempt to reach Allahabad, I suppose?"
"That is a small thing. Our brothers at Cawnpore may have securedAllahabad and other towns in the Doab long ere to-day. This Frank comesback with me to Lucknow. If I bring him alive I earn a jaghir,[15] ifdead, only a few gold mohurs."
[Footnote 15: An estate.]
"Thy words are strange, brother."
"Not so strange as the need that this Feringhi should live till hereaches Lucknow. He hath in his keeping certain papers that concernthe Roshinara Begum of Delhi, and he must be made to confess theirwhereabouts. So far as that goes, what is the difference between atree in Rai Bareilly and a tree in Lucknow?"
"True, if the affair presses. Nevertheless, to those who follow me, Imay have the bestowing of many jaghirs."
"I will follow thee with all haste, O holy one," was the answer, "buta field in a known village is larger than a township in an unknownkingdom. Let me secure this jaghir first, O worthy of honor, and I shallcome quickly to thee for the others."
"How came it that Nawab of Rampur assumed the leadership?" inquiredAhmed Ullah, his mind reverting to the graver topic of the rebellion.
The other scowled sarcastically.
"He is of no account," he muttered. "Was I mistaken in thinking thatthou didst not want all my budget opened for a woman? He who gave me amessage for thee was the moullah who dwells near the Imambara. Dost thounot know him? Ghazi-ud-din. _He_ sent me. 'Tell the Moulvie of Fyzabadthat he is wanted--he will understand,' said he. And now, when I haveeaten, lead me to the Feringhi. Leave him to me. Within two days I shallhave more news for thee."
>
The name of Ghazi-ud-din, a firebrand of the front rank in Lucknow,proved to Ahmed Ullah that his opportunity had come. He gave orders thatthe wants of the cavalry officer and his horse were to be attended to,while he himself bustled off to prepare for an immediate journey.
When the Begum and the moulvie departed for Lucknow they wereaccompanied by nearly the whole of their retinue. Two men were leftto assist the rissaldar in taking care of the prisoner, and these twovowed by the Prophet that they had never met such a swashbuckler as thestranger, for he used strange oaths that delighted them and told storiesof the sacking of Lucknow that made them tingle with envy.
Oddly enough, he was very anxious that the Nazarene's horse should berecovered, and was so pleased to hear that Nejdi was caught in a fieldon the outskirts of the town and brought in during the afternoon thathe promised his assistants a handful of gold mohurs apiece--when theyreached Lucknow.
Once, ere sunset, he visited the prisoner and cursed him with a fluencythat caused all listeners to own that the warriors of the 7th Cavalrymust, indeed, be fine fellows.
At last, when Frank was led forth and helped into the saddle, hisguardian's flow of humorous invective reached heights that pleased thevillagers immensely. The Nazarene's hands were tied behind him, and thegallant rissaldar, holding the Arab's reins, rode by his side. Themoulvie's men followed, and in this guise the quartette quitted RaiBareilly for the north.
They were about a mile on their way and the sun was nearing the horizon,when the native officer bade his escort halt.
"Bones of Mahomet!" he cried, "what am I thinking of? My horse has donefifty miles in twenty-four hours, and the Feringhi's probably more thanthat. Hath not the moulvie friends in Rai Bareilly who will lend us aspare pair?"
Ahmed Ullah's retainers hazarded the opinion that their master'spresence might be necessary ere friendship stood such a strain.
"Then why not make the Nazarene pay for his journey?" said the rissaldarwith grim humor.
He showed skill as a cut-purse in going straight to an inner pocketwhere Malcolm carried some small store of money. Taking ten gold mohurs,he told the men to hasten back to the village and purchase a couple ofstrong ponies.
"Nay," said he, when they made to ride off. "You must go afoot, else Imay never again see you or the tats. I will abide here till you return.See that you lose no time, but if darkness falls speedily I will awaityou in the next village."
Not daring to argue with this truculent-looking bravo, the men obeyed.Already it was dusk and daylight would soon fail. No sooner had theydisappeared round the first bend in the road than the rissaldar,unfastening Malcolm's bonds the while, said with a strange humility:
"It was easier done than I expected, sahib, but I guessed that my storyabout the Nawab of Rampur would send Moulvie and Begum packing. Now weare free, and we have four horses. Whither shall we go? But, if it benorth, south, east, or west, let us leave the main road, for messengersmay meet the moulvie and that would make him suspicious."
"Thy counsel is better than mine, good friend," was Frank's answer. "Iam yet dazed with thy success, and my only word is--to Allahabad."