The Red Year: A Story of the Indian Mutiny

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XI

  A DAY'S ADVENTURES

  Though his arm was stiff and painful, the rough bandaging it hadreceived and the coarse food given him in sufficient quantity at RaiBareilly, had partly restored Malcolm's strength. Nevertheless hethought his mind was failing when, in the dim light of the inner roomin which he was confined, he saw Chumru standing before him.

  His servant's warlike attire was sufficiently bewildering, and thesonorous objurgations with which he was greeted were not calculated todispel the cloud over his wits, but a whispered sentence gave hope, andhope is a wonderful restorative.

  "Pretend not to know me, sahib, and all will be well," said hisunexpected ally, and, from that instant until they stood together on theLucknow road, Malcolm had guarded tongue and eye in the firm faith thatChumru would save him.

  He was not mistaken. The adroit Mohammedan knew better than to trust hissahib and himself too long on the highway.

  "They will surely make search for us, huzoor," he said as they headedacross country towards a distant ridge, thickly coated with trees. "TheBegum and Ahmed Ullah met here for a purpose, and their friends will notfail to tell them of the trouble in Lucknow. I have been shaking in myboots all day, for 'tis ill resting in the jungle when tigers are loose,but I knew you could not ride in the sun, and I saw no other way ofgetting rid of the moulvie's men than that of sending them back in thedark."

  "It seems to me," said Malcolm, with a weak laugh, "that you would nothave scrupled to knock both of them on the head if necessary."

  "No, sahib, they are my kin. He who wore this uniform was a Brahmin, andthat makes all the difference. Brother does not slay brother unlessthere be a woman in dispute."

  "When did you leave the Residency?"

  "About nine o'clock last night, sahib."

  "Did you see the miss-sahib before you came away?"

  "It was she who told me whither you had gone, sahib."

  "Ah, she knew, then? Did she say aught--send any message?"

  "Only that you would be certain to need my help, sahib."

  That puzzled Frank. Winifred, of course, had said nothing of the kind,but Chumru assumed that she understood him, so his misrepresentation wasquite honest.

  A level path now enabled them to canter, and they reached the first beltof trees ten minutes after the moulvie's men set out for Rai Bareilly.Luck, which was befriending Chumru that day, must have made possiblethat burst of speed at the right moment. They were discussing theirplans in the gloom of a grove of giant pipals when the clatter of horseshard ridden came from the road they had just quitted.

  There could be no doubting the errand that brought a cavalcade thusfuriously from the direction of Lucknow. It was so near a thing that fora little while they could not be certain they had escaped unseen. Butthe riders whirled along towards Rai Bareilly, and in another quarter ofan hour the night would be their best guardian.

  "That settles it," said Malcolm, in whose veins the blood was nowcoursing with its normal vitality, though, for the same reason, hisright forearm ached abominably. "It would be folly to attempt the roadagain. Let us make for the river. We must find a boat there, and get mento take us to Allahabad, either by hire or force."

  "How far is it to the river, sahib?"

  "About twenty-five miles."

  "Praise be to Allah! That is better than seventy, for my feet are wearyof that accursed Brahmin's boots."

  They stumbled on, leading the horses, until the first dark hour madeprogress impossible. Then, when the evening mists melted and the starsgave a faint light, they resumed the march, for every mile gained nowwas worth five at dawn if perchance their hunters thought of making acircular sweep of the country in the neighborhood of Rai Bareilly.

  It was a glorious night. The rain of the preceding day had freshened theair, and towards midnight the moon sailed into the blue arc overhead, sothey were able to mount again and travel at a faster pace. Twice theywere warned by the barking of dogs of the proximity of small villages.They gave these places a wide berth, since there was no knowing what hapmight bring a ryot who had seen them into communication with themoulvie's followers.

  Each hamlet marked the center of a cultivated area. They coulddistinguish the jungle from the arable land almost by the animals theydisturbed. A gray wolf, skulking through the sparsely wooded waste,would be succeeded by a herd of timid deer. Then a sounder of pigs,headed by a ten-inch tusker, would scamper out of the border crop, whilea pack of jackals, rending the calm night with their maniac yelping,would start every dog within a mile into a frenzy of hoarse barking.Sometimes a fox slunk across their path. Out of many a tuft they drove astartled hare. In the dense undergrowth hummed and rustled a hidden lifeof greater mystery.

  Where water lodged after the rain there were countless millions offrogs, croaking in harsh chorus, and being ceaselessly hunted by thesnakes which the monsoon had driven from their nooks and crannies in therocks. On such a night all India seems to be dead as a land buttremendously alive as a storehouse of insects, animals, and reptiles.Even the air has its strange denizens in the guise of huge beetles andvampire-winged flying foxes. And that is why men call it the unchangingEast. Civilization has made but few marks on its far-flung plains. Itspeoples are either nomads or dwell in huts of mud and straw and scratchthe earth to grow their crops as their forbears have done since the dawnof history.

  When the amber and rose tints of dawn gave distance to the horizon thefugitives estimated that they had traversed some fifteen miles. Malcolmwas ready to drop with fatigue. He was wounded; he had not slept duringtwo nights; he had fought in a lost battle and ridden sixty-five miles,without counting his exertions before going to the field of Chinhut.Nejdi and the horse which brought Chumru from Lucknow were nearlyexhausted. Even the hardy Mohammedan was haggard and spent, and hisoblique eyes glowed like the red embers of a dying fire.

  "Sahib," he said, when they came upon a villager and his wife scrapingopium from unripe poppy-heads in a field, "unless we rest and eat weshall find no boat on Ganga to-day."

  This was so undeniable that Malcolm did not hesitate to ask the ryot formilk and eggs. The man was civil. Indeed, he thought the Englishman wassome important official and took Chumru for his native deputy. He threwdown the scoop, handed to his wife an earthen vessel half full of themilky sap gathered from the plants, and led the "huzoors" at once to hisshieling. Here he produced some ghee and chupatties, and half a dozenraw eggs. The feast might not tempt an epicure, but its components wereexcellent and Frank was well aware that the ghee was exceedinglynutritious, though nauseating to European taste, being practicallyrancid butter made from buffalo milk.

  There was plenty of fodder for the horses, too, and they showed theirgood condition by eating freely. The ryot eyed Chumru doubtingly whenMalcolm gave him five rupees. Under ordinary conditions, the sahib'snative assistant would demand the return of the money at the firstconvenient moment, and, indeed, Chumru himself was in the habit ofexacting a stiff commission on his master's disbursements. Frank smiledat the man's embarrassed air.

  "The money is thine, friend," said he, quietly, "and there is more to beearned if thou art so minded."

  "I am but a poor man--" began the ryot.

  "Just so. Not every day canst thou obtain good payment for a few hours'work. Now, listen. How far is the Ganges from here?"

  "Less than three hours, sahib."

  "What, for horses?"

  "Not so, sahib. A horse can cover the distance in an hour--if he be notweary."

  The peasant could use his eyes, it seemed, but Malcolm passed the phrasewithout comment.

  "We have lost our way," he said. "We want to reach the river and takeboat speedily to Allahabad. If one like thyself were willing to ridewith us to the nearest village on the bank where boats can be obtained,we would give him ten rupees, and, moreover, let him keep the horse thatcarried him."

  The ryot was delighted with his good fortune.

  "Blessed be Kali!" he cried. "I saw five female gh
osts with goats' headsin a tree last night, and my wife said it betokened a journey andwealth. Not only can I bring you by the shortest road, huzoor, but mybrother has a budgerow moored at the ghat, meaning to carry mycastor-oil seeds to Mirzapur. I am not ready for him yet for three weeksor more, and he will ask no better occupation than to drop down streamwith you and your camp."

  "I have no camp," said Malcolm, "but I pay the same rates for the boat."

  "The sahib means that his camp marches by road," put in Chumru,severely. "Didst not hear him say that we have mislaid the track?"

  The ryot apologized for his stupidity, and Frank recognized that hisretainer disapproved very strongly of such strict adherence to thetruth. On the plea that they must hasten if the midday heat were to beavoided, they cut short the halt to less than an hour. When they came totighten the girths again they found that Chumru's horse had fallen lame.As Nejdi, too, was showing signs of stiffness, Malcolm mounted one ofthe spare animals and led the Arab. Chumru and the ryot bestrode thethird horse, and under the guidance of one who knew every path, they setout for the Ganges.

  There are few features of the landscape so complex in their windings asthe foot-paths of India. Owing to the immense distances betweentowns--the fertile and densely populated Doab offers no standard ofcomparison for the remainder of a vast continent--roads were scarce andfar between in Mutiny days. The Grand Trunk Road and the rivers Gangesand Jumna were the main arteries of traffic. For the rest, men marchedacross country, and the narrow ribands of field tracks meandered throughplowed land and jungle, traversed nullah and hill and wood, andintersected each other in a tangle that was wholly inextricable unlessone traveled by the compass or by well-known landmarks, where such werevisible.

  The ryot, of course, familiar with each yard of the route, practicallyfollowed a straight line. After a steady jog of an hour and a half theysaw the silver thread of the Ganges from the crest of a small ridge thatran north and south. The river was then about three miles distant, andthey were hurrying down the descent when they came upon an ekka, alittle native two-wheeled cart, without springs, and drawn by adiminutive pony. Alone among wheeled conveyances, the ekka can leave themain roads in fairly level country, and this one had evidently brought azemindar from a river-side village.

  The man himself, a portly, full-bearded Mohammedan, was examining agrowing crop, and his behavior, no less than the furtive looks cast atthe newcomers by his driver, warned Malcolm that here, for a certainty,the Mutiny was a known thing. The zemindar's face assumed abronze-green tint when he saw the European officer, and thesulky-looking native perched behind the shafts of the ekka growledsomething in the local patois that caused the ryot sitting behind Chumruto squirm uneasily.

  The other glanced hastily around, as though he hoped to find assistancenear, and Chumru muttered to his master:

  "Have a care, sahib, else we may hop on to a limed twig."

  The boldest course was the best one. Malcolm rode up to the zemindar,who was separated some forty paces from the ekka.

  "I come from Lucknow," he said. "What news is there from Fattehpore andAllahabad?"

  The man hesitated. He was so completely taken aback by the sight of anarmed officer riding towards him in broad daylight--for Malcolm havinglost his own sword had taken Chumru's--that he was hardly prepared tomeet the emergency.

  "There is little news," he said, at last, and it was not lost on hisquestioner that the customary phrases of respect were omitted, though hespoke civilly enough.

  "Nevertheless, what is it?" demanded Frank. "Has the Mutiny spread thusfar, or is it confined to Cawnpore?"

  "I know not what you mean," was the self-contained answer. "In thisdistrict we are peaceable people. We look after our crops, even as I amengaged at this moment, and have no concern with what goes onelsewhere."

  "A most worthy and honorable sentiment, and I trust it will avail youwhen we have hanged all these rebels and we come to inquire into theconduct of your village. I want you to accompany me now and place myorderly and myself on board a boat for Allahabad."

  "That is impossible--sahib--" and the words came reluctantly--"there areno boats on the river these days."

  "Why not?"

  "They are all away, carrying grain and hay."

  "What then, are your crops so forward? This one will not be ready forharvesting ere another month."

  "You will not find a budgerow on this side. Perchance they will ferryyou across at the village in a small boat, and you will have betteraccommodation at Fattehpore."

  "Are we opposite Fattehpore?"

  "Yes--sahib."

  All the while the zemindar's eyes were looking furtively from Frank tothe lower ground. It was a puzzling situation. The man was not activelyhostile, yet his manner betrayed an undercurrent of fear and dislikethat could only be accounted for by the downfall of British power in thelocality. Thinking Chumru could deal better with his fellow-countryman,Malcolm called him, breaking in on a lively conversation that was goingon between his servant and the ekka-wallah.

  Chumru, who had told the ryot to dismount, came at once.

  "Our friend here says that things are quiet on the river, but there areno boats to be had," explained Malcolm. Chumru grinned, and the zemindarregarded him with troubled eyes.

  "Excellent," he said. "We shall go to his house and wait while hisservants look for a boat."

  This suggestion seemed to please the other man.

  "I will go on in front in the ekka," he agreed, "and lead you to mydwelling speedily."

  Chumru edged nearer his master while their new acquaintance walkedtowards the ekka.

  "Jump down and tie both when I give the word, sahib," he whispered."There has been murder done here."

  Malcolm understood instantly that his native companion had found theekka-wallah more communicative. In fact, Chumru had fooled the man bypretending a willingness to slay the Feringhi forthwith, and thesheep-like ryot was now livid with terror at the prospect of witnessingan immediate killing.

  When the zemindar was close to the ekka, Chumru whipped out one of theBrahmin's cavalry pistols.

  "Now, sahib!" he cried. Malcolm drew his sword and sprang down. Thezemindar fell on his knees.

  "Spare my life, huzoor, and I will tell thee everything," he roared.

  Were he not so worn with fatigue, and were not the issues depending onthe man's revelations so important, Malcolm could have laughed at thisremarkable change of tone. The flabby, well-fed rascal squealed like apig when the point of the sword touched his skin, and the Englishman wasforced to scowl fiercely to hide a smile.

  "Speak, _sug_,"[16] he said. "What of Fattehpore and Allahabad, and besure thou has spent thy last hour if thou liest."

  [Footnote 16: A contemptuous use of the word "dog."]

  "Sahib, God knoweth that I can tell thee naught of Allahabad, but thebudmashes at Fattehpore have risen, and Tucker-sahib is dead. Theykilled him, I have heard, after a fight on the roof of the cutcherry."

  Malcolm guessed rightly that Mr. Tucker was the judge at that station,but he must not betray ignorance.

  "And the others--they who fled? What of them?" he said, knowing that thescenes enacted elsewhere must have had their counterpart at Fattehpore.

  "Wow!" The kneeling man flinched as the sword pricked him again. "Thereare two mems[17] in a house near the ghat. They alone remain of thosewho crossed. And I saved them, sahib. I swear it, by the Kaaba, I savedthem."

  [Footnote 17: Short for mem-sahibs; ladies.]

  "They are young, doubtless, and good-looking?"

  A new fear shone in the Mohammedan's eyes, and he did not answer.Frank's gorge rose with a deadly disgust, and it is hard to say that hissword would not have gone home in another instant had not Chumruinterfered:

  "Kill him not yet, sahib. He may be useful. Bind him and the other slaveback to back. Then I shall help you to truss them properly."

  Chumru soon showed that he meant business. When he was free to replacethe pistol in the holster, whic
h he did all the more readily since hehad never used a firearm in his life, he gagged master and man withskill, tied them to a tree, and then unfolded the plan which theekka-driver's story had suggested.

  The fever of rebellion had spread along the whole of the left bank ofthe Ganges as far as Allahabad. A party of fugitives from Fattehpore whohad taken to a boat were pursued, captured, and slain. Two girls who hadmanaged to cross the river unseen were now lodged in a go-down, orwarehouse, belonging to the very man whom chance had made Malcolm'sprisoner. He was keeping them to curry favor with a local rajah whoheaded the outbreak at Fattehpore. It was true that there were no boatsleft on this side of the river: they were all on the opposite bank,being loaded with loot, and the two Englishwomen were merely awaitingthe return of the zemindar's budgerow to be sent to a fate worse thandeath.

  Chumru, a Mohammedan himself, was not greatly concerned about themisfortunes of a couple of women, but he saw plainly that Malcolm couldno more hope to escape under the present conditions than the poorcreatures whose whereabouts had just become known. This was preciselythe blend of intrigue and adventure that appealed to his alertintelligence. In wriggling through a mesh of difficulties he was litheas a snake, and the proposal he now made was certainly bold enough tocommend itself to the most daring.

  He drew Malcolm and the trembling ryot apart.

  "Listen, friend," said he to the latter. "Thou art, indeed, lost if thatfat hog sees thee again. He will harry thee and thy wife and all thyfamily to death for having helped us, and it will be in vain to protestthat thou hadst no mind in the matter, for behold, thou didst not lift afinger when I threatened him with the pistol."

  "Protector of the poor, what was one to do?" whined the ryot.

  "I am not thy protector. 'Tis the sahib here to whom thou must look forcounsel. Attend, now, and I will show thee a road to safety and riches.Art thou known to either of those men?"

  "I have not seen them before, for I come this way but seldom."

  "'Tis well. The sahib shall sit in the ekka, with the curtains drawn,while I give it out that I go with my wife to take the miss-sahibsacross the river, for which purpose the worthy zemindar will presentlyhand us a written order, as he hath ink, paper, and pen in the ekka.Thou shalt be driver and come with us on the boat, and when we are inmid-stream, and the sahib appears at my signal, see that thou hast acudgel handy if it be needed. Then, when we reach Allahabad, Godwilling, the sahib will give thee many rupees and none will be thewiser. What say'st thou?"

  "I am a poor man--"

  "Ay, keep to that. 'Tis ever a safe answer. Do you like my notion,sahib? Otherwise, we must take our chance and wander in the jungle."

  The fact that Chumru's scheme included the rescue of the unhappy girlsimprisoned in the go-down caused Malcolm to approve it without reserve.The zemindar's gag was removed and he was asked his name.

  "Hossein Beg," said he.

  "Be assured, then," said Malcolm, sternly, "that thy life depends on thefulfilment of the instructions I now require of thee. See to it,therefore, that they are written in such wise as to insure success, andI, for my part, promise to send thee succor ere night falls. Write onthis tablet that the miss-sahibs are to be delivered to the charge ofRissaldar Ali Khan and his wife, for conveyance to Fattehpore, and bidthy servants help the rissaldar in every possible way. Believe me, ifaught miscarries in this matter, thou shalt rot to death in thy bonds."

  "Let my servant go with your honor, so that all things may be doneaccording to your honor's wishes."

  "What then? Wouldst thou juggle with the favor I have shown thee?"

  This time the sword impinged on the Adam's apple in Hossein Beg'sthroat, and he shrank as far as his bonds would permit.

  "Say not so, Khudawand,"[18] he gurgled. "I swear by my father's bones Imeant no ill."

  [Footnote 18: Master.]

  "Mayhap. Nevertheless, I shall take care thy intent is honest, HosseinBeg. Write now and pay heed to thy words, else jackals shall rend theeere to-morrow's dawn."

  By this time the man was reduced to a state of abject submission.Possibly his offer of the ekka-wallah's services was made in good faith,but Malcolm liked the looks of the man as little as he liked the looksof his master, and he preferred to trust to Chumru's nimble wits ratherthan the stupid contriving of a peasant, no matter how willing thelatter might be.

  The zemindar, having written, was gagged again, and the pair were leftto that torture of silence and doubt they had not scrupled to inflict onthose who had done them no wrong. They were tied to a tree-trunk in theheart of a clump, and a hundred men might pass in that lonely placewithout discovering them, whereas Hossein Beg and his subordinate couldsee easily enough through the leafy screen that enveloped their open-airprison.

  Half an hour later, Hossein Beg's ekka arrived on the open space thatadjoined the village ghat. At one end was a mosque--at the other atemple. In the center, at a little distance from the bank, was a squaremodern building, evidently the warehouse in which the English ladieswere pent.

  With the ekka came a rissaldar of cavalry, riding one horse and leadingtwo others. When he dismounted a scabbard clattered at his heels, forMalcolm now had the pistols between his knees as he sat behind thetightly drawn curtains of the vehicle.

  "Mohammed Rasul!" shouted the rissaldar, loudly. "Where is MohammedRasul? I must discourse with him instantly."

  A man came running.

  "Ohe, sirdar," he cried. "Behold, I come!"

  A note was thrust into the runner's hands.

  "Read, and quickly," was the imperious order. "I have affairs atFattehpore and cannot wait here long. Is there a boat to be hired?"

  "A budgerow is even now approaching, leader of the faithful."

  "Good. There is some disposition to be made of two Feringhi women. Readthat which Hossein Beg hath written, and make haste, I pray thee,brother."

  Perhaps Mohammed Rasul wondered why his employer wrote in such imploringstrain that he was to obey the worshipful "Ali Khan's" slightest word,and bestow him and his belongings, together with the two prisoners, onboard a boat for Fattehpore with the utmost speed. However that may be,he lost no time. The budgerow was warped close to the ghat, hercontents, mostly European furniture, as Malcolm could see through a foldin the curtain, were promptly unloaded, and preparations made for thereturn journey. First, the horses were led on board and secured. Thentwo pallid girls, only half clothed, their eyes red with weeping andtheir cheeks haggard with misery, were led from the go-down.

  "Ali Khan" was about to guide the ekka along the rough gangway whenMohammed Rasul interfered.

  "My master says naught concerning the ekka and pony," said he. "He hathdetained Gopi, and this driver is unknown to me. Who will bring themback when they have served your needs, sirdar?"

  "I will attend to that," replied Chumru, gruffly, and Hossein Beg'sfactotum had perforce to be content with the undertaking.

  But fate, which had certainly favored Malcolm and his native comradethus far, played them what looked like a jade's trick at the very momentwhen success was within their grasp. The ekka pony, frightened by thelap of the swift-flowing water against the steps beneath, shied, backed,and strove to reach the shore. Not all Chumru's wiry strength, aided bythe alarmed ryot, could prevent the brute from turning. A wheel slippedoff the staging, the narrow vehicle toppled over, and the amazedspectators saw a booted and spurred British officer of cavalry sprawlingon the ghat instead of the veiled Mohammedan woman who ought to havemade her appearance in this undignified manner.

  Malcolm was on his feet in a second.

  "Come on, Chumru!" he cried, as he leaped on board the budgerow. He sawone of the crew take an extra turn of a rope round a cat-head, and firedat him. Hit or miss, the fellow tumbled overboard, and his matesfollowed. Chumru, assisted by the ryot, who elected at this twelfth hourto throw in his lot with that of the sahib, began to cast off thecables. Even the two dazed girls helped, once they knew that anEnglishman was fighting in their behalf.

&nb
sp; To add to the excitement on shore Malcolm fired the second pistol at themen nearest to the boat, which was already beginning to slip away withthe current. Then he rushed to the helm, unlashed it, and turned theboat's head toward the channel, while Chumru and the ryot, helped by thegirls, hauled at the heavy mat sail.

  Having lashed the helm again in order to keep the budgerow on thestarboard tack, Malcolm was about to lend a hand, despite his wound,when a spurt of firing from the bank took him by surprise, because hehad seen neither gun nor pistol in the hands of the loungers on theghat, and the coolies were certainly unarmed.

  Glancing back he saw a man whom he had last seen in the moulvie'scompany at Rai Bareilly gesticulating fiercely as he directed the targetpractise of a number of men. A group of lathered horses behind themshowed that they had ridden far and fast, so the accident, which nearlyled to his undoing, had really helped to save him and his companions,else the fusillade to which they were now subjected must have takenplace while the boat was still tied to the wharf.

  "Lie flat on the deck," he shouted in English, and repeated the words inHindustani. He flung himself down by Chumru's side.

  "Haul away!" he gasped. "We will soon be out of range."

  Thus while the cumbrous sail creaked and groaned as it slowly climbedthe mast, and bullets cut through the matting or were imbedded in thestout woodwork, the latest argosy of Malcolm's fortunes thrust herselfwith ever-increasing speed into the ample breast of Mother Ganga. Soonthe firing ceased. Malcolm raised his head. The excited mob on the shorewas already a horde of Lilliputians, and the placid swish of the riveraround the roomy craft told him that he was actually free, and on theway to Allahabad once more.