A BRUSH WITH MUTINEERS AND A CLUE TO THE FUGITIVES
Again we must let the Rajah's Heir tell his story in his own words. The exact date of the following extracts is not given; but, from internal evidence, I judge that they were written in the month of August.
It was a critical time for the country, for rebellion was still at large, and no decisive step had been taken to check it; but the gathering of enormous masses of rebels in and about the great centres of mutiny, such as Delhi, which was still in the hands of the disloyal troops, and Lucknow, where the gallant little band of Europeans were holding at bay untold hosts of enemies, and the marching down into Central India of a Goorkha army from Nepaul, kept the country districts, over most of which the wave of insurrection had swept, comparatively free from disorder. In many places English magistrates had actually resumed their ordinary jurisdiction, and, although the mails were subject to interruptions, and had to travel by a more circuitous route than formerly, while the robber tribes and vagrants were more troublesome and insolent to travellers, it was still possible, even for a European, with pluck and readiness of wit, to pass safely through the land. The villagers, moreover, and scattered peasantry, having seen what the rule of a disorderly army meant, showed less animosity against the English. In some few cases they were actually friendly, while there can be no doubt that in others they magnified the difficulties of the road to fugitives to magnify the reward which they hoped to earn by hiding them.
Tom travelled, as he had done before, in an Eastern disguise, and he did not, therefore, undergo the same perils as his compatriots. But that his journey was not without its perils this record will show.
'How many days and nights have gone by since I left the fort? I cannot tell, and, in fact, it seems to me sometimes that I have lost the power of recording time. One day is much the same as another. But this morning something happened, and we have decided, in the little council which we hold daily—Ganesh and Hoosanee and I—that it will be wise to halt in this village for a few hours. So, to still my impatience, and to regain, if I can, the balance of mind which deserted me so strangely after my awful experiences at the fort, I am trying to put down upon paper the things that have happened to us, and the things that we expect. I do not despair yet. That seems strange, even to my two devoted servants, who, I can see, though they do all they can to help me, have themselves given up hope of anything but disaster. Ganesh desires me to return to Gumilcund. The days at the fort have caused him to change his politics, and he is very sorry now that he carried Dost Ali Khan's message to me at all. If he only knew how fervently I thank him in my heart! for, sad and dispiriting as this life is, I know very well that at Gumilcund it would have been worse. Now I have hope, at least. Every night, as we start on our journeys, I say to myself, to-morrow morning we shall hear of them! And I feel that I am doing something.
'It has come to our ears, through one of Hoosanee's many spies, that a party of rebels, carrying with them English prisoners, will pass through this village to-day, and we have reasons for thinking that Grace and Kit may be amongst them. If they are—but I dare scarcely think of it. The thought unnerves me.
'It has gone round that I am a great man—not a rajah—I dare not give myself that title lest I should be detained—but an Ameer of great wealth. How Hoosanee manages Heaven only knows: his resource and readiness are marvellous: but he always keeps me provided with good mounts, fine trappings for the horses, and fresh garments. I second his efforts as well as I can by preserving, in my face and manner, the dignity of a king's envoy, and we meet with respect everywhere. In this large and populous village, I have been given the whole of the serai to myself, and the chief men amongst the villagers have brought beds and padded quilts, and water and food for my entertainment. We arrived between night and morning. It is full noon now—the awful, burning noon of this terrible season. I occupy a pavilion lifted high above the court of the serai. Ever since early morning the people of the village have been crowding in to see me; but, thank Heaven, the heat has driven them away at last. While my good Hoosanee prowls about, picking up what information he can, and Ganesh is making arrangements for our further supplies, I can draw down my blinds and rest.
'I have slept—actually slept. I dreamt that we were together again in England, Grace and I. Is this a good omen? God grant it. Hoosanee, who has just been in, tells me that he has gained over the villagers. They will not attempt to fight the rebel escort, but if the sepoys halt here for a few hours, as it is supposed they will do, it is proposed to take the prisoners from them by subtlety. He asked what I would promise them, and I left him free to make any conditions he pleased. I think he has been obliged to tell more than he intended, for I hear a great buzz as of many voices in the serai, and I can see through my blinds that the people are gathering together in their multitudes. If they will have me as a leader I am ready to put myself at their head. Ah! how my heart bounds as I think of it! Once—once to see myself face to face with these villains! But we must be prudent. We must remember Cawnpore. Subtlety first, till the captives are in our hands, and then force!'
'It is all over! Not for me, for my task is not done; yet, sad and hopeless as I feel, there is in my soul a certain wild springing up of exultation which prevents me from being utterly cast down. It is for them—for the torturers of women and the slaughterers of unarmed men and helpless children—that the end has come. Fifty rebel sepoys with their leader lie slain in the narrow streets of this quiet village. Their prisoners—two young English officers, fearfully attenuated, who had been walking under the sun of this August day with chains on their limbs, and a lady in a cart whose face I have not seen, though I know to my sorrow that she is not Grace—are under the care of my excellent Hoosanee in the house of the headman of the village.
'How did it all come about? This I must try to remember and put down. That we—the assailants of this valiant fifty—were only about twelve men all told I know, for Hoosanee counted them out before me. It was a fortunate circumstance for us that we had anyone at all to help us, for the villagers, though sympathetic and willing to earn the large reward I offered, had no wish to put their skins in jeopardy by trying conclusions with armed and disciplined soldiers. But, as it happened, a little band of Bheels, on their way to fill up the gaps made daily by sword and pestilence in one of the newly formed native regiments, were halting in the village, and some of these were ready to flesh their swords on the persons of the hated Poorbeahs to whom, as Hoosanee had represented, the English prisoners' escort belonged.
'They marched in early in the evening. The village was complaisant, and an enormous quantity of food, with good liquor to wash it down, was brought to them, while the serai which I had vacated was allotted to them for the long rest that would be sure to follow their heavy meal. They entered and disposed themselves for sleep, sentinels being posted at every entrance to give notice of danger. Night fell. My few men and I were close by, watching. The sentinels, who had feasted as luxuriously as their comrades, kept on the alert for a short time, and then, seeing that everything was quiet, addressed themselves to sleep. Some of our friends amongst the villagers slipped in softly, set the prisoners free and brought them out, whereupon our little body of sturdy hill-men ran into the serai with shouts and the fierce clattering of arms. From outside these shouts were echoed by the villagers, and the unhappy wretches in the serai, thinking, no doubt, that an army was upon them, were completely paralysed. Numbers were slain. The remainder rushed out. It was deep night now, and they could not see the number of their assailants. I stood at the entrance alone, and I cut them down one after the other. God forgive me if I sinned, not in killing, but in the awful spirit of exultation which possessed me as I plied my fearful task. Ten men must have fallen to my sword. Some who had caught up their weapons in their abject flight tried to resist me, but I was too swift for them. I was not a man, I was an avenging fate. Those who escaped me fell into the hands of the villagers, and they, with yells of derision, drove them back into the serai, so that in a brief hour it was all over. Every one of the rebel escort was slain, and their prisoners—who, we hear, were to have been taken to Lucknow and there most foully put to death—are safe in our hands.'
'The exultation which followed my easy victory did not last long. What does the slaughter of one or two matter in this great saturnalia of blood and wretchedness? Grace has not been found, and till my hair turns grey, and my limbs wither from age and disappointment, I will search for her. So we—Hoosanee, Ganesh, and I—are on the march again. The little party of prisoners is left in the village. I was surprised and deeply touched to find that the lady in the cart was Mrs. Lyster, my travelling friend of the "Patagonia." She and her companions, supposing me to be a native potentate who had interfered in their behalf, sent as soon as the struggle was over to thank me for their rescue, and to beg for the favour of an interview. I sent back word by Hoosanee, who was their messenger, that I would wait upon them, and, dressed as usual in my Indian disguise, I entered the inner court of the headman's house where they were resting.
'I had resolved not to make myself known as an Englishman, but the sight of Mrs. Lyster's sorrowful face and neglected dress—she who had always been so gay and trim!—was almost too much for my resolution. It gave me a little pang to find that she had not the least suspicion of my being anything but what I gave myself out to be; and how strange it was to me to receive her humble thanks! Evidently she had been chosen to speak, for the young fellows with her were too much exhausted to be capable of carrying on a conversation. Sad as it all was, I could have smiled at her careful speech. She had never been very strong in Hindostani, and she was fearful of not speaking to the great Indian lord in a sufficiently respectful manner. Over and over again I longed to turn everyone out, and to speak to her in our own English tongue. But this I knew would have been the height of imprudence.
'I hope I replied becomingly to her thanks.
'And now came the question of what they were to do next. They wished to reach, as soon as possible, a place where they could feel themselves secure, and I was anxious to have them in Gumilcund with my other fugitives; but I could not, even for their sakes, give up my search, and I was afraid of allowing them to travel alone. The two young men, moreover, who as I presently found out were subalterns in the army, and mere boys, were so much prostrated by the hardships they had undergone that to take them on at once might have endangered their lives. Mrs. Lyster told with tears that one of them had been tied to a tree in a village through which they had passed, and flogged in the presence of a hooting crowd of villagers, and that both of them had been put in irons and forced to walk for miles under the burning sun. Taking all these things into consideration, we thought it best that they should run the risk of staying where they were for a few days. I, in the meantime, would send messengers to Gumilcund, which was within three days' march of the village, and an escort strong enough to take them there safely would be sent out.
'Mrs. Lyster showed some animation when Gumilcund was mentioned.
'"I have heard of the little State as one of the happiest and quite the most wisely governed in India. Are you," looking at me doubtfully, "the Rajah?"
'I drew back from the light and put on all my dignity. "Madam," I said, bowing low, "I have at least great influence in Gumilcund, and that, with everything else I possess, is at your service."
'"Everything, except your Excellency's time," said Mrs. Lyster, with a touch of her old spirit which enchanted me.
'Keeping myself well in hand, I made another ceremonious reverence. "My gracious lady must know," I said, "that my time is not my own. If it were, she would be welcome to it."
'"To whom does your Highness's time belong?" she asked.
'"To the God whom I have worshipped from my birth," I answered. "I will speak to you frankly, for you are of those who can understand. I have bound myself under a solemn vow to find and rescue an English lady from whom I have received many kindnesses."
'"Is she in danger?" asked Mrs. Lyster.
'"I have reason to believe so," I answered.
'"A prisoner? English?" she asked eagerly.
'For an instant I forgot everything, and if Hoosanee, who was always on the watch for these mistakes, had not interposed, I should certainly have betrayed myself by dashing into English. Bowing himself almost to the ground, he stepped forward.
'"Will my master pardon me?" he said. "I have a question to ask the Mem Sahib."
'"Say on, Hoosanee," I said, withdrawing into the shadow, and letting him continue the conversation. I did not, in fact, speak again—a circumstance which annoyed Mrs. Lyster, for when, Hoosanee having obtained all the information she could give us, we retreated to the courtyard, I heard her say, in English, "He is the nicest native I ever met. But what a pity to see him so completely in the power of that deceitful-looking servant!" I thought, as I crossed the court, how, if God spares us to see some of this dreadful tangle straight, Mrs. Lyster and I will laugh over it by-and-by.
'We saw our host, who was perfectly agreeable, vowing, by all he held sacred, that the fugitives whom the courage of his lords had rescued should be well treated while they were in the village.
'Ganesh now came in, and informed us before him that my letters had been sent to Gumilcund. These were to Chunder Singh and Lutfullah, requesting that men and money should be sent to the village at once. The money was to reward those who had stood by us. The men were to escort Mrs. Lyster and her companions to Gumilcund. When he heard of soldiers and treasure, the headman became more and more abject. I believe he will be loyal. Fortunately, no one of the prisoners' escort is left to tell the tale of their destruction to the rebel army.
'This over, we retired to the hut that had been allotted to me, and discussed our further proceedings, which were to be moulded on the information given to Hoosanee by Mrs. Lyster, and which, with the object of seeing things more clearly, for I am still like one wandering in a maze, I shall write down here.
'It was by the merest chance that it all happened. For the latter part of their miserable journey—it had lasted a week when we rescued them—she had been given a small covered bullock-cart, such as native women travel in. At the last stage, when a halt was called, the cart was drawn into what seemed to her to be a large market-place. It was mid-day, she said, and their escort and the people of the village where they were halting appeared to be asleep, for there was no noise. She tried to sleep too. She thinks she did drop into a doze; but she always slept with one ear open, and the sound of low whispering close under the cart aroused her. One of the side curtains was lifted, and a face peered in. It was not an angry face. It was an inquisitive face. The face withdrew, and another took its place. This one gazed at her with considerably more attention. But it, too, withdrew. She was now thoroughly awake, and a little startled. She crept to the side of the cart where she had seen the faces, and laid her ear against the curtain. An altercation was going on. Words that might be rendered in English as, "She is!" "She is not!" "I'm certain," "So am I;" "You are a fool!" "I'm not: you are!" were being bandied from mouth to mouth. All she could gather at first was that both of the men had thought they recognised her, and that they did not take her to be the same person. But why this interest? She continued to listen, and it seemed to her presently that the man who spoke in negatives had convinced his companion. His name was Tikaram. When they settled down to confidential talk, she heard him say distinctly that he was in search of an English girl and a fair-haired boy, who, he was led to believe, had been taken prisoners by Dost Ali Khan. A third man joined the conference, who, from the way in which he spoke, she judged to be a disarmed and fugitive sepoy. He was working his way into Nepaul, and appeared to be in great dread of the swamps that have to be crossed before the mountain kingdom is reached. In the course of conversation he mentioned having heard of English fugitives going that way.
'I can write of it calmly now—too calmly—for I am becoming accustomed to cruel shocks, and my heart, I think, is growing callous; but, when I heard it first, when I tried to realise that my tender and delicate Grace might be entangled in the meshes of the pestilential, tiger-haunted district which I had crossed in the winter, my heart, I confess, nearly failed me.
'But to return. On hearing of fugitives, Tikaram roused himself and asked for particulars. The conversation became very swift now, so that Mrs. Lyster could not quite follow it; but she is certain that the sepoy convinced Tikaram of the identity of the fugitives of whom he had heard with those he was seeking. He went off presently in search of an ekka with a swift pony, and returned to bid his friends good-bye. Mrs. Lyster thinks that the sepoy joined him, but of this she cannot be quite sure. She believes, however, that their designs were friendly.
'Now this, it will be said, was not much to go upon, but we have to make the best we can of it, for we have no other clue. Hoosanee builds much, I find, on Tikaram's name. This Tikaram, if he is the same man, was a servant in the house where Grace was staying at Nowgong, and seems to have been deeply attached to her. There was besides some whisper of a reward if he could bring her safely out of Nowgong. The mystery lies in his knowing that she is not with the other fugitives at Gumilcund. Hoosanee says that he advised him not to follow them out of Nowgong, but it is quite possible that he may have been upon their heels and have witnessed the capture of Grace and Kit. Conjecture, however, is of little use. We have determined in any case to follow Tikaram, and early in the morning of the day after the rescue we made a forced march to the village where Mrs. Lyster and her friends halted last. There, Hoosanee being as clever as usual in picking up news, we heard that Tikaram had been heard of at Ghazeapore. That district is comparatively quiet, as my good friends the Ghoorkas, under their gallant captain, Gambier Singh, are holding Azimgurh in force. It would be curious if Grace could have wandered so far, but Hoosanee says it is not at all impossible. Since the day when she was said to have been put out of the fort held by Dost Ali Khan more than three weeks have gone by. I tremble as I write the words. I scarcely dare to credit them. Three weeks! She may have died long since. If she is alive still—Ah! I cannot write! I cannot think! God help me! Let me preserve my reason, at least until I know! Then do with me as Thou wilt. I will be dumb!'
'Three more days of rapid travelling have gone by. We are going night and day. When our horses are knocked up Hoosanee, by some miraculous means only known to himself, gets us fresh ones. He tells me that he is drawing largely upon the future. Let him! So long as we are moving—so long as I have still this little ray of hope to carry me on—I care for nothing else.
'We are resting in a small dak bungalow on the banks of a canal, which was occupied I suppose formerly by an English engineer, and which is within a few hours' ride of Azimgurh. I wished to ride on without drawing rein, but our horses gave in altogether, and we find that we must let them rest for a few hours. I write because I dare not think. Every day my love and agony seem to increase, and I feel sometimes as if I could not bear it much longer. In spite of the fatigue we are undergoing, I am afraid to sleep, for the dreams that haunt me are worse than my waking thoughts. Oh, what horror! What misery! Talk of the hideous visions of a maniac! They can be nothing to mine. Time after time my good Hoosanee has come with tears and cried out to me to awake, for he could not bear to hear my sobs.
'We have heard of Tikaram again. I trust indeed that we are almost on his heels. He seems to have visited Azimgurh. Some one heard that he was given a little band of Ghoorka soldiers to help him in his search. If that is so, he must have made Gambier Singh very sure of his good will. I shall hear all about it presently from himself.'
'I feel as if I ought to have been far from this hours ago. It is Gambier Singh's fault that I am not. He has beguiled me to remain by the promise of such help as it would not be prudent of me to refuse. I have slept for two good hours: such a sleep as I have not known since I left Gumilcund: and now, while the last preparations for our march are being made, I will write down in my book the strange events of yesterday.
'I had no difficulty in finding the head-quarters of the fine little Ghoorka army; my difficulty was in having speech of their captain. Fortunately, however, while I was standing at one of the outposts begging that a note from me might be taken in to him, there passed by a man who had often seen me during my visit to Jung Bahadour at Katmandoo. He ran in with my note, and in ten minutes' time Gambier Singh himself appeared upon the scene. I shall never forget the warmth of his welcome, or the passionate sympathy and interest with which he threw himself into the history of my misfortunes. I really think he almost regretted for a moment the responsible position he occupied, which prevented him from joining me in my search.
'We held a long and earnest consultation. I find that the rumour concerning Tikaram is true. He came to the camp with his story, which was that he was in search of a young Englishwoman and a child with long fair hair, travelling as it was supposed alone, who had been heard of last in these districts, and were said to be making for Nepaul. He wished to follow and help her; but his resources were completely exhausted, he had no arms, and he feared to penetrate the jungle alone. So Gambier Singh gave him a body of trusty men to accompany him. This happened yesterday only, so we shall soon be on their track.'