A STRANGE JOURNEY
Afterwards Tom Gregory looked back upon this journey as one of the strangest experiences of his strange and chequered life. As regards outward events there is little to record. Bâl Narîn knew every step of the way. The soldiers, servants, camp-followers, and coolies, of whom the cavalcade consisted, were so well up in their duties, and so hopeful of large reward from the rajah, that they worked with all the regularity and much more than the intelligence of machines. Even the heavens seemed to smile upon the intrepid travellers, for there could be no doubt that the air was less pestilential than is usual at this season, while there were none of those sweeping storms of rain that, in late summer and early autumn, will sometimes make the roads of the Terai impassable.
They travelled quietly, so as not to fatigue Grace and Kit, and it took them three days to work across the jungle from the robbers' path, where Bâl Narîn had found the first traces of the fugitives, to the Maharajah's Road.
This, of course, was the most difficult and dangerous part of the journey, but they accomplished it safely. There was no talk of fever now, no grumbling about the denseness of the jungle and the fatigue of the way. Bâl Narîn issued the orders for each day, and they were obeyed with joyful alacrity. It would almost seem as if the gladness that had taken possession of the camp since Grace and Kit were found had given it strength and tone. But for all this, and in spite of the kind and gracious face he showed to his followers, the young rajah carried about with him an aching heart. His hope and dream had not been fulfilled. He had saved his love from the last extremity; but for what had he saved her? Sometimes when he saw the wandering horror in her eyes, when he listened to the broken words of pain, which for his sake she tried to repress, when, with a trouble which almost unmanned him, he realised that so it must be as long as she lived, he would say to himself ruefully, that for her it would have been better if in the trance in which he found her in the hut, her gentle spirit had winged its flight from earth.
But these were his worst moments. The best times were when, as Kit expressed it, Grace was 'somewhere else.' Then, but for the curious expression of her eyes, the haunting pain that seemed always to be lying in wait for her, she was so quiet and peaceful, so much the Grace of the dear old days, that he could venture to hope for her restoration to health of body and peace of mind.
He would lengthen out these times of mental aberration. When she called to him by some name out of the past, he would answer to it. Patiently he would work himself into the spirit of her dream, so that he might live and act in it. With an ingenuity born of love, he would keep out of her sight, as much as possible, everything that would remind her of the present. Kit was not allowed to come near her while the dream lasted. The servants were kept in the background. Of everything strange that she saw about her, there would be some ingenious explanation. Thus the meal under the shadow of a tree was a picnic; and the jungle was an English wood, and the tent was a cottage in which they had taken shelter from heat or storm, he and she together, and the others—Lady Elton and Mrs. Gregory, and Lady Winter and the fine Sir Reginald, and the girls—these were all behind them and would presently come up. So in the hours of tranquillity, which his love made for her, she gained marvellously in health and strength; but Tom had an uneasy feeling that the spectre of pain and horror which she carried about with her was not destroyed, and that some day it would assert its presence dangerously. The fact was, that Grace lacked the robust individualism which enables the majority of people, and especially of women, to exult over their own exceptional good fortune. She could not feel herself a favourite of heaven; she could not, as she would say pathetically, be grateful. That thought of the others, the ill-doers as well as those who had suffered wrong, haunted her perpetually. She saw them in her dreams. They seemed to be holding out their hands to her. Whenever she was not wandering in the past, her heart was full of a new and incomprehensible anguish.
A little diversion, which had a beneficial effect upon her mind, was created by their meeting with Hoosanee. It was in a great sâal-forest, when they were travelling pleasantly along an easy road, under a fine canopy made by overarching trees, that the rajah's faithful servant, who had made up his mind that no such fugitives as those he was seeking could have crossed Sisagarhi, came up with them.
He came in late in the evening, when the cavalcade had halted as it did habitually between sunset and moonrise. The blow on the hillside had done for him what his master had hoped from it. The fever that had begun to work in his blood had gone, and his power and energy had returned. The meeting between him and the rajah was rather that of intimate friends than of master and servant. When Hoosanee heard that the object of the expedition had been fulfilled, that the fair and gracious maiden whom they had travelled so far, and on his part so hopelessly, to seek was actually in camp, he cried like a child. 'Master! Master!' he sobbed, the tears rolling down his face. 'Who will dare to tell me now that the gods do not fight on our side? Ah! if some miracle would take us straight to the gates of our own town! How proudly we shall enter! It will be better even than the night when first the Rajah Sahib passed through our streets and the people saluted him as Rama, their prince and hero——'
'That remains to be proved, Hoosanee,' said Tom, smiling. 'Remember that I have offended the people of Gumilcund grievously. I doubt whether they will accept me as their rajah now. But I am sure that, for the love of those who have gone, they will admit me for a time. And I have been mindful of their interests while I was away. Is it not strange, Hoosanee,' he went on dreamily, 'now I have fulfilled my task the love of my people and my work has come back to me? The voice that was silent so long spoke to me again last night. I am one of you, my friend, as I was before. You are so near to me that you will understand this. But we must not be surprised if the others do not.'
'They will: they will. Chunder Singh knows. Chunder Singh is the friend of his Excellency. There is no fear,' said Hoosanee joyfully.
Then he left his master and presented himself at the door of the tent where Grace was resting. Kit was just outside. He saw him and gave a joyful cry of recognition. Grace heard it and started up. 'Who has come? What has happened?' she cried.
'Oh!' said Kit, rushing in, 'it's Tom's bearer. It's Hoosanee. They did not kill him after all. Hooray! Hooray! Three cheers! Grace! Grace! mayn't he come in?'
'Yes! Yes; bring him in,' said Grace joyfully. So Kit set the curtain aside, and Hoosanee, whose dark face was glowing with happiness, came in, and stood with bowed head and hands crossed reverently before the lady of his dreams. As for Grace, she held out both her hands and burst into tears.
'My gracious lady should laugh: she should not weep,' he said, bending low over her hands.
'But it is for joy not for sadness. My brave Hoosanee, I never thought to see you alive again. How splendidly you stood your ground that awful night, and how nobly you pleaded for me! And did you take care of the others? Did you carry them to Gumilcund safely?'
'Missy Sahib,' said Hoosanee, a smile breaking over his face, 'it was not so easy when you had gone. The ladies cried and sometimes they were unreasonable and doubted me, thinking that, as I had given you up, so I would give them up; and the storm beat upon us angrily, and it was with difficulty we dragged ourselves along. But on the second night we entered the gates of our city and one ran to tell our rajah and he met us.'
'And they were safe and well—Lucy and Kit's mother, and the baby and the other Mem Sahib?'
'They were safe. The rajah gave them lodging in his palace. But we did not see them again, for that very night we departed for the fort.'
'The fort? Dost Ali Khan's fort?' said Grace shuddering. 'That was where the wicked Soubahdar took me. But how did you know, Hoosanee?'
'It had been told to one of my lord's servants that we should find Missy Sahib there. Dost Ali Khan thought to buy the favour of my master by giving her up.'
'But I was not there, Hoosanee.'
'Let us give thanks to the Supreme Spirit!' said the Indian, bowing low.
Grace gazed at him, speechless with wonder.
'The fort has gone,' he went on solemnly. 'Like a wild beast in its lair Dost Ali Khan was destroyed. The day after Missy Sahib was put out the English came up, and they made a mine secretly and the fort was blown to pieces.'
'With everyone within,' said Grace, whose eyes were distended with horror.
'My master and my master's servants escaped. Some few of the defenders may have left by the secret passage. All the others perished.'
'There was an English woman there,' said Grace.
'The woman who called herself the White Ranee, and to whom Dost Ali Khan the pretended ruler of the country did homage, was within the fort. She was slain,' said Hoosanee quietly.
'Slain!' echoed Grace.
'It is true, Missy Sahib. The rajah himself brought her dead out of the ruins. I saw her in his arms. He made a fire in the room where they had imprisoned him, and her body was consumed. Then he and I went out to meet the English.'
While Hoosanee was speaking, Grace had covered her face with her hands. When she looked up she was as pale as death. 'Dead!' she murmured, 'Vivien dead! Is it true? Then God have mercy upon her!'
She paused. Hoosanee did not speak, and after a few moments she went on, in a stifled voice, as if she were speaking to herself: 'I had been thinking of her, wondering how it would end. But it is best so—much best! Hoosanee,' suddenly, 'you must tell no one. Remember! It is a secret between you and me and the rajah.'
'I will remember, Missy Sahib.'
'Let them think that she was taken prisoner,' went on Grace. 'It may have been so. Yes: that is the true explanation. I wonder I did not think of it before—and the terror and horror shook her reason. Poor Vivien! I am sorry I had hard thoughts of her. She was much too beautiful to be wicked. It was madness, Hoosanee. If she had not been mad she would never have treated me so. I might have known it at once. And you say she is dead?'
'She is dead, Missy Sahib.'
'It was best. To have come to herself here would have been terrible. But I cannot think of it any more. Thank you for telling me, my good Hoosanee. You have just come in?'
'I rode into camp an hour ago, Missy Sahib.'
'You must want rest. I am selfish to keep you up so long. Good-night! I will see you again to-morrow.'
'May the sleep of my gracious lady be sweet, and may the gods preserve her from evil!' said Hoosanee fervently.
He went out, to find the rajah waiting for him with eager questions. Then Bâl Narîn joined them. A runner had come out in search of the rajah. He brought intelligence of a great and notable Ghoorka victory, which had resulted in the complete pacification of the district between the Nepaul frontier and the Kingdom of Oude. Gambier Singh was triumphant. He sent word that the rajah must join him in his camp near Janhpore, and that he would tell off a detachment to escort him to Gumilcund, as a part of the Doab, which he would have to cross on his journey, was said to be still in an unsettled condition.
When questioned about the state of the country generally, the runner reported that Delhi was supposed to have been taken by assault a few days since; but that Lucknow was still in the hands of the mutineers.
This was joyful news to the rajah. 'If Delhi is taken the worst is over,' he said to his servants. 'And our Gumilcund men will be in it. If we reach our city safely, I will put myself at the head of another little army and join the forces that will be marching to Lucknow. What do you say, Billy? Will you join me?'
'I will go to the ends of the earth with his Excellency,' said Bâl Narîn. 'But let him have a care!'
'Of what, Billy?'
'Of the jealousy of the gods, Excellency.'
'You think I am too prosperous, Billy? Don't alarm yourself. I shall have my knock-down presently.'
'It is useless to speak of such things,' said Hoosanee. 'The Rajah Sahib, as we know, has risked his life in two dangerous enterprises. It is fitting now that he remains with his people in Gumilcund.'
'Time enough to discuss our further movements when we have reached that haven of rest,' said Tom, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
And so, when the moon rose that night, they went on together joyfully. One more halt in the Terai, and a short day's march through the forest brought them to the borders of the dominions of the Maharajah of Nepaul, when they entered upon the vast agricultural plains of Upper India, held then by the British and Ghoorka armies.
Concerning this part of the journey, which, under any other circumstances, would have been monotonous, there is very little to record. The rajah's diary, to which he returned about this time, deals more with feelings and states of mind than with events. I gather from it that, as the days went by, his deep interest in the social and political condition of the people amongst whom his lot had been cast revived. He was impatient, for his own sake as well as for that of his friends, to be in Gumilcund again. He took a more wholesome and a larger view of life. Away from the pestilential swamps of the fever-haunted jungle, and under the wide benignant sky, he could forget the wild agony of despair that for so many days had bound him in prison; he could believe that it was not madness, but a sound philosophy, which caused men everywhere to expect and to work for the redemption of humanity.
Here and there he speaks of Grace, but only briefly. 'My darling is better,' he writes on one occasion. 'I think Hoosanee is doing her good. He understands how to make her comfortable. I really think she is at home in her tent.' And again, 'There is something on her mind still. If she could tell it, the look of haunting terror, which goes to my very soul, might leave her eyes. But I dare not urge her.' And yet again, 'A woman should be with her; one she has known and loved. Thank God she will find friends at Gumilcund! Perhaps her mother would come if I sent for her. She will not be happy until she has told what is on her mind. Will she then? God help my darling and send her rest and peace!' From Bâl Narîn, who would not go back to his native valley until he had seen his friends at the end of their journey, I learn that the young rajah, who travelled in semi-Oriental dress, but who did not now disguise from anyone that he was of European origin, won hearts wherever he went by his grace and dignity. To this day most of these people believe that there was something supernatural about him. At the villages, when there was difficulty about the supplies of food and firing, he had only to come forward and speak and his orders were obeyed without delay. To himself his power over the native mind, which he could not help seeing and acknowledging, was a mystery. I, who look at this part of his history in the light not only of what went before but of what followed, can find an explanation. In him the indomitable pluck, the perseverance, the rectitude, and stern sense of justice, which have enabled a Western people to conquer and hold dominion in the East, were combined with the softer, more graceful and endearing qualities of the race with which he was allied, although at that time he did not know it, no less by birth than by circumstances. Gracious as well as great, sympathetic as well as strong, feeling at every point the people with whom he came in contact, tolerant in them of the weaknesses, whose germs, covered but not destroyed by his Western training, he found in himself, yet, rising above them by his proud indifference to selfish considerations, his quickness to execute what his brain had devised; and, more than all, by his keen spiritual insight, Thomas Gregory has always seemed to me to be in himself a living parable. So in my fanciful moments I have imagined may society be, when the two great branches of humanity's noblest family, which have been separated so long, will consent not only to meet, but to meet on the same ground; when they will take one from the other as brothers should; when they will sit down together at the rich feast of stored-up experience wrought out painfully on the opposite sides of dividing oceans; when they will realise that one requires the other, and that only from sympathy and mutual concession can spring the union, out of which, as some of us hope, a perfectness such as the world has never known will grow.
But this is in the future still; and our present business is with the rajah on his march to Gumilcund. They made a slight detour to visit Gambier Singh in his camp near Janhpore; and I am told that the greeting they received from that magnificent young officer was of the warmest. He was highly elated with his own success, concerning which he had much to say to his friend, while his delight and admiring sympathy over the happy accomplishment of the feat, which when they met before he had judged to be impossible, were inexhaustible. During the few hours they spent together in the young Captain's tent Tom had to give over and over again his account of the various incidents of their journey. Then Bâl Narîn was called in to receive his meed of praise and substantial reward, which he did modestly, asserting that he was but an instrument in the hands of the gods and demons, who were bent upon honouring the Rajah Sahib. Finally, having hinted at his wish to be thus distinguished, Gambier Singh was introduced to Grace, who thanked him in graceful and touching words for the assistance he had rendered to her friends in their search. It happened to be one of her best days. She was conscious of everything that went on around her, and the hope of being in Gumilcund soon, of seeing her friends, and gladdening their hearts with the news of her deliverance, although it could not lift from her face the shadow that rested there continually, gave to her an expression of tremulous anticipation that was curiously pathetic. This, with her delicacy of form, her low voice and gentle manner, and the white purity of her perfect face, made an undying impression on the mind of the chivalrous young soldier. When, accompanied by his friend the rajah, he left the English girl's tent, his dark face was glowing with a new enthusiasm. 'A few days ago, my brother,' he said, grasping Tom's hand, 'I could not understand you. Now it is clear to me. She is a fair and noble woman—one for whom a true man would willingly lay down his life. That I have been able to help you to save her will be a joyful memory to me as long as I live.'
Later he said, meditatively, 'Is she a type? Are there many like her in England?'
'There are many as beautiful, and true, and courageous,' answered Tom. 'Although to me, naturally, she stands alone.'
'Then I can understand your greatness,' said Gambier Singh.
'You must visit us and see our women at home,' answered Tom with a smile.