HOOSANEE'S MISSION
So ran the speech which the young rajah of Gumilcund addressed to his people on that memorable night. The effect was tremendous. As from one man the voices of the multitude rose in shouts of applause. 'It is the voice of the dead. Byrajee Pirtha Raj, our father, has come back to us from the grave. We will do his bidding.' So the tumultuous cries rang out.
Presently a herald went down amongst them, and imposed silence. Their rajah was pleased with their warm reception of his address; but business and not acclamation was the purpose of their coming together. There fell then a great silence on the assembly, in the midst of which the rich men and elders of the city came forward and proffered their help. The working guilds followed—manipulators of metal and precious stones, finance agents, masons, and provision dealers, from amongst each of which the rajah chose out one to represent the others, so that, in addition to his official retinue, he might have about him a council conversant not only with the wants but with the resources of the city. Surrounded by these, he left the Dwan-i-Khas and entered the Dwan-i-amm, Vishnugupta the priest charging himself with the task of dismissing the greater multitude.
All night long the young rajah and his people sat up in counsel, and when the morning of the 12th of May dawned, that day which in distant Delhi was to witness such terrible scenes, their measures were taken. The rich men contributed money; the mechanics promised their labour; volunteers offered themselves to reinforce the little army, and a special band of trustworthy soldiers were told off as the bodyguard of the rajah. It was universally determined that, if the mutineers came to Gumilcund, they should have a warm reception.
On the following day the rajah drew up an address, which, after being signed by himself and the principal men of the state, was to be forwarded to the Lieutenant Governor of the province. In it the loyalty of the state was set forth, and a refuge within the walls of its chief city was offered to any of the English ladies and children who might be thought to occupy positions of peril.
The public address was accompanied by a communication from himself of a much more urgent character. The Lieutenant-Governor, who had lately, he said, done him the honour of congratulating him on his accession, was well aware of the fact that, although an Indian rajah, he was more than half an Englishman. Nevertheless, owing no doubt to his position, he had gained an insight into native character which, he believed, was rare amongst English-speaking people. It was his profound conviction that what he had seen and heard was only the beginning of troubles, and he implored the English authorities to take their precautions. Then he reiterated his offer of refuge, mentioning several stations, amongst which were Jhansi and Nowgong, as to his certain knowledge eminently unsafe.
The letter was sent, and duly acknowledged. Whether it was believed or not, he never knew. Possibly, he said to himself, with a bitter smile, it was looked upon as a blind to hide some deep design.
As a fact, his offer was made known to those most nearly concerned, the civil and military officers of the suspected districts, and they smiled at it. They did not want a man more than half a native to instruct them as to their duties. Their chief duty was to preserve the allegiance of the troops, and if they sent away the ladies, those susceptible beings would be justly offended—precipitated, in fact, into the very jaws of ruin. The people at Jhansi were specially tickled by the solicitude of a foreign ruler on their behalf. They, with such an ally and friend as the good Ranee, whose affection for the English was well-known, to show themselves afraid! It was ridiculous. Such pusillanimity would meet with its proper desert in the alienation of the faithful and the triumph of the mutineers.
So the Rajah of Gumilcund was answered, as were Sindia, Holkar, and Dinkur Rao, with calm reserve; and if one or two poor mothers, as they clasped their children in their arms, wished that the chiefs could have seen it fit to send the little ones away, they bowed to the inevitable and tried to believe that all would be well. As for our rajah, he gnashed his teeth with impotent rage, for, with the answer to his letter and address, came like a grim commentary the echoes of the explosion at Delhi.
He had as yet heard no details. Sick with anxiety for his friends and compatriots in the now hostile city, he was compelled to hold himself in check, and attend to the business of the hour. Now and then, amidst his many preoccupations, the vision of pretty Vivien Doncaster, as he had seen her last, driving carelessly and proudly through a crowd whose cringing servility filled her with contempt, would return to his mind, making it reel with a curious, indescribable passion. Heaven knew he did not wish to humble her; but—and there, not being able so much as to formulate his wish, we would fling the thought of her aside.
It was with a very different feeling that he thought of others—Aglaia and her delicate mother, in the very heart of the district which he knew to be unsafe; and Mrs. Lyster, whom he had seen for a few moments, but without her recognising him, in the English quarter of Futtehgarh; above all, Grace! He had ascertained that she was at Nowgong, a small station about equidistant from Gumilcund and Jhansi, and garrisoned with detachments from the Jhansi regiments.
In addition to his public body of advisers, Tom had an inner council, consisting of Chunder Singh, Hoosanee, and others of tried faithfulness. Through these men he had organised a secret service commission, which came and went, bringing him certain news of the progress of affairs in the solitary English stations scattered amongst the native dependent states of the Central Indian Agency. It was in this way that he heard of the ardent profession of loyalty made by the garrison at Nowgong when it was known that insurrection was stalking abroad through the land, and of the relief and confidence amongst the little English community there. He knew, too, that Jhansi had made no sign, and that the Ranee was, or appeared to be, more friendly than ever. All this blinded neither him nor his advisers.
While they made use of the breathing-space afforded to them by putting everything in the city on a war-footing, Tom succeeded in conveying a warning to Grace and her cousin.
It happened on this wise.
Hoosanee, who could read his young master's mind like an open book, perceiving that this enterprise was of deep moment to him, and wishing on his own account to be brought in contact with the young Englishwoman, for whose sake, as the shrewd servant believed, the rajah had resisted the blandishments of the fairest and most fascinating women in India, determined to undertake the mission himself.
In the garb of a merchant travelling from station to station with specimens of the pretty garnet and silver ornaments for which Gumilcund is famous, he left the city late one night. He was alone; but, as he dressed poorly, carried little of value with him, and travelled at night and by the most unfrequented routes, he met with no hindrance. Between night and morning on the third day after he left his home he entered Nowgong. This done, it was a matter of little difficulty to gain access to the verandah of the small bungalow where, he had found out by careful inquiry, the little mem sahib Robertson and her big sister lived. He was in the verandah just after dawn. The chuprassie, believing him to be a respectable man, accepted a small fee, and the promise of a good commission if the visit resulted in business, for the corner of the verandah, where he allowed him to seat himself.
Here, then, Hoosanee took up his position. He squatted on his heels, after the Indian fashion, his face a mask, his long fingers busy with the small wares, which he had arranged against a background of azure blue satin in the most attractive fashion possible, and his ears and eyes on the alert.
Presently a calm, contemplative person in tunic, dhootie, gay crimson sash and turban, crossed the verandah and spoke to the chuprassie, who called out in authoritative tones for the Captain Sahib's horse. It came up, and a young Englishman in military uniform crossed the verandah. He did not look in the best of tempers. Muttering in English that these morning parades were the very mischief, he threw an angry word to the groom, who was trying in vain to check the fidgetiness of the horse, asked the chuprassie how much those fools of pedlars gave him for allowing them to hang about the compound, flung himself on his horse, and rode off at a quick trot. Two serious persons were busy meantime over a small table in the verandah. They laid it out with delicate china, brought in a steaming urn, and plates of fruit and cake, and waited with folded arms and melancholy countenances for their sahib-log to appear. In a few moments Hoosanee, who sat like an image in his corner, heard the sound of rippling laughter, followed by a rush of light garments through the house. A little white dog came bounding on to the verandah. It saw the stranger in the corner, and ran back barking vigorously. 'What's the matter, Vick?' said a small silvery voice. 'Ah!' as the owner of the voice, a pretty little woman with flaxen hair and soft blue eyes, came out upon the verandah. 'It's another of those pedlars. With garnets too! I love garnets!'
Hoosanee rose and bowed low. The little lady, who could only stammer a few words of Hindustani, asked him where he came from, and when he answered humbly that he was a poor man, who had no fixed home, but that the ornaments were entrusted to him by a merchant from Gumilcund, she nodded her pretty head.
'See about you after breakfast,' she said. 'Have you eaten this morning? Oh! by the bye,' in English, 'these people don't like you to know anything about their meals. I forgot that. Where did you say you came from?' again in halting Hindustani.
'My garnets come from Gumilcund, noble lady,' said Hoosanee.
'Gumilcund! Gumilcund!' murmured the little lady, gazing at him and thrusting forward her under lip. 'Now, where have I heard of that place? Was it—oh, yes! I remember. Grace saw the rajah at Delhi. Handsome fellow, like an Englishman she once met. As if a native could ever be like an Englishman. But Grace has such funny ideas.'
All this Hoosanee, who had studied the English language in the rajah's school at Gumilcund, understood perfectly.
The little lady ran back into the house, crying out, 'Grace! Grace! Come quickly! There's a man with garnets here; such beauties!' And, in the next moment, a young and very beautiful woman came out. From his corner Hoosanee looked at her. He had seen Englishwomen before, and some of them had been fair of countenance and of stately presence. But he had never seen one to match her who stood gazing at him now. At him—not at his wares, as her little friend had done—that was what was strange to the Indian servant. Diplomatist as he was, and skilled in hiding his feelings, he could not keep the curious tremor which her questioning gaze excited in him from appearing in his face. His eyes dropped, and when he looked up again she had turned away. 'Come to breakfast, Lucy,' she said. 'I am sure the good man can wait. He has patience written in his face. By the bye' (looking round), 'where is Tikaram?'
Tikaram was the chuprassie. He had been keeping out of sight, for fear of being called in question about the salesman in the verandah; but hearing his name spoken in Grace's friendly tones, he stepped forward. 'Tikaram,' she said kindly, 'will you mind going into the village for me? If it is too far to walk, you can take my pony.'
'Too far! What a little molly-coddle you are with these servants, Grace,' interposed Lucy. 'You spoil them! Let me give the order. I know enough Hindustani—servants' Hindustani, which is what they understand.'
'My dear Lucy, allow me! I like to speak in my own way,' said Grace. She gave her order, which was that a certain small account should be paid, and Tikaram, bowing low, turned away; but, before he went, he glanced at the salesman in the corner.
'We will keep him till you come back,' said Grace, with a smile, for she knew the customs of the country, and believed that the small backsheesh which Tikaram might exact for his favour would not be a heavy toll.
They sat and chatted together in low tones. Hoosanee did not catch all they said; but he judged that they were anxious. Suddenly Grace, whom her cousin accused of being in a fidgety humour, thought of another errand, and the table-servant vanished. The bearer was sent after him, so that, before they had finished their breakfast, there was no one about but the ayah, who was squatted in the corner of the verandah, opposite to that occupied by Hoosanee, watching him sleepily.
To see the two English ladies alone was precisely what Hoosanee wanted. He now waited their pleasure with a lighter heart.
Breakfast over, they approached his corner, and while Lucy fingered his trinkets, asking the price of one and another, Grace continued to look at him earnestly. He ventured now to allow his eyes to respond. Then he said in a low voice, 'Does my noble lady understand Bengali?' The question was asked in the Bengali dialect.
'Yes,' said Grace, quietly. 'Are you from Bengal?'
'What gibberish are you talking now?' interposed Lucy, discontentedly. 'Do let us keep to business. Tell me the price of this?' holding up a pretty little garnet brooch.
'Tin rupya,' said the man, spreading out three of his long fingers.
'Too little if they're real—too much if they're not,' said Lucy in English. Then in Hindustani, with a little affectation of sternness, 'If you cheat me I will have you put in prison.'
'Why not take it into the house and compare it with my garnet necklace?' said Grace. 'Ayah will show you where it is.'
'Not a bad idea,' said Lucy.
She went in, the ayah following her, and Grace said hurriedly, in the dialect in which the salesman had just spoken, 'You have come to speak to us. From whom?'
'From one who wishes my noble lady well,' said Hoosanee. He paused, and then, 'Will my lady deign to look at these poor baubles instead of at her servant? In these evil days the leaves and the flowers have eyes.'
'Not here,' said Grace. 'Our servants, I am sure, would be faithful, for we have treated them well, and they love us; and the soldiers of the station have professed their goodwill and devotion. We did not ask them. They came forward of their own accord; if'—her large eyes distending—'I were only as sure of the safety of others as I am of our own, I should be happy. But we are strangely cut off here.'
They were continuing the little pantomime which the salesman had originated, and their voices were low and even.
'My noble lady is wrong,' he said, holding up one of his brooches to the light. 'Does the eagle who looks into the face of the sun behold, far below him, the fowler with his snare? Does the king of the forest, roaming at his will, see in the jungle the iron teeth gaping to devour him?'
'What do you mean, and who are you?' cried Grace. 'I am sure you are no mere salesman.'
'Such as I am, does my noble lady trust me?'
'Yes, yes. I cannot tell myself why, but I do. It seems to me that I have seen your face before.'
'Could it have been at Lucknow? I was with my master there.'
'At the door of the Dilkoosha,' cried Grace excitedly. 'Yes, I remember. Your master was the man in the long chuddah, who was watching the crowd. I saw his face when he looked at Sir Henry. It was as a man looks in prayer. He came into the reception afterwards.'
'Miss Sahib has a good memory,' said Hoosanee; 'but let me entreat her to speak with more caution!'
'Caution! Caution!' said the poor girl. 'I shall die of caution. I wish no ill to these people. Why should they wish ill to me?'
'Even because of your goodness—and your beauty,' said Hoosanee in a low voice.
Grace trembled. But before she could speak again Lucy came running out. 'What an untidy girl you are, Grace!' she said. 'Ayah and I hunted everywhere for your necklace, and found it at last in your bath-room. You deserve to be robbed, and only that these people are ten times better than they are painted you would be.'
'But how about the stones?' said Grace, making an effort to speak lightly.
'Well! I think they are all right. They look very much the same. But I am such a little idiot about these things, and so are you, my dear—worse, I think—because you believe everybody. Oh, dear! I do wish I could have a trustworthy opinion.'
'Mrs. Durant is considered a good judge of Indian jewellery,' said Grace.
'Why, of course she is,' cried Lucy, clapping her hands. 'You have a head, if you have nothing else; I will say that for you, Grace. And I wanted to hear how Colonel Durant was received by the troops this morning. Ayah, tell them to bring round the palki-gharry at once. Too late!' in answer to a mild protest from Grace. 'Why the sun isn't up yet—and I'll try to bring her back with me, shall I? She has just arrived, and has something to talk of besides servants and mutineers.'
'Do!' said Grace; 'and bring my little lover, Kit, too, if you can. I will keep the pedlar.'
In a few moments Lucy, accompanied by her ayah, drove off, and Grace turned her pale face to Hoosanee. 'Go on,' she said. 'Your master has sent you. He is the Rajah of Gumilcund.'
'You are right, most noble lady. My master, the rajah, has sent me. He has only lately come to rule over us; but already he knows the hearts of his people. He loves the English, and he would, if he could, avert these troubles. But he knows it to be impossible. The storm has broken, and it will sweep over the land and devastate it, and none can stay its course. This he bids me tell you, beseeching you to seek a refuge while you can.'
'That is easy to say,' said Grace faintly. 'But where are we to seek a refuge, and to whom is it offered? Flight was spoken of before; but we have been assured that, if we leave the station now, it will displease the men, who have again and again promised to be loyal, and so revolt would be hastened. God knows,' she went on passionately, 'that it is hard to wait. When I think of them all—my poor little cousin, who will not believe in danger, and that beautiful child, and the young men and women—it is like a burden at my heart. I can scarcely breathe. I seem to see all sorts of horrible things; and,' slowly, 'horrible things have happened already. It is no dream.'
'They have happened; they will happen again. But you, most noble lady, could escape. Could you—would you trust yourself to me?' Hoosanee spoke breathlessly.
'Alone?' said Grace, drawing back..
'No, not alone. I could arrange for the escape of two, perhaps of three.'
For a few moments Grace sat silent, with bended head, thinking; and the rajah's messenger watched her with a beating heart. He was thinking a little of himself, of the triumph it would be to enter Gumilcund as the protector and deliverer of the first of the English fugitives, of her, in particular, on whom his master's heart was set. But he thought of her too. He in his own humble way had fallen in love with the beautiful and gentle lady, whose manner to natives was so different from that practised by the generality of her countrywomen. He knew, moreover, as even his master could not, how cruel and shameless an Eastern mob could be; and the idea of her falling alive into the hands of the mutineers made him sick with horror. Hoosanee, we must remember, belonged to Gumilcund. Except during the last few months, when he had served the new rajah, who was much gentler in his manners to those depending upon him than any grandee of the East, he had never been brought into direct contact with English people. The bitter, personal hatred, compounded partly of race and religious antagonism, and partly of spite for a long series of small wrongs and humiliations—the hatred which made servants betray their masters and mistresses, and peasants gloat over the misery and degradation of Englishwomen, and villagers flog Englishmen in the presence of jeering crowds—was strange to him. But he knew that it existed, and the knowledge made him shudder for the fair woman his master loved.
Presently Grace looked up. 'We are not many,' she said. 'Would it be possible for us all to escape? The men, I believe, would be freer without us.'
'I could return for the others,' said Hoosanee, evasively.
'I think we might persuade my cousin to go, and sweet little Kit and his mother,' said Grace.
'Will my noble lady pardon me?' said Hoosanee, bending low. 'She must come first, or I must return whence I came alone.'
Grace looked at him as if she did not quite understand what he said. He repeated his words, speaking with a still deeper humility.
'Is it so?' said Grace, raising her head proudly. 'To save myself I must desert them?'
'In saving yourself, most noble, you will save others.'
'I will save all, or I will save none,' said Grace in a low voice.
At this moment the palki-gharry drove up, and a beautiful little boy, with long golden curls—like a girl, sprang out and leapt into Grace's arms. 'Why, my Kit,' she said softly, 'my little Kit!'
'We're going to stay all day,' he cried, 'mother and me. Where's Vick? Oh, there she is! Mayn't I go and play with her?'
'Yes, darling, run and play,' said Grace, releasing him.
A pale-faced lady, in a white dress and large straw hat, was in the meantime stepping out of the gharry. Lucy followed her. Both of them, Grace thought, looked scared.
'Well,' she said, smiling, 'have you asked Mrs. Durant about the garnets?'
'Send the man away,' said Lucy, pettishly. 'They have all been scolding me; Captain Durant, and Mr. Graham, and Mrs. Cockburn, and even Emily,' turning to Mrs. Durant. 'They say I ought not to have left you alone with a man like that. I'm sure one doesn't know what to do. If you're frightened, that's wrong; and if you try to forget things a little, and be cheerful, you're heartless. I wish I was dead and out of it all.'
'So would I if it were not for the child,' said Mrs. Durant. 'Grace! Grace! do you think they would have the heart to do anything to him?'
'We won't give them the opportunity,' said Grace, firmly. 'If the worst comes to the worst we will escape. I will find a means.'
They smiled. These were brave words; but the peril was not actually upon them. And yet, for what reason neither of them could tell, they felt encouraged. Grace was one of those who inspired confidence.
'Well,' said Mrs. Durant, with a stifled sob, 'if it is to be done I hope they'll do it quickly. Only for Kit, I don't think I'd mind so much. Charlie is so cross, and they come in with such dreadful tales, and the servants scowl at him when he scolds them; and he won't—he won't see that it would be so much wiser to conciliate everybody. Only for Kit I couldn't bear it! You see,' with a rainbow-like change, 'he has his curls still.'
'Yes,' said Grace, smiling. 'I thought you would not have the heart to shear Kit's curls. But come! you are both tired. Leave Vick and him to me, and go in and have a rest.'
'But how about the man?' said Lucy.
'Oh, he is a good simple soul! I will buy one or two of his trinkets and dismiss him.'
A few minutes later the salesman left the compound. He looked all round him carefully, and chanced upon Tikaram, pacing back slowly on his mistress's pony. Both of them pulled up.
'I was looking for you, O brother,' said Hoosanee. 'The sale has been good, and she of the lotus eyes has charged her servant to return. Here is backsheesh for my brother's good will.'
Tikaram, though surprised at the generosity of the gift, took it carelessly.
'Their raj is nearly done,' he said, jerking his thumb in the direction of the bungalow. 'The treasures of the land will now be for its own, and not for the sons and daughters of strangers. But the lotus-eyed has a soft tongue and a noble presence.' He spoke meditatively, almost sadly.
'I know nothing of your politics,' said Hoosanee, indifferently; 'I am a poor man, and I love those who bring me gain.'
'Then come back our way,' said Tikaram, 'and I will keep the lotus-eyed for thee—if she is not by that time food for her masters.'
'Will my brother keep her?' said Hoosanee, his face brightening as if a new idea had struck him.
'I might,' said Tikaram.
'I have a master who is a prince. He would give a lakh of rupees for the two women and the child.'
'A lakh!' said Tikaram, his mouth watering.
'A lakh of rupees if they were given to him unhurt.'
'But three! What can he want with three?'
'Who knows? Great men have their caprices, and if they will pay for them, let the little keep silence! Perhaps he will keep a museum, and show them as curiosities when the English are all swept into the sea. But this is what he said: "Bring me three of these English—a small woman, a large woman, and a child with golden hair. Let them be well nourished, and of fair countenance. I will pay a lakh to thee for thy trouble, and another lakh to the man who helps thee." What does my brother say?'
'I would save the lotus-eyed without money,' said Tikaram, and then he turned away. 'There is time, O brother; they have not risen yet,' he murmured.