IN THE DEADLY TERAI
This part of my friend's diary ends abruptly. During the next few days it was impossible for him to write a line, and afterwards he only mentioned briefly the incidents of his further adventures. But Hoosanee, Gambier Singh and others, with whom I have spoken since, have given me the details so fully that I can almost see the story passing before my eyes.
I take it up from the point where the diary breaks off. The writing was interrupted by Gambier Singh, who came in to tell him that everything was ready for a start. The Ghoorka captain had not much hope himself of a happy issue to the enterprise. He had lost too many men in the deadly Terai not to know its perils, and he did not for one moment imagine that a tender woman and delicate child would have been able to cross it safely. But he was too chivalrous and kind of nature to be able to quench his friend's hopes by expressing his own conviction. He expended his sympathy in taking care that nothing which he could supply should be wanting to the success of the enterprise.
Tom was attended now as befitted a person of rank. He rode in front on a splendid little Arab horse—the gift of Gambier Singh—a small body of Ghoorka soldiers, armed to the teeth, followed him, and close in the rear came camels and bullock-carts, laden with camp equipage.
For two days and nights they plodded on. As the jungle closed round them, and the air grew dark and pestilential, the despondency of the young rajah increased. Day after day, to the imminent peril of his life, he left the beaten tracks and made great circuits in the bush. Now and then, at such times, he came upon sights that would make his blood run cold—human bones bleaching in the sun, the bodies of men, who seemed to be sepoys, half gnawed away by wild beasts, and arms and utensils flung down in the bush. Once, emerging from a close thicket, he came upon a huge tiger, mumbling over its horrid feast. His blood was up, and, while the restless fire of the brute's fierce eyes was upon him, it fell, mortally wounded, over the corpse it had been devouring. His men, several of whom were close by, were triumphant, and the beautiful monster was carried off to camp. As for the conqueror, he turned away groaning—penetrated to the heart by a sickness for which earth holds no remedy.
It was a sickness of the soul, for his bodily health did not suffer. While one after another of his attendants sickened, and had to be sent back, he held on. Even Ganesh, desperately anxious as he was to keep up, was compelled to give in at last. Hoosanee, although his superb devotion prevented him from acknowledging it, showed, by the wild look in his eyes, that he was suffering from fever. Tom saw it all; but he would not give in. 'Let us at least find Tikaram!' he said to Hoosanee. 'We know that he has gone into this place. Sooner or later we must come upon his track. He is not alone as they are.'
One day, as they were plodding slowly on, a little cavalcade of men and camels and Ghoorka soldiers, coming from the opposite direction, met them. On both sides a halt was immediately called. Tom, who was in front, saw, as the party opened out, that a litter was being carried between them. His pulses had begun to beat so furiously that he could scarcely breathe or speak, and he motioned that Hoosanee should speak for him. A few words were exchanged. He could not hear them for the tumult of his senses. Then Hoosanee came up. 'Well!' he said fiercely.
'My master, it is Tikaram. He is dying.'
'If he is dead, he must speak to me,' cried Tom.
In the next instant he had sprung from his horse, and was standing beside the litter. He set aside the curtains and looked in. At the sight of him, the fever-stricken wretch within, who had been lying in a kind of trance, seemed to be galvanised into new life.
'Are you the rajah?' he said feebly. 'You—promised—a lakh of rupees.'
'A lakh!' echoed Tom. 'I tell you that if you have found them—if you can guide us to where they are—I will make you rich beyond the dreams of avarice.'
The man gave a deep sigh. 'A lakh!' he said slowly.
'But tell me! tell me!' said Tom.
'A lakh!' he repeated. 'I could win it yet. But I am dying.'
'You shall not die. I have medicines with me and nourishing food. Good God!' He broke into English in his agitation. 'The man is going, and he knows something. I read it in his eyes. Hoosanee, bring me wine or spirits.'
A strong restorative was brought in a cup, which Hoosanee put to the lips of the stricken man. He swallowed a few drops, and his eyes, which had been closing, opened once more. Tom was going to speak again; but Hoosanee stopped him.
'Let me speak, my master,' he said. 'The life is nearly gone, and flutters like a spent flame. A breath may put it out.'
'Right!' said Tom. 'Take my place!'
Then, in the silence of both cavalcades, Hoosanee stooped over the litter. 'Do you know me, O brother?' he whispered.
'You are the seller of garnets,' answered Tikaram. 'You came to Nowgong, and the lotus-eyed trusted you, and you carried her away.'
'She was taken from me, Tikaram.'
'She was taken from you. I saw it all. I followed her to the fort, and when the evil-hearted Soubahdar took her out of the gates——'
He paused. 'Let my brother go on,' said Hoosanee gently. 'There is no enemy here. Why did the Soubahdar take the lotus-eyed forth?'
'The White Ranee commanded him. She was black of heart and evil. I saw her at the gate, and she saw me, and her servants, whom she commanded, caught me by the girdle and would have slain me, only that the God whom I serve was my friend. For a night and a day I lay like one dead, suffering grievously. My strength came back and I set out in search of her.'
Again his breath failed him; but a few drops of Hoosanee's potion made him strong enough to go on with his tale.
'There were two—the Miss Sahib and the child. What the Soubahdar would have with them I knew not. He was known in the villages about, and I tracked him from place to place; but was never swift enough to come up with him. Then I lost him. He had gone out of a village in the morning, and his prisoners, who were still alive, were with him. It was thought that he was taking them to the hill-countries of the north. But of this I know nothing, save that they were going north, and that they travelled by unfrequented ways. After that village, O brother, I lost him. Some said he was dead; but his body was not found. Miss Sahib and the child I lost too; but I went on, seeking everywhere.'
'Courage!' whispered Hoosanee. 'My master will make your family rich.'
'I thought I heard of them at last,' he went on. 'But they were alone, and how could that be? Where was the Soubahdar who had taken them from the fort?'
'Could he have deserted them?' said Hoosanee—'left them in some jungly place to be fallen upon by the wild beasts.'
'Why should he do so, O brother, when he could take them out himself and kill them with the sword? He is not of my religion. He is a Moslem. This I said to myself, and my trouble was great. But the lakh of rupees and the eyes of the Miss Sahib, who, as my brother knows, will sometimes smile graciously on her servants, kept me from going back. I travelled on till I reached the camp of the Ghoorkas, where I told my story, and where I was given men and food to take me on.'
'Is that all?' said Hoosanee, very sadly. 'Has my brother come back unsuccessful?'
'Am I going back?' cried the poor creature, starting up and locking round with a fierce glitter in his bloodshot eyes. Pain conquered him, and he lay back groaning. 'I could stand and walk no longer,' he moaned, 'and they put me in this. But they said, "We are going on, we camp in new ground every day," and I believed them—I believed them.'
'Perhaps you are going on,' said Hoosanee soothingly. 'This country is strange to me. But tell me, if you can, why you think that Missy Grace is here.'
'Have you ever seen Miss Sahib's writing?' said Tikaram.
'My master knows it well. If you have found anything, show it to me,' cried Hoosanee eagerly.
Tikaram was too weak to move. 'My right hand,' he murmured. 'Open it!'
Pulling aside the light covering that was over him, Hoosanee saw one of his hands rigid, as it seemed, and firmly closed. He forced it open as gently as he could, the man's eager eyes following him wistfully. Tom was close by. He had heard the last words, and he was trembling from head to foot with impatience. But he had to wait while the fingers, cramped with the awful sickness of the jungle, were slowly and painfully unclenched. The hand was nearly open at last. They saw a scrap of paper, and Tom made a dash to seize it; but, with the onslaught, the hand, as if moved by a will of its own, closed again. Then a convulsive shudder ran through the man's wasted frame, and a long, long sigh broke from his heart.
'He dies,' said one of the Ghoorka soldiers, falling back. 'Give room for his spirit to pass out of him!'
Space was made round the litter; but Tom stood there still, with blazing eyes looking down upon the clenched hand, which might, for all he knew, hold a message for him.
'A moment, master—a little moment,' whispered Hoosanee.
'Try him with your drink!' said Tom.
It was put to his lips; but he could not swallow. Stooping over him, Hoosanee heard him murmuring the name of his God. 'It is very near,' he said.
In the next instant the poor creature started up. 'Missy Grace!' he cried out. 'Missy Grace!'
Tom groaned. 'He knows something. Make him speak. The secret will die with him!' he sobbed.
'Master,' said Hoosanee solemnly, 'the secret is at your feet.'
For, with the sudden movement, the clenched hand had relaxed, the fingers had fallen open, and the paper they contained had rolled out upon the ground.