NEWS OF MEERUT—GENERAL ELTON FINDS A NEW SPHERE
The message from the rajah and Mrs. Lyster's arrival did, as I have said, revive the drooping spirits of the ladies in Gumilcund; but many weary days and nights were destined to go by before they could receive certain news of their friends. In the meantime the posts, which ran now with tolerable regularity, brought them a variety of intelligence—some of it depressing; but, for the most part, tending to hope. That, though the North-West had failed in preparedness for the crisis, the gallant rulers of the Punjaub had not only held their own, but were pouring down reinforcements to the army before Delhi, while from Bombay, Calcutta and Allahabad men and munitions of war were being marched up country, Chunder Singh told them with exultation. Delhi, he was sure, would not long hold out, and then, as he too sanguinely believed, the insurrection would be at an end.
They received private intelligence too. Strange and pathetic, as some of us will remember very well, were the letters exchanged between friends and relatives in those strange days. You would mourn a dear friend as dead, and then, all of a sudden, one wonderful morning you would see a letter in his well-known handwriting; and when, with beating heart, feeling as if a missive had come to you from the grave, you would tear it open, you would find that your friend had given up you as lost, and was writing to you joyfully as one brought back from the jaws of death. These were the bright spots—the red-letter days—in that time of anguish. Of those other letters which brought no joy, only a fearful confirmation of our worst fears—the letters which told us of the tender hunted to death—of the fair and fragile giving way under the awful strain of horror, and sleeping, as we fondly believed, in the bosom of their God—of the beautiful, the strong, the noble cut off in the flower of their youth and the plenitude of their service—yes, of these, too, we carry about with us memories, and the bitterness of those memories will never fade until we meet our beloved on the further shore. Of news such as these there is happily no question here. Mrs. Durant heard of her husband. He had escaped from Nowgong by the skin of his teeth, having been surrounded and actually imprisoned for a season by a body of his own men who, though pledged to the mutineers, were unwilling to injure him personally. Mrs. Lyster knew of her own the very worst. Little Dick's father had been summoned to Allahabad shortly before the outbreak at Nowgong, and joyful news it was to him that his wife and son were safe at loyal Gumilcund. Lucy was encouraged by letters from Meerut, and she sent back such encouragement as she could. Tom—they would know who Tom was—had left everything and run the risk of rebellion in his wonderful little State, which Lucy remarked parenthetically was like the Garden of Eden before the Fall, just to search for Grace and Kit. He had not come back; but he had been heard of, and it was the belief of everyone that he would succeed, so she begged her uncle, and aunt, and cousins to keep up their spirits and to hope for the best.
They smiled when they read the fly-away letter. It was like herself; but it was not very satisfactory to them. And indeed the family were in miserable case just then. General Elton, who had barely recovered from the effects of his wound, was about again; and it may be that the bolder counsels which began from this time to prevail in Meerut were due in large measure to his advice and assistance. But he himself was, if that were possible, a greater anxiety to his friends than when he had been lying at the point of death, for then they at least knew the worst. Now his restlessness and irritability were such that they could never for a single instant be sure of him.
Accustomed as he had been to take a large share in the conduct of affairs, his personal inactivity galled him. He had no civil authority, and the collapse of the magnificent army with which for so many years it had been his pride to be connected, had deprived him, at a stroke, of his military occupation. Meanwhile the state of anarchy, into which the province was falling, cut him to the soul, the more so that he felt convinced something might be done to check it.
With the Asiatic nothing goes so far as audacity, a quality which he cannot understand, and, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, does not believe in. Where he sees unflinching boldness, he suspects hidden strength, and as often as not he will throw down his arms rather than have them forced from him. So the General was never tired of preaching, but for some time no one would listen to him.
Then there came a change. From the hills, where, when the storm broke, he had been enjoying his well-earned holiday, the gallant collector, Dunlop, came down. He was armed with the authority of a magistrate over the districts surrounding Meerut, and, to the surprise of everyone, he asserted his determination of exercising it without delay. He would march out alone if no one cared to join him, and it was his belief that the terror of the English name, reinforced by the outcries of the unfortunate people, whose lands had been ravaged by a brutal soldiery, would carry him along.
Dunlop was one of those Englishmen who believed in audacity.
But if a few volunteers amongst those whom the breaking up of the old order had deprived of occupation would put themselves under his orders, there could be no doubt that the pacification of the country would be more easily and swiftly accomplished.
We may imagine, but it would be very difficult to describe, the effect of this announcement on the fiery soul of the old General. As a war-horse that scents the battle-field afar off; as a Moslem soldier, who sees the pearly gates of his Paradise slowly opening like a flower across the clouds and thunder of tumultuous war, so he felt when, to the deep dismay of his family, he went up to Dunlop and offered him his sword. Numbers followed his example, but of the brilliant and successful campaign in which they took part there is no need to write here. It has its place in history.
Twice the seasoned old soldier rode out with the gallant little corps, called the Khakee Ressalah, on account of its dust-coloured uniform, and twice he returned to his trembling wife and children, safe, but triumphant. As for Trixy, though no less anxious than her sisters, she did not once bid her father stay. I rather think she would have liked to march with them. 'One of us ought to have been a boy,' she said to her mother one day. 'Women have far the worst of it—sitting at home and watching and weeping—it is very hard work and rather humiliating.'
'Hush! Trixy; you don't know what you are saying,' said Lady Elton. And then the wild look that they all dreaded to see came over her face, and she cried out piteously, 'Yes, child, you are right. I have too many daughters, and the world is cruel to women. If a man dies, he dies fighting. If a woman dies——'
'Darling, you must not,' broke in Trixy vehemently. 'I am a little idiot. Forgive me! And do you know—listen, dearest, and don't look so—do you know that I have been having the strangest dreams about our Grace? When she comes back——'
'When, oh! Trixy, when——'
'Listen, dear, hear me to the end! When she comes back, I believe we shall find that she has the spirit of a heroine, if not of a hero.'
It was curious that this conversation, in which, for the first time for many days, Grace's name was mentioned before her mother, preceded by only a few hours the arrival of the letter from Lucy. It brought a slender ray of comfort to Lady Elton, and now her one idea was to reach Gumilcund herself. She dared not speak of it to anyone; but, all the more for her silence, it haunted her mind day and night. If she could only go! If she could only go! Now that her husband was well and she could feel that Meerut was a safe refuge for the girls, the spirit of passionate restlessness, which had once nearly shaken her reason, took possession of her with increased violence.
Sometimes it was like a madness. She would watch her girls and the servants furtively, and plan how she could evade them and slip away silently. One evening she got up in her sleep and reached as far as the door; but Yaseen Khan, the faithful bearer, was stretched across the threshold, and the noise he made, when she tried to step over him, awoke her and aroused the tent. After that they took fright and watched her more closely.
When her reason was nearly giving way under the strain, and she had begun to beg piteously, not knowing what she said, to be taken to Gumilcund, where it was now her possessing idea that Grace was kept in prison, a strange thing happened. A messenger from Gumilcund found his way into Meerut. Trixy saw him come in, and she recognised in him, as she believed, the faquir who had brought the first letter from Tom, and under whose convoy Bertie Liston had left the station. Supposing his message to be addressed to the General in command, she ran back to their tent with the information. She had scarcely time to give her news before Yaseen Khan rushed in, crying out, 'A letter! a letter! Missy Sahib is safe.'
The General was in his tent, furbishing up his arms, which had seen hard service lately. 'Silence, you foolish fellow,' he cried out, 'do you wish to kill the Mem Sahib? Give the letter to me.'
'No, no; to me,' cried a piercing voice from the further side of the tent. 'Children, let me alone! I shall not faint. And, General, don't you call the poor fellow names! What did you say, Yaseen Khan? Safe? Say it again! Safe! Safe!' She had rushed forward to meet him. The letter was in her hand, but her fingers trembled so that she could not open it. 'I am afraid,' she said, looking round, with a pathetic smile, 'that I shall have to ask some one to help me after all. My hands have no power to-day. No, General, not you. Trixy, come here! Open it, but don't take it out of my hands!'
Trixy obeyed, the tears rolling down her face. 'Why, your fingers are trembling too,' said Lady Elton. 'Thank you, dear. Now read it for me. My eyes are dim.' Trixy passed her eyes over the paper and broke into a joyful cry. 'Well! well!' said her mother impatiently. 'Read it, every word!'
'My dear Lady Elton,' began the girl, her voice shaking, 'I am sending my faithful Subdul to tell you and the General that we have found your Grace. She has been ill, but she is better. I am taking her to Gumilcund, where her cousin and several other English ladies, whom I and my men have been so happy as to rescue from positions of peril, are living. We are accompanied by an escort of Ghoorka soldiers. The Captain, Gambier Singh, has most generously put them at my disposal. I would willingly come down to Meerut, but I fear to add to the fatigues and hardships which your heroic child has already undergone, and I may not keep the escort longer than is absolutely necessary. I detach Subdul, who is a skilful traveller, and I believe that he will reach Meerut before we reach Gumilcund. If it could possibly be arranged for Lady Elton to join us there, I think it would be well. Grace will be happier and more at rest when she has seen one of her own people. But, in a very short time, I hope and believe, the country will settle down again, and then we shall be able to meet. In the meantime, with love and best remembrances,
'I remain, my dear Lady Elton,
'Your attached and always devoted friend,
'Thomas Gregory.'
So Trixy read. When her voice dropped there was, for a few moments, silence in the tent. Then a great babble began. The girls clustered round their father. 'Oh! couldn't you take us to Gumilcund?' they cried. 'Do, Dad! Surely it could be managed.' Lady Elton's voice only was missing. When the General, setting his girls aside, looked round for her, he saw that she was busy, with the help of Yaseen Khan, putting a few necessaries together for her travelling bag. 'You see, Wilfrid,' she said, answering his look, 'I must go. My child wants me.'
'We all want you, Grace.'
'Ah! but she wants me most. You will arrange for me to go, will you not? Where is this good Subdul? I might put on some sort of disguise, as Bertie did.'
'Nonsense, my dear,' said the General hoarsely. 'If anyone goes, I will.'
'No, Wilfrid. Your place is here. These other children want looking after. No; no; no,' as they crowded round her. 'I cannot take you. You are safe at Meerut. And Grace is safe! Oh! yes, Grace is safe; but she wants me. Tom would not have written so if she did not. And I, oh! my dear,' turning to her husband; 'forgive me if I am adding to your trouble; but I cannot help it. I shall go mad if you do not let me go.'
'Gently, Grace, gently!' said the General brokenly.
'Say yes, and I will be as gentle as you please,' she answered.
He stood for a few moments looking down at her earnestly. Then he said, 'Promise me to do nothing rash, and I will see what can be done.'
'Thank you, dear,' she said humbly. 'Yes, I will promise. But you must make haste.'