He did not, he said, seek to deny that it was the lust of gain which had first brought the English to their shores. Other nations had come on the same quest, come and gone so far as their influence on the national life of India was concerned. But this nation had stayed. Why? In answer he bade them follow him while he showed how the conscience of a great nation had been struggling with its cupidity, and how conscience had conquered, so that by degrees the majesty of might became the majesty of right, till the English name was a watchword for those who strove to live righteously, and the English power was a refuge for the oppressed. Even the late annexations, the wisdom of which so many called in question, had been made in the spirit of mercy, and to stave off the anarchy which would surely have resulted from the continuance in the peninsula of selfish and oppressive governments. And what, he asked, were the men who had been set over the annexed provinces? Had England sent from her superfluous population men who desired only to enrich themselves? No: she had given India of her best. Brave, true, strong and noble, denying themselves, and thinking sternly and simply of their duty, were the citizens whom she had sent to govern India. 'I speak what I know,' cried the young rajah, 'for though I belong to you now, none of you are ignorant of the fact that England has been the home of my childhood. I am English and I am Indian, in a sense which it would be impossible for me to explain, and I speak with a full knowledge of the political position of both countries, when I say that England and India are necessary one to the other. I need not urge this upon you, my people, who are, I believe, deeply conscious of the benefits which have come to us from a strong and unselfish Imperial government. It is our desire that this power should be strengthened rather than weakened, and set on a broader rather than a narrower basis. But I would that my voice could resound through the land. I would that every citizen of this great empire could, at this awful crisis which some of us believe to be impending, see on which side his interest and safety lie. Then the army, which is being led astray by fanatics, would swiftly return to its allegiance, and peace and security would again reign amongst us.' He paused for a moment, and then his voice rose, and a passion of prophetic woe seemed to tear, him, as he cried, 'I know the English; they are fierce when they are roused, they are dogged when their hearts are set upon an object, and if they seem to fall back it will only be for a moment. They will triumph, and the vengeance they will exact will be in proportion to their consciousness of rectitude. Thousands will die the death of felons. Thousands will lose their all. Thousands will wander homeless through the land, cursing those who betrayed them. But that is not all. That is not even the worst, for death and the flight of years will dissipate the anguish upon which we may have to look. The disturbers of our peace will pass away, and a new generation will arise. But the sore left behind by the struggle will remain. The new civilisation, which we so fondly hoped to establish, will be thrown back. The seeds of a mutual distrust will be sown, and the union between East and West, to which my predecessors looked as enshrining the secret of the future, and holding within it the promise of a peace and happiness greater than the world has ever known, will be indefinitely delayed. For this,' cried the young orator, his voice rising and his frame seeming to expand, 'that the calamity which I foresee might be averted. I could wish that our little Gumilcund was a million-fold stronger and greater than she is. To take the van in the great contest which we see coming, to make for order against anarchy, to force upon others the views which we hold ourselves, and which we believe to be beneficial to us all, to cure the blood-fever which has seized upon the heart of these unhappy peoples, and to lead them back into the paths of reason and quietness—this we would do if we had the strength. We know that we have not. By the Supreme Spirit, which, call it by what name we will, every one of us acknowledges, our place amongst the nations has been allotted to us. We are to this people as a single grain in a heaped-up storehouse, as a little one in a multitude. But we can do something, and what we can do we will. We can be faithful to our convictions; we can make sacrifices for our faith; we can govern ourselves; we can be wise, prudent, firm and watchful. This, which I ask of myself, I ask of you.' His voice dropped, and there crept into its tones a curiously soft inflection as he went on. 'I am new to you, the tumult of your welcome is still ringing in my ears. I came to you an unknown man, and you received me with an honour and distinction such as are seldom accorded to a stranger. That I owe this not to my own merits, but to the merits of those who went before me, I am well aware; and when I say that it is in response to this welcome I venture to come forward as your leader, you will not mistake me. I am speaking in the name and by the power—present, as I believe, at this moment amongst us—of your late rajah, done foully to death by the hands and heads that are plotting this rising. Tell me then what your desire is. Let us confer together about the measures we should take for the proper defence of this city. Let us agree to open our gates to the fugitive and to shut them to the oppressor; and, whatever may be in the future, we shall have our reward, for we shall have within us what a Western scripture would call "the answer of a good conscience towards God and towards men," or, in the not less striking words of the Bhagavad Gita, the sacred lore, the divine wisdom, "worshipping by the performance of our duties Him from whom is the endeavour of men, we shall attain perfection."'
[CHAPTER XVIII]
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.