It was on that very night, the night of the 23rd of May, that Hoosanee returned to Gumilcund, after his unsuccessful effort to save Grace Elton and her cousin. He reported himself to his master at once, and gave an account of what he had done. It was his opinion that the rising at Nowgong would be speedy and cruel. Many of the Sahibs, he said, were disliked by the people and soldiers, and would not be spared. He did not venture to repeat his conversation with the chuprassie; but he said that he believed there was one servant in the Captain Sahib's service who might be trusted. 'The lotus-eyed,' he averred, must be saved at all hazards, and he offered, should his master desire it, to go to the station again, and to linger about in disguise, watching over her, until the danger was over, or the rising had come. In case of a rising, he would provide for some temporary refuge in the neighbourhood, whence, if they could not escape in any other way, his master would fetch them at the point of the sword.
Tom agreed to the proposal, suggesting only that he should go in place of Hoosanee; or, if that were impossible, that they should go together. But both his servant and Chunder Singh, who was present, pointed out to him so clearly that his presence, instead of helping, might spoil everything, that he was obliged to give way. Hoosanee should have the honour and joy of watching over the sweetest woman on all the earth; Chunder Singh should hold himself in readiness to obey the first summons to arms, and Tom had spies posted in the different villages on the route between Nowgong and Gumilcund, so that Hoosanee's messages might be passed on from one to another, and that help could reach him speedily.
He was himself meditating a dangerous enterprise, nothing less than marching into Jhansi alone, presenting himself before the Ranee, and persuading her, under promise of his personal support, and his influence with the Government in case of her failure—for he had now certain knowledge that she intended soon to raise the standard of revolt—to allow him to carry off to Gumilcund the English women and children in the station.
But many things had to be done before he could start. June was nearly in when, riding Snow-queen, and dressed as an Indian of rank, he left Gumilcund. In despite of all Chunder Singh urged to the contrary, he was unattended, it being his belief that the Ranee would be more likely to listen to him if he entered her palace alone.
The hot season being well in, he travelled principally at night, resting by day in a grove or peasant's hut. He was treated with consideration everywhere. Now and then a greybeard would reprove him for travelling so heedlessly in these unsettled times, and once or twice he was asked his business. To this he would answer that he was a kinsman of the Ranee of Jhansi, and that she had sent for him; but that what her will was he knew not. Everything, in fact, went well, so that, but for the adventure I am about to relate, he would have been in Jhansi before the rising; and it is just possible that, by his influence, the memory of a proud and not ungenerous woman would have been saved from a foul blot, and many innocent people delivered from destruction.
He came to within a few miles of the borders of Jhansi. For the last two days he had been pressing his pace, for sinister rumours were abroad, and he feared to be too late. But there had been terrible rain, and the ways were miry, and Snow-queen was hanging her head dejectedly. For her sake rather than his own he determined to rest for a few hours. There was a village close by. He rode in slowly, and asked for the house of the headman, where, after a little parley, he was allowed to rest, while he watched his horse being fed and watered.
He was on the little mud platform in front of the house. Snow-queen was tethered close by. It was mid-day and the place was silent as the grave, so that presently, in spite of strenuous efforts to hold his eyes open, he fell into a dog's sleep. How long it lasted he could not tell. He was aroused by the trampling of feet and clamour of many voices. He sprang up, and, almost at the same moment, the headman came to him, with a strange look in his eyes.
'You must go on,' he said, 'the Ranee is here.'
'Ranee—what ranee—of Jhansi?' he asked.
'I know not,' the man answered; 'but we want this place.'