[CHAPTER XXVIII]
A LITTLE BAND OF FUGITIVES
We must now turn aside for a few moments to relate as nearly as we can the experiences of a little band of fugitives who, late that evening, crossed the boundaries of Gumilcund. It was pitifully small, consisting of three ladies and one little child. For ten long days and nights these had been upon the road. Through the day they had lived huddled together in filthy huts and cattle byres, doing nothing, trembling at every sound, and passionately wishing the long hours away. At night, when the sun had gone down, and the brief twilight of the Indian evening had faded, the mysterious native guide, who from the beginning had stood by them, nobly risking his own life more than once in their defence, would come and lead them out to where an ekka or native cart drawn by two small bullocks would be in waiting, and while darkness lasted they would toil on.
It was a dreary journey, full of hardships and sickening anxiety, but, for the most part, uneventful; and as day followed day and night night, bringing no change, some of the poor creatures began to feel as if there was to be no end, as if they were destined so to go on for ever. Had they known what others were going through at that very time they might have been more reconciled to their own hard lot. For their strange guide was curiously regardful of their comfort. Every day and every night he brought them as good food as he could procure, with fresh warm water to wash in, and such fruit as could be found in the markets, neither asking nor accepting payment, while in every possible way he consulted their convenience. What his motive could be it was difficult to imagine. One of the ladies may have had some idea, but she chose to be mysterious. Nevertheless her confidence, which was apparent from the first, gave confidence to the others, all of whom had followed her lead when they decided to trust this man. They were beginning, in fact, to live down their fears, and to believe that he did really mean well towards them, when their confidence was shaken by the awful occurrence which I must relate.
They had been travelling for nine days, and they were now only one day's journey from their place of rest. This their guide, whose face became more radiant as they advanced, assured them one morning. A day of confinement, a night's jolting over the rough country ways, and their trials would be over.
On the night that followed this announcement they set forth upon their journey with lighter hearts than usual. The guide pressed their pace. For two days past storms had been threatening, and he was anxious to get in before the breaking of the monsoon season. He was not, however, very uneasy, for there were now no formidable streams between them and their goal, and the stout covering of the cart would protect the ladies from the worst of the rain.
The awful blackness, which precedes a storm in India, fell upon the little party two or three hours after they had started. There were then in the ekka four ladies and two children. The guide, who was walking at the bullocks' heads, stopped them for a moment to draw down the curtains of the cart, when one of the ladies said she would faint if she were kept so close, and another begged to be allowed to get down and walk beside the bullocks. The guide demurred; but the darkness was so great, and the place seemed so solitary, that he was easily persuaded to give way to her wish. She alighted, and the elder of the two children, in spite of the earnest entreaties of his mother, not, however, reinforced by the other ladies, who were rather glad to be rid of him for a few moments, followed her.
This change gave a little comfort in the cart, which went on quietly for some time, the lady outside holding the guide's girdle to help herself along, and the little boy clinging to her skirts.
The road along which they were moving was bounded by woods that made walls of blackness on the right hand and on the left. The sky was entirely covered. There was not a ray of light anywhere; but the guide, who knew the road well, had not the least fear. He was, in fact, congratulating himself on the darkness, which made a refuge for them, when suddenly his heart was paralysed by a sound of terrible significance. Even the poor beasts shivered as it rang through the woods. 'Deen! Deen!' It came from the right hand and from the left, filling the black spaces with its echoes. 'Deen! Deen!' It was the Mussulman battle-cry, and it was coming nearer—nearer, enveloping them, floating towards them on the wind.