Barclay of the Guides

by Herbert Strang

"But didst thou not say that nothing can be done without the help of the accursed Hindus? I for one will not join hands with the dogs."

"Nay, nay, in this matter Islam and Shiva are at one. The Hindu by tasting the fat of the sacred cow, the Musalman by tasting the fat of the loathed swine, become alike defiled. The Feringhis are powerful. They are in the saddle. If the Hindus will aid us in tearing them out of the saddle, shall we despise their help? Have you not a saying, 'Buffalo! though we are not of one mountain, we belong to one thicket'? We Musalmans have our horns in the thicket; shall not Hindus help to disentangle them? When the Feringhis are smitten and sent to perdition, then will be the time for us true believers to deal fitly with the Hindu dogs. Will it not be then as it was in the days of the great Shah Nadir? Once more the Afghans, men of your race and faithful sons of the Prophet, will pour into the plains and set up a new and glorious kingdom. Who reigns now in Delhi? Bahadur Shah, toothless, feeble-kneed, a puppet in the hands of the Feringhis, doing nought from sunrise to sunset but invent foolish verses. We will change that; we will restore him to his dignities, or set up another in his room. As in the old days, every soldier in our host shall become a zamindar. There will be no goose-step to learn; no useless drill; none of the humiliation of obeying the commands of the white-faced dogs."

Though the fakir spoke in low tones, there was an intensity in his utterance that had its effect upon the listeners. This news of the fat-smeared cartridge troubled them in spite of themselves. They had heard nothing of it before; as a matter of fact, it had not yet been issued from the factory at Dam-dam; and but for the insolence of a Lascar, probably no suspicion of it would have arisen. The Lascar asked a Hindu one day for a drink of water from his brass lotah, which the Hindu indignantly refused, since he could not himself use the vessel again without losing caste. Upon this the Lascar retorted that he would soon have no caste to lose, since he would have to bite a cartridge smeared with the fat of pigs and cows. The news spread like wild-fire through the native army; and the terrible fear that the introduction of the new cartridge was a cunning device to make them pariahs, acting on superstitious minds which had other causes of disaffection, wrought the sepoys to a dangerous state of unrest.

But the fakir, besides appealing to his hearers' religious feelings, appealed also to their cupidity. He knew his men well. Like many of the Guides, they were by nature and training robbers. The prospect of unlimited plunder fired their imagination, and they received his last speech with a grunt of approval. He was quick to seize his advantage.

"Listen, brothers," he said in a mysterious whisper which Ahmed could barely catch. "'Tis nigh a hundred years since the Feringhi Clive, that son of perdition, defeated the host of Siraj-uddaula at Plassey. A holy man foretold that when the evil dominion of the Feringhis had endured for a hundred years, it should fade and vanish as a dream. The time is at hand, my brothers. Have I not lately received the sign from the hands of the Maulavi himself, the saint who now goes to and fro to stir the hearts of the faithful? Behold!"

Ahmed turned his eye quickly to the hole, and saw the fakir produce from his loin-cloth a chapati—a flat cake of unleavened bread—which he handed with a solemn gesture to one of the Guides. The man took it as though it were a sacred object.

"That is the sign chosen by the holy Maulavi Ahmed Ullah of Faizabad. Pass it to your comrades, brother, such of them as are true. I myself may no longer stay: I have far to go. Work in silence and discreetly, but with no loss of time. The hour is at hand; no man knoweth when the Maulavi may give the word. The train is laid from Meerut to Calcutta. The prize—wealth in this world and bliss in the world to come—is for him who leads, not for him who follows, in the blessed work. I will record your names, so that the Maulavi may have you in remembrance."

Ahmed had been so intently watching, that, being unable to hear and see at the same time, he lost part of this address. When he put his ear again to the hole, he could not catch the whispered words. With his knife he slightly enlarged the opening, and was straining his ears when he heard a light footfall behind him. Before he could turn, an arm was flung round his neck, a hand was pressed over his mouth, and in spite of his struggles to free himself he was held there until his captor, joined by others, securely gagged and trussed him. The man nearest him in the hut had heard the scratching of his knife, and crept out; his companions had followed him; and Ahmed was a prisoner.

While one of the men was scouting to make sure that nobody approached, the others dragged their captive round the hut and in at the doorway. As he entered, the fakir rose to his feet, and a glare of triumph lit his eyes.

"A spy!" he cried in a whisper. "Allah protects the faithful."