“They would take shelter somewhere. They would have got a good way, and it may not have been as bad lower down as it was here.” But the doctor’s startled face belied his comforting words. “Upon my soul, Delany, I hope they didn’t come in for it on the open river. The rain was enough to swamp any boat.”
“And how would it be better if they were cot in a narrow channel—with the water sweeping over banks and islands and everything? ’Twas a great storm, I tell you. We have had to go miles and miles round coming back here—with lakes and rivers where there was dry land on our way out.”
“Well, don’t I know it was a great storm—with three of the hospital tents blown away bodily, and the whole staff working all night in the wet to get the sick under cover? You can see for yourself how the river has risen—look at the trees there, standing in the water.” Suddenly realising that he was not very consoling, he changed his tone. “But it don’t follow it was as bad where they were. They had good boats and strong crews, and an armed guard, so there were plenty of hands if help was needed. Old Firozji from the Bazar was going down, and offered them to share his boat, but they had one to themselves after all.”
“That’s how my sister managed it, then. I wondered who had I to thank for helping her play the fool in this style. I wouldn’t envy the feelings of any man that helped her get away—now.”
“’Suppose you are alluding to me,” said the surgeon gruffly. “Well, you know your sister as well as I do, and you can tell whether she’s much inclined to listen to advice that don’t fall in with her wishes. She was determined to get off, thinking you’d be following immediately. And I confess, the weather had been so sultry for two or three days, I never thought of a storm except as a relief—quickly come and quickly gone, you know. But this one took a whole day to come up, and lasted proportionately. But then, as I say, it may not have been as bad where they were. At any rate, we have heard nothing of any disaster, and you know how quickly the natives get wind of that sort of thing.”
“But sure they must have been miles and miles away by that time! Suppose they were wrecked on an uninhabited part of the shore, or one of those desolate islands in the middle of the river—how would the news possibly get about? Well, you were right when you said ’twas a fast boat and an early start for me, for I must be off after ’em at once. Think of it! Ambrose helpless, and my sister alone with those blackguards of boatmen—for the old Parsee would be no good,—not to mention the Codgers on one bank, and Kamal-ud-din’s people anywhere on t’other.”
“I thought Kamal-ud-din was penned in at Umarganj?”
“Penned in he may have been, but he’s got out of the pen—broke back somehow to the river again. The General was very anxious about it—and he would be worse if he knew this. I was greatly displeased when he bid me escort my sister to Bab-us-Sahel—unless she gave up the thought of the journey of her own free will—before going back to duty, but I’m thankful now! Not that the old lad would have been hard on me for going off after her, but I wouldn’t like to have exceeded my leave. Can you coax the right boat out of any one for me? If only there’d be a steamer in just now!”
“Wait a minute. You can’t go rushing off like this. I’ll send a chit to the Marine Superintendent to tell him what you want, and say we’ll both be round there after breakfast. But before you start off, we’ll call upon old Firozji’s brothers in the Bazar. They may have had news from him, and then we shall know it’s all right. Your quad. is tired—eh? I can lend you a tat—or there’s that little Arab of your sister’s, just come down by boat from Sahar. Do him good to stretch his legs gently a bit. She must have forgot the General said he might come down with the cavalry horses when she went off in such a hurry.”
“We might find out something, I suppose,” said Brian wretchedly, “but I don’t like losing a moment.”