The Path to Honour

by Sydney C. Grier

In the natural course of his leisurely progress, equally unhasting and unresting, Gerrard was now approaching the neighbourhood of the city of Agpur, not without experiencing an occasional constricted feeling about his throat, as though he was walking into a trap the entrance into which had obligingly been made easy for him. He was surprised to find that he was entering upon a scene of desolation. The half-ripe harvest had been roughly reaped in part, but was elsewhere trampled down, and the villages were deserted by their inhabitants; or if by chance a man or two were seen, they fled with the utmost speed. It seemed as if an army had been passing through the country, and presumably it was Partab Singh's own army, since no one was known to be invading him. But why should he be moving his army about at this particular season, and in the absence of any outside enemy? That the answer to this question might prove to have an unpleasant effect upon his own fortunes Gerrard was aware, and his thoughts were not altogether agreeable as he sat in his tent during the heat of the day. It seemed prudent to put his papers in order—perhaps to destroy one or two which might be liable to misinterpretation in unfriendly hands, and this he was proceeding to do when an orderly came to say that a local Sirdar and his son, who had become separated from their attendants in a hunting expedition, asked if they might take shelter in the Sahib's camp until the sun was a little cooler. The idea of a hunting expedition was strange in the desolate state of; the district, but Gerrard hoped to gain some information from the strangers, and ordered that they should be brought to his tent. As he rose to go forward and welcome them, a low voice—that of the munshi sitting on the ground at his side—arrested him.

"Sahib, I cannot be sure, but I think that old man is the Rajah Partab Singh, whom I have seen once at Nanakpur. Do not betray that you suspect him, but look at the mark of the kalgi on the turbans of the two."

The words were so quickly spoken that Gerrard's pause was barely perceptible, and he went out to meet the newcomers without hesitation. They were an elderly bearded man and a boy of five or six, dressed in ordinary country stuffs, but on the turbans of both there was distinguishable to one who looked for it a slight discoloration, as though an aigrette or other token of distinction had recently been removed, and their horses were very fine. Gerrard welcomed them courteously, and the old man introduced himself as Sirdar Hari Ram, and the boy as his grandson, Narayan Lal. A carpet was already spread in Gerrard's tent, and he motioned them to it, while he gave an order or two respecting refreshments, and other things. The hookah kept for occasions of this sort was brought in, and Gerrard took a whiff himself, then passed the mouthpiece to his guests, but it was politely refused, with a sanctimonious glance at the servants. The boy soon tired of sitting still, and began to investigate the tent, attracted by the European furniture and weapons. In response to his inquiries, Gerrard exhibited and explained his watch, his tin despatch-box, (which aroused disappointment as not being filled with treasure,) and his Colt's revolver, at that time a surprising novelty. The old man was as fascinated with it as the child, and remarked gloomily that it was no wonder the English had so much power, when one of them could carry six men's lives in his hand. He seemed inclined to talk, so Gerrard looked out an illustrated paper which had lately reached him from home, and opened it for the boy at the picture of the opening of a new railway by the Queen and Prince Albert.

"Sit down here, little one, and look at this," he said kindly.

The child drew himself up with great dignity. "I am a prince, and I sit at no man's feet save my father's, O bearer of many deaths."

Here was a confirmation of the Munshi's suspicions, and Gerrard could not forbear a glance at the old man to see how he took it. But no discomfiture was visible.

"The women spoil him and puff him up. But 'tis a fine spirit!" said the Sirdar, beaming even while he made the sign to avert the evil eye. "Nevertheless, delight of my heart, sit thou at the foot of the Sahib, for verily that is where all Granthistan must now sit."

The boy obeyed, and the old man took his turn at putting questions. Many of them were trivial enough, but Gerrard soon became conscious that there was something behind, that attempts were continually being made to entrap him. The inexhaustible theme of the relations between the Crown and the Company was freely discussed without seeming to become much clearer to the Sirdar, and Gerrard realised by degrees that his guest was seeking for a weak point, a jealousy between the two governing bodies, or between two rulers, such as a bold diplomatist might exploit to his own advantage. His answers must therefore be guarded, and yet apparently frank, lest the old man should read into them what he desired, and it seemed that the inquirer had been baffled successfully when he flew off at a tangent to Colonel Antony and his administration.

"We hear strange things of the Ranjitgarh Durbar," he remarked sarcastically, "how the due compliments are always offered, and any man may lift up his voice and be heard with mildness—the wretch who was a slave but yesterday as readily as a prince of the house of Ajit Singh."

"It is true," said Gerrard. "Our religion bids us be courteous to all men, and the Resident follows its precepts."