The Warden of the Marches

by Sydney C. Grier

“But she isn’t likely to ask, is she? Oh, Miss North, if she might only be right! I don’t believe there’s a man in the fort that wouldn’t gladly die to bring him back.”

The expected dust-storm did not begin until the afternoon, and in the interval the besieged continued to strengthen their defences, disturbed only by an intermittent rifle-fire. A party of the enemy had taken possession of General Keeling’s old house, and lying down behind the low wall which surrounded the roof, were firing at any one they saw on the ramparts. Thanks to the efforts of Colonel Graham and Dick, the ruined parapet here had been repaired, but when there were messages to be sent from one point to another, the cry was “Heads down!” So skilfully were the enemy posted that no response to their annoying attentions was possible until a party of Sikhs, at considerable risk to life and limb, scaled the turrets flanking the gateway, the repair of which had not been completed owing to lack of time, and succeeded in commanding the roof of the old house. They had scarcely cleared it before the storm came on, and they were ordered down again, since it was generally believed that an assault would be attempted under cover of the wind and darkness. Nothing of the kind took place, however, and the garrison, who were kept under arms, chafed at their enforced inaction, and tried in vain to pierce the obscurity which surrounded them, while the wind howled and the dust rattled on the roofs. When, last of all, the rain poured down in sheets, and the air cleared sufficiently to allow the buildings beyond the zone of fire to become dimly visible, it was seen that the enemy had taken advantage of the storm for a different purpose. On the roof of General Keeling’s house was now a rough stone breastwork, so constructed as to shelter its occupants even against the fire from the towers, and provided with loopholes so arranged as to allow the barrel of a rifle to be pointed through them in any direction.

“It looks to me as though we should have to rush the General’s house and blow it up,” said the Commissioner to Colonel Graham, as they stood in one of the turrets, peering into the sweeping rain, during the last few minutes of daylight. “That sangar makes our walls untenable.”

“Then we shall have to raise them,” was the laconic reply, as Colonel Graham passed his field-glass to his companion. “You may not have noticed that though the General’s old stone house is the only one strong enough to support a sangar on the roof, the brick houses on both sides of it have been loop-holed. The place is a regular death-trap.”

“Do you mean to say that in this short time they have prepared a position impregnable to our whole force?” asked Mr Burgrave incredulously.

“Quite possibly, but that isn’t the question. Their numbers are practically unlimited; ours are not. I should be glad if you and I could come to an understanding at once. We are not here to exhibit feats of arms, but to keep the flag flying until we can be relieved, and to protect the unfortunate women and children down below there. Nothing would please me better than to lead an assault on the house yonder, but who’s to defend the fort when the butcher’s bill is paid? If we had only ourselves to consider, I might cut my way out with the troops, and make a historic march to Rahmat-Ullah, but with the non-combatants it would be impossible. You see this?—or perhaps you don’t see it, but I do. Well, are we to work together, or not?”

“You are asking me to subordinate my judgment to yours?”

“Politically, you are supreme here. From a military point of view——”

“You think you ought to be? Considering the office I hold, doesn’t that strike you as rather a large order?”

“Would you propose to occupy an independent and superior position from which to criticise my measures? Surely you must see that is out of the question? You may be Commissioner for the province, but I am commandant of this fort, and the troops are under my orders. The conclusion is pretty obvious, isn’t it? In such a situation as this, a single head is essential, and there must be no hint of divided counsels. You and I have both got everything we prize in the world at stake here. Can we squabble over our relative positions in face of what lies before us?”