THE COMING CONQUEST OF ENGLAND
by August Niemann
Translated by J. H. Freese
CONTENTS
[ AUTHOR’S PREFACE ]
[ TRANSLATOR’S NOTE ]
[ THE COMING CONQUEST OF ENGLAND ]
[ I ]
[ II ]
[ III ]
[ IV ]
[ V ]
[ VI ]
[ VII ]
[ VIII ]
[ IX ]
[ X ]
[ XI ]
[ XII ]
[ XIII ]
[ XIV ]
[ XV ]
[ XVI ]
[ XVII ]
[ XVIII ]
[ XIX ]
[ XX ]
[ XXI ]
[ XXII ]
[ XXIII ]
[ XXIV ]
[ XXV ]
[ XXVI ]
[ XXVII ]
[ XXVIII ]
[ XXIX ]
[ XXX ]
[ XXXI ]
[ XXXII ]
[ XXXIII ]
[ XXXIV ]
[ XXXV ]
AUTHOR’S PREFACE
I recall to mind a British colonel, who said to me in Calcutta: “This is the third time that I have been sent to India. Twenty-five years ago, as lieutenant, and then the Russians were some fifteen hundred miles from the Indian frontier; then, six years since, as captain, and the Russians were then only five hundred miles away. A year ago I came here as lieutenant-colonel, and the Russians are right up to the passes leading to India.”
The map of the world unfolds itself before me. All seas are ploughed by the keels of English vessels, all coasts dotted with the coaling stations and fortresses of the British world-power. In England is vested the dominion of the globe, and England will retain it; she cannot permit the Russian monster to drink life and mobility from the sea.
“Without England’s permission no shot can be fired on the ocean,” once said William Pitt, England’s greatest statesman. For many, many years England has increased her lead, owing to dissensions among the continental Powers. Almost all wars have, for centuries past, been waged in the interests of England, and almost all have been incited by England. Only when Bismarck’s genius presided over Germany did the German Michael become conscious of his own strength, and wage his own wars.
Are things to come to this pass, that Germany is to crave of England’s bounty—her air and light, and her very daily bread? or does their ancient vigour no longer animate Michael’s arms?
Shall the three Powers who, after Japan’s victory over China, joined hands in the treaty of Shimonoseki, in order to thwart England’s aims, shall they—Germany, France, and Russia—still fold their hands, or shall they not rather mutually join them in a common cause?
In my mind’s eye I see the armies and the fleets of Germany, France, and Russia moving together against the common enemy, who with his polypus arms enfolds the globe. The iron onslaught of the three allied Powers will free the whole of Europe from England’s tight embrace. The great war lies in the lap of the future.
The story that I shall portray in the following pages is not a chapter of the world’s past history; it is the picture as it clearly developed itself to my mind’s eye, on the publication of the first despatch of the Viceroy Alexieff to the Tsar of Russia. And, simultaneously like a flash of lightning, the telegram which the Emperor William sent to the Boers after Jameson’s Raid crosses my memory—that telegram which aroused in the heart of the German nation such an abiding echo. I gaze into the picture, and am mindful of the duties and aims of our German nation. My dreams, the dreams of a German, show me the war that is to be, and the victory of the three great allied nations. Germany, France, and Russia—and a new division of the possessions of the earth as the final aim and object of this gigantic universal war.
THE AUTHOR. [ [!-- H2 anchor --] ]
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE
This volume is the authorised translation of Der Weltkrieg deutsche Traume (F. W. Vobach and Co., Leipsic). The translator offers no comment on the day-dream which he reproduces in the English language for English readers. The meaning and the moral should be obvious and valuable.
LONDON, September, 1904.
THE COMING CONQUEST OF ENGLAND
I
THE COUNCIL OF STATE
It was a brilliant assemblage of high dignitaries and military officers that had gathered in the Imperial Winter Palace at St. Petersburg. Of the influential personages, who, by reason of their official position or their personal relations to the ruling house, were summoned to advise and determine the destiny of the Tsar’s Empire, scarcely one was absent. But it was no festal occasion that had called them here; for all faces wore an expression of deep seriousness, amounting in certain cases to one of grave anxiety. The conversation, carried on in undertones, was of matters of the gravest import.
The broad folding-doors facing the lifesize portrait of the reigning Tsar were thrown wide open, and amid the breathless silence of all assembled, the grey-headed President of the Imperial Council, Grand Duke Michael, entered the hall. Two other members of the Imperial house, the Grand Dukes Vladimir Alexandrovitch and Alexis Alexandrovitch, brothers of the late Tsar, accompanied him.
The princes graciously acknowledged the deep obeisances of all present. At a sign from the Grand Duke Michael, the whole company took their places at the long conference table, covered with green cloth, which stood in the centre of the pillared hall. Deep, respectful silence still continued, until, at a sign from the President, State Secretary Witte, the chief of the ministerial council, turned to the Grand Dukes and began thus:—
“Your Imperial Highnesses and Gentlemen! Your Imperial Highness has summoned us to an urgent meeting, and has commissioned me to lay before you the reasons for, and the purpose of, our deliberations. We are all aware that His Majesty the Emperor, our gracious Lord and Master, has declared the preservation of the peace of the world to be the highest aim of his policy. The Christian idea that mankind should be ‘ONE fold under ONE shepherd’ has, in the person of our illustrious ruler, found its first and principal representative here on earth. The league of universal peace is solely due to His Majesty, and if we are called upon to present to our gracious Lord and Master our humble proposals for combating the danger which immediately menaces our country, all our deliberations should be inspired by that spirit which animates the Christian law of brotherly love.”
Grand Duke Michael raised his hand in interruption. “Alexander Nicolaievitch,” he said, turning to the Secretary, “do not omit to write down this last sentence WORD FOR WORD.”
The Secretary of State made a short pause, only to continue with a somewhat louder voice and in a more emphatic tone—
“No especial assurance is required that, in view of this, our noble liege lord’s exalted frame of mind, a breach of the world’s peace could not possibly come from our side. But our national honour is a sacred possession, which we can never permit others to assail, and the attack which Japan has made upon us in the Far East forced us to defend it sword in hand. There is not a single right-minded man in the whole world who could level a reproach at us for this war, which has been forced upon us. But in our present danger a law of self-preservation impels us to inquire whether Japan is, after all, the only and the real enemy against whom we have to defend ourselves; and there are substantial reasons for believing that this question should be answered in the negative. His Majesty’s Government is convinced that we are indebted for this attack on the part of Japan solely to the constant enmity of England, who never ceases her secret machinations against us. It has been England’s eternal policy to damage us for her own aggrandisement. All our endeavours to promote the welfare of this Empire and make the peoples happy have ever met with resistance on the part of England. From the China Seas, throughout all Asia to the Baltic, England has ever thrown obstacles in our way, in order to deprive us of the fruits of our civilising policy. No one of us doubts for a moment that Japan is, in reality, doing England’s work. Moreover, in every part of the globe where our interests are at stake, we encounter either the open or covert hostility of England. The complications in the Balkans and in Turkey, which England has incited and fostered by the most despicable methods, have simply the one object in view—to bring us into mortal conflict with Austria and Germany. Yet nowhere are Great Britain’s real aims clearer seen than in Central Asia. With indescribable toil and with untold sacrifice of treasure and blood our rulers have entered the barren tracts of country lying between the Black Sea and the Caspian, once inhabited by semibarbarous tribes, and, further east again, the lands stretching away to the Chinese frontier and the Himalayas, and have rendered them accessible to Russian civilisation. But we have never taken a step, either east or south, without meeting with English opposition or English intrigues. To-day our frontiers march with the frontier of British East India, and impinge upon the frontier of Persia and Afghanistan. We have opened up friendly relations with both these states, entertain close commercial intercourse with their peoples, support their industrial undertakings, and shun no sacrifice to make them amenable to the blessings of civilisation. Yet, step by step, England endeavours to hamper our activity. British gold and British intrigues have succeeded in making Afghanistan adopt a hostile attitude towards us. We must at last ask ourselves this question: How long do we intend to look on quietly at these undertakings? Russia must push her way down to the sea. Millions of strong arms till the soil of our country. We have at our own command inexhaustible treasures of corn, wood, and all products of agriculture; yet we are unable to reach the markets of the world with even an insignificant fraction of these fruits of the earth that Providence has bestowed, because we are hemmed in, and hampered on every side, so long as our way to the sea is blocked. Our mid-Asiatic possessions are suffocated from want of sea air. England knows this but too well, and therefore she devotes all her energies towards cutting us off from the sea. With an insolence, for which there is no justification, she declares the Persian Gulf to be her own domain, and would like to claim the whole of the Indian Ocean, as she already claims India itself, as her own exclusive property. This aggression must at last be met with a firm ‘Hands off,’ unless our dear country is to run the risk of suffering incalculable damage. It is not we who seek war; war is being forced upon us. As to the means at our disposal for waging it, supposing England will not spontaneously agree to our just demands, His Excellency the Minister of War will be best able to give us particulars.”
He bowed once more to the Grand Dukes and resumed his seat. The tall, stately figure of the War Minister, Kuropatkin, next rose, at a sign from the President, and said—
“For twenty years I served in Central Asia and I am able to judge, from my own experience, of our position on the south frontier. In case of a war with England, Afghanistan is the battle-ground of primary importance. Three strategic passes lead from Afghanistan into India: the Khyber Pass, the Bolan Pass, and the Kuram Valley. When, in 1878, the English marched into Afghanistan they proceeded in three columns from Peshawar, Kohat, and Quetta to Cabul, Ghazni, and Kandahar respectively. These three roads have also been laid down as our lines of march. Public opinion considers them the only possible routes. It would carry me too far into detail were I to propound in this place my views as to the ‘pros and cons’ of this accepted view. In short, we SHALL find our way into India. Hahibullah Khan would join us with his army, 60,000 strong, as soon as we enter his territory. Of course, he is an ally of doubtful integrity, for he would probably quite as readily join the English, were they to anticipate us and make their appearance in his country with a sufficiently imposing force. But nothing prevents our being first. Our railway goes as far as Merv, seventy-five miles from Herat, and from this central station to the Afghan frontier. With our trans-Caspian railway we can bring the Caucasian army corps and the troops of Turkestan to the Afghan frontier. I would undertake, within four weeks of the outbreak of war, to mass a sufficient field army in Afghanistan round Herat. Our first army can then be followed by a ceaseless stream of regiments and batteries. The reserves of the Russian army are inexhaustible, and we could place, if needs be, four million soldiers and more than half a million of horses in the field. However, I am more than doubtful whether England would meet us in Afghanistan. The English generals would not, in any case, be well advised to leave India. Were they defeated in Afghanistan only small fragments of their army at most would escape back to India. The Afghans would show no mercy to a fleeing English army and would destroy it, as has happened on a previous occasion. If, on the other hand, which God forbid! the fortune of war should turn against us, we should always find a line of retreat to Turkestan open and be able to renew the attack at pleasure. If the English army is defeated, then India is lost to Great Britain; for the English are, in India, in the enemy’s country; as a defeated people they will find no support in the Indian people. They would be attacked on all sides by the Indian native chieftains, whose independence they have so brutally destroyed, at the very moment that their power is broken. We, on the other hand, should be received with open arms, as rescuers of the Indian people from their intolerable yoke. The Anglo-Indian army looks on paper much more formidable than it really is; its strength is put at 200,000 men, yet only one-third of this number are English soldiers, the rest being composed of natives. This army, moreover, consists of four divisions, which are scattered over the whole great territory of India. A field army, for employment on the frontier or across it, cannot possibly consist of more than 60,000 men; for, considering the untrustworthiness of the population, the land cannot be denuded of its garrisons. As a result of what I have said, I record my conviction that the war will have to be waged in India itself, and that God will give us the victory.”
The words of the General, spoken in an energetic and confident tone, made a deep impression upon his hearers; only respect for the presence of the Grand Dukes prevented applause. The greyhaired President gave the Minister of War his hand, and invited the Minister for Foreign Affairs to address them.
“In my opinion,” said the diplomatist, “there is no doubt that the strategical opinions just delivered by His Excellency the Minister for War are based upon an expert’s sound and correct estimate of the circumstances, and I also am certain that the troops of His Majesty the Tsar, accustomed as they are to victory, will, in the event of war, soon be standing upon the plain of the Indus. It is also my firm conviction that Russia would be best advised to take the offensive as soon as ever the impossibility of our present relations to England has been demonstrated. But whoever goes to war with England must not look to one battleground alone. On the contrary, we must be prepared for attacks of the most varied kinds, for an attack upon our finances, to begin with, and upon our credit, as to which His Excellency Witte could give better information than I could. The Bank of England, and the great banking firms allied with it, would at once open this financial campaign. Moreover, a ship sailing under the Russian flag would hardly dare show itself on the open seas, and our international trade would, until our enemy had been crushed, be absolutely at a standstill. Moreover, more vital for us than considerations of this sort would be the question: What of the attitude of the other great Powers? England’s political art has, since the days of Oliver Cromwell, displayed itself chiefly in adroitly making use of the continental Powers. It is no exaggeration to say that England’s wars have been chiefly waged with continental armies. This is not said in depreciation of England’s military powers. Wherever the English fleet and English armies have been seen on the field of battle, the energy, endurance, and intrepidity of their officers, sailors, and soldiers have ever been brilliantly noticeable. The traditions of the English troops who, under the Black Prince and Henry V., marched in days of yore victorious through France, were again green in the wars in the eighteenth century against France and against Napoleon. Yet infinitely greater than her own military record has been England’s success in persuading foreign countries to fight for her, and in leading the troops of Austria, France, Germany, and Russia against each other on the Continent. For the last two hundred years very few wars have ever been waged without England’s co-operation, and without her reaping the advantage. These few exceptions were the wars of Bismarck, waged for the advantage and for the glory of his own country, by which he earned the hatred of every good Englishman. While the continent of Europe was racked by internal wars, which English diplomacy had incited, Great Britain acquired her vast colonial possessions. England has implicated us too in wars which redounded to her sole advantage. I need only refer to the bloody, exhausting war of 1877-8, and to the disastrous peace of San Stefano, where England’s intrigues deprived us of the price of our victory over the Crescent. I refer, further, to the Crimean War, in which a small English and a large French army defeated us to the profit and advantage of England. That England, and England alone, is again behind this attack upon us by Japan has been dwelt upon by those who have already addressed you. Our enemies do not see themselves called upon to depart in the slightest degree from a policy that has so long stood them in such good stead, and it must, therefore, be our policy to assure ourselves of the alliance, or at least, where an alliance is unattainable, of the benevolent neutrality of the other continental Powers in view of a war with England. To begin with, as regards our ally, the French Republic, a satisfactory solution of our task in this direction is already assured by the existing treaties. Yet these treaties do not bind the French Government to afford us military support in the case of a war which, in the eyes of shortsighted observers, might perhaps be regarded as one which we had ourselves provoked. We have accordingly opened negotiations through our Ambassador with M. Delcasse, the French Minister for Foreign Affairs, and with the President of the Republic himself. I have the supreme satisfaction of being in a position to lay before you the result of these negotiations in the form of a despatch just received from our Ambassador in Paris. It runs, in the main, as follows: ‘I hasten to inform Your Excellency that, in the name of the French Republic, M. Delcasse has given me the solemn assurance that France will declare war upon England at the moment His Majesty the Tsar has directed his armies to march upon India. The considerations which have prompted the French Government to take this step have been further explained to me by M. Delcasse in our conference of this day, when he expressed himself somewhat as follows: ‘Napoleon, a hundred years ago, perceived with rare discernment that England was the real enemy of all continental nations, and that the European continent could not pursue any other policy but to combine in resisting that great pirate. The magnificent plan of Napoleon was the alliance of France with Spain, Italy, Austria, Germany, and Russia, in order to combat the rapacity of England. And he would, in all probability, have carried his scheme through had it not been that considerations of domestic policy determined the Tsar Alexander I., in spite of his admiration for Napoleon’s ability, to run counter to the latter’s intentions. The consequences of Napoleon’s defeat have shown themselves sufficiently clearly during the past hundred years in the enormous growth of the English power. The present political constellation, which in many respects is very similar to that of the year 1804, should be utilised to revive Napoleon’s plan once more. Russia has, of course, the first and most vital interest in the downfall of England, for, so long as Great Britain controls all the seas and all the important coastlines, it is like a giant whose hands and feet are fettered. Yet France is also checked in her natural development. Her flourishing colonies in America and the Atlantic Ocean were wrested from her in the eighteenth century. She was ousted by this overpowering adversary from her settlements in the East Indies and—what the French nation feels perhaps most acutely—Egypt, purchased for France by the great Napoleon with the blood of his soldiers, was weaned away by English gold and English intrigues. The Suez Canal, built by a Frenchman, Lesseps, is in the possession of the English, facilitating their communications with India, and securing them the sovereignty of the world. France will accordingly make certain stipulations as the price of its alliance—stipulations which are so loyal and equitable that there is no question whatever of their not being agreed to on the part of her ally, Russia. France demands that her possessions in Tonking, Cochin China, Cambodia, Annam, and Laos shall be guaranteed; that Russia be instrumental in assisting her to acquire Egypt, and that it pledge itself to support the French policy in Tunis and the rest of Africa.” In accordance with my instructions, I felt myself empowered to assure M. Delcasse that his conditions were accepted on our side. In answer to my question, whether a war with England would be popular in France, the Minister said: “The French people will be ready for any sacrifice if we make Fashoda our war-cry. British insolence never showed itself more brutal and insulting than over this affair. Our brave Marchand was on the spot with a superior force, and France was within her rights. The simple demand of an English officer, who possessed no other force but the moral one of the English flag, compelled us, however, under the political circumstances which then obtained, to abandon our righteous claims, and to recall our brave leader. How the French people viewed this defeat has been plainly seen. The Parisians gave Marchand a splendid ovation as a national hero, and the French Government seriously contemplated the possibility of a revolution. We are now in a position to take revenge for the humiliation which we then endured, probably out of excessive prudence. If we inscribe the word FASHODA on the tricolour there will not be in the whole of France a man capable of bearing arms who will not follow our lead with enthusiasm.” It appeared to me to be politic to assure myself whether the Government or the inspired press would not perhaps promise the people the recovery of Alsace-Lorraine as the price of a victorious issue of the war. But the Minister replied decidedly, “No. The question of Alsace-Lorraine,” he declared, “must remain outside our view as soon as we make up our minds to go in for practical politics. Nothing could possibly be more fatal than to rouse bad blood in Germany. For the German Emperor is the tongue of the balance in which the destinies of the world are weighed. England in her own esteem has nothing to fear from him. She regards him more as an Englishman than a German. Her confidence in this respect must not be disturbed; it forms one of the props on which British arrogance supports itself. The everlasting assurances of the German Emperor, that he intends peace and nothing but peace, appear, of course, to confirm the correctness of this view. But I am certain that the Emperor William’s love of peace has its limits where the welfare and the security of Germany are seriously jeopardised. In spite of his impulsive temperament, he is not the ruler to allow himself to be influenced by every expression of popular clamour, and to be driven by every ebullition of public feeling, to embark on a decisive course of action. But he is far-seeing enough to discern at the right moment a real danger, and to meet it with the whole force of his personality. I do not, therefore, look upon the hope of gaining him for an ally as a Utopian dream, and I trust that Russian diplomacy will join with ours in bringing this alliance about. A war with England without Germany’s support would always be a hazardous enterprise. Of course we are prepared to embark upon such a war, alike for our friendship with Russia and for the sake of our national honour, but we could only promise ourselves a successful issue if all the continental great Powers join hands in this momentous undertaking.”
Although the fact of an offensive and defensive alliance with France in view of a war with England could not have been unknown to the majority of the assembled company, yet the reading of this despatch, which was followed with breathless attention, evidently produced a deep impression. Its publication left no room for doubt that this war had been resolved on in the highest quarters, and although no loud manifestation of applause followed its reading, the illustrious assemblage now breathed freely, and almost all faces wore an expression of joyous satisfaction.
Only one man, with knitted brows, regarded the scene with serious disapproval. For decades past he had been regarded as the most influential man in Russia—as a power, in fact, who had constantly thwarted the plans of the leading statesmen and had carried his opinions through with unswerving energy.
This solitary malcontent was Pobiedonostsev, the Chief Procurator of the Holy Synod, who, despite his grey hairs, was detested only less than he was feared.
His gloomy mien and his shake of the head had not escaped the presiding Grand Duke, and the latter evidently considered it to be his duty to give this man who had enjoyed the confidence of three successive Tsars an opportunity of recording his divergent opinion.
At his summons the Chief Procurator arose, and, amid complete silence, said—
“It cannot be my duty to deliver an opinion as to the possibility or on the prospects of an alliance with Germany, for I am as little acquainted as any here present with the intentions and plans of the German Emperor. William II. is the greatest sphinx of our age. He talks much, and his speeches give the impression of complete sincerity; but who can guess what is really behind them? That he has formulated a fixed programme as his life’s work, and that he is the man to carry it out, regardless whether public opinion is on his side or not, thus much appears to me to be certain. If the subjection of England is a part of his programme, then the hopes of the French Minister would, in fact, be no Utopia, only supposing that the Emperor William considers the present the most suitable time for disclosing to the world his ultimate aims. It would be the task of our diplomatic representative at the Court of Berlin to assure himself on this point. But it is quite another question whether Russia really needs an alliance either with Germany or with the Western Power just referred to, and my view of the case leads me to answer this question in the negative. Russia is, at the present time, the last and sole bulwark of absolutism in Europe, and if a ruler called by God’s grace to the highest and most responsible of all earthly offices is to remain strong enough to crush the spirit of rebellion and immorality which here and there, under the influence of foreign elements, has shown itself in our beloved country, we must, before all things, take heed to keep far away from our people the poison of the so-called liberal ideas, infidelity, and atheism with which it seems likely to be contaminated from the West. In like manner, as we, a century ago, crushed the powerful leader of the revolution, so also shall we to-day triumph over our foe—we single-handed! Let our armies march into Persia, Afghanistan, and India, and lead throughout all Asia the dominion of the true faith to victory. But keep our holy Russia uncontaminated by the poison of that heretical spirit, which would be a worse foe than any foreign power can be.”
He sat down, and for a moment absolute silence reigned. The Grand Duke made a serious face, and exchanged a few whispered words with both his nephews.
Then he said: “All the gentlemen who have here given us their views on the situation are agreed that a declaration of war upon England is an exceedingly lamentable but, under the circumstances, unavoidable necessity; yet before I communicate to His Majesty, our gracious Lord, this view, which is that of us all, I put to you, gentlemen, the question whether there is anyone here who is of a contrary opinion. In this case, I would beg of him to address us.”
He waited a short while, but as no one wished to be allowed to speak, he rose from his chair, and with a few words of thanks and a gentle bow to the dignitaries, who had also risen in their places, notified that he regarded the sitting, fraught with momentous consequences for the destiny of the world, as closed.
II
THE OFFICERS’ MESS
The place was Chanidigot, in British East India. The blinding brightness of the hot day had been immediately followed, almost without the transition to twilight, by the darkness of evening, which brought with it a refreshing coolness, allowing all living things to breathe again freely. In the wide plain, which served as the encampment ground for the English regiment of lancers, all was alive again with the setting of the sun. The soldiers, freed from the toil of duty, enjoyed themselves, according to their ideas and dispositions, either in playing cards, singing, or merrily drinking. The large tent, used as a messroom by the officers, also showed signs of life. Dinner was over, and a number of gentlemen sat down to a game of cards, as was their daily custom. But here the amusement was of a less harmless character than in the case of the private soldiers. For not innocent bridge, but “poker” was the order of the day, a game much affected in America and also in some parts of England, a game which is solely determined by chance together with a certain histrionic bluffing on the part of the players, and the stakes were rather high. It was mostly played by the younger gentlemen, who could not do without their nerve-tonic in the evenings, in the monotony of camp life. The older men sat apart at tables, talking and drinking whisky-and-soda, and smoking their short pipes. Amongst them there was also a gentleman in civilian dress. The hospitality with which he was treated showed that he was not one of the officers of the regiment, but their guest. The sound of his name—he was addressed as Mr. Heideck—would have betrayed his German origin, even had his appearance not proclaimed it. He was of but medium height, but athletic in build. His erect, soldiery bearing and the elasticity of his movements plainly betokened his excellent health and considerable bodily strength. A foreigner can hardly present better credentials to an Englishman than these qualities. Perhaps, more than anything else, it was his distinguished appearance, in conjunction with his amiable and thoroughly gentlemanly bearing, that had so quickly opened the usually very exclusive officers’ circle to the young German, with his clever, energetic features, and his honest blue eyes.
Judged by his profession he did not, perhaps, belong to their society, according to the ideas of some of these gentlemen. It was known that he was travelling for a large commercial house in Hamburg. His uncle, the head of the house, imported indigo. And since the Maharajah of Chanidigot was the owner of very extensive indigo fields, young Heideck had been detained here a whole fortnight by commercial negotiations with the prince. He had succeeded, during this time, in gaining the lively sympathies of all, but particularly of the older British officers. In Indian garrisons every European is welcome. Heideck was also invited to those social functions at which the ladies of the regiment were present.
He had always refused an invitation to cards with polite firmness, and to-day also he was at most an uninterested and unconcerned spectator.
Presently the door of the tent opened and a tall, but extremely slim officer joined the circle of his comrades, jingling his spurs with a self-conscious, almost haughty attitude. He was in undress uniform and talked to one of the gentlemen, who addressed him as Captain Irwin, about just returning from a fatiguing ride for the inspection of an outpost. He demanded from one of the orderlies in attendance a refreshing drink, the favourite whisky-and-soda, then he drew close to the gaming-table.
“Room for a little one?” he asked. And place was readily made for him.
For a little while the game of poker went on in the same quiet way as before. But suddenly something extraordinary must have happened. All the gentlemen, except Captain Irwin and one of the players, laid down their cards, and the unpleasantly penetrating voice of Captain Irwin was heard.
“You are an old fox, Captain McGregor! But I am aware of your tricks and cannot be taken in by them. Therefore, once more, six hundred rupees!”
Every poker-player knows that, so far from being considered dishonourable, it is a chief sign of skill in the game, where each man plays for his own hand, for one to deceive the rest as to the value of the cards he holds. The name of “bluff,” which has been given to this game, is itself sufficient to show that everyone has to try his best to puzzle his adversaries.
But this time Irwin appeared to have met his match in McGregor. For the Captain replied calmly: “Six hundred and fifty. But I advise you not to see me, Irwin.”
“Seven hundred.”
“Seven hundred and fifty.”
“Thousand!” shouted Irwin with resounding voice, and leant back in his chair smiling, as if certain of victory.
“You had better consider what you are about,” said McGregor. “I have given you warning.”
“A convenient way to haul in seven hundred and fifty rupees. I repeat: A thousand rupees.”
“One thousand and fifty!”
“Two thousand!”
All the gentlemen present in the tent had risen and stood round the two players, who, their cards concealed in their hands, watched each other with sharp glances. Hermann Heideck, who had stepped behind Irwin, noticed on the right hand of the Captain a magnificent diamond ring. But he also perceived, by the way the bright sparkle of the stone quivered, how the gambler’s fingers trembled.
Captain McGregor turned to his companions. “I take the gentlemen to witness that I have advised my comrade Irwin not to see me at six hundred.”
“To the devil with your advice!” Irwin interrupted almost furiously. “Am I a boy? Will you see me at two thousand, McGregor, or will you not?”
“Very well, since you insist upon it—three thousand.”
“Five thousand.”
“Five thousand five hundred.”
“Ten thousand.”
One of the higher officers, Major Robertson, laid his hand lightly upon the shoulder of the rash gambler.
“That is too much, Irwin. I do not care to interfere in these things, and since you do not belong to my regiment, I can only speak to you as a comrade, not as a superior. But I am afraid you will be in difficulties if you lose.”
Angrily the Captain fired up—
“What do you mean by that, sir? If your words are intended to express a doubt as to my solvency—”
“Well! well—I did not mean to offend you. After all, you must know best yourself what you are justified in doing.”
Irwin repeated with a defiant air—
“Ten thousand! I am waiting for your answer, McGregor.”
The adversary remained as calm as before.
“Ten thousand five hundred.”
“Twenty thousand!”
“Are you drunk, Irwin?” whispered the young Lieutenant Temple into the Captain’s ear, from the other side. But he only glanced round with a furious look.
“Not more than you. Leave me alone, if you please.”
“Twenty-one thousand,” came the calm response from the other side of the table.
A short, awkward pause followed. Captain Irwin nervously gnawed his small dark moustache. Then he raised his slim figure and called out—
“Fifty thousand!”
Once more the Major considered it his duty to endeavour to stop the game.
“I object,” he said. “It has been always a rule that the pool cannot be raised by more than a thousand rupees at a time. This limit has long since been passed.”
A rude, hoarse laugh escaped Irwin’s lips.
“It appears you want to save me, Major. But I am not in need of any saviour. If I lose I pay, and I don’t understand why the gentlemen are so concerned on my behalf.”
The Major, who at last saw that all his good endeavours were misplaced, shrugged his shoulders. Lieutenant Temple, however, thought he had a good idea, and with an apparently unintentional, though violent, movement pushed against the light camp-table, and sent ashtrays, bottles, glasses, and cards flying on the ground. But he did not gain anything by this, for the two players held their cards firmly in their hands, and did not allow this contretemps to disturb their sangfroid for a single moment.
“Fifty-one,” said McGregor.
“Sixty.”
“Sixty-one.”
“Seventy.”
“Seventy-one.”
“Eighty.”
“Eighty-one.”
“A lakh!” cried Irwin, who was now pale from excitement.
“Really?” asked McGregor calmly, “that is a fine bid. A lakh—that is, reckoned at the present rate of exchange, 6,500 pounds sterling. You will be a wealthy man, Irwin, if you win. Now, then, I see you.”
With trembling fingers, but with a triumphant look, the Captain laid down his cards.
“Straight flush,” he said hoarsely.
“Yes, a strong hand,” replied the other, smiling. “But which is your highest card?”
“The king, as you see for yourself.”
“That’s a pity, for I have also, as it happens, a straight flush, but mine is up to the ace.”
Slowly, one after the other, he laid down his cards—ace of hearts, king of hearts, queen of hearts, knave of hearts, ten of hearts. One single exclamation of surprise came from the lips of the bystanders. None of them had ever seen the coincidence of such an extraordinary sequence.
Captain Irwin sat motionless for a moment, fixing his unsteady eyes straight upon his adversary’s cards. Then he suddenly sprang up with a wild laugh, and left the tent with jingling steps.
“This loss spells ruin for Irwin,” said the Major gravely. “He is not in a position to pay such a sum.”
“With his wife’s assistance he could,” chimed in another; “but it would eat up pretty well the rest of her fortune.”
“I call you, gentlemen, to witness that it is not my fault,” said McGregor, who thought he perceived a certain degree of reproach in the faces of the bystanders; but all agreed with him.
Lieutenant Temple, who alone of all those present kept up a certain superficial friendship with Irwin, remarked, “Somebody must go after him to see that he does not do something foolish in his first excitement.”
He turned as if to leave the room, but a call from McGregor stopped him.
“It will be no use, Temple, unless you are able to calm him in some way or other. In my opinion there is only one thing to do. He must be persuaded that the whole affair is only a joke, and that the cards had been shuffled beforehand.”
The Lieutenant went back to the table.
“The suggestion of this way of putting it does you honour, Captain; only I have my doubts if any of us would have the courage to go to him with this manifest lie.”
The silence of the others appeared to confirm this doubt, when the decisive voice of the German guest interrupted with—
“Will you entrust me, gentlemen, with this mission? I know Captain Irwin only slightly, it is true, and should have no reason to interfere with his private concerns; but I hear that it is his wife’s property which has been at stake here, and as I consider Mrs. Irwin a very honourable lady I would gladly do my best to save her from such a heavy pecuniary loss.”
McGregor held out his hand.
“You would place me under a great obligation, Mr. Heideck, if you could succeed in this matter, but I warn you that there is no time to lose.”
Heideck quickly left the tent, but when he had come out into the delicious moonlight night the first thing that met his eye was Captain Irwin, some twenty yards distant, standing by his horse. The servant held the animal by the bridle, and Captain Irwin was about to mount. On coming nearer he saw the servant move off and perceived that Irwin held a revolver in his hand. With a quick motion he seized the officer’s wrist.
“One moment, Captain Irwin.”
Irwin started, turned round, and looked with fury at Heideck.
“I beg your pardon,” said the German, “but you are labouring under a mistake, Captain. The game was all a jest; they were playing a trick upon you. The cards were arranged beforehand.”
Irwin made no reply, but whistled to his servant and went back into the tent, revolver still in hand, without a single word to Heideck. Heideck followed. Both gentlemen stepped up to the card-table, and Irwin turned to McGregor.
“You tell me the game was all a got-up thing, do you?” he asked.
“As a lesson to you, Irwin—you who always plunge as a madman, and imagine yourself a good player, when you have not the necessary cold blood for gambling.”
“Well,” said Irwin, “that is a story that I will take care goes the round of all the garrisons in India, as an instance of kind comrade-like feeling, so that everyone may be warned against coming along here and being induced to take a hand. I never in my life came across a more despicable story; but it certainly is a lesson for me, that only honourable persons should be—”
“No, Captain Irwin,” said McGregor, standing bolt upright, levelling at his insulter a withering look from his great blue eyes, “you should rather think of your poor wife, whom you would have made a pauper if this game had not been all a hoax.”
Irwin reeled back; the revolver fell from his grasp.
“What,” he gasped—“what do you mean? It was, then, no joke, after all. I, then, really lost the money? Oh, you—you—But what do you take me for? Be quite certain that I will pay. But,” he cried, collecting himself, “I should like to know what the real truth is, after all. I ask this question of you all, and call you rogues and liars if you do not tell me the truth. Have I only really been played with, or has the game been a straightforward one?”
“Captain Irwin,” replied the Major, advancing towards him, “I, as the senior, tell you, in the name of our comrades, that your behaviour would have been unpardonable unless a sort of madness had seized you. The game was a straightforward one, and only the generosity of Captain McGregor—”
Irwin did not wait for the conclusion of the sentence, but, with a bound, was again outside the tent.
III
A RUSSIAN COMRADE
Hermann Heideck lived in a dak bungalow, one of those hotels kept going by the Government, which afford travellers shelter, but neither bed nor food. On returning home from the camp he found his servant, Morar Gopal, standing at the door ready to receive his master, and was informed that a newcomer had arrived with two attendants. As this dak bungalow was more roomy than most of the others, the new arrivals were able to find accommodation, and Heideck was not obliged, as is usual, to make way as the earlier guest for a later arrival.
“What countryman is the gentleman?” he inquired.
“An Englishman, sahib!”
Heideck entered his room and sat down at the table, upon which, besides the two dim candles, stood a bottle of whisky, a few bottles of soda-water and the inevitable box of cigarettes. He was moody and in a bad humour. The exciting scene in the officers’ mess had affected him greatly, not on account of Captain Irwin, who, from the first moment of their acquaintance, was quite unsympathetic to him, but solely on account of the beautiful young wife of the frivolous officer, of whom he had a lively recollection from their repeated meetings in social circles. None of the other officers’ wives—and there were many beautiful and amiable women among them—had made such a deep and abiding impression upon him as Edith Irwin, whose personal charms had fascinated him as much as her extraordinary intellectual powers had astonished him. The reflection that this graceful creature was fettered with indissoluble bonds to a brutal and dissolute fellow of Irwin’s stamp, and that her husband would perhaps one day drag her down with him into inevitable ruin, awoke in him most painful feelings. He would so gladly have done something for the unhappy wife. But he was obliged to admit that there was no possibility for him, a stranger, who was nothing to her but a superficial acquaintance, to achieve anything in the way he most desired. The Captain would be completely justified in rejecting every uncalled-for interference with his affairs as a piece of monstrous impudence; and then, too, in what way could he hope to be of any assistance?
A sudden noise in the next room aroused Heideck from his sad reverie. He heard loud scolding and a clapping sound, as if blows from a whip were falling upon a bare human body. A minute later and the door between the rooms flew open and an Indian, dressed only in cummerbund and turban, burst into the room, as if intending to seek here protection from his tormentor. A tall European, dressed entirely in white flannel, followed at the man’s heels and brought his riding-whip down mercilessly upon the naked back of the howling wretch. Heideck’s presence did not, evidently, disturb him in the least.
At the first glance the young German perceived that his neighbour could not be an Englishman, as his servant had told him he was. His strikingly thin, finely-cut features, and his peculiarly oval, black eyes and soft, dark beard betrayed much more the Sarmatic than the characteristic Anglo-Saxon type.
The man’s appearance did not make an unfavourable impression, but he could not possibly overlook his behaviour. Stepping between him and his victim he demanded, energetically, what this scene meant. The other, laughing, let drop the arm which had been again raised to strike.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said with a foreign accent, “a very good boy, but he steals like a crow, and must have the whip occasionally. I am sure that he has concealed somewhere about him the five rupees which have been stolen from me again to-day.” On saying this, as if he considered this information quite sufficient explanation, he again caught hold of the black fellow, and with a single wrench tore the turban from his head. From the white, red-bordered cloth a few pieces of silver fell and rolled jingling over the tiles; and at the same time a larger object fell at Heideck’s feet. He picked it up and held in his hand a gold cigarette-case, the lid of which was engraved with a prince’s coronet. On handing it to the stranger, the latter bowed his thanks and made his apologies like a man of good breeding. The Indian the while took the opportunity, in a few monkey-like bounds, to make good his escape. The sight of the coat-of-arms on the cigarette-case aroused in Heideck the desire to make nearer acquaintance with his impetuous neighbour. As though he had quite forgotten the extraordinary manner of his entrance into the room, he asked, blandly, if he might invite his neighbour, whom accident had thus thrust upon him, to a cigar and a “nightcap.”
The other accepted the invitation with amiable alacrity. “You are also a commercial traveller, sir?” inquired Heideck; and on receiving an affirmative answer, continued, “we are then colleagues. Are you satisfied with your results here?”
“Oh, things might be better. There is too much competition.”
“Cotton?”
“No. Bronze goods and silk. Have brought some marvellous gold ornaments from Delhi.”
“Then probably your cigarette-case comes from Delhi also?” The oval eyes of the other shot over him in an inquiring glance.
“My cigarette-case? No—are you travelling perhaps in skins, colleague? Do you deal in Cashmir goats?”
“I have everything. My house trades in everything.”
“You do not come from Calcutta?”
“No! not from Calcutta.”
“Bad weather down there. All my leather is spoilt.”
“Is it so damp there?”
“Vapour bath, I tell you; a real vapour bath!”
Heideck had long since made up his mind that he had a Russian before him. But, in order to be quite on the safe side, he made a jocular remark in Russian. His new acquaintance looked up astonished.
“You speak Russian, sir?”
“A little.”
“But you are no Russian?”
“No; I am a German, who, during a temporary stay in Russia, have picked up a little knowledge of languages. We merchants go about a lot.”
The gentleman who, according to his statement, travelled in bronze and silk was evidently delighted to hear in a place where he had least expected it the familiar tones of his mother tongue, and Heideck did his utmost, with almost an excess of zeal, to keep him in good humour. He called his servant and bade him get some hot water.
“It’s quite chilly to-night,” he said, turning to his guest. “A hot brandy-and-water is not to be despised.”
“Ah,” said the Russian, “stop a moment; better chuck the water away and let something more palatable take its place.”
He went into his room and returned immediately with a bottle of sherry and two bottles of champagne.
“I will, with your permission, brew in this kettle a bowl in Russian fashion. Sugar must go in too; for this champagne, prepared for English taste, is too dry, and must be sweetened to make it palatable for us.” He poured the bottle of cognac, which the servant had brought, together with the sherry into the champagne and filled the glasses.
In German fashion the two gentlemen touched glasses. As they did so, Heideck once more attentively observed his new acquaintance. The lurking expression with which he felt that the eyes of the other were fixed upon him made him start for a moment. What if the Russian perhaps only had the same intention as himself, and only wanted to make his tongue wag with the champagne? At all events, he was now on his guard.
“May I ask you to try one of my Havannah cigars?” asked the Russian in passing his cigar-case. “The Indian cigars are not bad and very cheap. The Beaconsfield is my favourite brand. But now and then one must smoke something else for a change.”
Heideck accepted with thanks, and now began a fairly good booze, in which the Russian set the example. He was, however, evidently not so proof against the effects of the tasty and strong drink as was the German. With each minute he became more loquacious, and soon began to address his new friend as “Dear old chap,” and to narrate all manner of more or less compromising stories. He also, induced by several adroit questions on the part of Heideck, began to prate of his family affairs. He mocked at an old aunt of his, who was wont to cover her hair with roses the better to conceal bald spots, and added that this aunt was a great favourite at the Court of the Tsar, on account of her incomparable gossiping stories. It apparently never occurred to him that such intimate family relations were a rather strange subject for conversation in a commercial traveller.
In the course of his conversation he mentioned that not long before he had been in China.
“We are too slow, dear chap, much too slow,” he declared; “with fifty thousand men we could take all that we want, and we ought to have attacked those Japanese long since.”
“Tell me, then,” said Heideck, with apparent indifference, “how strong really is the army of the Governor-General of Turkestan?”
The Russian looked up, but it was not because he was thinking what answer to give; for, after having tossed off a glass of soda-water, he replied—
“If you want to live well, my dear fellow, you must go to Manchuria. Salmon, I tell you—ah! and they cost next to nothing—and pretty girls in abundance! You can buy furs, too, for next to nothing at all. What costs in St. Petersburg ten thousand rubles, you can get in China, up there in the north, for a hundred.”
“Then of course you have brought some beautiful furs with you?”
“Furs in India? they would be eaten by the ants in a second. For my own personal use, I have certainly brought one with me, which in St. Petersburg would be worth, at the least, five thousand rubles. I shall have use enough for it later on, in the mountains. You can smell it a mile away, it has been pickled so well.”
Again there was a short pause, and then after gazing intently at his vis-a-vis, Heideck suddenly said—
“You are an officer?”
Without being able to collect himself the Russian stared into his face.
“Let us be candid with each other,” he rejoined, after long reflection. “You are also a soldier, sir?”
“I need not deny it in reply to a comrade. My name is Captain Hermann Heideck of the Prussian General Staff.”
The Russian rose and made a correct bow. “And my name is Prince Fedor Andreievitch Tchajawadse, Captain in the Preobraschensky regiment of the Guards.”
They then once more touched glasses: “To ourselves as good comrades” rang their mutual toast.
“Comrade, I will tell you something,” said the Russian. “General Ivanov is on the march towards the Indian frontier. The Tsar has given up his theosophy; he intends to declare war upon England.”
Heideck would have wished to learn more, but the Prince had addressed himself to the good liquor somewhat more than his head could stand, and he began to sing indecent French chansons, only to pass of a sudden to melancholy Russian popular songs. In his present condition it was impossible to think of continuing a sensible conversation with him further.
Heideck already found himself somewhat perplexed what to do with his intoxicated guest, when a new surprise was sprung upon him. The door to the next room opened and a tall, handsome young fellow, of at most eighteen years, appeared on the threshold.
He was garbed in a sort of fantastic page’s dress, which in any other country but that of rainbow-hued picturesque India would have looked like that of a masquerader. The blue gold-embroidered jacket was girded with a red silk scarf, and the loose red trousers disappeared at the knees in patent leather topboots, the elegant shape of which showed the contour of the smallest of feet. Thick golden locks fell like waves almost down to the shoulders of the boyish youth. The handsome oval face had the complexion of a blushing rose; the great, blue eyes, however, showed the energy of a strong will.
As soon as the Prince had set eyes on the young visitor, he stopped singing.
“Ah! Georgi?” he stammered.
Without uttering a syllable, the page had advanced towards him, and had quickly raised the intoxicated man from the chair. Prince Tchajawadse flung his arm round the boy’s shoulders, and without bidding his German comrade as much as “good night,” allowed himself to be led away.
Heideck did not doubt for a moment that this slender page was a girl in disguise. The splendid build and the strange expression of untamed energy in the admirably regular features were the unmistakable characteristics of the Circassian type. This so-called Georgi could be none other but a child of the Caucasian Mountains; and Tchajawadse also, as his name showed, was a scion of those old Caucasian dynastic houses which in days of yore had played a role in that mountain land, which Russia had so slowly, and with such difficulty, finally subjugated.
IV
THE CIRCASSIAN BEAUTY
Captain Heideck’s statement that he travelled for a Hamburg firm was not really an untruth. As a matter of fact he was engaged in commercial undertakings, which served as a cloak for the real object of his travels.
He had been commissioned by the chief of the General Staff to study the Indian military organisation, and, in particular, the strategic importance of the North-west frontier, and for this purpose unlimited leave had been granted him.
But the General had expressly stated to him—
“You travel as a private gentleman, and should you come into conflict with the English, we shall in no manner accept responsibility for your actions and adventures. We furnish you with a passport in your own name, but, of course, without denoting your military rank. It is also a matter of course that we should not fail to disclose it in case inquiries are addressed to us in this regard. In a certain sense you may be said to travel at your own risk. Your own tact must be your safest guide.”
Hereupon Heideck entered into correspondence with his uncle, and received from him the necessary letters of introduction to his Indian agents. He reached the northern provinces by way of Bombay and Allahabad, visiting on the way all the more important garrison towns—Cawnpore, Lucknow, Delhi, and Lahore. After finishing his business in Chanidigot, his intention was to proceed further north, making his way to Afghanistan by way of the Khyber Pass. It was purely with a view to this journey that he had wished to become more intimate with the Russian. He was absolutely certain that the Russian had received a commission from his Government similar to his own, and certain hints that the Prince had let drop strengthened his opinion that the latter intended to take the same route as himself. Accordingly, it could only redound to the advantage of the German officer if he joined his Russian comrade, who would be in a position to procure him valuable introductions when once on Russian territory.
When Heideck woke early the next morning the Prince’s potent bowl of the evening before made itself perceptible in various disagreeable after effects; but the cold bath that Morar Gopal got ready for him, added to a cup of tea, put him on his legs again.
It was an Indian morning of dazzling beauty into which he stepped. February in the Indus Valley in 29 degrees longitude has a temperature like that of May in Rome. In the hours of midday the thermometer usually rises to 100 degrees Fahr.; but the evenings are refreshingly cool, and the nights, with their damp fogs, even appreciably chilly.
Heideck made his toilet on this morning with special care, for he had been invited to a conference with the Minister of the Maharajah, in order to negotiate with him about some indigo business.
The Minister lived in a house on the outskirts of the town. It was a one-story building, with broad airy verandahs, situate in the middle of a large garden. When Heideck arrived, the staircase of the entrance hall was occupied by a crowd of divers people waiting to be received. But he, as a representative of the white race, was saved the tiresome annoyance of waiting his turn. The porter, dressed in white muslin, and adorned, as a sign of his office, with a broad red scarf, conducted him at once into the Minister’s study, a room furnished in European style.
It was only in his outward appearance, namely, his colour and his features, that the Minister looked like an Indian. Both dress and manners were those of a Western diplomatist. Giving Heideck his hand, he told him that His Highness himself wished to negotiate with him about the indigo business.
“The price you intend to pay is exceedingly low,” he whispered in a tone of disapproval.
Heideck was evidently prepared for this objection.
“Your Excellency may be right in saying that the price offered is lower than in former years; but it is still very high, if the changes which have since occurred in the market values are taken into consideration. In Germany a substitute has been found in aniline, which is so cheap that within a measurable distance of time no indigo whatever will be bought. If I may be permitted to give His Highness any advice, I would recommend him in the future to establish an industry instead of planting indigo.”
“And which, may I ask, are you thinking of?”
“Oil mills and cotton mills would appear to me to be the most profitable. You could with them meet both European and Japanese competition.”
An Indian servant came with a message, and the Minister invited Heideck to drive with him to the Maharajah. They entered an open carriage horsed by two quick Turkestan horses. The yellow uniformed coachman, who had an extraordinary likeness to a dressed-up monkey, clicked his tongue, and away they went through spacious grounds to the palace, whose white marble walls soon gleamed through the foliage of the palms and tamarinds.
During the short drive Heideck pondered on the innumerable battles that had seethed over this ground, before English sovereignty had, as it seemed, stopped for ever all religious struggles, all bloody insurrections, and all the incursions of foreign conquerors. Here, on this place, where Alexander the Great’s invincible hosts had fought and died, where Mohammedans and Hindoos, Afghans and worshippers of the sun had fought their sanguinary conflicts, works of peace had been established which would endure for generations to come. It was a triumph of civilisation; and a student of India’s historical past could scarcely fail to be impressed by it.
The Maharajah of Chanidigot was, like the majority of his fellow-countrymen, a believer in Islam, and the exterior view of his palace at once betrayed the Mohammedan prince. Away from the main building, but connected with it by a covered gallery, was a small wing—the harem, the interior of which was sufficiently guarded from prying eyes. Here, as in the adornment of the palace, the most splendid lavishness had been employed. Heideck thought the while with pity on the poor subjects of the Maharajah whose slavery had to provide the means for all this meretricious luxury. The Minister and his companion were not conducted into the large audience hall, which was set apart for special functions, but into a loggia on the first floor. Between the graceful marble pillars, which supported it, one looked out into an inner court, which, with exotic plants, afforded an enchanting spectacle. A gently splashing fountain, springing from a marble basin in the centre, cast up a fine spray as high as the loggia and dispersed a refreshing coolness.
The Minister left him waiting for a considerable time, but then returned and gave him a mute sign to accompany him to the Prince.
The room in which the Maharajah received them was strangely furnished, presenting to the eyes of a European a not altogether happy combination of Eastern luxury and English style. Among splendid carpets and precious weapons, with which the walls were adorned, there hung glaring pictures of truly barbaric taste—such as in Germany would hardly be met with in the house of a fairly well-to-do citizen. Similar incongruities there were many, and perhaps the appearance of the Prince himself was the most incongruous of them all. For this stalwart man with the soft black beard and penetrating eyes, who in the picturesque attire of his country would doubtless have been a handsome and imposing figure, made an inharmonious impression in his grey English suit and with the red turban on his head.
He sat in an English club chair, covered with red Russia leather and gently inclined his head in response to Heideck’s deep bow.
It did not escape the notice of the German officer that the Maharajah looked extremely annoyed, and Heideck concluded that it was the low price he had offered for his indigo which had made him so. But the first words of the Prince reassured him. “As I learn,” he said in somewhat broken English, “you are in fact a European, but no Englishman, and so I hope to hear the truth from you. I am quite ready to reward you for your information.”
“I am accustomed to speak the truth, even without reward, Highness!”
The Maharajah measured him with a mistrustful look. “I am a true friend of England,” he continued after a short hesitation, “and am on the best of terms with the Viceroy; but things are now happening which I cannot possibly understand. This very morning I received a message from Calcutta, which absolutely astonished me. The Indian Government intends to mass an army corps at Quetta, and calls upon me to despatch thither a contingent of a thousand infantry, five hundred cavalry, a battery, and two thousand camels. Can you tell me, sir, what makes England mass such a large force at Quetta?”
“It will only be a precautionary measure, Highness! perhaps disturbances have broken out again in Afghanistan.”
“Disturbances in Afghanistan, do you say? Then Russia must have a hand in it. Can you perhaps give me more definite information?”
Heideck had to express his inability to do so, and the Maharajah, who did not conceal his vexation, began to open his heart to the stranger in a rather imprudent way.
“I am a faithful friend of the English, but the burden they lay upon us is becoming every day more intolerable. If England is bent upon war, why should we sacrifice our blood and treasure upon it? Do we not know full well what powerful foes England has? You do not belong to this nation, as my Minister informed me; you are in a position, therefore, to instruct me about these matters. It is true I have been in Europe, but I was not permitted to go beyond London, whither I had proceeded to congratulate the late Queen on her birthday. I have seen nothing but many, many ships and a gigantic dirty town. Are there not in Europe strong and powerful states hostile to England?”
Such questions were disagreeable for Heideck to answer, and he therefore preferred to avoid giving a definite reply.
“I have been in India for nearly a year,” he replied, “and know about such political matters only what the India Times and other English newspapers report. Of course, there is always a certain rivalry among the European great Powers, and England has, during the past few decades, become so great that she cannot fail to have enemies; but on this point, as also on that of the present political situation, I do not venture to express an opinion.”
The Maharajah gloomily shook his head.
“Transact the business with this gentleman in the way you think best,” he said, turning abruptly to his Minister, a wave of the hand at the same time denoting to the young German that the audience was at an end.
As Heideck again stepped into the loggia he saw Captain Irwin appear at the entrance door in company with an official of the Court. The British officer started on perceiving the man who passed for a commercial traveller. He cast at him a malicious look, and an almost inimical reserve lay in the manner with which he returned Heideck’s salutation. The latter took little notice, and slowly wended his way through the extensive park, in whose magnificent old trees monkeys were disporting themselves. The Maharajah’s communication to him as to the English orders which he had received, taken in conjunction with General Ivanov’s advance, entirely preoccupied him. After this he was no longer in doubt that serious military events were impending, or were even then in full swing. Quetta, in Beluchistan, lying directly on the Afghan frontier, was the gate of the line of march towards Kandahar; and if England was summoning the Indian princes to its aid the situation could be none other than critical. War had certainly not yet been declared, but Heideck’s mission might, under the circumstances, suddenly acquire a peculiar importance, and it was, at all events, impossible to make at this moment any definite plans for the immediate future.
The walk to his bungalow in the immediate vicinity of the English camp took perhaps an hour, and was sufficient to give him a keen appetite. He was not, therefore, at all disappointed to find his Russian comrade sitting at breakfast in a shady spot before the door of the hotel, and, heartily returning his salutation, he lost no time in seating himself at the table. Prince Tchajawadse looked pale, and applied himself to soda-water, which, contrary to all established usage, he drank without the slightest admixture of whisky. The appetising dish of eggs and bacon was standing untouched before him, and he smiled rather sadly when he saw what an inroad his guest made upon it.
They had hardly exchanged a few commonplace words when two Indian girls made their appearance, offering all sorts of nicknacks for sale. The younger, whose bare breast glowed like bronze, was of marvellous beauty, even the paint on her face could not destroy the natural grace of her fine features. Yet, beautiful as she was, she was as great a coquette. She had evidently determined to make an impression on the Russian. Stepping behind his chair, she held her glittering little wares before his face. Her manner became more and more intimate. At length she slipped a golden bracelet on her slender brown wrist and bent, in order that he should notice it, so far over his shoulder that her glowing young breast touched his cheek.
Prince Tchajawadse was of too passionate a temperament to long resist such a temptation. His eyes flashed, and with a rapid movement he turned round and embraced the girl’s lithe body with his arm.
A stop was put to further familiarities, however, for this little adventure, which was very distasteful to Heideck, was suddenly interrupted.
Without being perceived by those sitting at the table, the handsome young page of the Prince had stepped from the door of the bungalow with a plate of bananas and mangoes in his hand. For a few seconds he regarded with flashing eyes the scene just described, and then, stealing nearer with noiseless steps, flung, without saying a word, the plate with the fruit with such vigour and unerring aim at the dark beauty, that the girl, with a loud cry, clasped her hand upon her wounded shoulder, while the fragments of china fell clattering to the ground.
The next moment she and her companion had disappeared in hurried flight. The Prince’s face was livid with rage; he sprang up and seized the riding-whip which lay near him.
Heideck was on the point of intervening in order to save the disguised girl from a similar punishment to that which his new friend had meted out the day before to his Indian “boy,” but he soon saw that his intervention was unnecessary.
Standing bolt upright and with an almost disdainful quiver of his fair lips, the young page stepped straight up to the Prince. A half-loud hissing word, the meaning of which Heideck did not understand, must have suddenly pacified the wrath of the Russian, for he let his upraised arm fall and threw the whip on to the table.
“Go and fetch us another plate of dessert, Georgi,” he said quietly, as if nothing had happened. “It’s a confounded nuisance, that these Indian vagabonds don’t allow one a moment’s peace.”
A triumphant smile played across the face of the Circassian beauty. She threw a friendly glance at Heideck and silently returned to the bungalow. Full of admiration and not without a slight emotion of envy for the happy possessor of such an entrancing female beauty, Heideck followed her with his eyes, as she tripped gracefully away with her lithe graceful figure. A remark was just on the point of passing his lips, acquainting the Prince that he had discovered the certainly very transparent secret of his disguised lady companion, when he was prevented doing so by a fresh incident.
An English soldier in orderly’s uniform stepped up to the table and handed Heideck, whom he must have known by sight, with a military salute, a letter.
“From the Colonel,” he said, “and I am ordered to say that the matter is urgent.”
With surprise, Heideck took the missive. It contained in polite, but yet somewhat decided terms, a request that Herr Hermann Heideck would favour him with a visit as soon as possible. This, considering the high official position that Colonel Baird occupied in Chanidigot, was tantamount to a command, which he was bound to obey without delay or further excuse.
Baird was the commander-in-chief of the detachment stationed in Chanidigot, consisting of an infantry regiment, about six hundred strong, a lancer regiment of two hundred and forty sabres, and a battery of field artillery. As in all the other residences of the great Indian chiefs, the British Government had stationed here also a military force, strong enough to keep the Maharajah in respect and to nip all seeds of insurrection in the bud. As Colonel Baird, moreover, occupied the position of Resident at the Court of the Prince, and thus combined all the military and diplomatic power in his own person, he had come to be regarded as the real lord and master in Chanidigot.
His bungalow was in the centre of the camp, which lay in the middle of a broad grassy plain. It consisted of a group of buildings which surrounded a quadrangular courtyard, adorned with exotics and a splashing fountain.
As it appeared, he had given orders that Heideck was to be admitted immediately on arrival; for the adjutant, to whom he had announced himself, conducted him at once into the study of his superior officer.
Quite politely, though with a frigidity that contrasted with his former behaviour towards the popular guest of the officers’ mess, the fine man, with his martial carriage, thanked him for his prompt visit.
“Please be seated, Mr. Heideck,” he began. “I have been very unwilling to disturb you, but I could not spare you this trouble. I have received the intelligence that you were received by the Maharajah this morning.”
“It is true. I had to talk to him about some business; I am on the point of purchasing from him a large consignment of indigo for my Hamburg firm.”
“I have, of course, nothing to do with your business; but I must inform you that we do not approve of direct communication between Europeans and the native princes. You will, therefore, for the future, be best advised to communicate with me when you are summoned to the Maharajah, so that we may arrive at an understanding as to what you may, or may not, say to him. We cannot, unfortunately, trust all the Indian princes, and this one here is, perhaps, the most unreliable of them all. You must not, however, regard what I say to you as an expression of any want of confidence in yourself. The responsibility of my position imposes upon me, as you see, the greatest possible prudence.”
“I understand that completely, Colonel!”
“At this very moment the situation appears to be more than ever complicated. I shall be very much surprised, if we are not on the eve of very disquieting times. The Governor-General of Turkestan is marching this way, and his advance guard has already passed the Afghan frontier.”
Heideck had difficulty in concealing the excitement, which this confirmation of Tchajawadse’s story aroused in him.
“Is that certain, Colonel? What do the Russians want in Afghanistan?”
“What do the Russians want there? Now, my dear Mr. Heideck, I think that is plain enough. Their advance means war with us. Russia will, of course, not openly allow this at present. They treat their advance as a matter which only concerns the Emir and with which we have nothing to do. But one must be very simple not to discern their real intentions.”
“And may I ask, Colonel, what you are thinking of doing?”
Colonel Baird must really have held the young German for a very trustworthy or, at least, for a very harmless personage, for he replied to his question at once—
“The Russian advance guard has crossed the Amu Darya and is marching up the Murghab Valley upon Herat. We shall take our measures accordingly. The Muscovites will have been deceived in us. We are not, after all, so patient and long-suffering as to let our dear neighbours slip in by the open door. I think the Russian generals will pull long faces when they suddenly find themselves confronted in Afghanistan by our battalions, by our Sikhs and Gourkas.”
The adjutant made his appearance with what was evidently an important message, and as Heideck perceived that the Colonel wished to speak privately to his orderly officer, he considered that politeness required him to retire.
The words of the Colonel, “The Russian advance into Afghanistan means war,” rung unceasingly in his ears. He thanked his good fortune for having brought him at the right moment to the theatre of the great events in the world’s history, and all his thoughts were now solely directed as to the “where and how” of his being able, on the outbreak of hostilities, to be present both as spectator and observer.
That his Russian friend was animated by the same desire he could all the easier surmise, owing to the fact that Prince Tchajawadse belonged, of course, to one of the nations immediately concerned. He hastened, therefore, to acquaint him with the results of his interview with Colonel Baird. The effect of his communications upon the Prince was quite as he had anticipated.
“So, really! The advance guard is already across the Amu Darya. War will, then, break out just in the proper quarter,” exclaimed the Russian in a loud outburst of joy. “In our army the fear prevailed that the Tsar would never brace himself up to the decision to make war. Powerful and irresistible influences must have been at work to have finally conquered his love of peace.”
“You will, of course, get to the army as soon as possible?” inquired Heideck; and as the Prince answered in the affirmative, he continued: “I should be grateful to you if you would allow me to join you. But how shall we get across the frontier? It is to be hoped that we shall be allowed to pass quietly as unsuspected merchants.”
“That is not quite so certain; we shall probably not be able to leave India quite as readily as we entered it; but, at any rate, we must try our best. We can reach Peshawar by rail in twelve hours and Quetta in fifteen. Both these lines of railway are not likely at present to be blocked by military trains, but we shall do well to hasten our departure. In all probability we shall, either by way of Peshawar or Quetta, soon meet with Russian troops, for I have no doubt that a Russian army corps is also on the march upon Cabul, although the Colonel, as you say, only spoke of an advance guard moving on Herat.”
“I would suggest that we go by way of Peshawar and the Khyber Pass, because we should thus reach Cabul most speedily and with the greater security.”
“We will talk more of this anon, comrade! At all events, it is settled that we travel together. I hope most fervently that in the great theatre of the world your nation is at this present moment standing shoulder to shoulder with mine against England.”
V
THE CAPTAIN’S WIFE
As a married man, Captain Irwin was not quartered in one of the wooden barracks of the English camp, but had his own bungalow in the suburbs.
It was a house of one story with a broad verandah, was surrounded by a large well-kept garden, and formerly served a high official of the Maharajah as a residence. Apart from it lay two smaller buildings used as servants’ quarters, of which, however, only one was at present in use.
The sun of that same day, that had brought Hermann Heideck face to face with such momentous matters affecting his future for his final decision, was sinking rapidly into the heavens as he passed through the cactus hedge and bamboo thicket of the garden surrounding Irwin’s bungalow.
He was attired in an evening dress of the lightest black cloth, such as is prescribed by English custom for a visit paid at the dinner-hour in those climes.
He did not come that evening of his own initiative, for Irwin’s morning salutation did not promise anything in the way of an invitation. A letter from Mrs. Irwin had, to his surprise, begged his company at this hour. He had gathered from the tone of the letter that something especially urgent required his presence, and he was not slow in supposing that the reason was the unfortunate party at poker in which the Captain had taken part.
What, however, could have induced Mrs. Irwin to appeal to him was still an enigma, for his relations to the beautiful young wife had until then not been of a confidential nature. He had met her on several occasions in big society functions, at the officers’ polo-parties, and at similar gatherings, and if, attracted by her grace and intellect, he had perhaps paid more attention to the Captain’s wife than to any of the other ladies of the party, their relations had been strictly confined within conventional limits, and it would never have occurred to him to imagine himself specially favoured by Mrs. Irwin.
The dainty Indian handmaid of the lady received him and conducted him to the verandah. Mrs. Irwin, who, dressed in red silk, had been seated in a rocking-chair, advanced a few steps to meet him. Once more Irwin felt himself enchanted by the charm of her appearance.
She was a genuine English beauty of tall and splendid proportions, finely chiselled features, and that white transparent skin which lends to Albion’s daughters their distinctive charm. Abundant dark brown hair clustered in thick, natural folds round the broad forehead, and her blue eyes had the clear, calm gaze of a personality at once intelligent and strong-minded.
At this moment the young wife, whom Heideck had hitherto only known as the placid and unemotional lady of the world, certainly seemed to labour under some excitement, which she could not completely conceal. There was something of embarrassment in the manner with which she received her visitor.
“I am exceedingly obliged to you for coming, Mr. Heideck. My invitation will have surprised you, but I did not know what else to do. Please let us go into the drawing-room; it is getting very chilly outside.”
Heideck did not notice anything of the chilliness of which she complained, but he thought he understood that it was only the fear of eavesdropping that prompted the wish of the young wife. As a matter of fact, she closed the glass door behind him, and motioned him to be seated in one of the large cane chairs before her.
“Captain Irwin is not at home,” she began, evidently struggling with severe embarrassment. “He has ridden off to inspect his squadron, and will not be home, as he told me, before daybreak.”
Heideck did not quite understand why she told him this. Had he been a flirt, convinced of his own irresistibility, he would perhaps have found in her words a very transparent encouragement; but he was far from discerning any such meaning in Edith’s words. The respect in which he had held this beautiful young wife, since the first moment of their acquaintance, sufficiently protected her from any such dishonourable suspicions. That she had bidden him there at a time when she must know that their conversation would not be disturbed by the presence of her husband, must assuredly have had other reasons than the mere desire for an adventure.
And as he saw her sitting before him, with a look of deep distress on her face, there arose in his heart no other than the honest wish to be able to do this poor creature, who was evidently most unhappy, some chivalrous service.
But he had not the courage to suggest anything of the sort before she had given him in an unequivocal way a right to do so. Hence it was that he waited in silence for anything further that she might wish to say. And there was a fairly long and somewhat painful pause before Mrs. Irwin, evidently collecting all her courage, went on: “You witnessed the scene that took place last evening in the officers’ mess between my husband and Captain McGregor? If I have been rightly informed, I owe it solely to you that my husband did not, in the excitement of the moment, lay hand on himself.”
Heideck turned modestly away.
“I did absolutely nothing to give me any claim to your gratitude, Mrs. Irwin, and I do not really believe that your husband would have so far forgot himself as to commit such a silly and desperate deed. At the last moment, a thought of you would certainly have restrained him from taking such a step.”
He was surprised at the expression of disdain which the face of the young wife assumed as he said this, and at the hard ring in her voice, when she replied—
“Thoughts of me? No! how little you know my husband. He is not wont to make the smallest sacrifice for me, and, maybe, his voluntary death would not, after all, be the worst misery he is capable of inflicting on me.”
She saw the look of utter surprise in his eyes, and therefore quickly added—
“You will, I know, consider me the most heartless woman in the world because I can talk to a stranger like this; but is not in your country loss of honour regarded as worse than death?”
“Under certain circumstances—yes; but your husband’s position is not, I hope, to be viewed in this tragic light. Judging from the impression that Captain McGregor’s personality has made upon me, I should say that he is not the man to drive Mr. Irwin to take an extreme course on account of a recklessly incurred debt at cards.”
“Oh no! you judge of that honourable man quite correctly. He would be best pleased to forego the whole amount, and with the intention of bringing about such an arrangement he called here this afternoon. But the foolish pride and unbounded vanity of Irwin brought all his good intentions to naught. The result of McGregor’s well-meant endeavours was only a violent scene, which made matters a thousand times worse. My husband is determined to pay his debt at any price.”
“And—pardon me the indiscreet question—is he capable of doing so?”
“If he uses my fortune for the purpose—certainly! and I have at once placed it at his disposal; and I further told him that he could take everything, even the last penny, if this sacrifice on my part would suffice to get rid of him for ever.”
Heideck could scarcely believe his ears. He was prepared for anything on earth except to hear such confessions. He began to doubt this woman, who hitherto had seemed to him to be the paragon of all feminine virtues, and he sought an opportunity of escaping from further confessions of the kind, which, as he told himself, she would repent of in the course of an hour or so.
“Nobody can expect of you, Mrs. Irwin, that for a criminal recklessness, a hasty action on the part of your husband, who was probably deep in his cups, you should make such a tremendous sacrifice; but, as you have now done me the honour to consult me on these matters, it is perhaps not unbecoming on my part if I tell you that your husband should, in my opinion, be forced to bear the consequences of his action. You need not be at all apprehensive that these consequences will be very serious. McGregor will certainly not press him; and as we seem to be on the threshold of a war, his superior officers are not likely to be too severe upon him in this matter. He will, perhaps, either find an opportunity to rehabilitate his compromised honour or will find his death on the battlefield. Within a few weeks, or months, all these matters which at present cause you so much trouble will present quite a different aspect.”
“You are very kind, Mr. Heideck, and I thank you for your friendly intentions; but I would not have invited you here at this unusual hour had it been solely my intention to enlist your kind sympathy. I am in a most deplorable plight—doubly so, because there is no one here to whom I can turn for advice and assistance. That in my despair I thought of you has, no doubt, greatly surprised you; and now I can myself hardly understand how I could have presumed to trouble you with my worries.”
“If you would only, Mrs. Irwin, show me how I can be of service to you, I would pray you to make any use you will of me. I am absolutely and entirely at your disposal, and your confidence would make me exceedingly happy.”
“As a gentleman, you could not, of course, give any other answer. But, in your heart of hearts, you probably consider my conduct both unwomanly and unbecoming, for it is true that we hardly know each other. Over in England, and certainly in your German fatherland quite as well, such casual meetings as ours have been could not possibly give me the right to treat you as a friend, and I do not really know how far you are influenced by these European considerations.”
“In Germany, as in England, every defenceless and unhappy woman would have an immediate claim upon my assistance,” he seriously replied. “If you give me the preference over your friends here, I, on my part, have only to be grateful, and need not inquire further into your motives.”
“But, of course, I will tell you what my motives are. My friends in this place are naturally my husband’s comrades, and I cannot turn to them if I do not intend to sign Irwin’s death warrant. Not a single man amongst them would allow that a man of my husband’s stamp should remain an hour longer a member of the corps of officers in the British Army.”
“I do not quite understand you, Mrs. Irwin. The gambling debt of your husband is, after all, no longer a secret to his comrades.”
“That is not the point. How do you judge of a man who would sell his wife to pay his gambling debts?”
This last sentence struck Heideck like a blow. With dilated eyes he stared at the young wife who had launched such a terrible indictment against her husband. Never had she looked to him so charming as in this moment, when a sensation of womanly shame had suffused her pale cheeks with a crimson blush. Never had he felt with such clearness what a precious treasure this charming creature would be to a man to whom she gave herself in love for his very own; and the less he doubted that she had just spoken the simple truth, the more did his heart rise in passionate wrath at the miserable reptile who was abandoned enough to drag this precious pearl in the mire.
“I do not presume to connect your question with Captain Irwin,” said Heideck, in a perceptibly tremulous voice, “for if he were really capable of doing so—”
Edith interrupted him, pointing to a small case that lay on the little table beside her.
“Would you kindly just look at this ring, Mr. Heideck?”
He did as he was asked, and thought he recognised the beautiful diamond ring that he had yesterday seen sparkling on Irwin’s finger. He asked whether it was so, and the young wife nodded assent.
“I gave it to my husband on our wedding-day. The ring is an heirloom in my family. Jewellers value it at more than a thousand pounds.”
“And why, may I ask, does your husband no longer wear it?”
“Because he intends to sell it. Of course, the Maharajah is the only person who can afford the luxury of such articles, and my husband wishes me to conclude the bargain with the Prince.”
“You, Mrs. Irwin? And why, pray, does he not do it himself?”
“Because the Maharajah will not pay him the price he demands. My husband will not let the ring go under two lakhs.”
“But that is a tremendous sum! That would be paying for it twelve times over!”
“My husband is, all the same, certain that the bargain would come off quite easily, provided I personally negotiated it.”
It was impossible to misunderstand the meaning of these words, and so great was the indignation they awoke in Heideck, that he sprang up in a bound from his chair.
“No! that is impossible—it cannot be! He cannot possibly have suggested that! You must have misunderstood him. No man, no officer, no gentleman, could ever be guilty of such a low, mean action!”
“You would be less surprised if you had had the opportunity to know him, as I have had, during the short time of our wedded life. There is practically no act or deed of his that would surprise me now. He has long since ceased to love me; and a wife, whose person has become indifferent to him, has, in his eyes, only a marketable value. It may be that some excuse can even be found for his way of regarding things. It is, possibly, an atavistic relapse into the views of his ancestors, who, when they were sick of their wives, led them with a halter round their necks into the marketplace and sold them to the highest bidder. They say it is not so long ago that this pretty custom has gone out of vogue.”
“No more, Mrs. Irwin,” Heideck broke in; “I cannot bear to hear you speak like that. I must say that I still consider the Captain to have been out of his mind when he dared to expect such a thing of you.”
The young wife shook her head with a severe quiver of the lips. “Oh no! he was neither intoxicated nor especially excited when he asked me to do him this ‘LITTLE’ kindness; he probably considered that I ought to feel myself intensely flattered that His Indian Highness thought my insignificant person worth such a large price. I have certainly for some time past been quite conscious of the fact that, quite unwittingly, I have attracted the notice of the Maharajah. Immediately after our first meeting he began to annoy me with his attentions. I never took any notice, and never, for one moment, dreamt of the possibility that his—his—what shall I call it—his admiration could rise to criminal desires; but, after what I have experienced to-day, I cannot help believing that it is the case.”
“But this monstrosity, Mrs. Irwin, will be past and gone as soon as you indignantly repudiate the suggestion of your abandoned husband?”
“Between him and me—yes, that is true. But I am not at all certain if the Maharajah’s infatuation will then have really ceased to exist. My Indian handmaid has been told by one of her countrymen to warn me of a danger that threatens me. The man did not tell her wherein this danger consists, but I am at a loss to know from what quarter it should threaten, if not from the Maharajah.”
Heideck shook his head incredulously.
“You have certainly nothing to fear in that quarter; he knows full well that he would have the whole of the British power against him dared he only—be it with one word—attempt to wrong the wife of an English officer. He would be a sheer madman to allow things to come to that pass.”
“Well, after all, he may have some despotic insanity in him. We must not forget that the time is not so far distant when all these tyrants disposed absolutely of the life and death and body and soul of their subjects. Who knows, too, what my husband—But perhaps you are right. It may only be a foolish suspicion that has upset me; and it is just for this reason that I did not wish to speak about it to any of my husband’s messmates. I have opened my heart to you alone. I know that you are an honourable man, and that nobody will learn from your mouth what we have spoken about during this past hour.”
“I am very much indebted to you, Mrs. Irwin, for your confidence, and should be only too willing to do what I could to relieve your anxiety and trouble. You are apprehensive of some unknown danger, and you are this night, in your husband’s absence, without any other protection but that of your Indian servants. Would you permit me to remain close by, until tomorrow daybreak?”
With a blush that made her heart beat faster, Edith Irwin shook her head.
“No! no! that is impossible; and I do not think that here, in the protection of my house and among my own servants, any mishap could befall me. Only in case that something should happen to me at another time and at another place, I would beg of you to acquaint Colonel Baird with the subject of our conversation this evening; people will then perhaps better understand the connexion of things.”
And now Heideck perfectly understood why she had chosen to make him, a stranger, her confidant; and he thought that he understood also that it was not so much of an attempt on the part of the Maharajah as of her own husband’s villainy that the unhappy young wife was afraid. But his delicate feelings restrained him from saying in outspoken language that he had comprehended what she wished to convey. It was after all enough that she knew she could rely upon him; and of this she must have been already sufficiently convinced, although it was only the fire of his eyes that told her so, and the long, warm kiss that his lips impressed upon the small, icy-cold hand which the poor young lady presented to him at parting.
“You will permit me to pay you another call tomorrow, will you not?”
“I will send you word when I expect you. I should not care for you to meet my husband; perhaps he has some idea that you are friendly inclined towards me; and that would be sufficient to fill him with suspicion and aversion towards you.”
She clapped her hands, and as the Indian handmaid entered the room to escort the visitor to the door, Heideck had to leave her last remark unanswered. But, as on the threshold he again turned to bow his farewell, his eyes met hers, and though their lips were dumb, they had perhaps told one another more in this single second than during the whole time of their long tete-a-tete.
VI
THE OUTRAGE
When Heideck stepped into the garden he was scarcely able to find his way, but having taken a few steps his eyes had become accustomed to the gloom, and the pale light of the stars showed him his path.
The garden was surrounded by an impenetrable hedge of cactus plants, low enough to allow a tall man to look over. On having closed the wooden gate behind him, Heideck stood and gazed back at the brightly illuminated windows of the house. In the presence of the charming woman he had manfully suppressed his feelings. No rash word, betraying the tempest that this nocturnal conversation had left surging in his bosom, had escaped his lips. He had not for a moment forgotten that she was the wife of another, and it would be an infamy to covet her for his wife so long as she was tied to that other. But he could not disguise from himself the fact that he yearned towards her with a passionate love. He was to-day, for the first time, conscious that he loved this woman with a passion that he had never before felt for another; but there was nothing intoxicating or pleasurable in this self-confession. It was rather a feeling of apprehension of coming difficulties and struggles that would beset him in his passion for this charming creature. Had she not needed his protection, and had he not promised to remain on the spot to assist her, he would have escaped in rapid flight from this struggle within him. Yet, under the existing circumstances, there could be no question of his doing this. He had only himself to blame for having given her the right to count upon his friendship; and it was a behest of chivalry to deserve her confidence. Incapable of tearing himself from the place, where he knew his loved one remained, Heideck must have stayed a quarter of an hour rooted to the spot, and just when he had resolved—on becoming conscious of the folly of his behaviour—on turning homewards, he perceived something unusual enough to cause him to stay his steps.
He saw the house-door, which the Indian maid had a short time before closed behind him, open, and in the flood of light which streamed out into the darkness, perceived that several men dressed in white garments hurried, closely following each other, up the steps.
Remembering Mrs. Irwin’s enigmatical references to a danger which possibly threatened her, and seized by a horrible dread of something about to happen, he pushed open the garden gate and rushed towards the house.
He had not yet reached it, when the shrill cry of a woman in distress fell upon his ear. Heideck drew the revolver he always carried from his pocket and sprang up the steps at a bound. The door of the drawing-room, where he had shortly before been in conversation with the Captain’s wife, was wide open, and from it rang the cries for help, whose desperate tones brought home to the Captain the certainty that Edith Irwin was in the gravest peril. Only a few steps, and he saw the young English lady defending herself heroically against three white-dressed natives, who were evidently about to carry her off. Her light silk dress was torn to shreds in this unequal struggle, and so great was Heideck’s indignation at the monstrous brutality of the assailants that he did not for a moment hesitate to turn his weapon upon the tall, wild-looking fellow, whose brown hands were roughly clutching the bare arms of the young lady.
He fired, and with a short, dull cry of pain the fellow reeled to the ground. The other two, horror-stricken, let go their victim. One of them drew his sabre from the sheath and rushed upon the German. Heideck could not fire a second time, being afraid of harming Edith, and so he threw the revolver down, and with a rapid motion, for which his adversary was fully unprepared, caught the arm of the Indian which was raised to strike. Being much more than his match in physical strength, he wrested the sabre with a quick jerk from his grasp. The man, now defenceless, gave up the struggle and like his companion, who had already in silent, cat-like bounds made his escape, hurried off as fast as his legs would carry him.
Heideck did not pursue him. His only thoughts were for Edith, and his fears were that she had perhaps received some hurt at the hands of these bandits. In the same moment that the violent hands of the Indians had let her loose, she had fallen down on the carpet, and her marble-pale face looked to Heideck as that of a dead person. Whilst, curiously enough, neither Edith’s screams for help nor the crack of the shot had had the effect of summoning any one of her servants to her aid, now, when the danger was over, all of a sudden a few scared brown faces peered in through the open door; and the peremptory order that Heideck addressed in English to the terrified maid brought her back to her sense of duty to her mistress.
With her assistance, Heideck carried the fainting woman to a couch, and perceiving one of the little green flasks of lavender water, which are never wanting in an English house, on the table, he employed the strong perfume as well as he was able, whilst the Indian maid rubbed the soles of her young mistress’ feet, and adopted divers other methods, well known among the natives, of resuscitating her.
Under their joint attentions, Edith soon opened her eyes, and gazed with bewildered looks around her. But on seeing lying on the floor the corpse of the Indian whom Heideck had shot, her consciousness returned with perfect clearness.
Shaking off the last traces of faintness with a firm will, she got up.
“It was you who saved me, Mr. Heideck! You risked your life for me! How can I thank you enough?”
“Solely, madam, by allowing me to conduct you at once to the Colonel’s house, whose protection you must necessarily claim until your husband’s return. Whoever may have been the instigator of this hellish plot—whether these rogues were common thieves or whether they acted on orders, I do not feel myself strong enough, single-handed, to accept the responsibility for your security.”
“You are right,” Edith replied gently. “I will get ready at once and go with you—but this man here,” she added, shivering, “is he dead, or can something be done for him?”
Heideck stooped down and regarded the motionless figure. A single look into the sallow, drawn face, with the dilated, glassy eyes, sufficed to assure him that any further examination was useless.
“He has got his reward,” he said, “and he has no further claim upon your generous compassion; but is there no one to help me get the body away?”
“They are all out,” said the maid; “the butler invited them to spend a jolly evening with him in the town.”
Edith and Heideck exchanged a significant look; neither of them now doubted in the least that the audacious attack had been the result of a plot to which the Indian servants were parties, and each guessed that the other entertained the same suspicion as to who was the instigator of the shameful outrage.
But they did not utter a syllable about it. It was just because they had been brought as near to each other by the events of this night as fate can possibly bring two young beings of different sex, that each felt almost instinctively the fear of that first word which probably would have broken down the last barrier between them. And Captain Irwin’s name was not mentioned by either.
VII
THE MAHARAJAH
It was noon the next day when Captain Irwin stepped out of the Colonel’s bungalow and turned towards home. The interview with his superior officer appeared to have been serious and far from pleasant for him, for he was very pale. Red spots were burning on his cheeks, and his deep-set eyes flashed darkly, as though with suppressed wrath. A few minutes later the Colonel’s horse was led to the door, and a company of lancers under the command of a sergeant rode into the courtyard.
The commander came out in full uniform, and, placing himself at the head of the company, galloped towards the Maharajah’s palace.
The cavalry drew up before the palace gates, and Colonel Baird shouted out in a loud commanding voice to the servants lounging at the door that he wished to speak to the Maharajah.
A few minutes passed, and a gorgeously attired palace official made his appearance with the answer that His Highness could not receive at present; the Colonel would be informed as soon as the audience could be granted.
The commander leapt from the saddle, and with jingling spurs walked firmly into the palace, trailing his sword noisily over the marble floor.
“Tell the Prince I desire to see him at once,” he called out in a threatening voice to the palace officials and servants who followed him in evident embarrassment. It was evident that no one dare disobey such a peremptory command. All gates flew open before the Englishman, and he had hardly to wait a minute in the anteroom before the Prince consented to receive him. On a small high-raised terrace of the ground floor the Maharajah sat at luncheon. He purposely did not change his easy attitude when the English resident approached, and the glaring look which his dark eyes cast at the incomer was obviously intended to intimidate.
With his helmet on his head and his hand resting on his sword the Colonel stood straight before the Prince.
“I desire to have a few words with you, Maharajah!”
“And I have instructed my servants to inform you that I am not at your service. You see I am at luncheon!”
“That, in your case, is no reason for refusing to receive the representative of His Britannic Majesty. The message you sent me was an insult, which, if repeated, will have to be punished.”
In a transport of rage the Prince sprang up from his chair. He hurled an abusive epithet into the Colonel’s face, and his right hand sought the dagger in his belt. The attendant, who was about to serve up to his master a ruddy lobster on a silver dish, recoiled in alarm. But the Colonel, without moving an inch from his place, placed the silver hunting whistle that hung from his shoulder to his mouth. Two shrill calls, and at once the trotting of horses and the rattle of arms was audible. The high, blue-striped turbans of the cavalry and the pennons of their lances made their appearance under the terrace.
“Call my bodyguard!” cried the Prince, with a voice hoarse with rage.
But in a voice of icy calm the Colonel retorted, “If you summon your bodyguard, Maharajah, you are a dead man. That would be rebellion; and with rebels we make short shrift.”
The Prince pressed his lips together; the rage he had with the greatest difficulty suppressed caused his body to quiver as in a paroxysm of fever, but he had to realise that he was here the weaker, and without a word more he fell back again into his chair.
The Colonel stepped to the balcony of the terrace.
“Sergeant Thomson!” he called down into the park.
Heavy steps were heard on the marble stairs, and the man summoned, followed by two soldiers, stood at attention before his superior officer.
“Sergeant, do you know the gentleman sitting at that table?”
“Yes, sir! It is His Highness the Maharajah.”
“If I gave you orders to arrest this gentleman and bring him to camp, would you hesitate to obey?”
The sergeant regarded his superior officer as if the doubt of his loyal military obedience astonished him. He at once gave the two soldiers who were with him a nod and advanced a step further towards the Prince, as though at once to carry out the order.
“Stop, sergeant!” cried the Colonel. “I hope that His Highness will not let matters go as far as that. You are perhaps ready now, Maharajah, to receive me?”
The Indian silently pointed to the golden chair at the other end of the table. At a sign from the Colonel the sergeant and the two soldiers withdrew.
“I have a very serious question to put to you, Maharajah.”
“Speak!”
“Last evening, during Captain Irwin’s absence, several rascals entered his house with the intention of committing an act of violence on the person of the Captain’s wife. What do you know about the matter, Maharajah?”
“I do not understand, Colonel. What should I know?”
“Perhaps you would be well advised to try and remember. Do you mean to tell me that you now hear of this business for the first time?”
“Certainly! I have not heard a word about it until now.”
“And you have not been told that one of the assailants who was killed on the spot was one of your servants?”
“No. I have a great many servants, and I am not responsible for their actions, if they are not done by my orders.”
“But this is exactly what I believe to have been the case. You will hardly expect me to believe that one of your servants would have dared to make such an attack on his own initiative. Unfortunately, the other villains have escaped, but one of them left behind him a sabre belonging to a man in your bodyguard.”
It was evident that the Maharajah had a hard struggle to keep his composure. Endeavouring to conceal his rage behind a supercilious smile, he answered—
“It is beneath my dignity, Colonel, to answer you.”
“There can be no question of dignity justifying you in a refusal to answer the British resident, when he demands it. You are dealing not with an ordinary British officer, but with the representative of His Majesty the Emperor of India. It is your duty to answer, as it is mine to question you. A refusal might have the most serious consequences for Your Highness; for the Government Commissioners that would be despatched from Calcutta to Chanidigot on my report might be but little impressed by your dignity.”
The Indian set his teeth and a wild passionate hate flashed from his eyes, but, at the same time, he probably reflected that he would not have been the first of the Indian princes to be deprived of the last remnant of sham sovereignty for a paltry indiscretion.
“If you consider it necessary to make a report to Calcutta, I cannot prevent your doing so; but I should think that the Viceroy would hesitate before giving offence to a faithful ally of England, and at the very moment when he has to ask him to despatch his contingent of auxiliary forces.”
“Since you refer to this matter—whom have you appointed to command your force?”
“My cousin, Tasatat Maharajah.”
“And when will he start?”
“In about four weeks, I hope.”
The officer shook his head.
“That would be much longer than we can allow. Your force is to join my detachment, and I am starting at latest in a fortnight from now.”
“You are asking what is impossible. At present we have not a sufficient number of horses, and I do not know where to procure two thousand camels in such a short time; and I have not nearly enough ammunition for the infantry.”
“The requisite ammunition can be provided by the arsenal at Mooltan and debited to your account, Highness. As for the horses and camels, you will, no doubt, be able to furnish them in time, if you take the trouble. I repeat that in a fortnight all must be ready. Do not forget that the punctual execution of these orders is in a way an earnest of your fidelity and zeal. Every unwarranted delay and all equivocation on your part will be fatal to you.”
The emphasis with which these words were spoken showed how seriously they were meant, and the Maharajah, whose yellow skin had for a moment become darker, silently inclined his head.
Colonel Baird rose from his seat.
“As to the affair touching Mrs. Irwin, I demand that a thorough investigation shall be immediately set on foot, and require that it shall be conducted with unsparing rigour, without any underhand tricks and quibbles. The insult that has been offered by some of your subjects to an officer of His Majesty and a British lady is so heinous that not only the criminals themselves, but also the instigators of the crime, must be delivered up to suffer their well-merited punishment. I allow you twenty-four hours. If I do not receive a satisfactory report from you before the expiry of this time, I shall myself conduct the inquiry. You may rest assured that the information required will then be obtained within the shortest space of time.”
He made a military bow and descended the steps of the terrace, this time taking the shortest way. The cavalry dashed off amid a jingling of swords and accoutrements. The Maharajah followed their departure with lowering, flashing eyes. He then ordered his servant to fetch his body physician, Mohammed Bhawon. And when, a few minutes later, the lean, shrivelled little man, with his wrinkled brown face and penetrating black eyes, dressed entirely in white muslin, was ushered into his presence, he beckoned to him graciously, inviting him to be seated by him on the gold-embroidered cushion.
A second imperious wave of the hand dismissed the attendant. Placing his arm confidentially round the neck of the physician, the Maharajah talked long and intimately to him in carefully hushed tones—but in a friendly and coaxing manner, as one talks to someone from whom one demands something out of the way, his eyes flashing the while with passionate rage and deadly hate.
VIII
THE PAMIRS
In vain did Heideck, on the day following the night-attack, wait for a message from Edith, giving him an opportunity of seeing her again. He was prepared to be taken to task by Irwin on account of his evening visit at the villa. But the Captain did not show himself.
In the early morning Heideck had been summoned to the Colonel to report on the incident of the preceding night. The conversation had been short, and Heideck gained the impression that the Colonel observed a studied reserve in his questions.
He evidently desired the German to believe that in his own conviction they had only to deal with bold burglars, who had acted on their own responsibility. He mentioned quite incidentally that the dead man had been recognised as one of the Maharajah’s bodyguard. To Heideck’s inquiry whether the killing of the man could involve him in difficulties with the civil authorities, the Colonel answered with a decisive—
“No. You acted in justifiable self-defence in shooting the fellow down. I give you my word, you will neither be troubled about it by the authorities nor by the Maharajah.”
His inquiry after Mrs. Irwin’s health was also satisfactorily answered.
“The lady, I am glad to say, is in the best of health,” said the Colonel. “She has admirable courage.”
The next morning again, Captain Irwin neither made his appearance nor sent any message. Heideck and Prince Tchajawadse were sitting in their bungalow at breakfast discussing the important intelligence brought by the morning papers.
The India Times declared that Russia had infringed the treaties of London by her invasion of Afghanistan, and that England was thus justified, nay compelled, to send an army to Afghanistan. It was earnestly to be hoped that peaceful negotiations would succeed in averting the threatened conflict. But should the Russian army not return to Turkestan, England also would be obliged to have recourse to strong measures. An English force would occupy Afghanistan, and compel the Ameer, as an ally of the Indian Government, to fulfil his obligations. To provide for all contingencies, a strong fleet was being fitted out in the harbours of Portsmouth and Plymouth to proceed to the Baltic at the right moment.
“Still more significant than this,” said Heideck, “is the fact that the two and a half per cent. Consols were quoted at ninety yesterday on the London Exchange, while a week ago they stood at ninety-six. The English are reluctant to declare openly that war has already commenced.”
“War without a declaration of war,” the Prince agreed. “In any case we must hurry, if we are to get over the frontier. I should be sorry to miss the moment when fighting begins in Afghanistan.”
“I can feel with you there. But there really is no time to lose.”
“If you agree, we will start this very day. At midnight we shall arrive at Mooltan, and at noon to-morrow in Attock. To-morrow night we can be in Peshawar. There we must get our permits to cross the Khyber Pass. The sooner we get through the Pass the better, for later we might have difficulties in obtaining permission.”
“I hope you are carrying nothing suspicious about you—charts, drawings, or things of that sort.”
The Russian smilingly shook his head. “Nothing but Murray’s Guide, the indispensable companion of all travellers; I should take good care not to take anything else. As for you, of course you need not be so careful.”
“Why?”
“Because you are a German. There is no war with Germany, but I should at once be in danger of being arrested as a spy.”
“I really believe that neither of us need fear anything, even if we were recognised as officers. I should think that there are quite as many English officers on Russian territory at this very moment as Russian officers here in India.”
“As long as war has not been actually declared, it is customary to be civil to the officers of foreign Powers, but, under the circumstances, I would not rely upon this. The possibility of being drumhead court-martialled and shot might not be remote. Luckily, not even Roentgen rays could discover what a store of drawings, charts, and fortress plans I keep in my memory. But you have not answered my question yet, comrade!—are you prepared to start to-day?”
“I am sorry, but I must ask you not to count upon me; I should prefer to stay here for the present.”
On noting the surprise of the Russian he continued: “You yourself said just now that I, as a German, am in a less precarious position. Even if I am recognised as an officer, it is hardly probable that I should find myself in serious difficulties. At least, not here, where there is nothing to spy into.”
He did not betray that it was solely the thought of Mrs. Irwin that had suddenly made him change his plans. And the Russian evidently did not trouble further about his motives.
“Do you know what my whole anxiety is, at this moment?” he asked. “I am afraid of Germany seizing the convenient opportunity, and attacking us in our rear. Your nation does not love ours; let us make no mistake about it. There was a time when Teutonism played a great role in our national life. But all that has changed since the days of Alexander the Third. We also cannot forget that at the Berlin Congress Master Bismarck cheated us of the prize of our victory over the Turks.”
“Pardon me, Prince, for contradicting you on this point. The fault was solely Gortchakow’s in not understanding how to follow up his opportunity. The English took advantage of that. No doubt Bismarck would have agreed to every Russian demand. But I can assure you that there is no question of national German enmity against Russia, in educated circles especially.”
“It is possible, but Russia will always consider this aversion as a factor to be taken into account at critical moments, otherwise the treaty with France would probably never have been made. I, for one, can hardly blame your nation for entertaining a certain degree of hostility towards us. We possess diverse territories geographically belonging more naturally to Germany. If your country could take eight million peasants from your superfluous population and settle them in Poland it would be a grand thing for her. Were I at the head of your Government I should, first, with Austria’s consent, seize Russian Poland, and then crush Austria, annex Bohemia, Moravia, Carinthia, Styria and the Tyrol as German territory, and limit the Austrian dynasty to Transleithania.”
Heideck could not help smiling.
“Those are bold fancies, Prince! Rest assured that nobody in Germany seriously entertains such plans.”
“Strange, if that is so. I should think it would seem the most natural thing for you. What, then, do you mean by a German Empire, if the most German countries do not belong to it? Do you not consider the population of Austria’s German provinces is more closely related to you than that of North-East Prussia? But possibly you are too conscientious and too treaty-abiding to carry out a policy of such dimensions.”
Heideck, not unintentionally, turned the conversation back to the original subject of discussion.
“Which route do you intend taking? Have you decided for Peshawar, or are you also taking Quetta into your consideration?”
“I have not as yet quite made up my mind. In any case, I mean to take the shortest way back to our army.”
“If that is so, I would suggest Quetta. Most probably the Russian main army will turn southwards. Their first objective will probably be Herat. The best roads from the north and north-west converge on that point. It is the meeting-place of the caravan roads from India, Persia, and Turkestan. In Herat a large army can be concentrated, for it is situated in fertile country. Once your advance guard is firmly established, 60,000 men can be conveyed there in a relatively short time. If the English advance to Kandahar the collision between the forces will take place at that point. But the Russians will outnumber the English so greatly that the latter will hardly venture the march upon Kandahar. Reinforced by the Afghan forces, General Ivanov, with 100,000 men, can push on without hindrance to the Bolan Pass.”
“If he should succeed,” said the Prince, “the way would then be open for him to the valley of the Indus. For England would be unable to hold the Pass against such a force.”
“Is it really so difficult to cross the Pass, as it is said to be?” inquired Heideck.
“The Pass is about fifty versts in length. In 1839 the Bengal corps of the Indus army advanced through it against the Afghan army, and managed without difficulty to take with them twenty-four-pound howitzers as well as eighteen-pound field guns.”
“If I remember rightly they arrived, without having met with any opposition worth mentioning, at Kandahar, and occupied the whole of Afghanistan. But, in spite of this, they finally suffered a disastrous defeat. Of their 15,000 men only 4,500 succeeded in returning in precipitate flight through the Khyber Pass back to India.”
Prince Tchajawadse laughed ironically.
“Fifteen thousand? Yes, if one can trust English sources of information! But I can assure you, according to better information, that the English in 1839 advanced upon Afghanistan with no less than 21,000 combatants and a transport of 70,000 men and 60,000 camels. They marched through the Bolan Pass, took Kandahar and Ghazni, entered Cabul, and placed Shah Shuja upon the throne. They did not suffer any decisive defeat in battle, but a general insurrection of the Afghans drove them from their positions and entirely wiped out their force.”
“I admire your memory, Prince!”
“Oh! all this we are obliged to have off by heart in the General Staff College, if we are not to be miserably ploughed in examination. In November, 1878, we were rather weak in Central Asia through having to devote all our resources to bringing the war with Turkey to a close, and so the English again entered Afghanistan. They meant to take advantage of our embarrassments to bring the country entirely under their suzerainty. They advanced in three columns by way of the Bolan Pass, the Kuram Valley, and the Khyber Pass. But on this occasion too they were unable to stand their ground, and had to retire with great loss. No Power will ever be able to establish itself in Afghanistan without the sympathies of the natives on its side. And the sympathies of the Afghans are on our side. We understand how to manage these people; the English are solely infidels in their eyes.”
“Do you believe that Russia merely covets the buffer-state Afghanistan, or do its intentions go further?”
“Oh, my dear comrade, at present we mean India. For more than a hundred years past we have had our eye on this rich country. The final aim of all our conquests in Central Asia has been India. As early as 1801 the Emperor Paul commanded the Hetman of the army of the Don, Orlov, to march upon the Ganges with 22,000 Cossacks. It is true that the campaign at that time was considered a far simpler matter than it really is. The Emperor died, and his venturesome plan was not proceeded with. During the Crimea General Kauffmann offered to conquer India with 25,000 men. But nothing came of this project. Since then ideas have changed. We have seen that only a gradual advance can lead us to our objective. And we have not lost time. In the west we have approached Herat, until now we are only about sixty miles away, and in the east, in the Pamirs, we have pushed much nearer still to India.”
“It is most interesting to hear all this. I have done my best to get at the lie of the land, but till now the Pamir frontiers have always been a mystery to me.”
“They mystify most people, you will find. Only a person who has been there can understand the situation. And he who has been there does not know the frontier line either, for there is, in fact, no exact boundary. The Pamir plateau lies to the north of Peshawar, and is bounded in the south by the Hindu-Kush range. The territorial spheres of government are extremely complicated. The Ameer of the neighbouring country of Afghanistan claims the sovereignty over the khanates Shugnan and Roshan, which form the larger portion of the Pamirs. Moreover, he likewise raises pretensions to the province of Seistan, which is also claimed by Persia. Now this province is of peculiar importance, because the English could seize it from Baluchistan without much difficulty, and, if so, they would obtain a strong flank position to the south of our line of march, Merv-Herat, by way of Kandahar-Quetta.”
“The conditions are, certainly, very complicated.”
“So complicated, indeed, that for many years past we have had differences with the English touching the frontier question. Our British friends have over and over again forced the Ameer of Afghanistan to send troops thither; an English expedition for the purpose of frontier delimitation has been frequently camped on the Pamir Mountains. Of course, in this respect, we have not been behindhand either. I myself have before now taken part in such a scientific expedition.”
“And it really was merely a scientific expedition?”
“Let us call it a military scientific excursion!” replied the Prince, smiling. “We had 2,000 Cossacks with us, and got as far as the Hindu-Kush—the Baragil Pass and another, unnamed, which we called, in honour of our colonel, the Yonov Pass. There we were confronted by Afghan troops, and defeated them at Somatash. By order of the English, who were paying him subsidies, Ameer Abdur-Rahman was obliged to resent this and petition their assistance. An English envoy arrived in Cabul, and negotiations were entered into, which we contrived to spin out sufficiently to gain time for the erection of small forts in the Pamirs. Finally an arrangement was arrived at in London to the effect that the Pench should be the boundary between Russia and Afghanistan in the Pamir territory. A few months later we were met by an English expedition on the Sarykul; we were to determine the exact boundary-line together. It was great fun; our English comrades tried hard not to let us see that they had orders to be complacent. We had soon discovered it, and drew the line just as we pleased. The upshot was that only a very narrow strip of land between Bukhara and the Indian border remained to the Ameer, and that he had to undertake neither to station troops there nor to erect fortifications. Our territory had been pushed forward up to within about twelve miles of English territory. It is there that we are closest to India, and we can, if we choose, at any time descend from the passes of the Hindu-Kush to the Chitral Valley, within the British sphere of influence.”
A servant, bringing an invitation to Heideck from Mrs. Baird to dine with them that evening, interrupted the conversation. The Captain was scarcely able to disguise his pleasure; he had no doubt that this invitation was due to Edith, and was happy in the prospect of seeing her again.
“You are on good terms with the Colonel,” said the Prince, as soon as the servant had left with Heideck’s letter of acceptance. “This can be of the greatest assistance to you under present circumstances. Do make him give you a passport and come with me.”
“I am sorry, Prince! I should be delighted to travel in such pleasant company, but business keeps me here a little longer for the present.”
“Well—as you please—I must not try to over-persuade you; but I will not abandon the hope that we shall meet again, and it is unnecessary to assure you that you can count upon me in any situation in which you may find yourself.”
IX
THE GERMAN EMPEROR
The German Emperor was paying his annual visit to the moors at Springe. But this year he had little time to spare for the noble sport which usually brought him fresh vigour and recreation in the refreshing solitude of the forest. The telegraph was busy without interruption, and statesmen, diplomats, and high officers arrived daily at the hunting-box, and held long conferences with the Emperor. The windows of his study were lit up till late at night, and the early morning generally found the monarch again at his writing-desk.
After a night half spent at work, to-day the yearning for a breath of fresh air had taken the Emperor at early dawn into the silent pine-woods.
A light hoar-frost had fallen during the night, covering the ground with fine white crystals. The shadows of dawn still lingered between the tree-trunks. But in the east a glowing light suffused the pale, greyish-blue sky.
The Emperor directed his gaze in that direction. He halted under a tall, ancient fir-tree, and his lips moved in silent prayer. He asked for counsel and strength from Him who decides the fate of nations, to enable him to arrive at his weighty and difficult decision at this grave crisis. Suddenly, the sound of human voices struck his ear. He perceived two men, evidently unaware of his presence, coming towards him hard by, on the small huntsman’s track in the wood, engaged in lively conversation. The Emperor’s keen huntsman’s eye recognised in one of the two tall gentlemen his Master of Horse, Count Wedel. The other was a stranger to him.
It was the stranger who now said—
“It is a great pleasure to me, at last, to be able to talk to you face to face. I have deeply mourned the rift in our old friendship and fellowship. On my side, the irritation is long since past. I did not wish to enter the Prussian service at that time, because I could not bear the thought of our old, brave Hanoverian army having ceased to exist, and I was angry with you, my dear Ernest, because you, an old Hanoverian Garde du Corps officer, appeared to have forgotten the honour due to your narrower Fatherland. But the generous resolution of the Emperor to revive Hanoverian traditions, to open a new home to our old corps of officers, and to inscribe our glorious emblems upon the flags and standards of these new regiments, has made everything right. I hope the time is not far distant when also those Hanoverians, who still hold aloof in anger, will allow that a war lord of such noble disposition is the chosen shepherd and leader of the universal Fatherland.”
“Well, I have never misjudged you and your iron will. Meanwhile, you have thoroughly made acquaintance with the world, and since you are a merchant prince of Hamburg, I suppose you are the possessor of a large fortune.”
“My life has been both interesting and successful, but I have not got what is best after all. I long for a sphere of activity in keeping with my disposition. I am a soldier, as my forbears have been for centuries before me. Had I entered the Prussian army in 1866, I might to-day be in command, and might perhaps in a short time have the honour to lead my corps into the field under the eyes of our Emperor himself.”
“You believe Germany will be brought into this war? Against whom should we fight?”
“If our Emperor is really the sharp-sighted and energetic spirit for which I take him—”
The monarch did not care to let the gentlemen talk on longer in ignorance of his presence.
“Hallo! gentlemen!” he called out merrily. “Do not betray your secrets without knowing who is listening!”
“His Majesty!” the Count said under his breath, taking off his hat and bowing low. His companion followed his example, and as the Emperor looked at him with a questioning glance, said—
“At your Majesty’s command; Grubenhagen, of Hamburg.”
The monarch’s eyes travelled over the tall, broad-shouldered figure of the fine man, and he asked smilingly—
“You have been in the service?”
“Yes, your Majesty—as lieutenant in the Royal Hanoverian Garde du Corps.”
“There were then commoners as officers in that regiment.”
“May it please your Majesty, my name is Baron von Grubenhagen, but the ‘Baron’ was in the way of the merchant.”
The open and manly bearing of the Baron, combined with the deference due to his sovereign, appeared to please the Emperor. He gazed long into the clear-cut, energetic face, with its bold and intelligent eyes.
“You have seen much of the world?”
“Your Majesty, I was in America, and for many years in England, before entering business.”
“A good merchant often sees more than a diplomatist, for his view is unbiassed, and freer. I love your Hamburg; it is a loyal city, full of intelligence and enterprise.”
“The Alster people would reckon themselves happy to hear your Majesty say so.”
“Do not the Hamburgers suffer great losses from the war?”
“Many people in Hamburg think as I do, your Majesty.”
“And what is your opinion?”
“That, under the glorious reign of your Majesty, all Germans on the Continent will be united to one whole grand nation, to which all Germanic races of the north will be attracted by the law of gravitation—Danes, Swedes, and Norwegians.”
“You have the courage of your opinions.”
“Your Majesty, we live in an age, the characteristic of which is the formation of great empires.”
The monarch interrupted him with a friendly movement of his hand.
“Let us go in to breakfast, gentlemen. Baron von Grubenhagen, you are my guest. I shall be interested to hear more of your bold ideas.”
Immediately after his return to the hunting-box, the Imperial Chancellor, who had arrived from Berlin by a night train, had been announced to the Emperor. With the monarch’s suite he also was present at the breakfast-table, probably not a little surprised to find a strange guest in the company of the Emperor, who was evidently very kindly disposed to him.
After breakfast, when the company were seated around the table in the smoke-room, and when, upon a sign from the Emperor, the aide-de-camp du jour had ordered the servants to withdraw, the Emperor William turned with a grave face to Baron von Grubenhagen.
“And now let us hear, openly and without reserve, how, according to your observation, the German nation regards the possibility of a war.”
The Baron raised his fine, characteristic head. Looking openly and naturally into the Emperor’s eyes, he replied—
“Your Majesty, no one is in doubt that it would, on the one hand, be a fatal step to declare war. By it many thousands will be sent to an early grave, lands devastated, and commerce perhaps ruined for many long years to come; and countless tears are the inevitable concomitants of war. But there is a supreme law, to which all others must yield—the commandment to preserve honour unsullied. A nation has its honour, like the individual. Where this honour is at stake, it must not shrink from war. For the conservation of all other of this world’s goods is dependent upon the conservation of the national honour; where peace has to be preserved at any price, even at the price of national honour, all the benefits and blessings of peace will by degrees be lost, and the nation falls a prey to its neighbours. Iron is more precious than gold, for it is to iron we owe all our possessions. What use would be our army and navy? They are the outward sign of the political truth, that only courage and power are guarantees for the continuance and prosperity of a nation. Russia and France have joined hands to fight England. And the German nation feels it is time to take its share in these struggles. But nowhere is there any uncertainty as to which side Germany ought to join. Our nation has for a long time past been exasperated by English intrigues and encroachments. The human heart knows no other feeling so profound and powerful as the sense of justice, and the sense of justice has constantly been wounded by England’s policy. Only one word from the Emperor is needed to strike the deepest chords in the German soul, and to raise a flame of enthusiasm that will swallow up all internal dissension and all party quarrels. We must not ask what might possibly happen; we must obey the dictates of the hour. If Germany fights with the whole of her strength, she must be victorious. And victory is always its own justification.”
X
FIVE LAKHS OF RUPEES
At noon Prince Tchajawadse departed northwards accompanied by his page Georgi and his Indian servant. Heideck had observed great reserve during the short time he had known the beautiful Circassian, and had never betrayed that he had guessed the secret of her disguise. She seemed to be grateful, for although they never had exchanged words, she smiled at him and gave him very friendly glances at their chance meetings. There could be no doubt concerning the relation of the beautiful page and his master. Heideck may have felt some jealousy—he hardly ever had seen a more charming girl than this Circassian beauty in her picturesque dress; but all his thoughts were with Edith. The Russian was indeed a lucky fellow to have found such a charming travelling companion. She never forgot her assumed part of the page, when strangers were near, and yet it was clear to Heideck that she in truth was master. A single glance of her flashing eyes was sufficient to keep the Prince in order, when under the influence of intoxicants he would have otherwise given way to his brutal instincts. In her presence he never dared to use ambiguous and frivolous language.
With sincere regret Heideck saw the Prince depart. He did not share the hope, which the latter expressed to him, that they would meet again. But he remembered him as one of his most interesting acquaintances and a very charming comrade notwithstanding those little foibles he had noticed.
. . . . . . .
It struck seven o’clock when Heideck in full evening dress entered the Colonel’s drawing-room. He felt a wave of keen joy surging through him when he noticed that it was empty, except for Edith Irwin. The horrible events she had passed through had left her a little pale. To him she seemed more beautiful than ever. She met him with a smile and gave him her hand, which he kissed with great emotion.
“Mrs. Baird and the Colonel beg to be excused for a quarter of an hour,” said she. “The Colonel has still much to do with the preparations for the mobilisation. Mrs. Baird is suffering from one of her bad attacks of headache and has had to lie down for a short time.”
Heideck’s face told Edith clearly enough that he gladly forgave his host and hostess this little impoliteness. After having taken a chair opposite hers, he began—
“I hope most sincerely, Mrs. Irwin, that you have had no annoyance on account of my late call. All day long yesterday this was on my mind.”
With a sad smile she replied, “No, no. On the contrary, my husband has asked me to tell you that he is very sorry not to be able to thank you personally for your heroic behaviour. He hopes to be able to do so later on. He has been ordered to go to Lahore in great haste and for an indefinite period. There was not time for him to see you, in order to thank you.”
Heideck imagined that he knew what this order meant. But he only asked: “And are you going to stay on here under the protection of the Colonel?”
“Nothing definite has been arranged as yet. Nobody knows what may happen to-morrow. It is certain that extraordinary events are in preparation. In case of war, we poor women have to do as we are told, you know.”
“And the Maharajah? You have not heard about him?”
“Colonel Baird saw the Prince officially yesterday; but I do not know anything more; I had not the courage to ask. It seems to me quite certain that the Maharajah is hostilely disposed towards the Colonel. The event which happened here to-day is, I think, immediately to be connected with the Maharajah. I know the ways of these Indian despots!”
“May I venture to ask what has happened?”
“An attempt to poison the Colonel at his own table.”
“To poison the Colonel?” asked Heideck surprised.
“Yes. Colonel Baird’s habit is to drink a tumbler of ice-water before each meal. To-day, at tiffin, the Indian butler gave it him as usual. The water appeared to him rather cloudy. He did not drink it at once, and after a few minutes he noticed distinctly a white sediment at the bottom of the tumbler. When he called for the Indian butler, the man had disappeared, and has not been found yet. That increased our suspicion that an attempt at poisoning had been made. A small quantity of the fluid had been put into a dish which contained the food for the dogs. It was then placed into a rat-trap which contained five or six of these ravenous beasts. Ten minutes later they were dead. The remains of the water have been given to Doctor Hopkins. He is going to make a chemical analysis, and to tell us about it at dinner-time.”
Before Heideck could find the time again to resume the discussion of Edith’s personal affairs, Mrs. Baird came in, accompanied by the Colonel and his adjutant. They all shook hands with him in the most charming way, and after Doctor Hopkins had also arrived, a small man with a very vivacious manner, they went in to dinner.
Perhaps the Colonel would have preferred that nothing should be said in Heideck’s presence about the poisoning attempt. His wife’s impatience and excitement, however, could not be restrained.
“Well, Doctor Hopkins,” she asked, “and what have you found?”
The Doctor evidently had been waiting for this.
“One of the most deadly poisons the Indians know,” he answered. “The diamond powder. There is no antidote for it, and it is impossible to trace it in the body of the poisoned person, because it is of vegetable nature, and gets absorbed in the tissues.”
A cry of horror escaped Mrs. Baird. She covered her eyes with her hand.
Mr. Hopkins continued: “I have never before come across the diamond powder, notwithstanding its use is said not to be uncommon. The preparation of it is a secret, anxiously guarded by the Indian physicians. It seems to play the same part at the Courts of the Indian princes that the celebrated ‘aqua tuffana’ did in the Middle Ages amongst the Italian despots.”
These learned explanations of Doctor Hopkins were not adapted to raise the spirits of the company. Everyone remembered that this horrible attempt had only been frustrated by a lucky chance. The Colonel, who seemed to feel very uncomfortable on listening to the Doctor’s conversation, gave a sign to his wife to rise, rather sooner than usual.
Tea and drinks cooled in ice were served in the verandah, charmingly illuminated by coloured lamps. Heideck had only had eyes for Edith all the evening. But he had avoided anxiously everything which might have betrayed his feelings. And, even now, he would not have dared to join her in the half-dark corner of the verandah, where she had seated herself, unless she had called out to him asking him to take the empty seat at her side.
“Mr. Heideck, here is another chair,” she said, in a perfectly natural voice, drawing aside the pleats of her foulard skirt in order to let him pass. Again their eyes met unnoticed by the others. The violent beating of his heart would have told him that he was entirely in the thraldom of this beautiful young woman had he not known it already.
Suddenly the well-known shouts and cries of Indian drivers were heard. The conversation stopped and everybody looked and observed with astonishment the curious procession of waggons which they could see approaching, as the night was pretty clear. The Colonel excepted, no one understood the meaning of this spectacle. There were five waggons drawn by richly harnessed bullocks and escorted by a bodyguard of the Maharajah on horseback. Their captain rode till close to the verandah, then dismounted, and went up the steps. His mien was distinguished, and at the same time dignified. He was young and handsome, with Greek features and big, melancholy eyes. He wore a blouse of yellow silk, held around the waist by a shawl of violet silk, English riding-breeches, and high, yellow boots. A string of pearls was laid round his turban of violet-striped silk, and diamonds, large as hazel-nuts, sparkled on his breast as they caught the light of the lamp.
“That is Tasatat Rajah, the cousin and favourite of the Prince,” whispered Edith, in answer to a question which she read in Heideck’s face. “No doubt the Maharajah is sending him with a special mission.”
The Colonel had risen and gone to meet his visitor, but he neither shook hands with him nor asked him to be seated.
“Greetings, long life and happiness, sahib, to you in the name of His Highness,” he began with that noble air peculiar to the high-born Indian. “In token of his friendship and his respect he is sending you a small gift. He hopes you will accept it as a proof that you have forgotten the conversation which you had yesterday with His Highness in consequence of an unfortunate misunderstanding.”
“His Highness is very kind,” was the Colonel’s answer, in a voice rather formal, “may I ask in what consists the present he is sending me?”
“Every one of these five waggons, sahib, contains a hundred thousand rupees.”
“That is as much as five lakhs?”
“It is so. And I ask you once more kindly to favour His Highness with a reply.”
The Colonel considered a moment, and then answered with the same quiet demeanour and impenetrable expression, “Thanks to you, Prince. Have the contents of these waggons carried into the hall. The Viceroy will decide what is to be done with it later on.”
The Prince’s face clearly showed his disappointment. For a little while he remained there standing as if considering what to do. But recognising that the Englishman wished to end the conversation, he touched the middle of his forehead with his right hand and descended the steps of the verandah. With the assistance of English soldiers a great many small casks were carried into the hall. The procession moved on again with the same cries and shouts which had accompanied its approach and soon disappeared.
A smile flitted across the Colonel’s face, erstwhile so unemotional, as he turned towards his guests, probably feeling that some sort of explanation for his attitude was due to them.
“I consider this half-million a very desirable acquisition towards the war expenses of my detachment. But these Orientals never can understand our way of thinking, and our ideas of honour will always remain an insoluble riddle to them. With a present, that he, of course, has meant for me personally, this despot believes he has smoothed over everything that could possibly spell trouble for him—the plot against Mrs. Irwin as well as the diamond powder business. For, of course, he has already been informed by the butler who has disappeared of the failure of his plot, and he is well aware of what is in store for him if I report the scandalous story to Calcutta.”
It was the first time the Colonel had openly declared his conviction that the Maharajah was the author of both plots. No doubt he had especial reasons for this, and Heideck fancied he had fathomed them, when, in reply to the question of the regimental surgeon as to his intention of sending in such a report, the Colonel replied—
“I do not know—I really do not know yet. According to the principle, fiat justitia, pereat mundus, I ought to do so, no doubt. But the pereat mundus is, after all, a debatable point. Probably war is imminent, and I am afraid the Viceroy would not be grateful to me were I to add fresh cares to all his other anxieties. At present these Indian princes are indispensable to us. They have to place their troops at our disposal, and we must not have any enemies in the rear when our army is engaged in Afghanistan. A harsh procedure against one of them, and all these princes might revolt. And a single defeat, or even only the false report of one, might entail incalculable consequences.”
Doctor Hopkins assented without further discussion, and also the other officers present shared the opinion of their chief. As usual, during these last days a lively discussion had arisen as to the probabilities of war, and as to the probable course events would take. Heideck, certain of learning nothing new from the mouths of these gentlemen, all so confident of victory, utilised the opportunity afforded by the noisy conversation to ask Edith, in a low voice—
“Not only political considerations, but also your wishes, have prevented the Colonel from reporting the outrage of the other night to Calcutta—is it not so?”
“Yes, I begged him not to do so,” she answered in the same low whisper. “But to-day, after the abominable plot upon his life, I told him that I do not ask any longer for any consideration to be shown me, or my—husband.”
“You seriously think it possible that Captain Irwin—”
“Pray do not let us talk about it now, and not here, Mr. Heideck,” she begged, raising her eyes to him imploringly. “You cannot have any idea how terribly I suffer from these dreadful thoughts. I feel as if before me lay only dark, impenetrable night. And when I reflect that some day I may be again forced—”
She did not finish her sentence, but Heideck knew well enough what she had omitted to say. An irresistible impulse made him answer—
“You must not allow yourself to be driven to take any course repugnant to your heart, Mrs. Irwin. And who is there who would dare to attempt to force you?”
“Oh, Mr. Heideck, you have no idea what regard for so-called ‘GOOD FORM’ means for us English people. No scandal—for Heaven’s sake, no scandal! That is the first and prime law of our Society. Kind as the Colonel and his wife have been to me until now, I am very much afraid they would drop me, without question of my guilt or innocence, if I should allow anything to take place which they consider a scandal.”
“And yet you must obey solely your own feeling—only the commands of your heart and conscience, Mrs. Irwin; not the narrow views of the Colonel or any other person. You must not become a martyr to a prejudice—I simply cannot hear the idea. And you must promise me—”
He stopped short. A sudden lull in the general conversation caused him to be silent also. And he fancied he saw the intelligent and penetrating eyes of Mrs. Baird directed upon himself with an expression of mistrust. He was displeased with himself. Displeased, because the intoxicating proximity of the adored being, and his aversion for her husband, that had almost increased to passionate hatred, had led him into the danger of compromising her. But when, soon afterwards, he took his leave, together with the other guests, a soft pressure of Edith’s hand gave him the delightful assurance that she was far from being angry with him.
XI
THE MOBILISATION
Every day now brought fresh news, and the threatening spectre of war drew nearer and nearer. The order for mobilisation had been given. The field-troops were separated from the depot, destined to remain in Chanidigot. The infantry were provided with ammunition, and were daily exercised in firing and bayonet drill. Horses were bought up and a transport organised, which comprised an enormous number of camels. The commissariat stores were replenished, and the officers eagerly studied the maps of Afghanistan.
According to Heideck’s ideas of mobilisation progress was much too slow, and the Maharajah appeared still less in a hurry with the equipment of his auxiliary troops.
Military trains from the South passed without cessation through Chanidigot, carrying horses and troops further north. Their immediate goal was Peshawar, where Lieutenant-General Sir Bindon Blood, Commander-in-Chief of the Punjab Army Corps, had concentrated a large field-army. Heideck noticed with surprise that the regiments which were being hurried up had been drafted from the most heterogeneous corps, so that, therefore, the tactical union of these corps, as well as their organisation, had been destroyed. No doubt the Government wished, at any cost, to mass large bodies of troops as rapidly as possible on the frontier, and to this end left all calculation of later events out of consideration. Viscount Kitchener, the Commander-in-Chief of India, as well as the Viceroy and the Cabinet Ministers in London, seemed to entertain no doubt that the English army would be victorious from the very beginning, and could not possibly be forced to retire to the fortresses of the North-west provinces. The contempt with which the officers in Chanidigot talked about the Russian army and the Afghans sufficiently confirmed this general belief.
At last it was clear that war had become a fait accompli. On the tenth day after the announcement of the Russian invasion of Afghanistan uncertainty was at an end.
The Cabinet in London had inquired in St. Petersburg as to the meaning of that invasion, and it received the answer that Russia felt compelled to come to the rescue of the Ameer at his request, for the Afghan ruler was anxious for his independence, in view of the measures which were taken by England. Nothing was further removed from the intention of the Russian Government than to challenge England, but she felt it impossible to look on at the embarrassment of the Ameer with equanimity, and so determined to fight for the independence of Afghanistan.
Thereupon England declared war, and Lieutenant-General Blood received the order immediately to advance through the Khyber Pass into Afghanistan. Further, Lieutenant-General Hunter, the Commander-in-Chief of the Bombay Army Corps, was ordered to march with an army from Quetta towards Kandahar. At the same time an English fleet was to leave Portsmouth.
Although the English papers published in India had evidently been instructed to maintain silence about matters which might place England in an unfavourable light, they furnished a good deal of news which gave the intelligent reader all manner of clues as to the present warlike situation. It could be seen that England was also arming against France. Only as to the attitude of Germany in the universal war that threatened every clue was wanting.
The intention of removing the families of the military and civil officers, stationed in Chanidigot, south to Bombay, or to Calcutta in the east, had soon been dropped. The spreading of the plague in both cities and the difficulties of the journey were against it; for the railways were completely given over to the transport of troops. It was determined that the women and children should, for the time being, remain with the depot in Chanidigot. Captain Irwin, who had returned from Lahore and who, apart from his duty, in which he displayed an almost feverish zeal, led the life of a hermit, was appointed to command this depot. But his wife, whom he had not yet once met since his arrival, was not to be placed with the others under his charge. Colonel Baird, who had given way to his wife’s urgent entreaties to be allowed with her children to accompany him to Quetta, had asked Edith Irwin to join them.
Orders had been given that the detachment should start in conjunction with the forces of the Maharajah of Chanidigot. Heideck had obtained permission to accompany it. The Colonel was well disposed towards him, and it was evidently pleasant for the former to have about him, as protector to the ladies, such a chivalrous man, upon whom he could always implicitly rely when his military duties prevented him from looking after them. On the day preceding the start Heideck was at tiffin with the Colonel, and coming events were being discussed in a serious manner, when from outside the dull screech of an automobile’s horn caught their ears. Two minutes later, covered with dust and with his face a dark red from the heat, an officer appeared on the verandah who introduced himself as Captain Elliot, General Blood’s adjutant.
“The General,” he said, adopting the proper military attitude, “has sent me to report that all the plans have been altered. Your orders are not to march to Quetta, but to hasten your preparations and start as soon as possible for Mooltan.”
“And what is the reason for this change of orders?” asked the Colonel.
“The Russians are coming down from the Hindu-Kush, and are marching down the valley of the Indus, thus taking our army in the rear. General Blood is marching south, so as not to be cut off. I am sent round to direct all detachments upon Mooltan.”
“No! is that possible? Is there not perhaps some mistake? How can the Russians cross the Hindu-Kush?”
“I have myself seen Russian infantry in the gorges of the Indus Valley, Colonel. The march upon Herat and the occupation of Cabul under General Ivanov were mainly blinds. Ivanov, with twenty thousand men under his command, and reinforced by a like number of Afghans, is advancing from Cabul upon the Khyber Pass. But the main attack will be made from the Pamirs in the direction of Rawal-Pindi and Lahore.”
“Rawal-Pindi?” exclaimed the Colonel. “If the Russians come down the Indus, they will first of all arrive at Attock, and this strong fortress will check their advance long enough.”
“Let us hope so, but we must not absolutely reckon upon it. The strength of the Russian army is not at present known to us; but their advance has evidently been magnificently planned. Their engineers must have done perfect wonders in the difficult passes of the Hindu-Kush; and these Russian soldiers are like iron.”
“Well,” said the Colonel, “we will soon show them that we are of steel.”
The adjutant handed over the written instructions, and after having read them, the Colonel replied—
“To-morrow morning early I start for Mooltan, and expect to arrive there with my detachment by tomorrow evening. The commissariat and ammunition columns will, of course, not be able to get there until a few days later, and then only in part. What in all the world can have possessed the General not to meet the enemy in Rawal-Pindi? That town is fortified and surrounded by strong forts; it is one of the greatest depots in India. Why must the General retire so far back, so far as Mooltan?”
“The General is expecting a decisive battle, and intends for the purpose to co-operate with the army of General Hunter. But both armies are, at present, equidistant from Mooltan, and the Russians would, the General thinks, hesitate to advance so far, from fear of having their left flank attacked from Lahore. In Lahore there is at present a force of ten thousand men, which is being reinforced every day from Delhi.”
With the departure of the adjutant, who, owing to the exigencies of duty, was obliged to decline the Colonel’s offer of a seat at table, the luncheon-party broke up, and the Colonel made apologies to his guest for being unable, under existing circumstances, to devote more time to him. His officers accompanied him, and soon after Mrs. Baird was also called away. Quite unexpectedly Heideck and Edith Irwin found themselves alone.
For a few moments neither spoke, as though neither wished to give expression to the feelings that filled their hearts. The young wife first broke silence.
“You were intending to go with us into the field, Mr. Heideck, and I know that your decision was prompted by a desire to assist us women with your protection. But now all the arrangements are altered, and I beg of you to abandon your intention.”
He looked at her surprisedly. “What, Mrs. Irwin? do you intend to deprive me of the pleasure I had looked forward to of accompanying you, and being your protector? And why?”
“You also have just heard that all the arrangements are altered. Had we gone to Quetta, then, as soon as our army had crossed the frontier, you would have been easily able to find another place; but if the battle takes place on Indian soil you will find yourself in constant danger.”
“In my quality as foreigner? Certainly. I should, under the circumstances, be exposed to much unpleasantness, but before I change my plans, I should like to hear from you if you, too, intend to remain with the troops under these altered conditions?”
“Since Mrs. Baird has given me permission to accompany her, yes.”
“And you believe that I shall show less courage than you, who will also certainly be exposed to serious risks?”
“How could I doubt your courage, Mr. Heideck? But that is, after all, something quite different. The place of us soldiers’ wives is at the side of our husbands, whom we have followed to India. And, moreover, we are, perhaps, nowhere safer than with the army. But you have no concern with this war and with our army. If you, now, were to leave here to take up your quarters in one of the hill stations far from the seat of war, and where you were not exposed to the risks of battle and the plague, you would be certainly allowed, as a German merchant, to remain there unmolested.”
“And why do you not yourself go to such a hill station, Mrs. Irwin? I should suggest Simla, if it were not so near to the seat of war. But do, pray, go to Poona, or into one of the other mountain stations in the south.”
The young lady shook her head.
“I expect that that would be going straight to destruction.”
“And what, may I ask, makes you think this?”
“I have already told you that in case of war English women are, here in India, only tolerably safe when in the immediate neighbourhood of soldiers. If we were to be defeated, the revenge the people would take on its oppressors would be terrible. Are you aware of the cruel instincts which slumber in these men, apparently so polite and submissive? The defenceless women and children would, without doubt, be their first victims. It was so in the Mutiny of 1857, and so it will be again under similar conditions. Nana Sahib and his crew wallowed at that time in the fiendish tortures of white women and children, and shed streams of innocent blood. And the civilisation of the lower classes has certainly since then not improved.”
“You speak as if you considered a defeat of your army probable.”
“I cannot get rid of my melancholy forebodings. And you, yourself, Mr. Heideck—please be straightforward with me! When the adjutant was standing there a little while ago, and when every one of his words showed the want of circumspection in our generals, I watched your face, and I read more from its expression than you have any idea of. I will not try to enter into your secrets, but I should be grateful if you would be candid with me. You are not the person for whom you here give yourself out.”
He did not hesitate for a moment to confess to her the truth.
“No, I am a German officer, and have been sent here by my superiors to study the Anglo-Indian army.”
Edith’s surprise was evidently not great.
“I had an inkling of it. And now please answer my question quite as straightforwardly. Do you believe that the British army will be victorious?”
“I would not permit myself to give an opinion on this point, Mrs. Irwin.”
“But you must have an idea. And I would give a great deal to know what it is.”
“Well, then—I believe in English bravery, but not in English victory.”
She heaved a deep sigh, but she nodded her head in assent, as if he had only expressed her own conviction. Then she gave him her hand and said softly—
“I thank you for your confidence, and as a matter of course no one shall ever learn from me who you are. But now I must insist more than ever that you leave us for your own safety’s sake.”
“And if I were to refuse? Supposing that in my position as soldier I were to consider it to be my duty not to leave you in the lurch? Would you be angry with me? Would you no longer permit me to enjoy the happiness of your society?”
Her breast heaved, but she bowed her head and was silent. Heideck plainly saw the glistening tears which stole from under her eyelids, and slowly rolled down her delicate cheek.
That was answer enough for him. He bowed, and kissing both her hands, whispered—
“I knew that you would not be so cruel as to drive me from you. Wherever fate may lead me, it will find me at your side as long as you require my protection.”
For a few seconds she let him keep her hand. She then gently withdrew it from his grasp.
“I know that I ought to forbid you for your own safety to follow me; but I have not the strength to do so. Heaven grant that you may never reproach me for having acted as I have done.”
XII
THE CAMP OF LAHORE
An unusually beautiful and dry spring favoured the advance of the Russian army through the mountains. In the north of India the temperature kept at an average of 68 degrees F., and day after day the sun streamed down from a cloudless blue sky upon the broad plains of the Punjab, through the bright green of which the Russian troops, in their white summer uniforms, pushed on like long streaks of silver.
Everything pointed to the fortune of war being on their side, for they had overcome the difficult and dreaded passage at Attock with unexpected ease.
The commander of this lofty fortress received orders not to break down the bridge across the Indus until General Blood’s army, which was directed to hold Peshawar and the Khyber Pass, had effected its retreat and had to the last man passed the river.
The bridge at Attock, which is a high structure built across the narrow bed of the Indus, which here foams down with swirling swiftness, is considered a masterpiece of engineering. It is built in two tiers, the upper of which carries the railway, while the lower forms a road for carriages, beasts of burden, and foot-passengers. On either side of the river is a fortified gate. The English commander of Attock trusted to the strength of the forts standing some 800 feet above the river, and imagined the Russians to be still far away.
The Russian vanguard had crossed the river Cabul, which joins the Indus at Attock, at a point a few miles above the city, and thus appeared simultaneously with General Blood’s troops before the fortress.
Blood’s troops were passing the bridge in endless long columns. Their movement was often checked by blocks, caused by the dislocation of the several units, and so it came about that, in the early morning, a superior Russian force had, unperceived by the English, reached the northern end of the bridge just as a gap had been caused in the English columns.
The thick fog of the morning had hidden the approach of the Russians from the English outposts. The Russians at once occupied the bridge, and so cut off the remainder of the English that were on the northern bank from their main body that had already crossed the bridge. The commander of the Russian advance guard was himself quite astounded at the success that the fortune of war had thrown into his lap: had not the fog rendered the scouting on both sides illusory, and had not chance allowed him to fall in with this gap in the English columns, the chances would, considering the narrowness of the road, have been much more favourable to the English than for him, and the battle would probably have ended with the defeat of his forces. As it was, General Ivanov, who had crossed the Khyber Pass, came upon the English rearguard, and five thousand men of the Anglo-Indian troops had to surrender after a short struggle. Two thousand English and three thousand Mohammedans fell into the hands of the Russians. As soon as the Mohammedan-Indians were informed by the victors that they were fighting for the true faith against the infidels, they went over without more ado to the Russian side.
The commander at Attock refused to surrender the fortress, and trained his guns upon the Russian columns; but, in consequence of the fog, the batteries did not inflict much damage upon the Russians, who being now in possession of the bridge continued their advance to the south.
But, however, before the march that had thus been so successfully begun was continued, the Russian commander-in-chief collected, not far from Attock, all the troops that had crossed the Hindu-Kush in small detachments, and united them with the army corps advancing from Afghanistan, so that he now disposed of an army of seventy thousand men.
It was a blood-stained road upon which this host travelled behind the retreating English army. This was the road upon which Alexander the Great in days of yore entered India. Here, at the beginning of the sixteenth century, the Afghan sovereign Ibrahim Lodi had fought with the Grand Mogul Baber; here, a few decades later, Mohammed Shah Adil, the generallissimo of the Afghans, when at the head of fifty thousand horse, five hundred elephants, and innumerable infantry, was defeated by the youthful Grand Mogul Akbar. Still more bloody was the battle, which about the middle of the eighteenth century the Afghan Sultan Ahmed Shah Durani fought with the great Mahratha princes, Holkar Sindhia, Gaekwar and the Peschwas; and here, once again, all the horrors of war raged, when in the year 1857, the English Generals Havelock, Sir James Outram, Sir Colin Campbell, Sir Hugh Rose, Sir John Lawrence, and Sir Robert Napier, crushed with pitiless severity the dangerous sepoy mutiny. East and West had, in gigantic struggles, fought together on this spot so full of legends, this the cradle of mankind. Hundreds of thousands of human lives had been sacrificed on this blood-drenched soil, and yet again was a decisive battle impending, destined to be engraved with a steel pencil on the tablets of the world’s history.
The movements of the Russian army had upset the plan of the English generals. The English corps which had collected at Mooltan were quickly pushed on to Lahore, as soon as the Russians’ intention to proceed to the south-east became clear. The time which General Ivanov required for concentrating his troops at Attock rendered it possible for the English to reach Lahore. Here their forces were considerably increased by the strong garrison, and each day new regiments came in from Delhi and Lucknow, which brought the strength of the army commanded by Sir Bindon Blood up to the number of one hundred thousand combatants.
The English prepared for a decisive battle, for already the head of the Russian columns was no further than ten English miles north of the mausoleum of the Emperor Jahangir at Shah Dara, a military station scarcely eight English miles north-west of Lahore.
The English troops advanced in their concentrated formation in single line; their left wing occupied the Shah Dara plantations and the pontoon bridge across the river Ravi that flows close to Lahore. It extended thence five English miles further eastwards to a canal which flows past the Shalimar Park towards the south. This park and a place called Bhogiwal, lying next to it, formed the right wing. Before their front stretched a tributary of the sinuous Ravi with its marshy banks. To the rear of their position lay the fortress of Lahore with its brick wall, fifteen feet in height, pierced by thirteen gates.
The Ravi, a tributary of the Indus, had at this time but little water. The bed of the river was for the most part dry, and only consisted of rapid, irregular rivulets, which here and there exposed between them larger and smaller, but for the most part, muddy islands. The bed of this river formed the chief obstacle to the Russian attack, for they had to pass it before reaching the English front and the city of Lahore.
Heideck occupied a small tent that he had brought with him from Chanidigot. Morar Gopal’s horse had carried it on its back during the march from Mooltan to Lahore, for the lancers, whom Heideck had joined as being a friend of their officers, had not covered the distance by railway. They were now encamped in the Shalimar Park, an extensive enclosure surrounded by a wall and full of the most beautiful mango trees, and among them many small fountains and pretty pavilions. As Heideck wore a khaki suit and a cork helmet, he looked, in spite of his having no distinctive military dress, quite like an English officer, the resemblance being increased by his martial bearing.
During the march and during his stay in the camp he had had an opportunity of closely observing the British system of campaigning. But he took good care not to mention it to the English officers, for they were not very favourable conclusions at which he had arrived. He had gained the impression that the troops were neither well led, nor displayed any special knowledge of campaigning. The men both in bivouac and in camp were often in want, and, indeed, frequently suffered real distress, because the necessary material was not always at hand, and their food was not regularly supplied; the greatest confusion reigned in the commissariat department.
Not alone there, but also in the tactical units serious confusion was everywhere apparent, in consequence of the unpractical and heterogeneous composition of the detachments. First of all, the regiments which were to make up the army corps in Peshawar and Quetta were all jumbled up together, because as soon as ever they appeared to be ready to march, they were separately taken away from their garrisons and placed upon the railway. Concentration upon Mooltan and the hurried march to Lahore had resulted in downright inextricable confusion.
Heideck found himself in the middle of an army which had never engaged in a great war and certainly never in one against regular troops. It is true that the English were accustomed to fighting, for they had been constantly obliged to measure themselves with barbarous and semibarbarous peoples. They had made expensive expeditions and gained dearly purchased victories; but it was always the undisciplined, dark-skinned, and black hordes with whom they had had to deal. The experiences of the Boer War had not entered into the flesh and blood of the troops. The personal bravery of the individual had almost always been regarded as the main thing, and it was easy to understand why all the officers should be puffed up with vanity. They looked down with contempt upon all foreigners, because they had, as a matter of fact, almost always gained their victories over superior numbers.
Heideck noticed with astonishment that the tactical rules and instructions in the British army were still often at variance with modern armament, particularly in the case of the infantry; volley firing was habitually employed as the general way of engaging the enemy. The men were drilled at the word of command to open and keep up a steady even fire and then in close ranks to rush with the bayonet on the enemy. This powerful nation was, in fact, too listless to utilise the most modern experiences of the science of war: proud Albion blindly believed everything English to be good and despised everything new and foreign. Or did the English perhaps only avoid advancing in loose order in action because they were afraid that they would otherwise not be able to control their Indian soldiers?
The environs of Lahore, particularly to the north of the city between the wall and the camp, presented a very lively scene. The innumerable camels which had served as baggage animals and formed the major portion of the transports afforded a very peculiar spectacle. They were either lying on the ground closely packed together or solemnly paced along, while the shrill yells of the drivers filled the air. Moreover, there was here congregated a huge crowd of men belonging to the army in one or other capacity without being combatants, and the eye fond of picturesque impressions could feast with delight on the gay, ever-changing kaleidoscopic effects of the wide plain; while the distant scenery was also interesting enough in itself. Between the widely scattered villages and suburbs of the city, which contained 180,000 inhabitants, beautiful parks and gardens shone in fresh green foliage, mostly surrounding the burial-place of a sultan or a famous Mohammedan saint. Towards the south-east there stretched away the great encampments of the cavalry and artillery in which were included many elephant batteries.
The city itself was choked full of military and the families of the officers. Almost all the women and children of the garrisons lying to the north-west of Lahore had fled here at the advance of the troops. Mrs. Baird, too, with her two little daughters and Mrs. Irwin were also in the city, where they were lodged in the Charing Cross Hotel. Although the city was packed to a most alarming degree and the military situation was decidedly critical, Heideck did not anywhere observe any particular excitement.
The English preserved their peculiarly calm demeanour, and the natives kept silence out of fear: upon the latter the fully unexpected and incomprehensible change in the situation had probably had a certain bewildering effect.
When Heideck, shortly before sunset, went from the camp to the city to visit the ladies, he only became more firmly convinced, as he passed through the surging crowd outside the walls, that the position of the army had been very badly selected. Far too large a number of men and animals had been crowded within a comparatively small space. If Russian shrapnel were to fall among this dense mass a terrible panic was inevitable. The proximity of the fortified city was sure to induce the soldiers to take refuge behind its walls. Heideck had hitherto not gained the impression that resolute courage was to be expected of the native soldiers. In the street which led from the Shalimar Park to the railway station in the suburb of Naulakha, Heideck had constantly to go out of his way to allow the long columns of heavily laden camels and ox-waggons which came towards him to pass, and he therefore took nearly two hours to reach his goal. The Charing Cross Hotel was full up to the attics, and the two ladies had, with the children, to be content with a small room on the third floor which had been let to them at an enormous price.
Mrs. Baird, a lady of small, delicate build, but of energetic spirits and genuine English pride, appeared perfectly collected and confident. She did not utter a single word about her own evidently very uncomfortable position and of the privations which, under the existing circumstances, her children had to suffer, but only about the victory of the British arms, that she was convinced would immediately take place. The march from Mooltan to Lahore was, in her eyes, an advance, and she did not entertain the smallest doubt that the Russian insolence would in a short time meet with terrible chastisement.
“It is terrible to think,” she said to Heideck, “that a nation that calls itself Christian should dare attack us in India. What was this unhappy land before we took pity on it? England has freed it from the hands of barbarous despots and brought it happiness! The Indian cities have grown in prosperity because our laws have paved the way for free development of commerce and intercourse. It is in the highest sense of the word a mission of civilisation that our nation has here fulfilled. If Heaven gives Russia the victory, this now so happy land will be hurled back into the blackness of barbarism.” She appeared to wait for a word of assent from Mrs. Irwin, but the latter sat in serious silence.
“You ought not to be so silent, dearest Edith, and ought not to pull such a melancholy face,” said the Colonel’s wife, turning to her with a gentle reproach. “I perfectly understand that the sad events of your private life are distressing you. But all personal sorrow should now be merged into the general grief. What is the fate of the individual, when his country is exposed to such danger? I know that you are as good a patriot as any Englishwoman, but it appears to me that it is necessary to prove it in these hours of danger. Anxiety and moroseness have at such times upon one’s surroundings the effect of a contagious disease.”
“But possibly I am not the good patriot you take me for.”
“Ah! What do you mean by that?”
“I cannot look at wars from your point of view, dear Mrs. Baird. It almost seems to me that there is not a very great difference between men and brute beasts, who fight each other out of hunger, or jealousy, and all kinds of low instincts.”
“Oh, what a comparison to draw!”
“Well, it is true we know better how to wage war. We invent complicated instruments wherewith to destroy our fellow-beings in enormous numbers, whilst animals are limited to their own natural weapons. But do we, therefore, know better what we are doing than the animals? Don’t you think that, when hosts of ants, or bees, or weasels, or fishes in the sea sally forth to destroy other creatures of their species, they may be guided perhaps by the same instincts that govern us also?”
“I cannot follow you there, Mrs. Irwin,” the little lady replied, with a shade of irritation in her voice. “Human beings are endowed with reason, and are conscious of their aims and actions.”
“Is it really so reasonable when peasants and labourers go to war as soldiers? Are they really led by a conscious purpose within them? None of them has anything to gain. They are compelled by others to allow themselves to be maimed and killed, and to kill their fellow-beings. And the survivors are in no respects better off, after gaining a victory, than they were before. And the leaders themselves? In the morals of Christian faith honours, orders, and endowments are only idle toys. Let us be honest, Mrs. Baird. Did England conquer India in order to propagate the Christian gospel? No! We have shed rivers of blood solely in order to spread our commerce, and in order to increase the wealth of a few, who themselves wisely remained at a safe distance from the fray, in the possession of luxury beyond the dreams of avarice.”
“It is sad to hear such words from the mouth of an Englishwoman.”
The conversation was in danger of taking a critical turn, as the Colonel’s wife felt seriously annoyed and wounded by Edith’s words. Heideck turned the discussion into a less dangerous channel. Soon afterwards the Colonel arrived; he occupied a tent further away in the camp, and only rarely found time to look after his family.
He simulated an air of gaiety and composure which he was far from feeling, and he was too indifferent an actor to succeed in his part.
“I am sorry, but I can only stay a very short time,” he said, when he had caressed and kissed the little girls, whom he loved so tenderly, with still greater affection than usual. “My chief object in coming was to instruct you, dear Ellen, what you have to do in case we have to retire.”
“To retire—? For Heaven’s sake—I hope there is no question of retiring!”
The Colonel smiled, though not quite naturally.
“Of course, we cannot reckon with certainty upon victory. He would be a bad general who did not consider the possibility of defeat. During the last few hours all our dispositions have been altered. We are on the point of starting to attack the Russians.”
“That is right!” cried Mrs. Baird, with bright eyes. “A British army must not wait for the enemy, but go and meet him.”
“We shall march out at early dawn to try and prevent the Russians from crossing the Ravi. The engineers leave to-night in advance to destroy the bridges, if it is not already too late. The army has to execute a considerable movement to the left about, in order to reach the right position. At the same time the front has to be extended and lengthened to the right. The left wing remains at Shah Dara and the pontoon bridge.”
“Is it not possible for us to come out also and look on at the battle?” inquired Mrs. Baird. But her husband shook his head in decided refusal.
“For you, dearest Ellen, our trustworthy Smith will have a cart, with two strong oxen, ready here in the hotel. That is to provide for all eventualities. Should you receive news that the army is retreating upon Lahore—which the Lord forbid—you must lose not a minute, but drive as quick as possible, before the crush at the gates and in the streets begins, through the Akbari gate over the canal bridge leading to the Sadrbazar, and so to Amritsar, where you may be able to take the railway to Goordas. All other lines are closed for other than military purposes. Panic will not extend so far as that, and there, in any small hill station, you will find a safe resting-place for the present. And now, Mr. Heideck, may I trouble you by asking a great favour of you?”
“I am entirely at your disposal, Colonel.”
“Stop here in the hotel—try to obtain the latest intelligence as to the course of events, and act as protector to the ladies and children until they are in security. If you will permit me to hand you a cheque—”
“Please leave that for the present, Colonel,” Heideck replied. “I am provided with plenty of money and will render you an account later. I promise to protect your family and Mrs. Irwin as well as I can. But I think it would be better for me not to remain in the town, but to accompany the troops. I will return as soon as possible should events take an unfavourable turn. The anxiety of the ladies would be unnecessarily increased, and I myself should be uncertain as to what to do if we received unreliable news here in the hotel as to the position of affairs.”
“You are right,” said the Colonel, after a moment’s hesitation. “Already now the most absurd rumours are flying about. Leaflets have been distributed amongst our Mohammedan troops inciting them with the maddest and most deceitful promises to desert from the British army. A few persons, taken whilst distributing such leaflets, have been already shot without more ado. I leave everything to your circumspection and decision. In any case, it will be best for you to keep as near to the Commander-in-Chief as possible. My permit will open the road to you everywhere. I will thank you later on.”
He shook Heideck’s hand warmly, and embraced his wife and his children once more, and the two men turned to leave. The dull foreboding that it was a parting for ever lay heavily upon all of them.
XIII
THE BATTLE
As Heideck returned to the camp, the road was lit up by the red glare of innumerable fires. On the wide plain, stretching between the town and river, work was going on in feverish haste. Rations and ammunition were being dealt out, and long lines of beasts of burden were in motion. Thousands of hands were busily employed in trying to facilitate the passage of the troops across the shallow tributary of the Ravi. The boggy places were made firm by a covering of palm branches and leaves; and logs of wood were got ready in hot haste for the artillery. Heideck could not help wondering why it was that the army had not been concentrated from the first at the point the battle was to take place. The approach through the difficult tract of land, in connexion with the contemplated movement to the left, made calls upon the endurance of the troops that could not but have the most detrimental effect upon the issue of the battle.
He met his Indian boy, evidently in great excitement, in front of his tent.
“When we start to-morrow we shall leave the tent with everything in it,” said Heideck. “You will ride my horse and I shall take yours.”
Morar Gopal was a Hindu from the south, almost as black as a nigger, a small, agile little man, weighing scarcely eight stone. It was in order to save his own horse for the later exertions of the day that Heideck wanted his boy to ride him at first.
Only now he perceived that his servant, contrary to his usual habit, was armed. He carried a sword buckled round his waist, and when asked the reason, the Indian answered, with a certain amount of pathos—
“All Hindus will die to-morrow, but I at least will defend myself bravely.”
“What makes you believe that all Hindus must die to-morrow?”
“Oh, sahib! me know it well. The Mohammedans hate the Hindus, and they will kill all of us tomorrow.”
“But this is nonsense. Mohammedans and Hindus will unite as one man to fight the Russians to-morrow.”
The Indian shook his head.
“No, sahib! The Russians also are Mohammedans.”
“Whoever told you so lied. The Russians are Christians, like the English.”
But however great his confidence in his master might be in general, this time Morar Gopal evidently did not believe him.
“If they are Christians, why, then, should they wage war against other Christians?”
Heideck saw that it would be impossible to explain these things, that were beyond his own comprehension, to the dark-skinned lad. And only a few hours of the night still remaining for sleep, he despatched him to bed.
The first rays of the sun had begun to quiver over the wide plain when the forward march commenced. Heideck, already before dawn of day, was in the saddle, and found time to exchange a few words with Colonel Baird before setting out.
The Colonel occupied that day a position of great importance and responsibility. He commanded a brigade, consisting of two English and one sepoy regiments, the lancers, and a battery. In addition, he was in command of the auxiliaries sent by the Maharajah of Chanidigot, and led by Prince Tasatat, consisting of one thousand infantry, five hundred cavalry, and one battery. The Prince rode out magnificently attired and armed; the hilt and scabbard of his sword sparkled with precious stones, and a cockade of valuable diamonds flashed from his turban. The bridling and caparison of his mount, a splendid chestnut, represented alone a small fortune. His troops were also splendidly equipped, and displayed great confidence. The horsemen carried long pikes, like the English lancers, and wore red turbans, striped with blue. But many had been obliged to enter the lines of infantry in spite of their heavy boots, since a great number of horses, of the Mohammedan as well as the English cavalry, had died in consequence of bad fodder and over-exertion.
The movement of the British army was rather complicated. The English forces were massed in two divisions between Shah Dara and the park of Shalimar. The first comprised the Indian troops, officered by Englishmen; the second the English regiments. In this way seventy-five thousand Indians were to be prevented from running away. Should the first division be compelled to fall back, it would be checked by the twenty-five thousand English. The advance march was commenced in such fashion that the right half of the line of battle, sweeping far round to the right, executed a left wheel, and in this way lengthened the front by about one-third; this was done in order to fill up the gap caused in the centre. The second division was pushed forward into the first, and now formed the centre of the line of battle. At the same time a new second division was formed by leaving in reserve troops of the advancing divisions and massing them behind the left wing of the entire position; the English considered their left wing to be most threatened. Colonel Baird, with his brigade, occupied the centre of the front line of the main position.
Heideck watched many Indian regiments march past, and he could not help perceiving the difference of mood and carriage of Mohammedans and Hindus. Whilst the first maintained a very energetic and very frequently cheerful attitude, the latter allowed the ends of their turbans to hang loose, as a sign of their despair, and marched dejectedly forward, face and head covered with ashes. Morar Gopal’s conception of the fate in store for all Hindus evidently was shared by all.
The wide plain was covered with marching columns of infantry, hosts of cavalry, and heavy, thudding artillery. Whilst the English foot soldiers, in their yellow-brown khaki dress, were hardly distinguishable from the colour of the ground, the cavalry regiments and the troops of the Indian princes looked like gaily coloured islets in the vast and surging sea of the army as it advanced in two divisions.
In obedience to the Colonel’s wish, Heideck kept close to the side of the Commander-in-Chief, whose numerous staff and retinue of servants, horses, and carriages allowed him to mix in the crowd without attracting attention. But the General did not remain long with the centre. In order to gain a clearer survey of the entire movement, and to be able to observe the Russian approach, he rode with his staff and a strong cavalry escort towards the Ravi river. Heideck, accompanied by his faithful servant, attached himself to the escort, and thus was soon far in advance of Colonel Baird’s brigade.
Nothing was as yet to be seen of the Russians, and about three hours might have passed since the beginning of the advance march, when lo! the dull, rumbling thunder of the first cannon-shot rolled over the wide field.
The General reined in, and directed his field-glasses upon the left wing, where the cannonade increased in violence each minute. Another half-hour and the sharp rattle of infantry fire mixed with the heavy rumbling of big guns. No doubt, on the left wing, by Shah Dara, the battle had commenced. Advancing towards the right bank of the Ravi, the Russians threatened to attack Lahore.
The Commander-in-Chief despatched two orderly officers to the right wing and the centre, with the order to accelerate the march. Then he returned with his suite to his former position.
But Heideck could not at once make up his mind to follow. From the moment the first shot had been fired the battle fever had seized him; he was only a soldier now.
He was irresistibly attracted by a building a short distance away, with a slender minaret, from which he hoped to obtain a better view. It was the half-decayed mausoleum of some saint, and Heideck had some trouble to climb up to the top of the minaret, a height of about twenty feet, whilst his servant waited with the horses down below. But the exertion was fully rewarded. He overlooked the flat plains. The sinuous Ravi river was hardly half an English mile distant. Its banks were covered with high grass and thick jungle growth; on the other side of the river immense thickly-packed masses of troops appeared—the advancing Russian army.
Both armies must soon come into collision by the river, for single English cavalry regiments and horse artillery batteries, advancing in a long line, were already in its immediate neighbourhood.
Heideck had seen sufficient to be able to judge of the position of the battle. He climbed down the minaret and mounted his fresh steed, whilst Morar Gopal sprang into the saddle of his own horse. They quickly arrived amongst the British cavalry, deploying in advance of their main army. The advance march was now executed with greatest rapidity. The English batteries dashed forward at the fastest pace the soft ground would permit, unlimbered, and opened fire. Large masses of infantry marched towards the jungle. But from the other side of the river the lively English fire was but feebly returned. Only from the direction of the left English wing, invisible from this point, did the artillery and infantry fire rage with unabated violence.
In consequence, considerable reinforcements were sent to the apparently hard-pressed left wing, and a distinct weakening of the centre took place, without a clear idea having been formed as to the intention of the Russians. Heideck’s conviction was that such probably had been the Russian tactics. He was of opinion that they probably raised a great battle din by Shah Dara, in order to direct the attention of the English to that point, and then deliver their main attack against the centre. He was right; the main forces of the Russians were opposed to Colonel Baird.
Another circumstance he could not explain was the curious fact that the English as well as the Indian infantry regiments halted before the jungle instead of pushing forward to the river. Not even riflemen were sent into it, although the bush was by no means too thick for a chain of riflemen to take cover. The prickly bushes on the river’s bank were sparse enough, and the high grass reaching up to the mens’ shoulders would have made a splendid hiding-place.
By-and-by the English army had executed the movement to the left, and now stood facing the Russian front. One new regiment after the other was drawn from the second division and placed on the left wing, which was believed to be most threatened. The English guns thundered without interruption, but their position might have been better; many fired without being able to see the enemy at all through the thick jungle, and threw away their ammunition prematurely.
The sun shone brightly in the cloudless sky. A slight north-westerly breeze coming from the far distant hills blew the smoke of the powder in clouds back on the English army.
The enemy being thus completely shrouded from view, the infantry stood motionless. A sullen expectation brooded over the colossal forces, who realised danger, but were yet condemned to a torturing inactivity. Suddenly the wild roar of thousands of voices rose from the river, and hosts of cavalry, which before could have been held back by English infantry, broke through the jungles like immense swarms of locusts. Thousands of wild Afghans and warriors from Bukhara, Samarcand, Khiva, and Semiryechensk, combined in the Turkestan divisions, had crossed the river and, wildly crying “Allah! Allah!” hurled themselves upon the English battalions and batteries. Splendidly trained at firing from the saddle, they were terrible foes indeed.
Although the English returned the unexpected attack with crackling volleys, and did not recoil a hair’s breadth from their positions, the Russian lines suffered but small losses in consequence of their open order. One new swarm after the other broke through the jungle, and rushed like an army of devils upon the batteries. A few of these were silenced; the men who served them were killed before they were able to turn their guns against their assailants, so wildly rapid had been this surprise rush of the bold horsemen.
The English cavalry, advancing to a magnificent attack, arrived too late; the weight of the shock was lost, the enemy having already dispersed in all directions. These men understood how to manage their small, rapid horses in a marvellous manner. They seemed like centaurs, and the rapidity with which they broke up their squadron, in order immediately after to close up again at another place in dense masses, rendered a counter attack on the part of the serried ranks of their adversaries almost impossible.
At one time, Heideck, with that part of the staff to which he had attached himself, had been drawn into the shock of battle. He had been obliged to shoot an Afghan, who attacked him, down from his horse, and he would probably, a moment afterwards, have been laid low by the sabre of another, had not the faithful Morar Gopal, who displayed extraordinary courage, just at the right moment made the horseman harmless by a well-directed blow of his sword. The cavalry engagement was still undecided, when lo! in the grass before the jungle were seen a number of glittering sparks. The sharp crack of shots was heard, and their destructive effect showed how admirably the Russian riflemen, who were gradually advancing against the British army, knew how to handle their rifles. The British infantry kept on discharging volleys indefatigably, but no practical result of all this waste of ammunition was apparent. Their targets were too small and too scattered, and the mechanical volleys fired at the word of command had but little effect. Besides this, the Russians had admirable cover, with the variegated jungle as a background, whilst the English stood out sharply against the horizon, and presented an excellent mark. According to their plan, the Russians first of all directed their fire against the men who were serving the batteries. Their well-directed shooting decimated the English artillery to a terrible degree. Scarcely two minutes had elapsed before the order was given to fall back with the guns. As far as was possible, the English harnessed up, and galloped off to take up their position between the infantry battalions, and from there again to open fire. The advance of the English artillery, which had taken place contrary to orders, and which was a result of their over-hasty forward movement, thus showed itself to have been a most disastrous step.
An even stronger and more damaging effect than that of the attack itself, was produced by the ceaseless cries of “Allah! Allah!” which proceeded from the Afghans and the Turkestan cavalry, and penetrated to the Mohammedans who stood in the British lines. Heideck saw quite clearly that, here and there, the Indian soldiers ceased firing as if in obedience to a word of command, and could distinguish how English officers in their excitement struck the men with the flat of the sword and threatened them with the revolver. Obviously, the leaders had lost all influence over the foreign elements under their command. Close to the Commander-in-Chief an English captain was bayoneted by an Indian soldier, and there could be no doubt that similar cases of open mutiny took place amongst the other Indian troops.
The men, who had only followed the orders of the foreign tyrants with the utmost reluctance, evidently believed the moment had come for shaking off the hated yoke, and at the same time the old enmity between the Mohammedans and Hindus, the rivalry between the two religions, which often in times of peace occasioned bloody feuds, burst into open flames. In the midst of the British army duels to the death were fought out between the irreconcilable adversaries. Thus it was unavoidable that the entire discipline became shaken and destroyed.
The battlefield was an awful spectacle. Before the front innumerable wounded, crying out for help, where no help was possible, were writhing in agony, for the retreat of the English artillery had had to be executed without thought of those left behind; wounded horses, wildly kicking to free themselves from their harness, increased the horror of the terrible scene, whilst stray divisions of English cavalry riding amongst them were fired upon by their own infantry out of fear of the advance of the Russian riflemen. Although in war all battlefields present a spectacle of the utmost horror, so that only the excitement of the moment enables human beings to endure it, yet the picture this battle of the advanced lines presented surpassed all imagination. The want of discipline amongst the English lines increased more and more, and the English officers had to fix their whole attention upon their own troops, instead of upon the movements of the enemy. The necessity for this was soon evident.
Prince Tasatat was the first to leave Colonel Baird with his entire force, and openly to march over to the enemy. His example was decisive for the Indians who were still hesitating, and the number of those going over to the enemy increased from minute to minute.
A uniform control of the line of battle had long since become impossible. Colonel Baird gave orders for his guns to open fire upon Prince Tasatat’s company, and, like him, many other commanders fought their own individual battle just as their own judgment prompted. Indian regiments dispersed in all directions, because the men cared less for fighting than for getting booty from the prisoners and wounded. There were hand-to-hand fights in many parts of the battlefield, which, owing to the fanatical rage of the combatants, degenerated into horrible butchery. Those falling into the hands of the Afghans were most to be pitied. For these devils in human shape cut off the heads of all their prisoners and all wounded, whether Mohammedans, Hindus, or English, without any further ado, and in their rapacity tore the valuables from the bodies of the dead and wounded.
A line of fugitives, like an immense stream, passed the English regiments, which still stood firm in serried ranks, making for the plain of Lahore, in order to find protection behind the walls of the fortified city.
In Heideck’s opinion the day was lost to the English, and he prepared himself to die a soldier’s death, together with the brave men surrounding him. With feelings of sincerest admiration he confessed how great was the bravery, and how admirable the discipline that animated the English-born troops. Those regiments and batteries in which no native elements were mingled, stood calm and unshaken amongst all the terrible confusion, and thanks to their bravery, the battle, which opened in such disorder, began to present clear features, like those of the sharp peaks of a chain of mountains appearing above the mist, as it rolls down.
Instead of the semibarbarous horsemen that had opened the attack, new Russian batteries and colossal masses of infantry, with compact companies of riflemen, as well as several regiments of dragoons, now faced the English troops.
The Commander-in-Chief, with about 6,000 men and two batteries, was with the second English division, which had been greatly reduced in numbers. It was evidently his object to retire in good order towards Lahore, and to cover the retreat with his best troops.
He succeeded in withdrawing two smaller bodies from the right and left wing respectively by despatching orderlies. But the first division was so closely engaged with Russian infantry that an orderly retreat was almost impossible.
Notwithstanding this, the Commander was bent on making the attempt to withdraw also the first division of his army. He despatched one of his adjutants to Colonel Baird, who still had perhaps about 2,000 men under his command, with the order to break off the battle and to retire. The young officer saluted with grave face, drew his sword, and galloped away. But he had only traversed a small part of his dangerous journey, a distance of about a mile, when he fell a victim to the call of duty, being attacked and hurled from the saddle by a body of Cossacks mounted on small, rough-haired, but very swift steeds.
The General appeared undecided whether to stake another young life on this hopeless test. Heideck rode up to him and lifted his hand to his helmet.
“Will Your Excellency allow me to ride? I am a friend of Colonel Baird and should be glad of the opportunity of showing him my gratitude for his kindness to me.”
The General sharply scrutinised the gentleman who was unknown to him, who looked like an officer, though not wearing the prescribed uniform; but he did not take the time to question him.
“Ride!” he said shortly. “The Colonel is no longer to hold out; he is to march to the right and retreat towards Lahore—if possible.”
Heideck saluted and turned his horse. He had replaced his revolver in his belt, and returned his sword to its sheath.
Not by the aid of weapons, but solely by the rapidity of his horse could he hope to reach his goal. He gave his steed its head, and encouraged it by calling to it. The animal did not disappoint the hopes placed upon it. It seemed to fly, rather than run over the trampled ground. The Cossacks, who attempted to intercept this single horseman, were unable to reach him. And of all the shots aimed at the bold rider not one reached its mark.
The volunteer orderly reached the brigade without harm. But he was too late; almost at the same moment the collision with the Russian infantry, which, in spite of their losses, had advanced steadily to the attack, took place. In order to sell his life and those of his brave troops as dearly as possible, Colonel Baird had given orders to form a square, in the midst of which the horsemen and the guns were placed. Many officers, leaving the saddle, had picked up the rifles and cartridge-boxes of those that were killed, and, levelling their bayonets, had taken their places in the front rank of the square. Breathing heavily, and covered with perspiration Heideck stopped before the Colonel and made his report.
But the brave Englishman pointed with his hand towards the Russians.
“Impossible,” he said. “We are destined to die upon this spot.”
Then he also dismounted and seized a rifle. From a thousand British throats a loud “Hurrah!” broke forth, for the Russians had reached the square, and a hand-to-hand combat took place.
The horror of this terrible struggle at close quarters, the English fighting with the struggle of despair against a foe outnumbering them many times, impressed itself indelibly upon the memory of the young German. He, too, had drawn his sword, but in spite of his personal relations, his political sympathies were not on the English side.
Suddenly he heard, close to him, a hoarse cry of rage, and, on turning round, perceived to his boundless surprise the face of Captain Irwin, terribly distorted by hatred and fury. He had supposed him to be with the depot in Chanidigot, but Irwin must have found an opportunity of getting away from that command. Indeed, under the existing circumstances, it must have seemed equivalent to a severe censure, and Irwin had attached himself to the troops taking the field. He was now fighting in this death-struggle, rifle in hand, like a private soldier. The red blood staining the point of his bayonet bore eloquent testimony to his bravery. But in this supreme moment his country’s enemies were forgotten in the sight of the mortal foe, the object of his personal hate, by whose courageous action the dastardly plot against Edith had been frustrated. Here were place and opportunity offered for satisfying the thirst for revenge, which consumed him. What mattered the death of a single unit in the midst of this great holocaust?
Before Heideck could divine the intention of the wretched man he was attacked by his bayonet. It was solely the rearing of a frightened horse that saved the Captain’s life; the thrust of the bayonet grazed the animal’s neck. At the same moment the terrible sword-cut of a Russian fell upon Irwin’s unprotected neck (for he had lost his helmet), and with such force that, with a hollow cry, he fell on his face.
Suddenly the curiously altered, now hoarse voice of the Colonel struck Heideck’s ear: “What are you still doing here? Ride, for Heaven’s sake! Ride quickly! If you should see them again, take my last loving messages to my poor wife and children! Stay by them!”
The blood from a deep wound on his forehead was pouring over his face, and Heideck saw that only by the greatest exertion of will could he keep himself on his legs. He wanted to reply, but the Colonel had already again hurled himself into the tangled throng of fighters, and a few seconds later fell under the butt-end blows and sabres of the Russians.
Then Hermann Heideck turned his horse and galloped off.
XIV
IN THE PANIC-STRICKEN CITY
As on his ride to Colonel Baird’s brigade, so also was Heideck on his return threatened by manifold forms of death. Although he successfully and happily avoided all compact bodies of troops on his way across the bloody battlefield, yet single Russian horsemen came up close to him and more than once he heard the shrill whistle of bullets as they whizzed past his head. But in the battle-fever that had seized him he had no thought of danger: all his thoughts were solely occupied with the question as to how he should contrive to arrive at Lahore, in order to fulfil the last request of the Colonel.
Bleeding from several wounds, his brave stallion put forth his utmost efforts to carry his rider safely away from the turmoil of battle. The wounded animal was still able to travel a considerable distance at full gallop. But suddenly he began to slacken his pace and to stumble, and Heideck perceived that his strength was exhausted. He dismounted in order to examine the injuries the horse had sustained, and at once perceived that he could not expect further exertion from the poor brute. In addition to a bayonet-thrust on the neck, it had also a bullet-hole on the left hind flank, and it was from this wound that the blood was principally streaming. In stertorous panting the poor beast laid his head on his master’s shoulder, and Heideck stroked and patted his forehead. “Poor chap—you have done your duty, and I must leave you here behind.” And now, for the first time, the anxious dread overcame him that he, too, would not escape with his life from this battlefield, for he perceived a horseman in Indian uniform approaching him, waving a sword. Heideck drew his revolver from his belt in order to protect himself against his assailant. But he immediately recognised in his supposed enemy his faithful boy, Morar Gopal, who beamed with joy at having by chance again found his master, whom he had believed to be dead. He wanted at once to leave Heideck his horse, and to attempt to make his own way on foot. But the German officer would not accept this unselfish sacrifice on the part of his servant; but he was relieved of the necessity of again separating from his faithful henchman by the fortuitous circumstance that, at that very moment, an English officer’s riderless charger came in sight. The animal, a beautiful chestnut, was uninjured, and allowed itself to be caught without trouble. They were now in a position to continue their flight together, and Heideck resolved to turn towards the left English wing, because, as it appeared to him, the action was there proceeding with less ill-fortune than at other parts of the now totally defeated British army. This was certainly not the shortest way to reach Lahore, but it would have been a foolhardy enterprise to join the wild throng of fleeing troops and their pursuers which was already pouring along the road towards Lahore.
The far-stretching plantations of Shah Dara, lying on both banks of the Ravi, with the bridge of boats connecting them, were, as a matter of fact, still occupied by English troops, who had until now maintained their positions without any severe loss; but they had been, of course, in superior numbers to the Russians confronting them. For the attack upon Shah Dara, with which the battle had opened, had in the main been only a feint; its object being to force the English centre, against which the main attack was to be directed, to send out reinforcements, and thereby fatally to weaken itself. Heideck had seen with his own eyes how completely this plan had succeeded. Now, however, when the victory they had gained made their forces in other positions available for the work, the Russians commenced to attack this position also in superior numbers. Russian battalions from the reserves were being hurried up at the double, and new batteries made their appearance, ready to open fire upon Shah Dara and the mausoleum of Shah Jahangir, which lay to the south of it.
The English on their side were prudent enough not to engage in a hopeless battle of sheer desperation, but began their retreat, whilst they had still time to carry it out in tolerable order.
When Heideck had reached the southern end of the plantations, a regiment of Bengal cavalry was just crossing the pontoon bridge, and Heideck joined it. A Russian shell, which burst right in the middle of the troop, without, however, despite the severe losses it had caused, interrupting the formation, was a clear proof that the situation was here also quite untenable.
With comparatively few losses and without having once been drawn into an engagement, the regiment drew up close under the citadel, which, in the north of Lahore, lies inside the outer works.
But, with dismay, the hapless lancers perceived that the murderous shot and shell were pursuing them even here. Yet the bullets were not intended for them, but for the treacherous Indian troops and the irregular Russian cavalry, which surged up, in wild panic, against the walls. The effect of the fire was, however, none the less disastrous on that account. The English garrison which had remained in the city had closed all the gates, and appeared to have made up their minds to let no one in, either friend or foe. All the same, the commander of the Bengal regiment drew his men together and with irresistible weight forced his way right through the confused, huddling mass of men engaged in hand-to-hand combat beneath the walls. He made straight for one of the gates, and those within happily understood and anticipated his intentions. Confident that the weighty blows and thrusts of the cavalry would beat off the enemy and prevent them from forcing their way in with them, the garrison opened the gate at the critical moment, and, together with his regiment, Heideck and his faithful companion managed to enter the city. The lancers made their way into the citadel, and Heideck and Morar Gopal, who had followed him like his shadow, turned their steps towards the Charing Cross Hotel. It was, however, far from easy to get there; for the streets were packed with an impenetrable mob of howling and gesticulating natives, who were manifestly in the greatest state of excitement. The news that the English had lost the battle had long since reached the city, and the apprehensions which had long been entertained that such tidings could not fail to have a disastrously disquieting effect upon the Indian population, were only too soon seen to be justified. In all the brown faces which he saw directed towards him Heideck clearly read detestation and menace. They naturally regarded him as an Englishman, and it was only his decided manner and the naked sword in his hand that prevented the rabble from venting in a personal attack their rage against one of the hated race of their oppressors.
The door of the hotel was closed, probably because an attack was feared on the part of the natives; but as soon as a white man, who was at once regarded as an English officer, demanded admittance, it was opened. Heideck found most of the officers’ wives and children, who were living in the hotel, assembled in the hall and the dining-room which led from it. The foreboding of a terrible disaster and the fear of coming events, which was perpetually increased by the noise in the streets, did not allow the poor creatures to rest longer in their rooms. Mrs. Baird and Edith Irwin were not, however, among those who thronged round Heideck and, in a hundred confused questions, hoped to obtain from the dust-begrimed man, who had evidently come from the battlefield, news as to how matters stood. Heideck said nothing more than that the army was retreating, bravely fighting the while. It would have been useless cruelty to increase the terror and despair of these unhappy creatures by a detailed account of the whole truth. He had almost to tear himself away by force from this close knot of inquirers, in order to go up to Mrs. Baird’s room. It was the first joyous feeling that he had experienced throughout this disastrous day, when in the friendly “Come in,” in answer to his knock, he recognised Edith Irwin’s voice. The fear that something might have happened to her during his absence had unceasingly tortured him during the last few hours, and for a moment he forgot all the terrors that surrounded her in the rapture which, as he entered, her incomparable beauty awoke in him.
She had risen from the sofa in the middle of the room and stood with a serious, but perfectly composed face, and with bright eyes, which appeared prepared for even the extremest danger. Mrs. Baird was, with her two little girls, in a corner on her knees. So completely was she absorbed in her religious devotions that she had not heard Heideck’s entrance into the room. It was only when Edith exclaimed, “Here is Mr. Heideck, dear friend; I knew he would come,” that she sprang up in great excitement.
“Thank God! You have come from my husband? How have you left him? Is he alive?”
“I left the Colonel, as he was defending himself at the head of his brave troops against the enemy. He bade me give you his love.” He had endeavoured to give a firm tone to his voice. But the sharp feminine instinct of the unhappy woman guessed what was behind his words, intended to give comfort.
“Why don’t you tell me the truth? My husband is dead!”
“He was wounded, but you need not give up the hope of seeing him again alive.”
“If he is wounded, I will go to him. You will conduct me, Mr. Heideck! There must be a possibility of getting to him.”
“I earnestly beseech you, my dear Mrs. Baird, to compose yourself. It is quite natural that your heart should draw you to your husband’s side; but it is quite impossible for you to carry out your intention. The night is drawing on, and even if it were broad daylight nobody would be able to get through the confusion of the retiring army to the place where your husband must be sought.”
“The battle is then lost? Our army is in full retreat?”
“The treachery of the Indian troops is to blame for this disaster. Your countrymen, Mrs. Baird, have fought like heroes, and as a lost battle does not yet mean a lost campaign, they will perhaps soon retrieve to-day’s disaster.”
“But what is to become of us? The wounded will be brought in here, won’t they? Therefore I shall not think of leaving before I see my husband again.”
Her determination to remain in the panic-stricken city would certainly have been impossible to shake by any art of persuasion, but Heideck did not dream of attempting to dissuade Mrs. Baird from her resolve. It was his firm conviction that the flight to Amritsar, which the Colonel had advised in case of a defeat, was, under the present circumstances, quite impracticable. As a matter of fact, there was scarcely anything else possible but to remain in the hotel and patiently await the development of events.
It was now quite impossible for white women and children to trust themselves in the streets in the midst of the excited populace; but Heideck believed that they were, for the present, quite safe in the house, thinking that the fanaticism of the natives would not culminate in an attack upon the hotel so long as any considerable body of English soldiers remained in the town. But only too soon he was compelled to admit that he had under-estimated the seriousness of the situation. A ruddy, flickering flame, which suddenly lit up the room which had been filled by the dying evening glow, caused him to rush to the window, when, to his horror, he perceived that one of the houses on the opposite side of the street was on fire, and that in the adjacent building the tongues of flame had caught the wooden pillars of the verandah. There was no doubt but that the hotel would, within a few minutes, be involved in the conflagration.
Under these circumstances it was impossible to think of remaining longer in the hotel. Its massive walls could, perhaps, withstand the fire for a time, but the biting volumes of smoke, which had already taken Heideck’s breath away when he had opened the window for a moment, would soon render it impossible for human beings to stay longer in the heat. All at once came a heavy knocking at the door, and Morar Gopal, who had been looking for Heideck everywhere in the hotel, entreated his master to make his escape as quickly as possible.
The German officer was fully convinced that he had now to exchange one danger for a peril perhaps even greater. But there was no time for delay or consideration.
“We are in the midst of a fire, Mrs. Baird,” he said. “No one in the general confusion will attempt to stay the raging element, and if you do not wish to be stifled with your children, you must follow me. I hope to be able to bring you, without harm, into the citadel or into some other place of safety.”
Edith Irwin had already taken one of the little girls into her arms; and when the Colonel’s wife was looking about her with a wild expression, as if she wished to try and save some of her precious valuables, Edith emphatically insisted upon her hurrying. “There is nothing more precious than the life of your children. Let everything go, in God’s name!”
The poor woman, whose senses now began to fail her in the terrors of the moment, quietly obeyed the calm instructions of her young friend. The other residents in the hotel had almost all already fled; only a few unhappy women, who had completely lost their heads, wandered about the lower rooms holding all manner of valueless objects, from which they would not part, in their hands. Heideck called to them to follow him. But they hardly understood him, and he had no more time to trouble about the unfortunate creatures.
With a bare sabre in his hand the faithful Hindu endeavoured to make for his master and those under his protection a path through the crowd which was surging around the burning houses. It was now quite dark, and only the red flames weirdly lit up the hideous nocturnal scene. The raging fanaticism of the crowd appeared during the last half-hour to have increased in vehemence. These men, at other times so modest, submissive, and amiable, had suddenly become metamorphosed into a horde of barbarians. Bare sabres and daggers flashed their menaces on every side, and the air was rent by a deafening din. Never before had Heideck seen human beings in such a state of frenzy. With wild gesticulations these dark-skinned fellows were tossing their arms and legs; they gnashed their teeth like wild beasts, and inflicted wounds on their own breasts and limbs in order to intensify their lust of blood by the sight of it.
The two men, by dint of peremptory commands and vigorous blows with the naked sword, forced their way step by step through the crowd. But after a lapse of ten minutes they had scarcely progressed more than a hundred yards. The surging mob around them became even denser and more threatening in its attitude, and Heideck saw it would be impossible to reach the citadel.
With anxious care for the precious human lives entrusted to his protection, he looked about for another place of safety. But the Europeans had firmly barricaded their houses, and none of them would have opened to admit the poor fugitives. On a sudden the wild cries that had almost terrified the crying children to death rose to appalling shrieks and ravings, and a mob of demons, incited by their fanatic passions almost to frenzy, rushed from a side street straight upon Heideck. They had somewhere on their way been joined by a large number of other female fugitives; and the sight of these unhappy creatures made the German officer’s blood run cold in his veins.
The women, among whom were two girls yet on the borders of childhood, had had their clothes torn from their bodies, and they were now being hustled along under such constant ill-usage that they were bleeding from numerous wounds.
Unable further to curb the wrath that rose within him at the sight of this brutality, Heideck took his revolver from his belt, and with a well-aimed shot sent one of the howling, fanatic devils to the ground.
But his action was not well-advised. Although his martial appearance had up till then kept this cowardly crew away from acts of violence against himself and his party, the furious rage of the mob now knew no bounds.
In the next moment the small party found itself hemmed in by a knot of raging black devils, and Heideck was no longer in doubt that it was only a question of bravely fighting to the death. The foremost of the more violent of their assailants he was able to keep off by firing at them the last five shots that remained in his revolver. The last shot snuffed out the light of a black-bearded fellow just at the very moment when he was attacking Edith Irwin with his brutal fists. Then Heideck threw his revolver, useless in that he could not load it afresh, into the face of one of the grinning fiends, and clasping his left arm, which was now free, round Edith, and pressing her tightly to him, carried on a desperate struggle with his sword.
For Mrs. Baird and her children he could do nothing further. Now that he had seen his faithful Morar Gopal fall under the blows of some Mohammedans he felt that they were irretrievably lost. He had seen how the Colonel’s wife had had her clothes torn in shreds from her body; he heard the heartrending cry of anguish with which, under the blows and thrusts of her inhuman torturers, she called for her children. But at all events he was spared the agony of seeing with his own eyes the end of the innocent little girls. They disappeared from his view in the terrible confusion, and as they were besides already half dead from terror, Providence would, at all events, have the pity not to let them feel the tortures of the death which their unfeeling butchers had prepared for them.
And what of Edith?
She was not in a faint. In her features one could read nothing of the anguish of horror that overcomes even the bravest in the face of death. One might imagine that all that was going on around her had lost its terrors since Heideck’s arm held her fast.
But the moment was not favourable for allowing Heideck to feel the pleasurable bliss of her love. His strength was at an end and, although with the exception of a slight injury on the shoulder he was unwounded, he yet felt it intolerably hard to wield the sword whose heavy blows had hitherto kept their assailants (with the exception of some adventuresome spirits, who had paid dearly for their impudence) at a respectful distance. At the very moment that fatigue compelled him to drop his weapon, Edith and he would be given over helpless to the devilish cruelty of this horde of human beasts. That he knew full well, and, therefore, although before his eyes there floated, as it were, a blood-red mist, he collected the last remnant of his strength to postpone this terrible moment yet for a little—All of a sudden something unexpected, something wonderful, happened—something that in his present condition he could not understand at all; innumerable cries of terror and alarm mingled with the frenzied, triumphant howlings of the rage-intoxicated Indians. With the irresistible force of a wave the whole thickly packed swarm of human beings surged forwards and against the houses on both sides of the street. The trotting of horses, loud words of command, the sound of slashing blows were heard, and the bodies of bearded cavalrymen were visible above the heads of the crowd.
It was a squadron of Cossacks which was mercilessly hewing its way through the crowd. The town was then actually in the hands of the Russians, and orders had evidently been given, the better to prevent further massacre and incendiarism, to clear the street of the fanatic mob.
So the fierce-looking horsemen then swept the way before them clear of all obstacles. And they did their business well; for nothing could withstand the blows from the whips fitted at the end of the lash with thin hard sticks, which in their hands became terrible instruments of punishment.
Heideck suddenly saw himself free of his assailants, and as he with Edith pressed against the wall of a house, they remained happily safe from the horses’ hoofs as well as from the blows of the knout which were being dealt out wildly around him.
But the keen eyes of a Cossack officer had perceived the little group amid the great heap of dead and wounded. He rode up to them, and as he thought he recognised in Heideck’s khaki dress the English uniform, he gave certain orders to his men, the meaning of which was soon apparent to them both, for they were at once placed between the horses of two Cossacks, and without knowing whither they were being taken, passed through the streets lit up by the flames of the burning houses.
XV
THE COURT-MARTIAL
The mausoleum of Anar Kali, a great octagonal building in the gardens to the south of the town, was the place whither the Russian prisoners were taken. Heideck and Edith Irwin were not the first that had found quarters there; for, besides about a hundred officers, there were already there numberless English ladies and children whose saviours had appeared in time to rescue them from the horrible fate of Mrs. Baird and her children. At the open door of the apartments reserved for the women Heideck and Edith Irwin had to part. They were not allowed a long time to take leave. But even if they had been altogether alone they would at this moment have been scarcely able to find much to say; for after all the exertions and excitements of the terrible day just ended such heavy fatigue and exhaustion had overcome them that they could only mechanically make use of their limbs; and so, instead of the passions, hopes, and fears, with which they had been moved but a short time previously, there was now only a dull void in their brains as in their hearts.
“Au revoir, to-morrow.” That was all that passed between them. Then, as soon as they had conducted him into the room assigned to him, Heideck threw himself down, as he was, upon the tiles of the floor, and fell instantaneously into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The glorious Indian sun, which shone through the round opening in the ceiling down upon his face, woke him the next morning.
His limbs were stiff from his uncomfortable couch, but the short sleep had invigorated him, and his nerves had completely regained their old freshness and vigour.
His room-mates must have been taken away early to some other place, for he found himself quite alone in the lofty room which was only lighted by the window in the ceiling. The rays of the sun fell opposite to him upon a tomb of the purest, whitest, marble quite covered with illegible hieroglyphics. Whilst he was still engaged in looking at the apparently ancient memorial tablet, he heard suddenly behind him the light rustling of a woman’s dress, and when he turned round he gazed with pleasurable surprise into Edith Irwin’s pale, fair face.
“How delighted I am to find you still here,” she said with a happy expression. “I was afraid that you had been taken away with the other prisoners.”
“As it seems, it was out of consideration for my well-deserved slumber,” he replied, with a slight trace of humour. But then, remembering the terrible seriousness of the situation, he continued in altered and hearty tones—
“How have you passed the night, Mrs. Irwin? It appears to me as if all that I have gone through since my return to Lahore has only been a dream.”
With a painful quiver of the lips she shook her head.
“Unfortunately, there is no room for doubt that it has been hideous reality. Poor, poor Mrs. Baird! One must almost consider it a happy dispensation of Providence that her husband did not live to see the terrible fate of his family.”
“What, have you news from the field of battle? Do you then know that the Colonel is dead?”
Edith nodded.
“The Colonel is dead; my husband is dead; Captain McGregor, and many of my friends from Chanidigot, have been left on the field.”
She said it calmly; but he read in her eyes the deep sadness of her soul.
Much affected by her heroic strength of character, he bent his head and kissed her hand. She let him have his way for a moment, but then withdrew her thin, cool fingers with a beseeching look, the meaning of which he full well understood.
“The Commander-in-Chief and his staff reached the railway station,” she continued; “they travelled to Delhi with the last train that left Lahore, just at the eleventh hour; for immediately afterwards the Russians entered the town. The wreck of the army is now marching to Delhi, but their pursuers are close at their heels. God alone knows what will be the fate of our poor defeated army.”
He did not ask her where she had obtained all this information; but that it was quite correct he was firmly convinced, judging by his own experience. He did not know what to say to her to encourage her, he who never had been able to toy with empty phrases. A short while they remained silent, and their eyes simultaneously fell upon the sunlit marble tomb before them.
“Have you seen this cenotaph before?” the young lady suddenly asked, to Heideck’s surprise. On his answering in the negative, she went on—
“This is the famous tomb of Anar Kali, the beloved wife of Sultan Akbar, who, on account of her beauty, was given the name of ‘Pomegranate Blossom.’ She probably departed this life in the same way that we should have done if the daggers of the murderers yesterday had reached us. She, perhaps, was just as little conscious of what was happening to her, as we should have been in this past night.”
“Can you read the inscription?” asked Heideck.
“No, but I have had it interpreted to me; for it is one of the most famous inscriptions in India. The beautiful Anar Kali was once so foolish as to smile when the son of her lord and master entered the harem. And in the selfsame hour the jealous sultan had the unhappy woman executed. But he must have loved her very dearly, for he erected to her this beautiful memorial, which should hand down to generations yet unborn the name of Anar Kali. So full of insoluble riddles is the poor, foolish heart of man.”
Jingling footsteps were heard on the flagstones outside, and the next moment an officer appeared at the door accompanied by several soldiers. In abrupt, peremptory tones he ordered Heideck to follow him.
Now, for the first time, the Captain saw in Edith Irwin’s face something like an expression of terror.
“What is the meaning of this?” She turned hastily to the Russian. “This gentleman is not an Englishman.”
The Russian did not understand the question in English; but when Heideck asked in Russian what they were about to do with him, he replied, shrugging his shoulders—
“I do not know. Follow me.”
“They only want me to prove my identity,” said Heideck composedly, in order to calm the young lady. “I hope that they will let me free after examining my passports.”
“Certainly they must let you go!” she cried, almost passionately. “It would be against all the laws of nations if they were to do you any harm. But how shall I endure the uncertainty as to your fate?”
“I shall come back here at once, as soon as it is possible for me to do so.”
“Yes, yes! I beseech you, do not leave me a second longer than you are obliged. I have not as yet had time to thank you.”
The Russian officer showed such manifest signs of impatience that Heideck no longer hesitated to follow him.
The way that he had to go was not long. He was taken to a house close by, over whose gate the words “School of Arts” were sculptured in the stone. He had only to wait a short while in the hall, when before him there opened the door of a room on the ground floor, adorned with sculptures, in which a number of officers sat at a long table. To Heideck it was at once clear that he was to be tried before a court-martial. A few very downcast-looking men had just been led out. The officer who presided turned over the papers which lay before him, and then, casting a sharp look at Heideck, spoke a few words with his comrades.
“Who are you?” he asked in English, with a decided Russian accent, which was difficult to understand.
Heideck, who also spoke in English, answered shortly and clearly, and laid his passport, which he always carried in the breast-pocket of his coat as his most valuable possession in ease of emergency, before the Colonel.
As soon as he had read it, the President said in perfect German—
“You are, then, no Englishman, but a German? What are you doing here in India?”
“I am travelling for the firm of Heideck, in Hamburg.”
“In business? Really? Is it part of your business to fight against Russia?”
“No! and I have not done so.”
“You deny, then, that you took part in yesterday’s battle?”
“As a combatant, yes! There were other reasons which led me to the battlefield.”
“You only went as a spectator? Didn’t it occur to you that, under the circumstances, this might be very dangerous for you?”
“I have personal relations with several gentlemen in the English army, and these relations made it necessary for me to visit them during the battle.”
The Colonel turned to a young officer standing a little distance away—
“Lieutenant Osarov, is it true that you recognised in this man, when he was brought in here last night, a person whom you saw in an English square during the progress of the battle?”
“Yes, Colonel, I did!” was the decided reply. “I recognise him now quite clearly. He was riding a black horse, and dashed off when we broke into the square.”
Heideck perceived that it would be useless to deny the fact, in the face of this direct evidence, and his military honour would, in any case, not have permitted him to do so.
“What the lieutenant has said is quite correct,” he answered, anticipating the Colonel’s question; “but I did not take part in the fighting. As a friend of Colonel Baird, who was killed, I kept as long as possible close to him, so as to be able to bring his relations, who were left behind in Lahore, tidings of his fate and of the issue of the battle.”
“You, a foreigner, were armed in the English square. Since you confess this much, we need not trouble ourselves with further proceedings. You, gentlemen, will all agree that we should treat him, according to martial law, as a traitor?”
The last words were addressed to the other judges, and, with a silent bow, they declared their assent.
“Since you, a citizen of a nation not at war with us, have fought in the ranks of our enemies, the Court must therefore sentence you to death. The judgment of the Court will be at once carried into effect. Have you anything to say?”
Heideck was as though stunned. It appeared to him as though a black veil was drawn across the world; and a sharp pang of grief shot through him as he reflected that he would never see Edith again, and that she would in vain wait for him for ever.
Then his pride was roused. No one should call him cowardly or timid.
“Is it possible to appeal against the judgment of this court-martial?” he asked, looking firmly at the Colonel.
“No!”
“Then I must, of course, submit to your sentence, but I protest both against the procedure of the Court and against the judgment you have pronounced.”
His protest evidently did not make the slightest impression.
“Have you drawn up the execution warrant?” the Colonel said, turning to the secretary. He then appended his signature and handed it to one of the attendant Cossacks.
“Lead the prisoner away.”
Two of the soldiers took Heideck between them, and he followed them with a proud, erect bearing, without saying a word more. Amidst the rain of bullets on the battlefield he had not felt the least trace of fear; but the thought of being led like an animal to the slaughter-house, filled him with horror. All the same a power he had hitherto not discovered, sustained him. The new danger awoke in him new vigour of soul and spirit.
The Cossacks conducted him a long way on the road which leads from Anar Kali to the Meean Meer cantonment. Heideck looked about him and observed the changes that had taken place in Lahore, just like a traveller who already in spirit lives in the new world that he intends to visit and who looks upon familiar objects as something strange. Everywhere he saw small detachments of cavalry, who were preserving order. Only faint clouds of smoke still marked the place of the fire in the city, which had evidently been extinguished. The splendid gardens of Donald Town, through which their way led, the agricultural plantations, and Lawrence Park wore the same aspect as in the time of profoundest peace.
Heideck was not chained, but the Cossacks who walked beside him had their carbines presented, ready to fire should he attempt to escape. But how could he escape? Everywhere round and about, outposts of the Russian cavalry were discernible; behind him a body of Cossack horse escorted a whole troop of Indians. Probably they were incendiaries and robbers who were, like him, being led out for execution; and it did not improve his frame of mind to find himself on his last road in the company of such a crew.
After a long march they at length reached the encampment which had been occupied by the English, the barracks and tents of which were now filled with Russian troops. It was only with difficulty that his escort could make their way through the crowd that had assembled; the report that a number of criminals were being brought into camp must have arrived here before them, for soldiers of all arms pressed forward inquisitively from all sides, in order to have a close view of the poor wretches.
Suddenly, Heideck felt the clutch of a small but firm hand upon his arm.
“Oh, master, what is this? Why are they bringing you here like a prisoner?”
At the first word Heideck recognised the soft voice, that in the excitement had assumed its natural feminine tones. In the same fantastic page’s livery in which he had last seen him in Chanidigot, the pretended servant of his friend Prince Tchajawadse here stood quite unexpectedly before him, as though he had suddenly sprung from the earth, while the most pained consternation showed itself in his fair, expressive face.
“Is it you, Georgi?” exclaimed Heideck, into whose sadness of heart the sight of the Circassian brought a faint gleam of hope; “and your master—the Prince? Is he also close at hand?”
But the Cossacks did not seem inclined to permit their prisoner any further private conversation.
“Be off with you, young fellow!” one of them exclaimed to the supposed page; “this is a spy, who is to be shot on the spot; and no one is allowed to speak to him.”
He made a movement as though with a slight motion of his powerful fist to thrust the slender lithe figure aside, when Georgi fearlessly pushed back his arm and glared at him with flashing eyes.
“Hold your blasphemous tongue, you liar! You are a thousand times more of a spy than this gentleman. If you do not leave go of him at once, you will have a knouting that you will not forget until the end of your life!”
The Cossacks looked at him and laughed. It was only the handsome face and the aristocratic bearing of the bold young fellow that prevented their seizing him.
“Take care, little fellow, that you do not first get the stick,” one of them said good-humouredly; “and be off with you, before we, by accident, crush you between our finger and thumb.”
“Go now, Georgi,” Heideck now said, in his turn, on perceiving that the Circassian was not inclined to obey their orders; “if your master is near by, go and tell him that I am about to be shot against all the rules of international law. But tell him to make haste, if he wants to see me again alive; for it looks as though his comrades intend to make short work of me.”
He did not doubt that the beautiful, hot-blooded daughter of the mountains had completely understood him. At all events he saw how she suddenly turned like a flash of lightning, and with the lithe rapidity of a slender lizard threaded her way through the crowd of rough soldiers.
A new hope awoke in Heideck’s breast, and he felt himself once more fettered in a thousand bonds to life, which he just before thought he had entirely parted from. He endeavoured to walk more slowly, in order to gain time. But the Cossacks, who had until now treated him with a certain amount of consideration, appeared to have become irritated by the scene with the page, for one of them urged the prisoner in commanding tones to greater haste, while the other raised his fist in his face with a menacing gesture.
Perhaps he would even have struck him; but the German officer looked into his face with such a proud, commanding glance that he let his raised arm sink to his side. The sullen-looking fellow felt at once that he was not here dealing with an ordinary spy, and from this moment neither curses nor abuse passed his lips.
The rattle of a rifle volley struck Heideck’s ear, and although he was sufficiently accustomed to the crack of shots, a cold shiver passed over him. The bullets that had just been fired had—he knew it well without anyone telling him—been the portion of some poor devil who had been in the same position as himself. That was why these rifle shots were so full of a significance for him, quite different from that caused yesterday by the rattle and the crash of the raging battle. Truly, one need not be a coward to feel an icy shudder at the thought of ten or twenty rifle barrels directed at one’s own breast.
And now they had reached the fatal spot which was to be the goal of all his earthly wanderings. The parade at the rear of the barrack camp had been selected for the place of execution, and so summarily was the punishment being dealt out, that no time had been found to cart away separately the corpses of those who had been shot. They simply left them lying in the trench before which the delinquents were posted, probably because burial in a common grave was more convenient.
An officer was handed the execution warrant, which had been issued by the President of the court-martial, and handed over the prisoner to a non-commissioned officer, who, regarding him with an expression of pity, bade him in an almost apologetic tone to follow him.
Only a few minutes after his arrival on the parade ground, Heideck also was standing before the fatal ditch, and saw a company of infantry, with their arms at attention, drawn up before him.
He had now abandoned all hope. Since the verdict of the court-martial only a miracle could have saved him; and this miracle had not happened. For a few short minutes he had, after the accidental meeting with the Circassian, been foolish enough to entertain new hopes of life, but now even those had vanished. Even had she been animated by the keenest desire to save him, what, after all, could she do to make the impossible possible? He was sorry now that he had not confined himself to begging the Prince through her to allow him decent burial and to send word to the German General Staff. These last wishes would, perhaps, have not been impossible of fulfilment, and he did not doubt that his amiable Russian acquaintance would have gladly rendered him this trifling service.
The word of command rang out, and the soldiers posted opposite to him had already, with clank and rattle, shouldered arms, when from the other side a loud peremptory shout reached Heideck’s ear, and he saw a horseman in Russian dragoon’s uniform dashing up, in whose dark red face he immediately recognised the Prince Tchajawadse.
Close before Heideck he reined in his dripping charger and sprang from the saddle.
“Little brother! little brother!” he cried, quite breathless from his ride in such hot haste, clasping, with genuine Russian impetuosity, his friend, whom he had found again under such strange circumstances, to his breast. “By all the saints—I should think it was quite time that I came!”
Then, turning to the astonished officer commanding the firing squad—
“There must be a mistake here. No harm must happen to this gentleman, for he is not only a personal friend of my own, but he is also a comrade, an officer of the allied German army.”
The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders.
“I have to carry out my orders, Colonel! I can undertake no responsibility for any mistakes on the part of my superior officers or of the court-martial.”
“I take, then, all the responsibility on my own shoulders for preventing you from carrying out your instructions, lieutenant! This gentleman will accompany me, and I give my guarantee for him.”
He gave his horse to one of the soldiers, linked his arm in that of Heideck, and took him off to the tent he occupied in the camp, giving the while most exuberant expression to his delight at having seen him again. The breakfast, from which Georgi’s message had startled him, was still on the table, and Heideck needed not much encouragement to partake of it; for only now he properly realised how much he was in want of bodily sustenance. Prince Tchajawadse would not hear of any thanks for what he had done; but when Heideck asked him if he had really correctly understood that the Prince had spoken of an alliance between the Russian and German armies, the latter was not slow to give all information on this head.
“Yes! yes!—it is the fact! The German Empire is hand-in-hand with us. The first piece of good news that I heard on reaching the army was that William II. had declared war upon England. The world is in flames. Only Austria and Italy are neutral.”
“And I had no notion of it! But, after all, that is easy enough to explain. All the telegraph cables are in the hands of the English, and it was easy for them to suppress every unwelcome despatch. The Indian newspapers are only allowed, of course, to publish what is agreeable to the Government; but I am burning with curiosity to learn more. Do you perhaps know how matters have developed as yet, and in what way Germany thinks of carrying on the war?”
“It appears that an invasion of England is contemplated. Germany has mobilised one half of her army, and has occupied Holland. The French troops, on the other hand, have entered Belgium, so that the two Powers control the whole coast opposite England.”
“And has any action taken place at sea as yet?”
“No; at least down to the present no news has reached us of a naval battle having been fought. Things are evidently still in the stage of preparation, and nothing has been heard about the movements of the German and French fleets. However, the latest intelligence that I have is now fairly old. We with the army only learn the news that the Cossacks bring us.”
Heideck struck his forehead.
“I feel utterly astonished. To comprehend and digest at one time all that you have told me almost passes the capacity of a single brain. But pardon me, Prince, if I trouble you, who have already done so much for me to-day, with a further request. I am in great anxiety about a lady, the widow of an English officer who fell in yesterday’s battle, and who was committed to my care. I only left her this morning early, when I was arrested to be taken before the court-martial, at the mausoleum of Anar Kali, where she had been interned with other prisoners. Advise me what to do, in order to send the lady, whose welfare is nearest my heart, a reassuring message as to my fate, and at the same time shield her from annoyance and discomfort.”
“That is a very simple matter. Do you object to giving me the name of the lady?”
“Not at all. It is Mrs. Edith Irwin, the widow of Captain Irwin, whom you also perhaps met in Chanidigot.”
“I think I have some recollection. There was something about a gambling affair, with which he was not very creditably connected—wasn’t it so? Well, then, while you take a good sound sleep in my tent here I will ride over to Anar Kali, visit the lady, and find out how she is situated. Be quite sure that no unpleasantness shall happen to her, if only I succeed in finding her.”
“Your kindness puts me quite to shame, Prince. I—”
“You would do precisely the same if fate had happened to have exchanged our roles. Why, then, waste words about it? I cannot, unfortunately, offer you a more comfortable couch than my camp-bed there. But you are a soldier, and I think both of us have, before now, had a worse shakedown. So, then, pleasant dreams, my friend! I will take care that you are not disturbed for the next two hours.”
Hurriedly, as though to escape all further expressions of gratitude, the Prince left the tent.
XVI
THE PROFESSOR
Sound though Heideck’s sleep was, the confused din that penetrated through the sides of the tent would have recalled an unconscious person to life. Confused and drowsy as he was, he hurried out just in time to prevent a wild-looking, dark-skinned Indian from dealing a heavy blow with a thick staff, which he held in his right hand, upon a thin, black-garbed gentleman, who was surrounded by a whole band of natives. The European, with his emaciated, beardless face, looked like a clergyman, and all the greater was Heideck’s surprise that none of the Russian non-commissioned officers and soldiers, who were spectators of the assault, raised a hand to protect him. It was certainly not his duty to act in this place as one in authority, but the danger in which he perceived this perfectly defenceless man to be, made him forget all personal considerations. With a menacing shout he drove off the excited Indians, and, taking the stranger’s arm, led him into the tent.
None of the Russian military prevented his doing so. He had been seen in confidential conversation with the Colonel, and his position as a friend of the Prince procured him respect.
The stranger, half dead from fear, gratefully accepted the glass of wine which Heideck poured out for him, and, having recovered somewhat, thanked his protector in simple, but cordial terms. He introduced himself as Professor Proctor, of Acheson College, and explained that he had come to the camp to look after a relation who had probably been seriously wounded. He had on a sudden found himself threatened by a band of excited Indians, who were probably misled by his dress to take him for a cleric.
“You, also, are no Russian, sir. Judging from your accent, I should take you for a German.”
Heideck assented, and narrated his history in a few words. Having done so, he could not help expressing his amazement at the attack of which the Professor had been the victim.
“Never during my whole stay in India have I ever before observed any outburst of hatred on the part of the Indian natives against the English clergy,” he said.
To this the Professor replied: “Even a few days ago not one of them would, I should think, have had anything to fear; but in the face of such terrible upheavals as are now taking place all ideas are thrown into confusion, all slumbering passions are unfettered. I do not venture to think of the horrors that will take place throughout the whole of India now that the bridle that curbed the people has been rent asunder; and the worst of all is that we have only ourselves to blame.”
“Do you mean on account of the carelessness with which the defence of the country was organised?”
“I do not mean that alone. Our fault is that we have ignored an eternal truth, the truth that all political questions are only the external expression, the dress, so to say, of religious questions.”
“Pardon me, but I do not quite follow the sense of your words.”
“Please consider the slow, steady advance of the Russians in Asia. Every land that they have brought under their sway—all the immense territories of Central Asia have become their assured, undisputed possessions. And why? Because the Russians have known how to win over the hearts of their subject races, and how to humour their religious views. The victors and the vanquished thus better assimilate. The English, on the other hand, have governed India purely from the political side. The hearts of the various races in India have remained strange and hostile to us.”
“There may be some truth in what you say. But you must allow that the English have in India substituted a new civilisation in return, that inculcates a spirit of intellectual progress, and I conceive that no nation can for any length of time remain blind in the face of higher ideals. All history forms a continuous chain of evidence for the truth of this statement.”
“The word ‘civilisation’ has various significations. If it is only a question of investigating whether the government and administration of the country have improved, the answer is that the civilisation we brought to India has, beyond all doubt, made enormous strides, in comparison with the conditions that obtained in former centuries. We have broken the despotism of the native princes, and have put an end to the endless sanguinary wars which they waged with each other and with their Asiatic neighbouring despots. We have laid down roads and railways, drained marshes and jungles, constructed harbours, won great tracts of lands from the sea, and built protecting dams and piers. The terrible mortality of the large cities has considerably decreased. We have given them laws assuring personal security and guaranteeing new outlets for trade and commerce. But the aspirations of our English Government have been purely utilitarian, and as regards the deeper-lying current of development no progress is anywhere perceivable.”
“And, pray, what do you exactly mean by this?”
“Your views in this matter are possibly divergent. I discern in most of our achievements in India only another manifestation of that materialism which has ever proved the worst obstacle to all real development.”
“It appears to me, Mr. Proctor,” Heideck interrupted, with a smile, “that you have become a Buddhist, owing to your sojourn in India!”
“Perhaps so, sir, and I should not be ashamed of such a creed. Many a one, who on first coming here regarded India with the eyes of a Christian, has, on nearer acquaintance, become a Buddhist. Greek wise men once expressed the wish that kings should be chosen from among the philosophers. That may possibly be an unrealisable hope, but I do not believe that a ruler who has a contempt for philosophy will ever properly fulfil the high duties of his station. A policy without philosophy is, like an unphilosophical religion, not established on firmer ground than those houses there on the river Ravi, whose existence is not safe for a single day, because the river at times takes it into its head to change its course. A government that does not understand how to honour the religious feelings of its people, does not stand more securely than one of those huts. The fate that has now overtaken the English is the best proof of what I say. We are the only power in Asia that has not founded its political sway upon the religion of the people. In our folly we have destroyed the habitual simplicity of a nation, which, until our coming, had been content with the barest necessities of life, because for thousands of years past it cared more about the life after death than for its earthly existence. We have incited the slumbering passions of this people, and by offering to their eyes the sight of European luxury and European over-civilisation, have aroused in them desires to which they were formerly strangers. Our system of public instruction is calculated to disseminate among all classes of the Indian race the worthless materialistic popular education of our own nation. Of all the governors and inspectors of schools who have been sent hither by England not a single one has taken the trouble to penetrate beneath the surface of the life of the Indian people and to fathom the soul of this religious and transcendentally gifted race. What contrasts are not the result! Here a holy river, priests, ascetics, yogis, fakirs, temples, shrines, mysterious doctrines, a manifold ritual; while side by side, without any transition, are schools wherein homely English elementary instruction is provided, a State-supported university with a medical school and Christian churches of the most varied confessions.”
“But how would it have been possible to combine in a school modern scientific education with Indian fanaticism?”
A superior smile flitted across the professor’s intellectual face.
“Compare, I pray you, the tiresome trivialities of English missionary tracts with the immortal masterpieces of Indian literature! Then you will understand that the Indian, even when he approves Christianity as a system of morals, demands a deeper and wider basis of these morals, and inquires as to the origin of the Christian doctrine; and then he very soon finds that all light which has come to Europe started from Asia. Ex oriente lux.”
“I am not sufficiently well informed to be able to answer you on this point. It may very well be that even Christianity was not the offspring of Judaism alone, but of Buddhism. It may also be the case that the teachings of our missionaries of to-day are too insipid for the Indians. But the metaphysical needs of a people have, after all, little to do with sound policy and good laws. Think of Rome! The Roman state had most excellent laws, and a magnificent political force which for centuries kept it in its predominant position among the nations of the world. But what of religion and philosophy in Rome? There was no state religion whatsoever; there was no priestly hierarchy, no strict theological codex, but only a mythology and worship of gods, which was of an eminently practical character, and it was owing to their practical common sense—or, as you would prefer to call it, materialism—that the Romans were enabled to found an organised society upon purely human needs and aspirations. And why should what they were enabled to achieve be impossible again for other nations who have succeeded them in their world-power? The spirit of the age is ever changing, yet it is only a regularly recurring return of the same conditions, just as the planets in the heavens, ever again in their orbit, come back to their old positions.”
“And supposing the ‘Zeitgeist,’ like many planets, does not move in a circle but in a spiral line? The British world-sovereignty has, as we see, taken a higher flight than did the Roman. Could not this British world-power, by permeating wise diplomacy with the profound idea of Indian philosophy, have attained to a great reformation of the whole of the human race? It would have been a glorious idea, but I have here learnt how far they were from its realisation.”
“All the same, I do not think that the English army would have been defeated by the Russian, had they not fought in accordance with the rules of antiquated tactics.”
“Oh, sir, if the Indian troops had fought with their whole soul for England we should never have sustained this defeat.”
“As a soldier, I am inclined to dispute that. The Indians will never be a match for a well-disciplined European army. The race is wanting in too great a measure in military qualities.”
“The Indian people is, by nature, it is true, gentle and good-hearted. In order to render it wild and bloodthirsty it must be wounded in its most sacred feelings.”
“Perhaps you judge it rather too mildly. Decided traces of barbarism still linger in this people, even in its highest circles. Here is a case in point that I am able to quote of my own personal knowledge. An Indian prince, before the outbreak of the war, attempted to carry off, by his servants, an English lady from her home, and bribed an assassin to poison the English resident, who rebuked him for his conduct.”
The Professor was astounded.
“Is it possible? Can such things be? Have you not perhaps been deceived by an exaggerated report?”
“I myself was close at hand, and observed all that took place, and can give you, the names. The lady upon whom this dastardly attempt was made is Mrs. Edith Irwin, who had followed her husband, a captain in the lancers, to the camp of Chanidigot.”
The astonishment of the Professor visibly increased.
“Mrs. Edith Irwin? Is it possible? The daughter of my old friend, the excellent Rector Graham? Yes, beyond doubt, it must be the same, because she was married to a captain in the lancers.”
“Since yesterday she is this officer’s widow. He fell in the battle of Lahore, and she herself is among the prisoners interned in Anar Kali.”
“Then I must endeavour to find her, for she has a claim, for her father’s sake, upon my assistance. But, certainly, for the moment,” he observed, with a somewhat melancholy smile, “I am myself in the greatest need of protection.”
“I believe you may be perfectly easy in your mind as to this lady. My friend, Prince Tchajawadse, has just now ridden over to Anar Kali in order, at my request, to look after the lady.”
He had not concluded the sentence when the tall form of the Prince made its appearance at the entrance of the tent. His downcast face presaged no good news. He advanced to Heideck and shook his hand.
“I am not, unfortunately, the bearer of any good news, comrade. I have not discovered the lady whose guardian you are.”
“What! Has she left? And you could not learn whither she is gone?”
“All that I have been able to elicit is that she was driven off in an elegant carriage, in the company of several Indians. An English lady who saw the occurrence told me this.”
A fearful dread overcame Heideck.
“In the company of Indians? And does nobody know whither she was taken? Did she leave no message for me or anyone else?”
“The lady had no opportunity of speaking to her. She saw the departure at a distance.”
“But she must have noticed whether Mrs. Irwin left the mausoleum of her own free will or under compulsion?”
The Prince shrugged his shoulders.
“I cannot, unfortunately, say anything about that. My inquiries were without result. Neither any one of the English prisoners or of the Russian sentries was able to give me further information.”
XVII
DOWNING STREET
A meeting of the Cabinet Council was being held at the Foreign Office in London. With gloomy faces the Ministers were all assembled. The foreboding of a catastrophe brooded over England like a black cloud; all manner of rumours of disaster were current in the land, and coming events were awaited with sickening dread.
“A telegram from the general in command,” said the Prime Minister, opening the paper he held in his hand. A deadly silence fell upon the room:
“With painful emotion, I communicate to His Majesty’s Government the news of a great reverse I suffered the day before yesterday at Lahore. I have only to-day reached Delhi with the remnant of my army, which has been pursued by the Russian advance guard. We had taken up a very favourable position on the left bank of the Ravi and were on the point of preventing the Russian army from crossing the river, when unexpectedly a violent onslaught made upon our left wing at Shah Dara compelled us to send reinforcements to this wing and thus to weaken the centre. Under the cover of jungle on the river-bank, the Russian cavalry and the Mohammedan auxiliaries of the Russian army succeeded in forcing the passage and in throwing our sepoy regiments into disorder. The troops of the Maharajah of Chanidigot traitorously went over to the enemy and that decided the day against us. Had not all the sepoy regiments deserted, I could have maintained my ground, but the English regiments under my command were too weak to resist for long the superior numbers of the enemy. The bravery of these regiments deserves the highest praise, but after a battle lasting several hours I was compelled to give the order to retreat. We fell back upon the city of Lahore, and I contrived to convey a portion of my troops by railway to Delhi. This city I shall defend to the bitter end. Reinforcements are being sent from all military stations in the country. The extent of our losses I am unable to give at the time of writing. I have been able to bring five thousand troops intact to Delhi.”
The reading of this terrible report was succeeded by a chilling silence. Then the Minister of War arose and said:—
“This despatch certainly comes upon us as a staggering blow. Our best general and his army, composed of the flower of India’s troops, have been defeated. We may rightly say, however, that our power is still established on a firm basis, so long as England, this seagirt isle, is safe from the enemy. No defeat in India or in any one of our colonies can deal us a death-blow. What we lose in one portion of the world, we can recover, and that doubly, in another, so long as we, in our island, are sound in both head and heart. But that is just what makes me anxious. The security of Great Britain is menaced when we have almost the whole world in arms against us. A strong French army is standing ready opposite Dover to invade us, and a German army is in Holland also prepared to make a descent on our coasts. I ask what measures have been taken to meet an attack upon our mother country?”
“The British fleet,” replied the First Lord of the Admiralty, “is strong enough to crush the fleets of our enemies should they dare to show themselves on the open seas. But the Russian, French, and German navies are clever enough to remain in harbour under the cover of the fortifications. We have, too, fleets in the Channel, one of ten battleships and eighteen cruisers, and the necessary smaller vessels, told off to engage the German fleet; and a second, a stronger force, of fourteen battleships and twenty-four cruisers, destined to annihilate the French fleet. A third fleet is in the harbour of Copenhagen in order to prevent a union being effected between the Russian and German fleets. The plan of sailing for Cronstadt has been abandoned, from the experiences of the Crimean War and the fear that we should be keeping our naval forces too far apart. Our admirals and captains will, owing to the Russian successes, be convinced that England’s honour and England’s very existence are now at stake. When in the eighteenth century we swept the sea power of France from all the seas and vanquished the fleet of the Great Napoleon, the rule was laid down that every defeated admiral and captain in our navy should be court-martialled and shot, and that even where the victory of our ships of war was not followed up and taken the utmost advantage of, the court-martial was to remove the commander. The time has now arrived when those old, strict rules must be again enforced.”
“According to the last Admiralty reports,” said the First Lord of the Treasury, “the fleet consists of twenty-seven new ironclads, the oldest of which is of the year 1895. The ironclads of 1902, the Albemarle, Cornwallis, Duncan, Exmouth, Montagu, and Russell, as well as those of 1899, Bulwark, Formidable, Implacable, Irresistible, London, and Venerable are, as I see from the report, constructed and armed according to the latest technical principles. Are all the most recent twenty-seven battleships with the Channel fleet?”
“No; the Albion, the Ocean, and the Glory are in other waters. The twelve newest ironclads which your lordship mentioned are included in both Channel fleets; in addition, several older battleships, such as the Centurion, Royal Sovereign, and Empress of India are in the Channel. I may say with truth that both the Channel Squadrons are fully suited for the tasks before them. We have, besides, twenty-four ironclads of an older type, all of which are of excellent value in battle.”
“Among these older ironclads are there not many which are equipped with muzzle-loaders?”
“Yes, but a naval battle has yet to determine whether the general view that breechloaders are more serviceable in action is correct or not. In the case of quick-firing guns it is certain that the breechloader is alone the right construction; but in our heaviest guns, which have a bore of 30.5 centimetre, and require three to four minutes to load, the advantage of quick-firing is not apparent, for here everything depends upon accurate aim, so that the heavy projectile may hit the right place. For this purpose clever manoeuvring is everything. Moreover, the battles round Port Arthur show us the importance of the torpedo and the mine. The Russian fleet has met with its heaviest losses owing to the clever manoeuvring and the superior torpedo tactics of the Japanese. It looks as if in modern naval battles artillery would prove altogether inferior to mines, and here our superiority in submarines will soon show itself when we attack the fleets of Germany and France in their harbours. Only a naval engagement between our squadrons and those of the French and Germans can teach us the proper use of modern ships of war. And it will be a lesson, a proper lesson for those misguided people who dare expose themselves to the fire of a British broadside and the attack of our torpedo and submarine boats. Let the steel plating of the vessels be as it will, the best cuirass of Great Britain is the firm, true breast of Britons.”
“When I hear these explanations,” the Colonial Minister interjected, “I cannot suppress the suspicion, that the whole plan of our naval strategy is rotten.”
“I beg you to give your reasons for your suspicion,” the First Lord of the Admiralty replied, somewhat irritated.
“It has ever been said that England rules the waves. Now the war has been going on for a considerable time and I perceive nothing of our boasted supremacy.”
“How can you say so? Our enemies’ commerce has been completely paralysed, while our own ships carry on their trade everywhere as freely as ever.”
“That may be the case, but by naval supremacy I mean something quite different. No naval victory has as yet been gained. The enemies’ fleets are still undamaged: until they are annihilated there is always a danger that the war may take a turn prejudicial to us. Only the struggle on the open sea can decide the issue. If the English fleet is really supreme, she can force the enemies’ ships to a decisive action. Why do we not blockade the French and German fleets in their harbours, and compel them to give us battle? Our guns carry three miles, we can attack our enemies in their harbours. What is the meaning of this division of our fleet into three squadrons? Our whole fleet ought to be concentrated in the Channel, in order to deal a crushing blow.”
“The right honourable gentleman forgets that a combination of our fleet would also entail the concentration of our enemies’ fleets. If we leave our position at Copenhagen, a strong Russian fleet will proceed from Cronstadt and join the German warships in the Baltic. This united fleet could pass through the Kaiser Wilhelm Canal into the North Sea. England in its naval preparations has always adopted the ‘two power standard,’ and although we have aimed at the ‘three power standard,’ our resources in money and personnel are not capable of fitting out a naval force superior to the fleets of the now three allied Powers. All the same, our own prestige holds these three Powers so far in check that they dare not attack us on the open seas. Should we not be hazarding this prestige in provoking a naval battle without a definite chance of success? This naval battle will take place, but the favourable moment must be carefully chosen. Considering the present state of the war, it would be in the highest degree frivolous to stake all upon one throw of the dice. Well, that is exactly what we should be doing were we to force on a naval conflict. If the attack failed, if our fleet suffered a defeat, England would be then exposed to the invasion of a Continental army. It is true that our fleet is weakened by being split up, but the same is also true of the fleets of our enemies, so that this apparent disadvantage is equalised. We must keep on the watch for the moment when some alteration of the present situation permits us to attack our enemies’ fleets with a superior force.”
“There might be a way of enticing the German fleet into the open,” maintained the Colonial Minister. “Let us send an ironclad squadron to Heligoland and bombard the island and its fortifications until it crumbles into the sea. The acquisition of Heligoland was the Emperor William’s darling idea, and this monarch will take good care that Heligoland does not disappear from the earth’s surface. But if, in spite of the bombardment of Heligoland, the Germans do not come out into the open sea, let us send our fleet up the Elbe and lay Hamburg in ashes. Let our warships put to sea from Copenhagen and destroy Kiel harbour and all the German coast towns on the Baltic. Then the German fleet will soon enough put out to meet us!”
“This plan has already been considered, and will perhaps be acted upon. There are, however, two difficulties in the way. First of all, by the destruction of unfortified towns we should be conjuring up odium against us, which—”
“Nonsense! there is no ‘odium’ for a victor! England would never have attained its present might and grandeur had it allowed itself to be deterred by a too delicate regard for humanity and the law of nations from taking practical steps.”
“Well, and then there is, at any rate, the second consideration.”
“And that is, my lord?”
“A battle of ships, even though they have the finest possible armour, against land fortifications, is always a hazardous undertaking, and more especially when the coasts are defended by innumerable mines and torpedo boats. Moreover, ironclads are very expensive, and are, in a certain sense, very fragile things.”
“Fragile things?”
“The Germans have removed all their light-ships, all their buoys, and, like the French, the German ports are also defended by mines. An ironclad, given calm sea, is strong as against another ship, but the nature of its build makes it weak in a storm and in insecure waters. An ironclad, owing to its enormously heavy armament, goes to the bottom very rapidly, as soon as it gets a heavy list either on the one side or the other. Again, owing to its enormous weight, it can never ram another vessel for fear of breaking to pieces itself; if a torpedo strikes its armour, or if the ship runs upon a mine, the explosion will send it to the bottom with greater ease than it would a wooden ship of a century ago. And then, if it runs on a shallow or a rock it cannot be brought off again. Moreover, its supply of coal requires to be constantly renewed, so that it cannot be sent on long expeditions. Our ironclads have their own specific purpose—they are intended for a naval battle. But they are like giants, are rendered top-heavy by their own weight, and are thus easily capsized, and the loss of an ironclad battleship, apart from the effect it might have upon our chances in the war, entails the loss of more than a million pounds. The cruisers, again, I would not without urgent necessity expose to the steel projectiles of a Krupp’s coast battery. Let us take care not to suffer the smallest disaster at sea! It would be as dangerous for our prestige and for our position as a world-power as a steel shot would be for the water-line of one of our ships of war.”
The Colonial Minister was silent. He had nothing to urge against these objections.
“Our Indian troops are greatly in need of reinforcements,” began the Prime Minister again. “We must put English soldiers into the field, for we cannot rely longer upon the sepoys.”
“Certainly,” said the Minister of War, “and drafts are constantly being despatched to Bombay. Forty thousand men have been embarked; of these more than twenty thousand have been landed in India; the remainder are still on the sea. A great fleet is on the road, and eight ironclads are stationed in Aden to meet any attack upon our transports. But it is really a question whether we are well advised in still sending more troops to India. My lords! hard as it is for me to say so, we must be prudent. I should be rightly accused of having lost my head if I did more than bare prudence demanded. Great Britain is denuded of troops. Now, I know full well, and England also knows it full well, that an enemy will never plant his foot on these shores; for our fleet assures us the inviolability of our island, but we should not be worthy of our responsible positions were we to neglect any measure for the security of our country. Let us, my lords, be cowards before the battle, provided we are heroes in it! Let us suppose that we had no fleet, but had to defend England’s territory on land. We must have an army on English soil ready to take the field; failing this, we are guilty of treason against our country. The mobilisation of our reserve must be further extended. Ten thousand yeomen, whom we have not yet summoned to the ranks, are to-day in a position to bear arms and wave the sword. To-day every capable man must be enlisted. The law provides that every man who does not already belong to a regular army or to a volunteer corps can, from eighteen to fifty years of age, be forced to join the army, and thus a militia can be formed of all men capable of bearing arms. If His Majesty will sanction it, I am ready to form a militia army of 150,000 men. I reckon for India 120,000 men, for Malta 10,000, for Hong Kong 3,500, for Africa 10,000, 3,000 for the Antilles, for Gibraltar 6,000, and 10,000 more for Egypt, apart from the smaller garrisons, which must all remain where they are at present; I shall then hope, after having called up all volunteers and reserves, to be in a position to place an army of 400,000 men in the field for the defence of the mother country.”
The First Lord of the Treasury shook his head. “Do not let us be lulled by such figures into false optimism! Great masses without military discipline, unused to firearms, with newly appointed officers (and they chosen, moreover, by the men whom they are to command), troops without any practical intelligence, without any understanding of the requirements of modern warfare, such are the men, as I understand, we are to place in the field against such splendid troops, as are the French and German. Whence should we get our artillery? In 1871 we saw the result, when masses of men with muskets were pitted against regularly disciplined troops. Bourbaki was in command of an army that had been disciplined for months gone by, and yet his host, although they took the field with cavalry and artillery, suffered enormous losses on meeting an army numerically inferior, yet well-organised, and commanded by scientific and experienced officers. They were pushed across the frontier into Switzerland, like a great flock of sheep pursued by a bevy of wolves.”
“But they were French, and we are Englishmen!”
“An Englishman can be laid low by a bullet as well as a Frenchman. The days of the Black Prince are past and gone, no Henry V. is to-day victorious at Agincourt, we have to fight with firearms and magazine rifles.”
“The Boers, my lord, showed us what a brave militia is capable of doing against regular troops.”
“Yes, in the mountains. The Tyrolese held out in the same way against the great Napoleon for a while. But England is a flat country, and in the plain tactical strategy soon proves its superiority. No, England’s salvation rests entirely on her fleet.”
A despatch from the Viceroy of India was handed to the Prime Minister: “The Viceroy informs His Majesty’s Government that the Commander-in-Chief in Delhi has massed an army of 30,000 men, and will defend the city. The sepoys attached to his army are loyal, because they are confined within the fortifications and cannot flee. The Viceroy will take care that the Mohammedan sepoys shall all, as far as possible, be brought south, and that only Hindu troops shall be led against the Russians. Orders have been given that the treacherous Maharajah of Chanidigot, whose troops in the battle of Lahore gave the signal for desertion, shall be shot. The Viceroy is of opinion that the Russian army will have to halt before Delhi in order to collect the reinforcements which, though in smaller numbers, are still coming up through Afghanistan. He does not doubt that the English army, whose numbers are daily increasing by the addition of fresh regiments, will, when massed in the northern provinces, deal the Russians a decisive blow. The Commander-in-Chief will leave to General Egerton the defence of Delhi, and concentrate a new field army at Cawnpore, with which it is his intention to advance to Delhi. All lines of railway are now constantly engaged in forwarding all available troops to Cawnpore.”
“This news is, at all events, calculated to inspire new courage,” said the Prime Minister after reading the telegram, “and we will not disguise from ourselves the fact, my lords, that we need courage now more than ever. This new man in Germany, whom the Emperor has made Chancellor, is arousing the feelings of the Germans most alarmingly against us. He appears to be a man of the Bismarck stamp, full of insolent inconsiderateness and of a surprising initiative. We stand quite isolated in the world; Russia, France, and Germany are leagued against us. Austria cannot and will not help us, Italy temporises in reply to our advances, says neither ‘yes’ nor ‘no,’ and seeks an opportunity of allying herself with France and wresting the remainder of the Italian territories from Austria and of aggrandising herself at the expense of our colonies. Yet, whenever England has stood alone, she has always stood in the halo of glory and power. Let us trust in our own right hand and in the loyalty of our colonies, who are ready to come to our aid with money and men, and whom, after our victory, we will repay with all those good gifts that His Majesty’s Government can dispense.”
“Our colonies!” the Minister of the Board of Trade intervened. “You are right, they are ready to make sacrifices. Only I am afraid that those sacrifices which the Right Honourable the Minister for the Colonies demands of them will be too great, and that, having regard to the tendency of the modern imperialism of our Government, they will not believe in those rewards that are to be dangled before their eyes.”
“My lord,” replied the last speaker, “I am considered an agitator, and am accused of being responsible for the present perilous position of England. Well, I will accept that responsibility. Never in the world’s history did a statesman entertain great plans without exposing his country to certain risks. I remind you how Bismarck, after the war of 1866 had been fought to a successful issue, said that the old women would have beaten him to death with cudgels had the Prussian army been defeated. But it was not defeated, and he stood before them as a man who had united Germany and made Prussia great. He exposed Prussia to the greatest risks, in that by his agitation he made almost the whole world Prussia’s enemy, declared war upon Austria and upon the whole of South Germany, and forced the latter eventually to engage in the war against France. England at that time pursued the luckless policy of observing and waiting for an opportunity, merely because no agitator conducted its policy. Had England in 1866 declared war against Prussia, Germany would not to-day be so powerful as to be able to wage war upon us. Since those days, profound changes have taken place in England itself, and entirely owing to the growth of the German power. Since the fall of Napoleon, we have not troubled ourselves sufficiently about events upon the Continent, but in our proud self-assurance have thought ourselves so powerful, that we only needed to influence the decisions of foreign governments, in order to pursue our own lines of policy. But this self-assurance suffered a severe shock in the events of 1866 and 1870, and England has, and rightly enough, become nervous. The Englishman down to that period despised the forward policy of the Continental powers. This is no longer the case, but, on the other hand patriotic tendencies are at work even in England itself, which are branded by the weak-minded apostles of peace as chauvinistic. Let that pass, I am proud to call myself a chauvinist in the sense that I do not desire peace at any price, but peace only for England’s welfare. The patriotic tendencies of our people have been directed into their proper channel by my predecessor Chamberlain. And has not the Government for the last thirty years hearkened to these patriotic feelings, in that, whether led by Disraeli or Gladstone, it has brought about an enormous strengthening of our defensive forces both on land and sea? These military preparations, whilst not only redounding to the advantage of the motherland, but also to that of the colonies (which they shall ever continue to do) have saddled the mother country with the entire burden of expenditure. But how shall the enormous cost of this war be met for the future? How shall the commerce of the English world-empire be increased in the future and protected from competition, if the colonies do not share in the expense? I vote for a just distribution of the burdens, and maintain that not England alone but that the colonies also should share in bearing them. The plan of Imperial Federation, a policy which we are pursuing, is the remedy for our chronic disease, and will strengthen the colonies and the mother country in economic, political, and military respects. Certainly, my lords, such utterances will appear to you to be somewhat impertinent, at a time when a Russian army has invaded India and our army has suffered a severe defeat, but I should wish to remind you that every war that England has yet waged has begun with defeats. But England has never waged other than victorious wars since William the Conqueror infused Romanic blood into England’s political life and thus gave it a constitution of such soundness and tenacity that no other body politic has ever been able permanently to resist England. We shall again, as in days of yore, drive the Russians out of India, shall force the fleets of France, Germany, and Russia who are now hiding in their harbours into the open, annihilate them, and thwart all the insolent plans of our enemies, and finally raise the Union Jack as a standard of a world-power that no one will for evermore be able to attack.”
XVIII
THE YOUNG RUSSIAN CAPTAIN OF DRAGOONS
The news of Edith’s kidnapping—for, in Heideck’s opinion, this was the only explanation, because she would otherwise have left a message for him—fell upon Heideck as a crushing blow.
He remembered the terrible cruelties narrated of the period of the Sepoy mutiny. And he only needed to remember his own experiences in Lahore to be convinced that all those horrible stories were no exaggeration, but, rather, well within the actual truth of the facts.
But if it was not a like fate that awaited Edith Irwin, yet perhaps another ignominious lot would be hers, and this could not fail to appear, to the man who loved her, more terrible even than death itself.
His alarm and deep despondency had not escaped the notice of the Prince. He laid his hand sympathetically on Heideck’s shoulder, and said—
“I am really quite miserable, comrade! for I now see what you and the lady are to each other. But perhaps you make yourself uneasy without cause; the departure of the lady is capable, perhaps, of a quite simple explanation.”
Heideck shook his head.
“I do not entertain any hope in this respect, for everything points to the fact that the Maharajah of Chanidigot is the man who has got the lady into his power. This sensual despot has for months past schemed how to obtain possession of her. What, in Heaven’s name, is to be done to free the unhappy creature from his clutches?”
“I will inform the General, and doubt not that he will institute an inquiry. If your supposition is correct, the Maharajah will, of course, be compelled to set the lady free. But I doubt if this is the case. The despot of Chanidigot is at present far away.”
“That would not prevent others from acting on his orders. And do you really believe that your General would, for the sake of an English lady, offend an influential Indian prince, whose alliance would at this present moment be very advantageous for Russia?”
“Oh, my dear friend, we are not the barbarians we are held to be in Western Europe. We do not intend to be behind the rest of the world in chivalrous actions, and we certainly should not begin our rule in India by allowing execrable deeds of violence to take place before our very eyes. I am convinced that the General does not in this matter think differently from myself.”
“You do not know what a great comfort it is to me to hear that; for I shall myself be unable to do anything more for Mrs. Irwin. Since I know that Germany is engaged in the war, I can have no further interest but to join my army as quickly as possible.”
“Of course! A soldier’s duty first. But how shall you manage to get to Germany? It will be a devilish hard job.”
“I must try all the same. Under no circumstances could I remain quietly here.”
“Well, then, let us consider matters. The best plan would be for you to return by sea from Bombay or some other port, like Calcutta, Madras, or Karachi. Karachi is nearest. It has even been given the name of the Entrance Gate to Central Asia. And from Lahore, Quetta, or Mooltan, Karachi can be most readily reached by the railway. Steamship communication between Karachi and Europe is only possible by way of Bombay; there is thence no other direct line of steamers than that plying up the Persian Gulf. You must accordingly go by one of the English steamers of the P. and O. line, which start twice a week. The French Messageries Maritimes, which usually sail between Karachi and Marseilles, will, of course, have long since discontinued their services. You could, therefore, just as well go by railway to Bombay. Via Calcutta or Madras would be a roundabout journey.”
“And I should be entirely dependent upon the English steamship lines?”
“I consider it quite out of the question that the ships of the North German Lloyd or the Austrian Lloyd are still running.”
“Then I shall have to give up the idea of this route altogether. For if I am not to make use of a forged passport, which, moreover, will be very hard to obtain, no English steamer will take me as a passenger.”
“That is certainly very probable,” the Prince rejoined, after some thought. “And then—how are you to get to Bombay? The English are, of course, destroying all the railways on their line of retreat.”
“Well, so far as that is concerned, I could go on horseback.”
“What! right through the English army? and at the risk of being arrested for a spy? Are you not aware that the conquered are, as a rule, smarter at shooting those whom they regard as spies than are the victors?”
Heideck could not suppress a smile.
“In this respect the promptness of the Russian procedure could scarcely be excelled. But I allow, that your fears are quite justified. Accordingly, only the road to the north remains open.”
“Yes, you must go to the Khyber Pass on an empty train or with a transport of English prisoners, and then on horseback through Afghanistan to the frontier, and thence again by railway to Kransnovodsk. Your journey would then be across the Caspian to Baku or by railway by way of Tiflis to Poti on the Black Sea and thence by ship to Constantinople. But, my dear comrade, that’s a very long and arduous journey.”
“I shall have to attempt it all the same. Honour commands; and you yourself say that there is no other route than that you have described.”
“Right!—I will take care you are provided with a passport, and will request the General to furnish you with an authority which will enable you to have at any time an escort of Cossacks upon our lines of communication through Afghanistan—But—”
A gleam of pleasure in his face showed that in his view he had hit upon a very happy thought—“Might there not, perhaps, after all be found some solution which would save you all this exertion? The Germans and the Russians are allies. In the ranks of our army you would also be able to serve your fatherland. And an officer who knows India as well as you, would be invaluable to us at the present time. I will, if you like, speak at once with the General; and I am certain that he will not hesitate a moment to attach you to his staff with the rank that you hold in the German army.”
Heideck shook his friend’s hand with emotion.
“You make it difficult for me to thank you as you deserve. Without your intervention, my existence would have come to an inglorious close, and the proposal you now make to me is a new proof of your amiable sympathy. But you will not be vexed if I decline your offer—will you? It would certainly be a great honour to serve in your splendid army, but you see I cannot dispose of myself as I would, but must, as a soldier, return to my post irrespective of the difficulties I may have to encounter. I beg you—Lord! what’s that? in this land of miracles even the dead come to life again.”
The astonishment that prompted this question was a very natural one, for the lean, dark-skinned little man who had just appeared at the entrance of the tent was no other than his faithful servant Morar Gopal whom he had believed to be dead. Round his forehead he wore a fresh bandage. For a moment he stood stock-still at the entrance to the tent, and his dark eyes beamed with pleasure at having found his master again unharmed.
Hardly able to restrain his emotion, Morar Gopal advanced towards Heideck, prostrated himself on the ground, Hindu fashion, in order to touch the earth with his forehead, and then sprang to his feet with all the appearance of the greatest joy.
But Heideck was scarcely less moved than the other, and pressed the brown hand of his faithful servant warmly.
“These lunatics did not kill you after all then? But I saw you felled to the ground by their blows.”
Morar Gopal grinned cunningly.
“I threw myself down as soon as I saw that further resistance was useless. And, because I was bleeding from a wound in the head, they thought, I suppose, that they had finished me. Directly afterwards the Cossacks came, and in front of their horses, which would otherwise have trampled upon me, I quickly scrambled to my feet.”
“You have great presence of mind! But where did you get this fine suit of clothes?”
“I ran back to the hotel—through the back door, where the smoke was not so stifling—because I thought that sahib would perhaps have taken refuge there. I did not find sahib, but I found these clothes, and thought it better to put them on than to leave them to burn.”