The Red Year Part 8

She clapped her hands, and some members of her bodyguard ran forward.

"Throw these troopers into the courtyard," she commanded. "If they resist--"

But the Pathans were too wise to refuse obedience. Not yet had the rebels felt their true power. They sullenly untied Malcolm's bonds, and disappeared. Using eyes and ears each moment to better advantage, Frank was alive to the confusion that reigned in Nana Sahib's abode. Men ran hither and thither in aimless disorder. The Brahmin's retainers were like jackals who knew that the lion had killed and the feast was spread.

The only servants who preserved the least semblance of discipline were those of the Princess Ros.h.i.+nara. It was an hour when the cool brain might contrive its own ends.

"I am, indeed, much beholden to you, Princess," said Frank. "I pray you extend your clemency to my men. I have an escort of six sowars, and a servant. Some of them are wounded. My horse, too, which I value highly--"

He paused. He saw quite clearly that she paid no heed to a word that he was saying. Her black eyes were fixed intently on his face, but she was thinking, weighing in her mind some suddenly-formed project. He was a p.a.w.n in the game on the political chess-board, and some drastic move was imminent.

Some part of his speech had reached her intelligence. She caught him by the wrist and hurried him along a corridor into a garden, muttering as she went:

"Allah hath sent thee, Malcolm-sahib. What matters thy men and a horse?

Yet will I see to their safety, if that be possible. Yes, yes, I must do that. You will need them. And remember, I am trusting thee. Wilt thou obey my behests?"

"I would be capable of little grat.i.tude if I refused, Princess," said he, wondering what new outlet the whirligig of events would provide.

Leading him past an astonished guardian of the zenana, who dared not protest when this imperial lady thought fit to profane the sacred portal by admitting an infidel, she brought Malcolm through a door into a larger garden surrounded by a high wall. She pointed to a pavilion at its farthest extremity.

"Wait there," she said. "When those come to you whom you will have faith in, do that which he who brings them shall tell you. Fail not. Your own life and the lives of your friends will hang on a thread, yet trust me that it shall not be severed while you obey my commands."

With that cryptic message she ran back to the door, which was immediately slammed behind her. Having just been s.n.a.t.c.hed from the very gate of eternity by the Begum's good offices, Malcolm determined to fall in with her whims so long as they did not interfere with his duty.

Although Cawnpore was in the hands of the mutineers and he had lost his despatches, he determined, at all costs, to reach Sir Hugh Wheeler if that fine old commander were still living. Meanwhile, he hastened to the baraduri, an elegant structure which was approached by a flight of steps and stood in the angle of two high battlemented walls.

The place was empty and singularly peaceful after the uproar of the village and of that portion of the palace which faced the Grand Trunk Road.

Overhead the sky was clear and starlit, but beyond the walls stretched a low, half luminous bank of mist, and he was peering that way fully a minute before he ascertained that the garden stood on the right bank of the Ganges. Almost at his feet, the great river was murmuring on its quiet course to the sea, and the mist was due to the evaporation of its waters, which were mainly composed of melted snow from the ice-capped Himalayas.

When his eyes grew accustomed to his surroundings he made out the shape of a native boat moored beneath the wall. It had evidently brought a cargo of forage to Bithoor. So still was the air that the scent of the hay lingered yet in the locality.

Between Bithoor and Cawnpore the Ganges takes a wide bend. At first Malcolm scarce knew in which quarter to look for the city, but distant reports and the glare of burning dwellings soon told him more than its mere direction. So Cawnpore, in its turn, had yielded to the canker that was gnawing the vitals of India! He wondered if Allahabad had fallen. And Benares? And the populous towns of Bengal--perhaps even the capital city itself? The Punjab was safe. Hodson told him that. But would it remain safe? He had heard queer tales of the men who dwelt in the bazaars of Lah.o.r.e, Umritsar, Rawalpindi, and the rest. Nicholson and John Lawrence were there; could they hold those warrior-tribes in subjection, or, better still, in leash? He might not hazard an opinion.

His sky had fallen. This land of his adoption was his no longer. He was an outlaw, hunted and despised, depending for his life on the caprice of a fickle-minded woman. Then he thought of the way his comrades of the 60th, of the Dragoons and the Artillery, had chased the sepoys from the Hindun, and his soul grew strong again. Led by British officers, the native troops were excellent, but, deprived of the only leaders they really respected, they became an armed mob, terrible to women and children, but of slight account against British-born men.

His musings were disturbed by the sound of horses advancing quietly across a paddy field which skirted that side of the wall running at a right angle with the river. It was impossible to see far owing to the mist that clung close to the ground, but he could not be mistaken as to the presence of a small body of mounted men within a few yards. They had halted, too, but his alert ears caught the occasional clink of accouterments, and the pawing of a horse in the soft earth. He racked his brain to try to discover some connection between this cavalry post and the parting admonition given by the Begum Ros.h.i.+nara, and he might have guessed the riddle in part had he not heard hurried footsteps in the garden. They came, not from the door by which he was admitted, but from the Palace itself. Whoever the newcomers were they made straight for the pavilion, and, as he was unarmed, he did not hesitate to show himself against the sky line. For ill or well, he wanted to know his fate, and he determined to spring over the battlements in the hope of reaching the river if he received the slightest warning of hostile intent by those who sought him.

"Is that you, Malcolm?" said a low voice, and his heart leaped when he recognized Mr. Mayne's accents.

"Yes. Can it be possible that you are here?"

He ran down the stone steps. On the level of the garden he could see three figures, one a white-robed native, one a man in European garments, and the third a woman wrapped in a dark cloak. A suppressed sob uttered by the woman sent a gush of hot blood to his face. He sprang forward.

In another instant Winifred was in his arms. And that was their unspoken declaration of love--in the garden of Nana Sahib's house at Bithoor--while within hail were thousands who would gladly have torn them limb from limb, and the southern horizon was aflame with the light of their brethren's dwelling-places.

"Oh, Frank, dear," whispered the girl brokenly, "what evil fortune has led you within these walls? Yet, I thank G.o.d for it. Promise you will kill me ere they drag me from your side again."

"Hush, Winifred. For the sake of all of us calm yourself," said her uncle. "This man says he has brought us here to help us to escape.

Surely you can find in Malcolm's presence some earnest of his good faith."

The native now intervened. Speaking with a certain dignity and using the language of the court, he said that they had not a moment to lose. They must descend the wall by means of a rope, and in the field beyond they would find three of the officer-sahib's men, with his horse and a couple of spare animals. Keeping close to the river until they came to a tree-lined nullah--a small ravine cut by a minor tributary of the Ganges--they should follow this latter till they approached the Grand Trunk Road, taking care not to be seen as they crossed that thoroughfare. Then, making a detour, they must avoid the village, and endeavor to strike the road again about two miles to the north of Bithoor, thereafter traveling at top speed towards Meerut, but letting it be known in the hamlets on the way that they came from Cawnpore.

This unlooked-for ally impressed the concluding stipulation strongly on Malcolm, but, when asked for a reason, he said simply:

"It is the Princess's order. Come! There is no time for further speech.

Here is the rope."

He uncoiled a long cord from beneath his c.u.mmerbund, and, running up the steps, adjusted it to a pillar of the baraduri with an ease and quickness that showed familiarity with such means of exit from a closely-guarded residence.

"Now, you first, sahib," said he to Malcolm. "Then we will lower the miss-sahib, and the burra-sahib can follow."

There was nothing to be gained by questioning him, especially as Mayne murmured that he could explain a good deal of the mystery underlying the Begum's wish that they should go north. The exterior field was reached without any difficulty. Within twenty yards they encountered a little group of mounted men, and Malcolm found, to his great delight, that Chumru, his bearer, was holding Nejdi's bridle, while his companions were Akhab Khan and two troopers who had ridden from Agra. To make the miracle more complete, Malcolm's sword was tied to the Arab's saddle and his revolvers were still in the holsters.

Winifred, making the best of a man's saddle until they could improvise a crutch at their first halt, would admit of no difficulty in that respect. The fact that her lover was present had lightened her heart of the terror which had possessed her during many days.

They were on the move, with the two sharp-eyed sowars leading, when the noise made by a number of hors.e.m.e.n, coming toward them on the landward side and in front, brought them to an abrupt halt.

"Spread out to the right until you reach the river," cried a rough voice, which Malcolm was sure he identified as belonging to Abdul Huq.

"Then we cannot miss them. And remember, brothers, if we secure the girl unharmed, we shall earn a rich reward from the Maharajah."

Winifred, s.h.i.+vering with fear again, knew not what the man said, but she drew near to Malcolm and whispered:

"Not into their hands, Frank, for G.o.d's sake!"

The movement of her horse's feet had not pa.s.sed unnoticed.

"Be sharp, there!" snarled the Pathan again. "They are not far off, and only six of them. Shout, you on the right when you are on the bank."

"None can pa.s.s between me and the stream," replied a more distant voice.

"Forward, then! Keep line! Not too fast, you near the wall."

Frank loosened his sword from its fastenings and took a revolver in his left hand, in which he also held the reins. He judged Abdul Huq to be some fifty yards distant, and he was well aware that the fog became thinner with each yard as he turned his back on the river.

"Take Winifred back to the angle of the wall," he whispered to Mayne.

"You will find a budgerow[8] there. Get your horses on board, if possible, and I shall join you in a minute or less. If I manage to scatter these devils, we shall outwit them yet."

[Footnote 8: A native boat.]

It was hopeless, he knew, to attempt to ride through the enemy's cordon. There would be a running fight against superior numbers, and Winifred's presence made that a last resource. The most fortunate accident of the deserted craft being moored beneath the palace wall offered a far more probable means of escape. What blunder or treachery had led to this attack he could not imagine. Nor was he greatly troubled with speculation on that point. Winifred must be saved, he had a sword in his hand, and he was mounted on the best horse in India. What better hap could a cavalry subaltern desire than such a fight under such conditions?

In order not only to drown the girl's protest when her uncle turned her horse's head, but also to deceive opponents, Frank thundered forth an order that was familiar to their ears.

"The troop will advance! Draw swords! Walk--trot--charge!"

Chumru, though no fighting-man, realized that he was expected to make a row and uttered a bloodcurdling yell. Inspired by their officer's example the two sowars dashed after him with splendid courage. They were on their startled pursuers so soon, the line having narrowed more quickly than they expected, that they hurtled right through the opposing force without a blow being struck or a shot fired. As it chanced, no better maneuver could have been effected. When they wheeled and Frank managed to shoot two men at close range, it seemed to the amazed rebels that they were being attacked from the very quarter from which they had advanced.

Under such conditions even the steadiest of troops will break, and at least endeavor to reach a place where their adversaries are not shrouded in a dense mist. And that was exactly what occurred in this instance.

Nearly all the mutineers swung round and galloped headlong for the landward boundary of the paddy field. Shouting to his two plucky a.s.sistants to come back, Frank called out to Chumru and bade him join them. He was hurrying towards the corner of the palace grounds when a shriek from Winifred set his teeth on edge.

"I am coming," he cried. "What has happened? Where are you, Mayne?"