CONTAINING EXTRACTS FROM THE RAJAH'S DIARY, WITH HOOSANEE'S
RECOLLECTIONS
The rajah, as it will have already been guessed, had discovered a
secret way of leaving his palace. Starting from a well, or small
chamber underneath his sleeping room, it led out through a long
subterranean gallery to another well, most secretly contrived beyond
the principal gate of the city. Ganesh, who had discovered it by
accident, had made use of it to open communications with Dost Ah Khan.
Believing that the rajah would accept the rebel chief's invitation
to a conference, he had set everything in readiness for a departure
this way. With regard to Tom's adventures on the perilous journey thus
initiated I have been fortunate in securing narratives both by himself
and his attendants. I have said that, in Gumilcund, he had given up
recording the events of his daily life in his diary. No sooner had he
left the State, regaining, as it seemed to him then, his old identity,
than the necessity, which in some natures is so strong, of completing
his life by throwing its incidents into a mental picture, reasserted
itself. He wrote hurriedly day after day, on the tablets he carried
with him, and as they, with the rest of his diary, have been confided
to my keeping, I am able to give some extracts from them here.
* * * * *
'_July_ 1857.--The die is cast. For better or for worse, and I cannot
now decide which it is. I have cast off the shackles which, for these
many days, have bound me. I am thinking, acting, living, in my own
person. And the strange part of it is that, with everything to make me
uneasy and miserable, I am happier far and more tranquil than I have
been for weeks. That is why I am writing now.
'It is deep night, and we are halting--Hoosanee and I--in the midst of
a forest, while Ganesh, our guide, goes on to make arrangements for our
admission into the fort, which is held, as I hear, by Dost Ali Khan. I
have his safe-conduct, presented to me at Delhi, on my person. Ganesh
tells me that it has already saved me from death once, that had I not
had it about me, the soldier Abdul--my gaoler on the White Ranee's
march--would certainly have killed me. Possibly it may save me again.
In any case I can do no other than I have done. Whatever the issue may
be, I must await it with fortitude. Grace, I believe, is in that fort.
I will leave it with her, or I vow before God that I will not leave it
at all. If she is dead, which I cannot and will not believe, then I
will return to Gumilcund, and give myself up to my people, letting them
do what they will with me.
'The night passes slowly. Ganesh is long away. I wonder if he really
means well by us, or if this is merely a trap laid out for our
destruction. It may be. Chunder Singh was sure of it. And he knows
the native character much better than I do; but as I cannot draw back
now, and would not if I could, I must not dream of failure. There are
other things to think of. In these quiet moments, solitary except
for Hoosanee, who crouches at my feet--the litter in which I have
been travelling at rest, and my little reading-lamp making a tent of
light in the dark forest--I have time and opportunity for thought.
In Gumilcund I could not think. That sense, half oppressive, half
exultant--ah! has it not been a great illusion? I feel so free, so
natural now: my life has become so simple--one thought in my mind--one
will animating me--one object at my heart--that I cannot but believe I
have been tormenting myself in vain. And, indeed, can it not be easily
explained? This idea of a double personality was the clever stroke of
policy of a clever and subtle brain that sought to project itself into
the future. And no doubt, having allowed myself to fall into it, I have
been able to do more for the people of Gumilcund and for my own people
also than would otherwise have been possible. So far it has been well.
But it cannot surely last for ever. It began--stay--did it begin here?
Did it even begin on board the "Patagonia"? Before ever I met Chunder
Singh--the very night after I received news of my inheritance, I had
my first vision. The next was when I opened the papers that were so
mysteriously lost. If then the others resulted from my intercourse
with Chunder Singh, what was the origin of them? Some solution of the
mystery may come to me by-and-by; it seems to me now as if there was
only one way in which that question could be answered.
'But I hear footsteps in the wood; I must put my pen down.'
* * * * *
The following entries are undated; but I know that they belong to this
period.
* * * * *
'What a terrible--what a bewildering day this has been! I have been
thinking--I have been talking--I have been pleading--I have been
protesting--till I scarcely know where I am or what I am doing, and--I
tremble as I write the words--I am no nearer the accomplishment of my
object than I was when I arrived.
'One thing, however, seems certain. Dost Ali Khan, though he would
give worlds to detach me and my State from the English alliance, has
no wish or intention of injuring me personally. I confess, after all I
have heard of the perfidy of Asiatics, I am a little astonished at the
gratitude I have met with for very small favours.
'But I must try to put it all down in detail. It may be useful for
future reference.
'Early this morning I was carried into the fort. Refreshments were
placed before me; I was allowed to adjust my dress, and then I was
led by Ganesh into the presence of the chief, in whom, although his
appearance was much changed, I at once recognised the high-caste youth
I had fed and sheltered in my tent at Delhi.
'He was alone, having dismissed his captains. The place in which he
received me was a court, open to the sky and surrounded by galleries,
in one of which I distinctly saw a veiled lady sitting. My heart leapt
into my mouth, for I thought it might be Grace; but I came to the
conclusion presently that it was not Grace but Vivien, who had, as I
knew, completely thrown in her lot with the rebels.
'The chief greeted me with perfect courtesy, saying that this was an
honour to which he had long been looking forward. I, feeling myself in
his power, answered after the same courteous fashion, and after this
little preliminary fencing he began to speak about the curious and
critical state of affairs in the country. I would not interrupt him,
being anxious to know precisely what his views were, and I confess it
was a little strange to me to hear views, set forth ably, and urged
with no little eloquence, diametrically opposed to those I have been
accustomed to hear and to support since I came to India. For, according
to him, the English overlordship has been a mistake from beginning to
end. It has failed in strength, in sympathy, in suitability to the
people of the land. That, sooner or later, it would be swept away, to
be replaced by a more congenial rule, he did not for one single moment
doubt; and he strongly advised me either to go back quietly to my own
country, or if, being an Englishman, I desired still to rule Asiatics,
to make up my mind frankly to throw in my lot with them. A countrywoman
of mine, and he smiled in a very strange way, had come prudently to
this latter determination; and he did not think she repented what she
had done.
'To all this I listened as quietly as I could, not attempting a word of
contradiction.
'He asked me straightly if I would join them. I answered that I could
do nothing without the consent of the elders of my people. Did I wish
them well? he went on to say. I said that I was not sufficiently
acquainted with their principles and aims to be able to answer such
a question. I was, as he very well knew, the faithful servant of the
Government to which I owed my advancement. Dost Ali Khan smiled at
this, and said my boldness pleased him. He said, further, contradicting
some of his previous assertions, that if the English had behaved to him
as they had behaved to me, he would never have taken part against them.
He then asked me if I had heard that the British army, on their way to
relieve Lucknow, had met with a serious defeat, and been forced to fall
back upon Cawnpore. I said boldly that no such rumour had come to me,
and that even if it had I should not have believed it. I knew indeed
that General Havelock was retreating; but his reason was insufficiency
of troops, and not defeat in battle.
'So, for a full hour, we fenced with one another, for I knew the
Oriental character, and while burning to speak of my beloved Grace, I
would not court defeat by rushing upon her name.
'Dost Ali Khan spoke of her first. As this is important, I am trying to
put down in my own language a perfect transcript of his words, and of
my own answers.
'"I am to understand, then," he said suddenly, "that my brother has
come hither in obedience to my message?"
'I answered briefly in the affirmative.
'He looked at me searchingly. "I gave you to understand," he went on,
"that the Englishwoman of whom you are in search was in my hands."
'I answered quietly, fighting down, as best I could, my fiery
impatience, "I trusted in Dost Ali Khan's honour. Have I done wrongly?"
'"Let us wait a moment," said the wily fellow, laughing after a fashion
that made my blood run cold. "I do not say that she is in my hands, and
into such a war as ours honour does not enter. Have your friends and
allies acted honourably with me?"
'"_I_ have sought to do so," I said.
'"You? That is true, and, if you stood alone, I would do what I could
to gratify your desires. But you belong to the cause for which you are
fighting. I must therefore use you as I would this weapon if I had it
in my hand and saw a deadly foe in front of me. Enough of preamble! Say
this fair Englishwoman is in my hands, what price would you give me for
her?"
'"My life," I cried passionately.
'He smiled grimly. "Well spoken!" he said; "but wide of the mark. My
brother's life is of no value to me. I prefer his friendship."
'I paused for a moment. It was difficult to think--difficult to
speak--with this terrible excitement at my heart. At last I said slowly:
'"My personal friendship is yours. Give her up--let us go away together
safely, or, if you prefer it, send her to Gumilcund under, a fitting
escort, and I give you my word that so long as I live I will be
grateful to you."
'"Those are fine words," said Dost Ali Khan, and the eyes that he fixed
upon my face seemed to glitter strangely. "But I care little for words.
How will my brother show his gratitude? Will he be on my side?"
'"You know I cannot," I answered. "But this I will promise. When this
mad attempt of yours ends, as end it must, in ruin to yourself, and the
dispersion of those who now call themselves your friends, I will stand
by you as a friend may, and plead your cause with our Government."
'Scarcely suffering me to finish, he sprang to his feet. "You are
bold," he said with a harsh laugh. "Failure? Ruin? Who dares to speak
of them here? Remember that you are not in your own encampment at
Delhi, sheltered by the English power. You are in my dominions."
'I looked him full in the face. "That," I said, "gives me courage to
speak what I believe to be the truth. Would my brother have me lie to
him because he is strong and I am weak?"
'The dull red which had overspread Dost Ali Khan's dark face died down,
and his fierce eyes fell. "My brother has spoken well," he said, "and I
apologise to him for my heat. But it is dangerous, let me tell him, to
browbeat a man in his own house."
'"I should prefer it," I answered, "to browbeating him in mine."
'"Come," he said, with a smile, "that is a good reproof. I have not
forgotten Delhi. Give me your hand and say what you will."
'Thus encouraged, I thanked him for his goodwill and kindly
remembrance, set forth my errand in a few simple words, and besought
him not to delay me any longer. By obeying his summons, I said, I had
risked everything with my friends at Gumilcund. Nothing but a swift
return would save my credit. If he had really any regard for me, let
him accept my assurances of personal friendship, bring me to where my
countrywoman was, and permit us to go.
'But it was not to be so easily done, for though courteous, even to
deference, in his manner, Dost Ali Khan had no intention of foregoing
the purpose with which he has brought me to this place. Instead of
answering my question, he begged my permission to relate a little
incident. I agreed, of course, though my heart was like to burst with
impatience, and he proceeded to tell me the following story.
'"A man came to me the other day, asking to join my force. He was
dressed as a peasant, but I knew at once that he was a soldier. He was
enrolled with two or three others whom he brought, all stalwart men.
I found soon that he had been Soubahdar in one of the finest of the
Company's regiments, and that he had a private vengeance to serve. His
colonel--one Sahib Elton--had insulted and wounded him, and he wished
to deal him a blow that he would feel. I do not encourage private
spites; but I am obliged to make the most of the only material that
comes to me, and before I heard this Soubahdar's story, I had judged
that he was a clever soldier, and that I would do well to keep him.
Let my brother listen well," said the rebel chieftain impressively,
"for the strange part of my story comes in here. The Soubahdar knew
that his enemy had a daughter in the European station of Nowgong. I had
heard, no matter how"--I thought that here he glanced up towards the
gallery, and my heart beat angrily--"that you had sent in search of
her. So I allowed my Soubahdar to take out a few horsemen and waylay
the Nowgong fugitives."
'He paused. It was with difficulty that I repressed a movement of
indignation; but remembering that I was entirely in his hands, I was
able to muster sufficient self-control to beg him to go on with his
story. "Did the Soubahdar succeed in his base attempt?" I asked.
'He would not answer me directly. Here, indeed, our conversation became
so swift and complicated that I cannot undertake to write it down
accurately. I remember that he pressed his alliance upon me, and I know
that I strenuously refused to pledge myself to anything more than the
personal friendship and exercise of influence in case of disaster which
I had already promised him.
'Again and again I tried to surprise him into making some admission as
to the safety of Grace and Kit, and again and again he evaded me. At
last, having travelled all night, and lived for some days previously in
a state of nerve-tension, which made rest impossible, I became so much
exhausted that I could scarcely raise my voice above a whisper.
'By this time the full day had come. It was a day of storms. As I was
led across the court to the mud-paved room on the ground-storey, which
I am to occupy, the rain beat upon us pitilessly and the wind howled
and tore about the corners of the fort, till one might have thought it
in danger of destruction.
'I felt that I must sleep if I was to preserve my senses: there seemed,
moreover, to be no imminent danger to anyone, so I flung myself on the
charpoy which was the only piece of furniture in the room and closed my
eyes.
'The next thing I knew--and it seemed to me as if only a moment had
gone by since I lay down--I was starting up, wide-awake and full of
energy, and Hoosanee was standing beside me with a strong cup of
coffee in one hand and a dish of chupatties in the other. I took the
little meal gladly. He watched me, looking sad and reproachful; but
when I begged him to give his opinion of the state of affairs, he put
his finger on his lip and shook his head. It was then late in the
afternoon. I sought and obtained another interview with Dost Ali Khan;
but with no better result, and now, night having come, I have returned
to my room, and, with Hoosanee watching beside me, am waiting for
those in the fort to go to rest, as we intend then to look round us
cautiously.
'Ganesh has kept away all day. This, I am afraid, augurs ill for his
faithfulness.'
* * * * *
A few words must be added here. I have them from Hoosanee, who was
faithful to his master throughout this adventure.
Everything was still that night, he said. He was dozing. His
master was keeping himself awake by writing in his book. They had
determined, towards the small hours of the morning, to go round the
fort themselves. He had made friends with one of the watchmen, whose
faithfulness had been corrupted by the present of a valuable trinket,
and the promise of still richer gifts, if he helped them to their will.
What they wished to do was to find out for certain if Grace and Kit
were in the fort, and, if so, putting off their deliverance until some
good plan could be devised, to encourage them by letting them know that
friends were at hand.
He, as I have said, had been dozing. Feeling sure that they ought to
be on the move, he aroused himself. His master put down his book, and
asked him in a whisper to go out and see if his friend was ready. He
crept to the door, which was ajar, and opened it. In the next moment he
had fallen back upon his master, dazed and trembling.
The doorway was blocked up by a slender figure in shining raiment with
the face covered, and naturally his first thought was that Dost Ali
Khan, repenting of his treachery, had sent them his captive. But Tom
knew better. The moment he saw the figure he sprang to his feet with
a wrathful expression. Hoosanee, thinking from the emotion in his
voice and manner that some new danger assailed them, looked to him for
directions; but Tom motioned him away. 'This is an Englishwoman, but
not the one we seek,' he said in Marathi. 'Remain in the room, but keep
at a little distance from us.'
Of the interview that followed no record remains. Tom could not be
prevailed upon to speak of it. It is not so much as mentioned in
his diary. Hoosanee, whose confidence in his master was perfect,
neither understood nor sought to understand what was going on.
Fearing treachery, however, he held himself on the alert, and when,
after having poured herself out in a torrent of impassioned words,
Vivien, for the figure could have been none other, rushed out into
the darkness, he was by his master's side in a moment. To his dismay
he found him weak and trembling. Twice, it seemed to him, that he was
trying to speak, but he said nothing.
Then Hoosanee told him that the night was passing, and urged him to
lose no time in setting forth upon their task. The friendly Watchman
was outside. He had won over all those who were watching with him. If
they did not at once seize their opportunity, it would pass out of
their hands for ever.
But if his master's manner had dismayed him, he was still more alarmed
by the way in which his advice was taken. For an instant Tom made as if
he would follow him, and then he sat down and burst into a passion of
tears.
Hoosanee was in an agony. What had happened? 'Is Missy Grace dead?' he
whispered, going quite close to his master.
'No, no; I hope to God she is alive still,' said Tom. 'And if I knew
that the Jezebel who has just gone was speaking the truth, I should not
be like this. I should know, at least, what to attempt. But how am I
to tell? She may be lying to me as she lied to her husband, as she is
lying every day to Dost Ali Khan.'
'What has she told my master?' asked Hoosanee.
'She says that they were here, and that they have gone. She heard I was
coming and she put them out. She had made up her mind that we should
not meet. Curses--a thousand curses--on her head!'
'Why did she tell my master this?' said Hoosanee.
'She did not tell me at first. It came out. That is why I think it may
be true. She was enraged that I would not do what she wished, and then
she threw it in my teeth. If I believed her, and escaped as I might do,
and if I found out afterwards that she had lied to me--or if, on the
other hand, I remained here while they were going through danger and
hardship outside--oh! Hoosanee--my brother, advise me! What shall I do?'
'Listen, my master,' said the good fellow, who, while his master
had been speaking, had taken his own measure of the situation. 'You
will stay here for an hour. Yes. I beseech you, do as I say! It will
be best. Alone no one will suspect me. I will join my friend, the
chowkedar, and go with him on his rounds. I will hear the last news of
the place. If the prisoners are still here, or if they have been put
out, as the White Ranee says, will soon be known to me. When I know, I
will return to my master, and he will decide what we had best do.'
It seemed the most feasible plan. In any case, so Hoosanee has told
me, it was adopted. He left his master, hoping that he would compose
himself in his absence, and went out into the court. The first
person he met was Ganesh. Ganesh looked wild and unnatural. Hoosanee
stopped for a moment to tax him with treachery. The Brahmin threw
back the word in his teeth, and they parted. Ganesh went to the door
of their master's room. Hoosanee joined the friendly chowkedar. They
were smoking a pipe together, and the bearer was gradually drawing
out the information he required, when in the courtyard there was a
sudden clamour. One of the sentinels, posted outside, came rushing in
breathless with the news that the Gora-log or European-folk were upon
them. The chowkedar sprang up and ran headlong to the quarter of the
fort where Dost Ali Khan and his captains were sleeping, and Hoosanee
made at full speed for his master's room. Ganesh was there before him,
so the young rajah had already heard of the panic. He was standing up
fully dressed, with a revolver in one hand and a sword in the other,
and Ganesh was beseeching him to remain where he was. 'We may escape,'
he said, 'if we remain where we are. If we go out amongst them we are
doomed.'
'But the prisoners!' cried Tom, who must have been nearly beside
himself.
'If they are in the fort--' began Ganesh.
'They are not--they are not,' shrieked Hoosanee.
'The chief thinks so, but he is mistaken. The Soubahdar Sufder Jung was
ordered yesterday by the White Ranee to take them away.'
'The Soubahdar Sufder Jung!' echoed Tom, and his arms dropped from his
hands, and his limbs seemed to fail under him. 'The Soubahdar Sufder
Jung!'
'Courage, Excellency!' said Ganesh. 'He has done it in the hope of
reward.'
'Reward? Vengeance!' cried the unfortunate young fellow. 'Here! For
God's sake let me out! I will kill that fiend with my own hands; I will
force her to tell me the truth. Ganesh--Hoosanee, wretches! what do
you mean? Have you turned against me too? Loose me, or I will slay you
both!'
'Let my lord have patience!' murmured Hoosanee.
'Patience?' echoed Tom, with a hoarse laugh. 'There! This is my
patience!'
With one mighty effort he had thrown them off. They lay on the
ground--stunned by the force with which they had fallen. Tom picked up
his weapons and bounded, like a wild creature escaped from captivity,
across the room. For a few moments they lost him.
* * * * *
When Hoosanee came to himself, the room was empty. He had fallen with
more force than Ganesh, who had already followed his master, and he had
not the least idea how long he had been insensible. It would have been
natural for the good fellow, who was conscious of nothing but devotion
and rectitude, to be indignant at the treatment he had received; but
it was not so. Sorrow and compassion for his master, with shame that
he could not hold him back from what, enlightened by a few awful words
from Ganesh, would, he believed, be his destruction, made up the whole
of his feeling. His head had struck violently against a corner of the
charpoy as he fell, and, with recovered consciousness, came violent
pain. He raised himself with difficulty to a sitting posture, crept to
the door and looked out.
The confusion had not ceased. From every hole and corner armed men
were hurrying out to man the walls, and there came, from a little
distance, the rattle of musketry. There was another sound--more awful
in its significance--the dull boom of cannon, and the crash of falling
masonry. But it was not for this that the unarmed, terror-stricken
man was listening. It was not to hear this that he laid his ear upon
the ground. Ha! what is that? He springs to his feet, gazes into the
lurid, torch-lit enclosure, and then, putting his hands to his mouth,
trumpet-wise, shrieks out, 'Fly! fly! The magazine is undermined.'
The words act like magic. In less than a moment the court is full of
flying figures. There is a subterranean exit. The Europeans will not
discover it in the darkness. Hundreds fling themselves into it, casting
away their weapons, and hundreds are crushed out of all similitude of
men. But, amongst the flying figures, Hoosanee does not see those whom
he seeks. There comes to his ear a low rumble, and he flings himself
down with his face to the ground. In the next instant the earth seems
to rock like a drunken man, and there is a sound mightier far than
the roll of artillery or the thunder of a storm. Crash! crash! A wild
shriek! a low, piteous wailing! Another crash as the masonry gives way,
hurling down those who had been defending it into the trenches, men no
longer now. A splinter strikes Hoosanee as he lies, and his lips part
in a groan. If he is not in safety here, what must _their_ fate be? And
is this--is this--to be the end of all his hopes? Has he been deceived
all along? Was the master he served as the true representative of him
who had gone but a simulacrum and no true man? Surely, if what he had
so fondly believed was true, _they_ would not have suffered him to
perish thus! Such were the ideas that were thronging his troubled brain
in those dreadful moments. How many they were he could never tell. He
plucked up courage to look up presently. The court was deserted. Where
the rebel chief's vast magazine and treasure-house of arms and gold
had been, a column of flame and smoke was rising into the air. The
buildings adjacent to it--one of which, as he knew, was Dost Ali Khan's
house--were beginning to burn. The boom of artillery had ceased--there
was no need for it now; but from outside he could hear the clatter of
arms, and he knew that, in a short time, the fort would be taken by
assault. In such case what would their fate be--his own--Ganesh's--his
master's--if he was still alive? Might they not be killed by the angry
English soldiers, before they could make themselves known?
Deeper and deeper grew the silence about him. Those who were not dead
or wounded had crowded into the subterranean exit. It would be strange,
thought Hoosanee, if the English soldiers were to come in presently and
find only him.
The torches that had lit the courtyard had died down. There was nothing
now to illuminate it but the fiery column. By its light he saw dimly
three figures, that seemed to come out miraculously from the very heart
of the burning mass. He ran forward with a cry. If this was his master,
then everything was true, for not Rama himself could boast such an
adventure! The Divine Ones had cared for their own.
'Hoosanee!' That was the rajah's voice.
'Master,' he cried piteously. 'Are you safe?'
'I am safe. Take this burden from me!'
It was the form, to all appearance lifeless, of a woman. Hoosanee
received it into his arms and, followed by Tom and Ganesh, who were
nearly exhausted, carried it into the hut and laid it down on the
charpoy.
'Light my lamp!' said Tom. 'Now,' he went on, 'go out, both of you, and
wait for me.'
They obeyed, and he was left alone with the lifeless form. The face
was covered with a veil. He lifted it and gazed down. Yes, it was
Vivien Doncaster. Vivien herself--the soft brow--the smiling lips--the
merry dimples! The horror of death, which had been swift and sudden,
had changed her no more than the horror of guilt in which she had
steeped herself. Fair, sweet, innocent, like a sleeping child, she lay
before him on the pillow.
With a shudder he dropped the veil. 'Farewell, beautiful witch,' he
murmured: 'we meet for the last time. That it was not left to me to
kill you, I thank God; but I would not, if I could, bring you back to
the life which you have so miserably abused. Farewell! As you lived, so
you die--a torment and a mystery.'
As he spoke, he took a letter from his pocket, twisted it into a match,
and, having kindled it at the lamp, deliberately set fire to the
charpoy in two or three places.
Looking up then, he saw Hoosanee beside him. 'What is it?' he said
angrily. 'I thought I told you to remain outside.'
'Master,' answered Hoosanee, 'the English soldiers are coming in
through the breach. If we do not wish to die, we must stand aside until
you can see the General.'
'You are right, as usual, my good Hoosanee,' said Tom, with his usual
mildness. 'Ganesh knows the place, he will hide us.'
As they left the hut the flames ran up, consuming the charpoy and the
dead body, and no one knew till much later that a human body had been
within the charred and ruined hut.
To the servants, who had been witnesses of the deed, it was a deed of
charity. Whatever the dead woman had been, the flames that made her
sepulchre were less cruel far than the hands of men would be.