A STRANGE JOURNEY
Afterwards Tom Gregory looked back upon this journey as one of the
strangest experiences of his strange and chequered life. As regards
outward events there is little to record. Bâl Narîn knew every step
of the way. The soldiers, servants, camp-followers, and coolies, of
whom the cavalcade consisted, were so well up in their duties, and so
hopeful of large reward from the rajah, that they worked with all the
regularity and much more than the intelligence of machines. Even the
heavens seemed to smile upon the intrepid travellers, for there could
be no doubt that the air was less pestilential than is usual at this
season, while there were none of those sweeping storms of rain that,
in late summer and early autumn, will sometimes make the roads of the
Terai impassable.
They travelled quietly, so as not to fatigue Grace and Kit, and it took
them three days to work across the jungle from the robbers' path,
where Bâl Narîn had found the first traces of the fugitives, to the
Maharajah's Road.
This, of course, was the most difficult and dangerous part of the
journey, but they accomplished it safely. There was no talk of fever
now, no grumbling about the denseness of the jungle and the fatigue of
the way. Bâl Narîn issued the orders for each day, and they were obeyed
with joyful alacrity. It would almost seem as if the gladness that had
taken possession of the camp since Grace and Kit were found had given
it strength and tone. But for all this, and in spite of the kind and
gracious face he showed to his followers, the young rajah carried about
with him an aching heart. His hope and dream had not been fulfilled. He
had saved his love from the last extremity; but for what had he saved
her? Sometimes when he saw the wandering horror in her eyes, when he
listened to the broken words of pain, which for his sake she tried to
repress, when, with a trouble which almost unmanned him, he realised
that so it must be as long as she lived, he would say to himself
ruefully, that for her it would have been better if in the trance in
which he found her in the hut, her gentle spirit had winged its flight
from earth.
But these were his worst moments. The best times were when, as Kit
expressed it, Grace was 'somewhere else.' Then, but for the curious
expression of her eyes, the haunting pain that seemed always to be
lying in wait for her, she was so quiet and peaceful, so much the Grace
of the dear old days, that he could venture to hope for her restoration
to health of body and peace of mind.
He would lengthen out these times of mental aberration. When she called
to him by some name out of the past, he would answer to it. Patiently
he would work himself into the spirit of her dream, so that he might
live and act in it. With an ingenuity born of love, he would keep out
of her sight, as much as possible, everything that would remind her
of the present. Kit was not allowed to come near her while the dream
lasted. The servants were kept in the background. Of everything strange
that she saw about her, there would be some ingenious explanation. Thus
the meal under the shadow of a tree was a picnic; and the jungle was
an English wood, and the tent was a cottage in which they had taken
shelter from heat or storm, he and she together, and the others--Lady
Elton and Mrs. Gregory, and Lady Winter and the fine Sir Reginald, and
the girls--these were all behind them and would presently come up. So
in the hours of tranquillity, which his love made for her, she gained
marvellously in health and strength; but Tom had an uneasy feeling that
the spectre of pain and horror which she carried about with her was not
destroyed, and that some day it would assert its presence dangerously.
The fact was, that Grace lacked the robust individualism which enables
the majority of people, and especially of women, to exult over their
own exceptional good fortune. She could not feel herself a favourite of
heaven; she could not, as she would say pathetically, be grateful. That
thought of the others, the ill-doers as well as those who had suffered
wrong, haunted her perpetually. She saw them in her dreams. They seemed
to be holding out their hands to her. Whenever she was not wandering in
the past, her heart was full of a new and incomprehensible anguish.
A little diversion, which had a beneficial effect upon her mind, was
created by their meeting with Hoosanee. It was in a great sâal-forest,
when they were travelling pleasantly along an easy road, under a fine
canopy made by overarching trees, that the rajah's faithful servant,
who had made up his mind that no such fugitives as those he was seeking
could have crossed Sisagarhi, came up with them.
He came in late in the evening, when the cavalcade had halted as it
did habitually between sunset and moonrise. The blow on the hillside
had done for him what his master had hoped from it. The fever that
had begun to work in his blood had gone, and his power and energy
had returned. The meeting between him and the rajah was rather that
of intimate friends than of master and servant. When Hoosanee heard
that the object of the expedition had been fulfilled, that the fair
and gracious maiden whom they had travelled so far, and on his part
so hopelessly, to seek was actually in camp, he cried like a child.
'Master! Master!' he sobbed, the tears rolling down his face. 'Who
will dare to tell me now that the gods do not fight on our side? Ah!
if some miracle would take us straight to the gates of our own town!
How proudly we shall enter! It will be better even than the night when
first the Rajah Sahib passed through our streets and the people saluted
him as Rama, their prince and hero----'
'That remains to be proved, Hoosanee,' said Tom, smiling. 'Remember
that I have offended the people of Gumilcund grievously. I doubt
whether they will accept me as their rajah now. But I am sure that,
for the love of those who have gone, they will admit me for a time.
And I have been mindful of their interests while I was away. Is it not
strange, Hoosanee,' he went on dreamily, 'now I have fulfilled my task
the love of my people and my work has come back to me? The voice that
was silent so long spoke to me again last night. I am one of you, my
friend, as I was before. You are so near to me that you will understand
this. But we must not be surprised if the others do not.'
'They will: they will. Chunder Singh knows. Chunder Singh is the friend
of his Excellency. There is no fear,' said Hoosanee joyfully.
Then he left his master and presented himself at the door of the tent
where Grace was resting. Kit was just outside. He saw him and gave a
joyful cry of recognition. Grace heard it and started up. 'Who has
come? What has happened?' she cried.
'Oh!' said Kit, rushing in, 'it's Tom's bearer. It's Hoosanee. They did
not kill him after all. Hooray! Hooray! Three cheers! Grace! Grace!
mayn't he come in?'
'Yes! Yes; bring him in,' said Grace joyfully. So Kit set the curtain
aside, and Hoosanee, whose dark face was glowing with happiness, came
in, and stood with bowed head and hands crossed reverently before the
lady of his dreams. As for Grace, she held out both her hands and burst
into tears.
'My gracious lady should laugh: she should not weep,' he said, bending
low over her hands.
'But it is for joy not for sadness. My brave Hoosanee, I never thought
to see you alive again. How splendidly you stood your ground that awful
night, and how nobly you pleaded for me! And did you take care of the
others? Did you carry them to Gumilcund safely?'
'Missy Sahib,' said Hoosanee, a smile breaking over his face, 'it was
not so easy when you had gone. The ladies cried and sometimes they were
unreasonable and doubted me, thinking that, as I had given you up, so
I would give them up; and the storm beat upon us angrily, and it was
with difficulty we dragged ourselves along. But on the second night we
entered the gates of our city and one ran to tell our rajah and he met
us.'
'And they were safe and well--Lucy and Kit's mother, and the baby and
the other Mem Sahib?'
'They were safe. The rajah gave them lodging in his palace. But we did
not see them again, for that very night we departed for the fort.'
'The fort? Dost Ali Khan's fort?' said Grace shuddering. 'That was
where the wicked Soubahdar took me. But how did you know, Hoosanee?'
'It had been told to one of my lord's servants that we should find
Missy Sahib there. Dost Ali Khan thought to buy the favour of my master
by giving her up.'
'But I was not there, Hoosanee.'
'Let us give thanks to the Supreme Spirit!' said the Indian, bowing low.
Grace gazed at him, speechless with wonder.
'The fort has gone,' he went on solemnly. 'Like a wild beast in its
lair Dost Ali Khan was destroyed. The day after Missy Sahib was put out
the English came up, and they made a mine secretly and the fort was
blown to pieces.'
'With everyone within,' said Grace, whose eyes were distended with
horror.
'My master and my master's servants escaped. Some few of the defenders
may have left by the secret passage. All the others perished.'
'There was an English woman there,' said Grace.
'The woman who called herself the White Ranee, and to whom Dost Ali
Khan the pretended ruler of the country did homage, was within the
fort. She was slain,' said Hoosanee quietly.
'Slain!' echoed Grace.
'It is true, Missy Sahib. The rajah himself brought her dead out of the
ruins. I saw her in his arms. He made a fire in the room where they had
imprisoned him, and her body was consumed. Then he and I went out to
meet the English.'
While Hoosanee was speaking, Grace had covered her face with her hands.
When she looked up she was as pale as death. 'Dead!' she murmured,
'Vivien dead! Is it true? Then God have mercy upon her!'
She paused. Hoosanee did not speak, and after a few moments she went
on, in a stifled voice, as if she were speaking to herself: 'I had been
thinking of her, wondering how it would end. But it is best so--much
best! Hoosanee,' suddenly, 'you must tell no one. Remember! It is a
secret between you and me and the rajah.'
'I will remember, Missy Sahib.'
'Let them think that she was taken prisoner,' went on Grace. 'It
may have been so. Yes: that is the true explanation. I wonder I did
not think of it before--and the terror and horror shook her reason.
Poor Vivien! I am sorry I had hard thoughts of her. She was much too
beautiful to be wicked. It was madness, Hoosanee. If she had not been
mad she would never have treated me so. I might have known it at once.
And you say she is dead?'
'She is dead, Missy Sahib.'
'It was best. To have come to herself here would have been terrible.
But I cannot think of it any more. Thank you for telling me, my good
Hoosanee. You have just come in?'
'I rode into camp an hour ago, Missy Sahib.'
'You must want rest. I am selfish to keep you up so long. Good-night! I
will see you again to-morrow.'
'May the sleep of my gracious lady be sweet, and may the gods preserve
her from evil!' said Hoosanee fervently.
He went out, to find the rajah waiting for him with eager questions.
Then Bâl Narîn joined them. A runner had come out in search of the
rajah. He brought intelligence of a great and notable Ghoorka victory,
which had resulted in the complete pacification of the district
between the Nepaul frontier and the Kingdom of Oude. Gambier Singh was
triumphant. He sent word that the rajah must join him in his camp near
Janhpore, and that he would tell off a detachment to escort him to
Gumilcund, as a part of the Doab, which he would have to cross on his
journey, was said to be still in an unsettled condition.
When questioned about the state of the country generally, the runner
reported that Delhi was supposed to have been taken by assault a few
days since; but that Lucknow was still in the hands of the mutineers.
This was joyful news to the rajah. 'If Delhi is taken the worst is
over,' he said to his servants. 'And our Gumilcund men will be in it.
If we reach our city safely, I will put myself at the head of another
little army and join the forces that will be marching to Lucknow. What
do you say, Billy? Will you join me?'
'I will go to the ends of the earth with his Excellency,' said Bâl
Narîn. 'But let him have a care!'
'Of what, Billy?'
'Of the jealousy of the gods, Excellency.'
'You think I am too prosperous, Billy? Don't alarm yourself. I shall
have my knock-down presently.'
'It is useless to speak of such things,' said Hoosanee. 'The Rajah
Sahib, as we know, has risked his life in two dangerous enterprises.
It is fitting now that he remains with his people in Gumilcund.'
'Time enough to discuss our further movements when we have reached that
haven of rest,' said Tom, dismissing them with a wave of his hand.
* * * * *
And so, when the moon rose that night, they went on together joyfully.
One more halt in the Terai, and a short day's march through the forest
brought them to the borders of the dominions of the Maharajah of
Nepaul, when they entered upon the vast agricultural plains of Upper
India, held then by the British and Ghoorka armies.
Concerning this part of the journey, which, under any other
circumstances, would have been monotonous, there is very little to
record. The rajah's diary, to which he returned about this time, deals
more with feelings and states of mind than with events. I gather
from it that, as the days went by, his deep interest in the social
and political condition of the people amongst whom his lot had been
cast revived. He was impatient, for his own sake as well as for that
of his friends, to be in Gumilcund again. He took a more wholesome
and a larger view of life. Away from the pestilential swamps of the
fever-haunted jungle, and under the wide benignant sky, he could
forget the wild agony of despair that for so many days had bound him
in prison; he could believe that it was not madness, but a sound
philosophy, which caused men everywhere to expect and to work for the
redemption of humanity.
Here and there he speaks of Grace, but only briefly. 'My darling is
better,' he writes on one occasion. 'I think Hoosanee is doing her
good. He understands how to make her comfortable. I really think she
is at home in her tent.' And again, 'There is something on her mind
still. If she could tell it, the look of haunting terror, which goes
to my very soul, might leave her eyes. But I dare not urge her.' And
yet again, 'A woman should be with her; one she has known and loved.
Thank God she will find friends at Gumilcund! Perhaps her mother would
come if I sent for her. She will not be happy until she has told what
is on her mind. Will she then? God help my darling and send her rest
and peace!' From Bâl Narîn, who would not go back to his native valley
until he had seen his friends at the end of their journey, I learn
that the young rajah, who travelled in semi-Oriental dress, but who
did not now disguise from anyone that he was of European origin, won
hearts wherever he went by his grace and dignity. To this day most
of these people believe that there was something supernatural about
him. At the villages, when there was difficulty about the supplies of
food and firing, he had only to come forward and speak and his orders
were obeyed without delay. To himself his power over the native mind,
which he could not help seeing and acknowledging, was a mystery. I,
who look at this part of his history in the light not only of what
went before but of what followed, can find an explanation. In him the
indomitable pluck, the perseverance, the rectitude, and stern sense
of justice, which have enabled a Western people to conquer and hold
dominion in the East, were combined with the softer, more graceful and
endearing qualities of the race with which he was allied, although at
that time he did not know it, no less by birth than by circumstances.
Gracious as well as great, sympathetic as well as strong, feeling
at every point the people with whom he came in contact, tolerant in
them of the weaknesses, whose germs, covered but not destroyed by his
Western training, he found in himself, yet, rising above them by his
proud indifference to selfish considerations, his quickness to execute
what his brain had devised; and, more than all, by his keen spiritual
insight, Thomas Gregory has always seemed to me to be in himself a
living parable. So in my fanciful moments I have imagined may society
be, when the two great branches of humanity's noblest family, which
have been separated so long, will consent not only to meet, but to meet
on the same ground; when they will take one from the other as brothers
should; when they will sit down together at the rich feast of stored-up
experience wrought out painfully on the opposite sides of dividing
oceans; when they will realise that one requires the other, and that
only from sympathy and mutual concession can spring the union, out of
which, as some of us hope, a perfectness such as the world has never
known will grow.
But this is in the future still; and our present business is with
the rajah on his march to Gumilcund. They made a slight detour to
visit Gambier Singh in his camp near Janhpore; and I am told that the
greeting they received from that magnificent young officer was of the
warmest. He was highly elated with his own success, concerning which he
had much to say to his friend, while his delight and admiring sympathy
over the happy accomplishment of the feat, which when they met before
he had judged to be impossible, were inexhaustible. During the few
hours they spent together in the young Captain's tent Tom had to give
over and over again his account of the various incidents of their
journey. Then Bâl Narîn was called in to receive his meed of praise and
substantial reward, which he did modestly, asserting that he was but
an instrument in the hands of the gods and demons, who were bent upon
honouring the Rajah Sahib. Finally, having hinted at his wish to be
thus distinguished, Gambier Singh was introduced to Grace, who thanked
him in graceful and touching words for the assistance he had rendered
to her friends in their search. It happened to be one of her best days.
She was conscious of everything that went on around her, and the hope
of being in Gumilcund soon, of seeing her friends, and gladdening their
hearts with the news of her deliverance, although it could not lift
from her face the shadow that rested there continually, gave to her
an expression of tremulous anticipation that was curiously pathetic.
This, with her delicacy of form, her low voice and gentle manner, and
the white purity of her perfect face, made an undying impression on the
mind of the chivalrous young soldier. When, accompanied by his friend
the rajah, he left the English girl's tent, his dark face was glowing
with a new enthusiasm. 'A few days ago, my brother,' he said, grasping
Tom's hand, 'I could not understand you. Now it is clear to me. She is
a fair and noble woman--one for whom a true man would willingly lay
down his life. That I have been able to help you to save her will be a
joyful memory to me as long as I live.'
Later he said, meditatively, 'Is she a type? Are there many like her in
England?'
'There are many as beautiful, and true, and courageous,' answered Tom.
'Although to me, naturally, she stands alone.'
'Then I can understand your greatness,' said Gambier Singh.
'You must visit us and see our women at home,' answered Tom with a
smile.