NEWS OF MEERUT--GENERAL ELTON FINDS A NEW SPHERE
The message from the rajah and Mrs. Lyster's arrival did, as I have
said, revive the drooping spirits of the ladies in Gumilcund; but many
weary days and nights were destined to go by before they could receive
certain news of their friends. In the meantime the posts, which ran now
with tolerable regularity, brought them a variety of intelligence--some
of it depressing; but, for the most part, tending to hope. That, though
the North-West had failed in preparedness for the crisis, the gallant
rulers of the Punjaub had not only held their own, but were pouring
down reinforcements to the army before Delhi, while from Bombay,
Calcutta and Allahabad men and munitions of war were being marched up
country, Chunder Singh told them with exultation. Delhi, he was sure,
would not long hold out, and then, as he too sanguinely believed, the
insurrection would be at an end.
They received private intelligence too. Strange and pathetic, as some
of us will remember very well, were the letters exchanged between
friends and relatives in those strange days. You would mourn a dear
friend as dead, and then, all of a sudden, one wonderful morning you
would see a letter in his well-known handwriting; and when, with
beating heart, feeling as if a missive had come to you from the grave,
you would tear it open, you would find that your friend had given up
you as lost, and was writing to you joyfully as one brought back from
the jaws of death. These were the bright spots--the red-letter days--in
that time of anguish. Of those other letters which brought no joy, only
a fearful confirmation of our worst fears--the letters which told us of
the tender hunted to death--of the fair and fragile giving way under
the awful strain of horror, and sleeping, as we fondly believed, in the
bosom of their God--of the beautiful, the strong, the noble cut off
in the flower of their youth and the plenitude of their service--yes,
of these, too, we carry about with us memories, and the bitterness of
those memories will never fade until we meet our beloved on the further
shore. Of news such as these there is happily no question here. Mrs.
Durant heard of her husband. He had escaped from Nowgong by the skin of
his teeth, having been surrounded and actually imprisoned for a season
by a body of his own men who, though pledged to the mutineers, were
unwilling to injure him personally. Mrs. Lyster knew of her own the
very worst. Little Dick's father had been summoned to Allahabad shortly
before the outbreak at Nowgong, and joyful news it was to him that
his wife and son were safe at loyal Gumilcund. Lucy was encouraged by
letters from Meerut, and she sent back such encouragement as she could.
Tom--_they_ would know who Tom was--had left everything and run the
risk of rebellion in his wonderful little State, which Lucy remarked
parenthetically was like the Garden of Eden before the Fall, just to
search for Grace and Kit. He had not come back; but he had been heard
of, and it was the belief of everyone that he would succeed, so she
begged her uncle, and aunt, and cousins to keep up their spirits and to
hope for the best.
They smiled when they read the fly-away letter. It was like herself;
but it was not very satisfactory to them. And indeed the family were
in miserable case just then. General Elton, who had barely recovered
from the effects of his wound, was about again; and it may be that the
bolder counsels which began from this time to prevail in Meerut were
due in large measure to his advice and assistance. But he himself was,
if that were possible, a greater anxiety to his friends than when he
had been lying at the point of death, for then they at least knew the
worst. Now his restlessness and irritability were such that they could
never for a single instant be sure of him.
Accustomed as he had been to take a large share in the conduct of
affairs, his personal inactivity galled him. He had no civil authority,
and the collapse of the magnificent army with which for so many years
it had been his pride to be connected, had deprived him, at a stroke,
of his military occupation. Meanwhile the state of anarchy, into which
the province was falling, cut him to the soul, the more so that he felt
convinced something might be done to check it.
With the Asiatic nothing goes so far as audacity, a quality which he
cannot understand, and, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, does
not believe in. Where he sees unflinching boldness, he suspects hidden
strength, and as often as not he will throw down his arms rather
than have them forced from him. So the General was never tired of
preaching, but for some time no one would listen to him.
Then there came a change. From the hills, where, when the storm broke,
he had been enjoying his well-earned holiday, the gallant collector,
Dunlop, came down. He was armed with the authority of a magistrate over
the districts surrounding Meerut, and, to the surprise of everyone, he
asserted his determination of exercising it without delay. He would
march out alone if no one cared to join him, and it was his belief
that the terror of the English name, reinforced by the outcries of the
unfortunate people, whose lands had been ravaged by a brutal soldiery,
would carry him along.
Dunlop was one of those Englishmen who believed in audacity.
But if a few volunteers amongst those whom the breaking up of the old
order had deprived of occupation would put themselves under his orders,
there could be no doubt that the pacification of the country would be
more easily and swiftly accomplished.
We may imagine, but it would be very difficult to describe, the effect
of this announcement on the fiery soul of the old General. As a
war-horse that scents the battle-field afar off; as a Moslem soldier,
who sees the pearly gates of his Paradise slowly opening like a flower
across the clouds and thunder of tumultuous war, so he felt when, to
the deep dismay of his family, he went up to Dunlop and offered him
his sword. Numbers followed his example, but of the brilliant and
successful campaign in which they took part there is no need to write
here. It has its place in history.
Twice the seasoned old soldier rode out with the gallant little corps,
called the _Khakee Ressalah_, on account of its dust-coloured uniform,
and twice he returned to his trembling wife and children, safe, but
triumphant. As for Trixy, though no less anxious than her sisters, she
did not once bid her father stay. I rather think she would have liked
to march with them. 'One of us ought to have been a boy,' she said to
her mother one day. 'Women have far the worst of it--sitting at home
and watching and weeping--it is very hard work and rather humiliating.'
'Hush! Trixy; you don't know what you are saying,' said Lady Elton. And
then the wild look that they all dreaded to see came over her face,
and she cried out piteously, 'Yes, child, you are right. I have too
many daughters, and the world is cruel to women. If a man dies, he dies
fighting. If a woman dies----'
'Darling, you must not,' broke in Trixy vehemently. 'I am a little
idiot. Forgive me! And do you know--listen, dearest, and don't look
so--do you know that I have been having the strangest dreams about our
Grace? When she comes back----'
'When, oh! Trixy, when----'
'Listen, dear, hear me to the end! When she comes back, I believe we
shall find that she has the spirit of a heroine, if not of a hero.'
It was curious that this conversation, in which, for the first time
for many days, Grace's name was mentioned before her mother, preceded
by only a few hours the arrival of the letter from Lucy. It brought a
slender ray of comfort to Lady Elton, and now her one idea was to reach
Gumilcund herself. She dared not speak of it to anyone; but, all the
more for her silence, it haunted her mind day and night. If she could
only go! If she could only go! Now that her husband was well and she
could feel that Meerut was a safe refuge for the girls, the spirit of
passionate restlessness, which had once nearly shaken her reason, took
possession of her with increased violence.
Sometimes it was like a madness. She would watch her girls and the
servants furtively, and plan how she could evade them and slip away
silently. One evening she got up in her sleep and reached as far as
the door; but Yaseen Khan, the faithful bearer, was stretched across
the threshold, and the noise he made, when she tried to step over him,
awoke her and aroused the tent. After that they took fright and watched
her more closely.
When her reason was nearly giving way under the strain, and she had
begun to beg piteously, not knowing what she said, to be taken to
Gumilcund, where it was now her possessing idea that Grace was kept in
prison, a strange thing happened. A messenger from Gumilcund found his
way into Meerut. Trixy saw him come in, and she recognised in him, as
she believed, the faquir who had brought the first letter from Tom,
and under whose convoy Bertie Liston had left the station. Supposing
his message to be addressed to the General in command, she ran back to
their tent with the information. She had scarcely time to give her news
before Yaseen Khan rushed in, crying out, 'A letter! a letter! Missy
Sahib is safe.'
The General was in his tent, furbishing up his arms, which had seen
hard service lately. 'Silence, you foolish fellow,' he cried out, 'do
you wish to kill the Mem Sahib? Give the letter to me.'
'No, no; to me,' cried a piercing voice from the further side of the
tent. 'Children, let me alone! I shall not faint. And, General, don't
you call the poor fellow names! What did you say, Yaseen Khan? Safe?
Say it again! Safe! Safe!' She had rushed forward to meet him. The
letter was in her hand, but her fingers trembled so that she could not
open it. 'I am afraid,' she said, looking round, with a pathetic smile,
'that I shall have to ask some one to help me after all. My hands have
no power to-day. No, General, not you. Trixy, come here! Open it, but
don't take it out of my hands!'
Trixy obeyed, the tears rolling down her face. 'Why, your fingers are
trembling too,' said Lady Elton. 'Thank you, dear. Now read it for me.
My eyes are dim.' Trixy passed her eyes over the paper and broke into a
joyful cry. 'Well! well!' said her mother impatiently. 'Read it, every
word!'
'My dear Lady Elton,' began the girl, her voice shaking, 'I am sending
my faithful Subdul to tell you and the General that we have found
your Grace. She has been ill, but she is better. I am taking her to
Gumilcund, where her cousin and several other English ladies, whom I
and my men have been so happy as to rescue from positions of peril,
are living. We are accompanied by an escort of Ghoorka soldiers. The
Captain, Gambier Singh, has most generously put them at my disposal. I
would willingly come down to Meerut, but I fear to add to the fatigues
and hardships which your heroic child has already undergone, and I
may not keep the escort longer than is absolutely necessary. I detach
Subdul, who is a skilful traveller, and I believe that he will reach
Meerut before we reach Gumilcund. If it could possibly be arranged for
Lady Elton to join us there, I think it would be well. Grace will be
happier and more at rest when she has seen one of her own people. But,
in a very short time, I hope and believe, the country will settle down
again, and then we shall be able to meet. In the meantime, with love
and best remembrances,
'I remain, my dear Lady Elton,
'Your attached and always devoted friend,
'THOMAS GREGORY.'
So Trixy read. When her voice dropped there was, for a few moments,
silence in the tent. Then a great babble began. The girls clustered
round their father. 'Oh! couldn't you take us to Gumilcund?' they
cried. 'Do, Dad! Surely it could be managed.' Lady Elton's voice only
was missing. When the General, setting his girls aside, looked round
for her, he saw that she was busy, with the help of Yaseen Khan,
putting a few necessaries together for her travelling bag. 'You see,
Wilfrid,' she said, answering his look, 'I must go. My child wants me.'
'We all want you, Grace.'
'Ah! but she wants me most. You will arrange for me to go, will you
not? Where is this good Subdul? I might put on some sort of disguise,
as Bertie did.'
'Nonsense, my dear,' said the General hoarsely. 'If anyone goes, I
will.'
'No, Wilfrid. Your place is here. These other children want looking
after. No; no; no,' as they crowded round her. 'I cannot take you. You
are safe at Meerut. And Grace is safe! Oh! yes, Grace is safe; but she
wants me. Tom would not have written so if she did not. And I, oh!
my dear,' turning to her husband; 'forgive me if I am adding to your
trouble; but I cannot help it. I shall go mad if you do not let me go.'
'Gently, Grace, gently!' said the General brokenly.
'Say yes, and I will be as gentle as you please,' she answered.
He stood for a few moments looking down at her earnestly. Then he
said, 'Promise me to do nothing rash, and I will see what can be done.'
'Thank you, dear,' she said humbly. 'Yes, I will promise. But you must
make haste.'