A Dangerous Frenchman
"One hundred and forty steps up," thought Owen, as the door banged to
after him, and he listened to the grating of the bolts, and then to the
steps of the men who had conducted him to his prison now growing faint
in the distance. He could hear the shuffle of Eastern sandals as they
slid down the stone stairs, the metallic ring of a tulwar striking the
wall, and then silence--silence save for the medley of sound, dulled by
distance, coming to him from the outside world.
"Four stone walls and a flat ceiling," he said as he surveyed the
apartment. "I fancy I must be in the highest apartment in one of the
flanking towers. Then the roof is just overhead, and if----"
He broke off suddenly and stamped his foot with vexation.
"What use is it to think of the roof!" he exclaimed angrily. "It is
altogether out of my reach, and the ground below as well. The door is
the only means of exit."
But he was not the lad to give up hope without proper investigation, and
for an hour he busied himself with inspecting every corner of his
prison. He went to the window, which was at a convenient level, and
craned his head through it, for it was unglazed, and wide enough to
admit a man of far larger proportions than his. Below, at a distance
which made him feel dizzy, was the courtyard, and outside that the
street, buzzing with Eastern life. He watched the thousands of the city
of Indore passing, and noted the martial appearance of almost all. There
were the usual artisans, the pedlars, the bullock-drivers with their
quaint carts, and the bheesties. But amongst them all, passing to and
fro with an arrogant swagger which matched their fine appearance well,
were hundreds of foot and horse soldiers, armed to the teeth,
fierce-looking and pugnacious.
"Holkar is evidently well prepared for a war with any one," thought
Owen. "There are his guns, too, and a fine collection he has. If we come
to blows with him we shall have to be very wary, for they say that he
has even better-trained troops than Scindia has. I heard that he had one
or more Englishmen in his employ, and there are certainly Frenchmen.
Well, it's no good breaking my neck with craning it out of this window,
for escape is out of the question either way, to the roof above or to
the ground beneath. But I am armed, and if the worst comes I could throw
myself upon the jailer. We'll see. Perhaps Holkar will repent of his
action, for surely it is scandalous."
There could be no doubt of that fact, and yet the history of the
Mahrattas shows that on more than one occasion the powerful chieftains
did not hesitate to stoop to the most odious acts of treachery. And
Holkar's name figured in those acts prominently. As he sat on his divan
below, his single eye passing from one to another of his servitors and
causing them to cringe, his best and most enthusiastic friend could not
but admit that this powerful Mahratta chieftain looked capable of any
villainy.
"This victory," he said, turning to a man beside him, by colour a
European, but dressed as a Mahratta, "do you think that the details are
true? Or has the tale been sent to us by this youth to induce us to hold
our hands? I would that I knew, for if in truth this general, known as
Wellesley, has conquered Scindia with but a handful, what would be our
fortune were we to commence a war with the English?"
He fixed the white man with his eye and waited eagerly for his answer.
"Come, Colonel Sahib," he said. "You who love not the English, but who
have every interest in my affairs and prosperity, what prospect have I
if I go to war? You know my wishes. I would sweep these arrogant whites
from the land, and then----"
"Scindia and his power would be crushed to the very earth, my lord," was
the answer, given in Mahratti, but with an accent which was undoubtedly
French. "Why believe all that one hears, and particularly of these
British? This Scindia, what is he compared with you?"
The French colonel in the employ of Holkar swung round with flashing eye
and stared at his chieftain. "He is but as the wolf compared with the
tiger. Time and again he has conciliated you when trouble between you
threatened, and we know--he knows that your troops could eat him and his
up without trouble. He is defeated by a handful. What of that? His men
fled, so we are told, ere the bayonets had crossed. Would that be the
case with our troops? They would hold their ground, for they pride
themselves upon being invincible. Ask this white officer more questions
as to the battle. He will tell you that Scindia's men ran like sheep."
He finished with a scornful toss of his head, and it was abundantly
clear that he had the utmost faith in the men under the command of
Holkar, and more than that, that his aim was to bring about hostilities
with the British.
"Send for this youth again," he cried, "and we will gather all the
facts; and remember this, my lord--for the man who dares much there is
much reward. Holkar is now a powerful chieftain, and the Peishwa and
Scindia tremble when his name is breathed. But what if Holkar conquered
the white invaders?"
Holkar's one eye gleamed with enthusiasm, while his hand went
involuntarily to his tulwar.
"There indeed would be power," he exclaimed. "It shall be. I will not be
frightened by this despatch, by the tales brought by a boy, and by a
victory won after an action which was never severely contested. Send for
this prisoner. I will interrogate him, and then he shall go."
"Go! My lord, think what cause there is here for war. Keep him. Hang him
if you will, and then throw yourself upon the British. They are
scattered at this moment, while their hands are full to overflowing. Now
is the time to strike. Send your troops against them while they are
divided, and annihilate each one of the scattered divisions. Strike now,
and let this youth be the cause of war."
The Frenchman's eyes blazed with excitement, while he rose from the seat
he had been occupying and stalked up and down in front of his chief. And
there was no denying that this officer was as fine a specimen of
humanity as one could well meet with. Tall, and handsome to a certain
degree, he bore himself proudly. His moustaches bristled, while his
whole mien betokened the utmost confidence in himself and in the wisdom
of the course he advocated. True, there was a certain air of treachery
about the man, and despite his fine appearance he was hardly the one to
attract the confidence or friendship of a stranger. One would have
thought him cruel and unscrupulous perhaps, and certainly the advice he
had just given led one to believe that he was.
"Send for this white officer," he said. "Let me see him and question
him. Then deal with him in the manner I have advised."
Holkar clapped his hands, and having attracted the attention of one of
his native officers, ordered him to send for the prisoner. That done, he
continued to converse with the French colonel in confidential whispers.
There was not the smallest doubt this white officer had the command of
the troops under the Mahratta chieftain and was a power in the land.
Also he was deeply antagonistic to the British, for the simple reason
that he was a Frenchman, and perhaps for some other reason. For those
who knew him could tell the tale that the name of an Englishman was
hateful to this white officer, and that whenever he mentioned those of
that nationality his lip curled, while his teeth showed as if he were
about to snarl. Indeed, there were some who said that Colonel Le Pourton
had some particular cause for hatred--a cause which he kept very closely
to himself.
Ten minutes later Owen was ushered into the room.
"A bold dog," said the Colonel, beneath his breath, as our hero entered,
his head in air and a look of indignation on his face. "He must have
known the danger of coming to the capital of Holkar, and yet he means
now to beard the chieftain. Truly these British are impossible!"
A moment later, as he obtained a full view of Owen's face, he started
and changed colour.
"Mon dieu! How like!" he exclaimed, while his colour went and he became
deathly pale. "If it could be----"
"Who are you? Your name?" he demanded fiercely in Mahratti.
"Owen Jones, Cornet in His Majesty's 7th native cavalry. And you?"
The Colonel gave a gasp of relief.
"How like to him!" he murmured again. "If it were not for the name I
could have thought that it was his son. Pshaw! How could it be? He is
lost. Lost for ever!"
He ground his teeth and snarled at Owen, who returned his glances boldly
and advanced to within a couple of yards of the Mahratta chieftain, his
eyes blazing, ready to denounce him for his act of treachery. For,
though young as yet, Owen had learned many things since he joined the
army. And one was that humility before a chieftain of Holkar's class was
not profitable. Underneath all the arrogance of these native princes
there lurked a wholesome dread of the British, and Owen knew that mild
remonstrance would be of little service to him. He must let this
chieftain know that his act would not go unpunished, and that if he
continued his violence all his troops would be insufficient to protect
him. He was in the very act of launching forth when Colonel Le Pourton
again interrupted him.
"You say that you are Cornet Owen Jones," he said in breathless and
excited tones. "Tell us where you come from in England. Speak, and let
it be the truth."
"The truth!" Owen swung round upon him, his face flushing. "Please
remember that an Englishman boasts that he always tells the truth. Who
are you who ask these questions?"
For a moment the Colonel was staggered by his boldness, while the single
eye of Holkar flashed ominously and he was in the act of speaking when
the Colonel held up his hand to arrest the words.
"My lord," he said, "let me deal with this youth. I have grave cause to
ask these questions, for years ago--but that is a story which could not
interest you. My name? Colonel Le Pourton, in command of some portion of
Holkar's forces. Your answer."
Owen thought for a moment before replying. There was something about
this Frenchman which repelled him, while the sneer on his face when he
spoke told at once that here was a man who was hardly likely to befriend
him. What object could he have in asking this question?
"From Winchester," he said at length. "That is my native city."
"And you were born there? Your parents lived there?"
The Frenchman sprang to his feet and strode up and down again in
extraordinary excitement while he waited breathlessly for the answer. As
for Owen, he was amazed at the questions and hardly knew whether to
reply or not. He could see no reason for not gratifying what would seem
to be idle curiosity on the part of this white officer, and yet there
was something forbidding about the Frenchman, something which warned him
to hold his tongue. If only he had known how eagerly the Colonel awaited
his information! If only he could have guessed what that information
would lead to!
"Ah well, I don't see why he should not know," he said to himself.
"Unless----"
Suddenly the thought came to him that this man might in some
extraordinary manner be connected with his earlier history--might even
have known his parents. Like a flash the idea swept across his mind,
and with it the determination to tell all that he knew.
"I was not born in Winchester," he answered. "I believe I was born in
India, and sailed for England when I was some four or five years of age.
After that I can only say that it would appear as if I had been stolen
and then deserted. I was brought up at the poorhouse, and finally
entered the army, when----"
He came to a sudden stop, for Colonel Le Pourton had collapsed into his
seat, where he lay rather than sat, a huddled heap, his face the colour
of crimson, his eyes bloodshot and staring, and his breath coming in
short, sharp gasps. He was evidently ill, and at the sight Owen looked
at him in amazement, while Holkar leaped to his feet with an oath. A
minute later, however, the Colonel recovered and sat upright, his
baneful eyes fixed on our hero.
"Let us talk with him another time, my lord," he said feebly. "Take him
away. See that he is secured. Put chains upon him if necessary. Warn the
jailer that he will be executed if this officer contrives to escape. Do
you hear? Take him away!"
His voice rose as he went on till it became almost a scream, while he
pointed a finger at Owen. His eyes flashed and blazed like those of a
maniac, he frothed at the mouth, while the lips and moustaches curled
back from the teeth in a hideous snarl, which was more than
disconcerting. Owen recoiled from the man and backed into the centre of
the room, while his hand went to the hilt of his sabre. Then the guard
which had escorted him to the presence of the Mahratta chief surrounded
him and hastened him away into the corridor, up the endless flight of
steps, and then into the large bare cell again. There was a crash as the
door swung to, the rasping of bolts and rusty bars, and the slither of
departing sandals, the slip, slip, slip of men descending the stairs,
the metallic clink of a striking weapon, now so wonderfully familiar,
for such small sounds seize upon the attention of a prisoner, and then
silence again--silence and the busy hum of the Oriental city, the call
of the bullock-drovers, the cry of the mendicant, and the sharp,
arrogant shout of the soldiers to clear a passage for them.
"The man is mad! He must be! What on earth can my history be to him--to
a Frenchman out here in India!"
Owen passed his fingers through his hair and then mopped his forehead,
for the scene which had just passed was amazing. It was filled with the
most astonishing incidents--incidents which defied his powers to
decipher.
And yet, was the Frenchman mad? Was there an undercurrent of meaning?
Surely there must have been reasons for his questions; and his illness,
the sudden collapse as the information was given him, were convincing
arguments that Colonel Le Pourton had reasons for asking his questions,
and that the answers, simple as they undoubtedly were, had brought some
dread to his mind which was sufficiently great to upset him. But though
Owen pondered on the matter for many hours he arrived at no solution,
and finally was compelled to give the mystery up as unfathomable. Of
this, however, he was certain: whatever interest the Frenchman might
have in him, it was not a friendly one. Something told him that the
Colonel was a bitter enemy, and that he would do well to escape from his
power as rapidly as possible. Had he had any doubts on this matter they
were set at rest that very night.
As the sun was sinking the door of his prison was thrown open. "You will
eat in a room along this passage. There are other prisoners." The
Mahratta jailer motioned to him to pass along the corridor, and ushered
him into a room in which there was a small table with three chairs set
to it. On these were seated three British officers, evidently in the
service of Holkar, for they wore Mahratta uniforms. They rose as he
entered and welcomed him as only Britishers can welcome their own
countrymen abroad.
"Here is another chair. Sit down, please," said one, a pleasant-looking
fellow. "Now, it is hardly worth asking what you will have, seeing that
very little is allowed. But make the most of the time, for they give us
only a few minutes. That's it. Now you have something, and we can talk.
We know all about you, and how you were taken. This Holkar is a
treacherous fellow, and his French adviser does not help matters. We are
in the same box, for we have been serving in his army for some time, and
should be now, we fancy, but for the Colonel. He has become very
powerful, and, being a Frenchman, hates all English officers. Holkar is
about to quarrel with the British, and as we could not possibly fight
against our own people we asked to leave him. That is why we are here,
and--but there, we won't think of the future."
"We'll make the most of our time," burst in another; "but there's no
denying the fact that things are ugly. This Holkar is capable of
murdering us."
There was a nod from the third, while Owen stared at his new
acquaintances in astonishment. Later he learned their names. They were
Captains Vickers, Todd, and Ryan, all three in the service of Holkar, as
many other British officers were in that of other chieftains; and these
unfortunate and gallant men, because they refused to fight their own
kith and kin, were prisoners. It was another illustration of the
treachery of Holkar.
But however hard the fortune which had come to the prisoners, for this
brief half-hour, when they were allowed to be together, they banished
care and became happy in one another's company. In a very little while
Owen learned all about them, while he rapidly told his own history and
all about the campaign which had been waged. A little later the door was
thrown open and the jailer ordered them back to their cells.
"Good-bye till to-morrow, Owen," said one of the officers, "and take my
advice. Beware of that fellow Le Pourton. We are not such close
prisoners here that our servants cannot bring us news, and we have
learned enough already to know that the Frenchman will have you killed
if possible. Look out. The jailer may have picked up a little of our
language."
"Then I must get away, whatever the difficulty," thought our hero as the
door of his cell was slammed to again and he found himself alone. "Even
if there were only the chief to be considered, I should go, for I could
not trust my life to him for an instant. And now that this Frenchman has
appeared upon the scene it becomes doubly necessary. But how?"
When night had fallen and the stars had come out in their myriads,
shining down upon the city of Indore, Owen stared up at them from the
window, puzzling how to make good his escape. Down below he could hear
the drowsy chant of some religious enthusiasts, while ever and anon the
flash of the fire which burned in a stove before them came to his eyes,
some one in the circle of natives about it having changed his position.
All manner of strange cries came up to him from the streets of this
Eastern city--the neighing of horses, the clatter of human beings, and
the bellow of oxen. But as the night passed on all these ceased, and
save for the bark of an occasional cur there was not a sound. In the
corridor outside, and in other parts of the tower in which he was a
prisoner, there was not so much as a murmur. He was alone, helpless, a
prisoner in the hands of two men as ruthless and as cruel as could well
be found.
And while he is there, groping round the walls, vainly endeavouring to
discover some hidden outlet, or thrusting his head out of the window as
if he were likely there to find some help, we will leave him for a while
to return to the British forces in the field. This Mahratta campaign,
which had opened so brilliantly, and which in the quarter where General
Wellesley had command had been waged so successfully and had culminated
in the victory of Assaye, is already familiar to the reader. But the
country ruled over by the Mahrattas was very extensive, and, as has
already been narrated, there was more than one chieftain who had thrown
down the gage to England, and in consequence there were other forces to
be encountered in addition to that under the command of Scindia in
person.
It will be remembered that negotiations for peace had commenced after
Assaye, and crushing though the defeat was which had been inflicted
there, it will be realised that in itself that was insufficient to bring
about such an event, considering the other forces in the field against
us--forces which so far have not been mentioned. Some 55,000 men,
European and native, had been collected in different parts by the
Governor-General of India, and these were divided into various brigades
with a view to carrying on a number of campaigns at one and the same
time. The areas detailed to these forces were the Deccan, Hindustan,
Goojerat, and Cuttack; and the operations resulting in the first-named
area have already been outlined, General Wellesley having there already
brought the enemy to a condition of humbleness. This brilliant general
could not possibly direct armies so widely separated, therefore other
commanders had to be selected, and in consequence some 7000 men were
placed under the orders of Colonel Murray in Goojerat.
The Rajah of Berar had rashly thrown in his lot with Scindia, and
against this chieftain marched another force of European and native
troops. The movements of this part of our army resulted on the 14th of
September in the storming of the fort of Barahuttee, one mile from
Cuttack, and in the conquest of the province--another strong inducement
to Scindia to lay down his arms.
And now we come to the operations in Hindustan proper--operations which
may be said to have been the most important of all, for the force
allocated to this area, under the command of General Lake, afterwards
Lord Lake, was to be opposed to General Perron's battalions, and it was
expected that the French element would lead to very great difficulties.
For these battalions, nominally in the service of Scindia, were wholly
devoted to the interests of France, and were in consequence a thorn in
the side of the British. They had assigned to them a considerable
territory, the income of which was devoted to their maintenance and pay,
and this territory they ruled despotically. There were some 43,650
trained men with 464 guns, and of these it is said that some 23,650 were
with Scindia in the Deccan, where General Wellesley had overthrown them;
while the remainder, 20,000, were in Hindustan, opposed to General Lake.
This last-named general had under his command 10,500 men of all arms. He
set out from Cawnpore on the 7th of August, and by 4th September had
captured the fortress of Allyghur, which was of the utmost importance to
General Perron, and which, having had all the skill of his engineers
devoted to it, was of incredible strength. It fell into our hands with a
huge quantity of military stores and 281 guns, and its capture must have
been a very serious loss to the enemy. It was followed by the
resignation of General Perron, who passed through our lines to Lucknow.
He had been informed that he was to be superseded, and in addition had
little confidence in the ultimate success of Scindia, or in his European
officers. His place was taken by Louis Bourquin, about whom gathered the
battalions formerly under the command of General Perron. But the effect
of Allyghur and of the general's submission were felt on the way to
Delhi, for many places were handed to our troops without a shot being
fired. On our arrival within sight of Delhi, however, Louis Bourquin
attacked the camp, having some thirteen battalions of infantry with him
and 5000 cavalry. Our men were tired out with their long march in the
sun and hardly fit for strenuous battle; but in spite of their condition
they faced the enemy staunchly, made a counter attack, and finally drove
the Mahrattas in wild flight from the field, after a very severely
contested action in which we lost heavily, while the enemy left 3000
killed and wounded on the field, besides numbers of guns, ammunition,
and two tumbrils laden with treasure. The occupation of Delhi followed
as a natural course, while Louis Bourquin and four other French
officers, using a wise discretion, forsook the service of Scindia and
surrendered to General Lake.
No sooner had this general won the ancient city of Delhi than he placed
Colonel Ochterlony in command of its garrison, and turning his back upon
it set out for Agra on the 24th of September, the very day following
that on which General Wellesley had defeated Scindia and his force at
Assaye. This brings events up to the moment when Owen was despatched to
Indore, to the court of the redoubtable Holkar. Now let us return to
that young officer, whom we left a close prisoner in the tower of the
palace.