Colonel Le Pourton's Legacy
"An order from this white fiend is obeyed as if he were an emperor
indeed!" Owen repeated the very words to which Mulha had given utterance
that same afternoon when referring to the Colonel, and boldly entered
the archway through which Colonel Le Pourton had disappeared. There was
a grim and determined look on his dust-smeared face which betokened
recklessness, for our hero was in a corner.
"Of what use is it to me to be free of my cell and yet unable to leave
the precincts of the palace?" he murmured. "Besides, there are the
troopers. They cannot leave till to-morrow without an order from this
man, and, well, he will have to give it. The risk is worth the attempt,
and if this Colonel was so staggered at my answers to his questions,
perhaps he will be even more so at my sudden appearance. If not, I will
shoot him like a dog."
He moistened his lips as he drew out his pistol, and taking advantage of
the light saw that the weapon was primed and ready. Within the archway
he could see a long corridor, lit by a second swinging Eastern lamp of
perforated metal-work, and in the distance another opening. The aroma of
tobacco filled his nostrils, while he distinctly saw that thin wisps of
smoke were issuing from this far room. Then the French colonel was
indulging in a smoke, and that pointed to the fact that he had no fears
as to the security of his prisoner. Owen took heart at the sight and
pushed on without hesitation, determined to get the better of his
opponent. He thrust his hand beneath his coat, and treading lightly,
advanced to the door.
"Who is there? Speak at once," called the Colonel.
"Your servant, sahib, come at the word of the sentry. The prisoner is
fed and has settled for the night. I am told that you desire to speak
with him."
"Enter. Come into the room, and listen to what I have to say. Later, we
will go to his cell."
At the words Owen advanced again and stepped into the room, to find it
brilliantly illuminated, while the lamp hung over a central table at
which the long figure of his enemy lounged. Colonel Le Pourton had as
yet no suspicion of the intention of his visitor or of his disguise, for
as the escaping prisoner entered he barely glanced at him, and then
returned to the work he had in hand. There were plans and maps before
him, and on one of the latter he was tracing out the positions of the
various British forces then in the field. At his elbow stood a massive
gold box, in which was his store of tobacco, while he held between his
thin lips the stem of an English clay pipe, so much beloved of our
forefathers. Smoke issued in thin puffs from his lips and from his
nose and billowed into the room, almost hiding him from view, and
obscuring some portion of the decorated ceiling, the limp Eastern
hangings, and the rich mats which lay on the floor. Owen salaamed, with
one hand to his forehead, while he still concealed his pistol.
[Illustration: COLONEL LE POURTON WAS STARING DOWN THE MUZZLE OF THE
WEAPON
_Page 298_]
"You called, my lord," he said. "I am here."
Had he cared he could have shot the Frenchman where he stood with the
greatest ease and security, for Colonel Le Pourton was wont to treat all
natives as if they were dust beneath his feet. It was not his custom to
interrupt any matter upon which he might be engaged because a servant
happened to enter his room; and so, for a minute at least, he stood
there, lounging over the table, making dots upon the map with a pencil
and puffing clouds of smoke into the air. At length he dropped the
pencil, smoothed out the map, and slowly swung round to interview his
visitor. His eyes fell first upon the stranger's elaborate turban, and
then travelled to his face. He opened his lips to speak, taking the pipe
out as he did so, and then his jaw dropped, his eyes seemed to start
from his head, while his moustaches bristled. He staggered back to the
table, and leaned one hand upon it. Then his eyes went to his sabre,
which stood against the far side, a growl escaping his lips as he saw
that it was out of reach. But he could shout. He could call and give
warning to the sentries at the gate. Owen could almost read his
thoughts, and saw his lips open again for the purpose of calling. But he
had a means within his hand to silence his enemy, and at the sight his
pistol flashed out from beneath his coat and in less than a second
Colonel Le Pourton was staring with protruding eyes down the muzzle of
the weapon.
"It is much the same to me, Colonel," said Owen in the Mahratta
language, wonderfully cool now that the time for action had arrived. "I
was to have been murdered to-night. If you call out or attempt
opposition I will fire, and will at least have the pleasure of seeing
you die first. Silence, sir! Sit down!"
There was no mistaking the tone of the order, nor the fact that Colonel
Le Pourton in his own apartments, looking down the muzzle of a loaded
pistol, was a different individual from the proud and overbearing white
officer when in front of Holkar's troops. He weakened. A cold
perspiration broke out on his forehead and trickled down his temples.
His nervous hands gripped the edge of the table, while what colour he
had had disappeared entirely. He became a child, and feebly whined for
mercy.
"I would have rescued you," he said. "It was all Holkar's doing. But you
would have gone free. I myself would have seen to that."
"Silence!" Owen strode a pace nearer and placed the muzzle against his
forehead.
"Another lie such as that and I will blow out your brains," he said
sternly, though his heart fluttered now with excitement. "You would have
set me free! You will do so. There is paper there. Here is a pen.
Prepare to write."
Obedient to every command, the servile Frenchman did as he was told, and
scrawled the words which Owen dictated, tracing them across the paper
in feeble letters which jostled one another, for his hands were
trembling.
"From Colonel Le Pourton, to the officer on guard, and to those
stationed at the gates. Holkar bids you pass these twenty troopers,
their officer and his servant, in safety, without molestation, from the
city."
"That is right, and now we can proceed," said Owen, becoming calmer as
the moments passed. "Now look at me. You asked me certain questions. How
did they interest you?"
He had no intention of sparing his enemy, and as the Frenchman turned a
pair of shifty eyes upon his, the pistol again went to his forehead.
"I cannot say," was the trembling answer. "It was merely curiosity. I
know nothing of you or yours."
Owen could see that the man was not telling the truth, and would have
pushed the question. Then he frowned at his prisoner, while he still
kept the weapon at his head.
"Pshaw!" he thought. "Important though the answer may be, it cannot be
of such moment as is the question of escape. Some day we may meet again,
and then I will find time to force him to answer. Listen," he went on.
"I believe that your questions were prompted by something more than
curiosity, and that you are lying to me. We may meet again, and then I
will learn what you know. For the present, I have more for you to do.
Stand in the corner there and strip your clothing."
By now the small store of courage possessed by the Colonel was
beginning to return, and he flashed back a look of defiance at our hero.
But Owen gave him little opportunity of going farther. Within a moment
he buffeted his enemy across the face, striking him with his open hand.
"Obey me instantly!" he commanded in stern tones. "I give you five
seconds."
The Frenchman's courage was not proof against such an attack, and he
collapsed immediately. Rising from his chair, he tottered to the far
corner and slowly began to divest himself of his clothing, till Owen
hastened him with a glance which threatened further violence. A minute
later the Colonel stood naked but for a thin under-garment.
"What is in the smaller room beyond?" demanded Owen, for his eye had
seen another door, wide open, and a space beyond. "But I will see for
myself. Take that lamp. Now walk before me, and recollect that I will
shoot you with pleasure."
Following his prisoner, he entered the chamber beyond, to ascertain that
it was merely a storeroom filled with maps and other documents, and
entirely devoid of windows.
"The very place for him," thought Owen. "I will have two strings to my
bow on this occasion--the pass which he has signed, and the disguise
which he has so kindly provided. Give me the lamp," he went on. "You
will stay here while I arrange matters in the other room. I warn you
that if you attempt to give an alarm I will enter and shoot you. You
would have murdered me to-night in cold blood, and you must not mind if
I feel disposed to kill you on the smallest pretext."
He carried the lamp to the table, keeping his face to his prisoner, then
he banged the door of the inner room and secured it with the key which
was in the lock. Tucking the pistol into his belt, he then wrestled with
a chest which stood in one corner, and by using all his strength moved
it over against the door. That done, he wasted no further time on his
prisoner, but rapidly donned his clothing. He was ready within a few
minutes, and stood looking at himself in a fine glass of European
manufacture set in a gilded frame of Mahratta workmanship.
"A little short, and distinctly youngish," he said. "But the
impersonation is fairly good, and with something over my mouth will do.
I'll risk it."
He was still examining his figure with some satisfaction when a step
outside called his attention, and he sprang to the door and stepped into
the passage. Some one was entering, and in a moment he recognised the
sentry who had been stationed at the foot of the stairway leading to his
prison. The man salaamed as Owen appeared, remaining with his head to
the tips of his fingers, in abject humility. Owen swung round at once,
so as to hide his face, while he appeared to be engaged in looking at
something in the room.
"What is it?" he demanded curtly, attempting to imitate the accent of
his prisoner.
"The jailer, my lord. I have searched for him--we have all searched
every corner of the palace, and without success. There are groans
coming from the cell where the prisoner is, and we fancy that he may be
there."
"Then you can ease your minds, dolts that you all are," answered Owen in
rasping tones. "The man is here, engaged with me, and will remain
till--till the time comes for him to visit his prisoner. Go back to your
post, and bid the man at the gate make ready to pass me out. I am going
without the palace for a little while."
He turned to watch the Mahratta salaaming, and then stared after his
retreating figure, his heart palpitating, for discovery had been
narrowly averted. When he was gone, he took the lamp again and inspected
the door behind which the Frenchman was secured, and finding nothing
there to disturb his mind, he slung the Colonel's sword to his belt,
picked up his pistol, and drawing a silk scarf which happened to be in
the room about his mouth went into the passage. Closing the door, he
locked it, doing the same with the one which led into the garden. Then
he tossed the keys into the bushes, flinging after them those which
opened the door of the cell in which he had been quartered.
"And now for the gate and freedom," he said. "If the fellow on duty
dares to stop me----"
He eased the sabre and strode on, the weapon clanking at his heels. And
presently he was before the gates, to find three of the Mahrattas
standing there, their pikes across their shoulders, while the gates
stood wide open. Nodding curtly in acknowledgment of their salute, he
passed into the street and turned in the direction opposite to that in
which he knew his comrades to be quartered. Then he swung into the first
side street, and again to the right, till he came to the back of the
building in which Mulha had told him he would find his troopers. Lights
were burning within, and some feet above his head there was an open
window. Owen picked up a stone and threw it in, sending a second after
it. A head suddenly appeared, there was a sharp cry, and within a couple
of seconds a lithe and active form had slipped through the window,
dropped to the ground, and was weeping and kneeling at his feet,
grasping his ankles and legs as if begging life itself from the escaped
prisoner.
"Sahib, we have a ladder here. Mount and tell us all that has happened."
The native officer, whose head and shoulders now protruded from the
window, lowered a light and flimsy ladder made of sacking, and sternly
bade Mulha leave the officer.
"Silence!" he whispered hoarsely. "Would you that the sahib should now
be taken when he has made good his escape? Silence!"
"Steady, Mulha. I'm glad to see you. Now, up we go."
In less than a minute he was standing on the floor of a loft, lit by a
couple of smoky native lamps, and on which his twenty troopers had been
reclining. Now, however, they stood about him exclaiming, giving vent to
their joy.
"To-morrow we were to have marched, and this night----"
"I know the tale," said Owen, interrupting the native officer. "The
orders are reversed. To-night we march. To-morrow--well, we may be
killed. Are the horses saddled?"
"All is in readiness according to your orders, sahib."
"And is there a door by which we can get out without leading into the
main street?"
"There is, sahib. The locks are opened already."
"Then listen. My jailer is lying stunned in my cell. The Frenchman who
influences Holkar, and who would have killed me to-night, is a prisoner
in his own apartments, and is no doubt making frantic efforts to escape
or sound the alarm. I am in his place for the moment, for I have taken
his clothes. The ruse may or may not succeed. If not, and the guards at
the gates refuse to pass us, draw and cut them down at once. For we must
not delay. We shall have to ride yet for our lives."
"Silence!" There was a buzz of excitement as Owen rapidly sketched his
tale, but the native officer quelled it on the instant. He lifted his
hand, and at once all became silent.
"To your horses and mount," he said. "The sahib leads, and you will
follow in your order. I claim the post of honour."
There was a flash in his eye as the gallant fellow claimed to pass last
out of the city, and then the troopers scattered. Running lightly over
the floor, they went to the stables below, and in less than three
minutes all were mounted--Owen on his favourite Mahratta horse, Mulha
just at his elbow, and the troopers in file behind them. It was very
dark down there, but not so dark that they could not make out the
outlines of the building. But in any case the horses knew where they
were, and wanted only directing. At a touch from Owen's heel the party
set out, and rapidly passed through the door of the building. Closing up
as they gained the street, they rode in a compact body, their horses'
hoofs clattering now and again as they passed over stony ground. But
there had been recent rain, and thanks to that their progress was for
the most part silent. At length they arrived within a hundred yards of
the gate of Indore, and halted to reconnoitre.
"Hark! A horse galloping!"
Mulha lifted his hand and touched Owen's elbow, while all sat still,
listening intently. And soon there could be no doubt that a horse was
thundering down a neighbouring street and was coming towards the gates.
More than that, the man who rode this unseen animal shouted at the top
of his voice, and even at that distance Owen could see that the sentries
at the gate had come together and were discussing the matter.
"The Colonel must have got free, or the jailer has been discovered," he
said suddenly. "Trot! Gallop!"
He set his heels to his horse, and followed by his troopers dashed down
upon the gate, drawing his sabre as he rode. And when within some
fifteen yards of the gate the horse which had first roused their
suspicion burst from a street close beside them, and turning to the gate
crashed on towards it, its hoofs striking sparks from the stones.
Mounted upon the beast was a strange figure; for, if Owen could believe
his eyes, there was the white leader of Holkar's forces, naked but for a
light under-garment, his bare legs and arms showing and his moustaches
blowing in the wind.
"Treachery! Keep the gates closed and turn out the guard. Treachery!" he
shouted.
Owen waved his sabre over his head and again set his heels to his horse.
It was a race, and the Colonel had barely the best of it. Dashing up to
the astonished sentries, he pulled in his horse with such a jerk that
the animal slid some four yards on its heels, scattering stones and
sparks. Then he fell from the saddle, and leaping to his feet, rushed
into the guard-house. A musket flashed, and a ball flew past the
troopers. Shouts filled the air, while armed men appeared from all
directions, seeming almost to rise from the ground. Then another musket
flashed from the window of the guard-house, and the bullet struck Owen's
sabre with a sharp metallic sound, glancing from it and hitting the wall
behind.
"Hold them while I open the gate," shouted our hero, flinging himself
from the saddle--an example which Mulha and two of the troopers
followed, while the remainder, some with their lances, but the majority
with their sabres, charged at the enemy, scattering them.
"Here is the bar. Up with it! Now pull!"
Fortunately there was no lock, and therefore little difficulty in
opening the gates. In little more than a minute one was thrown back, and
the way was open. Owen climbed into his saddle, gave the word to his
men, and was in the very act of departing when the figure of the Colonel
appeared at the door of the guard-house. He was beside himself with
rage, and could barely control his actions. But now was his opportunity,
for the attention of the troopers was taken from the guard-house. He
levelled a musket which he snatched from one of the soldiers, took as
careful aim as his excitement would allow, and pressed the trigger.
"To Cornet Owen Jones," he shouted, as the bullet struck. "A legacy from
Colonel Le Pourton."
He stood there at the door, clutching the woodwork and eagerly watching
to see what effect his shot would have. His eyes started from his head,
so great was his eagerness, and when Owen tottered and fell from his
saddle the inhuman Frenchman gave vent to a shriek of joy which could be
heard at the palace.
"Down! Mon dieu! He is killed! At last this matter is settled!"
There was a shout of rage from the troopers, two of them slipping from
their saddles and lifting their officer. Then as they raised him to the
arms of Mulha there was a fierce cry from the native officer.
"See how he gloats over the death of the sahib," he cried, his eyes
blazing with wrath. "This for the French leader of Holkar's army. This
for all who serve the false and treacherous chief."
He spurred towards the guard-house, mounted the steps, and cut the
Colonel down with a terrific blow from his sabre. Then he turned the
weapon upon the other soldiers standing near, and so great was the
terror that he inspired that within two minutes the guard-house, the
gates, and their surroundings were cleared.
"Is the sahib lifted and cared for?" he demanded. "Tell me not that he
is dead! If that be so, then I swear that we will turn and rout out more
of these traitors, for I care not to live while the sahib falls."
"Come," said Mulha shortly. "He lives. The bullet has struck him hardly,
but he will recover with care. Ride on, or we shall all be taken."
They galloped through the gates, one of the troopers leading Owen's
horse, and did not draw rein till they had covered some five miles.
"What are the injuries? Let us see to them now while we are halted."
The officer dropped from his saddle and took Owen from Mulha. Then, with
the light of the moon to help them, they exposed the wound in his side
and dressed it as well as they were able.
"With care, he will recover," said Mulha with authority. "But he must
have rest. To ride far will be to kill him."
"While to halt will lead to his death with equal certainty. We must
ride, but not in this direction. We will make for Agra."
Turning their horses, they trotted on into the night, and, managing to
elude the swarms of horsemen sent to pursue them, finally came to a halt
in a shady wood some twenty miles away.
"He shall ride in a litter," said Mulha, as he and the native officer
discussed the question. "The journey will do no harm if taken slowly,
for the injury is not so grave as appeared at first. We will construct a
stretcher to be borne by two of the horses."
Two days later when they set out, Owen, now quite conscious, lay snugly
in a long litter made of bamboos, the side members of which were
fastened in front and behind to a saddle in such manner that even if the
troopers who rode the two horses happened to let their beasts get
somewhat far from one another the stretcher could not fall. And in this
way they came at length to Agra and fell in with the division under
command of the famous General Lake. Owen was at once transferred to the
hospital.