THE HOSTAGES.
Swiftly rode Shakespere, Waller, and their six hundred Kuzzilbashes
on their errand of mercy, and midnight saw them far from the
mountains that look down on Cabul. Of all his five thousand horse,
old Shireen had certainly chosen the flower. All these men rode
their own chargers, and all were armed with lance and sword,
matchlock and pistols; all had their persons bristling with the usual
number of daggers, knives, powder-flasks, and bullet-bags, in which
the Afghan warrior delights to invest himself; and all wore the
peculiar cap from which they take their name--a low squat busby, of
black lambs'-wool, not unlike those now worn by our Hussars, and
having, like them, a bag of scarlet cloth hanging from the crown
thereof.
To avoid all suspicion or attention _en route_, Waller and Shakespere
had cast their uniforms aside, and rode at their head _à la
Kussilbashe_, dressed in poshteen and chogah, and armed with lance
and sabre.
The discovery of Rose Trecarrel--an event so unexpected and unlooked
for after all that had occurred--seemed to Waller as an omen of
future good fortune, and his naturally buoyant spirits rose as he
rode on. The expedition was full of excitement, especially for a
time: it was an act of courage, mercy, and chivalry, that all Britain
should eventually hear of; and Mabel was at the bourne, for which
they were all bound. Even poor Denzil, so recently interred, was
partially forgotten: soldiers cannot brood long over the casualties
of war, especially while amid them; and Denzil's death was only one
item in a strife that had now seen nearly fifty thousand perish on
both sides.
However, let it not for a moment be thought that Waller was careless
of his friend's untimely end, his memory, or his strange story; for,
ere he left Rose, he had promised that as soon as he could write, or
get "down country" again, one of his first acts should be to seek out
and succour "this only sister" of whom poor Devereaux had always
spoken so much and so affectionately.
When he parted from Rose, leaving her in the safe and more congenial
protection afforded by the European camp, she had not been without
one predominant fear. As friends had come too late to save or
succour Denzil, they might now, perhaps, be too late to rescue Mabel
and her companions from this new conjunction of enemies against them,
even in Toorkistan. Besides, Ackbar the Terrible, with the ruins of
his infuriated army, was to fall back on the deserts by the way of
Bameean, and thus, to avoid him, the two British officers, with their
Kuzzilbashes, at one time made a judicious detour among the hills.
At Killi-Hadji, they found traces of the first halt made by the
caravan outside the old fort, where a shepherd had, as he told them,
seen the captives; thence by the mountain pass and the fair valley of
Maidan, where a Hadji bound afoot for the shrine of Ahmed Shah at
Candahar, the scene of many a pilgrimage, told them that the risk
they ran was great, as the Hazarees were undoubtedly drawing to a
head in the Balkh; and this was far from reassuring, as they were
conscious of having far outridden their promised supports.
"Let us push on, for God's sake!" was ever Waller's impatient
exclamation at every halt, however brief; and even Sir Richmond
Shakespere, with all his activity and energy, was at times amused by
the restlessness of one who seemed by nature to be a rather quiet and
easy-going Englishman.
"These are tough rations, certainly," said he, as they halted for the
last time near the Kaloo Mountain, and masticated a piece of kid
broiled on a ramrod at a hasty fire (broiled ere the flesh of the
shot animal had time to cool), and washed it down by a draught from
the nearest stream.
"Tough, certainly; but we get all that is good for us."
"If not more," added Shakespere, pithily; "for this is feeding like
savages--or Toorkomans, who drink the blood of their horses."
"At a halt, when marching up country, I always used, if possible,
like a knowing bachelor, to tiff with a married man."
"Why?"
"You will be sure to find that he has some daintily made sandwiches,
cold fowl, or so forth, in his haversack: the women, God bless them,
always look after these little things. But that is all over now; we
are no longer in Hindostan. A little time must solve all this--the
safety of our friends----" added Waller, looking thoughtfully to the
distant landscape; and as if repenting of a momentary lightness of
heart, "I would give all I have in the world----"
"Say all you owe," suggested Shakespere, smiling.
"Well, Sir Richmond, that would be a round sum perhaps--to see them
all within musket shot of us. As for ransom, I have but my sword at
their service. I can't do even a bill on a Hindoo schroff, or raise
money on a whisker, as John de Castro did at Goa; but I can polish
off a few of those savages, as they deserve to be."
The dawn of a second day saw them descending the mighty ridges of the
Indian Caucasus, and a picturesque body they were, with their bright
particoloured garments floating backward on the wind; their black fur
caps with scarlet bags, their dark, keen visages and sable beards,
their polished weapons and tall tasselled lances flashing in the
uprisen sun, as they galloped, without much order certainly, at an
easy but swinging pace, over green waste and grey rocky plateau, up
one hill-side and down another, now splashing merrily, and more than
girth deep, through the clear, sparkling current of some brawling
mountain nullah whose waters had been imbridged since Time was
born--their horses light in body, with high withers, fine and
muscular limbs, square foreheads, small ears, and brilliant eyes, and
to all appearance fall of speed, spirit, and a strength that seemed
never to flag.
And sooth to say, the gallant Kuzzilbashes took every care to
preserve those qualities so desirable alike for pursuit or flight.
At every brief halt, they were carefully unbitted, unsaddled,
groomed, and lightly fed, and picketed in the old Indian fashion,
with the V-ended heel-rope fastened round both hind fetlocks and
secured to a single pin; near cuts over the hills were taken, but
rivers were never forded or swum, unless the horses were perfectly
cool; once or twice, pieces of goat's flesh were rolled round their
bridle-bits; and hence by all this care, the cattle of the whole
troop, unblown and ungalled, were in excellent order, when, on the
fourth day--for their progress had been swifter than that of Saleh
Mohammed, as they were unincumbered by women, children, camels, and
ponies--they left the Kaloo Mountain behind, and ere long, without
seeing aught of Hazarees or Toorkomans, though always prepared for
them, they came in sight of Bameean, towering on its green mountain,
its elaborate but silent temples and great solemn giants of stone
reddened by the bright flood of light shed far across the plain by
the sun, which was setting amid a sea of clouds that were all of
crimson flame.
In deepest purple the shadows fell far eastward; the gleam of arms
appeared on the walls of the old fort in the foreground, when Waller
and Sir Richmond Shakespere darted forward, by a vigorous use of the
spur, far outstripping their less enthusiastic followers. After they
had carefully reconnoitred the fort through their field-glasses,
Shakespere began to rein in his horse, and check its pace.
"Waller," said he, "a red flag has replaced Ackbar's invariable
green, one on the fort. We had better parley."
"But we have neither trumpet nor drum."
"Nor would those fellows understand the sound of either, if we had;
but look out--pull up, or, by Heaven, we shall be fired upon! You
are rash, Waller, and in action seem quite to lose your head."
"But my hand is ever steady--ay, as if this sword were but a cricket
bat," retorted Waller, whose blue eyes were sparkling with light.
"True, my dear fellow; but to be potted now, when within arm's length
of those we have risked so much to save, would be a sad mistake."
"Egad, yes; and that old devil with his jingall--for a jingall it
is--may speedily send one of us into that place so vaguely known as
the next world," responded Waller, as he tied a white handkerchief to
the point of his sword, and then Saleh Mohammed Khan was seen to
unwind and wave the cloth of his turban in response.
By this action they knew that all idea of resistance was at an end,
and that they should be received as friends. The gates of the fort
were unbarricaded and thrown open, and many of the ladies now began
to appear, timidly but curiously and expectantly, thronging forward
to meet those whom they had been told were come "to meet and to save
them."
Waller, who had manifested an air of blunt and soldierly resolution
and energy up to this period, now felt his emotions somewhat
overpowering, or perhaps he wished to see and hear something of
Mabel, before making himself known; so checking his horse, he
permitted Sir Richmond Shakespere, as his leader, to ride forward.
Lifting his Kuzzilbash cap, his frank English face, though sunburned
and lined, beaming with pleasure and joy the while,
"Rejoice," he cried, enthusiastically, "rejoice, ladies! Your
delivery is accomplished. Dear ladies and comrades, all your fears
and your sufferings are at an end!"
There was no loud or noisy response; the emotions of all were too
deep and heartfelt for such utterances; and, with feelings which no
description can convey to the imagination, Waller and Shakespere
found themselves surrounded by the captives, male and female, exactly
one hundred and six in number, of all ranks--captives whom by their
energy, activity, and rapid expedition they had saved from a fate
that might never have been known; for the news of their arrival
caused Hazarees and Toorkomans alike to disperse, and even Zoolficar
Khan abandoned all idea of attempting to carry them off.
The happiest moments of existence are perhaps the most difficult to
delineate on paper; but Bob Waller, as he folded Mabel Trecarrel
sobbing hysterically to his breast, laughing and weeping at the same
moment, despite and heedless of all the eyes that looked thereon--he
a thorough-bred Englishman, and as such innately abhorrent of "a
scene"--forgot the crowd, the Kuzzilbashes, the Dooranees, the
grinning grooms and dhooley-wallahs--he forgot all in the joy of the
moment, or by a chain of thought remembered only a passage of
"Othello," when, in garrison theatricals, he had once figured as the
Moor, with Harry Burgoyne for a Desdemona--
"If it were now to die,
'Twere now to be most happy; for I fear
My soul hath her content so absolute
That not another comfort like to this
Succeeds in unknown fate."
And Sir Richmond Shakespere, as he stood smiling by the centre and
blissful-looking group (now beginning clamorously to pour questions
upon him), ladies and officers, hollow-eyed, haggard, and pale, began
to perceive what had made Captain Robert Waller, of the Cornish Light
Infantry, take so deep an interest in the Trecarrels, and why he had
been the most active, energetic, and, so far as danger went, the most
reckless staff officer during our perilous advance up the Passes and
in the subsequent pursuit.
Waller did not find Mabel quite so much changed as he had feared she
might be; yet she was the wreck of what she had been in happier
times--the tall, full-bosomed, and statuesque-looking English girl,
with clear, calm, bright, and confident eyes. The latter were still
bright, but their lustre was unnatural; their expression was a wild
and hunted one; her colour was gone, and her cheeks were deathly
pale. But all in the group of hostages were alike in those respects.
For many months, had they not been daily, sometimes hourly, face to
face with death?
But Waller, as she hung on his breast and looked with eyes upturned
upon him, had never seemed so handsome in her sight: his form and
face were to her as the beau-ideal of Saxon manliness and beauty; but
his complexion, once nearly as fair as her own, was burned red now,
by the exposure consequent to the two last campaigns; his forehead
clear and open, his nose straight, his mouth large perhaps, but
well-shaped and laughing; and then he had in greater luxuriance than
ever his long, fair, fly-away whiskers; and, save his Afghan dress,
he looked every inch the jolly, frank, and burly Bob Waller of other
times, especially when, as if he thought "the scene" had lasted long
enough, he drew Mabel's arm through his, led her a little way apart,
and proceeded leisurely to prepare a cigar for smoking.
"So Bob, dear, dear Bob, my presentiment has come true after all,"
she exclaimed; "and this horrid Bameean has seen the end of all our
sorrows!"
"But it was not such an end as this your foreboding heart had
anticipated, Mabel," replied Waller, caressing her hand in his, and
pressing it against his heart.
Major Pottinger, who had now the command, ordered that all must
prepare at once to quit Bameean, and avoid further risks by falling
back on their supports, lest Ackbar Khan might come on them after all.
To lessen the chance of that, however, the wily Saleh Mohammed, who
knew by sure intelligence from his scouts that Ackbar was to proceed,
with the relics of his army, through the Akrobat Pass into the Balkh,
advised that all should take a circuitous route towards Cabul; and
this suggestion was at once adopted by the now-happy hostages and the
escort.
Two days afterwards, as they were traversing the summit of a little
mountain pass, their long and winding train of horse and foot guarded
by Kuzzilbash Lancers and the wilder-looking Dooranees, they came
suddenly in sight of those whom General Pollock had sent to meet and,
if necessary, to succour them.
These were Her Majesty's 3rd Light Dragoons, the 1st Bengal Cavalry,
and Captain Backhouse's train of mountain guns, all led by Sir Robert
Sale in person; and who might describe the joy of that meeting, when
the rescued hostages cast their eager eyes and hands towards them in
joy, and when they saw the old familiar uniforms covering all the
green slope, while the cavalry came galloping and the infantry
rushing tumultuously towards them!
The dragoons sprang from their horses, the infantry broke their
ranks, and the men of the 13th Light Infantry crowded round the wife
of their colonel and the other rescued ladies, holding out their hard
brown hands in welcome; eyes were glistening, lips quivering, and
many a hurrah was, for a time, half choked by emotion and sympathy,
while officers and soldiers again and again shook hands like brothers
that had been long parted.
Friends now met friends from whom they had been so long and painfully
separated; wives threw themselves exultingly and passionately into
the arms of their husbands; daughters leaned upon their fathers'
breasts and wept. Many there were whose widowed hearts had none to
meet them there; and many an orphan child stretched forth its little
hands to the ranks wherein its father marched no more, though some
might give a kiss or a caress to "Tom Brown's little 'un--Tom that
was killed at Ghuznee," or to the "little lass of Corporal
Smith--poor Jack that was killed with his missus at Khoord Cabul;"
but these sad episodes were soon forgotten amid the general joy.
Wheeled round on the mountain slope, the artillery thundered forth a
royal salute; muskets and swords were brandished in the sunshine;
caps tossed up, to be caught and tossed up again; reiterated English
cheers woke the echoes of the hills of Jubeaiz, which seemed to
repeat the sounds of joy to the winds again and again.