MOUNTING IN HOT HASTE.
Gobind Chand, to whom Lady Haigh had alluded, was the Hindu Vizier
of the Mohammedan state of Nalapur, the boundary of which marched with
that of Khemistan on the north. It was no secret to the rulers of
Khemistan that the consolidation of their power, of which Major
Keeling’s settlement on the frontier was only one of the signs, could
not be particularly welcome to the Amir Wilayat Ali. Formerly the
country beyond his own border had been a happy hunting-ground, whither
he could despatch any inconvenient Sardar or too successful soldier to
raid and plunder until he was tired, reserving to himself the right of
demanding a percentage of the spoil when the exile wished to return
home. There were also pleasant little pickings derivable from the
passage of caravans through the Akrab Pass, and the payment by weak
tribes or unwarlike villages of what one side called tribute and the
other blackmail, as the price of peace. These things gave the Amir a
distinct pecuniary interest in the frontier district, and during Major
Keeling’s first sojourn on the border, every effort had been made by
the Nalapuris, short of actual war, to convince him that his presence
was both undesired and useless. The lapse of time, however, and the
activity of the Khemistan Horse, proved to the Amir that his unwelcome
neighbour had come to stay, and whereas at first any raider had only
to cross the border to receive asylum, Wilayat Ali now persisted in
regarding the regiment as his private police. It was quite unnecessary
for him to take any trouble to secure marauders when the Khemistan
Horse had merely to come and seize them, and would do so whether he
liked it or not, and he announced that he left the task of keeping
order on both sides of the frontier to them, though this was not at
all Major Keeling’s intention, which had been to secure the Amir’s
active co-operation for the good of both states. To the English the
ruler posed as an obliging friend, but when he wished to demand
support or subsidies from his Sardars, he became a helpless victim
coerced by superior force; and as he could play both parts without
disturbing his own tranquillity by taking any steps whatever, he
opposed a passive resistance to all projects of reform. Major Keeling
had visions of a time when he would have leisure to arrange a
conference at which various outstanding questions might be discussed,
and the Amir brought to see what was expected of him; but in view of
the Amir’s obvious preference for the present state of things, there
seemed little prospect of this.
Apparently, then, the Khemistan authorities should have been pleased
when Wilayat Ali suddenly despatched his Vizier, Gobind Chand, to bear
his somewhat belated congratulations to Sir Henry Lennox on becoming a
K.C.B. To the more suspicious-minded it appeared, however, that the
Amir had heard rumours of the General’s approaching departure, and
wished to inquire as to their truth. This suspicion was confirmed when
Gobind Chand, after postponing his departure from Bab-us-Sahel on
endless pretexts connected with his own health and that of every
member of his suite, suddenly took a house at the port and announced
that he was going to learn English, and would remain until his studies
were completed. As this would at the lowest computation allow ample
time for Sir Henry to depart and his successor to arrive, the pretext
was a little too transparent, and it was politely intimated to Gobind
Chand that his own state must be in need of his valuable services, and
he was set on his homeward way. In advance went a message to Major
Keeling, ordering him to receive the distinguished traveller with all
due attention, but to see him over the frontier without delay, and
this caused a good deal of bustle and excitement at Alibad.
In spite of the activity with which building operations had been
carried on, the gaol and the hospital were still the only edifices
actually completed, and as Major Keeling refused hotly even to
consider the possibility of receiving the envoy in the fort, it was
necessary to erect a large tent in the space which had been set apart
for public gardens, but which could not be laid out until the hot
weather was over. Gobind Chand and his retinue would encamp outside
the town for the night, be received by the Commandant in the morning,
and resume their homeward journey in the afternoon--this was the
programme. There were various ceremonies to be gone through, gifts had
to be presented and accepted, and provision was made for a private
interview between the two great men, to which only their respective
secretaries were to be admitted. But when the time came for the
interview, Gobind Chand surprised his host by requesting that even the
secretaries might be excluded; and for more than an hour the officers
of the Khemistan Horse kicked their heels in the anteroom, and gazed
resentfully at the contented immobility of the Vizier’s attendants
opposite them, wondering what secrets the old sinner could have to
tell the Chief. Their waiting-time came to an end suddenly. Raised
voices were heard in the inner room, Major Keeling’s storming in
Hindustani, Gobind Chand’s, shrill with fear, trying to urge some
consideration upon him. Then the heavy curtain over the doorway was
pulled aside with such force that it was torn from its fastenings, and
the cringing form of the Vizier appeared on the threshold, with hands
upraised in deprecation. He seemed to be in fear of a blow, but Major
Keeling, who towered over him, gripping the torn curtain fiercely,
made no attempt to proceed to personal chastisement.
“Go!” he said, and the monosyllable came from his lips with the force
of an explosive. Gobind Chand’s attendants were on their feet in a
moment, and hurried their master out of the tent, Captain Porter, in
obedience to a gesture from the Commandant, following them to
superintend their departure.
“Haigh!” said Major Keeling, and Sir Dugald detached himself from the
rest. “In my office--at once,” and he led the way, Sir Dugald
following. For a moment or two Major Keeling’s indignation seemed to
deprive him of speech, as he tramped up and down the little room; then
he turned suddenly on his subordinate.
“What are you waiting there for? You will take twenty sowars and ride
to Nalapur with a letter for the Amir. Go and change your things,”
with a withering glance at Sir Dugald’s full-dress uniform, “and the
despatches will be ready when you are. Or before,” he added savagely.
It was fortunate that Sir Dugald was a man of even temper, and had
some experience of his leader’s peculiarities, for Major Keeling’s
manner was unpleasant in the extreme. But as he was leaving the room
he was recalled--
“You must get a guide from Shah Nawaz. Ferrers has several Nalapuris
in his detachment. I will ride with you part of the way myself, and
post you in the state of affairs. Send Ross to me for orders.”
The tone was quite different, and Sir Dugald had no longer reason to
fear that he might unwittingly have excited his Commandant’s
displeasure. He hastened to his quarters, sent a hurried message to
his wife, and reappeared in undress uniform before the letter was
finished, or the twenty horsemen, picked and duly equipped by Colin,
had ridden into the compound before Major Keeling’s quarters. Each man
carried, as was the rule on these expeditions, three days’ rations for
himself and fodder for his horse, with a skin of water. When Sir
Dugald had been summoned into the inner office to receive the letter,
Major Keeling’s black horse Miani was brought up, and presently the
little troop clattered out into the desert, the two Englishmen riding
ahead, out of earshot of the sowars.
“Now!” said Major Keeling, when they had settled into the pace which
experience had shown was the best for a long march, “I suppose you
would like to hear what the row is about. I’m glad I kept my hands off
that fellow, though I don’t know how I managed it. He wanted me to
help him to murder his master and make himself Amir.”
“And what inducement did he offer?” Sir Dugald’s frigid calm in asking
the question was intentional, for Major Keeling’s wrath was evidently
bubbling up again.
“Half the contents of the treasury, whatever that might prove to be.
But is that all you think about? Do you mean to say you don’t see the
insult involved in the offer--the fellow’s opinion of us who wear the
British uniform? Good heavens! are you made of stone?”
Sir Dugald smiled with some difficulty, for his face had grown tense.
“You are the only man who would say such things to me, Major Keeling,
and the only man I would allow to do it. With you I have no choice.”
“No, no; I beg your pardon. That abominable coolness of yours--but I
shall be insulting you again if I don’t look out. But if you had sat
listening to that villain for an hour, while he depicted Nalapur as a
perfect hell on earth, and Wilayat Ali as a wholly suitable ruler for
it, and then at last brought things round to the point he had been
aiming at all along, but which I had never seen, you’d know something
of what I feel. Why, the fellow had the inconceivable impudence to say
that he thought I understood all the time what he was driving at, and
only held back so as to make certain that he put himself completely in
my power!”
“But he could never have thought we should set a Hindu over a
Mohammedan state.”
“What have we done in Kashmir?”
“But Nalapur is outside our borders. We don’t claim any right to
interfere in their choice of a ruler.”
“Whether we claim it or not, we have interfered already. It was before
your time, of course, just after that wretched expedition to Ethiopia,
where we ought never to have gone, but having gone, we should have
stayed. Nasr Ali was Amir then, and his behaviour throughout was most
correct, even when our fortunes were at the lowest. Unfortunately for
him, it was thought well that the General and he should meet, so that
he might be thanked for his loyalty, and a halt was made for the
purpose. Things went wrong from that moment. The General and his
escort were attacked by tribesmen in one of the passes, and when they
got through, with some loss, the news came that Nasr Ali was ill, and
not able to meet them. You know what Old Harry is, and how he was
likely to receive such a message after the impudence of the tribes;
and just as he was working himself up into a fine fury there came to
his camp in disguise these two scoundrels, Gobind Chand and Wilayat
Ali, the Amir’s brother. They made out that they had stolen away at
the risk of their lives to warn the General that Nasr Ali meant to
murder him and the whole escort. Sir Henry didn’t wait to inquire why
Nasr Ali should choose the time when a victorious army was within call
to assassinate its leader, for the fugitives’ news just fitted in with
his own suspicions. They gave him a sign by which he was to judge of
their good faith. Nasr Ali had promised to receive the mission at the
gate of the city the following day: if he did not appear, that would
be proof of his treachery. Sir Henry sent an order back to the army
for a brigade to be in readiness, and waited. Sure enough, before they
reached the city gate Wilayat Ali, in his own person this time, came
to meet them and say that his brother was too ill to come out, but
would receive them in the _killa_ [palace] if they would enter the
city. To Sir Henry, and all who remembered the Ethiopian business, it
was simply an invitation to come and be murdered; so he rode back to
camp, sent another messenger to order up the brigade, and passed a
horribly uncomfortable night, expecting to be attacked at every
moment. Much to his astonishment, he was not attacked, though bands of
Nalapuris were said to be circling round, hoping to catch him off his
guard, and then the brigade arrived after a forced march. Old Harry
allowed the men two or three hours’ rest, occupied the hills
overlooking the city in the night, and sent in a demand for its
surrender in the morning. Nasr Ali, posing, so the General thought, as
an injured innocent, protested against the whole thing as a piece of
the blackest treachery, carried out under the mask of friendship, and
refused to surrender. I don’t want to go into the whole sickening
business; the place was stormed, and Nasr Ali killed in the fighting.
Wilayat Ali opened the gates of the _killa_, and allowed the treasury
(there was remarkably little in it) to be looted. He was the natural
heir, for Nasr Ali’s women and children had all been massacred. Of
course Wilayat Ali gave us to understand that our troops had done it,
but that is absolutely untrue. The first man that broke into the
zenana found it looted, and dead bodies everywhere--a shocking sight.
I haven’t the slightest doubt that Wilayat Ali had admitted a set of
_badmashes_ to wipe out his unfortunate brother’s family, and intended
to charge it on us, but there’s no proving it. Well, he was placed on
the _gadi_ with Gobind Chand as his Vizier, and we marched home again.
Little by little things came out which made me think a horrible
miscarriage of justice had occurred, and when I laid them before Sir
Henry he had to believe it too. That Wilayat Ali deliberately traduced
and betrayed his brother in order to obtain his kingdom I am as
certain as that I am here, and now I have to interfere to save him
from being murdered by his fellow-scoundrel!”
“There is no chance of putting things right,” said Sir Dugald, in the
tone of one stating a fact rather than asking a question.
“None. If any of poor Nasr Ali’s children survived, we might do
something, but the fiends took good care of that. There were two boys,
certainly, and I believe some daughters as well, but they are beyond
reach of any atonement we can make. And since no good could come of
it, it would look rather bad for the paramount Power to have to
confess how easily it had been hoodwinked; so we let ill alone.”
“Poetic justice would suggest that you should allow Gobind Chand to
murder Wilayat Ali, and to be murdered in his turn by the Sardars.”
“And put young Hasrat Ali, Wilayat’s son, who by all accounts is a
regular chip of the old block, on the _gadi_? That wouldn’t better
things much, and would mean a nice crop of revolutions and tumults.
Nalapur is too close to our borders for that sort of thing. I don’t
say that I wouldn’t have welcomed poetic justice if it had had the
sense to take its course without consulting me; but as it is, I can’t
connive at the removal of an ally, even an unsatisfactory one. Your
business is to see the Amir as soon as you arrive, if bribes or
threats will do it, so as to forestall Gobind Chand; but don’t leave
without delivering the despatch into his hands, if you have to wait
for a week. Even if Gobind Chand succeeds in getting round him and
persuading him of his innocence, the warning will make him keep his
eyes wide open. And--I am not a particularly nervous man, but this is
a wicked world--see that your men mount guard properly day and night
while you are in Nalapur, and go the rounds yourself at irregular
intervals. Since you know something now of Wilayat Ali, I needn’t
remind you not to trust a word that he says. Well, I’ll turn back
here. Take care of yourself.”
Sir Dugald saluted and rode on with his detachment, and Major Keeling,
putting spurs to his horse, galloped back to Alibad, still in the
gold-laced uniform and plumed helmet he had donned for his interview
with the Vizier. He had never many minutes to waste, and Gobind Chand
had robbed him of half a working day already, but he made time to
pause at the fort and send Lady Haigh a message that he had seen her
husband on his way.
“As if that was any consolation!” cried Lady Haigh when she received
it. “If he had seen him coming back, now----! The way he keeps poor
Dugald running about all day and every day is really shameful. I do
believe”--with gloomy triumph--“that he picks him out for all the
dangerous and awkward bits of work on purpose. If anything happened to
any of the other men, their sweethearts or mothers or sisters might
reproach the Major, and so he sends Dugald, knowing that I have sworn
not to say a word, whatever happens.”
Penelope smiled feebly. She was very long in recovering from her
attack of fever, and Lady Haigh was anxious about her, even throwing
out hints as to the possibility of emulating the despicable conduct of
the Punjab ladies, and taking a trip to the Hills or the sea. But
Penelope only shook her head, and said she should be better when the
cool weather came. No change of scene could alter the fact that she
had finally and deliberately taken upon herself the responsibility of
Ferrers and his failings, or relieve her from the haunting feeling
that henceforward there would be a blank in her life. What caused the
blank she had not courage to ask herself. People were not so fond of
analysing their sensations in those days as in these; it was enough to
be conscious of an ever-present sense of loss, to know that she had
put away from her something that it would have been a joy to possess.
Three days passed without news of any kind, dreary days to the two
ladies, who devoted themselves, as in honour bound, to their
unsatisfactory pursuits, and only emerged from the fort for their
evening ride. The “gardens”--for the name which sounded ironical had
by general consent been adopted as prophetic--boasted a nondescript
erection of masonry which did duty as a band-stand; and here a band in
process of making struggled painfully through various easy exercises
and a mutilated edition of “God Save the Queen.” Lady Haigh and
Penelope always halted their _palkis_ dutifully in the neighbourhood
of the band, and stepped out to walk and talk a little with Major
Keeling and the other men. It was as necessary to appear here once
a-day as on the sea-drive at Bab-us-Sahel, and if Major Keeling was in
the town he never failed to show himself. Riding, fighting, building,
surveying, planting, exercising his men, administering his district,
he had ten men’s work in hand, and his only moment of leisure in the
whole day was this brief evening promenade. Lady Haigh told him once
that it was very good of him to devote it to social purposes. He
replied gravely that it was his duty, the least he could do--then
hesitated, and confessed that he did not dislike it, nay, that the
thought of it sometimes occurred to him pleasantly in the intervals of
his day’s labours, and Lady Haigh received the information with
suitable surprise and gratitude.
When the watchman on the fort tower announced at last that Sir
Dugald’s detachment was in sight, Major Keeling broke up abruptly the
court he was holding, and rode out to meet him. As soon as details
could be discerned through the haze of sand, he assured himself that
the numbers were complete, and that no fighting had taken place; but
Sir Dugald’s face, as he met him, did not bear any look of triumph.
“Well?” asked the older man sharply.
“The Amir absolutely refused to receive me until the morning after we
arrived, and by that time Gobind Chand had turned up, of course. They
make out that Gobind Chand’s proposal to you was inspired by his
master, and intended to test your friendship.”
“I hope they were satisfied that it had stood the test?”
“Well, hardly. They said that if you were really friendly you would
hand over to them some fugitive called the Sheikh-ul-Jabal.”
Major Keeling nodded his head slowly two or three times. “So that’s
it, is it? Rather a neat plan, if my righteous indignation hadn’t
knocked it on the head. But somehow I don’t fancy Wilayat Ali would
care to suggest to Gobind Chand the idea of murdering him. And yet, if
you got to Nalapur before Gobind Chand, how could he have managed to
delay the audience until he had put things right with the Amir? Of
course he may have anticipated my action, and left directions, but----
Who was your guide, after all?”
“Ferrers’ munshi, Mirza Fazl-ul-Hacq.”
“What!” Major Keeling smote his hand upon his knee. “That man, of all
men? The very last---- How in the world----?”
“Is there any objection to him? Ferrers did not want to weaken his
garrison, for the outlaw Shir Hussein is in the neighbourhood again,
and he hopes to catch him. This man knows Nalapur well, and has
friends in the city. Ferrers trusts him implicitly--with all that he
has in the world, if you are to believe the Mirza himself.”
“I can quite believe it. Well, no matter. I ought to have warned you.
No, I know nothing against the man; but why does he always keep out of
my way, if it isn’t that he’s afraid to meet me? And he has friends in
Nalapur, has he? Did he go to see them as soon as you arrived?”
“Fairly soon after. I thought it as well to let him trot off, so that
he might bring us warning if there was any talk of attacking us.”
“Quite so. But I hardly think he’d have done it. So they want the
Sheikh-ul-Jabal given up? I’ll see them hanged first!”
“Is there anything peculiar about the man, Major,--any mystery----?”
“None that I know of. Why?”
“Both the Amir and Gobind Chand looked at me very hard when they made
the demand, almost as if they expected to stare me out of countenance.
And there was a sort of uneasiness about the whole interview, as if
either they knew more than I did, or suspected me of knowing more than
they did--I couldn’t make out which. And perhaps you didn’t notice,
sir, that when Gobind Chand met you first he gave a great start? I
noticed it, and so did Porter.”
“No, I didn’t see it. That wretched mystery cropping up again, I
suppose! I wish I could get to the bottom of it. But there’s nothing
mysterious about the Sheikh-ul-Jabal. He was a great friend of our
unfortunate victim, Nasr Ali, who married his sister, and he managed
to escape into our territory, with a few followers, when the trouble
came. He had done us good service in the Ethiopian war, and Sir Henry,
whose conscience was pricking him pretty badly, was glad to promise
him protection, though Wilayat Ali has never ceased to press for his
being given up. He is a heretic of some sort, and the orthodox
Nalapuri Mullahs hate him like poison.”
“A Sufi, I suppose?” said Sir Dugald.
“No; he is the head of a sect of his own--the remnant of some
organisation which was very powerful at the time of the Crusades, I
believe. Even now he seems to have adherents all over Asia, and
several times he has given us valuable information. But Wilayat Ali
swears that he is perpetually intriguing against him, and so the
Government have rewarded him rather scurvily--forbidden him to quit
Khemistan. The poor man laid it so much to heart that he took a vow
never to leave his house again as long as the sun shone upon the
earth.”
“Then he is a state prisoner somewhere? Is he down at the coast?”
“No, he has furbished up a ruined fort which he found in the
mountains, and calls it Sheikhgarh. He has an allowance from us, and
he could range all over the province if he liked. It is only his vow
that prevents him, and, curiously enough, I have reason to know that
it’s not as alarming as it sounds.”
“Why, have you ever seen him?”
“I have, and I have not. I met him out in the desert one night--saw a
troop of men riding, and challenged them. When he heard who I was, he
came forward to explain that for a person of such sanctity it was easy
to dispense himself partially from his vow--so as to let him take his
rides abroad at night. He was muffled up to the eyes, and it was dark,
besides, so I can’t say I saw him, but I liked his voice. I told him
he need fear no molestation from me, that I considered both he and
Nasr Ali had been treated scandalously, and that I was on his side if
the Government troubled him any more.”
Sir Dugald hid a smile. Major Keeling’s opinion of any government he
might happen to serve was never a matter of doubt, and no prudential
motives would be likely to induce him to keep it secret.