WELL AND TRULY LAID.
/Still/ the storm tarried. Supper was served, and Eveleen made a
pretence of eating, lest the servants should attribute her lack of
appetite to fear. Then they went away to have their food--Ketty eating
in self-righteous solitude, while Abdul Qaiyam fraternised with the
boatmen, who had kindled a fire on the island to cook their rice.
Eveleen envied them as they sat in the smoke, for it served to keep
away mosquitoes and other flying pests, while she durst not light a
candle for fear of filling the cabin with the winged intruders. Alone
with her unconscious husband, she kept a dreary vigil, fearful of she
knew not what. She remembered that Richard had seemed about to say
something when the boat with the guards came up, but the momentary
impulse had passed, and he had shown no inclination to speak since.
What was it that had troubled him? Could it be that he had recognised
any of the men? But even so, what could the guards do, even if
ill-disposed? They might intend robbery, but the modest belongings of
the pair would be poor booty compared with the danger of provoking the
certain vengeance of the Bahadar Jang. Or if they were indeed
adherents of the Khans, their object might be simply to avenge the
wrongs of their former masters; and Eveleen shuddered as she
remembered what had befallen an invalid officer, on his way down the
river, at the hands of some of Khair Husain Khan’s servants. Dragged
from his boat shivering with fever, the sick man had pleaded with the
robbers, as he thought them, to leave him his clothes, because he was
so cold, and they had responded by cutting off his head. Sir Harry had
acted as might have been expected of him, informing the Khan he would
hang him from the round tower of the Fort unless the guilty servants
were given up. They were produced in an hour, and suffered the penalty
their master escaped, though it went sorely against the grain with Sir
Harry to spare Khair Husain and punish his tools. That example ought
to serve as a salutary warning, surely?
But Eveleen could not take comfort. The servants had returned and made
things ready for the night, and she had lain down on her bed, though
knowing she could not sleep. Every sense seemed to be more than
commonly alive, as though the coming storm, which had lulled Richard
into lethargy, merely stimulated her. Theoretically no one was awake
within miles of her--for what was the use of posting sentries on an
uninhabited island in the middle of a wide river?--but the air was
full of little unaccountable noises. A feeble soughing wind that went
and came, distant irritable growlings of the storm, the rattling,
rather than rustling, of the withered grass and rushes--these sounds
she could identify, but there were others whose meaning eluded her. Of
course it was only the lapping of the water that sounded like
whispers, and when one might think some one had dropped a weapon it
was merely the snapping off of a dead branch by its own weight; but
she wished they would not happen. The blinds at the ends of the cabin
were rolled up to allow the free passage of air, and she lay looking
out at the leaden sky, with no companionable stars to brighten it, and
listening to the sounds, and there fell upon her at last an agony of
terror. It had always been her boast that she did not know what nerves
were, but she would never make it again. The beating of her own heart
sounded to her like the rise and fall of a tremendous piston, such as
she had once heard in a Dublin factory, filling the whole earth and
sky; and as she cowered before its relentless thud, she trembled with
cold, though the slightest movement made her aware that her whole
frame was streaming with perspiration. She who had been afraid of
nothing was afraid of everything--the place, the time, the weather,
the solitude, the company, the silence, the sounds,--what she saw and
what she did not see.
She shook herself angrily free from the overmastering terror at
last--or at any rate, which perhaps showed equal courage, she acted as
if she did. Struggling from the bed and to her feet--for she found she
must put forth all her strength, as though she were really being held
down by a powerful hostile hand,--she threw on a dressing-gown and
groped her way forward. The old bearer, curled up like a dog beside
his master, heard her and looked up curiously: she saw his bright eyes
like a dog’s in the dark, lighted by some gleam behind her, perhaps
the ashes of the dying fire on the shore. She stood looking out, but
there was nothing to see. Dark sky, dark water--a perfect pall of
darkness brooding over everything,--and on her left a slightly deeper
darkness which showed the position of the island and its ragged grass
and shrubs. The voices of the night were whispering as before, and
again she felt that terrible sensation of helplessness. Once she
opened her lips to pray, but her pride was not broken yet. “And how
would I pray,” she asked herself sharply, “when I know every bit of
it’s my own doing?”
She staggered as she spoke, and caught at the framework of the cabin
to steady herself. What had made the boat lurch suddenly--some wave
which was the result of the storm higher up, its precursor here? She
looked more narrowly at the water. Was it fancy, or did she see round
things moving in it? And surely there were strange amorphous shapes
where there had been none before? Her heart stood still. The change,
if change there was, was so soundless, so ghostly. But the thought of
the supernatural passed from her mind with a shock. The boat was
moving. Not merely swaying at its moorings as the current tried to
suck it away from the protecting island, but moving out into the
stream and leaving the island behind. Wild thoughts of crocodiles
rushed into her mind. Could they possibly bite through stout ropes and
tow a boat along, or even leave it to float at its own sweet will?
Impossible; there must be human agency at work. With Eveleen to think
was to act, and kneeling precariously at the side of the boat, she
leaned over the gunwale and clutched at one of the round objects she
had thought she saw. The yell of horror which came from it told her
what the sense of touch told also, that it was a human head. The boat
was surrounded by swimming men, who were moving it away from the
island--presumably it was also being towed by a rope. But what the
great shapeless objects were, which she seemed to see beyond the
heads, she could not tell, nor did she trouble to conjecture. Whether
she or the man she had grasped was the more astonished might be
doubtful, but she had the advantage of position. Catching up an
earthen water-pot which stood outside the cabin for the sake of
coolness, she hurled it in the direction of the yell, and was on her
feet in a moment and under the mat roof. When she came out, Richard’s
pistols were in her hand, and she fired one in the direction of the
island as a signal. She could not believe that Mr Firozji was
concerned in any plot that might be toward, and if he was a man at all
he would come to the rescue with those guards of his.
The immediate response to her signal was a startling one. She had
barely time to recharge the pistol, working clumsily in the dark,
before there was a hasty movement of men aft--whether the boatmen or
the swimmers she could not tell, nor was she much concerned to know.
At the moment she was more conscious of Abdul Qaiyam’s heavy breathing
close beside her as he asked in a bewildered voice whether the Beebee
had shot anybody than of her possible assailants. Hurriedly she thrust
the ammunition pouch at him.
“Load when I pass y’a pistol!” she said sharply, and then called out
in her imperfect Persian to the men in front that if any one came
nearer she would shoot him. One man sprang forward, and she fired at
him point-blank. The blind shot in the dark must have taken effect,
for the man cried out and fell forward. Confused cries of rage and
protest came from the rest, and Eveleen held her hand. For the moment
she had thought of discharging all the three shots she had left into
the group, in the hope of driving them overboard at once, but the
imprudence of leaving herself defenceless, even for a moment, was
reinforced by mystification. The whole thing was like a bad dream--the
shapes in the water, the moving crowd dark against the dark sky, the
eager talking in an unknown tongue. If it was Persian, her knowledge
of the language was quite inadequate to cope with it. She stooped a
moment towards Abdul Qaiyam as he handed her the recharged pistol.
“Speak to them!” she said imperiously. “Ask them who they are--what
they want. Tell them we are well armed, and can see them though they
can’t see us.”
The old man was too much terrified to obey immediately, and she thrust
at him impatiently with her foot. Then his quavering voice made itself
heard--“Brothers!” and the men in front appeared to listen. One of
them stepped forward a little.
“Stand back, or I fire!” said Eveleen quickly, and the bearer repeated
the words in Persian. As he spoke, she remembered suddenly that she
must be visible to any one able to see through the cabin from end to
end, and she sank on her knees, resting the barrel of the heavy pistol
on the back of a camp-chair which she pulled noiselessly towards her.
Crouching thus, she was invisible to those in front, and a barrier--if
a frail one--between Richard and the enemy. But were they enemies, or
was there some absurd mistake? She could not decide, but she felt
fairly certain that what they had been speaking was not Persian,
though the spokesman--who had withdrawn a pace or two hastily before
her threat--was using that language with Abdul Qaiyam.
“These are very bad people,” the old man murmured to her at last, and
she listened without turning her head. “Kajia tribe--they come to
steal the boat--everything.”
“Nonsense! they’ll not do anything of the sort. Where will the Parsee
be, now? letting this kind of thing happen instead of coming to help
us.”
To her amazement the meek voice of Mr Firozji answered her--apparently
from somewhere close at hand. In her bewilderment she suffered her
gaze to stray for a moment, and discerned dimly that he was just
outside the boat, but seemingly not in the water. At least, his voice
was on a level with the gunwale, though there was no grating sound to
show that another boat was rasping alongside. The mad
incomprehensibility of the situation was more incomprehensible than
ever.
“The Beebee beholds in me a son of misfortune,” he said pathetically.
“The Kajias have deceived me. They have stolen the boat, so as to
carry away the Sahib, the Beebee, myself, the servant people--all.”
“And what may those guards of yours be about, to let them do it? Call
them, can’t you? Shout!”
“The Kajias would slay me,” in affright. “The guards are asleep.”
“Much good they are! But what do the Kajias want to do with us? We’d
be no good to them to steal.”
“Are they not taking us to their camp?” he suggested doubtfully.
“Well, they won’t, then. Tell them to go back and leave us on the
island, and take the boat if they want it.”
“They say the water will soon be rising, and we should all be drowned.
They refuse to leave us.”
“Sure they’re very considerate! Well, tell them we won’t go to their
camp--or if we do, there’ll be precious few of them will take us
there. I have plenty of shots here, and I’ll use them all first.”
“What does the Beebee please to desire?” was the question asked after
some interchange of conversation between Mr Firozji and the captors.
Eveleen had employed the interval in thinking hard. She did not
believe the Kajias meant to take their victims to their camp--or if
they did, it was merely for the sake of killing them more at their
leisure. It was in the highest degree unlikely that they would leave
witnesses alive to testify against them, or provoke Sir Harry further
by attempting to hold them to ransom. No, what they had no doubt
intended was to tow the boat out of earshot of the sleepy guards on
the island, and then cut the throats of all on board, and gut the
vessel and send her adrift, in the comfortable conviction that nothing
but unrecognisable fragments would survive the storm. This seemed the
more certain from their bringing with them the means of getting to
shore again, for the mysterious shapes--on one of which Mr Firozji was
uncomfortably poised, like a river-god in difficult
circumstances--were obviously the _mashaks_, or inflated skins, with
the help of which the tribes on the banks were in the habit of making
such short voyages as they found necessary. How they had managed to
abstract the poor little man from his own boat, under the eyes of his
servants, was a mystery, but everything was mysterious to-night.
He repeated his question as Eveleen hesitated a moment.
“Why, let them take us over to the other side,” she answered--the
desire to be as far as possible from the Kajias conquering all other
considerations. “I’d rather choose the desert than their camp.”
“There is no time. They are afraid of the storm.” Mr Firozji’s voice
sounded as if he was frightened himself.
“Well, they may say whether they’ll be shot, or drowned in the storm.
I’d much rather be drowned----” She stopped suddenly, for the second
pistol, which had lain beside her knee, was hastily withdrawn, and a
shot rang out behind her. Then she laughed rather wildly, for the
deferential voice of the old bearer murmured--
“This humble one made bold to fire at one of the sons of wickedness
who was climbing into the boat behind the Beebee’s back.”
“Quite right!” she said, still laughing, then turned sharply upon Mr
Firozji. “Tell them they are wasting time. If the storm overtakes us
’twill be their fault. I’m tired of this. Let them make up their
minds.”
Again there was a prolonged conversation, and apparently the Kajias
gave a grudging assent to the condition. “If the Beebee is determined
to drown all of us and the Kajias too, she must,” remarked Mr Firozji
sourly as he scrambled on board the boat, having taken the opportunity
of putting in a word for himself in the course of the negotiations.
Yet Eveleen had the idea that he was not really displeased, and she
wondered whether he could possibly be in league with the Kajias after
all. But the notion seemed so absurd that she banished it again,
though disregarding coldly his hints that the night air was unhealthy,
and refusing to invite him into the cabin. The Kajias--or the
boatmen--or perhaps they were the same: it was impossible to see--were
very busy, working with an alacrity rather surprising in the
circumstances. There was a slight chill breeze to be felt now, and
they were hoisting the sail, and also getting out their poles. Were
they really indifferent which bank they landed on, or were they
plotting further treachery? As noiselessly as she could, Eveleen
supplemented the chair which served her as a parapet by such other
pieces of furniture and packages as she could reach, and whispered to
Abdul Qaiyam to do the same at the other end of the cabin, entrusting
him with one of the pistols. In feeling about, she came across Ketty,
who had preserved such an unwonted silence during the stirring events
of the last half-hour that her mistress had forgotten all about her.
But she had been employing her time to advantage, as Eveleen
discovered when she found her dressing-case open and largely denuded.
Her handmaid had been removing such fittings as were of convenient
size, and concealing them about her person.
“What in the world are you doing, Ketty?” The tone would have been
louder but for prudential reasons.
“What madam doing without her things?” was the self-righteous reply,
calculated to make Eveleen repent her unjust suspicions. Were they
really unjust? she wondered.
“Well, I hope y’are taking care of the Sahib as well,” she said. “He
needs much more than I do.”
The sniff with which Ketty replied suggested that she considered this
would be trespassing on Abdul Qaiyam’s province, but her mistress had
no time to see whether she was obeying or not, for there were other
things to think of. The tardy storm was coming up at last, heralded by
the breeze which was taking the boat across the stream. Great drops of
rain were falling like bullets on the cabin roof, and the air was full
of a hissing noise. The boat was in the main stream now, and the
boatmen drew in their poles, and evidently settled down to hold tight
and hope for the best. The river seemed bewitched, cross-currents
driving the boat now this way, now that, and the men who were managing
the clumsy sail had no easy task. The vessel was not built for rough
weather, her draught being too shallow and her deck-load too heavy.
She bounced and bobbed about, shipping a good deal of water, and
hurling all the loose things in the cabin from side to side with every
lurch. Fearful of a surprise, Eveleen durst not leave her post even to
see that Richard was safe, and had to take what comfort she could from
the knowledge that his charpoy was fixed to the deck. By the sounds
she heard, she gathered that the two servants were in the throes of
sea-sickness, and she wondered dismally what would happen if she
herself were prostrated by it as on the voyage from Bombay. But her
mental preoccupation probably saved her, and she was able to maintain
her watch. Sheets of rain were falling now, and she was soaked to the
skin, but did her best to shelter the pistol under the wadded quilt
she dragged from her bed. The lightning was almost continuous, and
whenever the howling and shrieking of the wind would allow, the
rolling thunder filled up any pauses. The boat appeared to have
embarked with enthusiasm on a series of experiments--now trying to
stand on her head, now on her tail, and then seeing how far she could
heel over without actually dipping gunwale under. It was wonderful
that the mast did not go, though the great sail had been partly torn
and partly cut away, and replaced by a tiny one which just kept the
vessel before the wind. By the flashes of the lightning Eveleen noted
grimly the miserable huddled figures forward, and guessed that the
Kajias were not particularly happy in their conquest.
“If only there was a man on board worth a halfpenny--barring my poor
Ambrose,” she said to herself, “we’d retake the ship in no time. But
who is there at all? Firozji is no mortal use; if Bearer can fire a
pistol, that’s the most he can do; and as for the boatmen, if they
ain’t Codgers themselves, they’re every bit as bad. Indeed and they’re
worse, for they ain’t sea-sick.”
Her self-communing was interrupted by a tremendous clap of wind, which
came down on the boat as though determined to end her gambols at one
blow. But once more she righted herself, though the cabin roof was
torn bodily from its supports and carried gaily down the river.
Eveleen’s heart failed her until she had assured herself, by groping
and feeling, that Richard and the two servants were still there. The
roar and crack had been so overwhelming that for the moment she fully
believed the boat had broken in two, and they were all so wet already
that the exposure to the rain hardly signified. Moreover, the loss of
the mast and the cabin made the boat decidedly steadier, though
Eveleen was less grateful for this than might have been expected,
since she saw distinct signs of returning animation among the captors
when the lightning made them visible. Could they be nearing the shore?
she wondered. How long they had been tossing about, yet on the whole
forging eastwards, she could not tell, but now that the lightning was
less continuous, it seemed to her that between the flashes the
darkness was not quite so in tense. It was a poor prospect--to be
turned out on an unknown shore with a sick man and two frightened
servants; but the expectation of treachery was so strong in her mind
that she would have been thankful if they had been already there.
Certainly it was not goodwill on the part of the Kajias that had
induced them to undertake a voyage of so much danger and difficulty to
get rid of their prisoners, with the prospect of another even more
difficult and dangerous in getting back to their own side of the
river; what then was it? It was not fear. During her tempestuous vigil
she had seen that clearly. Her bluff before the storm had been
spirited, but at any moment she might have been rushed from behind and
thrown overboard, or a man on a _mashak_, shooting at the sound of her
voice in the dark, might have crippled or killed her without the
slightest risk to himself. It could hardly be vengeance, since--though
it might involve more suffering to your captives to maroon them on the
barren shore where they had mistakenly asked to be placed than to kill
them and dispose of their bodies in the river--their sufferings, which
you would not see, would hardly be sufficient compensation for the
risk to yourself involved in getting them there. Mr Firozji, too. A
certain complacence about the little man’s manner led Eveleen to the
conclusion that the greater part of his merchandise must consist in
precious stones hidden about his person, so that he could regard
lightly the loss of all the rest. But if she could guess this, so
could the Kajias, and were they really going to allow him to escape
with it? The whole thing--like all the events of the night--was beset
with riddles, and all that could be done was to keep a sharp watch
against surprise. But in what direction? Eveleen did not know where to
look, and moreover, the unceasing strain of the last few hours was
telling upon her. She had been soaked so repeatedly that she could
hardly remember what it was to feel dry and warm; she was aching in
every limb, and--what was worse--her eyes would hardly keep open. In
spite of the misery of body and anxiety of mind which had already
endured so long, she began to find her eyelids closing involuntarily
and imperceptibly, when she knew she ought to redouble her vigilance
of the night now that dawn would soon give her enemies the advantage.
She had no longer even the shelter of the cabin from which to fire,
and her poor attempt at a barricade had been disintegrated long ago,
and its component parts strewn upon the waters. She turned her head
with difficulty, and saw--yes, the light must be increasing, since now
she could see dimly Richard’s white face as he lay stark and stiff,
like a dead man, on the charpoy, which was fortunately fixed against
the framework of the cabin at the corner where it had suffered least,
the old bearer crouched beside him, one hand clenched on the pistol,
and Ketty hunched up, like a little old monkey, nearer to herself.
They were defenceless but for the two pistols--even if the charges
were not too damp to fire. The Kajias could shoot them down without
the slightest risk, or--supposing their matchlocks also were useless,
or their powder too precious to waste on such game--kill them with
their knives with little danger to themselves. Why had they not done
it long ago?
With equal difficulty Eveleen turned again towards them, where they
sat huddled in the bow, with the boatmen as a sort of neutrals
between, and Mr Firozji, with chattering teeth, crouching alone as
though disowned by all parties. The men in the bows were beginning to
lose something of their despairing attitude--taking an interest in
things again, and exchanging a word or two with one another. She could
see them, though in the driving rain she could not hear them; and she
tried to pierce the veil of moisture ahead, and see if land were
visible. But as yet she could see nothing but a grey expanse of angry
water, yellow in streaks with sand, and bearing on its bosom uprooted
trees and brushwood, with the grey sky overhead and the grey curtain
of rain between. She tried to collect her thoughts and devise some way
of getting Richard ashore--when they reached the shore. But what kind
of shore would it be--high and rocky, or the endless flat land over
which the flooded river must now be crawling relentlessly? How could
she decide till she knew?
The end came suddenly--so suddenly that for the moment she thought she
must have been asleep, and missed what led up to it. The boatmen had
their poles out again, the keel was grating on ground of some sort,
and yet there was still nothing to be seen but the river and the rain.
But to the accustomed eyes of the Kajias more must have been visible,
for they were standing up and talking eagerly. She noticed
indifferently what big strapping fellows they were--picturesque
despite their drenched clothes and shapeless turbans, and the
ringlets, of which they were ordinarily so proud, lying limp and
straight on their shoulders and mingling with their beards. The absurd
reflection occurred to her that the rain must have washed them a
little clean, which would be a strange experience to them. One of them
turned round and kicked Mr Firozji, saying something to him, and the
old Parsee stumbled up from the deck and addressed Eveleen in his
beautiful Persian, which she found so difficult to understand.
“The boat can go no farther--the water is shallow----” his words
tumbled over one another. “The boatmen will carry the Beebee ashore,
if she will promise not to shoot.”
“Let them take the Sahib first,” said Eveleen promptly, then
hesitated. How could she let them carry Richard away out of her sight,
not knowing where they were taking him? Better go first herself. And
yet how could she know how roughly they might handle him if she and
her pistol were not there? “Won’t you go first yourself?” she asked
eagerly. “Then you can see that they put Major Ambrose down carefully,
and I will come last.”
Mr Firozji’s face was ashy. “I fear--I greatly fear,” he stammered. “I
have the conviction that they will kill me if I leave the Sahib and
the Beebee.”
Clearly there was no help here. She must take the risk. She turned to
Abdul Qaiyam. “Watch over the Sahib, bearer; see that they carry him
properly on the charpoy. Fire the pistol if they are rough, and I will
come back. I can’t be any wetter than I am,” she added to herself, and
rather wondered that the captors should offer to put her ashore
instead of letting her wade. But when she was mounted on the shoulders
of a sturdy boatman, with another close at hand in case of accidents,
she saw how bad the footing was, and how confusing the currents even
in this shallow water. Just as they started she heard a resounding
splash, and looking round, was touched to see that Ketty had
deliberately thrown herself--or rather let herself--into the water
from the boat’s side, and was struggling after her, clutching the
scanty drapery of the second boatman. The water was up to the old
woman’s chest, but she pushed on bravely, and though the men on board
laughed, they did not attempt to stop her.
How far the two men waded Eveleen did not know. The boat was only
dimly visible as a misty shape through the falling rain when they
reached land as suddenly as they had discerned it earlier. It was land
in the sense of not being covered with water, but it resembled nothing
so much as a sandbank left bare, though not dry, by the retreating
tide. Yet apparently it was not an island, for it seemed to rise
slightly on the side away from the boat, and to continue rising; and
when Eveleen felt her feet on firm ground once more, her spirits went
up with a bound. Anything was better than that dreadful boat and the
company it carried, and when the rain stopped--which it must do soon
now--they would quickly be dry and comfortable, and could look for
some village where there was food and shelter to be found. She said as
much to Ketty as they stood looking after the two men, whose forms
were soon swallowed up in the driving rain. Most incomprehensibly,
Ketty laughed; but before Eveleen could demand the reason, her
cheerful anticipations were rudely contradicted by the sound of a shot
from the boat, with cries and the muffled noise of a struggle.
Unheeding Ketty’s agonised entreaties and attempt to hold her fast,
she dashed into the water and began to wade back. The boat seemed
farther away than she had been--and surely the boatmen were poling her
off? Eveleen gave a great cry as the truth burst upon her, then
struggled on again, though with failing strength, hindered by her
clothes and the treacherous sand. Somehow or other she reached the
boat when the water was up to her shoulders, and clung convulsively to
the gunwale, shrieking to her husband to wake, to escape, to save
himself, to save her. Mr Firozji lay on the deck in a pool of blood,
and the murderers were already stripping off his clothes in search of
booty. In front of his master stood Abdul Qaiyam--a most unheroic
hero, with the pistol wavering in a shaking hand, and a face grey with
fear. A man with a tulwar sprang at Eveleen as she clung to the side,
and brought down his weapon with a horrible sweep. In terror she
relaxed her grasp just in time, and fell back into the water with a
loud cry of despair.