THE ROYAL UMBRELLA
That night even Roy the Râjput, who as a rule woke every hour to see to
his little master's safety, slept sound. And so did the others, though
they sat up till Foster-father crept in to the tent about midnight,
after having seen the Royal Fugitives safely over the Persian border. Of
course, there was nothing but miles on miles of snowy mountains before
them, nothing but long struggle and privation to be hoped for; still
they were out of India, out of an enemy's country. For which Heaven be
thanked!
So they wrapped themselves in their quilts and lay down to rest with
hearts eased for the time of immediate anxiety.
Head-nurse, however, began at once, after her wont, to make plans for
resuming some of the courtly ways which hurry had made impossible. The
gold embroidered royal red umbrella was one thing she was determined to
have.
But who was to hold it over the Royal Infant? Roy would get tired of it
during a long march. He was but a boy; and after all there should be a
Deputy, Assistant, Second, Umbrella Bearer to Majesty.
Could Meroo, properly dressed, of course, be promoted to the position?
She actually woke Foster-father from his well-earned first sleep to
propound this knotty question.
"Good woman," he murmured patiently, "make what court appointments ye
will. Create the scullion Prime Minister, so I have my sleep."
And he was snoring almost before the words were out of his mouth.
So next morning Head-nurse, refusing the baggage camel with panniers
which Prince Askurry sent for the use of the little Heir-to-Empire,
organised a procession of her own.
First of all came Foster-father, stout and solid, on his skew-bald hill
pony which was called Horse-chestnut because it was patched all over,
like an unripe chestnut, with yellow, brown and white.
It had a lovely tail that touched the ground, and a coat that was long
and wavy like an Irish setter's. A wise, sober pony was Horse-chestnut;
he never attempted to climb up anything he thought too difficult, but
just gave a look at it to make sure and then put down his head calmly,
and began to graze until his rider found an easier path.
Next came Trooper Faithful on his old white charger Lightning. Once upon
a time it had been like its name, swift exceedingly, but now, like its
master, it was slow and stiff.
Then followed Head-nurse, astride, in Indian fashion, the bay Belooch
mare which had been Queen Humeeda's favourite mount until it had had to
be left behind in one of the hasty moves which had of late been so
common in the hunted life of the Royal Fugitives. The mare, of course,
had been taken by the pursuers, and brought along with them; and the
groom in charge of it had come grinning with delight to Foster-father
when he found himself in the same camp again. Foster-father was for
riding the bay mare himself and giving sober Horse-chestnut to the
Heir-to-Empire, but Head-nurse would not hear of this. The bay mare was,
she said, altogether more royal. So there she was, with Baby Akbar
astride a cushion in front, perched on the skittish creature, feeling at
heart very nervous, for she was but a poor rider. However, she held on
very tight with one hand, held Baby Akbar still tighter with the other,
and trusted to Providence, while Roy and Meroo ran beside her on either
side, alternately holding up the Royal Umbrella as best they could.
Foster-mother on a mule, with little Adam perched in front of her
brought up the rear of the procession. It was a poor one for progress
even along the levels, because of the bay mare's fidgeting and
caperings, but when the steep hill sides were reached it became
impossible to keep up with the rest of the equipage. So Prince Askurry
and his men pushed on ahead leaving the little party alone, since escape
was impossible on that wild mountain road, especially with the rear
guard of the camp coming a few miles behind them. And, indeed, if such
an idea had entered the heads of any of the party it must soon have fled
before the difficulty of getting along at all. It was a steep zig-zag
path, and looking upwards you could see it zigging and zagging right
away to the sky line. Poor Foster-mother, who came last, could not take
her eyes off it, for the bends immediately above her were filled with
the most terrifying sights. First her stout husband, who seemed to be in
the act of slipping over Horse-chestnut's tail. On the next Old
Faithful, driven to dismounting and laboriously lugging Lightning up by
the bridle. But the last zig-zag in front of her called forth piercing
shrieks. For the bay mare, not having been ridden for some time, was
full of beans. Baby Akbar insisted on holding the reins, and Meroo,
whose turn it was to hold the umbrella, _would_ slip and slither among
the stones, thereby bringing its fringe right on the bay mare's nose.
"Oh! Head-nurse, have a care! The blessed child!" shrieked poor
Foster-mother as a more than usually bad stumble sent the umbrella on to
the mare's tail.
This was too much for it. Frightened out of its senses, it gave a
frenzied bound forwards, then rearing straight up, hung over the edge of
the path, as if it meant to take a downward plunge.
All seemed lost! Foster-father and Faithful stood petrified with
despair. Meroo would have dashed forward to catch at the rein but Roy,
knowing with that curious instinct of his, that that would only make
matters worse, as it would still further frighten the mare, held him
back by main force. The only person who was not spellbound with fear was
Baby Akbar. He thought it a fine joke that his mount should stand up on
its hind legs and paw the air. So he shrieked with delight, and dropped
the reins to clap his hands, as he always did when he was pleased. Now
this was the very best thing he, or anybody else, could have done. The
mare, feeling herself free, thought better of it, and wheeling round
dropped her fore feet on the path once more.
Foster-father's loud Arabic thanksgiving ended in an equally loud order.
"Get off the mare, woman. Horse-chestnut is the only mount thou art fit
for. Roy! carry that foolish umbrella behind."
"In front--the emblems are ever carried in front," protested Head-nurse
feebly.
"I said behind," was all the answer she got, and behind it went while
they toiled up and up.
After a while the road became surprisingly bad; nothing in fact but a
watercourse, and Foster-father began to doubt if they could be on the
right way. Possibly, when they were all excited over the mare's bad
behaviour, they had taken a wrong turning. But as the path led ever
upwards, he judged it better to go on, though it was terribly hard work.
Every moment the road became worse and worse until it ceased to be more
than a mere ladder of rocks which puzzled even Horse-chestnut. More than
once he stopped dead and would no doubt have refused any further attempt
to climb had there been anything at which to graze. But there was
nothing; nothing but rocks. So, after a pause he made the best of a bad
bargain, raised himself on his hind legs, sought a foothold for his fore
feet in some crevice, and then scrambled up. Only the two children
enjoyed themselves, Baby Akbar laughing with delight and clapping his
hands over all the slips and slitherings which even nimble
Horse-chestnut made, and which reduced Head-nurse and Wet-nurse to
piteous wails to Roy not for Heaven's sake to let go of the
Heir-to-Empire's baggy trousers. And Adam enjoyed himself, also, running
on in front and making snowballs in the drifts which, ere long, were to
be seen sheltering from the sun in the clefts of the rocks.
The sight of them made Foster-father frown. "We go too high," he said.
"Heaven send we have not to climb to a higher pass."
His remark made Head-nurse give way altogether. She wept loudly, saying
in that case she had better stay and die where she was, thus saving them
the trouble of carrying her down the hill.
At that very moment, however, Adam who had run far ahead began waving
his arms and shouting:
"He says 'The top! the top!'" cried Roy, who was keen in hearing as in
everything else. "Courage, mother! our troubles are over!"
They had not _quite_ ended, but in a few minutes more they had reached
the beginning of the pass proper. Before them lay a grassy boggy slope
curling gently upwards between higher rockier slopes. A little stream
plashed softly adown it, through a perfect wilderness of flowers, and
without one word the tired travellers threw themselves beside it for
rest and refreshment.
But Baby Akbar looked a little troubled.
"Amma, Dadda 'way 'way in a 'ky," he said solemnly, and essayed to crawl
on over the grass. For he could not walk yet, though he spoke so well.
They say he began to talk when he was nine months old.