but by and by growing aweary of feeding the Vetala Agni, he sought
counsel of the jogi Trilokanatha, who had his dwelling on the mount of
Kanahakrita. The jogi, perceiving the manifold merits of the
incomparable Vikramaditya, was moved with compassion towards him, and
when he had long meditated and recited sundry mantras,[#] he thus spake
and said: "Hearken, O king. From the sacred tank of Shakravatar spring
alleys four times seven, as it were branches from one trunk, to wit,
seven to the north, seven to the east, seven to the west, and seven to
the south. Of the seven alleys springing to the north do thou choose
the seventh, and in the seventh alley the seventh tree from the sacred
tank, and on the seventh branch of the seventh tree thou shalt find the
nest of a bulbul. Within that nest thou shalt discover a golden key.'"
[#] Hymns and prayers.
The Babu was now speaking very slowly, and an observer watching Desmond
would have perceived that his eyes were fixed with a strange look of
mingled eagerness and anxiety upon the story-teller. But no one
observed this; every man in the group was intent upon the story, hanging
upon the lips of the eloquent Babu.
"'Having obtained the golden key,'" continued the narrator, "'thou shalt
return forthwith to thy palace, and the same night, when the Vetala Agni
has eaten and drunk his fill, thou shalt in his presence lay the key
upon the palm of thy left hand, thus----'" (here the Babu quietly took
up a key hanging from the bunch attached to the warder's girdle, and
laid it upon his left palm). "'Then shalt thou say to the Vetala: "O
illustrious Vetala, tell me, I pray thee, what doth this golden key
unlock?" Then if the aspect of the Vetala be fierce, fear not, for he
must needs reply: such is the virtue of the key; and by his words thou
shalt direct thy course. Verily it is for such a trial that the gods
have endowed thee with wisdom beyond the common lot of men.
"'Vikramaditya performed in all points the jogi's bidding; and having in
the presence of the Vetala laid the golden key upon the palm of his
hand, a voice within bade him ask the question: "O Vetala, what art thou
apt to do? What knowest thou?" And the Vetala answered: "All that I
have in my mind, that I am apt to perform. I know all things." And the
king said: "Speak, then; what is the number of my years?" And the
Vetala answered: "The years of thy life are a hundred." Then said the
king: "I am troubled because in the tale of my years there are two gaps;
grant me, then, one year in excess of a hundred, or from the hundred
take one." And the Vetala answered: "O king, thou art in the highest
degree good, liberal, merciful, just, lord of thyself, and honoured of
gods and Brahmans; the measure of the days that are ordained to fill thy
life is full; to add anything thereto, to take anything therefrom, are
alike impossible." Having heard these words the king was satisfied, and
the Vetala departed unto his own place.
"'Upon the night following the king prepared no feast against the coming
of the Vetala, but girt himself for fight. The Vetala came, and seeing
nothing in readiness for the repast, but, on the contrary, all things
requisite to a combat, he waxed wroth and said: "O wicked and perverse
king, why hast thou made ready nothing for my pleasure this night?" And
the king answered: "Since thou canst neither add to my length of years,
nor take anything therefrom, why should I make ready a repast for thee
continually and without profit?" The Vetala made answer: "Ho!--'tis
thus that thou speakest! Now, truly, come fight with me; this night will
I devour thee."
"'At these words the king rose up in wrath to smite the Vetala, and held
him in swift and dexterous combat for a brief space. And the Vetala,
having thus made proof of the might and heroism of the king, and being
satisfied, spake and said: "O king, thou art mighty indeed; I am content
with thy valour; now, then, ask me what thou wilt." And the king
answered: "Seeing that thou art well-disposed towards me, grant me this
grace, that when I shall call thee, thou wilt in that same instant stand
at my side." And the Vetala, having granted this grace to the king,
departed unto his own place.'"
The Babu waved his hands as a sign that the story was ended. He was
damp with perspiration, and in his glance at Desmond there was a kind of
furtive appeal for approval.
"Thou speakest well, Babu," said the warder. "But what befell King
Bhoya when the graven image had thus ended his saying?"
"That, good jailer, is another story, and if you please to hear it
another night I will do my poor best to satisfy you."
"Well, the hour is late." The warder rose to his feet and resumed his
official gruffness. "Come, rise; it is time I locked your fetters; and,
in good sooth, mine is no golden key."
He chuckled as he watched the prisoners file one by one into the shed.
Following them, he quickly locked each in turn to his staple in the wall
and went out, bolting and double locking the door behind him.
"You did well, my friend," whispered Desmond in English to the Babu.
"My heart flutters like the wings of a bulbul," answered the Babu; "but
I am content, sahib."
"But say, Surendra Nath," remarked one of the Maratha captives, "last
time you told us that story you said nothing of the golden key."
"Ah!" replied the Babu, "you are thinking of the story told by the
second graven image in King Vikramaditya's throne. I will tell you that
to-morrow."
CHAPTER THE TWELFTH
*In which our hero is offered freedom at the price of honour; and Mr.
Diggle finds that he has no monopoly of quotations.*
Next morning, when Desmond left the shed with his fellow-prisoners, he
took with him, secreted in a fold of his dhoti, a small piece of clay.
It had been given him overnight by the Babu. An hour or two later,
happening to be for a moment alone in the tool-shop, he took out the
clay and examined it carefully. It was a moment for which he had waited
and longed with feverish impatience. The clay was a thin strip, oval in
shape, and slightly curved. In the middle of it was the impression,
faint but clear, of a key. A footstep approaching, he concealed the
clay again in his garment, and, when a workman entered, was busily
plying a chisel upon a deal plank.
Before he left the tool-shop, he secreted with the clay a scrap of steel
and a small file. That day, and for several days after, whenever chance
gave him a minute or two apart from his fellow-workmen, he employed the
precious moments in diligently filing the steel to the pattern on the
clay. It was slow work: all too tedious for his eager thought. But he
worked at his secret task with unfailing patience, and at the week's end
had filed the steel to the likeness of the wards of a key.
That night, when his "co-mates in exile" were asleep, he gently inserted
the steel in the lock of his ankle-band He tried to turn it. It stuck
fast; the wards did not fit. He was not surprised. Before he made the
experiment he had felt that it would fail; the key was indeed a clumsy,
ill-shapen instrument. But next day he began to work on another piece
of steel, and on this he spent every spare minute he could snatch. This
time he found himself able to work faster. Night and morning he looked
searchingly at the key on the warder's bunch, and afterwards tried to
cut the steel to the pattern that was now, as it were, stamped upon his
brain.
He wished he could test his second model in the morning light before the
warder came, and correct it then. But to do so would involve discovery
by his fellow-captives; the time to take them into his confidence was
not yet. He had perforce to wait till dead of night before he could
tell whether the changes, more and more delicate and minute, made upon
his key during the day were effective. And the Babu was fretful; having
done his part, admirably, as Desmond told him, in working the key into
his story, he seemed to expect that the rest would be easy, and did not
make account of the long labour of the file.
At length a night came when, inserting the key in the lock, Desmond felt
it turn easily. Success at last! As he heard the click, he felt an
extraordinary sense of elation. Quietly unclasping the fetter, he
removed it from his ankle and stood free. If it could be called
free--to be shut up in a locked and barred shed in the heart of one of
the strongest fortresses in Hindustan! But at least his limbs were at
liberty. What a world of difference there was between that and his
former state!
Should he inform the Babu? He felt tempted to do so, for it was to
Surendra Nath's ingenuity in interpolating the incident of the key into
a well-known story that he owed the clay pattern of the warder's key.
But Surendra Nath was excitable; he was quite capable of uttering a yell
of delight that would waken the other men and force a premature
disclosure. Desmond decided to wait for a quiet moment next day before
telling the Babu of his success. So he replaced his ankle-band, locked
the catch, and lay down to the soundest and most refreshing sleep he had
enjoyed for many a night.
He had only just reached the workshop next morning when a peon came with
a message that Angria Rao[#] required his instant attendance at the
palace. He began to quake in spite of himself. Could the prince have
discovered already that the lock of his fetters had been tampered with?
Desmond could scarcely believe it. He had made his first test in
complete darkness; nothing had broken the silence save the one momentary
click; and the warder, when he unloosed him, had not examined the lock.
What if he were searched and the precious key were found upon him? It
was carefully hidden in a fold of his dhoti. There was no opportunity of
finding another hiding-place for it; he must go as he was and trust that
suspicion had not been aroused. But it was with a galloping pulse that
he followed the peon out of the dockyard, within the walls of the fort,
and into the hall where he had had his first interview with the Pirate.
[#] A chief or prince.
His uneasiness was hardly allayed when he saw that Angria was in company
with Diggle. Both were squatting on the carpeted dais; no other person
was in the room. Having ushered him in, the peon withdrew, and Desmond
was alone with the two men he had most cause to fear. Diggle was
smiling, Angria's eyes were gleaming, his mobile lips working as with
impatience, if not anxiety.
The Pirate spoke quickly, imperiously.
"You have learnt our tongue, Firangi[#] boy?" he said.
[#] Originally applied by the natives to the Portuguese, then to any
European.
"I have done my best, huzur," replied Desmond in Urdu.
"That is well. Now hearken to what I say. You have pleased me; my
jamadar[#] speaks well of you; but you are my slave, and, if I will it,
you will always be my slave. You would earn your freedom?"
[#] Lieutenant.
"I am in your august hands, huzur," said Desmond diplomatically.
"You may earn your freedom in one way," continued Angria in the same
rapid impatient tone. "My scouts report that an English fleet has
passed up the coast towards Bombay. My spies tell me that in Bombay a
large force is collected under the command of that soor ka batcha[#]
Clive. But I cannot learn the purpose of this armament. The dogs may
think, having taken my fortress of Suvarndrug, to come and attack me
here. Or they may intend to proceed against the French at Hyderabad.
It is not convenient for me to remain in this uncertainty. You will go
to Bombay and learn these things of which I am in ignorance and come
again and tell me. I will then set you free."
[#] Son of a pig.
"I cannot do it, huzur."
Desmond's reply came without a moment's hesitation. To act as a spy upon
his own countrymen--how could Angria imagine that an English boy would
ever consent to win his freedom on such terms? His simple words roused
the Maratha to fury. He sprang to his feet and angrily addressed
Diggle, who had also risen, and stood at his side still smiling. Diggle
replied to his vehement words in a tone too low for Desmond to catch
what he said. Angria turned to the boy again.
"I will not only set you free; I will give you half a lakh of rupees;
you shall have a place at my court, or, if you please, I will recommend
you to another prince, in whose service you may rise to wealth and
honour. If you refuse, I will kill you; no, I will not kill you, for
death is sweet to a slave; I will inflict on you the tortures I reserve
for those who provoke my anger: you shall lose your ears, your nose,
and----"
Diggle again interposed.
"Pardon me, bhai[#]," Desmond heard him say, "that is hardly the way to
deal with a boy of my nation. If you will deign to leave him to me, I
think that in a little I shall find means to overcome his hesitation."
[#] Brother.
"But even then, how can I trust the boy? He may give his word to escape
me; then betray me to his countrymen. I have no faith in the Firangi."
"Believe me, if he gives his word he will keep it. That is the way with
us."
"It is not your way."
"I am no longer of them," said Diggle with consummate aplomb. "Dismiss
him now; I will do my best with him."
"Then you must hasten. I give you three days: if within that time he
has not consented, I will do to him all that I have said, and more
also."
"I do not require three days to make up my mind," said Desmond quietly.
"I cannot do what----"
"Hush, you young fool!" cried Diggle angrily in English. Turning to the
Pirate he added: "The boy is as stiff-necked as a pig; but even a pig
can be led if you ring his snout. I beg you leave him to me."
"Take him away!" exclaimed Angria, clapping his hands. Two attendants
came in answer to his summons, and Desmond was led off and escorted by
them to his workshop.
Angry and disgusted as he was with both the Maratha and Diggle, he was
still more anxious at this unexpected turn in his affairs. He had but
three days! If he had not escaped before the fourth day dawned, his
fate would be the most terrible that could befall a living creature.
The tender mercies of the wicked are cruel! He had seen, among the
prisoners, some of the victims of Angria's cruelty; they had suffered
tortures too terrible to be named, and dragged out a life of unutterable
degradation and misery, longing for death as a blissful end. With his
quick imagination he already felt the hands of the torturers upon him;
and for all the self-control which his life in Gheria had induced, he
was for some moments so wholly possessed by terror that he could
scarcely endure the consciousness of existence.
But when the first tremors were past, and he began to go about his usual
tasks, and was able to think calmly, not for an instant did he waver in
his resolve. Betray his countrymen! It was not to be thought of. Give
his word to Angria and then forswear himself! Ah! Even Diggle knew
that he would not do that. Freedom, wealth, a high place in some
prince's court! He would buy none of them at the price of his honour.
Diggle was false, unspeakably base; let him do Angria's work if he
would; Desmond Burke would never stoop to it.
He scarcely argued the matter explicitly with himself: it was settled in
Angria's presence by his instinctive repulsion. But it was not in a boy
like Desmond, young, strong, high-spirited, tamely to fold his hands
before adverse fate. He had three days: it would go hard with him if he
did not make good use of them. He felt a glow of thankfulness that the
first step, and that a difficult one, had been taken, providentially as
it seemed, the very night before this crisis in his fate. His future
plan had already outlined itself; it was necessary first to gain over
his companions in captivity; that done, he hoped within the short period
allowed him to break prison and turn his back for ever on this place of
horror.
It seemed to his eager impatience that that day would never end. It was
November, and the beginning of the cold season, and the work of the
dockyard, being urgent, was carried on all day without the usual break
during the hot middle hours, so that he found no opportunity of
consulting his fellows. Further, the foremen of the yard were specially
active. The Pirate had been for some time fearful lest the capture of
Suvarndrug should prove to be the prelude to an assault upon his
stronger fort and headquarters at Gheria, and to meet the danger he had
had nine new vessels laid down. Three of them had been finished, but
the work had been much interrupted by the rains, and the delay in the
completion of the remaining six had irritated him. He had visited his
displeasure upon the foremen. After his interview with Desmond he
summoned them to his presence and threatened them with such dire
punishment if the work was not more rapidly pushed or that they had used
the lash more furiously and with even less discrimination than ever.
Consequently when Desmond met his companions in the shed at night he
found them all in desperate indignation and rage. He had seen nothing
more of Diggle; he must strike while the iron was hot.
When they were locked in, and all was quiet outside, the prisoners gave
vent, each in his own way, to their feelings. For a time Desmond
listened, taking no part in their lamentation and cursing. But when the
tide of impotent fury ebbed, and there was a lull, he said quietly:
"Are my brothers dogs that, suffering these things, they merely whine?"
The quiet level tones, so strangely contrasting with the tones of
fierceness and hate that were still ringing in the ears of the unhappy
prisoners, had an extraordinary effect. There was dead silence in the
shed: it seemed that every man was afraid to speak. Then one of the
Marathas said in a whisper:
"What do you mean, sahib?"
"What do I mean? Surely it must be clear to any man. Have we not sat
long enough on the carpet of patience?"
Again the silence remained for a space unbroken.
"You, Gulam Mahomed," continued Desmond, addressing one of the Biluchis
whom he considered the boldest--"have you never thought of escape?"
"Allah knows!" said the man in an undertone. "But he knows that I
remember what happened a year ago. Fuzl Khan can tell the sahib
something about that."
A fierce cry broke from the Gujarati, who had been moaning upon his
charpoy in anguish from the lashings he had undergone that day. Desmond
heard him spring up; but if he had meant to attack the Biluchi, the
clashing of his fetters reminded him of his helplessness. He cursed the
man, demanding what he meant.
"Nothing," returned Gulam Mahomed. "But you were the only man, Allah
knows, who escaped the executioner."
"Pig, and son of a pig!" cried Fuzl Khan, "I knew nothing of the plot.
If any man says I did he lies. They did it without me; some evil jin
must have heard their whisperings. They failed. They were swine of
Canarese."
"Do not let us quarrel," said Desmond. "We are all brothers in
misfortune; we ought to be as close-knit as the strands of a rope. Here
is our brother Fuzl Khan, the only man of his gang who did not try to
escape, and see how he is treated! Could he be worse misused? Would not
death be a boon? Is it not so, Fuzl Khan?"
The Gujarati assented with a passionate cry.
"As for the rest of us, it is only a matter of time. I am the youngest
of you, and not the hardest worked, yet I feel that the strain of our
toil is wearing me out. What must it be with you? You are dying
slowly. If we make an attempt to escape and fail we shall die quickly,
that is all the difference. What is to be is written, is it not so,
Shaik Abdullah?"
"Even so, sahib," replied the second Biluchi, "it is written. Who can
escape his fate?"
"And what do you say, Surendra Nath?"
"The key, sahib," whispered the Babu in English; "what of the key?"
"Speak in Urdu, Babu," said Desmond quickly. "Don't agree at once."
Surendra Nath was quick-witted; he perceived that Desmond did not wish
the others to suspect that there had been any confidences between them.
"I am a coward, the sahib knows," he said in Urdu. "I could not give
blows; I should die. It was told us to-day that the English are about
to attack this fort. They will set us free; we need run no risks."
"Wah!" exclaimed one of the Mysoreans. "If the Firangi get into the
fort we shall all be murdered."
"That is truth," said a Maratha. "The Rao would have our throats cut at
once."
The Babu groaned.
"You see, Surendra Nath, it is useless to wait in the hope of help from
my countrymen," said Desmond. "If there is fighting to be done, we can
do all that is needed: is it not so, my brothers? As for you, Babu, if
you would sooner die without--well, there is nothing to prevent you."
"If the sahib does not wish me to fight, it is well. But has the sahib
a plan?"
"Yes, I have a plan."
He paused; there was a sound of hard breathing.
"Tell it us," said the Gujarati eagerly.
"You are one of us, Fuzl Khan?"
"The plan! the plan! Is not my back mangled? Have I not endured the
tank? Is not freedom sweet to me as to another? The plan, sahib! I
swear, I Fuzl Khan, to be true to you and all; only tell me the plan."
"You shall have the plan in good time. First, I have a thing to say.
When a battle is to be fought, no soldier fights only for himself, doing
that which seems good to him alone. He looks to his captain for orders.
Otherwise mistakes would be made, and all effort would be wasted. We
must have a captain: who is he to be?"
"Yourself, sahib," said the Gujarati at once. "You have spoken; you
have the plan; we take you as leader."
"You hear what Fuzl Khan says. Do you all agree?"
The others assented eagerly. Then Desmond told his wondering hearers
the secret of the key, and during several hours of that quiet night he
discussed with them in whispers the details of the scheme which he had
worked out. At intervals the sentry passed and flashed his light
through the opening in the wall; but at these moments every man was
lying motionless upon his charpoy, and not a sound was audible save a
snore.
Next day when Desmond, having finished his mid-day meal of rice and
mangoes, had returned to his workshop, Diggle sauntered in.
"Ah, my young friend," he said in his quiet voice and with his usual
smile, "doubtless you have expected a visit from me. Night brings
counsel. I did not visit you yesterday, thinking that after sleeping
over the amiable and generous proposition made to you by my friend
Angria you would view it in another light. I trust that during the
nocturnal hours you have come to perceive the advantages of choosing the
discreet part. Let us reason together."
There were several natives with them in the workshop, but none of them
understood English, and the two Englishmen could talk at ease.
"Reason!" said Desmond in reply to Diggle's last sentence. "If you are
going to talk of what your pirate friend spoke of yesterday, it is mere
waste of time. I shall never agree."
"Words, my young friend, mere words! You will be one of us yet. You
will never have such a chance again. Why, in a few years you will be
able to return to England, if you will, a rich man, a very nawab.[#] My
friend Angria has his faults; 'nemo est sine culpa': but he is at least
generous. An instance! The man who took the chief part in the capture
of the Dutchman two years ago--what is he now? A naib,[#] a man of
wealth, of high repute at the Nizam's court. There is no reason why you
should not follow so worthy an example; cut out an Indiaman or two, and
Desmond Burke may, if he will, convey a shipload of precious things to
the shores of Albion, and enjoy his leisured dignity on a landed estate
of his own. He shall drive a coach while his oaf of a brother perspires
behind a plough."
[#] Governor.
[#] Deputy-governor.
Desmond was silent. Diggle watched him keenly, and after a slight pause
continued:
"This is no great thing that is asked of you. You sail on one of
Angria's grabs; you are set upon the shore; you enter Bombay with a
likely story of escape from the fortress of the Pirate; you are a hero,
the boon fellow of the men, the pet of the ladies--for there are ladies
in Bombay, 'forma praestante puellae.' In a week you know everything,
all the purposes that Angria's spies have failed to discover. One day
you disappear; the ladies wail and tear their hair, a tiger has eaten
you! in a week you will be forgotten. But you are back in Angria's
fortress, no longer a slave, down-trodden and despised; but a free man,
a rich man, a potentate to be. Is it not worth thinking of, my young
friend, especially when you remember the other side of the picture? It
is a dark side; an unpleasant side; even, let me confess, horrible: I
prefer to keep it to the wall."
He waved his gloved hand deprecatingly, watching Desmond with the same
intentness. The boy was dumb; he might also have been deaf. Diggle
drew from his fob an elaborately chased snuff-box and took a pinch of
fine rappee, Desmond mechanically noticing that the box bore
ornamentation of Dutch design.