shot and shell were pursuing them even here. Yet the bullets were
not intended for them, but for the treacherous Indian troops and the
irregular Russian cavalry, which surged up, in wild panic, against the
walls. The effect of the fire was, however, none the less disastrous on
that account. The English garrison which had remained in the city had
closed all the gates, and appeared to have made up their minds to let no
one in, either friend or foe. All the same, the commander of the Bengal
regiment drew his men together and with irresistible weight forced
his way right through the confused, huddling mass of men engaged in
hand-to-hand combat beneath the walls. He made straight for one of
the gates, and those within happily understood and anticipated his
intentions. Confident that the weighty blows and thrusts of the cavalry
would beat off the enemy and prevent them from forcing their way in with
them, the garrison opened the gate at the critical moment, and, together
with his regiment, Heideck and his faithful companion managed to enter
the city. The lancers made their way into the citadel, and Heideck and
Morar Gopal, who had followed him like his shadow, turned their steps
towards the Charing Cross Hotel. It was, however, far from easy to get
there; for the streets were packed with an impenetrable mob of howling
and gesticulating natives, who were manifestly in the greatest state of
excitement. The news that the English had lost the battle had long since
reached the city, and the apprehensions which had long been entertained
that such tidings could not fail to have a disastrously disquieting
effect upon the Indian population, were only too soon seen to be
justified. In all the brown faces which he saw directed towards him
Heideck clearly read detestation and menace. They naturally regarded him
as an Englishman, and it was only his decided manner and the naked sword
in his hand that prevented the rabble from venting in a personal attack
their rage against one of the hated race of their oppressors.
The door of the hotel was closed, probably because an attack was feared
on the part of the natives; but as soon as a white man, who was at once
regarded as an English officer, demanded admittance, it was opened.
Heideck found most of the officers’ wives and children, who were living
in the hotel, assembled in the hall and the dining-room which led from
it. The foreboding of a terrible disaster and the fear of coming events,
which was perpetually increased by the noise in the streets, did not
allow the poor creatures to rest longer in their rooms. Mrs. Baird and
Edith Irwin were not, however, among those who thronged round Heideck
and, in a hundred confused questions, hoped to obtain from the
dust-begrimed man, who had evidently come from the battlefield, news as
to how matters stood. Heideck said nothing more than that the army
was retreating, bravely fighting the while. It would have been useless
cruelty to increase the terror and despair of these unhappy creatures
by a detailed account of the whole truth. He had almost to tear himself
away by force from this close knot of inquirers, in order to go up
to Mrs. Baird’s room. It was the first joyous feeling that he had
experienced throughout this disastrous day, when in the friendly “Come
in,” in answer to his knock, he recognised Edith Irwin’s voice. The
fear that something might have happened to her during his absence had
unceasingly tortured him during the last few hours, and for a moment he
forgot all the terrors that surrounded her in the rapture which, as he
entered, her incomparable beauty awoke in him.
She had risen from the sofa in the middle of the room and stood with
a serious, but perfectly composed face, and with bright eyes, which
appeared prepared for even the extremest danger. Mrs. Baird was, with
her two little girls, in a corner on her knees. So completely was she
absorbed in her religious devotions that she had not heard Heideck’s
entrance into the room. It was only when Edith exclaimed, “Here is Mr.
Heideck, dear friend; I knew he would come,” that she sprang up in great
excitement.
“Thank God! You have come from my husband? How have you left him? Is he
alive?”
“I left the Colonel, as he was defending himself at the head of his
brave troops against the enemy. He bade me give you his love.” He had
endeavoured to give a firm tone to his voice. But the sharp feminine
instinct of the unhappy woman guessed what was behind his words,
intended to give comfort.
“Why don’t you tell me the truth? My husband is dead!”
“He was wounded, but you need not give up the hope of seeing him again
alive.”
“If he is wounded, I will go to him. You will conduct me, Mr. Heideck!
There must be a possibility of getting to him.”
“I earnestly beseech you, my dear Mrs. Baird, to compose yourself. It
is quite natural that your heart should draw you to your husband’s side;
but it is quite impossible for you to carry out your intention. The
night is drawing on, and even if it were broad daylight nobody would
be able to get through the confusion of the retiring army to the place
where your husband must be sought.”
“The battle is then lost? Our army is in full retreat?”
“The treachery of the Indian troops is to blame for this disaster. Your
countrymen, Mrs. Baird, have fought like heroes, and as a lost battle
does not yet mean a lost campaign, they will perhaps soon retrieve
to-day’s disaster.”
“But what is to become of us? The wounded will be brought in here, won’t
they? Therefore I shall not think of leaving before I see my husband
again.”
Her determination to remain in the panic-stricken city would certainly
have been impossible to shake by any art of persuasion, but Heideck did
not dream of attempting to dissuade Mrs. Baird from her resolve. It was
his firm conviction that the flight to Amritsar, which the Colonel had
advised in case of a defeat, was, under the present circumstances, quite
impracticable. As a matter of fact, there was scarcely anything else
possible but to remain in the hotel and patiently await the development
of events.
It was now quite impossible for white women and children to trust
themselves in the streets in the midst of the excited populace; but
Heideck believed that they were, for the present, quite safe in the
house, thinking that the fanaticism of the natives would not culminate
in an attack upon the hotel so long as any considerable body of English
soldiers remained in the town. But only too soon he was compelled to
admit that he had under-estimated the seriousness of the situation. A
ruddy, flickering flame, which suddenly lit up the room which had been
filled by the dying evening glow, caused him to rush to the window,
when, to his horror, he perceived that one of the houses on the opposite
side of the street was on fire, and that in the adjacent building the
tongues of flame had caught the wooden pillars of the verandah. There
was no doubt but that the hotel would, within a few minutes, be involved
in the conflagration.
Under these circumstances it was impossible to think of remaining longer
in the hotel. Its massive walls could, perhaps, withstand the fire for a
time, but the biting volumes of smoke, which had already taken Heideck’s
breath away when he had opened the window for a moment, would soon
render it impossible for human beings to stay longer in the heat. All
at once came a heavy knocking at the door, and Morar Gopal, who had been
looking for Heideck everywhere in the hotel, entreated his master to
make his escape as quickly as possible.
The German officer was fully convinced that he had now to exchange one
danger for a peril perhaps even greater. But there was no time for delay
or consideration.
“We are in the midst of a fire, Mrs. Baird,” he said. “No one in the
general confusion will attempt to stay the raging element, and if you do
not wish to be stifled with your children, you must follow me. I hope to
be able to bring you, without harm, into the citadel or into some other
place of safety.”
Edith Irwin had already taken one of the little girls into her arms; and
when the Colonel’s wife was looking about her with a wild expression,
as if she wished to try and save some of her precious valuables, Edith
emphatically insisted upon her hurrying. “There is nothing more precious
than the life of your children. Let everything go, in God’s name!”
The poor woman, whose senses now began to fail her in the terrors of the
moment, quietly obeyed the calm instructions of her young friend. The
other residents in the hotel had almost all already fled; only a few
unhappy women, who had completely lost their heads, wandered about the
lower rooms holding all manner of valueless objects, from which they
would not part, in their hands. Heideck called to them to follow him.
But they hardly understood him, and he had no more time to trouble about
the unfortunate creatures.
With a bare sabre in his hand the faithful Hindu endeavoured to make for
his master and those under his protection a path through the crowd which
was surging around the burning houses. It was now quite dark, and only
the red flames weirdly lit up the hideous nocturnal scene. The raging
fanaticism of the crowd appeared during the last half-hour to have
increased in vehemence. These men, at other times so modest, submissive,
and amiable, had suddenly become metamorphosed into a horde of
barbarians. Bare sabres and daggers flashed their menaces on every side,
and the air was rent by a deafening din. Never before had Heideck seen
human beings in such a state of frenzy. With wild gesticulations these
dark-skinned fellows were tossing their arms and legs; they gnashed
their teeth like wild beasts, and inflicted wounds on their own breasts
and limbs in order to intensify their lust of blood by the sight of it.
The two men, by dint of peremptory commands and vigorous blows with the
naked sword, forced their way step by step through the crowd. But after
a lapse of ten minutes they had scarcely progressed more than a
hundred yards. The surging mob around them became even denser and more
threatening in its attitude, and Heideck saw it would be impossible to
reach the citadel.
With anxious care for the precious human lives entrusted to his
protection, he looked about for another place of safety. But the
Europeans had firmly barricaded their houses, and none of them would
have opened to admit the poor fugitives. On a sudden the wild cries
that had almost terrified the crying children to death rose to appalling
shrieks and ravings, and a mob of demons, incited by their fanatic
passions almost to frenzy, rushed from a side street straight upon
Heideck. They had somewhere on their way been joined by a large number
of other female fugitives; and the sight of these unhappy creatures made
the German officer’s blood run cold in his veins.
The women, among whom were two girls yet on the borders of childhood,
had had their clothes torn from their bodies, and they were now being
hustled along under such constant ill-usage that they were bleeding from
numerous wounds.
Unable further to curb the wrath that rose within him at the sight of
this brutality, Heideck took his revolver from his belt, and with a
well-aimed shot sent one of the howling, fanatic devils to the ground.
But his action was not well-advised. Although his martial appearance had
up till then kept this cowardly crew away from acts of violence against
himself and his party, the furious rage of the mob now knew no bounds.
In the next moment the small party found itself hemmed in by a knot of
raging black devils, and Heideck was no longer in doubt that it was only
a question of bravely fighting to the death. The foremost of the more
violent of their assailants he was able to keep off by firing at them
the last five shots that remained in his revolver. The last shot snuffed
out the light of a black-bearded fellow just at the very moment when he
was attacking Edith Irwin with his brutal fists. Then Heideck threw his
revolver, useless in that he could not load it afresh, into the face
of one of the grinning fiends, and clasping his left arm, which was
now free, round Edith, and pressing her tightly to him, carried on a
desperate struggle with his sword.
For Mrs. Baird and her children he could do nothing further. Now that
he had seen his faithful Morar Gopal fall under the blows of some
Mohammedans he felt that they were irretrievably lost. He had seen how
the Colonel’s wife had had her clothes torn in shreds from her body; he
heard the heartrending cry of anguish with which, under the blows and
thrusts of her inhuman torturers, she called for her children. But at
all events he was spared the agony of seeing with his own eyes the end
of the innocent little girls. They disappeared from his view in the
terrible confusion, and as they were besides already half dead from
terror, Providence would, at all events, have the pity not to let
them feel the tortures of the death which their unfeeling butchers had
prepared for them.
And what of Edith?
She was not in a faint. In her features one could read nothing of the
anguish of horror that overcomes even the bravest in the face of death.
One might imagine that all that was going on around her had lost its
terrors since Heideck’s arm held her fast.
But the moment was not favourable for allowing Heideck to feel the
pleasurable bliss of her love. His strength was at an end and, although
with the exception of a slight injury on the shoulder he was unwounded,
he yet felt it intolerably hard to wield the sword whose heavy blows had
hitherto kept their assailants (with the exception of some adventuresome
spirits, who had paid dearly for their impudence) at a respectful
distance. At the very moment that fatigue compelled him to drop his
weapon, Edith and he would be given over helpless to the devilish
cruelty of this horde of human beasts. That he knew full well, and,
therefore, although before his eyes there floated, as it were, a
blood-red mist, he collected the last remnant of his strength to
postpone this terrible moment yet for a little--All of a sudden
something unexpected, something wonderful, happened--something that in
his present condition he could not understand at all; innumerable cries
of terror and alarm mingled with the frenzied, triumphant howlings of
the rage-intoxicated Indians. With the irresistible force of a wave the
whole thickly packed swarm of human beings surged forwards and against
the houses on both sides of the street. The trotting of horses, loud
words of command, the sound of slashing blows were heard, and the bodies
of bearded cavalrymen were visible above the heads of the crowd.
It was a squadron of Cossacks which was mercilessly hewing its way
through the crowd. The town was then actually in the hands of the
Russians, and orders had evidently been given, the better to prevent
further massacre and incendiarism, to clear the street of the fanatic
mob.
So the fierce-looking horsemen then swept the way before them clear
of all obstacles. And they did their business well; for nothing could
withstand the blows from the whips fitted at the end of the lash with
thin hard sticks, which in their hands became terrible instruments of
punishment.
Heideck suddenly saw himself free of his assailants, and as he with
Edith pressed against the wall of a house, they remained happily safe
from the horses’ hoofs as well as from the blows of the knout which were
being dealt out wildly around him.
But the keen eyes of a Cossack officer had perceived the little group
amid the great heap of dead and wounded. He rode up to them, and as he
thought he recognised in Heideck’s khaki dress the English uniform, he
gave certain orders to his men, the meaning of which was soon apparent
to them both, for they were at once placed between the horses of two
Cossacks, and without knowing whither they were being taken, passed
through the streets lit up by the flames of the burning houses.
XV
THE COURT-MARTIAL
The mausoleum of Anar Kali, a great octagonal building in the gardens to
the south of the town, was the place whither the Russian prisoners
were taken. Heideck and Edith Irwin were not the first that had found
quarters there; for, besides about a hundred officers, there were
already there numberless English ladies and children whose saviours had
appeared in time to rescue them from the horrible fate of Mrs. Baird and
her children. At the open door of the apartments reserved for the women
Heideck and Edith Irwin had to part. They were not allowed a long time
to take leave. But even if they had been altogether alone they would at
this moment have been scarcely able to find much to say; for after all
the exertions and excitements of the terrible day just ended such
heavy fatigue and exhaustion had overcome them that they could only
mechanically make use of their limbs; and so, instead of the passions,
hopes, and fears, with which they had been moved but a short time
previously, there was now only a dull void in their brains as in their
hearts.
“Au revoir, to-morrow.” That was all that passed between them. Then, as
soon as they had conducted him into the room assigned to him, Heideck
threw himself down, as he was, upon the tiles of the floor, and fell
instantaneously into a deep, dreamless sleep.
The glorious Indian sun, which shone through the round opening in the
ceiling down upon his face, woke him the next morning.
His limbs were stiff from his uncomfortable couch, but the short sleep
had invigorated him, and his nerves had completely regained their old
freshness and vigour.
His room-mates must have been taken away early to some other place, for
he found himself quite alone in the lofty room which was only lighted by
the window in the ceiling. The rays of the sun fell opposite to him
upon a tomb of the purest, whitest, marble quite covered with illegible
hieroglyphics. Whilst he was still engaged in looking at the apparently
ancient memorial tablet, he heard suddenly behind him the light rustling
of a woman’s dress, and when he turned round he gazed with pleasurable
surprise into Edith Irwin’s pale, fair face.
“How delighted I am to find you still here,” she said with a happy
expression. “I was afraid that you had been taken away with the other
prisoners.”
“As it seems, it was out of consideration for my well-deserved slumber,”
he replied, with a slight trace of humour. But then, remembering the
terrible seriousness of the situation, he continued in altered and
hearty tones--
“How have you passed the night, Mrs. Irwin? It appears to me as if
all that I have gone through since my return to Lahore has only been a
dream.”
With a painful quiver of the lips she shook her head.
“Unfortunately, there is no room for doubt that it has been hideous
reality. Poor, poor Mrs. Baird! One must almost consider it a happy
dispensation of Providence that her husband did not live to see the
terrible fate of his family.”
“What, have you news from the field of battle? Do you then know that the
Colonel is dead?”
Edith nodded.
“The Colonel is dead; my husband is dead; Captain McGregor, and many of
my friends from Chanidigot, have been left on the field.”
She said it calmly; but he read in her eyes the deep sadness of her
soul.
Much affected by her heroic strength of character, he bent his head
and kissed her hand. She let him have his way for a moment, but then
withdrew her thin, cool fingers with a beseeching look, the meaning of
which he full well understood.
“The Commander-in-Chief and his staff reached the railway station,”
she continued; “they travelled to Delhi with the last train that left
Lahore, just at the eleventh hour; for immediately afterwards the
Russians entered the town. The wreck of the army is now marching to
Delhi, but their pursuers are close at their heels. God alone knows what
will be the fate of our poor defeated army.”
He did not ask her where she had obtained all this information; but
that it was quite correct he was firmly convinced, judging by his own
experience. He did not know what to say to her to encourage her, he
who never had been able to toy with empty phrases. A short while they
remained silent, and their eyes simultaneously fell upon the sunlit
marble tomb before them.
“Have you seen this cenotaph before?” the young lady suddenly asked, to
Heideck’s surprise. On his answering in the negative, she went on--
“This is the famous tomb of Anar Kali, the beloved wife of Sultan
Akbar, who, on account of her beauty, was given the name of ‘Pomegranate
Blossom.’ She probably departed this life in the same way that we should
have done if the daggers of the murderers yesterday had reached us. She,
perhaps, was just as little conscious of what was happening to her, as
we should have been in this past night.”
“Can you read the inscription?” asked Heideck.
“No, but I have had it interpreted to me; for it is one of the most
famous inscriptions in India. The beautiful Anar Kali was once so
foolish as to smile when the son of her lord and master entered the
harem. And in the selfsame hour the jealous sultan had the unhappy woman
executed. But he must have loved her very dearly, for he erected to
her this beautiful memorial, which should hand down to generations yet
unborn the name of Anar Kali. So full of insoluble riddles is the poor,
foolish heart of man.”
Jingling footsteps were heard on the flagstones outside, and the next
moment an officer appeared at the door accompanied by several soldiers.
In abrupt, peremptory tones he ordered Heideck to follow him.
Now, for the first time, the Captain saw in Edith Irwin’s face something
like an expression of terror.
“What is the meaning of this?” She turned hastily to the Russian. “This
gentleman is not an Englishman.”
The Russian did not understand the question in English; but when Heideck
asked in Russian what they were about to do with him, he replied,
shrugging his shoulders--
“I do not know. Follow me.”
“They only want me to prove my identity,” said Heideck composedly, in
order to calm the young lady. “I hope that they will let me free after
examining my passports.”
“Certainly they must let you go!” she cried, almost passionately. “It
would be against all the laws of nations if they were to do you any
harm. But how shall I endure the uncertainty as to your fate?”
“I shall come back here at once, as soon as it is possible for me to do
so.”
“Yes, yes! I beseech you, do not leave me a second longer than you are
obliged. I have not as yet had time to thank you.”
The Russian officer showed such manifest signs of impatience that
Heideck no longer hesitated to follow him.
The way that he had to go was not long. He was taken to a house close
by, over whose gate the words “School of Arts” were sculptured in the
stone. He had only to wait a short while in the hall, when before
him there opened the door of a room on the ground floor, adorned with
sculptures, in which a number of officers sat at a long table.
To Heideck it was at once clear that he was to be tried before a
court-martial. A few very downcast-looking men had just been led out.
The officer who presided turned over the papers which lay before him,
and then, casting a sharp look at Heideck, spoke a few words with his
comrades.
“Who are you?” he asked in English, with a decided Russian accent, which
was difficult to understand.
Heideck, who also spoke in English, answered shortly and clearly, and
laid his passport, which he always carried in the breast-pocket of his
coat as his most valuable possession in ease of emergency, before the
Colonel.
As soon as he had read it, the President said in perfect German--
“You are, then, no Englishman, but a German? What are you doing here in
India?”
“I am travelling for the firm of Heideck, in Hamburg.”
“In business? Really? Is it part of your business to fight against
Russia?”
“No! and I have not done so.”
“You deny, then, that you took part in yesterday’s battle?”
“As a combatant, yes! There were other reasons which led me to the
battlefield.”
“You only went as a spectator? Didn’t it occur to you that, under the
circumstances, this might be very dangerous for you?”
“I have personal relations with several gentlemen in the English army,
and these relations made it necessary for me to visit them during the
battle.”
The Colonel turned to a young officer standing a little distance away--
“Lieutenant Osarov, is it true that you recognised in this man, when
he was brought in here last night, a person whom you saw in an English
square during the progress of the battle?”
“Yes, Colonel, I did!” was the decided reply. “I recognise him now quite
clearly. He was riding a black horse, and dashed off when we broke into
the square.”
Heideck perceived that it would be useless to deny the fact, in the face
of this direct evidence, and his military honour would, in any case, not
have permitted him to do so.
“What the lieutenant has said is quite correct,” he answered,
anticipating the Colonel’s question; “but I did not take part in the
fighting. As a friend of Colonel Baird, who was killed, I kept as long
as possible close to him, so as to be able to bring his relations, who
were left behind in Lahore, tidings of his fate and of the issue of the
battle.”
“You, a foreigner, were armed in the English square. Since you confess
this much, we need not trouble ourselves with further proceedings. You,
gentlemen, will all agree that we should treat him, according to martial
law, as a traitor?”
The last words were addressed to the other judges, and, with a silent
bow, they declared their assent.