ranks of our enemies, the Court must therefore sentence you to death.
The judgment of the Court will be at once carried into effect. Have you
anything to say?”
Heideck was as though stunned. It appeared to him as though a black veil
was drawn across the world; and a sharp pang of grief shot through him
as he reflected that he would never see Edith again, and that she would
in vain wait for him for ever.
Then his pride was roused. No one should call him cowardly or timid.
“Is it possible to appeal against the judgment of this court-martial?”
he asked, looking firmly at the Colonel.
“No!”
“Then I must, of course, submit to your sentence, but I protest both
against the procedure of the Court and against the judgment you have
pronounced.”
His protest evidently did not make the slightest impression.
“Have you drawn up the execution warrant?” the Colonel said, turning to
the secretary. He then appended his signature and handed it to one of
the attendant Cossacks.
“Lead the prisoner away.”
Two of the soldiers took Heideck between them, and he followed them with
a proud, erect bearing, without saying a word more. Amidst the rain of
bullets on the battlefield he had not felt the least trace of fear; but
the thought of being led like an animal to the slaughter-house, filled
him with horror. All the same a power he had hitherto not discovered,
sustained him. The new danger awoke in him new vigour of soul and
spirit.
The Cossacks conducted him a long way on the road which leads from Anar
Kali to the Meean Meer cantonment. Heideck looked about him and observed
the changes that had taken place in Lahore, just like a traveller who
already in spirit lives in the new world that he intends to visit and
who looks upon familiar objects as something strange. Everywhere he
saw small detachments of cavalry, who were preserving order. Only faint
clouds of smoke still marked the place of the fire in the city, which
had evidently been extinguished. The splendid gardens of Donald Town,
through which their way led, the agricultural plantations, and Lawrence
Park wore the same aspect as in the time of profoundest peace.
Heideck was not chained, but the Cossacks who walked beside him had
their carbines presented, ready to fire should he attempt to escape. But
how could he escape? Everywhere round and about, outposts of the Russian
cavalry were discernible; behind him a body of Cossack horse escorted a
whole troop of Indians. Probably they were incendiaries and robbers who
were, like him, being led out for execution; and it did not improve his
frame of mind to find himself on his last road in the company of such a
crew.
After a long march they at length reached the encampment which had been
occupied by the English, the barracks and tents of which were now filled
with Russian troops. It was only with difficulty that his escort could
make their way through the crowd that had assembled; the report that a
number of criminals were being brought into camp must have arrived here
before them, for soldiers of all arms pressed forward inquisitively from
all sides, in order to have a close view of the poor wretches.
Suddenly, Heideck felt the clutch of a small but firm hand upon his arm.
“Oh, master, what is this? Why are they bringing you here like a
prisoner?”
At the first word Heideck recognised the soft voice, that in the
excitement had assumed its natural feminine tones. In the same fantastic
page’s livery in which he had last seen him in Chanidigot, the pretended
servant of his friend Prince Tchajawadse here stood quite unexpectedly
before him, as though he had suddenly sprung from the earth, while the
most pained consternation showed itself in his fair, expressive face.
“Is it you, Georgi?” exclaimed Heideck, into whose sadness of heart
the sight of the Circassian brought a faint gleam of hope; “and your
master--the Prince? Is he also close at hand?”
But the Cossacks did not seem inclined to permit their prisoner any
further private conversation.
“Be off with you, young fellow!” one of them exclaimed to the supposed
page; “this is a spy, who is to be shot on the spot; and no one is
allowed to speak to him.”
He made a movement as though with a slight motion of his powerful fist
to thrust the slender lithe figure aside, when Georgi fearlessly pushed
back his arm and glared at him with flashing eyes.
“Hold your blasphemous tongue, you liar! You are a thousand times more
of a spy than this gentleman. If you do not leave go of him at once,
you will have a knouting that you will not forget until the end of your
life!”
The Cossacks looked at him and laughed. It was only the handsome face
and the aristocratic bearing of the bold young fellow that prevented
their seizing him.
“Take care, little fellow, that you do not first get the stick,” one of
them said good-humouredly; “and be off with you, before we, by accident,
crush you between our finger and thumb.”
“Go now, Georgi,” Heideck now said, in his turn, on perceiving that the
Circassian was not inclined to obey their orders; “if your master is
near by, go and tell him that I am about to be shot against all the
rules of international law. But tell him to make haste, if he wants to
see me again alive; for it looks as though his comrades intend to make
short work of me.”
He did not doubt that the beautiful, hot-blooded daughter of the
mountains had completely understood him. At all events he saw how she
suddenly turned like a flash of lightning, and with the lithe rapidity
of a slender lizard threaded her way through the crowd of rough
soldiers.
A new hope awoke in Heideck’s breast, and he felt himself once more
fettered in a thousand bonds to life, which he just before thought he
had entirely parted from. He endeavoured to walk more slowly, in order
to gain time. But the Cossacks, who had until now treated him with a
certain amount of consideration, appeared to have become irritated
by the scene with the page, for one of them urged the prisoner in
commanding tones to greater haste, while the other raised his fist in
his face with a menacing gesture.
Perhaps he would even have struck him; but the German officer looked
into his face with such a proud, commanding glance that he let his
raised arm sink to his side. The sullen-looking fellow felt at once
that he was not here dealing with an ordinary spy, and from this moment
neither curses nor abuse passed his lips.
The rattle of a rifle volley struck Heideck’s ear, and although he was
sufficiently accustomed to the crack of shots, a cold shiver passed over
him. The bullets that had just been fired had--he knew it well without
anyone telling him--been the portion of some poor devil who had been
in the same position as himself. That was why these rifle shots were
so full of a significance for him, quite different from that caused
yesterday by the rattle and the crash of the raging battle. Truly, one
need not be a coward to feel an icy shudder at the thought of ten or
twenty rifle barrels directed at one’s own breast.
And now they had reached the fatal spot which was to be the goal of all
his earthly wanderings. The parade at the rear of the barrack camp
had been selected for the place of execution, and so summarily was the
punishment being dealt out, that no time had been found to cart away
separately the corpses of those who had been shot. They simply left them
lying in the trench before which the delinquents were posted, probably
because burial in a common grave was more convenient.
An officer was handed the execution warrant, which had been issued by
the President of the court-martial, and handed over the prisoner to a
non-commissioned officer, who, regarding him with an expression of pity,
bade him in an almost apologetic tone to follow him.
Only a few minutes after his arrival on the parade ground, Heideck also
was standing before the fatal ditch, and saw a company of infantry, with
their arms at attention, drawn up before him.
He had now abandoned all hope. Since the verdict of the court-martial
only a miracle could have saved him; and this miracle had not happened.
For a few short minutes he had, after the accidental meeting with the
Circassian, been foolish enough to entertain new hopes of life, but
now even those had vanished. Even had she been animated by the keenest
desire to save him, what, after all, could she do to make the impossible
possible? He was sorry now that he had not confined himself to begging
the Prince through her to allow him decent burial and to send word to
the German General Staff. These last wishes would, perhaps, have not
been impossible of fulfilment, and he did not doubt that his amiable
Russian acquaintance would have gladly rendered him this trifling
service.
The word of command rang out, and the soldiers posted opposite to him
had already, with clank and rattle, shouldered arms, when from the
other side a loud peremptory shout reached Heideck’s ear, and he saw a
horseman in Russian dragoon’s uniform dashing up, in whose dark red face
he immediately recognised the Prince Tchajawadse.
Close before Heideck he reined in his dripping charger and sprang from
the saddle.
“Little brother! little brother!” he cried, quite breathless from his
ride in such hot haste, clasping, with genuine Russian impetuosity, his
friend, whom he had found again under such strange circumstances, to
his breast. “By all the saints--I should think it was quite time that I
came!”
Then, turning to the astonished officer commanding the firing squad--
“There must be a mistake here. No harm must happen to this gentleman,
for he is not only a personal friend of my own, but he is also a
comrade, an officer of the allied German army.”
The lieutenant shrugged his shoulders.
“I have to carry out my orders, Colonel! I can undertake no
responsibility for any mistakes on the part of my superior officers or
of the court-martial.”
“I take, then, all the responsibility on my own shoulders for preventing
you from carrying out your instructions, lieutenant! This gentleman will
accompany me, and I give my guarantee for him.”
He gave his horse to one of the soldiers, linked his arm in that of
Heideck, and took him off to the tent he occupied in the camp, giving
the while most exuberant expression to his delight at having seen him
again. The breakfast, from which Georgi’s message had startled him, was
still on the table, and Heideck needed not much encouragement to partake
of it; for only now he properly realised how much he was in want of
bodily sustenance. Prince Tchajawadse would not hear of any thanks for
what he had done; but when Heideck asked him if he had really correctly
understood that the Prince had spoken of an alliance between the Russian
and German armies, the latter was not slow to give all information on
this head.
“Yes! yes!--it is the fact! The German Empire is hand-in-hand with us.
The first piece of good news that I heard on reaching the army was that
William II. had declared war upon England. The world is in flames. Only
Austria and Italy are neutral.”
“And I had no notion of it! But, after all, that is easy enough to
explain. All the telegraph cables are in the hands of the English, and
it was easy for them to suppress every unwelcome despatch. The Indian
newspapers are only allowed, of course, to publish what is agreeable to
the Government; but I am burning with curiosity to learn more. Do you
perhaps know how matters have developed as yet, and in what way Germany
thinks of carrying on the war?”
“It appears that an invasion of England is contemplated. Germany has
mobilised one half of her army, and has occupied Holland. The French
troops, on the other hand, have entered Belgium, so that the two Powers
control the whole coast opposite England.”
“And has any action taken place at sea as yet?”
“No; at least down to the present no news has reached us of a naval
battle having been fought. Things are evidently still in the stage
of preparation, and nothing has been heard about the movements of the
German and French fleets. However, the latest intelligence that I
have is now fairly old. We with the army only learn the news that the
Cossacks bring us.”
Heideck struck his forehead.
“I feel utterly astonished. To comprehend and digest at one time all
that you have told me almost passes the capacity of a single brain. But
pardon me, Prince, if I trouble you, who have already done so much for
me to-day, with a further request. I am in great anxiety about a lady,
the widow of an English officer who fell in yesterday’s battle, and who
was committed to my care. I only left her this morning early, when I was
arrested to be taken before the court-martial, at the mausoleum of Anar
Kali, where she had been interned with other prisoners. Advise me what
to do, in order to send the lady, whose welfare is nearest my heart, a
reassuring message as to my fate, and at the same time shield her from
annoyance and discomfort.”
“That is a very simple matter. Do you object to giving me the name of
the lady?”
“Not at all. It is Mrs. Edith Irwin, the widow of Captain Irwin, whom
you also perhaps met in Chanidigot.”
“I think I have some recollection. There was something about a gambling
affair, with which he was not very creditably connected--wasn’t it so?
Well, then, while you take a good sound sleep in my tent here I
will ride over to Anar Kali, visit the lady, and find out how she is
situated. Be quite sure that no unpleasantness shall happen to her, if
only I succeed in finding her.”
“Your kindness puts me quite to shame, Prince. I--”
“You would do precisely the same if fate had happened to have exchanged
our roles. Why, then, waste words about it? I cannot, unfortunately,
offer you a more comfortable couch than my camp-bed there. But you are a
soldier, and I think both of us have, before now, had a worse shakedown.
So, then, pleasant dreams, my friend! I will take care that you are not
disturbed for the next two hours.”
Hurriedly, as though to escape all further expressions of gratitude, the
Prince left the tent.
XVI
THE PROFESSOR
Sound though Heideck’s sleep was, the confused din that penetrated
through the sides of the tent would have recalled an unconscious person
to life. Confused and drowsy as he was, he hurried out just in time to
prevent a wild-looking, dark-skinned Indian from dealing a heavy blow
with a thick staff, which he held in his right hand, upon a thin,
black-garbed gentleman, who was surrounded by a whole band of natives.
The European, with his emaciated, beardless face, looked like a
clergyman, and all the greater was Heideck’s surprise that none of the
Russian non-commissioned officers and soldiers, who were spectators of
the assault, raised a hand to protect him. It was certainly not his duty
to act in this place as one in authority, but the danger in which he
perceived this perfectly defenceless man to be, made him forget all
personal considerations. With a menacing shout he drove off the excited
Indians, and, taking the stranger’s arm, led him into the tent.
None of the Russian military prevented his doing so. He had been seen in
confidential conversation with the Colonel, and his position as a friend
of the Prince procured him respect.
The stranger, half dead from fear, gratefully accepted the glass of
wine which Heideck poured out for him, and, having recovered somewhat,
thanked his protector in simple, but cordial terms. He introduced
himself as Professor Proctor, of Acheson College, and explained that
he had come to the camp to look after a relation who had probably been
seriously wounded. He had on a sudden found himself threatened by a band
of excited Indians, who were probably misled by his dress to take him
for a cleric.
“You, also, are no Russian, sir. Judging from your accent, I should take
you for a German.”
Heideck assented, and narrated his history in a few words. Having done
so, he could not help expressing his amazement at the attack of which
the Professor had been the victim.
“Never during my whole stay in India have I ever before observed any
outburst of hatred on the part of the Indian natives against the English
clergy,” he said.
To this the Professor replied: “Even a few days ago not one of them
would, I should think, have had anything to fear; but in the face of
such terrible upheavals as are now taking place all ideas are thrown
into confusion, all slumbering passions are unfettered. I do not venture
to think of the horrors that will take place throughout the whole of
India now that the bridle that curbed the people has been rent asunder;
and the worst of all is that we have only ourselves to blame.”
“Do you mean on account of the carelessness with which the defence of
the country was organised?”
“I do not mean that alone. Our fault is that we have ignored an eternal
truth, the truth that all political questions are only the external
expression, the dress, so to say, of religious questions.”
“Pardon me, but I do not quite follow the sense of your words.”
“Please consider the slow, steady advance of the Russians in Asia.
Every land that they have brought under their sway--all the immense
territories of Central Asia have become their assured, undisputed
possessions. And why? Because the Russians have known how to win over
the hearts of their subject races, and how to humour their religious
views. The victors and the vanquished thus better assimilate. The
English, on the other hand, have governed India purely from the
political side. The hearts of the various races in India have remained
strange and hostile to us.”
“There may be some truth in what you say. But you must allow that the
English have in India substituted a new civilisation in return, that
inculcates a spirit of intellectual progress, and I conceive that no
nation can for any length of time remain blind in the face of higher
ideals. All history forms a continuous chain of evidence for the truth
of this statement.”
“The word ‘civilisation’ has various significations. If it is only a
question of investigating whether the government and administration
of the country have improved, the answer is that the civilisation
we brought to India has, beyond all doubt, made enormous strides, in
comparison with the conditions that obtained in former centuries. We
have broken the despotism of the native princes, and have put an end to
the endless sanguinary wars which they waged with each other and
with their Asiatic neighbouring despots. We have laid down roads and
railways, drained marshes and jungles, constructed harbours, won great
tracts of lands from the sea, and built protecting dams and piers. The
terrible mortality of the large cities has considerably decreased. We
have given them laws assuring personal security and guaranteeing new
outlets for trade and commerce. But the aspirations of our English
Government have been purely utilitarian, and as regards the deeper-lying
current of development no progress is anywhere perceivable.”
“And, pray, what do you exactly mean by this?”
“Your views in this matter are possibly divergent. I discern in most of
our achievements in India only another manifestation of that materialism
which has ever proved the worst obstacle to all real development.”
“It appears to me, Mr. Proctor,” Heideck interrupted, with a smile,
“that you have become a Buddhist, owing to your sojourn in India!”
“Perhaps so, sir, and I should not be ashamed of such a creed. Many
a one, who on first coming here regarded India with the eyes of a
Christian, has, on nearer acquaintance, become a Buddhist. Greek wise
men once expressed the wish that kings should be chosen from among the
philosophers. That may possibly be an unrealisable hope, but I do
not believe that a ruler who has a contempt for philosophy will ever
properly fulfil the high duties of his station. A policy without
philosophy is, like an unphilosophical religion, not established on
firmer ground than those houses there on the river Ravi, whose existence
is not safe for a single day, because the river at times takes it into
its head to change its course. A government that does not understand
how to honour the religious feelings of its people, does not stand more
securely than one of those huts. The fate that has now overtaken the
English is the best proof of what I say. We are the only power in Asia
that has not founded its political sway upon the religion of the people.
In our folly we have destroyed the habitual simplicity of a nation,
which, until our coming, had been content with the barest necessities of
life, because for thousands of years past it cared more about the
life after death than for its earthly existence. We have incited the
slumbering passions of this people, and by offering to their eyes the
sight of European luxury and European over-civilisation, have aroused in
them desires to which they were formerly strangers. Our system of public
instruction is calculated to disseminate among all classes of the Indian
race the worthless materialistic popular education of our own nation. Of
all the governors and inspectors of schools who have been sent hither by
England not a single one has taken the trouble to penetrate beneath the
surface of the life of the Indian people and to fathom the soul of this
religious and transcendentally gifted race. What contrasts are not the
result! Here a holy river, priests, ascetics, yogis, fakirs, temples,
shrines, mysterious doctrines, a manifold ritual; while side by side,
without any transition, are schools wherein homely English elementary
instruction is provided, a State-supported university with a medical
school and Christian churches of the most varied confessions.”
“But how would it have been possible to combine in a school modern
scientific education with Indian fanaticism?”
A superior smile flitted across the professor’s intellectual face.
“Compare, I pray you, the tiresome trivialities of English missionary
tracts with the immortal masterpieces of Indian literature! Then you
will understand that the Indian, even when he approves Christianity as a
system of morals, demands a deeper and wider basis of these morals, and
inquires as to the origin of the Christian doctrine; and then he very
soon finds that all light which has come to Europe started from Asia. Ex
oriente lux.”
“I am not sufficiently well informed to be able to answer you on this
point. It may very well be that even Christianity was not the offspring
of Judaism alone, but of Buddhism. It may also be the case that the
teachings of our missionaries of to-day are too insipid for the Indians.
But the metaphysical needs of a people have, after all, little to do
with sound policy and good laws. Think of Rome! The Roman state had most
excellent laws, and a magnificent political force which for centuries
kept it in its predominant position among the nations of the world. But
what of religion and philosophy in Rome? There was no state religion
whatsoever; there was no priestly hierarchy, no strict theological
codex, but only a mythology and worship of gods, which was of an
eminently practical character, and it was owing to their practical
common sense--or, as you would prefer to call it, materialism--that
the Romans were enabled to found an organised society upon purely human
needs and aspirations. And why should what they were enabled to achieve
be impossible again for other nations who have succeeded them in their
world-power? The spirit of the age is ever changing, yet it is only a
regularly recurring return of the same conditions, just as the planets
in the heavens, ever again in their orbit, come back to their old
positions.”
“And supposing the ‘Zeitgeist,’ like many planets, does not move in a
circle but in a spiral line? The British world-sovereignty has, as we
see, taken a higher flight than did the Roman. Could not this British
world-power, by permeating wise diplomacy with the profound idea of
Indian philosophy, have attained to a great reformation of the whole
of the human race? It would have been a glorious idea, but I have here
learnt how far they were from its realisation.”
“All the same, I do not think that the English army would have been
defeated by the Russian, had they not fought in accordance with the
rules of antiquated tactics.”