regarded from a high political point of view, very trifling and
insignificant. You cannot possibly expect that the political interests
of a world empire should be sacrificed for the interests of a single
lady, who, moreover, by nationality belongs to our enemies.”
“Shall she then be handed over helpless to the bestiality of this
dissolute scoundrel?”
Prince Tchajawadse shrugged his shoulders, while at the same time he
cast a strange side-glance at Heideck, who was riding beside him, which
seemed to say--
“How dense you are, my dear fellow! And how slow of understanding!”
But the other did not understand this dumb play of the eyes; and, after
a short pause, he could not refrain from saying in a tone of painful
reproach--
“Why, my Prince, did you so generously procure for me permission to take
part in this expedition if I was at once to be doomed to inaction in
a matter, which, as you know, is at present nearer my heart than aught
else!”
“I do not remember, Captain, to have imposed any such restraint upon
you. It was purely my own attitude as regards this matter which I wished
to make clear to you. And I hope that you have completely understood me.
I will not, and dare not, have anything officially to do with the affair
of Mrs. Irwin, and I should like to hear nothing about it. That I, on
the other hand, do not interfere with your private concerns, and
would not trouble about them, is quite a matter of course. It entirely
suffices for me, if you do not bring me into any embarrassment and
impossible situation.”
That was, at all events, much less than Heideck had expected after the
zealous promises of his friend. But after quiet reflection he came to
the conclusion that the Prince could, as a matter of fact, scarcely act
otherwise, and that he went to the utmost limits of the possible, if he
did not absolutely forbid him to undertake anything for the advantage of
the unhappy Edith. Heideck’s decision to leave not a stone unturned to
liberate the woman he loved was not thereby shaken for a moment, but he
knew now that he would have to proceed with the greatest circumspection,
and that he could not reckon upon anyone’s assistance--an admission
which was not exactly calculated to fill him with joyous hope.
After a short march the detachment reached the spot lying immediately
at the foot of the first hill, a wide space shaded by mighty trees, upon
which the Maharajah had erected his improvised hunting-camp. A great
number of tents had been pitched under the trees. A gay-coloured throng
of men surged amongst them.
It was perfectly clear to Heideck that he could not himself search the
camp for Edith Irwin without exciting the attention of the Indians,
thereby at once compromising the success of his venture. And he had no
one to whom he could entrust the important task, except the faithful
Morar Gopal, who, in spite of all the terrors of war, had also followed
him on this march to Simla, although Heideck had offered him his
discharge, together with the payment of his wages for several months
more.
Accordingly, after the signal had been given to halt and dismount, he
took him aside and communicated to him his instructions, at the same
time handing him a handful of rupees to enable him to give the necessary
bribes.
The Hindu listened with keen attention, and the play of his dark, clever
face showed what a lively personal interest he took in this affair
nearest his master’s heart.
“Everything shall be done according to your wishes, sahib,” he said, and
soon afterwards was lost to view among the innumerable crowd of the two
Indian Princes’ servants and followers.
XX
A FRIEND IN NEED
Whilst the Russians were digging their cooking trenches somewhat
aside from the main camp, and making all necessary arrangements for
bivouacking, Heideck had an opportunity of admiring the magnificence
with which these Indian Princes organised their hunting excursions.
The tents of the two Maharajahs were almost the size of a one-floor
bungalow, and on peering through the open entrance of one of them into
the interior, Heideck saw that it was lavishly hung with red, blue, and
yellow silk, and furnished with most costly carpets.
About half a hundred smaller tents were destined to receive the
retinue and servants. Behind them again was a whole herd of camels and
elephants, which had carried the baggage and material for the tents. The
bleating of countless sheep mingled with the hundred-voiced din of the
Indians as they busily ran hither and thither, and Heideck computed the
number of buffaloes and tethered horses which grazed round the camp at
more than three hundred.
The Maharajah of Sabathu regarded the Russians, who had here made
halt at his invitation, as his guests, and he discharged the duty of
hospitality with genuine Indian lavishness. He had so many sheep and
other provisions placed at the disposal of the soldiers that they could
now amply compensate themselves for many a day’s privation in the past.
But the officers were solemnly bidden to the banquet that was to take
place in the Maharajah’s tent.
Heideck’s hope of meeting on this occasion the Maharajah of Chanidigot
once more, and of perhaps finding an opportunity of conversation with
him, was disappointed.
On returning from a walk through the camp, in which he did not discover
anywhere a trace of Edith, back to the Russian bivouac, Heideck learnt
from the mouth of Prince Tchajawadse that the Maharajah of Chanidigot
had met with a slight accident in the hunting excursion that day, and
was under surgical treatment in his tent, whither he had been brought.
It was said that the tusks of a wild boar, which had run between his
horse’s legs, had inflicted a severe wound on the foot, and it was in
any case certain that he would not be visible that day.
On this occasion Heideck also learnt the circumstances to which the
meeting with the two Indian Princes was due.
The Maharajah of Chanidigot, who knew full well that the English had
sentenced him to death for high treason, had fled from his capital. With
a hundred horse and many camels, carrying the most precious part of
his movable treasures, he had advanced northwards out of the sphere of
British territory into the rear of the Russian advancing army. He
had visited his friend, the Maharajah of Sabathu, who was likewise a
Mohammedan, and both Princes had for their greater safety proceeded
hither to the foot of the mountain chain, where, for the present,
despite the exciting times, they could pursue the pleasures of sport
with all the nonchalance of real gentlemen at large.
The treacherous despot of Chanidigot would probably have preferred to
have gone direct to Simla, and it was only the intelligence that had
reached the Russians, that English troops were still in Ambala, that
probably caused him to stop half-way.
Prince Tchajawadse was also induced by this intelligence to abandon his
intended route via Ambala, and to proceed in a direct line through the
jungle. In this way he could confidently hope to reach Simla without a
battle, and, moreover, should it turn out that the garrison of Ambala
was not over strong, he might deliver a surprise attack upon the
English from the north. In time of peace Ambala was one of the larger
encampments, but now it was to be expected that the main body of the
troops stationed there had been ordered to Lahore.
The whole opulence of an Indian Court was unfolded at the Maharajah’s
banquet. At the table covered with red velvet and luxuriously laid with
gold and silver plate, the Russian officers sat in gay-coloured ranks
with the chiefs of the Prince’s retinue. The viands were excellent, and
champagne flowed in inexhaustible streams. The Russians required but
few invitations to drink, but the Mohammedan Indians were not in
this respect far behind them. It is true that the drinking of wine is
forbidden by the tenets of their religion; but in respect of champagne,
they understand how to evade this commandment by christening it by the
harmless name of “sparkling lemonade,” a circumlocution which of course
did not in the slightest counteract its exhilarating effects. The
Indians who were less proof against the effects of alcohol were much
more quickly intoxicated than their new European friends; and under
the influence of the potent liquor universal fraternisation inevitably
resulted.
The Maharajah himself delivered a suggestive speech in praise of the
Russian victors who had at last come as the long-desired saviours of the
country from the British yoke. Of course he had to employ the accursed
English language, it being the only one that he understood besides his
own mother tongue; and Prince Tchajawadse had to translate his words
into Russian in order that they should be intelligible to all the
Russian heroes.
In spite of this somewhat troublesome procedure, however, his words
roused intense enthusiasm, and embracings and brotherly kisses were soon
the order of the day.
When the universal jollity had reached its height, two Bayaderes,
who belonged to the suite of the Maharajah of Sabathu, made their
appearance, Indian beauties, whose voluptuous feminine charms were
calculated to make the blood even of the spoilt European run warm.
Dressed in gold-glittering petticoats and jackets, which left a hand’s
breadth of light brown skin visible round the waist, with gold coins
upon the blue-black hair, they executed their dances to the monotonous
tone of weird musical instruments upon a carpet spread in the middle of
the tent. The bare arms, the bones and toes of their little feet were
adorned with gold bracelets set with pearls and rings bedizened with
jewels. Though their motions had nothing in common with the bacchanalian
abandon of other national dances, yet the graceful play of their supple,
lithe limbs was seductive enough to enchant the spectators. The Indians
threw silver coins to the dancers, but the Russians, according to their
native custom, clapped applause and never tired of demanding amid shouts
of delight a repetition of the dance.
Amid the general wantonness there was only one who remained morose and
anxious, and this was Heideck, the newly-made captain in the Russian
army.
He knew that it would be easy for Morar Gopal’s shrewdness to find him
in case he had something to report. And that the Hindu did not make his
appearance was for him a disheartening proof that his servant had not
hitherto succeeded in discovering Edith’s whereabouts or in obtaining
any certain news of her fate.
What did it avail him, that after much thought he had already evolved a
plan for her liberation, if there was no possibility of putting himself
in communication with her!
Believing her to be kept prisoner in a harem tent, his idea was to send
Morar Gopal with a letter to her, fully convinced that the wily Indian
would succeed by stratagem and bribery in reaching her. Before the
banquet he had negotiated with one of the Indian rajahs for the purchase
of an ox-waggon, and if Edith could by his letter be prevailed upon to
make an attempt at flight, it would not in his view be very difficult
to bring her under Morar Gopal’s protection to Ambala, where she would
again find herself among her English countrymen.
But this plan was unrealisable so long as he did not even know
where Edith was. Incapable of bearing any longer this condition of
uncertainty, he was just on the point of leaving the tent in order, at
all risks, to hunt for the beloved lady, when a Russian dragoon stepped
behind his chair and informed him with a military salute that a lady
outside the tent wished to speak to the Captain.
Full of blissful hope that it was Edith he jumped up and hurried out.
But his longing eyes sought in vain for Captain Irwin’s widow. Instead
of her whom he sought he perceived a tall female form in the short
jacket and short-cut coloured dress which he had seen on his journeys
among the inhabitants of the Georgian mountains. The hair and the face
of the girl were almost entirely hidden by a scarf wound round the head.
Only when, at his approach, she pushed it back somewhat he perceived who
stood before him.
“Georgi--you here!” he exclaimed with surprise. “And in this dress?”
He had indeed reason to be surprised, for he had not again seen the
handsome, blonde page, to whom he chiefly owed his life, since their
meeting on the way to the place of execution.
When on the evening of that for him so eventful day he asked Prince
Tchajawadse about Georgi he had received only a short, evasive reply,
and the Prince’s knitted brows showed such evident anger that he well
perceived that something must have taken place between them, and so it
appeared to him to be best to him not to mention again the name of the
Circassian girl.
When the detachment started he had in vain looked for the page who had
hitherto been inseparable from “his master,” and only the anxiety for
Edith, which was so much nearer his heart, was the cause that he had not
thought much about the inexplicable disappearance of the disguised girl.
He had certainly least of all expected to find her here, so far from the
Russian headquarters, and in woman’s dress to boot. But the Circassian
did not seem inclined to give him detailed information.
“I have begged you to come out to see me, sir,” she said, “because I did
not want the Prince to see me. I met your Indian servant. And he told me
about the English lady whom the Maharajah of Chanidigot has carried off
from you.”
“He did not carry her off from me, Georgi, for I have no claim upon her.
She only placed herself under my protection, and therefore it is my duty
to do all that I can to set her free.”
The girl looked at him, and there was a glance as of suppressed passion
in her beautiful eyes.
“Why do you not speak the truth, sir? Say that you love her! Tell
me that you love her and I will bring her back to you--and this very
evening.”
“You, Georgi, how in all the world will you be able to manage that? Do
you know then where the lady is to be found?”
“I know it from your servant, Morar Gopal. She is there, in that tent
of the Maharajah of Chanidigot, before whose door the two Indians are
standing sentry. Take care and do not attempt to force your way in, for
the sentries would cut you to pieces before allowing you to put a foot
in the tent.”
“It may be that you are right,” said Heideck, whose breast was now
filled with a blissful feeling at having at last learned with certainty
that the adored woman was close by. “But how shall you be able to get to
her?”
“I am a woman, and I know how one must treat these miserable Indian
rogues; the Maharajah of Chanidigot is ill, and in his pain he has
something else to think of than of the joys of love. You must make use
of this favourable moment, sir! and in this very night whatever is to
happen must happen.”
“Certainly! every minute lost means perhaps a terrible danger to Mrs.
Irwin. But if you have a plan for saving her please tell me--”
The Circassian shook her head.
“Why talk of things that must be first accomplished? Return to the
banquet, sir, that no one may suspect of you. At midnight you will find
the English lady in your tent, or you will never set eyes on me again.”
She turned as if to go; but after having taken a few steps came back
once more to him.
“You will not tell the Prince that I am here, do you understand? It is
not time yet for him to learn that.”
With these words she disappeared, before Heideck could ask another
question. Little as he felt inclined after what he had just experienced
to return to the mad riot of the banquet, he perceived that there
was scarcely anything else open to him, for any interference with the
unknown plans of the Circassian would scarcely be of any advantage to
Edith.
But if the minutes had hitherto appeared endless, they now crept on with
quite intolerable slowness. He scarcely heard or saw anything that was
taking place about him. The rajah who had the next place to him tried in
vain to open a conversation in his broken English, and at last, shaking
his head, abandoned the silent stranger to his musings, which in the
middle of this riotous festivity must certainly have appeared very
strange to him.
Shortly before midnight, before Prince Tchajawadse and his other
comrades thought of moving, Heideck once more left the state tent of the
Maharajah and turned his steps towards the Russian camp, which was far
away visible in the red glare of the bivouac fires, around which the
loudest merriment was also taking place.
In reality he entertained very little hope that the Circassian would
be able to fulfil her bold promise, for what she had taken upon herself
appeared to him to be absolutely impracticable. Yet his heart throbbed
wildly when he thrust back the linen sheet that covered the entrance of
the tent which had been assigned to him.
On the folding-table in the middle of the little room were two
lighted candles beside a burning lantern. And in their light Heideck
discerned--not Edith Irwin, but instead, the handsomest young rajah who
had ever crossed his eyes under the glowing skies of India.
For a moment Heideck was uncertain, for the slender youth, in the silken
blouse tied round with a red scarf, English riding-breeches and neat
little boots, had turned his back to him, so that he could not see
his face, and his hair was completely hidden under the rose-and-yellow
striped turban. But the blissful presentiment which told him who was
concealed beneath the charming disguise could not deceive him. A few
rapid steps and he was by the side of the delicate-limbed Indian youth.
Overpowered by a storm of passionate emotions, he forgot all obstacles
and scruples, and the next moment clasped him in his arms with an
exultant cry of joy.
“Edith! my Edith!”
“My beloved friend!”
In the exceeding delight of this reunion the confession which had never
passed her lips in the hours of familiar tete-a-tete, or in the moments
of extreme peril which they had endured together, forced its way
irresistibly from her heart--the confession of a love which had long
absorbed her whole life.
XXI
EDITH’S ADVENTURES
It was a long time before the two lovers were sufficiently composed to
explain to each other fully the almost fabulous events that had lately
occurred.
Heideck, of course, wanted to know, first of all, how Edith had
contrived to escape without making a disturbance and calling for the aid
of those about her. What she told him was the most touching proof of her
affection for him. The Maharajah’s creatures must have heard, somehow or
other, of Heideck’s imprisonment and condemnation, and they had reckoned
correctly on Edith’s attachment to the man who had saved her life.
She had been told that a single word from the Maharajah would be
sufficient to destroy the foolhardy German, and that her only hope
of saving him from death lay in a personal appeal to His Highness’s
clemency. Although she knew perfectly well the shameful purpose this
suggestion concealed, she had not hesitated, in her anxiety for her
dear one’s safety, to follow the men who promised to conduct her to the
Maharajah, full of hypocritical assurances that she would come to no
harm. She had had so many proofs of the revengeful cruelty of this
Indian despot that she feared the worst for Heideck, and resolved, in
the last extremity, to sacrifice her life--if she could not preserve her
honour--to save him.
The Maharajah had received her with great courtesy and promised to use
his influence in favour of the German who had been seized as a spy and
traitor by the Russians. But he had at the same time thrown out fairly
broad hints what his price would be, and, from the moment she had
delivered herself into his hands, he had treated her as a prisoner,
although with great respect. All communication, except with persons of
the Maharajah’s household, was completely cut off; and she was under no
delusion as to the lot which awaited her, as soon as the Prince again
felt himself completely secure in some mountain fastness unaffected by
the events of the war.
Feeling certain of this, she had continually contemplated the idea of
flight; but the fear of sealing the fate of her unhappy friend, even
more than the ever-watchful suspicion of her guards, had prevented her
from making the attempt.
Her joy had been all the greater when, the same evening, Morar Gopal
appeared in the women’s tent with the Circassian, to relieve her from
the almost unendurable tortures of uncertainty as to Heideck’s fate.
The cunning Hindu had managed to gain access to the carefully guarded
prisoners for himself and his companion by pretending that the Maharajah
had chosen the Circassian girl to be the English lady’s servant. He had
whispered a few words to Edith, telling her what was necessary for her
to know for the moment.
After he had retired, it roused no suspicion when she asked to be left
alone for a few moments with the new servant. With her assistance, she
made use of the opportunity to put on the light Indian man’s clothes
which the Circassian had brought with her in a parcel. The guards, who
were by this time intoxicated, had allowed the slender young rajah, into
whom she had transformed herself, to depart unmolested, and Morar
Gopal, who was waiting for her at a place agreed upon close at hand,
had conducted her to Heideck’s tent, where she might, for the moment at
least, consider herself to be safe.
“But Georgi?” asked the Captain with some anxiety. “She remained in the
women’s tent? What will happen to her when her share in your flight is
discovered?”
“The idea also tormented me. But the heroic girl repeatedly assured me
that she would find a way to escape, and that in any case she would have
nothing to fear, as soon as she appealed to Prince Tchajawadse.”
“That may be so; but that hardly agrees with her wish to keep the
fact of her presence in the camp a secret from the Prince. The girl’s
behaviour is a complete riddle to me. I do not understand what can have
induced her to sacrifice herself with such wonderful unselfishness
for us, who are really only strangers to her, in whom she can feel no
interest. Certainly she was not actuated by any thought of a reward. She
has the pride of her race, and I am certain that she would consider any
offer of one as an insult.”
“I think the same. But perhaps I can guess her real motives.”
“And won’t you tell me what you think?”
Edith hesitated a little; but she was not one of those women who allow
any petty emotion to master them.
“I think, my friend, that she loves you,” she said, with a slight,
enchanting smile. “Some unguarded expressions and the fire that kindled
in her eyes as soon as we mentioned your name, made me feel almost
certain of it. The fact that, notwithstanding, she helped to set me
free, is certainly, in the circumstances, only a stronger proof of her
magnanimity. But I understand it perfectly. A woman in love, if of noble
character, is capable of any act of self-denial.”
Heideck shook his head.
“I think your shrewdness has played you false on this occasion. I am
firmly convinced that she is Prince Tchajawadse’s mistress, and, from
all I have seen of their relations, it seems to me inconceivable that
she would be unfaithful to him for the sake of a stranger, with whom she
has only interchanged a few casual words.”
“Well, perhaps we may have an opportunity of settling whether I am wrong
or not. But now, my friend, I should first of all like to know what you
have decided about me.”
Heideck was in some embarrassment how to answer, and spoke hesitatingly
of his intention to send her to Ambala with Morar Gopal. But Edith would
not allow him to finish. She interrupted him with a decided gesture of
dissent.
“Ask of me what you like--except to leave you again. What shall I do
in Ambala without you? I have suffered so unutterably since you were
carried off before my eyes at Anar Kali, that I will die a thousand
times rather than again expose myself to the torture of such
uncertainty.”
A noise behind him made Heideck turn his head. He saw the curtain before
the door of the tent slightly lifted, and that it was Morar Gopal who
had attempted to draw his attention by coughing discreetly.
He called to the loyal fellow to come in, and thanked him, not
condescendingly, as a master recognises the cleverness of his servant,
but as one friend thanks another.