FOR LIBERTY AND LIFE.
The cry of alarm that startled the fugitives came from a powerful
Sepoy, and it was his arms that encircled Harper.
“Traitorous wretch!” said the man, addressing Haidee; “you shall die
for this. I saw you leave the Palace, and, suspecting treachery,
followed you.” And again the man gave tongue, with a view of calling up
his comrades.
He had evidently miscalculated the odds arrayed against him. Martin was
a few yards in front, but realising the position in an instant, sprang
back to the assistance of his companion. Then ensued a fierce struggle.
The man was a herculean fellow, and retained his hold of Harper. Martin
was also powerful, but he could not get a grip of the Sepoy, who rolled
over and over with the officer, all the while giving vent to loud cries.
“We are lost, we are lost, unless that man’s cry is stopped!” Haidee
moaned, wringing her hands distractedly; then getting near to Martin,
she whispered--
“In your comrade’s belt is a dagger; get it--quick.”
The Sepoy heard these words, and tightened his grasp, if that were
possible, on Harper’s arms, and rolled over and over with him, crying
the while with a stentorian voice.
Not a moment was to be lost. There was no time for false sentiment or
considerations of mercy. Martin, urged to desperation, flung himself on
the struggling men, and getting his hand on the throat of the Sepoy,
pressed his fingers into the windpipe, while with the other hand he
sought for Harper’s belt. He felt the dagger. He drew it out with some
difficulty. He got on his knees, his left hand on the fellow’s throat.
As the three struggled, the Sepoy’s back came uppermost.
It was Martin’s chance. He raised his hand, the next moment the dagger
was buried between the shoulders of the native, who, with a gurgling
cry, released his grip, and Harper was free.
As he rose to his feet, breathless with the struggle, Haidee seized
his hand, and kissing it with frantic delight, whispered--“The Houris
are good. The light of my eyes is not darkened. You live. Life of my
life. Come, we may yet escape.” She made known her thanks to Martin by
a pressure of the hand.
Another brilliant flash of lightning showed them the stilled form of
the Sepoy. A deafening crash of thunder followed, and the rain came
down in a perfect deluge.
The storm was a friend indeed, and a friend in need. It no doubt
prevented the cry of the now dead man from reaching those for whom it
was intended, as, in such a downpour, no one would be from under a
shelter who could avoid it.
The howling of the wind, and the heavy rattle of the rain, drowned the
noise of their footsteps.
Drenched with the rain, her long hair streaming in the wind, Haidee
sped along, followed by the two men. She led them down the avenue of
banyans, and then turning off into a patch of jungle, struck into a
narrow path. The lightning played about the trees--the rain rattled
with a metallic sound on the foliage--heaven’s artillery thundered with
deafening peals.
Presently she came to a small gateway. She had the key; the lock
yielded.
“There is a guard stationed close to here,” she whispered: “we must be
wary.”
They passed through the gateway. The gate was closed. They were in a
large, open, treeless space. Across this they sped. The lightning was
against them here, for it rendered them visible to any eyes that might
be watching.
But the beating rain and the drifting wind befriended them. The open
space was crossed in safety.
“We are clear of the Palace grounds,” Haidee said, as she led the way
down a narrow passage; and in a few minutes they had gained the walls
of the city.
“We must stop here,” whispered the guide, as she drew Harper and Martin
into the shadow of a buttress. “A few yards farther on is a gate, but
we can only hope to get through it by stratagem. I am unknown to the
guard. This dress will not betray me. I will tell them that I live on
the other side of the river, and that I have been detained in the city.
I will beg of them to let me out. You must creep up in the shadow of
this wall, ready to rush out in case I succeed. The signal for you to
do so shall be a whistle.” She displayed a small silver whistle as she
spoke, which hung around her neck by a gold chain.
She walked out boldly now, and was followed by the two men, who,
however, crept along stealthily in the shadow of the wall. They stopped
as they saw that she had reached the gate. They heard the challenge
given, and answered by Haidee. In a few minutes a flash of lightning
revealed the presence of two Sepoys only. Haidee was parleying with
them. At first they did not seem inclined to let her go. They bandied
coarse jokes with her, and one of them tried to kiss her. There was
an inner and an outer gate. In the former was a door that was already
opened. Through this the two soldiers and Haidee passed, and were lost
sight of by the watchers, who waited in anxious suspense. Then they
commenced to creep nearer to the gateway, until they stood in the very
shadow of the arch; but they could hear nothing but the wind and rain,
and the occasional thunder. The moments hung heavily now. Could Haidee
have failed? they asked themselves. Scarcely so, for she would have
re-appeared by this time. As the two men stood close together, each
might have heard the beating of the other’s heart. It was a terrible
moment. They knew that their lives hung upon a thread, and that if
this devoted woman failed, nothing could save them. Still they did not
lose hope, though the suspense was almost unendurable. Each grasped
his pistol firmly, to be used as a club if occasion required. The
termination of what had verily seemed an hour to them, but in reality
only five minutes, brought the welcome signal--the whistle was blown.
“You first, Harper,” said Martin.
They darted from their hiding-place and rushed through the door; a
Sepoy tried to bar the passage, but was felled by a blow from Harper’s
pistol; in another moment they were outside the walls--Haidee was
waiting for them.
“Speed!” she cried, leading the way.
The alarm was already being spread. A deep-toned gong, that could
be heard even above the howling wind, was warning the sentries that
something had happened.
From gate to gate, from guard to guard, the signal passed, and soon
a hundred torches were flaring in the wind; there were confusion and
commotion, and much rushing to and fro, but nobody exactly seemed to
know what it was all about, only that someone had escaped. A few shots
were fired--why, was a mystery--and even a big gun vomited forth a
volume of flame and sent a round shot whizzing through space, only
to fall harmlessly in a far-off paddy-field. In the meantime the
fugitives, favoured by the darkness and the wind, sped along, keeping
under the shadow of the wall, until the bridge of boats was passed.
“We cannot cross the bridge,” said Haidee, “for on the other side there
is a piquet stationed.”
“How, then, shall we gain the opposite bank?” asked Harper.
“By swimming,” she answered.
When they had proceeded about a quarter of a mile farther, Haidee
stopped.
“This is a good part; the river is narrow here, but the current is
strong.”
“But will it not be dangerous for you to trust yourself to the stream?”
Martin remarked, as he divested himself of his jacket.
“Dangerous? No,” she answered; “I am an excellent swimmer.”
She unwound a long silken sash from her waist, and, tying one end round
her body and the other round Harper, she said--
“I am ready. Swim against the current as much as possible, and you will
gain a bend almost opposite to us.”
Martin walked to the water’s edge, and, quietly slipping in, struck out
boldly. Haidee and Harper followed, and as they floated out into the
stream she whispered--
“We are bound together. Where you go I go; we cannot separate.”
It was hard work breasting that rapid current, but the swimmers swam
well, and the bank was gained. Emerging, somewhat exhausted, and with
the muddy waters of the Jumna dripping from them, they stood for some
minutes to recover their breath.
Haidee was the first to speak.
“We are safe so far,” she said. “Before us lies the Meerut road. The
way to Cawnpore is to the left.”
“Then I suppose we must part,” Martin observed.
“Yes,” she answered. “You have but thirty miles to go; travel as far as
possible during the night, and in the morning you will be safe.”
Martin took her hand.
“You are as brave as beautiful, and I am too poor in words to thank
you. But in my heart I have a silent gratitude that time can never wear
away.”
“God speed you,” joined in Harper. “Tell my wife that you left me well
and hopeful. Bid her wait patiently for my coming.”
“You may depend upon me.”
Martin shook the hands of his friends, and, turning away, was soon lost
in the darkness.
When his retreating footsteps had died out, Haidee grasped Harper’s
hand, for he stood musingly, his thoughts preceding his friend to
Meerut; he felt not a little sad as he pictured his wife waiting and
weeping for him, and he wondered if he would ever see her again.
“Come,” said Haidee softly. “Come,” she repeated, as he did not seem to
notice her at first, “time flies, and we are surrounded with danger.”
He turned towards her with a sigh.
“Why do you sigh?” she asked.
“I scarcely know.”
“Is it for one who is absent?”
“Perhaps so.”
_She_ sighed now, inaudibly, and she pressed her hand on her heart; but
he did not notice the movement.
“Cawnpore is distant,” she said, in a low tone, “and the night is
already far spent. Let us go.”
And so they went on, side by side, into the darkness, on to the unknown
future. And the wind moaned around them like a warning voice, and beat
in their faces as if it would drive them back.