FROM CAPTIVITY TO CAPTIVITY.
In one of the outbuildings attached to the Rajah of Bhitoor’s dwelling,
four natives are seated. It is night. From a smoke-blackened beam, a
long, rusty chain swings. Attached to this is one of the primitive
cocoa-nut lamps, the sickly light from which scarcely does more than
make the darkness visible. At one end of the apartment is a charcoal
fire, on which a brass lotah, filled with boiling rice, hisses. The men
are sitting, Indian fashion, upon their haunches; they smoke in turns a
hubble-bubble, which they pass from one to another.
It is a weirdly picturesque scene. The blackened mud walls of the
building have a funereal aspect, heightened by the swinging lamp as at
the door of a tomb.
But the four dusky figures seated round the fire, and reddened by the
glow from the charcoal, slightly relieve the sombreness. They would
not inaptly represent spirits of evil, holding counsel at the entrance
to Tartarus. Their eyes are bleared by the opium they smoke, and, as
they converse, the shifting expression of their faces betrays that
there is joy at their hearts. But it is not a good joy. It is rather a
gloating as they think of the sorrow and suffering of those whom they
are pleased to consider their enemies. They are--or so they like to
believe--self-constituted avengers of their country’s wrongs, and they
would, if it were in their power, write “Death” across the “Book of
Life” of every one indiscriminately, whose misfortune it was to have a
white skin.
To destroy the power of the Great White Hand--in other words, to
exterminate the British--is the souls’ desire of these men, as it is
possibly of every, or nearly every, native in India on this eventful
night.
As it is given to man to love, so it is given to man to hate, and
the hate of the human heart is beyond human understanding; it has no
parallel in anything that draws the breath of life. The savage animals
of the forest may rend and tear, but in their nature there can be none
of the deadly poison of resentment and hatred which a man can cherish.
But in the hearts of these four men there is that which predominates
even over the hatred. There is lust, there is the greed of gain, and
the cringing, fawning servility which ignoble natures ever display
towards those higher in the social scale than themselves, and upon whom
the goddess of wealth has showered her favours lavishly. Two of the
men we have seen before--they are Moghul Singh and Jewan Bukht. The
other two are retainers of the King of Delhi. An hour ago, when Jewan
had come down from Miss Meredith’s chamber up in the tower, he was
surprised, not to say annoyed, to find Moghul Singh waiting for him.
When the first greetings were passed, Jewan invited his visitor to this
place, although he did not know the errand upon which he had come. But
there was that in Singh’s manner and laugh which told Jewan that Flora
Meredith was in some way, if not the sole cause of Moghul’s visit to
Cawnpore. And this idea was very soon to be confirmed; for as the men
gathered round the fire, and the hubble-bubble had been filled and
passed, Jewan ventured to inquire the nature of his visitor’s business.
Singh laughed, or rather grinned, and his eyes sparkled maliciously as
the question was put.
“To take back the Feringhee woman of yours, Jewan,” was the answer, an
unpleasant one enough to Jewan; for, apart from the risks he had run on
her account, he bore some sort of feeling for her; certainly not love,
because that is a holy passion, and so, for the want of a better word,
it must be called an infatuation. Well, bearing this feeling, being
dazed by her beauty, and above all, having a strong desire to subdue
her will, he could not reconcile himself to the thought of parting with
her, nor was he altogether prepared to do so.
“If that is the only object that has brought you here, methinks you
will go back again empty handed,” he replied.
Moghul grinned again--grinned with the self-assurance of a man who
knows that he holds the winning trump card, that he can play at any
moment to the discomfiture of his opponent.
“I think not so, Jewan, my faithful one. Come, fill the pipe again; it
need not be put out, even if you do not like my errand. Ah, ah, ah!
By my faith, one would think by the look on your face that you had
been called upon to disgorge a lac of rupees, instead of to give up
possession of a woman that can only cause you a world of trouble.”
“I am not so sure of that. At any rate, having caged the bird, I mean
to keep her. She shall pipe for me alone.”
“Oh, oh!--ah, ah! Pass the pipe; this smoke is comforting. You mean to
keep her, eh? By the Prophet’s beard, Master Jewan, they are big words.
Blow the charcoal, Hadjee,” turning to one of his companions, “that
rice does not boil fast enough, and it is not good to laugh much on
an empty stomach. You mean to keep her? Ah, ah! That is a good joke.
Methinks you will need a strong cage then, and a good keeper.”
“I have both.”
“Have you so? But you forget, my friend, that bars may be broken and
keepers bribed.”
“Neither of which you will dare to do.”
“And why, my faithful Jewan?”
“For two reasons.”
“And they are--”
“That I would denounce you sooner than you should have her, and kill
you if you attempted to take her.”
“Oh, oh! Jewan Bukht, the good days that are coming for us are making
you bold indeed. Have a care, my youth. I have performed some deeds of
daring in my time, and brook not insolence from one who has passed his
days in scribbling for the English dogs.”
“You will find that I can wield something more formidable than a pen
if you taunt me,” returned Jewan, the passion glow rising in his dusky
face.
“May be so,” answered Moghul sarcastically; “but in spite of your
threats I tell you I shall take this woman back.”
“You speak authoritatively. By what right will you take her back?”
“By the King’s command. Ah, ah, ah!--oh, oh! There I have you, Jewan.”
Jewan’s brows contracted, for he felt that he was beaten, and dare not
disobey that command.
“Come, come,” continued the other; “don’t look as if a jungle cat had
bitten you. After all, you are not called upon to give up much, and you
cannot afford to quarrel with the King. He heard of this woman almost
directly after you left, and he despatched me instantly to bring her
back. So give me the key of your cage, and let me get the work done,
for I don’t like these jobs. Besides, I am anxious to get back to
Delhi, for there are rare times there now, and rupees are plentiful.”
“Well, as there is no help for it,” said Jewan, “I suppose I must. But
I should like to have broken this woman’s spirit, for she has defied
me.”
“Pshaw! there is higher game to fly at than that. Besides, there are
good times dawning for Cawnpore, and you will come in for a share of
the spoil. But let us have our supper, for I am hungered.”
Hadjee had already turned the rice on to a large brass dish, and added
to it the indispensable mess of curry, and having procured some water
from a neighbouring well, the four men seated themselves round the
rice, and commenced to eat.
When the meal was ended, Moghul rose.
At the same moment, a tall, powerful, and savage-looking man entered;
his name was Haffe Beg, and he was employed by Jewan Bukht, on behalf
of Nana Sahib, as a spy.
Jewan rose as the man entered.
“Ah, Haffe! what news? You have been absent for some days.”
“Yes,” answered the man gruffly; “I have had business.”
“Important, I suppose, since it has detained you?” said Jewan.
“Yes; word was brought to me a few days ago that a woman and an
Englishman were travelling from Delhi towards Cawnpore.”
“Indeed!” cried Moghul Singh; “who were they?”
“I don’t know; but evidently fugitives, and of importance. The woman
came from the Palace; she was a Cashmere woman, I believe. The man was
an English officer.”
Moghul Singh’s brow contracted, and he bit his lip. “My prisoner
Harper, by the beard of Allah!” he exclaimed, wrathfully, “and the
woman Haidee, or may my eyes never see daylight again. I have long
suspected her of treachery. But they do not live _now_!” he added,
significantly.
The man grinned as he replied--
“I am not certain.”
“Not certain!” repeated Bukht, angrily. “By the Prophet! rupee of thy
master’s shall never again find its way to thy pouch if you failed.”
“You do not mean to say they escaped?” added Moghul menacingly.
“Keep your threats for your slaves,” answered Beg, with a defiant
air. “As soon as I heard that these people were on the road, I set
out to meet them; but they evidently did not follow the main road.
I learned that they had entered the city. I returned. They made for
the English quarters, and from there to the defences at the barracks.
No opportunity presented itself until they were near the English
guard; for the night was dark. But, as soon as I could, I sent two
bullets after them, with as true an aim as was possible under the
circumstances.”
“And you hit your mark, of course?” chimed in Moghul and Bukht together.
“One, at least, fell,” answered Beg; “but afraid that the report of the
gun had alarmed the sentries, I retired. Later on I sought the spot;
the bodies were not there, but there was a pool of blood. Whether the
English, guided by the report, had come out and carried the bodies
away, or whether only one of the two fell and the survivor carried the
other off, I don’t know; but I believe one of my bullets for certain
found the woman’s heart.”
“If that is so, I can forgive you for your bungling,” Moghul remarked
between his set teeth. “I would not let her escape for a lac of rupees.”
“I think you may console yourself, then,” said Beg. “I was guided by
her white dress, and I feel sure she fell.”
“So far that is satisfactory, but take further steps to learn,” replied
Moghul. Then, turning to Bukht, he said--
“I cannot waste more time--I must go.”
“How do you travel?” asked Bukht, moving towards the door.
“By gharry. It stands there in the compound, and I have a pair of
splendid horses, provided for the return journey by the Nana’s head
syce (groom).”
Bukht led the way, followed by Moghul and the other men. The building
in which they had been sitting was about a hundred yards from the
tower. As Jewan reached the foot of the tower he stumbled over
something. It was a woman. He stooped down and looked in her face, then
uttered a cry of surprise. The face was Wanna Ranu’s. But the woman was
stone dead, and there was scarcely a whole bone in her emaciated body.
“This smacks of treason!” Jewan exclaimed, as he hurried to the door of
the tower.
He had soon gained the top storey. He had a key of the door of the room
in which he had imprisoned Flora. As he entered he gave vent to an
imprecation, for she whom he sought was not there. He hurried to the
balcony. The broken railings told the tale.
“There has been foul play!” he said, as he turned hurriedly to Moghul,
who stood with a look of consternation on his face; for he could not
hope to make the King believe that the girl had escaped, and, if he
returned without her, he knew he would fall into disgrace.
At this moment there came up a cry from Zeemit Mehal--purposely
uttered, for she had heard Jewan’s voice.
“That cry comes from Mehal,” he said, “or I am much mistaken. We shall
soon know how the girl has escaped.”
He hurried down, followed by the others.
“What is the meaning of this?” he asked, as he bent over the wounded
Zeemit.
“Alas! it means that I have well-nigh lost my life in your cause. But
Wanna, where is she?” she suddenly exclaimed, for she was anxious to
know whether her foe lived, and had told Jewan anything.
“The hag is dead,” he answered; “she lies almost pounded to a jelly at
the foot of the tower.”
“That is good,” Zeemit cried, with unfeigned joy. “She deserved it--she
deserved it. Tempted by a heavy bribe offered by the girl, she was
going to set her free; but I interfered to prevent it. We struggled,
and both fell over.”
“But the girl--where is she?”
“Alas, she must have escaped! but I have no recollection of anything
after I fell.”
Jewan bit his lip. He felt that he was foiled, and it galled him almost
beyond endurance.
“How long is it since you saw her?” asked Moghul of Jewan.
“Scarcely two hours.”
“Then she cannot be far off; and we will find her if she has not got to
the English quarters.”
“Thou art a faithful servant,” said Jewan to Zeemit; “and shall have
attention and ample reward. But you must wait until I return, for we
shall have to recapture this woman.”
As they went away Mehal smiled with satisfaction, in spite of the pain
she was enduring; for she scarcely doubted that Flora had by this time
discovered Walter Gordon, and the two were safe within the British
lines. But fate had willed it otherwise. The men scarcely reached the
compound, when the first thing that met their gaze was the bewildered
Flora, flying unconsciously from the devoted lover who had perilled
his life to save her.
A stranger to the place, and almost blinded with terror, she was
rushing frantically about to endeavour to find a way out of the grounds
into the city. But her chance had passed. With a diabolical cry of
glee, Jewan rushed forward, followed by Singh.
Miss Meredith knew that she was pursued, though she was too confused to
tell by whom. She darted away in the direction of some buildings that
seemed to offer her a chance of hiding; but she was deceived. On she
sped again, followed closely by the cowardly ruffians. She knew not
where she was going to, she scarcely cared, so long as she could escape
them. She would have thrown herself into a well, or dashed her brains
out against a wall, if either had been at hand.
The grounds were extensive, and, to an uninitiated person, little
better than a maze. The farther she went, the more hopelessly confused
she became. Now darting here, now there, until with a wail of pain she
fell upon the grass in a swoon. Nature was merciful, and came to her
relief.
It might have seemed better had she fallen dead. But, in the mysterious
workings of Providence, it was not so ordained. Her destiny was not
fulfilled--her book of life not yet completed, so that the Angel of
Death could write “Finis” on the last page. She must live to the end,
whatever of sorrow, whatever of agony was in reserve for her.
“We’ve run the cat down,” said Moghul, as, breathless, he stooped over
the prostrate girl, and lifted her in his strong arms.
Jewan laughed--laughed joyously, ferociously; he would gladly yield her
up to the King twenty times over, rather than she should escape. In a
few minutes they had placed her in the gharry, which was driven through
a private entrance, and was soon on the other side of the Ganges, and
speeding along the road to Delhi.
Within a hundred yards of where the unfortunate Flora had fallen,
Walter Gordon slept soundly, and when the sound of the wheels of the
departing vehicle had died out, the silence of the night remained
unbroken.