A DUEL TO THE DEATH.
Behind them was Cawnpore, a city red with the blood of slaughtered
innocence, a city filled with cowardly assassins, who, in their
supposed triumph, made night hideous with their drunken shouts. Before
them was Delhi and the unknown future. Walter Gordon and Haidee
travelled along in silence; both were occupied with their own thoughts.
He was racked with many conflicting emotions; hopes and fears struggled
in his breast. One moment he was inclined to think that he was going
upon a very wild goose chase, the next his steps could not move fast
enough to satisfy his craving desire to be at the end of the journey.
More than a month since Flora Meredith had been carried over that very
road, a captive, to the city of the King. What had befallen her during
that month? Was it possible for her sensitive nature to have borne up
against the shocks and trials to which she had been exposed? Even if
she lived and was still confined in Delhi, which was an immense place,
how could he hope to find her? Would it not be very much like looking
for the proverbial needle in the bottle of hay? But assuming that he
should be fortunate enough to discover her whereabouts, would it be
possible for him to rescue her? It was true that Zeemit Mehal had gone
in search of her, and Zeemit was faithful, and a native; but she was
also old and ill, and might have died long ago.
As he thus reasoned with himself, it seemed to him that his journey,
after all, was a little Quixotic, and it might be better, now that he
was free, to make his way to Meerut, and there endeavour to raise a
little corps to proceed to the Imperial City, and attempt a rescue by
force, should Flora still be living.
He suggested this to Haidee, and gave her his reasons for coming to
that conclusion, but she only laughed, for to her the plan seemed so
absurd.
“If I had no other thought but of myself,” she answered, “I should
counsel you to speed at once to Meerut, for is it not to Meerut that
Harper has gone? But even if you were to go there, what force that
you could raise would be powerful enough to enter the walled city of
the Mogul? Delhi is the great stronghold. It is to that place that
the tide of revolution flows. And it will need all the power of your
mighty nation to wrest it from the grasp of the insurgents. What we
have to do, we must accomplish by stratagem and stealth. By these means
we shall effect more than if we hammered at the Imperial doors with
half-a-dozen regiments behind us to enforce our demands. I do not doubt
but what we shall be able to get entrance into the city, and that being
so, we shall have gained a most important step. Though I know that,
by going back, I am walking into the very jaws of the lion, I have no
fear, so that I can serve you, who are the friend of the man who is
my life. Once in Delhi, we shall be comparatively safe; I have some
country people there who heartily hate the King, and who will gladly
give us shelter and concealment. The fact of an English lady having
been brought in will be too notorious not to be widely known, and we
shall speedily gain some information. For the rest, we must trust to
chance.”
Gordon felt the full force of this woman’s reasoning. He derived hope
and strength from her words. She appeared to him in the light of a good
spirit, who was all powerful to lead him to success, and to guard him
from danger.
There was something in her very presence that inspired him. Endurance,
trust, unselfishness, devotion to the cause of others--these were the
qualities that made her mind as beautiful as her face. And Gordon no
longer wondered why his friend Harper should have felt an all-absorbing
interest in her.
Many a man had sacrificed home, friends, interests, and honour for the
sake of something far less ennobling than was presented in the mental
and physical beauty of this woman. And yet she had all the elements of
human weakness, though they were softened by those higher qualities of
the mind which were so conspicuous.
“You are a wise counsellor, as you are a true friend, Haidee,” was
Gordon’s answer; “and I cheerfully acknowledge the superiority of your
reasoning as well as the clearness of your judgment.”
“You rate poor Haidee too high,” she murmured softly; “she only tries
to humbly do her duty.”
Gordon made no further remark; he knew that no other words were needed,
and so they walked on.
It was weary travelling along that dark and silent road--silent save
for the myriad insects which in the Indian climate make night musical.
For many hours the travellers kept their way, until, as the morning
light stole upon the heavens, they halted, weary and worn, before a
traveller’s rest.
It was a small, thatched bungalow, with the usual verandah running
round it.
“This place invites us to recruit our strength with sleep,” Gordon
said. “Do you think it will be safe to remain here, Haidee?”
“I think so; certainly safer than seeking rest in a jungle. There are
signs, too, of intense heat and a coming storm. We shall be secure from
it in this place, and we can remain until darkness again favours us.”
They entered the building.
There were two tolerably large rooms, which were bisected by a passage
that ran right through to a small compound. This compound was fenced
round, poultry having evidently been kept in it. On one side of the
compound was the indispensable adjunct to all Indian buildings--namely,
a cook-house. In India the food is almost invariably cooked over
charcoal. The charcoal is burnt in a hole in the ground; and as there
are no chimneys, the place in time becomes black and grimed with the
smoke. The outbuilding, in this instance, was a very small erection
composed of mud plastered over bamboo sticks. There was a door, and a
small square hole for a window. On the other side of the compound, and
directly opposite the cooking-place, was a little tank, and on the very
edge grew three or four cocoa-nut trees.
The place was distant from Cawnpore only about ten miles, for the
travellers had made but slow progress during the night.
When they had partaken of a frugal meal, it was arranged that one
should keep watch while the other slept, and Gordon insisted that
Haidee should be the first to seek repose. She protested at first, but
he pressed her; for it was evident that she was fagged and worn-out,
and only kept up by strength of will. She yielded to his entreaties,
and very soon was locked in sound sleep.
As she had predicted, the day came in with a sultriness that was almost
unbearable. The sun was obscured by heavy banks of cloud, but the
dust-laden wind blew like the fiery blast from a furnace.
It was weary work enough watching, and Gordon had the utmost difficulty
in preventing himself from being overcome by sleep, for nature was
thoroughly exhausted; but he knew that danger menaced, and if he
yielded to the desire for rest, he and his companion might both be
murdered before they were able to utter a cry.
The day was growing old when Haidee awoke, thoroughly recruited by
many hours of most refreshing slumber. The clouds in the sky were
increasing, and it was evident a storm was brewing.
“I have slept long,” she said; “you should have aroused me before.”
“No,” he answered; “that would have been cruelty. I have yet several
hours to rest before we can start upon our journey; for we must not
leave this shelter until the storm has passed.”
He laid himself down, and in a very few minutes was sound asleep.
Haidee kept a faithful watch. Hour after hour passed. Darkness came
on--darkness unrelieved by the glimmer of a single star. Presently
heavy drops of rain commenced to patter down; then a blinding and
jagged streak of blue lightning leapt across the black sky, and a
deafening crash of thunder followed. Gordon woke with a start, alarmed
for a moment, not realising what the noise was.
“Haidee, Haidee--where are you?” he called.
“Here,” she answered, as she groped her way to where he stood, and laid
her hand upon him. “I saw that this storm was coming,” she continued,
“but it is rather in our favour, for it will lay the dust and cool the
air. Ah! What is that?” she suddenly exclaimed, as she grasped his
hand. “Do you not hear something?”
“No, nothing but the rain.”
“There is something more than that--the sound of horse’s hoofs. Do you
not hear it?”
He listened for a minute, and then answered--
“Yes.”
“Come to the door,” she said, still holding his hand.
He did as she desired, and they both listened.
“I hear wheels, too,” she whispered. “Somebody is driving along the
road. We must conceal ourselves.”
“Where?” he asked.
She considered for a moment, and then answered--
“In the cook-house. You will be able to defend us there, with your
revolver, against great odds. But if I mistake not, this is a buggy
that is advancing, and so cannot contain more than two or three people.
They are evidently making for this place to seek shelter from the
storm. Come, let us go.”
They hurried to the cook-house. The door closed with a wooden latch,
and Gordon managed to secure this from being opened from the outside by
means of a piece of stick.
The sound of the wheels drew nearer and nearer, and in a few minutes
the vehicle drew up at the door, and a man sprang to the ground.
“There is only one person,” Gordon whispered.
“There may be more behind,” she answered.
“We must not stir.”
They heard the man unharness the horse and lead it to the shelter of a
small shed used as stable, at one end of the house. The storm now broke
furiously. The lightning and the thunder were terrific, and the rain
came down--as it does come down in India--in a perfect deluge. The man
went into the bungalow, and for four hours Gordon and Haidee waited in
terrible suspense for the coming day. Several times Gordon wanted to go
out and face the stranger, but Haidee restrained him.
“Wait,” she said, “until you can see with whom you have to deal. There
may possibly be more than one person, and they are sure to be armed.
Besides, they, or he, will depart when day breaks.”
Gradually the storm died away. The lightning flashed less frequently,
the thunder growled at long intervals, the rain became a pattering
shower, then a drizzle, and at last ceased. Darkness fled before the
dawn, and the soft light of a new day spread over the land. The air was
delightfully cool, and the birds sang merrily, as if thankful for the
health-giving storm.
The stranger, who had been sleeping in the room previously occupied by
Gordon and Haidee, awoke with the break of day, and going to his buggy,
he procured a small brass lotah and some food; then he crossed the
compound to the cook-house and tried the door, but found it fastened.
He tried it again; put his shoulder to it; still it did not yield.
“That is strange,” he muttered, in Hindoostanee. “It seems to be
fastened on the inside.”
“By heavens--I have heard that voice before?” Gordon whispered
excitedly to Haidee. “There is only one man, and, at all hazards, I
will see who it is.”
He undid the fastening carefully, and opened the door, having first
drawn his revolver. The stranger had crossed over to the tank, and was
stooping down, filling his brass vessel with water. The door made a
slight noise on being opened. The stranger, whose senses were quickened
by being constantly on the alert for danger, sprang up, dropping his
dish, which sank in the water, and with a rapid movement of his arm, he
drew a revolver.
As Gordon saw who the man was, his surprise overcame his caution, and
he exclaimed--
“I thought I was not mistaken, Haidee--it is the villain, Jewan Bukht!”
It was Jewan; he was on his way to Delhi, to seek reinforcements
in the name of Nana Sahib. Master and servant had met. Master and
servant were face to face, and one of them must die. Jewan recognised
his old master’s voice in an instant, and, with the instinct of
self-preservation, which is ever uppermost in the human mind, he sprang
behind the cocoa-nut trees, and covered the door of the cook-house with
his revolver.
In his uncontrollable excitement, consequent on this unexpected and
strange meeting, Gordon exposed himself to the aim of his foe. Jewan
fired, but his aim was high, and his bullet went crashing through the
roof of the little building. Bukht was looking out to see if his shot
had taken effect, when Gordon seized the opportunity, and fired; but
the bullet only struck the tree.
It was certain that one of the men must fall, for neither could leave
his shelter without exposing himself to the fire of the other.
“Walter Gordon, you shall not escape me!” Jewan cried tauntingly. “I
have friends, who will be coming along the road soon, and they shall
burn you out.”
“Villain and traitor!” Gordon answered; “you have professed
Christianity, and worshipped in the Christian faith; and I tell you
that that God, whose name you have often invoked, will guide my bullet,
and recognise the justice of my cause.”
A part of Jewan’s shoulder was exposed, and Gordon fired again--but
again missed--the bullet passing a little too high, and grazing the
bark of the tree. He was ordinarily a good shot, but his nerves were
unsteady now with excitement, and he could not take proper aim.
“Ah, ah, ah!” laughed Jewan as he returned the fire. “Your bullets need
guiding, I think.”
Gordon was inclined to go out and openly attack his enemy, but Haidee
would not permit it.
“That would be madness,” she said in alarm, “and a needless sacrifice
of your life.”
“What, then, is to be done?” he asked. “If the fellow should be
reinforced, we shall be doomed. Is it not better to make a bold stroke
for our lives?”
“If the bold stroke is to expose yourself, I say no. The moment you go
out, the man’s bullet will end your career. We must resort to a ruse to
try and draw him from his cover.”
“That is a good idea; but what do you propose?”
Some pieces of bamboo were lying in the corner; she secured one of
these, and then said--
“Give me your turban.”
He having done as she desired, she wound the muslin round the stick, so
as to, in some measure, resemble Gordon’s head.
“Go to the window,” she said, “and fire a shot. This will attract
Jewan’s attention to that spot, and while you get back to the door
again I will show the turban.”
Gordon saw the plan was a good one. He crept to the window, and fired
at Jewan’s tree, then ran back to the door, as Haidee raised the stick.
Bukht peeped cautiously from behind his shelter. He saw what he
supposed was Gordon’s head, and, taking deliberate aim, fired. There
were two simultaneous reports--two bullets sped past each other. One
crashed harmlessly through the mud wall of the cook-house, the other
crashed fearfully through the brain of Jewan Bukht, who, without a cry,
without a moan, threw up his arms, and fell forward into the tank a
corpse. It was a just retribution, and his career of crime was ended.
Gordon could not help drawing a sigh of pity as he saw his old servant
fall, and yet he felt that the man’s fate was merited.
“We had better not remain here,” Haidee said, “for the firing may have
reached other ears, and we shall have our foes down upon us in numbers.
Let us conceal ourselves in the jungle until darkness again sets in.”
Gordon went out, untethered the horse, and set it free, so that it
might forage for itself. He would have utilised it and the buggy, but
he knew that that would be running unnecessary risk. He searched
the vehicle, and found a large bag filled with rupees. These he
appropriated as spoils of war, thinking they might be useful as bribes.
There was also a quantity of provisions, which were very welcome.
Having secured these things, and made a hearty meal, he and his
companion struck into the jungle, there to wait until darkness should
again befriend them.