IN THE VORTEX
Malcolm was not one to throw his life away without an effort to save it.
Once, during a visit to Delhi, Captain Douglas, the ill-fated commandant
of the Palace Guards, had taken him to his quarters for tiffin. As it
happened, the two entered by the Delhi Gate and walked through the
gardens and corridors to Douglas's rooms, which were situated over the
Lahore Gate. Thus he possessed a vague knowledge of the topography of
the citadel, and his visit that morning had refreshed his memory to a
slight extent. On that slender reed he based some hope of escape. In any
event he prayed that his ruse might better Chumru's chances, and he
promised himself a soldier's death if brought to bay inside the palace.
Crossing the drawbridge at a fast gallop, he saw a number of guards
looking at him wonderingly. It occurred to him that the exciting events
of the early hours might have led to orders being given on the question
of admitting sepoys in large numbers. If that were so, he might gain
time by a bit of sheer audacity. At any rate, there was no harm in
trying. As he clattered through the gateway he shouted excitedly:
"Close and bar the door! None must be admitted without the King's
special order!"
The spectacle of a well-mounted sepoy officer, blood-stained and
travel-worn, who arrived in such desperate haste and was evidently
pursued by a body of horse, so startled the attendants that they banged
and bolted the great door without further ado.
Already the story was going the rounds that the precious life of Bahadur
Shah had actually been threatened by the overbearing sepoys--what more
likely than that this hard-riding officer was coming to apprise his
majesty of a genuine plot, while the flying squadron in the rear was
striving to cut him down before the fateful message was delivered?
Not to create too great a stir, Malcolm pulled up both horses at the
entrance to the arcade.
He called a chaprassi and bade him hold Chumru's steed. Then, learning
from the uproar at the gate that the guards were obeying his
instructions literally, he went on at an easier pace.
The palace was humming with excitement. Its numerous buildings housed a
multitude of court nobles and other hangers-on to the court, and each of
these had his special coterie of attendants who helped to advance their
own fortunes by clinging to their master's skirts. The jealousies and
intrigues that surround a throne were never more in evidence than at
Delhi during the last hours of the Great Mogul. Already men were
preparing for the final catastrophe. While the ignorant mob was firm in
its belief that the rule of the sahib had passed forever, those few
clearer-headed persons who possessed any claim to the title of statesmen
were convinced that the Mutiny had failed.
Nearly four months were sped since that fatal Sunday when the rebellion
broke out at Meerut. And what had been achieved? Delhi, the pivot of
Mohammedan hopes, was crowded with a licentious soldiery, who obeyed
only those leaders that pandered to them, who fought only when some
perfervid moullah aroused their worst passions by his eloquence, and who
were terrible only to peaceful citizens. All public credit was
destroyed. The rule of the King, nominal within the walls of his own
palace, was laughed at in the city and ignored beyond its walls. The
provincial satraps and feudatory princes who should be striving to help
their sovereign were wholly devoted to the more congenial task of
carving out kingdoms for themselves.
Nana Sahib, rehabilitated in Oudh, was opposing Havelock's advance; Khan
Bahadur Khan, an ex-pensioner of the Company, had set up a barbarous
despotism at Bareilly; the Moulvie of Fyzabad, intent on the destruction
of the Residency, meant to establish himself there as "King of
Hindustan" if only that stubborn entrenchment could be carried; Mahudi
Husain, Gaffur Beg, Kunwer Singh, the Ranee of Jhansi, and a host of
other prominent rebels scattered throughout Oudh, Bengal, the Northwest
Provinces and Central India, cared less for Delhi than for their own
private affairs, and were consequently permitting the British to gather
forces by which they could be destroyed piecemeal.
From Nepaul, the great border state, lying behind the pestilential
jungle of the Terai, came an army of nine thousand Ghoorkahs to help the
British. At Hyderabad, the most powerful Mohammedan principality in
India, the Nizam and his famous minister, Sir Salar Jung, crushed a
Jehad with cannon and grape-shot. In a word, the orgy had ended, and the
day of reckoning was near.
Malcolm, therefore, was confronted with two separate and hostile sets of
conditions. On the one hand, he was threading his way through a maze of
conflicting interests, and this was a circumstance most favorable to his
chances of escape; on the other, every man regarded his neighbor with
distrust and a stranger with positive suspicion, while Malcolm's
distinguished appearance could not fail to draw many inquiring eyes.
He crossed the large garden beyond the arcade and was making for an arch
that gave access to the long covered passage leading to the Delhi Gate,
when he saw Akhab Khan standing there.
The rebel leader was deep in converse with a richly-attired personage
whom Frank discovered afterwards to be the Vizier. Near Akhab Khan an
escort of sowars stood by their horses, and Malcolm felt that the
instant the former lance-corporal set eyes on either Nejdi or himself
recognition would follow as surely as a vulture knows its prey.
He could neither dawdle nor hesitate. Wheeling Nejdi towards the nearest
arch on the left, he found himself in an open space between the walls of
the fortress and the outer line of buildings. Underneath the broad
terrace, from which troops could defend the battlements, stood a row of
storerooms and go-downs. At a little distance he could distinguish a
line of stables, and the mere sight sent the blood dancing through his
veins.
If only he could evade capture until nightfall he would no longer feel
that each moment might find him making a last fight against impossible
odds. Dismounting, he led Nejdi to an unoccupied stall. As there was
nothing to be gained by half measures he removed saddle and bridle, hung
them on a peg, put a halter on the Arab, adjusted the heel-ropes, and
hunted the adjoining stalls for forage.
He came upon some gram in a sack and a quantity of hay. All provender
was alike to Nejdi so long as it was toothsome. He was soon busily
engaged, and Malcolm resolved to avoid observation by grooming him when
any one passed whose gaze might be too inquisitive.
He took care that sword and revolvers were handy. It was hard to tell
what hue and cry might be raised by the troopers against whom the guards
had closed the Lahore Gate. Perhaps they were searching for two men and
the finding of one horse in charge of a chaprassi might suggest that the
rider of the other and his companion had dodged through the Delhi Gate.
Again, his pursuers might have galloped straight to the other exit and
thus made certain that he was still in the palace. If that were so and
they ferreted him out, as well die here as elsewhere. Meanwhile, he
chewed philosophically at a few grains of the gram and awaited the
outcome of events that were now beyond his control.
A wild swirl of wind and rain seemed to favor him. There was not much
traffic past his retreat, and that little ceased when a deluge lashed
the dry earth and clouds of vapor rose as though the water were beating
on an oven. Now and again a syce hurried past, with head and shoulders
enveloped in a sack. Once a party of sepoys trudged through the mud,
towards the water bastion of the palace, and the men whom they had
relieved came back the same way a few minutes later.
Nejdi had seldom been groomed so vigorously as during the passing of
these detachments, but no one gave the slightest heed to the cavalry
officer who was engaged on such an unusual task. If they noticed him at
all it was to wonder that he could be such a fool as to work when there
were hundreds of loafers in the city who could be kicked to the job.
The rain storm changed into a steady drizzle and the increasing gloom
promised complete darkness within half an hour. Malcolm was beginning to
plan his movements when he became aware of a man wrapped in a heavy
cloak who approached from the direction of the arcade and peered into
every nook and cranny.
"Now," thought Frank, "comes my first real difficulty. That man is
searching for some one. Whether or not he seeks me he is sure to speak,
and if my presence has been reported he will recognize both Nejdi and me
instantly. If so, I must strangle him with as little ceremony as
possible."
The newcomer came on. In the half light it was easy to see that he was
not a soldier but a court official. Indeed, before the searcher's glance
rested on the gray Arab, munching contentedly in his stall, or the tall
sowar who stood in obscurity near his head, Frank felt almost sure that
he was face to face with the trusted confidant who had carried out
Roshinara Begum's behests in the garden at Bithoor.
That fact saved the native's life. The Englishman would have killed him
without compunction were it not for the belief that the man was actually
looking for him and for none other, and with friendly intent, too, else
he would have brought a bodyguard.
Sure enough, the stranger's first words were of good import. He could
not see clearly into the dark stable and it was necessary to measure
one's utterances in Delhi just then.
"If you are one who rode into Delhi this morning I would have speech
with you," he muttered softly.
"Say on," said Malcolm, gripping his sword.
"Nay, one does not give the Princess Roshinara's instructions without
knowing that they reach the ears they are meant for."
The Englishman came out from the obscurity. He approached so quickly
that the native started back, being far from prepared for Frank's very
convincing resemblance to a rissaldar of cavalry.
"I look for one--" he began, but Frank had no mind to lose time.
"For Malcolm-sahib?" he demanded.
"It might be some such name," was the hesitating answer.
"I am he. I saw thee last at Bithoor, when I escaped with Mayne-sahib
and the missy-baba."[23]
[Footnote 23: The familiar native title for a European young lady.]
"By Mohammed! I would not have known you, sahib, though now I remember
your face. Come with me, and quickly. Each moment here means danger."
"Ay, for thee. I am not one to be tricked so easily."
"Huzoor, have I not sought you without arms or escort? I and another
have searched the palace these two hours. Leave your horse. I will have
him tended. Come, sahib, I pray you. The Begum awaits you, but there are
so many who know of your presence that I shall not be able to save you
if you fall into their hands."
These were fair-seeming words with the ring of truth about them. At any
rate Malcolm's whereabouts were no longer a secret, and it would not be
war but murder to offer violence to one who came with good intent on his
lips if not in his heart.
"Lead on," said Frank, sternly, "and remember that I shall not hesitate
to strike at the first sign of treachery."
"I shall not betray you, sahib, but you must converse with me as we walk
and not draw too many eyes by holding a naked sword."
This was so manifestly reasonable that Malcolm felt rather ashamed of
his doubts. Yet, he thought it best not to appear to relax his
precautions.
"I would not pass through the palace with a sword in my hand," he said
with a quiet laugh, "but I have a pistol in my belt, and that will
suffice for six men."
His guide set off at a rapid pace. When they were near the great arch
leading into the garden they halted in front of a small door in a
dimly-lighted building, and the native rapped twice with his knuckles on
three separate panels. Some bolts were drawn and the two were admitted,
the door being instantly barred behind them by an attendant. The
darkness in the passage was impenetrable. Frank held himself tensely,
but his companion's voice reached him from a little distance in front,
while he heard other bolts being drawn.
"You will see your way more clearly now," was the reassuring message,
and when the second door was opened the rays of a lamp lit the stone
walls and floor. They went on, through lofty corridors, across
sequestered gardens and by way of many a stately chamber until another
narrow passage terminated in a barred door, guarded by an armed native.
The man's shrill voice betokened his calling, and Frank knew that he was
standing at the entrance to the zenana.
"There is one other within," said the guard, leering at them.
"Who is it, slave?" asked Frank's guide scornfully, for he was annoyed
by the eunuch's familiar tone.
"Nay, I obey orders," was the tart response. "Enter, then, and may Allah
prosper you."
There was a hint of danger in the otherwise excellent wish, but the man
unlocked the door, and they passed within.
Frank's wondering eyes rested on a scene of fairy-like beauty, so
exquisite in its colorings and so unexpected withal, that not even his
desperate predicament could repress for an instant the feeling of
astonishment that overwhelmed him. He was standing in a white marble
chamber, pillared and roofed in the Byzantine style, while every shaft
and arch was chiseled into graceful lines and adorned with traceries or
carved festoons of fruit and flowers. The walls were brightened with
mosaics wrought in precious stones. Texts from the Koran in the flowing
Persi-Arabic script, ran above the arches. In the floor, composed of
colored tiles, was set a _pachisi_[24] board, as the wide entrance hall
to a European house might have a chess-board incorporated with the
design of the tiled floor.
[Footnote 24: A game of the draughts order, much played by native
ladies.]
Not a garish tint or inharmonious line interfered with the chaste
elegance of the white marble, and the whole apartment, which seemed to
be the ante-room of the ladies' quarters, was lighted with Moorish
lamps.
Malcolm took in some of these details in one amazed glance, but his
thoughts were recalled sternly to the affairs of the moment by hearing
the ring of spurred heels on the sharp-sounding pavement from behind a
curtained arch. There was no time to retreat nor cross towards an alcove
that promised some slight screen from the soft and penetrating light
that filled the room. He saw that his guide was perturbed, but he asked
no question. With the quick military tread came the frou-frou of silk
and the footfall of slippered feet. Then the curtain was drawn aside and
Akhab Khan entered, followed by the Princess Roshinara.
Malcolm had the advantage of a few seconds' warning. Even as Akhab Khan
placed his hand on the curtain the Englishman sprang forward, and the
astounded sowar, now a brigadier in the rebel forces, found himself
looking into the muzzle of a revolver.
"Do not move till I bid you, Akhab Khan," said Malcolm, in his
self-contained way. "I am summoned hither, so I come, but it may be
necessary to secure a hostage for my safe conduct outside the walls
again."
"You! Malcolm-sahib!" was Akhab Khan's involuntary outburst.
"Yes, even I. Have you not heard, then, that I rode into the palace
to-day?"
"There was a report that some Feringhis--some sahibs--were in the city
as spies--"
"Malcolm-sahib is here because I sent for him," broke in Roshinara.
"You--_sent_ for him!"
Akhab Khan's swarthy features paled, and his eyes sparkled wrathfully.
Heedless of Malcolm's implied threat, or perhaps ignoring it, he wheeled
round on the Princess, and his right hand crossed to his sword-hilt.
"If you so much as turn your head again or lift a hand without my order,
I blow your brains out," said Malcolm in the same unemotional tone.
"Nay, let him attack a woman if it pleaseth him," cried Roshinara, who
had not drawn back one inch from the place where she was standing when
Malcolm confronted Akhab Khan and herself. "That is what our troops,
officers and men alike, are best fitted for. They love to swagger in the
bazaar, but their valor flies when they see the Ridge."
Again quite indifferent to the fact that Malcolm's finger was on the
trigger, the rebel leader threw out his hands towards the Begum in a
gesture of agonized protest.
"Do you not trust me, my heart?" he murmured. "If you knew of this
Nazarene's presence why was I not told?"
"Because I wished to save you in spite of yourself. Because I would
mourn you if you fell in battle as befits a warrior and the man whom I
love, but I would not have you die on the scaffold, as most of the
others will die ere another month be sped. What hope have we of success?
If forty thousand sepoys cannot overcome the three thousand English on
the Ridge, how shall they prevail against the force that is now
preparing to storm Delhi? I sent for Malcolm-sahib that I might obtain
terms for my father and for thee, Akhab Khan. This man is now in our
power. Let us bargain with him. If he goes free to-day, let him promise
that we shall be spared when the gallows is busy in front of our
palace."
Each word of this impassioned speech was a revelation to Malcolm. Here
was the fiery beauty of the Mogul court pleading for the lives of her
father and lover, pleading to him, a solitary Briton in the midst of
thousands of mutineers, a prisoner in their stronghold, a spy whose life
was forfeit by the laws of war. Hardly less bewildering than this turn
of fortune's wheel was the whirligig that promoted a poor trooper of the
Company to the position of accepted suitor for the hand of a royal
maiden. Never could there be a more complete unveiling of the Eastern
mind, with all its fatalism, its strange weaknesses, its uncontrollable
passions.
Akhab Khan stretched out his arms again.
"Forgive me, my soul, if I did doubt thee," he almost sobbed.
The girl was the first to recover her self-control.
"Put away your pistol," she said, fixing her fine eyes on Malcolm, with
a softness in their limpid depths that he had never seen there before.
"If we can contrive, my plighted husband and I, you will not need it
to-night. I was rejoiced to hear that you were within our gates. We are
beaten. I know it. We have lost a kingdom, because wretches like Nana
Dundhu Punt of Bithoor, have forgotten their oaths and preferred
drunken revels to empire. Were they of my mind, were they as loyal and
honorable as the man I hope to marry, we would have driven you and yours
into the sea, Malcolm-sahib. But Allah willed otherwise and we can only
bow to his decree. It is Kismet. I am content. Say, then, if you are
sent in safety to your camp, do you in return guarantee the two lives I
ask of you?"
Malcolm could not help looking at Akhab Khan before he answered. The
handsome young soldier had folded his arms, and his eyes dwelt on
Roshinara's animated face with a sad fixity that bespoke at once his
love and his despair.
Then the Englishman placed the revolver in his belt and bowed low before
the woman who reposed such confidence in him.
"If the issue rested with me, Princess," he said, "you need have no fear
for the future. I am only a poor officer and I have small influence. Yet
I promise that such power as I possess shall be exerted in your behalf,
and I would remind you that we English neither make war on woman nor
treat honorable enemies as felons."
"My father is a feeble old man," she cried vehemently. "It was not by
his command that your people were slain. And Akhab Khan has never drawn
his sword save in fair fight."
"I can vouch for Akhab Khan's treatment of those who were at his mercy,"
said Malcolm, generously.
"Nay, sahib, you repaid me that night," said the other, not to be
outdone in this exchange of compliments. "But if I have the happiness to
find such favor with my lady that she plots to save me against my will I
cannot forget that I lead some thousands of sepoys who have faith in me.
You have been examining our defenses all day. Sooner would I fall on my
sword here and now than that I should connive at the giving of
information to an enemy which should lead to the destruction of my men."
Malcolm had foreseen this pitfall in the smooth road that was seemingly
opening before him.
"I would prefer to become the bearer of terms than of information," he
said.
"Terms? What terms? How many hands in this city are free of innocent
blood? Were I or any other to propose a surrender we should be torn limb
from limb."
"Then I must tell you that I cannot accept your help at the price of
silence. When I undertook this mission I knew its penalties. I am still
prepared to abide by them. Let me remind you that it is I, not you, who
can impose conditions within these four walls."
Akhab Khan paled again. His was the temperament that shows anger by the
token which reveals cowardice in some men; it is well to beware of him
who enters a fight with bloodless cheeks and gray lips. But Roshinara
sprang between them with an eager cry:
"What folly is this that exhausts itself on a point of honor? Does not
every spy who brings us details of each gun and picket on the Ridge tell
the sahib-log all that they wish to know of our strength and our
dissensions? Will not the man who warned us of the presence of an
officer-sahib in our midst to-day go back and sell the news of a sepoy
regiment's threat to murder the King? Have done with these idle
words--let us to acts! Nawab-ji!"
"Heaven-born!" Malcolm's guide advanced with a deep salaam.
"See to it that my orders are carried out. Mayhap thine own head may
rest easier on its shoulders if there is no mischance."
The nawab-ji bowed again, and assured the Presence that there would be
no lapse on his part. Akhab Khan had turned away. His attitude betokened
utter dejection, but the Princess, not the first of her sex to barter
ambition for love, was radiant with hope.
"Go, Malcolm-sahib," she whispered, "and may Allah guard you on the
way!"
"I have one favor to ask," he said. "My devoted servant, a man named
Chumru--"
She smiled with the air of a woman who breathes freely once more after
passing through some grave peril.
"How, then, do you think I found out the identity of the English officer
who had dared to enter Delhi?" she asked. "Your man came to me, not
without difficulty, and told me you were here. It was he who inspired me
with the thought that your presence might be turned to good account. But
go, and quickly. He is safe."
Frank hardly knew how to bid her farewell until he remembered that, if
of royal birth, Princess Roshinara was also a beautiful woman. He took
her hand and raised it to his lips, a most unusual proceeding in the
East, but the tribute of respect seemed to please her.
Following the nawab he traversed many corridors and chambers and
ultimately reached an apartment in which Chumru was seated. That
excellent bearer was smoking a hookah, with a couple of palace servants,
and doubtless exchanging spicy gossip with the freedom of Eastern
manners and conversation.
"Shabash!" he cried when his crooked gaze fell on Malcolm. "By the tomb
of Nizam-ud-din, there are times when women are useful."
They were let down from a window on the river face of the palace and
taken by a boat to the bank of the Jumna above Ludlow Castle, while the
nawab undertook to deliver their horses next day at the camp. He carried
out his promise to the letter, nor did he forget to put forth a plea in
his own behalf against the hour when British bayonets would be probing
the recesses of the fort and its occupants.
When Nicholson came out of the mess after supper he found Malcolm
waiting for an audience. Chumru, still wearing the servant's livery in
which the famous brigadier had last seen him, was squatting on the
ground near his master. The general was not apt to waste time in talk,
and he had a singular knack of reading men's thoughts by a look.
"Glad to see you back again, Major Malcolm," he cried. "I hope you were
successful?"
"It is for you to decide, sir, when you have heard my story," and
without further preamble Frank gave a clear narrative of his adventures
since dawn. Not a word did he say about the very things he had been sent
to report on, and Nicholson understood that a direct order alone would
unlock his lips. When Frank ended the general frowned and was silent. In
those days men did not hold honor lightly, and Nicholson was a fine type
of soldier and gentleman.
"Confound it!" he growled, "this is awkward, very awkward," and Malcolm
felt bitterly that the extraordinary turn taken by events in the palace
was in a fair way towards depriving his superiors of the facts they were
so anxious to learn. Suddenly the big man's deep eyes fell on Chumru.
"Here, you," he growled, "was aught said to thee whereby thou hast a
scruple to tell me how many guns defend the Cashmere Gate?"
"Huzoor," said Chumru, "there are but two things that concern me, my
master's safety and the size of that jaghir your honor promised me."
Nicholson laughed with an almost boyish mirth.
"By gad," he cried, "you are fortunate in your friends, Malcolm." Then
he turned to Chumru again. "The jaghir is of no mean size," he said,
"but I shall see to it that a field is added for every useful fact you
make known."
Frank listened to his servant's enumeration of the guns and troops at
the Lahore, Mori, and Cashmere Gates, and he was surprised at the
accuracy of Chumru's mental note-taking.
"I need not have gone at all, sir," he could not help commenting when
the bearer had answered Nicholson's final question. "I seem to have a
Napoleon for a valet."
The brigadier laid a kindly hand on Frank's shoulder.
"You forget that you have brought me the most important news of all," he
said. "The enemy is defeated before the first ladder is planted against
their walls. They know it, and, thanks to you, now we know it. My only
remaining difficulty is not to take Delhi, but to screw up our Chief to
make the effort."
Then his voice sank to a deep growl.
"But I'll bring him to reason, I will, by Heaven, even if I risk being
cashiered for insubordination!"