The guns rode first from Doonha, for the guns take precedence. The
section ground-scouts were acting scouts for the division, two hundred
yards ahead of every one. Behind the guns rode Colonel Forrester-Carter,
followed by the wagon with the wounded; and last of all the two
companies of the Thirty-third trudged through the stifling heat.
But, though the guns were ahead of every one, they had to suit their
pace to that of the men who marched. For one thing, there might be an
attack at any minute, and guns that are caught at close quarters at a
distance from their escort are apt to be astonishingly helpless. They
can act in unison with infantry; but alone, on bad ground, in the
darkness, and with their horses nearly too tired to drag them, a leash
of ten puppies in a crowd would be an easier thing to hurry with.
Young Bellairs had his men dismounted and walking by their mounts. Even
the drivers led their horses, for two had been taken from each gun to
drag the wounded, and the guns are calculated as a load for six, not
four.
As he trudged through the blood-hot dust in clumsy riding-boots and
led his charger on the left flank of the guns, Harry Bellairs fumed and
fretted in a way to make no man envy him. The gloomy, ghost-like trees,
that had flitted past him on the road to Doonha, crawled past him
now--slowly and more slowly as his tired feet blistered in his boots.
He could not mount and ride, though, for very shame, while his men were
marching, and he dared not let them ride, for fear the horses might give
in. He could just trudge and trudge, and hate himself and every one, and
wonder.
What had the Risaldar contrived to do? Why hadn't he packed up his
wife's effects the moment that his orders came and ridden off with her
and the section at once, instead of waiting three hours or more for an
escort for her? Why hadn't he realized at once that orders that came in
a hurry that way, in the night-time, were not only urgent but ominous as
well? What chance had the Risaldar--an old man, however willing he might
be--to ride through a swarming countryside for thirty miles or more and
bring back an escort? Why, even supposing Mohammed Khan had ridden off
at once, he could scarcely be back again before the section! And what
would have happened in the meantime?
Supposing the Risaldar's sons and grandsons refused to obey him?
Stranger things than that had been known to happen! Suppose they were
disloyal? And then--blacker though than any yet!--suppose--suppose--
Why had Mahommed Khan, the hard-bitten, wise old war-dog, advised him
to leave his wife behind? Did that seem like honest advice, on second
thought? Mohammedans had joined in this outbreak as well as Hindus.
The sepoys at Doonha were Mohammedans! Why had Mahommed Khan seemed so
anxious to send him on his way? As though an extra five minutes
would have mattered! Why had he objected to a last good-by to Mrs.
Bellairs?... And then--he had shown a certain knowledge of the uprising;
where had he obtained it? If he were loyal, who then had told him of it?
Natives who are disloyal don't brag of their plans beforehand to men who
are on the other side! And if he had known of it, and was still loyal,
how was it that he had not divulged his information before the outbreak
came? Would a loyal man hold his tongue until the last minute? Scarcely!
He halted, pulled his horse to the middle of the road and waited for
Colonel Carter to overtake him.
“Well? What is it?” asked the colonel sharply.
“Can I ride on ahead, sir? My horse is good for it and I'm in agonies of
apprehension about my wife!”
“No! Certainly not! You are needed to command your section!”
“I beg your pardon, sir, but I've a sergeant who can take command. He's
a first-class man and perfectly dependable.”
“You could do no good, even if you did ride on,” said the colonel, not
unkindly.
“I'm thinking, sir, that Mahommed Khan--”
“Risaldar Mahommed Khan?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Of the Rajput Horse?”
“Yes, sir. My father's Risaldar.”
“You left your wife in his charge, didn't you?”
“Yes, sir, but I'm thinking that--that perhaps the Risaldar--I
mean--there seem to be Mohammedans at the bottom of this business, as
well as Hindus. Perhaps--”
“Bellairs! Now hear me once and for all. You thank your God that the
Risaldar turned up to guard her! Thank God that your father was man
enough for Mahommed Khan to love and that you are your father's son! And
listen! Don't let me hear you, ever, under any circumstances, breathe a
word of doubt as to that man's loyalty! D'you understand me, sir? You,
a mere subaltern, a puppy just out of his 'teens, an insignificant
jackanapes with two twelve-pounders in your charge, daring to impute
disloyalty to Mahommed Khan!--your impudence! Remember this! That old
Risaldar is the man who rode with your father through the guns at Dera!
He's a pauper without a pension, for all his loyalty, but he went down
the length of India to meet you, at his own expense, when you landed
raw-green from England! And what d'you know of war, I'd like to know,
that you didn't learn from him? Thank your God, sir, that there's
some one there who'll kill your wife before she falls into the Hindus'
hands!”
“But he was going to ride away, sir, to bring an escort!”
“Not before he'd made absolutely certain of her safety!” swore the
colonel with conviction. “Join your section, sir!”
So Harry Bellairs joined his section and trudged along sore-footed at
its side--sore-hearted, too. He wondered whether any one would ever say
as much for him as Colonel Carter had chosen to say for Mahommed Khan,
or whether any one would have the right to say it! He was ashamed of
having left his wife behind and tortured with anxiety--and smarting from
the snub--a medley of sensations that were more likely to make a man of
him, if he had known it, than the whole experience of a year's campaign!
But in the dust and darkness, with the blisters on his heels, and fifty
men, who had overheard the colonel, looking sidewise at him, his plight
was pitiable.
They trudged until the dawn began to rise, bright yellow below the
drooping banian trees; only Colonel Carter and the advance-guard riding.
Then, when they stopped at a stream to water horses and let them graze
a bit and give the men a sorely needed rest, one of the ring of outposts
loosed off his rifle and shouted an alarm. They had formed square in an
instant, with the guns on one side and the men on three, and the colonel
and the wounded in the middle. A thousand or more of the mutineers
leaned on their rifles on the shoulder of a hill and looked them over, a
thousand yards away.
“Send them an invitation!” commanded Colonel Carter, and the left-hand
gun barked out an overture, killing one sepoy. The rest made off in the
direction of Hanadra.
“We're likely to have a hot reception when we reach there!” said Colonel
Carter cheerily. “Well, we'll rest here for thirty minutes and give them
a chance to get ready for us. I'm sorry there's no breakfast, men, but
the sepoys will have dinner ready by the time we get there--we'll eat
theirs!”
The chorus of ready laughter had scarcely died away when a horse's
hoof-beats clattered in the distance from the direction of Doonha and a
native cavalryman galloped into view, low-bent above his horse's neck.
The foam from his horse was spattered over him and his lance swung
pointing upward from the sling. On his left side the polished scabbard
rose and fell in time to his horse's movement. He was urging his weary
horse to put out every ounce he had in him. He drew rein, though, when
he reached a turning in the road and saw the resting division in front
of him, and walked his horse forward, patting his sweat-wet neck and
easing him. But as he leaned to finger with the girths an ambushed
sepoy fired at him, and he rammed in his spurs again and rode like a man
possessed.
“This'll be another untrustworthy Mohammedan!” said Colonel Carter in
a pointed undertone, and Bellairs blushed crimson underneath the tan.
“He's ridden through from Jundhra, with torture waiting for him if he
happened to get caught, and no possible reward beyond his pay. Look out
he doesn't spike your guns!”
The trooper rode straight up to Colonel Carter and saluted. He removed
a tiny package from his cheek, where he had carried it so that he might
swallow it at once in case of accident, tore the oil-silk cover from
it and handed it to him without a word, saluting again and leading his
horse away. Colonel Carter unfolded the half-sheet of foreign notepaper
and read:
Dear Colonel Carter:
Your letter just received in which you say that you have blown
up the magazine at Doonha and are marching to Hanadra with a
view to the rescue of Mrs. Bellairs. This is in no sense
intended as a criticism of your action or of your plan, but
circumstances have made it seem advisable for me to transfer
my own headquarters to Hanadra and I am just starting. I must
ask you, please, to wait for me--at a spot as near to where
this overtakes you as can be managed. If Mrs. Bellairs, or
anybody else of ours, is in Hanadra, she--or they--are either
dead by now or else prisoners. And if they are to be rescued
by force, the larger the force employed the better. If you
were to attack with your two companies before I reached you,
you probably would be repulsed, and would, I think, endanger
the lives of any prisoners that the enemy may hold. I am
coming with my whole command as fast as possible.
Your Obedient Servant,
A. E. Turner
Genl. Officer Commanding
“Men!” said Colonel Carter, in a ringing voice that gave not the
slightest indication of his feelings, “we're to wait here for a while
until the whole division overtakes us. The general has vacated Jundhra.
Lie down and get all the rest you can!”
The murmur from the ranks was as difficult to read as Colonel Carter's
voice had been. It might have meant pleasure at the thought of rest,
or anger, or contempt, or almost anything. It was undefined and
indefinable.
But there was no doubt at all as to how young Bellairs felt. He was
sitting on a trunnion, sobbing, with his head bent low between his
hands.