discerning reader may find more than appears on the surface.
Day followed day in dreary sameness. Regularly every evening Desmond was
locked with his eight fellow prisoners in the shed, there to spend hours
of weariness and discomfort until morning brought release and the common
task. He had the same rations of rice and ragi {a cereal}, with
occasional doles of more substantial fare. He was carefully kept from all
communication with the other European prisoners, and as the Bengali was
the only man of his set who knew English, his only opportunities of using
his native tongue occurred in the evening before he slept.
His fellow prisoners spoke Urdu among themselves, and Desmond found some
alleviation of the monotony of his life in learning the lingua franca of
India under the Babu's tuition. He was encouraged to persevere in the
study by the fact that the Babu proved to be an excellent storyteller,
often beguiling the tedium of wakeful hours in the shed by relating
interminable narratives from the Hindu mythology, and in particular the
exploits of the legendary hero Vikramaditya. So accomplished was he in
this very oriental art that it was not uncommon for one or other of the
sentries to listen to him through the opening in the shed wall, and the
head warder who locked the prisoners' fetters would himself sometimes
squat down at the door before leaving them at night, and remain an
interested auditor until the blast of a horn warned all in the fort and
town that the hour of sleep had come. It was some time before Desmond was
sufficiently familiar with the language to pick up more than a few words
of the stories here and there, but in three months he found himself able
to follow the narrative with ease.
Meanwhile he was growing apace. The constant work in the open air, clad,
save during the rains, in nothing but a thin dhoti {a cloth worn round
the waist, passed between the legs and tucked in behind the back},
developed his physique and, even in that hot climate, hardened his
muscles. The Babu one day remarked with envy that he would soon be deemed
worthy of promotion to Angria's own gallivat, whose crew consisted of
picked men of all nationalities.
This was an honor Desmond by no means coveted. As a dockyard workman,
earning his food by the sweat of his brow, he did not come in contact
with Angria, and was indeed less hardly used than he had been on board
the Good Intent. But to become a galley slave seemed to him a different
thing, and the prospect of pulling an oar in the Pirate's gallivat served
to intensify his longing to escape.
For, though he proved so willing and docile in the dockyard, not a day
passed but he pondered the idea of escape. He seized every opportunity of
learning the topography of the fort and town, being aided in this
unwittingly by Govinda, who employed him more and more often, as he
became familiar with the language, in conveying messages from one part of
the settlement to another. But he was forced to confess to himself that
the chances of escape were very slight. Gheria was many miles from the
nearest European settlement where he might find refuge. To escape by sea
seemed impossible; if he fled through the town and got clear of Angria's
territory he would almost certainly fall into the hands of the Peshwa's
{the prime minister and real ruler of the Maratha kingdom} people, and
although the Peshwa was nominally an ally of the Company, his subjects--a
lawless, turbulent, predatory race--were not likely to be specially
friendly to a solitary English lad. A half-felt hope that he might be
able to reach Suwarndrug, lately captured by Commodore James, was dashed
by the news that that fort had been handed over by him to the Marathas.
Moreover, such was the rivalry among the various European nations
competing for trade in India that he was by no means sure of a friendly
reception if he should succeed in gaining a Portuguese or Dutch
settlement. Dark stories were told of Portuguese dealings with
Englishmen, and the Dutch bore no good repute for their treatment of
prisoners.
It was a matter of wonder to Desmond that none of his companions ever
hinted at escape. He could not imagine that any man could be a slave
without feeling a yearning for liberty; yet these men lived through the
unvarying round; eating, toiling, sleeping, without any apparent mental
revolt. He could only surmise that all manliness and spirit had been
crushed out of them, and from motives of prudence he forbore to speak of
freedom.
But one evening, a sultry August evening when the shed was like an oven,
and, bathed in sweat, he felt utterly limp and depressed, he asked the
Babu in English whether anyone had ever escaped out of Angria's clutches.
Surendra Nath Chuckerbutti glanced anxiously around, as if fearful that
the others might understand. But they lay listless on their charpoys;
they knew no English, and there was nothing in Desmond's tone to quicken
their hopelessness.
"No, sahib," said the Bengali; "such escapade, if successful, is beyond
my ken. There have been attempts; cui bono? Nobody is an anna the better.
Nay, the last state of such misguided men is even worse; they die
suffering very ingenious torture."
Desmond had been amazed at the Babu's command of English until he learned
that the man was an omnivorous reader, and in his leisure at Calcutta had
spent many an hour in poring over such literature as his master's scanty
library afforded, the works of Mr. Samuel Johnson and Mr. Henry Fielding
in particular.
At this moment Desmond said no more, but in the dead of night, when all
were asleep, he leaned over to the Babu's charpoy and gently nudged him.
"Surendra Nath!" he whispered.
"Who calls?" returned the Babu.
"Listen. Have you yourself ever thought of escaping?"
"Peace and quietness, sir. He will hear."
"Who?"
"The Gujarati, sir--Fuzl Khan."
"But he doesn't understand. And if he did, what then?"
"He was the single man, positively unique, who was spared among six
attempting escape last rains."
"They did make an attempt, then. Why was he spared?"
"That, sir, deponent knoweth not. The plot was carried to Angria."
"How?"
"That also is dark as pitch. But Fuzl Khan was spared, that we know. No
man can trust his vis-a-vis. No man is now so bold to discuss such
matters."
"Is that why we are all chained up at night?"
"That, sir, is the case. It is since then our limbs are shackled."
Desmond thought over this piece of information. He had noticed that the
Gujarati was left much alone by the others. They were outwardly civil
enough, but they rarely spoke to him of their own accord, and sometimes
they would break off in a conversation if he appeared interested. Desmond
had put this down to the man's temper; he was a sullen fellow, with a
perpetually hangdog look, occasionally breaking out in paroxysms of
violence which cost him many a scourging from the overseer's merciless
rattan. But the attitude of his fellow prisoner was more easily explained
if the Babu's hint was well founded. They feared him.
Yet, if he had indeed betrayed his comrades, he had gained little by his
treachery. He was no favorite with the officers of the yard. They kept
him hard at work, and seemed to take a delight in harrying him. More than
once, unjustly, as it appeared to Desmond, he had made acquaintance with
the punishment tank. In his dealings with his fellows he was morose and
offensive. A man of great physical strength, he was a match for any two
of his shed companions save the Biluchis, who, though individually
weaker, retained something of the spirit of their race and made common
cause against him. The rest he bullied, and none more than the Bengali,
whose weaklier constitution spared him the hard manual work of the yard,
but whose timidity invited aggression.
Now that the subject which constantly occupied his thoughts had been
mooted, Desmond found himself more eagerly striving to find a solution of
the problem presented by the idea of escape. At all hours of the day, and
often when he lay in sleepless discomfort at night, his active mind
recurred to the one absorbing matter: how to regain his freedom. He had
already canvassed the possibilities of escape by land, only to dismiss
the idea as utterly impracticable; for even could he elude the vigilance
of the sentries he could not pass as a native, and the perils besetting
an Englishman were not confined to Angria's territory.
But how stood the chances of escape by sea? Could he stow himself on
board a grab or gallivat, and try to swim ashore when near some friendly
port? He put the suggestion from him as absurd. Supposing he succeeded in
stowing himself on an outgoing vessel, how could he know when he was near
a friendly port without risking almost certain discovery? Besides, except
in such rare cases as the visit of an interloper like the Good Intent,
the Pirate did little trade. His vessels were employed mainly in dashing
out on insufficiently-convoyed merchantmen.
But the train of thought once started could not but be followed out. What
if he could seize a grab or gallivat in the harbor? To navigate such a
vessel required a party, men having some knowledge of the sea. How stood
his fellow prisoners in that respect? The Biluchis, tall wiry men, were
traders, and had several times, he knew, made the voyage from the Persian
Gulf to Surat. It was on one of these journeys that they had fallen into
Angria's hands. They might have picked up something of the simpler
details of navigation. The Mysoreans, being up-country men and
agriculturists, were not likely even to have seen the sea until they
became slaves of Angria. The Marathas would be loath to embark; they
belonged to a warrior race which had for centuries lived by raiding its
neighbors; but being forbidden by their religion to eat or drink at sea
they would never make good seamen. The Babu was a native of Bengal, and
the Bengalis were physically the weakest of the Indian peoples,
constitutionally timid, and unenterprising in matters demanding physical
courage. Desmond smiled as he thought of how his friend Surendra Nath
might comport himself in a storm.
There remained the Gujarati, and of his nautical capacity Desmond knew
nothing. But, mentioning the matter of seamanship casually to the Babu
one day, he learned that Fuzl Khan was a khalasi {sailor} from Cutch. He
had in him a strain of negro blood, derived probably from some Zanzibari
ancestor brought to Cutch as a slave. The men of the coast of Cutch were
the best sailors in India; and Fuzl Khan himself had spent a considerable
portion of his life at sea.
Thus reflecting on the qualities of his fellow captives, Desmond had
ruefully to acknowledge that they would make a poor crew to navigate a
grab or gallivat. Yet he could find no other, for Angria's system of
mixing the nationalities was cunningly devised to prevent any concerted
schemes. If the attempt was to be made at all, it must be made with the
men whom he knew intimately and with whom he had opportunities of
discussing a plan.
But he was at once faced by the question of the Gujarati's
trustworthiness. If there was any truth in Surendra Nath's suspicions, he
would be quite ready to betray his fellows; and if looks and manner were
any criterion, the suspicions were amply justified. True, the man had
gained nothing by his former treachery, but that might not prevent him
from repeating it, in the hope that a second betrayal would compel
reward.
While Desmond was still pondering and puzzling, it happened one
unfortunate day that Govinda the overseer was carried off within a few
hours by what the Babu called the cramp--a disease now known as cholera.
His place was immediately filled. But his successor was a very different
man. He was not so capable as Govinda, and endeavored to make up for his
incapacity by greater brutality and violence. The work of the yard fell
off; he tried to mend matters by harrying the men. The whip and rattan
were in constant use, but the result was less efficiency than ever, and
he sought for the cause everywhere but in himself. The lives of the
captives, bad enough before, became a continual torment.
Desmond fared no better than the rest. He lost the trifling privileges he
had formerly enjoyed. The new overseer seemed to take a delight in
bullying him. Many a night, when he returned to the shed, his back was
raw where the lash had cut a livid streak through his thin dhoti. His
companions suffered in common with him, Fuzl Khan more than any. For days
at a time the man was incapacitated from work by the treatment meted out
to him. Desmond felt that if the Gujarati had indeed purchased his life
by betraying his comrades, he had made a dear bargain.
One night, when his eight companions were all asleep, and nothing could
be heard but the regular calls of the sentries, the beating of tom toms
in the town, and the howls of jackals prowling in the outskirts, Desmond
gently woke the Babu.
"My friend, listen," he whispered, "I have something to say to you."
Surendra Nath turned over in his charpoy.
"Speak soft, I pray," he said.
"My head is on fire," continued Desmond. "I cannot sleep. I have been
thinking. What is life worth to us? Can anything be worse than our
present lot? Do you ever think of escape?"
"What good, sir? I have said so before. We are fettered; what can we do?
There is but one thing that all men in our plight desire; that is death."
"Nonsense! I do not desire death. This life is hateful, but while we live
there is something to hope for, and I for one am not content to endure
lifelong misery. I mean to escape."
"It is easy to say, but the doing--that is impossible."
"How can we tell that unless we try? The men who tried to escape did not
think it impossible. They might have succeeded--who can say?--if Fuzl
Khan had not betrayed them."
"And he is still with us. He would betray us again."
"I am not sure of that. See what he has suffered! Today his whole body
must have writhed with pain. But for the majum {a preparation of hemp} he
has smoked and the plentiful ghi {clarified butter} we rubbed him with,
he would be moaning now. I think he will be with us if we can only find
out a way. You have been here longer than I; can not you help me to form
a plan?"
"No, sahib; my brain is like running water. Besides, I am afraid. If we
could get rid of our fetters and escape we might have to fight. I cannot
fight; I am not a man of war; I am commercial."
"But you will help me if I can think of a plan?"
"I cannot persuade myself to promise, sahib. It is impossible. Death is
the only deliverer."
Desmond was impatient of the man's lack of spirit. But he suffered no
sign of his feeling to escape him. He had grown to have a liking for the
Babu.
"Well, I shall not give up the idea," he said. "Perhaps I shall speak of
it to you again."
Two nights later, in the dark and silent hours, Desmond reopened the
matter. This time the conversation lasted much longer, and in the course
of it the Babu became so much interested and indeed excited that he
forgot his usual caution, and spoke in a high-pitched tone that woke the
Biluchi on the other side. The man hurled abuse at the disturber of his
repose, and Surendra Nath regained his caution and relapsed into his
usual soft murmur. Desmond and he were still talking when the light of
dawn stole into the shed; but though neither had slept, they went about
their work during the day with unusual briskness and lightness of heart.
That evening, after the prisoners had eaten their supper in their
respective eating rooms, they squatted against the outer wall of the shed
for a brief rest before being locked up for the night. The Babu had
promised to tell a story. The approaches to the yard were all guarded by
the usual sentries, and in the distance could be heard the clanking of
the warder's keys as he went from shed to shed performing his nightly
office.
"The story! the story!" said one of the Marathas impatiently. "Why dost
thou tarry, Babu?"
"I have eaten, Gousla, and when the belly is full the brain is sluggish.
But the balance is adjusting itself, and in a little I will begin."
Through the farther gate came the warder. Desmond and his companions were
the last with whom he had to deal. His keys jangling, he advanced slowly
between two Marathas armed with matchlocks and two-edged swords.
The Babu had his back against the shed, the others were grouped about
him, and at his left there was a vacant space. It was growing dusk.
"Hai, worthy jailer!" said Surendra Nath pleasantly, "I was about to tell
the marvelous story of King Bhoya's golden throne. But I will even now
check the stream at the source. Your time is precious. My comrades must
wait until we get inside."
"Not so, Babu," said the warder gruffly. "Tell thy tale. Barik Allah, you
nine are the last of my round. I will myself wait and hear, for thou hast
a ready tongue, and the learning of a pundit {learned man, teacher},
Babu, and thy stories, after the day's work, are they not as honey poured
on rice?"
"You honor me beyond my deserts. If you will deign to be seated!"
The warder marched to the vacant spot at the Babu's side, and squatted
down, crossing his legs, his heavy bunch of keys lying on the skirt of
his dhoti. The armed Marathas stood at a little distance, leaning on
their matchlocks, within hearing of the Babu, and at spots where they
could see anyone approaching from either end of the yard. It would not do
for the warder to be found thus by the officer of the watch.
"It happened during the reign of the illustrious King Bhoya," began the
Babu; then he caught his breath, looking strangely nervous.
"It is the heat, good jailer," he said hurriedly; "--of the illustrious
King Bhoya, I said, that a poor ryot {peasant} named Yajnadatta, digging
one day in his field, found there buried the divine throne of the
incomparable King Vikramaditya. When his eyes were somewhat recovered
from the dazzling vision, and he could gaze unblinking at the wondrous
throne, he beheld that it was resplendent with thirty-two graven images,
and adorned with a multitude of jewels: rubies and diamonds, pearls and
jasper, crystal and coral and sapphires.
"Now the news of this wondrous discovery coming to the ears of King
Bhoya, he incontinently caused the throne to be conveyed to his palace,
and had it set in the midst of his hall of counsel that rose on columns
of gold and silver, of coral and crystal. Then the desire came upon him
to sit on this throne, and calling his wise men, he bade them choose a
moment of good augury, and gave order to his servitors to make all things
ready for his coronation. Whereupon his people brought curded milk,
sandalwood, flowers, saffron, umbrellas, parasols, divers tails--tails of
oxen, tails of peacocks; arrows, weapons of war, mirrors and other
objects proper to be held by wedded women--all things, indeed, meet for a
solemn festival, with a well-striped tiger skin to represent the seven
continents of the earth; nothing was wanting of all the matters
prescribed in the Shastras {holy books} for the solemn crowning of kings;
and having thus fulfilled their duty, the servitors humbly acquainted his
Majesty therewith. Then when the Guru {religious teacher}, the Purohita
{hereditary priest of the royal house}, the Brahmans, the wise men, the
councilors, the officers, the soldiers, the chief captain, had entered,
the august King Bhoya drew near the throne, to the end that he might be
anointed.
"But lo! the first of the carven figures that surrounded the throne thus
spake and said: 'Harken, O King. That prince who is endowed with
sovereign qualities; who shines before all others in wealth, in
liberality, in mercy; who excels in heroism and in goodness; who is drawn
by his nature to deeds of piety; who is full of might and majesty; that
prince alone is worthy to sit upon this throne--no other, no meaner
sovereign, is worthy. Harken, O King, to the story of the throne.'"
"Go on, Babu," said the jailer, as the narrator paused; "what said the
graven image?"
"'There once lived,'" continued the Babu, "'in the city of Avanti, a
king, Bartrihari by name. Having come to recognize the vanity of earthly
things, this king one day left his throne and went as a jogi {ascetic}
afar into the desert. His kingdom, being then without a head--for he had
no sons, and his younger brother, the illustrious Vikramaditya, was
traveling in far lands--fell into sore disorder, so that thieves and
evildoers increased from day to day.
"'The wise men in their trouble sought diligently for a child having the
signs of royalty, and in due time, having found one, Xatrya by name, they
gave the kingdom into his charge. But in that land there dwelt a mighty
jin {evil spirit}, Vetala Agni {spirit of fire}, who, when he heard of
what the wise men had done, came forth on the night of the same day the
young king had been enthroned and slew him and departed. And it befell
that each time the councilors found a new king, lo, the Vetala Agni came
forth and slew him.
"'Now upon a certain day, when the wise men, in sore trouble of heart,
were met in council, there appeared among them the illustrious
Vikramaditya, newly returned from long travel, who, when he had heard
what was toward, said:
"'"O ye wise men and faithful, make me king without ado."
"'And the wise men, seeing that Vikramaditya was worthy of that dignity
thus spake:
"'"From this day, O excellency, thou art king of the realm of Avanti."
"'Having in this fashion become king of Avanti, Vikramaditya busied
himself all that day with the affairs of his kingdom, tasting the sweets
of power; and at the fall of night he prepared, against the visit of the
Vetala Agni, great store of heady liquors, all kinds of meat, fish,
bread, confections, rice boiled with milk and honey, sauces, curded milk,
butter refined, sandalwood, bouquets and garlands, divers sorts of
sweet-scented things; and all these he kept in his palace, and himself
remained therein, reclining in full wakefulness upon his fairest bed.
"'Then into this palace came the Vetala Agni, sword in hand, and went
about to slay the august Vikramaditya. But the king said:
"'"Harken, O Vetala Agni; seeing that thy Excellency has come for to
cause me to perish, it is not doubtful that thou wilt succeed in thy
purpose; albeit, all these viands thou dost here behold have been brought
together for thy behoof; eat, then, whatsoever thou dost find worthy;
afterwards thou shalt work thy will."
"'And the Vetala Agni, having heard these words, filled himself with this
great store of food, and, marvelously content with the king, said unto
him:
"'"Truly I am content, and well disposed towards thee, and I give thee
the realm of Avanti; sit thou in the highest place and taste its joys;
but take heed of one thing: every day shalt thou prepare for me a repast
like unto this."
"'With these words, the Vetala Agni departed from that spot and betook
him into his own place.
"'Then for a long space did Vikramaditya diligently fulfill that command;
but by and by, growing aweary of feeding the Vetala Agni, he sought
counsel of the jogi Trilokanatha, who had his dwelling on the mount of
Kanahakrita. The jogi, perceiving the manifold merits of the incomparable
Vikramaditya, was moved with compassion towards him, and when he had long
meditated and recited sundry mantras {hymns and prayers}, he thus spake
and said:
"'"Harken, O King. From the sacred tank of Shakravatar spring alleys four
times seven, as it were branches from one trunk, to wit, seven to the
north, seven to the east, seven to the west, and seven to the south. Of
the seven alleys springing to the north do you choose the seventh, and in
the seventh alley the seventh tree from the sacred tank, and on the
seventh branch of the seventh tree thou shalt find the nest of a bulbul.
Within that nest thou shalt discover a golden key."'"
The Babu was now speaking very slowly, and an observer watching Desmond
would have perceived that his eyes were fixed with a strange look of
mingled eagerness and anxiety upon the storyteller. But no one observed
this; every man in the group was intent upon the story, hanging upon the
lips of the eloquent Babu.
"'Having obtained the golden key,'" continued the narrator, "'thou shalt
return forthwith to thy palace, and the same night, when the Vetala Angi
has eaten and drunk his fill, thou shalt in his presence lay the key upon
the palm of thy left hand, thus--'" (here the Babu quietly took up a key
hanging from the bunch attached to the warder's girdle, and laid it upon
his left palm). "'Then shalt thou say to the Vetala:
"'"O illustrious Vetala, tell me, I pray thee, what doth this golden key
unlock?"
"'Then if the aspect of the Vetala be fierce, fear not, for he must needs
reply: such is the virtue of the key; and by his words thou shalt direct
thy course. Verily it is for such a trial that the gods have endowed thee
with wisdom beyond the common lot of men.
"'Vikramaditya performed in all points the jogi's bidding; and having in
the presence of the Vetala laid the golden key upon the palm of his hand,
a voice within bade him ask the question:
"'"O Vetala, what art thou apt to do? What knowest thou?"
"'And the Vetala answered:
"'"All that I have in my mind, that I am apt to perform. I know all
things."
"'And the king said:
"'"Speak, then; what is the number of my years?"
"'And the Vetala answered:
"'"The years of thy life are a hundred."
"'Then said the king:
"'"I am troubled because in the tale of my years there are two gaps;
grant me, then, one year in excess of a hundred, or from the hundred take
one."
"'And the Vetala answered:
"'"O King, thou art in the highest degree good, liberal, merciful, just,
lord of thyself, and honored of gods and of Brahmans; the measure of joys
that are ordained to fill thy life is full; to add anything thereto, to
take anything therefrom, are alike impossible."
"'Having heard these words, the king was satisfied, and the Vetala
departed unto his own place.
"'Upon the night following the king prepared no feast against the coming
of the Vetala, but girt himself for fight. The Vetala came, and seeing
nothing in readiness for the repast, but, on the contrary, all things
requisite to a combat, he waxed wroth and said:
"'"O wicked and perverse king, why hast thou made ready nothing for my
pleasure this night?"
"'And the king answered: "Since thou canst neither add to my length of
years, nor take anything therefrom, why should I make ready a repast for
thee continually and without profit?"
"'The Vetala made answer:
"'"Ho--'tis thus that thou speakest! Now, truly, come fight with me; this
night will I devour thee."
"'At these words the king rose up in wrath to smite the Vetala, and held
him in swift and dexterous combat for a brief space. And the Vetala,
having thus made proof of the might and heroism of the king, and being
satisfied, spake and said:
"'"O King, thou art mighty indeed; I am content with thy valor; now,
then, ask me what thou wilt."
"'And the king answered:
"'"Seeing that thou art well-disposed towards me, grant me this grace,
that when I call thee, thou wilt in that same instant stand at my side."
"'And the Vetala, having granted this grace to the king, departed unto
his own place.'"
The Babu waved his hands as a sign that the story was ended. He was damp
with perspiration, and in his glance at Desmond there was a kind of
furtive appeal for approval.
"Thou speakest well, Babu," said the warder. "But what befell King Bhoya
when the graven image had thus ended his saying?"
"That, good jailer, is another story, and if you please to hear it
another night, I will do my poor best to satisfy you."
"Well, the hour is late."
The warder rose to his feet and resumed his official gruffness.
"Come, rise; it is time I locked your fetters; and, in good sooth, mine
is no golden key."
He chuckled as he watched the prisoners file one by one into the shed.
Following them, he quickly locked each in turn to his staple in the wall
and went out, bolting and double-locking the door behind him.
"You did well, my friend," whispered Desmond in English to the Babu.
"My heart flutters like the wing of a bulbul," answered the Babu; "but I
am content, sahib."
"But say, Surendra Nath," remarked one of the Maratha captives, "last
time you told us that story you said nothing of the golden key."
"Ah!" replied the Babu, "you are thinking of the story told by the second
graven image in King Vikramaditya's throne. I will tell you that
tomorrow."