THE UNWELCOME THRONE
Kathlyn sensed great loneliness when, about a month later, she arrived
at the basin in Calcutta. A thousand or more natives were bathing
ceremoniously in the ghat--men, women and children. It was early morn,
and they were making solemn genuflections toward the bright sun. The
water-front swarmed with brown bodies, and great wheeled carts drawn by
sad-eyed bullocks threaded slowly through the maze. The many white
turbans, stirring hither and thither, reminded her of a field of white
poppies in a breeze. India! There it lay, ready for her eager feet.
Always had she dreamed about it, and romanced over it, and sought it on
the wings of her spirit. Yonder it lay, ancient as China, enchanting
as storied Persia.
If only she were on pleasure bent! If only she knew some one in this
great teeming city! She knew no one; she carried no letters of
introduction, no letters of credit, nothing but the gold and notes the
paymaster at the farm had hastily turned over to her. Only by constant
application to maps and guide books had she managed to arrange the
short cut to the far kingdom. She had been warned that it was a wild
and turbulent place, out of the beaten path, beyond the reach of iron
rails. Three long sea voyages: across the Pacific (which wasn't), down
the bitter Yellow Sea, up the blue Bay of Bengal, with many a sea
change and many a strange picture. What though her heart ached, it was
impossible that her young eyes should not absorb all she saw and marvel
over it. India!
The strange elusive Hindu had disappeared after Hongkong. That was a
weight off her soul. She was now assured that her imagination had
beguiled her. How should he know anything about her? What was more
natural than that he should wish to hurry back to his native state?
She was not the only one in a hurry. And there were Hindus of all
castes on all three ships. By now she had almost forgot him.
There was one bright recollection to break the unending loneliness.
Coming down from Hongkong to Singapore she had met at the captain's
table a young man by the name of Bruce. He was a quiet, rather
untalkative man, lean and sinewy, sun and wind bitten. Kathlyn had as
yet had no sentimental affairs. Absorbed in her work, her father and
the care of Winnie, such young men as she had met had scarcely
interested her. She had only tolerated contempt for idlers, and these
young men had belonged to that category. Bruce caught her interest in
the very fact that he had but little to say and said that crisply and
well. There was something authoritative in the shape of his mouth and
the steadiness of his eye, though before her he never exercised this
power. A dozen times she had been on the point of taking him into her
confidence, but the irony of fate had always firmly closed her lips.
And now, waiting for the ship to warp into its pier, she realized what
a fatal mistake her reticence had been. A friend of her father!
Bruce had left the Lloyder before dinner (at Singapore), and as
Kathlyn's British-India coaster did not leave till morning she had
elected to remain over night on the German boat.
As Bruce disappeared among the disembarking passengers and climbed into
a rickshaw she turned to the captain, who stood beside her.
"Do you know Mr. Bruce?"
"Very well," said the German. "Didn't he tell you who he is? No?
_Ach_! Why, Mr. Bruce is a great hunter. He has shot everything,
written books, climbed the Himalayas. Only last year he brought me the
sack of a musk deer, and that is the most dangerous of all sports. He
collects animals."
Then Kathlyn knew. The name had been vaguely familiar, but the young
man's reticence had given her no opportunity to dig into her
recollection. Bruce! How many times her father had spoken of him!
What a fool she had been! Bruce knew the country she was going to,
perhaps as well as her father; and he could have simplified her journey
to the last word. Well, what was done could not be recalled and done
over.
"My father is a great hunter, too," she said simply, eying wistfully
the road taken by Bruce into town.
"What? _Herr Gott_! Are you Colonel Hare's daughter?" exclaimed the
captain.
"Yes."
He seized her by the shoulders. "Why did you not tell me? Why,
Colonel Hare and I have smoked many a Burma cheroot together on these
waters. _Herr Gott_! And you never said anything! What a woman for a
man to marry!" he laughed. "You have sat at my table for five days,
and only now I find that you are Hare's daughter! And you have a
sister. _Ach_, yes! He was always taking out some photographs in the
smoke-room and showing them to us old chaps."
Tears filled Kathlyn's eyes. In an Indian prison, out of the
jurisdiction of the British Raj, and with her two small hands and
woman's mind she must free him! Always the mysterious packet lay close
to her heart, never for a moment was it beyond the reach of her hand.
Her father's freedom!
The rusty metal sides of the ship scraped against the pier and the
gangplank was lowered; and presently the tourists flocked down with
variant emotions, to be besieged by fruit sellers, water carriers,
cabmen, blind beggars, and maimed, naked little children with curious,
insolent black eyes, women with infants straddling their hips, stolid
Chinamen; a riot of color and a bewildering babel of tongues.
Kathlyn found a presentable carriage, and with her luggage pressing
about her feet directed the driver to the Great Eastern Hotel.
Her white sola-topee (sun helmet) had scarcely disappeared in the crowd
when the Hindu of the freight caboose emerged from the steerage, no
longer in bedraggled linen trousers and ragged turban, but dressed like
a native fop. He was in no hurry. Leisurely he followed Kathlyn to
the hotel, then proceeded to the railway station. He had need no
longer to watch and worry. There was nothing left now but to greet her
upon her arrival, this golden houri from the verses of Sa'adi. The two
weeks of durance vile among the low castes in the steerage should be
amply repaid. In six days he would be beyond the hand of the meddling
British Raj, in his own country. Sport! What was more beautiful to
watch than cat play? He was the cat, the tiger cat. And what would
the Colonel Sahib say when he felt the claws? Beautiful, beautiful,
like a pattern woven in an Agra rug.
Kathlyn began her journey at once. Now that she was on land, moving
toward her father, all her vigor returned. She felt strangely alive,
exhilarated. She knew that she was not going to be afraid of anything
hereafter. To enter the strange country without having her purpose
known would be the main difficulty. Where was Ahmed all this time?
Doubtless in a cell like his master.
Three days later she stood at the frontier, and her servant set about
arguing and bargaining with the mahouts to engage elephants for the
three days' march through jungles and mountainous divides to the
capital. Three elephants were necessary. There were two howdah
elephants and one pack elephant, who was always lagging behind.
Through long aisles of magnificent trees they passed, across hot
blistering deserts, dotted here and there by shrubs and stunted trees,
in and out of gloomy defiles of flinty rock, over sluggish and swiftly
flowing streams. The days were hot, but the nights were bitter cold.
Sometimes a blue miasmic haze settled down, and the dry raspy hides of
the elephants grew damp and they fretted at their chains.
Rao, the khidmutgar Kathlyn had hired in Calcutta, proved invaluable.
Without him she would never have succeeded in entering the strange
country; for these wild-eyed Mohammedan mahouts (and it is pertinent to
note that only Mohammedans are ever made mahouts, it being against the
tenets of Hinduism to kill or ride anything that kills) scowled at her
evilly. They would have made way with her for an anna-piece. Rao was
a Mohammedan himself, so they listened and obeyed.
All this the first day and night out. On the following morning a
leopard crossed the trail. Kathlyn seized her rifle and broke its
spine. The jabbering of the mahouts would have amused her at any other
time.
"Good, Mem-sahib," whispered Rao. "You have put fear into their
devils' hearts. Good! Chup!" he called. "Stop your noise."
After that they gave Kathlyn's dog tent plenty of room.
One day, in the heart of a natural clearing, she saw a tree. Its
blossoms and leaves were as scarlet as the seeds of a pomegranate.
"Oh, how beautiful! What is it, Rao?"
"The flame of the jungle, Mem-sahib. It is good luck to see it on a
journey."
About the tree darted gay parrakeets and fat green parrots. The green
plumage of the birds against the brilliant scarlet of the tree was
indescribably beautiful. Everywhere was life, everywhere was color.
Once, as the natives seated themselves of the evening round their dung
fire while Kathlyn busied with the tea over a wood fire, a tiger roared
near by. The elephants trumpeted and the mahouts rose in terror.
Kathlyn ran for her rifle, but the trumpeting of the elephants was
sufficient to send the striped cat to other hunting-grounds. Wild ape
and pig abounded, and occasionally a caha wriggled out of the sun into
the brittle grasses. Very few beasts or reptiles are aggressive; it is
only when they feel cornered that they turn. Even the black panther,
the most savage of all cats, will rarely offer battle except when
attacked.
Meantime the man who had followed Kathlyn arrived at the city.
Five hours later Kathlyn stepped out of her howdah, gave Rao the money
for the mahouts and looked about. This was the gate to the capital.
How many times had her father passed through it? Her jaw set and her
eyes flashed. Whatever dangers beset her she was determined to meet
them with courage and patience.
"Rao, you had better return to Calcutta. What I have to do must be
done alone."
"Very good. But I shall remain here till the Mem-sahib returns." Rao
salaamed.
"And if I should not return?" affected by this strange loyalty.
"Then I shall seek Bruce Sahib, who has a camp twenty miles east."
"Bruce? But he is in Singapore!"--a quickening of her pulses.
"Who can say where Bruce Sahib is? He is like a shadow, there to-day,
here to-morrow. I have been his servant, Mem-sahib, and that is how I
am to-day yours. I received a telegram to call at your hotel and apply
to you for service. Very good. I shall wait. The mahout here will
take you directly to Hare Sahib's bungalow. You will find your
father's servants there, and all will be well. A week, then. If you
do not send for me I seek Bruce Sahib, and we shall return with many.
Some will speak English at the bungalow."
"Thank you, Rao. I shall not forget."
"Neither will Bruce Sahib," mysteriously. Rao salaamed.
Kathlyn got into the howdah and passed through the gates. Bruce Sahib,
the quiet man whose hand had reached out over seas thus strangely to
reassure her! A hardness came into her throat and she swallowed
desperately. She was only twenty-four. Except for herself there might
not be a white person in all this sprawling, rugged principality. From
time to time the new mahout turned and smiled at her curiously, but she
was too absorbed to note his attentions.
Durga Ram, called lightly Umballa, went directly to the palace, where
he knew the Council of Three solemnly awaited his arrival. He dashed
up the imposing flight of marble steps, exultant. He had fulfilled his
promise; the golden daughter of Hare Sahib was but a few miles away.
The soldiers, guarding the entrance, presented their arms respectfully;
but instantly after Umballa disappeared the expression on their faces
was not pleasing.
Umballa hurried along through the deep corridor, supported by
exquisitely carved marble columns. Beauty in stone was in evidence
everywhere and magnificent brass lamps hung from the ceiling. There
was a shrine topped by an idol in black marble, incrusted with
sapphires and turquoises. Durga Ram, who shall be called Umballa,
nodded slightly as he passed it. Force of habit, since in his heart
there was only one religion--self.
He stopped at a door guarded by a single soldier, who saluted but spat
as soon as Umballa had passed into the throne room. The throne itself
was vacant. The Council of Three rose at the approach of Umballa.
"She is here," he said haughtily.
The council salaamed.
Umballa stroked his chin as he gazed at the huge candles flickering at
each side of the throne. He sniffed the Tibetan incense, and shrugged.
It was written. "Go," he said, "to Hare Sahib's bungalow and await me.
I shall be there presently. There is plenty of time. And remember our
four heads depend upon the next few hours. The soldiers are on the
verge of mutiny, and only success can pacify them."
He turned without ceremony and left them. With oriental philosophy
they accepted the situation. They had sought to overturn him, and he
held them in the hollow of his hand. During the weeks of his absence
in America his spies had hung about them like bees about honey. They
were the fowlers snared.
Umballa proceeded along the corridor to a flight of stairs leading
beneath the palace floor. Here the soldiers were agreeable enough;
they had reason to be. Umballa gave them new minted rupees for their
work, many rupees. For they knew secrets. Before the door of a
dungeon Umballa paused and listened. There was no sound. He returned
upstairs and sought a chamber near the harem. This he entered, and
stood with folded arms near the door.
"Ah, Colonel Sahib!"
"Umballa?" Colonel Hare, bearded, unkempt, tried to stand erect and
face his enemy. "You black scoundrel!"
"Durga Ram, Sahib. Words, words; the patter of rain on stone roofs.
Our king lives no more, alas!"
"You lie!"
"He is dead. Dying, he left you this throne--you, a white man, knowing
it was a legacy of terror and confusion. You knew. Why did you
return? Ah, pearls and sapphires and emeralds! What? I offer you
this throne upon conditions."
"And those conditions I have refused."
"You have, yes, but now----" Umballa smiled. Then he suddenly blazed
forth: "Think you a white man shall sit upon this throne while I live?
It is mine. I was his heir."
"Then why didn't you save him from the leopard? I'll tell you why.
You expected to inherit on the spot, and I spoiled the game. Is that
not true?"
"And what if I admit it?" truculently.
"Umballa, or Durga Ram, if you wish, listen. Take the throne. What's
to hinder you? You want it. Take it and let me begone."
"Yes, I want it; and by all the gods of Hind I'll have it--but safely.
Ah! It would be fine to proclaim myself when mutiny and rebellion
stalk about. Am I a pig to play a game like that? Tch! Tch!" He
clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in derision. "No; I
need a buckler till all this roily water subsides and clears."
"And then, some fine night, Hare Sahib's throat? I am not afraid of
death, Umballa. I have faced it too many times. Make an end of me at
once or leave me to rot here, my answer will always be the same. I
will not become a dishonorable tool. You have offered me freedom and
jewels. No; I repeat, I will free all slaves, abolish the harems, the
buying and selling of flesh; I will make a man of every poor devil of a
coolie who carries stones from your quarries."
Umballa laughed. "Then remain here like a dog while I put your golden
daughter on the throne and become what the British Raj calls prince
consort. She'll rebel, I know; but I have a way." He stepped outside
and closed the door.
"Umballa?"
"Well?"
"Kit, my daughter? Good God, what is she doing here when I warned
her?" Hare tugged furiously at his chains. "Durga Ram, you have
beaten me. State your terms and I will accept them to the
letter. . . . Kit, my beautiful Kit, in this hellhole!"
"Ah, but I don't want you to accept now. I was merely amusing myself."
The door shut and the bolt shot home.
Hare fell upon his knees. "My head, my head! Dear God, save me my
reason!"
* * * * * *
The moment Kathlyn arrived at the animal cages of her father she called
for Ahmed.
"My father?"
"Ah, Mem-sahib, they say he is dead. I know not. One night--the
second after we arrived--he was summoned to the palace. He never came
back."
"They have killed him!"
"Perhaps. They watch me, too; but I act simple. We wait and see."
Kathlyn rushed across the ground intervening between the animal cages
and the bungalow. There was no one in sight. She ran up the
steps . . . to be greeted inside by the suave Umballa.
"You?" her hand flying to her bosom.
"I, Miss Hare." He salaamed, with a sweeping gesture of his hands.
Sadly the wretch told her the tale; the will of the king, his death and
the subsequent death of her father in his, Durga Ram's, arms. Yonder
urn contained his ashes. For the first time in her young life Kathlyn
fainted. She had been living on her nerves for weeks, and at the sight
of that urn something snapped. Daintily Umballa plucked forth the
packet and waited. At length she opened her eyes.
"You are a queen, Miss Hare."
"You are mad!"
"Nay; it was the madness of the king. But mad kings often make laws
which must be obeyed. You will accuse me of perfidy when I tell you
all. The note which brought you here was written by me and substituted
for this."
Duly Kathlyn read:
"Kathlyn--if not heard from, I'm held captive in Allaha. The royal
title given to me by the king made me and my descendants direct heirs
to the throne. Do not come to Allaha yourself. Destroy sealed
document herewith.
"Father."
The Council of Three entered noiselessly from the adjoining room. At
the four dark, inscrutable faces the bewildered girl stared, her limbs
numb with terror. Gravely the council told her she must come with them
to the palace.
"It is impossible!" she murmured. "You are all mad. I am a white
woman. I can not rule over an alien race whose tongue I can not speak,
whose habits I know nothing of. It is impossible. Since my father is
dead, I must return to my home."
"No," said Umballa.
"I refuse to stir!" She was all afire of a sudden: the base trickery
which had brought her here! She was very lovely to the picturesque
savage who stood at her elbow.
As he looked down at her, in his troubled soul Umballa knew that it was
not the throne so much as it was this beautiful bird of paradise which
he wished to cage.
"Be brave," he said, "like your father. I do not wish to use force,
but you must go. It is useless to struggle. Come."
She hung back for a moment; then, realizing her utter helplessness, she
signified that she was ready to go. She needed time to collect her
stunned and disordered thoughts.
Before going to the palace they conducted her to the royal crypt. The
urn containing her father's ashes was deposited in a niche. Many other
niches contained urns, and Umballa explained to her that these held the
ashes of many rulers. Tears welled into Kathlyn's eyes, but they were
of a hysterical character.
"A good sign," mused Umballa, who thought he knew something of women,
like all men beset with vanity. Oddly enough, he had forgot all about
the incident of the lion in the freight caboose. All women are felines
to a certain extent. This golden-haired woman had claws, and the day
was coming when he would feel them drag over his heart.
From the crypt they proceeded to the palace zenana (harem), which
surrounded a court of exceeding beauty. Three ladies of the harem were
sitting in the portico, attended by slaves. All were curiously
interested at the sight of a woman with white skin, tinted like the
lotus. Umballa came to a halt before a latticed door.
"Here your majesty must remain till the day of your coronation."
"How did my father die?"
"He was assassinated on the palace steps by a Mohammedan fanatic. As I
told you, he died in my arms."
"His note signified that he feared imprisonment. How came he on the
palace steps?"
"He was not a prisoner. He came and went as he pleased in the city."
He bowed and left her.
Alone in her chamber, the dullness of her mind diminished and finally
cleared away like a fog in a wind. Her dear, kind, blue-eyed father
was dead, and she was virtually a prisoner, and Winnie was all alone.
A queen! They were mad, or she was in the midst of some hideous
nightmare. Mad, mad, mad! She began to laugh, and it was not a
pleasant sound. A queen, she, Kathlyn Hare! Her father was dead, she
was a queen, and Winnie was all alone. A gale of laughter brought to
the marble lattice many wondering eyes. The white cockatoo shrilled
his displeasure. Those outside the lattice saw this marvelous
white-skinned woman, with hair like the gold threads in Chinese
brocades, suddenly throw herself upon a pile of cushions, and they saw
her shoulders rock and heave, but heard no sound of wailing.
After a while she fell asleep, a kind of dreamless stupor. When she
awoke it was twilight in the court. The doves were cooing and
fluttering in the cornices and the cockatoo was preening his lemon
colored topknot. At first Kathlyn had not the least idea where she
was, but the light beyond the lattice, the flitting shadows, and the
tinkle of a stringed instrument assured her that she was awake,
terribly awake.
She sat perfectly still, slowly gathering her strength, mental and
physical. She was not her father's daughter for nothing. She was to
fight in some strange warfare, instinctively she felt this; but from
what direction, in what shape, only God knew. Yet she must prepare for
it; that was the vital thing; she must marshal her forces, feminine and
only defensive, and watch.
Rao! Her hands clutched the pillows. In five days' time he would be
off to seek John Bruce; and there would be white men there, and they
would come to her though a thousand legions of these brown men stood
between. She would play for time; she must pretend docility and meet
quiet guile with guile. She could get no word to her faithful
khidmutgar; none here, even if open to bribery, could be made to
understand. Only Umballa and the council spoke English or understood
it. She had ten days' grace; within that time she hoped to find some
loophole.
Slave girls entered noiselessly. The hanging lamps were lighted. A
tabouret was set before her. There were quail and roast kid, fruits
and fragrant tea. She was not hungry, but she ate.
Within a dozen yards of her sat her father, stolidly munching his
chupatties, because he knew that now he must live.
* * * * * *
One of the chief characteristics of the East Indian is extravagance.
To outvie one another in celebrations of births, weddings, deaths and
coronations they beggar themselves. In this the Oriental and the
Occidental have one thing in common. This principality was small, but
there was a deal of wealth in it because of its emerald mines and
turquoise pits. The durbar brought out princes and princelings from
east, south and west, and even three or four wild-eyed ameers from the
north. The British government at Calcutta heard vaguely about this
fete, but gave it scant attention for the simple fact that it had not
been invited to attend. Still, it watched the performance covertly.
Usually durbars took months of preparation; this one had been called
into existence within ten days.
Elephants and camels and bullocks; palanquins, gharries, tongas; cloth
of gold and cloth of jewels; color, confusion, maddening noises, and
more color. There was very little semblance of order; a rajah preceded
a princeling, and so on down. The wailing of reeds and the muttering
of kettle drums; music, languorous, haunting, elusive, low minor chords
seemingly struck at random, intermingling a droning chant; a thousand
streams of incense, crossing and recrossing; and fireworks at night,
fireworks which had come all the way across China by caravan--these
things Kathlyn saw and heard from her lattice.
The populace viewed all these manifestations quietly. They were
perfectly willing to wait. If this white queen proved kind they would
go about their affairs, leaving her in peace; but they were determined
that she should be no puppet in the hands of Umballa, whom they hated
for his cruelty and money leeching ways. Oh, everything was ripe in
the state for murder and loot--and the reaching, holding hand of the
British Raj.
As Kathlyn advanced to the canopied dais upon which she was to be
crowned, a hand filled with flowers reached out. She turned to see
Ahmed.
"Bruce Sahib," she whispered.
Ahmed salaamed deeply as she passed on. The impression that she was
dreaming again seized her. This could not possibly be real. Her feet
did not seem to touch the carpets; she did not seem to breathe; she
floated. It was only when the crown was placed upon her head that she
realized the reality and the finality of the proceedings.
[Illustration: Ahmed salaamed deeply.]
"Be wise," whispered Umballa coldly. "If you take off that crown now,
neither your gods nor mine could save you from that mob down yonder.
Be advised. Rise!"
She obeyed. She wanted to cry out to that sea of bronze faces: "People
I do not want to be your queen. Let me go!" They would not
understand. Where was Rao? Where was Bruce? What of the hope that
now flickered and died in her heart, like a guttering candle light?
There was a small dagger hidden in the folds of her white robe; she
could always use that. She heard Umballa speaking in the native
tongue. A great shouting followed. The populace surged.
"What have you said to them?" she demanded.
"That her majesty had chosen Durga Ram to be her consort and to him now
forthwith she will be wed." He salaamed.
So the mask was off! "Marry you? Oh, no! Mate with you, a black?"
"Black?" he cried, as if a whiplash had struck him across the face.
"Yes, black of skin and black of heart. I have submitted to the farce
of this durbar, but that is as far as my patience will go. God will
guard me."
"God?" mockingly.
"Yes, my God and the God of my fathers!"
To the mutable faces below she looked the Queen at that instant. They
saw the attitude, but could not interpret it.
"So be it. There are other things besides marriage."
"Yes," she replied proudly; "there is death."