LINFORTH'S DEATH
Luffe had taken a large bare low-roofed room supported upon pillars for
his council-chamber. Thither he conducted his visitor. Camp chairs were
placed for himself and Major Dewes and Captain Lynes. Cushions were
placed upon the ground for his visitor. Luffe took his seat in the
middle, with Dewes upon his right and Lynes upon his left. Dewes expected
him at once to press for information as to Linforth. But Luffe knew very
well that certain time must first be wasted in ceremonious preliminaries.
The news would only be spoken after a time and in a roundabout fashion.
"If we receive you without the distinction which is no doubt your due,"
said Luffe politely, "you must remember that I make it a rule not to
welcome visitors at night."
The visitor smiled and bowed.
"It is a great grief to his Highness Wafadar Nazim that you put so little
faith in him," replied the Chilti. "See how he trusts you! He sends me,
his Diwan, his Minister of Finance, in the night time to come up to your
walls and into your fort, so great is his desire to learn that the
Colonel Sahib is well."
Luffe in his turn bowed with a smile of gratitude. It was not the time to
point out that his Highness Wafadar Nazim was hardly taking the course
which a genuine solicitude for the Colonel Sahib's health would
recommend.
"His Highness has but one desire in his heart. He desires peace--peace so
that this country may prosper, and peace because of his great love for
the Colonel Sahib."
Again Luffe bowed.
"But to all his letters the Colonel Sahib returns the same answer, and
truly his Highness is at a loss what to do in order that he may ensure
the safety of the Colonel Sahib and his followers," the Diwan continued
pensively. "I will not repeat what has been already said," and at once he
began at interminable length to contradict his words. He repeated the
proposals of surrender made by Wafadar Nazim from beginning to end. The
Colonel Sahib was to march out of the fort with his troops, and his
Highness would himself conduct him into British territory.
"If the Colonel Sahib dreads the censure of his own Government, his
Highness will take all the responsibility for the Colonel Sahib's
departure. But no blame will fall upon the Colonel Sahib. For the British
Government, with whom Wafadar Nazim has always desired to live in amity,
desires peace too, as it has always said. It is the British Government
which has broken its treaties."
"Not so," replied Luffe. "The road was undertaken with the consent of the
Khan of Chiltistan, who is the ruler of this country, and Wafadar, his
uncle, merely the rebel. Therefore take back my last word to Wafadar
Nazim. Let him make submission to me as representative of the Sirkar, and
lay down his arms. Then I will intercede for him with the Government, so
that his punishment be light."
The Diwan smiled and his voice changed once more to a note of insolence.
"His Highness Wafadar Nazim is now the Khan of Chiltistan. The other,
the deposed, lies cooped up in this fort, a prisoner of the British,
whose willing slave he has always been. The British must retire from
our country. His Highness Wafadar Nazim desires them no harm. But they
must go now!"
Luffe looked sternly at the Diwan.
"Tell Wafadar Nazim to have a care lest they go never, but set their foot
firmly upon the neck of this rebellious people."
He rose to signify that the conference was at an end. But the Diwan did
not stir. He smiled pensively and played with the tassels of his cushion.
"And yet," he said, "how true it is that his Highness thinks only of the
Colonel Sahib's safety."
Some note of satisfaction, not quite perfectly concealed, some sly accent
of triumph sounding through the gently modulated words, smote upon
Luffe's ears, and warned him that the true meaning of the Diwan's visit
was only now to be revealed. All that had gone before was nothing. The
polite accusations, the wordy repetitions, the expressions of good
will--these were the mere preliminaries, the long salute before the
combat. Luffe steeled himself against a blow, controlling his face and
his limbs lest a look or a gesture should betray the hurt. And it was
well that he did, for the next moment the blow fell.
"For bad news has come to us. Sahib Linforth met his death two days ago,
fifty miles from here, in the camp of his Excellency Abdulla Mahommed,
the Commander-in-Chief to his Highness. Abdulla Mahommed is greatly
grieved, knowing well that this violent act will raise up a prejudice
against him and his Highness. Moreover, he too would live in friendship
with the British. But his soldiers are justly provoked by the violation
of treaties by the British, and it is impossible to stay their hands.
Therefore, before Abdulla Mahommed joins hands with my master, Wafadar
Nazim, before this fort, it will be well for the Colonel Sahib and his
troops to be safely out of reach."
Luffe was doubtful whether to believe the words or no. The story might be
a lie to frighten him and to discourage the garrison. On the other hand,
it was likely enough to be true. And if true, it was the worst news which
Luffe had heard for many a long day.
"Let me hear how the accident--occurred," he said, smiling grimly at the
euphemism he used.
"Sahib Linforth was in the tent set apart for him by Abdulla Mahommed.
There were guards to protect him, but it seems they did not watch well.
Huzoor, all have been punished, but punishment will not bring Sahib
Linforth to life again. Therefore hear the words of Wafadar Nazim, spoken
now for the last time. He himself will escort you and your soldiers and
officers to the borders of British territory, so that he may rejoice to
know that you are safe. You will leave his Highness Mir Ali behind, who
will resign his throne in favour of his uncle Wafadar, and so there will
be peace."
"And what will happen to Mir Ali, whom we have promised to protect?"
The Diwan shrugged his shoulders in a gentle, deprecatory fashion and
smiled his melancholy smile. His gesture and his attitude suggested that
it was not in the best of taste to raise so unpleasant a question. But he
did not reply in words.
"You will tell Wafadar Nazim that we will know how to protect his
Highness the Khan, and that we will teach Abdulla Mahommed a lesson in
that respect before many moons have passed," Luffe said sternly. "As for
this story of Sahib Linforth, I do not believe a word of it."
The Diwan nodded his head.
"It was believed that you would reply in this way.
"Therefore here are proofs." He drew from his dress a silver watch upon a
leather watch-guard, a letter-case, and to these he added a letter in
Linforth's own hand. He handed them to Luffe.
Luffe handed the watch and chain to Dewes, and opened the letter-case.
There was a letter in it, written in a woman's handwriting, and besides
the letter the portrait of a girl. He glanced at the letter and glanced
at the portrait. Then he passed them on to Dewes.
Dewes looked at the portrait with a greater care. The face was winning
rather than pretty. It seemed to him that it was one of those faces which
might become beautiful at many moments through the spirit of the woman,
rather than from any grace of feature. If she loved, for instance, she
would be really beautiful for the man she loved.
"I wonder who she is," he said thoughtfully.
"I know," replied Luffe, almost carelessly. He was immersed in the second
letter which the Diwan had handed to him.
"Who is it?" asked Dewes.
"Linforth's wife."
"His wife!" exclaimed Dewes, and, looking at the photograph again, he
said in a low voice which was gentle with compassion, "Poor woman!"
"Yes, yes. Poor woman!" said Luffe, and he went on reading his letter.
It was characteristic of Luffe that he should feel so little concern in
the domestic side of Linforth's life. He was not very human in his
outlook on the world. Questions of high policy interested and engrossed
his mind; he lived for the Frontier, not so much subduing a man's natural
emotions as unaware of them. Men figured in his thoughts as the
instruments of policy; their womenfolk as so many hindrances or aids to
the fulfilment of their allotted tasks. Thus Linforth's death troubled
him greatly, since Linforth was greatly concerned in one great
undertaking. Moreover, the scheme had been very close to Linforth's
heart, even as it was to Luffe's. But Linforth's wife was in England, and
thus, as it seemed to him, neither aid nor impediment. But in that he was
wrong. She had been the mainspring of Linforth's energy, and so much was
evident in the letter which Luffe read slowly to the end.
"Yes, Linforth's dead," said he, with a momentary discouragement. "There
are many whom we could more easily have spared. Of course the thing will
go on. That's certain," he said, nodding his head. A cold satisfaction
shone in his eyes. "But Linforth was part of the Thing."
He passed the second letter to Dewes, who read it; and for a while both
men remained thoughtful and, as it seemed, unaware for the moment of the
Diwan's presence. There was this difference, however. Luffe was thinking
of "the Thing"; Dewes was pondering on the grim little tragedy which
these letters revealed, and thanking Heaven in all simplicity of heart
that there was no woman waiting in fear because of him and trembling at
sight of each telegraph boy she met upon the road.
The grim little tragedy was not altogether uncommon upon the Indian
frontier, but it gained vividness from the brevity of the letters which
related it. The first one, that in the woman's hand, written from a house
under the Downs of Sussex, told of the birth of a boy in words at once
sacred and simple. They were written for the eyes of one man, and Major
Dewes had a feeling that his own, however respectfully, violated their
sanctity. The second letter was an unfinished one written by the husband
to the wife from his tent amongst the rabble of Abdulla Mahommed.
Linforth clearly understood that this was the last letter he would write.
"I am sitting writing this by the light of a candle. The tent door is
open. In front of me I can see the great snow-mountains. All the ugliness
of the lower shale slopes is hidden. By such a moonlight, my dear, may
you always look back upon my memory. For it is over, Sybil. They are
waiting until I fall asleep. I have been warned of it. But I shall fall
asleep to-night. I have kept awake for two nights. I am very tired."
He had fallen asleep even before the letter was completed. There was a
message for the boy and a wish:
"May he meet a woman like you, my dear, when his time comes, and love her
as I love you," and again came the phrase, "I am very tired." It spoke of
the boy's school, and continued: "Whether he will come out here it is too
early to think about. But the road will not be finished--and I wonder. If
he wants to, let him! We Linforths belong to the road," and for the third
time the phrase recurred, "I am very tired," and upon the phrase the
letter broke off.
Dewes could imagine Linforth falling forward with his head upon his
hands, his eyes heavy with sleep, while from without the tent the patient
Chiltis watched until he slept.
"How did it happen?" he asked.
"They cast a noose over his head," replied the Diwan, "dragged him from
the tent and stabbed him."
Dewes nodded and turned to Luffe.
"These letters and things must go home to his wife. It's hard on her,
with a boy only a few months old."
"A boy?" said Luffe, rousing himself from his thoughts. "Oh! there's a
boy? I had not noticed that. I wonder how far the road will have gone
when he comes out." There was no doubt in Luffe's mind, at all events, as
to the boy's destiny. He turned to the Diwan.
"Tell Wafadar Nazim that I will open the gates of this fort and march
down to British territory after he has made submission," he said.
The Diwan smiled in a melancholy way. He had done his best, but the
British were, of course, all mad. He bowed himself out of the room and
stalked through the alleys to the gates.
"Wafadar Nazim must be very sure of victory," said Luffe. "He would
hardly have given us that unfinished letter had he a fear we should
escape him in the end."
"He could not read what was written," said Dewes.
"But he could fear what was written," replied Luffe.
As he walked across the courtyard he heard the crack of a rifle. The
sound came from across the river. The truce was over, the siege was
already renewed.