When John Raby, waking at Belle's touch to find the floods had come,
remarked that the people would be taken by surprise, he said truly.
The corollary he drew from this premise--that he was to be
congratulated on good luck--was not so sure. For there are times when
the unforeseen acts as a spur to those who, when prepared, often lack
the courage of action. And this was the case with a large body of the
malcontents whom Shunker Dâs, aided of late by his lieutenant Râm Lâl,
had been diligently instructing in the necessity for resistance at the
proper time. But a vague formula of this sort is a very different
thing in the eyes of the stolid law-abiding peasant, from the
resolution that to-day, this hour, this minute, they had to set aside
their inherited endurance, their ancestral calm, and fight. So, had
the floods come in due course and after due warning, it is more than
probable that even Râm Lâl's reckless desire for revenge would have
failed to excite the people to the organised attack on the new dam
towards which all Shunker's machinations had tended, and in which he
saw at least temporary ruin to his enemy's plans. Fate, however,
provided the element of surprise, and, to these slow-brained rebels,
seemed to leave no choice beyond instant revolt or instant submission.
Aided by Râm Lâl's envoys the news that the river was rising travelled
fast; down the depression of cultivated land along which--given a high
flood-mark--the water might be expected: nor was the assertion wanting
that such a flood-mark had already been reached during the past two
days, and its benefits neutralised by Raby _sahib's_ unholy
contrivance. By dawn bands of the restless had begun to drift about
from village to village, eager to discuss the position, and by degrees
gaining a certain coherence of intention. Even those who hung back
from the idea of active interference joining the crowd out of
curiosity and so increasing the quantity of human tinder ready for
ignition by the smallest spark. Before noon Khân Mahomed Lateef Khân,
looking out from his ruined tower, saw a cloud of dust beyond his bare
brown fields and ere long was in parley with a recruiting band.
"Not I," swore the old man fiercely; "these are not days for honest
blows. My son--God smite those who smote him!--could tell you so much;
and his son must learn his father's wisdom. Ye are fools! Let every
one of you give one rupee after the manner of a wedding, and go
purchase the slithering lies of a pleader. Then may ye have justice in
the _sahibs'_ courts; not otherwise. Besides, look ye, Shunker is in
this, and his jackal Râmu; and by the twelve Imaums I hate them worse
than Raby _sahib!_"
"Râm Lâl hath cause," retorted a villainous-looking goldsmith, hailing
from the village where Belle had been pelted by the children. "We
Hindus, Khân _sahib_, are peace-lovers till they touch our women."
The old Mussulman burst into a scornful laugh. "Best not chatter thus
to me, Gurdit! _Inshallah_; there have been times when honest blows
with a good sword have brought the faithful many a Hindu _peri!_ But I
quarrel not, so go your way, fools, like sheep to slaughter if so your
wisdom teaches. I bide at home."
"Nay but, Khân _sahib_," expostulated that very Peru with whom Shunker
had begun his work, "we go not to, or for slaughter. We mean to
petition first to Marsden _sahib_, who comes to-day; so the Pathan
hath given out."
"What!" interrupted the Khân with a frown. "He hath returned! Then go
ye doubly to slaughter, for there is one who dallies not with words.
He knows how to smite, and if it comes to blows I know which side good
swords--But there! I bide at home."
Nor, despite their urgent importunities, would he consent even to join
those who favoured a petition. No doubt the racial disinclination to
be mixed up with idolaters had something to do with the refusal;
beyond this there was a stronger desire to give no help to Shunker;
and stronger than all was that liking for sheer pluck which makes a
native regiment, recruited from the martial races and led by
Englishmen it trusts, well nigh the perfection of a warlike weapon.
Many records bear witness to this fact, none more so than the story of
Ahmad Kheyl, when, but for an Englishman's voice and the steady
response of Indian soldiers, the tale might have been writ "disaster"
instead of "victory." Perhaps some of the three thousand Ghazies who
on that day dashed like an avalanche down the hill-side on to the thin
brown line guarding a mistaken retreat of red-coats may have expected
colour to side with colour. If so they paid dearly for their error. It
is pluck with pluck; and the words "_Retreat be damned--stand fast,
men!_" attributed rightly or wrongly to an Englishman not mentioned in
despatches, were sufficient to weld two nationalities into a wall
which broke the force of one of the most desperate charges ever made.
At least so runs the story,--out of despatches.
Khân Mahomed Lateef Khân, then, retreated growling to his tumbledown
roof, and betook himself inconsequently to polishing up his sword.
Half an hour afterwards, however, he suddenly bade old Fâtma bring him
his company raiment with the medals and clasps of his dead sons sewn
on it. Then he said a brief farewell to the child, left the women
without a word, and went over to borrow the pink-nosed pony of the
pleader's father, who, being the Government accountant, was of course
discreetly at home.
"Why didst not make thy son take up the case without payment?" asked
the old man wrathfully, as his neighbour held the stirrup for him to
mount. "Then should I not have had to go in mine old age and strive
for peace,--mark you, for peace!"
But as he rode off, the old sword clattered merrily about his old
legs, and he smiled, thinking of the gift given when the light of his
eyes lay sick in the _mem's_ arms.
"The sword is for her and hers, according to my oath," he said to
himself. "God knows it may be peace; I will do naught to hinder it;
but with Marsden _sahib_--_Allah Akbar!_ at least they do not worship
stocks and stones like these pigs."
So behind the gathering cloud of witnesses, half hidden in the
gathering dust, came the pink-nosed pony ready for peace or war. The
odds, either for one or the other, flickered up and down a dozen times
as village after village sent or held back its contingent. Finally it
flared up conclusively with the advent of Râmu at the head of his
particular villains, armed not only with sticks and stones, but with
picks and shovels. Like a spark among tinder the suggestion flamed
through the mass,--why waste time in words when, without a blow,
except at solid earth, they could bring the floods into their own
channel, since Afzul and his gang had declared in favour of the
people? So said Râmu, and the peasants were only too ready to believe
him, seeing that picks and shovels were more to their minds than
blows. Thus, while the trio of aliens to whom that low curve of
earthwork meant so much, were talking and laughing over their lunch,
the dam was being assailed by a swarm of men eager for its
destruction. Almost at the same time the Khân _sahib_, spurring the
pink-nosed pony to the overseer's hut, found Afzul asleep, or
pretending to sleep. Perhaps the hint of bribery was true; perhaps the
Pathan thought a crisis was needed; at all events he was too crafty to
show his hand to his stern old patron, and set off ostensibly to give
the alarm at the house and summon his gang, who by a curious
coincidence happened to be employed half a mile or so further up the
river. Not till he saw his messenger reach the verandah did the Khân
seek the scene of action. Picks and shovels indeed! Well! these
ploughmen had a right to use such weapons, and he would stand by and
see fair play.
How Afzul fulfilled his mission has already been told; also the result
of John Raby's appeal for help to Philip Marsden. To say that the
former could not believe his eyes, when, on first turning out of the
garden, he caught sight of the crowd gathered on the dam, is but a
feeble description of the absolutely incredulous wrath which
overpowered him. He had been prepared for opposition, perhaps even for
attack, when such attack was reasonable. But that these fools, these
madmen, should propose to cut a channel with the full weight of a
flood on the dam was inconceivable. As he ran back for his revolver, a
savage joy at the danger to the workers themselves merged itself with
rage at the possible ruin of his labour, and a fierce determination by
words, warnings, and threats to avert the worst. They could not be
such fools, such insensate idiots! As he passed the workmen's huts on
his return, he shouted to Afzul, and getting no reply ran on with a
curse at all traitors. He was alone against them all, but despite them
all he would prevail. As he neared the crowd, bare-headed, revolver in
hand, he felt a wild desire to fire without a word and kill some one,
no matter whom. The suspicion, however, that this attack could not
proceed from anything but revenge had grown upon him, and became
conviction as he saw that the largest portion of his enemies were of
the ruck; men who never did a hand's turn, and who even now stood by,
applauding, while others plied spade and mattock. In the latter, in
their stolid wisdom and experience, lay his best chance, and he
slipped the revolver to his pocket instantly. "Stop, you fools!" he
shouted, "stop! Peru! Gunga; where are your wits? The flood,--the
flood is too strong." Then, recognising the old Khân, he appealed
instinctively to him for support. "Stop them, Khân _sahib!_ you are
old and wise; tell them it is madness!"
As he spoke, reaching the growing gap, he leapt down into it and
wrested a spade from the man nearest to him. It was yielded almost
without resistance, but a murmur ran through the bystanders, and the
workers dug faster.
"Jodha! Boota! Dhurma!" rose John's voice again, singling out the men
he knew to be cultivators. "This is folly! tell them it is folly, Khân
_sahib!_"
"I know not," answered the other moodily; "'tis shovel, not
sword-work, and they have a right to the water--before God, _sahib_,
they have a right to so much!"
"Before God, they will have more than they want," interrupted that
eager tone; and something in its intelligent decision arrested one or
two of the older workers. They looked round at the swirling waste of
the river and hesitated.
"Tis but his craft," cried Râmu excitedly, showing himself for the
first time; "I know Raby well. On! On, my brothers! He has wiles for
men as well as for women!"
The revolver came out of John Raby's pocket again swiftly, but an
ominous surge together of the crowd showed him that it must be a last
resource when all else had failed; and now there were steps behind him
coming down the embankment hard and fast. The next instant Philip's
voice with the ring of accustomed command in it came sharp. "Listen!
The first of you who puts spade to ground, God save his soul from
damnation!"
The native is essentially dramatic. The very turn of his speech, where
the imperative remains intact even when it has filtered through other
lips, shows him to be so; and Philip Marsden, with the intimate
knowledge of years, counted not unwisely on this characteristic for
effect. The surprise, the appearance of one who in a vague way they
considered of the right sort, the certainty that the voice they heard
meant what it said, produced a general pause among the diggers; a
pause during which Mahomed Lateef drew his sword gently from the
scabbard.
"Listen again!" cried Philip. "Put down those spades and you shall
have justice. I promise it."
But even as he spoke John Raby gave a quick excited cry. "Back!
Marsden, back! the dam is cracking! Back, for God's sake! It is too
late! Let the fools be!"
He sprang up the gap, and as he did so a man sprang after him. It was
Râmu, ready for the deed he had come to do, fearful lest by this
unexpected flight his prey might escape him. The glance of a knife, a
cry, more of surprise than pain, and John Raby, twisting round in a
last desire to get at his assassin, overbalanced and fell headlong
down into the ditch. The next instant, before Philip's revolver could
single out the criminal, the old Khân's sword swirled above the high
turban.
"_Allah-i-Hukk! Allah-i-Akbar!_" (God is Right and Might.) The fervour
of youth rang in the familiar war-shout, and the memory of youth must
have nerved the hand, for Râmu's head heeled over on his shoulder in
ghastly fashion as he doubled up beneath the force of the blow. But
ere he fell the ground beneath him split as if for a grave, and with a
hiss of water pouring through the cracks the loosened soil gave way on
all sides. Philip, bounding down to reach his fallen friend, felt a
sudden dizziness as the solid earth swirled round, split up, broke
into islands. Then, with an awful swiftness, while the crowd fought
frantically for a crumbling foothold, the dam, like a child's
sand-castle before an incoming wave, broadened, sank, melted,
disappeared, leaving nothing but a sheet of water racing madly to find
its old haunts.
Then it was, when the scene in which all her life seemed bound up
disappeared bodily from before her eyes, that Belle Raby threw up her
hands and forgot the whole world for a time.
Philip, strong swimmer as he was, struggled hard with the underdraw
ere he rose to the surface, shook the mud and water from his
eyes, and looked about him. Many a wretch swept past him shrieking
for aid, but he searched for something which, even amid his own
danger, he could not think of without a curse. Once, twice, thrice, he
dived after a hint, a hope; then, coming on Mahomed Lateef, drifting
half-unconsciously down stream, he gave up the useless search and,
buoying the old man's head against his shoulder, struck out for the
back eddy. He was so spent when he reached the shore, that he could
with difficulty drag his burden to the dry warm sand and sink down
beside it. The whole incident had passed so rapidly that it seemed but
an instant since he had been running down the embankment, eager to be
in time. And he had been in time for what? Suddenly he remembered
Belle and staggered to his feet. The storm was darker than ever and
aided by the afternoon shadows wrapped everything in a dim twilight
which hid all save the immediate foreground. Still he could see from
the ebb of the flood in front of him that the great mass of upheld
water must have surged first in a forward direction, and then recoiled
to find the lower levels which lay at right angles. Thus it seemed
probable that many of those swept away in the great rush might have
been left high and dry a quarter of a mile or so lower down; and in
this case nothing was more likely than a further attack on the house,
for once blood has been shed,--and that some of those engaged must
have lost their lives seemed certain--even the proverbially placid
peasantry of India loses its head. Belle, therefore, must be found,
not merely to tell her of the calamity, but to secure her safety; the
instant after this thought flashed upon him, Philip Marsden was making
his way to the house, stumbling as he ran through heavy sand and in
the teeth of a choking dust-storm. Men, even strong men, have in such
a storm lost their way and been smothered to death as they sought
shelter in some hollow, but Philip was too set on his purpose to think
of pausing.
"Belle! Belle!" he cried as he ran up the verandah-steps and burst
into the drawing-room. She was not there. "Belle! Belle! I want you."
But there was no reply. The absence of servants, the deserted
verandah, did not surprise him; news flies fast among the people. But
Belle? was it possible she too had ventured out, perhaps along the dam
itself? The very thought turned him sick with fear, and he dashed into
her room calling on her again and again. The thousand and one delicate
tokens of her presence hit him hard by contrast with the idea of her
out there alone, perhaps swirling down that awful stream with which it
seemed to him he was still struggling.
"Belle! Belle!" He was out of the house once more, through the garden,
down by the huts. Was it a year, or a minute ago, that he had passed
that way, running, as now, to be in time? Or were past and present
nothing but a bad dream? One of those endless nights from some unknown
horror which survive a thousand checks, and go on and on despite
perpetual escape? No, it was not a dream! The last time there had been
a low curve of earth before him where now nothing showed save a dim
yellow flood sliding so smoothly that it seemed to have been sliding
there since time began. Each step bringing him nearer to it brought
him nearer also to despair. Then, just as he had given up hope, on the
very brink, so close that one clenched hand hung over the water, he
found her lying as she had fallen; found her none too soon, for even
as he stooped to raise her, another few inches of loosened soil
undermined by the current fell with a dull splash, and he realised
that ere long the river would have turned her forgetfulness to death.
Lifting her as best he could in his arms, he paused an instant to
consider what had best be done. One thing was certain, neither house
nor hut was safe until time showed the temper of the survivors. Yet
help and remedies of some sort he must have, and shelter too from
storm and night. He thought of Kirpo, but decided not to trust her. A
lucky decision, since to seek her would have been but waste of time,
as, recognising her husband among the rioters, she had fled into the
jungle with her child. The servants might be found if fear had not
dispersed them, but where in the meantime was he to leave Belle? At
last his thoughts returned to the old Khân. He was faithful, and if he
had recovered might at least keep watch while Philip sought other
help. Besides, not far from where he had left the old man, Philip had
noticed a reed shanty built against the abutment of the dam, and so
hidden from the sight of all save those coming from that side. He
determined therefore to carry Belle thither, and if he could find
Mahomed Lateef to leave her in his charge. This was no easy task, for
Belle, unconscious as she was, proved an awkward burden over such a
rough road, and it was a great relief to be able to lay her down at
last in comparative shelter and assure himself that she was still
alive; for, as he had struggled on, the dead weight in his arms had
filled him with apprehension. The next thing was to find the Khân.
Here fate proved kind, and within a few yards of the shanty Philip
came upon him, battling against the wind yet finding breath for a
running fire of curses on all idolaters. To cut short his gratitude
and explain what was wanted took but a moment; the next saw Philip
hurrying towards the house again, since, if the rioters returned, time
might run short. It did, despite his hurry, so that after vainly
searching for the servants, he was still rummaging for more ammunition
and (most potent weapon of all) for money, when the sound of advancing
voices warned him to be off. Thanks to the almost blinding dust there
was little fear of being seen in his retreat; yet when, on reaching
the shanty, he found Belle still quite unconscious, he recognised that
the most difficult part of his task had yet to come. He had brought
back a few comforts snatched up hastily as he made his escape, and now
set to work to force a few drops of brandy down her throat, wrap her
in warmer garments, and chafe her cold hands and feet. To do so he had
to unclasp the fingers of her right hand by force and withdraw
something she held in it. This, without giving it a glance, he slipped
into the breast-pocket of his coat and so continued his efforts. After
a time her colour became less deathlike: she moaned once or twice,
turning her head aside as if to escape from some distasteful sight;
but beyond this there was no change, and the hope of her recovering
the shock sufficiently to aid in her own escape seemed very slender.
Nor did Philip wonder at her collapse when he thought of what it must
have been for her to stand by helpless, and see those who had left her
in anger swept away into the unforgiveness of death.
"_Huzoor_" whispered the old Khân, who in deference to inviolable
custom had been sitting with averted face in the doorway, where,
shivering from the chill of the wind through his wet clothes he had
been considering the position carefully, "We must get out of this. To
sit here will have us crippled with ague by dawn. There is my pony; I
will go fetch it from the huts. Perchance they may not see me;
perchance they would not touch me if they did, for Râmu--the man I
killed, _Huzoor_--hath no blood-kin in these parts, and death cools
friendship. Besides, their wrath will be only against white faces.
When I am gone ten minutes, lift the _mem_, and make for the dip in
the south road by the _nullah_. If all goes well, you will hear hoofs
ere long. But if these fools are set on blood, make your way as best
you can due south. Eight miles, more or less, keeping the left bank
till you see a square-towered house. Give this to the women; they will
obey it."
He took the talisman signet from his thumb, and slipping it into
Philip's hand left the hut. The next ten minutes seemed interminable;
and the relief of action when it came was great. This time Belle
proved an easier burden, when wrapped closely in a shawl and lifted
leisurely. Once amongst the tall tiger-grass in the _nullah_ he rested
his knee against a high tussock and still holding her in his arms
waited anxiously, for he was now on the direct route to the house and
liable to come across a straggling rioter at any moment. The risk,
however, had to be run, as the only available bridge over a cut from
the river lay a few yards further on. Sheltered by the high grass,
Philip's eyes were practically useless to him, and the pony's hoofs
being deadened by the sand, it needed a low whistle from the Khân to
bring him out on to the road beside the pink-nosed pony.
"Give me her here, across the pummel, _Huzoor_," said the old man
briefly. "Your legs are younger than mine, and time is precious.
So, gently! _Mashallah!_ I have seen women carried thus before
this!--women who gave the rider more trouble than she is like to do.
Now, if you are ready, _Huzoor_; for though 'tis dark enough there
will be a blaze ere long. Those low-caste, pig-leather-working dogs
had got to the _sahib's_ brandy-bottles, and you know what that
means."
"Did they try to stop you?" asked Philip, when after crossing the
bridge in silent anxiety they struck into the comparative safety of
the jungle.
The old man grunted softly, his anger tempered by the necessity for
caution. "By the twelve Imaums they said I was afraid!--_I_, Mahomed
Lateef Syyed!--that I was sneaking away! And I,--I never even called
them pigs."
Despite his anxiety Philip could not resist a smile, partly of
confidence, for no better proof of the Khân's resolution to bring
Belle safely out of trouble could have been found than this
unparalleled meekness. So they went on swiftly. Philip at the
bridle-rein, the old Khân supporting Belle partly on his arm, partly
by a dexterous arrangement of his scabbard, over which the old man
chuckled as if in contented reminiscence of bygone days. "'Tis as I
said, _Huzoor_," he remarked pointing to a red flush rising behind
them. "That is the bungalow roof. 'Tis well she is out of it so far."
Philip thinking of all the horrors of the past few hours, and
contrasting them with his memories of Belle in her pretty home,
clenched his hands, wishing _he_ were nearer. Perhaps the Khân's
sympathy saw to his thought, for the old man went on in aggrieved
tones, "And we get no good from it. Not even an honest set-to when the
women are safe; for to-morrow the _tâhseeldar_[9] and the police will
spoil sport. Besides, these shovel-diggers will be afraid of their own
actions by dawn! Even now we are safe; safe as if we are driving down
the watered road of a cantonment, our only care to convey this poor
soul to woman's hands. _Inshallah!_ The women have the best of it in
your reign, _Huzoor!_"
"Well! some one will have to answer for the day's work," replied
Philip grimly.
"Some _one_. Ay, that is to-day's law, and even of that I know not,"
grumbled the Khân. "For look you, Râmu and none else killed the
_sahib_, and I killed Râmu, so that is done. The rest were peaceable
enough, God knows, and you hang not for the bursting of _bunds_ (dams)
and burning of bungalows. There is no justice nowadays!"
It was past midnight ere the pony pulled up of its own accord at a
ruinous door, and the owner with mighty shouts and much impatient
rattling of his sword-hilt on the panels roused the inmates.
"Come forth, Fâtma," he cried to the white-sheeted form muttering
faint excuses which appeared at length. "Heed not the stranger
to-night,--Haiyât also. He is my brother, and this, look you, is my
sister. We will carry her within to the women's room, and ye must see
to her as women should, and bring us word of her state speedily. 'Tis
best so, _Huzoor_; Fâtma is learned in woman's lore and hath simples.
She will tell us if there be hurts or danger. For to-night the _mem_
had best stay here, since there is nought to be done save rest."
"Not so, Khân _sahib_; I must return and see after--"
The old Mussulman raised his right hand solemnly. "Let the dead rest
in peace also for tonight, _Huzoor_. I saw Raby _sahib_ fall, and I
know how dead clay toucheth the earth to which it returns. The knife
struck home, _Huzoor_; right through the heart! Lo, it was Kismet!
Raby _sahib_ is dead, but his slayer is dead also, so we, his
comrades, may rest awhile till dawn comes."
"I will wait till dawn," said Philip, "and hear what the women say."
So the Khân disposed himself to sleep with the calm of an old
campaigner, and Philip sat out in the warm night air waiting for the
dawn. The storm had ended in weak-minded thunder and a few spots of
dry rain, which had nevertheless left a freshness behind them. Here
and there through the parting drifts of cloud and dust the stars
twinkled brightly, making Philip's thoughts turn to a future more
peaceful than past or present. He drove the erring fancies back to
realities with a certain scorn of himself, but they broke from control
again and again with the insistence which truth brings to bear on
conventionalities. It was true that by and by time would heal the
present trouble; it was true that by and by regrets would soften.
There was no hurry, no thought but pity and sorrow for what was, and
yet he started from a vision of peace to find old Fâtma by his side.
The Khân had long since been snoring placidly, so the old matron's
eyes could look into Philip's with straightforward confidence.
"The _mem_ will do for now, _Huzoor_. There is no danger, none at all.
But by and by, in the months to come, may God save from harm the child
that will be born!"
He rose to his feet white to the very lips. Just Heaven! Was this poor
Belle's last legacy!