Honour left, it was the time of evening prayer. So I went, after my
usual custom, to the House of God, to await the cry of the Muazzim and
prepare myself for the presence of the Most High by the necessary
ablutions. And as I sat squatted on the edge of the Pool of
Purification, my hands in the cool water, I felt as if naught could
cleanse me from that accursed paper that lay folded in my breast. So I
cried in my heart to the prophet that he should show me a way, and then
in one moment I saw where the error lay. I was arrogating to myself
decisions that should be left to the Almighty. So I did what I do ever
when life and death are at issue; when even the mighty skill of
medicine has to stand on one side and do nothing.
"I took my stylus, and I wrote all over that paper the attributes
of the Most High--His mercy, His truth, His wisdom, His great
loving-kindness. And then, Huzoor, I crushed it into the form of a
bolus, covered it with silver foil, and swallowed it as a pill.
"It hath done me much good. I am now free from anxiety. The decision of
all things rests with the Most Mighty."
THE SALT OF THE EARTH
"The Huzoor is the salt of the earth," said Hoshyari Mull,
submissively. He had been educated, he asserted, at a mission school:
thus the words of Scripture came handy to him. So also did a variety of
other things.
"And you are the biggest scoundrel unhung. I know that, though I can't
find you out--yet," retorted the Boy, almost savagely. He was really a
Boy, a round-faced, fresh-coloured English Boy, though his years
numbered twenty-four, and he was a full-blown Salt Patrol on the Great
Customs Hedge, which, in the 'fifties and 'sixties, still stretched
between the river Indus, as it flows to the Arabian Sea, and the
Mahanuddi river that finds its way to the Bay of Bengal; in other
words, stretched for fifteen hundred miles across the vast continent of
India. It was a strange, weird barrier, this vast hedge of cactus and
thorny acacia, of prickly palms, and still more prickly agaves, that
thrust out their spiked swords boldly from a buckler of spine-set
thicket. It was fully fourteen feet high, and of its width one could
only guess, in passing through the break, every ten miles or so, where
some first-class road claimed a long passage-way through it. Here it
was that the Patrols had their bungalows, and it was at one of these
that the Boy lived. It was a very important post, because it was, so to
speak, the gateway between the South-West and the North-East; that is
to say, between Bombay and the Central Provinces, and Delhi, Oude,
Bengal. Then, lying as it did, right in the Rajputana Desert, with no
other roadway within twenty miles of it on either side, it needed a
sharp look out all along the line to prevent isolated attempts at
smuggling. But the Boy was quick at his work, and spent all his
youthful energy in preserving the intactness of his Customs Hedge. The
life, however, was as strange and weird as was the barrier. Absolute
loneliness, absolute isolation. For long months together not one word
of your mother-tongue. With luck, a weekly post. No books, no
newspapers, no civilisation of any kind. On the other hand there was
endless sport, unfailing interest for those who loved wild things. And
the Boy had never been one for books. Harrow had left him, one may say,
uncontaminated by them; examinations had passed him by; so, though both
his grandfathers had been high Indian officials, he had drifted
naturally into the Salt Department; the last refuge, not of the
incompetent, but the unlearned. There, to be a man was all that was
asked of you. Without manhood the salt had lost its savour; there was
no possibility of salting it with all the 'ologies in existence.
Hoshyari Mull paused in his deft winding-on of the Huzoor's putties, to
say submissively, "The Salt of the Earth speaks truth." Whereat the Boy
laughed.
He and Hoshyari were at once friends and enemies. The latter was chief
native supervisor, a man of about forty, above middle height, smooth
faced and lissome. There was nothing, the Boy soon found out, which he
could not do; which, in fact, he did not do. An excellent accountant,
he was also an excellent shot. If he knew, or said he knew, every
smuggler of salt between Attock and Cuttack, he also knew every bird
and beast and butterfly by name, and could tell you the habits of all
and sundry. He knew the history of Ancient India by heart, and could
pour forth legend and tale by the yard. He was a magnificent swordsman,
and could teach the Boy, who had learnt singlestick, many cuts and
thrusts.
In short, he was all things to the Boy; without him, life in the Patrol
bungalow would, indeed, have lost its savour. And yet the Boy
mistrusted him, for no reason, except vaguely that he was too clever by
half. Hoshyari, for his part, regarded the Boy as he had regarded no
other master. He had been, as it were, _impresario_ of amusement to
several Huzoors of the ordinary type. This one was different. This one
was as the Angels of God. That is how Hoshyari put it to himself, and,
on the whole, it was a sufficiently comprehensive description, and led
to thoroughly wholesome treatment. Here was no necessity for _itr_ of
rose, no distilled waters of any description, save the dew of heaven,
as it gathered on the gram fields where the black buck lay, or hung
like a diamond on a cactus flower over which some rare butterfly
hovered.
But there was no dew this hot May dawn, when Hoshyari Mull, with the
deftness of an expert, was putting the woollen bandages on the Huzoor's
long legs. It was not his work; but then half the things he did were
not that. "I thought you were a Brahman; but I don't believe you are
even a Hindu," the Boy had said scornfully to him one day, when,
foraging for breakfast in a village, Hoshyari had come back,
triumphantly, with half a dozen eggs in his high caste hand. Hoshyari
had smiled. "I am a Srimali Brahman, Huzoor," he had replied
tolerantly. "The Maharajah of Jaipur salaams to me. There are none here
in the wilderness able to say Hoshyari hath defiled himself."
So he made no ado about this putting on of putties. They were, as he
had proved to the Boy, the best of all protection against snake bite.
With them on you might almost venture on trying to find a gap in the
Great Salt Hedge; without them it was madness; for is not the prickly
pear called in the vernaculars, _naga-pan_, or serpent shelter? And on
these hot May mornings, as well as at noontide, were there not along
the Customs line many pairs of watching, unwinking eyes lying in wait
for the unwary, beside those of the fourteen thousand humans who
patrolled its long length day and night?
Truly there were. As they cantered along it, after passing through the
gateway, many a faint rustle among the colocynth apples at its base
told of death among the flowers. For the Hedge was at its blossom time.
Thorny salmon-coloured capers began it, with here and there a yellow
cactus bloom, or, perhaps, a rare red one, on whose stems the wild
cochineal insect lay like tiny spots of blood. Above it, a wilderness
of these same cactus flowers, big as a tea cup, primrose within, the
white stamens ranged sedately round the whiter star-pistil; then yellow
without, shading to purple. Above them the violet-scented puff-balls of
the thorny mimosa, with every now and again a great lance of aloe
blossom, brown and white, all set with flower bells.
And above all, butterflies, dragon flies, moths, flitting in myriads.
"That is the gap, Huzoor, where the ill-begotten hound of a Poorbeah
managed to smuggle in a back-load of salt last week. He was going to
carry it all the way to Kashi (Benares) he said. As the Salt of the
Earth will see, it is now thoroughly mended," remarked Hoshyari, with a
debonair smile of superiority.
The Boy frowned. There was too much, to his liking, of these petty
discoveries. That long line of Hedge had not been planted, was not kept
up, to prevent the smuggling of a poor back-load of salt. He looked at
Hoshyari with dissatisfaction in his face.
"When are we going to find something worth finding out?" he asked
cavalierly.
"If it is God's will, before long, Huzoor," was the reply, and there
was a curious undertone of certainty about it. "Look, my lord! yonder
are the buck. They are on the move already; we must hasten."
They were off at a gallop, rifles crossed on the saddle bow, over the
hard white _putt_ ground that was interspersed by ribbed drifts of fine
white sand. Hoshyari sate his horse like an Englishman. Indeed, the
Boy, looking at him, used often to think that, barring his colour, he
seemed of kindred race; as, in truth, he was, since the Srimali Brahman
is Aryan of the Aryans. There was, in fact, only that vague distrust to
keep them apart; and that always vanished before sport.
It was a hot day, they followed the buck far, then, the Boy having a
sudden headache from the sun, paused by Hoshyari's advice at some
wandering goatherd's thatch for a hearth-baked cake, a drink of milk,
and a rest till noon should have passed.
A very hot day; and the Boy rested in the shade of _jund_ tree on a
string bed, and slept profoundly.
When he woke, the shadows were lengthening, and Hoshyari, squatted on
the ground beside him, had a new look on his face; a look of anxiety
mingled with satisfaction.
"Huzoor!" he said, "I have news for you! What I have always prophesied,
what I have always told you would happen if the Sirkar were not more
careful, has come to pass. The native troops in Meerut have mutinied;
they have gone to Delhi and murdered the _Sahib-logue_. I rode back
to the depôt while the Salt of the Earth slept, to see all was right,
and--and I heard it at the gate."
"At the gate," echoed the Boy, still stupid with sleep. "Who brought
the news--has the post come in?"
Hoshyari's face was a study. He must break this thing gently to the
Boy, who was a full-blown Salt Patrol, or he would see red, try to kill
and be killed. And that must not be; quite a pang at the very thought
shot through heart and brain, making him realise that this Boy of an
alien race had grown dear to him.
"The post had not come in, Salt of the Earth," he said evasively. "Men
brought it from the South."
"The South," echoed the Boy again, with a relieved yawn; "then it's a
lie. How could they know, if we didn't?"
How? Hoshyari could have answered that question easily; he knew the
strange wordless rapidity with which news travels in India; in Delhi
to-day, in Peshawur to-morrow. A mystery that has passed undiscovered
with the coming of telegraphs and telephones that do it for pennies and
twopences.
Yes! he knew, but his task was to prevent this Angel of God from
putting his life into the hands of men who, at best, were devils; as he
was, himself, at bottom. He knew that also. Most men with brains did.
"It is not a lie, Huzoor," he said, simply. "These men are mutineers
themselves. They are going to join those at Delhi, murdering all the
Sahibs they can on the way."
He had laid his plan while the Salt of the Earth slept, and watched the
effect of his words upon the Boy narrowly; hoping that even the defence
of a post might take second place before the duty of giving a warning--
and that would mean being out of danger--for the time.
The Boy's face blanched. He had been away to the nearest station, fifty
miles off, for a three days' holiday at Christmas, and the remembrance
of a laughing girl with blue eyes came back to him now with a rush.
Hoshyari saw his chance, and went on----
"The plans were laid for later on, Huzoor, so they are taken by
surprise themselves; yet it gives them advantage also, since everywhere
the Sahibs are taken by surprise also; if only they had been prepared
it might be different."
The cunning told; the Boy's face hardened into thought. Fifty miles on,
along the road. He might do it.
"When did they come in? I suppose they forced the guard," he added, his
voice almost breaking in its resentment.
"About noon, Huzoor," came the wily tones. "They were wearied out."
So much the better; they would not start, likely, till just before dawn
next day. If he could give warning. He rose and looked round for his
horse.
Hoshyari rose also. "The Salt of the Earth cannot ride through the
gate," he said--the time for dissuasion had come now. "He will only be
killed in the attempt."
The Boy rounded on him instantly. "Didn't I always tell you you were
the greatest scoundrel unhung? Now I've found you out, you skunk!"
"Has this slave not always said the Huzoor was as the Salt of the
Earth," came the instant rapid reply. "My lord, listen! This is the
Hand of Fate. Wise men bow to it. You are here, safe, alone, none know
of you. Come with this slave and he will save you ..."
"D--n you, you scoundrel," shouted the Boy blindly, and fumbled for the
stirrups.
"Huzoor! that is useless!" came Hoshyari's voice, quiet now; all
entreaty gone. In its place almost command. "You cannot force the
barrier. Where we had one man, they have ten."
"I will try," muttered the Boy, doggedly. "I can but try."
"The Huzoor can do better," said Hoshyari. "He can come with me. I know
a way."
Even in his excitement the full meaning of this came home to the Boy.
"You know?" he echoed under his breath, "didn't I always say you were
the greatest scoundrel unhung?"
"And the Huzoor is the Salt of the Earth," came the unfailing reply.
The rapid Indian dusk was falling as they made their way on foot to a
village which, though almost exactly opposite the barrier, still lay
the orthodox half mile from the Hedge, within which, by rule of the
Salt Department, no building might be erected. The Boy was now in
native dress, for Hoshyari had utilised the interval of time in
arranging for the former's midnight ride of warning.
In reporting on these arrangements, he had given scope to his
imagination as to their difficulty. In reality, he had only had to ride
up to the barrier, give the password, and enter, to be welcomed as one
of the party within. Whether he was at heart one of them, or whether,
all things considered, his cleverness had come to the conclusion that
it was best for his purpose to fall in with their mood for the time
being, is uncertain; but that purpose was clear, namely, to get the Boy
out of the danger zone if he could. So he raised no objection to the
looting of the Salt Patrol's bungalow--the little Salt Patrol who,
doubtless, had run away into the jungle in the hope of escape, being
but a mere boy--but the office must be let alone. There must be no
tampering with books and registers, since he, Hoshyari Mull, Srimali
Brahman, whose father--God rest him--had been Prime Minister to a
Prince, was accountable for them to the powers that be--be they John
Company or the Badshah. Therefore the doors must be locked and the keys
given to him. And that Kathyawar mare in the stable was his; so that
was an end of it. Whoever laid hands on the beast would rue the deed.
But all this was past: now he had to get the Boy through the Hedge,
incredible though it seemed. "The furthermost house in the village is
mine, Huzoor," said Hoshyari, gravely. "It is thence that, in disguise,
I penetrate the evil designs of the smugglers."
The Boy ground his teeth, and was silent. He knew what he would say;
but this was not the time to say it; this was the time to warn his
countrymen.
They found the tiny hamlet deserted; as all knew, half India fled
before the mutineers.
"It is as well," remarked Hoshyari, hardily, "since they might talk,
though none know of the secret save this slave and Suchet Singh, the
waiting--house keeper."
But as they came upon what was called the waiting-house, since here
salt that arrived without proper papers, or that failed to pay the
toll, was held up, they found Suchet Singh the Sikh lying dead at his
post. The Boy ground his teeth again. So would he be lying but for his
desire not only to die, but to do.
"Look sharp, will you," he said, roughly, to his companion, "we lose
time. The moon will be up ere long."
Hoshyari led the way across a yard; an ordinary village house yard with
a row of three or four native corn granaries standing against one wall.
These are huge basketwork erections, each taller than a man, in shape
not unlike a big pickle bottle, fixed to the ground and carefully
plastered over with mud and cow dung.
"They are all full," said Hoshyari, with a curious smile, as he passed
one; and, sure enough, as he lifted the little sliding door at the
bottom, a tiny moraine of wheat fell forward in the half light. But the
next instant, with a dexterous twist of his hand, the whole _kothe_
slid round as on a pivot, disclosing a round well-like hole.
"We shall need a light," said Hoshyari in a matter-of-fact tone, and
produced a tinder box and a candle from a niche at his feet.
Once again the Boy ground his teeth. So this was the way, was it? and
all the time this biggest scoundrel that ever went unhung was
discovering miserable back-loads of smuggling! Words had failed him
long since; now thought failed him also; he plodded on, his head bent,
down the narrow subterranean passage that scarcely showed in the
flickering candle light.
But here, surely, there was less gloom and more room. He stood upright
and glanced above him. A star showed through a tangle of branches.
"We are under the Great Hedge, Huzoor," said Hoshyari, deferentially,
in answer to his look. "The passage needed air, and we also required to
have a store closer at hand." He held up the light, and it fell faintly
on rows on rows of sacks of salt ranged round a central space. "It is
quite light here in the daytime, Huzoor," he went on cheerfully.
"Sometimes the sun actually shines in; and the snakes do not fall down
now that we have put a net across the opening."
So this was one of the things concealed in the great width of the
Hedge. Who would have dreamt of it? Who _could_ have dreamt it?
Something of the comicality of the whole affair was beginning to filter
into the Boy's brain; he caught himself wondering where the passage
ended--under his bed, maybe!
It was almost as bad. "We are there, Huzoor," said Hoshyari, mounting
some steep steps, and then swung a panel blocking the passage
backwards. It had shelves on it, and books. He heard the turning of a
key, he followed his leader, and the next minute stood in the growing
light which presages a rising moon, inside the office room, looking
stupidly at what lay behind him; only a cupboard in the mud wall where
the ledgers were kept.
Dazed as he was, he yet realised partly how it was done. The wall must
be thicker than it seemed--twice, three times, perhaps four times as
thick--but who would have dreamed! And for the rest? He looked at
Hoshyari defiantly--the latter answered in words.
"It was quite easy, Huzoor," he replied, lightly. "We could always
replace salt that was taken from the Government storehouse next door
with salt from our storehouse yonder. And that paid nothing."
The Boy gave a little gasp. But there was no time for that sort of
thing now. The Kathyawar mare was waiting, the moon would be up in ten
minutes or so, and he must be beyond sight of the chattering devils he
could hear outside before them; but perhaps--yes! perhaps he might be
able to come back--to come back and give these fellows their deserts.
"I'll pay you out yet--you're the greatest scoundrel unhung," he said,
thickly, as Hoshyari held the stirrup for him.
"And the Huzoor is the Salt of the Earth," came the urbane reply.
After that there was silence on the far side of the office for five
minutes--for ten minutes. Then, faint and far, only to be heard of an
anxious listener, came the sound of a horse's hoofs as it was let into
its stride.
The Huzoor had got through the picket, and if he only remembered
instructions, might be considered safe for those fifty miles across
country. Hoshyari drew a breath of relief, shut the door, and lay down
placidly to sleep, feeling he had done his best. It is true he had sent
the Angel of God on a wild goose chase; for, briefly, the mutineers had
gone on straight that morning, only leaving a strong guard at the gate
to keep it until the second body of rebels should come in next day.
So by this time, doubtless, the fate of Englishmen--aye, and every
Englishwoman, too, on the route to Delhi must have been settled. But
the ride would keep the Salt of the Earth out of danger, since it
prevented him from doing rash things; which otherwise he was sure to
have done; for what was the use of losing one's life in fighting two to
a hundred; still less if it were only one. And these things were on the
knees of the Gods. No! there was no use, especially when the store
ammunition was in the hands of the enemy and you had expended your
pouch full on black buck. The Huzoor was best away. With luck he would
only find the cold ashes of outbreak. The hurricane of revolt would
have spent itself, for, after all, it was only the soldiers who would
mutiny. The rabble in the towns might follow suit; but there was safety
yet in the country.
So he fell asleep.
When he woke it was broad daylight. Daylight? Why, it must be nigh on
noon. He stepped to the door and looked through the panes. Aye! the
sentry in the verandah was eating his bread. And the other detachment
had come in. The courtyard was crowded with men. So much the better,
for they would only rest during the heat of the day, and go on at
sundown. Thus there would be peace before the Salt of the Earth could
possibly return--if he did return; but once away from his post he
would, most likely, and wisely, make for security to the north.
Meanwhile, it was time for him to think of himself. There was gold in
the safe yonder, and it would be folly to leave it to new masters who
had no more right to it than he. He went over to it, set the iron door
open and began to gather together what he found.
The room was very still, but on the one side came the clamour of the
newly-arrived rebels. He gave one last glance at them through the
closed door, then slipped into the verandah on the other side. Then he
paused before a dusty swaying figure that, throwing up its arms as it
saw him, came at him like a wild beast. It was a time for calm--with
those men in the courtyard, a time of calm for both!
He stood back a step and said, quietly, "So you have returned--Salt of
the Earth."
The Boy seemed for an instant dazed, then a loud, reckless laugh rang
out, "Come back! Yes! I've come back to kill you, you d--d scoundrel.
I've come back as I said I'd come."
"I saved the Huzoor's life," interrupted Hoshyari, quietly, "and I'll
save it again, if he will not speak so loud; the sentry will hear, and
then----"
"Let him hear--I'll have time to kill you first," went on the Boy,
blindly; for all that he lowered his voice; the instinct of belief in
Hoshyari's wisdom was strong.
"The Huzoor would not have time," whispered the latter, blandly. "I am
no fool at wrestling, as he knows; and he knows also that I tried to
save him."
There was a sudden unexpected appeal in the tone which surprised even
the man himself. He could have cried over this Angel of God who refused
to be saved.
The Boy looked at him with dry hot eyes; there were no tears there--he
had seen too many horrors for that. And he had ridden all night, all
day, till the Kathyawar mare had dropped with him; then he had stumbled
on as best he might, intent on revenge. And now the sight of Hoshyari
was as the sight of a friend's face: it brought back the memory of so
many jolly times they had had together. And what he said was true: the
man had tried to save him.
He had to bolster up his anger. "It--it's the other thing you've got to
answer for, you--you thief."
Hoshyari's eyes gleamed. "Don't call me that again, Huzoor. I am no
thief. I was only--cleverer than other folk."
"I'll call you it ten times over if I choose. Thief! mean, miserable,
petty thief."
There was something more savage in the whispered quarrel than if the
two had been shouting at each other, and Hoshyari's gasp of rage fell
on absolute silence, as, breathing hard, they looked at each other.
Then the Boy passed his hand wearily over his forehead. "No!" he said.
"I can't--you're right--I can't kill you like a dog--we must fight it
out--there are foils or swords somewhere--foils with the buttons
off--where are they?"
His dependence on the elder man showed in his helplessness; he asked as
a child might have asked.
There was almost a sob in his throat, but the voice which answered was
firm.
"They are on the wall, Huzoor; but we cannot fight here; the sentry
would hear, and----"
"D--n the sentry," said the Boy again, helplessly. "What can we do?"
Hoshyari thought for a moment. "There is light enough in the storehouse
under the Great Hedge----" he began.
The Boy leapt up, fire in his eyes. "By God in heaven, it shall be
there--and, mind you, it's to the death, you cursed smuggler."