As soon as Bathurst began to remove the covering of the hole, a voice
came from below.
“Is that you, Bathurst?”
“All right, Doctor.”
“Heaven be praised! You are back sooner than I expected, by a long way.
I heard voices talking, so I doubted whether it was you.”
“The ladder is still there, I suppose, Doctor?”
“Yes; it is just as you got off it. What are you going to do about the
hole?”
“Rujub is here; he will cover it up after me.”
“Then you were right,” the Doctor said, as Bathurst stepped down beside
him; “and you found the juggler really waiting for you?”
“At the bungalow, Doctor, as I expected.”
“And what have you done? You can hardly have seen Por Sing; it is not
much over an hour since you left.”
“I have seen him, Doctor; and what is more, he has pledged his word for
our safety.”
“Thank God for that, lad; it is more than I expected. This will be news
indeed for the poor women. And do you think he will be strong enough to
keep his pledge?”
“I think so; he asked me to wait until tomorrow afternoon before going
out with a flag of truce, and said that by that time he would get the
other Zemindars to stand by him, and would make terms whether the Sepoys
liked it or not.”
“Well, you shall tell us all about it afterwards, Bathurst; let us take
the news in to them at once; it is long since they had good tidings
of any kind; it would be cruel to keep them in suspense, even for five
minutes.”
There was no noisy outburst of joy when the news was told. Three weeks
before it would have been received with the liveliest satisfaction, but
now the bitterness of death was well nigh past; half the children lay
in their graves in the garden, scarce one of the ladies but had lost
husband or child, and while women murmured “Thank God!” as they clasped
their children to them, the tears ran down as they thought how different
it would have been had the news come sooner. The men, although equally
quiet, yet showed more outward satisfaction than the women. Warm grasps
of the hands were exchanged by those who had fought side by side
during these terrible days, and a load seemed lifted at once off their
shoulders.
Bathurst stayed but a moment in the room after this news was told, but
went in with Dr. Wade to the Major, and reported to him in full the
conversation that had taken place between himself and Por Sing.
“I think you are right, Bathurst; if the Oude men hold together, the
Sepoys will scarcely risk a breach with them. Whether he will be able to
secure our safety afterwards is another thing.”
“I quite see that, Major; but it seems to me that we have no option but
to accept his offer and hope for the best.”
“That is it,” the Doctor agreed. “It is certain death if we don’t
surrender; there is a chance that he will be able to protect us if we
do. At any rate, we can be no worse off than we are here.”
Isobel had been in with Mrs. Doolan nursing the sick children when
Bathurst arrived, but they presently came out. Isobel shook hands with
him without speaking.
“We are all heavily indebted to you, Mr. Bathurst,” Mrs. Doolan said.
“If we escape from this, it will be to you that we humanly owe our
lives.”
She spoke in a voice that all in the room could hear.
“Your are right, Mrs. Doolan,” the Doctor said; “and I think that there
are some who must regret now the manner in which they have behaved to
Bathurst since this siege began.”
“I do for one,” Captain Doolan said, coming forward.
“I have regretted it for some time, though I have not had the manliness
to say so. I am heartily sorry. I have done you a great and cruel
injustice. I ought to have known that the Doctor, who knew you vastly
better than I did, was not likely to be mistaken. Putting that aside,
I ought to have seen, and I did see, though I would not acknowledge
it even to myself, that no man has borne himself more calmly and
steadfastly through this siege than you have, and that by twice
venturing out among the enemy you gave proof that you possessed as much
courage as any of us. I do hope that you will give me your hand.”
All the others who had held aloof from Bathurst came forward and
expressed their deep regret for what had occurred.
Bathurst heard them in silence.
“I do not feel that there is anything to forgive,” he said quietly. “I
am glad to hear what you say, and I know you mean it, and I accept
the hands you offer, but what you felt towards me has affected me
but little, for your contempt for me was as nothing to my contempt of
myself. Nothing can alter the fact that here, where every man’s hand was
wanted to defend the ladies and children, my hand was paralyzed;
that whatever I may be at other times, in the hour of battle I
fail hopelessly; nothing that I can do can wipe out, from my own
consciousness, that disgrace.”
“You exaggerate it altogether, Bathurst,” Wilson broke in hotly. “It is
nonsense your talking like that, after the way you jumped down into the
middle of them with that mace of yours. It was splendid.”
“More than that, Mr. Bathurst,” Mrs. Doolan said, “I think we women know
what true courage is; and there is not one of us but has, since this
siege began, been helped and strengthened by your calmness--not one but
has reason to be grateful for your kindness to our children during this
terrible time. I won’t hear even you speak against yourself.”
“Then I will not do so, Mrs. Doolan,” he said, with a grave smile. “And
now I will go and sit with the Major for a time. Things are quieter
tonight than they have been for some time past, and I trust he will get
some sleep.”
So saying, he quietly left the room.
“I don’t believe he has slept two hours at a time since the siege
began,” Mrs. Doolan said, with tears in her eyes. “We have all
suffered--God only knows what we have suffered!--but I am sure that he
has suffered more than any of us. As for you men, you may well say you
are sorry and ashamed of your treatment of him. Coward, indeed! Mr.
Bathurst may be nervous, but I am sure he has as much courage as anyone
here. Come, Isobel, you were up all last night, and it’s past two
o’clock now. We must try to get a little sleep before morning, and I
should advise everyone else off duty to do the same.”
At daybreak firing commenced, and was kept up energetically all the
morning. At two o’clock a white flag was hoisted from the terrace, and
its appearance was greeted with shouts of triumph by the assailants. The
firing at once ceased, and in a few minutes a native officer carrying a
white flag advanced towards the walls.
“We wish to see the Zemindar Por Sing,” Bathurst said, “to treat with
him upon the subject of our surrender.”
The officer withdrew, and returned in half an hour saying that he would
conduct the officer in command to the presence of the chief of the
besieging force. Captain Doolan, therefore, accompanied by Bathurst and
Dr. Wade, went out. They were conducted to the great tent where all
the Zemindars and the principal officers of the Sepoys were assembled.
Bathurst acted as spokesman.
“Por Sing,” he said, “and you Zemindars of Oude, Major Hannay being
disabled, Captain Doolan, who is now in command of the garrison,
has come to represent him and to offer to surrender to you under the
condition that the lives of all British and natives within the walls be
respected, and that you pledge us your faith and honor that we shall be
permitted to go down the country without molestation. It is to you, Por
Sing, and you nobles of Oude, that we surrender, and not to those who,
being sworn soldiers, have mutinied against their officers, and have in
many cases treacherously murdered them. With such men Major Hannay will
have no dealings, and it is to you that we surrender. Major Hannay bids
me say that if this offer is refused, we can for a long time prolong our
resistance. We are amply supplied with provisions and munitions of war,
and many as are the numbers of our assailants who have fallen already,
yet more will die before you obtain possession of the house. More than
that, in no case will we be taken prisoners, for one and all have firmly
resolved to fire the magazine when resistance is no longer possible, and
to bury ourselves and our assailants in the ruins.”
When Bathurst ceased, a hubbub of voices arose, the Sepoy officers
protesting that the surrender should be made to them. It was some
minutes before anything like quietness was restored, and then one of the
officers said, “Here is Rujub; he speaks in the name of Nana. What does
he say to this?”
Rujub, who was handsomely attired, stepped forward.
“I have no orders from his highness on this subject,” he said. “He
certainly said that the prisoners were to be sent to him, but at present
there are no prisoners, nor, if the siege continues, and the English
carry out their threat, will there be any prisoners. I cannot think that
Nana Sahib would wish to see some hundreds more of his countrymen
slain or blown up, only that he may have these few men and women in his
power.”
“We have come here to take them and kill them,” one of the officers said
defiantly; “and we will do so.”
Por Sing, who had been speaking with the Talookdars round him, rose from
his seat.
“It seems to me that it is for us to decide this matter,” he said. “It
is upon us that the losses of this siege have fallen. At the order of
Nana Sahib we collected our retainers, abandoned our homes, and have for
three weeks supported the dangers of this siege. We follow the Nana, but
we are not his vassals, nor do we even know what his wishes are in
this matter, but it seems to us that we have done enough and more than
enough. Numbers of our retainers and kinsmen have fallen, and to prolong
the siege would cause greater loss, and what should we gain by it? The
possession of a heap of stones. Therefore, we are all of opinion that
this offer of surrender should be accepted. We war for the freedom of
our country, and have no thirst for the blood of these English sahibs,
still less for that of their wives and children.”
Some of the officers angrily protested, but Por Sing stood firm, and
the other chiefs were equally determined. Seeing this, the officers
consulted together, and the highest in rank then said to the Talookdars,
“We protest against these conditions being given, but since you are
resolved, we stand aside, and are ready to agree for ourselves and our
men to what you may decide.”
“What pledges do you require?” Por Sing asked Bathurst.
“We are content, Rajah, with your personal oath that the lives of all
within the house shall be respected, and your undertaking that they
shall be allowed to go unharmed down the country. We have absolute faith
in the honor of the nobles of Oude, and can desire no better guarantee.”
“I will give it,” Por Sing said, “and all my friends will join me in
it. Tonight I will have boats collected on the river; I will furnish you
with an escort of my troops, and will myself accompany you and see you
safely on board. I will then not only give you a safe conduct, praying
all to let you pass unharmed, but my son with ten men shall accompany
you in the boats to inform all that my honor is concerned in your
safety, and that I have given my personal pledge that no molestation
shall be offered to you. I will take my oath, and my friends will do the
same, and I doubt not that the commander of the Sepoy troops will join
me in it.”
Bathurst translated what had been said to Captain Doolan.
“It is impossible for him to do more than that,” he concluded; “I do not
think there is the least question as to his good faith.”
“He is a fine old heathen,” Captain Doolan said; “tell him that we
accept his terms.”
Bathurst at once signified this, and the Rajah then took a solemn oath
to fulfill the conditions of the agreement, the other Talookdars
doing the same, and the commander of the Sepoys also doing so without
hesitation. Por Sing then promised that some carts should be collected
before morning, to carry the ladies, the sick and wounded, down to the
river, which was eight miles distant.
“You can sleep in quiet tonight,” he added; “I will place a guard of my
own men round the house, and see that none trouble you in any way.”
A few other points were settled, and then the party returned to the
house, to which they were followed a few minutes later by the son of Por
Sing and three lads, sons of other Zemindars. Bathurst went down to meet
them when their approach was noticed by the lookout on the roof.
“We have come to place ourselves in your hands as hostages, sahib,” Por
Sing’s son said. “My father thought it likely that the Sepoys or
others might make trouble, and he said that if we were in your hands as
hostages, all our people would see that the agreement must be kept, and
would oppose themselves more vigorously to the Sepoys.”
“It was thoughtful and kind of your father,” Bathurst said. “As far as
accommodation is concerned, we can do little to make you comfortable,
but in other respects we are not badly provided.”
Some of the native servants were at once told off to erect an awning
over a portion of the terrace. Tables and couches were placed here, and
Bathurst undertook the work of entertaining the visitors.
He was glad of the precaution that had been taken in sending them, for
with the glass he could make out that there was much disturbance in
the Sepoy lines, men gathering in large groups, with much shouting and
noise. Muskets were discharged in the direction of the house, and it was
evident that the mutineers were very discontented with the decision that
had been arrived at.
In a short time, however, a body, several hundred strong, of the Oude
fighting men moved down and surrounded the house; and when a number of
the Sepoys approached with excited and menacing gestures, one of the
Zemindars went out to meet them, and Bathurst, watching the conference,
could see by his pointing to the roof of the house that he was
informing them that hostages had been given to the Europeans for the due
observance of the treaty, and doubted not he was telling them that
their lives would be endangered by any movement. Then he pointed to the
batteries, as if threatening that if any attack was made the guns would
be turned upon them. At any rate, after a time they moved away, and
gradually the Sepoys could be seen returning to their lines.
There were but few preparations to be made by the garrison for their
journey. It had been settled that they might take their personal effects
with them, but it was at once agreed to take as little as possible,
as there would probably be but little room in the boats, and the fewer
things they carried the less there would be to tempt the cupidity of the
natives.
“Well, Bathurst, what do you think of the outlook?” the Doctor asked,
as late in the evening they sat together on some sandbags in a corner of
the terrace.
“I think that if we get past Cawnpore in safety there is not much to
fear. There is no other large place on the river, and the lower we get
down the less likely the natives are to disturb us, knowing, as they are
almost sure to do, that a force is gathering at Allahabad.”
“After what you heard of the massacre of the prisoners at Cawnpore, whom
the Nana and his officers had all sworn to allow to depart in safety,
there is little hope that this scoundrel will respect the arrangements
made here.”
“We must pass the place at night, and trust to drifting down
unobserved--the river is wide there--and keeping near the opposite
shore, we may get past in the darkness without being perceived; and even
if they do make us out, the chances are they will not hit us. There are
so few of us that there is no reason why they should trouble greatly
about us.”
“I am sorry to say, Bathurst, that I don’t like the appearance of the
Major’s wound. Everything has been against him; the heat, the close air,
and his anxiety of mind have all told on him, he seems very low, and I
have great doubts whether he will ever see Allahabad.”
“I hope you are wrong, Doctor, but I thought myself there was a change
for the worse when I saw him an hour ago; there was a drawn look about
his face I did not like. He is a splendid fellow; nothing could have
been kinder than he has been to me. I wish I could change places with
him.”
The Doctor grunted. “Well, as none of us may see Allahabad, Bathurst,
you need not trouble yourself on that score. I wonder what has become
of your friend the conjurer. I thought he might have been in to see you
this afternoon.”
“I did not expect him,” Bathurst said; “I expect he went as far as he
dared in what he said at the Durbar today. Probably he is doing all he
can to keep matters quiet. Of course he may have gone down to Cawnpore
to see Nana Sahib, but I should think it more probable that he would
remain here until he knows we are safe on board the boats.”
“Ah, here is Wilson,” said the Doctor; “he is a fine young fellow, and I
am very glad he has gone through it safely.”
“So am I,” Bathurst said warmly; “here we are, Wilson.”
“I thought I would find you both smoking here,” Wilson said, as he
seated himself; “it is awfully hot below, and the ladies are all at
work picking out the things they are going to take with them and packing
them, and as I could not be of any use at that, I thought I would come
up for a little fresh air, if one can call it fresh; but, in fact, I
would rather sit over an open drain, for the stench is horrible. How
quiet everything seems tonight! After crouching here for the last three
weeks listening to the boom of their cannon and the rush of their balls
overhead, or the crash as they hit something, it seems quite unnatural;
one can’t help thinking that something is going to happen. I don’t
believe I shall be able to sleep a wink tonight; while generally, in
spite of the row, it has been as much as I could do to keep my eyes
open. I suppose I shall get accustomed to it in time. At present it
seems too unnatural to enjoy it.”
“You had better get a good night’s sleep, if you can, Wilson,” the
Doctor said. “There won’t be much sleep for us in the boats till we see
the walls of Allahabad.”
“I suppose not, Doctor. I expect we shall be horribly cramped up. I long
to be there. I hope to get attached to one of the regiments coming up,
so as to help in giving the thrashing to these scoundrels that they
deserve. I would give a year’s pay to get that villain, Nana Sahib,
within reach of my sword. It is awful to think of the news you brought
in, Bathurst, and that there are hundreds of women and children in his
power now. What a day it will be when we march into Cawnpore!”
“Don’t count your chickens too soon, Wilson,” the Doctor said, “The time
I am looking forward to is when we shall have safely passed Cawnpore on
our way down; that is quite enough for me to hope for at present.”
“Yes, I was thinking of that myself,” Wilson replied. “If the Nana
could not be bound by the oath he had taken himself, he is not likely to
respect the agreement made here.”
“We must pass the place at night,” Bathurst said, “and trust to not
being seen. Even if they do make us out, we shan’t be under fire long
unless they follow us down the bank; but if the night is dark, they may
not make us out at all. Fortunately there is no moon, and boats are
not very large marks even by daylight, and at night it would only be a
chance shot that would hit us.”
“Yes, we should be as difficult to hit as a tiger,” the Doctor put in.
Wilson laughed.
“I have gained a lot of experience since then, Doctor. What ages that
seems back! Years almost.”
“It does indeed,” the Doctor agreed; “we count time by incidents and not
by days. Well, I think I shall turn in.. Are you coming, Bathurst?”
“No, I could not sleep,” Bathurst said; “I shall watch till morning. I
feel sure it is all safe, but the mutineers might attempt something.”
The night, however, passed off quietly, and soon after daybreak eight
bullock carts were seen approaching, with a strong body of Oude men.
Half an hour later the luggage was packed, and the sick and wounded laid
on straw in the wagons. Several of the ladies took their places with
them, but Mrs. Doolan, Isobel, and Mary Hunter said they would walk for
a while. It had been arranged that the men might carry out their arms
with them, and each of the ten able to walk took their rifles, while
all, even the women, had pistols about them. Just as they were ready,
Por Sing and several of the Zemindars rode up on horseback.
“We shall see you to the boats,” he said. “Have you taken provisions for
your voyage? It would be better not to stop to buy anything on the way.”
This precaution had been taken, and as soon as all was ready they set
out, guarded by four hundred Oude matchlock men. The Sepoys had gathered
near the house, and as soon as they left it there was a rush made to
secure the plunder.
“I should have liked to have emptied the contents of some of my bottles
into the wine,” the Doctor growled; “it would not have been strictly
professional, perhaps, but it would have been a good action.”
“I am sure you would not have given them poison, Doctor,” Wilson
laughed; “but a reasonable dose of ipecacuanha might hardly have gone
against your conscience.”
“My conscience has nothing to do with it,” the Doctor said. “These
fellows came from Cawnpore, and I have no doubt took part in the
massacre there. My conscience wouldn’t have troubled me if I could
have poisoned the whole of the scoundrels, or put a slow match in
the magazine and blown them all into the air, but under the present
conditions it would hardly have been politic, as one couldn’t be sure of
annihilating the whole of them. Well, Miss Hannay, what are you thinking
of?”
“I am thinking that my uncle looks worse this morning, Doctor; does it
not strike you so too?”
“We must hope that the fresh air will do him good. One could not expect
anyone to get better in that place; it was enough to kill a healthy man,
to say nothing of a sick one.”
Isobel was walking by the side of the cart in which her uncle was lying,
and it was not long before she took her place beside him.
The Doctor shook his head.
“Can you do nothing, Doctor?” Bathurst said, in a low tone.
“Nothing; he is weaker this morning, still the change of air may help
him, and he may have strength to fight through; the wound itself is a
serious one, but he would under other circumstances have got over it.
As it is, I think his chance a very poor one, though I would not say as
much to her.”
After three hours’ travel they reached the river. Here two large native
boats were lying by the bank. The baggage and sick were soon placed
on board, and the Europeans with the native servants were then divided
between them, and the Rajah’s son and six of the retainers took their
places in one of the boats. The Doctor and Captain Doolan had settled
how the party should be divided. The Major and the other sick men were
all placed in one boat, and in this were the Doctor, Bathurst, and four
civilians, with Isobel Hannay, Mrs. Hunter, and her daughter. Captain
Doolan, his wife, Mrs. Rintoul, and the other three ladies, with the six
children who had alone survived, and the rest of the party, were in the
other boat.
Por Sing and his companions were thanked heartily for the protection
they had given, and Bathurst handed them a document which had been
signed by all the party, testifying to the service they had rendered.
“If we don’t get down to Allahabad,” Bathurst said, as he handed it to
him, “this will insure you good treatment when the British troops come
up. If we get there, we will represent your conduct in such a light that
I think I can promise you that the part you took in the siege will be
forgiven.”
Then the boats pushed off and started on their way down the stream.
The distance by water to Cawnpore was over forty miles. It was already
eleven o’clock, and slow progress only could be made with the heavy
boats, but it was thought that they would be able to pass the town
before daylight began to break next morning, and they therefore pushed
on as rapidly as they could, the boatmen being encouraged to use their
utmost efforts by the promise of a large reward upon their arrival at
Allahabad.
There was but little talk in the boats. Now that the strain was over,
all felt its effects severely. The Doctor attended to his patients;
Isobel sat by the side of her uncle, giving him some broth that they had
brought with them, from time to time, or moistening his lips with weak
brandy and water. He spoke only occasionally.
“I don’t much think I shall get down to Allahabad, Isobel,” he said. “If
I don’t, go down to Calcutta, and go straight to Jamieson and Son; they
are my agents, and they will supply you with money to take you home;
they have a copy of my will; my agents in London have another copy. I
had two made in case of accident.”
“Oh, uncle, you will get better now you are out of that terrible place.”
“I am afraid it is too late, my dear, though I should like to live for
your sake. But I think I see happiness before you, if you choose to
take it; he is a noble fellow, Isobel, in spite of that unfortunate
weakness.”
Isobel made no answer, but a slight pressure of the hand she was holding
showed that she understood what he meant. It was no use to tell her
uncle that she felt that what might have been was over now. Bathurst had
chatted with her several times the evening before and during the march
that morning, but she felt the difference between his tone and that in
which he had addressed her in the old times before the troubles began.
It was a subtle difference that she could hardly have explained even
to herself, but she knew that it was as a friend, and as a friend only,
that he would treat her in the future, and that the past was a closed
book, which he was determined not to reopen.
Bathurst talked to Mrs. Hunter and her daughter, both of whom were mere
shadows, worn out with grief, anxiety, and watching. At times he went
forward to talk to the young noble, who had taken his seat there. Both
boats had been arched in with a canopy of boughs to serve alike as a
protection from the sun and to screen those within from the sight of
natives in boats or on the banks.
“You don’t look yourself, Bathurst,” the Doctor said to him late in the
afternoon. “Everything seems going on well. No boats have passed us, and
the boatmen all say that we shall pass Cawnpore about one o’clock, at
the rate at which we are going.”
“I feel nervous, Doctor; more anxious than I have been ever since this
began. There is an apprehension of danger weighing over me that I can’t
account for. As you say, everything seems going on well, and yet I feel
that it is not so. I am afraid I am getting superstitious, but I feel
as if Rujub knows of some danger impending, and that he is somehow
conveying that impression to me. I know that there is nothing to be
done, and that we are doing the only thing that we can do, unless we
were to land and try and make our way down on foot, which would be sheer
madness. That the man can in some way impress my mind at a distance
is evident from that summons he gave me to meet him at the ruins of my
bungalow, but I do not feel the same clear distinct perception of
his wishes now as I did then. Perhaps he himself is not aware of the
particulars of the danger that threatens, or, knowing them, he can see
no way of escape out of them. It may be that at night, when everything
is quiet, one’s mind is more open to such impressions than it is when we
are surrounded by other people and have other things to think of, but I
feel an actual consciousness of danger.”
“I don’t think there can be any danger until we get down near Cawnpore.
They may possibly be on the lookout for us there, and may even have
boats out on the stream. It is possible that the Sepoys may have sent
down word yesterday afternoon to Nana Sahib that we had surrendered, and
should be starting by boat this morning, but I don’t think there can
be any danger till we get there. Should we meet native boats and be
stopped, Por Sing’s son will be able to induce them to let us pass.
Certainly none of the villagers about here would be likely to disobey
him. Once beyond Cawnpore, I believe that he would have sufficient
influence, speaking, as he does, in the name, not only of his father,
but of other powerful landowners, to induce any of these Oude people to
let us pass. No, I regard Cawnpore as our one danger, and I believe it
to be a very real one. I have been thinking, indeed, that it would be a
good thing when we get within a couple of miles of the place for all who
are able to walk, to land on the opposite bank, and make their way along
past Cawnpore, and take to the boats again a mile below the town.”
“That would be an excellent plan, Doctor; but if the boats were stopped
and they found the sick, they would kill them to a certainty. I don’t
think we could leave them. I am quite sure Miss Hannay would not leave
her uncle.”
“I think we might get over even that, Bathurst. There are only the Major
and the other two men, and Mrs. Forsyth and three children, too ill to
walk. There are eight of the native servants, ourselves, and the young
Rajah’s retainers. We ought to have no difficulty in carrying the
wounded. As to the luggage, that must be sacrificed, so that the boatmen
can go down with empty benches. It must be pitched overboard. The loss
would be of no real consequence; everyone could manage with what they
have on until we get to Allahabad. There would be no difficulty in
getting what we require there.”
“I think the plan is an excellent one, Doctor. I will ask the young
chief if his men will help us to carry the sick. If he says yes, we will
go alongside the other boat and explain our plan to Doolan.”
The young Rajah at once assented, and the boat being rowed up to the
other, the plan was explained and approved of. No objection was raised
by anyone, even to the proposal for getting rid of all the luggage;
and as soon as the matter was arranged, a general disposition towards
cheerfulness was manifested. Everyone had felt that the danger of
passing Cawnpore would be immense, and this plan for avoiding it seemed
to lift a load from their minds.
It was settled they should land at some spot where the river was
bordered by bushes and young trees; that stout poles should be cut, and
blankets fastened between them, so as to form stretchers on which the
sick could be carried.
As far as possible the boats were kept on the left side of the river,
but at times shallows rendered it necessary to keep over by the right
bank. Whenever they were near the shore, silence was observed, lest the
foreign tongue should be noticed by anyone near the bank.
Night fell, and they still continued their course. An hour after sunset
they were rowing near the right bank--the Major had fallen into a sort
of doze, and Isobel was sitting next to Bathurst, and they were talking
in low tones together--when suddenly there was a hail from the shore,
not fifty yards away.
“What boats are those?”
“Fishing boats going down the river,” one of the boatmen answered.
“Row alongside, we must examine you.”
There was a moment’s pause, and then the Doctor said in the native
language, “Row on, men,” and the oars of both boats again dipped into
the water.
“We are pressed for time,” the young Zemindar shouted, and then,
dropping his voice, urged the men to row at the top of their speed.
“Stop, or we fire,” came from the shore.
No answer was returned from the boats; they were now nearly opposite the
speaker. Then came the word--“Fire.” Six cannon loaded with grape were
discharged, and a crackle of musketry at the same moment broke out. The
shot tore through the boats, killing and disabling many, and bringing
down the arbor of boughs upon them.
A terrible cry arose, and all was confusion. Most of the rowers were
killed, and the boats drifted helplessly amid the storm of rifle
bullets.
As the cannon flashed out and the grape swept the boats Bathurst, with
a sharp cry, sprang to his feet, and leaped overboard, as did several
others from both boats. Diving, he kept under water for some distance,
and then swam desperately till he reached shallow water on the other
side of the river, and then fell head foremost on the sand. Eight or
ten others also gained the shore in a body, and were running towards the
bank, when the guns were again fired, and all but three were swept away
by the iron hail. A few straggling musket shots were fired, then orders
were shouted, and the splashing of an oar was heard, as one of the
native boatmen rowed one of the two boats toward the shore. Bathurst
rose to his feet and ran, stumbling like a drunken man, towards the
bushes, and just as he reached them, fell heavily forward, and lay there
insensible. Three men came out from the jungle and dragged him in. As
they did so loud screams arose from the other bank, then half a dozen
muskets were fired, and all was quiet.
It was not for a quarter of an hour that Bathurst was conscious of what
was going on around him. Someone was rubbing his chest and hands.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“Oh, it is you, Bathurst!” he heard Wilson’s voice exclaim. “I thought
it was you, but it is so dark now we are off that white sand that I
could not see. Where are you hit?”
“I don’t know,” Bathurst said. “I felt a sort of shock as I got out of
the water, but I don’t know that I am hurt at all.”
“Oh, you must be hit somewhere. Try and move your arms and legs.”
Bathurst moved.
“No, I don’t think I am hit; if I am, it is on the head. I feel
something warm round the back of my neck.”
“By Jove, yes!” Wilson said; “here is where it is; there is a cut all
along the top of your head; the bullet seems to have hit you at the
back, and gone right along over the top. It can’t have gone in, or else
you would not be able to talk.”
“Help me up,” Bathurst said, and he was soon on his feet. He felt giddy
and confused. “Who have you with you?” he asked.
“Two natives. I think one is the young chief, and the other is one of
his followers.”
Bathurst spoke to them in their native language, and found that Wilson
was not mistaken. As soon as he found that he was understood, the young
chief poured out a volley of curses upon those who had attacked them.
Bathurst stopped him. “We shall have time for that afterwards, Murad,”
he said; “the first thing is to see what had best be done. What has
happened since I landed, Wilson?”
“Our boat was pretty nearly cut in two,” Wilson said, “and was sinking
when I jumped over; the other boat has been rowed ashore.”
“What did you hear, Wilson?”
“I heard the women scream,” Wilson said reluctantly, “and five or six
shots were fired. There has been no sound since then.”
Bathurst stood silent for a minute.
“I do not think they will have killed the women,” he said; “they did not
do so at Cawnpore. They will take them there. No doubt they killed the
men. Let me think for a moment. Now,” he said after a long pause, “we
must be doing. Murad, your father and friends have given their word for
the safety of those you took prisoners; that they have been massacred
is no fault of your father or of you. This gentleman and myself are the
only ones saved, as far as we know. Are you sure that none others came
ashore?”
“The others were all killed, we alone remaining,” Murad said. “I will go
back to my father, and he will go to Cawnpore and demand vengeance.”
“You can do that afterwards, Murad; the first thing is to fulfill
your promise, and I charge you to take this sahib in safety down to
Allahabad. You must push on at once, for they may be sending out from
Cawnpore at daylight to search the bushes here to see if any have
escaped. You must go on with him tonight as far as you can, and in the
morning enter some village, buy native clothes, and disguise him, and
then journey on to Allahabad.”
“I will do that,” the young Rajah said; “but what about yourself?”
“I shall go into Cawnpore and try to rescue any they may have taken.
I have a native cloth round me under my other clothes, as I thought it
might be necessary for me to land before we got to Cawnpore to see if
danger threatened us. So I have everything I want for a disguise about
me.”
“What are you saying, Bathurst?” Wilson asked.
“I am arranging for Murad and his follower to take you down to
Allahabad, Wilson. I shall stop at Cawnpore.”
“Stop at Cawnpore! Are you mad, Bathurst?”
“No, I am not mad. I shall stop to see if any of the ladies have been
taken prisoners, and if so, try to rescue them. Rujub, the juggler, is
there, and I am confident he will help me.”
“But if you can stay, I can, Bathurst. If Miss Hannay has been made
prisoner, I would willingly be killed to rescue her.”
“I know you would, Wilson, but you would be killed without being able to
rescue her; and as I should share your fate, you would render her rescue
impossible. I can speak the native language perfectly, and know native
ways. I can move about among them without fear of exciting their
suspicion. If you were with me this would be impossible; the first time
you were addressed by a native you would be detected; your presence
would add to my difficulties a hundredfold. It is not now a question of
fighting. Were it only that, I should be delighted to have you with me.
As it is, the thing is impossible. If anything is done, I must do it
alone. If I ever reach Miss Hannay, she shall know that you were ready
to run all risks to save her. No, no, you must go on to Allahabad, and
if you cannot save her now, you will be with the force that will save
her, if I should fail to do so, and which will avenge us both if it
should arrive too late to rescue her. Now I must get you to bandage my
head, for I feel faint with loss of blood. I will take off my shirt and
tear it in strips. I have got a native disguise next to the skin. We may
as well leave my clothes behind me here.”
As soon as Wilson, with the assistance of Murad, had bandaged the wound,
the party struck off from the river, and after four hours’ walking came
down upon it again two miles below Cawnpore. Here Bathurst said he would
stop, stain his skin, and complete his disguise.
“I hate leaving you,” Wilson said, in a broken voice. “There are only
you and I left of all our party at Deennugghur. It is awful to think
they have all gone--the good old chief, the Doctor, and Richards, and
the ladies. There are only we two left. It does seem such a dirty,
cowardly thing for me to be making off and leaving you here alone.”
“It is not cowardly, Wilson, for I know you would willingly stay if you
could be of the slightest use; but, as, on the contrary, you would only
add to the danger, it must be as I have arranged. Goodby, lad; don’t
stay; it has to be done. God bless you! Goodby, Murad. Tell your father
when you see him that I know no shadow of broken faith rests on him.”
So saying, he turned and went into a clump of bushes, while Wilson,
too overpowered to speak, started on his way down country with the two
natives.