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BARCLAY OF THE GUIDES
BY HERBERT STRANG
HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON
_Copyright 1908 in the United States of America_
REPRINTED 1924 IN GREAT BRITAIN BY R. CLAY AND SONS, LTD.,
BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
PREFACE
The great Mutiny embraced so wide an area, in which momentous events
happened almost simultaneously in places far apart, that it seemed
advisable to confine the historical background of this story to the
siege of Delhi, the city which was the heart of the rebellion. In regard
to the historical persons introduced, care has been taken to adhere as
closely as possible to facts; and, where the romancer's licence must
needs put words into their mouths, to conform to probability and their
known characters. If the boys who read these pages should care to know
more of the great men of whom they get glimpses, they will find a store
of good things in _Lumsden of the Guides_, by Sir Peter Lumsden and
George R. Elsmie; the _Memoirs of Sir Henry Daly_, by Major H. Daly; _A
Leader of Light Horse_ (Hodson), and the _Life of John Nicholson_, both
by Lieut.-Colonel Trotter. The history of the Mutiny, as related in the
pages of Kaye and Malleson, will never lose its fascination.
HERBERT STRANG
CONTENTS
CHAPTER THE FIRST The Raid
CHAPTER THE SECOND The Making of a Pathan
CHAPTER THE THIRD Sky-high
CHAPTER THE FOURTH The Return of Sherdil
CHAPTER THE FIFTH Reprisals
CHAPTER THE SIXTH In the Nets
CHAPTER THE SEVENTH Jan Larrens
CHAPTER THE EIGHTH A Competition Wallah
CHAPTER THE NINTH A Fakir
CHAPTER THE TENTH The Delhi Road
CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH The Missy Sahib
CHAPTER THE TWELFTH Bluff
CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH Some Lathi-wallahs and a Camel
CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH Kaluja Dass, Khansaman
CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH Within the Gates
CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH The Coming of Bakht Khan
CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH The Doctor's Divan
CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH The Spoilers Spoiled
CHAPTER THE NINETEENTH Asadullah
CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH Wolf and Jackal
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIRST Master and Servant
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND The Fight of Bakr-Id
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD Ordeal
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FOURTH Nikalsain
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-FIFTH The Storming of Delhi
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH Eighty to One
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH Duty
EPILOGUE
GLOSSARY
CHAPTER THE FIRST
The Raid
Ahmed, son of Rahmut Khan, chief of the village of Shagpur, was making
his lonely way through the hills some three miles above his home. He
could see the walled village perched on a little tract of grassy land
just where the base of the hills met the sandy plain. It was two
thousand feet or more below him, and he could almost count the
flat-topped houses clustered beyond his father's tower, which, though
actually it rose to some height above them, dominating them, and
affording an outlook over miles and miles of the plain, yet appeared to
Ahmed, at his present altitude, merely a patch in the general level.
Between him and the village lay three miles of grey rugged hill country,
scarred with watercourses, and almost void of vegetation. A mile away,
indeed, there was a long stretch of woodland, lying like a great green
smudge upon the monotony of grey. It was a patch of irregular shape,
narrowing here, broadening there, filling a valley which bent round
towards the village. Ahmed was accustomed to shoot there occasionally,
but he preferred the more exciting and more dangerous sport of hunting
on the hills, where he might stalk his quarry from crag to crag, leaping
ravines, swarming up abrupt and precipitous cliffs, always in peril of a
fall that might break his limbs even if it did not crash the life out of
him. For Ahmed was of a daring disposition, fearless, undauntable, yet
possessed of a certain coolness of judgment by which he had hitherto
brought himself unscathed through sixteen years of adventurous boyhood.
He was a tall, slim, lissom fellow, with very black hair and a swarthy
skin, which set off the spotless white of his turban. He wore the loose
frock and baggy trousers of the country. Yet one observing him would
have marked certain differences between his features and those of the
Pathans among whom he dwelt. His nose was arched, but it was thinner
than was usual among his countrymen. His lips were not so thick as
theirs, nor was his mouth so large, and his eyes, instead of coal-black,
were of a curious steely-grey. And any one who saw him bathing with the
lads of his village (itself a strange pastime, for the hill-men have no
great partiality for water) would have been struck by the paleness of
his skin where it was protected from the sun and the weather. The
observer's conclusion would probably have been that Ahmed was a Pathan
of a particularly refined type, and in all likelihood an offshoot of
some noble family which time's vicissitudes had reduced.
Ahmed stood for a few moments looking down at Shagpur, then turned to
pursue his way. He had a fowling-piece slung at his back; his intention
was to ascend the hills for perhaps another thousand feet, to a spot
where he would probably come upon a small herd of black-buck. But he had
not mounted far from the place at which he had paused when he halted
again, and, putting his left hand above his eyes to shield them from the
sun's rays, gazed steadily in a direction away from the village. Below
him the plain stretched for many miles, bare and desolate, though when
the rains came by and by it would be clothed with verdure. Scarcely a
tree broke its level, and so parched was it now that no beast could have
found sustenance there. But far away Ahmed's keen eye had descried what
appeared to be a speck upon the horizon, and he watched it intently.
There was nothing unusual in the sight itself. Many a time he had seen
just such a speck in the sky, watched it grow in breadth and height,
until it stretched across the plain like an immense wall, thirty miles
long, a thousand feet high. He had seen it approach like a monstrous
phantom, driving before it, as it were, circling flights of kites and
vultures, enveloping the bases of the hills, shutting out the sun with
yellow scudding clouds. But such a dust-storm ordinarily swept over the
plain southwards: Ahmed had never seen one approach from the west; and
after a long and steady gaze at the speck, which grew slowly in size, he
suddenly dropped his hand, uttered an exclamation in the Pashtu tongue,
and turning his back began to retrace his course, at a speed vastly
greater than that at which he had formerly been moving, towards his
distant village.
The moving speck had resolved itself into a band of horsemen. They had
been too far away for him to distinguish individuals and know who and
what they were; but, considering the quarter from which they were
coming, his instant thought was that they were an enemy, and it behoved
him to give his people warning. In that wild country of the border raids
were frequent enough. Especially was a warning necessary to-day, for the
village was in poor condition to defend itself. Only the day before,
Rahmut Khan, his father, had ridden out with all the younger men to raid
horses on the British frontier. Ahmed shrewdly suspected that tidings of
this expedition had been conveyed to Minghal Khan, the chief's
inveterate enemy and rival, and Minghal had taken advantage of it to
make the attack for which he had no doubt long awaited a favourable
occasion. And what occasion could be more favourable than the absence of
the old warrior on an enterprise from which, if at once successful, he
could not return for five or six days, and which, if he found himself at
first baulked in it, might occupy him for a fortnight?
Ahmed was well aware of the danger in which Shagpur lay. The village had
a high wall; but he had no belief that the gates could withstand the
assault of a determined enemy. It would be something to the good,
however, if the assailants could be checked for a time, and they might
be checked by the shutting of the gates. But the villagers could not see
from the walls the advancing band; unless there was some one on the
tower, or Ahmed himself should give warning, the enemy would be upon
them before the gates could be closed, and then it would be a tale of
rapine and massacre. He knew that, make what speed he might, he could
not, if he followed the way he had come, reach the village before the
mounted men. The only chance was to gain the wood, through which, being
on a level, he could run fleetly. Swerving, therefore, from the direct
line to the village, Ahmed scrambled down the rough hillside, leaping
little chasms, springing from rock to rock with the agility of a
mountain goat, yet with circumspection, for should he miss his footing a
sprained ankle would be the least of his mishaps, and Shagpur was lost.
Down and down he went, stumbling, slipping, barking his shins, but never
heeding such slight mishaps so long as nothing brought him to a check.
And now, just as the dark woodland seems at his very feet, he pulls up
with a sudden cry of "Hai!" for in front of him there yawns a ravine,
four or five paces across, and many feet deep. He glances to either
side: a little to the left it narrows slightly, but only by reason of a
jagged spit of rock that juts out--a spit so small as barely to afford
resting-place to a foot. At every other spot the ravine is even wider
than where he was brought to a halt. He waits but a moment--long enough
to reflect that he dare not go the toilsome way round, lest he arrive
too late; and then, setting his teeth and clenching his fingers so
tightly that the nails press deep into his palms, he takes a leap.
Misjudgment of the distance by an inch would dash him into the chasm
below; but practice has given him perfect command of his muscles; he
springs lightly, confidently; his right foot lands on the precariously
narrow spit of rock, and as he stoops his body he brings the left foot
against the right; then, just as it would seem that the momentum of his
flight must cause him to sway and stagger and topple over sideways, he
rises as on springs to his full height, and with another effort of his
well-trained muscles he hurls himself from the spit on to the broader
ledge behind, and is safe.
Panting as he was, Ahmed sped off without delay. At last he reached the
edge of the wood; he plunged into it, and finding a track which he had
often followed, he ran easily as a deer. When he emerged at the other
end, he dashed across the fields, green with his father's crops, and
came to the gates.
"Minghal Khan is upon us!" he cried, as he entered. Some young boys
playing in the street took up the cry and ran screaming into their
houses; old Ahsan, the gate-keeper--now frail and bent, but once the
best rider and the cunningest horse-stealer of Shagpur--came tottering
out of his hut.
"Minghal Khan, say you, Ahmed-ji? That son of a dog!" and he slammed-to
the gates and barred them, muttering curses on the enemy.
By this time the cries of the children had brought the villagers into
the street. They were for the most part old men and feeble; the young
and able-bodied were with Rahmut Khan; but there were among them a few
men in the prime of life and some boys of about Ahmed's age.
Breathlessly he told them what he had seen.
"The gates are but as ghi to Minghal," cried old Ahsan. "They will not
keep him out till the sun sets."
"Then we will go into the tower," said Ahmed, "and shut ourselves up
there until my father returns."
He ran into his father's house and brought out the chief's two wives and
three daughters, who fled swiftly to the tower upon the wall. Then with
the aid of some of the people he collected what provisions he could; the
women filled their brass pots with water at the well, and carried them
on their heads to the tower; men followed them with arms and ammunition,
and with strong balks of wood for barricading the foot of the winding
stair. Within ten minutes of Ahmed's arrival in the village all who
chose had shut themselves with him in the refuge.
Not all chose. Even while these preparations were being made some of the
men held aloof. Minghal Khan was a younger, wealthier, and more powerful
chief than Rahmut: what was the good of holding out against him? There
had been for many years a feud between them; such an attack as was now
imminent might long have been foreseen. The more powerful must win: it
was Fate. Had they not known many such cases? Was it not better to yield
to the enemy at once and make their peace with him? Ahmed and old Ahsan
hotly protested, appealed to their loyalty, reminded them of what the
chief's anger would be when he came back and found that they had
betrayed him. These appeals were effective with the bolder spirits, but
there was still a good proportion of the villagers who foresaw that
their chief's dominion was at an end, and were eager to make their own
future secure by nailing the rising sun. These remained in the village
street, and when, a few minutes after Ahmed and his party had shut
themselves in the tower, the band of horsemen, fifty strong, with
Minghal at their head, rode up to the gates and demanded admittance, one
of the disaffected removed the bars and made humble obeisance as the
rival chief entered.
The new-comers uttered loud shouts of exultation at the ease of their
victory, not at first aware of the resolute little band in the tower. It
was only when Minghal had entered the chief's house and found it
deserted that he suspected what had happened. Then with a grim smile he
questioned the villagers, all most obsequious to their new master; and
Ahmed, watching the scene from a latticed window high up in the tower,
wondered what the smile portended. He expected to see Minghal's men
collect the grain-stuffs and everything else of value that the village
contained, and then set fire to the houses; but old Ahsan by his side,
better acquainted with the long feud which had existed between the two
chiefs, stroked his beard and groaned.
"Hai! hai!" he muttered. "It has come at last. But I am too old, too
old, to serve a new master. Shagpur will have another gate-keeper now,
Ahmed-ji."
"What meanest thou, old man?" asked Ahmed, wondering.
"Minghal has come not for plunder, but for mastery," was the reply.
"'Tis what he has meditated for a dozen years; and who can strive
against Fate? When the master comes back he will find that Shagpur is no
longer his. If he resists he will be slain; if he accepts his lot, he
will be loaded with chains or cast out of the village, a beggar to the
end of his days."
"And what of us, then?" asked Ahmed.
"Hai!" said the old man. "As for you, I speak not, Ahmed-ji; but for me,
I am too old, as I said. I have my knife."
Ahmed looked into the gate-keeper's face. He read there neither fear nor
despair, nothing but a calm resolution. Then he uttered a scornful
laugh.
"No one can strive against Fate, truly," he said; "but who knows that
Fate has given us into Minghal's hand? By the beard of the Prophet,
Ahsan----"
But the old man put his hand on the boy's mouth.
"Hush, Ahmed-ji," he said, with a sort of stern tenderness; "'tis not
meet, little one, that oath in your mouth. You have well-nigh forgotten,
but I do not forget. We are as we were born, and you were born a
Feringhi."
CHAPTER THE SECOND
The Making of a Pathan
Eight years before this raid of Minghal's on Shagpur, a small boy, dark,
bright-eyed, happy-looking, was sitting on the grass at some little
distance from an open tent, nursing a wooden sword, and trying to make
conversation in babbling Urdu with a big, swarthy, bearded Pathan who
squatted opposite him, and smiled as he tried to understand and answer
the little fellow's questions. From the tent came the sound of voices,
and the Pathan would now and then lift his eyes from the child and dart
a keen glance towards the spot where Mr. George Barclay,
deputy-commissioner of the district, was engaged in dealing with one of
the troublesome cases that came before him for settlement.
For many years the dwellers in the plains of the Panjab had suffered
from the encroachments of their neighbours in the hills. At first these
hill-men only came to the plains in the winter-time, when their own bare
lands became uninhabitable from frost and snow, and returned in the
summer, when they might find sustenance for their flocks, and good
hunting. But seeing the weakness of the plain-dwellers and the fertility
of their soil, the hill-men had not been satisfied with paying these
winter visits, and, after remaining as uninvited guests, returning to
their own place without having made a domicile in the plains. They began
to regard the land on which they temporarily settled as theirs, and by
and by exacted tribute from the rightful owners. Thus they became
possessed of two homes, one for the winter, one for the summer.
Naturally this seizure of property was little to the liking of the
plain-dwellers. They made some resistance and fought the oppressors, but
were no match in arms for the more warlike hill-men. When, however, the
Panjab was incorporated in the dominions of John Company, some of the
dispossessed land-owners took advantage of the well-known respect of the
British for law to make an attempt to recover their property through the
agency of their new rulers; and it was to show cause why he should not
yield the lands he held in the plain that Minghal Khan, one of the hill
chieftains, had been summoned before the deputy-commissioner.
Minghal obeyed the summons grudgingly. In the hills he was free, and
owned no master save God; it irked him that any one, least of all the
sahib-log, infidels, eaters of pigs, should question his rights in the
plains; for though he knew that the lands in dispute were not his by
inheritance, yet might was right, and if the plain-men were not strong
enough to hold them--why, so much the worse for them. And when he came
down from the hills to argue the case before the British commissioner,
he begged his nearest neighbour, Rahmut Khan of Shagpur, to accompany
him and give him at least moral support. Rahmut did not refuse this
request; but he was above all things a warrior; he had no skill in
reasoning, like his more wily neighbour Minghal; and while the latter
was using all his eloquence, every trick and artifice of which he was
capable, to persuade Mr. Barclay that forcible possession was of more
account than title-deeds, Rahmut amused himself by talking to and
playing with the deputy-commissioner's little son. The boy's mother had
died in Lahore some little while before, and his father kept him
constantly in his company, even when his duties called him into remote
parts of his district.
Rahmut, like all his race, was passionately fond of children; the
fearlessness of the bright-eyed boy appealed to him, and day after day,
while Minghal was waiting his turn, and when he was trying Mr. Barclay's
patience inside the tent, Rahmut spent hours with the boy, giving him
rides on his horse, laughing as he strutted by with a wooden sword,
allowing him to fire a shot or two from his pistol. And so, by the time
Minghal's case was decided Rahmut and Jim Barclay--the big, bearded
Pathan warrior of near sixty years, and the English boy of eight--were
fast friends.
Minghal lost his case. The deputy-commissioner decided against him, and
gave judgment that he must quit the lands he had usurped. Minghal left
the tent in a rage, muttering curses on the infidel dog who had
rejected, quietly but firmly, all his pleas, and declaring to Rahmut
that he would one day have his revenge. Rahmut was not a whit more
friendly disposed to the new rulers than was Minghal himself; but he was
a man of few words, and never threatened what he could not at once
perform. Moreover, he had never thought much of his neighbour's case,
and was not surprised at its failure. Minghal found him less sympathetic
than he considered to be his due, and returned to his home in the hills
in a very ill humour.
The opportunity for vengeance came sooner than he could have expected.
In the spring of the next year, when a civil servant named Vans Agnew
and Lieutenant Anderson of the Bombay army were escorting a new diwan or
governor to the city of Multan, they were treacherously attacked, and
their murder was the signal for a general uprising of the Sikh soldiery.
News of the rebellion was carried through the country with wonderful
speed; it came to the ears of Rahmut and Minghal, and, fretting as they
were under the restraints imposed upon them by the proximity of the
British, they resolved at once to make common cause with the revolted
Sikhs. It happened that Mr. Barclay had lately "gone into camp" at a
spot very near the place where he had given his decision against
Minghal. The Pathan chiefs set off with their armed followers, rushed
Mr. Barclay's almost unprotected camp, for he had as yet heard nothing
of the revolt at Multan, and the deputy-commissioner, without a moment's
warning, was shot through the heart. His little son would have suffered
the same fate, so bitter was the tribesmen's enmity against all the
Feringhis, but for Rahmut, who remembered how much he had been attracted
by the boy, and saw an opportunity for which he had yearned--of
providing himself with an heir. One of his wives, now dead, had borne
him two sons, but both had died fighting against Ranjit Singh, and his
two living wives had given him only daughters. In such cases it was
common for a chief to adopt a son and make him his heir. Rahmut, now
getting on in years, had envied the English sahib who was blessed with a
boy so sturdy and frank and fearless. While Minghal, therefore, was
wreaking his vengeance on the father, Rahmut caught up the son, set him
on his saddlebow, and forbade any of his men to lay hands on him. He had
resolved to take the boy back with him by and by to Shagpur, to bring
him up as a Pathan, and if he proved worthy, to proclaim him his heir.
Minghal was very indignant when the old chief announced his intention.
The boy, he protested, was an infidel dog: it was shame to a Pathan and
a follower of the Prophet to show kindness to any of the hated race who
had laid their hands on this land, claiming tribute from the free-men of
the hills, deposing and setting up governors at their will. But Rahmut
would not be denied. Minghal dared not cross the old warrior; for the
moment he appeared to acquiesce, but in his heart he hated his neighbour
chief, and resolved from that time to set himself in rivalry against
him. If he could not remove the boy, he could at least bide his time,
and when Rahmut's time came to die, it should be seen whether he could
not rely on racial and religious prejudice to prevent the scandal of a
tribe being ruled by an infidel Feringhi.
Rahmut kept the boy with him in the Panjab through the campaign. He
joined forces with the troops sent by the king of Kabul to the
assistance of the Sikhs. He fought in the terrible battle of
Chilianwala, and when Gough signally routed his brave enemy at Gujarat,
he fled with the Afghans and Pathans to their inaccessible hills,
escaped the pursuit of the Company's troops, and reached in safety his
mountain home at Shagpur.
Then he carried out his intention. He called the boy Ahmed, and had him
trained in the Mohammedan faith by the mullah of his village, who taught
him to read the Koran (though, being in Arabic, he never understood a
word of it). Ahmed wore a white turban, kept the Musalman fasts and
feasts, and though he was at first very miserable, and wept often for
the father he had lost, he gradually forgot his early life, and
delighted his new father's heart as he grew up a straight, sturdy Pathan
boy. Rahmut was wonderfully kind to him. His wives were at first jealous
of the boy, and there were some in the village who never lost their
first distrust and envy of him; but as years passed by, and Ahmed proved
himself to be as bold and daring as he was sunny-tempered, as good at
hunting and warlike exercises as he was in the ritual of religion, he
became a favourite with most. The chief visited with heavy punishment
some who dared to give expression to their resentment at his adoption of
a Feringhi boy, and after that the ill-feeling died down, and if any
remained it found an outlet only in murmurs which the envious ones were
careful to keep from their chief's ears.
Ahmed was now sixteen. He was his adoptive father's constant companion
at home; but the old chief, while he allowed the boy to take part in his
hunting expeditions, would never permit him to share in the raids which
he sometimes made on the villages of his neighbours, nor in the
horse-stealing enterprises he ventured in the British lines. He seemed
to be beset by a fear lest the boy should be snatched from him, and in
particular he dreaded lest any contact with the British should awake
dormant recollections in his mind and be the means of carrying him back
to his own people. The only experience Ahmed had of contests with men
had been gained in occasional attacks on caravans of merchants as they
passed between Persia and Afghanistan. But now that the boy was sixteen,
Rahmut thought it was high time, he should be married in accordance with
the customs of his country, and was looking about for a suitable bride.
The old chief argued that when Ahmed was married there would be less
likelihood of his ever wishing to leave his tribe, and he might then be
given a greater freedom and take a full share in all their activities.
Though Ahmed thus had few enemies in Shagpur itself, there was one in
Minghal's village of Mandan who caused Rahmut Khan some anxiety. This
was his nephew Dilasah, a man near forty years old. Dilasah had expected
to succeed his uncle in the chiefship, but he was an idle,
ill-conditioned fellow, not without a certain fierce bravery when
roused, but little inclined to bestir himself without great cause,
exceedingly fond of eating, and very fat. For him Rahmut had the deepest
contempt. There was a stormy scene between uncle and nephew when the
Feringhi boy was brought to the village and formally adopted by the old
chief; Rahmut poured out his scorn upon Dilasah, and the latter withdrew
in high wrath and indignation from the village and joined himself to
Minghal's folk. Rahmut was at first glad to be rid of him, but as years
passed, and Minghal, by cunning wiles and stealthy diplomacy, increased
his influence in the country and drew more and more men into his tribe,
the chief of Shagpur foresaw that one day he might have serious trouble
with his rival, and that the succession of Ahmed would be disputed. But
he hoped that he would live long enough to see the boy develop into a
full-grown warrior, able to hold his own by force of arms if the need
should arise.
If he had guessed that his absence on the horse-stealing expedition
would be taken advantage of by his enemy, he would without doubt have
remained at home. But he had heard that Minghal had gone westward to
intercept a caravan of cloth merchants on the road to Kabul; it was a
trick of Minghal's to draw the old man out of the way; and thus it
happened that the village was so poorly defended when Minghal made his
attack.
CHAPTER THE THIRD
Sky-high
Old Ahsan, the gate-keeper, looked gloomily out of the lattice window
and watched the proceedings of the invaders. He had spied Dilasah, his
master's nephew, among them, and knew that the incident was more than an
ordinary raid. Minghal's men gave no sign of any intention to collect
the villagers' property--whether in goods or in animals--and afterwards
burn the village; it was clear that the chief meant either to seize the
place as his own, or to set his henchman Dilasah at the head of it. And
that Ahsan had rightly guessed was proved when Minghal himself came to
the foot of the tower and summoned all within it to descend and salaam
to their new lord Dilasah.
Ahmed drew the gate-keeper back and put his head out.
"What dost thou think of us, Minghal Khan?" he cried scornfully. "Are we
asses or even as camels? Know that we hold this tower for our rightful
lord Rahmut, and thou had best return to thy little dwelling while there
is yet time."
The Pathan's face darkened with anger.
"Thou darest mock me, Feringhi dog!" he cried. "Come down at once, or we
will burn thee alive and send thee to the Pit."
But Ahmed only laughed. Talk of burning was mere foolishness, for the
tower was of stone, and though they might burn the door, there was
nothing else inflammable within their reach, save only the barricade
which had been thrown across the winding stair, and even a Pathan's
courage might shrink from attacking that in face of sturdy defenders
armed with jazails on the stairs. Of this barricade, however, Minghal
was as yet unaware, and his reply to Ahmed's scornful laugh was to set
his men to make an assault upon the door. But they had no sooner
approached it than a matchlock flashed from a narrow slit in the wall,
and one of the assailants staggered back with a bullet in his leg.
Furious, Minghal shouted to the other men to do his bidding, but another
shot fell among them as they crowded about the door, and since they
could not see who had fired, nor had any chance of hitting if they shot
back, they made haste to flee out of harm's way, and Minghal himself saw
that the task he had set them was impossible. The door was of stout and
massive timber, and could not be broken in without a deal of hard
battering; it would be folly to lose lives in that way when his purpose
might be achieved by means of a charge of gunpowder. So he called off
his men and bade them search the village for powder, not having brought
more with him than was contained in his men's powder-flasks.
At this Ahmed chuckled: all the powder lay in two large bags in one of
the upper rooms of the tower, whither it had been conveyed at the first
alarm. The men's hunt through the village was fruitless. But Ahsan
sighed heavily a little later when he saw two leave the village and
gallop at a hot pace in the direction of Mandan.
"Minghal has sent for powder, Ahmed-ji," he said. "Without doubt we
shall all be blown up."
"No, no; they cannot get back before morning," replied Ahmed, "and every
day favours us. Maybe my father will come back earlier than we suppose."
"And if he does not?"
"Why, then we must defend ourselves as long as we can. Suppose they
bring powder: they cannot lay a charge against the door in the daytime,
for we could fire into them and blow them up with their own stuff. And
when night comes, the moon will light up the inner wall for some hours,
so that they would still be in great danger. And if, when the moon goes
to the other side, they contrive to place their charge and blow in the
door, it will only be to find us with our jazails at the barricade, and
they will never get beyond it."
Ahmed's cheerfulness inspirited the old gate-keeper and the rest of the
garrison. The women and girls had been conveyed to the upper chambers,
and Ahmed at the fall of night went up to them and did what he could to
reassure them. Once or twice during the night, after the moon had gone
down, there were sounds from below indicating that another attempt was
to be made on the door; but a shot from the window was sufficient to
send the men scuttering back to the houses, and the hours from midnight
to dawn passed undisturbed. The garrison snatched a little sleep, and
were roused by the morning cry of the mullah in the village mosque
calling to the faithful to awake: "Prayer is more than sleep!"
It was afternoon when the two men who had left the village were seen
returning with three others, their horses loaded with bags, which no
doubt contained gunpowder. They were received with shouts of "Wah! wah!"
from their comrades as they entered the gate. Ahmed, watching them with
Ahsan and others, saw them convey the powder to a lean-to beside the
gate-keeper's hut against the wall. There was great cheerfulness among
Minghal's men, who had idled away the day in gambling. Early in the
morning Ahmed had seen three of them leave the village in the opposite
direction from Mandan; and going to the top of the tower, he watched
them ride for some two miles until they reached a hillock whose summit
rose a little higher than the tower roof. There they dismounted and led
their horses into a thin copse. They did not reappear, and Ahmed guessed
that they had been sent there as an outpost to guard against any
surprise from the sudden return of Rahmut Khan. It was clear that
Minghal was resolved to carry through his design to the uttermost.
Confident as he was in appearance, Ahmed in reality felt no little
anxiety. The quantity of powder brought into the village by Minghal's
messengers was large enough not merely to blow in the door and the
barricade, but even to make a breach in the tower wall. He knew very
well that if the enemy once forced their way into the tower the case was
hopeless; for the men he had with him were all well on in years, and
with the fatalism of their race they would regard the first success of
the enemy as a clear sign of Heaven's favour. It seemed to him
imperative that Minghal should be by some means prevented from
succeeding in any part of his purpose, and as the afternoon wore on he
took counsel with Ahsan, telling him frankly of his anxieties.
"What you say is true," said the old man; "but how is it possible to do
anything? They have the powder--may their graves be defiled!--and when
it is dark we shall not be able to see to take aim at them as they bring
it to the door."
"If we had but one friend in the village! The cowards! And they are
fools as well, to desert a chief like my father for one like Minghal
Khan. Were there one brave man having any wits among them, he would blow
up that powder, and our trouble would be gone."
Ahsan could only sigh and wish that the chief had not gone
horse-raiding.
"He is too old for such deeds. 'Tis time he rested and made ready to
obey the last call. Hai! and some day, if he continues thus, he will
fall into a snare--some calamity will light on him. It may be with him
even as it was with Mir Ismail of Bangash."
"Why, how was it with him?"
"He had gone on just such an errand, and he was old, like our master
Rahmut. He had cut a hole in the stable of the Malik he had gone to rob,
and was in the very act of loosening the horse's halter when he was
disturbed by a noise. Loh! he made haste to escape by the hole he
himself had made, but being old and stiff, he had but got his head and
shoulders out when his legs were caught from behind. Hai! hai! and then
was he in desperate fear lest he should be dragged back and known by his
captors, for he was a famous stealer of horses, and it would have
snapped his heart-strings if they saw him and gloated over his capture.
The honour of his family and people would be smirched. Wherefore he
cried aloud to his son, who waited outside, bidding him cut off his head
rather than let that shame fall upon him. His head being gone, they
would not recognize his trunk."
"And did his son obey him?" asked Ahmed.
"He did, and so was the honour of his house saved," replied the old man.
Ahmed was silent for a minute or two; then he said--
"Ahsan, think you I could cut a hole in that shed where the powder-bags
are laid?"
"Hai! How wouldest thou get there?" said the gate-keeper. "Verily not by
the door; were it opened, Minghal's dogs would burst in."
"True, but could you not let me down over the wall by a rope?"
"And what then? The gates are shut: there is no entrance."
"But I know of a place on the other side of the village where there are
notches in the wall, by which I might mount; and, the wall scaled, I
could steal my way to the shed and maybe cut a hole and lay a train, and
so fire the powder that lies there for our destruction."
"You could never get over the wall unspied," said the old man; "and if
they catch you, you are dead."
"But the place where I can scale the wall will be in darkness when the
moon shines on the tower. If it is to be done it must be done before the
moon has crept round, for as soon as the tower door is in darkness be
sure they will set about their purpose."
Ahmed was deaf to all entreaties, and about an hour before the earliest
moment when the besiegers might be expected to begin their operations,
he was let down by a rope from a window overlooking the wall, this side
being in deep shadow. Having reached the ground, he stole along at the
foot of the wall until he came to a spot some little distance away where
he believed the notches to be. They had not been made intentionally, but
were due to the crumbling of the clay of which the wall was made, and
had not been filled up. He found them without difficulty, the outer side
of the wall being at this point partially illuminated, while the inner
side, in the shadow of the houses, was dark. Pausing a moment to make
sure that all was quiet within, he set his bare foot in the lowest
notch, and, aiding himself with his hands, heaved himself slowly up.
When his head was just below the top of the wall, he waited again,
listening intently for sounds of movement or speech within the village.
All was quiet in the immediate neighbourhood, though voices came faintly
to his ear from the direction of the tower. He raised his head and
peered over: nothing was to be seen; then with a final heave he rolled
himself over the top, hung by his hands for a moment or two until his
feet found a hollow to rest in, and then as quickly as might be made the
descent, dropping the last six feet and alighting noiselessly on his
bare soles.
A narrow lane ran between the wall and a large barn in which the
villagers' grain was stored. Beyond this was the smithy, the potter's
house, and one or two more small buildings, so that he could come, with
fair security, to within a few feet of the shed where the powder lay.
These last few feet of space were not screened, and in crossing them his
risk would be greatest. Having come to the edge of it, he passed round
the corner of the building, and saw to his joy that the enemy was hid
from his view by the projecting shed itself. He stole along by the wall,
gained the side of the shed, and without an instant's delay set to work
with a chisel he had brought with him to loosen one of the planks in the
wooden side, working with all possible silence. Once the light sound of
a footstep caused him to scurry back to the shadowed lane; but the
disturber, whoever he was, passed in another direction, and Ahmed sped
back to finish his work.
Having removed the plank, he squeezed through into the shed without much
difficulty, being slim, and groping about soon laid hands on one of the
powder-bags. In this he cut a hole, then laid a train of powder to the
opening in the shed wall, lighted the slow match Ahsan had furnished,
and, breathing hard, ran like a deer back along the lane. At first he
could not find the spot where he had descended the wall, and feared lest
the explosion should occur before he had regained the tower. But
discovering the place at length, he swarmed up, and now in his haste
ventured to drop the full height of the wall. He fell on his face, rose
in an instant, and scampered back to where the rope still dangled from
the window. He had but just laid hands on it when there was a deafening
explosion, followed by a great outcry from the men. When he regained the
top of the tower, he ran with Ahsan and others to a window whence he
could look down upon the scene. The shed was in flames; and he was
surprised to see two or three forms prone on the ground near it. One of
the men who had been keeping watch told him that several of the enemy
had come to the door of the shed, no doubt to bring out the powder, at
the moment when the explosion took place, and had been hurled to the
ground by the flying timbers.
Minghal and Dilasah were raging up and down among their men. They looked
on helplessly while the shed burnt, Minghal crying out that there was a
traitor in the village. The street and the open space in front of the
tower were crowded with people who had been startled from sleep by the
uproar, and Minghal in his fury sent his men among them, to slash and
slay. The poor villagers fled away and hid themselves, Ahsan declaring
that they deserved no pity, because they had deserted their rightful
master for the invader.
There was much rejoicing in the tower at the success of Ahmed's bold
enterprise. Even the most faint-hearted now took courage. But it was
clear that the enemy had no intention of departing. The failure of their
scheme had made them only the more vindictive. Minghal sent some of his
men for more powder; the rest, keeping well out of gunshot, squatted
against the walls of the houses, ready to prevent any egress from the
tower. It was plain that Minghal meant to make another attempt, and if
he failed to gain entrance, to starve the defenders out.
Ahmed did not fear the first, but was greatly troubled at the prospect
of a prolonged siege. In the few minutes' grace between his arrival in
the village and the coming of the enemy there had not been time to
convey a large supply of food and water into the tower. The water was
already running short, and it was necessary to put the inmates on a
scanty allowance. With great economy they might make it last for two or
three days; then, unless help came, there would be no choice but to
surrender, or to make an attempt to escape at night by means of the
rope. Minghal as yet, clearly, had no suspicion that the powder had been
fired by any one from the tower. It might be easy for the men and boys
to let themselves down as Ahmed had done, but it would not be so easy
for the women and girls to descend in the same way, and the least sound
would bring the enemy upon them. From the top of the tower during that
day Ahmed cast many an anxious glance in the direction whence his father
might be expected to return; but there was no sign of him, and indeed,
but for some mischance in his expedition, it was hardly likely that he
would be back for several days.
In the afternoon Minghal's messengers returned with another supply of
powder. As ill-luck would have it, with the fall of night a thick mist
came down upon the village, obscuring the moon; and under cover of the
darkness the men brought powder to the tower door and fired it. The
door, massive as it was, was blown to splinters, and with yells of
triumph the assailants rushed in when the smoke had cleared, confident
that they were on the point of mastery. But the defenders had had ample
time to prepare for them, and when, ignorant of the barricade, they
began to rush up the winding stairs, Dilasah being at their head, they
were met with a sharp fusillade, which struck down several of them and
sent the rest scuttling away with yells of alarm. Dilasah himself was
among those who were wounded, and Ahmed from his conning post above
could dimly see his rival being carried away by two of the men.
This set-back, while it eased Ahmed's position for the moment, had the
effect of making the enemy still more determined. Hitherto the most part
of the men had not been greatly interested in the business. The quarrel
was a personal one of their chief's; for themselves they would have been
satisfied with plundering the village and returning to their own place.
Even though Minghal inflamed their racial and religious prejudices
against Ahmed as one of the hated Feringhis, they saw little to gain by
capturing or killing him. But now that they had themselves suffered,
their warlike instincts and their passion for revenge were aroused; and,
moreover, they were nettled by their failure, considering that they
outnumbered the defenders by at least ten to one.
The night passed quietly, but evidence of their new spirit was shown
next day. Ahmed, looking from his window, saw signs of great activity
below, though for a time neither he nor Ahsan nor any other of his
comrades understood what was afoot. By and by, however, it became clear
that the enemy were busily constructing shields of wood and goat-skins
with which to defend themselves against musket-shots from beyond the
barricade. The work was apparently finished by midday, for the men
squatted in groups on the ground, taking their dinner, and talking with
great cheerfulness. But when the hours of the afternoon went by without
the expected attack, Ahmed concluded that it was put off till night, and
felt that this time it would be pushed home. Defended by their shields,
the men could easily bring powder to the base of the barricade, and if
that was blown away it was only a question of minutes. It was useless to
attempt to disguise from his comrades the great danger in which they
stood, especially as they were now reduced to their last pitchers of
water.
Now Ahsan made a proposal.
"'Tis time for you to leave us, Ahmed-ji," he said. "Minghal, that son
of a dog, is bent on seizing you. It matters little about the rest of
us, but you are the apple of the master's eye, and if you are safe, 'tis
of little moment what happens to us. We shall become Minghal's men; we
shall at least be saved alive. Do you, then, escape by the rope when
darkness falls, and run to the hills, where you may hide until the
master returns; and when you are gone, after a time we will deliver
ourselves up to Minghal."
This suggestion was applauded by the other men. They had in truth little
to gain by further resistance. If their lives were spared they would
only pass into the service of another chief, and since Minghal's star
seemed to be in the ascendant, that was a fate which all expected sooner
or later to befall them. But Ahmed was very unwilling thus to throw up
the sponge. Apart from his disinclination to desert his post, he knew
how his father would be cut to the heart at the triumph of his rival,
and felt that he himself would be for ever disgraced if this calamity
should come upon the old chief during his absence. Yet he felt the
impossibility of holding out much longer, and was troubled at the
thought that all those with him might be killed if he did not yield.
"I will go apart and think over what you have said," he said to the man,
"and I will come again and tell you my thoughts."
He went to the top of the tower, and leaning over the parapet began to
ponder the difficult situation in which he found himself. And as he was
sadly thinking that there was no other course than to surrender (for to
run away and leave his comrades was abhorrent to him), his eye was
suddenly caught by a small dark patch moving on the hillside far away
towards the British frontier. The sun was behind him, the air was clear,
and, gazing at what had attracted his notice, he was not long in coming
to the conclusion that the dark shadow on the hill was a body of
horsemen.
A great hope sprang up in his mind. It might be Rahmut returning with
his men. True, it might be a band belonging to another chief, or even a
troop of British horsemen, or of natives in the British pay. Keen as his
eyes were, it was impossible at this distance--at least twelve miles, as
he judged--to tell who the men were. But they were certainly
approaching, though very slowly; they were coming from the very quarter
whence his father would return, there was at least a good chance that
they were friends. He ran down at once to the room where Ahsan and the
rest were awaiting his return, and told them of what he had seen. They
went back with him and looked eagerly across the plain. The horsemen
appeared to have halted, they were no nearer than when he had seen them
last; none of his comrades was better able than he to identify them.
"Let us make a beacon here," said one of the men. "If they are our own
people they will ride at once to our help; if they are not, we shall be
none the worse off."
"No, no," said old Ahsan; "that would be a foolish thing to do.
Minghal's men cannot have spied them yet; we at this height can see many
miles further than they below. And they cannot have been seen by the
outpost on the hillock yonder, for, look! the copse is between them. Let
us do nothing to put our enemies on guard. And besides, say we light a
beacon, and our master comes riding to our help, Minghal, seeing the
fire, would know its meaning, and even though he saw not the master's
troop, he would suspect, and lay an ambush, and the master might be
killed."
"But how, then, can we bring them to us?" asked Ahmed. "They have
halted, as you see; perhaps they have had a long day's march and are
tired. Perhaps they may encamp for the night; and if they do, or even if
they continue to come slowly towards us, they may arrive too late. Shall
we fire shots?"