the chief men of the village he made his report to Ahmed. "He a great
man with the sahibs, forsooth! Why, he is but a servant, and does
foolishness. I found him not in Peshawar; weary as I was, I had to go
two days' journey to Mardan in the north-east. And what did I see there?
Two score of men standing in line beneath the walls, and a Feringhi with
a boy's face calling out strange words to them, and as he spoke these
men lifted their right feet all together, and held them in the air as a
goose does, and then let them fall to the ground again, and up came
their left feet, all together, and so they marched, very slowly. And
then they stopped, and moved their feet up and down without walking;
'twas the most foolish thing I ever saw. And then at another word from
the Feringhi dog they lifted their guns--short guns for babies, not like
our jazails--and held them straight before their noses, and at another
word they let them down again and crossed their hands over them, and so
stood without motion, as quiet and still as if they had been trees. And
I called to Sherdil, and bade him come and greet his father; but he
neither looked at me nor said a word, not daring to make a movement
except at the bidding of the Feringhi boy. And afterwards, when the
Feringhi made a hissing between his teeth--'Dissmisss!' was the word of
the foolish one--Sherdil came to me and asked me with great violence why
I had tried to get him punished, for it seems that if he had walked out
of the line, or lifted a hand, or spoken a word save at the bidding of
the Feringhi, he would have suffered grievous stripes, or have received
no sheep's flesh to eat. Cursed be the dogs of Feringhis! That is what
they make of the free-men of the hills."
"But what of my father?" asked Ahmed, to whom this description of
European drill was not interesting.
"Thy father? Hai! He is shut up for five years."
He was interrupted by shrill cries from the men around. Ahmed, stealing
a glance at Dilasah, saw his eyes flash with satisfaction.
"Yes, for five years he is to lie in the Feringhis' prison. That is the
judgment of Jan Larrens. And Sherdil, my wretched son, said that it was
his just deserts and the due reward of foolishness. Hai! if I had known
what I know now, I would have cut off Sherdil's right hand sooner than
let him go back to do goose-step and other things unworthy of a Pathan.
And when I told him what I thought, he laughed at me with great
laughter, and said, 'Go back, foolish one, or verily I will tell Lumsden
Sahib of thee, and ere thou knowest thou wilt be doing goose-step too.
Lumsden Sahib will have thee.' And I shook the dust off my feet and
departed; and my heart is sore vexed, for I thought my son was a great
man, and would do me honour in my old age."
There was much shaking of heads at this exposure of Sherdil's
boastfulness, and much sympathy expressed for Assad. But the man was an
ignorant fellow, a dyer by trade, who had seldom left the village, and
Ahmed felt sure that he had in some way been mistaken.
Assad's news about Rahmut Khan did but confirm his resolution to leave
the village. He was on the point of mentioning it to Dilasah when that
plausible man himself came to him, all smiles and geniality.
"Salaam, Ahmed," he said. "'Tis to be feared we shall never see our
chief Rahmut Khan again. He is an old man; the prison will kill him. No
man can strive against fate, and it is not meet that we sorrow overmuch
for what cannot be altered. Therefore am I come to bid thee to a feast,
Ahmed-ji, at which we will hail thee as chief and be merry."
"But I cannot be chief while my father lives."
"True, but what matters it? Thou wilt be chief in his absence, it is
what he himself would wish; and if by Allah's mercy he does not die in
the Feringhis' prison, but comes back to us, he will rejoice that we
held a feast in thy honour. This feast will be to-morrow, Ahmed-ji, and
I have already ordered the finest sheep to be killed."
Ahmed had no reasonable excuse for declining the invitation, and Dilasah
went away well pleased.
But later in the day there came to Ahmed an old Hindu scribe who had
settled in the village years before. In all considerable Pathan villages
there were a few men of Hindu race--low-caste men, who plied petty
trades among the Mohammedans in the hope of making money. This man had
been protected once by Ahmed against the rabble of the village when he
had unwittingly given them offence. He came to the tower as soon as it
was dark, and being admitted to Ahmed's room, said--
"Hazur, I come to warn you. I remember the kindness wherewith you saved
your servant when he was in peril of his life, and it is meet and right
to show gratitude. Besides, our lord and master Rahmut Khan will reward
me when he returns, as he assuredly will do. But that is a little
matter. I may be dead before that time comes, and even without a reward
I would do much for you, hazur. And now what I say is this: go not to
the feast to which Dilasah has bid you. I have spoken it."
"But why, Dinga Ghosh?"
"To-day," said the man, dropping his voice, "when I was sitting at my
writing behind my lattice, I heard two of Dilasah's friends talking
together. Without doubt they supposed me asleep, and indeed it was very
hot, and I should have been asleep but for some good jin that held my
eyelids. The men talked, and spoke of the morrow's feast, at which they
would be guests, and one said that it would be a merry feast, and when
it was ended no man would be in doubt as to who was chief of Shagpur.
And both chuckled at this, and shortly after went away, and peeping
through my lattice I beheld them that they were minions of Dilasah. For
this reason have I come to warn you; without doubt mischief is
intended."
"I thank thee, Dinga Ghosh," said Ahmed, "and be sure that my father
will reward thee when he comes back."
"Salaam, hazur," said the Hindu, and went away as secretly as he had
come.
Ahmed had no longer any doubt that he must go; Shagpur was no longer
safe for him. He had no scruples about leaving his father's household;
Dilasah would never dare to molest them, in face of public opinion.
There was nothing to detain him. But, as he had told Ahsan, he would
never slink out of the place furtively like a dog in fear of a whipping.
No doubt if he pleased he might slip down over the wall in the night. He
would not use that way, but go openly and in broad daylight through the
gate.
Next morning, therefore, he told the chief's family of his resolve.
"It is wise, Ahmed-ji," said Meriem; "but we are loath to lose thee. Yet
it is the part of a good son to do what may be done for his father, and
we shall love thee the more if thou bringest back our lord in safety.
But I fear lest Dilasah will not let thee go."
"Wah! He will be glad to be rid of me," said Ahmed.
"Not so. Does he wish our lord Rahmut to return? Will he feel safe if he
live in fear that thou mayst return one day, perhaps after many years,
and become in very truth lord of Shagpur? Nay, Dilasah would fain kill
thee while thou art yet a boy; it will not be so easy when thou art a
man."
"Nevertheless, O pearl, I will go, and Dilasah shall not stay me."
He bade farewell to the ladies and their daughters, left them, and went
immediately to saddle his horse. A Pathan starting on a journey needs
but little equipment; his horse, his weapons, a trifle of money, a
wallet of food--with these he is ready. A few minutes after he left the
women he rode boldly from the courtyard towards the gate. He was
surprised to find it closed, and in charge of a new gate-keeper.
"Where is Ahsan?" he demanded sharply.
The man replied that Ahsan being sick, he had been sent to take his
place. Ahmed immediately grasped the situation. This was Dilasah's first
move; he meant to make sure that his invited guest and victim should not
escape him. Luckily Dilasah's house was at the other side of the
village; Ahmed felt that he had perhaps a few moments to spare.
"Open the gate," he said to the new gate-keeper.
The man hesitated; clearly he had his orders. Instantly Ahmed's knife
flashed before his eyes. There was no escape for him, with Ahmed above
him. Haltingly he moved towards the gate, trying to gain time. Perhaps
Dilasah or some of his friends would arrive before Ahmed had passed
through. There were men and children in the street, and Ahmed heard them
calling to one another; no doubt, unless they were in the secret, they
were surprised at seeing the young chief leaving the village on the very
day of the feast. The news would soon fly through the place.
"Quick!" cried Ahmed to the gate-keeper, "or you are a dead man."
The man cringed, and drew the bolts. Ahmed, his knife in one hand, leant
forward and with the other pulled open the massive structure, which
creaked on its hinges. Seizing the opportunity, the man slipped aside
and ran up the street shouting for assistance. Ahmed walked his horse
quietly through the gateway. He heard cries behind him; it would take a
minute or two for horsemen to saddle up, mount, and follow, and there
were few horses within fifty miles that could match his Ruksh in
speed--the arab he had trained to come at his call, and to kneel down at
a word. Some one might shoot at him from the wall, but he must take his
chance of that; he disdained to run while he was yet in sight. He turned
his horse towards a hill a quarter of a mile away, and did not set him
to a trot until he had rounded the shoulder and the village was hid from
him. Then he rode on for half-a-mile until he gained a spot whence the
walls again came into view. Turning his head, he saw a dozen horsemen
pouring through the gate. It was time to be off. With a touch upon his
flank and a word in his ear the horse broke into a gallop. Even with a
heavier burden than his master the arab could outpace any horse in the
village, and under Ahmed's light weight he would, barring accidents,
easily distance the pursuers.
Ahmed had purposely chosen a track that wound along at the base of the
hills, for the undulations of the country would baffle the pursuers, who
could not press on at their utmost speed for fear of a fall. Every now
and then he had to pull in his horse to avoid a stumble, and his care
enabled the enemy for a mile or two to keep him in sight. They could not
circumvent him, for he knew every foot of the hills, and could turn off
in any direction at need, with perfect confidence in his ability to
elude them. They were bound to follow in his tracks. So for some time
the chase continued, the distance between pursuers and pursued scarcely
varying. At length Ahmed, feeling that the hills had served their turn
in tiring the horses of Dilasah and his troop, swept down into the plain
and gave Ruksh his head. The gallant animal flew on at a bounding pace.
In half-an-hour the pursuers were hopelessly distanced. Coming to a
point from which he could see a long stretch of level ground behind him,
Ahmed pulled up, turned in his saddle, and narrowly scanned the course
of his flight. There in the far distance were his pursuers, but riding
the other way. They had given up the chase.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTH
Jan Larrens
It was early morning when Ahmed, riding through the level plain, among
gardens which, though it was autumn, still scented the air, came to the
cantonments outside the walls of Peshawar. What he saw filled him with
amazement. The ground was studded with tents, amid which soldiers of all
races--tall bearded Sikhs, active little Gurkhas, red-coated
Englishmen--swarmed like bees in a hive. And there in the distance he
sees a lady galloping, followed by a sais, and she is not veiled, as
were all the women in Shagpur, save those of low caste; Ahmed had rarely
seen the faces of Rahmut Khan's wives for a year or two. And here comes
a carriage drawn by two horses, and in it are a lady, she too unveiled,
and a Feringhi man in spotless white clothes. And as it dashes past him,
the lady turns to the officer at her side and says--
"What a fine-looking young fellow! Who is he, Fred?"
"He? A Pathan from the hills, Alice, and a most accomplished brigand,
you may be sure."
Ahmed hears the words, and though he does not understand them, they set
him thrilling with a strange excitement. Long-forgotten scenes are
coming back to him; he remembers ladies just like this one--ladies who
used to speak in the same clear low tones, and men, sometimes in red
coats, sometimes in white, who used to dance him up and down on their
knees. His brain was in a whirl; recollection came to him like the dim
remembrance of things seen in dreams. These were people of his
blood--and he was a stranger among them.
He rode on dizzily, and entering the Kabul gate, found himself in a wide
street, thronged with folk of every race of the borderland. The size of
the place staggered him; Shagpur was a kennel compared with it. How
could he find his way about this huge town? And among so many people,
what place could there be for him? He knew not which way to turn, and as
for seeking an interview with the great sahib, Jan Larrens, of whom he
had heard, his heart sank at the mere thought of it. The speech he heard
around him was not his speech; he began to fear lest he should be unable
to make the least of his wants understood. But catching sight by and by
of a man in the chogah of the hill-men, he rode up to him eagerly, and
asked him where he might find a serai in which to stable his horse. To
his joy the man answered in his own tongue.
"You are a stranger. Whence do you come?"
"From Shagpur, in the hills."
"Hai! the village of Rahmut Khan."
"I am his son. Where is he?"
"That Allah knows. He is gone from here. The foolish one! He is even as
the ass that tried to get horns and lost his ears. Why was he so
foolish?"
"But tell me, where is he gone? 'Twas told us in Shagpur that the
Feringhis had put him in prison for five years. Where is the prison?"
"Did I not say that Allah knows? He was taken from this prison and sent
to some other. He is not my chief: why should I trouble about him? And
if you have come to see him, your journey is vain. Go back to Shagpur;
in five years you will see him again, if Allah wills."
"Show me a place where I may stable my horse, and then I will go and see
the Feringhi Jan Larrens; perhaps he will tell me that which I wish to
know."
"A stone will not become soft, nor Jan Larrens a friend. But you are a
bold youth, that is certain. And that is a good horse of yours; have a
care lest it be stolen. If a stranger may give counsel, I say stable him
not, but keep him always with you--though to be sure you cannot ride
into the room where Jan Larrens is. Wah! no matter; leave the beast with
the sentry at the door; he will keep him safe."
"Then tell me where this Jan Larrens is to be found. I would see him at
once."
"And there is little time to lose, for when the sun is high the
Feringhis cannot be seen any more till night. Come with me; I will show
the way. 'Tis without there, towards the west."
He turned the horse's head, and led the way out again by the gate, and
so on for two miles until they came to the British cantonments which
Ahmed had already passed. He stopped at a small and unpretentious
building, at the door of which stood a red-coated sepoy. After a brief
conversation with him the Pathan hitched the bridle of Ahmed's horse to
a nail in the wall, and bade him go forward into the lobby. Several men
were squatting on the floor, Hindus in one part, Mohammedans in another,
awaiting audience with the Englishman, who devoted certain hours of the
morning to personal interviews with the natives. Ahmed found a place
among the Mohammedans, and squatted upon his heels to wait his turn. He
felt strangely depressed and forlorn. He was the youngest among the
waiting company, the most of whom ranged in age from the prime of
manhood to white old age. Some talked of their affairs with their
friends, others maintained silence; every now and then one would be
summoned to the room beyond, and the door opened to let out one and let
in another. These interviews were brief, and hardly an hour had passed
when Ahmed received his call. He rose and followed the servant, quaking
with nervous anticipation, and found himself in the presence of a
stern-looking, bronzed and bearded man, in plain clothes of the European
sort, his coat off, his shirt-sleeves tucked up to his elbows, seated at
a table strewn with papers. A younger man stood beside him.
"What does this youngster want?" said John Lawrence to the other, and
Ahmed again felt that strange thrill at the sound of English words. The
officer, recognizing his costume, asked him in the Pashtu tongue his
name and his business.
"I am Ahmed, son of Rahmut Khan of Shagpur," said the boy, "and I come
to ask Jan Larrens of my father's welfare."
The officer stared a little at this plain and simple statement, not
prefaced by "Hazur!" or any other title of respect.
"He's the son of that rascally freebooter we caught the other day," said
the officer. "Wants to know how the old villain is. Shall I tell him?"
"Oh yes, tell him, but not where we have sent him; we don't want a gang
of Pathans prowling round on the chance of breaking into the jail."
The officer then told Ahmed what he already knew--that his father was
imprisoned for five years.
"I wish to see him," said Ahmed. "Tell me where he is."
"Come, my boy, this is your first meeting with an Englishman, I take it,
and you don't know our ways. Your father is in prison: we cannot tell
you where he is; but if your tribe behaves itself and gives us no more
trouble, it is possible that his Excellency may reduce the sentence."
"I want to ask Jan Larrens to set him free. That is why I came."
The officer smiled as he translated this to Lawrence. The governor did
not smile. Had it been Sir Henry Lawrence instead of Sir John, the
interview might have ended differently; the former had a sympathetic
manner and understood the natives; the latter was of sterner stuff.
"Tell him it's absurd," he said gruffly. "The man is well out of the
way, and if his people try any more tricks, we'll serve them the same.
The youngster has no claim on us; make that clear, and send him about
his business."
And thus it happened that within five minutes of his entering the room
Ahmed was outside again, disheartened but not abashed. The officer had
spoken to him not unkindly, toning down the governor's sternness, and as
he was speaking Ahmed felt a momentary impulse to blurt out that he too
was English. But he was held back by the same consideration as had moved
him when discussing the matter with Ahsan, and by another motive--the
feeling that such a statement now would savour an appeal to charity. The
Pathans are a proud race; and Ahmed had, besides the pride fostered
among them, a pride that was his birthright. As he stood before his
fellow-countrymen that pride surged within him; there was no humbleness
or subservience in his bearing, and when he left them his unspoken
thought was: "They shall know some day that I am even as they
themselves, and they shall be proud to know it."
He was tingling with excitement, too; some of the words used by the
Englishmen had fallen familiarly upon his ear. "Boy," "business"--these
were two of the words that woke echoes in his memory, and he glowed with
the thought that, if he could spend a little time among Englishmen, he
might soon recover his native speech. So it was with a light in his eyes
that he stepped forth into the street again--a light that deceived his
Pathan friend who had been awaiting him at the door.
"Wah! were the words of Jan Larrens words of honey, then?" he said.
"No; he would tell me nothing that I knew not already, but he will
assuredly tell me more some day. And now let us go to the serai, for I
would fain eat, having some few pice to pay withal. But stay, friend,
canst tell me whether among all these soldiers here there are those that
serve one Lumsden Sahib? I have a friend among them I should like to
see."
"No, they are not here, but at Hoti-Mardan, two days' march towards the
north-east. Two days, I say; but with this horse of yours you could get
there in one. What is your friend's name?"
"Sherdil. Do you know him?"
"No. Well, we will go into the bazar and get food, and then I will put
you in the way for Hoti-Mardan. But if you think to become one of those
Guides of Lumsden Sahib yourself, 'twill be a waste of time; for there
be many now waiting to put on the khaki for whom there is no room. Hai!
I do not understand it; I am a swordsmith and will make swords for them,
receiving a fair price, but Allah forbid I should ever give up my
freedom to serve the sahibs."
He trudged beside Ahmed into the town again, chattering all the way.
They had a simple meal together, Ahmed keeping a watchful eye on his
horse tethered at the door; and then the swordsmith took his leave, with
a sententious maxim by way of parting counsel.
"Friends are serpents: they bite. Strangers are best. May God go with
you."
After resting a while, Ahmed set off on his ride to Hoti-Mardan, the
head-quarters of the Guides. He had always intended to visit Sherdil,
and see for himself whether his position was so ignominious as his
father Assad had made out. But now, as he left the suburban gardens of
Peshawar behind, and came into the wide sandy plain, over which he must
ride for thirty miles or more, other ideas came into his mind. Jan
Larrens had said that he had no claim on the Government of the Panjab:
that was true; but what if he should establish a claim? What if he could
do something for the sahibs as a Pathan, and so not merely attain a
position in which he might serve his father, but also prove his right to
the name of Englishman? It was clear that he could not go back to
Shagpur; he was surprised to find himself glad that he could not. New
feelings were springing within him. To be chief of Shagpur seemed no
very desirable thing; to win his title of Englishman, to prove himself
worthy to stand among these white men, who ruled, not villages, but
empires--this seemed to him a goal worth striving towards.
And how could it be accomplished? The obvious answer to the question
was: Join the Guides as Sherdil had done. But there were two
difficulties. His friend the swordsmith had said that there were already
many candidates waiting for admission to the corps; it was very unlikely
that room could be made for a new-comer, and one so young. It might be
years before he could be enrolled, and he was loath to wait; the little
money he had would soon be gone, and then the only course open to him
would be to join some band of freebooters in the hills, for to earn his
living by any menial occupation would never have entered his head. That
was a matter of caste.
The second difficulty was also a matter of caste. Sherdil was the son of
a man who, while not of the lowest caste, like the washermen and
sweepers and musicians, was certainly not of a high caste. If all the
Guides were like him, Ahmed felt that he, as the son of a chief, would
demean himself by joining them. His bringing-up made him very sensitive
to caste distinctions. No doubt the Englishmen he had lately left were
of high caste: no doubt his own real father had been one of them; he
must certainly do nothing that would make him lose caste in English
eyes.
These problems occupied his mind as he rode. They dropped from his
thoughts by and by when he came in sight of his destination. He saw,
standing in a clearing amid jungle and scrub, a walled fort, with a
tower on which a flag was flying. Beyond rose the great mountain mass of
the Himalayas. Outside the walls were huts and tents of every sort and
size. As he rode among them up to the gate Ahmed saw men of every border
race in their different costumes; none of them was in khaki, so that
these were apparently not members of Lumsden Sahib's corps. He wondered
whether they were the candidates of whom the swordsmith had spoken, and
his heart sank, for they were strong, stalwart fellows of all ages, none
so young as he, and looked as if they had been men of war from their
youth.
Challenged at the gate, he asked for Sherdil, the son of Assad. And in a
few minutes the man came swaggering to him in his khaki, not a bit like
the downtrodden wretch his father had lamented. He hailed Ahmed
effusively, and invited him proudly into the fort. It was, as Ahmed
found, in the shape of a five-pointed star. Sherdil showed him the
officers' quarters on four of the points, and the magazine and armoury
on the fifth; the rude huts of the infantry tucked away under the
parapets; the hornwork in which the cavalry portion of the corps had
their quarters. Two British officers happened to cross the parade-ground
as Sherdil was showing Ahmed round. Sherdil saluted.
"That is Lumsden Sahib," he said--"the tall one. The other is Bellew
Sahib, the hakim. Hai! his powders are terrible: they bite the tongue,
and make, as it were, an earthquake in one's inside."