comrades. Nor did he draw rein until he reached the commandant's
quarters. Then his story was quickly told. Five minutes afterwards a
half-troop rode out under Lieutenant Hawes, Ahmed leading the way. When
they reached the crest there was no sign of the mutineers. They had
utterly vanished off the plain. Riding down to the nullah, they found
the palki-wallahs lying fast asleep in the shade of the bushes where
Ahmed had left them, and the missy sahib asleep in the palki, grasping
the knife. Ahmed flung himself from his horse, kicked the bearers awake,
and cut their bonds. Meanwhile Lieutenant Hawes was trying to awaken the
girl, speaking to her quietly so as not to startle her. His low tones
making no impression, he touched her lightly on the arm. She sprang up
with a shriek, lifting the knife. Then, seeing an English face, and
hearing an English voice, she flung down the weapon and, to Lieutenant
Hawes' amazement, fairly flung herself into his arms.
"Poor child! You are safe now," he said. "Here, you," he cried sharply
to the palki-wallahs, "get to your poles; quickly!"
The four men hastened to obey, and the party set off to return to the
camp.
"Your nobility will remember the bakshish," said one of them to Ahmed as
they started.
"Chup! Am I not one of Lumsden Sahib's Guides?" was the answer.
Later in the day, Ahmed told the whole story in detail to the group of
officers. The missy sahib had already given them her version of it, and
had indeed sung the praises of the young Guide, and asked Captain Daly
to reward him handsomely. Daly, however, knew that the proud native of
North-west Hindustan is a good deal more sensitive in matters of this
kind than the average man of the plains, and while giving Ahmed
unstinted praise, he refrained from offering any tangible recompense.
"I am proud to have you in the corps," he said. "The matter will not be
forgotten, and when we have finished the march, and have a little time
to rest, I will give you a sheep so that you may feast your friends."
Praise from the sahib was reward enough to the men of the Guides. And
Sherdil, who had heard the story from Ahmed previously, was envious, and
bemoaned his ill-luck in missing the opportunity which had fallen to his
friend.
"May water never flow through that accursed nullah!" he cried. "None of
us were able to leap it; it took me half-an-hour to get my horse out of
it, and the others had to go a great way round about. And then we were
recalled, but we returned later and sought you, and found, not you, but
a dog of a Hindu lying with a cut in his shoulder, and we finished what
you had left undone."
Savagery was in the blood of these men. The butchery of a wounded man
gave them no compunction, and Ahmed, who had grown up among them, was as
ignorant as they themselves of the chivalry which bids an Englishman
spare his beaten foe.
When the evening cool descended, Captain Daly sent the missy sahib under
escort to Karnal, where she would be safe under the protection of Mr. Le
Bas.
It was the morning of the 9th of June when the Guides reached the camp
on the Ridge, two miles north-west of Delhi. They marched in as firm and
light as if they had come but a mile instead of thirty. News of their
great achievement had been brought in by native couriers, and a vast
crowd was assembled to meet these intrepid warriors who had covered five
hundred and eighty miles in twenty-two days. As they reached the lines,
Ahmed was amazed to see some of the infantry break their ranks and rush
up to an English officer distinguished by his very fair hair. They clung
to his stirrups, some kissed his hands, others his feet, pressing upon
him with such excitement as to cause alarm to some of his
fellow-officers.
"What is it?" asked Ahmed of Sherdil.
"'Tis that they are pleased to see Hodson Sahib. He was our commander
when Lumsden Sahib went over the black water, and we love him. Wah! he
is a fighter. See him with the sword: there is no match for him. It is
good to see him again."
And then came an opportunity for these hardy warriors to show the stuff
of which they were made. Even as they approached the Ridge a
staff-officer galloped to meet them, and accosting Captain Daly asked
how soon he could be ready for action.
"In half-an-hour," replied the gallant captain.
It happened that since early morning parties of horse and foot had
sallied from Delhi to attack the advanced posts of the British. Since
attack is ever the best defence, General Barnard ordered his men to move
out and drive back the enemy. The Guides went forward at the trumpet
call with irresistible dash, and were soon engaged hand to hand with the
vastly superior numbers of the mutineers. They carried all before them,
but at a heavy price. Lieutenant Battye was shot through the body, and
died murmuring "Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori." Lieutenant Hawes
was clipped across the face with a sword, Lieutenant Kennedy was wounded
in the arm; and Captain Daly himself, after having his horse killed
under him, was struck in the leg by a spent bullet. Many of the men were
killed or wounded. But to be in the thick of a fight was as wine to the
Guides. Every man burned to uphold the honour of the corps, and though
they were saddened by the loss of so many officers and men before they
had even pitched their tents, they were conscious of having borne
themselves as their loved commander Lumsden Sahib would have wished them
to do, and were content.
CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH
Some Lathi-wallahs and a Camel
One afternoon, about ten days after the arrival of the Guides, an
orderly came to Captain Daly's tent, where the captain was sitting on a
camp-stool at the door, drinking a cup of tea with Lieutenant Kennedy.
"The general's compliments, sir," said the orderly, saluting, "and will
you kindly step over to his tent for a minute or two?"
"Immediately," said Captain Daly. "Orders for to-morrow, I suppose," he
added to Kennedy, as he got up to go.
When he entered General Barnard's tent, the general handed him a letter,
saying--
"What do you make of that, Daly?"
Daly took the letter, and read, in a sloping angular hand, as follows--
"DEAR GENERAL BARNARD--
"My father is safe. How thankful I am! And I know you will be glad
too. Yesterday I received the enclosed note from him; you see it is
written on the back of a torn label. He is in Delhi, but does not
say where; I suppose he was afraid to write too much in case the
chit fell into the hands of the mutineers. The man who brought it
knows nothing; perhaps it is that he knows but will not tell. Will
you try to find out where my dear father is? Some good friend must
be hiding him. I know you have spies in the city, and I should be
so happy if you could find out something more about him, and
whether he is well, and many, _many_ other things. Do help me,
there's a good friend.
"Yours sincerely,
"MARY CRADDOCK.
"P.S.--Perhaps that young Guide who saved me from the horrid men
would go into the city. He would do _anything_ for me, I know."
"Just like a girl," said Daly, handing the letter back.
"Now that's not fair," said the kindly old general. "Wait till you have
daughters of your own, Daly. It is good news that Craddock is still
alive; his wife, poor woman, was killed as she was escaping. He and I
are old friends. D'you know him?"
"No. But the idea is impossible, of course. Without more information it
would be like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay. Besides, he's in
hiding; no one would have the ghost of a chance of finding him."
"One of his servants may be faithful, and keeping him concealed."
"Yes, but better not set anybody inquiring too closely for Craddock's
servants. If those fiends suspect one of them is hiding an Englishman it
will be all up with him and his master too."
"Still, Craddock is my friend, and I stood godfather to his girl.
Couldn't one of Hodson's spies help us? Or this Guide she mentions--what
about him?"
"He's a clever young fellow, no doubt--showed pluck and resource in
saving the girl; but I don't know that I should like to send him into
that wasps' nest. One of Hodson's spies would run less risk."
"Well, we'll ask Hodson. Poor fellow! He is rather knocked up, I'm
afraid."
The general sent an orderly to ask Lieutenant Hodson to visit him, and
in a few minutes he appeared. The case was put to him, and he read Mary
Craddock's letter.
"All my men are out," he said. "Let's have a look at this man of yours,
Daly. Who is he?"
"A Pathan," replied Daly, and related how Ahmed had rescued the girl.
"A likely fellow. Have him up, general."
Ahmed, in company with Sherdil, was eating a mess of rice stewed in a
soup of sheep's tail, when a naik of the corps came up and said that the
general wished to see him.
"Hai!" said Sherdil, with a sigh. "Now it is coming, Ahmed-ji. Verily
thou wilt be a dafadar, or maybe a jamadar, before Sherdil, son of
Assad. What must be will be."
Ahmed wondered what the summons to the general's presence could mean. He
had had a part in the brushes with the enemy, which had been of daily
occurrence since the corps arrived; but he had done nothing to signalize
himself. Hodson gave him a quick look as he came up and saluted.
"Your name?" he said in the Pashtu tongue.
"Ahmed, son of Rahmut Khan of Shagpur, sahib," said the boy.
"A good specimen of the breed," said Hodson to the others. "The general
wants you to go into the city," he added, speaking again in Ahmed's own
language. There was no officer in India more expert than Hodson in the
speech of the natives.
"I am ready, sahib," said Ahmed at once.
"You'll have to pretend to be a mutineer, you know."
"With the hazur's pardon I will not do that. There is no need."
"Then how will you go? The khaki would betray you."
"I would go, sahib, as I went with Sherdil, son of Assad, to Mandan, the
village of Minghal Khan."
"Ah! and how was that?"
Ahmed told how the company of Afghan traders had entered the village,
and about the box containing porcelain from Delhi. He related the story
simply, without any of the boastful garniture which comes so readily to
an oriental's lips. The officers listened with interest, Hodson keeping
his keen blue eyes fixed on the boy's face.
"This is the oddest Pathan I ever came across," he said in English when
Ahmed had finished the story. To Ahmed he said, "Then you will go as an
Afghan trader? How will you do that? Traders do not go alone."
"If I might have Sherdil, son of Assad, and Rasul Khan, and Dilawur----"
"No, no, that won't do.--He wants half your corps, Daly.--You must go
alone."
"As the hazur pleases." He paused, and thought for a minute, the
officers watching him. "I will go alone, sahib," he said. "The tale will
be that I was one of many, travelling towards Delhi with Persian shawls
for the princes' women. And we were set upon by a band of Gujars, and I
alone escaped."
"But if you go alone the Gujars may catch you, for of course you cannot
go to the city from the Ridge; you must approach as from a distant
part."
"It is as the sahib says."
"You will take the risk?"
"If the captain sahib commands."
"Never met so direct a fellow," said Hodson to the others. "My spies
have a good deal to say about bakshish, as a rule. Well," he went on in
Pashtu, "what will you want?"
"Clothes, shawls, and a camel, sahib."
"And where will you get them?"
"In the bazar at Karnal, sahib."
"Steal them, eh?"
"Buy them with the hazur's rupees," said Ahmed, with a smile.
"And what are you going to do in Delhi?"
"I wait for commands, sahib."
"Can you write?"
"No, sahib."
"Of course not. Then you will be no good to me."
"But with rupees I can pay a munshi, sahib."
"He is our man," said Hodson in English. "He has an answer for
everything, and judging by the way he told us his story just now we
shan't have so much trouble in sifting his information as we have with
Rajab Ali's friends."
Rajab Ali was a one-eyed maulavi, an old friend of Sir Henry Lawrence,
whose many connections about the court of Delhi frequently sent Hodson
news of what was going on in the city. These communications were
sometimes made verbally by trusty messengers, sometimes in writing, on
tiny scrolls of the finest paper, two and a quarter inches long by one
and a half broad. The writing on them was so minute that the translation
when written out filled more than two pages of large letter paper. But
the actual information they contained was so scanty, and so much
embellished in the manner no oriental can avoid, that the separation of
the corn from the chaff gave Hodson a great deal of trouble. Moreover,
being written by hangers-on of the court, they included a vast amount of
unreliable gossip and hearsay. Hodson welcomed the opportunity of
gaining news that might be gleaned among the people themselves. He had
reason to believe that a great number of the more respectable
inhabitants of Delhi, who had had experience of the benefits of orderly
government, deplored the excesses of the sepoys and badmashes of the
city, and the disorders that sprang from the weakness of the king. It
would be a material gain to the besiegers to learn how far that feeling
extended, and how far the normal population would support the hordes of
rebels who were constantly pouring into the city.
"You will go among the people," said Hodson to Ahmed, "into the bazars,
among the sepoys, and listen to their talk, and find out what they think
and what their hearts are. You will learn who comes into the city, and
how many they are, and what news they bring from other parts; and you
will go to Fazl Hak, a maulavi to whom you will be recommended by Rajab
Ali, and make him write all this down, saying no more than the truth,
and these letters you will send to me, cunningly concealed, by
messengers who will be appointed. Is it understood?"
"Hazur, it is understood."
"And there is something else, but always have in mind that the other
comes first. The missy sahib whom you saved from the zamindar has a
father in Delhi, but she knows not where. The General Sahib wishes you
to learn, if you can, where he is. He is a hakim; Craddock Sahib is his
name; and we think that he may have been hidden away by one of his
servants. Remember, to ask openly for either the sahib or his servants
may be death to them both. If you find the sahib, and see any way by
which he may escape to us, well. But do not attempt to bring him away
unless it can be done with little fear. He is the father of the missy
sahib."
"Even as Rahmut Khan is my father," said Ahmed.
Hodson did not guess the thought that prompted this apparently
inconsequent statement. He knew nothing, nor did the other officers, of
Rahmut Khan's fate.
"And you must tell none of your comrades of this task we have given
you--not even Sherdil, son of Assad, who appears to be your chief
friend. I know that Sherdil, he has a moist tongue. Where pots are,
there will be a clatter, as they say in your country. You will
start----"
Here he was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a bugle. Immediately
afterwards an officer galloped up.
"The Pandies are attacking our right rear with two thousand men and six
guns, sir," he said.
"By George! that's a new move," said the General. "Off with you, Daly;
Grant will want all the help he can get. Not you, Hodson; you're not fit
to sit a horse yet. You had better take this young Pathan and settle
things with him. I will see you again in the morning."
Thus it was that Ahmed had no part in the fight at Nawabganj--one of the
most critical moments of the siege. Under cover of the gardens that
dotted the broken ground on the right of the British rear a large body
of all arms of the enemy had moved up, taking Sir Hope Grant, who was in
command, completely by surprise. He had only the Guides cavalry, a
portion of the 9th Lancers, and four guns to meet the attack. As soon as
Captain Daly arrived on the scene, he was detached with two guns under
Lieutenant Hills, a troop of Lancers, and the Guides, and found himself
faced by a huge mass of infantry and cavalry, with six or eight guns, in
his immediate front. There was nothing to fall back upon, so, leaving a
handful of Guides to protect the guns, he detached the rest to clear the
left flank, already threatened by the enemy's horse. Lieutenant Hills
got his guns into action, and the little force was bravely holding its
own when Major Tombs hurried up with the remainder of the guns. The
mutineers pressed on in swarms, dodging among the trees, and when they
observed the weakness of the force opposed to them, and the absence of
infantry, they began to close in, until they could pick off Major Tombs'
men as they served the guns. There was a danger that the defenders would
be overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers.
"I fear I must ask you to charge, to save my guns," said Major Tombs to
Daly.
Daly was the only British officer with the cavalry. Waving his sword, he
called on his Guides to charge. The little band dashed forward in the
gathering mist, cut their way right through the crowd of infantry, and
never checked until they reached the enemy's guns. The gunners fled, the
infantry was thrown into disorder, and the bold and perilous movement
had the effect of clearing the front and allowing time for
reinforcements to come up.
A bullet struck Daly in the left shoulder, and he fell from his horse.
In the excitement of the charge his plight was unnoticed. Search was
made for him when the men were returning, and they could not find him in
the dark, until one of the enemy, who had been a jamadar in the 1st Oudh
Irregular Cavalry, pointed out his whereabouts. His wound proved so
serious as to incapacitate him, and indeed he never recovered the full
use of his left arm, so that when Lieutenant Hodson called on the
General next day to report the arrangements he had made with Ahmed, he
learnt that he was to command the Guides until Daly had recovered.
Next day Ahmed set off for Karnal with a returning convoy. Sherdil was
anxious to know what had passed at his interview with the General, still
more when he learnt that he was leaving for Karnal. But Ahmed told him
nothing except that he had been entrusted with an errand, and might not
see him again for some time.
On arriving at Karnal, Ahmed changed his uniform for the ordinary dress
of an Afghan trader, and purchased with money given him by Hodson a
number of shawls. He presented to Mr. Le Bas a letter from Hodson
explaining his mission, and had an interview with Miss Craddock in that
gentleman's house.
She told him no more than he already knew, and when he asked which of
her father's servants was most likely to have befriended him she was
puzzled to answer.
"We thought them all faithful," she said; "but whom can we trust in
these times? They were all good servants; we thought a world of Kaluja
Dass, our khansaman; and Sakun, one of our chaprasis, was always ready
to run errands for me, even when his work for my father was done."
The girl was delighted that her suggestion to General Barnard had borne
fruit, and promised Ahmed much bakshish if he could send her news of her
father. And then, having disguised himself by means of a black beard and
moustache, Ahmed set off in a day or two on his adventurous mission.
He rode out on a camel, reluctantly leaving his horse, Ruksh, behind.
The shawls were strapped in packs before him, and he carried no visible
arms except an Afghan knife; but he had a pistol in his outer garment,
and a talwar was concealed between the packs on his camel's back. Until
he came within twelve miles of Delhi he kept to the great trunk road, on
which troops and armed convoys passed so frequently that it was fairly
safe for travellers. More than once he was stopped and questioned by
parties of soldiers, but the pass given him by Mr. Le Bas satisfied
them, and he was allowed to proceed.
He had decided to approach Delhi from the south-west. He struck off,
therefore, in the direction of Bahadurgurh, and was within seven miles
of his destination when a heavy storm of rain came on, drenching him to
the skin. The camel is a beast of most uncertain temper, and in the
midst of the storm Ahmed's steed suddenly sank on its knees beneath a
large banian-tree that stood solitary by the roadside, tucked its legs
under it, and refused to budge. Ahmed was well acquainted with the ways
of camels, and knew that no coercion would make the animal move until it
pleased: all that he could do was to wait in patience for its sulky fit
to pass. Fortunately it had chosen for its resting-place a spot where
the banian-tree afforded some shelter from the rain, and from the sun
when the rain ceased. Swampy paddy fields lay on both sides of the road,
and muggy steam rose from the ground under the sun's heat, making Ahmed
feel very uncomfortable. He tramped up and down for a time, hoping that
the camel would rise; but as there was no sign of any change of mood in
it, he by and by spread a mat by the animal's side, and squatted on it,
leaning against the camel, prepared to make the best of the situation.
He ate some of the food he had brought with him, and then, it being
midday and hot, he fell asleep. A Pathan sleeps like a rabbit, with only
one eye shut, and Ahmed would wake at the slightest sound. If a band of
mutineers should come upon him he knew that there was no escape for him,
so that whether awake or asleep he would be in the same predicament.
It was late in the afternoon when he awoke. Nothing had disturbed his
rest; the animal had not moved. Ahmed got up to try the effect of a
little coaxing; it was quite time the camel came to a reasonable frame
of mind. As he moved towards the animal's head he noticed a man
approaching across the fields. He carried a lathi, and in dress and
appearance looked like a ryot. The man stopped short when he caught
sight of Ahmed's turban. Apparently he had supposed that the camel lying
in the road was untended. Ahmed looked at him and he looked at Ahmed.
Then he drew a little nearer and shouted a salutation.
"Salaam, sarban, what is amiss?"
"Not a great matter, stranger," said Ahmed. "The camel does but take a
rest."
"Thou hast without doubt come far?"
"That is possible."
"And is it far thou goest?"
"Even to the city of the king."
"Have a care lest thou fall among the Feringhis. What is the news whence
thou comest?"
"Nay, thou wilt have news, being so near the city. What is said here,
stranger?"
"Why, that Bakht Khan is on his way hither with 50,000 men, and the Shah
of Persia has taken Lahore, and Jan Larrens was caught as he sought to
escape on an elephant, and all men knew him by the wounds on his back.
The accursed Feringhis will soon be altogether destroyed, that is
certain."
"If it be Allah's will."
To this the ryot made no reply. He had stood at a distance during the
conversation, every man being suspicious of every other in this time of
unrest and upheaval. Paying him no further attention, Ahmed went to the
camel's head and tried to induce the animal to get up. He did not relish
the prospect of remaining all night in the open, liable to be drenched
by another rain-storm. But the beast was obstinate. Even when Ahmed
offered it the last of his chapatis, its only response was a savage bite
at the hand which fed it, a vicious attack that Ahmed only escaped by a
hair's breadth. The ryot stood for a few minutes watching these
ineffectual attempts, then shouted a farewell and moved away.
Ahmed was annoyed. To an oriental time is nothing; but for the possible
inconvenience of the situation he might have been content to wait the
animal's pleasure. But he felt that the sooner he was in Delhi the
better. And it suddenly occurred to him that his position might prove
even more inconvenient than he had hitherto reckoned for. The ryot who
had just disappeared had probably returned to his home in some not
distant hamlet. He would almost certainly tell the people about the
recalcitrant camel, and they might see a chance of helping themselves to
its load. One solitary trader, even though an Afghan, would be no match,
they would think, for a band of lathi-wallahs. Ahmed wished he had
seized the man, and held him at least until the camel had recovered its
temper. It was too late to think of that now; the ryot was quite out of
sight, and Ahmed had perforce to return to his mat.