a meal. Later in the day, when the heat was past, he unloaded his bales,
hired a coolie, and set forth to offer his wares to the Prince Mirza
Mogul, subahdar of the volunteer regiment of native infantry, who seemed
to be one of the most important persons in the city. But on arriving at
the head-quarters of the regiment he found that the prince had gone to
attend a darbar at the palace. Some of the subordinate officers,
however, were curious to see the contents of the bale he had brought,
and he displayed before them the fabrics he had purchased in Karnal with
money given him by Hodson Sahib. Many of the officers, in spite of their
having received little or no pay from the King of Delhi, were rich with
the spoils of looted provincial treasuries, and were quite ready to
bargain for the many-coloured shawls whose merits Ahmed extolled with
oriental extravagance.
It takes a long time to conclude a bargain in the East, and Ahmed knew
enough of the part he was to play to make no attempt to shorten the
business. After haggling for an hour or two he allowed the purchasers to
buy some of his goods at what they considered very low prices, not
forgetting to assure them that he was being absolutely ruined, and but
for the disturbance of trade, due to the upheaval, he would not dream of
parting with his wares at such low figures. And he told over again the
story of his providential escape from the Gujars, and made himself so
pleasant that the officers gossiped freely with him about things that
were happening--of the regiments that were expected to arrive in the
city, the confiscation of the property of Beg Begam Shamen, the shooting
of four spies who had been captured in the English camp. Above all, they
complained of the stinginess of the miserable old king, who would
neither pay them their arrears nor allow them to obtain their just dues
by exerting pressure on the shroffs. They talked in very large terms of
the wealth they would secure when the Feringhis were finally defeated,
and Ahmed went away feeling that at present they had absolute confidence
in their ultimate success.
Next day he heard sounds of firing, and learnt by and by that an
engagement had taken place with the English at Sabzi Mandi, a suburb at
the southern end of the Ridge. Presently a great mob of yelling fanatics
rushed into the city with an elephant they had captured from the
English, and they led it in triumph to the palace as a present for the
king. Ahmed followed in their wake, accompanied by his coolie with a
bale. He had learnt that a regiment of sepoys was quartered in temporary
barracks close to the palace, and it seemed likely that the officers
might be in the mood to become purchasers. On reaching the barracks he
found that they had gone to the palace to join in acclaiming the leaders
of the force which had that day, according to their own account, done
prodigious execution among the enemy. Ahmed was not sorry; while waiting
for the return of the officers he would have an opportunity of gleaning
a little information from the men. And so, after a little exchange of
courtesies, he said--
"Without doubt such fine men as you must have a famous warrior as
leader."
"Without doubt, though we know him little yet," was the reply. "He is,
at any rate, a fellow-countryman of yours, O banijara, and a very devout
man."
"What! Has he not led you against the Feringhis? Surely in no better way
could he prove his devoutness."
"That is very true, and he will lead us when the time comes. There is no
doubt of our bravery; we came from Nimuch, and were not admitted to the
city until we had covered ourselves with glory in a fight with the
English. But our subadhar has only of late been appointed to command us,
and since then we have not been outside the walls. We lost very heavily
at Badli-ki-serai, the day before those Guides--accursed traitors--came
into the English camp. We killed thousands and thousands of the English,
but could not utterly defeat them for want of ammunition. And our
subahdar was killed. Though our new subahdar has not fought with us yet,
he must be a very brave man, or our king would not have appointed him
over the heads of other officers who led us."
"It is well you have a subahdar so much to your mind," said Ahmed.
"He is indeed a good man," said another sepoy. "These are hard times,
and the great one knows how unjust it is to forbid us to take what we
can. He shuts one eye, and if that eye is turned to us when we are
taking a little loot--why, Allah is good. In truth"--and here the man
dropped his voice--"a part of our loot is set aside, and if it does not
find its way to the subahdar, I know not where it goes. 'Twas only
yesterday we roasted a rascally shroff until he showed us where his
money-bags were hidden. That is as it should be, for the shroffs being
vile Hindus, it is not meet that the faithful should want while the
unbelievers are waxing fat with great gain. In truth, good banijara,
Minghal Khan is a noble officer, and if you do but wait a little, maybe
he will buy somewhat of you, seeing that you are of his race."
Ahmed wondered whether he had concealed the start of surprise he felt he
had involuntarily given when the name of Minghal Khan was mentioned.
That wily enemy of his father was here in Delhi, then, playing a new
part. His impulse was to depart at once, lest Minghal should return and
discover him. His disguise, to be sure, was good: it was hardly likely
that any one who knew Ahmed the boy would recognize him in the bearded
trader--and Ahmed found the beard, fixed on with a kind of glue,
decidedly uncomfortable. But Minghal was an adept at disguises himself,
as his appearance at Mardan as a fakir proved; and if he heard this
supposed trader's voice, Ahmed feared that he was lost.
As ill-luck would have it, before he could decently break off his
conversation and take his departure, a jamadar of the regiment returned,
and, seeing the bundle, demanded that it should be opened. There was no
help for it; Ahmed had to display his wares, and was immediately engaged
in a haggling bout. Being thoroughly uneasy, he determined to cut the
business short, and indeed concluded a bargain with a rapidity and at a
sacrifice that evidently surprised his customer. Ahmed hastened to
assure him that at an ordinary time he would rather starve than accept
such a price, but what was a poor trader to do in these times of
trouble? He must take what he could get and be thankful.
The natural result of this was that the customer hesitated. Perhaps if
he haggled a little longer he would get the article--a fine embroidered
shawl--still cheaper. But Ahmed now spoke up resolutely.
"No, I must make sacrifices; it is fate; but I will not give my goods
away. Here, Ali, the hazur does not want the shawl. Roll it up in the
bundle; we will be gone."
And then the jamadar, fearing he might lose his bargain after all,
closed with the offer, and paid the price.
It was only just in time. The coolie was actually rolling up the bundle
when Minghal Khan himself, accompanied by two or three subordinate
officers, turned the corner, and approached the door of the barracks at
which the chaffering had been going on. Ahmed instinctively bent down,
in spite of his disguise, to avoid recognition, and helped the man to
tie up the bundle. One of the sepoys with whom he had been in
conversation nudged him.
"That is our noble subahdar," he said in a whisper.
Ahmed made but a slight sign that he heard. He did not venture to look
up until Minghal Khan had passed by. Then he said--
"Without doubt he is a very devout man, but does he seem fit to command
such fine warriors as you? Truly he has not the figure of a great
commander. Nevertheless the king knows best."
"And will you not show him your goods?"
"Another time. The great man talked very earnestly with his friends. It
is certain he is occupied with weighty matters. It would not beseem my
insignificance to intrude upon him now. Salaam!"
He went back to the serai and dismissed the coolie. He had had enough of
playing the trader for that time. The rest of the day he spent in
wandering about the city, haunting the gates, noting the strength of the
sepoys at the bastions, and picking up what scraps of information he
could.
That night, under cover of the darkness, he sought out the house of the
Maulavi Fazl Hak, who, while in high favour with the king, was secretly
in the confidence of Rajab Ali Khan, the organizer of Hodson's spies. It
was to him that Ahmed was to make his reports, and by him that the means
of conveying his information to the British lines would be arranged. He
was admitted to the presence of the maulavi, a man of dignified aspect,
with eyes of particular brilliance. Fazl Hak was convinced from the
first that the cause of the mutineers was hopeless, and advised the king
many times during the siege to make his peace with the sahibs before it
was too late.
"I am Ahmed Khan," said the visitor, after salutations had been
exchanged, "and I bring greeting from the Maulavi Rajab Ali."
"Yes. You came in yesterday by the Ajmir gate."
"True," said Ahmed, somewhat surprised.
"And you took up your abode in the serai of Gopal Ali by the Moti
Bazar."
"It is so," said Ahmed, wondering more and more.
"And you have sold goods to officers of the regiments of the Prince
Mirza Mogul and Minghal Khan."
"All this is true," said Ahmed, feeling strangely uncomfortable; "and
yet I know not how it reached your ears."
"That is no matter. It is my business to know things. And now, what can
I do for you?"
"I would send a message to Hodson Sahib."
"Well, I have been asked to assist an Afghan trader named Ahmed Khan.
That was Rajab Ali's word. I will do all I can. Say on. What is the
message?"
"I must say it to a munshi, who will write with a pen what I speak with
my lips."
"I will write. Speak."
Then Ahmed began, in the grave and earnest manner of one engaged in an
important transaction, to describe what he had seen, and relate what he
had heard. For some little while Fazl Hak wrote with the finest of pens,
in diminutive characters, on paper so thin that Ahmed marvelled it was
not pierced. The maulavi's grave face expressed nothing of what he
thought; perhaps one who knew him better might have detected a slight
twinkle beneath his veiling eyelids, and the play of his lips behind
their curtain of beard. All at once he stopped writing, and looking up
at Ahmed, said--
"Does a man cook eggs that are already eaten? This that you say, Ahmed
Khan, is a twice-told tale. The oldest of your news went to the English
three days ago; the newest, a little ere the gates were shut."
Ahmed flushed, and looked exceedingly abashed. He was chagrined at his
failure, and annoyed that Fazl Hak had let him go on even so long
dictating his stale news. Something in the maulavi's manner suggested
that he was not wholly pleased at Ahmed's presence in Delhi. Perhaps he
thought that his friend Rajab Ali might have consulted him before
sending a new and untried spy into the city. And if this was indeed his
feeling, how well, thought Ahmed, was it justified? Was this man
omniscient, that nothing could escape him? Ahmed felt thoroughly
disheartened. What could he do? He would only make himself foolish in
the eyes of the sahibs if he sent them old news, even as he had already
made himself foolish in the eyes of Fazl Hak.
"Go on," said the maulavi. "Let me write some new news."
"Of what use, O wise one? It were but waste of breath."
"Yet go on. Who can tell but that the wind may have carried one little
seed to your ear?"
"A man was hanged to-day on a tree before the Kotwali, it being supposed
he was concerned in the making of a mine that was discovered by the
Kashmir gate."
"And a man in the garb of a fakir," said the maulavi, as if in
continuance of the report, "was seized at the Ajmir gate, and it being
suspected that he was a spy, he was killed. Go on."
"Bakht Khan with his force from Bareilly has halted at the tomb of
Safdar Jang."
"That was yesterday. He is now at Ghaziabad. Go on."
"I will even go to my place, and trouble you no more until I have learnt
somewhat that no one else can know. Is it not vain to pour water into a
vessel that is already full?"
And then Fazl Hak laid down his pen and smiled. It was as though he was
satisfied with having impressed Ahmed with a sense of his knowledge and
of his own insignificance.
"Come, let us talk as friends," he said. "You are but a youth in these
things, in spite of your beard." ("He does not know of my disguise,
then," thought Ahmed; this was a little cheering.) "And for one who is
but beginning you have not done amiss. I perceive that you have a quick
eye and a ready ear, and if, when these troubles are over, you care to
enter my service, without doubt you will in due time become the
possessor of many rupees."
"I thank you," said Ahmed, the sting of his humiliation somewhat
mollified; "but when I have found the hakim I shall return to my own
place."
"The hakim! What is this about a hakim?"
The maulavi's evident surprise pleased Ahmed: here was something else
that he did not know.
"I came not only to learn things about the rebels," he said, "but to
discover the whereabouts of an English hakim who is concealed somewhere
in the city--Craddock Sahib; maybe you know somewhat of him?"
"It was told me that he was slain. How know you that he is yet alive?"
"A chit was carried from him to his daughter in Karnal; therefore am I
here."
"I knew it not, and it is good knowledge, for Craddock Sahib is a good
hakim, and cured me of a fever."
"Then you will help me to find him?"
"That I cannot do; I have too much to do otherwise, and further, it
might bring me into great peril. Already I run great risks. Is it not
known who carried the chit?"
"A man who would say nothing, if indeed he knew anything. The missy
sahib thought that her father might have been saved by one of his
servants: the khansaman, Kaluja Dass, seemed to be a true servant. Know
you aught of him?"
"No. I know much, as you have perceived, but I do not know the
whereabouts of every khansaman who served the English before the
troubles. But I can soon discover."
He clapped his hands, and a chaprasi appeared. The maulavi gave him a
few instructions in a low tone, and the man went out again.
"He will assuredly learn what we desire to know. Until he returns
refresh yourself. There are sherbets at your service, also a hookah."
Ahmed took the sherbets, but declined the hookah. In the course of an
hour the man came back, and spoke apart with his master. Then he
disappeared.
"It is vain," said Fazl Hak. "The khansaman has become a rebel. He
serves Minghal Khan, who now occupies Craddock Sahib's house. The
khansaman, Kaluja Dass, is heard daily cursing the sahibs whom formerly
he served, and verily he hates them above measure, or he would not have
taken service with Minghal Khan. You must seek elsewhere for the
preserver of the hakim. And if you find him, let me know; I would do
somewhat for Craddock Sahib."
CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH
The Coming of Bakht Khan
Ahmed left the house doubly disappointed--at his failure to supply any
information worth carrying to the Ridge, and at the bad news concerning
the khansaman. He had been full of confidence when he entered Fazl Hak's
presence. His confidence had been rudely shaken, and further, he had now
a certain feeling of personal insecurity which he had not before. Not
that he had been unaware of the risks that he was running. If his
disguise were penetrated, if his connection with the English was so much
as suspected, he would be hanged or shot without mercy. But his peril
had not come home to him as it did now, when he found that, so far from
being unknown in Delhi, his every movement had been watched. If he was
thus known to the maulavi, was it not possible that he was also being
spied upon by agents of the mutineers? Might they not be giving him the
rope by which to hang himself? As he passed through the streets on the
way back to his serai he felt that he was slinking along like a
criminal. He seemed to see an enemy in every passer-by.
But before he reached the serai he had partially got the better of this
feeling. After all, Fazl Hak himself appeared to have no idea that the
bearded Afghan who had stood before him was a youth in disguise. It was
a pleasure to find a gap in that wise person's knowledge, and as for the
mutineers, the summary manner in which they had disposed of the man
caught at the Kashmir gate, and the disguised fakir at the Ajmir gate,
disposed him to believe that if he were suspected he would not now be
alive.
Though thus gaining reassurance as to his safety, he had to confess that
the discovery of Craddock Sahib seemed as far off as ever. He had
counted much on the khansaman, and to find that the man was not only
disloyal, but had actually taken service with one of the most malignant
of the enemies of the sahibs, was much more than a disappointment. Since
it appeared clear that the khansaman could have had no hand in the
concealment of the doctor, he had no clue to follow, and to seek a
hidden man without a clue in this immense city, with its labyrinths of
streets and lanes, was a task that staggered him by its hopelessness.
After a night's rest, however, his fit of black despair had passed. He
awoke with a settled determination to do his utmost, not merely to find
the hakim, but to prove to Fazl Hak and to Hodson Sahib that he was
worthy of the mission entrusted to him. In his interview with the
maulavi his self-esteem had received a wound--not a very serious one, as
his good sense informed him, but still one that could only be healed by
accomplishment. The question was, how to achieve his end? Obviously he
could not force things; it seemed as though the most he could do was to
be alert and vigilant, trusting that chance would throw an opportunity
in his way.
It occurred to him that a visit to Minghal Khan's house might help him a
little. It would at least enable him to learn for himself, perhaps,
whether the chaprasi's report about the khansaman was justified. He
still felt a lingering hope that the informant was mistaken. The missy
sahib had much knowledge of the man, and it seemed incredible to Ahmed,
with his experience of the loyalty of his comrades in the Guides to
their salt, that a man who had served the sahib faithfully for years
should be so utterly perverted as the chaprasi had reported. Had he not
heard stories in camp of the heroic devotion shown by native servants in
rescuing and giving asylum to the families whose salt they had eaten?
Had he not, indeed, seen with his own eyes in the camp on the Ridge
Metcalfe Sahib, who had been saved, not even by a servant, but by a
police officer, one Mainudin Hassan Khan, who at the risk of his life
had conveyed the sahib to Jajjar? If a police officer would do this,
might not a khansaman or some other servant, bound to his master by
personal ties far closer, have done as much for Craddock Sahib?
From his experiences on the previous day, he guessed that in all
probability Minghal Khan would leave his house early to attend the usual
morning darbar at the palace. His absence would furnish a good
opportunity of calling without risk. Accordingly, he summoned his
coolie, and, while the man was preparing a bale of goods, he inquired of
the innkeeper the way to the great man's house. It was not far off,
being on the opposite side of the Chandni Chauk towards the Delhi Bank.
He set off with his goods, found the house without difficulty, and rang
the bell.
"Salaam, darwan," he said to the servant who opened the door. "You
behold a trader from Afghanistan, who comes with some beautiful fabrics
of exquisite workmanship to lay before the great subahdar, Minghal
Khan."
"Away, banijara!" replied the man. "The great one is not at home; he is
gone to the king's palace. And even were he within, dost think he would
deign to look at the filthy rags a man like thee would bring? Away, and
take thy shadow from his door."
Ahmed, who knew very well what this meant, slipped a few annas into the
darwan's hand.
"I know I am unworthy that the light of the great man's countenance
should fall upon my goods," he said. "Yet in his merciful kindness he
may deign to purchase some small thing, and then, O darwan, there will
assuredly be dasturi for hands that so well deserve it."
The preliminary "tip," and the promise of a commission on the goods
sold, had the expected effect.
"The great one is from home," said the man. "If you will come again, I
will do my poor best to persuade him to look upon you."
"It is a favour. How lucky art thou, O darwan, to be doorkeeper to the
exalted one! By what great merits didst thou arrive at so high a
station?"
The darwan's vanity was flattered. He bridled.
"Wah! It is as thou sayest, banijara. And 'tis more merit than luck, be
sure. I have served the great man but two days, and live in the sunlight
of his good favour. I have served other great men in my time. Even but
now I came from the Maulavi Ahmed Ullah himself. Being ignorant, thou
mayst not know that the Maulavi and my present master are as brothers,
and two days ago I came from the Maulavi with news of the great doings
at Cawnpore. And being the first--for those twenty sowars who brought
the news were laggards compared with me--and sent by the Maulavi to
Minghal Khan, the great man was able to acquaint the king before the
sowars came, and for that he received a present of royal sweetmeats, and
made me his darwan."
"Truly it was great merit. And that matter of the doings at Cawnpore--I
have heard some whispers of it, but not as thou couldst tell it. I pray
thee, darwan, say on."
"It was a glorious matter. The Feringhis were shut up there, and Dhundu
Pant, whom men commonly call Nana Sahib, took a full revenge for his
grievances. Thou must know he was adopted son of that Baji Rao whom the
accursed Feringhis put down from being peshwa, and tried to soothe with
a pension of eight lakhs of rupees. And when he died, they would not pay
the pension to his son, though Baji Rao left a host of dependants for
Nana Sahib to support. And when Nana made complaint of this injustice to
the Kumpani, they gave him a rough answer: what did it matter to the
Kumpani if Baji Rao's people starved? And when the rising came, the men
of those parts made Nana Sahib their leader, and he caused entrenchments
to be thrown up before Cawnpore, and mounted great guns to destroy the
Feringhis. They had done well to yield, but they are even as pigs, and
endured great tribulations from shot and shell and the want of food, and
Nana Sahib was wroth, because the men clamoured to be led to Delhi. Nana
Sahib is a very great man. He sent a letter to the Feringhis, in which
he promised, if they would lay down their arms, to let them go safely to
Allahabad. Wah! They are stupid as camels. They sent men to meet
Azimullah, Nana Sahib's munshi, and he promised to have forty boats
stored with food ready for them at the Satia Chama ghat, and it was
written down, and when one of the Feringhis came to see Nana Sahib put
his name to the paper, the Nana shed tears of sorrow at what their women
and children had suffered. Truly he is a very great man."
"As a serpent in cunning. Go on with thy tale, darwan."