moored, even as it had been written. They got into the boats, and some
two or three began to move on the stream, when at the sound of a bugle
the boatmen leapt overboard, and the sepoys on the banks fired at those
laughing fools, and all the men were killed; it was a great killing; and
the women were dragged ashore and pent up in a little house, and there
they are to this day, and when the Feringhis are all destroyed, then
there will be white-faced wives for any who like to take them. It was a
great day--and for me too. I shall by and by be rich as a shroff, that
is sure. I got much plunder when we entered Cawnpore after the Feringhis
were slain; and in very truth--but tell no man of this, banijara--it
would not surprise me if I were at this moment richer than my exalted
master himself. There is great honour in serving the King of Delhi, but
hitherto little profit. That is only until the Feringhis are utterly
destroyed. Then all faithful servants of the king will become great
subahdars, and Minghal Khan is very high in his favour. But now there is
little money; indeed, our khansaman had yesterday none wherewith to buy
food for the great one, until he had sold some of the things in the
house that belonged to the dog of an English hakim who used to live
here. He is a good man, the khansaman, and it would do your ears good to
hear him curse the vile Feringhis."
"The great one has many servants, no doubt?" said Ahmed.
"Nay, it is not so. Besides me and Kaluja Dass, the khansaman, there is
but one khitmutgar,--a household by no means worthy of so great a man as
Minghal Khan. But what must be will be. When there is little money, even
the greatest must go short. Here is the khansaman himself, going to
market in the bazar."
He stood aside to let the upper servant pass. Ahmed looked at the man
keenly. He saw an elderly man, with a grave and somewhat anxious
countenance. The khansaman glanced at him as he passed.
"A banijara from Afghanistan, khansaman," said the darwan. "Think you
the exalted one will be in the mind to purchase somewhat of him?"
"In the mind, but not the pocket, until the thrice-accursed sons of
perdition are sent to the lowest pit," replied the khansaman, and passed
on.
"Thou hearest?" said the darwan. "Without doubt he is a good man, and
when Minghal Khan is exalted, Kaluja Dass will be exalted too. He hates
the Feringhis with a terrible hatred, and that is easy to understand,
seeing that it was his kismet to serve them for so many years."
"It is as thou sayest, good darwan. But it seems 'tis an ill time to
bring my wares. Yet I would fain show them to the exalted one at a
convenient season. I will come again, and if it should not please the
great man to see me, I should have some consolation in another talk with
thee. 'Tis not often a poor trader like me meets a man who has seen such
great deeds."
"And done them, banijara. Was I not among those who shot the fools of
Feringhis at the ghat? Wah! One boat that had left the ghat was rowed to
the other side--the pigs of English believed they might yet escape. But
I was there, with my musket, and I fired, and my shot kindled the thatch
that covered the boat, and it burnt with a great blaze. And the boat
grounded in the mud, and I ran down and pulled out of it one of the
English by the hair of his head, and drove my knife into him many times,
and he died, pig that he was--though he did not squeal like a pig; the
English, curse them, never squeal."
Ahmed's blood was boiling. It was one of his own race whom this braggart
menial had killed. He would have liked to end the man's account then and
there, but the coolie was at hand, squatting beside the bale of goods.
For the sake of his mission he could not afford to give rein to his
anger.
"It is an honour to meet one who has done such brave deeds," he said.
"Thou wert better among the soldiers, surely, than at the door of a
house. It is men like thee who are wanted to fight the Feringhis, not
those miserable dogs who went out but lately, horse and foot and guns,
and returned saying that they had not fought because the air did not
agree with them. The king did right to drive them from the city. I will
come again, good darwan, at night-time perhaps, when the work is done;
far be it from me to interfere with thy important duties, and maybe if I
bring some sweetmeats or preserves--delicate things for the palate--thou
wilt deign to partake with me, while thou cheerest me with thy pleasant
talk."
"Gladly will I meet thee," said the darwan, greatly pleased with this
flattery. "Never have I seen so excellent a banijara. Salaam!"
Ahmed departed with his coolie. When they reached the Chandni Chauk it
was instantly apparent that something had happened which stirred public
excitement. Crowds were pouring towards the palace, Hindus and
Mohammedans together, their faces lit with joy. One man jostled the
coolie, and his burden was thrown to the ground.
"Pig of a Purbiya!" cried Ahmed, seizing the man--a Pathan could not
overlook such an insult--"what meanest thou to damage thus the goods of
thy betters?"
"How shall I answer?" replied the man. "Knowest thou not that Bakht Khan
with his troops is now on the river-bank yonder, and but waits for the
repairing of the bridge to cross? And the king has ordered four hundred
men to do that work, and I am even now hastening to do his bidding.
Overlook my fault for this time, I pray thee."
Ahmed gave him a kick and released him. Clearly there was little chance
of doing business on such a great day. He took his wares back to the
serai, and then set off to the Calcutta gate to see what might be seen.
As he went he heard the concussion of artillery fire, and men soon came
running in the direction of the palace with news that the English were
bombarding the battery north of the Kashmir gate, commanded by Kuli
Khan. Cries arose that a general assault was being prepared against the
city, and by and by thousands of red-coated sepoys, with lumbering
gun-carriages, marched through the streets towards the Kabul gate, to
take up their position at Idgah and Dam-damma, facing the southern end
of the Ridge. Meanwhile the bridge of boats, which had broken down in a
heavy wind-storm on the previous day, was being hastily repaired by a
host of coolies with two companies of sappers and miners, and across the
river, two or three miles away, lay the long-expected force of Mohammed
Bakht Khan, from whose arrival the rebels hoped so much. All day the
city was in a ferment. Heavy guns were mounted on the batteries; some
attempt was made to reply to the English fire; and great was the
jubilation when it was reported that shells from the city had fallen in
the midst of the English camp, killing hundreds of the accursed
Feringhis.
Amid the excitements of the day Ahmed had no leisure to prosecute his
direct inquiries. He was satisfied with having made a friend of Minghal
Khan's doorkeeper, whom he intended to cultivate. What the darwan had
said of Kaluja Dass, and the words he had himself heard fall from the
khansaman's lips, confirmed the report of Fazl Hak's emissary, and Ahmed
now felt sure that Craddock Sahib, wherever he was, owed nothing to his
former servant. He could not conceive what his next move should be, and
if great fighting was to ensue upon Bakht Khan's arrival, it would seem
that nothing but mere accident could put him on the traces of the sahib.
Meanwhile he went to Fazl Hak with the news of the treachery at
Cawnpore; the particulars he had learnt from the darwan were new to the
maulavi.
Next day the whole city flocked to see the entrance of the Bareilly
force over the renovated bridge. Ahmed stood among the crowd as the
troops filed by, headed by Bakht Khan, who rode among a group of all the
chief officers in the city, sent to meet him by the king. There were
four regiments of foot, seven hundred cavalry, six horse artillery guns,
three field-pieces, three hundred spare horses, and fourteen elephants
laden with treasure worth, as rumour said, four lakhs of rupees. Ahmed
followed the troops to the great square before the mosque, and listened
to the extravagant speeches made there in welcome of the arrivals. Bakht
Khan himself was a bluff, blunt soldier, who had learnt something of
English reticence during his long and brilliant service with the sahibs.
His battery of artillery had received a mural crown as honorary
decoration for its guns in reward for its good work at Jalalabad in the
first Afghan war. He said little in reply to the flowery compliments
showered upon him by the king's officers, and Minghal Khan, who was
present with the rest, appeared to think the new-comer's speech
deficient in encouragement. It was too good an opportunity to be lost.
Minghal raised his voice and poured out streams of fiery eloquence,
denouncing the Feringhis, and boasting of what should be done to them
now that more active measures were about to be taken. The excited mob
yelled applause, even those who failed to understand his speech, which
was delivered in the vile jargon of a hill-man; and Ahmed, taking note
of all, saw that his old enemy had beyond doubt the ear of the rebels.
The sepoys stood to their arms while Bakht Khan and the other chief
officers went to the palace to see the king. Ahmed waited patiently amid
the throng until the great man returned. All voices were hushed as Bakht
Khan announced that the king had grasped his hands and appointed him
commander-in-chief of the forces.
"The king commands that the English shall cease to exist," said the
general. "He has given me a shield and a sword, and shed the light of
his countenance upon me. He has appointed the Kalla Mahall as the
quarters for my troops from Bareilly, and ordered four thousand rupees
to be distributed among you for a merry-making. And now I give orders
that no soldier shall plunder or harm any man whatsoever in this city.
If any soldier is caught plundering, his arm shall be severed from his
body. Thus the king commands. We can do nothing without order, such
order as the Feringhis have; and there is no order where every man seeks
to enrich himself. I said to the king that were I to catch even a prince
of blood in the act of plunder, I would straightway cut off his nose and
ears. And the king made answer: 'Do whatsoever seemeth good unto thee.'
Wherefore I say to the kotwal of this city: if there is any more
plundering he shall be hanged. And let a drummer go forth and proclaim
that all shopkeepers arm themselves, and if any have no arms, they shall
be furnished him. These things I say, and let all men know that I am the
general of Bahadur Shah, and my word is as his word."
There was a soldierly directness and a grim determination about the man
that impressed the people. Ahmed recognized the fruits of English
training in the general, but as he looked round among the sepoys and the
populace, and realized what discordant elements were mingled there, he
knew that one man, even such a one as Bakht Khan, could never discipline
them into the cohesion which alone could command success.
When the assembly dispersed and the troops went to their quarters, Ahmed
still kept track of the movements of the general. He followed him when
he visited Prince Mirza Mogul, the former commander-in-chief, sulking at
his reduction to the post of adjutant-general, and when he inspected the
magazine, and waited for hours at the general's door when he held his
levee of the officers, taking note of those who entered, and those who
remained longest. Minghal Khan was among these last, and since it was
clear that he and the commander-in-chief were on especially good terms,
Ahmed decided that it would certainly be worth while to pay another
visit to the darwan. As yet he had learnt little that all the world did
not know; but it was possible that the men of Minghal Khan's own
household might have information of a more private nature. It was now
drawing towards evening; the business of the day would soon cease, and
the darwan would be at leisure. In preparation for the visit Ahmed
bought a quantity of delectables in the bazar, and as soon as it was
dark, and the streets, which had been thronged all day, became a little
clearer, he set off with his parcel of dainties for Minghal Khan's
house.
CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH
The Doctor's Divan
"Salaam, darwan," said Ahmed, as the man opened the gate in answer to
his ring. "Thou beholdest me, even as I said, and I have with me some
few choice things to eat. Peradventure thy duties are done, and thou
wilt have leisure to enliven my ears with more tales of brave doings."
"Woe is me, banijara! I would fain talk to thee and eat thy dainties,
but I fear me 'tis an ill season. My exalted master is even at this
moment above-stairs in council with Bakht Khan himself, and he may call
for me at any moment."
"That is ill news for me, good darwan. I must needs go back and come
another day. And yet it is pity, for these dainties of mine are fresh.
Hai! what must be will be."
"'Tis pity, as thou sayest; but the exalted one might be displeased."
The darwan was clearly vexed at the prospect of losing a feast. Ahmed,
on his part, was the more desirous of gaining admittance to the house
now that he knew what was going on there. Perhaps this was the very
opportunity he had been seeking, of learning something about the rebels'
plans that should escape even Fazl Hak. So he took quick advantage of
the darwan's hesitation.
"Maybe I might come in for a short time," he said. "Never would I
interfere with thy duties, and if thou art summoned I can take up my
shoes and depart quietly. And I mind me of a saying of my country:
'Better sheep's trotters now than a leg of mutton a year hence.'"
"A true saying, and a wise. Well, come in, banijara. Allah is good!"
Ahmed entered, and the darwan led him to his own little shed in the
compound; and, making themselves as comfortable as the bare chamber
admitted, they began to talk in low tones, and to dispose of the
eatables which Ahmed had brought. If the darwan had been observant, he
would have noticed that his companion was scarcely so attentive to his
conversation as he had been on the previous day. Indeed, Ahmed's
imagination was busy all the time with the meeting upstairs. What was
being discussed between the commander-in-chief and Minghal Khan? How
would he find out? He wished that the darwan would be called away, so
that he might make an attempt to look in upon them and, if possible, to
hear something of what they were saying. In view of the possibility, he
got from the darwan by discreet questions a description of the
apartments.
"The great ones are in the room where the English hakim--may his
father's grave be defiled!--took his meals. Opposite is the room where
he kept his medicines. And the khitmutgar told me of a strange
happening. A little while ago the exalted one, being athirst--he had
drunk of the Feringhi's strong liquor, but that must not be told--being
athirst, I say, he took one of the hakim's bottles, thinking it
contained a grateful draught. But lo! when he lifted the stopper,
straightway he was bitten by terrible devils that caught him by the nose
and throat, and some of the liquor was spilt upon his foot and smote him
with very lively pains. And now he goes but rarely into that room, and
he sniffs even at milk before he tastes it."
Time passed; the materials of the feast had disappeared; and the darwan,
at length becoming alive to the apparent tedium of his guest, heartily
wished that he would go. He threw out hints--the hour was getting late;
the early sleep was best. Ahmed feigned obtuseness; he was determined
not to go while there was any chance of gaining his end. But he had
almost given up hope when the darwan was at last summoned to attend his
master. Ahmed at once rose.
"It would be ill to stay longer, good darwan," he said. "I will even let
myself out and close the door behind me when I know that the way is
clear."
"Do as thou sayest, and God be with thee," replied the darwan, hastening
away. Ahmed at once slipped out and opened the gate a little way, to
give the impression that he had gone and forgotten in his haste to close
it behind him. Then he ran into the house, and had just hidden behind a
long curtain in the hall when he heard the darwan's voice addressing
some one as he descended the stairs.
"The exalted one calleth for drinks, khansaman," he said. "He bade me
tell thee as I passed, for he sends me an errand, and the khitmutgar
also. What an evil is the lack of money! Here am I, a darwan, bid to do
chaprasis' work! Well, thou, khansaman, must turn darwan while we are
gone. I go to summon the illustrious prince, Mirza Mogul, to attend the
general. Have good care of the door."
He was evidently in very ill-humour at having to turn out. It was
raining; he growled again as he went out into the street, glancing in at
his shed as he passed to see whether his visitor was gone. Ahmed heard
the khansaman close the door, and then pass by into the kitchen to fetch
the drinks. Instantly he slipped out, and ran lightly up the staircase
to the first floor. The wide landing was lit by two lamps hanging from
the ceiling. Right and left were two doors, the one on the right
slightly ajar, the one on the left wide open. Looking through this
latter, Ahmed saw the medicine-room of which the darwan had spoken; the
bottles stood in array on the shelves of a large almirah. From the other
door came the sound of voices: it was here that Minghal Khan and his
guest were conversing. Ahmed was resolved to learn the subject of their
discourse. It was probably of importance; almost certainly it was
concerned with military affairs, for the darwan had gone to summon the
adjutant-general. To learn the matter of their deliberations might be of
vital moment to the English. Yet how was he to do so? He could not
listen at the door; the servants might pass at any moment. Even as he
stood in a tremor of excitement, he heard the clinking of
drinking-vessels from below; the khansaman was returning. To hide from
him was his first concern. At the other end of the landing was a
passage; he might take refuge there. Yet, ignorant of that part of the
house, he might only run into greater danger. There was no time for
calculation. In another moment he would be seen, and then his fate was
sealed. He slipped into the surgery, and stood behind the door, hoping
that the khansaman, after carrying the drinks to his master, would not
enter the room opposite. If he did--Ahmed fingered his knife: a Pathan
has a short way with his enemies.
He heard the khansaman go into the dining-room with his clinking
vessels. Voices; then silence; then the shuffling feet of the khansaman
as he went downstairs again. Had he shut the door behind him? If he had,
all hope of hearing the conversation in that room was gone. Ahmed peeped
out. The door was fast closed. He slipped out stealthily, crossed the
landing, and put his ear against the door. The sound of talking came to
him muffled and indistinct. But it seemed to be approaching: were the
great men coming from the room? He heard a laugh, and in Minghal's loud
tones the word "almirah." Instantly it occurred to him that the bringing
of the liquors had reminded Minghal of his mishap, and he was about to
show his guest the room in which it had happened, and the almirah from
which he had taken the fatal bottle. In a flash Ahmed saw a chance of
taking advantage of their temporary absence from the dining-room. No
longer hesitating, he ran to the dark passage at the end of the landing,
and shrank into a corner until the two men had crossed from room to
room. Then he stole back on tiptoe, and peeped round the door of the
surgery to make sure that he could not be seen as he entered the room
opposite. The men had their backs to him; Minghal was pointing out the
bottle which had all but killed him. Ahmed slipped into the dining-room,
and looked around for some means of concealment. He had but a moment; if
he did not discover a suitable hiding-place he must get back to the dark
passage before Minghal Khan returned.
The eyes of the Guides were trained to observe quickly. This is what he
saw in an instant of time: at one end of the room, a pianoforte--he had
seen such in the officers' quarters at Hoti-Mardan; in one corner a
number of European chairs pushed back out of the way; in the centre,
four cushioned seats grouped about a little foot-table on which were
cups and bottles and the remains of a meal; along the wall at
right-angles to the door, a wide low divan, with flounces touching the
floor. In a moment he made his deductions and took his resolution. Two
of the four cushioned seats had been occupied by Minghal Khan and the
general; the other two were for the officers whom the darwan and the
khitmutgar had gone to summon. The divan probably would not be used;
beneath it, screened by the flounce, he might lie and hear all that was
said. If other officers came, and the divan were required, it would be
pulled out and rolled across the floor. In that case he must crawl with
it. The chances of discovery by the officers were slight; there was
greater risk of discovery by the servants when the meeting broke up; but
the Guides were accustomed to take risks.
These considerations passed through Ahmed's mind in a flash. A few
seconds after he entered the room he was under the divan, with the
flounce pulled down, not a movement of it to betray that anything had
happened during the men's absence. He wondered whether the beating of
his heart could be heard; it was thumping much more violently now than
when he was deciding what to do. The officers stayed in the surgery some
time; Ahmed heard Minghal Khan talking and laughing; and by the time
they came back his pulse had quietened.
They returned to their seats, and drank, and talked--of the weaknesses
of the king, the vices of the princes, the temper of the queen, the
desperate straits of the English at Lucknow, the glorious future before
them when the English had been annihilated. Ahmed wondered whether all
the risks he had dared were to be rewarded with no better
pribble-prabble than this. But by and by the Mirza Mogul was announced,
and a few minutes after him Khuda Baksh Khan, one of the chief sirdars
of the rebel forces, and then the conversation took a turn which engaged
the listener's attention to the uttermost.
At first he had difficulty in making it out. The speakers referred to
matters which had previously been discussed at the king's palace. But
gradually he was able to piece things together; allusions became clear;
he grasped the whole. That very night, a brigade of four thousand men,
horse, foot and artillery, was to march out secretly, slip by the right
of the British position, and move on to the village of Alipur, several
miles in the rear. The villagers had proved loyal to the British; they
constantly supplied the camp with provisions; and General Barnard had
recently established there a small post of some sixty Sikhs. The first
object of the proposed night attack was to destroy the village with its
guard, and carry off a great amount of stores which was believed to be
there.
But it had a second object. While the attention of the British was
diverted to this movement, twenty thousand men were to parade under arms
at dawn near the mosque, in readiness for a sortie. Bakht Khan meant to
signalize his elevation to the post of commander-in-chief by a
tremendous stroke against the besiegers. The men would issue in two
great columns from the Kashmir and Lahore gates. Outnumbering their
enemy by nearly four to one, they would overwhelm them.
This was the general scheme. About the details the officers proceeded to
wrangle. Mirza Mogul resented the promotion of a mere artillery officer
to the chief command, and had innumerable objections to urge against the
views of Bakht Khan. Minghal sided with his superior; Khuda Baksh with
the prince. Ahmed could not forbear smiling as he listened. What would
all their boasts of a glorious victory come to, if they were thus
disunited? He felt a certain respect for Bakht Khan, the sturdy
plain-spoken warrior who believed in drill; for the prince, who had
bragged for a month of what he meant to do, and had done nothing, he had
only contempt. But the important matter was, how to convey information
of these designs to Hodson Sahib? The gates of the city had long been
shut; to pass out by one of them would be impossible. Should he go to
Fazl Hak and ask his advice? He dismissed that idea at once; he would do
without Fazl Hak; the maulavi should learn that he was not
indispensable. He must trust to his own wits. First of all he had to get
safely from the house, and that might prove difficult and dangerous
enough. He was a prisoner under the divan until the meeting broke up;
when the visitors had gone the door would be bolted; Ahmed began to feel
alarmed lest he should have to remain all night in the house, and be
prevented from giving the sahibs warning.