"Pathans are ever unruly--I mean no offence to thee, who art a man of
peace. The noble subahdar, Minghal Khan, is a Pathan, and the leader of
the new-comers is a Pathan also."
"What is his name, O bariya?" asked the trader, judging by his
informant's attire that he was a swordsmith.
"Men call him Asadullah, and say he is a very great warrior. Bah! There
is too much talk of very great warriors, and too little fighting. I am a
good Musalman, and no man can say I am not a faithful subject of the
king--may Allah be his peace!--but it is nevertheless the truth, O
banijara, that I was more prosperous under the English raj than I am
this day."
"There will be work for thee to-morrow, O grinder of swords, for many
edges will be blunted. Hai! What a din they make! I can hardly hear
myself speak. Why are they using no firearms?"
"That is easy to understand. I speak to a friend--thou and I are men of
peace. Well, without doubt, this is not a quarrel that suddenly arises
from a chance hot word. Not so--it was purposed from the beginning. Some
of these new men are out in the streets, beholding the many fine sights
of this city, and that seemed a good occasion to the men of Minghal
Khan; for in truth these new men are said to have good store of plunder
they have taken from the English as they came hither; and, as all men
know, the soldiers of Minghal Khan, and of many another officer, are
yearning for their pay. And so they came and fell upon the men of
Asadullah at their quarters yonder, and brought no firearms, since they
make a great noise; and the new men being taken wholly by surprise, had
not time so much as to fetch their muskets. As thou seest, there is
great fighting at the gate, and some are even now scaling the wall. Wah!
Unless the Kotwal or Bakht Khan come with a great force, methinks in a
little those men of Asadullah will be in a sad case, for the others are
much greater in number. It is a good fight; as thou sayest, it will give
me work to-morrow, my shop is hard by; and therefore I say, let them
fight on."
The two stood side by side watching the fray. There was a great noise of
clashing arms, and fierce yells, but such uproar was too common to have
brought as yet any of the authorities to the spot. The defenders of the
serai were hard pressed. Some had already been driven within the gate;
more and more of the attackers had mounted the wall and leapt into the
enclosure; and it seemed that the swordsmith's forecast of the end would
be justified. But suddenly a group of eight or ten men rounded the
corner of the street, remote from where the two watchers stood. They
halted for a moment, as though they did not at once comprehend the
meaning of the scene before them. The night was dark, but the light of
the stars revealed those new arrivals as stalwart, turbaned men. Their
pause was very brief. Then, drawing their talwars, they swept upon the
rear of the hundred or more sepoys thronging in front of them. "Wah,
wah!" they shouted, and their fierce war-cry fell upon the ears of the
sepoys at the same time as their terrible weapons smote their limbs. The
Pandies were taken utterly by surprise, and began to scatter in a panic.
The diversion came in the nick of time. The defenders took heart from
the arrival of their comrades; the attackers were divided in mind
whether to stay or to flee; and in a very few moments the whole throng
had melted away; those who were on the wall saw themselves unsupported
and dropped to the street, and the new-comers followed in hot chase,
being joined by others from within the gates.
"Wah! That was Asadullah himself," said the swordsmith. "Of a truth, he
is a great warrior. Didst thou see him?"
"I saw a big man, and he seemed older than I had supposed, but it was
too dark to see him clearly. I am a Pathan, as thou didst say, and were
I a man of war, I would fain have had a part with them. But being a man
of peace, far be it from me to endanger my skin in broils of this kind."
"Well, it is over now, and 'twere best for us to get ourselves home.
Verily I shall have work in the morning, and it befits to be up early.
The night is damp and chill, and now I look at thee, art thou not a-cold
in that thin raiment of thine? Hill-men like thee are not wont to go so
thinly clad."
"True, good bariya, and 'tis by evil chance I am as thou seest. I left
my chogah in a certain place, and lo! within a little it was no longer
there. I doubt not it is now among the belongings of some vile Hindu."
"Hai! Vile, indeed! When is this truce to be ended? The king has
commanded that no cows be killed until the English are beaten, and we
good Musalmans must forsooth abstain from that good meat for the sake of
these Hindus. Wah! The time will come. Let but the English be destroyed,
and then we will see what the Hindus have to say. Get thee a warmer
covering, friend, and Allah be with thee."
He turned the corner of the street and was gone. The other went on his
way, and coming to a shop in the nearest bazar, and finding it closed
for the night, he battered on the door until it was opened with much
grumbling by the owner--a man of hooked nose and venerable appearance.
After nearly an hour's bargaining, the customer departed, wearing his
purchase, a well-lined Afghan chogah. Then he proceeded quickly to a
small serai on the other side of the Chandni Chauk.
"Salaam, bhatiyara, thou beholdest me again," he said on entering.
The innkeeper looked up with a start from among the pots in which he was
preparing supper for two guests.
"Salaam," he said, with no great cordiality. "Thou hast been on a long
visit to that friend of thine."
"Truly. Who can strive against fate! I was smitten with a fever. We
hill-men suffer grievously in the plains in this time of rain. But I am
now recovered, Allah be praised! and ready to go once more about my
business. Give me to eat, I am very hungry; and then I will sleep.
To-morrow I will go forth again with my goods, and maybe I shall find
more ready buyers."
"Hai! who can strive against fate! But a few days after thou hadst
departed, there came in the middle of the night vile robbers, and lo!
when I awoke in the morning, thy goods were not. It is kismet."
"Thou sayest! and my camel--did he die?"
There was a tone of mockery in the question which apparently escaped the
notice of the innkeeper, though it provoked a chuckle from the two
traders who were tearing apart with their fingers a well-stewed fowl.
"Hai!" said the innkeeper, with a mournful face; "when thou didst not
return, thy camel would not eat, and his hump sank away to flatness, and
on the tenth day he died."
"Thou sayest? Of a truth, bhatiyara, he must needs come to life again no
later than the morrow's sunrise, and those vile robbers must be pricked
in their hearts and restore the goods they have stolen, or assuredly the
Kotwal will come and visit this serai, and he will say, since it is so
ill a place for man and beast, it must be made desolate. What must be
will be."
"Hai! hai!" cried the man, lifting his hands, "how should a dead camel
breathe again the breath of life, and evil-doers become good?"
"Even these things are possible, good bhatiyara. And now let me eat, and
make ready a good charpoy. These things that I say shall come to pass
even while I sleep."
And his two fellow-guests laughed aloud, while the innkeeper muttered in
his beard.
CHAPTER THE TWENTIETH
Wolf and Jackal
Next morning Ahmed found his camel contentedly munching at his stall,
with no visible diminution of his hump; and his bales of goods were
ranged in decent order along the walls, though when he came to examine
them he found that their contents were strangely mixed. But he said
nothing of that; he only expressed to the innkeeper his gratification
that the night had seen such wonders wrought, and after a simple
breakfast he went out and, hiring no coolie this time, took a few of his
more costly wares to visit his old friend the darwan of Minghal Khan.
Cordial greetings passed between them; the darwan had pleasant
recollections of the dainties with which he had been regaled by this
excellent Pathan at his former visit. Then he asked why his friend had
been so long in hiding the light of his countenance from him. Ahmed told
him that he had been ill, and made him laugh heartily at his story of
how the rascally innkeeper had brought a dead camel to life and restored
stolen goods in the space of one night.
"And now, good darwan," he said, "thinkest thou I might show some of my
wares to your noble master? My business has halted while I was sick, and
I must needs sell somewhat lest I starve."
"Truly, my friend, it is an ill time. The great man has no money; we,
his poor creatures who are not worthy to unloose his shoes, get no
wages, and our khansaman sells more and more of our chattels day by day
to get the wherewithal to buy our poor food. And I fear me, even if the
illustrious one were as rich as Nadir Shah of old renown, it would be
vain to approach him now. But a little while ago there came a chaprasi
with news that his regiment had been rioting. Indeed (and this khabar
was whispered in my ear) the men tried last night to gain some little
sustenance from the plunder of some new men who have come--woe upon
them!--to this sorely crowded city. And by ill-hap they had the worse of
the encounter; verily these new-comers sting like scorpions; and their
leader, one Asadullah, has gone to the palace to complain to the
Protector of the Poor, our illustrious king. The great one is even now
clothing himself in haste to go also to the palace and acquaint the
Illustrious with the truth of the matter. And so it is an ill time, as I
said; neither his pocket nor his temper suits with business of thy
sort."
"Hai! how wretched is my lot!" said Ahmed.
"Here is the great one's horse," said the darwan, as a sais led the
animal from the courtyard and began to walk him up and down. "And behold
the great one himself."
He rose from his squatting posture at the door as Minghal came out. The
subahdar was clearly in a state of great annoyance. He kicked aside the
small bundle which Ahmed had laid on the ground, and bade him betake
himself to Jehannum.
"Merciful one, be not wroth with the meanest of thy slaves," said Ahmed,
salaaming humbly. "If I might but be allowed to see thy face at some
more convenient season! I have wares of great beauty and worth, even
such as might delight the eyes of the hazur himself and----"
"Bas, bas!" cried Minghal. "Get thee hence and trouble me not."
He called to the sais to bring up his horse.
"There is a shawl woven most marvellously with gold threads," Ahmed
said, with an air of the greatest deference. "If the magnificent one
would but deign the wink of an eye----"
"Enough, I say!" cried Minghal, with his foot in the stirrup. Then a
thought seemed to strike him. "Come to me to-morrow; I may then cast an
eye on thy worthless trumpery."
"Hazur, thy servant's heart leaps for joy," said Ahmed, salaaming, and
Minghal sprang to the saddle.
"Tell the khansaman to make ready a repast fit for princes against my
return this night," he called to the darwan. "I shall not return until
the sun goes down."
Then he rode off on his clattering way to the palace.
"Thou art favoured above all," said the darwan to Ahmed, "and, being a
just man, thou wilt not forget to let a little flow over from thy full
cup?"
"My prosperity shall be thine, worthy darwan; and the thought of the
great one's favour to come will be as a delicious perfume to me this
day."
On leaving the darwan, Ahmed found his way to the quarters of the men
who had beaten off the attack of Minghal's regiment the night before. He
felt some curiosity to see this warlike Pathan, named Asadullah, whose
arrival had so soon been followed by a broil. When he reached the serai,
he learnt that the chief had not yet returned from the palace; and
knowing that Minghal had also gone thither to put his side of the story
before the king, Ahmed guessed that the poor old monarch would have an
uncomfortable morning.
He spent the rest of the forenoon in wandering about the city, picking
up what news he could. Then he returned to his own serai for his midday
meal and a sleep; he foresaw that he might have little opportunity for
rest during the night. On awaking, he went out to the bazar and bought a
stout hook, like those by which carcases are hung in butchers' shops. As
he left the bazar, he overtook Minghal Khan's khansaman, who was
returning with a load of provisions he had bought for his master's
supper. Ahmed had wished more than once for an opportunity of conversing
with the khansaman, and the present moment seemed favourable.
"Salaam, worthy khansaman," he said, stepping alongside the old man.
"Salaam, but I know thee not, stranger, and I am in haste," was the
reply.
"Far be it from me to hinder one so venerable in years and so exalted in
position, yet since thy worthy master has deigned to say that he will
let his eye rest on my poor wares to-morrow, I would fain say a
respectful word to the ruler of his household. It is a proud thing to
serve one so high in the king's favour, and I warrant thou findest his
service more to thy taste than that of him thou wast wont to serve--the
accursed Feringhi."
The khansaman looked at him sharply.
"What knowest thou--a banijara from the hills, if my eyes see aright--of
whom I served?" he said.
"Thy excellent darwan is a friend of mine," replied Ahmed, "and he has
told me one or two things. How thy heart must have rejoiced when thy old
master and all his family met their fate! Didst thou have a hand in it?"
"Would that I had!" said the khansaman, with fervour. "Would that all
the dogs of Feringhis were even as that dog of a sahib under whose yoke
I groaned!"
"'Tis beyond doubt that all his family were slain? Had he many sons?"
"None, save the child that now learns the vile learning of the Feringhis
far over sea."
"That is pity. Maybe he had daughters?"
"One pale-faced thing, of no account."
"Without doubt she is dead also. Though indeed it is said that some of
the Feringhis' women escaped, being preserved by some unworthy children
of the Prophet. Even as I came hither I beheld such a pale-faced thing
in the palki of a zamindar; not that I saw her, the palki being closed;
but it was told me by the palki-wallahs. She had been seized out of the
hands of her ayah and khitmutgar as she sought safety."
Ahmed watched the khansaman narrowly as he said this; but there was no
change in the man's expression. It was that of complete indifference.
"I perceive we are drawing near to the great one's house," he continued.
"Salaam aleikam!"
In a small lean-to off the stable of the serai, Ahmed fastened the hook
he had bought to a short length of rope, and wound this about his body
beneath his outer garment. Just after sunset he issued forth, carrying a
lathi, and made his way across the Chandni Chauk to the narrow lane
which ran past the back of Minghal's house. When he reached the spot at
which he had descended from the colonnade, he unwound the rope, and
raised it by means of the lathi until it rested on the top of the wall.
Then he climbed up the rope, and having disengaged the hook, let himself
down on the other side by means of the lathi; he laid his simple
apparatus in a corner under the colonnade. While doing this he kept a
wary eye on the servants' quarters that looked on to the garden, taking
care to dodge the beam of light that issued from the kitchen, where, no
doubt, preparations were being made for Minghal Khan's evening meal.
Then he stole across the garden, and lurked for a little by the door.
Two hours later, Minghal Khan, having finished the more substantial
portion of his meal, was reclining on cushions in his dining-room,
eating sweetmeats and sipping sherbets with his guest, the Mirza Akbar
Sultan. Both were in good spirits. The sweetmeats were a portion of some
score hundredweight which the Kotwal had recently bought for the
delectation of the soldiers, and which the king himself had inspected
and deigned to taste. And a day or two before Akbar Sultan himself had
summoned all the wealthy bankers of the city, at the instigation of the
queen, and by means in which he was an adept, had extorted from them
8,000 rupees, a thousand of which he had immediately appropriated--was
he not a prince?--handing five hundred, with princely generosity, to his
good friend Minghal Khan.
"Truly thou art much in my debt," said the prince; "not more for rupees
than for my support in that matter of the old rogue."
"I am thy unworthy servant, illustrious one," returned the other, "and
all I have is thine. And how can I repay thee better than by helping
thee to somewhat of the old rogue's booty?"
"Art thou sure he has this booty?"
"My head upon it, illustrious one. For what purpose has he sought refuge
in this city? Only that his booty may not fall into the hand of the
Feringhis, for assuredly he has no mind to fight them. Wah! thou camest
to the palace at a fortunate hour,--fortunate for thee and me. That old
rogue Asadullah forestalled me there, and the king had waxed hot against
me, listening to his tale. He had that moment sent for me when I
arrived. And though when I put the matter before him his anger was
somewhat appeased, the issue would not have been so pleasing hadst thou
not come to lend me the aid of thy persuasive voice. Wah! Did not the
old rogue fume when the king turned to him and bade him cause no more
trouble! Didst thou mark his flaming eye? Didst thou hear him mutter
words of rage as he turned his back on the Pillar of State and strode
from the presence? Wah! the king will favour him no more; never was his
dignity so scantly regarded."
"But this booty of which thou speakest--how is one to obtain it? I have
bled the shroffs; there will be a great wailing among them, and even I
dare not do more for a while, lest the king, who is unstable as water,
should again visit me with his displeasure."
"Listen, illustrious one; I know of a way. Asadullah has not yet proved
himself. He has yet to go out and fight the Feringhis. Now, as thou
knowest, I am a partaker in all Bakht Khan's counsels. We do little
against the Feringhis at present, but to-morrow is Bakr-Id, and what
more fitting than that we should mark the great day with a terrible
onslaught against the infidels? Asadullah must then go forth to fight;
Bakht Khan shall order it; and while he is absent with his band, what
easier than to visit the serai where he lodges, and take the treasure
that he conceals there?"
"But he will leave men to guard it."
"A handful only, and what will they avail against thy faithful ones?
And, moreover, may it not come to pass that Asadullah will be slain in
the fight? Then he will return not, and there will be none to say us
nay. And if, perchance, he returns, can he gainsay what we have done for
the holy cause? Here are thousands of faithful ones perishing for lack
of their just pay; is it not justice that ill-got treasures should be
taken from the few and divided among the many?"
"That is justice," said the prince. "It would be a good thing for the
great number of the faithful that Asadullah should go forth to fight and
not return. But how can we be sure that Bakht Khan will send him forth
and set him in the forefront of the battle?"
"He will do so at thy persuasion, prince. As for me, it were best I held
my peace, for the noise of this quarrel between the old rogue and me has
gone abroad, and if I were to propose this thing Bakht Khan might
suspect me of a desire to serve my own ends more than the interests of
the state. But with thee it is otherwise, and Bakht Khan will assuredly
pay heed to thee."
At this moment Bakht Khan was announced. After greetings, the prince
cunningly led the conversation to the desired point. He suggested that
this new-comer was not a fighting-man at all.
"He is a braggart," he said. "Lo, the father killed a tomtit, and the
son, forsooth, is called a mighty archer! They talk much of this
Asadullah's might in war, but what has he done?"
"I know a fighting-man when I see one, prince," said the sturdy general,
"and if ever there was a fighting-man that so proved himself to me at
the first look, this Pathan is the man."
"Bah!" sneered the prince. "A dog is a lion in his own lane. Dost thou
judge of sweetmeat by the loftiness of the shop where it is bought?"
"Does the cat by the fire know the worth of a hunting-dog?" retorted
Bakht Khan, bridling. "I am a fighter, and I know the marks of a
fighter."
"Shoes are proved on the feet, not on the last," said the prince. "Is it
not easy to prove the truth? Asadullah has not yet done battle with the
English. Let him go forth and show himself a man of war. As for me,
verily I believe that when the time comes he will be found wanting. Did
not the fox say he would rather suffer a hundred hungers than behold one
dog's face?"
The commander-in-chief fell into the trap. He vowed that Asadullah
should indeed go forth and fight, and he was ready to wager that the
Pathan would acquit himself well. A great sortie was planned for the
following night--the night of Bakr-Id, the first of August--the day on
which Abraham's sacrifice of Ishmael was commemorated by the slaying of
a bull, a great day among good Mohammedans. Asadullah should be
commanded to lead an attack on one part of the British lines, and by his
conduct then should the dispute be decided. The three men sat long
discussing the details of the proposed operations. It was late before
the party broke up, and when the visitors had gone, and Minghal had
retired to bed, the khansaman came in sleepily to clear away the
remnants of their refreshments and put out the lamp. He carried the tray
into the other room, listened, as if to make sure that all the household
was in repose, then slid the panel of the almirah and disappeared in the
hole in the wall, carrying his tray with him.
A moment later, a figure crept out from beneath a divan against the wall
of the dining-room. He crossed the landing to the opposite room, went to
the almirah, and slid back the panel. But then he was baulked--the wall
appeared solid. There was no lock, no handle by which the door in it
could be opened. Ahmed felt up and down, from right to left, and was
almost in despair, when the wall opened slowly, as of itself. He started
back, thinking the khansaman was returning; but finding that all was
silent he approached again. Unknowing, he had pressed a little wooden
button cunningly let into the stone, and released the spring that held
the slab in place. He crept through, and took the precaution of pushing
the stone back, then began to descend the steps of the narrow spiral
staircase on which he found himself. He counted the steps--they were
thirty; and then he came to a low passage, as narrow as the staircase,
through which only one person could pass at a time. It was so low that
he knocked his head against its roof in the darkness. But some few paces
in front of him he saw a thin line of light across the floor. He
stealthily approached; there was a door. He heard voices, but could not
distinguish words. Was the door fastened? He pushed it gently--it
yielded.
"If I could but be sure she was safe!" he heard a low voice say.
"Without doubt she is safe, sahib," was the reply. The voice was the
khansaman's. Ahmed thrilled. The khansaman was faithful after all. He
had his old master here in hiding. Who would have suspected so unlikely
a place? And he was trying to cheer the doctor's despondency as to the
fate of his daughter. Clearly he had not told him what Ahmed had said of
the capture of the English girl by a zamindar.
"You have no news of her?" said the first voice.
"None, sahib; but that is not strange. The missy sahib would fear to
send a messenger, lest he should betray your presence. And it is harder
now than it was for folk to go in and out of the city. This very day the
order has gone forth that none shall enter or depart without a written
word. A man--his name is Gordohan Dass, and he lives at Lattu--was going
out at the Delhi gate this morning in a shigram, and the guard stopped
him and searched his cart, and there they found cartridges and bullets.
They were but for his own protection, he declared. Nevertheless they
beat him, and took his cart and all that was in it, and sent him to the
Kotwali. There is little hope of news until the sahibs come and take the
city."
"Will that ever be? What are they doing? Will they never begin the
assault?"