breastworks before the Flagstaff Tower. But though fierce, the fight was
short, for Rahmut Khan was no fanatic; and when he found, after a brief
trial, that he was opposed, not by warriors with whom his men could
contend in equal fight, but by solid ramparts which burst into flame,
though behind it no men were seen, he concluded that this was fighting
he did not understand, and drew off his men. And Minghal Khan,
approaching with his regiment the spot from which, as he fondly hoped,
most of the Feringhis had been withdrawn to meet the attack against
which he had warned them, was met by a crashing volley so terrible that
a third of his men were stricken down, and he himself barely escaped
with his life. A bullet grazed his cheek, ploughing a red furrow through
it, and carrying away the lobe of his ear; a spent bullet struck his
brow, and he staggered half-unconscious to the ground. And when he
regained the city, and learnt that his enemy, Rahmut, had come unscathed
through the battle, and, moreover, that the men he had left to raid
Rahmut's serai during his absence had been beaten off with great loss by
a guard posted there, for some incomprehensible reason, by Bakht Khan
himself, he boiled with insensate fury, heaping curses on the heads of
those who had betrayed him.
Nor was his rage abated when he was summoned to the palace to answer the
charge of instigating the attack on Rahmut's quarters. The king was
seated in the hall of public audience, surrounded by a glittering
company. The total failure of the night's operations had not yet been
fully reported; Bakht Khan was not in attendance; and when the king
recited the verses he had composed the day before, the courtiers
acclaimed him as the Pearl of Poets and declared that nothing more was
wanted to ensure success. But then the commander-in-chief came with his
pitiful tale, and the king, with the petulance of dotage, flew into a
rage and cried, "You will never take the Ridge; all my treasure is
expended; the Royal Treasury is without a pice. And men tell me now that
the soldiers are day by day departing to their homes. I have no hope of
victory. My desire is that you all leave the city and make some other
place the heart of the struggle. If you do not, then will I take such
steps as may seem to me advisable."
And while the officers were trying to cheer the miserable old man,
declaring that by Allah's help they would yet take the Ridge, Minghal
Khan came in answer to the summons. Upon him the king poured out the
vials of his wrath, demanding that he should instantly restore to the
treasury the money he had been granted two days before, and ordering
Bakht Khan once more to proclaim that heavy penalties should be
inflicted on any who broke the peace of the city. And when Minghal began
to protest, Mirza Akbar Sultan, the prince who was party to the scheme,
plucked him by the sleeve and in a whisper bade him be silent. The king
was beside himself with rage, he said, and it was not a propitious
moment for appeals. The prince accompanied him home, and, over a bottle
of spirits sent for in haste from one of the merchants, they laid their
heads together, devising a plan by which they might still achieve their
designs against Rahmut Khan.
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-THIRD
Ordeal
The underground chamber in which Ahmed was confined was perfectly dark.
The floor was damp; the air stuffy. He leant for a while against the
wall, ruminating on this sudden check in his fortunes. That Minghal Khan
had not killed him at once showed that he was reserved for a worse fate.
And what had Minghal meant by the reference to Rahmut Khan? His words
seemed to imply that he supposed father and son to have entered Delhi
together, and to be engaged in some scheme against him. Ahmed was for a
time at a loss to understand what had given rise to this belief. Was
Minghal unaware that Rahmut was a prisoner of the English? But then he
remembered the conversation he had overheard in the room above. This
"old rogue," this Asadullah, of whom the officers had spoken--could it
be that he was Rahmut Khan? He was a Pathan--so much all Delhi knew; was
it possible that the old chief had been released, or had escaped from
prison, and had come into the city to wreak vengeance on the sahibs?
This was a course he was very likely to follow: yet Ahmed hoped that it
was not so; he did not like to think of his adoptive father and himself
being on opposite sides.
Then he fell a-wondering how long he was to remain thus mewed up. And
remembering the talk of a great onslaught to be made on the British
lines on the morrow, he was dismayed. If Minghal Khan went out to fight
he might remain absent for a whole day or more; he might, indeed, never
come back; and then, unless a way could be found out of this dungeon, or
some one came to release him, he might starve to death. The thought made
his blood run cold, and in a sudden frenzy he began to strain at his
bonds, trying to tear the staple from the wall and to snap the links of
the chain. But from this he soon desisted; his struggles were useless;
he only bruised himself. His exertions and the stuffiness of the room
had made him hot; he was parched with thirst.
He sank down upon the floor, and squatted there, trying to calm himself.
There was perfect silence. By and by he fell into a doze, and woke with
a start in confusion of mind, from which he was roused by the clank of
his chain as he moved. How long had he been asleep? Was it night or day?
The profound stillness oppressed him; if he could but have heard some
slight sound he would not have felt so utterly desolate. Schooling
himself to patience, he tried to kill time by repeating aloud all the
words of English he could remember, attempting to copy the accent of
Hodson Sahib. He was surprised to find how many words came to his tongue
with the effort. But speech was difficult to a dry throat. He lay down
and slept again: maybe presently Minghal would relent so far as to bring
him food.
Thus between sleeping and waking he passed the long hours--he knew not
how many; and was vividly conscious of his discomforts, when at last he
heard the light shuffling of feet in the corridor outside the room. Then
a light shone through the thin crack at the bottom of the door; the key
turned in the lock, and three figures entered. The first was Minghal
Khan; then came the darwan with a lamp; the other was a stranger. And
even Minghal wore a different look. His eyes were haggard; a huge
bandage swathed his head; one arm was in a sling.
"Thou art yet alive, thou son of a dog," said Minghal. "It is well."
He bade the darwan hold the light nearer to Ahmed.
"Now hearken to me, and do my bidding," said Minghal again. "I have here
a munshi, who will write the words thou sayest. Thou wilt send a message
to Rahmut Khan, the rogue that calls himself thy father, and say to him
that thou art in the hands of enemies. The bearer of thy letter is a man
to be trusted, and if thy father will accompany him, he will bring him
to the place where thou art, so that a plan of escape may be devised."
"And how shall my father know that this is a true letter from me, seeing
that it will be written by a hand he knows not?" said Ahmed. It was
well, he thought, that Minghal should still believe him to have come to
the city with his father.
"Thou canst at least write thy name, or make some mark that he will
know."
"I can do so much, it is true. And what if I do this thing?"
"I will set thee free before another sunrise."
"And dost thou think I do not see through thy wile, nor know the
naughtiness of thy heart? Let thy munshi write; I will set no hand to
it."
"Dog, dost thou deny me? Knowest thou not that I can slay thee where
thou standest, or keep thee without bread to eat and water to drink
until thou diest?"
"I know; but I have said."
"Thou fool! I will bring thee to a better mind; aye, or so serve thee
that thy mind will utterly go from thee. Shall a whelp defy me? Go,
darwan, bring bread and water."
The darwan set his lamp on the floor and went out. When he returned with
the bread and water, Minghal bade him put them down just beyond Ahmed's
reach with his chain at full length.
"See!" cried the furious man. "There is bread, but thou canst not eat
it; water, but thou canst not drink it. Chew thy thoughts, for thou wilt
have nought else to chew until thou dost bend thy stubborn neck and do
even as I have commanded. I will come again in the morning; perchance
thy rumination in the dark will give thee counsel."
And having struck Ahmed across the face, he went away with the two men,
and locked the door after him.
For a time Ahmed was so much enraged at the indignity he had suffered
that he could think of nothing else. But when calmness returned he
reflected on what had happened. Minghal must be mad to suppose that he
would lend himself to so transparent a trap. And yet could he endure? He
strained towards the food, but stretching his full length on the floor
he could not touch it; yes, the tips of his fingers just touched the jar
of water. He scratched at it, hoping that it would turn and come a
little nearer; but his movements had the opposite effect, and soon his
longest finger could not even feel the vessel.
He drew back, and huddled on the damp stones. The torture in store
terrified him; could he withstand it? His tongue was parched; he felt
gnawing pains; his brow was damp with fear. He closed his eyes, perhaps
death would come in sleep. But now he could not even sleep; there seemed
to be a hammering at his brow; wild thoughts chased one another through
his brain. He got up and walked about at the utmost tether of his chain
until the clank of the metal became itself a torture. Then he moved his
arms in the motions of drill; he felt that only by action could he ward
off madness.
So the hours dragged on. Surely the sun had now risen. Why had not
Minghal returned? When he did return Ahmed would beg as a boon to be
slain at once. He listened for footsteps. There was none. He walked
about again; then stopped, fancying he heard another sound besides the
clanking of the chain. But the stillness was as of the grave. He lay
down, covering his head with his arms; if he could but sleep! And he was
at last falling into the slumber of exhaustion when a slight sound
struck upon his ear. Or was it a dream sound? Every sense was strung to
the highest tension. He strained his ears; he must have been mistaken.
But no; that was a sound, a creak. Minghal was returning. He got up, and
his chain clanked. He stood motionless. Why did not the door open? There
was another creak, and another interval of silence; and then he felt a
sudden slight gust of fresher air strike his cheek; surely the door was
open. Next moment there was a click, a spark, and in the sudden flash he
thought he saw a figure in the room. Another spark, followed by a red
glow, that grew brighter, and then a low bluish flame. It was the
kindling of a lamp, and behind it he saw Kaluja Dass.
"Hush!" said the khansaman in a whisper. "Here is food and drink."
Ahmed seized upon the jar of water and drank his fill, then upon the
bread covered with honey, and ate ravenously.
"I cannot set you free," said the khansaman, still in a whisper. "The
tyrant has sworn he will dismiss us all if you escape, and I have to
think of the master. I took the vile one's keys from his raiment as he
slept. I must go back lest he wakes. I will come again. The sahib knows:
we will try to think of some plan."
"What is doing?" whispered Ahmed. "Why is Minghal swathed?"
"He fought and was wounded. And, moreover, he is shamed before the king.
His men assailed the serai of Asadullah, and the king is wroth with
him."
"This Asadullah--who is he?"
"A warrior that serves the king, with three hundred men."
"What manner of man?"
"An old man with white beard, of good stature and noble presence. He
wears a red turban; he is from the hills."
"He is my father."
"Sayest thou? Then will I go to him and acquaint him with thy plight.
Verily he will know how to deal with the evil man."
Ahmed was tempted to agree; but with second thoughts he saw that the
khansaman must not do what he had said. Rahmut Khan was among the
mutineers: he could not assist Ahmed without compromising them both.
Only if Ahmed threw in his lot with the rebels would it be fair to ask
the old chief to intervene in his behalf. And Ahmed was one of Lumsden's
Guides; he had eaten the sahibs' salt; he was of the sahibs himself: the
Guides were true to their allegiance.
"It may not be, good khansaman," he said. "Presently, thou wilt
understand."
"Allah be with thee!" said the khansaman.
"And with thee, khansaman."
The servant took away the vessels in which he had brought the food, and
went out with stealth as he had entered. There was left no trace of the
meal. Ahmed laid himself down again; his body was comforted, the light
of hope soothed his mind, and at last he slept.
Some hours later he was wakened by the entrance of Minghal. The same
proposition was put to him: he rejected it with scorn. Minghal was
amazed to find him still obdurate. The food was untouched on the floor.
Would nothing quell the spirit of this youth? He tried to beat down his
captive's resolution, and failing, went away in a rage, declaring that
he would yet starve him into submission.
Ahmed found it easier to endure the slow-dragging hours of the long day.
In the dead of night the khansaman again came to him with food. He said
that the doctor sahib had bidden him release the prisoner, even at the
risk of compromising his own safety. But Ahmed refused to allow it. He
had been sent into Delhi to help the doctor, and could not consent to
anything that would endanger him. His refusal gave the khansaman evident
relief. Once more the servant offered to inform Asadullah of his son's
plight, and Ahmed, in declining, thought it well to explain his reasons.
The khansaman scoffed at them; he did not understand such scruples; and
though he did not say so, he went away with the determination to seek
out the old chief the next day when he went to market.
He left with Ahmed a file with which he might so far cut his fetters as
to be able to break loose if occasion offered, and he advised him to
feign exhaustion at Minghal Khan's next visit. After so many hours
without food even the strongest must collapse, and if the captive were
still found unaltered Minghal's suspicion would certainly be aroused.
Meanwhile Minghal had been occupied with his own concerns. He had no
intention of paying the fine inflicted on him, and at a private
interview with the king, with the assistance of Mirza Akbar Sultan and
the eloquent testimony of his own wounds, he talked the old man over,
and the sentence was remitted. When this reached the ears of Rahmut
Khan, the old chief was furious, and resolved to take matters into his
own hands. He had not only his old quarrel with Minghal to settle: there
were the two fierce attacks made upon him during the short time he had
been in Delhi; there was also the attempt to betray him to the enemy. It
was not Rahmut Khan's way to instigate attacks which he was not himself
prepared to carry through. His men were incensed against Minghal's
regiment, and that Minghal feared reprisals was shown by the fact that
he had now garrisoned his house with a score of men.
Rahmut planned an attack on the house after sunset with a hundred of his
followers. Their approach was spied by the darwan before they actually
reached the house. He promptly bolted the gates and ran to give the
alarm. Minghal took advantage of the breathing space to beat a hasty
retreat through the back entrance, and hurried to Bakht Khan with the
news.
It was some time before Rahmut's men forced an entrance, so solid were
the doors. They had scarcely broken in when the commander-in-chief
arrived on the spot at the head of a considerable body of picked men.
There was a stormy scene between him and Rahmut, who, however, could not
but yield to superior force. He was more enraged than ever, especially
because during the short time they had been in the house his men had
gained little plunder, all the valuables having been sold to supply the
wants of Minghal Khan. The old chief was led away under arrest, and
carried straight to the palace. The king was in no mood to overlook this
direct transgression. All day he had been harassed by reports of the
ill-treatment of residents by the sepoys. It was intolerable, he cried,
that his peaceable subjects should be harassed and threatened by
soldiers who had come to the city with the avowed object of destroying
the English. Still more intolerable was it that the soldiers should
attack one another.
"I see clearly," said the wretched monarch, "that the English will take
the city, and kill me."
"Be of good cheer, illustrious one," said one of his officers. "Do thou
put thy hand on our heads, and without doubt we shall be victorious."
And then, to the number of a hundred and fifty, they filed past him, and
as he placed his hand on the head of each he said, "Go thou with haste
and win victory on the Ridge." And they begged him to lay a severe
penalty on this Pathan stranger, Asadullah, who had come to trouble the
city. Then up spoke Bakht Khan, ever blunt of address.
"Punish Asadullah," he said, "it is but right; but punish Minghal also.
They are arrows of one quiver. The Arab horse gets whipped and the
Tartar is fondled. I am weary of Minghal Khan."
But the covetous officials knew that Minghal was poor, whereas rumour
ascribed to Asadullah the possession of great treasures of plunder. The
treasury was empty. That very day a message came from Gwalior to the
effect that the whole army there was willing to place itself at the
king's service, and he petulantly made answer: "I say there is no money
for their support. We have here in the city 60,000 men, but they have
not been able to win one clod of dirt from the English." The opportunity
of gaining something for the treasury was too good to be thrown away. At
the instance of his sycophants the king demanded a heavy fine from
Rahmut. The chief, curbing his wrath, begged until morning to get the
money. Before morning dawned, he had his men saddled up, and the moment
the gates were opened he dashed through the streets at the head of his
force, rode out by the Ajmir gate, and fled away into the open country.
Before the news reached the palace, before any one could think of
pursuit, the old Pathan was out of sight.
Night being as day to Ahmed in his dungeon, he set to work at once with
the file the khansaman had given him. The links of his chain were of
soft iron, and with ready wit he thought of a way by which he might for
a time disguise the fact that his fetters were loosed. He filed through
one of the links, and then a portion of the next one, until he was able
to pass this thinned portion through the gap he had made in the first.
If, therefore, he should be suddenly disturbed, he could at once replace
the links, and, by turning one of them round so that the portion yet
unfiled was brought against the part that was cut, the chain might
appear to be still unbroken.
As soon as he was free he made a tour around his dungeon, rather by way
of distraction and to stretch his legs than with any idea of making a
discovery that would further his escape.
The vault was pitch dark. He had seen it by the light of the oil-lamp
during the visits of Minghal and the khansaman, but taken no particular
note of it. He now went round it, feeling the walls with his hands. They
were of rough-hewn stones; there was no variation except at the door. He
shook that: it was locked fast. He went back to the staple and sat down;
after a time, having nothing better to do, he started again, and
examined the door by touch more carefully. There was no handle, not even
a keyhole on the inside. Thinking he heard footsteps, he retreated so
hastily that he narrowly escaped overturning the pitcher of water. It
was a false alarm. Once more he went round the walls, this time in the
opposite direction.
And now, as he drew his hand along the wall, he fancied that one of the
slabs of stone protruded a little further into the room than the others.
All the stones were rough and ill-fitting, but this protuberance awoke
his curiosity. Had he detected a slight movement as he first pressed it?
He pushed hard at it--upwards, downwards, sideways, but without result.
Surely he had been mistaken. He would try again. This time he pushed
gently, and thrilled all through when he felt an indubitable movement,
though very slight. Now, instead of pushing, he pulled outward. The
stone yielded. He pulled harder; it moved reluctantly, but it did move,
and by and by he was able to get his fingers round the edge of the slab.
Another pull, and it came a few inches from the wall, then stopped.
He was puzzled. He pushed at the stonework immediately around the slab.
There was no result. He tried a few feet to the right--in vain; then to
the left. Something seemed to give slightly. A harder push, and the slab
moved inward, slowly revolving on a vertical axis until it stood
perpendicular to the surface of the wall.
With beating heart he crawled through the opening, and found himself in
a stone passage, so low that he had to stoop, so narrow that there was
not an inch to spare on either side. In a dozen paces he reached the
end--a dead stone wall. There must be an outlet, but where? He felt over
the wall and discovered a protuberance similar to that in the room he
had left. He pushed and pulled in the same way; the slab moved; a light
shone through the crack between it and the wall. He peeped through.
There was Craddock Sahib reading at his little table by the light of a
lamp.
The doctor was amazed, delighted, perplexed, at once. Ahmed rapidly
explained the discovery he had made, then hurried back through the
passage, closed the slab opening into his cell, and returned. He learnt
from the doctor of the recent attack on the house by Asadullah, and that
the khansaman, in spite of his wishes to the contrary, had gone off that
morning to find the old chief, and inform him of his son's plight. Ahmed
seized on the attack as affording an explanation of his escape. Minghal
would believe readily enough that the prisoner had been rescued by his
father, even though the fact that the door was still locked should
savour of mystery. Thus the khansaman would be in no danger of
dismissal.
The question was: how was Ahmed to escape from the house and the city?
There was no longer any safety in his disguise, even if the khansaman
could procure a beard to replace that of which Minghal had stripped him.
It was the khansaman himself who, when he returned, suggested a way.
Sepoys' uniforms were easily to be got; he would obtain one at his next
visit to the bazar; clad in that and provided with arms, Ahmed must
march out with a mutinous regiment and take an opportunity of escaping
from them. He would, it was true, run the risk of being shot himself as
a rebel; but among risks there was little to choose. The khansaman would
acquaint him with a favourable time for making the attempt.
Ahmed remained for several days in the doctor's company. They heard from
the khansaman of Minghal's fury when he discovered the disappearance of
his prisoner. As Ahmed had guessed, he imputed it to the agency of
Rahmut Khan, and regarded the locked door merely as an additional proof
of the malicious cunning of the old chief. At last the uniform and the
arms were provided, and one morning very early, before the household was
astir, Ahmed was cautiously let out of the house by the khansaman. A few
hours later he joined himself unquestioned to a body of troops made up
of many different components, ordered to reinforce the mutineers holding
the suburb of Kishenganj. There was some delay as they marched past the
Mosque. Some one had told the king that the sepoys, clamorous for pay,
were about to attack him in his palace, and orders were sent through the
city that not a soldier should move until the report had been
investigated.
While the soldiers stood at ease near the Mosque, Ahmed noticed Fazl Hak
moving leisurely among the onlookers, occasionally addressing a word or
two to the sepoys he passed. As he came near, Ahmed accosted him.
"Salaam, worthy maulavi, what is the news?"
Fazl Hak stopped; he looked surprised, then took Ahmed a little apart.
"There is no news, sepoy," he said in a low tone, "later than this
command of the king."
"Hast thou not heard of the fifteen elephants taken from the English
yesterday?"
"Nay, I had not heard of that."