their former occupants had learnt that the house was to be fired and had
joined the mob below, hoping for a share in the expected butchery and
plunder. Here was a chance of dealing the enemy a last blow. Through the
trap-door Ahmed called to the men to bring up his musket and join him.
The mob was already pouring down the lane behind the fakir--hundreds of
men in the frenzied zeal of fanaticism. They came to the garden wall and
began to swarm over it; some burst in the gate; they flocked through in
numbers too great to be checked by the fire of the ten men above. A
volley flashed; Ahmed took aim at the fakir: he and the men nearest him
fell. Those behind leapt over their prostrate bodies, and with fierce
cries threw themselves against the door. Once more the ten fired among
them; then Ahmed saw that men were again appearing on the roof of the
nearest house, and before the little party all descended through the
trap-door a Sikh and one of the corporals were hit.
When the others reached the doctor, they found him quietly preparing a
bomb. He had filled a canister with powder, attached a roughly-made
fuse, and was about to light it and fling the bomb among the enemy. At
the sight of it an alternative scheme flashed into Ahmed's mind. He
quickly explained it to the doctor, then hurried away through the
almirah into the secret chamber below. Placing the table on the doctor's
charpoy, he mounted on it, and laid the canister in a little ventilating
recess just below the fountain. Then he lit the fuse and rushed away,
slamming the door behind him.
He was only half-way up the stairs when he heard the back door burst in
with a crash. Immediately afterwards there was a terrific report, that
shook the house. He ran back, waited a minute or two to allow the fumes
of the explosion to clear away, and re-entered the room. It was a wreck.
The fountain had fallen into it, and it was choked with rubbish.
Creeping over obstacles he saw a gap above his head, through which, by
and by, it might be possible to reach the garden. He hurried back to the
surgery. Whatever might have happened to the crowd in the garden, those
who had entered the house had kindled a fire; the room was already full
of smoke. In another minute all the little company had descended the
spiral stairs to the secret room, leaving the wall of the surgery closed
behind them. Below they would be safe for a time, the underground room
being connected with the house only by the stone staircase.
Meanwhile the mutineers, daunted by the sudden explosion, had withdrawn
to the further side of the garden. Some in terror had recrossed the
wall; but the fire was alight; there had been no sign of any attempt at
escape on the part of the garrison; and the fanatical throng exulted in
the belief that ere long their victims would be consumed with the house.
Half-an-hour passed. The waiting men noticed that the uproar above,
which had diminished, now broke out again with redoubled clamour. And it
was not yells of execration and of triumph, but the cries of men in
fight, mingled with the sound of musketry. Ahmed ventured to mount on
the heap of rubbish towards the small gap where the fountain had been.
He came to the surface, and as he put his head cautiously out, the first
sight that met his eyes was a red-coated British officer, with flashing
sword, chasing the darwan across the garden. The chase was brief; the
man fell; and the officer, turning to rejoin his men, caught sight of
Ahmed, who had crawled out of the hole and was running towards him. He
came with outstretched sword to deal with another mutineer, as he
supposed, and observing the khaki uniform, hastened his step with a
muttered imprecation: it was a new thing for the wearers of the khaki to
turn traitors. But Ahmed drew himself up and stood at the salute.
"Hazur," he said, "there is a sahib below, and I am of Lumsden Sahib's
Guides."
CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SEVENTH
Duty
Three months had passed. The Guides were on their homeward march to
Hoti-Mardan. They had spent a busy three months in breaking up the
numerous bands formed by rebels who escaped from Delhi. For Delhi had
fallen; the old king was a prisoner; and, though Lucknow still held out
against Sir Colin Campbell, the back of the Mutiny was broken.
Ahmed rejoined his corps the same day on which he and the little party
in Dr. Craddock's house were relieved. He was with them on those six
succeeding days when the rebels, disputing every foot of ground against
the British columns, were finally routed, and the British flag flew on
the palace of the Moguls. Amongst the greater doings of that week, the
exploit of the handful of men who defended the doctor's house against
Minghal Khan's horde passed almost unnoticed, save by the persons more
immediately concerned. Dr. Craddock did not make light of it: he took
care to bring it to the notice of the officers of the regiments to which
the men belonged, and they were all mentioned in regimental orders.
Ahmed himself was promoted dafadar, to the mingled delight and envy of
Sherdil; and Dr. Craddock, before he left to rejoin his daughter in
Karnal, presented him with his gold watch as a memento. And when the
Guides passed through Karnal on their return march, Mary Craddock did
not fail to thank Ahmed herself for what he had done for her father. The
doctor, for his part, who had heard from Mary the full story of her
rescue, was at his wit's end to know how to show his gratitude. Ahmed
would not accept money from him. Ultimately he accepted a pair of gold
bracelets of great value which had belonged to Mrs. Craddock, and which
the doctor suggested he might present to his wife when he married. He
was sorely tempted then to reveal his English parentage; but resolved to
keep silence until he knew the fate of Rahmut Khan, of whom he had heard
nothing since he left Delhi.
And now the Guides had come within a week's march of Peshawar. They had
covered the distance from Delhi in very different conditions from those
of their historic march to the beleaguered city. They left Delhi on
December 18--that was more than six weeks ago. There had been little
fighting on the way, but news had just come to Captain Daly at his
bivouac just outside Rawal Pindi, that a small convoy was hard pressed
by a strong body of mutineers about ten miles distant. The cavalry at
once saddled up and galloped off to the rescue. Dusk was falling when
they approached the scene of the fight. They walked their horses for
some distance so that they might recover their wind; then, being almost
within sight of the hamlet into which the convoy had thrown itself, they
dashed forward at a hand gallop. Just outside the hamlet they came upon
a large number of horses, which had been left in charge of a few
mutineers. Hearing the thud of the approaching hoofs, these men fled in
hot haste, leaving the led horses to their fate. It was clear that the
attack on the hamlet was being made on foot. As the Guides dashed past
the abandoned horses they stampeded in terror.
The mutineers were endeavouring to force a barricade of carts which the
escort of the convoy had thrown across the street, and which was flanked
on each side by a house. So sudden was the approach of the Guides that
the assailants were taken utterly by surprise. Their first instinct was
to rush for their horses, but the Guides barred the way. They scattered
to right and left, seeking refuge in the wild undergrowth that covered
the surrounding country. Captain Daly ordered Ahmed to take a dozen
sowars in pursuit, strictly enjoining him to keep the men well in hand,
and not to ride far, since night was almost upon them. It was nearly
dark when he returned, having accounted for many of the fugitives,
though many more had escaped in the gloom.
He had just come within sight of the village when he heard loud shouts
of "Catch him! Catch him!" and saw a horseman galloping across the field
at his left. He wheeled his horse and set off in pursuit. The fugitive
had a few hundred yards' start, and, riding for his life, sped on at a
breakneck pace that took no account of the rough country. Ahmed was
riding his own horse, Ruksh, and was surprised and somewhat nettled to
find that he did not immediately gain on the quarry. Horseman and steed
were well matched: none but a consummately skilful rider would risk such
a pace in the growing darkness. Ahmed warmed to the chase: the fugitive
might be of importance, and he was determined to capture him. There were
sounds of others joining in the pursuit when he first set off, but as
Ahmed rode on with a recklessness equal to the fugitive's, these sounds
gradually became fainter and fainter; Ruksh was still the best horse in
the regiment.
On went the two horsemen. Ahmed could just see the fugitive ahead,
bending low on the saddle, skirting obstacles in bush and tree. He felt
that for his own credit and that of Ruksh the man must be caught.
Patting his horse's head and speaking in his ear, he persuaded the noble
animal to still greater efforts, and in a few moments saw with joy that
the gap between himself and the enemy was lessening. Even Ruksh seemed
to share his exhilaration; he lifted his head and bounded forward at
still greater speed. Only fifty yards separated pursuer and pursued,
when suddenly Ahmed heard a heavy thud; then there was silence; the
hoofs of the horse in front no longer rang on the rough ground. Ahmed
checked Ruksh's pace and drew his pistol. A few seconds later he saw a
dark form on the ground two or three yards ahead. He reined up sharply,
and walked his horse forward, keenly on the alert for an ambuscade. But
on drawing nearer he recognized that the form was that of a horse; it
lay at the edge of a narrow nullah. And just beyond there was another
motionless form, without doubt its rider. What had happened was clear.
The horseman had come unawares on the nullah; the horse had stumbled and
shot its rider over its head.
Ahmed was too good a scout to relax his vigilance; it was needful to be
wary in approaching even a thrown man. Pistol in hand, he made a circuit
of the prostrate figure. The man lay motionless, his face to the ground.
Choosing such a position that the fugitive, if shamming, would have to
turn round before he could fire, Ahmed slipped from his horse, which
stood still at the word of command, and moved forward to see who the
captive might be.
He laid his hand on the man, who made no movement. Then he turned him
over, and saw by his long white beard that he was an older man than he
had supposed. Striking a light with flint and steel, for in the dark it
was impossible to see whether the man was dead or merely insensible, he
was amazed to see that his helpless captive was Rahmut Khan. Hastily he
unslung his water-bottle, poured some drops between the old chief's
lips, and dashed the rest in his face. There was a groan.
"Dog, let me die!" murmured the old man.
"Father, dost thou not know me? It is Ahmed, thy son."
The chief seemed at first too much dazed to understand what was said,
but as he regained his senses he gave utterance to a cry of wonderment
and delight.
"Is it indeed thee, Ahmed-ji?" he said. "Praise to the Most Merciful! I
supposed it was one of the Feringhi dogs. Praise to Allah! Now thou and
I can go together in peace, and do what must be done to that
thrice-accursed reptile, Dilasah Khan."
Ahmed felt a great pity for the old man, ignorant of all that had
happened to his adopted son during the past year.
"Nay, father," he said tenderly, "it may not be. I am of Lumsden Sahib's
Guides; I was sent to catch thee: needs must I give thee up."
"Of the Guides, sayest thou? Hast thou, then, eaten of the accursed
Feringhis' salt?"
"I have indeed eaten of it, my father."
"Hast thou told them that thou art thyself of Feringhi blood?" asked the
old man anxiously.
"Nay, father, none knows it save Sherdil, son of Assad, and he has held
his peace."
"Verily I love thee, my son. But having eaten of the Feringhis' salt,
thou must be true to it. I will go back with thee."
Ahmed examined him, to make sure that no bones were broken, then went
back to the nullah to find his horse. Seeing that the beast's knees were
fractured, he shot him through the head, then returned and set Rahmut on
Ruksh. And thus he led him back to camp.
On the way explanations were exchanged. Rahmut had been imprisoned at
Agra, and when, at the outbreak of the Mutiny, the town was isolated,
all communications being cut off by the rebels, the authorities, fearing
an attack on the prison as at Meerut, conveyed all the prisoners across
the Jumna and released them. The chief was on his way back to Shagpur
when he learnt that Dilasah had made himself master of the place, and
that Ahmed had gone, none knew whither. Incensed at the British, to his
imprisonment by whom he ascribed these misfortunes, he cast in his lot
with the rebels, gathered by sheer force of character a band of
desperadoes, and led them to Delhi. And then Ahmed told all that had
happened to him, and the part that Minghal Khan had played. The old
chief was amazed to hear that his son was incarcerated in Minghal's
house at the very time when he made his attack on it.
"And where is that dog of dogs?" he cried. "Oh, that Allah had given me
to slay him with my own hands!"
"I know not," said Ahmed. "When the sahibs saved us at the house, he was
gone. I searched for him among the slain, but saw him not."
"Peradventure I may yet find him, and then shall he receive the due
reward of his deeds."
Before they reached the village, they were joined by men of Ahmed's
party, who had been searching for him in the dark. They took Rahmut with
them to camp, and Ahmed handed him over to Captain Daly when he made his
report. If the chief had been a mutineer he would no doubt have been
shot at once; but as he had never been in the British service, Captain
Daly decided to take him on to Peshawar for judgment by Sir John
Lawrence. He praised Ahmed for his successful work, and ordered him to
place the prisoner under guard.
A little while afterwards Ahmed returned to his commander's tent and
asked to be allowed to speak to him. He was admitted.
"Well, dafadar, what is it?" asked Daly.
"With your good pleasure, sahib, I will now leave the Guides."
"What?"
"I wish to be no longer a Guide, sahib."
"Why, what's the meaning of this nonsense? You can't leave the Guides."
"With your pardon, sahib, I must. The sahib will remember that we of the
Guides are always free to leave the sahibs' service if we please. It is
one of the conditions."
"That's true; but nobody does it. What's your reason? Are you
dissatisfied? You are the youngest dafadar in the corps, and if you go
on as you have begun, you'll be a risaldar before I shall."
"I am not dissatisfied, sahib. But Rahmut Khan is my father."
Captain Daly stared.
"That is it, is it?" he said. "I see." He was silent for a few moments,
then he said, "Well, dafadar, you can't resign at a minute's notice, and
in war-time. We may be attacked any day, and until we reach
head-quarters I consider it your duty to stand by the corps. When we get
to head-quarters you can speak of it again."
He watched Ahmed narrowly. The boy's face showed his disappointment,
but, as Daly had guessed, the point of honour appealed to him, and
thanking the officer, he saluted and went his way.
A week later the corps marched into Peshawar. The whole garrison was
paraded to receive them. Major-General Sir Sidney Cotton, in command of
the station, ordered a royal salute to be fired in their honour, and the
troops on parade came to the salute as they marched in amid the strains
of the massed bands. The General delivered an eloquent address, speaking
of the pride every man felt in the heroic achievements of the corps,
which had lost more than half its strength in the work around Delhi, and
whose whole complement of officers had been renewed four times, not one
of them being unwounded. Then he called for three cheers for the
war-worn and ragged warriors, and amid a salvo of artillery and
resounding hurrahs the Guides rode at the head of the line and marched
past the flag.
That night, at the banquet given by Colonel Herbert Edwardes in
celebration of the Guides' return, Captain Daly told those about him of
the strange incident that had lately happened. It made a deep impression
on his audience; every Englishman felt a touch of pride in the spirit of
loyalty which set duty to the corps before ties of kinship. Every one
felt that while England could command the services of men like these,
they need have no fear of the permanence of the British raj.
Next day Ahmed and his father were both summoned to attend at the
residence of Sir John Lawrence. General Cotton and the officers of the
Guides and others were with him.
Sir John looked very stern as he addressed the old chief, who stood with
natural dignity before him.
"You were taken in arms, Rahmut Khan," he said. "You had no grievance
against us; your imprisonment was just. You know what penalty is
suffered by those who have acted like you?"
"I know it, Jan Larrens," said the chief.
"Have you anything to say for yourself--any reason why you should not
suffer likewise?"
"None, Jan Larrens. If I were Jan Larrens, and you were Rahmut Khan, I
should without doubt speak even as you speak."
"Fine old fellow!" said one of the officers quietly to his neighbour.
"And you," said Lawrence, turning to Ahmed--"you are the son of this
man. Have I not seen you before?"
"It is true, sahib; I came here a year ago to beg for my father's
release, and you refused."
"And then you joined the Guides; why did you do that?"
"You said, sahib, that my petition must be refused. I had no claim on
the British raj. In my mind I said I will do something to win such a
claim. And Sherdil, son of Assad, being my friend, I thought nothing
better could befall me than to become like him one of Lumsden Sahib's
Guides."
"Ah! You wanted to do something to establish a claim on us. Captain
Daly, what is this man's regimental record?"
Ahmed drew a long breath. He felt the eyes of Jan Larrens and the
officers fixed on him. What would be the end of this?
Captain Daly began to read from a book--his name, the date when he
entered the corps, trifling details of his early service which he had
forgotten. Then came a more important matter.
"'First gave information of a fakir tampering with the Mohammedan
members of the corps.'"
"That was your duty, was it not?" said Lawrence.
"Yes, sahib."
Captain Daly went on--
"'Rescued Dr. Craddock's daughter from a native near Karnal, dashed
through a half-troop of rebels to bring assistance!'"
"Very meritorious. Still, you thought it your duty?" said Lawrence.
"It is true, sahib."
"'Went into Delhi in disguise,'" pursued the captain, "'at the orders of
Lieutenant Hodson. Was the first to bring word of the mutineers' attack
on Alipur. Sent other information. Discovered the whereabouts of Dr.
Craddock!'"
"Excellent," said Lawrence. "You obeyed orders; other Guides would have
done the same?"
"It is true, sahib."
"'Acted as guide to the second column at the assault of September 14.
Took part in the defence of Dr. Craddock's house against the mutineers.
Doctor gives high commendation; marked for promotion!'"
"Exceedingly good; but, as far as I can see, all in your duty. You are
promoted, I observe; you have established no special claim upon the
Government?"
There was a deep silence. The officers watched Ahmed keenly; would he
now break through his reticence?
"No, sahib," he said simply.
"'Rawal Pindi,'" read Captain Daly. "'Captured the notorious freebooter
Rahmut Khan.'"
"Ah! Now we have something," said Lawrence. "But that was your duty,
too?"
"Yes, sahib," said Ahmed. "And now if it pleases the hazurs, I will
leave the Guides."
"I understand that that is your wish. What is your reason?"
"Rahmut Khan is my father, sahib."
"But your claim; do you give that up?"
"It is my duty, sahib."
A smile went round the group. This was turning the tables on the Chief
Commissioner. But Lawrence's expression did not change. He turned to the
old chief, who had stood restlessly at Ahmed's side during this
conversation.
"Rahmut Khan," he said, "what will you do if, for your son's sake, we
pardon you?"
The chief's eyes flashed.
"I will go back to Shagpur, my village, Jan Larrens," he said, "and
first slay that vile son of a dog, Dilasah, and after that I will seek
Minghal Khan till I find him, and when I have slain him I shall be ready
to die."
The officers smiled again--a smile not of derision, or even amusement,
but rather of appreciation of the directness and honesty of the fearless
old chief.
"Well, then," said Lawrence, "we pardon you, on this condition: that you
go back to your village and trouble us no more. And if you keep good
order, and help to maintain the peace of the frontier, we shall hold you
as a friend to the British raj, and that will be for your good. And
now," he added, turning to Ahmed, "do you still wish to leave the
Guides?"
"No, sahib; there is no need." His face was bright with pleasure.
"What would you have done if Daly Sahib had allowed you to resign?"
"Sahib, I should have released my father."
The whole company of officers burst into a chuckling laugh; even Sir
John's stern features relaxed.
"I am glad there is no need for that. Captain Daly, I think this young
man's loyalty to the corps in such circumstances merits recognition.
Perhaps you will make a note of his name for the first vacancy in the
commissioned ranks."
He stepped from his seat and held out his hand to the Pathan chief.
Rahmut grasped it, hesitated a moment, then said in a voice he with
difficulty controlled--
"Jan Larrens, I have a thing to say. It is meet I say it. These nine
years it has been locked in my heart, but the deeds of Ahmed Khan and
thy kindness have proven both as a key. Ahmed Khan is the son of my
heart, but not of my body. He is one of yourselves. He is a Feringhi."
And then he told the story of Ahmed from the time he had been snatched
from his father's murderers. It was characteristic of the old chief
that, even though Minghal Khan was his enemy, he did not disclose the
fact that it was he who had murdered Mr. Barclay.
"God bless my soul!" ejaculated the astonished Englishman. "What is the
boy's name!"
"Barkelay, if that is the Feringhis' way of saying it."
"By George!" ejaculated Colonel Herbert Edwardes. "I knew George
Barclay; so did you, Sir John; in fact, I'm not sure I haven't played
ride-a-cock horse with this youngster on my knee. The whirligig of
time!--my word, it's a queer world."
Rahmut Khan was submitted to a searching cross-examination. There was no
doubt about the matter: Sir John Lawrence was convinced that Ahmed was
indeed George Barclay's son. Having made his confession, the old chief
found it difficult to control his emotion as he contemplated the loss of
the heir upon whom his pride and affection were centred. The officers
meanwhile had grouped themselves about Ahmed, and plied him with
questions, seeking to revive recollections of his childhood.
"What's his real name, I wonder?" said Captain Daly. "Chief, what did
Barclay Sahib call the boy?"
"Jorkins," replied Rahmut.
The officers roared.
"Of course!" cried Colonel Edwardes. "Poor Barclay had a mania for
nicknames. And by George! what was that nonsense I used to rattle off:
it used to amuse the boy's mother--
"There was a little Jorkins,
And he had a little pork ins-
Ide his little tummy,
And bellowed for his mummy,
And howled for his daddy,
Who caught him drinking madi,
And said the nasty toddy
Was bad for his little body----"
"How long did that go on, Edwardes?" interrupted some one.
"It never ended; I had to reel off a fresh instalment at every visit.
Poor old Barclay!"
Ahmed was dazed at all this and the dim memories which the
long-forgotten doggrel revived. Looking at Edwardes, he fancied he
remembered the tall jolly officer, brimming over with jokes, whose
visits were so welcome. But he perceived the distress of Rahmut Khan,
and asked permission to take him away.