CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH
Some Lathi-wallahs and a Camel
One afternoon, about ten days after the arrival of the Guides, anorderly came to Captain Daly's tent, where the captain was sitting on acamp-stool at the door, drinking a cup of tea with Lieutenant Kennedy.
"The general's compliments, sir," said the orderly, saluting, "and willyou kindly step over to his tent for a minute or two?"
"Immediately," said Captain Daly. "Orders for to-morrow, I suppose," headded to Kennedy, as he got up to go.
When he entered General Barnard's tent, the general handed him a letter,saying--
"What do you make of that, Daly?"
Daly took the letter, and read, in a sloping angular hand, as follows--
"DEAR GENERAL BARNARD--
"My father is safe. How thankful I am! And I know you will be glad too. Yesterday I received the enclosed note from him; you see it is written on the back of a torn label. He is in Delhi, but does not say where; I suppose he was afraid to write too much in case the chit fell into the hands of the mutineers. The man who brought it knows nothing; perhaps it is that he knows but will not tell. Will you try to find out where my dear father is? Some good friend must be hiding him. I know you have spies in the city, and I should be so happy if you could find out something more about him, and whether he is well, and many, _many_ other things. Do help me, there's a good friend.
"Yours sincerely,
"MARY CRADDOCK.
"P.S.--Perhaps that young Guide who saved me from the horrid men would go into the city. He would do _anything_ for me, I know."
"Just like a girl," said Daly, handing the letter back.
"Now that's not fair," said the kindly old general. "Wait till you havedaughters of your own, Daly. It is good news that Craddock is stillalive; his wife, poor woman, was killed as she was escaping. He and Iare old friends. D'you know him?"
"No. But the idea is impossible, of course. Without more information itwould be like looking for a needle in a bottle of hay. Besides, he's inhiding; no one would have the ghost of a chance of finding him."
"One of his servants may be faithful, and keeping him concealed."
"Yes, but better not set anybody inquiring too closely for Craddock'sservants. If those fiends suspect one of them is hiding an Englishman itwill be all up with him and his master too."
"Still, Craddock is my friend, and I stood godfather to his girl.Couldn't one of Hodson's spies help us? Or this Guide she mentions--whatabout him?"
"He's a clever young fellow, no doubt--showed pluck and resource insaving the girl; but I don't know that I should like to send him intothat wasps' nest. One of Hodson's spies would run less risk."
"Well, we'll ask Hodson. Poor fellow! He is rather knocked up, I'mafraid."
The general sent an orderly to ask Lieutenant Hodson to visit him, andin a few minutes he appeared. The case was put to him, and he read MaryCraddock's letter.
"All my men are out," he said. "Let's have a look at this man of yours,Daly. Who is he?"
"A Pathan," replied Daly, and related how Ahmed had rescued the girl.
"A likely fellow. Have him up, general."
Ahmed, in company with Sherdil, was eating a mess of rice stewed in asoup of sheep's tail, when a naik of the corps came up and said that thegeneral wished to see him.
"Hai!" said Sherdil, with a sigh. "Now it is coming, Ahmed-ji. Verilythou wilt be a dafadar, or maybe a jamadar, before Sherdil, son ofAssad. What must be will be."
Ahmed wondered what the summons to the general's presence could mean. Hehad had a part in the brushes with the enemy, which had been of dailyoccurrence since the corps arrived; but he had done nothing to signalizehimself. Hodson gave him a quick look as he came up and saluted.
"Your name?" he said in the Pashtu tongue.
"Ahmed, son of Rahmut Khan of Shagpur, sahib," said the boy.
"A good specimen of the breed," said Hodson to the others. "The generalwants you to go into the city," he added, speaking again in Ahmed's ownlanguage. There was no officer in India more expert than Hodson in thespeech of the natives.
"I am ready, sahib," said Ahmed at once.
"You'll have to pretend to be a mutineer, you know."
"With the hazur's pardon I will not do that. There is no need."
"Then how will you go? The khaki would betray you."
"I would go, sahib, as I went with Sherdil, son of Assad, to Mandan, thevillage of Minghal Khan."
"Ah! and how was that?"
Ahmed told how the company of Afghan traders had entered the village,and about the box containing porcelain from Delhi. He related the storysimply, without any of the boastful garniture which comes so readily toan oriental's lips. The officers listened with interest, Hodson keepinghis keen blue eyes fixed on the boy's face.
"This is the oddest Pathan I ever came across," he said in English whenAhmed had finished the story. To Ahmed he said, "Then you will go as anAfghan trader? How will you do that? Traders do not go alone."
"If I might have Sherdil, son of Assad, and Rasul Khan, and Dilawur----"
"No, no, that won't do.--He wants half your corps, Daly.--You must goalone."
"As the hazur pleases." He paused, and thought for a minute, theofficers watching him. "I will go alone, sahib," he said. "The tale willbe that I was one of many, travelling towards Delhi with Persian shawlsfor the princes' women. And we were set upon by a band of Gujars, and Ialone escaped."
"But if you go alone the Gujars may catch you, for of course you cannotgo to the city from the Ridge; you must approach as from a distantpart."
"It is as the sahib says."
"You will take the risk?"
"If the captain sahib commands."
"Never met so direct a fellow," said Hodson to the others. "My spieshave a good deal to say about bakshish, as a rule. Well," he went on inPashtu, "what will you want?"
"Clothes, shawls, and a camel, sahib."
"And where will you get them?"
"In the bazar at Karnal, sahib."
"Steal them, eh?"
"Buy them with the hazur's rupees," said Ahmed, with a smile.
"And what are you going to do in Delhi?"
"I wait for commands, sahib."
"Can you write?"
"No, sahib."
"Of course not. Then you will be no good to me."
"But with rupees I can pay a munshi, sahib."
"He is our man," said Hodson in English. "He has an answer foreverything, and judging by the way he told us his story just now weshan't have so much trouble in sifting his information as we have withRajab Ali's friends."
Rajab Ali was a one-eyed maulavi, an old friend of Sir Henry Lawrence,whose many connections about the court of Delhi frequently sent Hodsonnews of what was going on in the city. These communications weresometimes made verbally by trusty messengers, sometimes in writing, ontiny scrolls of the finest paper, two and a quarter inches long by oneand a half broad. The writing on them was so minute that the translationwhen written out filled more than two pages of large letter paper. Butthe actual information they contained was so scanty, and so muchembellished in the manner no oriental can avoid, that the separation ofthe corn from the chaff gave Hodson a great deal of trouble. Moreover,being written by hangers-on of the court, they included a vast amount ofunreliable gossip and hearsay. Hodson welcomed the opportunity ofgaining news that might be gleaned among the people themselves. He hadreason to believe that a great number of the more respectableinhabitants of Delhi, who had had experience of the benefits of orderlygovernment, deplored the excesses of the sepoys and badmashes of thecity, and the disorders that sprang from the weakness of the king. Itwould be a material gain to the besiegers to learn how far that feelingextended, and how far the normal population would support the hordes ofrebels who were constantly pouring into the city.
"You will go among the people," said Hodson to Ahmed, "into the bazars
,among the sepoys, and listen to their talk, and find out what they thinkand what their hearts are. You will learn who comes into the city, andhow many they are, and what news they bring from other parts; and youwill go to Fazl Hak, a maulavi to whom you will be recommended by RajabAli, and make him write all this down, saying no more than the truth,and these letters you will send to me, cunningly concealed, bymessengers who will be appointed. Is it understood?"
"Hazur, it is understood."
"And there is something else, but always have in mind that the othercomes first. The missy sahib whom you saved from the zamindar has afather in Delhi, but she knows not where. The General Sahib wishes youto learn, if you can, where he is. He is a hakim; Craddock Sahib is hisname; and we think that he may have been hidden away by one of hisservants. Remember, to ask openly for either the sahib or his servantsmay be death to them both. If you find the sahib, and see any way bywhich he may escape to us, well. But do not attempt to bring him awayunless it can be done with little fear. He is the father of the missysahib."
"Even as Rahmut Khan is my father," said Ahmed.
Hodson did not guess the thought that prompted this apparentlyinconsequent statement. He knew nothing, nor did the other officers, ofRahmut Khan's fate.
"And you must tell none of your comrades of this task we have givenyou--not even Sherdil, son of Assad, who appears to be your chieffriend. I know that Sherdil, he has a moist tongue. Where pots are,there will be a clatter, as they say in your country. You willstart----"
Here he was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a bugle. Immediatelyafterwards an officer galloped up.
"The Pandies are attacking our right rear with two thousand men and sixguns, sir," he said.
"By George! that's a new move," said the General. "Off with you, Daly;Grant will want all the help he can get. Not you, Hodson; you're not fitto sit a horse yet. You had better take this young Pathan and settlethings with him. I will see you again in the morning."
Thus it was that Ahmed had no part in the fight at Nawabganj--one of themost critical moments of the siege. Under cover of the gardens thatdotted the broken ground on the right of the British rear a large bodyof all arms of the enemy had moved up, taking Sir Hope Grant, who was incommand, completely by surprise. He had only the Guides cavalry, aportion of the 9th Lancers, and four guns to meet the attack. As soon asCaptain Daly arrived on the scene, he was detached with two guns underLieutenant Hills, a troop of Lancers, and the Guides, and found himselffaced by a huge mass of infantry and cavalry, with six or eight guns, inhis immediate front. There was nothing to fall back upon, so, leaving ahandful of Guides to protect the guns, he detached the rest to clear theleft flank, already threatened by the enemy's horse. Lieutenant Hillsgot his guns into action, and the little force was bravely holding itsown when Major Tombs hurried up with the remainder of the guns. Themutineers pressed on in swarms, dodging among the trees, and when theyobserved the weakness of the force opposed to them, and the absence ofinfantry, they began to close in, until they could pick off Major Tombs'men as they served the guns. There was a danger that the defenders wouldbe overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers.
"I fear I must ask you to charge, to save my guns," said Major Tombs toDaly.
Daly was the only British officer with the cavalry. Waving his sword, hecalled on his Guides to charge. The little band dashed forward in thegathering mist, cut their way right through the crowd of infantry, andnever checked until they reached the enemy's guns. The gunners fled, theinfantry was thrown into disorder, and the bold and perilous movementhad the effect of clearing the front and allowing time forreinforcements to come up.
A bullet struck Daly in the left shoulder, and he fell from his horse.In the excitement of the charge his plight was unnoticed. Search wasmade for him when the men were returning, and they could not find him inthe dark, until one of the enemy, who had been a jamadar in the 1st OudhIrregular Cavalry, pointed out his whereabouts. His wound proved soserious as to incapacitate him, and indeed he never recovered the fulluse of his left arm, so that when Lieutenant Hodson called on theGeneral next day to report the arrangements he had made with Ahmed, helearnt that he was to command the Guides until Daly had recovered.
Next day Ahmed set off for Karnal with a returning convoy. Sherdil wasanxious to know what had passed at his interview with the General, stillmore when he learnt that he was leaving for Karnal. But Ahmed told himnothing except that he had been entrusted with an errand, and might notsee him again for some time.
On arriving at Karnal, Ahmed changed his uniform for the ordinary dressof an Afghan trader, and purchased with money given him by Hodson anumber of shawls. He presented to Mr. Le Bas a letter from Hodsonexplaining his mission, and had an interview with Miss Craddock in thatgentleman's house.
She told him no more than he already knew, and when he asked which ofher father's servants was most likely to have befriended him she waspuzzled to answer.
"We thought them all faithful," she said; "but whom can we trust inthese times? They were all good servants; we thought a world of KalujaDass, our khansaman; and Sakun, one of our chaprasis, was always readyto run errands for me, even when his work for my father was done."
The girl was delighted that her suggestion to General Barnard had bornefruit, and promised Ahmed much bakshish if he could send her news of herfather. And then, having disguised himself by means of a black beard andmoustache, Ahmed set off in a day or two on his adventurous mission.
He rode out on a camel, reluctantly leaving his horse, Ruksh, behind.The shawls were strapped in packs before him, and he carried no visiblearms except an Afghan knife; but he had a pistol in his outer garment,and a talwar was concealed between the packs on his camel's back. Untilhe came within twelve miles of Delhi he kept to the great trunk road, onwhich troops and armed convoys passed so frequently that it was fairlysafe for travellers. More than once he was stopped and questioned byparties of soldiers, but the pass given him by Mr. Le Bas satisfiedthem, and he was allowed to proceed.
He had decided to approach Delhi from the south-west. He struck off,therefore, in the direction of Bahadurgurh, and was within seven milesof his destination when a heavy storm of rain came on, drenching him tothe skin. The camel is a beast of most uncertain temper, and in themidst of the storm Ahmed's steed suddenly sank on its knees beneath alarge banian-tree that stood solitary by the roadside, tucked its legsunder it, and refused to budge. Ahmed was well acquainted with the waysof camels, and knew that no coercion would make the animal move until itpleased: all that he could do was to wait in patience for its sulky fitto pass. Fortunately it had chosen for its resting-place a spot wherethe banian-tree afforded some shelter from the rain, and from the sunwhen the rain ceased. Swampy paddy fields lay on both sides of the road,and muggy steam rose from the ground under the sun's heat, making Ahmedfeel very uncomfortable. He tramped up and down for a time, hoping thatthe camel would rise; but as there was no sign of any change of mood init, he by and by spread a mat by the animal's side, and squatted on it,leaning against the camel, prepared to make the best of the situation.He ate some of the food he had brought with him, and then, it beingmidday and hot, he fell asleep. A Pathan sleeps like a rabbit, with onlyone eye shut, and Ahmed would wake at the slightest sound. If a band ofmutineers should come upon him he knew that there was no escape for him,so that whether awake or asleep he would be in the same predicament.
It was late in the afternoon when he awoke. Nothing had disturbed hisrest; the animal had not moved. Ahmed got up to try the effect of alittle coaxing; it was quite time the camel came to a reasonable frameof mind. As he moved towards the animal's head he noticed a manapproaching across the fields. He carried a lathi, and in dress andappearance looked like a ryot. The man stopped short when he caughtsight of Ahmed's turban. Apparently he had supposed that the camel lyingin the road was untended. Ahmed looked at him and he looked at Ahmed.Then he drew a little nearer and shouted a salutation.
"Salaam, sarban, what is amiss?"
&n
bsp; "Not a great matter, stranger," said Ahmed. "The camel does but take arest."
"Thou hast without doubt come far?"
"That is possible."
"And is it far thou goest?"
"Even to the city of the king."
"Have a care lest thou fall among the Feringhis. What is the news whencethou comest?"
"Nay, thou wilt have news, being so near the city. What is said here,stranger?"
"Why, that Bakht Khan is on his way hither with 50,000 men, and the Shahof Persia has taken Lahore, and Jan Larrens was caught as he sought toescape on an elephant, and all men knew him by the wounds on his back.The accursed Feringhis will soon be altogether destroyed, that iscertain."
"If it be Allah's will."
To this the ryot made no reply. He had stood at a distance during theconversation, every man being suspicious of every other in this time ofunrest and upheaval. Paying him no further attention, Ahmed went to thecamel's head and tried to induce the animal to get up. He did not relishthe prospect of remaining all night in the open, liable to be drenchedby another rain-storm. But the beast was obstinate. Even when Ahmedoffered it the last of his chapatis, its only response was a savage biteat the hand which fed it, a vicious attack that Ahmed only escaped by ahair's breadth. The ryot stood for a few minutes watching theseineffectual attempts, then shouted a farewell and moved away.
Ahmed was annoyed. To an oriental time is nothing; but for the possibleinconvenience of the situation he might have been content to wait theanimal's pleasure. But he felt that the sooner he was in Delhi thebetter. And it suddenly occurred to him that his position might proveeven more inconvenient than he had hitherto reckoned for. The ryot whohad just disappeared had probably returned to his home in some notdistant hamlet. He would almost certainly tell the people about therecalcitrant camel, and they might see a chance of helping themselves toits load. One solitary trader, even though an Afghan, would be no match,they would think, for a band of lathi-wallahs. Ahmed wished he hadseized the man, and held him at least until the camel had recovered itstemper. It was too late to think of that now; the ryot was quite out ofsight, and Ahmed had perforce to return to his mat.
In the course of an hour he had reason to wish that the idea ofarresting the man had occurred to him sooner. He saw in the distance agroup of at least half-a-dozen men approaching, all carrying lathisexcept one, who had a matchlock. They might, of course, have beeninduced by mere curiosity to come and see the amusing spectacle of anAfghan baffled by a camel. But belonging himself to a robber tribe,Ahmed suspected that their motive was not so peaceable. Well, theyshould not despoil him without a fight. They would indeed hardly expectto do so, for, though a trader, he was an Afghan, and if they knewanything of Afghans they would know that he would not yield withoutoffering resistance. But they were six to one!
Fortunately Ahmed had some little protection in the great bulk of thecamel and in the banian-tree behind him. While they were still a greatway off, he slipped his talwar from its covering, and laid it close tohis hand, ready for emergencies. He had, besides, his pistol and hisknife. But he felt that he was in an awkward predicament. The matchlockwould carry further than his pistol; the man who bore it had only tokeep out of range and "pot" him at his leisure. Even if the man missedhim, he might hit the camel, and then the animal, if not mortallywounded, would probably rise quickly enough and bolt in an entirelywrong direction. There was just a chance that the man, not suspectinghim to bear firearms, might come so near that he would be able to getfirst shot; that indeed seemed to be his only chance.
He stood behind the camel and watched them. While they were still toofar away for the matchlock-bearer to fire with any certainty of hittinghim, he shouted--
"Eo! eo! Who are you, and what do you want?"
Like all hill-men, he had a very clear, ringing voice, and the note ofauthority in his tone caused them to halt. Then one of them called backin answer--
"We have come to help you with your rogue of a camel."
"I want no help," he replied. "The camel will rise when Allah wills. Iwould not trouble you."
There was silence for a moment, then another voice cried--
"We know not who you are. We want no Afghans here. You must come with usto our village, and our headman shall hear who you are and say whatshall be done. It may be that he will send you to the chief ofBahadurgurh."
"What talk is this?" cried Ahmed. "I am a trader, as you see, and Icarry my wares to Delhi. What has the chief of Bahadurgurh to say to theking?"
"That we shall see," replied the man truculently, advancing. "It will bebetter for you to come with us quietly."
"You had better return to your dogs' kennels before you come to harm,"cried Ahmed, flourishing his talwar. "As you perceive, I am armed, and Iwill send you back without arms and legs if you come within my reach."
The men laughed. What was a talwar against a matchlock? The man carryingthe firearm came on ahead of the rest, and advancing to within a shortdistance of Ahmed he set the weapon to his shoulder and proceeded coollyto take aim. This was exactly what Ahmed had calculated upon. The firingof a matchlock was a somewhat lengthy operation, especially to avillager. Before the man had time to fire, Ahmed quickly changed thetalwar from his right hand to his left, drew his pistol, and fired overthe camel's back. The man dropped without a sound. At the same momentAhmed flung down his pistol, and taking the sword again in his righthand, drew his knife, vaulted over the animal, and dashed straight atthe knot of villagers.
Taken aback by this unexpected stroke from a man they supposed to behelpless, the villagers stood irresolute. Before they had recoveredtheir wits, Ahmed was upon them. The sight of his sword flashing in theglow of the setting sun was too much for most of them; they took totheir heels and fled in all haste across the fields. One or two,apparently so paralyzed with consternation that they could not even run,seized their lathis and made feeble attempts to parry the descendingtalwar. But with a couple of swift strokes Ahmed settled their account.Then, incensed at their unprovoked attack, he made off at full speedafter the runaways. They were no match for him in fleetness, and,realizing this, they scattered, howling. Ahmed could not catch them all;he ran after the one whom he recognized as the man that had firstdiscovered him. A pursuit of half-a-mile over the squelching soilbrought him within arm's length, and the wretched man paid the penalty.
It would be dangerous to pursue the rest, loath as he was to let any ofthem go unpunished. And reflecting that as soon as they got back totheir village they would without doubt bring others with firearms todeal with him, he saw that he must lose no time in making his escape.The camel must be compelled to move. But when he turned, he saw that thecamel, probably startled by the shot, was already on its feet, andshambling along the road in the direction from which he had come.Sprinting after it, he lugged it round until its head was again turnedtowards Delhi, walked by its side until he picked up the pistol, thenleapt to his seat, and set off, as quickly as the clumsy animal wouldmove, towards his destination.
He had not ridden for more than half-a-minute when he reflected that hewas not even yet out of danger. If the villagers pursued him, they couldeasily overtake him before he had gone many miles. Instantly he drovethe camel off the road on to the field. When he had gone a hundred paceshe stopped, slipped off, and with the quickness of a well-trained scoutproceeded to obliterate the traces of the animal's feet back to thepoint at which it had started to go in the opposite direction, the camelmeanwhile stopping to drink at a deep pool. In a few minutes he was backagain, remounted, and continued his journey.
It was by this time nearly dark. After riding a few miles he saw,somewhat nearer the road, a small shrine amid trees, such as are to befound in countless numbers dotted over India. It struck him that, sincethe gates of Delhi must now be shut, he might well shelter for the nightbeneath the walls of the shrine. He halted, tethered the camel to one ofthe trees, and made himself as comfortable as he could.
An hour or two afterwards he heard t
he distant sounds of a body of menapproaching. Were they fellow-villagers of the men he had punished, onthe hunt for him? Devoutly he hoped that the camel would not betray himby a grunt. The sounds drew nearer--voices, the tramp of feet on theroad. They passed. For the time he was safe. Tired as he was, he durstnot now go to sleep. The men might return; an unlucky grunt might bringthem upon him. In anxious suspense he waited. The hours are long to onewho waits. At last he heard faint sounds from beyond him. Men wereapproaching him again. He stood, grasping his weapons. The sounds grewlouder. The marching men were now abreast of him. If they had been hiscomrades of the Guides they would find the tracks of his camel even inthe dark. But they passed; the sound of their marching grew fainter; andat last Ahmed's uneasiness left him, and, wrapping himself in his cloak,he lay down to sleep.