Chapter 12: In which our hero is offered freedom at the price of honor; andMr. Diggle finds that others can quote Latin on occasion.
Next morning, when Desmond left the shed with his fellow prisoners, hetook with him, secreted in a fold of his dhoti, a small piece of clay. Ithad been given him overnight by the Babu. An hour or two later, happeningto be for a moment alone in the tool shop, he took out the clay andexamined it carefully. It was a moment for which he had waited and longedwith feverish impatience. The clay was a thin strip, oval in shape, andslightly curved. In the middle of it was the impression, faint but clear,of a key. A footstep approaching, he concealed the clay again in hisgarment, and, when a workman entered, was busily plying a chisel upon adeal plank.
Before he left the tool shop, he secreted with the clay a scrap of steeland a small file. That day, and for several days after, whenever chancegave him a minute or two apart from his fellow workmen, he employed theprecious moments in diligently filing the steel to the pattern on theclay. It was slow work: all too tedious for his eager thought. But heworked at his secret task with unfailing patience, and at the week's endhad filed the steel to the likeness of the wards of a key.
That night, when his "co-mates in exile" were asleep, he gently insertedthe steel in the lock of his ankle band. He tried to turn it. It stuckfast; the wards did not fit. He was not surprised. Before he made theexperiment he had felt that it would fail; the key was indeed a clumsy,ill-shapen instrument. But next day he began to work on another piece ofsteel, and on this he spent every spare minute he could snatch. This timehe found himself able to work faster. Night and morning he lookedsearchingly at the key on the warder's bunch, and afterward tried to cutthe steel to the pattern that was now, as it were, stamped upon hisbrain.
He wished he could test his second model in the morning light before thewarder came, and correct it then. But to do so would involve discovery byhis fellow captives; the time to take them into his confidence was notyet. He had perforce to wait till dead of night before he could tellwhether the changes, more and more delicate and minute, made upon his keyduring the day were effective. And the Babu was fretful; having done hispart admirably, as Desmond told him, in working the key into his story,he seemed to expect that the rest would be easy, and did not make accountof the long labor of the file.
At length a night came when, inserting the key in the lock, Desmond feltit turn easily. Success at last! As he heard the click, he felt anextraordinary sense of elation. Quietly unclasping the fetter, he removedit from his ankle, and stood free. If it could be called free--to be shutup in a locked and barred shed in the heart of one of the strongestfortresses in Hindostan! But at least his limbs were at liberty. What aworld of difference there was between that and his former state!
Should he inform the Babu? He felt tempted to do so, for it was toSurendra Nath's ingenuity in interpolating the incident of the key into awell-known story that he owed the clay pattern of the warder's key. ButSurendra Nath was excitable; he was quite capable of uttering a yell ofdelight that would waken the other men and force a premature disclosure.Desmond decided to wait for a quiet moment next day before telling theBabu of his success. So he replaced his ankle band, locked the catch, andlay down to the soundest and most refreshing sleep he had enjoyed formany a night.
He had only just reached the workshop next morning when a peon came witha message that Angria Rho {a chief or prince} required his instantattendance at the palace. He began to quake in spite of himself. Couldthe prince have discovered already that the lock of his fetters had beentampered with? Desmond could scarcely believe it. He had made his firsttest in complete darkness; nothing had broken the silence save the onemomentary click; and the warder, when he unloosed him, had not examinedthe lock. What if he were searched and the precious key were found uponhim? It was carefully hidden in a fold of his dhoti. There was noopportunity of finding another hiding place for it; he must go as he wasand trust that suspicion had not been aroused. But it was with agalloping pulse that he followed the peon out of the dockyard, within thewalls of the fort, and into the hall where he had had his first interviewwith the Pirate.
His uneasiness was hardly allayed when he saw that Angria was in companywith Diggle. Both were squatting on the carpeted dais; no other personwas in the room. Having ushered him in, the peon withdrew, and Desmondwas alone with the two men he had most cause to fear. Diggle was smiling,Angria's eyes were gleaming, his mobile lips working as with impatience,if not anxiety.
The Pirate spoke quickly, imperiously.
"You have learnt our tongue, Firangi {originally applied by the nativesto the Portuguese, then to any European} boy?" he said.
"I have done my best, huzur," replied Desmond in Urdu.
"That is well. Now harken to what I say. You have pleased me; my jamadar{head servant} speaks well of you; but you are my slave, and, if I willit, you will always be my slave. You would earn your freedom?"
"I am in your august hands, huzur," said Desmond diplomatically.
"You may earn your freedom in one way," continued Angria in the samerapid, impatient tone. "My scouts report that an English fleet has passedup the coast towards Bombay. My spies tell me that in Bombay a largeforce is collected under the command of that sur ka batcha {son of a pig}Clive. But I cannot learn the purpose of this armament. The dogs maythink, having taken my fortress of Suwarndrug, to come and attack mehere. Or they may intend to proceed against the French at Hyderabad. Itis not convenient for me to remain in this uncertainty. You will go toBombay and learn these things of which I am in ignorance and come againand tell me. I will then set you free."
"I cannot do it, huzur."
Desmond's reply came without a moment's hesitation. To act as a spy uponhis own countrymen--how could Angria imagine that an English boy wouldever consent to win his freedom on such terms?
His simple words roused the Maratha to fury. He sprang to his feet andangrily addressed Diggle, who had also risen, and stood at his side,still smiling. Diggle replied to his vehement words in a tone too low forDesmond to catch what he said. Angria turned to the boy again.
"I will not only set you free; I will give you half a lakh of rupees; youshall have a place at my court, or, if you please, I will recommend youto another prince in whose service you may rise to wealth and honor. Ifyou refuse, I shall kill you; no, I shall not kill you, for death issweet to a slave; I shall inflict on you the tortures I reserve for thosewho provoke my anger; you shall lose your ears, your nose, and--"
Diggle again interposed.
"Pardon me, bhai {brother}," Desmond heard him say, "that is hardly theway to deal with a boy of my nation. If you will deign to leave him tome, I think that in a little I shall find means to overcome hishesitation."
"But even then, how can I trust the boy? He may give his word to escapeme; then betray me to his countrymen. I have no faith in the Firangi."
"Believe me, if he gives his word he will keep it. That is the way withus."
"It is not your way."
"I am no longer of them," said Diggle with consummate aplomb. "Dismisshim now; I shall do my best with him."
"Then you must hasten. I give you three days: if within that time he hasnot consented, I shall do to him all that I have said, and more also."
"I do not require three days to make up my mind," said Desmond quietly."I cannot do what--"
"Hush, you young fool!" cried Diggle angrily in English.
Turning to the Pirate he added: "The boy is as stiff-necked as a pig; buteven a pig can be led if you ring his snout. I beg you leave him to me."
"Take him away!" exclaimed Angria, clapping his hands.
Two attendants came in answer to his summons, and Desmond was led off andescorted by them to his workshop.
Angry and disgusted as he was with both the Maratha and Diggle, he wasstill more anxious at this unexpected turn in his affairs. He had butthree days! If he had not escaped before the fourth day dawned, his fatewould be the most terrible th
at could befall a living creature. Thetender mercies of the wicked are cruel! He had seen, among the prisoners,some of the victims of Angria's cruelty; they had suffered tortures tooterrible to be named, and dragged out a life of unutterable degradationand misery, longing for death as a blissful end. With his quickimagination he already felt the hands of the torturers upon him; and forall the self control which his life in Gheria had induced, he was forsome moments so wholly possessed by terror that he could scarcely endurethe consciousness of existence.
But when the first tremors were past, and he began to go about his usualtasks, and was able to think calmly, not for an instant did he waver inhis resolve. Betray his countrymen! It was not to be thought of. Give hisword to Angria and then forswear himself! Ah! even Diggle knew that hewould not do that. Freedom, wealth, a high place in some prince's court!He would buy none of them at the price of his honor. Diggle was false,unspeakably base; let him do Angria's work if he would; Desmond Burkewould never stoop to it.
He scarcely argued the matter explicitly with himself: it was settled inAngria's presence by his instinctive repulsion. But it was not in a boylike Desmond, young, strong, high spirited, tamely to fold his handsbefore adverse fate. He had three days: it would go hard with him if hedid not make good use of them. He felt a glow of thankfulness that thefirst step, and that a difficult one, had been taken, providentially, asit seemed, the very night before this crisis in his fate. His future planhad already outlined itself; it was necessary first to gain over hiscompanions in captivity; that done, he hoped within the short periodallowed him to break prison and turn his back forever on this place ofhorror.
It seemed to his eager impatience that that day would never end. It wasNovember, and the beginning of the cold season, and the work of thedockyard, being urgent, was carried on all day without the usual breakduring the hot middle hours, so that he found no opportunity ofconsulting his fellows. Further, the foremen of the yard were speciallyactive. The Pirate had been for some time fearful lest the capture ofSuwarndrug should prove to be the prelude to an assault upon his strongerfort and headquarters at Gheria, and to meet the danger he had had ninenew vessels laid down. Three of them had been finished, but the work hadbeen much interrupted by the rains, and the delay in the completion ofthe remaining six had irritated him. He had visited his displeasure uponthe foremen. After his interview with Desmond he summoned them to hispresence and threatened them with such dire punishment if the work wasnot more rapidly pushed on, that they had used the lash more furiouslyand with even less discrimination than ever. Consequently when Desmondmet his companions in the shed at night he found them all in desperateindignation and rage. He had seen nothing more of Diggle; he must strikewhile the iron was hot.
When they were locked in, and all was quiet outside, the prisoners gavevent, each in his own way, to their feelings. For a time Desmondlistened, taking no part in their lamentation and cursing. But when thetide of impotent fury ebbed, and there was a lull, he said quietly:
"Are my brothers dogs that, suffering these things, they merely whine?"
The quiet level tones, so strangely contrasting with the tones offierceness and hate that were still ringing in the ears of the unhappyprisoners, had an extraordinary effect. There was dead silence in theshed: it seemed that every man was afraid to speak. Then one of theMarathas said in a whisper:
"What do you mean, sahib?"
"What do I mean? Surely it must be clear to any man. Have we not sat longenough on the carpet of patience?"
Again the silence remained for a space unbroken.
"You, Gulam Mahomed," continued Desmond, addressing one of the Biluchiswhom he considered the boldest--"have you never thought of escape?"
"Allah knows!" said the man in an undertone. "But He knows that Iremember what happened a year ago. Fuzl Khan can tell the sahib somethingabout that."
A fierce cry broke from the Gujarati, who had been moaning under hischarpoy in anguish from the lashings he had undergone that day. Desmondheard him spring up; but if he had meant to attack the Biluchi, theclashing of his fetters reminded him of his helplessness. He cursed theman, demanding what he meant.
"Nothing," returned Gulam Mahomed. "But you were the only man, Allahknows, who escaped the executioner."
"Pig, and son of a pig!" cried Fuzl Khan, "I knew nothing of the plot. Ifany man says I did he lies. They did it without me; some evil jin musthave heard their whisperings. They failed. They were swine of Canarese."
"Do not let us quarrel," said Desmond. "We are all brothers inmisfortune; we ought to be as close knit as the strands of a rope. Hereis our brother Fuzl Khan, the only man of his gang who did not try toescape, and see how he is treated! Could he be worse misused? Would notdeath be a boon?
"Is it not so, Fuzl Khan?"
The Gujarati assented with a passionate cry.
"As for the rest of us, it is only a matter of time. I am the youngest ofyou, and not the hardest worked, yet I feel that the strain of our toilis wearing me out. What must it be with you? You are dying slowly. If wemake an attempt to escape and fail we shall die quickly, that is all thedifference. What is to be is written, is it not so, Shaik Abdullah?"
"Even so, sahib," replied the second Biluchi, "it is written. Who canescape his fate?"
"And what do you say, Surendra Nath?"
"The key, sahib," whispered the Babu in English; "what of the key?"
"Speak in Urdu, Babu," said Desmond quickly. "Don't agree at once."
Surendra Nath was quick witted; he perceived that Desmond did not wishthe others to suspect that there had been any confidences between them.
"I am a coward, the sahib knows," he said in Urdu. "I could not giveblows; I should die. It was told us today that the English are about toattack this fort. They will set us free; we need run no risks."
"Wah!" exclaimed one of the Mysoreans. "If the Firangi get into the fort,we shall all be murdered."
"That is truth," said a Maratha. "The Rho would have our throats cut atonce."
The Babu groaned.
"You see, Surendra Nath, it is useless to wait in the hope of help frommy countrymen," said Desmond. "If there is fighting to be done, we can doall that is needed: is it not so, my brothers? As for you, Babu, if youwould sooner die without--well, there is nothing to prevent you."
"If the sahib does not wish me to fight, it is well. But has the sahib aplan?"
"Yes, I have a plan."
He paused; there was sound of hard breathing.
"Tell it us," said the Gujarati eagerly.
"You are one of us, Fuzl Khan?"
"The plan! the plan! Is not my back mangled? Have I not endured the tank?Is not freedom sweet to me as to another? The plan, sahib! I swear, IFuzl Khan, to be true to you and all; only tell me the plan."
"You shall have the plan in good time. First I have a thing to say. Whena battle is to be fought, no soldier fights only for himself, doing thatwhich seems good to him alone. He looks to the captain for orders.Otherwise mistakes would be made, and all effort would be wasted. We musthave a captain: who is he to be?"
"Yourself, sahib," said the Gujarati at once. "You have spoken; you havethe plan; we take you as leader."
"You hear what Fuzl Khan says. Do you all agree?"
The others assented eagerly. Then Desmond told his wondering hearers thesecret of the key, and during several hours of that quiet night hediscussed with them in whispers the details of the scheme which he hadworked out. At intervals the sentry passed and flashed his light throughthe opening in the wall; but at these moments every man was lyingmotionless upon his charpoy, and not a sound was audible save a snore.
Next day when Desmond, having finished his midday meal of rice andmangoes, had returned to his workshop, Diggle sauntered in.
"Ah, my young friend," he said in his quiet voice and with his usualsmile, "doubtless you have expected a visit from me. Night bringscounsel. I did not visit you yesterday, thinking that after sleeping overthe amiable
and generous proposition made to you by my friend Angria youwould view it in another light. I trust that during the nocturnal hoursyou have come to perceive the advantages of choosing the discreet part.Let us reason together."
There were several natives with them in the workshop, but none of themunderstood English, and the two Englishmen could talk at ease.
"Reason!" said Desmond in reply to Diggle's last sentence. "If you aregoing to talk of what your pirate friend spoke of yesterday, it is merewaste of time. I shall never agree."
"Words, my young friend, mere words! You will be one of us yet. You willnever have such a chance again. Why, in a few years you will be able toreturn to England, if you will, a rich man, a very nawab {governor}. Myfriend Angria has his faults; nemo est sine culpa: but he is at leastgenerous. An instance! The man who took the chief part in the capture ofthe Dutchman two years ago--what is he now? A naib {deputy governor}, aman of wealth, of high repute at the Nizam's court. There is no reasonwhy you should not follow so worthy an example; cut out an Indiaman ortwo, and Desmond Burke may, if he will, convey a shipload of preciousthings to the shores of Albion, and enjoy his leisured dignity on alanded estate of his own. He shall drive a coach while his oaf of abrother perspires behind a plow."
Desmond was silent. Diggle watched him keenly, and after a slight pausecontinued:
"This is no great thing that is asked of you. You sail on one of Angria'sgrabs; you are set upon the shore; you enter Bombay with a likely storyof escape from the fortress of the Pirate; you are a hero, the boonfellow of the men, the pet of the ladies--for there are ladies in Bombay,forma praestante puellae. In a week you know everything, all the purposesthat Angria's spies have failed to discover. One day you disappear; theladies wail and tear their hair; a tiger has eaten you; in a week youwill be forgotten. But you are back in Angria's fortress, no longer aslave, downtrodden and despised; but a free man, a rich man, a potentateto be. Is it not worth thinking of, my young friend, especially when youremember the other side of the picture? It is a dark side; an unpleasantside; even, let me confess, horrible: I prefer to keep it to the wall."
He waved his gloved hand, deprecatingly, watching Desmond with the sameintentness. The boy was dumb: he might also have been deaf. Diggle drewfrom his fob an elaborately chased snuffbox and took a pinch of finerappee, Desmond mechanically noticing that the box bore ornamentation ofDutch design.
"If I were not your friend," continued Diggle, "I might say that yourattitude is one of sheer obstinacy. Why not trust us? You see we trustyou. I stand pledged for you with Angria; but I flatter myself I know aman when I see one: si fractus illabitur orbis--you have already shownyour mettle. Of course I understand your scruples; I was young myselfonce; I know the generous impulses that rule the hearts of youth. Butthis is a matter that must be decided, not by feeling, but by hard factand cold reason. Who benefits by your scruples? A set of hard-livingmoney grubbers in Bombay who fatten on the oppression of the ryot, whotithe mint and anise and cumin, who hoard up treasure which they willtake back with their jaundiced livers to England, there to become peststo society with their splenetic and domineering tempers. What's theCompany to you, or you to the Company? Why, Governor Pitt was aninterloper; and your own father: yes, he was an interloper, and aninterloper of the best."
"But not a pirate," said Desmond hotly, his scornful silence yielding atlast.
"True, true," said Diggle suavely; "but in the Indies, you see, we don'tdraw fine distinctions. We are all bucaneers in a sense; some with thesword, others the ledger. Throw in your lot frankly with me; I will standyour friend."
"You are wasting your breath and your eloquence," interrupted Desmondfirmly, "and even if I were tempted to agree, as I never could be, Ishould remember who is talking to me."
Then he added with a whimsical smile, "Come, Mr. Diggle, you are fond ofquotations; I am not; but there's one I remember--'I fear the Greeks,though'--"
"You young hound!" cried Diggle, his sallow face becoming purple. Hisanger, it seemed to Desmond afterwards reflecting on it, was out ofproportion to the cause of offense. "You talk of my eloquence. By heaven,when I see you again I shall use it otherwise. You shall hear somethingof how Angria wreaks his vengeance; you shall have a foretaste of thesweets in store for an obstinate, recalcitrant pig-headed fool!"
He strode away, leaving Desmond a prey to the gloomiest anticipations.
That evening, when the prisoners were squatting outside the shed for theusual hour of talk before being locked up for the night, a new featurewas added to the entertainment. One of the Marathas had somehow possessedhimself of a tom tom, and proved himself an excellent performer on thatweird instrument. While he tapped its sides, his fellow Maratha, in astrange hard tuneless voice, chanted a song, repeating its single stanzaagain and again without apparently wearying his hearers, and clapping hishand to mark the time.
It was a song about a banya {merchant} with a beautiful youngdaughter-in-law, whom he appointed to deal out the daily handful of flourexpected as alms by every beggar who passed his door. Her hands beingmuch smaller than his own, he pleased himself with the idea that, withoutlosing his reputation for charity, he would give away through her muchless grain than if he himself performed the charitable office. But itturned out bad thrift, for so beautiful was she that she attracted to thedoor not only the genuine beggars, but also many, both young and old, whohad disguised themselves in mendicant rags for the mere pleasure ofbeholding her and getting from her a smile and a gentle word.
It was a popular song, and the warder himself was tempted to stay andlisten until, the hour for locking up being past, he at last recollectedhis duty and bundled the prisoners into the shed.
"Sing inside if you must," he said, "but not too loud, lest the overseercome with the bamboo."
Inside the shed, reclining on their charpoys, the men continued theirperformance, changing their song, though not, as it seemed to Desmond,the tune. He, however, was perhaps not sufficiently attentive to themonotonous strains; for, as soon as the warder had left the yard, he hadunlocked his fetters and begun to work in the darkness. Poised on one ofthe rafters, he held on with one hand to a joist, and with the otherplied a small saw, well greased with ghi. The sound of the slow carefulmovements of the tool was completely drowned by the singing and thehollow rat-a-pan of the tom tom. Beneath him stood the Babu, extendinghis dhoti like an apron, and catching in it the falling shower ofsawdust.
Suddenly the figure on the rafter gave a low whistle. Through the windowhe had seen the dim form of the sentry outside approach the space lightedby the rays from the lantern, which he had laid down at a corner of theshed. Before the soldier had time to lift it and throw a beam into theshed (which he did as much from curiosity to see the untiring performersas in the exercise of his duty) Desmond had swung down from his perch andstretched himself upon the nearest charpoy. The Babu meanwhile had dartedwith his folded dhoti to the darkest corner. When the sentry peered in,the two performing Marathas were sitting up; the rest were lying prone,to all appearance soothed to sleep.
"Verily thou wilt rap a hole in the tom tom," said the sentry with agrin. "Better save a little of it for tomorrow."
"Sleep is far from my eyes," replied the man. "My comrades are all atrest; if it does not offend thee--"
"No. Tap till it burst, for me. But without sleep the work will be hardin the morning."
He went away. Instantly the two figures were again upon their feet, andthe sawing recommenced. For three hours the work continued, interruptedat intervals by the visits of the sentry. Midnight was past beforeDesmond, with cramped limbs and aching head, gave the word for the songand accompaniment to cease, and the shed was in silence.