CHAPTER VII.
THE WORD WENT FORTH.
The Procession of the Hours had a weary march of it between the yellowsunrise and the yellow sunset of the 10th of May, 1857; for theheavens were as brass, the air one flame of white heat. The mud hutsof the sepoy lines at Meerut looked and felt like bricks baking in akiln; yet the torpor which the remorseless glare of noon brings evento native humanity was exchanged for a strange restlessness. The doorsstood open for the most part, and men wandered in and out aimlessly,like swarming bees before the queen appears. In the bazaar, in thecity too, crowds drifted hither and thither, thirstily, as if it werenot the fast month of Rumzan, when the Mohammedans are denied thesolace of even a drop of water till sundown. Drifted hither andthither, pausing to gather closer at a hint of novelty, melting awayagain, restless as ever.
Mayhap it was but the inevitable reaction after the stun andstupefaction of Saturday, the sudden awakening to the result--namely,that eighty-five of the best, smartest soldiers in Meerut had been setto toil for ten years in shackles because they refused to be defiled,to become apostate. On the other hand, the old Baharupa may have beenright about the yellow fakir: the silent, motionless figure might haveset folk listening and waiting for the word. It was to be seen by allnow sitting outside the city; at least Jim Douglas saw it severaltimes. Saw, also, that the beggar's bowl was fuller and fuller; butthe impossibility of asserting that all the passers-by saw it, as hedid, haunted him, once the idea presented itself to his mind. It wasalways so with Tiddu's mysteries; they were no more susceptible todisproof than they were to proof. You could waste time, of course, inthis case by waiting and watching, but in the natural course of eventshalf the passers-by would go on as if they saw nothing, and only onein a hundred or so would give an alms. So what would be the good?
No one else, however, among the masters troubled himself to find acause for the restlessness; no one even knew of it. To begin with, itwas a Sunday, so that even the bond of a common labor was slackenedbetween the dark faces and the light. Then a mile or more of wastedeserted land and dry watercourse lay on either side of the broadwhite road which split the cantonment into halves. So that the Northknew nothing of what was going on in the South, and while men wereswarming like bees in the sun on one side, on the other they were shutup in barracks and bungalows gasping with the heat, longing for thesun to set, and thanking their stars when the chaplain's memo cameround to say that the evening service had been postponed for half anhour to allow the seething, glowing air to cool a little.
It was not the heat, however, which prevented Major Erlton from takinghis usual _siesta_. It was thought. He had come over from Delhi oninspection duty a few days before and had intended returning thatevening; but the morning's post had brought him a letter which upsetall his plans. Alice Gissing's husband had come out a fortnightearlier than they had expected, and was already on his way up-country.The crisis had come, the decision must be made. It was not anyhesitation, however, which sent the heavy handsome face to rest in thebig strong hands as he rested his elbows on a sheet of blank paper. Hehad made up his mind on the very day when Alice Gissing had first toldhim why she could not go back to her husband. The letter forwardinghis papers for resignation was already sealed on the table beside him;and the surprise was rather a gain than otherwise. Alice could joinhim at Meerut now, and they could slip away together to Cashmere orany out of the way place where there was shooting. That would save alot of fuss; and the fear of fuss was the only one which troubled theMajor, personally. He hated to know that even his friends wouldwonder--for the matter of that those who knew him best would wondermost--why he was chucking everything for a woman he had been mixed upwith for years. Yet he had found no difficulty in writing thatofficial request; none in telling little Allie to join him as soon asshe could. It was this third letter which could not be written. Hetook up the pen more than once, only to lay it down again. He began,"My dear Kate," once, only to tear the sheet to pieces. How could hecall her his when he was going to tell her that she was his no longer;that the best thing she could do was to divorce him and marry someother chap to be a father to the boy.
The thought sent the head into the hands again; for Herbert Erlton wasa healthy animal and loved his offspring by instinct. He had, intruth, a queer upside-down notion of his responsibilities toward them.If the fates had permitted it he would have done his best by Freddy.Shown him the ropes, given him useful tips, stood by his inexperience,paid his reasonable debts--always supposing he had the wherewithal.
Then how was he to tell Kate all the ugly story. He had left her inhis thoughts so completely, she had been so far apart from him for somany years now, that he hesitated over telling her the bare facts,just as--being conventionally a perfectly well-bred man--he would havehesitated how to tell them to any innocent woman of his acquaintance.Rather more so, for Kate--though she was sentimental enough, he toldhimself, for two--had never been sensible and looked things in theface. If she had, it might all have been different. Then with a rushcame the remembrance that Allie did--that she knew him every inch andwas yet willing to come with him. While he? He would stick throughthick and thin to little Allie, who never made a man feel a fool or abeast. Something in the last assertion seemed to harden his heart; hetook up his pen and began to write:
"My Dear Kate: I call you that because I can't think of any otherbeginning that doesn't seem foolish; but it means nothing, and I onlywant to tell you that circumstances over which we had no control (hefelt rather proud of this circumlocution for a circumstance dueentirely to his volition) make it necessary for me to leave you. It isthe only course open to me as a gentleman. Besides I want to, for Ilove Alice Gissing dearly. I am going to marry her, D. V., as soon asI can. Mr. Gissing may make a fuss--it is a criminal offense, you see,in India--but we shall tide over that. Of course you could prevent metoo, but you are not that sort. So I have sent in my papers. It is apity, in a way, because I liked this work. But it is only a two-yearappointment, and I should hate the regiment after it. For the rest, Iam not such a fool as to think you will mind; except for the boy. Itis a pity for him too, but it isn't as if he were a girl, and theother may be. It will do no good to say I'm sorry. Besides, I don'tthink it is all my fault, and I know you will be happier without me.
"Yours sincerely,
"Herbert Erlton.
"P. S.--It's no use crying over spilled milk. I believe you used tothink I would get the regiment some day, but they would never havegiven it to me. I made a bit of a spurt lately, but it couldn't havelasted to the finish, and after all, that is the win or the lose in arace.
"H. E."
The postscript was added after rereading the rest with anuncomfortable remembrance that it was the last letter he meant towrite to her. Then he threw it ready for the post beside the others,and lay down feeling that he had done his duty. And as he dozed offhis own simile haunted him. From start to finish! How few men rodestraight all the way; and the poor beggars who came to grief over thelast fence weren't so far behind those who came in for the clapping.It was the finish that did it; that was the win or the lose. But hewould run straight with little Allie--straight as a die! So he lostconsciousness in a glow of virtuous content with the future, andjoined the whole of the northern half of Meerut in their noontideslumbers; for the future outlook, if not exactly satisfying, was notsufficiently dubious to keep it awake.
But in the southern half, humanity was still swarming in and out,waiting, listening. In one of the mud-huts, however, a company of mengathered within closed doors had been listening to some purpose.Listening to an eloquent speaker, the accredited agent of adown-country organization. He had arrived in Meerut a day or twobefore, and had held one meeting after another in the lines, doing hisutmost to prevent any premature action; for the fiat of the leaderswas that there should be patience till the 31st of May. Then, notuntil
then, a combined blow for India, for God, for themselves, mightbe struck with chance of success.
"Ameen!" assented one old man who had come with him. An old man in ahuge faded green turban with dyed red hair and beard, and with a hugegreen waistband holding a curved scimitar. Briefly, a Ghazee orMohammedan fanatic. "Patience, all ye faithful, till Sunday, the 31stof May. Then, while the hell-doomed infidels are at their eveningprayer, defenseless, fall on them and slay. God will show the right!This is the Moulvie's word, sent by me his servant. Give the GreatCry, brothers, in the House of the Thief! Smite ye of Meerut, and weof Lucknow will smite also." His wild uncontrolled voice rolled on inbroad Arabic vowels from one text to another.
"And we of Delhi will smite also," interrupted the wearer of a rakishMoghul cap impatiently. "We will smite for the Queen."
"The Queen?" echoed an older man in the same dress. "What hath theSheeah woman to do with the race of Timoor?"
"Peace! peace! brothers," put in the agent with authority. "Thesetimes are not for petty squabbles. Let who be the heir, the King mustreign."
A murmur of assent rose; but it was broken in upon by a dissentientvoice from a group of troopers at the door.
"Then our comrades are to rot in jail till the 31st? That suits notthe men of the 3d Cavalry."
"Then let the 3d Cavalry suit itself," retorted the agent fearlessly."We can stand without them. Can they stand without us? Answer me, menof the 20th; men of the 11th."
"There be not many of us here," muttered a voice from a dark corner;"and maybe we could hold our own against the lot of you." It wasSoma's, and the man beside him frowned. But the agent who knew everypetty jealousy, every private quarrel of regiment with regiment, wenton remorselessly. "Let the 3d swagger if it choose. The Rajpoots andBrahmins know how to obey the stars. The 31st is the auspicious day.That is the word. The word of the King, of the Brahmins, of India, ofGod!"
"The 31st! Then slay and spare not! It is _jehad! Deen! Deen! FuttehMohammed!_" said the Ghazee.
The cry, though a mere whisper, electrified the Mohammedans, and anolder man in the group of dissentients at the door muttered that hecould hold his troop--if others who had risen to favor quicker thanhe--could hold theirs.
"I'll hold mine, Khan sahib, without thine aid," retorted a very youngsmart-looking native officer angrily. "That is if the women will holdtheir tongues. But, look you, my troop held the hardest hitters in the3d. And Nargeeza's fancy is of those in jail. Now Nargeeza leads allthe other town-women by the nose; and that means much to men who benot all saints like Ghazee-_jee_ yonder, who ties the two ends of lifewith a ragged green turban and a bloody banner!"
"And I see not why our comrades should stay yonder for three weeks,when there is but a native guard to hold them, and I and mine havemade the _Sirkar_ what it is," put in a man with arrogance andinsolence written on him from top to toe; a true type of the pamperedBrahmin sepoy.
"Rescue them if thou wilt, Havildar-_jee_," sneered the agent. "Butthe man who risks our plot will be held traitor by the Council. Andthe men of the 11th," he added sharply, turning to the corner whenceSoma's voice had come, "may remember that also. They have had theaudacity to stipulate for their Colonel's life."
"For our officers lives, _baboo-jee_," came the voice again, bold asthe agent's. "We of the 11th kill not men who have led us to victory.And if this be not understood I, Soma, Yadubansi, go straight to theColonel and tell him. We are not butchers in the 11th: Oh, priest ofKali!"
The agent turned a little pale. He did not care to have his callingknown, and he saw at a glance that his challenger had the recklessfire of hemp in his eyes. He had indeed been drinking as a refuge fromthe memory of the sweeper's broom and from the taunts and threatswhich had been used to force him to join the malcontents. Such a manwas not safe to quarrel with, nor was the audience fit for adiscussion of that topic; there was already a stir in it, andmutterings that butchery was one thing, fighting another.
"Pay thy Colonel's journey home if thou likest, Rajpoot-_jee_," hesaid with a sneer. "Ay! and give him pension, too! All we want is toget rid of them. And there will be plenty of loot left when thepension is paid, for it is to be each man for himself when the timecomes. Not share and share alike with every coward who will not riskhis life in looting, as it is with the _Sirkar_."
It was a deft red-herring to these born mercenaries, and no more wassaid. But as the meeting dispersed by twos and threes to avoid notice,the agent stood at the door giving the word in a final whisper:
"Patience till the 31st."
"Willst take a seat in our carriage, Ghazee-_jee_," said a fat nativeofficer as he passed out. "'Tis at thy service since thou goest toDelhi and we must return to-night. God knows we have done enough todamn us at Meerut over this court-martial! But what would you? If wehad not given the verdict for the Huzoors there would have been moreof us in jail. So we bide our time like the rest. And to-morrow thereis the parade to hear the sentence on the martyrs at Barrackpore. Dothe sahibs think us cowards that they drive us so? God smite theirsouls to hell!"
"He will, brother, he will. The Cry shall yet be heard in the House ofthe Thief," said the Ghazee fiercely, his eyes growing dreamy withhope. He was thinking of a sunset near the Goomtee more than a yearago, when he had bid every penny he possessed for his own, in vain.
"Well, come if thou likest," continued the native officer. "That camelof thine yonder is lame, and we have room. 'Twas Erlton sahib's dak byrights, but he goes not; so we got it cheap instead of an _ekka_."
"Erlton sahib's!" echoed the fanatic, clutching at his sword. "Ay!Ay!" he went on half to himself. "I knew he was at Delhi, andthe mem who laughed, and the other mem who would not listen. Nay!Soubadar-_jee!_ I travel in no carriage of Erlton sahib's. My camelwill serve me."
"'Tis the vehicle of saints," sneered the owner of the rakish Moghulcap. "Verily, when I saw thee mounted on it, Ghazee-_jee_, I deemedthee the Lord Ali."
"Peace! scoffer," interrupted the fanatic, "lest I mistake thee for aninfidel."
The Moghul ducked hastily from a wild swing of the curved sword, andmoved off swearing such firebrands should be locked up; they might setlight to the train ere wise men had it ready.
"No fear!" said the smart young troop-sergeant of the 3d. "Who listensto such as he save those whose blood has cooled, and those whose bloodwas never hot? The fighters listen to women who can make their flame."
Soma, who was drifting with them toward the drug-shops of the city,scowled fiercely. "That may suit thee, Mussulman-_jee_, who artcasteless, and can sup shares with sweeper women in the bazaar; butthe Rajpoot needs no harlot to teach him courage. The mothers of hisrace have enough and to spare."
"_Loh!_ hark to him!" jibed the corporal of the 20th, who was stickingto his prey like a leech. "Ask him, Havildar-_jee_, if he prefers asweeper's broom to a sweeper's lips."
There was a roar of laughter from the group.
Soma gave a beast-like cry, looked as though he were about to spring,then--recognizing his own helplessness--flung himself away from allcompanionship and walked home moodily. They had driven him too far; hewould not stand it. If that tale was spread abroad, he would side withthe Huzoors who did not believe such things--with the Colonel whounderstood, like the Colonel before him who had gone home on pension;for the 11th had a cult of their officers. And these fools, hiscountrymen, thought to make him a butcher by threats; sought to makehim take revenge for what deserved revenge. For it was the _Sirkar's_fault--it was the _Sirkar's_ fault.
In truth a strange conflict was going on in this man's mind, as it wasin many another such as his, between inherited traditions, makingalike for loyalty and disloyalty. There was the knowledge of hisforbears' pride in their victories, in their sahibs who had led themto victory, and the knowledge of their pride in the veriest jot ortittle of ceremonial law. A dull, painful amaze filled him that thesetwo broad facts should be in conflict; that those, whom in a way hefelt to be part of his life, should be in league against him. All themore r
eason, that, for showing them who were the better men; forstanding up fairly to a fair fight. By all the delights of Swargal hewould like to stand up fair, even to the master--the man who, in hispresence, had shot three tigers on foot in half an hour--the demi-godof his hunting yarns for years.
And then, suddenly, he remembered that this hero of his might be shotlike a dog on the 31st at Delhi--would be shot, since he was certainto be in the front of anything. Soma's heat-fevered, hemp-druggedbrain seized on the thought fiercely, confusedly. That must not be!The master, at any rate, must be warned. He would go down when the sunset, and see if he were still where he had been the day before; and ifnot?--Why! then it must be two days leave to Delhi! He was not goingto butcher the master for all the sweepers' brooms in the world.Fools! those others, to think to drive him, Soma, Chundrabansi! So heflung himself on his string bed to sleep till the sunset came, and thetyranny of heat be overpast.
But there was one, close by in the cantonment bazaar, who waited forsunset with no desire for it to bring coolness. She meant it to bringheat instead. And this was Nargeeza the courtesan. She was past theprime of everything save vice, a woman who, once all-powerful, couldnot hope for many more lovers; and hers, a man rich beyond mostsoldiers, lay in jail for ten years. No wonder, then, that as she layhalf-torpid among a heap of tawdry finery in the biggest house of thelane set apart by regulation for such as she, there was all the venomof a snake in her drowsy brain. The air of the low room was deadlywith a scent of musk and roses and orange-blossom-oil. The half-dozengirls and women who lounged in it, or in the balcony, were halfundressed, their bare brown arms flung carelessly upon dirty mats andtorn quilts. Their harvest time was not yet; that would come laterwhen sunsetting brought the men from the lines. This, then, was thetime for sleep. But Nargeeza, recognized head of the recognizedregimental women, sat up suddenly and said sharply:
"Thou didst not tell me, Nasiban, what Gulabi said. Is she of us?"
A drowsy lump of a girl stirred, yawned, and answered sullenly, "Yea!Yea! she is of us. She claims our right to kiss no cowards--nocowards."
The voice tailed off into sleep again, and Nargeeza lay back with asmile of content to wait also. So, after a time, folk began to stir inthe bungalows. First in the rest-house, where, oddly enough, JimDouglas occupied one end of the long low barrack of a place, andHerbert Erlton the other. The former having come back from the city inan evil temper to get something to eat before starting for Delhi, hadfound his horse, the Belooch, unaccountably indisposed; Jhungi, whohad brought her there safely, professing entire ignorance of thecause, or, on pressure, suggesting the nefarious Bhungi. Tidduasserting--with a calm assumption of superior knowledge, for which JimDouglas could have kicked him--that the mare had been drugged. As ifanybody could not tell that? And that the drug had been opium. Towhich the old scoundrel had replied affably that in that case theeffects would pass off during the night, and the mare be none theworse; no one be any the worse, since the Huzoor was quite comfortablein Meerut, and could _easily stay another day_. It was a nicer placethan Delhi; there were more sahibs in it, and the presence of the"_ghora logue_" (_i. e_., English soldiers) kept everyone virtuous.
His hearer looked at him sharply. Here was some other trick, no doubt,to cozen him out of another five rupees; for something, maybe, asuseless as the yellow fakir. And there was really no reason for delay;it was only a case of walking the mare quietly. For the matter ofthat, the exercise would do her good, and help her to work off theeffects of the drug. So he would start sooner, that was all.Nevertheless he gave an envious look at the Major's little Arab in thenext stall. It would most likely be marching back to Delhi that night,and he would have given something to ride it again. But as he wasreturning from the stables, he learned by chance that the Major'splans had been altered. An orderly was coming from his room withletters and a telegram, and knowing the man, Jim Douglas asked him totake one for him also, and so save trouble. It did not take long towrite, for it only contained one word, "No." It was in reply to one hehad received a few hours before from the military magnate, asking himto do some more work. And as the orderly stowed away the accompanyingrupee carefully, Jim Douglas--waiting to make over the paper--sawquite involuntarily that the Major's telegram also consisted of oneword, "Come." And he saw the name also; big, black, bold, in theMajor's handwriting. "Gissing, Delhi."
He gave a shrug of his shoulders as he turned away to get ready forhis start. So that was it; and even Kate Erlton had not benefited byhis sacrifice. No one had benefited. There had been no chance for anyof them. "Come!" That ended Kate Erlton's hope of concealment, theMajor's career. "No!" That ended his own vague ambitions. Still, itwas a strange chance in itself that those two laconic renunciationsshould go the same day by the same hand. No stranger telegrams, hethought, could have left Meerut, or were likely to leave it thatnight.
He was wrong, however. An hour or two later, the strangest telegramthat ever came as sole warning to an Empire that its very foundationwas attacked, left Meerut for Agra; sent by the postmaster's niece.
"The Cavalry," it ran, "have risen, setting fire to their own housesbesides having killed and wounded all European officers and soldiersthey could find near the lines. If Aunt intends starting to-morrow,please detain her, as the van has been prevented from leaving thestation."
For, as Jim Douglas paced slowly down the Mall toward Delhi, and Soma,his buckles gleaming, his belts pipe-clayed to dazzling whiteness, wasswaggering through the bazaar on his way to the rest-house with hisword of warning--the word which would have given Jim Douglas the powerfor which he had longed--another word was being spoken in that lane oflust, where the time had come for which Nargeeza had waited all day.But _she_ did not say it. It was only a big trollop of a girl hungwith jasmine garlands, painted, giggling.
"We of the bazaar kiss no cowards," she said derisively. "Where areyour comrades?"
The man to whom she said it, a young dissolute-faced trooper, dressedin the loose rakish muslins beloved of his class--the very man,perchance, who had gone cityward that morning, and dropped an almsinto the yellow fakir's bowl--stood for a second in the stifling,maddening atmosphere of musk and rose and orange-blossom; stood beforeall those insolent allurements, balked in his passion, checked in hisdesires. Then, with an oath, he dashed from her insulting charms;dashed into the street with a cry:
"To horse! To horse, brothers! To the jail! to our comrades!"
The word had been spoken. The speech which brings more than speech,had come from the painted lips of a harlot.
The first clang of the church bell--which the chaplain had forgottento postpone--came faintly audible across the dusty plain, making othermen pause and look at each other. Why not? It was the hour ofprayer--the appointed time. Their comrades could be easilyrescued--there was but a native guard at the jail. And hark! fromanother pair of painted derisive lips came the same retort, flung froma balcony.
"_Trra! We of the bazaar kiss no cowards!_"
"To horse! To horse! Let the comrades be rescued first; and then----"
The word had been spoken. Nothing so very soul-stirring after all. Noconsideration of caste or religion, patriotism or ambition. Only ataunt from a pair of painted lips.
BOOK III.
FROM DUSK TO DAWN.