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THE LOST HEIR
BY G. A. HENTY
AUTHOR OF "STURDY AND STRONG," "RUJUB, THE JUGGLER," "BY ENGLAND'S AID,"ETC., ETC.
THE MERSHON COMPANY RAHWAY, N. J. NEW YORK
CONTENTS.
I. A BRAVE ACTION 1
II. IN THE SOUTH SEAS 14
III. A DEAF GIRL 27
IV. THE GYPSY 40
V. A GAMBLING DEN 52
VI. JOHN SIMCOE 65
VII. JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND 77
VIII. GENERAL MATHIESON'S SEIZURE 90
IX. A STRANGE ILLNESS 102
X. TWO HEAVY BLOWS 112
XI. A STARTLING WILL 124
XII. DR. LEEDS SPEAKS 137
XIII. NETTA VISITS STOWMARKET 150
XIV. AN ADVERTISEMENT 164
XV. VERY BAD NEWS 176
XVI. A FRESH CLEW 193
XVII. NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY 206
XVIII. DOWN IN THE MARSHES 220
XIX. A PARTIAL SUCCESS 233
XX. A DINNER PARTY 247
XXI. A BOX AT THE OPERA 262
XXII. NEARING THE GOAL 274
XXIII. WALTER 287
XXIV. A NEW BARGE 301
XXV. A CRUSHING EXPOSURE 316
XXVI. A LETTER FROM ABROAD 329
SIMCOE RAN IN WITH HIS KNIFE AND ATTACKED THE TIGER._--Page 4._]
THE LOST HEIR.
CHAPTER I.
A BRAVE ACTION.
A number of soldiers were standing in the road near the bungalow ofBrigadier-General Mathieson, the officer in command of the force in thecantonments of Benares and the surrounding district.
"They are coming now, I think," one sergeant said to another. "It is abad business. They say the General is terribly hurt, and it was thoughtbetter to bring him and the other fellow who was mixed up in it down indoolies. I heard Captain Harvey say in the orderly-room that they havearranged relays of bearers every five miles all the way down. He is agood fellow is the General, and we should all miss him. He is not one ofthe sort who has everything comfortable himself and don't care a rap howthe soldiers get on: he sees to the comfort of everyone and spends hismoney freely, too. He don't seem to care what he lays out in making thequarters of the married men comfortable, and in getting any amount ofice for the hospital, and extra punkawallahs in the barrack rooms duringthe hot season. He goes out and sees to everything himself. Why, on themarch I have known him, when all the doolies were full, give up his ownhorse to a man who had fallen out. He has had bad luck too; lost hiswife years ago by cholera, and he has got no one to care for but hisgirl. She was only a few months old when her mother died. Of course shewas sent off to England, and has been there ever since. He must be arich man, besides his pay and allowances; but it aint every rich man whospends his money as he does. There won't be a dry eye in the cantonmentif he goes under."
"How was it the other man got hurt?"
"Well, I hear that the tiger sprang on to the General's elephant andseized him by the leg. They both went off together, and the bruteshifted its hold to the shoulder, and carried him into the jungle; thenthe other fellow slipped off his elephant and ran after the tiger. Hegot badly mauled too; but he killed the brute and saved the General'slife."
"By Jove! that was a plucky thing. Who was he?"
"Why, he was the chap who was walking backwards and forwards with theGeneral when the band was playing yesterday evening. Several of the menremarked how like he was to you, Sanderson. I noticed it, too. Therecertainly was a strong likeness."
"Yes, some of the fellows were saying so," Sanderson replied. "He passedclose to me, and I saw that he was about my height and build, but ofcourse I did not notice the likeness; a man does not know his own facemuch. Anyhow, he only sees his full face, and doesn't know how he lookssideways. He is a civilian, isn't he?"
"Yes, I believe so; I know that the General is putting him up at hisquarters. He has been here about a week. I think he is some man fromEngland, traveling, I suppose, to see the world. I heard the Adjutantspeak of him as Mr. Simcoe when he was talking about the affair."
"Of course they will take him to the General's bungalow?"
"No; he is going to the next. Major Walker is away on leave, and thedoctor says that it is better that they should be in differentbungalows, because then if one gets delirious and noisy he won't disturbthe other. Dr. Hunter is going to take up his quarters there to lookafter him, with his own servants and a couple of hospital orderlies."
By this time several officers were gathered at the entrance to theGeneral's bungalow, two mounted troopers having brought in the news afew minutes before that the doolies were within a mile.
They came along now, each carried by four men, maintaining a swift butsmooth and steady pace, and abstaining from the monotonous chant usuallykept up. A doctor was riding by the side of the doolies, and two mountedorderlies with baskets containing ice and surgical dressings rode fiftypaces in the rear. The curtains of the doolies had been removed to allowof a free passage of air, and mosquito curtains hung round to preventinsects annoying the sufferers.
There was a low murmur of sympathy from the soldiers as the dooliespassed them, and many a muttered "God bless you, sir, and bring youthrough it all right." Then, as the injured men were carried into thetwo bungalows, most of the soldiers strolled off, some, however,remaining near in hopes of getting a favorable report from an orderly orservant. A group of officers remained under the shade of a tree nearuntil the surgeon who had ridden in with the doolies came out.
"What is the report, McManus?" one of them asked, as he approached.
"There is no change since I sent off my report last night," he said."The General is very badly hurt; I certainly should not like to give anopinion at present whether he will get over it or not. If he does itwill be a very narrow shave. He was insensible till we lifted him intothe doolie at eight o'clock yesterday evening, when the motion seemed torouse him a little, and he just opened his eyes; and each time wechanged bearers he has had a little ice between his lips, and a drink oflime juice and water with a dash of brandy in it. He has known me eachtime, and whispered a word or two, asking after the other."
"And how is he?"
"I have no doubt that he will do; that is, of course, if fever does notset in badly. His wounds are not so severe as the General's, and he is amuch younger man, and, as I should say, with a good constitution. Ifthere is no complication he ought to be about again in a month's time.He is perfectly sensible. Let him lie quiet for a day or two; after thatit would be as well if some of you who have met him at the General'swould drop in occasionally for a short chat with him; but of course wemust wait to see if there is going to be much fever."
"And did it happen as they say, doctor? The dispatch told us very littlebeyond the fact that the General was thrown from his elephant, just asthe tiger sprang, and that it seized him and carried him into thejungle; that Simcoe slipped off his pad and ran in and attacked thetiger; that he saved the General's life and killed the animal, but issadly hurt himself."
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"That is about it, except that he did not kill the tiger. Metcalf,Colvin, and Smith all ran in, and firing together knocked it over stonedead. It was an extraordinarily plucky action of Simcoe, for he hademptied his rifle, and had nothing but it and a knife when he ran in."
"You don't say so! By Jove! that was an extraordinary act of pluck; onewould almost say of madness, if he hadn't succeeded in drawing the bruteoff Mathieson, and so gaining time for the others to come up. It was amiracle that he wasn't killed. Well, we shall not have quite so easy atime of it for a bit. Of course Murdock, as senior officer, will takecommand of the brigade, but he won't be half as considerate for ourcomfort as Mathieson has been. He is rather a scoffer at what he callsnew-fangled ways, and he will be as likely to march the men out in theheat of the day as at five in the morning."
The two sergeants who had been talking walked back together to theirquarters. Both of them were on the brigade staff. Sanderson was thePaymaster's clerk, Nichol worked in the orderly-room. At the sergeants'mess the conversation naturally turned on the tiger hunt and itsconsequences.
"I have been in some tough fights," one of the older men said, "and Idon't know that I ever felt badly scared--one hasn't time to think ofthat when one is at work--but to rush in against a wounded tiger withnothing but an empty gun and a hunting-knife is not the sort of jobthat I should like to tackle. It makes one's blood run cold to think ofit. I consider that everyone in the brigade ought to subscribe a day'spay to get something to give that man, as a token of our admiration forhis pluck and of our gratitude for his having saved General Mathieson'slife."
There was a general expression of approval at the idea. Then Sandersonsaid:
"I think it is a thing that ought to be done, but it is not for us tobegin it. If we hear of anything of that sort done by the officers, twoor three of us might go up and say that it was the general wish amongthe non-coms. and men to take a share in it; but it would never do forus to begin."
"That is right enough; the officers certainly would not like such athing to begin from below. We had better wait and see whether there isany movement that way. I dare say that it will depend a great deal onwhether the General gets over it or not."
The opportunity did not come. At the end of five weeks Mr. Simcoe waswell enough to travel by easy stages down to the coast, acting upon theadvice that he should, for the present, give up all idea of making atour through India, and had better take a sea voyage to Australia or theCape, or, better still, take his passage home at once. Had the day andhour of his leaving been known, there was not a white soldier in thecantonments who would not have turned out to give him a hearty cheer,but although going on well the doctor said that all excitement should beavoided. It would be quite enough for him to have to say good-by to thefriends who had been in the habit of coming in to talk with him daily,but anything like a public greeting by the men would be likely to upsethim. It was not, therefore, until Simcoe was some way down the riverthat his departure became known to the troops.
Six weeks later there was a sensation in the cantonments. GeneralMathieson had so far recovered that he was able to be carried up to thehills, and the camp was still growling at the irritating orders andregulations of his temporary successor in command, when the news spreadthat Staff Pay-Sergeant Sanderson had deserted. He had obtained afortnight's furlough, saying that he wanted to pay a visit to some oldcomrades at Allahabad; at the end of the fortnight he had not returned,and the Staff Paymaster had gone strictly into his accounts and foundthat there was a deficiency of over L300, which he himself would ofcourse be called upon to make good. He had, indeed, helped to bringabout the deficiency by placing entire confidence in the sergeant and byneglecting to check his accounts regularly.
Letters were at once written to the heads of the police at Calcutta andBombay, and to all the principal places on the roads to those ports; butit was felt that, with such a start as he had got, the chances were allin his favor.
It was soon ascertained at Allahabad that he had not been there.Inquiries at the various dak-bungalows satisfied the authorities that hehad not traveled by land. If he had gone down to Calcutta he had gone byboat; but he might have started on the long land journey across toBombay, or have even made for Madras. No distinct clew, however, couldbe obtained.
The Paymaster obtained leave and went down to Calcutta and inspected allthe lists of passengers and made inquiries as to them; but there werethen but few white men in the country, save those holding civil ormilitary positions and the merchants at the large ports, therefore therewas not much difficulty in ascertaining the identity of everyone who hadleft Calcutta during the past month, unless, indeed, he had taken apassage in some native craft to Rangoon or possibly Singapore.
On his arrival at Calcutta he heard of an event which caused deep andgeneral regret when known at Benares, and for a time threw even thedesertion of Sergeant Sanderson into the shade. The _Nepaul_, in whichJohn Simcoe had sailed, had been lost in a typhoon in the Bay of Bengalwhen but six days out. There was no possible doubt as to his fate, for avessel half a mile distant had seen her founder, but could render noassistance, being herself dismasted and unmanageable and the sea sotremendous that no boat could have lived in it for a moment. As bothships belonged to the East India Company, and were well known to eachother, the captain and officials of the _Ceylon_ had no doubt whateveras to her identity, and, indeed, the remains of a boat bearing the_Nepaul's_ name were picked up a few days later near the spot where shehad gone down.
"It's hard luck, that is what I call it," Sergeant Nichol said withgreat emphasis when the matter was talked over in the sergeants' mess."Here is a man who faces a wounded tiger with nothing but ahunting-knife, and recovers from his wounds; here is the General, whoselife he saved, going on first-rate, and yet he loses his life himself,drowned at sea. I call that about as hard luck as anything I have heardof."
"Hard luck indeed!" another said. "If he had died of his wounds it wouldhave been only what might have been expected; but to get over them andthen to get drowned almost as soon as he had started is, as you say,Nichol, very hard luck. I am sure the General will be terribly cut upabout it. I heard Major Butler tell Captain Thompson that he had heardfrom Dr. Hunter that when the General began to get round and heard thatSimcoe had gone, while he was lying there too ill to know anything aboutit, he regularly broke down and cried like a child; and I am sure thefact that he will never have the chance of thanking him now will hurthim as bad as those tiger's claws."
"And so there is no news of Sanderson?"
"Not that I have heard. Maybe he has got clean away; but I should sayit's more likely that he is lying low in some sailors' haunt until thematter blows over. Then, like enough, he will put on sea-togs and shipunder another name before the mast in some trader knocking about amongthe islands, and by the time she comes back he could take a passage homewithout questions being asked. He is a sharp fellow is Sanderson. Inever quite liked him myself, but I never thought he was a rogue. Itwill teach Captain Smalley to be more careful in future. I heard that hewas going home on his long leave in the spring, but I suppose he willnot be able to do so now for a year or so; three hundred pounds is a bigsum to have to fork out."
The news of the loss of the _Nepaul_, with all hands, did indeed hitGeneral Mathieson very heavily, and for a time seriously delayed theprogress that he was making towards recovery.
"It's bad enough to think," he said, "that I shall never have anopportunity of thanking that gallant fellow for my life; but it is evenworse to know that my rescue has brought about his death, for had it notbeen for that he would have by this time been up at Delhi or in Oudeinstead of lying at the bottom of the sea. I would give half my fortuneto grasp his hand again and tell him what I feel."
General Mathieson's ill luck stuck to him. He gained strength so slowlythat he was ordered home, and it was three years before he rejoined.Four years later his daughter came out to him, and for a time his homein Delhi, where he was now stationed, was a happy one.
The girl showedno desire to marry, and refused several very favorable offers; but aftershe had been out four years she married a rising young civilian who wasalso stationed at Delhi. The union was a happy one, except that thefirst two children born to them died in infancy. They were girls. Thethird was a boy, who at the age of eight months was sent home under thecharge of an officer's wife returning with her children to England. Whenthey arrived there he was placed in charge of Mrs. Covington, a niece ofthe General's. But before he reached the shores of England he was anorphan. An epidemic of cholera broke out at the station at which hisfather, who was now a deputy collector, was living, and he and his wifewere among the first victims of the scourge.
General Mathieson was now a major-general, and in command of the troopsin the Calcutta district. This blow decided him to resign his commandand return to England. He was now sixty; the climate of India had suitedhim, and he was still a hale, active man. Being generally popular he wassoon at home in London, where he took a house in Hyde Park Gardens andbecame a regular frequenter of the Oriental and East Indian UnitedService Clubs, of which he had been for years a member, went a good dealinto society, and when at home took a lively interest in his grandson,often running down to his niece's place, near Warwick, to see how he wasgetting on.
The ayah who had come with the child from India had been sent back a fewmonths after they arrived, for his mother had written to Mrs. Covingtonrequesting that he should have a white nurse. "The native servants," shewrote, "spoil the children dreadfully, and let them have entirely theirown way, and the consequence is that they grow up domineering,bad-tempered, and irritable. I have seen so many cases of it here thatHerbert and I have quite decided that our child shall not be spoilt inthis way, but shall be brought up in England as English children are, toobey their nurses and to do as they are ordered."
As Mrs. Covington's was a large country house the child was no trouble;an excellent nurse was obtained, and the boy throve under her care.
The General now much regretted having remained so many years in India,and if an old comrade remarked, "I never could make out why you stuck toit so long, Mathieson; it was ridiculous for a man with a large privatefortune, such as you have," he would reply, "I can only suppose it wasbecause I was an old fool. But, you see, I had no particular reason forcoming home. I lost my only sister three years after I went out, and hadnever seen her only daughter, my niece Mary Covington. Of course I hopedfor another bout of active service, and when the chance came at last upin the north, there was I stuck down in Calcutta. If it hadn't been forJane I should certainly have given it up in disgust when I found I waspractically shelved. But she always used to come down and stay with mefor a month or two in the cool season, and as she was the only personin the world I cared for, I held on from year to year, grumbling ofcourse, as pretty well every Anglo-Indian does, but without havingsufficient resolution to throw it up. I ought to have stayed at home forgood after that mauling I got from the tiger; but, you see, I was neverreally myself while I was at home. I did not feel up to going to clubs,and could not enter into London life at all, but spent most of my timeat my own place, which was within a drive of Mary Covington's, who hadthen just married.
"Well, you see, I got deucedly tired of life down there. I knew nothingwhatever of farming, and though I tried to get up an interest in it Ifailed altogether. Of course there was a certain amount of society of asort, and everyone called, and one had to go out to dinner-parties. Butsuch dinner-parties! Why, a dinner in India was worth a score of them.Most of them were very stiff and formal, and after the women had goneupstairs, the men talked of nothing but hunting and shooting and cropsand cattle; so at last I could stand it no longer, but threw up sixmonths of my furlough and went out again. Yes, of course I had Jane, butat that time she was but fourteen, and was a girl at school; and when Italked of bringing her home and having a governess, everyone seemed tothink that it would be the worst thing possible for her, and no doubtthey were right, for the life would have been as dull for her as it wasfor me.
"Of course now it is different. I feel as young and as well as I didtwenty years ago, and can thoroughly enjoy my life in London, though Istill fight very shy of the country. It is a satisfaction to me to knowthat things are pretty quiet in India at present, so that I am losingnothing that way, and if I were out there I should be only holdinginspections at Barrakpoor, Dumdum, or on the Maidan at Calcutta. Ofcourse it was pleasant enough in its way, for I never felt the heat; butas a man gets on in life he doesn't have quite so much enjoyment out ofit as he used to do. The men around him are a good deal younger thanhimself. He knows all the old messroom jokes, and one bit of scandal islike scores of others he has heard in his time.
"I am heartily glad that I have come home. Many of you here are about myown standing, and there is plenty to talk about of old friends and olddays. You were a young ensign when I was a captain, but Bulstrode and Igot our companies within a few days of each other. Of course he is onlya lieutenant-colonel, while I am a major-general, but that is because hehad the good sense to quit the service years ago. There are scores ofothers in the club just about my own standing, and one gets one's rubberof whist in the afternoon, and we dine together and run down the cookingand wines, although every one of us knows at heart that they are bothinfinitely better than we got in India, except at the clubs in thePresidency towns.
"Then, of course, we all agree that the service is going to the dogs,that the Sepoys are over-indulged and will some day give us a lot oftrouble. I keep my liver all right by taking a long ride every morning,and altogether I think I can say that I thoroughly enjoy myself."
The General, on his first visit to England, had endeavored, but in vain,to find out the family of John Simcoe. He had advertised largely, butwithout effect.
"I want to find them out," he said to his niece; "I owe that man a debtof gratitude I can never repay, but doubtless there are some of hisfamily who may be in circumstances where I could give them a helpinghand. There may be young brothers--of course I could get them cadetshipsin the Indian army--maybe portionless sisters."
"But if he was traveling in India for pleasure he must have been awell-to-do young fellow. Men cannot wander about in the East withouthaving a pretty full purse."
"Yes, no doubt; but I don't fancy it was so in his case, and he saidcasually that he had come in for some money, and, as he had always had agreat desire to travel, he thought that he could do nothing better thanspend a year or two in the East, but that he hoped before it was gonehe should fall on his legs and obtain some sort of employment. He didnot care much what it was, so that it was not quill-driving. He thoughtthat he could turn his hands to most things. I laughed at the time, forI was by no means sure that he was in earnest, but I have felt sincethat he must have been. If it had not been so, my advertisements wouldsurely have caught the eye of someone who knew his family. A familywealthy enough for one of the sons to start on two years' travel must bein a fair position, whether in town or country. Had it been so I shouldhave heard of it, and therefore I think that what he said must have hadsome foundation in fact. He was certainly a gentleman in manner, and myidea now is that he belonged to a middle-class family, probably in someprovincial town, and that, having come into some money at the death ofhis father or some other relative, he followed his natural bent andstarted on a sort of roving expedition, thinking, as many people dothink, that India is a land where you have only to stretch out yourhands and shake the pagoda tree.
"He would have found out his mistake, poor fellow, if he had lived. Thedays are long past when any dashing young adventurer can obtain a postof honor in the pay of an Indian Rajah. Still, of course, after what hedid for me, had he remained in India, and I found that he really wanteda berth, I might have done something for him. I know numbers of theseIndian princes, some of them intimately, and to some I have been of veryconsiderable service; and I fancy that I might have got him a berth ofsome kind or other without much difficulty. Or had he made up his mindto return to Englan
d I would have set him up in any business he had afancy for. He has gone now, and I wish I could pay someone he cared fora little of the debt of gratitude I owe him. Well, I have done my bestand have failed, from no fault of my own; but remember that if ever youhear of a family of the name of Simcoe, I want you to make inquiriesabout them, and to give me full particulars concerning them."
But no news ever reached the General on this head, and it was a frequentcause of lamentation to him, when he finally settled in town, thatalthough he had again advertised he had heard nothing whatever of thefamily of which he was in search.