The Red Year Part 20

"I am but a poor man--" began the ryot.

"Just so. Not every day canst thou obtain good payment for a few hours'

work. Now, listen. How far is the Ganges from here?"

"Less than three hours, sahib."

"What, for horses?"

"Not so, sahib. A horse can cover the distance in an hour--if he be not weary."

The peasant could use his eyes, it seemed, but Malcolm pa.s.sed the phrase without comment.

"We have lost our way," he said. "We want to reach the river and take boat speedily to Allahabad. If one like thyself were willing to ride with us to the nearest village on the bank where boats can be obtained, we would give him ten rupees, and, moreover, let him keep the horse that carried him."

The ryot was delighted with his good fortune.

"Blessed be Kali!" he cried. "I saw five female ghosts with goats' heads in a tree last night, and my wife said it betokened a journey and wealth. Not only can I bring you by the shortest road, huzoor, but my brother has a budgerow moored at the ghat, meaning to carry my castor-oil seeds to Mirzapur. I am not ready for him yet for three weeks or more, and he will ask no better occupation than to drop down stream with you and your camp."

"I have no camp," said Malcolm, "but I pay the same rates for the boat."

"The sahib means that his camp marches by road," put in Chumru, severely. "Didst not hear him say that we have mislaid the track?"

The ryot apologized for his stupidity, and Frank recognized that his retainer disapproved very strongly of such strict adherence to the truth. On the plea that they must hasten if the midday heat were to be avoided, they cut short the halt to less than an hour. When they came to tighten the girths again they found that Chumru's horse had fallen lame.

As Nejdi, too, was showing signs of stiffness, Malcolm mounted one of the spare animals and led the Arab. Chumru and the ryot bestrode the third horse, and under the guidance of one who knew every path, they set out for the Ganges.

There are few features of the landscape so complex in their windings as the foot-paths of India. Owing to the immense distances between towns--the fertile and densely populated Doab offers no standard of comparison for the remainder of a vast continent--roads were scarce and far between in Mutiny days. The Grand Trunk Road and the rivers Ganges and Jumna were the main arteries of traffic. For the rest, men marched across country, and the narrow ribands of field tracks meandered through plowed land and jungle, traversed nullah and hill and wood, and intersected each other in a tangle that was wholly inextricable unless one traveled by the compa.s.s or by well-known landmarks, where such were visible.

The ryot, of course, familiar with each yard of the route, practically followed a straight line. After a steady jog of an hour and a half they saw the silver thread of the Ganges from the crest of a small ridge that ran north and south. The river was then about three miles distant, and they were hurrying down the descent when they came upon an ekka, a little native two-wheeled cart, without springs, and drawn by a diminutive pony. Alone among wheeled conveyances, the ekka can leave the main roads in fairly level country, and this one had evidently brought a zemindar from a river-side village.

The man himself, a portly, full-bearded Mohammedan, was examining a growing crop, and his behavior, no less than the furtive looks cast at the newcomers by his driver, warned Malcolm that here, for a certainty, the Mutiny was a known thing. The zemindar's face a.s.sumed a bronze-green tint when he saw the European officer, and the sulky-looking native perched behind the shafts of the ekka growled something in the local patois that caused the ryot sitting behind Chumru to squirm uneasily.

The other glanced hastily around, as though he hoped to find a.s.sistance near, and Chumru muttered to his master:

"Have a care, sahib, else we may hop on to a limed twig."

The boldest course was the best one. Malcolm rode up to the zemindar, who was separated some forty paces from the ekka.

"I come from Lucknow," he said. "What news is there from Fattehpore and Allahabad?"

The man hesitated. He was so completely taken aback by the sight of an armed officer riding towards him in broad daylight--for Malcolm having lost his own sword had taken Chumru's--that he was hardly prepared to meet the emergency.

"There is little news," he said, at last, and it was not lost on his questioner that the customary phrases of respect were omitted, though he spoke civilly enough.

"Nevertheless, what is it?" demanded Frank. "Has the Mutiny spread thus far, or is it confined to Cawnpore?"

"I know not what you mean," was the self-contained answer. "In this district we are peaceable people. We look after our crops, even as I am engaged at this moment, and have no concern with what goes on elsewhere."

"A most worthy and honorable sentiment, and I trust it will avail you when we have hanged all these rebels and we come to inquire into the conduct of your village. I want you to accompany me now and place my orderly and myself on board a boat for Allahabad."

"That is impossible--sahib--" and the words came reluctantly--"there are no boats on the river these days."

"Why not?"

"They are all away, carrying grain and hay."

"What then, are your crops so forward? This one will not be ready for harvesting ere another month."

"You will not find a budgerow on this side. Perchance they will ferry you across at the village in a small boat, and you will have better accommodation at Fattehpore."

"Are we opposite Fattehpore?"

"Yes--sahib."

All the while the zemindar's eyes were looking furtively from Frank to the lower ground. It was a puzzling situation. The man was not actively hostile, yet his manner betrayed an undercurrent of fear and dislike that could only be accounted for by the downfall of British power in the locality. Thinking Chumru could deal better with his fellow-countryman, Malcolm called him, breaking in on a lively conversation that was going on between his servant and the ekka-wallah.

Chumru, who had told the ryot to dismount, came at once.

"Our friend here says that things are quiet on the river, but there are no boats to be had," explained Malcolm. Chumru grinned, and the zemindar regarded him with troubled eyes.

"Excellent," he said. "We shall go to his house and wait while his servants look for a boat."

This suggestion seemed to please the other man.

"I will go on in front in the ekka," he agreed, "and lead you to my dwelling speedily."

Chumru edged nearer his master while their new acquaintance walked towards the ekka.

"Jump down and tie both when I give the word, sahib," he whispered.

"There has been murder done here."

Malcolm understood instantly that his native companion had found the ekka-wallah more communicative. In fact, Chumru had fooled the man by pretending a willingness to slay the Feringhi forthwith, and the sheep-like ryot was now livid with terror at the prospect of witnessing an immediate killing.

When the zemindar was close to the ekka, Chumru whipped out one of the Brahmin's cavalry pistols.

"Now, sahib!" he cried. Malcolm drew his sword and sprang down. The zemindar fell on his knees.

"Spare my life, huzoor, and I will tell thee everything," he roared.

Were he not so worn with fatigue, and were not the issues depending on the man's revelations so important, Malcolm could have laughed at this remarkable change of tone. The flabby, well-fed rascal squealed like a pig when the point of the sword touched his skin, and the Englishman was forced to scowl fiercely to hide a smile.

"Speak, _sug_,"[16] he said. "What of Fattehpore and Allahabad, and be sure thou has spent thy last hour if thou liest."

[Footnote 16: A contemptuous use of the word "dog."]

"Sahib, G.o.d knoweth that I can tell thee naught of Allahabad, but the budmashes at Fattehpore have risen, and Tucker-sahib is dead. They killed him, I have heard, after a fight on the roof of the cutcherry."

Malcolm guessed rightly that Mr. Tucker was the judge at that station, but he must not betray ignorance.

"And the others--they who fled? What of them?" he said, knowing that the scenes enacted elsewhere must have had their counterpart at Fattehpore.