The Red Year Part 30

"This is no time to create mischief and disunion," he went on loudly.

"Help is coming from all quarters. Gwalior, Jhansi, Neemuch and Lucknow are sending troops to aid us. In three or four days, if Allah be willing, the Ridge will be taken, and every one of the base unbelievers humbled and ruined and sent to the fifth circle of h.e.l.l."

The man had the actor's trick of making his points. Waiting until an exultant roar of applause had died away, he delivered his most effective hit.

"At the very time you dared to burst in on the Emperor's privacy he was arranging a loan with certain local bankers that will enable all arrears of pay to be made up. To-day there will be a free issue of cattle, grain and rice. Go, then! Tell these things to all men, and trust to the King of Kings and his faithful advisers, of whom I am at once the nearest and the most obedient, to lead you to victory against the Nazarenes."

For the hour these brave words sufficed. The sepoys trooped out and Malcolm went with them. A backward glance revealed the princess and her brother engaged in a conversation with Bahadur Shah and a courtier or two. Their gestures and manner of argument did not bear out the joyful tidings brought to the conclave by the Shahzada. Indeed, Frank guessed that they were soundly rating the miserable monarch for having allowed himself to speak so plainly to his beloved subjects.

Malcolm knew there was not a word of truth in Mirza Moghul's brief speech. The Gwalior contingent had gone to Cawnpore. All the men Bareilly had to send had already arrived with Bakht Khan, the "havildar of artillery," who was now the King's right hand man. Jhansi, Neemuch and Lucknow had enough troubles of their own without helping Delhi, and, as for the bankers' aid, it was easy to guess the nature of the "loan"

that the Emperor hoped to extract from them.

Indeed, while Malcolm and Chumru and their new a.s.sociates were wandering through the streets and making the circuit of the western wall, there was another incipient riot in the fort. Delay in issuing the promised rations enraged the hungry troops. A number hurried again to the Diwan-i-Am, clamored for the king's presence, and told him roundly that he ought to imprison his sons, who, they said, had stolen their pay.

"If the Treasury does not find the money," was the threat, "we will kill you and all your family, for we are masters."

This later incident came to Malcolm's ears while Chumru was persuading a grain-dealer to admit that he had some corn hidden away. The sight of money unlocked the man's lips.

"Would there were more like you in the King's service," he whined. "I have not taken a rupee in the way of trade since the huzoors were driven forth."

It was easy enough to interpret the unhappy tradesman's real wishes. He was pining for the restoration of the British Raj. Every man in Delhi, who had anything to lose, mourned the day that saw the downfall of the Sirkar.[22]

[Footnote 22: The Government.]

"Affairs go badly, then," Malcolm put in. "Speak freely, friend. We are strangers, and are minded to go back whence we came, for there is naught but misrule in the city so far as we can see."

"What can you expect from an old man who writes verses when he should be punis.h.i.+ng malefactors?" said the grain-dealer, bitterly anxious to vent his wrongs. "If you would act wisely, sirdar, leave this bewitched place. It is given over to devils. I am a Hindu, as you know, but I am worse treated by the Brahmins than by men of your faith."

"Mayhap you have quarreled with some of the sepoys and have a sore feeling against them?"

"Think not so, sirdar. Who am I to make enemies of these lords? Every merchant in the bazaar is of my mind, and I have suffered less than many, for I am a poor man and have no family."

In response to Chumru's request the grain-dealer allowed the men to cook their food in an inner courtyard. While Malcolm extracted additional details as to the chaos that reigned in the city the newcomers from Gwalior consulted among themselves. They had seen enough to be convinced that there were parts of India much preferable to Delhi for residential purposes.

"Behold, sirdar!" said one of them after they had eaten, "you led us in, and now we pray you lead us out again. There are plenty here to fight the Feringhis, and we may be more useful at Lucknow."

Malcolm could have laughed at the strangeness of his position, but he saw in this request the nucleus of a new method of winning his way beyond the walls.

"Bide here," he said gruffly, "until Ali Khan and I return, which we will surely do ere night. Then we shall consider what steps to take. At present, I am of the same mind as you."

He wanted to visit the Cashmere Gate and examine its defenses. Then, he believed, he would have obtained all the information that Nicholson required. He was certain that Delhi would fall if once the British secured a footing inside the fortifications. The city was seething with discontent. Even if left to its own devices it would speedily become disrupted by the warring elements within its bounds.

Chumru and he rode first to the Mori Gate. Thence, by a side road, they followed the wall to the Cashmere Gate. Traveling as rapidly as the crowded state of the thoroughfare permitted and thus wearing the semblance of being engaged on some urgent duty, they counted the guns in each battery and noted their positions.

Arrived at the Cashmere Gate they loitered there a few minutes. This was the key of Delhi. Once it was won, a broad road led straight to the heart of the city, with the palace on one hand and the Chandni Chowk on the other.

Malcolm saw with a feeling of unutterable loathing that the mutineers had converted St. James's Church into a stable. Not so had the founder, Colonel James Skinner, treated the religions of the people among whom he lived. The legend goes that the gallant soldier, a veteran of the Mahratta wars, had married three wives, an Englishwoman, a Mohammedan, and a Hindu. His own religious views were of the nebulous order, but, so says the story, being hard pressed once in a fight, he vowed to build a church to his wife's memory if he escaped. His a.s.sailants were driven off and the vow remained. When he came to give effect to it he was puzzled to know which wife he should honor, so he built a church, a mosque and a temple, each at a corner of the triangular s.p.a.ce just within the Cashmere Gate.

Whether the origin of the structures is correctly stated or not, they stand to this day where Skinner's workmen placed them, and it was a dastardly act on the part of men who wors.h.i.+ped in mosque and temple to profane the hallowed shrine of another and far superior faith.

Malcolm was sitting motionless on Nejdi, looking at a squad of rebels erecting fascines in front of a new battery on the river side of the gate, when Chumru, whose twisted vision seemed to command all points of the compa.s.s, saw that the commander of a cavalry guard stationed there was regarding them curiously.

"Turn to the right, huzoor," he muttered.

Malcolm obeyed instantly. The warning note in Chumru's voice was not to be denied. It would be folly to wait and question him.

"Now let us canter," said the other, as soon as the horses were fairly in the main road.

"You did well, sahib, to move quickly. There was one in the guard yonder whose eyes grew bigger each second that he looked at you."

They heard some shouting at the gate. A bend in the road near the ruined offices of the _Delhi Gazette_ gave them a chance of increasing the pace to a gallop. There was a long, straight stretch in front, leading past the Telegraph Office, the dismantled magazine, and a small cemetery.

Then the road turned again, and by a sharp rise gained the elevated plateau on which stood the fort.

Glancing over his shoulder at this point, Malcolm caught sight of a dozen sowars riding furiously after them. To dissipate any hope that they might not be in pursuit, he saw the leader point in his direction and seemingly urge on his comrades. It was impossible to know for certain what had roused this nest of hornets, though the presence of a man of the 3d Cavalry in the palace that morning was a sinister fact that led to only one conclusion. No matter what the motive, he felt that Chumru and he were trapped. There was no avenue of escape. Whether they went ahead or made a dash for the city, their pursuers could keep them well in sight, as their tired horses were incapable of a sustained effort at top speed after having been on the move nearly twenty hours.

He had to decide quickly, and his decision must be governed not by personal considerations but by the needs of his country. If he had been recognized, the enemy would follow him. Therefore, Chumru might outwit them were he given a chance.

"Listen, good friend," he shouted as they clattered up the hill. "Thou seest the tope of trees in front."

"Yes, sahib."

"This, then, is my last order, and it must be obeyed. When we reach those trees we will bear off towards the palace. Pull up there and dismount. Give me the reins of your horse, and hide yourself quickly among the trees. I shall ride on, and you may be able to dodge into some ditch or nullah till it is dark. Rejoin those men from Gwalior if possible, and try to get away from the city. Tell the General-sahib what you have seen and that I sent you. Do you understand?"

"Huzoor!--"

"Silence! Wouldst thou have me fail in my duty? It is my parting wish, Chumru. There is no time for words. Do as I say, or we both die uselessly."

There was no answer. The Mohammedan's eyes blazed with the frenzy of a too complete comprehension of his master's intent. But now they were behind the trees, and Malcolm was already checking Nejdi. Chumru flung himself from the saddle and ran. Cowering amid some shrubs of dense foliage, he watched Malcolm das.h.i.+ng along the road to the Lah.o.r.e Gate of the palace. A minute later the rebels thundered past, and they did not seem to notice that one of the two horses disappearing in the curved cutting that led to the drawbridge and side entrance of the gate was riderless.

Chumru ought to have taken immediate measures to secure his own safety.

But he did nothing of the kind. He lay there, watching the hard-riding hors.e.m.e.n, and striving most desperately to do them all the harm that the worst sort of malign imprecations could effect. They, in turn, vanished in the sunken approach to the fortress, and the unhappy bearer was imagining the horrible fate that had befallen the master, whom he loved more than kith or kin, when he saw the same men suddenly reappear and gallop towards the Delhi Gate, which was situated at a considerable distance.

Something had happened to disappoint and annoy them--that much he could gather from their gestures and impa.s.sioned speech. Whatever it was, Malcolm-sahib apparently was not dead yet, and while there is life there is hope.

Chumru proceeded to disrobe. He kicked off his boots, untied his putties, threw aside the frock-coat and breeches of a cavalry rissaldar, and stood up in the ordinary white clothing of a native servant.

"Shabas.h.!.+" muttered he, as he unfastened the military badge in his turban. "There is nothing like a change of clothing to alter a man. Now I can follow my sahib and none be the wiser."

With that he walked coolly into the roadway and stepped out leisurely towards the Lah.o.r.e Gate. But he found the ma.s.sive door closed and the drawbridge raised, and a gruff voice bade him begone, as the gate would not be opened until the King's orders were received.

CHAPTER XVI

IN THE VORTEX

Malcolm was not one to throw his life away without an effort to save it.

Once, during a visit to Delhi, Captain Douglas, the ill-fated commandant of the Palace Guards, had taken him to his quarters for tiffin. As it happened, the two entered by the Delhi Gate and walked through the gardens and corridors to Douglas's rooms, which were situated over the Lah.o.r.e Gate. Thus he possessed a vague knowledge of the topography of the citadel, and his visit that morning had refreshed his memory to a slight extent. On that slender reed he based some hope of escape. In any event he prayed that his ruse might better Chumru's chances, and he promised himself a soldier's death if brought to bay inside the palace.