The Disputed V.C.: A Tale of the Indian Mutiny

by Laura Elizabeth Howe Richards

  CHAPTER XI

  In the Clutches of Pir Baksh

  Three hours after Ensign Russell and Havildar Ambar Singh had enteredthe besieged house, a swarthy man in the uniform of a native officerpicked himself tenderly up from the ground, and wondered to find himselfstill alive. It was Pir Baksh the subadar. For hours he had lainunconscious, deaf to the moans of the maimed and dying men who laystretched on every side amid the chaos of shattered timber and masonry.

  His right arm was broken, his head bleeding, and the fallen beam thathad caused the fracture had lain all night across his body, bruising himsorely. He wriggled from underneath, and finding himself too weak torise he called loudly for help.

  But what was this thing so soft below him, that had served as a pillowfor his head all night? He passed his hand lightly over the object. Itwas a corpse--no, the flesh was warm! He placed his hand on the mouthand nostrils, and found that there was still breath in the body. Hishand passed higher up until he touched the hair, and Pir Baksh gave astart. It was one of the two accursed Feringhis to whom he owed theagony he was now enduring. He sought for a knife, a bayonet, to plungeagain and again into the unconscious body.

  But Pir Baksh changed his mind. No, he would wait until the Englishmancould feel and taste the bitterness of death. Revenge would be asnothing unless the victim could feel pain as great as his own. He thereand then resolved to save the life of his enemy until he could plan andcarry out his vengeance, for Pir Baksh had less pity than a tiger.

  Again and again he called for help in the name of Allah, and at lengthhis cries were heard. A few sepoys of his company approached with greatcaution, for day had not yet come.

  "Who is there?" they called.

  "It is I, Pir Baksh. Water!--bring me water if ye are followers of theProphet!"

  The cry for water from one Mussulman to another cannot be neglected, anda sepoy ran for a water-skin, while the rest made their way to theinjured officer.

  "All my bones are broken, I think," said he. "Ye have been long incoming. Look! here is a Feringhi boy still alive. Nay, do not kill him;he shall die more slowly."

  He drank the water feverishly.

  "Now, carry us to my brother's house, and do not let all the people knowthat we have a prisoner, lest in their rage they should straightway killhim, for I mean to torture him by raising hopes. Bear me gently."

  As they raised him the subadar fainted away. Tynan--for he, of course,was the Englishman--was still unconscious, and before the light thatprecedes the dawn had shown across the sky, the pair had been safely andsecretly conveyed into the house of Muhammed Baksh on the outskirts ofthe town.

  The sun had risen and was high in the heavens before Ensign Tynanrecovered consciousness. He raised himself painfully in the creakingstring bed, and gazed in a bewildered manner, like an owl in thesunshine, around the small unfurnished room in which he lay. Theshutters were closed, darkening the chamber, and, unable to make outhis surroundings, and too weary to attempt to solve the mystery, hesank down again with a smothered groan. His head was badly cut; he hadlost a lot of blood; and, though no bones were broken, he had hardly asound, unbruised spot on his body. The roar of the explosion was ringingin his ears, and he still shivered with fright.

  For a long time he could not sleep, though, after what seemed to him aneternity of suffering, he at length fell into a fitful slumber, wakingup between his nightmares in a cold perspiration of dread.

  During one of these intervals the door opened, and a Mohammedan sepoyentered bearing a little bread and a brass vessel containing water.Tynan devoured these to the last drop and crumb.

  "Who are you?" he asked the man. "Tell me, where am I?"

  The sepoy answered not a word and left the room. The food and drink haddone the ensign good, brain and body becoming more brisk. He rosegroaning from the bed and tried the door. It was locked, and heunderstood at last that he was a prisoner. A tremor ran down his back,and he felt cold, though the room was like a hothouse. A captive amongthe mutineers! Horrible prospect! But why should they have brought himhere? he asked himself. Why not have straightway killed him? Could it bethat they meant to torture him? The wretched boy groaned aloud, and in afrenzy of rage and despair kicked and beat the door, though every blowwas anguish.

  He had not long to wait. Muhammed Baksh, his host, called angrily toGhulam Beg, the silent waiter, and together they entered the room andbegan to belabour the unlucky ensign with long bamboo canes.

  Tynan fiercely sprang at his assailants, but being in no condition todo battle, he was soon driven ignominiously into a corner, where hecowered and shrieked for mercy. One of his tormentors pointed to thebed; Tynan crawled upon it, and without having spoken a word the twoquitted the room.

  Again the boy rose and dragged himself towards the window, where hislast spark of hope died out. The shutters were clamped down, and evenhad he been fit and strong he could not have removed them without theaid of tools. He sank down upon the charpoy, a prey to the mostrealistic horrors that could be conjured up by a dull imagination. Howlong he lay there, miserable in mind and aching all over, he knew not.It seemed that whole days must have passed before the silent Ghulam Begbrought in a meagre supper. Worn-out nature then reasserted itself; ashe lay on the bed his aching head seemed to grow larger and larger,filling all the room, and soon he was lost to consciousness.

  Aroused by the entrance of his breakfast of chupattis and water, heimplored the sepoy to speak to him and let him know his fate. But theman might have been a mute. Without a word, or gesture, or sign ofcomprehension Ghulam Beg left the prison-chamber, and another day ofhorror was passed, and a night in which blessed sleep almost forsook thecaptive boy.

  The sound of a key creaking in the rusty lock aroused him, and he roseto his feet as the sepoy attendant brought in the unappetizing fare.Behind him Pir Baksh stalked in, his arm in a sling, his cruel eyesleering horribly as he gazed upon his victim.

  "I trust, Ensign Sahib," said he with much politeness, "that my servanthas been courteous and attentive, and has not disturbed your repose bychattering too much. I am greatly honoured that the heaven-born shoulddeign to share our humble roof, and I trust that our guest has beencomfortable."

  The unceasing pain and the solitude had taken most of the spirit out ofpoor Tynan. Instead of resenting this insolence he implored the brute totell him what his fate was to be.

  "Ungrateful Feringhi!" exclaimed the subadar indignantly. "Not a word ofthanks for my hospitality! Art thou aware that I have saved thy life?"

  "Indeed, subadar, I thank you," said Tynan humbly.

  "And I thank thee," said Pir Baksh, pointing to his injured arm, andcontinuing:

  "Yea, I thank thee for this, and for many an hour of pain. 'Twas aclever trick to blow up the arsenal, but thou didst little think,infidel dog, that there would be a heavy price to pay. Thou didst rejectmy offer of terms, and all that I have suffered since, aye, and doubleand treble that, thou shalt know before death shall mercifully releasethee."

  Tynan trembled in every limb, and weakly replied:

  "It was not I who blew up the magazine. I was against the deed. And dostthou not remember, subadar, that I would have surrendered to thee hadnot the other prevented me?"

  "Well, he is dead, and thou shalt pay for the sins of thy brother."

  "Nay, spare me, and my father will pay thee well."

  A sudden thought seemed to strike the subadar. He reflected for a fewmoments before answering the appeal.

  "Wilt thou swear thou hadst no hand in the explosion?" ha asked, after apause.

  "I will--indeed, I swear it."

  "I must needs think it over," said Pir Baksh musingly. He quitted theroom, leaving the boy torn by conflicting emotions. The consciousnessthat he had not played a manly part, the conviction that his rival TedRussell would never have been so weak, gave a sharper point to his fearsand troubles. On the other hand, had he not been given a faint hope ofescape? Do not judge the lad too harshly. It was not death alone, butthe prosp
ect of torture that had unnerved him; and remember that thepain of his injuries and the workings of his imagination during the pasttwo days of solitary confinement were calculated to break the spirit ofany man above the average, and poor Tynan had hardly the makings of ahero in his character. His case was one for pity rather than contempt.Only those who would have withstood the temptation have the right todespise him utterly, and they would be the last to do so.

  His hopes of mercy were misplaced. The amount of that quality nourishedin the breast of Pir Baksh would have shamed a famished wolf. The rascalhad changed his tone because he recollected that the greater hisvictim's hopes, the more poignant would his suffering be on findinghimself deceived. Next evening he again visited the prisoner, andbrought paper, pen, and ink.

  "What was that sound of cheering an hour or two ago?" asked Tynan. Hehad heard the acclamations that had greeted the arrival of the mutinousGuides, and wondered if help had come.

  "It means that we have had reinforcements, and that within twelve hoursnot one of your friends will be alive."

  Tynan looked keenly at the speaker as he continued.

  "Perhaps there may be one Feringhi left alive in Aurungpore; it dependson thee. I have been thinking it over, and am inclined to save thy life.We both hate Russell Sahib, and we may prove useful one to another."

  The prisoner's heart began to beat more hopefully, and he expressed histhanks towards the callous brute.

  "But on conditions," resumed Pir Baksh. "First, I must have fivethousand rupees--a promise in writing for that amount."

  "You shall have it," said Tynan eagerly. "My father will not grudge it."

  The subadar nodded his head solemnly and went on:

  "Secondly, thou must write me a _chit_ in English and Urdu,acknowledging that thou dost owe thy life to my mercy and loyalty."

  "I will do that, and never shall I forget thy goodness."

  "Thou shalt also write that I, Pir Baksh, was loyal to the KumpaniBahadur, though forced to appear disloyal. That I tried to restrain thesepoys during the attack on the fortress, and to save the lives of theEnglish officers, but was prevented by the rebels, who threatened tokill me as a traitor ... What! Thou dost hesitate?"

  Tynan had turned pale. Could he sign that lying document and be himselfa traitor? Had not Pir Baksh shot the colonel?

  "No, subadar, I cannot do that," he said, with hesitation, not decision.

  "Very good, sahib."

  The fierce light that came into the eyes of Pir Baksh sent a thrill ofdespair through Tynan's breast. He began to find excuses. He toldhimself that the proposed statement would be partly true, for Pir Bakshhad offered to spare their lives. He caught at that weak saving-clause,and enlarged upon it until he had almost persuaded himself that he couldonly be blamed for exaggeration, not for downright lying. Then heremembered how Pir Baksh, by shooting the colonel, had brought themutiny to pass, and was guilty of all the bloodshed.

  The subadar noted his indecision, and said:

  "There will be none to contradict, your countrymen are as good as dead."

  "I will write as you say," said Tynan slowly, "if you will swear to savemy life."

  He had decided. He was ready to sign a paper absolving this villain fromthe reward of his treachery and blood-guiltiness. And the finalinducement had been the assurance that the traitor's plot would becrowned with such success that all Tynan's compatriots would be slain.And this was the man he was ready to hold up as a loyal subject fit tobe rewarded for his fidelity!

  "By the Prophet's beard I will do my best to save thee," the subadardeclared. "We must escape from the town, or I too shall suffer thepenalty."

  Seizing pen and ink in feverish haste to get it over, Tynan wrote as theMohammedan directed him. First, the promise to pay five thousand rupeeson one sheet of paper, and then a document that might save Pir Bakshfrom all consequences of mutiny and murder in the event of his captureby the British. When he had finished, his gaoler took the pen and wrotein Urdu at the foot:--

  "I, Pir Baksh, subadar of the 193rd B.N.I., do solemnly promise, on myoath as a Moslem, to do my best to effect the escape of Ensign Tynan ofthe same regiment, a prisoner among the rebels in Aurungpore. Filledwith admiration of his courage in risking his life in the execution ofhis duty by planning and carrying out the blowing up of the magazine, Ialso risk my life to save his."

  "But I've already told you I didn't do that," the ensign protested, ashe read the added words. "It was Russell's doing altogether."

  "No need to say so, sahib," said Pir Baksh. "He is dead, and so indeedwill all the Feringhis be to-morrow, and no one can claim the credit.Russell Sahib I hate, for do I not owe him this broken arm and bloodyhead? And if I mistake not, he is no friend of thine, so why not takethe credit of the deed and be promoted and raised to honour? Help me,sahib, and I will help thee."

  Tynan found nothing to say in reply. He remembered the many injuries hefancied he had received at Russell's hands--the thrashing of a week ortwo ago, the contempt with which he had been treated in the fort whenhis junior took the command from him and threatened him in front of themen. Why not pay him out? After all, what did it matter now? It could beput right if necessary when he should have reached a place of safety.The first consideration was to save his own life.

  "We shall slip away to-morrow," said the subadar. "I will go and makeall arrangements now. Remember that my life also is sacrificed if we arediscovered."

  So saying the double traitor took his leave. Outside the door hechuckled grimly and proceeded to tear up the "promise to pay" the fivethousand rupees. For a very good reason he had no intention of claimingthat, but the other papers he carefully preserved. After the boy hadbeen murdered, he could easily make up some story and fabricate someevidence to show that they had been followed and attacked, and that heescaped by the skin of his teeth, more alive than dead, and never sawthe ensign again. Pir Baksh meant to run with the hare and hunt with thehounds so long as the British held their own.

  But most of all he meant to kill Harry Tynan.

  Left to himself Ensign Tynan sat down upon the string bed, and leantforward to think it all over, elbows on knees and his chin resting inthe palm of his right hand. As a rule he was not a very thoughtfulperson, but the nightmare of the past few days might well effect achange. Of habit, not of character though! Peril, suffering, and anxietymay develop the good or bad that is there already, but will hardlytransform a weak character into a strong one.

  For a long time the boy sat motionless, wondering what Pir Baksh reallymeant. Was he genuine? Did he mean to save him? Tynan did not trust theman, yet he assured himself again and again that the Mohammedan must beintending to try, or why should he have demanded the promise of areward--a document useless unless he was actually saved. And what aboutthat other paper? Ted Russell would never have signed it, consciencewhispered.

  "I only wish Russell was here instead of me," he muttered, and gave thebedstead a vicious kick.

  "But he's dead," came a reminder from his better self, and therefollowed a recollection of the statement added by the subadar, the liethat robbed the dead of the credit of a glorious deed.

  "Everything seems to go wrong with me," he sullenly muttered. "I've noluck like other people. Never mind, it's not of much consequence. WhatI've got to think about is how to get out of this hole. I believe afterall that that black brute means to murder me. Well, I'll try to sleep onit."

  He lay down, and an idea occurred to him. Rising to his feet he kneltdown in the attitude of prayer. Hardly ever since he had left home forschool had he so much as made believe to pray for help and guidance, butnow he wondered he had not thought of it before. Had he lived two orthree hundred years ago he would have vowed invaluable offerings to theshrine of his patron saint, and, the danger over, would as promptly haveforgotten to fulfil the vow.

  Parrot-like, he repeated the Lord's Prayer without considering in theleast its meaning, and then he prayed wildly to be saved from death. Butnot once did he dream of aski
ng earnestly for forgiveness, not once didhe seriously repent his foolish, harmful life, nor did he make the leastresolve to cancel in the morning the lies to which he had signed hisname that night.

  He rose from his knees and once more lay down.