by G. A. Henty
After waiting two hours, Hossein saw two carts full of women approaching, and had no doubt that these were the servants of the zenana. As he had expected, the drivers halted their cattle in the shade of the trees; and the women, delighted to enjoy their liberty, alighted from the carts and scattered in the grove. Presently one of them, a middle-aged woman, approached the spot where Hossein had seated himself.
Hossein drew out a large and beautiful silver bracelet, of Delhi workmanship.
“Would you like to buy this?” he asked.
“How should I buy it?” she said. “I am only a servant.
“It is very beautiful;” and she looked at it, with longing eyes.
“I have two of them,” he said, “and they will both be yours, if you will do me a service.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“They will be yours, if you will give this quill to the little white girl, who is in the zenana.”
The woman hesitated.
“It is dangerous,” she said.
“Not at all,” Hossein replied. “It only gives her news of a friend, whom she thought was dead. It will cheer her heart, and will be a kind action. None can ever know it.”
“Give them to me,” the woman said, holding out her hand. “I will do it.”
“No,” Hossein replied. “I will give you one now, the other when I know that the note is delivered. I shall be watching, tomorrow. If she places her handkerchief in her lattice, I shall know that she has got it. When she does this, I will bury the other bracelet, a few inches in the ground, just under that window. You can dig it up when you will.”
“I understand,” the woman said. “You can trust me. We all like the white girl. She is very gentle, but very sad. I would gladly give her pleasure.”
Hossein handed to her the bracelet, and the quill. She hid them in her dress, and sauntered away.
Hossein lay back, as if taking a sleep, and so remained until, half an hour later, he heard the shouts of the drivers to the women, to take their places in the carts. Then the sound of retreating wheels was heard.
Hossein was about to rise, when he heard the clatter of horses’ hoofs. Looking round he saw eight elephants, each carrying a closed pavilion, moving along the road, escorted by a troop of horsemen. In the pavilions, as he knew, were the ladies of the rajah’s zenana.
CHAPTER 20
The Rescue Of The White Captive
After the cavalcade had passed, Hossein rose to his feet and followed them, allowing them to go some distance ahead. Presently he was joined by Charlie and Tim, and the three walked quietly along the road, until within sight of the rajah’s palace.
In front stood a great courtyard. Behind, also surrounded by a high wall, was the garden. As this was always devoted to the zenana, they had little doubt that the rooms of the ladies were on this side; and, two hours later, they were delighted at seeing a small piece of white stuff, thrust through one of the lattices. The woman had been faithful to her trust. Ada had received the letter.
They then retired to a distance from the palace, and at once set to work on the fabrication of a ladder. Hossein, followed by Charlie, who better enacted the part than Tim, went into a village and purchased four long bamboo poles, saying he wanted them for the carrying of burdens. Charlie placed these on his shoulder, and followed Hossein.
When they arrived at the grove they set to work, having brought with them all the necessary materials. The bamboos were spliced together, two and two; and while Charlie and Tim set to, to bore holes in these, Hossein chopped down a young tree and, cutting it into lengths, prepared the rungs.
It took them all that evening, and the greater part of the next day, before they had satisfactorily accomplished their work. They had, then, a ladder thirty feet long, the height which they judged the window to be above the terrace below. It was strong, and at the same time light.
They waited until darkness had completely fallen; and then, taking their ladder, went round to the back of the garden. They mounted the wall and, sitting on the top, dragged the ladder after them, and lowered it on the other side. It was of equal thickness the whole length; and could, therefore, be used indifferently either way.
They waited patiently, until they saw the lights in the zenana windows extinguished. Then they crept quietly up, and placed the ladder under the window at which the signal had been shown; and found that their calculations were correct, and that it reached to a few inches below the sill.
Half an hour later, the lattice above opened. They heard a murmur of voices, and then all was quiet again. After a few minutes, Charlie climbed noiselessly up the ladder and, just as he reached the top, an arm was stretched out above him; and, a moment afterwards, Ada’s face appeared.
“I am here, dear,” he said, in a whisper. “Lean out, and I will take you.”
The girl stretched out over the window. Charlie took her in his arms, and lifted her lightly out, and then slowly descended the ladder. No sooner did he touch the ground than they hurried away; Ada sobbing, with excitement and pleasure, on Charlie’s shoulder; Tim and Hossein bearing the ladder; Hossein having already carried out his promise of concealing the second bracelet under the window.
In a few minutes they had safely surmounted the wall, and hurried across the country, with all speed. Before leaving the town, Hossein had purchased a cart with two bullocks; and had hired a man who was recommended to him, by one of his co-religionists there, as one upon whose fidelity he could rely. This cart was awaiting them at a grove.
Paying them the amount stipulated, Hossein took the ox goad and started the bullocks, Tim walking beside him, while Charlie and Ada took their places in the cart. They were sure that a hot pursuit would be set up. The rage of the nabob at the escape of Charlie and his servant had been extreme, and the whole country had been scoured by parties of horsemen; and they were sure that the rajah would use every possible means to discover Ada, before he ventured to report to the nabob that the prisoner committed to his charge had escaped.
“Of course, I can’t see you very well,” Ada said, “but I should not have known you, in the least.”
“No, I am got up like a peasant,” Charlie answered. “We shall have to dress you so, before morning. We have got things here for you.”
“Oh, how delighted I was,” Ada exclaimed, “when I got your note! I found it so difficult to keep on looking sad and hopeless, when I could have sung for joy. I had been so miserable. There seemed no hope, and they said, some day, I should be sent to the nabob’s zenana—wretches! How poor mamma will be grieving for me, and papa!—
“Ah! Captain Marryat, he is dead, is he not?”
“Yes, my dear,” Charlie said gently. “He was killed by my side, that afternoon. With his last breath, he asked me to take care of you.”
“I thought so,” Ada said, crying quietly. “I did not think of it at the time. Everything was so strange, and so dreadful, that I scarcely thought at all. But afterwards, on the way here, when I turned it all over, it seemed to me that it must be so. He did not come to me, all that afternoon. He was not shut up with us in that dreadful place, and everyone else was there. So it seemed to me that he must have been killed, but that you did not like to tell me.”
“It was better for him, dear, than to have died in that terrible cell. Thank God your mamma is safe, and some day you will join her again.
“We have news that the English are coming up to attack Calcutta. A party are already in the Hoogly; and the nabob is going to start, in a few days, to his army there. I hope, in a very very short time, you will be safe among your friends.”
After travelling for several hours, they stopped. Charlie gave Ada some native clothes and ornaments, and told her to stain her face, arms, and legs, to put on the bangles and bracelets, and then to rejoin them. Half an hour later, Ada took her seat in the cart, this time transformed into a Hindoo girl, and the party again proceeded.
They felt sure that Ada’s flight would not be discovered until daybr
eak. It would be some little time before horsemen could be sent off in all directions, in pursuit; and they could not be overtaken until between eleven and twelve.
The waggon was filled with grain, on the top of which Charlie and Ada were seated. When daylight came, Charlie alighted and walked by the cart. Unquestioned, they passed through several villages.
At eleven o’clock, Hossein pointed to a large grove, at some little distance from the road.
“Go in there,” he said, “and stay till nightfall. Do you then come out, and follow me. I shall go into the next village, and remain there till after dark. I shall then start, and wait for you half a mile beyond the village.”
An hour after the waggon had disappeared from sight, the party in the grove saw ten or twelve horsemen galloping rapidly along the road. An hour passed, and the same party returned, at an equal speed. They saw no more of them and, after it became dark, they continued their way; passed through the village, which was three miles ahead; and found Hossein waiting, a short distance beyond. Ada climbed into the cart, and they again went forward.
“Did you put the rajah’s men on the wrong track, Hossein? We guessed that you had done so, when we saw them going back.”
“Yes,” Hossein said. “I had unyoked the bullocks, and had lain down in the caravanserai, when they arrived. They came in, and their leader asked who I was. I said that I was taking down a load of grain, for the use of the army at Calcutta. He asked where were the two men and the woman who were with me. I replied that I knew nothing of them. I had overtaken them on the road, and they had asked leave for the woman to ride in the cart. They said they were going to visit their mother, who was sick.
“He asked if I was sure they were natives, and I counterfeited surprise, and said that certainly they were; for which lie Allah will, I trust, be merciful, since it was told to an enemy. I said that they had left me, just when we had passed the last village; and had turned off by the road to the right, saying they had many miles to go.
“They talked together and decided that, as you were the only people who had been seen along the road, they must follow and find you; and so started at once, and I daresay they’re searching for you now, miles away.”
Their journey continued without any adventure, until within a few miles of Calcutta. Hossein then advised them to take up their abode in a ruined mud hut, at a distance from the road. He had bought, at the last village, a supply of provisions, sufficient to last them for some days.
“I shall now,” he said, “go into the town, sell my grain, bullocks, and cart, and find out where the soldiers are.”
As soon as the news of the nabob’s advance against Calcutta reached Madras, Mr. Pigot, who was now governor there, despatched a force of two hundred and thirty men, under the orders of Major Kilpatrick. The party reached Falta, on the Hoogly, on the 2nd of August, and there heard of the capture of Calcutta. By detachments, who came down from some of the Company’s minor posts, the force was increased to nearly four hundred. But sickness broke out among them and, finding himself unable to advance against so powerful an army as that of the nabob, Major Kilpatrick sent to Madras for further assistance.
When the news reached that place, Clive had recently arrived with a strong force, which was destined to operate against the French at Hyderabad. The news, however, of the catastrophe at Calcutta at once altered the destination of the force; and, on the 16th of October, the expedition sailed for Calcutta. The force consisted of two hundred and fifty men of the 39th Foot, the first regiment of the regular English army which had been sent out to India; five hundred and seventy men of the Madras European force; eighty artillerymen; and twelve hundred Sepoys.
Of the nine hundred Europeans, only six hundred arrived at that time at the mouth of the Hoogly, the largest ship, the Cumberland, with three hundred men on board, having grounded on the way. The remainder of the fleet, consisting of three ships of war, five transports, and a fire ship, reached Falta between the 11th and 20th of December.
Hossein had returned from Calcutta, with the news that the party commanded by Major Kilpatrick had been, for some weeks, at Falta; and the party at once set off towards that place, which was but forty miles distant. Travelling by night, and sleeping by day in the woods, they reached Falta without difficulty; and, learning that the force was still on board ship, they took possession of a boat, moored by the bank some miles higher up, and rowed down.
Great was their happiness, indeed, at finding themselves once more among friends. Here were assembled many of the ships which had been at Calcutta, at the time it was taken; and, to Ada’s delight, she learned that her mother was on board one of these. They were soon rowed there, in a boat from the ship which they had first boarded; and Ada, on gaining the deck, saw her mother sitting among some other ladies, fugitives like herself.
With a scream of joy she rushed forward, and with a cry of, “Mamma, Mamma!” threw herself into her mother’s arms.
It was a moment or two before Mrs. Haines could realize that this dark-skinned Hindoo girl was her child, and then her joy equalled that of her daughter. It was some time before any coherent conversation could take place; and then Ada, running back to Charlie, drew him forward to her mother; and presented him to her as her preserver, the Captain Marryat who had stayed with them at Calcutta.
Mrs. Haines’ gratitude was extreme, and Charlie was soon surrounded, and congratulated, by the officers on board, to many of whom, belonging as they did to the Madras army, he was well known. Foremost among them, and loudest in his expressions of delight, was his friend Peters.
“You know, Charlie, I suppose,” he said presently, “that you are a major now?”
“No, indeed,” Charlie said. “How is that?”
“When the directors at home received the report of Commodore James, that the fort of Suwarndrug had been captured entirely through you, they at once sent out your appointment as major.
“You are lucky, old fellow. Here are you a major, while I’m a lieutenant, still. However, don’t think I’m jealous, for I’m not a bit, and you thoroughly deserve all, and more than you’ve got.”
“And this is Tim,” Charlie said. “He has shared all my adventures with me.”
Tim was standing disconsolately by the bulwark, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, with the feeling of the extreme shortness of his garments stronger upon him than ever.
Peters seized him heartily by the hand.
“I am glad to see you, Tim, very glad. And so you’ve been with Major Marryat, ever since?”
“For the Lord’s sake, Mr. Peters,” Tim said, in an earnest whisper, “git me a pair of trousers. I’m that ashamed of myself, in the presence of the ladies, that I’m like to drop.”
“Come along below, Tim. Come along, Charlie. There are lots of poor fellows have gone down, and uniforms are plentiful. We’ll soon rig you out again.”
“There is one more introduction, Peters. This is my man, Hossein. He calls himself my servant. I call him my friend. He has saved my life twice, and has been of inestimable service. Had it not been for him, I should still be in prison at Moorshedabad.”
Peters said a few hearty words to Hossein, and they then went below; returning on deck in half an hour, Charlie in the undress uniform of an officer, Tim in that of a private in the Madras infantry.
Mrs. Haines and Ada had gone below, where they could chat, unrestrained by the presence of others; and where an attempt could be made to restore Ada to her former appearance. Mrs. Haines had heard of her husband’s death, on the day after the capture of Calcutta, Mr. Holwell having been permitted to send on board the ships a list of those who had fallen. She had learned that Ada had survived the terrible night in the dungeon, and that she had been sent up country, a captive. She almost despaired of ever hearing of her again, but had resolved to wait to see the issue of the approaching campaign.
Now that Ada was restored to her, she determined to leave for England; in a vessel which was to sail, in the course of a week, w
ith a large number of fugitives. Mr. Haines was a very wealthy man, and had intended retiring, altogether, in the course of a few months; and she would, therefore, be in the enjoyment of an ample fortune in England.
Among those on board the ships at Falta was Mr. Drake, who at once, upon hearing of Charlie’s arrival, ordered him to be arrested. Major Kilpatrick, however, firmly refused to allow the order to be carried out, saying that, as Charlie was under his orders as an officer in the Madras army, Mr. Drake had no control or authority over him. He could, however, upon Clive’s arrival, lay the case before him.
A week later, Mrs. Haines and Ada sailed for England, the latter weeping bitterly at parting from Charlie, who promised them that, when he came home to England on leave, he would pay them a visit. He gave them his mother’s address; and Mrs. Haines promised to call upon her, as soon as she reached England, and give her full news of him; adding that she hoped that his sisters, the youngest of whom was little older than Ada, would be great friends with her.
Very slowly and wearily the time passed at Falta. The mists from the river were deadly, and of the two hundred and thirty men whom Kilpatrick brought with him from Madras, in July, only about thirty remained alive; and of these, but ten were fit for duty when Clive, at last, arrived.
The fleet left Falta on the 27th of December, and anchored off Moiapur on the following day. The fort of Baj-baj, near this place, was the first object of attack; and it was arranged that, while Admiral Watson should bombard with the fleet, Clive should attack it on the land side.
Clive, who now held the rank of lieutenant colonel in the army, had manifested great pleasure at again meeting the young officer who had served under him at Arcot; and who had, in his absence, obtained a fame scarcely inferior to his own, by the defence of Ambur and the capture of Suwarndrug. A few hours after Clive’s arrival, Mr. Drake had made a formal complaint of the assault which Charlie had committed; but after hearing, from Charlie, an account of the circumstances, Clive sent a contemptuous message to Mr. Drake, to the effect that Charlie had only acted as he should himself have done, under the same circumstances; and that, at the present time, he should not think of depriving himself of the services of one gallant soldier, even if he had maltreated a dozen civilians.
