CHAPTER XX
ESCAPED
Once more Roy felt helpless and hopeless before the great task whichseemed to be laid upon him. He alone out of all the littleHeir-to-Empire's guardians knew the dire danger he was in. Yet how couldhe, a poor, prisoned Rajput lad, save the young prince?
Still he had to be saved; he must be saved; and there was no time to belost. At dawn the firing would recommence from the Arkaban hill; at dawnthe helpless child would be in the half-breached bastion exposed to thatfire!
Yes! He, Roy, must get out somehow. If he could only loosen one bar ofthe window so that he could squeeze through, then he might be able tolet himself down by a rope twined out of his long waist-cloth andturban! Thus he might be able to get out of the fort! He might be ableto gain the camp on the Arkaban hill before dawn! So he might be able towarn the guns not to fire on the bastion; might be able to tell themthat the Heir-to-Empire hung there!
What a number of "might be ables"; but would he be able, even for thefirst task?
He took up his sword and began forthwith on the iron bar; but the mortarwas hard, he could scarcely make a mark upon it. Still, it must be done.In order to free his arms better for the work he took off all hisclothes save his flimsy, sleeveless waistcoat and the loin-cloth thatwas girt about him, and buckled down steadily. But when more than anhour had passed the bar seemed as firm as ever. As he crouched down onthe window sill he could see through it to the flat roof of theneighboring palaces; for it was a bright moonlight night still, thoughthe moon must be nigh to her setting. So the thought crossed his mindthat if he could only squeeze through he might be able to reach one ofthose roofs; since, if he remembered aright, a wide cornice ran justbelow. He paused for a second in his labour to see if this was so,craning his head through the crossbars. Yes, the cornice was there!Scarcely wide enough for a cat to walk, but if he got through in time hewould risk it. He must risk it!
But would he get through in time? He set to work again feverishly untilsuddenly a familiar sound reached his ear from outside; the sound of acat purring!
Could it be Down? She had not found them out in their new prison, but ifshe had happened to be on the roof when he looked out of the window shemight have seen him or smelled him--yes! There was a white cat on thecornice, and the next moment Down was on the sill, arching her back andpurring away contentedly.
So she had found them at last--no! not _them_, for the Heir-to-Empirewas not there--he had been stolen away! Roy could have leaned his headon Down's soft fur and cried his heart out in despair at his ownhelplessness, but he set his teeth instead and dug harder with the swordpoint.
Would the bar never loosen? So the minutes passed without a sound savethe grating of the eager sword and the soft, soothing purr of the cat asshe sat beside him watching him indifferently. Then suddenly the latterceased and Down leaped swiftly to the floor of the cell. Doubtless sheheard something. Cats hear so many things humans do not hear, and theyseem to know so many things humans do not know, so perhaps she heard amouse far down the arched passage, or even in the next cell. Anyhow shemarched straight to the door and stood by it, _miaowing_ to be let out.Ah! if he only could let her out! If the door were only open, thoughtpoor Roy, as he worked away at the still immovable bar.
"No! Down, no! I can't," he murmured bitterly as the cat _miaowed_ moreand more insistently.
But still the _miaowing_ went on. Down became quite plaintive, thenill-used; finally she leaped onto Roy's shoulder, licked his ear withher rough red tongue as if to coax him, and was back again at the doorasking to be let out.
Why was she so set on it? Roy turned to look at her half stupidly andfor a moment forgot his task; forgot how rapidly time was passing;forgot everything save that Down was asking to be let out. So wearily hepassed to the door, and scarcely conscious of what he was doing, laidhis hand on the latch.
"I can't, Down," he said; "I can't open--" He broke off hurriedly.
For the latch yielded, the door opened!!
It could never have been locked!!
Had they forgotten, or, having secured the Heir-to-Empire, had they notcared what became of the henchman? The latter, most likely, for therewas no sentry in the arched passage along which Down had alreadydisappeared.
Another second and Roy, sword in hand, had disappeared down it also,remembering as he ran a certain little fretted marble balcony which gaveon the gardens below. For Roy, of course, knew every turn of the BalaHissar. This balcony opened onto an unused gallery room. To gain this,bolt the heavy door behind him, and so, secure from interruption, set towork twining a rope from strips torn from his turban and waistband didnot take long; but it was a good twenty minutes before he had knottedall fast; though while he worked he thought of nothing else; of nothingbut somehow reaching the garden. Once there he would face the nextdifficulty. One was enough at a time. And then, when he had made therope fast to one of the marble pillars and slid down it, it proved tooshort. He swung with his feet just touching the topmost branch of ablossoming peach tree. There was nothing for it but to let go, snatch atthe branches as he fell and trust to chance for safety. He found it; anddropped to the ground amid a perfect shower of shed peach petals.
So he stood for an instant to consider what must come next. A gate! Aye!but which? The farthest from the point of attack would be the best, asthere would be less vigilance there. That meant the Delhi gate, andmeant also a long round; yet he must be quick, for already there was afaint lightening of the eastern sky. But the moon had set and theshadows, always darker in the hour before dawn, lay upon all things.
And luckily he knew every turn of the Bala Hissar garden, knew everypoint where danger might be expected. So he began to make his waycarefully. He dodged more than one sentry by creeping on through thebushes while the man passed away from him, and crouched among them,still as a mouse, while the measured march came toward him. And once hehad to run for bare life from a shower of arrows which a company ofsoldiers sent into the darkness after a suspicious rustling in thebushes. But mostly the men on duty had too much to think of outside thewalls to trouble themselves much about the things inside them.
So with doublings and turnings he came at last on the Delhi gate, asmall, round, flat-roofed building pierced by a high archway. It was toodark for him to see its outline, but he knew it well, and paused againstthe outside wall to consider what he had to do next. The place seemedalmost deserted, but a glimmer of light from the archway and the eventramp of a sentry's footstep told it was not all unguarded.
What was he to do? It would be useless for him to try and steal past thesentry, as the gate beyond must be locked, or at any rate bolted andbarred. He must either, therefore, try and overpower the man or else tryto gain the flat roof by the stairs--of which he knew the position--and,trusting to find a rope or something of the sort in the upper room ofthe gate, let himself down into the ditch outside.
Now, Roy was a well-grown lad of nigh fifteen, tall for his age, andwith his light, youthful sinews of iron might well be a match for many aman, especially as his purpose was like steel, and that is ever half thebattle. But there was the chance of other soldiers being within call,and that might mean failure. Now, _that_ must not be. Roy had tosucceed--he must!
Therefore the roof was the wiser, safer plan; he must make for thestairs, trusting to escape notice when the sentry's back was turned.Till then--silence!
But even as he settled this in his mind Fate was against him. As hecrouched in the darkness something cold suddenly touched his face, andthe next moment a clamour of excited yappings and joyful barks arose,as something warm and furry and cold and slobbery flung itself all overhim.
Tumbu! It could be nothing but blundering, bumbling Tumbu! He made oneuseless effort to still the dog, then rose to his feet feeling himselfdiscovered, prepared to run for it. But it was too late. A sentry,lantern in hand, roused by the commotion, barred the way. All seemedlost, but a ray of hope shone when the familiar voice of the Afghansentry, the unrepentant turncoat, was he
ard as the lantern waved inRoy's very face.
"By my word, one of the Kings! How come you hither at this time o'night, friend?"
The voice was a little thick, as if the owner, finding the quiet of theDelhi Gate wearisome, had sought amusement in a skin of wine.
Roy gave a gasp--he was too confused for thought. "The dog--" he began.
"Aye! The dog that was yours and is mine," jeered the sentry. "So henosed you out, did he? Knows his duty--good dog, Tumbu! Knows his masternow! Knows who saved him from starvation when he was lurking about inthe gutter. Eh! you brute!"
He lunged a kick at Tumbu, who retreated a step, looking from the new tothe old master, feeling, in truth, a trifle confused. For the Afghansentry had certainly found him homeless, friendless, and the dog hadstuck by him, feeling that here at least was something vaguely connectedwith the past life. But now he stood doubtful, expectant, his littleears pricked, his small eyes watchful.
"Well," continued the sentry with a half-drunken laugh, "dog or no dog,you've no business here, so come along with me, my King."
He reached out a heavy hand, and Roy shrunk from it. As he did so therecame a sound which sent the blood to Roy's heart with a spasm of instanthope, of possible escape. It was Tumbu's low growl as he realised thatsome one wanted to touch his old master and that his old master did notwant to be touched.
"At him, Tumbu! At him, good dog!" The words came to Roy in a flash, andlike a flash the great, powerful dog leaped forward, his fur a-bristle,his white teeth gleaming, and the next instant, taken by the suddennessof the attack, the sentry lay on his back half stunned by the fall,while Tumbu, on the top of him, checked even a cry by a clutch at histhroat. A soft clutch so far; but one that would tear through flesh ifneedful.
Roy was on his knees beside the fallen man.
"Hist! not a sound or the dog shall kill you. He can. Give me the keys.I want to get out of the gate! The keys, do you hear?"
The sentry tried to struggle, but warned by the weight of the dog on hisbreast and those sharp teeth ready to close upon his throat, murmuredhoarsely, "It is only barred, but the bolts are difficult. If you willlet me get up and call off your dog----"
But Roy took no heed of his words. "Keep him there, Tumbu," he whisperedas he ran to the gate.
Bolted and barred it was, and in the darkness of the archway it was hardto see, for the lantern had gone out in the scuffle. But there was notime to lose, for already beyond the archway it showed faintly light.One bar down! The sentry made a faint effort to stir, that was answeredby an ominous growl from Tumbu.
Only one more bolt now!
Roy's long fingers were at it--his whole strength went to it--itcreaked--groaned--slid, and with a sob of exultation Roy felt the freshair of dawn in his face as he stood outside the Bala Hissar.
But he had still much to do. The city must be skirted, the hill ofArkaban gained, and already a faint primrose streak in the eastern skytold of coming light.
CHAPTER XXI
DAWN
Upon the Arkaban hill the artillery men were already at work. In thosedays guns were not what they are now, quick loading, quick firing.
It needed a good hour to ram the coarse powder down, adjust the roundball and prepare the priming; to say nothing of the task of aiming. So,long ere dawn, the glimmering lights were seen about the battery, which,perched on a hill, gave on the half-breached bastion. Between the twostretched an open space of undulating ground. Sumbal, "the masterfireworker," as he is called in the old history books, was up betimesseeing to his men, and with him came a grave, silent man, who, though hehad no interest in the quarrels of Humayon and his brothers, was aseager as any to get within the walls of Kabul and find what he sought--aRajput lad of whom word had been brought to a little half-desert Rajputstate lying far away in the Jesulmer plain.
For the grave, silent man, who showed so much knowledge of warfare, whowas keen to see everything new in weapons and the handling of them, wasa messenger sent by a widowed mother to see if indeed it could be herlong-lost son, of whom a certain old trooper had spoken on his returnfrom Kabul.
"See you!" said Sumbal, who was a bit of a boaster, "give me time to aimand I'll warrant me 'Thunder of God'" (that was the name let in withgold on the breech of the gun) "will hit the mark within a yard everytime. Thou shalt see it ere-long. There is a sort of pigeon place on theface of the bastion where I will aim, and thou shalt see the splintersof it spin!" He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked piercingly intothe shadows. "'Tis too dark to see it yet, but so soon as it shows Iwill let fly, and then----"
And then?
Roy, who had never stopped for a breath yet in his headlong race, was atthat very moment rounding on the bastion, and looking up, saw what hehad feared to see--a little figure bound hand and foot to a framework ofwood that hung close to what Sumbal had called the pigeon place, seemingto form part of it. The child was not crying. Perhaps he was past that.Perhaps he had never cried, but had taken this last and urgent danger ashe had taken others, with grave dignity.
All we know is that he hung there on the wall, and that before his veryeyes the light was growing in the east, and over in the hill battery adozen men were sweating away to bring the "Thunder of God" intoposition. Roy gave a gasp. Should he call to the little Heir-to-Empireand let him know that a friend was near, that help might come? No!perhaps he did not realise his danger. It was better to let be.
So gathering all his forces for a last effort, he dashed into the openfor the final five minutes' run. And there could be no dodging here.Every loophole of the bastion was, he knew, crammed with the matchlocksof many marksmen. And there was now, worse luck, little darkness tocover him!
"Three minutes more, friend!" said Sumbal boastfully, "and thou shaltsee what thou wilt see. Slave! the port fire, quick. I will give thesignal. Lo! What is up?"
A rattle of musketry rose on the still air of dawn, and an artillery manleaned over the low embrasure to see better into the intervening valley.
"Some one escaping," he said with a yawn, for he had been up half thenight. "Lo! he runs like a hare! But they will have him, for sure."
"Quick," called Sumbal, "we will silence their noise. The portfire, Isay. I will fire old Thunderer myself."
The man carrying the flaming flashlight handed it to his superior, butin so doing by some mischance it dropped, and in the dropping went out!
"Fool!" cried Sumbal passionately. "Are we to stand insulted herewithout reply while thou fetchest another? Put him in irons, sergeant,and bring light at once!"
But the grave, silent Rajput was watching the runner. "He is but aboy," he said slowly, "yet see how he runs. And they have hit him, forhe staggers. Yet he comes on. He must bring news, friend, for sure!"
"_I stay my hand while I count ten--no more._"]
"News!" echoed Sumbal contemptuously; "we have half a hundred suchrunaways coming in every day. It is no news that King Humayon is betterliked than Kumran. Lo! hast thou it at last?" He snatched the portfirefrom the sergeant and went toward the gun.
"Stay one moment, friend!" said the grave and silent man with suddencommand in his voice. "A moment's hastiness may bring disaster.Discretion is better than valour. Yonder boy brings news--he waves hisarms--he shouts! Stay at least till we can hear what he says."
Sumbal laughed. "Bah! But, see you, I stay my hand while I count ten--nomore."
"One! two! three! four!"
The artillery men, amused at the race, leaned over. "He runs well!--Hewill win!--He will lose!--He climbs like a hill cat!"----
"_Five! six! seven! eight! nine!_"
And now, unintelligible from sheer breathlessness, Roy's voice is heard.The grave, silent Rajput leaps out to meet him.
"_Ten!_"
Sumbal's hand swings the portfire to the breech.
Roy sees it, throws up his arms wildly, and with a cry--
"The bastion! The bastion! The Heir-to-Empire!" falls headlong into theRajput's arms.
"What did he
say?" asked the master fireworker, pausing half surprised,half angry.
But the Rajput was too busy tearing aside Roy's flimsy, bloodstainedwaistcoat to answer.
"Something about the bastion and the Heir-to-Empire, master!" said thesergeant doubtfully. "Mayhap 'twould be as well to wait till we can seemore clearly. Kumran," he added in a lower voice, "would stick atnaught----"
Sumbal hesitated, then put down the portfire and walked over to thefallen lad, beside whom the stranger was kneeling.
"He is not dead! He is not dead!" said the grave, silent Rajput, lookingup, his face working, the tears streaming down his bronzed cheek. "Mymaster is not dead!"
"Who?" asked Sumbal, uncomprehending.
"I knew it must be he!" went on the man exultantly, even in his grief."None could do that sort of thing save a Sun hero! My Master! my King!See, here the race mark on his breast! The sign of uttermost truth! MyMaster! My King!"
But Roy did not hear himself called thus. He did not even know for daysafterwards if he had succeeded or if he had failed; for a wound justabove the heart, close to the sign-mark of his race, very nearly carriedhim off into the Shadowy Land where all things are remembered, yet allare forgotten.
But he _had_ succeeded. He had saved the Heir-to-Empire's life thatdawn, and a day or two afterwards Kumran, daily more hated for hiscruelty, had escaped, and the soldiers, rejoiced to get rid of him,flung open the gates of the Bala Hissar, thus ending Prince Akbar'sadventures.
But when Roy came to himself Mirak was sitting beside him and Down waspurring on Bija's lap; Bija, who had just returned from India with QueenHumeeda in time to console the Heir-to-Empire for all he must havesuffered during the few days he was left alone with cruel Uncle Kumran.How much he had suffered no one knew, and the little fellow refused tosay anything about it. It was a way he had when the luck went againsthim. So, just as he had remarked when he had fallen down the ravine,when the white cat and the black dog first came to him, that he had"tumbu-down," so now he simply said that it wasn't "very comfy," butthat Tumbu had come to see him more than once. And this was possible,for you may be sure that once he allowed the Afghan sentry to rise,Tumbu, being a wise dog, never went near him again. Therefore he _had_to find his old master.
And Foster-father, Foster-mother and Head-nurse were all there, thelatter greatly subdued for the time, and in her gratitude to Royinclined to give him some of the titles she was wont to bestow on littlePrince Akbar.
For there was no doubt whatever that the lad was the rightful Rajah ofSuryamer, whom wicked rebels had exposed in the desert to die, who hadbeen found and kept alive by wandering goatherds and had finally beendiscovered when unconscious from sunstroke by the royal fugitives.
And out of this arose the only sadness of the happy May days when thelittle party once more journeyed out to Babar's tomb towards evening tosit under the _arghawan_ trees and watch the sunset.
Of course Dearest-Lady was not there, but all the others were assembled,and Down, the cat, purred as loud as ever, while Tumbu, the dog,frolicked round even more like a golliwog than before. But it was notthe absence of the Khanzada Khanum which made faces thoughtful at times.She, they knew, was at rest, and they laid flowers for her beside thosethey gathered in memory of Firdoos Gita Makani--on whom be peace!
No! it was the knowledge that Roy could not remain with them. So soon ashe was strong again he must go back to his mother, go back to a peoplewho, tired of rebellion, were longing for their old rulers.
"You see, brother, I am a King," said Roy sorrowfully, "and Kings cannotalways do what they like."
"Do you think they ever do, _really_?" asked the little Heir-to-Empiregravely, "for I don't."
And here we come to the end--for a time at least--of Prince Akbar'sadventures.
Now, if you want to know how much of this so-called veracious story isreally true, I cannot quite say.
Did some one like Roy _really_ tell the master fireworker that theHeir-to-Empire was hung over the battlements of the bastion? If some onedid not, how did the master-fireworker find it out? And he did; indeed,in the history books he takes great credit to himself for _having_ foundit out. But then he was a boaster.
Then did Dearest-Lady really bind Kumran by an oath not to harm theHeir-to-Empire until she returned?
If she did not, then why did she, an old, frail woman of seventy, go outinto the wilderness just as winter was coming on, and why did not cruelKumran kill the Heir-to-Empire when he had him in his power?
These are all questions; but what is certain is that Baby Akbar did gothrough all these adventures before he was five years old.
So good-bye, brave little lads! Good-bye, stout old Foster-father andkindly Foster-mother! Good-bye, worthy Head-nurse with your strings oftitles, and good-bye, dainty little Bija! Good-bye also to grinningMeroo, to purring Down, and frolicking Tumbu!
And for those other three whose memory remained--Old Faithful, DearestLady, and the Great Emperor, Firdoos Gita Makani, who all helped thelittle prince to safety, what of them?
"Heaven," as the marble slab among the tulips and violets of theGarden-of-the-New-Year says,
"'Is their eternal abode.'"
WOODS & SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, LONDON, N.
The Adventures of Akbar Page 23
