The Red Year: A Story of the Indian Mutiny

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER II

  A NIGHT IN MAY

  Winifred, quite unconsciously, had stated the actual incident that ledto the outbreak of the Mutiny. The hot weather was so trying for thewhite troops in Meerut, many of whom, under ordinary conditions, wouldthen have been in the hills, that the General had ordered a ChurchParade in the evening, and at an unusual hour.

  All day long the troopers of the 3d Cavalry nursed their wrath atthe fate of their comrades who had refused to handle the suspectedcartridges. They had seen men whom they regarded as martyrs strippedof their uniforms and riveted in chains in front of the whole garrisonon the morning of the 9th. Though fear of the British force in thecantonment kept them quiet, Hindu vied with Mussalman in mutteredexecrations of the dominant race. The fact that the day following thepunishment parade was a Sunday brought about a certain relaxation fromdiscipline. The men loafed in the bazaars, were taunted by courtesanswith lack of courage, and either drowned their troubles in strong drinkor drew together in knots to talk treason.

  Suddenly a sepoy raced up to the cavalry lines with thrilling news.

  "The Rifles and Artillery are coming to disarm all the nativeregiments!" he shouted.

  He had watched the 60th falling in for the Church Parade, and, in viewof the action taken at Barrackpore and Lucknow--sepoy battalions havingbeen disbanded in both stations for mutinous conduct--he instantlyjumped to the conclusion that the military authorities at Meerut meantto steal a march on the disaffected troops. His warning cry was as atorch laid to a gunpowder train.

  The 3d Cavalry, Malcolm's own corps, swarmed out of bazaar and quarterslike angry wasps. Nearly half the regiment ran to secure their picketedhorses, armed themselves in hot haste, and galloped to the gaol.Smashing open the door, they freed the imprisoned troopers, struck offtheir fetters, and took no measures to prevent the escape of the generalhorde of convicts. Yet, even in that moment of frenzy, some of the menremained true to their colors. Captain Craigie and Lieutenant MelvilleClarke, hearing the uproar, mounted their chargers, rode to the lines,and actually brought their troop to the parade ground in perfectdiscipline. Meanwhile, the alarm had spread to the sepoys. No one knewexactly what caused all the commotion. Wild rumors spread, but no mancould speak definitely. The British officers of the 11th and 20thregiments were getting their men into something like order when asowar[2] clattered up, and yelled to the infantry that the Europeantroops were marching to disarm them.

  [Footnote 2: It should be explained that a sepoy (properly "sipahi") isan infantry soldier, and a sowar a mounted one. The English equivalentsare "private" and "trooper."]

  At once, the 20th broke in confusion, seized their muskets, and procuredammunition. The 11th wavered, and were listening to the appeal of theirbeloved commanding officer, Colonel Finnis, when some of the 20th cameback and fired at him. He fell, pierced with many bullets, the firstvictim of India's Red Year. His men hesitated no longer. Afire withreligious fanaticism, they, too, armed themselves, and dispersed insearch of loot and human prey. They acted on no preconcerted plan. Thetrained troops simply formed the nucleus of an armed mob, its numbersever swelling as the convicts from the gaol, the bad characters from thecity, and even the native police, joined in the work of murder anddestruction. They had no leader. Each man emulated his neighbor inferocity. Like a pack of wolves on the trail, they followed the scent ofblood.

  The rapid spread of the revolt was not a whit less marvelous than itslack of method or cohesion. Many writers have put forward the theorythat, by accident, the mutiny broke out half an hour too soon, and thatthe rebels meant to surprise the unarmed white garrison while in church.

  In reality, nothing was further from their thoughts. If, in a nebulousway, a date was fixed for a combined rising of the native army, it wasSunday, May 31, three weeks later than the day of the outbreak. Thesoldiers, helped by the scum of the bazaar, after indulging in an orgyof bloodshed and plunder, dispersed and ran for their lives, fearingthat the avenging British were hot on their heels. And that was all.There was no plan, no settled purpose. Hate and greed nerved men'shands, but head there was none.

  Malcolm's ride towards the center of the station gave proof in plentythat the mutineers were a disorganized rabble, inspired only byunreasoning rancor against all Europeans, and, like every mob, eager forpillage. At first, he met but few native soldiers. The rioters werebudmashes, the predatory class which any city in the world can producein the twinkling of an eye when the strong arm of the law is paralyzed.Armed with swords and clubs, gangs of men rushed from house to house,murdering the helpless inmates, mostly women and children, seizing suchvaluables as they could find, and setting the buildings on fire. Theseghouls practised the most unheard-of atrocities. They spared no one.Finding a woman lying ill in bed, they poured oil over the bed clothes,and thus started, with a human holocaust, the fire that destroyed thebungalow.

  They were rank cowards, too. Another Englishwoman, also an invalid, wasfortunate in possessing a devoted ayah. This faithful creature saved hermistress by her quick-witted shriek that the mem-sahib must be avoidedat all costs, as she was suffering from smallpox! The destroyers fled interror, not waiting even to fire the house.

  It was not until later days that Malcolm knew the real nature of thescene through which he rode. He saw the flames, he heard the Mohammedanyell of "Ali! Ali!" and the Hindu shriek of "Jai! Jai!" but the quickfall of night, its growing dusk deepened by the spreading clouds ofsmoke, and his own desperate haste to reach the cavalry lines, preventedhim from appreciating the full extent of the horrors surrounding hispath.

  Arrived at the parade ground, he met Craigie and Melville Clarke, withthe one troop that remained of the regiment of which he was so proud.There were no other officers to be seen, so these three held aconsultation. They were sure that the white troops would soon put an endto the prevalent disorder, and they decided to do what they could,within a limited area, to save life and property. Riding towards his ownbungalow to obtain a sword and a couple of revolvers, Malcolm came upona howling mob in the act of swarming into the compound of Craigie'shouse. Some score of troopers heard his fierce cry for help, and fellupon the would-be murderers, for Mrs. Craigie and her children werealone in the bungalow. The riff-raff were soon driven off, and Malcolm,not yet realizing the gravity of the _emeute_, told the men to safeguardthe mem-sahib until they received further orders, while he went torejoin his senior officer.

  Incredible as it may seem, the tiny detachment obeyed him to the letter.They held the compound against repeated assaults, and lost several menin hand-to-hand fighting.

  The history of that terrible hour is brightened by many such instancesof native fealty. The Treasury Guard, composed of men of the 8thIrregular Cavalry, not only refused to join the rebels but defendedtheir charge boldly. A week later, of their own free will, they escortedthe treasure and records from Meerut to Agra, the transfer being madefor greater safety, and beat off several attacks by insurgents on theway. They were well rewarded for their fidelity, yet, such was the powerof fanaticism, within less than two months they deserted to a man!

  The acting Commissioner of Meerut, Mr. Greathed, whose residence was inthe center of the sacked area, took his wife to the flat roof of hishouse when he found that escape was impossible. A gang of ruffiansransacked every room, and, piling the furniture, set it alight, but atrustworthy servant, named Golab Khan, told them that he would revealthe hiding-place of the sahib and mem-sahib if they followed quickly. Hethus decoyed them away, and the fortunate couple were enabled to reachthe British lines under cover of the darkness.

  And, while the sky flamed red over a thousand fires, and the blood ofunhappy Europeans, either civilian families or the wives and children ofmilitary officers, was being spilt like water, where were the tworegiments of white troops who, by prompt action, could have saved Meerutand prevented the siege of Delhi?

  That obvious question must receive a strange answer. They werebivouacked on their parade-ground, doing nothing. The General in comm
andof the station was a feeble old man, suffering from senile decay. HisBrigadier, Archdale Wilson, issued orders that were foolish. He sent theDragoons to guard the empty gaol! After a long delay in issuingammunition to the Rifles, he marched them and the gunners to thedeserted parade-ground of the native infantry. They found a few belatedsowars of the 3d Cavalry, who took refuge in a wood, and the artilleryopened fire at the trees! News came that the rebels were plundering theBritish quarters, and the infantry went there in hot haste. And thenthey halted, though the mutineers were crying, "Quick, brother, quick!The white men are coming!" and the scared suggestion went round: "ToDelhi! That is our only chance!"

  The moon rose on a terrified mob trudging or riding the forty miles ofroad between Meerut and the Mogul capital. All night long they expectedto hear the roar of the pursuing guns, to find the sabers of theDragoons flashing over their heads. But they were quite safe. ArchdaleWilson had ordered his men to bivouac, and they obeyed, though it iswithin the bounds of probability that had the rank and file known whatthe morrow's sun would reveal, there might have been another Mutiny inMeerut that night, a Mutiny of Revenge and Reprisal.

  It was not that wise and courageous counsel was lacking. Captain Rosseroffered to cut off the flight of the rebels to Delhi if one squadron ofhis dragoons and a few guns were given to him. Lieutenant Moeller, of the11th Native Infantry, appealed to General Hewitt for permission to ridealone to Delhi, and warn the authorities there of the outbreak.Sanction was refused in both cases. The bivouac was evidently deemed amasterpiece of strategy.

  That Moeller would have saved Delhi cannot be doubted. Next day, findingthat the wife of a brother officer had been killed, he sought andobtained evidence of the identity of the poor lady's murderer, tracedthe man, followed him, arrested him single-handed, and brought himbefore a drumhead court martial, by whose order he was hanged forthwith.

  Craigie, Rosser, Moeller, and a few other brave spirits showed what couldhave been done. But negligence and apathy were stronger that night thancourage or self-reliance. For good or ill, the torrent of rebellion wassuffered to break loose, and it soon engulfed a continent.

  Malcolm failed to find Craigie, who had taken his troop in the directionof some heavy firing. Passing a bungalow that was blazing furiously, hesaw in the compound the corpses of two women. A little farther on, hediscovered the bodies of a man and four children in the center of theroad, and he recognized, in the man, a well-known Scotch trader whoseshop was the largest and best in Meerut.

  Then, for the first time, he understood what this appalling thing meant.He thought of Winifred, and his blood went cold. She and her uncle werealone in that remote house, far away on the Aligarh Road, and completelycut off from the comparatively safe northerly side of the station.

  Giving heed to nought save this new horror of his imagination, hewheeled Nejdi, and rode at top speed towards Mr. Mayne's bungalow. As heneared it, his worst fears were confirmed. One wing was on fire, but theflames had almost burnt themselves out. Charred beams and blackenedwalls showed stark and gaunt in the glow of a smoldering mass ofwreckage. Twice he rode round the ruined house, calling he knew not whatin his agony, and looking with the eyes of one on the verge of lunacyfor some dread token of the fate that had overtaken the inmates.

  He came across several bodies. They were all natives. One or two wereservants, he fancied, but the rest were marauders from the city. Calminghimself, with the coolness of utter despair, he dismounted, and examinedthe slain. Their injuries had been inflicted with some sharp, heavyinstrument. None of them bore gunshot wounds. That was strange. If therewas a fight, and Mayne, perhaps even Winifred, had taken part in thedefense, they must have used the sporting rifles in the house. And thatsuggested an examination of the dark interior. He dreaded the task, butit must not be shirked.

  The porch was intact, and he hung Nejdi's bridle on the hook where hehad placed it little more than an hour ago. The spacious drawing-roomhad been gutted. The doors (Indian bungalows have hardly any windows,each door being half glass) were open front and back. The room wasempty, thank Heaven! He was about to enter and search the remainingapartments which had escaped the fire when a curiously cracked voicehailed him from the foot of the garden.

  "Hallt! Who go dare?" it cried, in the queer jargon of the nativeregiments.

  Malcolm saw a man hurrying toward him. He recognized him as a pensionernamed Syed Mir Khan, an Afghan. The old man, a born fire-eater, insistedon speaking English to the _sahib-log_, unless, by rare chance, heencountered some person acquainted with Pushtu, his native language.

  "I come quick, sahib," he shouted. "I know all things. I save sahib andmiss-sahib. Yes, by dam, I slewed the cut-heads."

  As he came nearer, he brandished a huge tulwar, and the split skullsand severed vertebrae of certain gentry lying in the garden becameexplicable. Delighted in having a sahib to listen, he went on:

  "The mob appearing, I attacked them with great ferocity--yes, liketerrible lion, by George. My fighting was immense. I had many actionswith the pigs."

  At last, he quieted down sufficiently to tell Malcolm what had happened.He, with others, thinking the miss-sahib had gone to church, was smokingthe hookah of gossip in a neighboring compound. It was an instance ofthe amazing rapidity with which the rioters spread over the station thata number of them reached the Maynes' bungalow five minutes after thefirst alarm was given. It should be explained here that Mr. Mayne, beinga Commissioner of Oudh, was only visiting Meerut in order to learn thedetails of a system of revenue collection which it was proposed to adopton the sequestered estates of the Oudh taluqdars. He had rented one ofthe best houses in the place, the owner being in Simla, and Syed MirKhan held a position akin to that of caretaker in a British household.The looters knew how valuable were the contents of such an importantresidence, and the earliest contingent thought they would have mattersentirely their own way.

  As soon as Malcolm left, however, Mr. Mayne loaded all his guns, whileWinifred made more successful search for some of the servants. TheAfghan was true to his salt, and their own retainers, who had come withthem from Lucknow, remained steadfast at this crisis. Hence, the mobreceived a warm reception, but the fighting had taken place outside thebungalow, the defenders lining a wall at the edge of the compound.Indeed, a score of bodies lying there had not been seen by Malcolmduring his first frenzied examination of the house.

  Then an official of the Salt Department, driving past with his wife andchild, shouted to Mr. Mayne that he must not lose an instant if he wouldsave his niece and himself.

  "The sepoys have risen," was the horrifying message he brought. "Theyhave surprised and killed all the white troops. They are sacking thewhole station. You see the fires there? That is their work. This road isclear, but the Delhi road is blocked."

  Some distant yelling caused the man to flog his horse into a fast trotagain; and he and his weeping companions vanished into the gloom.

  Mayne could not choose but believe. Indeed, many days elapsed before alarge part of India would credit the fact that the British regiments inMeerut had not been massacred. A carriage and pair were harnessed.Several servants were mounted on all the available horses and ponies,and Mr. Mayne and Winifred had gone down the Grand Trunk Road towardsBulandshahr and Aligarh.

  "Going half an hour," said Syed Mir Khan, volubly. "I stand fast,slaying budmashes. They make rush in thousands, and I retreat with greatglory. Then they put blazes in bungalow."

  Now, Malcolm also might have accepted the sensational story of the SaltDepartment inspector, if, at that instant, the boom of a heavy gun hadnot come from the direction of the sepoy parade-ground. Anotherfollowed, and another, in the steady sequence of a trained battery. Ashe had just ridden from that very spot, which was then almost deserted,he was sure that the British troops had come from their cantonment. Thediscovery that Winifred was yet living, and in comparative safety,cleared his brain as though he had partaken of some magic elixir. Heknew that Meerut itself was now the safest refuge within a hundr
edmiles. Probably the bulk of the mutineers would strive to reach Delhi,and, of course, the dragoons and artillery would cut them off during thenight. But he had seen many squads of rebels, mounted and on foot,hastening along the Grand Trunk Road, and it was no secret thatdetachments of the 9th Native Infantry at Bulandshahr and Aligarh wereseething with Brahminical hatred of the abhorred cartridges.

  Each second he became more convinced that Winifred and her uncle werebeing carried into a peril far greater than that which they had escaped.Decision and action were the same thing where he was concerned. Biddingthe Afghan endeavor to find Captain Craigie, who might be trusted tosend a portion of his troop to scour the road for some miles, andassuring the man of a big reward for his services, Frank mounted andgalloped south. He counted on overtaking the fugitives in an hour, andpersuading them to return with him. He rode with drawn sword, lest hemight be attacked on the way, but it was a remarkable tribute toMoeller's wisdom in offering to ride to Delhi that no man molested him,and such sepoys as he passed skulked off into the fields where they sawthe glint of his saber and recognized him as a British officer. They hadno difficulty in that respect. A glorious full moon was flooding thepeaceful plain with light. The trunks of the tall trees lining the roadbarred its white riband with black shadows, but Nejdi, good horse thathe was, felt that this was no time for skittishness, and repressed theinclination to jump these impalpable obstacles.

  And he made excellent progress. Eight miles from Meerut, in a tinyvillage of mud hovels which horse and rider had every reason toremember, they suddenly dashed into a large company of mounted men anda motley collection of vehicles. There were voices raised, too, inheated dispute, and a small crowd was gathered near a lumberingcarriage, whose tawdry trappings and display of gold work betokened thestate equipage of some native dignitary.

  Drawn up by its side was a European traveling barouche, empty, butMalcolm's keen eyes soon picked out the figures of Winifred and heruncle, standing in the midst of an excited crowd of natives. So greatwas the hubbub that he was not noticed until he pulled up.

  "I have come to bring you back to Meerut, Mr. Mayne," he cried. "Themutiny has been quelled. Our troops are in command of the station and ofall the main roads. You can return without the slightest risk, I assureyou."

  He spoke clearly and slowly, well knowing that some among the nativeswould understand him. His appearance, no less than his words, created arare stir. The clamor of tongues was stilled. Men looked at him asthough he had fallen from the sky. He could not be certain, but heguessed, that he had arrived at a critical moment. Indeed, the lives ofhis friends were actually in deadliest jeopardy, and there was noknowing what turn the events of the next minute might have taken. But aglance at Winifred's distraught face told him a good deal. He must bebold, with the careless boldness of the man who has the means of makinghis will respected.

  "Stand aside, there!" he said in Hindustani. "And you had better clearthe roadway. A troop of cavalry is riding fast behind."

  He dismounted, drew Nejdi's bridle over his left arm, and went towardsWinifred. The girl looked at him with a wistfulness that was pitiful.Hope was struggling in her soul against the fear of grim death.

  "Oh, Frank!" she sighed, holding out both her hands. "Oh, Frank, I am sofrightened. We had a dreadful time at the bungalow, and these men lookso fierce and cruel! Have you really brought help?"

  "Yes," he said confidently. "You need have no further anxiety. Pleaseget into your carriage."

  Mr. Mayne said something, but Malcolm never knew what it was, forWinifred fainted, and would have fallen had he not caught her.

  "This Feringhi has a loud voice," a man near him growled. "He talks ofcavalry. Where are they?"

  "The Meerut road is empty," commented another.

  "We have the Begum's order," said the first speaker, more loudly. "Letus obey, or it may be an evil thing for us."

  "One of the daughters of Bahadur Shah is here," murmured Mayne rapidly."She says we are to be taken to Delhi, and slain if we resist. Where areyour men? My poor niece! To think that I should have brought her fromEngland for this!"

  Malcolm, still holding Winifred's unconscious form clasped to hisbreast, laughed loudly.

  "Mayne-sahib tells me that you have all gone mad," he shouted in thevernacular. "Have you no ears? Did you not hear the British artilleryfiring on the rebels a little time since? Ere day breaks the road toDelhi will be held by the white troops. What foolish talk is this oftaking Mayne-sahib thither as a prisoner?"

  The door of the bedizened traveling-coach was flung open, and theMohammedan lady who had befriended Frank when he fell into the moatappeared. She alighted, and her aggressive servants drew away somewhat.

  "It is my order," she said imperiously. "Who are you that you shoulddispute it?"

  "I regret the heat of my words, Princess," he replied, grasping thefrail chance that presented itself of wriggling out of a desperatesituation. "Nevertheless, it is true that the native regiments at Meeruthave been dispersed, and you yourself may have heard the guns as theyadvanced along the Delhi road. Why should I be here otherwise? I came toescort my friends back to Meerut."

  The Princess came nearer. In the brilliant moonlight she had anunearthly beauty--at once weird and Sybilline--but her animated featureswere chilled with disdain, and she pointed to the girl whose pallid facelay against Frank's shoulder.

  "You are lying," she said. "You are not the first man who has lied for awoman's sake. That is why you are here."

  "Princess, I have spoken nothing but the truth," he answered. "If youstill doubt my word, let some of your men ride back with us. They willsoon convince you. Perchance, the information may not be without itsvalue to you also."

  The thrust was daring, but she parried it adroitly.

  "No matter what has happened in Meerut, the destined end is the same,"she retorted. Then she fired into subdued passion. "The BritishRaj is doomed," she muttered, lowering her voice, and bringing hermagnificent eyes close to his. "It is gone, like an evil dream. Listen,Malcolm-sahib. You are a young man, and ambitious. They say you are agood soldier. Come with me. I want some one I can trust. Though I am aking's daughter, there are difficulties in my path that call for a swordin the hands of a man not afraid to use it. Come! Let that weakling girlgo where she lists--I care not. I offer you life, and wealth, and acareer. She will lead you to death. What say you? Choose quickly. I amnow going to Delhi, and to-morrow's sun shall see my father a king inreality as well as in name."

  Malcolm's first impression was that the Princess had lost her senses. Hehad yet to learn how completely the supporters of the Mogul dynasty wereconvinced of the approaching downfall of British supremacy in India.But his active brain fastened on to two considerations of exceedingimportance. By temporizing, by misleading this arrogant woman, ifnecessary, he might not only secure freedom for Winifred and Mayne,but gather most valuable information as to the immediate plans of therebels.

  "Your words are tempting to a soldier of fortune, Princess," he said.

  "Malcolm--" broke in Mayne, who, of course, understood all that passed.

  "For Heaven's sake do not interfere," said Frank in English. "Suffer myfriends to depart, Princess," he went on in Persian. "It is better so.Then I shall await your instructions."

  "Ah, you agree, then? That is good hearing. Yes, your white doll can go,and the gray-beard, too. Ere many days have passed there will be noplace for them in all India."

  A commotion among the ring of soldiers and servants interrupted her. Thestout, important-looking man whom Malcolm had seen in the hunting lodgeon the occasion of his ducking, came towards them with hurried strides.The Princess seemed to be disconcerted by his arrival. Her expressiveface betrayed her. Sullen anger, not unmixed with fear, robbed her ofher good looks. Her whole aspect changed. She had the cowed appearanceof one of her own serving-women.

  "Remember!" she murmured. "You must obey me, none else. Come when I sendfor you!"

  The man, who now carried on his fore
head the insignia of a Brahmin, hadno sooner reached the small space between the carriages than Mr. Maynecried delightedly to Malcolm:

  "Why, if this is not Nana Sahib! Here is a piece of good luck! I knowhim well. If he has any control over this mob, we are perfectly safe."

  Nana Sahib acknowledged the Commissioner's greeting with smilingpoliteness. But first he held a whispered colloquy with the Princess,whom he entreated, or persuaded, to re-enter her gorgeous vehicle. Shedrove away without another glance at Malcolm. Perhaps she did not dareto show her favor in the newcomer's presence.

  Then Nana Sahib turned to the Europeans.

  "Let the miss-sahib be placed in her carriage," he said suavely. "Shewill soon revive in the air, and we march at once for Aligarh. Will youaccept my escort thus far, Mayne-sahib, or farther south, if you wishit? I think you will be safer with me than in taking the Meerut roadto-night."

  Mayne agreed gladly. The commanding influence of this highly-placednative nobleman, who, despite an adverse decision of the Government, wasregarded by every Mahratta as Peishwa, the ruler of a vast territory inWestern India, seemed to offer more stable support that night than thebroken reed of British authority in Meerut. Moreover, the Commissionerwished to reach Lucknow without delay. If the country were in for aperiod of disturbance, his duty lay there, and he was planning alreadyto send Winifred to Calcutta from Cawnpore, and thence to England untilthe time of political trouble had passed.

  "I am sure I am doing right," he said in answer to Frank'sremonstrances. "Don't you understand, a native in Nana Sahib's positionmust be well informed as to the exact position of affairs. By helpingme he is safeguarding himself. I am only too thankful he was able tosubdue that fiery harpy, the Begum. She threatened me in the mostoutrageous manner before you came. Of course, Winifred and I will beever-lastingly grateful to you for coming to our assistance. You arealone, I suppose?"

  "Yes, though some of our troopers may turn up any minute."

  "I fear not," said the older man gravely. "This is a bad business,Malcolm. The Begum said too much. There are worse times in store forus. Do you really believe you can reach Meerut safely?"

  "I rode here without hindrance."

  "Let me advise you, then, to slip away before we start. That woman meantmischief, or she would never have dared to suggest that a Britishofficer should throw in his lot with hers. Waste no time, and don'tspare that good horse of yours. Be sure I shall tell Winifred all youhave done for us. She is pulling round, I think, and it will be betterthat she should not see you again. Besides, the Nana's escort arepreparing to march."

  Frank's latest memory of the girl he loved was a sad one. Her white facelooked ethereal in the moonlight, and her bloodless lips were quiveringwith returning life. It was hard to leave her in such a plight, but itwould only unnerve her again if he waited until she was conscious to bidher farewell.

  So he rode back to Meerut, a solitary European on the eight miles ofroad, and no man challenged him till he reached the famous bivouac ofthe white garrison, the bivouac that made the Mutiny an accomplishedfact.