The Red Year: A Story of the Indian Mutiny

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER VII

  TO LUCKNOW

  The tragedy of Massacre Ghat, intensified by the crowning infamy of theWell, brought a new element into the struggle. Hitherto not one Europeanin a hundred in India regarded the Mutiny as other than a local, thoughserious, attempt to revive a fallen dynasty. The excesses at Meerut,Delhi, and other towns were looked upon as the work of unbridled mobs.Sepoys who revolted and shot their officers came under a differentcategory to the slayers of tender women and children. But the plannedand ordered treachery of Cawnpore changed all that. Thenceforth everyBritish-born man in the country not only realized that the governmenthad been forced into a Titanic contest, but he was also swayed by apersonal and absorbing lust for vengeance. Officers and men, regularsand volunteers alike, took the field with the fixed intent of exactingan expiatory life for each hair on the head of those unhappy victims.And they kept the vow they made. To this day, though half a century haspassed, the fertile plain of the Doab--that great tract between theGanges and the Jumna--is dotted with the ruins of gutted towns anddepopulated villages. But that was not yet. India was fated to bealmost lost before it was won again.

  On the night of June 4th, when the roomy budgerow carrying WinifredMayne and her escort drifted away from the walls of the Nana's palace atBithoor, there was not a breath of wind on the river. The mat sail wasuseless, but a four-mile-an-hour current carried the unwieldy craftslowly down stream, and there was not the slightest doubt in the mindsof either of the Englishmen on board as to their course of action.

  Mr. Mayne was acquainted with Cawnpore and Sir Hugh Wheeler was an oldfriend of his.

  "Wheeler has no great force at his disposal," said he to Malcolm. "It isevident that the native regiments have just broken out here, but, bythis time, our people in the cantonment must have heard of eventselsewhere, and they have surely seized the Magazine, which is wellfortified and stands on the river. If I can believe a word that the Nanasaid, the sepoys will rush off to Delhi to-night, just as they did atMeerut, Aligarh, and Etawah. I am convinced that our best plan is to hugthe right bank and disembark near the Magazine."

  "Is it far?" asked Malcolm.

  "About eight miles."

  "I wonder why the Begum was so insistent that we should go back alongthe Grand Trunk Road?"

  Mayne hesitated. He knew that Winifred was listening.

  "It is hard to account for the vagaries of a woman's mind, or, shall Isay, of the mind of such a woman," he answered lightly. "You willremember that when you came to our assistance outside Meerut she wasdetermined to take us, willy-nilly, to Delhi."

  Malcolm, who had heard Roshinara's impassioned speech and looked intoher blazing eyes, thought that her motives were stronger than merecaprice. He never dreamed of the true reason, but he feared that sheknew Cawnpore had fallen and her curiously friendly regard for himselfmight have inspired her advice. Here, again, Winifred's presence tiedhis tongue.

  "Well," he said, with a cheerless laugh, "I, at any rate, must endeavorto reach Wheeler. I am supposed to be bearing despatches, but they weretaken from me when I was knocked off my horse in the village--"

  "Were you attacked?" asked Winifred, and the quiet solicitude in hervoice was sweetest music in her lover's ears.

  His brief recital of the night's adventures was followed by the story ofthe others' journey and detention at Bithoor. It may be thought that Mr.Mayne, with his long experience of India, should have read more clearlythe sinister lesson to be derived from the treatment meted out thatnight to a British Officer by the detachment of sowars, amplified, as itwas, by their open references to the Nana as a Maharajah. But he was notyet disillusioned. And, if his judgment were at fault, he erred in goodcompany, for Sir Henry Lawrence, Chief Commissioner at Lucknow, waseven then resisting the appeals, the almost insubordinate urging, of theheadstrong Martin Gubbins that the sepoys in the capital of Oudh shouldbe disarmed.

  Meanwhile the boat lurched onward. Soon a red glow in the sky proclaimedthat they were nearing Cawnpore. Though well aware that the Europeanhouses were on fire, they were confident that the Magazine would beheld. They helped Akhab Khan, Chumru, and the two troopers to rig a pairof long sweeps, and prepared to guide the budgerow to the landing-place.

  Winifred was stationed at the rudder. As it chanced the three sowarstook one oar and Chumru helped the sahibs with the other, and the twosets of rowers were partly screened from each other by the horses.Malcolm was saying something to Winifred when the native bent near himand whispered:

  "Talk on, sahib, but listen! Your men intend to jump ashore and leaveyou. They have been bitten by the wolf. Don't try to stop them. Name ofAllah, let them go!"

  Frank's heart throbbed under this dramatic development. He had noreason to doubt his servant's statement. The faithful fellow hadnursed him through a fever with the devotion of a brother, andMalcolm hadreciprocated this fidelity by refusing to part with himwhen he, in turn, was stricken down by smallpox. In fact, Frankwas the only European in Meerut who would employ the man, whoseextraordinary appearance went against him. Cross-eyed, wide-mouthed,and broken-nosed, with a straggling black beard that ill concealed thetokens on his face of the dread disease from which he had suffered,Chumru looked a cut-throat of the worst type, "a hungry, lean-fac'dvillain, a mere anatomy." Aware of his own ill repute, he made the mostof it. He tied his turban with an aggressive twist, and was wont toscowl so vindictively at the mess khamsamah that his master, quiteunconsciously, always secured the wing of a chicken or the best cut ofthe joint.

  Yet this gnome-like creature was true to his salt at a time when he musthave felt that his sahib, together with every other sahib in India, wasdoomed; his eyes now shot fiery, if oblique, shafts of indignation as hemuttered his thrilling news.

  Malcolm did not attempt to question him. He glanced at the sowars, andsaw that their carbines were slung across their shoulders. Chumruinterpreted the look correctly.

  "Akhab Khan prevented those Shia dogs from shooting you andMayne-sahib," went on the low murmur. "They said, huzoor, that the Nanawanted the miss-sahib, and that they were fools to help you in takingher away, but Akhab Khan swore he would fight on your honor's side ifthey unslung their guns. They do not know I heard them as I was sittingbehind the mast, and I took care to creep off when their heads wereturned toward the shore."

  "Here we are," cried Mayne, who little guessed what Chumru's mumblingportended. "There is the ghat.[9] If it were not for the mist we couldsee the Magazine just below, on the left."

  [Footnote 9: In this instance, steps leading down to the river: also, amountain range.]

  Assuredly, Frank Malcolm's human clay was being tested in the furnacethat night. He had to decide instantly what line to follow. In a minuteor less the boat would bump against the lowermost steps, and, if AkhabKhan and his companions were, indeed, traitors, the others on boardwere completely at their mercy. Mayne was unarmed, Chumru's fightingequipment lay wholly in his aspect, while Malcolm's revolvers were inthe holsters, and his sword was tied to Nejdi's saddle, its scabbardand belt having been thrown aside while Abdul Huq was robbing him.

  The broad-beamed budgerow presented a strangely accurate microcosm ofIndia at that moment. The English people on her deck were numericallyinferior to the natives, and deprived by accident of the arms that mighthave equalized matters. Their little army was breathing mutiny, but wasitself divided, if Chumru were not mistaken, seeing that all were forrevolt, but one held out that the Feringhis' lives should be spared.And, even there, the cruel dilemma that offered itself to the ruler ofevery European community in the country was not to be avoided, for, ifMalcolm tried to obtain his weapons his action might be the signal for amurderous attack, while, if he made no move, he left it entirely at thetroopers' discretion whether or not he and Mayne should be shot downwithout the power to strike a blow in self-defense.

  Luckily he had the gift of prompt decision that is nine tenths ofgeneralship. Saying not a word to alarm Mayne, who was still weak fromthe wound received an hour e
arlier, he crossed the deck, halting on theway to rub Nejdi's black muzzle.

  The sowars were watching him. With steady thrust of the port sweep theywere heading the budgerow toward the ghat.

  He went nearer and caught the end of the heavy oar.

  "Pull hard, now," he said encouragingly, "and we will be out of thecurrent."

  He was facing the three men, and his order was a quite natural one underthe circumstances. Obviously, he meant to help. Stretching their armsfor a long and strong stroke, they laid on with a will. Instantly, hepressed the oar downwards, thus forcing the blade out of the water, andthrew all his strength into its unexpected yielding. Before they couldso much as utter a yell, Akhab Khan and another were swept headlong intothe river, while the third man lay on his back on the deck with Frank ontop of him. The simplicity of the maneuver insured its success. NeitherMayne nor Winifred understood what had happened until Malcolm haddisarmed the trooper, taken his cartridge pouch, and thrown himoverboard to sink or swim as fate might direct. He regretted the loss ofAkhab Khan, but he recalled the queer expression on the man's face whenhe read Bahadur Shah's sonorous titles.

  "Light of the World, Renowned King of Kings, Lord of all India,Fuzl-Ilahi, Panah-i-din!"

  That appeal to the faith was too powerful to be withstood. Yet Malcolmwas glad the man had been chivalrous in his fall, for he had taken aliking to him.

  Chumru, of course, after the first gasp of surprise, appreciated thesahib's strategy.

  "Shabash!" he cried, "Wao, wao, huzoor![10] May I never see the WhitePond of the Prophet if that was not well planned."

  [Footnote 10: "Bravo! Well done, your honor!"]

  "Oh, what is it?" came Winifred's startled exclamation. It was so dark,and the horses, no less than the sail, so obscured her view of the forepart of the boat, that she could only dimly make out Malcolm's figure,though the sounds of the scuffle and splashing were unmistakable.

  "We are disbanding our native forces--that is all," said Frank. "Pressthe tiller more to the left, please. Yes, that is right. Now, keep itthere until we touch the steps."

  The shimmering surface of the river near the boat was broken up intoripples surrounding a black object. Malcolm heard the quick panting ofone in whose lungs water had mixed with air, and he hated to think ofeven a rebel drowning before his eyes. Moved by pity, he swung the bigoar on its wooden rest until the blade touched the exhausted man, whosehands shot out in the hope of succor. After some spluttering a brokenvoice supplicated:

  "Mercy, sahib! I saved you when you were in my power. Show pity now tome."

  "It is true, then, that you meant to desert, Akhab Khan?" said Franksternly.

  "Yes, sahib. One cannot fight against one's brothers, but I swear bythe Prophet--"

  "Nay, your oaths are not needed. You, at least, did not wish to commitmurder. Cling to that oar. The ghat is close at hand."

  "Then, sahib, I can still show my gratitude. If you would save themiss-sahib, do not land here. The Magazine has been taken. The cavalryhave looted the Treasury. All the sahib-log have fallen."

  "Is this a true thing that thou sayest?"

  "May I sink back into the pit if it be not the tale we heard atBithoor!"

  By this time Mayne was at Frank's side.

  "I fear we have dropped into a hornets' nest," said he. "There iscertainly an unusual turmoil in the bazaar, and houses are on fire inall directions."

  Even while they were listening to the fitful bellowing of a distant mobbent on mad revel a crackle of musketry rang out, but died away asquickly. The budgerow grounded lightly when her prow ran against thestonework of the ghat. Again did Malcolm make up his mind on the spurof the moment.

  "I will spare your life on one condition, Akhab Khan," he said. "Goashore and learn what has taken place at the Magazine. Return here,alone, within five minutes. Mark you, I say 'alone.' If I see morethan one who comes I shall shoot."

  "Huzoor, I shall not betray you."

  "Go, then."

  He drew the man through the water until his feet touched the steps.Climbing up unsteadily, Akhab Khan disappeared in the gloom. Then theywaited in silence. The heavy breath of the bazaar was pungent in theirnostrils, and, for a few seconds, they listened to the trooper'sretreating footsteps. Frank leaped ashore and pushed the boat off, whileMayne held her by jamming the leeward oar into the mud. It was best tomake sure.

  They did not speak. Their ears were strained as their tumultuousthoughts. At last, some one came, a man, and his firm tread of boot-shodfeet betokened a soldier. It was the rebel who had become their scout.

  "Sahib," said he, "it is even as I told you. Cawnpore is lost to you."

  "And you, Akhab Khan, do you go or stay?"

  There was another moment of tense silence.

  "Would you have me draw sword against the men of my own faith?" was thedespairing answer.

  "It would not be for the first time," said Malcolm coldly. "But I couldnever trust thee again. Yet hast thou chosen wrongly, Akhab Khan. Whenthy day of reckoning comes, may it be remembered in thy favor that thoudidst turn most unwillingly against thy masters!"

  Akhab Khan raised his right hand in a military salute. Suddenly, hiserect form became indistinct, and faded out of sight. The boat wastraveling down stream once more. Around her the river lapped lazily,and the solemn quietude of the mist-covered waters was accentuatedby the far-off turmoil in the city.

  The huge sail thrust its yard high above the fog bank, and watchers onthe river side saw it. Some one hailed in the vernacular, and Chumrureplied that they came from Bithoor with hay. Prompted by Malcolm hewent on:

  "How goes the good work, brother?"

  "Rarely," came the voice. "I have already requited two bunniahs to whomI owed money. Gold is to be had for the taking. Leave thy budgerow atthe bridge, friend, and join us."

  The raucous, half-drunken accents substantiated Akhab Khan's story. Theunseen speaker was evidently himself a boatman. He was rejoicing in theupheaval that permitted debts to be paid with a bludgeon and money to bemade without toil.

  Mayne caught Frank by the arm.

  "We are drifting towards the bridge of boats that carries the road toLucknow across the river," he said, in the hurried tone of a man whosees a new and paralyzing danger. "There is a drawbridge for rivertraffic, but how shall we find it, and, in any event, we must be seen."

  "Are there many houses on the opposite bank?" asked Malcolm.

  "Not many. They are mostly mud hovels. What is in your mind?"

  "We might endeavor to cross the river before we reach the bridge. Byriding boldly along the Lucknow Road we shall place many miles betweenourselves and Cawnpore before day breaks."

  "That certainly seems to offer our best chance. We have plenty of horsesand we ought to be in Lucknow soon after dawn."

  "What if matters are as bad there?"

  "Impossible! Lawrence has a whole regiment with him, the 32d, and plentyof guns. Poor Wheeler, at Cawnpore, commanded a depot, mostly officialson the staff, and invalids. At any rate, Malcolm, we must have someobjective. Lucknow spells hope. Neither Meerut nor Allahabad isattainable. And what will become of Winifred if we fail to reach somestation that still holds out?"

  The girl herself now came to them.

  "I refuse to remain alone any longer," she said. "I don't know a quarterof what is going on. I have tied the tiller with a rope. Please tell mewhat is happening and why a man shouted to Chumru from the bank."

  She spoke calmly, with the pleasantly modulated voice of a well-bredEnglishwoman. If aught were wanted to enhance the contrast between thepeace of the river and the devildom of Cawnpore it was given in fullmeasure by her presence there. How little did she realize the longdrawn-out agony that was even then beginning for her sisters in thatill-fated entrenchment! It was the idle whim of fortune that she was notwith them. And not one was destined to live--not one among hundreds!

  But it was a time for action, not for speech. Malcolm asked her gentlyto go back to the helm and ke
ep it jammed hard-a-starboard until theyarrived at the left bank. Then he took an oar and Mayne and Chumrutackled the other. The three men pulled manfully athwart the stream.They could not tell what progress they were making, and the Ganges ranswiftly in mid-channel, being five times as wide as the Thames at LondonBridge. Yet they toiled on with desperate energy. They had crossed theswirl of deep water when a low, straight-edged barrier appeared on thestarboard side, and, before they could attempt to avert the calamity,the budgerow crashed against a pontoon and drove its bows under thesuperstructure. It was locked there so firmly that a score of men had tolabor for hours next day ere it could be cleared.

  Nevertheless, that which they regarded as a misfortune was a blessing.The shock of the collision alarmed the horses, and one of them climbedlike a cat on to the bridge. Frank sprang after him and caught the reinsbefore the startled creature could break away. And that which one horsecould do might be done by seven. Bidding Chumru arrange some planks togive the others better foothold, he told Winifred and Mayne to join himand help in holding the animals as they gained the roadway. A couple ofnatives who ran up from the Lucknow side were peremptorily ordered tostand. Indeed, they were harmless coolies and soon they offered toassist, for the deadly work in Cawnpore that night was scarcely known tothem as yet. In a couple of minutes the fugitives were mounted, each ofthe men leading a spare horse and advancing at a steady trot; though thebridge swayed and creaked a good deal under this forbidden pace, theysoon found by the upward grade that they were crossing the sloping mudbank leading to the actual highway.

  Thirty-five miles of excellent road now separated them from Lucknow. Thehour was not late, about half past ten, so they had fully six hours ofstarlit obscurity in which to travel, because, though the month wasJune, India is not favored with the prolonged twilight of dawn and evefamiliar to other latitudes.

  They clattered through the outlying bazaar without disturbing a soul.Probably every man, woman and child able to walk was adding to the dinin the great city beyond the river. Pariah dogs yelped at them, someheavy carts drawn across the road caused a momentary halt, and a herd ofuntended buffaloes lying patiently near their byre told the story of theexcitement that had drawn their keeper across the bridge.

  Soon they were in the open, and a fast canter became permissible. Theypassed by many a temple devoted to Kali or elephant-headed Buddha, bymany a sacred mosque or tomb of Mohammedan saint, by many a holy treedecorated with ribbons in honor of its tutelary deity. Now they wereflying between lanes of sugarcane or tall castor-oil plants, nowtraversing arid spaces where _reh_, the efflorescent salt of the earth,had killed all vegetation and reduced a once fertile land to a desert.

  Five miles from Cawnpore they swept through the hamlet of Mungulwar.They saw no one, and no one seemed to see them, though it is hard to sayin India what eyes may not be peering through wattle screen or heavybarred door. In the larger village of Onao they met a group ofchowkidars, or watchmen, in the main street. These men salaamed to thesahib-log, probably on account of the stir created by the horses.Without drawing rein, they pushed on to Busseerutgunge, crossed theriver Sai and neared the village of Bunnee.

  If only men could read the future, how Malcolm's soldier spirit wouldhave kindled as Mayne told him the names of those squalid communities!Each yard of that road was destined to be sprinkled with British blood,while its ditches would be choked with the bodies of mutineers. Butthese things were behind the veil, and the one dominant thoughtpossessing Malcolm now was that unless Winifred and her uncle obtainedfood of some sort they must fall from their saddles with sheerexhaustion. He and his servant had made a substantial meal early in theevening, but the others had eaten nothing owing to the alarm andconfusion that reigned at Bithoor.

  Winifred, indeed, in response to a question, said faintly that shethought she could keep going if she had a drink of milk. Such anadmission, coming from her brave lips, warned Frank that he must call ahalt regardless of loss of time. Assuredly, this was an occasion whenthe sacrifice of a few minutes might avoid the grave risk of a breakdownafter daybreak. So when they entered Bunnee they pulled up, anddiscussed ways and means of getting something to eat.

  It was then that Malcolm gave evidence that his devotion to thesoldier's art had not been practised in vain. Mr. Mayne thought theyshould rouse the household at the first reputable looking dwelling theyfound.

  "No," said Frank. "Mounted, and in motion, we have some chance of escapeunless we fall in with hostile cavalry. On foot, we are at the mercy ofany prowling rascals who may be on the warpath. Let us rather look outfor a place somewhat removed from the main road. There we do not courtobservation, and we are sufficiently well armed to protect ourselvesfrom any hostile move on the part of those we summon."

  The older man agreed. Rank and wealth count for little in the greatcrises of life. Here was a Judicial Commissioner of Oudh a fugitive inhis own province, and ready to obey a subaltern's slightest wish!

  Chumru quickly picked out the house of a zemindar, or land-owner, whichstood in its own walled enclosure behind a clump of trees. A rough trackled to the gate, and Frank knocked loudly on an iron-studded door.

  He used the butt end of a revolver, so his rat-tat was imperativeenough, but the garden might have been a graveyard for all the noticethat was taken by the inhabitants. He knocked again, with equalvehemence and with the same result. But he knew his zemindar, and afterwaiting a reasonable interval he said clearly:

  "Unless the door is opened at once it will be forced. I am an officer ofthe Company, and I demand an entry."

  "Coming, sahib," said an anxious voice. "We knew not who knocked, andthere are many budmashes about these nights."

  The door yielded to the withdrawal of bolts, but it was still held on achain. A man peeped out, satisfied himself that there really weresahib-log waiting at his gate, and then unfastened the chain, withapologies for his forgetfulness. Three men servants, armed with lathis,long sticks with heavy iron ferrules at both ends, stood behind him, andthey all appeared to be exceedingly relieved when they heard that theirmidnight visitors only asked for water, milk, eggs, and chupatties, onthe score that they were belated and had no food.

  The zemindar civilly invited them to enter, but Frank as civillydeclined, fearing that the smallness of their number, the absence of aretinue, and the cavalry accouterments of the horses, might arousecomment, if not suspicion.

  Happily the owner of the house recognized Mr. Mayne, and then hebestirred himself. All they sought for, and more, was brought. Chairswere provided--rare luxuries in native dwellings at that date--and, thisbeing a Mohammedan family, some excellent cooked meat was added to thefeast. Before long Winifred was able to smile and say that she had notbeen so disgracefully hungry since she left school.

  The zemindar courteously insisted that they should taste some mangoes onwhich he prided himself, and he also staged a quantity of _lichis_, adelicious fruit, closely resembling a plover's egg in appearance,peculiar to India. Nor were the horses forgotten. They were watered andfed, and if by this time the nature of the cavalcade had beenrecognized, there was no change in the man's hospitable demeanor.

  Not for an instant did Frank's watchful attitude relax. While Mr. Mayneand the zemindar discoursed on the disturbed state of the country hesnatched the opportunity to exchange a few tender words with Winifred.But his eyes and ears were alert, and he was the first to hear theadvent of a large body of horses along the main road.

  He stood up instantly, blew out a lantern which was placed on the groundfor the benefit of himself and the others, and said quietly:

  "A regiment of cavalry is approaching. We do not wish to be seen bythem. Let no man stir or show a light until they have gone."

  He had the military trick of putting an emphatic order in the fewest andsimplest words. A threat was out of the question, after the manner inwhich the party had been received, but it is likely that each nativepresent felt that his life would not be of great value if he attemptedto draw the attention of the pas
sers-by to the presence of Europeans atthe door of that secluded zemindari.

  The tramp of horses' feet and the jingle of arms and trappings could nowbe distinguished plainly. At first Winifred feared that they were troopssent in pursuit of them by the Nana, and she whispered the question:

  "Are they from Cawnpore, Frank?"

  "No," he answered, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I cannotsee them, but their horses are walking, so they cannot have come ourway. They are cavalry advancing from the direction of Lucknow."

  "Perhaps they are marching to the relief of Cawnpore?"

  "Let us hope so. But we must not risk being seen."

  "Your words are despondent, dear. Do you think the whole native army isagainst us?"

  "I scarcely know what to think, sweetheart. Things look black in so manydirections. Once we are in Lucknow, and able to hear what has reallyhappened elsewhere, we shall be better able to judge."

  The ghostly squadrons clanked past, unseen and unseeing. When the roadwas quiet again Winifred and her small bodyguard remounted. The zemindarwas not a man who would accept payment, so Mr. Mayne gave his servantssome money. It may be that this Mohammedan gentleman wondered if he hadacted rightly when the emissaries of the Nana scoured the country nextday for news of the miss-sahib and two sahibs who rode towards Lucknowin the small hours of the morning. Being a wise man he held his peace.He had cast his bread upon the waters, and did not regret it, though helittle reckoned on the return it would make after many days.

  Reinvigorated by the excellent meal, the travelers found that theirhorses had benefited as greatly as they themselves by the food and briefrest.

  They had no more adventures on the way. Winifred did not object toriding astride while it was dark, but she did not like the experience inbroad daylight, and when they met a Eurasian in a tikka-gharry, or hiredconveyance, in the environs of Lucknow, she was almost as delighted tosecure the vehicle as to learn that the city, though disturbed, was"quite safe from mutiny."

  That was the man's phrase, and it was eloquent of faith in the genius ofHenry Lawrence.

  "Quite safe!" he assured them, though they had only escaped capture by adetachment of rebel cavalry by the merest fluke three hours earlier.

  They were standing opposite the gate of a great walled enclosure knownas the Alumbagh, a summer retreat built by an old nawab for a favoritewife. And that was in June! In six short months Havelock would be lyingthere in his grave, and men would be talking from pole to pole of thewondrous things done at Lucknow, both by those who held it and thosewho twice relieved it.

  "Quite safe!"

  It was high time men ceased to use that phrase in India.