The Red Year: A Story of the Indian Mutiny

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER VIII

  WHEREIN A MOHAMMEDAN FRATERNIZES WITH A BRAHMIN

  "We seem to be attracting a fair share of attention," said Malcolm, asthey crossed a bridge over the canal that bounded Lucknow on the southand east.

  "We look rather odd, don't we?" asked Winifred, cheerfully. "Threemounted men leading four horses, and a disheveled lady in a ramshacklevehicle like this, would draw the eyes of a mob anywhere. Thankgoodness, though, the people appear to be quite peaceably inclined."

  "Y-yes."

  "Why do you agree so grudgingly?"

  "Well, I have not been here before--are the streets usually so crowdedat this hour?"

  "Lucknow, like every other Indian city, is early astir. Perhaps theyhave heard of the fall of Cawnpore. It is one of the marvels of Indiahow quickly news spreads. Isn't that so, uncle?"

  "No man knows how rumor travels here," said Mr. Mayne. "It beats thetelegraph at times. But the probability is that Lucknow has surprises instore for us. While we were bottled up in Bithoor things have beenhappening elsewhere."

  His guess was only too accurate. Not only had Nana Sahib long been intreaty with the disaffected Oudh taluqdars, but Lucknow itself waswrithing in the first stages of rebellion. Although by popular reckoningthe mutiny broke out at Meerut on May 10, there was trouble in Lucknowin April with the 48th Infantry, and again on May 3, when Lawrence'sfirm measures alone prevented the 7th Oudh Irregulars from murderingtheir officers. There was little reason to hope that this, the thirdcity in India, should not yield readily to sedition-mongers. Thedethroned King of Oudh, with his courtiers and ministers, stillmaintained a sort of royal state in his residence at Calcutta, and hisemissaries were active in the greased cartridge propaganda, tellingHindus that the paper wrappers were dipped in the fat of cows, while,for the benefit of Mohammedans, a variant of the story was supplied bythe substitution of pig's lard.

  It is believed too, that the passing of a chupatty, or flat cake, fromvillage to village in the Northwest Provinces early in January wasset on foot by one of these agitators as a token that the Governmentwas plotting to overthrow the religions of the people. The exactsignificance of that mysterious symbol has never been ascertained. Likethe "snowball" petition of the West, once started, it soon lost itsfirst meaning. Many natives regarded it merely as the fulfilment of adevotee's vow, but in the majority of instances it had an unsettlingeffect on the simple folk who received it, and this was precisely whatits originator desired.

  Lucknow was not only the natural pivot of a rich agricultural district,but it hummed with prosperous trade. Every type of Indian humanitygathered in its narrow streets and lofty houses, and excitement rose tofever heat when the local trouble with the sepoys was given force to bythe isolation of the Meerut white garrison, the seizure of Delhi and thesacking of many European stations in the Northwest. On May 30, the 71stNative Infantry had the impudence to fire on the 32d Foot, and wereseverely mauled for their pains. They ran off, but not until they hadmurdered Brigadier-General Handscombe and Lieutenant Grant, one of theirown officers. The standard of the Prophet was raised in the bazaar and afanatical mob rallied round it. They killed a Mr. Menpes, who lived inthe city, and were then dispersed by the police.

  Unfortunately the 7th Cavalry deserted when Lawrence marched to therace-course next day to punish the mutinous sepoys who had gatheredthere. But despite the lack of a mounted force, a number of prisonerswere taken and hanged in batches on a gallows erected on the MucheeBhowun, a fortress palace situated near the Residency.

  Thus Lawrence had scotched the snake, but like Wheeler at Cawnpore andmany another in India at that time, he refused to kill it by disarmingthe native regiments under his command. Nevertheless they feared him.They dared not show their fangs in Lucknow. They stole away in companiesand squadrons, glutting their predatory instincts by slaughter andpillage elsewhere before they headed for Delhi or joined one of thenumerous pretenders who sprang into being in emulation of Nana Sahib. Itwas one of these rebel detachments that passed the four fugitives fromCawnpore on the outskirts of Bunnee. Scattered throughout the provincethey proved as merciless and terrible to wealthy natives as to theEuropeans whom they met in flight along the main roads.

  The chaos into which the whole country fell with such extraordinaryswiftness is demonstrated by the varying treatment meted out todifferent people. Winifred and her uncle, under Malcolm's boldleadership, reached Lucknow with comparative ease. Poor little SophyChristian, aged three, having lost her mother in the massacre ofSitapore, was taken off into the jungle by Sir Mountstuart Jackson, hissister Madeline, a young officer named Burnes, and Surgeon-Major Morton.They fell in with Captain and Mrs. Philip Orr and their child, refugeesfrom Aurungabad, and the whole party experienced almost incrediblesufferings _during nine months_. Mrs. Orr, her little girl and MissJackson did not escape from their final prison at Lucknow until the endof March, 1858. Sophy Christian, who was always asking pathetically "whymummie didn't come," died of the hardships she had to endure, while themen were shot in cold blood by the sepoys on November 16.

  Yet in many instances the rebels either told their officers to go awayor escorted them to the nearest European station, while the villagers,though usually hostile, sometimes treated the luckless sahib-log withgenuine kindness and sympathy.

  Mr. Mayne of course had his own house in the cantonment, which wassituated north of the city, across the river Goomtee. Malcolm wished tosee uncle and niece safely established in their bungalow before hereported himself at the Residency, but the older man thought they shouldall go straight to the Chief Commissioner and tell him what had happenedat Cawnpore.

  Threading the packed bazaar towards the Bailey Guard--that gate of theResidency which was destined to become for ever famous--they encounteredCaptain Gould Weston, the local Superintendent of Police, and his firstwords undeceived them as to the true position of affairs.

  "You left Cawnpore last night!" he cried. "Then you were amazinglylucky. Wheeler has just telegraphed that he expects to be invested bythe rebels to-day. Not that you will be much better off here in somerespects, as we are all living in the Residency. I suppose you know yourhouse has gone, Mayne?"

  "Gone! Do you mean that it is destroyed?"

  "Burnt to the ground. There is hardly a building left in thecantonment."

  "But what were the troops doing? At any rate, you are not besieged hereyet."

  "We are on the verge of it. Unfortunately the Chief won't bring himselfto disarm the sepoys, and the city is drifting into a worse conditiondaily. Half of the native corps have bolted, and the rest are ripefor trouble at the first opportunity. The fires are the work ofincendiaries. We have caught and hanged a few, but they are swarmingeverywhere."

  "You say Wheeler has been in communication with you this morning," saidthe perplexed civilian. "Are you sure? It is true we escaped in thefirst instance from Bithoor, but Cawnpore was in flames last night andthe Magazine in possession of the mutineers."

  "Oh, yes. We know that. The one thing these black rascals don'tunderstand is the importance of cutting the telegraph wires. Wheeler hasthrown up an entrenchment in the middle of a _maidan_. I am afraid he isin a tight place, as he is asking for help which we cannot send. Well,good-by! Hope to see you at tiffin. Miss Mayne must make herself ascomfortable as she can in the women's quarters, and pray, like the restof us, that this storm may soon blow over."

  He rode off, followed by an escort of mounted police. Malcolm, who hadtaken no part in the conversation, listened to Weston's words with asinking heart. He had failed doubly, then, in the mission entrusted tohim by Colvin. Not only were his despatches lost, but he was mistakenin believing that the Cawnpore garrison was overpowered. He had turnedback at a moment when he should have strained every nerve to reachhis destination. That was intolerable. The memory of the hawk-nosed,steel-eyed officer who rode from Kurnaul to Meerut in twenty-four hourssmote him like a whip. Would Hodson--the man who was prepared to crossthe infernal regions if duty called--would _he_
have quitted Cawnporewithout making sure that Sir Hugh Wheeler was dead or a prisoner?

  The answer to that unspoken question brought such a look of pain toFrank's face that Winifred, watching him from the carriage window,wondered what was wrong. She, too, had heard the policeman's statementand was greatly relieved by it. Why should her lover be so perturbed,she wondered? Was it not good news that the English in Cawnpore were atleast endeavoring to hold Nana Sahib at bay? It was on the tip of hertongue to ask what sudden cloud had fallen on him when the carriageswung through a gateway and she found herself inside the Residency. Thebreathless greetings exchanged between herself and many of her friendsamong the ladies of the garrison drove from her mind the misery she hadseen in Frank's stern-set features. But the thought recurred later andshe spoke of it.

  Now Malcolm had already visited Sir Henry Lawrence and told him theexact circumstances. The Chief Commissioner exonerated him from anyblame and, as a temporary matter, appointed him an extra A.D.C. on hisstaff. But the sore rankled and it was destined in due time to affectthe young officer's fortunes in the most unexpected way.

  Above all else he did not want Winifred to know that solicitude in herbehalf had drawn him from the path of duty. So he fenced with hersympathetic inquiries, and she, womanlike, began to search for someshortcoming on her own part to account for her lover's gloom. Thus, nota rift, but an absence of full and complete understanding, existedbetween them, and each was conscious of it, though Malcolm alone knewits cause.

  But that little cloud only darkened their own small world. Around themwas the clash of arms and the din of preparation for the "fortnight'ssiege" which Lawrence thought the Residency might withstand if heldresolutely! In truth, there never was a fortification, with theexception of that four-foot mud wall at Cawnpore, less calculated torepel the assault of a determined foe than the ill-planned defenseswhich provided the last English refuge in Oudh.

  Winifred soon proved that she was of good metal. The alarms andexcursions of the past three weeks were naturally trying to a girl bornand bred in a quiet Devon village. But heredity, mostly blamed for thetransmission of bad qualities, supplies good ones, too, whether in manor maid. Descended on her father's side from a race of soldiers anddiplomats, her mother was a Yorkshire Trenholme, and it is said onHambledon Moor that there were Trenholmes in Yorkshire before there wasa king in England. In spite of the terrific heat and the discomfortof her new surroundings she made light of difficulties, found solaceherself by cheering others, and quickly attained a prominent place inthat small band of devoted women whose names will live until the storyof Lucknow is forgotten.

  She met Frank only occasionally and by chance, their days being full ofwork and striving. A smile, a few tender words, perhaps nothing morethan a hurried wave of the hand in passing, constituted their loveidyll, for Lawrence fell ill and his aides were kept busy, day andnight, in passing to and fro between the bedside of the stricken leaderand the many posts where his counsel was sought or the hasty provisionof defense lagged for his orders.

  The Chief was so worn out with anxiety and sleepless labor that onJune 9 he delegated his authority to a provisional council. Then theimpetuous and chivalric Martin Gubbins, Financial Commissioner of Oudh,saw a means of attaining by compromise that which he had vainly urged onLawrence--he persuaded the commanding officers of the native regimentsin Lucknow to tell their men to go home on furlough until November.

  This was actually done, but Lawrence was so indignant when he heard ofit that he dissolved the council on June 12 and sent Malcolm and otherofficers to recall the sepoys. Five hundred came back, vowing that theywould stand by "Lar-rence-sahib Bahadur" till the last. They kept theirword; they shared the danger and glory of the siege with the 32d and theBritish Artillery.

  Gubbins, a born firebrand, then pressed his superior to attack a rebelforce that had gathered at the village of Chinhut, ten miles northeastof Lucknow. Unfortunately Lawrence yielded, marched out with sevenhundred men, half of whom were Europeans, and was badly defeated, owingto the desertion of some native gunners at a critical moment.

  A disastrous rout followed. Colonel Case of the 32d, trying vainly withhis men to stop the native runaways, was shot dead. For three miles theenemy's horse artillery pelted the helpless troops with grape, and themassacre of every man in the small column was prevented only by thebravery of a tiny squadron of volunteer cavalry, which held a bridgeuntil the harassed infantry were able to cross.

  Lawrence, when the day was lost, rode back to prepare the haplessEuropeans in the city for the hazard that now threatened. The investmentof the Residency could not be prevented. It was a question whether themutineers would not surge over it in triumph within the hour.

  From the windows of the lofty building which gave its name to thecluster of houses within the walls, the despairing women saw theirexhausted fellow-countrymen fighting a dogged rear-guard action againsttwenty times as many rebels. Some poor creatures, straining their eyesto find in the ranks of the survivors the husband they would never seeagain, clasped their children to their breasts and shrieked in agony.Others, like Lady Inglis, knelt and read the Litany. A few, and amongthem was Winifred, ran out with vessels full of water and tended thewants of the almost choking soldiers who were staggering to the shelterof the veranda.

  She had seen Lawrence gallop to his quarters, and his drawn, haggardface told her the worst. He was accompanied by two staff officers, butMalcolm was not with him. The pandemonium that reigned everywhere formany minutes made it impossible that she should obtain any news of herlover's fate. While the soldiers were flocking through the narrowstreets that flanked or enfiladed the walls, the native servants andcoolies engaged on the defenses deserted _en masse_. The rebel artillerywas beginning to batter the more exposed buildings; the British gunsalready in position took up the challenge; sepoys seized the adjoininghouses and commenced a deadly musketry fire that was far more effectivethan the terrifying cannonade; and the men of the garrison who had nottaken part in that fatal sortie rushed to their posts, determined tostem at all costs the imminent assault of the victorious mutineers.

  An officer seeing Winifred carrying water to some men who were lying ina position that would soon be swept by two guns mounted near a bridgeacross the Goomtee, known as the Iron Bridge, ordered the soldiers toseek a safer refuge.

  "And you, Miss Mayne, you must not remain here," he went on. "You willonly lose your life, and we want brave women like you to live."

  Winifred recognized him though his face was blackened with powder andgrime. Her own wild imaginings made death seem preferable to theanguish of her belief that Frank had fallen.

  "Oh, Captain Fulton," she said, "can you tell me what has become of--ofMr. Malcolm?"

  "Yes," he said, summoning a gallant smile as an earnest of good news. "Iheard the Chief tell him to make the best of his way to Allahabad. Thatis the only quarter from which help can be expected, and to-day'sdisaster renders help imperative. Now, my dear child, don't take it toheart in that way. Malcolm will win through, never fear! He is just theman for such a task, and each mile he covers means--" he paused; a roundshot crashed against a gable and brought down a chimney with a loudrattle of falling bricks--"means so many minutes less of this sort ofthing."

  But Winifred neither saw nor heard. Her eyes were blinded with tears,her brain dazed by the knowledge that her lover had undertaken alone ajourney declared impossible from the more favorably situated station ofCawnpore many days earlier.

  She managed somehow to find her uncle. Perhaps Fulton spared a moment totake her to him. She never knew. When next her ordered mind appreciatedher environment that last day of June, 1857, was drawing to its closeand the glare of rebel watch fires, heightened by the constant flashesof an unceasing bombardment, told her that the siege of Lucknow hadbegun.

  Then she remembered that Mr. Mayne had taken her to one of the cellarsin the Residency in which the women and children were secure from theleaden hail that was beating on the walls. She had a vague noti
on thathe carried a gun and a cartridge belt, and a new panic seized her lestthe Moloch of war had devoured her only relative, for her father hadbeen killed at the battle of Alma, and her mother's death, three yearslater, had led to her sailing for India to take charge of her uncle'shousehold.

  The women near at hand were too sorrow-laden to give any realinformation. They only knew that every man within the Residency walls,even the one-armed, one-legged, decrepit pensioners who had lost limbsor health in the service of the Company, were mustered behind the fraildefenses.

  To a girl of her temperament inaction was the least endurable of evils.Now that the shock of Malcolm's departure had passed she longed to seekoblivion in work, while existence in that stifling undergroundatmosphere, with its dense crowd of heart-broken women and complainingchildren, was almost intolerable.

  In defiance of orders--of which, however, she was then ignorant--shewent to the ground floor. Passing out into the darkness she crossed anopen space to the hospital, and it chanced that the first person sheencountered was Chumru, Malcolm's bearer.

  The man's grim features changed their habitual scowl to a demoniac grinwhen he saw her.

  "Ohe, miss-sahib," he cried, "this meeting is my good fortune, forsurely you can tell me where my sahib is?"

  Winifred was not yet well versed in Hindustani, but she caught some ofthe words, and the contortions of Chumru's expressive countenance werefamiliar to her, as she had laughed many a time at Malcolm's recitals ofhis ill-favored servant's undeserved repute as a villain of parts.

  "Your sahib is gone to Allahabad," she managed to say before the thoughtcame tardily that perhaps it was not wise to make known the ChiefCommissioner's behests in this manner.

  "To Illah-habad! Shade of Mahomet, how can he go that far without me?"exclaimed Chumru. "Who will cook his food and brush his clothes? Whowill see to it that he is not robbed on the road by every thief thatever reared a chicken or milked a cow? I feared that some evil thing hadbefallen him, but this is worse than aught that entered my head."

  All this was lost on Winifred. She imagined that the native wasbewailing his master's certain death in striving to carry out adesperate mission, whereas he was really thinking that the mostdisturbing element about the sahib's journey was his own absence.

  Seeing the distress in her face, Chumru was sure that she sympathizedwith his views.

  "Never mind, miss-sahib," said he confidentially, "I will slip away now,steal a horse and follow him."

  Without another word he hastened out of the building and left herwondering what he meant. She repeated the brief phrases, as well as shecould recall them, to a Eurasian whom she found acting as awater-carrier.

  This man translated Chumru's parting statement quite accurately, andwhen Mr. Mayne came at last from the Bailey Guard where he had beenstationed until relieved after nightfall, he horrified her by tellingher the truth--that it was a hundred chances to one against theunfortunate bearer's escape if he did really endeavor to break throughthe investing lines.

  And indeed few men could have escaped from the entrenchment that night.Any one who climbed to the third story of the Residency--itself thehighest building within the walls and standing on the most elevatedsite--would soon be dispossessed of the fantastic notion that any cornerwas left unguarded by the rebels. A few houses had been demolished byLawrence's orders, it is true, but his deep respect for native idealshad left untouched the swarm of mosques and temples that stood betweenthe Residency and the river.

  "Spare their holy places!" he said, yet Mohammedan and Hindu did notscruple now to mask guns in the sacred enclosures and loop-hole thehallowed walls for musketry. On the city side, narrow lanes, loftyhouses and strongly-built palaces offered secure protection to thebesiegers. The British position was girt with the thousand gleams of alightning more harmful than that devised by nature, for each spurt offlame meant that field-piece or rifle was sending some messenger ofdeath into the tiny area over which floated the flag of England. Withinthis outer circle of fire was a lesser one; the garrison made up forlack of numbers by a fixed resolve to hold each post until every manfell. To modern ideas, the distance between these opposing rings wasabsurdly small. As the siege progressed besiegers and besieged actuallycame to know each other by sight. Even from the first they were seldomseparated by more than the width of an ordinary street, and conversationwas always maintained, the threats of the mutineers being countered bythe scornful defiance of the defenders.

  Nevertheless Chumru prevailed on Captain Weston to allow him to drop tothe ground outside the Bailey Guard. The Police Superintendent, acommander who was now fighting his own corps, accepted the bearer'spromise that if he were not killed or captured he would make the best ofhis way to Allahabad, and even if he did not find his master, tell theBritish officer in charge there of the plight of Lucknow.

  Chumru, who had no knowledge of warfare beyond his recent experiences,was acquainted with the golden rule that the shorter the time spent asan involuntary target the less chance is there of being hit. As soon ashe reached the earth from the top of the wall he took to his heels andran like a hare in the direction of some houses that stood near theClock Tower.

  He was fired at, of course, but missed, and the sepoys soon ceased theirefforts to put a bullet through him because they fancied he was adeserter.

  As soon as they saw his face they had no doubts whatever on that score.Indeed, were it his unhappy lot to fall in with the British patrolsalready beginning to feel their way north from Bengal along the GrandTrunk Road he would assuredly have been hanged at sight on his mereappearance.

  Chumru's answers to the questions showered on him were magnificentlyuntrue. According to him the Residency was already a ruin and itsprecincts a shambles. The accursed Feringhis might hold out till themorning, but he doubted it. Allah smite them!--that was why he chancedbeing shot by his brethren rather than be slain by mistake next day whenthe men of Oudh took vengeance on their oppressors. He could not getaway earlier because he was a prisoner, locked up by the huzoors,forsooth, for a trifling matter of a few rupees left behind by one ofthe white dogs who fell that day at Chinhut.

  In brief, Chumru abused the English with such an air that he wasregarded by the rebels as quite an acquisition. They had not learned, asyet, that it was better to shoot a dozen belated friends than permit onespy to win his way through their lines.

  Watching his opportunity, he slipped off into the bazaar. Now he wasquite safe, being one among two hundred thousand. But time was passing;he wanted a horse, and might expect to find the canal bridge closelyguarded.

  Having a true Eastern sense of humor behind that saturnine visage ofhis, he hit on a plan of surmounting both difficulties with ease.

  Singling out the first well-mounted and half-intoxicated native officerhe met--though, to his credit be it said, he chose a Brahmin subadar ofcavalry--he hailed him boldly.

  "Brother," said he, "I would have speech with thee."

  Now, Chumru took his life in his hands in this matter. For one wearingthe livery of servitude to address a high-caste Brahmin thus wasincurring the risk of being sabered then and there. In fact the subadarwas so amazed that he glared stupidly at the Mohammedan who greeted himas "brother," and it may be that those fierce eyes looking at him fromdifferent angles had a mesmeric effect.

  "Thou?" he spluttered, reining in his horse, a hardy country-bred, goodfor fifty miles without bait.

  "Even I," said Chumru. "I have occupation, but I want help. One willsuffice, though there is gold enough for many."

  "Gold, sayest thou?"

  "Ay, gold in plenty. The dog of a Feringhi whom I served has had ithidden these two months in the thatch of his house near the Alumbagh.To-day he is safely bottled up there--" he jerked a thumb towards thesullen thunder of the bombardment. "I am a poor man, and I may bestopped if I try to leave the city. Take me up behind thee, brother, andgive me safe passage to the bungalow, and behold, we will share treasureof a lakh or more!"

  The Brahmin's bra
in was bemused with drink, but it took in two obviouselements of the tale at once. Here was a fortune to be gained by merelycutting a throat at the right moment.

  "That is good talking," said he. "Mount, friend, and leave me to answerquestions."

  Chumru saw that he had gaged his man rightly, and the evil glint in thesubadar's eyes told him the unspoken thought. He climbed up behind thehigh-peaked saddle and, after the horse had showed his resentment of adouble burthen, was taken through the bazaar as rapidly as its throngedstreets permitted. Sure enough, the canal bridge was watched.

  "Whither go ye?" demanded the officer in charge.

  "To bring in a Feringhi who is in hiding," said the Brahmin.

  "Shall I send a few men with you?"

  "Nay, we two are plenty--" this with a laugh.

  "Quite plenty," put in Chumru. The officer glanced at him and wasconvinced. Being a Mohammedan, he took Chumru's word without question,which showed the exceeding wisdom of Chumru in selecting a Brahmin forthe sacrifice; thus was he prepared to deal with either party in anunholy alliance.

  They jogged in silence past the Alumbagh. The Brahmin, on reflection,decided that he would stab Chumru before the hoard was disturbed and hecould then devise another hiding-place at his leisure. Chumru had longago decided to send the Brahmin to the place where all unbelievers go,at the first suitable opportunity. Hence the advantage lay with him,because he held a strategic position and could choose his own time.

  Beyond the Alumbagh there were few houses, and these of meandescription, and each moment the subadar's mind was growing clearerunder the prospect of great wealth to be won so easily.

  "Where is this bungalow, friend?" said he at last, seeing nothing but astraight road in front.

  "Patience, brother. 'Tis now quite near. It lies behind that tope oftrees yonder."

  The other half turned to ascertain in which direction his guide waspointing.

  "It is not on the main road, then?"

  "No. A man who has gold worth the keeping loves not to dwell where allmen pass."

  A little farther, and Chumru announced:

  "We turn off here."

  It was dark. He thought he had hit upon a by-way, but no sooner did thehorse quit the shadow of the trees by the roadside than he saw that hehad been misled by the wheel-tracks of a ryot's cart. The Brahminsniffed suspiciously.

  "Is there no better way than this?" he cried, when his charger nearlystumbled into a deep ditch.

  "One only, but you may deem it too far," was the quiet answer, andChumru, placing his left hand on the Brahmin's mouth, plunged a long,thin knife up to the hilt between his ribs.