The Red Year: A Story of the Indian Mutiny

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER IX

  A LONG CHASE

  It was not Lawrence's order but Malcolm's own suggestion that led to thedesperate task entrusted to the young aide by the Chief. While those fewheroic volunteer horsemen drove back the enemy's cavalry and held thebridge over the Kokrail until the beaten army made good its retreat, SirHenry halted by the roadside and watched the passing of his exhaustedmen. He had the aspect of one who hoped that some stray bullet would endthe torment of life. In that grief-stricken hour his indomitable spiritseemed to falter. Ere night he was the Lawrence of old, but themagnitude of the calamity that had befallen him was crushing and hewinced beneath it.

  Out of three hundred and fifty white soldiers in the column he had lostone hundred and nineteen. Every gun served by natives was captured bythe enemy. Worst of all, the moral effect of such a defeat outweighed adozen victories. It not only brought about the instant beginnings of thesiege, but its proportions were grossly exaggerated in the public eye.For the first time in many a year the white soldiers had fled before astrictly Indian force. They were outnumbered, which was nothing new inthe history of the country, but it must be confessed they wereout-generaled, too. Lawrence, never a believer in Gubbins's forwardpolicy, showed unwonted hesitancy even during the march to Chinhut: hehalted, advanced and counter-marched the troops in a way that wasforeign to a man of his decisive character. Where he was unaccountablytimid the enemy were unusually bold, and the outcome was disaster.

  Yet in this moment of bitterest adversity he displayed that sympathy forthe sufferings of others that won him the esteem of all who came incontact with him.

  By some extraordinary blunder of the commissariat the 32d had set forththat morning without breaking their fast. Now, after a weary march and aprotracted fight in the burning sun, some of the men deliberately laydown to die.

  "We can go no farther," they said. "We may as well meet death here as afew yards away. And, when the sepoys overtake us, we shall at least havebreath enough left to die fighting."

  Lawrence, when finally he turned his horse's head toward Lucknow, cameupon such a group. He shook his feet free of the stirrups.

  "Now, my lads," he said quietly, "you have no cause to despair. Catchhold of the leathers, two of you, and the horse will help you along. Mr.Malcolm, you can assist in the same way. Another mile will bring us tothe city."

  One of the men, finding it in his heart to pity his haggard-facedgeneral, thought to console him by saying:

  "We'll try, if it's on'y to please you, your honor, but it's all up withus, I'm afraid. If the end doesn't come to-day it will surely be with usto-morrow."

  "Why do you think that?" asked Lawrence. "We must hold the Residencyuntil the last man falls. What else can we do?"

  "I know that, your honor, but we haven't got the ghost of a chance.They're a hundred to one, and as well armed as we are. It 'ud be adifferent thing if help could come, but it can't. If what people aresaying is true, sir, the nearest red-coats are at Allahabad, an' p'rapsthey're hard pressed, too."

  "That is not the way to look at a difficulty. In war it is theunexpected that happens. Keep your spirits up and you may live to tellyour grandchildren how you fought the rebels at Lucknow. I want you andevery man in the ranks to know that my motto is 'No Surrender.' You haveheard what happened at Cawnpore. Here, in Lucknow, despite to-day'sdisaster, we shall fight to a finish."

  An English battery came thundering down the road to take up a freshposition and assist in covering the retreat. The guns unlimbered near awell.

  "There!" said Lawrence, "you see how my words have come true. A minuteago you were ready to fall before the first sowar who lifted his saberover your head. Go now and help by drawing water for the gunners andyourselves. Then you can ride back on the carriages when they limberup."

  Malcolm, to whom the soldier's words brought inspiration, spurred Nejdialongside his Chief.

  "Will you permit me to ride to Allahabad, sir, and tell General Neillhow matters stand here?" he said.

  Lawrence looked at him as though the request were so fantastic that hehad not fully grasped its meaning.

  "To Allahabad?" he repeated, turning in the saddle to watch the effectof the first shot fired by the battery.

  "Yes, sir," cried Malcolm, eagerly. "I know the odds are against me, butHodson rode as far through the enemy's country only six weeks ago, and Idid something of the kind, though not so successfully, when I went fromMeerut to Agra and from Agra to Cawnpore."

  "You had an escort, and I can spare not a man."

  "I will go alone, sir."

  "I would gladly avail myself of your offer, but the Residency will beinvested in less than an hour."

  "Let me go now, sir. I am well mounted. In the confusion I may be ableto reach the open country without being noticed."

  "Go, then, in God's name, and may your errand prosper, for you have manyprecious lives in your keeping."

  Lawrence held out his hand, and Malcolm clasped it.

  "Tell Neill," said the Chief Commissioner in a low tone of intensesignificance, "that we can hold out a fortnight, a month perhaps, oreven a few days longer if buoyed up with hope. That is all. If yousucceed, I shall not forget your services. The Viceroy has given meplenary powers, and I shall place your name in orders to-night, CaptainMalcolm."

  He kept his promise. When Lucknow was evacuated after the Second Relief,the official gazettes recorded that Lieutenant Frank Malcolm of the 3dCavalry had been promoted to a captaincy, supernumerary on the staff,for gallantry on the field on June 30, while a special minute providedthat he should attain the rank of major if he reached Allahabad on orbefore July 4.

  From the point on the road to Chinhut where Malcolm bade his Chieffarewell, he could see the tower of the Residency, gray among the whitedomes and minarets that lined the south bank of the Goomtee. He had noillusions now as to the course the mutineers would follow. Native rumorshad brought the news of the massacre at Cawnpore, though the ghastlytragedy of the Well was yet to come. He knew that this elegant city,resplendent and glorious in the sheen of the setting sun, would soon bea living hell. A fearsome struggle would surge around that tower wherethe British flag was flying. A few hundreds of Europeans would strive tokeep at bay tens of thousands of eager rebels. Would they succeed? PrayHeaven for that while Winifred lived!

  And in all human probability their fate rested with him. If he were ableto stir the British authorities in the south to almost superhumanefforts, a relieving force might arrive before the end of July. It wasa great undertaking he had set himself. Yet he would have attempted itfor Winifred's sake alone, and the thought of her anguish, when sheshould hear that he was gone, gave him a pang that was not solaced bythe dearest honor a soldier can attain--promotion on the field.

  It was out of the question that he should return to the Residency beforehe began his self-imposed mission. Already the enemy's cavalry wereswooping along both flanks of the routed troops. In a few minutes theonly available road, which crossed the Goomtee by a bridge of boats andled through the suburbs by way of the Dilkusha, would be closed. As itwas he had to press Nejdi into a fast gallop before he could clear theleft wing of the advancing army. Then, easing the pace a little, heswung off into a by-way, and ere long was cantering down the quiet roadthat led to Rai Bareilly and thence to Allahabad.

  At seven o'clock he was ten miles from Lucknow, at eight, nearly twenty.The quick-falling shadows warned him that if he would procure food forNejdi and himself he must seize the next opportunity that presenteditself, while a rest of some sort was absolutely necessary if he meantto spare his gallant Arab for the trial of endurance that still layahead.

  Though he had never before traveled that road he was acquainted with itsmain features. Thirty miles from his present position was the small townof Rai Bareilly. Fifty miles to the southeast was Partabgarh. Fiftymiles due south of Partabgarh lay Allahabad. The scheme roughly outlinedin his mind was, in the first place, to buy, borrow, or steal a nativepony which would carry him to th
e outskirts of Rai Bareilly before dawn.Then remounting Nejdi he would either ride rapidly through the town, ormake a detour, whichever method seemed preferable after inquiry fromsuch peaceful natives as he met on the road. Four hours beyond RaiBareilly he would leave the main road, strike due south for the Ganges,and follow the left bank of the river until he was opposite Allahabad.He refused to ask himself what he would do if Allahabad were in thehands of the rebels.

  "I shall tackle that difficulty about this hour to-morrow," he communed,with a laugh at his own expense. "Just now, when a hundred miles ofunknown territory face me, I have enough to contend with. So, steady isthe word! good horse! _Caesarem invehis et fortunas ejus!_"

  Thus far the wayfarers encountered during his journey had treated himcivilly. The ryots, peasant proprietors of the soil, drew their roughcarts aside and salaamed as he passed. These men knew little or nothing,as yet, of the great events that were taking place on the south and westof the Ganges. A few educated bunniahs and zemindars,[11] who doubtlesshad heard of wild doings in the cities, glanced at him curiously, andwould have asked for news if he had not invariably ridden by at a rapidpace.

  [Footnote 11: Bunniah, grain dealer; zemindar, land-owner.]

  As it happened, the route he followed was far removed from the trackof murder and rapine that marked the early progress of the Mutiny, andthe mere sight of a British Officer, moving on with such speed andconfidence, must have set these worthy folk a-wondering. Between RaiBareilly and the Grand Trunk Road stood the wide barrier of thesacred river, while the town itself must not be confused withBareilly--situated nearly a hundred miles north of Lucknow--whichbecame notorious as the headquarters of Khan Bahadur Khan, a pensionerof the British Government, and a ruffian second only to Nana Sahib inmerciless cruelty.

  All unknown to Malcolm, and indeed little recognized as yet in Indiasave by a few district officials, there was a man in Rai Bareilly thatnight who was destined to test the chivalry of Britain on many ahard-fought field. Ahmed Ullah, famous in history as the Moulvie ofFyzabad, had crossed the young officer's path once already. When Malcolmtook his untrained charger for the first wild gallop out of Meerut--theride that ended ignominiously in the moat of the Kings' of Delhi huntinglodge--he nearly rode over a Mohammedan priest, as he tore along theGrand Trunk Road some five miles south of the station.

  It would have been well for India if Nejdi's hoofs had then and therestruck the breath out of that ascetic frame. Of all the firebrandsraised by the Mutiny, the Moulvie of Fyzabad was the fiercest and mostdangerous. Early in the year he was imprisoned for preaching sedition.Unhappily he was liberated too soon, and, his fanaticism only inflamedthe more by punishment, he went to the Punjab and sowed disaffection farand wide by his burning zeal for the spread of Islam. By chance hereturned to Fyzabad before the outbreak at Meerut. The feeble loyaltyof the native regiments at Lucknow sufficed to keep all the borderlandof Nepaul quiet for nearly two months. But the reports brought by hisdisciples warned the moulvie that the true believer's day of triumph wasapproaching. Moreover, the Begum of Oudh, one of three women who wereworth as many army corps to the mutineers, was waiting for him at RaiBareilly, a placid eddy in the backwash of the torrents sweeping throughUpper India, and Ahmed Ullah had left Fyzabad on the evening of the 29thto keep his tryst.

  It was, therefore, a lively brood of scorpions that Malcolm proposed todisturb when he dismounted from a wretched tat he had purchased at hisfirst halt, and fed and watered Nejdi again, just as a glimmer of dawnappeared in the east. According to his calculations he was about a milefrom Rai Bareilly. The hour was the quietest and coolest of the hotIndian night. Some pattering drops of rain and the appearance of heavyclouds in the southwest gave premonitions of a fresh outburst of themonsoon. He was glad of it. Rain would freshen himself and his horse. Itmade the ground soft and would retard his speed once he quitted the highroad, but these drawbacks were more than balanced by the absence of theterrific heat of the previous day. He unstrapped his cloak and flung itloosely over his shoulders. Then he waited, until the growing lightbrought forth the untiring tillers of the fields, and he was able toglean some sort of information as to the position of affairs in thetown. If the place were occupied by a prowling gang of rebels he mightsecure a guide by payment and avoid its narrow streets altogether. Atany rate, it would be a foolish thing to dash through blindly and trustto luck. The issues at stake were too important for that sort ofimprudent valor. His object was to reach Allahabad that night--not tohew his way through opposing hordes and risk being cut down in theprocess.

  The lowing of cattle and the soft stumbling tread of many unshod feettold him that some one was approaching. A herd of buffaloes loomed outof the half light. Their driver, an old man, was quite willing to talk.

  "There are no sahib-log in the town," he said, for Malcolm deemed itadvisable to begin by a question on that score. "The collector-sahib hada camp here three weeks ago, but he went away, and that was amisfortune, because the budmashes from Fyzabad came, and honest peoplewere sore pressed."

  "From Fyzabad, say'st thou? They must be cleared out. Where are they?"

  "You are too late, huzoor. They went to Cawnpore, I have heard. Men talkof much dacoity in that district. Is that true, sahib?"

  "Yes, but fear not; it will be suppressed. I am going to Allahabad. Isthis the best road?"

  "I have never been so far, sahib, but it lies that way."

  "Is the bazaar quiet now?"

  "I have seen none save our own people these two days, yet it was said inthe bazaar last night that a Begum tarried at the rest-house."

  "A Begum. What Begum?"

  "I know not her name, huzoor, but she is one of the daughters of theKing of Oudh."

  Malcolm was relieved to hear this. The wild notion had seized him thatthe Princess Roshinara, a stormy petrel of political affairs just then,might have drifted to Rai Bareilly by some evil chance.

  "You see this pony?" he said. "Take him. He is yours. I have no furtheruse for him. Are you sure that there are none to dispute my passagethrough the town?"

  The old peasant was so taken aback by the gift that he could scarcespeak intelligibly, but he assured the Presence that at such an hournone would interfere with him.

  Malcolm decided to risk it. He mounted and rode forward at a sharp trot.Of course he had not been able to adopt any kind of disguise. Whiledoing duty at the Residency he had thrown aside the turban reft fromAbdul Huq and he now wore the peaked shako, with white puggaree,affected by junior staff officers at that period. His long militarycloak, steel scabbard, sabertache and Wellington boots, proclaimed hisprofession, while his blue riding-coat and cross-belts were visible infront, as he meant to have his arms free in case the necessity arose touse sword or pistol.

  And he rode thus into Rai Bareilly, watchful, determined, ready for anyemergency. So boldly did he advance that he darted past half a dozen menwhose special duty it was to stop and question all travelers. They werestationed on the flat roofs of two houses, one on each side of the way,and a rope was stretched across the road in readiness to drop and hinderthe progress of any one who did not halt when summoned. It was a simpledevice. It had not been seen by the man who drove the buffaloes, and byreason of Malcolm's choice of the turf by the side of the road as thebest place for Nejdi, it chanced to dangle high enough to permit theirpassing beneath.

  The sentries, though caught napping, tried to make amends for theircarelessness. In the growing light one of them saw Malcolm'saccouterments and he yelled loudly:

  "Ohe, bhai, look out for the Feringhi!"

  Frank, unfortunately, had not noticed the rope. But he heard the cry andunderstood that the "brother" to whom it was addressed would probably bediscovered at the end of the short street. He shook Nejdi into a canter,drew his sword, and looked keenly ahead for the first sign of those whowould bar his path.

  Dawn was peeping grayly over the horizon, and Ahmed Ullah, moulvie andinterpreter of the Koran, standing in an open courtyard, was engaged inthe thi
rd of the day's prayers, of which the first was intoned soonafter sunset the previous evening. He was going through the Reka withmilitary precision, and as luck would have it, the Kibleh, or directionof Mecca, brought his fierce gaze to the road along which Malcolm wasgalloping. Never did priest become warrior more speedily than AhmedUllah when that warning shout rang out, and he discovered that a Britishofficer was riding at top speed through the quiet bazaar. Assuming thatthis unexpected apparition betokened the arrival of a punitivedetachment, he uttered a loud cry, leaped to the gates of the courtyardand closed them.

  Malcolm, of course, saw him and regarded his action as that of afrightened man, who would be only too glad when he could resume hisdevotions in peace. Ahmed Ullah, soon to become a claimant of sovereignpower as "King of Hindustan," was not a likely person to let a prizeslip through his fingers thus easily. Keeping up an ululating clamor ofcommands, he ran to the roof of the dwelling, snatched up a musket andtook steady aim. By this time Malcolm was beyond the gate and thoughthimself safe. Then he saw a rope drawn breast-high across the narrowstreet, and gesticulating natives, variously armed, leaning over theparapets on either hand. He had to decide in the twinkling of an eyewhether to go on or turn back. Probably his retreat would be cut off bysome similar device, so the bolder expedient of an advance offered thebetter chance. An incomparable horseman, mounted on an absolutelytrustworthy horse, he lay well forward on Nejdi's neck, resolving to tryand pick up the slack of the rope on his sword and lift it out of theway. To endeavor to cut through such an obstacle would undoubtedly havebrought about a disaster. It would yield, and the keenest blade mightfail to sever it completely, while any slackening of pace would enablethe hostile guard to shoot him at point-blank range.

  These considerations passed through his mind while Nejdi was coveringsome fifty yards. To disconcert the enemy, who were not sepoys andwhose guns were mostly antiquated weapons of the match-lock type, hepulled out a revolver and fired twice. Then he leaned forward, withright arm thrown well in front and the point of his sword three feetbeyond Nejdi's head. At that instant, when Frank was unconsciouslyoffering a bad target, the moulvie fired. The bullet plowed through theEnglishman's right forearm, struck the hilt of the sword and knocked theweapon out of his hand. Exactly what happened next he never knew. Fromthe nature of his own bruises afterwards and the manner in which he wasjerked backwards from the saddle, he believed that the rope missed Nejdialtogether, but caught him by the left shoulder. The height of a horseextended at the gallop is surprisingly low as compared with the heightof the same animal standing or walking. There was even a remotepossibility that the rope would strike the Arab's forehead and boundclear of his rider. But that was not to be. Here was Frank hurled to theroadway, and striving madly to resist the treble shock of his wound, ofthe blow dealt by the rope, and of the fall, while Nejdi was tearingaway through Rai Bareilly as though all the djinns of his native desertwere pursuing him.

  Though Malcolm's torn arm was bleeding copiously, and he was stunned bybeing thrown so violently flat on his back, no bones were broken. Hisrage at the trick fate had played him, the overwhelming bitterness ofanother and most lamentable failure, enabled him to struggle to his feetand empty at his assailants the remaining chambers of the revolver whichwas still tightly clutched in his left hand. He missed, luckily, or theywould have butchered him forthwith. In another minute he was standingbefore Moulvie Ahmed Ullah, and that earnest advocate of militant Islamwas plying him with mocking questions.

  "Whither so fast, Feringhi? Dost thou run from death, or ride to seekit? Mayhap thou comest from Lucknow. If so, what news? And where are thepapers thou art carrying?"

  Frank's strength was failing him. To the weakness resulting from lossof blood was added the knowledge that this time he was trapped withouthope of escape. The magnificent display of self-command entailed by theeffort to rise and face his foes in a last defiance could not enduremuch longer. He knew it was near the end when he had difficulty infinding the necessary words in Urdu. But he spoke, slowly and firmly,compelling his unwilling brain to form the sentences.

  "I have no papers, and if I had, who are you that demand them?" he said."I am an officer of the Company, and I call on all honest and loyal mento help me in my duty. I promise--to those who assist me to reachAllahabad--that they will be--pardoned for any past offenses--and wellrewarded...."

  The room swam around him and the grim-visaged moullah became a grotesquebeing, with dragon's eyes and a turban like a cloud. Yet he kept on,hoping against imminent death itself that his words would reach somewilling ear.

  "Any man--who tells General Neill-sahib--at Allahabad--thathelp is wanted--at Lucknow--will be made rich.... Help--atLucknow--immediately.... I, Malcolm-sahib--of the 3d Cavalry--say...."

  He collapsed in the grasp of the men who were holding him.

  "Thou has said enough, dog of a Nazarene. Take him without and hanghim," growled Ahmed Ullah.

  "Nay," cried a woman's voice from behind a straw portiere that closedthe arched veranda of the house. "Thou art too ready with thy sentences,moulvie. Rather let us bind his wounds and give him food and drink. Thenhe will recover, and tell us what we want to know."

  "He hath told us already, Princess," said the other, his harsh accentssounding more like the snarl of a wolf than a human voice. "He comesfrom Lucknow and he seeks succor from Allahabad. That means--"

  "It means that he can be hanged as easily at eventide as at daybreak,and we shall surely learn the truth, as such men do not breathe lies."

  "He will not speak, Princess."

  "Leave that to me. If I fail, I hand him over to thee forthwith. Let himbe brought within and tended, and let some ride after his horse, asthere may be letters in the wallets. I have spoken, Ahmed Ullah. Seethat I am obeyed."

  The moulvie said no word. He went back to his praying mat and bent againtoward the west, where the Holy Kaaba enshrines the ruby sent down fromheaven. But though his lips muttered the rubric of the Koran, his heartwhispered other things, and chief among them was the vow that ere manydays be passed he would so contrive affairs that no woman's whim shouldthwart his judgment.

  So the clouded day broke sullenly, with gusts of warm rain and redgleams of a sun striving to disperse the mists. And the earth soaked andsteamed and threw off fever-laden vapors as she nursed the grain to lifeand bade the arid plain clothe itself in summer greenery. It was a badday to lie wounded and ill and a prisoner, and despite the coolingshowers, it was a hot day to ride far and fast.

  Hence it was long past noon when a servant announced to the Begum thatthe sahib--for thus the man described Malcolm until sharply admonishedto learn the new order of speech--the Nazarene, then, was somewhatrecovered from his faintness. And about the same hour, when a subadar ofthe 7th Cavalry clattered into Rai Bareilly and was told that a certainFeringhi whom he sought was safely laid by the heels there, so sultrywas the atmosphere that he seemed to be quite glad of the news.

  "Shabash!" he cried, as he dismounted. "May I never drink at the WhitePond of the Prophet if that be not good hearing! So you have caught him,brethren! Wao, wao! you have done a great thing. He is not killed?--No?That is well, for he is sorely wanted at Lucknow. Tie him tightly,though. He is a fox in guile, and might give me the slip again. May hisbones bleach in an infidel's grave!--I have hunted him fifty miles, yetscarce a man I met had seen him!"