The Red Year: A Story of the Indian Mutiny

by Louis Tracy

  CHAPTER XV

  AT THE KING'S COURT

  Without guns to breach the walls, even the heroic Nicholson waspowerless against a strongly fortified city.

  The siege train was toiling slowly across the Punjab, but the setting inof the monsoon rendered the transit of heavy cannon a laborious task.

  On the 24th of August an officer rode in from the town of Baghput,twenty-five miles to the north, to report that the train was parkedthere for the night.

  "What sort of escort accompanies it?" asked Nicholson, when the newsreached him.

  "Almost exclusively natives and few in numbers at that," he was told.

  An hour later a native spy from Delhi came to the camp.

  "The mutineers are mustering for a big march," he said. "They areproviding guns, litters, and commissariat camels, and the story goesthat they mean to fight the Feringhis at Bahadurgarh."

  The place named was a large village, ten miles northwest of the ridge,and Nicholson guessed instantly that the sepoys had planned the daringcoup of cutting off the siege train. With him, to hear was to act. Heformed a column of two thousand men and a battery of field artillery andleft the camp at dawn on the 25th. If a forced march could accomplishit, he meant not only to frustrate the enemy's design but inflict aserious defeat on them.

  Malcolm went with him and never had he taken part in a harder day'swork. The road was a bullock track, a swamp of mud amid the larger swampof the ploughed land and jungle. Horses and men floundered through it asbest they might. The guns often sank almost to the trunnions; many atime the infantry had to help elephants and bullocks to haul them out.

  In seven hours the column only marched nine miles, and then came thedisheartening news that the spy's information was wrong. The rebels had,indeed, sent out a strong force, but they were at Nujufgarh, miles awayto the right.

  Officers and men ate a slight meal, growled a bit, and swung off in thenew direction. At four o'clock in the afternoon they found the sepoyarmy drawn up behind a canal, with its right protected by another canal,and the center and left posted in fortified villages. Evidently, too,a stout serai, or inn, a square building surrounding a quadrangle setapart for the lodgment of camels and merchandise was regarded as astronghold. Here were placed six guns and the walls were loopholed formusketry.

  In a word, had the mutineers been equal in courage and _morale_ to theBritish troops, the resultant attack must have ended in disastrousfailure.

  But Nicholson was a leader who took the measure of his adversaries.Above all, he did not shirk a battle because it was risky.

  The 61st made a flank march, forded the branch canal under fire and wereordered to lie down. Nicholson rode up to them, a commanding figure on aseventeen-hands English hunter.

  "Now, 61st," he said, "I want you to take that serai and the guns. Youall know what Sir Colin Campbell told you at Chillianwallah, and youhave heard that he said the same thing at the battle of the Alma. 'Holdyour fire until you see the whites of their eyes,' he said, 'and then,my boys, we will make short work of it.' Come on! Let us follow hisadvice here!"

  Swinging his horse around, he rode straight at serai and battery.Grape-shot and bullets sang the death-song of many a brave fellow, butNicholson was untouched. The 61st leaped to their feet with a yell,rushed after him, and did not fire a shot until they were within twentyyards of the enemy. A volley and the bayonet did the rest. They capturedthe guns, carried the serai, and pelted the flying rebels with their ownartillery. The 1st Punjabis had a stiff fight before they killed everyman in the village of Nujufgarh on the left, but the battle was won,practically in defiance of every tenet of military tactics, when the61st forced their way into the serai.

  Utterly exhausted, the soldiers slept on the soddened ground. Thatnight, smoking a cigar with his staff, Nicholson commented on the skillshown in the enemy's disposition.

  "I asked a wounded havildar who it was that led the column, and he toldme the commander was a new arrival, a subadar of the 8th IrregularCavalry, named Akhab Khan," he said.

  Malcolm started. Akhab Khan was the young sowar whose life he had sparedat Cawnpore when Winifred and her uncle and himself were escaping fromBithoor.

  "I knew him well, sir," he could not help saying. "He was not a subadar,but a lance-corporal. He was one of a small escort that accompanied mefrom Agra to the south, but he is a smart soldier, and not at all of thecut-throat type."

  Nicholson looked at him fixedly. He seemed to be considering some pointsuggested by Malcolm's words.

  "If men like him are obtaining commands in Delhi they will proveawkward," was his brief comment, and Frank did not realize what hischief was revolving in his mind until, three days later, the Brigadierasked him to don his disguise again, ride to the southward, and endeavorto fall in with a batch of mutineers on the way to Delhi. Then he couldenter the city, note the dispositions for the defense, and escape byjoining an attacking party during one of the many raids on the ridge.

  "You will be rendering a national service by your deed," said Nicholson,gazing into Frank's troubled eyes with that magnetic power that bentall men to his will. "I know it is a distasteful business, but you areable to carry it through, and five hours of your observation will beworth five weeks of native reports. Will you do it?"

  "Yes, sir," said Malcolm, choking back the protest on his lips. He couldnot trust himself to say more. He refused even to allow his thoughts todwell on such a repellent subject. A spy! What soldier likes the office?It stifles ambition. It robs war of its glamour. It may call for adisplay of the utmost bravery--that calm courage of facing an ignobledeath alone, unheeded, forgotten, which is the finest test of chivalry,but it can never commend itself to a high-spirited youth.

  Frank had already won distinction in the field; it was hard to be chosennow for such a doubtful enterprise.

  His worst hour came when he sought Chumru's aid in the matter ofwalnut-juice.

  "What is toward, sahib?" asked the Mohammedan. "Have we not seen enoughof India that we must set forth once more?"

  "This time I go alone," said Frank, sadly. "Perchance I shall not belong absent. You will remain here in charge of my baggage and of certainletters which I shall give you."

  "Why am I cast aside, sahib?"

  "Nay. Say not so. 'Tis a matter that I must deal with myself, and notof my own wish, Chumru. I obey the general-sahib's order."

  "Jan Nikkelsen-sahib Bahadur?"

  "Yes. I would refuse any other. But haste thee, for time presses."

  Chumru went off. He returned in half an hour, to find his master sealinga letter addressed to "Miss Winifred Mayne, to be forwarded, ifpossible, with the Lucknow Relief Force."

  There were others to relatives in England, and Frank tied them in asmall packet.

  "If I do not come back within a week--" he began.

  "Nay, sahib, give not instructions to me in the matter. I go with you."

  "It is impossible."

  "Huzoor, it is the order of Jan Nikkelsen-sahib Bahadur. He says I willbe useful, and he hath promised me another jaghir."

  The Mohammedan's statement was true enough. He had waylaid Nicholson andobtained permission to accompany his master. Like a faithful dog he wasnot to be shaken off, and, in his heart of hearts, Malcolm was glad ofit.

  Their preparations were made with the utmost secrecy. The same men whosold Bahadur Shah's cause to the British were also the professed spiesof the rebels. They were utterly unreliable, yet their tale-bearing inDelhi might bring instant disaster to Malcolm and his native comrade.

  Nejdi was in good condition again after the tremendous exertionsundergone since he carried his master from Lucknow. Malcolm was in twominds whether to take him or not, but the chance that his life mightdepend on a reliable horse, and, perhaps, a touch of the gambler'sbelief in luck, swayed his judgment, and Nejdi was saddled. Chumru rodea spare charger which Malcolm had purchased at the sale of a deadofficer's effects. Fully equipped in their character as rebelnon-commissioned officers, the two ro
de forth, crossed the Jumna,reached the Meerut road unchallenged and turned their horses' headstoward the bridge of boats that debouched beneath the walls of theKing's palace.

  Provided they met some stragglers on the road they meant to enter thecity with the dawn. By skilful expenditure of money on Malcolm's partand the exercise of Chumru's peculiar inventiveness in maintaining aflow of lurid language, they counted on keeping their new-found comradesin tow while they made the tour of the city. The curiosity of strangerswould be quite natural, and Malcolm hoped they might be able to slip outagain with some expedition planned for the night or the next morning.

  Of course, having undertaken an unpleasant duty he intended to carry itthrough. If he did not learn the nature and extent of the enemy'sbatteries, the general dispositions for the defense and the state offeeling among the different sections that composed the rebel garrison,he must perforce remain longer. But that was in the lap of fate. Atpresent he could only plan and contrive to the best of his ability.

  Fortune favored the adventurers at first. They encountered a score ofruffians who had cut themselves adrift from the Gwalior contingent.Among these strangers Chumru was quickly a hero. He beguiled the waywith tales of derring-do in Oudh and the Doab, and discussed the futureof all unbelievers with an amazing gusto. Malcolm, whose head wasshrouded in a gigantic and blood-stained turban, listened with interestto his servant's account of the actions outside Cawnpore and on the roadto Lucknow. It was excellent fooling to hear Chumru detailing thewholesale slaughter of the Nazarenes, while the victors, always thesepoys, found it advisable to fall back on a strategic position manymiles in the rear after each desperate encounter.

  In this hail-fellow-well-met manner the party crossed the bridge, wereinterrogated by a guard at the Water Gate and admitted to the fortress.It chanced that a first-rate feud was in progress, and the officer,whose duty it was to question new arrivals, was taking part in it.

  Money was short in the royal treasury. Many thousands of sepoys hadneither been paid nor fed; there was a quarrel between Mohammedans andHindoos, because the former insisted on slaughtering cattle; and themore respectable citizens were clamoring for protection from therapacity, insolence and lust of the swaggering soldiers.

  That very day matters had reached a climax. Malcolm found a brawling mobin front of the Lahore gate of the palace. He caught Chumru's eye andthe latter appealed to a sepoy for information as to the cause of theracket.

  "The King of Kings hath a quarrel with his son, Mirza Moghul, who is notover pleased with the recent division of the command," was the answer.

  "What, then? Is there more than one chief?"

  "To be sure. Is there not the Council of the Barah Topi? (Twelve Hats.)Are not Bakht Khan and Akhab Khan in charge of brigades? Where hast thoubeen, brother, that these things are not known to thee?"

  "Be patient with me, I pray thee, friend. I and twenty more, whom thouseest here, have ridden in within the hour. We come to join the Jehad,and we are grieved to find a dispute toward when we expected to be ledagainst the infidels."

  The sepoy laughed scornfully.

  "You will see as many fights here as outside the walls," he muttered,and moved off, for men were beginning to guard their tongues in ImperialDelhi.

  A rowdy gang of full five hundred armed mutineers marched up and hustledthe mob right and left as they forced a way to the gate. Their words andattitude betokened trouble. The opportunity was too good to be lost.Malcolm dismounted, gave the reins to Chumru, and told him to wait hisreturn under some trees, somewhat removed from the road, for Akhab Khanhad sharp eyes, and the Mohammedan's grotesque face was well known tohim. Chumru made a fearsome grimace, but Malcolm's order was peremptory.Summoning a fruit-seller, the bearer led the Gwalior men to therendezvous named and distributed mangoes amongst them.

  Frank joined the ruck of the demonstrators and passed through theportals of the magnificent gate. A long, high-roofed arcade, spacious asthe nave of a cathedral, with raised marble platforms for merchants oneach side, gave access to a quadrangle. In the center stood a fountain,and round about were grassy lawns and beds of flowers.

  The sepoys tramped on, heedless of the destruction they caused in thegarden. They passed through the noble Nakar Khana, or music-room, andentered another and larger square, at the further end of which stood theDiwan-i-Am, or Hall of Public Audience.

  Not even in Agra, and certainly not in gaudy Lucknow, had Malcolm seenany structure of such striking architectural effect. The elegant roofwas supported on three rows of red sandstone pillars, adorned withchaste gilding and stucco-work. Open on three sides, the audiencechamber was backed by a wall of white marble, from which a staircase ledto a throne raised about ten feet from the ground and covered with ararely beautiful marble canopy borne on four small pillars.

  The throne was empty, but an attendant appeared through the door at thefoot of the stairs, and announced that the Light of the World wouldreceive his faithful soldiers in a few minutes.

  The impatient warriors snorted their disapproval. They did not like tobe kept waiting, but carried their resentment no further, and Malcolm,with alert eyes and ears, moved about among them, as by that means hehoped to avoid attracting attention.

  Even in that moment of deadly peril he could not help admiring theexquisite skill with which the great marble wall was decorated withmosaics and paintings of the fauna and flora of India. The mosaics werewholly composed of precious stones, and the paintings were executed inrich tints that told of a master hand. There was nothing bizarre orcrude in their conception. They might have adorned some Athenian templein the heyday of Greece, and were wholly free from the stiff drawing andflamboyant coloring usually seen in the East. He did not then know thata renegade Venetian artist, Austin de Bordeaux, had carried out thiswork for Shah Jehan, that great patron of the arts, and in any event,his appreciation of their excellence was spasmodic, for the broken wordshe heard from the excited soldiery warned him that a crisis was imminentin the fortunes of Delhi.

  "Who is he, then, this havildar of gunners from Bareilly?" said one.

  "And the other, Akhab Khan. They say he fought for the Nazarenes atMeerut. Mohammed Latif swears he defended the treasury there," chimed inanother.

  "As for me, I care not who leads. I want my pay."

  "I, too. I have not eaten since sunrise yesterday."

  "We shall get neither food nor money till some one clears those accursedFeringhis off the hill," growled a deep voice close behind Malcolm.

  There was something familiar in the tone. Frank edged away and glancedat the speaker, whom he recognized instantly as a subadar in his own oldregiment.

  But now a craning of necks and a sudden hush of the animated talk showedthat some development was toward. Servants entered with cushions, whichthey disposed round the foot of the throne and at the base of itscanopy. A few nobles and court functionaries lounged in, two gorgeouslyappareled guards came through the doorway, and behind them tottered afeeble old man, robed in white, and wearing on his head an aigrette ofBird of Paradise plumes, fastened with a gold clasp in which sparkled animmense emerald.

  Malcolm had seen Bahadur Shah only once before. He remembered howdecorous and dignified was the Mogul court when Britain paid honor to anancient dynasty. And now, what a change! The aged emperor had to lift atrembling hand to obtain a hearing, while, ever and anon, even duringhis short address, belated officers and troopers clattered in onhorseback, and did not dismount within the precincts of the sacred Hallof Audience itself.

  He began by explaining timorously that while affairs remained in theirpresent unsettled condition he could not arrange matters as he wouldhave wished. He knew that there were arrears of pay and that the foodsupply was irregular.

  "But you do not help me," he said, with some display of spirit."Respectable citizens tell me that you plunder their houses and debauchtheir wives and daughters. I have issued repeated injunctionsprohibiting robbery and oppression in the city, but to no avail."

  He wa
s interrupted with loud murmurs.

  "What matters it about the bazaar-folk, O King," yelled a sepoy. "Wewant food, not a sermon."

  The Emperor seemed to fire up with indignation at the taunt, but he sankinto the chair on the throne. He raised a hand twice to quiet the mob,and at last they allowed him to continue.

  "I am weary and helpless," he said faintly. "I have resolved to make avow to pass the remainder of my life in service acceptable to Allah. Iwill relinquish my title and take the garb of a moullah. I am going tothe shrine of Khwaja Sahib, and thence to Mecca, where I hope to end mysorrowful days."

  This was not the sort of consolation that the mob expected or wanted. Ahowl of execration burst forth, but it was stayed by the entrance of twopeople from the private portion of the palace.

  There was no need that Malcolm should ask who the pale, haughty,beautiful woman was who came and stood by her father's side. RoshinaraBegum did not share the Emperor's dejection. She faced the rebels nowwith the air of one who knew them for the _canaille_ they were. But thatwas only for an instant. A consummate actress, she had a part to play,and she bent and whispered something to Bahadur Shah with a great showof pleased vivacity.

  A man who accompanied her stepped to the front of the throne, and hiswords soon revealed to Malcolm that he was listening to the Shahzada,the heir apparent, Mirza Moghul.

  "Why do you come hither to disturb the King's pious meditations?" hecried angrily. "You were better employed at the batteries, where yourloyal comrades are now firing a salute of twenty-one guns to celebratethe capture of Agra by the Neemuch Brigade."

  He paused. His statement was news to all present, as, indeed, it wellmight be, seeing that it was a lie. But his half petulant, half boastfultone was convincing, and several voices were raised in a cry of"Shabash! Good hearing!"

  "This is no time to create mischief and disunion," he went on loudly."Help is coming from all quarters. Gwalior, Jhansi, Neemuch and Lucknoware sending troops to aid us. In three or four days, if Allah bewilling, the Ridge will be taken, and every one of the base unbelievershumbled and ruined and sent to the fifth circle of hell."

  The man had the actor's trick of making his points. Waiting until anexultant roar of applause had died away, he delivered his most effectivehit.

  "At the very time you dared to burst in on the Emperor's privacy he wasarranging a loan with certain local bankers that will enable all arrearsof pay to be made up. To-day there will be a free issue of cattle, grainand rice. Go, then! Tell these things to all men, and trust to the Kingof Kings and his faithful advisers, of whom I am at once the nearest andthe most obedient, to lead you to victory against the Nazarenes."

  For the hour these brave words sufficed. The sepoys trooped out andMalcolm went with them. A backward glance revealed the princess and herbrother engaged in a conversation with Bahadur Shah and a courtier ortwo. Their gestures and manner of argument did not bear out the joyfultidings brought to the conclave by the Shahzada. Indeed, Frank guessedthat they were soundly rating the miserable monarch for having allowedhimself to speak so plainly to his beloved subjects.

  Malcolm knew there was not a word of truth in Mirza Moghul's briefspeech. The Gwalior contingent had gone to Cawnpore. All the menBareilly had to send had already arrived with Bakht Khan, the "havildarof artillery," who was now the King's right hand man. Jhansi, Neemuchand Lucknow had enough troubles of their own without helping Delhi, and,as for the bankers' aid, it was easy to guess the nature of the "loan"that the Emperor hoped to extract from them.

  Indeed, while Malcolm and Chumru and their new associates were wanderingthrough the streets and making the circuit of the western wall, therewas another incipient riot in the fort. Delay in issuing the promisedrations enraged the hungry troops. A number hurried again to theDiwan-i-Am, clamored for the king's presence, and told him roundly thathe ought to imprison his sons, who, they said, had stolen their pay.

  "If the Treasury does not find the money," was the threat, "we will killyou and all your family, for we are masters."

  This later incident came to Malcolm's ears while Chumru was persuading agrain-dealer to admit that he had some corn hidden away. The sight ofmoney unlocked the man's lips.

  "Would there were more like you in the King's service," he whined. "Ihave not taken a rupee in the way of trade since the huzoors were drivenforth."

  It was easy enough to interpret the unhappy tradesman's real wishes. Hewas pining for the restoration of the British Raj. Every man in Delhi,who had anything to lose, mourned the day that saw the downfall of theSirkar.[22]

  [Footnote 22: The Government.]

  "Affairs go badly, then," Malcolm put in. "Speak freely, friend. We arestrangers, and are minded to go back whence we came, for there is naughtbut misrule in the city so far as we can see."

  "What can you expect from an old man who writes verses when he should bepunishing malefactors?" said the grain-dealer, bitterly anxious to venthis wrongs. "If you would act wisely, sirdar, leave this bewitchedplace. It is given over to devils. I am a Hindu, as you know, but I amworse treated by the Brahmins than by men of your faith."

  "Mayhap you have quarreled with some of the sepoys and have a sorefeeling against them?"

  "Think not so, sirdar. Who am I to make enemies of these lords? Everymerchant in the bazaar is of my mind, and I have suffered less thanmany, for I am a poor man and have no family."

  In response to Chumru's request the grain-dealer allowed the men to cooktheir food in an inner courtyard. While Malcolm extracted additionaldetails as to the chaos that reigned in the city the newcomers fromGwalior consulted among themselves. They had seen enough to be convincedthat there were parts of India much preferable to Delhi for residentialpurposes.

  "Behold, sirdar!" said one of them after they had eaten, "you led us in,and now we pray you lead us out again. There are plenty here to fightthe Feringhis, and we may be more useful at Lucknow."

  Malcolm could have laughed at the strangeness of his position, but hesaw in this request the nucleus of a new method of winning his waybeyond the walls.

  "Bide here," he said gruffly, "until Ali Khan and I return, which wewill surely do ere night. Then we shall consider what steps to take. Atpresent, I am of the same mind as you."

  He wanted to visit the Cashmere Gate and examine its defenses. Then, hebelieved, he would have obtained all the information that Nicholsonrequired. He was certain that Delhi would fall if once the Britishsecured a footing inside the fortifications. The city was seething withdiscontent. Even if left to its own devices it would speedily becomedisrupted by the warring elements within its bounds.

  Chumru and he rode first to the Mori Gate. Thence, by a side road, theyfollowed the wall to the Cashmere Gate. Traveling as rapidly as thecrowded state of the thoroughfare permitted and thus wearing thesemblance of being engaged on some urgent duty, they counted the gunsin each battery and noted their positions.

  Arrived at the Cashmere Gate they loitered there a few minutes. This wasthe key of Delhi. Once it was won, a broad road led straight to theheart of the city, with the palace on one hand and the Chandni Chowk onthe other.

  Malcolm saw with a feeling of unutterable loathing that the mutineershad converted St. James's Church into a stable. Not so had the founder,Colonel James Skinner, treated the religions of the people among whom helived. The legend goes that the gallant soldier, a veteran of theMahratta wars, had married three wives, an Englishwoman, a Mohammedan,and a Hindu. His own religious views were of the nebulous order, but, sosays the story, being hard pressed once in a fight, he vowed to build achurch to his wife's memory if he escaped. His assailants were drivenoff and the vow remained. When he came to give effect to it he waspuzzled to know which wife he should honor, so he built a church, amosque and a temple, each at a corner of the triangular space justwithin the Cashmere Gate.

  Whether the origin of the structures is correctly stated or not, theystand to this day where Skinner's workmen placed them, and it was adastardly act on the part of men
who worshiped in mosque and temple toprofane the hallowed shrine of another and far superior faith.

  Malcolm was sitting motionless on Nejdi, looking at a squad of rebelserecting fascines in front of a new battery on the river side of thegate, when Chumru, whose twisted vision seemed to command all points ofthe compass, saw that the commander of a cavalry guard stationed therewas regarding them curiously.

  "Turn to the right, huzoor," he muttered.

  Malcolm obeyed instantly. The warning note in Chumru's voice was not tobe denied. It would be folly to wait and question him.

  "Now let us canter," said the other, as soon as the horses were fairlyin the main road.

  "You did well, sahib, to move quickly. There was one in the guard yonderwhose eyes grew bigger each second that he looked at you."

  They heard some shouting at the gate. A bend in the road near the ruinedoffices of the _Delhi Gazette_ gave them a chance of increasing the paceto a gallop. There was a long, straight stretch in front, leading pastthe Telegraph Office, the dismantled magazine, and a small cemetery.Then the road turned again, and by a sharp rise gained the elevatedplateau on which stood the fort.

  Glancing over his shoulder at this point, Malcolm caught sight of adozen sowars riding furiously after them. To dissipate any hope thatthey might not be in pursuit, he saw the leader point in his directionand seemingly urge on his comrades. It was impossible to know forcertain what had roused this nest of hornets, though the presence of aman of the 3d Cavalry in the palace that morning was a sinister factthat led to only one conclusion. No matter what the motive, he felt thatChumru and he were trapped. There was no avenue of escape. Whether theywent ahead or made a dash for the city, their pursuers could keep themwell in sight, as their tired horses were incapable of a sustainedeffort at top speed after having been on the move nearly twenty hours.

  He had to decide quickly, and his decision must be governed not bypersonal considerations but by the needs of his country. If he had beenrecognized, the enemy would follow him. Therefore, Chumru might outwitthem were he given a chance.

  "Listen, good friend," he shouted as they clattered up the hill. "Thouseest the tope of trees in front."

  "Yes, sahib."

  "This, then, is my last order, and it must be obeyed. When we reachthose trees we will bear off towards the palace. Pull up there anddismount. Give me the reins of your horse, and hide yourself quicklyamong the trees. I shall ride on, and you may be able to dodge into someditch or nullah till it is dark. Rejoin those men from Gwalior ifpossible, and try to get away from the city. Tell the General-sahib whatyou have seen and that I sent you. Do you understand?"

  "Huzoor!--"

  "Silence! Wouldst thou have me fail in my duty? It is my parting wish,Chumru. There is no time for words. Do as I say, or we both dieuselessly."

  There was no answer. The Mohammedan's eyes blazed with the frenzy of atoo complete comprehension of his master's intent. But now they werebehind the trees, and Malcolm was already checking Nejdi. Chumru flunghimself from the saddle and ran. Cowering amid some shrubs of densefoliage, he watched Malcolm dashing along the road to the Lahore Gate ofthe palace. A minute later the rebels thundered past, and they did notseem to notice that one of the two horses disappearing in the curvedcutting that led to the drawbridge and side entrance of the gate wasriderless.

  Chumru ought to have taken immediate measures to secure his own safety.But he did nothing of the kind. He lay there, watching the hard-ridinghorsemen, and striving most desperately to do them all the harm that theworst sort of malign imprecations could effect. They, in turn, vanishedin the sunken approach to the fortress, and the unhappy bearer wasimagining the horrible fate that had befallen the master, whom he lovedmore than kith or kin, when he saw the same men suddenly reappear andgallop towards the Delhi Gate, which was situated at a considerabledistance.

  Something had happened to disappoint and annoy them--that much he couldgather from their gestures and impassioned speech. Whatever it was,Malcolm-sahib apparently was not dead yet, and while there is life thereis hope.

  Chumru proceeded to disrobe. He kicked off his boots, untied hisputties, threw aside the frock-coat and breeches of a cavalryrissaldar, and stood up in the ordinary white clothing of a nativeservant.

  "Shabash!" muttered he, as he unfastened the military badge in histurban. "There is nothing like a change of clothing to alter a man. NowI can follow my sahib and none be the wiser."

  With that he walked coolly into the roadway and stepped out leisurelytowards the Lahore Gate. But he found the massive door closed and thedrawbridge raised, and a gruff voice bade him begone, as the gate wouldnot be opened until the King's orders were received.