On the Face of the Waters Part 44

"There have been too many mistakes of that sort," said an older voice, breaking the silence. "I wish to G.o.d some of us would think a bit.

What would our lives be without our servants, who, let us remember, outnumber us by ten to one? If they weren't faithful----"

"Not quite so many, Colonel," remarked the Doctor with a nod of approval. "Twenty families came to the Brigade-major to-day with their bundles, and told him they preferred the quiet of home to the distraction of camp. I don't wonder."

"It is all their own fault," broke in an angry young voice, "why did they----"

And so began one of the arguments, so common in camp, as to the right of revenge pure and simple. Arguments fostered by the newspapers, where, every day, letters appeared from "Spartacus," or "Fiat Just.i.tia," or some such _nom de plume_. Letters all alike in one thing, that they quoted texts of Scripture. Notably one about a daughter of Babylon and the blessedness of throwing children on stones.

But Major Erlton did not stop to listen to it. The ethics of the question did not interest him, and in truth mere revenge was lost in him in the desire, not so much to kill, as to fight. To go on hacking and hewing for ever and ever. As he drifted on smoking his cigar he thought quite kindly of the poor devils of gra.s.s-cutters who really worked uncommonly well; just, in fact, as if nothing had happened. So did the old khansaman, and the sweeper who had come back to him on his return to the Ridge, saying that the Huzoor would find the tale of chickens complete. And the garden of the ruined house near the Flagstaff Tower whither his feet led him unconsciously, as they often did of an evening, was kept tidy; the gardener--when he saw the tall figure approaching--going over to a rose-bush, which, now that the rain had fallen, was new budding with white buds, and picking him a b.u.t.tonhole. He sat down on the plinth of the veranda twiddling it idly in his fingers as he looked out over the panorama of the eastern plains, the curving river, and the city with the white dome of the mosque hanging unsupported above the smoke and mist wreaths. For now, at sunsetting, the sky was a ma.s.s of rose-red and violet cloud and a white steam rose from the dripping trees and the moist ground. It was a perfect picture. But he only saw the city. That, to him, was India.

That filled his eye. The wide plains east and west, north and south, where the recent rain had driven every thought save one of a harvest to come, from the minds of millions, where the master meant simply the claimer of revenue, might have been non-existent so far as he, and his like, were concerned.

Yet even for the city he had no definite conception. He merely looked at it idly, then at the rosebud he held. And that reminding him of a certain white marble cross with "Thy will be done" on it, he rose suddenly, almost impatiently. But there was no resignation in _his_ face, as he wandered toward the batteries again with the white flower of a blameless life stuck in his old flannel coat and a strange conglomerate of pity and pa.s.sion in his heart, while the city--as the light faded--grew more and more like the clouds above it, rose-red and purple; until, in the distance, it seemed a city of dreams.

In truth it was so still, despite the clangor of bugles and fifes which Bukht Khan brought with him when, on the 1st of July, he crossed the swollen river in boats with five thousand mutineers. A square-shouldered man was Bukht Khan, with a broad face and ma.s.sive beard; a ma.s.sive sonorous voice to match. A man of the Cromwell type, of the church militant, disciplinarian to the back-bone, believing in drill, yet with an eye to a Providence above platoon exercise. And there was no lack of soldiers to drill in Delhi by this time. They came in squads and battalions, to jostle each other in the streets and overflow into the camp on the southern side of the city; that furthest from the obstinate colony on the Ridge. But first they flung themselves against it in all the ardor of new brooms, and failing to sweep the barnacles away, subsided into the general state of dreaminess and drugs. For the bugles and fifes could always be disobeyed on the plea that they were not sounded by the right Commander-in-Chief. There were three of them now. Bukht Khan the Queen's nominee, Mirza Moghul, and another son of the King's, Khair Sultan. So that Abool-Bukr's maudlin regrets for possible office became acute, and Newasi's despairing hold on his hand had to gain strength from every influence she could bring to bear upon it. Even drunkenness and debauchery were safer than intrigue, to that vision of retribution which seemed to have left him, and taken to haunting her day and night. So she held him fast, and when he was not there wept and prayed, and listened hollow-eyed to a Moulvie who preached at the neighboring mosque; a man who preached a judgment.

"Thou art losing thy looks, mine Aunt," said the Prince to her one day. Not unkindly; on the contrary, almost tenderly. "Dost know, Newasi, thou art more woman than most, for thou dost brave all things, even loss of good name--for I swear even these Mufti folk complain of thee--for nothing. None other I know would do it, so I would not have it--for something. Yet some day we shall quarrel over it; some day thy patience will go; some day thou wilt be as others, thinking of thyself; and then----"

"And then, nephew?" she asked coldly.

He laughed, mimicking her tone. "And then I shall grow tired and go mine own way to mine own end."

In the meantime, however, the thrummings and drummings went on until Kate Erlton, watching a sick bed hard by, felt as if she must send round and beg for quiet. It seemed quite natural she should do so, for she was completely absorbed over that patient of hers, who, without being seriously ill, would not get better. Who pa.s.sed from one relapse of fever to another with a listless impatience, and now, nearly a month after he had stumbled over the threshold, lay barely convalescent. It had been a strange month. Stranger even than the previous one, when she had dragged through the lonely days as best she could, and he had wandered in and out restlessly, full of strain and stress. If even that had been a curious linking of their fates, what was this when she tended him day and night, when the weeks slipped by securely, almost ignorantly? For though Soma came every day to inquire after the master, standing at the door to salute to her, spick and span in full uniform, he brought no disturbing news.

It seemed to her, now, that she had known Jim Douglas all his life.

And in truth she had learned something of the real man during the few days of delirium consequent on the violent inflammation which set in on the injured ankle. But for the most part he had muttered and moaned in liquid Persian. He had always spoken it with Zora, who had been taught it as part of her attractions, and no doubt it was the jingle of the jewels as Kate tended him, which reminded him of that particular part of his life.

By the time he came to himself, however, she had removed all the fineries, finding them in the way; save the heavy gold bangle which would not come off--at least not without help. He used to watch it half confusedly at first as it slipped up and down her arm, and wondered why she had not asked Tara to take it off for her; but he grew rather to like the look of it; to fancy that she had kept it on on purpose, to be glad that she had; though it was distinctly hard when she raised him up on his pillows! For, after all, fate linked them strangely, and he was grateful to her--very grateful.

"You are laughing at me," she said one morning as she came up to his bed, with a tray improvised out of a bra.s.s platter, and found him smiling.

"I have been laughing at you all the morning, when I haven't been grumbling," he replied, "at you and the chicken tea, and that little fringed business, to do duty as a napkin, I suppose, and the fly-paper--which isn't the least use, by the way, and I'm sure I could make a better one--and the mosquito net to give additional protection to my beauty when I fall asleep. Who could help laughing at it?"

She looked at him reproachfully. "But it makes you more comfortable, surely?"

"Comfortable," he echoed, "my dear lady! It is a perfect convalescent home!"

But in the silence which followed his right hand clenched itself over a fold in the quilt unmistakably.

"If you will take your chicken tea," she replied cheer-fully, despite a faint tremble in her voice, "you will soon get out of it. And really, Mr. Greyman, you don't seem to have lost any chance. Soma is not very communicative, but everything seems as it was. I never keep back anything from you. But, indeed, the chief thing in the city seems that there is no money to pay the soldiers. Do you know, I'm afraid Soma must loot the shops like the others. He seems to get things for nothing; though of course they are extraordinarily cheap. When I was a mem I used to pay twice as much for eggs."

He interrupted her with a laugh that had a tinge of bitterness in it.

"Do you happen to know the story of the Jew who was eating ham during a thunderstorm, Mrs. Erlton?"

She shook her head, smiling, being accustomed by this time to his unsparing, rather reckless ridicule.

"He looked up and said, 'All this fuss about a little bit of pork.' So all this fuss has taught you the price of eggs. Upon my word! it is worse than the convalescent home!" He lay back upon his pillows with a half-irritated weariness.

"I have learned more than that, surely----" she began.

"Learned!" he echoed sharply. "You've learned everything, my dear lady, necessary to salvation. That's the worst of it! Your chatter to Tara--I hear when you think I am asleep. You draw your veil over your face when the water-carrier comes to fill the pots as if you had been born on a housetop. You--Mrs. Erlton! If I were not a helpless idiot I could pa.s.s you out of the city to-morrow, I believe. It isn't your fault any longer. It's mine, and Heaven only knows how long. Oh!

confound that thrumming and drumming. It gets on my nerves--my nerves!--pshaw!"

It was then that Kate declared that she would really send Tara----

"Mrs. Erlton presents her compliments to the Princess Farkhoonda Zamani, and will be obliged," jested Jim Douglas; then paused, in truth more irritated than amused, despite the humor on his face. And suddenly he appealed to her almost pitifully, "Mrs. Erlton! if anyone had told you it would be like this--your chance and mine--when the world outside us was alive--was struggling for life--would you--would you have believed it?"

She bent to push the chicken tea to a securer position. "No," she said softly; then to change the subject, added, "How white your hands are getting again! I must put some more stain on them, I suppose." She spoke regretfully, though she did not mind putting it on her own. But he looked at the whiteness with distinct distaste.

"It is with doing nothing and lying like a log. Well! I suppose I shall wake from the dream some day, and then the moment I can walk----"

"There will be an end of peace," she interrupted, quite resolutely. "I know it is very hard for you to lie still, but really you must see how much safer and smoother life has been since you were forced to give in to Fate."

"And Kate," he muttered crossly under his breath. But she heard it, and bit her lip to prevent a tender smile as she went off to give an order to Tara. For the vein of almost boyish mischief and lighthearted recklessness which showed in him at times always made her think how charming he must have been before the cloud shadowed his life.

"The master is much better to-day, Tara," she said cheerfully. "I really think the fever has gone for good."

"Then he will soon be able to take the mem away," replied the woman quickly.

"Are you in such a hurry to get rid of me?" asked Kate with a smile, for she had grown fond of the tall, stately creature, with her solemn airs of duty, and absolute disregard of anything which came in its way. The intensity of the emotion which swept over the face, which was usually calm as a bronze statue, startled Kate.

"Of a truth I shall be glad to go back. The Huzoors' life is not my life, their death not my death."

It was as if the woman's whole nature had recoiled, as one might recoil from a snake in the path, and a chill struck Kate Erlton's heart, as she realized on how frail a foundation peace and security rested. A look, a word, might bring death. It seemed to her incredible that she should have forgotten this, but she had. She had almost forgotten that they were living in a beleagured city, though the reverberating roll of artillery, the rush and roar of sh.e.l.ls, and the crackle of musketry never ceased for more than a few hours at a time.

She was not alone, however, in her forgetfulness. Half Delhi had become accustomed to cannon, to bugles and fifes, and went on its daily round indifferently. But in the Palace the dream grew ominously thin once or twice. For not a fraction remained in the Treasury, no effort to collect revenue had been made anywhere, and fat Mahb.o.o.b, the only man who knew how to screw money out of a stone, lay dying of dropsy. And as he lay, the mists of personal interest in the future dispersing, he told his old master, the King, some home truths privately, while Ahsan-Oolah, the physician, administering cooling draughts as usual, added his wisdom to the eunuch's. There was no hope where there was no money. Life was not worth living without a regular pension. Let the King secure his and secure pardon while there was yet time, by sending a letter to the General on the Ridge, and offering to let the English in by Selimgarh and betray the city. When all was said and done, others had betrayed _him_, had forced _his_ hand; so let him save himself if he could, quietly, without a word to any but Ahsan-Oolah. Above all, not one word to Zeenut Maihl, Hussan Askuri, and Bukht Khan--that Trinity of Dreams!

With which words of wisdom mayhap lightening his load of sins, the fat eunuch left the court once and for all. So the old King, as he sat listening to the quarrels of his Commander-in-Chief, had other consolation besides couplets; and when he wrote

"No peace, no rest, since armies round me riot, Life lingers yet, but ere long I shall die o't,"

he knew--though his yellow, wax-like mask hid the knowledge from all--that a chance of escape remained.

The old King's letter reached the Ridge easily. There was no difficulty in communication now. Spies were plentiful, and if Jim Douglas had been able to get about, he could have set Major Erlton's mind at rest without delay. But Soma positively refused to be a go-between; to do anything, in short, save secure the master's safety.

And the offer of betrayal arrived when the man who held command of the Ridge felt uncertain of the future; all the more so because of the telegrams, the letters--almost the orders--which came pouring in to take Delhi--to take it at once! Early in the month, the gamester's throw of a.s.sault had been revived with the arrival of reinforcements, only to be abandoned once more, within an hour of the appointed time, in favor of the grip-of-death. But now, though the whisper had gone no further than the General's tent, a third possibility was allowed--retreat. The six thousand were dwindling day by day, the men were half dead with picket duty, wearied out with needless skirmishes, crushed by the tyranny of bugles and fifes.

If this then could be? There was no lack of desire to believe it possible; but Greathed of the politicals, and Sir Theophilus Metcalfe shook their heads doubtfully. Hodson, they said, had better be consulted. So the tall man with the blue hawk's eyes, who had lost his temper many times since that dawn of the 12th of June, when the first a.s.sault had hung fire, was asked for his opinion.

"We had a chance at the beginning," he said. "We could have a chance now, if there was someone--but that is beside the question. As for this, it is not worth the paper it is written on. The King has no power to fulfill his promise. He is virtually a prisoner himself. That is the truth. But don't send an answer. Refer it, and keep him quiet."

"And retreat?"

"Retreat is impossible, sir. It would lose us India."

"Any news, Hodson?" asked Major Erlton, meeting the free-lance as he rode back to his tent after his fashion, with loose rein and loose seat, unkempt, undeviating, with an eye for any and every advantage.

"None."