The Red Year Part 11

"Akhab Khan prevented those Shia dogs from shooting you and Mayne-sahib," went on the low murmur. "They said, huzoor, that the Nana wanted the miss-sahib, and that they were fools to help you in taking her away, but Akhab Khan swore he would fight on your honor's side if they unslung their guns. They do not know I heard them as I was sitting behind the mast, and I took care to creep off when their heads were turned toward the sh.o.r.e."

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

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

a.s.suredly, Frank Malcolm's human clay was being tested in the furnace that night. He had to decide instantly what line to follow. In a minute or less the boat would b.u.mp against the lowermost steps, and, if Akhab Khan and his companions were, indeed, traitors, the others on board were completely at their mercy. Mayne was unarmed, Chumru's fighting equipment lay wholly in his aspect, while Malcolm's revolvers were in the holsters, and his sword was tied to Nejdi's saddle, its scabbard and belt having been thrown aside while Abdul Huq was robbing him.

The broad-beamed budgerow presented a strangely accurate microcosm of India at that moment. The English people on her deck were numerically inferior to the natives, and deprived by accident of the arms that might have equalized matters. Their little army was breathing mutiny, but was itself divided, if Chumru were not mistaken, seeing that all were for revolt, but one held out that the Feringhis' lives should be spared.

And, even there, the cruel dilemma that offered itself to the ruler of every European community in the country was not to be avoided, for, if Malcolm tried to obtain his weapons his action might be the signal for a murderous attack, while, if he made no move, he left it entirely at the troopers' discretion whether or not he and Mayne should be shot down without the power to strike a blow in self-defense.

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

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

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

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

He was facing the three men, and his order was a quite natural one under the circ.u.mstances. Obviously, he meant to help. Stretching their arms for a long and strong stroke, they laid on with a will. Instantly, he pressed the oar downwards, thus forcing the blade out of the water, and threw all his strength into its unexpected yielding. Before they could so much as utter a yell, Akhab Khan and another were swept headlong into the river, while the third man lay on his back on the deck with Frank on top of him. The simplicity of the maneuver insured its success. Neither Mayne nor Winifred understood what had happened until Malcolm had disarmed the trooper, taken his cartridge pouch, and thrown him overboard to sink or swim as fate might direct. He regretted the loss of Akhab Khan, but he recalled the queer expression on the man's face when he read Bahadur Shah's sonorous t.i.tles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then, sahib, I can still show my grat.i.tude. If you would save the miss-sahib, do not land here. The Magazine has been taken. The cavalry have looted the Treasury. All the sahib-log have fallen."

"Is this a true thing that thou sayest?"

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

By this time Mayne was at Frank's side.

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

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

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

"Huzoor, I shall not betray you."

"Go, then."

He drew the man through the water until his feet touched the steps.

Climbing up unsteadily, Akhab Khan disappeared in the gloom. Then they waited in silence. The heavy breath of the bazaar was pungent in their nostrils, and, for a few seconds, they listened to the trooper's retreating footsteps. Frank leaped ash.o.r.e and pushed the boat off, while Mayne held her by jamming the leeward oar into the mud. It was best to make sure.

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

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

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

There was another moment of tense silence.

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

"It would not be for the first time," said Malcolm coldly. "But I could never trust thee again. Yet hast thou chosen wrongly, Akhab Khan. When thy day of reckoning comes, may it be remembered in thy favor that thou didst turn most unwillingly against thy masters!"

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

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

"How goes the good work, brother?"

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

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

Mayne caught Frank by the arm.

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

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

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

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

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