The Dilemma/Chapter XXI
CHAPTER XXI.
The night wore on, the glare from the burning cantonments growing ever brighter, till the rays of coming dawn mingled with it. The ladies sat or stood in the drawing-room, or went on the roof to watch the conflagration, finding even at such a time a sort of pleasure in discussing the particulars of their flight, and comparing notes on the property they had brought away; while of the men, some, organized in a little company, patrolled the park, and some rode down the road towards cantonments to see if they could get any tidings of the two missing fugitives.
At last the day arrived to throw its light on the strange-looking group which had escaped the shipwreck of the night — the pallid, dishevelled ladies, the bundles of clothing littering the well-ordered room; outside an equal contrast between the peaceful aspect of the grounds and the condition of the house itself, with the verandas blocked up with sand-bags, and covered with dust and earth, the hasty trenches dug round it, and the tools scattered about, left by the workmen overnight on the scene of their unfinished task.
Soon as the daylight became stronger a strange thing was discerned — a party of sepoys mounting guard over the tents still left standing by the court-house; and to Yorke advancing to discover what this meant, a corporal came down the road to salute and explain matters. There had been a split in the camp, it appeared, and this little party of seventeen men in all had parted with their comrades, and come back to be true to their salt. The detachment, in their hurry to be off, had left their tents standing, and Yorke's, with all his little property, was untouched, and his horse was still standing picketed under a tree. Yet the men, as York went up to greet and praise them, did not seem very proud of their behaviour, and their manner was as if they rather looked to be suspected. A few spirited words from Falkland, however, who had come down on hearing the news, seemed to put them more at their ease. He told Yorke to move them up to the residency. "Let us show perfect confidence in them," he said, "for they deserve it."
"Good gracious! you are surely not going to let those villains come here!" cried Mrs. Polwheedle, as from the portico steps she saw the little party marching up with Yorke at their head. "Stuff and nonsense about loyalty. Loyalty, indeed! Don't talk to me about loyalty," she continued, as Colonel Falkland explained the circumstances; "it's a mere trap for springing upon us and murdering us when we are not expecting it. I am as sure of it as that my name is Martha Polwheedle. The brigadier mustn't allow it. Where is Polwheedle?" And while the lady bustled away in search of her husband, who was trying to recover his dazed senses by pouring water on his head in an adjacent room, Falkland established the sepoys as main guard in the portico, placing Major Peart in command of it, and detaching a couple of sentries to the court-house.
Meanwhile the business of the day was ushered in by the servants bringing tea for the party, just as if nothing had happened, and Falkland set to work to organize matters. While some of the officers were attached to the guard, a part of them rode with him, attended by the half-dozen of the nawab's horsemen whom he still retained about him, through the city, which so far remained quiet; and Falkland had notices posted up inviting all able-bodied men to come forward and enroll themselves in a levy he meant to raise forthwith, and they paid a visit to the nawab at his palace. "A curious state of things we have arrived at," he said on his return to Yorke, who had been left in charge of the working parties; "to be dependent for our lives on the man whom we have dethroned, and who has most reason to hate us. The nawab has only to hold up his hand, and all the scum of the city would rise in an instant, and there would be a speedy end of the business as far as we are concerned. It must be a strong temptation to the poor little man to take his revenge, but I think he believes in our eventual success; at any rate his minister does, and is prepared to be stanch. But there is a strong opposition party in the palace headed by his brother, who is in active communication with the mutineers; so we cannot answer for the result of an hour. However, every hour gained is something. It is well I sent the detachment of his troops away except these half-dozen; they would certainly have fraternized with the mutineers if they had stopped at the residency."
While the rest of the party were thus engaged, Egan and M'Intyre of the 80th rode down to cantonments to see how things looked there, returning in a couple of hours with their report. Every house in the place was in ruins, nothing remaining but the charred walls, while the gardens were strewn with papers and rubbish not worth carrying off. There was not a sepoy to be seen, but pillagers were wandering about in every direction, camp-followers from the bazaar or people from the surrounding villages, and the place where they had all lived in more complete security than could be found in any other part of the world was now the scene of utter anarchy. Riding round to the bazaar at the back of the station, they found things there were just as bad, the place full of people — armed, some apparently for self-protection, others wandering about in search of plunder. As soon as they were perceived they were received with howls and execrations; and in attempting to push their way towards the police station they were fired upon down the street, the shots coming apparently from that building, and they were forced to retire. Returning back by way of the deserted native lines, they came upon the body of the colonel of the 80th, lying stiff and stark on the parade, just as he must have fallen the night before, his glazed eyes staring upwards at the blazing sun. No help could be got for removing the corpse, and again the plunderers, seeing the young men halted, began to collect in a threatening way, and the latter were fain to ride away, leaving it there to be devoured by the village dogs and jackals.
Within the house the ladies, unable to realize the situation, or to settle down to it, spent the long day in disjointed talk, the most active lively part being taken by Mrs. Polwheedle, whose indignation sustained her while others were anxious and depressed, and who recounted more than once to the listeners her experiences of the last few days. "Brigadier," I said to Polwheedle, "as sure as my name is Martha Polwheedle, these villains will rise suddenly and murder us all, unless you are beforehand with them; retire with the Europeans and take up a position. That is the thing to do as a brigadier and a military man; retire, and take up a position. But the brigadier wouldn't do anything, and my words have come true, sure enough."
"You don't understand these things, my dear," said the gentleman referred to, who lay on a couch with a basin of water beside him, in which he was dipping a handkerchief and applying it to his forehead — "you don't understand these things, my dear. It was not a purely military question; there were other considerations besides. I am sure I did everything for the best," added the poor gentleman, dabbing the wet cloth with energy on his temples.
"Fiddlestick for your considerations!" replied the lady; "much consideration the villains showed us. I know if I hadn't insisted upon having the carriage kept ready, for all you said about showing confidence and not making preparations, we should have been murdered in our beds; and if I hadn't seen to having a few things packed up and put into it beforehand, you wouldn't have a clean shirt to your back, any more than Major Peart there, who has only got what he stands in. However, here comes tiffin; it's well the commissioner's servants have not run away as well as all the rest." And indeed an array of attendants now entered to make preparations for the mid-day meal, pretty much as if nothing had happened save that their attire wanted the usual accompaniments of waistbands and turbans, and was otherwise somewhat slovenly. But the commissioner was absent in the city; and Olivia, as she invited her guests to seat themselves at table, was too distraught with anxiety to notice the omission.
Towards evening, when Falkland returned home from a second excursion with his party, hot and dusty, he was able to report that things still looked quiet. The nawab's guards were doing their duty; some of the runaway police had returned to their posts; and the fresh levy he had raised amounted to about two hundred men, many of them the biggest scoundrels in the place, but there were not arms for more than a few of them at present to do any mischief with, and by the promise of high pay they might be kept out of mischief for a time. The worst thing was that there was no news of relief coming, or indeed news of any kind from any quarter. It looked as if the whole country was up, for messengers must certainly have been despatched from the settled districts.
The gentlemen partook of a scrambling meal, and then the watch was set for the night. The ladies were accommodated in Olivia's rooms; the gentlemen not on duty slept on the gravel paths outside the portico, for the heat inside the house was stifling, the sandbag wall round the veranda — now almost completed — stopping all ingress of air. Yorke's turn of watch was from eight to midnight; when relieved he lay down on a vacant cot and was soon fast asleep, tired out with the excitement and want of rest of the last forty-eight hours.
It was just dawn when he was awakened by the tramp of horses and sound of voices, and he jumped up, thinking that an attack was being made, but soon recognized his friend Spragge, who was sitting on his pony close to his bed, with other officers of the 76th, recounting their escape to their friends on watch. The regiment had reached Johtuck, thirty miles from Mustaphabad, by a forced march, on the morning after they started; and the next day was passed quietly in camp outside the town. The following night — the same in which the outbreak occurred at the latter place — they were suddenly aroused, as they lay on their beds outside their tents, by the crack of musketry and the whizzing of bullets. Some sepoys, clustered in little groups by their own tents, were deliberately firing at their officers from a distance of about thirty yards. The latter at once made for their horses, which were standing ready saddled in the rear. "Some of the grooms had bolted," said Jerry; "and small blame to them, for they were getting what was meant for us; but my fellow held on to my tat, which was plunging and backing from the noise, like a man, which, considering the many lickings the poor beggar had had, was very creditable to him. I gave him ten rupees as soon as I could get on the pony's back, and told him to fish for himself as best he could, and then I began to make tracks after the others; and I think we should all have begun to skedaddle, when Braddon calls out, 'Steady, boys — there's no hurry; let us retire slowly to the right flank, not too close together, but keeping each other in view;' and so we were riding off at a foot-pace, when little Raugh calls out, 'My pony's shot!' 'Catch hold of my stirrup, Johnny,' says Braddon, turning round, 'and then I'll give you a lift as soon as we are out of this.' 'Holloa!' says Braddon, presently, 'here's the major in difficulties;' and sure enough there was old Bumble's horse turning round and round, frightened at the bullets, I suppose; and the groom had bolted, and the poor old major was trying in vain to get his foot into the stirrup: and in about half a minute the horse had got loose and was galloping off into space. 'We mustn't desert our commanding officer,' says Braddon to me. 'Look here, Jerry; just bear a hand, and I'll give the poor old chap a lift in my dog-cart.' So he jumps off his horse as cool as a cucumber, tells Johnny to mount it and be off, and puts his mare, which was standing picketed there with her harness on, into the dog-cart. I had to help a bit, you know, for the mare was precious fidgety — as well she might be — for the bullets were coming in pretty thick, I can tell you. Why those brutes of sepoys didn't come up and finish us off, I am sure I can't tell; but no, the cowardly beggars stood by their own tents, potting away, missing us over and over again at thirty yards. Perhaps they didn't want to hit us after all, but only to frighten us — at any rate, we all got off scot-free. But will you believe it, the poor old major could hardly get into the dog-cart when it was ready; there was Braddon at the reins, talking to the mare as she jumped about, and saying, 'Now then, major — damn it, major, do please make a spring, — there is really no time to be lost;' and there was the old major, bobbing up and down, and always jumping short. It was the richest thing you ever saw; I should have been ready to die with laughing if I hadn't been in such a precious funk. At last I gave the major a hoist, and he just managed to get into the back seat of the cart — enough to lift the mare off her feet almost — Braddon jumped up in front, and I mounted my pony again, and away we all came, and not a soul of us touched. We should have been here yesterday, but early in the morning we saw some horsemen in the distance who looked very like irregular cavalry, so we took shelter for the day in a village. The people were civil enough — perhaps because we were a good-sized party, and well armed; and we got flour and milk, and food for our horses. Braddon wouldn't let a single villager leave the place during the day lest they should convey intelligence of our being there, and at night we came away.
"Braddon gave all the orders, for the major was regularly scared, and poor old Passey was quite knocked up with the heat and the marching. Twice the blessed dog-cart got upset in the dark, going across the country, and once we came to a watercourse, and had to go several miles out of our way to find a place to cross. Such a scene as the country was, too; the villagers up everywhere, and apparently having out all the quarrels of the last hundred years. Fires and firing in every direction. At last, steering by the stars, we came in upon the trunk road, and then it was all plain sailing, and we could push on. We passed through the cantonments, which were silent and deserted — it seemed so strange to be riding in this way past our own houses, and I should have liked to look in at our shop and see that the thieves had left a clean shirt or two, but Braddon would not allow of any loitering, and the moonlight showed plainly enough that all the bungalows had been fired. So here we are, Arty, my boy, safe and sound the whole of us; I have got just ten dibs in my pocket, and not a rag to my name but what I am standing in. I say, by Jove, what fools we were not to invest in revolvers while we had the chance! I wonder if it's possible to get anything to drink."
The coming of the fugitives caused quite a revival of good spirits. The ladies came out with greetings at their escape, and busied themselves with serving out tea and food to the wearied travellers, and Yorke and the others who still possessed wardrobes supplied them with a change of raiment, while the commissioner's washermen were put in requisition to rehabilitate their own; and leaving the new arrivals to rest themselves, a part of the others set out to patrol the city. But there was a revulsion of feeling, when later in the morning two officers of the 82d, the third of the three regiments which had garrisoned Mustaphabad, and which had been detached to Meharunpoor, rode up, faint and weary, to the residency. Their story was nearly the same as that of the officers of the 76th. Their men had risen almost at the same time, but the officers had not been so fortunate. Two at least were seen to fall before they could mount their horses; the others, riding away into the night, got separated, and never came together again. These two only found their way to the rendezvous; the remainder, although looked for all day anxiously, were never again seen by their fellow-countrymen; whether shot by their own sepoys, or murdered afterwards by village marauders, their bodies lay somewhere festering in the sun, among the numerous victims of the times whose precise fate was never ascertained, denied even the rude and speedy funeral rites of death on the battle-field.