Henty George Alfred
Rujub, the Juggler
The latter was so occupied that he had not noticed Bathurst, who had suddenly risen to his feet, and just as Wilson was about to grasp him and pull him down, leaped over the sandbag in front of him down among the mutineers. The Major gave a swing to the canister, of which the fuse was already lighted, and hurled it through the breach among the crowd, who, ignorant of what was going on inside, were still struggling to enter.
“Look out,” he shouted to the others; “mind how you throw. Bathurst is down in the middle of them. Hand up all the muskets you have loaded,” he cried to the servants.
As he spoke he swung another canister through the breach, and almost immediately two heavy explosions followed, one close upon the other.
“Give them a volley at the breach,” he shouted; “never mind those below.”
The muskets were fired as soon as received.
“Now to your feet,” the Major cried, “and give them the brickbats,” and as he stood up he hurled two more canisters among the crowd behind the breach. The others sprang up with a cheer. The inclosure below them was shallower now from the number that had fallen, and was filled with a confused mass of struggling men. In their midst was Bathurst fighting desperately with his short weapon, and bringing down a man at every blow, the mutineers being too crowded together to use their unfixed bayonets against him. In a moment Captain Forster leaped down, sword in hand, and joined Bathurst in the fight.
“Stand steady,” the Major shouted; “don’t let another man move.”
But the missiles still rained down with an occasional shot, as the rifles were handed up by the natives, while the Doctor and Farquharson kept up an almost continuous fire from the terrace. Then the two last canisters thrown by the Major exploded. The first two had carried havoc among the crowd behind the breach, these completed their confusion, and they turned and fled; while those in the retrenchment, relieved of the pressure from behind, at once turned, and flying through the breach, followed their companions.
A loud cheer broke from the garrison, and the Major looking round saw the Doctor standing by the parapet waving his hat, while Isobel stood beside him looking down at the scene of conflict.
“Lie down, Isobel,” he shouted; “they will be opening fire again directly.”
The girl disappeared, and almost at the same moment the batteries spoke out again, and a crackle of the musketry began from the gardens. The Major turned round. Bathurst was leaning against the wall breathing heavily after his exertions, Forster was coolly wiping his sword on the tunic of one of the fallen Sepoys.
“Are either of you hurt?” he asked.
“I am not hurt to speak of,” Forster said; “I got a rip with a bayonet as I jumped down, but I don’t think it is of any consequence.”
“How are you, Bathurst?” the Major repeated. “What on earth possessed you to jump down like that?”
“I don’t know, Major; I had to do something, and when you stopped firing I felt it was time for me to do my share.”
“You have done more than your share, I should say,” the Major said; “for they went down like ninepins before you. Now, Wilson, you take one of his hands, and I will take the other, and help him up.”
It needed considerable exertion to get him up, for the reaction had now come, and he was scarce able to stand.
“You had better go up to the house and get a glass of wine,” the Major said. “Now, is anyone else hurt?”
“I am hit, Major,” Richards said quietly; “a ball came in between the sandbags just as I fired my first shot, and smashed my right shoulder. I think I have not been much good since, though I have been firing from my left as well as I could. I think I will go up and get the Doctor to look at it.”
But almost as he spoke the young fellow tottered, and would have fallen, had not the Major caught him.
“Lend me a hand, Doolan,” the latter said; “we will carry him in; I am afraid he is very hard hit.”
The ladies gathered round the Major and Captain Doolan as they entered with their burden. Mary Hunter had already run down and told them that the attack had been repulsed and the enemy had retreated.
“Nobody else is hit,” the Major said, as he entered; “at least, not seriously. The enemy have been handsomely beaten with such loss that they won’t be in a hurry to try again. Will one of you run up and bring the Doctor down?”
Richards was carried into the hospital room, where he was left to the care of the Doctor, Mrs. Hunter, and Mrs. Rintoul. The Major returned to the general room.
“Boy, bring half a dozen bottles of champagne and open them as quickly as you can,” he said; “we have got enough to last us for weeks, and this is an occasion to celebrate, and I think we have all earned it.”
The others were by this time coming in, for there was no chance of the enemy renewing the attack at present. Farquharson was on the roof on the lookout. Quiet greetings were exchanged between wives and husbands.
“It didn’t last long,” Wilson said; “not above five minutes, I should say, from the time when we opened fire.”
“It seemed to us an age,” Amy Hunter replied; “it was dreadful not to be able to see what was going on; it seemed to me everyone must be killed with all that firing.”
“It was sharp while it lasted,” the Major said; “but we were all snug enough except against a stray bullet, such as that which hit poor young Richards. He behaved very gallantly, and none of us knew he was hit till it was all over.”
“But how did Captain Forster get his bayonet wound?” Mrs. Doolan asked. “I saw him go in just now into the surgery; it seemed to me he had a very serious wound, for his jacket was cut from the breast up to the shoulder, and he was bleeding terribly, though he made light of it.”
“He jumped down into the middle of them,” the Major said. “Bathurst jumped down first, and was fighting like a madman with a mace he has got. We could do nothing, for we were afraid of hitting him, and Forster jumped down to help him, and, as he did so, got that rip with the bayonet; it is a nasty cut, no doubt, but it is only a flesh wound.”
“Where is Mr. Bathurst?” Mrs. Doolan asked; “is he hurt, too? Why did he jump down? I should not have thought,” and she stopped.
“I fancy a sort of fury seized him,” the Major said; “but whatever it was, he fought like a giant. He is a powerful man, and that iron mace is just the thing for such work. The natives went down like ninepins before him. No, I don’t think he is hurt.”
“I will go out and see,” Mrs. Doolan said; and taking a mug half full of champagne from the table, she went out.
Bathurst was sitting on the ground leaning against the wall of the house.
“You are not hurt, Mr. Bathurst, I hope,” Mrs. Doolan said, as she came up. “No, don’t try to get up, drink a little of this; we are celebrating our victory by opening a case of champagne. The Major tells us you have been distinguishing yourself greatly.”
Bathurst drank some of the wine before he replied.
“In a way, Mrs. Doolan, I scarcely know what I did do. I wanted to do something, even if it was only to get killed.”
“You must not talk like that,” she said kindly; “your life is as valuable as any here, and you know that we all like and esteem you; and, at any rate, you have shown today that you have plenty of courage.”
“The courage of a Malay running amuck, Mrs. Doolan; that is not courage, it is madness. You cannot tell—no one can tell—what I have suffered since the siege began. The humiliation of knowing that I alone of the men here am unable to take my part in the defense, and that while others are fighting I am useful only to work as a miner.”
“But you are as useful in that way as you would be in the other,” she said. “I don’t feel humiliated because I can only help in nursing the sick while the others are fighting for us. We have all of us our gifts. Few men have more than you. You have courage and coolness in other ways, and you are wrong to care nothing for your life because of the failing, for which you are not accountable, of your nerves to stand the sound of firearms.. I can understand your feelings and sympathize with you, but it is of no use to exaggerate the importance of such a matter. You might live a thousand lives without being again in a position when such a failing would be of the slightest importance, one way or the other. Now come in with me. Certainly this is not the moment for you to give way about it; for whatever your feelings may have been, or whatever may have impelled you to the act, you have on this occasion fought nobly.”
“Not nobly, Mrs. Doolan,” he said, rising to his feet; “desperately, or madly, if you like.”
At this moment Wilson came out. “Halloa, Bathurst, what are doing here? Breakfast is just ready, and everyone is asking for you. I am sure you must want something after your exertions. You should have seen him laying about him with that iron mace, Mrs. Doolan.. I have seen him using the pick, and knew how strong he was, but I was astonished, I can tell you. It was a sort of Coeur de Lion business. He used to use a mace, you know, and once rode through the Saracens and smashed them up, till at last, when he had done, he couldn’t open his hand. Bring him in, Mrs. Doolan. If he won’t come, I will go in and send the Doctor out to him. Bad business, poor Richards being hurt, isn’t it? Awfully good fellow, Richards. Can’t think why he was the one to be hit.”
So keeping up a string of talk, the young subaltern led Bathurst into the house.
After breakfast a white flag was waved from the roof, and in a short time two Sepoy officers came up with a similar flag. The Major and Captain Doolan went out to meet them, and it was agreed that hostilities should be suspended until noon, in order that the wounded and dead might be carried off.
While this was being done the garrison remained under arms behind their work at the breach lest any treacherous attempt should be made. The mutineers, however, who were evidently much depressed by the failure, carried the bodies off quietly, and at twelve o’clock firing recommenced.
That evening, after it was dark, the men gathered on the terrace.
“Well, gentlemen,” the Major said, “we have beaten them off today, and we may do it again, but there is no doubt how it must all end. You see, this afternoon their guns have all been firing at a fresh place in the wall; and if they make another breach or two, and attack at them all together, it will be hopeless to try to defend them. You see, now that we have several sick and wounded, the notion of making our escape is almost knocked on the head. At the last moment each may try to save his life, but there must be no desertion of the sick and wounded as long as there is a cartridge to be fired. Our best hope is in getting assistance from somewhere, but we know nothing of what is going on outside. I think the best plan will be for one of our number to try to make his way out, and go either to Lucknow, Agra, or Allahabad, and try and get help. If they could spare a troop of cavalry it might be sufficient; the mutineers have suffered very heavily; there were over a hundred and fifty bodies carried out today, and if attacked suddenly I don’t think they would make any great resistance. We may hold out for a week or ten days, but I think that is the outside; and if rescue does not arrive by that time we must either surrender or try to escape by that passage.”
There was a general assent.
“Bathurst would be the man to do it,” the Doctor said. “Once through their lines he could pass without exciting the slightest suspicion; he could buy a horse then, and could be at any of the stations in two days.”
“Yes, there is no doubt that he is the man to do it,” the Major said. “Where is he now?”
“At work as usual, Major; shall I go and speak to him? But I tell you fairly I don’t think he will undertake it.”
“Why not, Doctor? It is a dangerous mission, but no more dangerous than remaining here.”
“Well, we shall see,” the Doctor said, as he left the group.
Nothing was said for a few minutes, the men sitting or lying about smoking. Presently the Doctor returned.
“Bathurst refuses absolutely,” he said. “He admits that he does not think there would be much difficulty for him to get through, but he is convinced that the mission would be a useless one, and that could help have been spared it would have come to us before now.”
“But in that case he would have made his escape,” the Major said.
“That is just why he won’t go, Major; he says that come what will he will share the fate of the rest, and that he will not live to be pointed to as the one man who made his escape of the garrison of Deennugghur.”
“Whom can we send?” the Major said. “You are the only other man who speaks the language well enough to pass as a native, Doctor.”
“I speak it fairly, but not well enough for that; besides, I am too old to bear the fatigue of riding night and day; and, moreover, my services are wanted here both as a doctor and as a rifle shot.”
“I will go, if you will send me, Major,” Captain Forster said suddenly; “not in disguise, but in uniform, and on my horse’s back. Of course I should run the gauntlet of their sentries. Once through, I doubt if they have a horse that could overtake mine.”
There was a general silence of surprise. Forster’s reckless courage was notorious, and he had been conspicuous for the manner in which he had chosen the most dangerous points during the siege; and this offer to undertake what, although a dangerous enterprise in itself, still offered a far better chance of life than that of remaining behind, surprised everyone. It had been noticed that, since the rejection of his plan to sally out in a body and cut their way through the enemy, he had been moody and silent, except only when the fire was heavy and the danger considerable; then he laughed and joked and seemed absolutely to enjoy the excitement; but he was the last man whom any of them would have expected to volunteer for a service that, dangerous as it might be, had just been refused by Bathurst on the ground that it offered a chance of escape from the common lot.
The Major was the first to speak.
“Well, Captain Forster, as we have just agreed that our only chance is to obtain aid from one of the stations, and as you are the only volunteer for the service, I do not see that I can decline to accept your offer. At which station do you think you would be most likely to find a force that could help us?”
“I should say Lucknow, Major. If help is to be obtained anywhere, I should say it was there.”
“Yes, I think that is the most hopeful. You will start at once; I suppose the sooner the better.”
“As soon as they are fairly asleep; say twelve o’clock.”
“Very well. I will go and write a dispatch for you to carry, giving an account of the fix we are in here. How will you sally out?”
“I should think the easiest plan would be to make a gap in the sandbags in the breach, lead the horse till fairly outside, and then mount.”
“I think you had better take a spare horse with you,” the Doctor said; “it will make a difference if you are chased, if you can change from one to the other. Bathurst told me to say whoever went could have his horse, which is a long way the best in the station. I should fancy as good as your own.”
“I don’t know,” Forster said; “led horses are a nuisance; still, as you say, it might come in useful, if it is only to loose and turn down a side road, and so puzzle anyone who may be after you in the dark.”
The Major and Forster left the roof together.
“Well, that is a rum go,” Wilson said. “If it had been anyone but Forster I should have said that he funked and was taking the opportunity to get out of it, but everyone knows that he has any amount of pluck; look how he charged those Sepoys single handed.”
“There are two sorts of pluck, Wilson,” the Doctor said dryly. “There is the pluck that will carry a man through a desperate action and lead him to do deeds that are the talk of an army. Forster possesses that kind of pluck in an unusual degree. He is almost an ideal cavalryman—dashing, reckless; riding with a smile on his lips into the thickest of the fray, absolutely careless of life when his blood is up.
“There is another sort of courage, that which supports men under long continued strain, and enables them, patiently and steadfastly, to face death when they see it approaching step by step. I doubt whether Forster possesses that passive sort of courage. He would ride up to a cannon’s mouth, but would grow impatient in a. square of infantry condemned to remain inactive under a heavy artillery fire.
“No one has changed more since this siege began than he has. Except when engaged under a heavy fire he has been either silent, or impatient and short tempered, shirking conversation even with women when his turn of duty was over. Mind, I don’t say for a moment that I suspect him of being afraid of death; when the end came he would fight as bravely as ever, and no one could fight more bravely. But he cannot stand the waiting; he is always pulling his mustache moodily and muttering to himself; he is good to do but not to suffer; he would make a shockingly bad patient in a long illness.
“Well, if any of you have letters you want to write to friends in England I should advise you to take the opportunity; mind, I don’t think they will ever get them. Forster may get through, but I consider the chances strongly against it. For a ride of ten miles through a country swarming with foes I could choose no messenger I would rather trust, but for a ride like this, that requires patience and caution and resource, he is not the man I should select. Bathurst would have succeeded almost certainly if he had once got out. The two men are as different as light to dark; one possesses just the points the other fails in. I have no one at home I want to write to, so I will undertake the watch here.”
CHAPTER XVII
The men on descending from the roof found all the ladies engaged in writing, the Major having told them that there was a chance of their letters being taken out. Scarce one looked up as they entered; their thoughts at the moment were at home with those to whom they were writing what might well be their last farewells. Stifled sobs were heard in the quiet room; mournful letters were blurred with tears even from eyes that had not before been dimmed since the siege began.
Isobel Hannay was the first to finish, for her letter to her mother was but a short one. As she closed it she looked up. Captain Forster was standing at the other side of the table with his eyes fixed on her, and he made a slight gesture to her that he wished to speak to her. She hesitated a moment, and then rose and quietly left the room. A moment later he joined her outside.
“Come outside,” he said, “I must speak to you;” and together they went out through the passage into the courtyard.
“Isobel,” he began, “I need not tell you that I love you; till lately I have not known how much, but I feel now that I could not live without you.”
“Why are you going away then, Captain Forster?” she asked quietly.
“I don’t want to go alone,” he said; “I cannot go alone—I want you to go with me. Your uncle would surely consent; it is the only chance of saving your life. We all know that it is next to hopeless that a force sufficient to rescue us can be sent; there is just a chance, but that is all that can be said. We could be married at Allahabad. I would make for that town instead of Lucknow if you will go with me, and I could leave you there in safety till these troubles are over; I am going to take another horse as well as my own, and two would be as likely to escape as one.”
“Thank you for the offer, Captain Forster,” she said coldly, “but I decline it. My place is here with my uncle and the others.”
“Why is it?” he asked passionately. “If you love me, your place is surely with me; and you do love me, Isobel, do you not? Surely I have not been mistaken.”
Isobel was silent for a moment.
“You were mistaken, Captain Forster,” she said, after a pause. “You paid me attentions such as I had heard you paid to many others, and it was pleasant. That you were serious I did not think. I believed you were simply flirting with me; that you meant no more by it than you had meant before; and being forewarned, and therefore having no fear that I should hurt myself more than you would, I entered into it in the same spirit. Where there was so much to be anxious about, it was a pleasure and relief. Had I met you elsewhere, and under different circumstances, I think I should have come to love you. A girl almost without experience and new to the world, as I am, could hardly have helped doing so, I think. Had I thought you were in earnest I should have acted differently; and if I have deceived you by my manner I am sorry; but even had I loved you I would not have consented to do the thing you ask me. You are going on duty. You are going in the hope of obtaining aid for us. I should be simply escaping while others stay, and I should despise myself for the action. Besides; I do not think that even in that case my uncle would have consented to my going with you.”
“I am sure that he would,” Forster broke in. “He would never be mad enough to refuse you the chance of escape from such a fate as may now await you.”
“We need not discuss the question,” she said. “Even if I loved you, I would not go with you; and I do not love you.”
“They have prejudiced you against me,” he said angrily.
“They warned me, and they were right in doing so. Ask yourself if they were not. Would you see a sister of yours running the risk of breaking her heart without warning her? Do not be angry,” she went on, putting her hand on his arm. “We have been good friends, Captain Forster, and I like you very much. We may never meet again; it is most likely we never shall do so. I am grateful to you for the many pleasant hours you have given me. Let us part thus.”
“Can you not give some hope that in the distance, when these troubles are over, should we both be spared, you may—”
“No, Captain Forster, I am sure it could never be so; if we ever meet again, we will meet as we part now—as friends. And now I can stay no longer; they will be missing me,” and, turning, she entered the house before he could speak again.
It was some minutes before he followed her. He had not really thought that she would go with him; perhaps he had hardly wished it, for on such an expedition a woman would necessarily add to the difficulty and danger; but he had thought that she would have told him that his love was returned, and for perhaps the first time in his life he was serious in his protestation of it.
“What does it matter?” he said at last, as he turned; “‘tis ten thousand to one against our meeting again; if we do, I can take it up where it breaks off now. She has acknowledged that she would have liked me if she had been sure that I was in earnest. Next time I shall be so. She was right. I was but amusing myself with her at first, and had no more thought of marrying her than I had of flying. But there, it is no use talking about the future; the thing now is to get out of this trap. I have felt like a rat in a cage with a terrier watching me for the last month, and long to be on horseback again, with the chance of making a fight for my life. What a fool Bathurst was to throw away the chance!”
Bathurst, his work done, had looked into the hall where the others were gathered, and hearing that the Doctor was alone on watch had gone up to him.
“I was just thinking, Bathurst,” the Doctor said, as he joined him, “about that fight today. It seems to me that whatever comes of this business, you and I are not likely to be among those who go down when the place is taken.”
“How is that, Doctor? Why is our chance better than the rest? I have no hope myself that any will be spared.”
“I put my faith in the juggler, Bathurst. Has it not struck you that the first picture you saw has come true?”
“I have never given it a thought for weeks,” Bathurst said; “certainly I have not thought of it today. Yes, now you speak of it, it has come true. How strange! I put it aside as a clever trick—one that I could not understand any more than I did the others, but, knowing myself, it seemed beyond the bounds of possibility that it could come true. Anything but that I would have believed, but, as I told you, whatever might happen in the future, I should not be found fighting desperately as I saw myself doing there. It is true that I did so, but it was only a sort of a frenzy. I did not fire a shot, as Wilson may have told you. I strove like a man in a nightmare to break the spell that seemed to render me powerless to move, but when, for a moment, the firing ceased, a weight seemed to fall off me, and I was seized with a sort of passion to kill. I have no distinct remembrance of anything until it was all over. It was still the nightmare, but one of a different kind, and I was no more myself then than I was when I was lying helpless on the sandbags. Still, as you say, the picture was complete; at least, if Miss Hannay was standing up here.”
“Yes, she rose to her feet in the excitement of the fight. I believe we all did so. The picture was true in all its details as you described it to me. And that being so, I believe that other picture, the one we saw together, you and I and Isobel Hannay in native disguises, will also come true.”
Bathurst was silent for two or three minutes.
“It may be so, Doctor—Heaven only knows. I trust for your sake and hers it may be so, though I care but little about myself; but that picture wasn’t a final one, and we don’t know what may follow it.”
“That is so, Bathurst. But I think that you and I, once fairly away in disguise, might be trusted to make our way down the country. You see, we have a complete confirmation of that juggler’s powers. He showed me a scene in the past—a scene which had not been in my mind for years, and was certainly not in my thoughts at the time. He showed you a scene in the future, which, unlikely as it appeared, has actually taken place. I believe he will be equally right in this other picture. You have heard that Forster is going?”
“Yes; Wilson came down and told me while I was at work. Wilson seemed rather disgusted at his volunteering. I don’t know that I am surprised myself, for, as I told you, I knew him at school, and he had no moral courage, though plenty of physical. Still, under the circumstances, I should not have thought he would have gone.”
“You mean because of Miss Hannay, Bathurst?”
“Yes, that is what I mean.”
“That sort of thing might weigh with you or me, Bathurst, but not with him. He has loved and ridden away many times before this, but in this case, fortunately, I don’t think he will leave an aching heart behind him.”
“You don’t mean to say, Doctor, that you don’t think she cares for him?”
“I have not asked her the question,” the Doctor said dryly. “I dare say she likes him; in fact, I am ready to admit that there has been what you may call a strong case of flirtation; but when a young woman is thrown with an uncommonly good looking man, who lays himself out to be agreeable to her, my experience is that a flirtation generally comes of it, especially when the young woman has no one else to make herself agreeable to, and is, moreover, a little sore with the world in general. I own that at one time I was rather inclined to think that out of sheer perverseness the girl was going to make a fool of herself with that good looking scamp, but since we have been shut up here I have felt easy in my mind about it. And now, if you will take my rifle for ten minutes, I will go down and get a cup of tea; I volunteered to take sentry work, but I didn’t bargain for keeping it all night without relief. By the way, I told Forster of your offer of your horse, and I think he is going to take it.”
“He is welcome to it,” Bathurst said carelessly; “it will be of no use to me.”
“Now, look here,” the Doctor said shortly; “just put Miss Hannay out of your head for the present, and attend to the business on hand. I do not think there is much chance of their trying it on again tonight, but they may do so, so please to keep a sharp lookout while I am below.”
“I will be careful, Doctor,” Bathurst said, with a laugh; but the Doctor had so little faith in his watchfulness that as soon as he went below he sent up Wilson to share his guard.
At twelve o’clock the sandbags were removed sufficiently to allow a horse to pass through, and Forster’s and Bathurst’s animals were led out through the breach, their feet having been muffled with blankets to prevent their striking a stone and arousing the attention of the enemy’s sentinels. Once fairly out the mufflings were removed and Forster sprang into his saddle.
“Goodby, Major,” he said; “I hope I may be back again in eight or nine days with a squadron of cavalry.”
“Goodby, Forster; I hope it may be so. May God protect you!”
The gap in the defenses was closed the instant the horses passed through, and the men stood in the breach of the wall listening as Forster rode off. He went at a walk, but before he had gone fifty paces there was a sharp challenge, followed almost instantly by a rifle shot, then came the crack of a revolver and the rapid beat of galloping hoofs. Loud shouts were heard, and musket shots fired in rapid succession.
“They are not likely to have hit him in the dark,” the Major said, as he climbed back over the sandbags; “but they may hit his horses, which would be just as fatal.”
Leaving two sentries—the one just outside the breach near the wall, the other on the sandbags—the rest of the party hurried up on the roof. Shots were still being fired, and there was a confused sound of shouting; then a cavalry trumpet rang out sharply, and presently three shots fired in quick succession came upon the air.
“That is the signal agreed on,” the Major said: “he is safely beyond their lines. Now it is a question of riding; some of the cavalry will be in pursuit of him before many minutes are over.”
