CHAPTER XXII.

THE HOSTAGES.

Swiftly rode Shakespere, Waller, and their six hundred Kuzzilbashes on their errand of mercy, and midnight saw them far from the mountains that look down on Cabul. Of all his five thousand horse, old Shireen had certainly chosen the flower. All these men rode their own chargers, and all were armed with lance and sword, matchlock and pistols; all had their persons bristling with the usual number of daggers, knives, powder-flasks, and bullet-bags, in which the Afghan warrior delights to invest himself; and all wore the peculiar cap from which they take their name--a low squat busby, of black lambs'-wool, not unlike those now worn by our Hussars, and having, like them, a bag of scarlet cloth hanging from the crown thereof.

To avoid all suspicion or attention _en route_, Waller and Shakespere had cast their uniforms aside, and rode at their head _à la Kussilbashe_, dressed in poshteen and chogah, and armed with lance and sabre.

The discovery of Rose Trecarrel--an event so unexpected and unlooked for after all that had occurred--seemed to Waller as an omen of future good fortune, and his naturally buoyant spirits rose as he rode on. The expedition was full of excitement, especially for a time: it was an act of courage, mercy, and chivalry, that all Britain should eventually hear of; and Mabel was at the bourne, for which they were all bound. Even poor Denzil, so recently interred, was partially forgotten: soldiers cannot brood long over the casualties of war, especially while amid them; and Denzil's death was only one item in a strife that had now seen nearly fifty thousand perish on both sides.

However, let it not for a moment be thought that Waller was careless of his friend's untimely end, his memory, or his strange story; for, ere he left Rose, he had promised that as soon as he could write, or get "down country" again, one of his first acts should be to seek out and succour "this only sister" of whom poor Devereaux had always spoken so much and so affectionately.

When he parted from Rose, leaving her in the safe and more congenial protection afforded by the European camp, she had not been without one predominant fear. As friends had come too late to save or succour Denzil, they might now, perhaps, be too late to rescue Mabel and her companions from this new conjunction of enemies against them, even in Toorkistan. Besides, Ackbar the Terrible, with the ruins of his infuriated army, was to fall back on the deserts by the way of Bameean, and thus, to avoid him, the two British officers, with their Kuzzilbashes, at one time made a judicious detour among the hills.

At Killi-Hadji, they found traces of the first halt made by the caravan outside the old fort, where a shepherd had, as he told them, seen the captives; thence by the mountain pass and the fair valley of Maidan, where a Hadji bound afoot for the shrine of Ahmed Shah at Candahar, the scene of many a pilgrimage, told them that the risk they ran was great, as the Hazarees were undoubtedly drawing to a head in the Balkh; and this was far from reassuring, as they were conscious of having far outridden their promised supports.

"Let us push on, for God's sake!" was ever Waller's impatient exclamation at every halt, however brief; and even Sir Richmond Shakespere, with all his activity and energy, was at times amused by the restlessness of one who seemed by nature to be a rather quiet and easy-going Englishman.

"These are tough rations, certainly," said he, as they halted for the last time near the Kaloo Mountain, and masticated a piece of kid broiled on a ramrod at a hasty fire (broiled ere the flesh of the shot animal had time to cool), and washed it down by a draught from the nearest stream.

"Tough, certainly; but we get all that is good for us."

"If not more," added Shakespere, pithily; "for this is feeding like savages--or Toorkomans, who drink the blood of their horses."

"At a halt, when marching up country, I always used, if possible, like a knowing bachelor, to tiff with a married man."

"Why?"

"You will be sure to find that he has some daintily made sandwiches, cold fowl, or so forth, in his haversack: the women, God bless them, always look after these little things. But that is all over now; we are no longer in Hindostan. A little time must solve all this--the safety of our friends----" added Waller, looking thoughtfully to the distant landscape; and as if repenting of a momentary lightness of heart, "I would give all I have in the world----"

"Say all you owe," suggested Shakespere, smiling.

"Well, Sir Richmond, that would be a round sum perhaps--to see them all within musket shot of us. As for ransom, I have but my sword at their service. I can't do even a bill on a Hindoo schroff, or raise money on a whisker, as John de Castro did at Goa; but I can polish off a few of those savages, as they deserve to be."

The dawn of a second day saw them descending the mighty ridges of the Indian Caucasus, and a picturesque body they were, with their bright particoloured garments floating backward on the wind; their black fur caps with scarlet bags, their dark, keen visages and sable beards, their polished weapons and tall tasselled lances flashing in the uprisen sun, as they galloped, without much order certainly, at an easy but swinging pace, over green waste and grey rocky plateau, up one hill-side and down another, now splashing merrily, and more than girth deep, through the clear, sparkling current of some brawling mountain nullah whose waters had been imbridged since Time was born--their horses light in body, with high withers, fine and muscular limbs, square foreheads, small ears, and brilliant eyes, and to all appearance fall of speed, spirit, and a strength that seemed never to flag.

And sooth to say, the gallant Kuzzilbashes took every care to preserve those qualities so desirable alike for pursuit or flight.

At every brief halt, they were carefully unbitted, unsaddled, groomed, and lightly fed, and picketed in the old Indian fashion, with the V-ended heel-rope fastened round both hind fetlocks and secured to a single pin; near cuts over the hills were taken, but rivers were never forded or swum, unless the horses were perfectly cool; once or twice, pieces of goat's flesh were rolled round their bridle-bits; and hence by all this care, the cattle of the whole troop, unblown and ungalled, were in excellent order, when, on the fourth day--for their progress had been swifter than that of Saleh Mohammed, as they were unincumbered by women, children, camels, and ponies--they left the Kaloo Mountain behind, and ere long, without seeing aught of Hazarees or Toorkomans, though always prepared for them, they came in sight of Bameean, towering on its green mountain, its elaborate but silent temples and great solemn giants of stone reddened by the bright flood of light shed far across the plain by the sun, which was setting amid a sea of clouds that were all of crimson flame.

In deepest purple the shadows fell far eastward; the gleam of arms appeared on the walls of the old fort in the foreground, when Waller and Sir Richmond Shakespere darted forward, by a vigorous use of the spur, far outstripping their less enthusiastic followers. After they had carefully reconnoitred the fort through their field-glasses, Shakespere began to rein in his horse, and check its pace.

"Waller," said he, "a red flag has replaced Ackbar's invariable green, one on the fort. We had better parley."

"But we have neither trumpet nor drum."

"Nor would those fellows understand the sound of either, if we had; but look out--pull up, or, by Heaven, we shall be fired upon! You are rash, Waller, and in action seem quite to lose your head."

"But my hand is ever steady--ay, as if this sword were but a cricket bat," retorted Waller, whose blue eyes were sparkling with light.

"True, my dear fellow; but to be potted now, when within arm's length of those we have risked so much to save, would be a sad mistake."

"Egad, yes; and that old devil with his jingall--for a jingall it is--may speedily send one of us into that place so vaguely known as the next world," responded Waller, as he tied a white handkerchief to the point of his sword, and then Saleh Mohammed Khan was seen to unwind and wave the cloth of his turban in response.

By this action they knew that all idea of resistance was at an end, and that they should be received as friends. The gates of the fort were unbarricaded and thrown open, and many of the ladies now began to appear, timidly but curiously and expectantly, thronging forward to meet those whom they had been told were come "to meet and to save them."

Waller, who had manifested an air of blunt and soldierly resolution and energy up to this period, now felt his emotions somewhat overpowering, or perhaps he wished to see and hear something of Mabel, before making himself known; so checking his horse, he permitted Sir Richmond Shakespere, as his leader, to ride forward.

Lifting his Kuzzilbash cap, his frank English face, though sunburned and lined, beaming with pleasure and joy the while,

"Rejoice," he cried, enthusiastically, "rejoice, ladies! Your delivery is accomplished. Dear ladies and comrades, all your fears and your sufferings are at an end!"

There was no loud or noisy response; the emotions of all were too deep and heartfelt for such utterances; and, with feelings which no description can convey to the imagination, Waller and Shakespere found themselves surrounded by the captives, male and female, exactly one hundred and six in number, of all ranks--captives whom by their energy, activity, and rapid expedition they had saved from a fate that might never have been known; for the news of their arrival caused Hazarees and Toorkomans alike to disperse, and even Zoolficar Khan abandoned all idea of attempting to carry them off.

The happiest moments of existence are perhaps the most difficult to delineate on paper; but Bob Waller, as he folded Mabel Trecarrel sobbing hysterically to his breast, laughing and weeping at the same moment, despite and heedless of all the eyes that looked thereon--he a thorough-bred Englishman, and as such innately abhorrent of "a scene"--forgot the crowd, the Kuzzilbashes, the Dooranees, the grinning grooms and dhooley-wallahs--he forgot all in the joy of the moment, or by a chain of thought remembered only a passage of "Othello," when, in garrison theatricals, he had once figured as the Moor, with Harry Burgoyne for a Desdemona--

"If it were now to die, 'Twere now to be most happy; for I fear My soul hath her content so absolute That not another comfort like to this Succeeds in unknown fate."

And Sir Richmond Shakespere, as he stood smiling by the centre and blissful-looking group (now beginning clamorously to pour questions upon him), ladies and officers, hollow-eyed, haggard, and pale, began to perceive what had made Captain Robert Waller, of the Cornish Light Infantry, take so deep an interest in the Trecarrels, and why he had been the most active, energetic, and, so far as danger went, the most reckless staff officer during our perilous advance up the Passes and in the subsequent pursuit.

Waller did not find Mabel quite so much changed as he had feared she might be; yet she was the wreck of what she had been in happier times--the tall, full-bosomed, and statuesque-looking English girl, with clear, calm, bright, and confident eyes. The latter were still bright, but their lustre was unnatural; their expression was a wild and hunted one; her colour was gone, and her cheeks were deathly pale. But all in the group of hostages were alike in those respects. For many months, had they not been daily, sometimes hourly, face to face with death?

But Waller, as she hung on his breast and looked with eyes upturned upon him, had never seemed so handsome in her sight: his form and face were to her as the beau-ideal of Saxon manliness and beauty; but his complexion, once nearly as fair as her own, was burned red now, by the exposure consequent to the two last campaigns; his forehead clear and open, his nose straight, his mouth large perhaps, but well-shaped and laughing; and then he had in greater luxuriance than ever his long, fair, fly-away whiskers; and, save his Afghan dress, he looked every inch the jolly, frank, and burly Bob Waller of other times, especially when, as if he thought "the scene" had lasted long enough, he drew Mabel's arm through his, led her a little way apart, and proceeded leisurely to prepare a cigar for smoking.

"So Bob, dear, dear Bob, my presentiment has come true after all," she exclaimed; "and this horrid Bameean has seen the end of all our sorrows!"

"But it was not such an end as this your foreboding heart had anticipated, Mabel," replied Waller, caressing her hand in his, and pressing it against his heart.

Major Pottinger, who had now the command, ordered that all must prepare at once to quit Bameean, and avoid further risks by falling back on their supports, lest Ackbar Khan might come on them after all.

To lessen the chance of that, however, the wily Saleh Mohammed, who knew by sure intelligence from his scouts that Ackbar was to proceed, with the relics of his army, through the Akrobat Pass into the Balkh, advised that all should take a circuitous route towards Cabul; and this suggestion was at once adopted by the now-happy hostages and the escort.

Two days afterwards, as they were traversing the summit of a little mountain pass, their long and winding train of horse and foot guarded by Kuzzilbash Lancers and the wilder-looking Dooranees, they came suddenly in sight of those whom General Pollock had sent to meet and, if necessary, to succour them.

These were Her Majesty's 3rd Light Dragoons, the 1st Bengal Cavalry, and Captain Backhouse's train of mountain guns, all led by Sir Robert Sale in person; and who might describe the joy of that meeting, when the rescued hostages cast their eager eyes and hands towards them in joy, and when they saw the old familiar uniforms covering all the green slope, while the cavalry came galloping and the infantry rushing tumultuously towards them!

The dragoons sprang from their horses, the infantry broke their ranks, and the men of the 13th Light Infantry crowded round the wife of their colonel and the other rescued ladies, holding out their hard brown hands in welcome; eyes were glistening, lips quivering, and many a hurrah was, for a time, half choked by emotion and sympathy, while officers and soldiers again and again shook hands like brothers that had been long parted.

Friends now met friends from whom they had been so long and painfully separated; wives threw themselves exultingly and passionately into the arms of their husbands; daughters leaned upon their fathers' breasts and wept. Many there were whose widowed hearts had none to meet them there; and many an orphan child stretched forth its little hands to the ranks wherein its father marched no more, though some might give a kiss or a caress to "Tom Brown's little 'un--Tom that was killed at Ghuznee," or to the "little lass of Corporal Smith--poor Jack that was killed with his missus at Khoord Cabul;" but these sad episodes were soon forgotten amid the general joy.

Wheeled round on the mountain slope, the artillery thundered forth a royal salute; muskets and swords were brandished in the sunshine; caps tossed up, to be caught and tossed up again; reiterated English cheers woke the echoes of the hills of Jubeaiz, which seemed to repeat the sounds of joy to the winds again and again.