Chapter 7

The open and manly bearing of the Baron, combined with the deference due to his sovereign, appeared to please the Emperor. He gazed long into the clear-cut, energetic face, with its bold and intelligent eyes.

“You have seen much of the world?”

“Your Majesty, I was in America, and for many years in England, before entering business.”

“A good merchant often sees more than a diplomatist, for his view is unbiassed, and freer. I love your Hamburg; it is a loyal city, full of intelligence and enterprise.”

“The Alster people would reckon themselves happy to hear your Majesty say so.”

“Do not the Hamburgers suffer great losses from the war?”

“Many people in Hamburg think as I do, your Majesty.”

“And what is your opinion?”

“That, under the glorious reign of your Majesty, all Germans on the Continent will be united to one whole grand nation, to which all Germanic races of the north will be attracted by the law of gravitation--Danes, Swedes, and Norwegians.”

“You have the courage of your opinions.”

“Your Majesty, we live in an age, the characteristic of which is the formation of great empires.”

The monarch interrupted him with a friendly movement of his hand.

“Let us go in to breakfast, gentlemen. Baron von Grubenhagen, you are my guest. I shall be interested to hear more of your bold ideas.”

Immediately after his return to the hunting-box, the Imperial Chancellor, who had arrived from Berlin by a night train, had been announced to the Emperor. With the monarch’s suite he also was present at the breakfast-table, probably not a little surprised to find a strange guest in the company of the Emperor, who was evidently very kindly disposed to him.

After breakfast, when the company were seated around the table in the smoke-room, and when, upon a sign from the Emperor, the aide-de-camp du jour had ordered the servants to withdraw, the Emperor William turned with a grave face to Baron von Grubenhagen.

“And now let us hear, openly and without reserve, how, according to your observation, the German nation regards the possibility of a war.”

The Baron raised his fine, characteristic head. Looking openly and naturally into the Emperor’s eyes, he replied--

“Your Majesty, no one is in doubt that it would, on the one hand, be a fatal step to declare war. By it many thousands will be sent to an early grave, lands devastated, and commerce perhaps ruined for many long years to come; and countless tears are the inevitable concomitants of war. But there is a supreme law, to which all others must yield--the commandment to preserve honour unsullied. A nation has its honour, like the individual. Where this honour is at stake, it must not shrink from war. For the conservation of all other of this world’s goods is dependent upon the conservation of the national honour; where peace has to be preserved at any price, even at the price of national honour, all the benefits and blessings of peace will by degrees be lost, and the nation falls a prey to its neighbours. Iron is more precious than gold, for it is to iron we owe all our possessions. What use would be our army and navy? They are the outward sign of the political truth, that only courage and power are guarantees for the continuance and prosperity of a nation. Russia and France have joined hands to fight England. And the German nation feels it is time to take its share in these struggles. But nowhere is there any uncertainty as to which side Germany ought to join. Our nation has for a long time past been exasperated by English intrigues and encroachments. The human heart knows no other feeling so profound and powerful as the sense of justice, and the sense of justice has constantly been wounded by England’s policy. Only one word from the Emperor is needed to strike the deepest chords in the German soul, and to raise a flame of enthusiasm that will swallow up all internal dissension and all party quarrels. We must not ask what might possibly happen; we must obey the dictates of the hour. If Germany fights with the whole of her strength, she must be victorious. And victory is always its own justification.”

X

FIVE LAKHS OF RUPEES

At noon Prince Tchajawadse departed northwards accompanied by his page Georgi and his Indian servant. Heideck had observed great reserve during the short time he had known the beautiful Circassian, and had never betrayed that he had guessed the secret of her disguise. She seemed to be grateful, for although they never had exchanged words, she smiled at him and gave him very friendly glances at their chance meetings. There could be no doubt concerning the relation of the beautiful page and his master. Heideck may have felt some jealousy--he hardly ever had seen a more charming girl than this Circassian beauty in her picturesque dress; but all his thoughts were with Edith. The Russian was indeed a lucky fellow to have found such a charming travelling companion. She never forgot her assumed part of the page, when strangers were near, and yet it was clear to Heideck that she in truth was master. A single glance of her flashing eyes was sufficient to keep the Prince in order, when under the influence of intoxicants he would have otherwise given way to his brutal instincts. In her presence he never dared to use ambiguous and frivolous language.

With sincere regret Heideck saw the Prince depart. He did not share the hope, which the latter expressed to him, that they would meet again. But he remembered him as one of his most interesting acquaintances and a very charming comrade notwithstanding those little foibles he had noticed.

. . . . . . .

It struck seven o’clock when Heideck in full evening dress entered the Colonel’s drawing-room. He felt a wave of keen joy surging through him when he noticed that it was empty, except for Edith Irwin. The horrible events she had passed through had left her a little pale. To him she seemed more beautiful than ever. She met him with a smile and gave him her hand, which he kissed with great emotion.

“Mrs. Baird and the Colonel beg to be excused for a quarter of an hour,” said she. “The Colonel has still much to do with the preparations for the mobilisation. Mrs. Baird is suffering from one of her bad attacks of headache and has had to lie down for a short time.”

Heideck’s face told Edith clearly enough that he gladly forgave his host and hostess this little impoliteness. After having taken a chair opposite hers, he began--

“I hope most sincerely, Mrs. Irwin, that you have had no annoyance on account of my late call. All day long yesterday this was on my mind.”

With a sad smile she replied, “No, no. On the contrary, my husband has asked me to tell you that he is very sorry not to be able to thank you personally for your heroic behaviour. He hopes to be able to do so later on. He has been ordered to go to Lahore in great haste and for an indefinite period. There was not time for him to see you, in order to thank you.”

Heideck imagined that he knew what this order meant. But he only asked: “And are you going to stay on here under the protection of the Colonel?”

“Nothing definite has been arranged as yet. Nobody knows what may happen to-morrow. It is certain that extraordinary events are in preparation. In case of war, we poor women have to do as we are told, you know.”

“And the Maharajah? You have not heard about him?”

“Colonel Baird saw the Prince officially yesterday; but I do not know anything more; I had not the courage to ask. It seems to me quite certain that the Maharajah is hostilely disposed towards the Colonel. The event which happened here to-day is, I think, immediately to be connected with the Maharajah. I know the ways of these Indian despots!”

“May I venture to ask what has happened?”

“An attempt to poison the Colonel at his own table.”

“To poison the Colonel?” asked Heideck surprised.

“Yes. Colonel Baird’s habit is to drink a tumbler of ice-water before each meal. To-day, at tiffin, the Indian butler gave it him as usual. The water appeared to him rather cloudy. He did not drink it at once, and after a few minutes he noticed distinctly a white sediment at the bottom of the tumbler. When he called for the Indian butler, the man had disappeared, and has not been found yet. That increased our suspicion that an attempt at poisoning had been made. A small quantity of the fluid had been put into a dish which contained the food for the dogs. It was then placed into a rat-trap which contained five or six of these ravenous beasts. Ten minutes later they were dead. The remains of the water have been given to Doctor Hopkins. He is going to make a chemical analysis, and to tell us about it at dinner-time.”

Before Heideck could find the time again to resume the discussion of Edith’s personal affairs, Mrs. Baird came in, accompanied by the Colonel and his adjutant. They all shook hands with him in the most charming way, and after Doctor Hopkins had also arrived, a small man with a very vivacious manner, they went in to dinner.

Perhaps the Colonel would have preferred that nothing should be said in Heideck’s presence about the poisoning attempt. His wife’s impatience and excitement, however, could not be restrained.

“Well, Doctor Hopkins,” she asked, “and what have you found?”

The Doctor evidently had been waiting for this.

“One of the most deadly poisons the Indians know,” he answered. “The diamond powder. There is no antidote for it, and it is impossible to trace it in the body of the poisoned person, because it is of vegetable nature, and gets absorbed in the tissues.”

A cry of horror escaped Mrs. Baird. She covered her eyes with her hand.

Mr. Hopkins continued: “I have never before come across the diamond powder, notwithstanding its use is said not to be uncommon. The preparation of it is a secret, anxiously guarded by the Indian physicians. It seems to play the same part at the Courts of the Indian princes that the celebrated ‘aqua tuffana’ did in the Middle Ages amongst the Italian despots.”

These learned explanations of Doctor Hopkins were not adapted to raise the spirits of the company. Everyone remembered that this horrible attempt had only been frustrated by a lucky chance. The Colonel, who seemed to feel very uncomfortable on listening to the Doctor’s conversation, gave a sign to his wife to rise, rather sooner than usual.

Tea and drinks cooled in ice were served in the verandah, charmingly illuminated by coloured lamps. Heideck had only had eyes for Edith all the evening. But he had avoided anxiously everything which might have betrayed his feelings. And, even now, he would not have dared to join her in the half-dark corner of the verandah, where she had seated herself, unless she had called out to him asking him to take the empty seat at her side.

“Mr. Heideck, here is another chair,” she said, in a perfectly natural voice, drawing aside the pleats of her foulard skirt in order to let him pass. Again their eyes met unnoticed by the others. The violent beating of his heart would have told him that he was entirely in the thraldom of this beautiful young woman had he not known it already.

Suddenly the well-known shouts and cries of Indian drivers were heard. The conversation stopped and everybody looked and observed with astonishment the curious procession of waggons which they could see approaching, as the night was pretty clear. The Colonel excepted, no one understood the meaning of this spectacle. There were five waggons drawn by richly harnessed bullocks and escorted by a bodyguard of the Maharajah on horseback. Their captain rode till close to the verandah, then dismounted, and went up the steps. His mien was distinguished, and at the same time dignified. He was young and handsome, with Greek features and big, melancholy eyes. He wore a blouse of yellow silk, held around the waist by a shawl of violet silk, English riding-breeches, and high, yellow boots. A string of pearls was laid round his turban of violet-striped silk, and diamonds, large as hazel-nuts, sparkled on his breast as they caught the light of the lamp.

“That is Tasatat Rajah, the cousin and favourite of the Prince,” whispered Edith, in answer to a question which she read in Heideck’s face. “No doubt the Maharajah is sending him with a special mission.”

The Colonel had risen and gone to meet his visitor, but he neither shook hands with him nor asked him to be seated.

“Greetings, long life and happiness, sahib, to you in the name of His Highness,” he began with that noble air peculiar to the high-born Indian. “In token of his friendship and his respect he is sending you a small gift. He hopes you will accept it as a proof that you have forgotten the conversation which you had yesterday with His Highness in consequence of an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“His Highness is very kind,” was the Colonel’s answer, in a voice rather formal, “may I ask in what consists the present he is sending me?”

“Every one of these five waggons, sahib, contains a hundred thousand rupees.”

“That is as much as five lakhs?”

“It is so. And I ask you once more kindly to favour His Highness with a reply.”

The Colonel considered a moment, and then answered with the same quiet demeanour and impenetrable expression, “Thanks to you, Prince. Have the contents of these waggons carried into the hall. The Viceroy will decide what is to be done with it later on.”

The Prince’s face clearly showed his disappointment. For a little while he remained there standing as if considering what to do. But recognising that the Englishman wished to end the conversation, he touched the middle of his forehead with his right hand and descended the steps of the verandah. With the assistance of English soldiers a great many small casks were carried into the hall. The procession moved on again with the same cries and shouts which had accompanied its approach and soon disappeared.

A smile flitted across the Colonel’s face, erstwhile so unemotional, as he turned towards his guests, probably feeling that some sort of explanation for his attitude was due to them.

“I consider this half-million a very desirable acquisition towards the war expenses of my detachment. But these Orientals never can understand our way of thinking, and our ideas of honour will always remain an insoluble riddle to them. With a present, that he, of course, has meant for me personally, this despot believes he has smoothed over everything that could possibly spell trouble for him--the plot against Mrs. Irwin as well as the diamond powder business. For, of course, he has already been informed by the butler who has disappeared of the failure of his plot, and he is well aware of what is in store for him if I report the scandalous story to Calcutta.”

It was the first time the Colonel had openly declared his conviction that the Maharajah was the author of both plots. No doubt he had especial reasons for this, and Heideck fancied he had fathomed them, when, in reply to the question of the regimental surgeon as to his intention of sending in such a report, the Colonel replied--

“I do not know--I really do not know yet. According to the principle, fiat justitia, pereat mundus, I ought to do so, no doubt. But the pereat mundus is, after all, a debatable point. Probably war is imminent, and I am afraid the Viceroy would not be grateful to me were I to add fresh cares to all his other anxieties. At present these Indian princes are indispensable to us. They have to place their troops at our disposal, and we must not have any enemies in the rear when our army is engaged in Afghanistan. A harsh procedure against one of them, and all these princes might revolt. And a single defeat, or even only the false report of one, might entail incalculable consequences.”

Doctor Hopkins assented without further discussion, and also the other officers present shared the opinion of their chief. As usual, during these last days a lively discussion had arisen as to the probabilities of war, and as to the probable course events would take. Heideck, certain of learning nothing new from the mouths of these gentlemen, all so confident of victory, utilised the opportunity afforded by the noisy conversation to ask Edith, in a low voice--

“Not only political considerations, but also your wishes, have prevented the Colonel from reporting the outrage of the other night to Calcutta--is it not so?”

“Yes, I begged him not to do so,” she answered in the same low whisper. “But to-day, after the abominable plot upon his life, I told him that I do not ask any longer for any consideration to be shown me, or my--husband.”

“You seriously think it possible that Captain Irwin--”

“Pray do not let us talk about it now, and not here, Mr. Heideck,” she begged, raising her eyes to him imploringly. “You cannot have any idea how terribly I suffer from these dreadful thoughts. I feel as if before me lay only dark, impenetrable night. And when I reflect that some day I may be again forced--”

She did not finish her sentence, but Heideck knew well enough what she had omitted to say. An irresistible impulse made him answer--

“You must not allow yourself to be driven to take any course repugnant to your heart, Mrs. Irwin. And who is there who would dare to attempt to force you?”

“Oh, Mr. Heideck, you have no idea what regard for so-called ‘GOOD FORM’ means for us English people. No scandal--for Heaven’s sake, no scandal! That is the first and prime law of our Society. Kind as the Colonel and his wife have been to me until now, I am very much afraid they would drop me, without question of my guilt or innocence, if I should allow anything to take place which they consider a scandal.”

“And yet you must obey solely your own feeling--only the commands of your heart and conscience, Mrs. Irwin; not the narrow views of the Colonel or any other person. You must not become a martyr to a prejudice--I simply cannot hear the idea. And you must promise me--”

He stopped short. A sudden lull in the general conversation caused him to be silent also. And he fancied he saw the intelligent and penetrating eyes of Mrs. Baird directed upon himself with an expression of mistrust. He was displeased with himself. Displeased, because the intoxicating proximity of the adored being, and his aversion for her husband, that had almost increased to passionate hatred, had led him into the danger of compromising her. But when, soon afterwards, he took his leave, together with the other guests, a soft pressure of Edith’s hand gave him the delightful assurance that she was far from being angry with him.

XI

THE MOBILISATION

Every day now brought fresh news, and the threatening spectre of war drew nearer and nearer. The order for mobilisation had been given. The field-troops were separated from the depot, destined to remain in Chanidigot. The infantry were provided with ammunition, and were daily exercised in firing and bayonet drill. Horses were bought up and a transport organised, which comprised an enormous number of camels. The commissariat stores were replenished, and the officers eagerly studied the maps of Afghanistan.

According to Heideck’s ideas of mobilisation progress was much too slow, and the Maharajah appeared still less in a hurry with the equipment of his auxiliary troops.

Military trains from the South passed without cessation through Chanidigot, carrying horses and troops further north. Their immediate goal was Peshawar, where Lieutenant-General Sir Bindon Blood, Commander-in-Chief of the Punjab Army Corps, had concentrated a large field-army. Heideck noticed with surprise that the regiments which were being hurried up had been drafted from the most heterogeneous corps, so that, therefore, the tactical union of these corps, as well as their organisation, had been destroyed. No doubt the Government wished, at any cost, to mass large bodies of troops as rapidly as possible on the frontier, and to this end left all calculation of later events out of consideration. Viscount Kitchener, the Commander-in-Chief of India, as well as the Viceroy and the Cabinet Ministers in London, seemed to entertain no doubt that the English army would be victorious from the very beginning, and could not possibly be forced to retire to the fortresses of the North-west provinces. The contempt with which the officers in Chanidigot talked about the Russian army and the Afghans sufficiently confirmed this general belief.

At last it was clear that war had become a fait accompli. On the tenth day after the announcement of the Russian invasion of Afghanistan uncertainty was at an end.

The Cabinet in London had inquired in St. Petersburg as to the meaning of that invasion, and it received the answer that Russia felt compelled to come to the rescue of the Ameer at his request, for the Afghan ruler was anxious for his independence, in view of the measures which were taken by England. Nothing was further removed from the intention of the Russian Government than to challenge England, but she felt it impossible to look on at the embarrassment of the Ameer with equanimity, and so determined to fight for the independence of Afghanistan.

Thereupon England declared war, and Lieutenant-General Blood received the order immediately to advance through the Khyber Pass into Afghanistan. Further, Lieutenant-General Hunter, the Commander-in-Chief of the Bombay Army Corps, was ordered to march with an army from Quetta towards Kandahar. At the same time an English fleet was to leave Portsmouth.

Although the English papers published in India had evidently been instructed to maintain silence about matters which might place England in an unfavourable light, they furnished a good deal of news which gave the intelligent reader all manner of clues as to the present warlike situation. It could be seen that England was also arming against France. Only as to the attitude of Germany in the universal war that threatened every clue was wanting.

The intention of removing the families of the military and civil officers, stationed in Chanidigot, south to Bombay, or to Calcutta in the east, had soon been dropped. The spreading of the plague in both cities and the difficulties of the journey were against it; for the railways were completely given over to the transport of troops. It was determined that the women and children should, for the time being, remain with the depot in Chanidigot. Captain Irwin, who had returned from Lahore and who, apart from his duty, in which he displayed an almost feverish zeal, led the life of a hermit, was appointed to command this depot. But his wife, whom he had not yet once met since his arrival, was not to be placed with the others under his charge. Colonel Baird, who had given way to his wife’s urgent entreaties to be allowed with her children to accompany him to Quetta, had asked Edith Irwin to join them.

Orders had been given that the detachment should start in conjunction with the forces of the Maharajah of Chanidigot. Heideck had obtained permission to accompany it. The Colonel was well disposed towards him, and it was evidently pleasant for the former to have about him, as protector to the ladies, such a chivalrous man, upon whom he could always implicitly rely when his military duties prevented him from looking after them. On the day preceding the start Heideck was at tiffin with the Colonel, and coming events were being discussed in a serious manner, when from outside the dull screech of an automobile’s horn caught their ears. Two minutes later, covered with dust and with his face a dark red from the heat, an officer appeared on the verandah who introduced himself as Captain Elliot, General Blood’s adjutant.

“The General,” he said, adopting the proper military attitude, “has sent me to report that all the plans have been altered. Your orders are not to march to Quetta, but to hasten your preparations and start as soon as possible for Mooltan.”