CHAPTER XXV

To the Rescue

The sun had just risen when Hira Singh, riding fifty paces ahead of the cavalcade, suddenly waved his hand as a signal to halt, leapt from his horse, and led it behind the bushes that bordered the road. His companions reined in their steeds and awaited the explanation.

The Englishman threw his reins to the nearest sowar and stealthily joined the ressaidar, who was peering through the bushes. They were passing through a well-wooded tract, abounding with mango, pipal, tamarind, and other trees, with plenty of tropical undergrowth, giving good cover.

"What is it?" Ted asked.

"I don't know," said the Sikh. "The dust hides everything."

About half a mile away dense clouds of dust were rising in the air and falling again to the rear, concealing all traces of the makers of the disturbance, except that a few armed horsemen in front were partially visible.

"I thought at first it might be a body of rebel horse," observed Hira Singh, "but it moves too slowly for that."

"Bullock-carts, I should say," suggested the young officer, as he trained his glasses on the spot.

"That is what I think. There is an escort, so perhaps they carry the poorbeahs' stores or ammunition or loot. Anyhow, we had better mount and capture it."

They were now within about thirty miles of Agra, and the sun's rays were darting through the foliage, the golden light playing upon the flashing sabres and glittering lance-points as the troop swept forward. Ted's men were curiously equipped, some with shields, a number with carbines; some had sabres, others lances, and many had both; and all were seated upon native saddles of felt. Yet Ted was a proud boy that morning, for, motley as was the collection, they were fine-looking men, and were they not acting under his orders! He would have been less proud had he known what his men were charging.

The fine dust deadened the drumming of the hoofs, and until half the intervening distance had been covered the cloud in front moved forward, and rose and fell with regular cadence. Then the procession halted; they had been seen or heard.

Hira Singh laughed, and, lowering his lance-point, tightened the grip of his knees on the saddle.

"Only a rebel escaping with his goods and family," said he; "but we may as well slay them, sahib, for without doubt they deserve it."

"Not so, Hira Singh. Let us speak them fair. We cannot tell who they are."

There were two curtained _gharris_ or carts, each drawn by two soft-eyed bullocks. Protecting these rode three horsemen, who now stood awaiting the onslaught, two with levelled muskets, the third with drawn sword. It was evident that the gharris contained their womenfolk, as for nothing less would they have stood their ground against fifty.

Crack! Crack! At two hundred yards' distance they had fired into the cloud of dust, and a bullet struck Ted just below the heart. He doubled forward with the pain, nearly losing his grip, and the bullet quietly dropped upon the saddle. He glanced at his tunic; there was not a tear, and he slowly realized that he was still alive. The bullet was spent, and it had struck him with no more force than a thrown stone of the same size. He was hurt, but not injured.

Hira Singh's lance was couched again, and the horses were at the gallop. The shots had roused the fierce Sikh blood, and it would have gone hard with the horsemen had not Ted sufficiently recovered his wits, and, spurring his Arab to the front, had called upon the ressaidar to pull up his horse to a walk.

He was puzzled that the three should have stood their ground so valiantly when escape would have been easy, and he did not mean to suffer friends to be slain. Besides, the carts probably contained women, who would not be safe from the fury of his wild levies once they had tasted blood. He caught Hira Singh's bridle and shouted the command to halt, and the troop pulled up about thirty paces from the daring wayfarers. Ted rode out in front of his men.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

Instantly the strangers lowered their loaded muskets, and the handsome old man in the centre took his sword by the blade and held the hilt towards the Englishman.

"Allah give you victory, sahib!" said the old man, stroking his gray beard with nervous fingers. "I thought ye were budmashes who had cut us off. I did not see that thou wast a Feringhi until this moment."

"We hope that no man was hurt by our shots," added the youngest of the three, a slight but muscular and well-made man, twenty years of age perhaps. There was something in his appearance that took Ted's fancy--a dignified bearing and demeanour.

"But what do ye here?" asked our lieutenant, "and why should ye fire at strangers?"

"I am Yusuf Khan of Paniwar, and these are my sons. In the bullock-gharris are our womenfolk. We have fled from our home through fear of the anger of the rebels. Know then, young sahib, that I have raised my voice on the side of our alien rulers, warning and advising our young men to abstain from acts of madness. The stain of blood is not on my hands."

He stretched out his open palms as he spoke. There was an honest ring in the old man's voice, and his eye was open and steady.

"It is true," said Ramzan Khan, the younger son. "We have remained loyal to the Sirkar."

"I am from Paniwar," continued the old Mohammedan, "but for years I was surveyor with Henry Lawrence Sahib, from Gorakhpur to Allahabad, and I swore that his people should be as my people, and that for his sake would I help any Feringhis who might be in need. He was my master and my true friend, and I loved him."

The fierce-eyed Govind Singh walked his horse to the side of Yusuf Khan and looked him between the eyes.

"So thou art also Larens Sahib's man?" he chuckled. "I also. Thou art an eater of beef and I an accursed infidel, yet for that we are bound by the same ties to the same master--we are brothers. Dost thou believe that he is dead?"

"Aye, I know that he is dead, alas!"

"Thou art a faint-hearted disciple, old man. He lives, I say.... Well, tell me thy story."

The Mohammedan turned once more to the English officer and continued:

"The men, and the women also--and their abuse was the harder to bear--taunted me, called me an unbeliever and a renegade, a taker of English gold, because that I opposed the hot-heads. And then it came to pass that I did that which caused all my neighbours to hate me. We found--I and my sons--a small party of English men and women wandering about the jungle, having escaped the fate of their murdered countrymen, and we guided them safely into Agra Fort. All would have been well had I not foolishly given my name to an Englishman who asked for it, and their gratitude led them to recommend me to government for a reward. But for that my neighbours would never have known.

"And this is the reward, that we have been stoned and our lives threatened, and to save ourselves from worse we left home last night with what valuables we could bring away, and set forth for Agra."

"But," objected Ted, "you are going towards Delhi, not Agra."

The old man turned and pointed backwards.

"Over there," said he, "half an hour's walk away, our road from Paniwar joins the Agra-Delhi road, and we turned to the right instead of to the left in order to escape our pursuers. For my son, Ramzan Khan, had lingered near the village to see if we should be followed. We had a few hours' start before we were missed, and, guessing whither we were journeying, a number of the rascals followed, some on horseback, others on foot. With bullocks we cannot travel at more than a snail's pace, and we were unable to procure horses for the carts, so capture was certain. But Ramzan Khan, having a very swift horse, overtook us just after we had turned into the Agra road. Hearing the news that he brought, we tried to throw them off the scent by facing about towards Delhi instead of going on to Agra."

"I came much quicker than the budmashes," put in Ramzan Khan. "Some of them were on foot, and the horsemen were trotting slowly to allow the runners to keep up with them, thinking that they could not fail to overtake the bullocks."

"What, then, do ye intend to do?" asked Govind Singh. A trooper to whom he had been whispering dismounted, and, leaving the dusty road, stole forward under cover of the trees and undergrowth.

"Allah knows," replied Yusuf Khan. "Perchance, having picked up our trail, they will ride on in their haste towards Agra without taking further notice of the tracks we leave in the dust. If so, we may hide until the danger is past. If, however, they notice that we have doubled back, all will soon be over unless ye choose to help us. When we fired we thought ye were the very sons of Shitan themselves, who had worked round and cut us off."

"Ah!" said Hira Singh reprovingly, "that was not a soldierly thing to do, to fire before making sure."

"But," said the stranger, "did we not see you charging upon us with spears and swords?"

"He is right," said Ted, with a laugh at Hira Singh's expense. "Why, ressaidar, didst thou not wish to slay them all without stopping to make sure?"

Rishan Chand, a Dogra, stepped forward with a suggestion.

"Let the women descend from the carts," said he, "and place some of us inside, and let the bullocks retrace their steps. The troopers and you, sahib, keep out of sight, but near enough to aid. Then when the budmashes come, the zamindar (farmer or yeoman) and his sons, and the drivers, can pretend to run away and leave the women at the mercy of the rebels. Then shall we surprise them when they peer in through the curtains, and before they can escape ye should be upon them."

"The Dogra has sense," said Hira Singh. "Let it be so, sahib."

"If the zamindar approve, it shall be done. What sayest thou, Yusuf Khan?"

"It is good; all except that we should run away, I and my sons. We do not run from jackals."

"Nay, but they will suspect otherwise," Ted explained. "And if ye resist they will fire at you and at the carts, and all will be spoiled. Ye must consent to play the coward."

"Sahib, it is for me to obey you," said the zamindar.

The three refugees walked their horses to the side of the conveyances, from behind whose curtains veiled faces were already peeping in anxious bewilderment; and presently an elderly dame and three younger ones descended and were led by the elder son--a married man--into the shelter of the bushes. Sikhs and Dogras began to peer inside the vehicles, and two of the former jumped in. But Govind Singh was too quick for them.

"Outside, dogs!" he shrilled. "Put back that which ye have stolen. Are there not enough enemies from whom to steal that ye must rob friends, and one who has served with Larens Sahib? Outside, I say!"

Inside the carts was strewn in confusion as much of the old Mohammedan's portable property as could be put together in their haste. Abashed, the Sikhs dropped the few ornaments they had seized, and came out with sullen, crest-fallen expressions.

"Ho, zamindar!" called the risaldar. "Wilt thou or one of thy sons go in this cart to see that naught is stolen? Our men are thieves; they are but recruits who know no better."

"Nay," replied the old man, with simple dignity. "Ye are my friends. If they save my honour, I do not grudge them my goods."

"If so much as the value of an anna is taken," said Ted sternly, "the thief shall answer it. Let three or four of the Dogras get in each cart; they ate smaller than ye Sikhs, and will have more room to aim. Tumble in!"

"Hide, you rascals, hide!" broke in Govind Singh abruptly. He pointed eastward, whence the scout was running towards them, in and out among the tree-trunks, gesticulating as he ran.

"He is signalling us to take cover," continued the risaldar. "Sons of owls, disappear among the bushes before ye are seen! Inside the carts, ye Dogras! Quick!"

The Dogras squeezed inside and drew the curtains across; and in a moment all the troopers had disappeared, leaving Ted, Govind Singh, and the two Mohammedans beside the carts to await the scout.

"They are within sight from up there," he informed them. "I climbed a tree and saw the dust they raised. They come at a trot, and will soon be here."

"What shall we do, sahib?" asked the zamindar. "We obey thy orders."

"Go forward as before, thou and thy sons," said Ted. "We shall hide on both sides of the road. When the budmashes come close, fire at them, and then set spurs to your steeds, keeping straight along the road, not into the bushes where we hide. We can see to the rest, can we not, risaldar?"

Govind Singh grunted acquiescence, and with Ted left the glaring road for the shade of the trees, and the little caravan went on.

"Will they not mark the track of our horses?" Ted asked, being apprehensive lest the plot should fail.

"Once they see their prey they will take no further heed to the trail. Dismount here, sahib; we can see without being seen."

A view-halloo from the distance, faint yet savagely exultant, told that the pursuers were within sight of the slowly-trudging bullock-carts. A moment or two of suspense, then a shot rang out. A second report, and two horsemen flashed round the bend and galloped past the watching officers. Ted and Govind Singh were less than a hundred yards from the road; the rest of the troop, dispersed over a large area, were rather farther back on either side, hidden in groups behind clumps of trees and patches of bush.

"There's the cart," whispered Ted, as the zamindar and his son dashed past them.

With a twist of the bullocks' tails to urge them forward, Yusuf Khan's two servants left their charges and scuttled into the woods. The stolid bullocks, unmoved as ever, went forward snail-like, and the foremost pursuers ranged alongside.

Lieutenant Russell trembled with excitement. The Dogras were at the mercy of the blackguards, should they have courage enough to take revenge for the trick played upon them, rather than seek first to make good their escape.

The first four or five leapt from their horses, jabbering something that the watchers could not make out. Their actions, however, were easy to understand. They tore aside the curtains, laughing noisily; a silver streak flashed forth from each window, and a couple of the scoundrels staggered aside and rolled over heavily. Their comrades jumped back as though stung, and the expression of blended terror and amazement depicted on their faces caused Govind Singh to give utterance to a low pleased chuckle. Said he:

"It is the story of the hunter who chased the sambhur deer, and when he was close upon her, and sure of his prey, she vanished amid the bushes, and lo! he was face to face with a tiger.---- Ha!---- badly aimed! They have shot but two of the curs."

As their assailants recoiled the Dogras had fired. Some of the budmashes, their courage quickly cooled by unexpected resistance, seemed anxious to leave the scene without striking a blow, but the handful of revolted sepoys who were with them were less cowardly, and they who had muskets were already loading their weapons. Meanwhile Hira Singh and a dozen troopers were rapidly skirting round to the rear, and Ted knew that the time had come. He gave a clear whistle, and the rebels turned abruptly round.

Wild and shrill were the yells of those troopers as they sprang to the saddle and converged from various points upon the mutineers, spoiling their aim, so that not a Dogra was touched. The budmashes had no mind for further lingering. But they had hesitated too long. The lances were already couched and sabres bared, and the Sikhs close upon them, and the troopers' horses were fresher than were theirs, and better animals withal. Down the Agra road clattered the would-be murderers, Ted, Govind Singh, and Ramzan Khan at their heels. Round the bend they went, and, behold, the road was blocked by Hira Singh and his dozen Sikhs, who awaited the mob with levelled carbines.

The terrified rascals tried to turn aside, and the carbines cracked and the lance-points fell and rose again, and Ramzan Khan's tulwar was merciless. There was no fight left in these rebels. They had set out to murder and despoil those weaker than themselves; they had hunted the deer, as Govind Singh had said, and had caught the tiger.

"Have mercy! Have mercy!" they whined, throwing down weapons and holding their hands aloft, and Ted commanded that the fight should cease. He was obliged to repeat the order more sternly and accompany it by a threat, and even then the command might have availed little with the fierce Sikhs had the young lieutenant not been backed up by the veteran brothers. As for Yusuf Khan, the zamindar, the moment Ted had spoken, he had wiped his blade and thrust it back into the wooden sheath. His were the wrongs, but, thought he, it was not for him to disobey the countryman of Henry Lawrence, who had come to his help in time of sorest need.

The prisoners numbered sixteen; eight or ten were slain, barely half a dozen escaping. The mounted men were ordered down from their seats and tied in fours, right wrist to left wrist, and bade march in front. The women were replaced in the carriages, and the procession moved forward at a walk, three or four sowars scouting in advance.

"Sahib," said the old Mohammedan, "we are grateful. You have saved us from a great evil."

"Ye also saved the lives of my countrymen," Ted replied, "so ye owe me naught. Indeed, ye have lost by your deed of kindness; I have lost nothing. Believe me, I will tell your story at Agra, and the government will not forget you when the rebellion is over."

The zamindar engaged his sons in a whispered conversation. After a few moments he said:

"Your servant is not a fighter, sahib,--that much I have seen. Take my son, Ramzan Khan, as orderly, to fight by your side. He is a good swordsman, and not without courage."

Ted jumped at the offer. Ramzan Khan met his gaze and said:

"I am your servant, sahib. I cannot forget what you have done for us."

And so it was settled that Ramzan Khan should accompany Lieutenant Russell to Lucknow.

Next day they crossed the Jumna by the bridge of boats, and Ted landed his convoy and his prisoners safely in Agra Fort, where he was warmly welcomed by Colonel Boldre, who was introduced by no less a person than Claude himself. Ted's new colonel was a little man, of slight build, and of rather insignificant appearance, until one noted his eyes and mouth. Ted soon perceived that he was active and alert, with an air of decision, and the lieutenant took to his commandant at once. Colonel Boldre listened to the youngster's narrative, and laughed at the story of the trick played upon the rebels. He inspected his new troops, and was particularly pleased with the look of Govind and Hira Singh, whose hearts he quickly won. Colonel Boldre had a thorough knowledge of Sikh character, and understood their ways, and when his poorbeah regiment had mutined, the Sikhs had remained loyal, and had saved their colonel's life.

Ted made a good meal of salt beef and pickles, and when tiffin was over he and Claude left the colonel and strolled outside the rambling building.

"I never expected to see you here," said Ted as they quitted the room.

"I suppose not. As soon as I heard that the pater had been given permission to raise a corps I asked him to apply for my exchange. He did so, and here I am. Knowing that you would prefer this sort of work to being in the regulars, I asked him to put in a word for you also. I cracked you up no end as a horseman and soldier."

"You're a brick! It was jolly good of you to think of it. I suppose you didn't much care to be under Hodson after what's happened?"

Claude Boldre turned on Ted with a queer expression in his eyes--half vexation, half amusement.

"You're alluding to the shooting of the old emperor's sons, I suppose?" said he.

Ted nodded. "Hodson's a brave man--there's no one who risks his own life more; but one can hardly respect an English officer who could deliberately shoot his prisoners in cold blood."

"Cold blood be hanged, Russell! Your blood wouldn't be very cold if you were faced by ten times your own number, clamouring for the rescue of your prisoners."

"Perhaps not, but they were not resisting. They were not showing fight, and he ought not to have killed them. They were men like himself, but he showed no more compunction than if they'd been wolves or tigers."

"Those prisoners were a jolly sight worse than wolves or tigers, Russell, a jolly sight more wicked. I don't think you can know the whole story. Hodson has a number of enemies because he's been so prominent, and he is rather arrogant and zubberdusty (high-handed) at times. He has trodden on other people's corns, and they've been too ready to believe the worst without taking all the circumstances into account."

"But, you know, he got into trouble over the Guides," Ted interrupted. "Falsified the accounts and collared the money, or something of the sort."

"Not a bit of it. He had a row with one of the Pathan officers, and he was rather zubberdusty; but as for the dishonesty, that was only a tale set afloat by busybodies. The affair was investigated by Reynell Taylor, and you'll admit that he would never condone anything wrong."

"Yes," Ted agreed, "if he absolved Hodson it's all right."

"Well, he did so. He said there was not an anna not accounted for, and that the books were badly kept, because Hodson wasn't cut out for a clerk, being always in the saddle, doing police and soldier work. Now, as to this other business. It was Hodson who captured the old Mogul when perhaps no other man could have done it, and he didn't put him to death. Then he offered to go and bring in the princes--the vicious brutes who'd murdered the English men and women in Delhi. With a handful of his troopers he set out for the tiger's lair and captured them. They begged him to spare their lives when they surrendered, but he resolutely refused to give any promise. On the way back he was cut off by a mob of armed fanatics, who were keen on rescuing the princes. Hodson's own account, and that of his sowars, is that if he had hesitated a moment he would have been overwhelmed and killed and they would have escaped, and he was determined that the vile murderers should be punished and made an example of. Without hesitation he answered the clamour of the mob by shooting the princes himself; and his promptness cowed the fanatics. They melted away, and not one of his men was hurt."

"Yes; but was he not exaggerating the danger?" contended Ted.

"He's the only one who can judge of that," Boldre replied. "And with all his faults, I believe Hodson to be an honourable man. The prisoners were bound to be hanged. No one even attempted to deny their guilt, and their lives being forfeit, I don't suppose Hodson considered it wrong to anticipate their fate by a day or two, when by so doing he could save the lives of his own men.

"It was a big responsibility," Claude continued as Ted remained thoughtful, "and he had the courage to take it, believing it to be the right course. He may have been wrong. I admit I don't like the thought of it, but it was done from no motive of cruelty."

"You've put the affair in a new light," Ted confessed; "but all the same, I wish he had not done it."

"So do I," agreed Boldre. "But look here, Russell, suppose the princes had been rescued to spread rebellion by the magic of their name as the descendants of the Grand Mogul. Would not those who are now decrying him most have been the first to attack him for having allowed them to escape?"

"Well, perhaps they would," said Ted.

"No, I did not exchange because of that," Claude went on, reverting to Ted's earlier question, "but because I wished to serve under the pater. I've seen so little of him for years, and he's a good soldier, everyone say so. Very few of the Company's colonels have been given new commands, you may have noticed, and the pater is one of the few."

"Yes, it's rather marked that the newly-raised regiments are mostly commanded by lieutenants and captains."

A hand tapped Ted's shoulder. Turning, he perceived his new orderly, Ramzan Khan. In reply to the look of enquiry the Mohammedan said:

"It is not safe to go so far from the fort, sahibs. The people of Agra do not love the English."

"He's right," said Claude. "We'd better get back."

"Is there any--" Ted stopped short with a little gasp. He stood staring with wide-open eyes, and his companions followed his gaze.

"Is that the famous Taj Mahal?" he asked in a tone of awe; and Claude nodded.

Our lieutenant of Irregular Horse having become accustomed to the wonders of the East was not easily moved to admiration thereby. But now he was spell-bound by the beauty, the exquisite perfection of that lovely dream-palace, perhaps the most awe-inspiring work of men's hands. In the ardour of argument he had not noticed the wonder, and now he could not take his eyes from that central dome, white and ethereal against the deep blue of the Indian sky, with its cluster of smaller pearly domes, the whole great and grand and yet unreal, as if the vision must shortly fade away. Men have attempted to depict the Taj Mahal in prose and poetry and painting, and have all admitted the feat impossible. "Go to India," Lord Roberts has said; "the Taj alone is worth the journey."

This vast tomb, known as the Taj Mahal, was built by the Emperor Shah Jehan in memory of his wife, and finished about the year 1640, when the Moslems were the great architects of the world. Forbidden by their religion to make images of men by painting or sculpture, they devoted their genius to architecture; and the mosques and tombs of Hindustan, and the Alhambra and other Moorish buildings in Spain, bear witness to their surpassing power.

Ramzan Khan looked downcast as they turned away.

"Ah!" said he sadly, "in those days were the true believers the leaders of mankind. We are unworthy children of our great fathers."