CHAPTER IX

Defence of the Commissioner's House

When Major Munro's eighty officers and men arrived inside the house of refuge, they found that the few civilians, ladies, and children of Aurungpore had all escaped thereto, having been warned in time. At the first sign of outbreak they had found access to the fort impossible, and had taken refuge in the Commissioner's house, the largest and strongest in the town, situated within easy reach of all the European bungalows, and close to the fort itself. They were in sore plight when the soldiers forced their way in--another half-hour would have been too late.

From roof, loophole, and sheltered parapet blazed the muskets of the Rajputs, lending their aid to the rifles of the English gentlemen, and the mob drew back, raging furiously, but afraid to strike at close quarters. The sad story was told; dry-eyed but heavy-hearted the residents heard of the murder of their friends. The wounded men were speedily given every possible assistance, and the ladies left nothing undone to alleviate their pain. To tend the sufferers was their first care, but the great-hearted Englishwomen insisted on taking their share in the defence, refusing to leave the posts of danger for the comparative safety of the inner rooms whilst there were rifles and muskets to load and hand to the marksmen.

Greatly to his dismay Munro found it quite impossible to send aid to the little garrison of the fort, the route being blocked by hundreds of fanatical savages. If he should despatch even half his command to break their way through they would be destroyed, and the remaining half would fall an easy prey to the triumphant rebels.

The continued fusillade from the direction of the fort told him that the handful of defenders he had left behind was being hotly assailed, and he sadly feared that he had left them there to die. Bitterly the major regretted his error. Such concentrated fury on the part of the inhabitants had never been anticipated; he had felt sure of clearing the street and bringing the party safely back, and he had made a mistake.

Colonel Woodburn's wound, though serious, was not dangerous, and before long Ethel was able to leave him for a short time. Whilst the soldiers were breaking their way through the crowd, she had seen her father carried in their midst, and had eyes for none but him. Now she looked around for Ted and could not see him.

"Where is Ted Russell, Major Munro? He's not--surely he has not been murdered!"

Munro was agitated, and showed it.

"He's in the fort, Ethel; I left Lowthian, Tynan, and Russell with a few sepoys to guard it, and they're being attacked. Listen! I ought not to have left 'em. Leigh," he exclaimed, turning to an officer beside him, "is there nothing to be done? Can we leave those fellows to die? And if the fort is captured there is no escape for us!"

Lieutenant Leigh shook his head.

"We are helpless, sir. If we make a sortie not one of us would reach the fort, and the women would be left without protectors."

Still the rattle of musketry kept up, and the inmates listened with troubled hearts for the firing to cease--the signal of the capture of the fort and the death of its garrison.

"It's stopped!" groaned Sir Arthur Fletcher, and a shudder ran through the house.

Ethel Woodburn turned pale, shuddered, and gripped the table for support. Ted Russell murdered by those savages! She recalled the ensign's merry looks and honest nature, and realized what a place the boy had won in her heart. Could it be possible that she would never see him again? How terribly cut up Jim would be!

Jim! Aye, what of him? If her own trusted, well-tried regiment could so suddenly transform itself into a horde of fiends, what might not have happened to the Guides, that collection of outlaws and robbers? In all probability her lover had already been murdered. Her grief for Ted gave way to a greater anxiety regarding the fate of her betrothed. She walked aimlessly towards the window and looked out upon the distant mob, her thoughts far away from Aurungpore.

"Miss Woodburn, for heaven's sake come away from the window!" Sir Arthur Fletcher almost shrieked as he planted himself in front of the girl. "They are not firing now, but--"

A bullet crashed through the shattered window, and passing within an inch of the Commissioner's head, flattened itself against the far wall. Ethel awoke and skipped aside, and, seeing that she was safe, Sir Arthur followed suit. She had forgotten her own danger; she had not reflected that, even had the Guides proved true to their salt, nothing seemed less likely than that Jim Russell would ever see her again. She thanked Sir Arthur mechanically, and began to wonder how poor Jim would bear the news of her death. Having no doubt of his great love for her, her grief was more for him than for herself, horrible as the outlook was.

Led by Major Munro, the men grimly went on with their work of strengthening the defences of the house, whilst their picked shots replied to the random firing.

Suddenly another volley rang out from the direction of the fort; then a second; then the loud irregular firing of the pandies.

"They're not done for yet!" Munro cried. "Thank God, there is still a chance!"

For half an hour the distant firing was heard, and intense anxiety prevailed as it gradually died away. The tension was nerve-shattering; so much so, that a half-hearted attack upon the house came almost as a relief from the suspense. Strong in their defences, they once more beat the rebels back with heavy loss, and another weary period of waiting ensued.

Volley after volley, regular and disciplined as though with blank cartridge on parade, caused their hearts to beat more wildly. What could it mean? The volley was too heavy to have been the work of the little garrison, and so far the traitors had fired independently, as each man thought best, without regard to any word of command. Could help have come?

They looked out towards the parade-ground, and the unconcerned appearance of the groups that moved restlessly up and down destroyed this wild hope. Besides, who could possibly have come to the rescue? They had heard the cracks of the volleys that covered the first rush of the battering crews. Unable to fathom its meaning, they rejoiced therein as a proof that their comrades still held out.

Again a lull, and again an assault upon their own stronghold, directed this time against the rear of the house. For a space they had no time to think of the fort, so hotly were they engaged; but the rabble lacked resolute leaders, and the budmashes would obey no commands. Thirty of their bravest were slain, and the others sneaked away like a pack of wolves, beaten and cowed. So far the garrison had lost only two men killed and one badly wounded.

The sun was wheeling slowly downwards beyond the fort, and for a time no sound had been heard save the yells of the excited mob ebbing and flowing through the streets.

"It seems wicked to stay here in safety, Major," Ethel whispered, "and to think of our plucky fellows at the mercy of those fiends."

The major made no reply. For hours that same thought had made him wretched, but he knew better than she how helpless was their own position.

"Could we not make a sortie?" the girl continued. "Might it not be possible, as soon as darkness comes, for us all to make a rush for the fort? We might take them completely by surprise, and once inside, a hundred could hold it for weeks. If only we could get the guns!"

Munro shook his head sadly.

"A hundred to one that we should find the rebels in possession, Ethel," he made answer, "and then all would indeed be lost. But we should never get so far. Here we may hold our own for days--unless indeed the pandies take the fort and are able to load the guns--but not for half an hour in the street with women to protect and wounded men to carry. No, it is not possible; would it were! Believe me, Ethel, there is not a man here but would gladly take the risk if we had only ourselves to think of."

"I know it well," she admitted, "and I know you are right; but it is horrible, horrible to think of, and it is our fault. If we were not here you men could rescue them. That seems so hard."

"Listen!" said Leigh. "I think I hear the sound of firing again. It is very faint."

Everyone listened intently, and Ethel could hear the ticking of her watch. She was the first to break the silence.

"I think I hear it. The sound comes from inside the fort."

She had hardly spoken the words when the roar of a tremendous explosion filled their ears and almost deafened them. The house shook, and a column of dense smoke rose where the fort had been. They looked at one another with blanched faces and then at the ruin in front. That portion of the fort which contained the magazine was demolished, and some buildings that had partially obstructed their view were dismantled or levelled with the ground. Streams of natives rushed to and fro in wild confusion, shrieking with pain and fear. Masses of timber and masonry fell around, killing numbers in the closely-packed streets, and the scene was one of destruction and desolation.

Major Munro clapped his hand to his thigh; his face glowed with admiration and enthusiasm.

"Lowthian's done that!" he exclaimed. "He's saved the arsenal from their clutches.----Gallant fellows!"

"But what of Ted Russell?" Ethel breathlessly asked. "And of Lieutenant Lowthian and the others?" she added as an afterthought.

Munro hesitated before replying.

"I'm afraid there's little hope for them, my dear Ethel; though they do say that those nearest sometimes escape better than others farther away." This was also an afterthought, added from a weak desire to cheer.

The girl turned away her head to hide her emotion and returned to her father's room. In awed whispers the men discussed the glorious act, and various conjectures were hazarded as to the manner of its doing and the possibility of their comrades' escape.

Away in the west the sun had just vanished below the horizon and darkness set in swiftly. The vicinity of the Commissioner's house seemed deserted, and no fresh attack was made that night. Evidently that bloodthirsty crew was awed and its ardour damped by the appalling vengeance taken by the unbeaten handful. Scores had been killed, and yet more injured, by the force of the explosion.

They had been taught the lesson that it does not pay to push white men too far, and Munro felt assured that for that night at least the house was safe. Yet he neglected no precaution, and guards were set on every side, whilst the remainder of the garrison were ordered to rest whether they wished to or not. Few could sleep, try as they would, and a loud challenge by one of the sentries at the rear brought men and women flocking to the scene, ready for the fray.

Ethel hastened to the spot, in time to see the door thrown open, and two ragged figures, black with smoke and grime, enter the house. A loud cheer was raised as the door was shut and barricaded.

"Ted!" she joyfully cried. "You, Ted?"

To our hero's embarrassment she stepped forward and kissed his smoke-begrimed countenance.

Yes, Ensign Russell had escaped! Strange to say, he and Havildar Ambar Singh, the other survivor, had been the nearest to the magazine when the explosion occurred, and yet they had escaped its worst effects. The havildar had pluckily waited for the ensign when the others ran for safety, and, as they dashed out of the room, they crashed into the thick of the triumphant pandies.

But no attempt was made to kill them. The rebels had pulled up short as they saw and heard the spluttering powder, wild terror in their eyes; and the foremost tried to back away from the spot. The crush was too great, however, though Ted and Ambar Singh had time to bore their way into the crowd. They remembered no more. When they came to themselves it was dark, and they were lying amid a heap of killed and injured men, with stones and bricks scattered all around. They were both cut and badly bruised, and Ambar Singh's foot was crushed. In the darkness they had been able to steal away, stumbling over dead bodies and wrecked masonry, until they found themselves in the open. So great was the awe that had come upon the rebels that the neighbourhood was deserted, so they crept stealthily through the streets, the havildar nearly dead with pain. Accosted once or twice, Ambar Singh had answered, passing himself and his companion off as rebels.

As Ted was speaking the plucky Rajput sergeant fainted away, and was carried to the hospital-room. Munro interrupted the congratulations and showers of questions by ordering everyone to lie down again, except the guards. Ted at least was not sorry to obey the command.

Next day he told the tale of the defence of the fort, of the death of Lowthian, and of the heroism of Ambar Singh and his Rajputs. Men and women forgot their own danger for a space, and crowded round to listen to the ensign's story. No need to say that he was silent respecting Tynan's willingness to surrender to Pir Baksh. He used the word "we", not "I", throughout.

"But who first thought of destroying the magazine?" asked the commandant. "You say 'we' decided to do it. The thought would not occur to both Tynan and yourself at once."

Ted admitted that the plan was his; also, in reply to the next question, that it was he who had fired the train.

"But it was Tynan's job as senior officer to do that."

"Well, you see, sir, I was the one to--to suggest it; so it was only fair that I should carry it out."

"Humph!" said the major, who had his own opinion about the affair.

"You're a plucky fellow, Russell, and it's possible that you've saved us all. The pandies seem thoroughly disheartened to-day."

Paterson passed his arm through Ted's and whispered:

"Well done, old man! I--I can't say what I think about it;" and as he caught Ethel's glance of admiration, approval, and affection there was no prouder officer in all India than Ensign Russell.

"I hope that rascal Pir Baksh has been killed," he said presently. "Did you know, Major, that it was he who shot the colonel?"

"No. Are you sure, Ted? He always seemed such a plausible fellow."

"I didn't see him myself, but Tynan told us that he saw the deed. Certainly Pir Baksh seemed to be the leader in the attack on the fort."

"Pir Baksh!" said Havildar Ambar Singh as he limped into the room. "The hound is surely dead. Major Sahib, I have written down the names of all my men who perished in the fort yesterday, so that their families may get the pension if you English win, and that their names may be recorded as true to their salt."

"Thank you, Havildar! It's a good officer who thinks first of his men. How is your foot to-day?"

"Better, sahib; better, thanks! I do not grudge the injury if that son of a hyena, Pir Baksh, has been killed. If the young sahib here had not been resolute and taken over the command, he would have deceived Tynan Sahib, and we should have been delivered into their hands to be murdered."

"Ah!" said Munro, pricking his ears; "so Russell Sahib had to take over the command? How was that?"

"The other was scared, Major Sahib. True, he was but a lad, and it is hardly to be wondered at. But Russell Sahib refused to surrender, and appealed to us, and we put aside the other and looked to this one as our leader. Ha! Russell Sahib played the man, for he threatened to shoot his comrade when the other objected to being blown up. He will make a general, will the Ensign Sahib."

"Is this story true, Russell?" demanded Munro.

"It's true, sir; but you oughtn't to be hard on Tynan. He was plucky enough most of the time."

"John Lawrence shall know about this if I live," said the major with unwonted emphasis. "All England shall know about it."

"But you won't say anything about Tynan, sir?" Ted asked.

"No, that wouldn't do. We must treat him as dead--ignore his presence in the fort altogether."

Colonel Woodburn's condition was hopeful. The bullet had been successfully extracted, and he was doing well. He sent for Ted, and made him tell the story from beginning to end. Our hero was getting rather tired of it, and Ethel was merciless. She would not allow him to cut out the least incident. The colonel was mightily pleased.

"Do you know," the ensign observed as they quitted the invalid's room, "in the midst of the crowd I noticed the three fanatics who set on us in the bazaar. I expect the poor beggars are blown to bits by now."

"I suppose there is no chance," Miss Woodburn asked, "that that poor boy Tynan has survived?"

"I'm afraid not. I think the havildar and I are the only survivors, but of course there was no time to make certain."

"Poor Tynan!" she murmured, more to herself than to her companion. "I have always felt so sorry for the boy since he joined us."

"Have you? Why? Don't think me a brute, Ethel, if I say that since that event most of our fellows seem to have pitied the regiment most."

"You have no right to say that, Ted," Ethel declared, her clear, steadfast eyes regarding the ensign reproachfully. "Tynan has lost his life, we believe, and you know the Latin tag about speaking good or nothing at all of the dead."

Ted was rather surprised. A few moments ago he had tried to omit all mention of Tynan's cowardice, but she had insisted on the whole truth. He recollected having read that even the most charming members of the sex were changeable and unaccountable.

"I'm sorry," said he. "I won't say anything harsh about Tynan; but why were you so sorry for him all along?"

"Because it struck me as so pitiable that he made no real friends, and I never once noticed him looking downright happy. The most he seemed to get out of life was a miserable pretence of enjoyment--a mere attempt to persuade himself that he was having a good time. His has been such a wasted life, Ted. I have thought a great deal about it this morning and last night, and it has seemed so very sad. None of the healthy pleasures and pursuits that have meant so much to you and Paterson appealed to him in the least."

"What have Russell and I been doing now, Miss Ethel?" a well-known voice broke in, and Paterson joined them.

Miss Woodburn hesitated and turned red. To speak freely with her future brother-in-law was one thing, to discuss serious subjects with a couple of light-hearted ensigns at once was quite another. Ted came to the rescue.

"Miss Woodburn was saying how sorry she has always been for poor Tynan," he explained.

"So have I," said Alec slowly; "at least at times, when he was not in the way, but I'm sorry to say I couldn't stand him when he was close at hand. I wish now that I hadn't tried so hard to be sarcastic."

"You would have risked your lives to save him from death or danger," said Ethel, "but it was harder to try and save him from himself. At least I found it so, for more than once I resolved to try to gain his confidence and interest him in more sensible pursuits, but being too cowardly and selfish, I was too easily discouraged."

"He was hardly the sort one could make a friend of," Paterson mused aloud. "You're right though, Miss Ethel, it was just selfishness and conceit on our part to regard ourselves as superior beings just because we didn't happen to like the sort of things he cared about."

"We looked at everything from a different point of view," Ethel resumed after a pause, "and got more enjoyment out of life."

"I never saw it in that light before," said Ted, "but I think I know what you mean. For instance, when we were all so excited over the race, he had no sympathy whatever with the horses or riders, but just regarded the affair as so much money to be won or lost."

"Yes, but don't be scornful, Ted. Think of all he has lost during his short lifetime by not having a healthy mind. Think of all the happiness you have enjoyed from your love of sports and games, through your friendships and your admiration for what is good and right. But you are rather young quite to grasp what I mean."

Ethel Woodburn, aged twenty-one, spoke as though she felt the wisdom of ages within her, and the boys could not help glancing at one another. She caught the glance, and her eyes twinkled as she continued:

"One could easily see that Tynan was a spoiled child, cursed with foolish parents. I think, Ted, that of all selfish people, those parents who are too generous to deny their children anything, or too tender-hearted to punish them, are the most criminally selfish. And that's what made me so sorry for the boy. Once or twice I was on the point of asking you to give him a bit of your friendship, but somehow I didn't quite like to do it."

"Well," said Ted, "I'm sorry for my share in any rows we had, and I forgive him his share."

"Rather easy for us to forgive one who is dead, is it not, Ted? Can we forgive now, at this moment, those rebels who want to kill us?"

"I suppose that you forgive 'em, Ethel, but I can't say that I do."

"But I didn't forgive Tynan, Ted. I heard of that fight you had; in fact, I met Tynan just afterwards, and very tactlessly asked him what had happened, supposing he had met with an accident. Unluckily he had not had time to cool down, and--well, he laughed in my face and forgot himself. You see, his people are wealthy, but not quite--you know what I mean?--he's not a gentleman, and he hinted at the cause of your fight."

"The cad!" said Ted.

"Steady, old boy! I felt as if I could never forgive him, so please don't imagine I'm making myself out better than you. I feel bad about it now, and if by any chance he should escape I should find it easy to forgive him, though there's little credit in that."

"I didn't think he could have done such a thing," said Ted. "I forgive that mullah and his friends who knifed me, so long as I think they've both been killed, but if I should see 'em to-morrow I'm afraid I should still remember that I owe 'em one."

"Yet, as I said before, you'd risk your life willingly enough to save theirs, just as they do in the story-books." Miss Woodburn laughed as she went on: "I must say that it annoys me to read those tales entitled _A Noble Revenge_ or _Coals of Fire_, or something of the kind, where someone who has been greatly injured takes his revenge by saving his enemy from drowning, or climbs to the top story of a burning house and rescues the evil-doer, who promptly repents. It's all very noble, of course; but it's such a thorough vindication, and such glory for the rescuer, that a more complete triumph over one's enemy couldn't be wished for. What could one desire better than to make your enemy feel small, and acknowledge how much nobler you are than he?"

"I should like," said Ted, with feeling, "to make these beggars outside feel small. We've drifted into a curious talk, considering our situation."

"Not a bit of it," said Alec. "I quite agree with you, Miss Ethel. I must go and relieve Leigh now, and you relieve me in a couple of hours, Ted. Miss Woodburn, I'm glad we've had this talk, and I sha'n't forget it."

"And I must go back to father now," said Ethel, whereupon Ted turned to accompany her.

The colonel was fast asleep, breathing easily.

"Good-bye for a few hours, Ethel!" said the ensign; and added in a low, hesitating tone, "You're a saint."

"I! Oh, Ted, you little know me--you and Jim. It's easy to forgive one who can no longer injure you, but it's hard to live your ordinary life with a person who wishes to injure you, or who has done so, and who hates and despises you. What a terrible prig you must think me, Ted! I know I can't feel like that myself. I only wish I could."

Ted glanced guiltily round. There was no one in the room save Colonel Woodburn, and he was sleeping, undisturbed by their whispering. Seizing the girl's hand he kissed it, awkwardly and nervously, then hastily dropping it blushed furiously.

"There!" exclaimed the ensign jerkily. "I knew I should do it some day. I'm sure Jim never did that."

"Oh--?"

Ethel's face was also flushed, and she looked radiantly charming as she gave utterance to the long-drawn, quizzing exclamation, and a new light broke in upon Ted.

"What! Old Jim?" he asked. "Well, who'd have thought it? Lucky beggar! It's a dainty little hand."

"Silence, sir! I must ask you to leave the room."

"Good-bye, then, little sister!"