HOPES AND FEARS.
Haidee led Lieutenant Harper up the flight of stone steps, and then along a dimly lighted passage that appeared to be built between the walls. On reaching the end of this passage another door presented itself, but his beautiful guide took a key from her girdle and unlocked it. Another flight of steps were descended, and then not a single gleam of light could be seen. Haidee caught his hand and led him along. It was a tortuous way, but she was well acquainted with it. Presently a faint glimmering light was discernible, and, as they drew nearer, Harper perceived that it came from a small window let in a door. More steps had to be ascended to reach this door, which opened to Haidee’s key, and in an instant the lieutenant’s eyes were dazzled with a bright burst of sunshine.
A broad walk, running between an avenue of noble banyan trees, was before them. Except the noise of the moving branches, as they swayed in a light breeze, not a sound broke the stillness.
“This is the King’s private ground,” said Haidee, in a whisper. “It is here he walks with his agents, and his favourite wives, free from all intrusion. Once across this ground, and we are safe. But caution is necessary.”
She closed the door behind her, and, motioning Harper to follow, cautiously led the way, keeping as much as possible in the shadow of the banyans. The avenue was passed through without adventure, and a large iron gate, let into a stone wall, reached. Haidee produced the key, and inserting it in the lock, gave access to a sort of plantation. She peered cautiously out to see that the way was clear, and, motioning Harper to follow, closed the gate again.
After a short walk, they arrived at a small ruined building. It stood on an eminence, and commanded a view of the surrounding country. It had formerly been used as a temple, but was now fallen into decay, and was overrun with luxuriant vegetation. A small flight of slippery, moss-covered steps led to the doorway.
“This will be a place of safety,” said Haidee, as she pushed open the door, that creaked on its rusty hinges as if uttering a complaint.
It was a circular building, and contained one room below that was in a tolerable state of preservation. A broken idol lay upon the floor, where it had tumbled from a niche in the wall, and some stone benches still remained. Above this was another room, reached by a stairway built in the thickness of the wall. From this room a look-out was obtained, and Harper saw that the building was within half-a-mile of the magazine, of which it commanded an uninterrupted view. The roof was entirely gone, but the broad leaves of some palms which grew on the hill had spread themselves over the walls in such a manner as to form a screen from the scorching rays of the sun.
“You are safe for a time,” said Haidee, as she stood facing the man she had delivered from death, and presented to his gaze a combination of beauty, grace, and resolution, until his heart beat quicker, and he felt as if he could fall upon his knees at her feet and pour out his thanks in passionate language. “This was formerly a private temple, and here Moghul Singh has often come to pray to the god of his faith. One night the diamond eyes of the idol which lies on the floor below, were stolen, and the King ordered the temple to be closed, and never more used. It is shunned now—nobody ever comes here. It is to this place that I would draw Moghul Singh, that you may slay him—slay him like a dog in the place that is cursed, and leave his carrion as food for the foul things that creep and crawl.”
She spoke passionately. The fire in her eyes burnt brilliantly, and she drew her breath quickly. She was no longer the mild, gentle woman, but looked like a fury panting for revenge. Harper noticed this, and said, soothingly:
“Don’t agitate yourself, Haidee. Have patience, and your day will dawn.”
In an instant she had changed. The love-light came into her eyes again, and the stern expression of her face softened.
“Ah, forgive me,” she murmured, taking his hand and drooping her head; “my wrongs are great, my desire for vengeance uncontrollable. But to you, my lord, my master, I would be gentle as the dove. Could I but see this villain writhing in the throes of death, I should watch him with joy in my heart, and when he was dead, I should feel that my mission was ended, and henceforth it was poor Haidee’s duty to be only your loving slave.”
“Not slave, Haidee, but sister; though you should remember that you are a woman, and this terrible feeling which you are nursing is not good—it is unwomanly. Leave this wretch to the retribution that is sure, sooner or later, to overtake him.”
She let his hand fall, and recoiled with a cry of mingled pain and rage, and was the fury again.
“Would you play me false, now that I have saved you? Is it not out of my very womanhood that my desire for vengeance comes? Does not the mad cry of my father still ring in my ears? Does not the blood of my murdered sister, and brother, and lover, cry aloud for vengeance? Let my heart turn to steel, let my own blood become a burning poison that shall gall and canker me night and day if I allow my slaughtered kin to go unavenged. You have promised to right my wrongs—you dare not break that promise. Your life is mine, since I gave it back to you. I snatch you from the jaws of death—have I not a right to demand something in return? Remember that in my veins runs the hot blood of an Eastern woman; my country people are not as yours are. We can melt with love, or rise to a passion of wrath which you English people know nothing of.”
Her stern energy startled Harper. It was like the sudden bursting of a thunder-cloud, where, a moment before, all was serenity. Yet even in her passion she looked beautiful, if dangerous; and her nature, strange as it was, aroused in the young officer a feeling of enthusiastic admiration.
“You mistake me, Haidee,” he said, softly. “I acknowledge freely that to you I owe my escape from a cruel end, and therefore you have a right to demand any service from me that is not absolutely dishonourable; and such service I will freely render. You said, a little while ago, when you first entered my prison, that you were a woman. I may answer you now in similar language, and say I am a man. And in my heart lives all that feeling which it would be impossible not to feel for a lovely and much-wronged lady.”
His words touched the springs of her nature, and her long lashes dripped with tears. In an instant she was on her knees at his feet, and her soft and burning cheek was laid against his hand.
“Oh, forgive me, if I have hurt you; but Haidee’s sorrows are great. I know now that your heart is true, and your hand strong to strike in cause of sullied honour. You thrill me with your words, and my pulse throbs for you alone.”
They were suddenly startled by the cry of a multitude, and the sullen boom of the guns. Harper rushed to the window, and exclaimed—
“The insurgents have attacked the magazine.”
“There is no time to lose,” she answered, rising quickly to her feet; “I must away, and return to you as soon as possible with weapons and food. You must not stir from here unless you wish to sacrifice your life. I shall seek out Moghul Singh. I shall tell him that I have you here, where I have enticed you on the pretext of saving your life, having discovered you affecting your escape through the King’s grounds. He will come. As soon as he enters, you will strike him down; but leave enough life in him that he may hear from my lips that Haidee avenges the cruel death of her kindred. Farewell until we meet again.”
“Stay a moment, Haidee. How many Europeans are in charge of that magazine?”
“I know not; but they are few in number.”
“Heaven protect them. Would that I could render them my poor assistance. That, however, is impossible. But promise me one thing, Haidee. Let it be a promise as sacred as that I have given to you. Wherever and whenever you can render succour to my countrymen or women, you will do so; and you will, if you have it in your power, rescue any of them from death?”
“I promise you by my hopes of paradise.”
She pressed her moist lips to his hand, and with a light step, hurried away.
It was a strange position for Harper to be placed in, but he was as powerless as a reed that is swayed in the storm-wind. His breath came thick and fast, and his heart beat violently as he watched the heaving sea of black humanity surge against the walls of the magazine, only to be driven back again by the storm of fire. He knew that the defenders were few, for it had long been a standing complaint that the great and valuable arsenal of Delhi had such a weak European guard. But he little dreamt that the number was as low as nine. He panted to be behind those walls, to exert the strength of his youth and the energy of his nature in helping to defend the treasures of his country and the lives of his countrymen who were battling so heroically against such tremendous odds. But he could only wait and watch. To have gone forth into that savage crowd would have been like casting a boat into a maelström; he would have been torn to pieces.
The roar of the guns, as they belched forth their iron hail, was deafening, while the disappointed cry of the insurgents rose like the howling of a hurricane. Hour after hour he watched there, but the time seemed short, for he was fascinated. Now his hopes rose high, and he felt as if it was almost impossible to suppress a cheer as he saw the craven multitude beaten back before the fire of the defenders. Then his hopes would sink again as the walls were reached by the raging sea. Presently his heart almost stood still, as the guns of the magazine were silenced, and he saw the natives swarm over the walls.
“They have conquered,” he thought.
But the thought was scarcely formed, when the air became darkened. Even at the distance he was, it seemed as if a mighty whirlwind was sweeping over. He saw the stupendous sheet of fire leap into the air, and he knew that the arsenal had been blown up. The terrific shock shook the ground, and some of the crumbling masonry of his retreat tottered and fell with a crash. He buried his face in his hands to hide the awfulness of the scene, and an unutterable sorrow took possession of him, for he could not hope that any one of the noble defenders could escape from that fiery storm.
Slowly the time passed now, as he sat on a fallen stone and thought over the fortunes of war, and of the strange chance that had placed him in the position to be a witness of that terrible drama. Soldier he was, it was true, and though he yearned to be up and doing, how could he hope to prevail against a multitude? He felt that he was a victim to circumstances which it would be as useless for him to try and control as it would be to attempt to stay the wind. If he wished to live he must yield himself unconditionally to his fate. Those were the only terms, for what others could he make?
Two faces came before him.
They were those of Haidee and his wife. He could not serve them both. He must be false to one and true to the other. Haidee meant life; his wife—death. For without Haidee’s assistance he felt convinced that there was not the remotest possibility of escape. But would it not be better to die, conscious of having done his duty, rather than live to dishonour?
He grew bewildered with the conflicting emotions that tortured him, and, overcome with weariness, slept. When he awoke the day was declining. Down sank the sun, and night closed in quickly on the short Indian twilight. Alas! he thought how many a blackened corpse, a few hours before full of hope and energy—how many an agonised heart, that had beaten that morning with happiness and joy, did the curtain of the night cover?
Slowly and wearily the time passed, and Haidee came not. From all parts of the city lurid flames from incendiary fires were reddening the sky, and sounds of musketry and drums reached him. The unequal fight was still being carried on somewhere. Could he, bird-like, have hovered o’er the city, he would have seen sights that would have appalled the stoutest heart. In one of the strongest houses the Europeans and Eurasians from the Daraogung, or English quarter, had barricaded themselves—a little band selling their lives as dearly as possible. But all was fruitless. The barricades were carried and the people slaughtered. In the Flag-Staff Tower, on the Delhi Ridge, the women and children were gathered for protection, while a few officers and men, from the cantonment, were trying to keep off the black demons, in the hope that succour would come from Meerut, but it never came. Later on these helpless women and children were to escape, but only to meet with subsequent massacre at the hands of the brutal mutineers. Again a little body of white people, women and children, a few soldiers, officers and men, were gathered at the main guard of the Palace, holding their ground for a little while, with the fierceness of lions at bay. The European troops stationed in the cantonment when the mutiny broke out in Delhi, could have been counted by dozens, and these few dozens were scattered on this awful night. There was an embrasure in the bastion that skirted the court-yard of the main guard. Through the embrasure egress was obtained. Beneath, at a distance of thirty feet, was a dry ditch. By dropping into this ditch, crossing over, and descending the opposite scarp, the slope and the glacis could be mounted. Beyond was some jungle that offered cover to the fugitives. When defence was no longer possible, these brave officers and men made ropes of their clothing and lowered the women and children into the ditch, dropping themselves afterwards—many falling never to rise again, killed and maimed by the tremendous drop. And those who did escape dragged the weak ones up the slopes, and into the jungle. But it was only a prolongation of the agony, for the murderers reached them ultimately. All these things, and others that pen can never write, nor tongue tell, would Harper have seen, had he been, as I say, suspended, bird-like, in the air.
But though he could not see, every shot, every cry, told him, in language not to be misinterpreted, that an awful carnage was going on. And the nameless horror of such knowledge, such suspense, made him wish that he were dead.
Slowly the weary night passed on,—still Haidee came not. Had she deserted him, or had she fallen? were questions he asked.
To the first he soon framed an answer. He would not believe she had proved false.
As the night grew old, the guns ceased, the fires died out, the cries were hushed, and stillness fell upon all things. There was no light, neither moon nor stars. He could see nothing. But occasionally he heard a lizard dart out to seize its prey, or the squeal of a rat as it was caught in the jaws of a snake, and he thought that—mystery of mysteries—even amongst the lowest order of created things, there was endless war, there was bitter pain, there was cruel death. Why should such things be?
Amongst the overhanging palms and the surrounding foliage, the flying foxes, huge bats, and grey-owls flapped their wings and gibbered and hooted, like evil spirits gloating over the harvest of blood and the awful work of the reaper Death.
The man’s soul was heavy, his breast was tortured with pain. The darkness, and solitude, and suspense, were all but unendurable. He felt as if he was going mad. Why did not Haidee come? Over and over again he was strongly tempted to trust himself to the darkness of the night and endeavour to find his way out of the city. But, alas! he was soon convinced of the utter hopelessness of such a course. Besides, he could not desert this woman, until he was sure she would not return. His manhood rebelled against that.
He strained his eyes in all directions, but nothing met his gaze. The darkness was impenetrable. Worn out with his long watching, and fasting, and excitement, nature once more asserted her supremacy, and he fell asleep.
How long he slept he knew not, but he was suddenly startled by the sound of footsteps. She comes at last, he thought. The first faint streaks of dawn were in the sky, and they enabled him to make out closely surrounding objects. His heart palpitated, and his face burned. The sounds had died away again, and there was silence unbroken. He listened, and listened, and listened until the strain became painful. It was but a few minutes’ pause, but it seemed almost like hours. Then footsteps again, and whispering voices beneath. One was a woman’s, Haidee’s, he believed. But whose was the other? Had the time come for him to do the deed he had promised her to do? Had she brought Moghul Singh? He held his breath. He could hear the hard beating of his own heart. However brave a man may be, a sense of unknown and undefinable danger produces a feeling akin to fear. And this is increased when he is situated as Harper was. He drew the dagger from his belt, and held it firmly. It was a formidable weapon, and, in the hands of a determined man, at close quarters, there would have been little chance for an antagonist escaping its poisoned point.
The footsteps drew nearer. Two people were ascending the stairs—a woman and a man; the difference in the tread betrayed that. They reached the top. Two persons stood in the room—one was a woman and one a man. The woman was Haidee; but, in the dim light, Harper saw that the man was not Moghul Singh.