FOR LIBERTY AND LIFE.
The cry of alarm that startled the fugitives came from a powerful Sepoy, and it was his arms that encircled Harper.
“Traitorous wretch!” said the man, addressing Haidee; “you shall die for this. I saw you leave the Palace, and, suspecting treachery, followed you.” And again the man gave tongue, with a view of calling up his comrades.
He had evidently miscalculated the odds arrayed against him. Martin was a few yards in front, but realising the position in an instant, sprang back to the assistance of his companion. Then ensued a fierce struggle. The man was a herculean fellow, and retained his hold of Harper. Martin was also powerful, but he could not get a grip of the Sepoy, who rolled over and over with the officer, all the while giving vent to loud cries.
“We are lost, we are lost, unless that man’s cry is stopped!” Haidee moaned, wringing her hands distractedly; then getting near to Martin, she whispered—
“In your comrade’s belt is a dagger; get it—quick.”
The Sepoy heard these words, and tightened his grasp, if that were possible, on Harper’s arms, and rolled over and over with him, crying the while with a stentorian voice.
Not a moment was to be lost. There was no time for false sentiment or considerations of mercy. Martin, urged to desperation, flung himself on the struggling men, and getting his hand on the throat of the Sepoy, pressed his fingers into the windpipe, while with the other hand he sought for Harper’s belt. He felt the dagger. He drew it out with some difficulty. He got on his knees, his left hand on the fellow’s throat. As the three struggled, the Sepoy’s back came uppermost.
It was Martin’s chance. He raised his hand, the next moment the dagger was buried between the shoulders of the native, who, with a gurgling cry, released his grip, and Harper was free.
As he rose to his feet, breathless with the struggle, Haidee seized his hand, and kissing it with frantic delight, whispered—“The Houris are good. The light of my eyes is not darkened. You live. Life of my life. Come, we may yet escape.” She made known her thanks to Martin by a pressure of the hand.
Another brilliant flash of lightning showed them the stilled form of the Sepoy. A deafening crash of thunder followed, and the rain came down in a perfect deluge.
The storm was a friend indeed, and a friend in need. It no doubt prevented the cry of the now dead man from reaching those for whom it was intended, as, in such a downpour, no one would be from under a shelter who could avoid it.
The howling of the wind, and the heavy rattle of the rain, drowned the noise of their footsteps.
Drenched with the rain, her long hair streaming in the wind, Haidee sped along, followed by the two men. She led them down the avenue of banyans, and then turning off into a patch of jungle, struck into a narrow path. The lightning played about the trees—the rain rattled with a metallic sound on the foliage—heaven’s artillery thundered with deafening peals.
Presently she came to a small gateway. She had the key; the lock yielded.
“There is a guard stationed close to here,” she whispered: “we must be wary.”
They passed through the gateway. The gate was closed. They were in a large, open, treeless space. Across this they sped. The lightning was against them here, for it rendered them visible to any eyes that might be watching.
But the beating rain and the drifting wind befriended them. The open space was crossed in safety.
“We are clear of the Palace grounds,” Haidee said, as she led the way down a narrow passage; and in a few minutes they had gained the walls of the city.
“We must stop here,” whispered the guide, as she drew Harper and Martin into the shadow of a buttress. “A few yards farther on is a gate, but we can only hope to get through it by stratagem. I am unknown to the guard. This dress will not betray me. I will tell them that I live on the other side of the river, and that I have been detained in the city. I will beg of them to let me out. You must creep up in the shadow of this wall, ready to rush out in case I succeed. The signal for you to do so shall be a whistle.” She displayed a small silver whistle as she spoke, which hung around her neck by a gold chain.
She walked out boldly now, and was followed by the two men, who, however, crept along stealthily in the shadow of the wall. They stopped as they saw that she had reached the gate. They heard the challenge given, and answered by Haidee. In a few minutes a flash of lightning revealed the presence of two Sepoys only. Haidee was parleying with them. At first they did not seem inclined to let her go. They bandied coarse jokes with her, and one of them tried to kiss her. There was an inner and an outer gate. In the former was a door that was already opened. Through this the two soldiers and Haidee passed, and were lost sight of by the watchers, who waited in anxious suspense. Then they commenced to creep nearer to the gateway, until they stood in the very shadow of the arch; but they could hear nothing but the wind and rain, and the occasional thunder. The moments hung heavily now. Could Haidee have failed? they asked themselves. Scarcely so, for she would have re-appeared by this time. As the two men stood close together, each might have heard the beating of the other’s heart. It was a terrible moment. They knew that their lives hung upon a thread, and that if this devoted woman failed, nothing could save them. Still they did not lose hope, though the suspense was almost unendurable. Each grasped his pistol firmly, to be used as a club if occasion required. The termination of what had verily seemed an hour to them, but in reality only five minutes, brought the welcome signal—the whistle was blown.
“You first, Harper,” said Martin.
They darted from their hiding-place and rushed through the door; a Sepoy tried to bar the passage, but was felled by a blow from Harper’s pistol; in another moment they were outside the walls—Haidee was waiting for them.
“Speed!” she cried, leading the way.
The alarm was already being spread. A deep-toned gong, that could be heard even above the howling wind, was warning the sentries that something had happened.
From gate to gate, from guard to guard, the signal passed, and soon a hundred torches were flaring in the wind; there were confusion and commotion, and much rushing to and fro, but nobody exactly seemed to know what it was all about, only that someone had escaped. A few shots were fired—why, was a mystery—and even a big gun vomited forth a volume of flame and sent a round shot whizzing through space, only to fall harmlessly in a far-off paddy-field. In the meantime the fugitives, favoured by the darkness and the wind, sped along, keeping under the shadow of the wall, until the bridge of boats was passed.
“We cannot cross the bridge,” said Haidee, “for on the other side there is a piquet stationed.”
“How, then, shall we gain the opposite bank?” asked Harper.
“By swimming,” she answered.
When they had proceeded about a quarter of a mile farther, Haidee stopped.
“This is a good part; the river is narrow here, but the current is strong.”
“But will it not be dangerous for you to trust yourself to the stream?” Martin remarked, as he divested himself of his jacket.
“Dangerous? No,” she answered; “I am an excellent swimmer.”
She unwound a long silken sash from her waist, and, tying one end round her body and the other round Harper, she said—
“I am ready. Swim against the current as much as possible, and you will gain a bend almost opposite to us.”
Martin walked to the water’s edge, and, quietly slipping in, struck out boldly. Haidee and Harper followed, and as they floated out into the stream she whispered—
“We are bound together. Where you go I go; we cannot separate.”
It was hard work breasting that rapid current, but the swimmers swam well, and the bank was gained. Emerging, somewhat exhausted, and with the muddy waters of the Jumna dripping from them, they stood for some minutes to recover their breath.
Haidee was the first to speak.
“We are safe so far,” she said. “Before us lies the Meerut road. The way to Cawnpore is to the left.”
“Then I suppose we must part,” Martin observed.
“Yes,” she answered. “You have but thirty miles to go; travel as far as possible during the night, and in the morning you will be safe.”
Martin took her hand.
“You are as brave as beautiful, and I am too poor in words to thank you. But in my heart I have a silent gratitude that time can never wear away.”
“God speed you,” joined in Harper. “Tell my wife that you left me well and hopeful. Bid her wait patiently for my coming.”
“You may depend upon me.”
Martin shook the hands of his friends, and, turning away, was soon lost in the darkness.
When his retreating footsteps had died out, Haidee grasped Harper’s hand, for he stood musingly, his thoughts preceding his friend to Meerut; he felt not a little sad as he pictured his wife waiting and weeping for him, and he wondered if he would ever see her again.
“Come,” said Haidee softly. “Come,” she repeated, as he did not seem to notice her at first, “time flies, and we are surrounded with danger.”
He turned towards her with a sigh.
“Why do you sigh?” she asked.
“I scarcely know.”
“Is it for one who is absent?”
“Perhaps so.”
She sighed now, inaudibly, and she pressed her hand on her heart; but he did not notice the movement.
“Cawnpore is distant,” she said, in a low tone, “and the night is already far spent. Let us go.”
And so they went on, side by side, into the darkness, on to the unknown future. And the wind moaned around them like a warning voice, and beat in their faces as if it would drive them back.