NEW HOPES.
To follow the fortune of two of the characters who have played conspicuous parts in this history, it is necessary to go back to the night of the day upon which General Wheeler vacated the Cawnpore entrenchments.
Walter Gordon and Haidee, as previously stated, sought concealment in the ruins of an outbuilding that had been battered to pieces by the enemy’s shot. Here they managed to escape the vigilance of the marauders who swarmed in the defences after the English had gone. It was true that there was nothing worth plundering, but all that was movable in the shape of old iron and ammunition was carried off.
Soon after the departure of the defenders, Haidee and Gordon were startled by the booming of a gun, and almost before the echo had died away, another followed, and another, until the firing became general. Walter’s heart almost stood still, for the sound told but too plainly that Haidee’s fears had been realised.
As she heard the guns, she looked at her companion, and as her eyes filled with tears, she murmured—
“Your poor country people are being slaughtered.”
“Alas! I am afraid it is so,” he answered; “may God pity them.”
After a time the firing grew desultory, but it continued for hours, until Gordon became sick, as in his mind’s eye he pictured the awful work that was being carried on. And as he remembered by what a strange chance he had been prevented from accompanying the unfortunate people, he could not help thinking that a kind destiny had preserved him, and that happiness might come. And yet to think of happiness then seemed almost as great a mockery to him as the mirage of a beautiful lake does to the travellers dying of thirst in the arid desert.
How could he hope for happiness? Deadly peril yet surrounded him. If his hiding-place should be discovered he and his companion would immediately fall a sacrifice to the yelling demons who were prowling about thirsting for blood. And even if he escaped from them, how could the hundred dangers that would encompass him be avoided? No wonder that as he reflected upon these things, he sank almost into the very apathy of despair. Haidee noticed the look of gloom that had settled on him.
“Why are you so downcast?” she asked in a whisper.
“I cannot help being so, Haidee. Our prospects seem so hopeless. And, after all, our preservation may only be a prolongation of our agony.”
“You should not speak like that. We live, and with life there is always hope.”
“True; but the hope cherished in extremity is more often than not a delusion.”
“It may be so, but it is better not to think so, for our prospects are gloomy enough, truly so for me, for I am but a wanderer, without either home or friends.”
“Not without friends, Haidee, while I and Lieutenant Harper live.”
At the name of Harper, she averted her face, that the speaker might not see the emotion his words caused her.
“But the fate of your friend is uncertain,” she said, after some little silence. “He may be dead, and if so, life has no charm for me.”
“He may be dead, as you say, and he may not. There were chances in his favour; but even supposing that he escaped, he would lose no time in making his way to Meerut, and there he would join his wife.”
Gordon hazarded this remark, and as he did so, he watched his companion’s face. He could scarcely help making it, for he longed to know if Haidee was aware that Harper was married. But he did not like to ask the question plainly. She hung her head and sighed, but made no answer.
Gordon was disappointed. He waited for some minutes, then felt that he was justified in putting an end to all doubt upon the subject. For while he would not believe that his friend had wilfully deceived Haidee, he thought it probable that Harper might have deemed it advisable to withhold the information, as his life had entirely depended on this woman. And yet he was reluctant to believe that, for it seemed to suggest that Harper in that case would have been guilty of deceiving her, and he was not sure that even in such extremity the end would justify the means—where the means meant the breaking of a woman’s heart. And that woman, too, the very perfection of womanhood.
“Did you know that Lieutenant Harper was married?” he asked kindly, watching her closely as he spoke.
But the only indication she gave that she felt the force of his question was an almost imperceptible trembling of the lips. She turned her eyes upon him as she answered—
“I am aware of it. Your friend is too honourable to deceive me;”—Gordon breathed freely again;—“but though I knew this, and know that the laws of your country allow a man to have but one wife, there are no laws in any country which prevent a man having any number of friends. I would have been a friend to him, to his wife, to his friends, so that I might sometimes have looked upon his face, and have listened to his voice. Alas! if he is dead, will not my sun have gone down, and only the gloom of night will remain for me.”
“Let me cheer you now, Haidee, for it is you who are downcast and despairing. Take comfort. Harper may still be living, and the future may have boundless happiness in store for you.”
“Forgive me for this momentary weakness,” she replied. “I do not despair. While you live I have much to live for, for you are his friend, and if I can succeed in restoring to you your lost love, shall I not have much cause for rejoicing?”
“You are a noble, self-sacrificing woman, Haidee, and your reward will come.”
“I hope so; but let us turn our attention to effecting an escape from this place. Why did you not try to secure a weapon, for you may have to defend your life?”
“And yours,” he added quickly, for she never seemed to think of herself.
Her words reminded him for the first time that he was totally unarmed, and carrying their lives in their hands as they did he knew that a weapon was indispensable. He reproached himself for having been so forgetful as not to have secured one before the garrison had marched out; but reproaches were useless; that he knew, and he thought it possible the error might yet be repaired.
“Perhaps it is not yet too late to get one,” he said.
“We will try,” she answered. “I will go and search amongst the defences; we may find something that will be of service.”
“No, you must not go. Let that job be mine.”
“We can both go,” she replied. “Four eyes are better than two, for one pair can watch for danger, while the other searches.”
“Thoughtful again, Haidee. We will both go; but first let me reconnoitre, to see if the coast is clear.”
Cramped and stiffened by the crouching posture he had been compelled to sustain, he crept from his hiding-place, so as to command a view of the ground. He could see nobody. He listened, but no sounds broke the stillness, excepting now and again the exultant yelling of the natives, as it was borne to his ears by a light breeze.
The firing had ceased, for the deadly work at the Ghaut was completed, and the day was declining.
“I think we may venture forth, Haidee,” he said, after having assured himself as far as possible that there was nobody in sight.
They both went out from the place of concealment, and, while Haidee took up a position behind a large gun from which she could command an extensive view, and give timely warning of the approach of any of the enemy, Gordon commenced to search amongst the heaps of old rubbish that were scattered around.
It was a melancholy task, for at every step there were ghastly evidences of the fearful nature of the struggle that had been carried on so heroically by the defenders. Here was a fragment of an exploded shell, there an officer’s epaulette; a portion of a sword blade red with blood, a baby’s shoe also ensanguined, a bent bayonet, a woman’s dress, colourless and ragged, and what was more ghastly and horrible still, there was the corpse of a little baby. It had died that morning; its mother had been dead some days. In its dead hands it still held a broken doll, and on its pretty dead face a smile still lingered. Gordon picked up the ragged dress, and reverently laid it over the little sleeper.
Continuing his search, he came upon a canvas bag. It contained some salt beef and some biscuits. They had evidently been put up by one of the garrison for the journey, but in the hurry of departure had been forgotten. It was a very welcome find to Gordon, for the pangs of hunger were making themselves painfully unpleasant both in him and his companion. The bag had a string or lanyard attached to it, so that he was enabled to sling it round his shoulder.
He next entered the portion of the barrack that had been occupied by the men. Here there seemed to be nothing but ruin and rubbish. Worn-out blankets, a few old beds, some broken cups, and various other articles were strewn about. Amongst these he searched, and in one corner of the room, hidden beneath a straw mattress, he found a case containing an American revolver, and with it a leather bag filled with cartridges. He could scarcely repress a cry of joy as he made this discovery; it was the very weapon of all others likely to be most useful. The revolver was in good order, and he proceeded to load it, and, this completed, he hurried to Haidee. She was, of course, delighted with his good fortune. As it was yet too early to leave, they went back to their hiding-place and partook of some of the biscuits and beef.
About two hours afterwards they crept from the ruins. The night was quite dark. Tom-toms were being beaten in all directions, and fireworks were constantly ascending. The natives were making merry and holding high revel in honour of the victory—that is, massacre—for this was the only victory they had ever gained. Haidee and Gordon made their way stealthily along, avoiding the huts and houses, and keeping in the shadow of the trees. They reached the bridge without molestation, but as they crossed the river they were frequently eyed with suspicion by the natives who were lounging about, several of whom addressed Haidee, but she replying in their language, and saying that her companion was dumb, the Delhi road was reached, and so far they were safe.