CHAPTER XXII.
THE FIRE ON THE HILL.
“AH!” said Colonel Graham sharply. “So that is the little dodge, is it?”
He and Dick were standing in one of the gateway turrets as the day broke, and it was the sight of a long column of men marching into the town from the north-east that had called forth the exclamation.
“Look behind you!” said Dick laconically. A second force was moving along the south bank of the canal in the direction of the fort.
“Nice use to make of an armistice!” said the Colonel.
“Well, you didn’t expect anything else, did you? You see they have got us between two fires? That means a simultaneous attack on the gateway and the breastwork, at any rate, if not on all four sides at once. We have no time to lose.”
“Have you any suggestions to offer?” The Colonel spoke with the calmness of despair, and Dick glanced at him in surprise.
“Of course you know our possibilities better than I do, but I should certainly occupy Gun Hill, so as both to cover our west face, and enable us to deliver a flank attack on the fellows on the opposite bank if they come any nearer.”
“We have no guns, unfortunately, as you know, and worse than that, we have not men enough to send out a detachment to the hill and hold the place at the same time. Look there!” he handed Dick his field-glass. “The buildings facing us are packed with men ready to advance in response to any movement on our part.”
“I see. But at any rate we can line the earthwork and the roofs and our bank of the canal with sharpshooters, and keep the enemy at a distance on the south face?”
“No doubt we could, but for one thing. Do you recollect that we have now been besieged over a month? What is the natural corollary?”
“That the ammunition is running out?”
“Exactly. There is so little left for the rifles that I have forbidden it to be used except for picking off any specially troublesome snipers. We are slightly better off as regards the carbines, but a single day of hard fighting would leave us with nothing but cold steel.”
“Good heavens!” said Dick, beginning to pace backwards and forwards in the narrow limits of the turret; “and with the men they are bringing up now they can overwhelm us by sheer weight of numbers. You see it’s the Nalapur army that is marching in? No doubt Bahram Khan was on his way to fetch it when I saw him in the Pass. Now, either the Amir has been got rid of, or he has decided to throw in his lot with his precious nephew. If he’s dead, it’s all up, but if not, there’s just a chance. You said he seemed to turn reckless when he thought he had done for me; well, I may be able to sober him down again.”
“You are not thinking of venturing into their camp?”
“Scarcely, since Bahram Khan would very soon repair his unfortunate omission if I did. But if he doesn’t propose a parley, you must, and insist on the Amir’s taking part in it. Then I will show myself suddenly, and see whether there’s any hope of working upon the old man’s feelings.”
All morning the garrison watched in gloomy helplessness the assembling of the force which was to crush them. When Bahram Khan’s reinforcements had taken up their positions, the fort was practically surrounded. On the north-west, and extending under cover of the trees to the reconstructed bridge, were the tents of the tribes, now once more fully occupied, and humming like a hive of bees. Clearly, the news had gone out that victory was at hand. On the north and east was the town, now held by a strong contingent of Nalapuris, in addition to Bahram Khan’s original force, and on the south the main body of the Nalapur army in a roughly fortified camp. Famine and pestilence had proved too slow in their work, and the final arbitrament was to be sharp and short.
In the course of the afternoon a white flag was hoisted on General Keeling’s house, and when the garrison had replied to it, Bahram Khan rode out on the cleared space, surrounded by his own guard and the Nalapuri officers. Colonel Graham and Mr Burgrave faced him at the loophole of the turret, Dick lurking in the shadows behind them, and received what was announced as a final offer of terms. Stripped of the verbiage in which it was enwrapped, this was simply a demand for unconditional surrender. Bahram Khan would do his best to save the lives of the garrison, but the fury of the Amir was so great that he could not guarantee even that, and every shred of public and personal property was to be relinquished. Colonel Graham returned a prompt refusal. To propose a surrender was preposterous, unless the besiegers were prepared to guarantee the lives of all in the fort. Upon this Bahram Khan sent a messenger back into his own lines, ostensibly to consult the wishes of the Amir, and when he returned, announced joyfully that the stipulation was accepted. The instant and obvious retort was that the Amir must show himself in person, and swear to observe the conditions, if the thought of capitulation was to be entertained; but to this Bahram Khan demurred for a long time, displaying a singular fertility of excuse. The Amir was ill, he was resting, he had sworn not to exchange another word with an Englishman who was not his prisoner, he was in such a frenzied state that to insist upon his appearance would probably goad him to order a general massacre forthwith. Colonel Graham pointed out politely that since the besieged were still under the protection of their own walls and weapons, there was no immediate fear of such a contingency, and at last Bahram Khan himself withdrew into the town, in order, as he explained, to lavish all his entreaties upon his uncle, and persuade him to appear.
Presently a state palanquin was seen approaching, borne by sixteen men, who carried it out upon the cleared space, and set it down.
“What’s this?” murmured Dick. “Ashraf Ali in a palki? I’ve never seen him in one in my life.”
Bahram Khan, who had ridden in advance of the palanquin, now dismounted, and approaching it with extreme deference, raised the heavy gold-embroidered curtain at the side. Those in the turret strained their eyes to pierce the dimness within, and made out with some difficulty the figure of the white-bearded ruler, sitting motionless, as though absorbed in meditation.
“He’s stupefied!” came in a fierce whisper from Dick. “They’ve given him opium or something of the sort.”
Colonel Graham addressed the Amir politely, but no answer was vouchsafed. It was Bahram Khan who replied for him, in the silkiest of tones.
“The Amir Sahib refuses to look upon the sahibs, or to listen to their words, until they have surrendered to him.”
“Oh, does he?” said Dick, and he stepped forward between Colonel Graham and the Commissioner, and showed himself at the loophole.
“Amir Sahib, do you know my voice?” he cried.
An electric shock seemed to pass through the inanimate form in the palanquin. “Is that the voice of Nāth Sahib?” was asked, in high, quavering tones. “Then can this most unhappy one die in peace.”
“Do you guarantee our safety, Amir Sahib?” asked Dick.
“Trust them not,” came back the answer. “See how they treat me!” and the old man rose as though to step out of the palanquin. There were chains on his wrists and ankles. The next moment Bahram Khan and his followers, recovering from their surprise, had thrown themselves upon him and forced him back, and the palanquin was immediately carried away.
“Well, after this, I think even Bahram Khan must feel that the capitulation idea has been knocked on the head,” said Dick. “Now everything depends on whether they attack us at once.”
“Isn’t that a rather obvious remark?” asked Mr Burgrave dryly.
“Ah, you don’t see my point,” said Dick, without taking offence. “I think Colonel Graham will agree with me that since Bahram Khan has thrown off the mask, and made himself master of Nalapur, it shows he is determined to crush us at once. Evidently the relieving column is on its way, or famine might have been left to do the work.”
“I see what you mean,” said Colonel Graham. “If he attacks at once, it means that relief is close at hand, but if he gives his men a night’s rest, the column is still far enough off for him to take things easily.”
“That’s it. Well, since he’s so bent on putting the blame on his uncle, it’s clear that he means to come the injured innocent over our men when they get up. We here know too much now to be allowed to escape, but the order for massacring us must be given by the Amir, who will be murdered by his virtuously indignant nephew as soon as it has been carried out. We are safe just so long as we can hold out, and the Amir is safe while we are. That’s the situation. Now if we are left in peace for to-night, I mean to get through and hurry up the relieving column.”
“I thought so,” said the Colonel, “and I mean you to do nothing of the kind. Why, man, you couldn’t walk a mile in the state you are in. You ought to be in hospital now. We have no medical comforts left to feed you up with, but at least we can see that you have a rest.”
“I shall get on somehow. I don’t mind telling you that I have designs on the tribes on my way. We have eaten each other’s salt, and they won’t hurt me.”
“Possibly not, but they would stop you, and Bahram Khan would soon find a way of getting you out of their hands. I won’t let you go on any such fool’s errand.”
“I think the civil and the political power will have to combine against the military,” said Dick, turning to the Commissioner, who had stood by with a “Settle it between yourselves” air. “What do you think?”
“As a military man yourself, you are hardly the person to organise such a revolt,” was the reply, “and I am debarred from it by the delegation of authority to which I agreed at the beginning of the siege.” The tone was abrupt, and Dick and Colonel Graham glanced at one another in surprise, but the Commissioner went on, “If the decision lay in my hands, I should absolutely forbid your going. Your wife may at least claim to be spared useless torture, and you can’t expect to get the V.C. twice over.”
“I am glad you agree with me,” said the Colonel heartily, ignoring the stiffness of the tone. “Consider yourself sat upon, North.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Fitz, coming up the steps and addressing the Colonel, “but there’s a queer light to the westward, which doesn’t seem like the sunset. We thought it might possibly be a signal.”
Colonel Graham wheeled round sharply. “No, it’s certainly not the sunset,” he said, looking through the doorway which led on to the ramparts. “Somewhere behind Gun Hill on the south-west, I should say. What do you think of looking at it from the broken tower?” to the Commissioner. “You come too, North.”
“What in the world are Papa and the Major and Mr Burgrave climbing up there for?” demanded Flora, a few minutes later. She was sitting with the other inmates of the Memsahibs’ courtyard in Georgia’s verandah—such part of it as had survived the earthquake—watching the sunset, and it was natural that the acrobatic feats necessary for reaching the top of the south-west tower should catch her eye at once.
“They are gone to look at some sort of fire that there seems to be in the hills,” said Fitz, who came in just then.
“A fire? Oh, perhaps——” Flora stopped suddenly, for Mr Hardy had sprung up from his chair in wild excitement.
“A fire?” he cried. “Nicodemus!” and rushed out of the courtyard.
“Is Mr Hardy beginning to swear?” asked Mabel, in an awed voice, of the rest, but even Mrs Hardy was too much astonished to rebuke her.
“He’ll kill himself!” she murmured, as she saw her husband mounting the broken steps that led up to the tower.
“Why, Padri, what’s the matter?” asked Colonel Graham, turning round to see the old missionary toiling after him. “Take my hand across here.”
“I am so sorry—I can never forgive myself—it quite slipped my memory,” panted Mr Hardy. “It was a Malik from one of the tribes to the south-west—he came to me secretly—to ask about Christianity—I called him Nicodemus to myself. The night the siege began—he came to warn me—and promised to light a fire in the hills—when relief was at hand. I was so busy hurrying the Christians into the fort, and helping them to save their possessions, that I never remembered the matter again.”
“Well, it doesn’t signify so much, since you have remembered it now,” said the Colonel kindly. “Did the man seem to you trustworthy?”
“He took his life in his hand to warn me that night, and of course when he came before he risked losing everything. His name was Hasrat Isa, curiously enough, and he seemed to me to be genuinely in earnest.”
“Thanks, Padri. You have brought us the best news we could desire. We must manage to hold out now.”
“This settles it,” muttered Dick. “Can I have a word or two with you?” he asked of the Commissioner, and they moved across to the other side of the tower, Mr Burgrave’s face wearing an absolutely non-committal expression.
“You see how it is?” said Dick. “This gives me just the pull I wanted over the tribes. Of course the one thing now is to detach them from Bahram Khan before our men come up, and to save the Amir. They know me and trust me, and if I assure them that an overwhelming force is close at hand, I believe they will be ready to lay down their arms. Of course they will have to give up all their loot and to pay a fine of rifles, but they know enough of us by this time to prefer that to a war of extermination. Then about the Amir. He’s safe for the present, as I said, but I haven’t a doubt his guards have got orders to kill him when the head of the column appears, if we are still holding out then. I shall try to get the tribes to rescue him. But now for the crux of the whole thing. If I am to have the faintest hope of success, I must be able to tell the tribes that we mean to hold on to Nalapur when the rising is put down. Otherwise as soon as Bahram Khan has made terms he will establish himself in his uncle’s place, and wipe out all who submitted before him. Have I a free hand to do it?”
“Why consult me?” asked the Commissioner coldly.
“Because it depends upon you. The announcement of our intended withdrawal has never been actually made, thanks to the ambush on the road to the durbar, and it rests with you to withhold it altogether. Of course I know I’m inviting you to reverse your policy, and all that sort of thing, but I don’t believe you’re the man to weigh that against the peace of the frontier.”
“Are you aware that I came to Khemistan for the express purpose of carrying out the policy you invite me to reverse?”
“Yes, and I know it means you will probably have to resign, and will certainly get the cold shoulder at Simla. But I call upon you to do it, just as I am staking everything myself—and I have a wife and child. It will prevent no one knows how much bloodshed, the desolation of hundreds of miles of country, and years of unrest and bitter feeling, for the Government can’t press things against the opinion, not only of the man on the spot, but of their own official converted by observation of the facts. They will shunt us—that’s only to be expected—but it will save the frontier.”
“You are right, and it must be done. You are at liberty to tell the tribes that I throw all my influence on the side of maintaining the treaty with Nalapur.”
“Thanks. If anything happens to me, look after my wife and the boy.”
The trust was the seal of the newly born friendliness between them, and Mr Burgrave felt it so. “God knows,” he said, with more emotion than Dick had seen him display before, “I wish I could risk my life as you are doing, but at least I’ll do what I can.”
Without another word, Dick crossed to the spot where Colonel Graham was standing, still examining the distant glare through his field-glass.
“Our friend Nicodemus has gone to work very shrewdly,” he said, as Dick came up. “I should say that his signal is absolutely invisible to any one on the plain. We only see it because we are so high up.”
“So much the better,” said Dick. “I suppose you’ve guessed what our plotting was about, Colonel? I have my plans all cut and dried by this time, and with the civil and the political power both against you, you’ll have to let me go. Assuming that there won’t be any attack till dawn, I shall take Anstruther with me, and creep out as soon as it’s really dark. He must go across the hills and hunt for the relief column, and guide it here when he has found it, and I shall set to work to palaver the tribes.”
“They’ll shoot you at sight,” groaned the Colonel.
“I hope not. At any rate, for argument’s sake, we’ll take it that they don’t. Of course my dodge will be to get them to delay the attack by insisting beforehand on an impossible proportion of loot. While their messengers and Bahram Khan’s are going to and fro, Anstruther, knowing the ground, ought to be able to bring up the column. When I see his signal, the tribes will hasten to make graceful concessions, and Bahram Khan will order the attack. While he is occupied at the front, a few of the tribesmen and I will make a dash for the Amir, and the column will get its guns into position. Then, if all goes well, a grand transformation scene. The guns plump a shell or two into the advancing ranks, the Sikhs and Goorkhas, and possibly a British regiment, make their appearance on the heights, the tribesmen turn their rifles against their own side, and the Amir shows himself and orders his revolted army to surrender. If they won’t, their blood will be upon their own heads, as they’ll soon see, but I think only Bahram Khan and a few irreconcilables will refuse.”
“And you?” demanded the Colonel. “Your programme doesn’t provide for your being killed a dozen times over, does it? What will Mrs North say when she hears what you think of doing?”
“She will tell me to go. The tribes are as much her people as mine—more so, indeed. I am going to tell her now.”
He clambered down the ruined staircase, found Fitz and told him briefly what he wanted of him, and then went to Georgia’s room, where he set himself to catch her with guile—a process which, as he ought to have known, had not the faintest chance of success.
“Do you remember the last time I went away, Georgie?” he asked, as he sat down beside her.
Georgie looked up at him with a thrill of alarm. “Do you think I could ever forget it, Dick? Not if I lived for hundreds of years.”
“We almost quarrelled, didn’t we? You were in the right, of course—I knew it all along, but I had to go. You don’t like me to go out treaty-breaking, do you?”
“No.” Her voice was almost inaudible.
“But it’s all right if I go treaty-making, isn’t it? just to get the tribes to feel what fools they’ve been, and make them see reason?”
“Oh, Dick, must you go? so soon? and you have been away so long!”
“You jump at things so suddenly,” lamented Dick. “I wanted to break it gently to you.”
“My dear stupid boy, do you think I don’t know your way of breaking things gently yet?”
“Well, anyhow, you’ll let me go, won’t you? without making a fuss, I mean?”
“A fuss! Do I ever make a fuss?”
“Oh, you know what I mean—without making me feel a brute for doing it?”
“You know I would never keep you back from what was really your duty.”
“That’s all right, then,” Dick failed to notice the distinction thus delicately implied. “And I’m going to try and save all your father’s work from being ruined, so it must be my duty, mustn’t it?”
“I suppose so. And I am forbidden to make a fuss?”
“Oh yes, please, absolutely—unless it would comfort you awfully to do it.”
“It wouldn’t comfort you. That’s what I have to think of. When do you start, Dick?”
“In an hour or so—as soon as it’s properly dark.”
“Then there’s plenty of time. I should so like the boy to be baptized before you go.”
“Why not? I suppose the Padri won’t kick at the shortness of the notice? Georgie, will you be very much surprised? I should like to ask Burgrave to be godfather.”
“Dick!” Georgia’s tone was full of dismay. “I thought of Colonel Graham—” Dick nodded approval—“and either Fitz Anstruther or Dr Tighe——”
“I’d rather have Burgrave, if you don’t mind. He has come out strong to-night. I respect him more than any man I know. In his place I don’t believe I could have made the sacrifice he’s prepared to make.”
“Then we will have him, of course. But Mabel is the godmother, naturally. Won’t she feel it awkward? You know they have quarrelled?”
“That’s putting it mildly. I’m afraid it’s quite off.”
“Ah, that’s what I was afraid of, too, but Mab always refuses to discuss the subject with me until I am stronger. I can’t force her confidence, you know.”
“I suppose not, but there’s no need to be so awfully careful of her feelings. She has treated Burgrave shamefully, and so far as I can see, without the slightest excuse. She insists on engaging herself to him, and then she goes and breaks it off for no reason whatever. I’m disgusted with her.”
“Oh, Dick, don’t be unkind to her! If she didn’t care for him it was only right to break it off. I told you she was miserable about it.”
“Then she had no business to begin it. But don’t let us waste time over her nonsense, Georgie. Shall I go and speak to the Padri?” He opened the door, and stepped out on the verandah. “Why, Anstruther, you here? It’s not nearly dark enough to start yet.”
Fitz smothered an exclamation of impatience. This was the second time he had been foiled in half-an-hour in an attempt to get a few words with Mabel. He had succeeded in catching her alone for a moment immediately after Dick had told him of the adventure in which he was to take part, and then Flora came and called her away, because the baby was breathing heavily in its sleep, and she was afraid something was wrong with it. On this occasion he had got hold of Flora herself, wasting no time in preliminaries.
“Oh, I say, Miss Graham, could you manage to get Mabel here without telling her that I want to see her? I must speak to her before I go. I’m certain she cares for me a little, but she was so determined I should not see it that I couldn’t insult her by letting on that I did. But there’s no time now for any more fooling. I must tell her what I have to say, and there’s an end of it.”
“Now, why couldn’t you have said that before?” demanded Flora. “That’s the right way to take her. I’ll have her here in a moment,” and even now she was beguiling her out on the verandah when Dick appeared to announce that the baptism was to take place at once, and Fitz’s hopes were again disappointed. There would be no chance of speaking to Mabel now for some time, and he left the courtyard and joined Winlock on the broken tower, where he was keeping a solitary watch in case the relieving force should attempt to communicate with the fort by means of flash-light signals. Their eyes, strained with staring into the darkness, showed them lights at every possible and impossible point in the more distant hills, until at last they abandoned the tantalising prospect, and talked in whispers of the expected relief.
“To think that by this time to-morrow we may have had a good square meal!” sighed Winlock.
“Beef, not horse,” murmured Fitz sympathetically.
“And tinned things—though I shall always feel a delicacy about tins in future. They’ve been ‘medical comforts, strictly reserved for the sick,’ such a long time.”
“And real bread, instead of this abominable bran mash.”
“And as much to drink as ever you want—and soap—and baths—” He stopped suddenly, for Fitz had caught him by the arm. “What is it?” he whispered.
“I’m sure I heard a noise down below. Help me to move this sand-bag.”
The sand-bag on the parapet was pushed aside, and Fitz put his head through the gap thus left, but only just far enough to see over the edge, lest he should be visible against the sky. It was clear that the enemy were keeping high festival in all their camps, for the air was full of the sound of tomtoms and similar instruments, and snatches of wild song. To Winlock it seemed impossible to detect any noise less insistent or nearer at hand, but Fitz looked and listened until his friend hauled him back.
“Well, is there anything?” he demanded impatiently.
“I’m almost certain there is. You take a look.”
“I’m not a cat,” whispered Winlock in disgust, when he had drawn his head back in his turn. “Can’t see a thing.”
“Well, I am, rather, in that way, and I believe there’s a fellow down there.”
Again he put his head into the opening, and supporting his face on his hands, concentrated all his attention on the foot of the wall. After several minutes, which seemed like hours to Winlock, he faced him again.
“There is a man down there, and his clothes are dark, so as not to show. He has put two bags against the wall, and he has crawled away to fetch another.”
“Going to blow down the tower?”
“Yes, it’s their best chance. Half gone already, you see. Well, will you clear the men off the near half of the wall, and tell the Colonel, so as to be ready for developments? I’m going to nip the villain in the bud.”
“Nonsense, he’ll knife you! And how will you get down?”
“Climb down the broken brickwork and drop.” He drew off his boots. “I shall take him by surprise. Don’t let any one fire, whatever you do. It would explode the powder at once. Be off.”
Winlock obeyed, and hurried to alarm the Colonel, after hastily calling down the sentries, the noise of whose own footsteps effectually prevented their noticing any suspicious sound. Richard St George Keeling had just received his name, and was accepting the congratulations of the representatives of the regiment on the auspicious event with his usual composure, when Winlock came into the courtyard and drew Colonel Graham aside. Before he could utter a word, however, there was an explosion which seemed to shake the very foundations of the fort, followed by the collapse of various portions of the newly-repaired defences.
“I’m afraid the wall’s gone, sir,” gasped Winlock, when he recovered himself.
“Not a bit of it,” said the Colonel, pointing to the dark line above the roofs; but before anything more could be said, the sentry on the north-west tower gave the alarm. There was no time for anything but a rush to the walls, which were only reached just as a hurrying mob of men, some carrying torches, others scaling-ladders, advanced in wild confusion, shouting and singing, from the shelter of the plane trees. A couple of volleys sent them flying back in headlong rout, and beyond a shot or two from General Keeling’s house there was no semblance of an attack on any other side of the fort. The officers gathered on the rampart looked at one another in complete mystification.
“I never remember a worse-planned attack,” said Colonel Graham. “In fact there was no plan about it. And yet the explosion——”
“Yes, but how came it to do so little damage?” said Dick. Some additional masses of brickwork had been torn from the tower, and the sand-bags were flung about, but the wall was comparatively uninjured.
“Probably the powder became ignited before it was properly placed in position,” suggested Mr Burgrave. “If the man in charge intended to use a slow match, the attack may only have been planned for dawn, so that the various parties were naturally not prepared. This fiasco here was a kind of drunken forlorn hope, started simply by the noise of the explosion.”
“Yes, but why should the powder get ignited? Why, Winlock!” The young man had made his appearance with his arms full of rope.
“I want to go down and look for Anstruther, sir. He must be awfully hurt, for he was going to try and stop the explosion.”
Half-an-hour later Mabel and Flora, waiting anxiously in the verandah to learn the result of the attack, heard in the passage the slow tread of a body of men carrying something. Dick was at their head.
“We’ll bring him in here, as the hospital is full,” he was saying. “As I shall be away, there’ll be the room I had last night to spare, and the ladies will help to look after him.”
“Who is it? What has happened?” asked the two girls together.
“Poor old Anstruther has got himself blown up instead of the fort,” returned Dick. “Take care of that corner, Woodworth.”
“What is the matter with him? Is he badly hurt?” asked Mabel hoarsely.
“Can’t say yet. On second thoughts, Colonel, I’ll take Winlock, if you can spare him. He knows the country round here so much better than Beltring.”
“Dick, are you absolutely heartless?” Mabel grasped her brother’s arm, and shook him. “Is he dying?”
“How can I tell? He was just alive when we found him.”
“I must be with him. I will nurse him,” she managed to say.
“You’ll do nothing of the kind. It’s no sight for you, and we don’t want fainting and hysterics. For Heaven’s sake, Mabel, don’t make a scene!” he added, in a whisper of angry disgust. “It’s not as if he was anything to you.”
“I have a right——” she began with difficulty.
“Keep her away, Burgrave,” said Dick curtly, turning his head for a moment, and the Commissioner drew her hand within his arm, and led her in silence to the other side of the courtyard. In the tumult of her anger and mortification, she struggled furiously at first, but he declined to release her, and presently she found herself deposited in a chair, with Mr Burgrave standing