Rujub, the Juggler

“If we do it is all up with us, Major; there is no disguising that. However, we need not look at the worst side of things. Well, I will go with you to the orderly room, and will talk with you about the hospital scheme, mention that there is a rumor of cholera, and so on, and ask if I can’t have a part of the courthouse; then we can walk across there together, and see what arrangement had best be made.”

The following day brought another dispatch from the Colonel, saying that the rumors as to Delhi were confirmed. The regiments there had joined the Meerut mutineers, had shot down their officers, and murdered every European they could lay hands on; that three officers and six noncommissioned officers, who were in charge of the arsenal, had defended it desperately, and had finally blown up the magazine with hundreds of its assailants. Three of the defenders had reached Meerut with the news.

Day by day the gloom thickened. The native regiments in the Punjaub rose as soon as the news from Meerut and Delhi reached them, but there were white troops there, and they were used energetically and promptly. In some places the mutineers were disarmed before they broke out into open violence; in other cases mutinous regiments were promptly attacked and scattered. Several of the leading chiefs had hastened to assure the Government of their fidelity, and had placed their troops and resources at its disposal.

But in the Punjaub alone the lookout appeared favorable. In the Daob a mutiny had taken place at four of the stations, and the Sepoys had marched away to Delhi, but without injuring the Europeans.

After this for a week there was quiet, and then at places widely apart—at Hansid and Hissar, to the northwest of Delhi; at Nusserabad, in the center of Rajpootana, at Bareilly, and other stations in Rohilcund—the Sepoys rose, and in most places massacre was added to mutiny. Then three regiments of the Gwalior contingent at Neemuch revolted. Then two regiments broke out at Jhansi, and the whole of the Europeans, after desperately defending themselves for four days, surrendered on promise of their lives, but were instantly murdered.

But before the news of the Jhansi massacre reached Deennugghur they heard of other risings nearer to them. On the 30th of May the three native regiments at Lucknow rose, but were sharply repulsed by the 300 European troops under Sir Henry Lawrence. At Seetapoor the Sepoys rose on the 3d of June and massacred all the Europeans. On the 4th the Sepoys at Mohundee imitated the example of those at Seetapoor, while on the 8th two regiments rose at Fyzabad, in the southeastern division of the province, and massacred all the Europeans.

Up to this time the news from Cawnpore had still been good. The Rajah of Bithoor had offered Sir Hugh Wheeler a reinforcement of two guns and 300 men, and it was believed that, seeing this powerful and influential chief had thrown his weight into the scale on the side of the British, the four regiments of native troops would remain quiet.

Sir Hugh had but a handful of Europeans with him, but had just received a reinforcement of fifty men of the 32d regiment from Lucknow, and he had formed an intrenchment within which the Europeans of the station, and the fugitives who had come in from the districts around, could take refuge.

Several communications passed between Sir Hugh Wheeler and Major Hannay. The latter had been offered the choice of moving into Cawnpore with his wing of the regiment, or remaining at Deennugghur. He had chosen the latter alternative, pointing out that he still believed in the fidelity of the troops with him; but that if they went to Cawnpore they would doubtless be carried away with other regiments, and would only swell the force of mutineers there. He was assured, at any rate, they would not rise unless their comrades at Cawnpore did so, but that it was best to manifest confidence in them, as not improbably, did they hear that they were ordered back to Cawnpore, they might take it as a slur on their fidelity, and mutiny at once.

The month had been one of intense anxiety. Gradually stores of provisions had been conveyed into the hospital, as it was now called; the well inside the yard had been put into working order, and the residents had sent in stores of bedding and such portable valuables as could be removed.

In but few cases had the outbreaks taken place at night, the mutineers almost always breaking out either upon being ordered to parade or upon actually falling in; still, it was by no means certain when a crisis might come, and the Europeans all lay down to rest in their clothes, one person in each house remaining up all night on watch, so that at the first alarm all might hurry to the shelter of the hospital.

Its position was a strong one—a lofty wall inclosing a courtyard and garden surrounding it. This completely sheltered the lower floor from fire; the windows of the upper floor were above the level of the wall, and commanded a view over the country, while round the flat terraced roof ran a parapet some two feet high.

During the day the ladies of the station generally gathered at Mr. Hunter’s, which was the bungalow nearest to the hospital. Here they worked at the bags intended to hold earth, and kept up each other’s spirits as well as they could. Although all looked pale and worn from anxiety and watching, there were, after the first few days, no manifestations of fear. Occasionally a tear would drop over their work, especially in the case of two of the wives of civilians, whose children were in England; but as a whole their conversation was cheerful, each trying her best to keep up the spirits of the others. Generally, as soon as the meeting was complete, Mrs. Hunter read aloud one of the psalms suited to their position and the prayers for those in danger, then the work was got out and the needles applied briskly. Even Mrs. Rintoul showed a fortitude and courage that would not have been expected from her.

“One never knows people,” Mrs. Doolan said to Isobel, as they walked back from one of these meetings, “as long as one only sees them under ordinary circumstances. I have never had any patience with Mrs. Rintoul, with her constant complaining and imaginary ailments. Now that there is really something to complain about, she is positively one of the calmest and most cheerful among us. It is curious, is it not, how our talk always turns upon home? India is hardly ever mentioned. We might be a party of intimate friends, sitting in some quiet country place, talking of our girlhood. Why, we have learnt more of each other and each other’s history in the last fortnight than we should have done if we had lived here together for twenty years under ordinary circumstances. Except as to your little brother, I think you are the only one, Isobel, who has not talked much of home.”

“I suppose it is because my home was not a very happy one,” Isobel said.

“I notice that all the talk is about happy scenes, nothing is ever said about disagreeables. I suppose, my dear, it is just as I have heard, that starving people talk about the feasts they have eaten, so we talk of the pleasant times we have had. It is the contrast that makes them dearer. It is funny, too, if anything can be funny in these days, how different we are in the evening, when we have the men with us, to what we are when we are together alone in the day. Another curious thing is that our trouble seems to make us more like each other. Of course we are not more like, but we all somehow take the same tone, and seem to have given up our own particular ways and fancies.

“Now the men don’t seem like that. Mr. Hunter, for example, whom I used to think an even tempered and easygoing sort of man, has become fidgety and querulous. The Major is even more genial and kind than usual. The Doctor snaps and snarls at everyone and everything. Anyone listening to my husband would say that he was in the wildest spirits. Rintoul is quieter than usual, and the two lads have grown older and nicer; I don’t say they are less full of fun than they were, especially Wilson, but they are less boyish in their fun, and they are nice with everyone, instead of devoting themselves to two or three of us, you principally. Perhaps Richards is the most changed; he thinks less of his collars and ties and the polish of his boots than he used to do, and one sees that he has some ideas in his head besides those about horses. Captain Forster is, perhaps, least changed, but of that you can judge better than I can, for you see more of him. As to Mr. Bathurst, I can say nothing, for we never see him now. I think he is the only man in the station who goes about his work as usual; he starts away the first thing in the morning, and comes back late in the evening, and I suppose spends the night in writing reports, though what is the use of writing reports at the present time I don’t know. Mr. Hunter was saying last night it was very foolish of him. What with disbanded soldiers, and what with parties of mutineers, it is most dangerous for any European to stir outside the station.”

“Uncle was saying the same,” Isobel said quietly.

“Well, here we separate. Of course you will be in as usual this evening?” for the Major’s house was the general rendezvous after dinner.

Isobel had her private troubles, although, as she often said angrily to herself, when she thought of them, what did it matter now? She was discontented with herself for having spoken as strongly as she did as to the man’s cowardice. She was very discontented with the Doctor for having repeated it. She was angry with Bathurst for staying away altogether, although willing to admit that, after he knew what she had said, it was impossible that he should meet her as before. Most of all, perhaps, she was angry because, at a time when their lives were all in deadly peril, she should allow the matter to dwell in her mind a single moment.

Late one afternoon Bathurst walked into the Major’s bungalow just as he was about to sit down to dinner.

“Major, I want to speak to you for a moment,” he said.

“Sit down and have some dinner, Bathurst. You have become altogether a stranger.”

“Thank you, Major, but I have a great deal to do. Can you spare me five minutes now? It is of importance.”

Isobel rose to leave the room.

“There is no reason you should not hear, Miss Hannay, but it would be better that none of the servants should be present. That is why I wish to speak before your uncle goes in to dinner.”

Isobel sat down with an air of indifference.

“For the last week, Major, I have ridden every day five and twenty to thirty miles in the direction of Cawnpore; my official work has been practically at an end since we heard the news from Meerut. I could be of no use here, and thought that I could do no better service than trying to obtain the earliest news from Cawnpore; I am sorry to say that this afternoon I distinctly heard firing in that direction. What the result is, of course, I do not know, but I feel that there is little doubt that troubles have begun there. But this is not all. On my return home, ten minutes ago, I found this letter on my dressing table. It had no direction and is, as you see, in Hindustanee,” and he handed it to the Major, who read:

“To the Sahib Bathurst,—Rising at Cawnpore today. Nana Sahib and his troops will join the Sepoys. Whites will be destroyed. Rising at Deennugghur at daylight tomorrow. Troops, after killing whites, will join those at Cawnpore. Be warned in time—this tiger is not to be beaten off with a whip.”

“Good Heavens!” the Major exclaimed; “can this be true? Can it be possible that the Rajah of Bithoor is going to join the mutineers? It is impossible; he could never be such a scoundrel.”

“What is it, uncle?” Isobel asked, leaving her seat and coming up to him.

The Major translated the letter.

“It must be a hoax,” he went on; “I cannot believe it. What does this stuff about beating a tiger with a whip mean?”

“I am sorry to say, Major Hannay, that part of the letter convinces me that the contents can be implicitly relied upon. The writer did not dare sign his name, but those words are sufficient to show me, and were no doubt intended to show me, who the warning comes from. It is from that juggler who performed here some six weeks ago. Traveling about as he does, and putting aside altogether those strange powers of his, he has no doubt the means of knowing what is going on. As I told you that night, I had done him some slight service, and he promised at the time that, if the occasion should ever arise, he would risk his life to save mine. The fact that he showed, I have no doubt, especially to please me, feats that few Europeans have seen before, is, to my mind, a proof of his goodwill and that he meant what he said.”

“But how do you know that it is from him. Bathurst? You will excuse my pressing the question, but of course everything depends on my being assured that this communication is trustworthy.”

“This allusion to the tiger shows me that, Major. It alludes to an incident that I believe to be known only to him and his daughter and to Dr. Wade, to whom alone I mentioned it.”

As the Major still looked inquiringly, Bathurst went on reluctantly. “It was a trifling affair, Major, the result of a passing impulse. I was riding home from Narkeet, and while coming along the road through the jungle, which was at that time almost deserted by the natives on account of the ravages of the man eater whom the Doctor afterwards shot, I heard a scream. Galloping forward, I came upon the brute, standing with one paw upon a prostrate girl, while a man, the juggler, was standing frantically waving his arms. On the impulse of the moment I sprang from my horse and lashed the tiger across the head with that heavy dog whip I carry, and the brute was so astonished that it bolted in the jungle.

“That was the beginning and end of affairs, except that, although fortunately the girl was practically unhurt, she was so unnerved that we had to carry her to the next village, where she lay for some time ill from the shock and fright. After that they came round here and performed, for my amusement, the feats I told you of. So you see I have every reason to believe in the good faith of the writer of this letter.”

“By Jove, I should think you had!” the Major said. “Why, my dear Bathurst, I had no idea that you could do such a thing!”

“We have all our strong points and our weak ones, Major. That was one of my strong ones, I suppose. And now what had best be done, sir? That is the important question at present.”

This was so evident, that Major Hannay at once dismissed all other thoughts from his mind.

“Of course I and the other officers must remain at our posts until the Sepoys actually arrive. The question is as to the others. Now that we know the worst, or believe we know it, ought we to send the women and children away?”

“That is the question, sir. But where can they be sent? Lucknow is besieged; the whites at Cawnpore must have been surrounded by this time; the bands of mutineers are ranging the whole country, and at the news that Nana Sahib has joined the rebels it is probable that all will rise. I should say that it was a matter in which Mr. Hunter and other civilians had better be consulted.”

“Yes, we will hold a council,” the Major said.

“I think, Major, it should be done quietly. It is probable that many of the servants may know of the intentions of the Sepoys, and if they see that anything like a council of the Europeans was being held they may take the news to the Sepoys, and the latter, thinking that their intention is known, may rise at once.”

“That is quite true. Yes, we must do nothing to arouse suspicion. What do you propose, Mr. Bathurst?”

“I will go and have a talk with the Doctor; he can go round to the other officers one by one. I will tell Mr. Hunter, and he will tell the other residents, so that when they meet here in the evening no explanations will be needed, and a very few words as we sit out on the veranda will be sufficient.”

“That will be a very good plan. We will sit down to dinner as if nothing had happened; if they are watching at all, they will be keeping their eyes on us then.”

“Very well; I will be in by nine o’clock, Major;” and with a slight bow to Isobel, Bathurst stepped out through the open window, and made his way to the Doctor’s.

CHAPTER XIII

The Doctor had just sat down to dinner when Bathurst came in. The two subalterns were dining with him.

“That’s good, Bathurst,” the Doctor said, as he entered. “Boy, put a chair for Mr. Bathurst. I had begun to think that you had deserted me as well as everybody else.”

“I was not thinking of dining,” Bathurst said, as he sat down, “but I will do so with pleasure, though I told my man I should be back in half an hour;” and as the servant left the room he added, “I have much to say, Doctor; get through dinner as quickly as you can, and get the servants out of the tent.”

The conversation was at once turned by the Doctor upon shooting and hunting, and no allusion was made to passing events until coffee was put on the table and the servant retired. The talk, which had been lively during dinner, then ceased.

“Well, Bathurst,” the Doctor asked, “I suppose you have something serious to tell me?”

“Very serious, Doctor;” and he repeated the news he had given the Major.

“It could not be worse, Bathurst,” the Doctor said quietly, after the first shock of the news had passed. “You know I never had any faith in the Sepoys since I saw how this madness was spreading from station to station. This sort of thing is contagious. It becomes a sort of epidemic, and in spite of the assurances of the men I felt sure they would go. But this scoundrel of Bithoor turning against us is more than I bargained for. There is no disguising the fact that it means a general rising through Oude, and in that case God help the women and children. As for us, it all comes in the line of business. What does the Major say?”

“The only question that seemed to him to be open was whether the women and children could be got away.”

“But there does not seem any possible place for them to go to. One or two might travel down the country in disguise, but that is out of the question for a large party. There is no refuge nearer than Allahabad. With every man’s hand against them, I see not the slightest chance of a party making their way down.”

“You or I might do it easily enough, Doctor, but for women it seems to me out of the question; still, that is a matter for each married man to decide for himself. The prospect is dark enough anyway, but, as before, it seems to me that everything really depends upon the Zemindars. If we hold the courthouse it is possible the Sepoys may be beaten off in their first attack, and in their impatience to join the mutineers, who are all apparently marching for Delhi, they may go off without throwing away their lives by attacking us, for they must see they will not be able to take the place without cannon. But if the Zemindars join them with cannon, we may defend ourselves till the last, but there can be but one end to it.”

The Doctor nodded. “That is the situation exactly, Bathurst.”

“I am glad we know the danger, and shall be able to face it openly,” Wilson said. “For the last month Richards and I have been keeping watch alternately, and it has been beastly funky work sitting with one’s pistols on the table before one, listening, and knowing any moment there might be a yell, and these brown devils come pouring in. Now, at least, we are likely to have a fight for it, and to know that some of them will go down before we do.”

Richards cordially agreed with his companion.

“Well, now, what are the orders, Bathurst?” said the Doctor.

“There are no orders as yet, Doctor. The Major says you will go round to the others, Doolan, Rintoul, and Forster, and tell them. I am to go round to Hunter and the other civilians. Then, this evening we are to meet at nine o’clock, as usual, at the Major’s. If the others decide that the only plan is for all to stop here and fight it out, there will be no occasion for anything like a council; it will only have to be arranged at what time we all move into the fort, and the best means for keeping the news from spreading to the Sepoys. Not that it will make much difference after they have once fairly turned in. If there is one thing a Hindoo hates more than another, it is getting from under his blankets when he has once got himself warm at night. Even if they heard at one or two o’clock in the morning that we were moving into the fort I don’t think they would turn out till morning.”

“No, I am sure they would not,” the Doctor agreed.

“If there were a few more of us,” Richards said, “I should vote for our beginning it. If we were to fall suddenly upon them we might kill a lot and scare the rest off.”

“We are too few for that,” the Doctor said. “Besides, although Bathurst answers for the good faith of the sender of the warning, there has as yet been no act of mutiny that would justify our taking such a step as that. It would come to the same thing. We might kill a good many, but in the long run three hundred men would be more than a match for a dozen, and then the women would be at their mercy. Well, we had better be moving, or we shall not have time to go round to the bungalows before the people set out for the Major’s.”

It was a painful mission that Bathurst had to perform, for he had to tell those he called upon that almost certain death was at hand, but the news was everywhere received calmly. The strain had of late been so great, that the news that the crisis was at hand was almost welcome. He did not stay long anywhere, but, after setting the alternative before them, left husband and wife to discuss whether to try to make down to Allahabad or to take refuge in the fort.

Soon after nine o’clock all were at Major Hannay’s. There were pale faces among them, but no stranger would have supposed that the whole party had just received news which was virtually a death warrant. The ladies talked together as usual, while the men moved in and out of the room, sometimes talking with the Major, sometimes sitting down for a few minutes in the veranda outside, or talking there in low tones together.

The Major moved about among them, and soon learned that all had resolved to stay and meet together whatever came, preferring that to the hardships and unknown dangers of flight.

“I am glad you have all decided so,” he said quietly. “In the state the country is, the chances of getting to Allahabad are next to nothing. Here we may hold out till Lawrence restores order at Lucknow, and then he may be able to send a party to bring us in. Or the mutineers may draw off and march to Delhi. I certainly think the chances are best here; besides, every rifle we have is of importance, and though if any of you had made up your minds to try and escape I should have made no objection, I am glad that we shall all stand together here.”

The arrangements were then briefly made for the removal to the courthouse. All were to go back and apparently to retire to bed as usual. At twelve o’clock the men, armed, were to call up their servants, load them up with such things as were most required, and proceed with them, the women, and children, at once to the courthouse. Half the men were to remain there on guard, while the others would continue with the servants to make journeys backwards and forwards to the bungalows, bringing in as much as could be carried, the guard to be changed every hour. In the morning the servants were all to have the choice given them of remaining with their masters or leaving.

Captain Forster was the only dissentient. He was in favor of the whole party mounting, placing the women and children in carriages, and making off in a body, fighting their way if necessary down to Allahabad. He admitted that, in addition to the hundred troopers of his own squadron, they might be cut off by the mutinous cavalry from Cawnpore, fall in with bodies of rebels or be attacked by villagers, but he maintained that there was at least some chance of cutting their way through, while, once shut up in the courthouse, escape would be well nigh impossible.

“But you all along agreed to our holding the courthouse, Forster,” the Major said.

“Yes; but then I reckoned upon Cawnpore holding out with the assistance of Nana Sahib, and upon the country remaining quiet. Now the whole thing is changed. I am quite ready to fight in the open, and to take my chance of being killed there, but I protest against being shut up like a rat in a hole.”