Littell's Living Age/Volume 127/Issue 1640/The Dilemma - Part XII
THE DILEMMA.
CHAPTER XXX.
Notwithstanding the loss sustained, the garrison were in high spirits for the rest of the night at the success of the sortie. And the state of things next day amply justified the night's enterprise. Not only was a great danger averted; the enemy were so cowed by the surprise that they did not attempt to resume their mining, or even to reoccupy the garden. The other side of the building being already kept clear by the occupation of the lodge, the garrison were thus practically free from molestation, although the rebels had not given up the investment, for they could still be seen collected about the court-house and in the village opposite the lodge.
Great, therefore, was the sense of relief; nevertheless, as the day wore on, a reaction set in from the excitement of the previous night, and, in the absence of any pressing emergency, a sort of lassitude and weariness was now becoming observable. Time and confinement were beginning to tell. The building, large and airy though it was, had become almost intolerably close and stuffy, with all the sides closed up in the savage heat of June; and the ladies, who spent a part of the night on the roof, purchased the comfort dearly, which involved a return to the sickening atmosphere below. All were tiring of the monotonous diet; they felt the need of food, but brought a sense of loathing to their meals. This morning, also, the two children had sickened, and lay side by side on their cot, each with the doll Kitty Peart had made for it on the pillow beside it, looking up at passers-by with languid preoccupied eye, while their mother sat fanning herself in a chair near them. Poor Kitty herself took her share of the nursing; and while fanning Jerry Spragge, gave him the particulars of poor papa's death, with such embellishments as had already gathered round the event. It did not occur to the poor girl that one of a party of soldiers might be shot, although not more prominently engaged than the survivors; so she described to the patient how her father had fallen covered with wounds, while heroically leading on his comrades, and the better-informed young fellow had not the heart to set her right. Nor did Mrs. Peart keep to herself in her sorrow. For her there could be no seclusion for the conventional time, to be followed by a reappearance in decorous weeds, while face and voice should be attuned to proper keeping with the condition of bereavement. Some of the other ladies indeed offered to bring her share of the rude meals to their private room; but the two sick children lying there, peevish and crying, made such partial solitude unwelcome; and Mrs. Peart, although for the time suspending her share in the nursing, took her place as usual at the public breakfast-table, where the unpleasant-looking food was almost concealed from sight by the swarm of flies that settled upon it.
Mrs. Polwheedle presided at this meal. It had got to her ears that Major Peart had been left on the ground when he was wounded, and killed afterwards; and while helping to console the widow through the night, she had not forgotten to point out how the major might have been saved if he had not been left alone on the ground after he was wounded. Mrs. Polwheedle, who had been very active in nursing, and whose bustling cheerful manner had contributed sensibly to sustain the spirits of the female members of the garrison, but on whose temper events were beginning to tell, was not herself this morning; and was now holding forth with raised voice and flushed face in criticism of the last night's enterprise, the only gentlemen present at table being the brigadier and Captain Buxey.
"Better have a little of this stew, my dear," she said to Mrs. Peart; "it's the last day you'll get any, for the sheep won't hold out any longer. They have had no food for three days as it is. But there won't be many left soon to want meat, or chapattees either, if we go on like this. There's Braywell and Sparrow gone one day, and now your husband and young Spragge and a poor sepoy the next; I can't see what Falkland wants to be always going on in this way, attacking here, and attacking there, for. Why doesn't he keep quiet inside? I wonder you allow it, brigadier. It's as much your fault as his. You are responsible for everything, you know, for I suppose he made a pretence of asking your leave first."
"My dear, I said I thought there was a good deal of risk in the sally," replied the poor old men meekly; "but I deferred to Falkland's judgment in the matter, and he considered it was necessary to do something. He is able to go about and see into things better than I, you know."
"Go about!" retorted the lady, "I should think he was able to go about. He goes about a great deal too much, to my mind; and then to leave that poor fellow to be hacked to pieces while he must be marching and countermarching up and down the garden like a madman. No! I don't care who hears me," she continued, as Captain Buxey pointed in the direction of a doorway from which Mrs. Falkland was advancing, "so long as the brigadier commands here I shall say what I please; and I say it's a shame, and you may tell Falkland so, if you like, my dear," she added, turning her flushed and angry face towards Olivia.
"My husband is busy enough as it is, Mrs. Polwheedle," said Olivia, taking her place, and leaning her head wearily on her hand, with the elbow resting on the table; "it would be better not to trouble him with our small difficulties; don't you think so, brigadier? No, thank you, Captain Buxey," she added, as that gentleman was handing her a plate of stew, " I can't eat anything this morning; I will take some tea, if you please."
"Yes, my dear," observed the brigadier to his wife, with an attempt at dignity, "what Mrs. Falkland says is very true; ladies should not meddle with military matters."
"And why shouldn't they meddle?" retorted the lady, turning sharply round on her husband. "Why don't you meddle yourself, then?" she continued, as the poor old gentleman sat silent under the question, "instead of sitting there, day after day, eating and drinking the best of everything, and never doing a blessed thing. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, that you ought: you are no more use to any one than that little half-caste idiot of an O'Halloran."
"Mrs. Polwheedle," said Falkland, who had entered the room when her voice was at its highest, "it is quite against rules to disturb the garrison by noise of any sort. I have the brigadier's orders to put any offender against the rules into confinement. Pray don't give me occasion to enforce them against you."
"Brigadier," said the lady, bridling up, and scarcely able to speak for passion, "will you sit there and see your wife insulted?"
"My dear," said the brigadier, mildly, "pray be calm and reasonable; Colonel Falkland is only doing his duty."
"The brigadier gives all his orders through me, ma'am. No, not another word, or you go to your room and stay there," and Falkland looked so stern that Mrs. Polwheedle gave up the contest, and sat still, silent and cowed; and Falkland, beckoning to his wife to follow him, left the hall.
"Olivia, my love," said her husband when they had reached the anteroom, "that old woman has got hold of the brandy-bottle again."
"Brandy-bottle, Robert?"
"Yes, dear; she has done it before. She took one from Buxey's store two days ago; and now she has done it again. He told me another bottle was missing; and she is evidently the worse for liquor. You must find out where she has hidden it, and give it back to Buxey. You look tired and worn this morning, my poor child," he added, fondling one of her hands in his, "and I daresay that old fury has been frightening you more than the enemy; but you must keep up your courage; we shall all of us want all the strength we possess."
And indeed, notwithstanding the present suspension from active measures by the enemy, Falkland had just now special cause to feel harassed and anxious. The supply of flour had almost come to an end — the stock laid in, through a miscarriage of plans executed in a hurry, having been much less than was intended, while the garrison was larger than was expected, owing to the reinforcement of faithful sepoys. There still remained several sheep, but the grain for them was failing also, nor would a meat diet keep the garrison in health. Moreover, the wounded were beginning to do badly. Maxwell talked of amputation for M'Intyre, but feared the consequences; and young Raugh's wound looked angry, although a clean sabre-cut; and the doctor said better things could not be looked for with bad air and bad diet. A still more serious matter was the state of the ammunition. A supply coming in from the palace had been intercepted by the émeute in the town on the afternoon before the siege began: notwithstanding the repeated injunctions given to husband the ammunition, the garrison, especially at first, had been disposed to fire oftener than necessary; and now, although there was abundance of lead for bullets, only enough powder remained for about five rounds per head. This state of things Falkland kept secret from every one but Braddon and Yorke; but the sepoys, as well as the rest of the garrison, must guess the smallness of the store from the care with which it was husbanded. No one, indeed, had believed in the reality beforehand of a serious investment, or that if unsuccessful at the outset it would be persisted in so long; but they had now been shut up for six days without any tidings from the outer world. How far the mutiny had extended, and what other communities had been swept away, or were resisting like themselves, they had no knowledge; but that the government were in great straits might be inferred from the delay in sending relief. The last tidings before the siege had been that a regiment of local infantry was being despatched to their aid; but even allowing for delay in crossing the great rivers now swollen by the melting of the mountain-snows, this aid should have arrived long ago if not interrupted or diverted.
Two messengers had been sent out by Falkland — servants: one on the first night with a note to the government of the nearest province, to tell them of the condition of the garrison; he was to find his way to the nearest station or camp still occupied by British troops, and to deliver it there. The other had been sent out the previous night, on the east side, while the enemy's attention was diverted by the sortie, who was to bring back any news he could pick up, but he had never returned. If this man had proved faithless, the enemy might be encouraged to persevere in the blockade by learning in what straits they were placed. In this state of anxiety and suspense was passed the long day, the harder to bear from the quietude maintained by the enemy, which afforded nothing to divert attention from the tormenting heat.
When night came on, the jemadar, who was in his master's confidence and knew the importance to the garrison of obtaining news, volunteered to go out and seek intelligence of the state of things in the enemy's camp; and Falkland, although loath to let the brave fellow undertake this perilous office, for he was so well known in the city as to run special risk of detection, was fain under the emergency to accept the offer. Accordingly, Ameer Khan, disguising himself as far as possible to look like a sepoy, and taking musket and pouch-belt, slipped out and stole through the garden in the darkness. Shortly before dawn he returned, to the great relief of his master, who had entertained but little hope of seeing the faithful fellow again. He had managed to get over the garden-wall without being perceived, and although soon afterwards challenged by a picket of sepoys, had got past safely by passing himself off as a sepoy of another regiment, and had been all through the rebel camp and city. The enemy showed no sign of raising the blockade: indeed in the bazaar the talk was all about the repulse which a body of troops marching to the relief of Mustaphabad was reported to have received. It was a new levy apparently, probably the same body whose march had been reported to Falkland before the blockade began. A large part of this force, it was said, had deserted to the enemy; and the remainder, after sustaining considerable loss in attempting to occupy a rebel town on the line of march, was in full retreat. Such was the tale brought back by the jemadar, amplified no doubt by bazaar gossip, but probably accurate so far that the attempt at relief had for the present failed. On the other hand, there was much talk about the doings of a body of horse said to be moving down from the settled country, the leader of which, who had gained the sobriquet of the "Black Feringhee," appeared to have already established a name of terror by his prowess and savage retaliations on the country through which he was moving; and the sepoy camp was evidently beginning to be uneasy at the prospect of his coming against them, although the general impression seemed to be that he could hardly venture to attack so large a force, without support from infantry or guns.
So much information Ameer Khan had managed to pick up by wandering about the bazaars, which all through the night were astir with people who took their sleep and kept at home during the fierce heat of day; and the conclusion to be drawn from it was far from encouraging. The jemadar had also learnt the fate of the emissary sent out the previous night; and the gallant fellow could not restrain the emotion he felt when describing how the unfortunate Kidmatgar, having been recognized, had been carried before the nawab's brother, who now ruled in the city, and in his presence horribly mutilated and then turned out into the street as a warning to others. Well might the bravest man shrink from so horrible a fate.
CHAPTER XXXI.
During this night, spent by Ameer Khan on the expedition described above, and by the garrison at their posts, the ladies who were off hospital duty forgot for a time their dangers and hardships in peaceful slumber on the housetop; when next morning, just as they were about to descend the stairs to the room below, something whistled over their heads with a rushing sound unlike anything they had heard before; a sharp report followed from the direction of the court-house. Falkland, always on the alert, hurried up to the roof just as another cannon-ball whizzing past warned the occupants to hasten down. A couple of field-guns were to be seen in front of the court-house, at a point where a good view of the house was afforded by a gap in the trees; and the sepoys could be made out busily engaged in reloading them.
"The nawab's guns," said Falkland, surveying the scene through his glass, "a present from our government; they used to stand in front of the palace. So, this accounts for the rascals' inactivity yesterday; they were getting this ready as a surprise. They may have guns, however, but they have no gunners," he added, as the balls from the second discharge passed harmlessly overhead and buried themselves in the garden behind, while Yorke, who had never been in the way of round-shot before, involuntarily bobbed his head. "I beg your pardon, sir," said he, laughing, as the colonel looked round and stared at him — "it was quite unintentional; I won't do it again."
"I wonder where they have got their shot from," observed the colonel, after a pause; "a good deal depends on that. Do you think you can pick up the one which has just lodged behind that bush? Thanks, my dear boy," said he, when, a few minutes afterwards, Yorke returned from the other side of the garden bearing a shot in his hand, and the latter felt Falkland's smile and look of approbation to be an ample reward for the service. "Yes, it is a hammered shot, as I expected; that will be the saving of us: the practice is sure to be bad with these lopsided things, and they won't have too many to throw away."
The sound of the guns created some consternation at first within the building; but Falkland reassured the members of the garrison assembled in the big room, by producing the specimen shot, and the inmates soon became accustomed to this new annoyance, which brought no harm at first. Even at that short range the enemy could not at first hit the mark. Some shot hit the ground about the building, but most of them flew over and buried themselves in the garden. "It is odd that there should be no stray gunners on leave in the city to show them how to handle a gun," observed some one later in the morning, who had hardly spoken when there was heard a noise overhead as of falling bricks, and the messenger sent upstairs brought back word that a part of the roof parapet had been carried away, close to where the look-out man was standing.
Half an hour afterwards a shot came through the east veranda, making a hole in the sandbag parapet, and, sending up a cloud of dust, lodged in the outer wall of the building.
"That is no hammered shot," said Underwood, who was on duty in the east veranda, handing the shot to Falkland, who had come out to look at the place.
"This is a regular cannon-ball beyond a doubt," replied Falkland, examining the missile; " but they cannot have a large stock, or they would not have begun with the lopsided ones, and it will take a deal of hammering with nine-pounders to bring this building down; it was not constructed by the Public Works Department." But the sentries were withdrawn from this veranda, there being no danger of an attack upon it without warning; and the number of balls which came through during the day justified the precaution. For the most part they merely struck the wall, knocking out plaster and brickwork, without doing much damage; but occasionally they found their way into the adjacent side-rooms through the doorways; one shot of this kind went through a bag of meal in the storeroom, and another traversed what had hitherto been the sick-room, shortly after the patients had been removed to the west side of the house. Fortunately the guns were north-east of the building, so that the line of fire was oblique, and did not command the centre room.
Thus the hours sped by, and up to mid-day the garrison had suffered no harm. Then the fire was stopped for a time, to be resumed in the afternoon; but it was still so desultory and ill-directed that the garrison were becoming indifferent to the annoyance, when, late in the afternoon, a fatal shot came through the portico. It must have glanced against a tree or some other obstacle, and become deflected in its course, for the portico was out of the line of fire; but it came crashing through the thin sandbag wall, smashed the legs of an officer of the 80th, as he lay asleep on a camp-bedstead, killed two sepoys lying on one of the steps, and then glancing off from the stonework, and slicing off the back of Braddon's pillow — he was asleep on another cot — without touching him, tore through the body of Yorke's horse as it stood picketed just beyond, and so made its exit through the parapet on the other side, those who had escaped starting up from their sleep, and gazing in wonder at the mangled forms of their comrades.
The news of the catastrophe soon spread through the building; and while those who were kept to their posts by duty were still questioning the others who had gone to learn particulars, another casualty was reported. A messenger from the lodge came over with the news that Layton, the shopkeeper, who was on duty there, and a very useful member of the garrison, had just been killed by a stray bullet coming through a loophole. So far the garrison had experienced a remarkable immunity from loss through the enemy's musketry-fire, and a certain proportion of casualties from this cause was reasonably to be expected; but coming at this time the loss seemed to be exceptionally hard to bear. An hour later there was another serious blow. Buxey was with one of the servants in the storeroom serving out supplies, when a shot came through the door-way, killing the man, whose mangled body fell over the open jar of meal they were handling, drenching its contents with blood. The rest of the stores were at once removed to a less exposed part of the house; but this accident had made a serious inroad upon the scanty stock remaining, and a feeling of despair now for the first time possessed many of the garrison, while the stoutest-hearted felt their courage sink at these losses in their slender numbers, which they were powerless to retaliate or guard against unless by some desperate effort. And when Falkland was seen to go up to the roof a little later with Yorke and Braddon, it was rumoured that another spell of "nervous duty" was in store for some of them.
"I think we might take those guns with a rush, sir," said Braddon to Falkland, as they surveyed the position from the look-out place; "we might come round on them from the flank, and spike them without much loss."
"I have been thinking of that too, but it would be a desperate remedy. We should lose time removing the barricade, which they have made as strong as ever. Even if we got as far without loss, they would never allow us to retire unmolested. The houses opposite the lodge are swarming with men, who would be almost in the rear of our advance. The distance is full six hundred yards. It would cost us our last cartridge to retire over it, and even then we should have to leave our wounded behind us, if any were hit. No, I think it would be better to hold on, and keep a few shots for a last resource." And the garrison were not disappointed to hear that no sally was to be made. All felt with Falkland that the remedy would be too desperate.
That night another shallow grave was dug in the garden for Underwood and the two sepoys, and Layton was buried by Braywell near the lodge; the dead horse also was dragged out and buried, the enemy offering no molestation.
The firing had stopped, but the ladies were not allowed to sleep on the roof, and were crowded together in Olivia's room in the stifling heat, while sleep was driven away by the cries of young Raugh. The poor lad was now quite light-headed, and sang English ballads all through the night in a shrill voice.
That night, while Egan was on duty in the trench leading to the bath-house, he was suddenly startled by seeing something moving stealthily towards him from the direction of the garden-hedge. Soon making it out to be a man, he covered him with his rifle, but paused before firing till the nature of the attack should explain itself. He could only make out one man, and, being a cool fellow, Egan contented himself with keeping his rifle ready till the man had approached quite close, who then began waving his hand in a deprecating way, and whispered in Hindustani —
"A poor man, sahib, with news: don't fire."
"All right, old fellow," replied Egan; "come along, and don't be afraid. You've had a precious close shave, old gentleman, all the same," continued Mr. Egan in a lower voice, as he assisted the stranger to climb over the trench; and soon the word being passed, the messenger was brought to Falkland in the south veranda. He was a little wizened old man, a mere bag of bones, and naked save for a small cloth round his loins, and a pair of coarse shoes.
"A letter, sir," said the old man; and taking off one of his shoes, and drawing a couple of nails concealed by mud and dust, extracted a tiny piece of folded paper from between the layers of the sole. This letter, flattened out, was barely three inches square; written in faint ink on the thinnest paper, and soiled by the journey, the following words were with difficulty deciphered: — "To C. O. [commanding officer] Mustd. Am marching down with a levy of Sikh horse. Juriana local infantry attempting the same thing have been beaten back with loss of many killed and deserted, and Jordan, commandant, badly wounded. The direct line from here strongly defended, and passage of river difficult, so I shall work round by the north; this is longer route, but only practicable one. Have sent you three despatches before this; news of you difficult to get, and accounts conflicting. Country generally smashed up. Delhi not yet taken, but expected to fall in a few days, when all will come right. My fellows promise well, but are raw at their work. And there is a lot to be done. But hold out for . . . days, and I will be with you . . ."
The latter part of the note was the most illegible of all; the number of days mentioned, the writer's signature, and the date of the letter, could not be deciphered.
This despatch thus entirely corroborated the account brought back by Ameer Khan. The writer was evidently the "Black Feringhee" talked about in the city, but who he was no one at first could guess. The old man could not give the information; he had not come direct from the camp, but had received the letter at a neighbouring village from his son, who said that he had come fifty miles with it in two days, but he fancied the name of the officer was "Carte Sahib." Carte Sahib? who could that be? There was no officer of that name in the army.
The old man was in a hurry to be gone, before it grew light, and refused to be the bearer of a letter out, saying he could not hope to find Carte Sahib and his horse, who were here one day and there another, like a wild elephant. And being rewarded with a handful of gold mohurs — a small fortune for a peasant — which he secreted dexterously in his waist-cloth, the old fellow, making his salaam, crept out and disappeared in the garden.
"Poor old gentleman," said Egan, as he went off, "he is sure to get his throat cut with all that loot about him."
Almost everybody in the garrison was asked to try and decipher the letter. None of the officers, however, could make anything of the signature; but when Falkland showed it to his wife, she at once said it was Kirke, and on the discovery being made, every one was surprised that he had not made such an obvious guess. Kirke was known to be on leave in the hills when the mutiny broke out, and so good a soldier would of course be at once employed in an emergency. "No wonder," said Falkland, "the fame of the 'Black Feringhee' has got abroad; these are the times to show what men are made of. If it is possible to relieve us, Kirke will do it. To think," he continued, looking at his wife, "that a woman's wit should solve in a minute the difficulty we men were all blundering at."
Olivia blushed as he spoke. She could not tell him then how familiar her cousin's handwriting used to be with her.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Another morning broke, and those who had been trying to rest rose sweltering from their beds, and set about making their scanty toilets. Guards were changed, the unsavoury rations were given out and cooked, and all applied themselves in their different tasks to live out another weary day. M'Intyre groaned with the fever of his wounds; Raugh was quieter, and only sang at times. The firing began again from the two guns and went on in desultory fashion; almost every shot now hit the building, no great feat in gunnery, but still an improvement on the practice of the day before.
Thus wore on the dismal morning. Only nine o'clock, and the day was already five hours long, and yet how many hours remained! when suddenly the garrison was aroused from its state of dull endurance.
"That shot must be wide of the mark," said Falkland, starting up from his couch in the drawing-room, on which he was taking a morning sleep, and resting on his elbow, as the report of a gun was heard without the accompanying whistle of the shot: "there goes another," he added, as the second gun was fired off. "Pandy must have come to an end of his cast shot, and be falling back on the hammered ones. If so, we are in luck."
As he spoke, the look-out officer came running into the room, "There is something up, colonel!" he cried; "they are turning their guns at somebody away out on the plain." Falkland hurried up to the roof.
Beyond the lodge, on the other side of the road, was the village surrounded by a mud wall, of which mention has already been made. This village enclosure was nearly square, and with its houses and surrounding trees interrupted the view of the open plain beyond, portions of which, however, could be seen through the gap between the village and the court-house, and again to the south of the village, although in these directions also the view was a good deal intercepted by the trees in the park. And on this plain some object was now exciting the attention of the rebels, for, as the look-out man had reported, the two guns were turned away, and were firing in that direction, and a large column of sepoys was drawn up on the open space behind them. What it was could not at first be told; only a cloud of dust could be seen rising high in the sultry air, and floating over the village; but presently some horsemen could be made out to the south of the village, about three-quarters of a mile off, retiring slowly, the skirts of a larger body, and then as a light air blew the dust away, some cavalry could be distinguished drawn up in regular formation, now halted in column, and facing towards the enemy; and immediately the news spread through the building that relief had come — Kirke and his levy of horse.
"Kirke's levy evidently," said Braddon, who had been summoned to the roof; "the men are dressed in all sorts of ways, and very irregular is the dressing of their ranks. However, handsome is that handsome does! Kirke won't be the man I take him for if he doesn't soon find his way in, now that he has got so far."
"Is it Kirke's men," said Falkland, "or the levy of some native chief? I begin to think it must be the latter. Why should Kirke, if it were he, keep away out there, as if he were afraid of this wretched fire? It is to be hoped that they do not mean to sheer off, after all, and leave us in the lurch; but I can't make out any Europeans with them."
"Yes!" cried Yorke, who was looking through a field-glass; "I see a European there, on a grey horse, going along at a foot-pace, with his back turned this way, and with a helmet on, and there is an orderly riding behind him. Ah! now he is gone out of sight behind those trees. There he comes again, don't you see, sir, to the right? "
"It is Kirke, and no mistake," said Falkland, looking at the distant mass through his glass. "I could tell his figure on horseback among a thousand. Thank God, we are saved!" and the tone of relief with which he spoke showed how much his previous bearing had belied his real hopes of escape.
The news of succour had spread instantaneously through the building; discipline for the moment was suspended, and the staircase to the roof was crowded with people coming to see the relieving force with their own eyes. Even the brigadier managed to hobble up; nor could Falkland refuse to allow each lady in turn to come up and have a look at the distant horsemen and try to distinguish the Europeans with the force, of whom two had now been made out.
All was now changed to life and high spirits within the building; a messenger was despatched to the lodge with the good tidings, while even the wounded began to cheer up, except Johnny Raugh, who was still unconscious but quiet now, and breathing heavily.
The residency now was quite unmolested; but some of the occupants of the lodge showing themselves in their excitement incautiously on the roof, drew down a sharp fire from the village on the opposite side of the road, which was still full of men.
Still the relieving force made no attack; they could be seen now and then, through the gaps in the trees, moving about in the distance, but they came no nearer, deterred apparently by the difficulty of attacking so numerous an infantry well posted; and endless were the surmises of the lookers-on as they watched the movements of the horsemen with straining eyes and eager faces. Why don't they charge down to the south, and clear the ground up to the wall there? The enemy can't be in strength in that direction; they might relieve us in that way without difficulty. Can it be they have been told the residency has fallen? But no, that cannot be, or why should the rebels be investing it? But to make sure, Falkland had a standard hoisted on the roof — a tablecover on a pole. It took some time to manage this, and when the thing was done all sign of the cavalry had disappeared.
Kirke must be acting as the advanced-guard of a force which had come to reconnoitre, and has fallen back on the main body, to wait for the infantry to come up, said the more hopeful; but dread despair came upon the garrison when the news spread. It was as if a shipwrecked sailor were to see a ship sail by, unheeding the raft to which he was clinging.
"Main body or not," said Falkland anxiously to his two lieutenants, "we must manage to communicate with Kirke at once, for I am sure it is he; I can't believe that his sheering off like this is more than temporary. Kirke has pluck and judgment for fifty men, but every minute is critical; we cannot afford to run the risk of our want of ammunition being found out. The very fact of relief being so near may incite the rebels to strike a final blow and be off. Which of your men, Braddon, do you think, could be best trusted to get out?"
"He would have to wait till dark, sir, would he not?" asked Yorke, "before making the attempt; and then if he succeeded he might lose all the night in looking for them. I have a plan to propose, sir; let me mount your mare, and take my chance of getting over the wall and through these brutes. They will be so surprised they won't have time to fire," he added, seeing that Falkland looked doubtfully at the proposal.
"That is a big wall to take," observed the colonel, after a pause, during which he had been regarding the young man with a look that conveyed his approbation.
"Kathleen would do it, sir, never fear," replied the other; "it is not five feet high there by the gateway; she is good for that any day."
"I think she is, but she will need to have her master on her back to do it, after being so long without being ridden."
"I think I can sit a fresh nag as well as most people," observed Braddon, "though I say it who shouldn't; but these are not times to stand on modesty. Let me go, sir, and you shall see me witch Pandy with noble horsemanship."
"No, Braddon, you are too heavy. Yorke's idea, however, is a capital one, but it will be better for me to go than either of you."
"But ought the commandant to desert the garrison, sir?" objected Braddon. "We shall never be able to get on without you; and the people would lose heart if they heard you were gone."
"I would rather stay of course, but this is a case of duty. Everything depends on communicating with the force outside, and for this it is necessary to get over the wall. Relief will then only be a question of a few minutes; my absence for so long can't do any harm."
"You have seen me take a wall, sir," said Yorke, "and on a horse that was a mere pony beside Kathleen. I believe I could do the trick all right. I am a good stone lighter than you, and certainly I can be better spared."
"No reflections on your horsemanship, my dear boy," replied the colonel, putting his hand kindly on Yorke's shoulder, and looking down as he spoke; "but Kathleen has not been out of her stall for ten days, and has been on half rations for a week. She will do best with her master on her back, but the credit of the plan is all yours. But we must not lose time in talking."
They descended to the portico, and the mare was saddled, while the opening was cleared again which had been made in the parapet the previous night for removing the dead horse. The affair occupied only a few minutes, while Falkland, going aside with the brigadier, explained what was proposed, and obtained the old man's consent to his errand. Then turning to Buxey, who also had been summoned to the portico — "Buxey, old friend," he said, "we are all liable to accident; if I should come to grief, I charge you to convey to government my particular recommendation of Braddon and Yorke. The conduct of the whole garrison will speak for itself, and will, no doubt be rewarded suitably; but I wish it particularly to be recorded that these two have especially contributed to the success of the defence." Then he made a movement, intending to enter the building; but suddenly turned back again, and saying in a low voice as he passed Yorke, while he pressed his hand for an instant, "I leave Olivia in your charge," mounted, and passed out by the gap from underneath the portico.
The mare walked quietly out for a few paces, but when having got clear of the building Falkland pressed her sides, she gave a furious plunge which almost unseated him, the preface to a course of bounds into the air, which tried her rider's horsemanship, but did not advance his progress off the hard road. At last he got her on to the lawn, only one degree less hard, and put her into a canter towards the north end, the mare still plunging madly in the excitement of leaving the stable, trying to pull the reins out of his hands, but going with a short stiff action as if her limbs were cramped by the long confinement.
It was about midday, and the scorching vertical rays of the sun beat down on the fiery soil; shadow to the right or left there was none. As the rider and horseman approached the north park-wall numerous faces appeared behind it and from the outhouse at the end, and there was rapid firing at the sudden apparition. The anxious and excited lookers-on thought at first he was going to take the wall at that end, which was very high, but he turned round when near it and came cantering back again towards the portico, saluted now by a shower of bullets from the enclosures beyond the lodge.
The guard of the portico had some of them clambered on the parapet, while others unable to restrain themselves ran outside to watch the event. The lodge-picket, too, were all standing on the roof or on the pathway outside, but the enemy for the moment did not heed them.
Again Falkland turned the mare up the park and galloped her to the end and back. She is going more at her ease now, and the rider stoops over to pat her neck as the noble beast settles into her long stride. Now he turns her again, still going at an easy gallop, and describing an arc and bringing her round, puts her straight at the east wall, just above the entrance gap, where it was lowest. The distance is about a hundred yards, but to the lookers-on it seems a dozen times that length, as breathlessly they watch him nearing the wall. Then there is an instant of suspense as the mare rises at the obstacle and clears it gallantly. The leap accomplished, Falkland makes straight forward between the village and the court-house; the former seems alive with men, all firing at him as he shoots by, while a whole platoon is discharged from the men drawn up by the court-house; but the figure of the rider can be made out erect and harmless, galloping over the plain, the danger past, until lost to view in the distance by the intervening trees. "Hurrah! He will be up with the cavalry in no time at that rate, and we shall have them back again in a minute or two." Such are the cries echoed by the spectators of Falkland's successful feat, as they take the news into the building. All is joy again for the moment. It seems as if the relief had actually come.
But the minutes pass by, and there are no signs of the horsemen; no dust in the distance marks their return. And now there follows another long pause of dreary heart-sickening suspense. No one can guess what has happened; and the weaker members of the party put vague guesses and questions to each other, which no one can answer, while the sterner ones remain silent. Braddon and Yorke scan the scene from the roof; but the long hours pass by, and no signs can be discerned of relief. Once when Yorke descended to the building he met Olivia coming out of the sick-room, and her sorrow-stricken face told him that she knew of Falkland's departure; but as he advanced towards her she turned a look as of reproach and scorn towards him, and passed suddenly into the ladies' room to avoid him. Alas! thought he, even her firm mind is giving way under these trials, and no wonder.
About four o'clock news came from the roof that the guns were being again turned on the building; and in a few seconds the whistle of the shot recommenced, with the accustomed accompaniment of falling masonry, as great pieces of the brickwork fell away under each discharge. Then despair seized upon most of them. This must surely mean that the relieving force has been driven off. A large body of sepoys, too, were seen moving down to join the outposts in the village. This looked as if another assault were intended. There was nothing left now but to sell their lives as dearly as possible.
But half an hour afterwards some of the portico-guard thought they heard musketry-firing in the direction of the city. All ears were turned anxiously in that direction, one or two men being sent outside to hear better. There could be no doubt about it. Nor was it a mere feu de joie, as some said at first; the noise was continuous but irregular, like sharp skirmishing or street-fighting. Hope began to stir again with them. It must surely be the relief coming at last. Falkland is leading an attack upon the enemy from their rear, to clear the city of them. Yes! it must be so. See, the sepoys are being called back from the village, towards the court-house, and the number about that building has diminished; they are evidently being sent forward to defend the city. The guns too have been withdrawn again, and are turned in that direction.
And now the sound of firing gets closer; the attacking party must be gaining ground.
Still the strife proceeds, but as the sun gets low, the sepoys can be seen coming back from the city and forming up irregularly to the south of the court-house, while some of their leaders are riding about on horseback as if trying to rally them. But it is of no use; they begin to break away by twos and threes and to make for the village again, from the rear of which other stragglers are now running away in the direction of cantonments. There will be no rally in the village, although the place would be hard to carry if well defended. The garrison can restrain themselves no longer; and a party headed by Braddon rush out from the portico, and, joined by those on picket at the lodge, they line the park-wall and fire their last cartridges at the rebels retiring in disorder over the ground in front. This completes the panic. The sepoys, instead of retreating into the village, send back a few desultory shots in reply, and now sheer off behind it to avoid the fire thus opened on them, leaving a few bodies stretched on the plain. In a few minutes they have all disappeared, and the attacking force is seen emerging from the trees towards the city and advancing in skirmishing order up to the court-house. Amongst them can be distinguished in the dusk an officer on horseback, a European by his helmet. He looks ahead for an instant, and then hearing the cheers set up by the garrison on catching sight of him, gallops up to the gateway, the barrier at which is pulled down by eager hands to make way for his horse, and in another instant he rides among them within, and is surrounded by the excited group, each trying to grasp his hand, while they shout to the others in the building, who with some of the ladies may be seen hurrying down the walk. The siege is over, the garrison is relieved.
The horseman was Kirke. "You thought I meant to go off and leave you in the lurch," he said smiling, in reply to some of the numerous questions with which he was assailed. "We could have come down to the south and cleared the place in a jiffey, I know, but that would have driven the enemy back into the city, and it would have been a devil of a job to dislodge them. No, I determined to take them in rear; and besides, Falkland got news that a large party in the city were prepared to join our side and release the nawab, if we only showed ourselves near the palace, so we thought we had better begin at that end and work downwards; and very well the thing has been done. I wish you could have seen my fellows skirmishing through the streets, with nothing but their swords and carbines."
"And Falkland?" cried the eager group of listeners, who had forgotten him for the moment in the excitement of deliverance; "where is Falkland?"
"Ah!" said Kirke, looking grave as he dismounted. Falkland had been killed, leading the advance through the town. Who will break the news to his wife?