It occurred to him that a visit to Minghal Khan's house might help him a little. It would at least enable him to learn for himself, perhaps, whether the chaprasi's report about the khansaman was justified. He still felt a lingering hope that the informant was mistaken. The missy sahib had much knowledge of the man, and it seemed incredible to Ahmed, with his experience of the loyalty of his comrades in the Guides to their salt, that a man who had served the sahib faithfully for years should be so utterly perverted as the chaprasi had reported. Had he not heard stories in camp of the heroic devotion shown by native servants in rescuing and giving asylum to the families whose salt they had eaten?

Had he not, indeed, seen with his own eyes in the camp on the Ridge Metcalfe Sahib, who had been saved, not even by a servant, but by a police officer, one Mainudin Ha.s.san Khan, who at the risk of his life had conveyed the sahib to Jajjar? If a police officer would do this, might not a khansaman or some other servant, bound to his master by personal ties far closer, have done as much for Craddock Sahib?

From his experiences on the previous day, he guessed that in all probability Minghal Khan would leave his house early to attend the usual morning darbar at the palace. His absence would furnish a good opportunity of calling without risk. Accordingly, he summoned his coolie, and, while the man was preparing a bale of goods, he inquired of the innkeeper the way to the great man's house. It was not far off, being on the opposite side of the Chandni Chauk towards the Delhi Bank.

He set off with his goods, found the house without difficulty, and rang the bell.

"Salaam, darwan," he said to the servant who opened the door. "You behold a trader from Afghanistan, who comes with some beautiful fabrics of exquisite workmanship to lay before the great subahdar, Minghal Khan."

"Away, banijara!" replied the man. "The great one is not at home; he is gone to the king's palace. And even were he within, dost think he would deign to look at the filthy rags a man like thee would bring? Away, and take thy shadow from his door."

Ahmed, who knew very well what this meant, slipped a few annas into the darwan's hand.

"I know I am unworthy that the light of the great man's countenance should fall upon my goods," he said. "Yet in his merciful kindness he may deign to purchase some small thing, and then, O darwan, there will a.s.suredly be dasturi for hands that so well deserve it."

The preliminary "tip," and the promise of a commission on the goods sold, had the expected effect.

"The great one is from home," said the man. "If you will come again, I will do my poor best to persuade him to look upon you."

"It is a favour. How lucky art thou, O darwan, to be doorkeeper to the exalted one! By what great merits didst thou arrive at so high a station?"

The darwan's vanity was flattered. He bridled.

"Wah! It is as thou sayest, banijara. And 'tis more merit than luck, be sure. I have served the great man but two days, and live in the sunlight of his good favour. I have served other great men in my time. Even but now I came from the Maulavi Ahmed Ullah himself. Being ignorant, thou mayst not know that the Maulavi and my present master are as brothers, and two days ago I came from the Maulavi with news of the great doings at Cawnpore. And being the first--for those twenty sowars who brought the news were laggards compared with me--and sent by the Maulavi to Minghal Khan, the great man was able to acquaint the king before the sowars came, and for that he received a present of royal sweetmeats, and made me his darwan."

"Truly it was great merit. And that matter of the doings at Cawnpore--I have heard some whispers of it, but not as thou couldst tell it. I pray thee, darwan, say on."

"It was a glorious matter. The Feringhis were shut up there, and Dhundu Pant, whom men commonly call Nana Sahib, took a full revenge for his grievances. Thou must know he was adopted son of that Baji Rao whom the accursed Feringhis put down from being peshwa, and tried to soothe with a pension of eight lakhs of rupees. And when he died, they would not pay the pension to his son, though Baji Rao left a host of dependants for Nana Sahib to support. And when Nana made complaint of this injustice to the k.u.mpani, they gave him a rough answer: what did it matter to the k.u.mpani if Baji Rao's people starved? And when the rising came, the men of those parts made Nana Sahib their leader, and he caused entrenchments to be thrown up before Cawnpore, and mounted great guns to destroy the Feringhis. They had done well to yield, but they are even as pigs, and endured great tribulations from shot and sh.e.l.l and the want of food, and Nana Sahib was wroth, because the men clamoured to be led to Delhi. Nana Sahib is a very great man. He sent a letter to the Feringhis, in which he promised, if they would lay down their arms, to let them go safely to Allahabad. Wah! They are stupid as camels. They sent men to meet Azimullah, Nana Sahib's munshi, and he promised to have forty boats stored with food ready for them at the Satia Chama ghat, and it was written down, and when one of the Feringhis came to see Nana Sahib put his name to the paper, the Nana shed tears of sorrow at what their women and children had suffered. Truly he is a very great man."

"As a serpent in cunning. Go on with thy tale, darwan."

"The Feringhis came out, and laughed with joy when they saw the boats moored, even as it had been written. They got into the boats, and some two or three began to move on the stream, when at the sound of a bugle the boatmen leapt overboard, and the sepoys on the banks fired at those laughing fools, and all the men were killed; it was a great killing; and the women were dragged ash.o.r.e and pent up in a little house, and there they are to this day, and when the Feringhis are all destroyed, then there will be white-faced wives for any who like to take them. It was a great day--and for me too. I shall by and by be rich as a shroff, that is sure. I got much plunder when we entered Cawnpore after the Feringhis were slain; and in very truth--but tell no man of this, banijara--it would not surprise me if I were at this moment richer than my exalted master himself. There is great honour in serving the King of Delhi, but hitherto little profit. That is only until the Feringhis are utterly destroyed. Then all faithful servants of the king will become great subahdars, and Minghal Khan is very high in his favour. But now there is little money; indeed, our khansaman had yesterday none wherewith to buy food for the great one, until he had sold some of the things in the house that belonged to the dog of an English hakim who used to live here. He is a good man, the khansaman, and it would do your ears good to hear him curse the vile Feringhis."

"The great one has many servants, no doubt?" said Ahmed.

"Nay, it is not so. Besides me and Kaluja Da.s.s, the khansaman, there is but one khitmutgar,--a household by no means worthy of so great a man as Minghal Khan. But what must be will be. When there is little money, even the greatest must go short. Here is the khansaman himself, going to market in the bazar."

He stood aside to let the upper servant pa.s.s. Ahmed looked at the man keenly. He saw an elderly man, with a grave and somewhat anxious countenance. The khansaman glanced at him as he pa.s.sed.

"A banijara from Afghanistan, khansaman," said the darwan. "Think you the exalted one will be in the mind to purchase somewhat of him?"

"In the mind, but not the pocket, until the thrice-accursed sons of perdition are sent to the lowest pit," replied the khansaman, and pa.s.sed on.

"Thou hearest?" said the darwan. "Without doubt he is a good man, and when Minghal Khan is exalted, Kaluja Da.s.s will be exalted too. He hates the Feringhis with a terrible hatred, and that is easy to understand, seeing that it was his kismet to serve them for so many years."

"It is as thou sayest, good darwan. But it seems 'tis an ill time to bring my wares. Yet I would fain show them to the exalted one at a convenient season. I will come again, and if it should not please the great man to see me, I should have some consolation in another talk with thee. 'Tis not often a poor trader like me meets a man who has seen such great deeds."

"And done them, banijara. Was I not among those who shot the fools of Feringhis at the ghat? Wah! One boat that had left the ghat was rowed to the other side--the pigs of English believed they might yet escape. But I was there, with my musket, and I fired, and my shot kindled the thatch that covered the boat, and it burnt with a great blaze. And the boat grounded in the mud, and I ran down and pulled out of it one of the English by the hair of his head, and drove my knife into him many times, and he died, pig that he was--though he did not squeal like a pig; the English, curse them, never squeal."

Ahmed's blood was boiling. It was one of his own race whom this braggart menial had killed. He would have liked to end the man's account then and there, but the coolie was at hand, squatting beside the bale of goods.

For the sake of his mission he could not afford to give rein to his anger.

"It is an honour to meet one who has done such brave deeds," he said.

"Thou wert better among the soldiers, surely, than at the door of a house. It is men like thee who are wanted to fight the Feringhis, not those miserable dogs who went out but lately, horse and foot and guns, and returned saying that they had not fought because the air did not agree with them. The king did right to drive them from the city. I will come again, good darwan, at night-time perhaps, when the work is done; far be it from me to interfere with thy important duties, and maybe if I bring some sweetmeats or preserves--delicate things for the palate--thou wilt deign to partake with me, while thou cheerest me with thy pleasant talk."

"Gladly will I meet thee," said the darwan, greatly pleased with this flattery. "Never have I seen so excellent a banijara. Salaam!"

Ahmed departed with his coolie. When they reached the Chandni Chauk it was instantly apparent that something had happened which stirred public excitement. Crowds were pouring towards the palace, Hindus and Mohammedans together, their faces lit with joy. One man jostled the coolie, and his burden was thrown to the ground.

"Pig of a Purbiya!" cried Ahmed, seizing the man--a Pathan could not overlook such an insult--"what meanest thou to damage thus the goods of thy betters?"

"How shall I answer?" replied the man. "Knowest thou not that Bakht Khan with his troops is now on the river-bank yonder, and but waits for the repairing of the bridge to cross? And the king has ordered four hundred men to do that work, and I am even now hastening to do his bidding.

Overlook my fault for this time, I pray thee."

Ahmed gave him a kick and released him. Clearly there was little chance of doing business on such a great day. He took his wares back to the serai, and then set off to the Calcutta gate to see what might be seen.

As he went he heard the concussion of artillery fire, and men soon came running in the direction of the palace with news that the English were bombarding the battery north of the Kashmir gate, commanded by Kuli Khan. Cries arose that a general a.s.sault was being prepared against the city, and by and by thousands of red-coated sepoys, with lumbering gun-carriages, marched through the streets towards the Kabul gate, to take up their position at Idgah and Dam-damma, facing the southern end of the Ridge. Meanwhile the bridge of boats, which had broken down in a heavy wind-storm on the previous day, was being hastily repaired by a host of coolies with two companies of sappers and miners, and across the river, two or three miles away, lay the long-expected force of Mohammed Bakht Khan, from whose arrival the rebels hoped so much. All day the city was in a ferment. Heavy guns were mounted on the batteries; some attempt was made to reply to the English fire; and great was the jubilation when it was reported that sh.e.l.ls from the city had fallen in the midst of the English camp, killing hundreds of the accursed Feringhis.

Amid the excitements of the day Ahmed had no leisure to prosecute his direct inquiries. He was satisfied with having made a friend of Minghal Khan's doorkeeper, whom he intended to cultivate. What the darwan had said of Kaluja Da.s.s, and the words he had himself heard fall from the khansaman's lips, confirmed the report of Fazl Hak's emissary, and Ahmed now felt sure that Craddock Sahib, wherever he was, owed nothing to his former servant. He could not conceive what his next move should be, and if great fighting was to ensue upon Bakht Khan's arrival, it would seem that nothing but mere accident could put him on the traces of the sahib.

Meanwhile he went to Fazl Hak with the news of the treachery at Cawnpore; the particulars he had learnt from the darwan were new to the maulavi.

Next day the whole city flocked to see the entrance of the Bareilly force over the renovated bridge. Ahmed stood among the crowd as the troops filed by, headed by Bakht Khan, who rode among a group of all the chief officers in the city, sent to meet him by the king. There were four regiments of foot, seven hundred cavalry, six horse artillery guns, three field-pieces, three hundred spare horses, and fourteen elephants laden with treasure worth, as rumour said, four lakhs of rupees. Ahmed followed the troops to the great square before the mosque, and listened to the extravagant speeches made there in welcome of the arrivals. Bakht Khan himself was a bluff, blunt soldier, who had learnt something of English reticence during his long and brilliant service with the sahibs.

His battery of artillery had received a mural crown as honorary decoration for its guns in reward for its good work at Jalalabad in the first Afghan war. He said little in reply to the flowery compliments showered upon him by the king's officers, and Minghal Khan, who was present with the rest, appeared to think the new-comer's speech deficient in encouragement. It was too good an opportunity to be lost.

Minghal raised his voice and poured out streams of fiery eloquence, denouncing the Feringhis, and boasting of what should be done to them now that more active measures were about to be taken. The excited mob yelled applause, even those who failed to understand his speech, which was delivered in the vile jargon of a hill-man; and Ahmed, taking note of all, saw that his old enemy had beyond doubt the ear of the rebels.

The sepoys stood to their arms while Bakht Khan and the other chief officers went to the palace to see the king. Ahmed waited patiently amid the throng until the great man returned. All voices were hushed as Bakht Khan announced that the king had grasped his hands and appointed him commander-in-chief of the forces.

"The king commands that the English shall cease to exist," said the general. "He has given me a shield and a sword, and shed the light of his countenance upon me. He has appointed the Kalla Mahall as the quarters for my troops from Bareilly, and ordered four thousand rupees to be distributed among you for a merry-making. And now I give orders that no soldier shall plunder or harm any man whatsoever in this city.

If any soldier is caught plundering, his arm shall be severed from his body. Thus the king commands. We can do nothing without order, such order as the Feringhis have; and there is no order where every man seeks to enrich himself. I said to the king that were I to catch even a prince of blood in the act of plunder, I would straightway cut off his nose and ears. And the king made answer: 'Do whatsoever seemeth good unto thee.'

Wherefore I say to the kotwal of this city: if there is any more plundering he shall be hanged. And let a drummer go forth and proclaim that all shopkeepers arm themselves, and if any have no arms, they shall be furnished him. These things I say, and let all men know that I am the general of Bahadur Shah, and my word is as his word."

There was a soldierly directness and a grim determination about the man that impressed the people. Ahmed recognized the fruits of English training in the general, but as he looked round among the sepoys and the populace, and realized what discordant elements were mingled there, he knew that one man, even such a one as Bakht Khan, could never discipline them into the cohesion which alone could command success.

When the a.s.sembly dispersed and the troops went to their quarters, Ahmed still kept track of the movements of the general. He followed him when he visited Prince Mirza Mogul, the former commander-in-chief, sulking at his reduction to the post of adjutant-general, and when he inspected the magazine, and waited for hours at the general's door when he held his levee of the officers, taking note of those who entered, and those who remained longest. Minghal Khan was among these last, and since it was clear that he and the commander-in-chief were on especially good terms, Ahmed decided that it would certainly be worth while to pay another visit to the darwan. As yet he had learnt little that all the world did not know; but it was possible that the men of Minghal Khan's own household might have information of a more private nature. It was now drawing towards evening; the business of the day would soon cease, and the darwan would be at leisure. In preparation for the visit Ahmed bought a quant.i.ty of delectables in the bazar, and as soon as it was dark, and the streets, which had been thronged all day, became a little clearer, he set off with his parcel of dainties for Minghal Khan's house.

CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH

The Doctor's Divan

"Salaam, darwan," said Ahmed, as the man opened the gate in answer to his ring. "Thou beholdest me, even as I said, and I have with me some few choice things to eat. Peradventure thy duties are done, and thou wilt have leisure to enliven my ears with more tales of brave doings."

"Woe is me, banijara! I would fain talk to thee and eat thy dainties, but I fear me 'tis an ill season. My exalted master is even at this moment above-stairs in council with Bakht Khan himself, and he may call for me at any moment."

"That is ill news for me, good darwan. I must needs go back and come another day. And yet it is pity, for these dainties of mine are fresh.

Hai! what must be will be."

"'Tis pity, as thou sayest; but the exalted one might be displeased."