Books: The Native Born

I >> I. A. R. Wylie >> The Native Born

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24

Yet it was three o'clock before he reached the palace gates. It seemed
to him that they had deterred his progress for some unknown purpose,
and the thought of those he had left behind caused him profound
uneasiness. Native treachery was proverbial, and no doubt Nehal Singh
felt himself justified in any conduct that seemed wise to him. In any
case, there was no return. The crowd in front of Nicholson sank back
like a receding tide as he rode through the open gates and then closed
in behind, following in one dense stream as he proceeded slowly up the
splendid avenue. He felt now that he was in the hands of destiny.
Through the trees he caught sight of the palace steps where Nehal
Singh had stood the night before. No living soul moved. The whole
world seemed to have concentrated itself behind him, a grim and silent
force which was sweeping him onward--to what end he could not tell.

Suddenly the native who still held his horse's bridle lifted his hand
as he had done before and pointed ahead.

"Look, Sahib!" he cried. "Look!"

Nicholson made no sign. He retained his easy attitude, one hand
loosely holding the reins, the other with the riding-whip resting
negligently on his hip. There was no change in his bronzed face: his
eyes took in the scene which an abrupt turn in the road revealed to
him with a steadfast calm, though his pulses had begun to beat
furiously. It was as though a painter with two strokes of a mighty
brush had smeared the square before the temple with a great moving
stain. Only one narrow white line reached up to the temple doorway. On
either side, right up to the gopuras and stretching far away down the
branching paths, a living mass stood and waited, their faces turned
toward him. Pilgrims they might have been, but he saw in the foremost
row men with their dark hands clasped over the muzzles of their
rifles, and every here and there the sunlight flashed back a
reflection from the cold steel at their sides. They made no sound as
he rode between them; only a soft shuffling behind him told him that
the human wall was closing in. He did not turn. His eyes passed calmly
over the watching faces, and the hands that played at their
dagger-hilts fell away as though the piercing gaze had paralyzed them.
Thus he reached the temple, where he dismounted.

No one had told him, but he well understood that this was his
destination, and with a firm step passed into the inner court. For an
instant the sudden change from brilliant daylight to an almost
complete darkness dazzled him. He saw nothing but a moving shadow
intermingled with points of fire that glowed steadily in two long rows
up to the altar, where fell a single ray of golden sunshine. Helmet in
hand, he moved slowly forward, every nerve strung taut with suspense.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the curious half-light, he saw that the
unreal shadows were men grouped on either side behind rows of
torch-bearers. The red flare fell on their fixed, unmoved faces, and
threw weird shadows backward and forward among the massive pillars
whose capitals faded into the intensified gloom overhead. There was no
other movement, no other sound save Nicholson's own footsteps, which
echoed loud and threatening in that petrified silence. On the altar
itself a Holy Lamp burned steadily, and behind, half obliterated by a
lonely, upright figure, the great three-headed god stretched out
ghost-like arms into the sunshine that descended in a narrow ladder of
pure light to mingle with the altar fire.

Nicholson moved on. At the altar steps he came to a halt and waited.
The figure did not stir nor seem to be aware of his presence. A
torch-bearer knelt on the lower step, and the fiery deflection threw
into plastic relief the set and pitiless features beneath the jeweled
turban. Gone was the old simplicity. The hands that lay clasped one
upon the other on the splendid scimitar were loaded with gems, and
from the turban a single diamond sparkled starlike in the changing
light. A splendid and romantic figure, truly; harmonizing with and
dominating over the mysterious background. But it was not the
splendor, nor even the stern tragedy written on the worn and haggard
face, which caused Nicholson to feel a cold hand grasp at his bold
self-confidence. It was the sudden intuitive realization that here the
battle began. He was no longer the master personality towering over a
hydra-headed multitude. Here it was a man against a man, will against
will, despair against despair.

"Hail, Rajah Sahib!" he said in Hindustani. "Hail!"

His voice had echoed into silence before Nehal Singh moved. Then he
lifted his hand in greeting.

"Hail, Englishman!"

"You know me," Nicholson went on, drawing nearer. "I am Nicholson,
Captain Nicholson of the--Gurkhas."

"I do not know you." There was a pitiless finality in the few words
and in the gesture which accompanied them.

Nicholson lifted his head to the light.

"Nehal Singh, you lie. I was and am your friend."

He heard a stir behind him, and his instinct, doubly sharpened, felt
how a dozen hands had flown to their weapons. Then again there was
silence. His eyes had not flinched in their challenge.

"I have no friends among traitors and cowards."

The insult left Nicholson calm. Something in the tone in which the
words were uttered, something that rang more like a broken-hearted
despair than contempt, touched him profoundly.

"Thou hast the power to say so, Rajah," he answered quietly. "I am
alone and unarmed."

The reproach went home to its mark. He saw the Rajah's hand tighten on
the sword-hilt and a deeper shadow pass over the handsome features.

"Thou art right," Nehal Singh said. "I have misused my power, and that
I will not do. Whilst thou art here thou needst fear neither insult
nor danger."

"I fear neither," was the answer. A bitter, scornful smile lifted the
corners of the set lips.

"So thou sayest." Then, with a gesture of impatience, he went on:
"Thou hast sought me here, and it is well. I also have sought thee,
for I have a message that thou shalt carry from me to thy people. Wilt
thou bear it?"

"Bear it thyself, Rajah, to the people with whom thou hast lived in
honor and friendship."

"In deceit and treachery!" Nehal Singh retorted, frowning. "But enough
of that. Wilt thou bear my message?"

"If it must be--yes."

"It must be. Tell them first that every bond that linked us is broken.
Tell them not to count on what has been. What has been is not
forgotten, but it is written on my heart in fire and blood--it has
crossed out love and respect, pity and mercy."

"Rajah--"

"Hear me to the end, Englishman! I am not here to waste words with
thee--henceforward my acts shall be my words. But thou shalt not go
back and say that it is ambition or a mean revenge which has drawn my
sword from its sheath. It is not that." He paused, and the hand which
he had raised to cut short Nicholson's interruption sank slowly back
upon his sword-hilt. Then he went on, and his low-pitched voice
penetrated into the farthest corner of the silent temple: "Sahib, I
loved thy people. I loved them for their past, for their courage,
their justice, their greatness. In my boy's mind they were the heroes
of the world, and as such I worshiped them. No poison could kill my
love--it seemed a part of me, the innermost part of my soul--and when
for the first time I stood before them, face to face, it was as though
I lived, as though I had awakened from a dream. Be patient,
Englishman, for you of all others must understand that there is for me
no turning back, no yielding. Great love is sister to a greater hate,
respect to scorn. I came among you, inexperienced save in dreams, a
believing boy--fool if you will, whose folly received its punishment.
The outside of the platter was fair enough to have deceived those
wiser than I, Sahib. There were lovely women with the faces of angels,
and tall men, honest-eyed and brave-tongued. But the outside was a
lie--a lie!" He lifted his hand again in a sudden storm of tortured
passion. "The women are wantons--the men tricksters--"

"Rajah!" The stern warning passed, but not unheeded.

"Thou art hurt and stung," Nehal said, in a low, shaken voice. "The
truth wounds thee! For me--it was death." He hesitated again, fighting
for his self-control. "Sahib, great things are expected of a great
people. Others may cheat and swindle, others may lie and blaspheme
with God's holy secrets, others may seek their pleasures in the
earth's mire, but _they_ must stand apart. They must bear forward the
banner of righteousness, or their greatness is no more than an empty
sound--a bubble which the first bold enemy may prick. Perchance I
blinded myself wilfully, perchance I stopped my ears. The platter was
fair to my eyes, the falsehood rang like truth. Now I know. I know
that the past is all that is left you--you are a fair seeming behind
which is decay and corruption. Were I another, I would take my broken
faith to the darkest corner of the jungle and eat out my life in
despair and sorrow. But I have another task before me--my duty to my
people."

"And that duty, Rajah--?"

"A great people must rule mine," was the high answer. "I thought you a
great people, and I used my strength, my wealth and influence to
further your power. But you are not worthy. Who are you that dare to
assume authority over millions--you who can not rule yourselves, you
who idle away your lives in folly and self-seeking? Well may you crown
yourselves with the laurels which your fathers won! You have none of
your own--and see to it that those faded emblems from a high past are
not snatched from your palsied fingers. I at least have flung from me
a yoke which I despise. Parasites shall not feast upon my country!"

A low murmur arose from the serried ranks and grew and deepened as
Nicholson retorted passionately:

"Thou canst not measure thyself against an Empire!"

"Empire against Empire!"

"Marut is no Empire!"

"All India shall answer me!"

At another moment Nicholson might have smiled at so vain a boast, but
it did not seem to him vain as he faced that towering figure. There
was destiny written in the blazing eyes. So might a prophet have
called upon his nation--so might a nation, inspired by an absolute
belief, have answered him as this swaying crowd answered--with wild,
triumphant shouts.

"We follow thee, Anointed One! Lead us, for thou art Vishnu, thou art
God!"

"Thou hearest!" Nehal Singh said, turning to Nicholson.

"I hear," the Englishman answered significantly. "And I know, as thou
knowest, that it is a lie. Thou art not God. Thou art a Christian."

"No longer. How shall I believe in a God whose disciples mock His
commandments?" His voice became inaudible in the suddenly increased
confusion.

The next instant, the torch-bearers, who guarded the open space around
the two men, were thrust violently on one side, and with a wild
scream, which rang high above the uproar, a half-naked figure rushed
up the steps and with outspread arms stood like an evil phantom at
Nehal's side.

"He is dead!" he shrieked. "He is dead! I killed him--my knife it was
that killed him--the son of the Devil Stafford is dead--my enemy is
dead!" He swung around toward the light, his arms still raised and
Nicholson recognized, with a start of repulsion, Behar Singh's
triumphant, distorted features. "Kill!" he shrieked again. "Kill them
all, son--son--of--the--so is my revenge--". The harsh, grating voice
cracked like a steel blade that has been snapped in half. For a
breathing space Behar Singh stood there, drawn to his full height;
then he reeled and rolled with a heavy thud to the lowest step, where
he lay motionless, his grinning face frozen into a look of diabolical
joy. A slow oozing stream of blood crept over the white marble to
Nicholson's feet. The voices died into silence. Nicholson and Nehal
Singh faced each other over the dead body.

"Thou seest," Nehal Singh said. "There is no turning back."

"No, there is no turning back." The Englishman drew himself upright.
The light of unchangeable resolution illuminated his face and made
him, unarmed and dressed in the rigid simplicity of his uniform, a
fine and impressive contrast to the brilliant bearing of his opponent.
"Not that"--pointing to Behar Singh and speaking in clear, energetic
English--"not that has made retreat impossible. It was already
impossible before. Nehal Singh, I came here to plead with you. I
respected you and pitied you too much to allow you to bring disaster
upon yourself without an effort to save you. You say you came among us
inexperienced save in dreams. It is true. Only a dreamer could have
hoped to find perfection. We are a great people, Rajah; we have always
been great, and we shall always be.

"And if there be corruption among us, it shall be weeded out. In times
of peace, vice and folly grow fast. Scoundrels, idlers, boasters and
fools grow side by side with prosperity; they are the weeds which
spring up on an over-cultivated soil. But war is the uprooting time of
corruption, it is the harvest-time of what is best and noblest in a
people. And that time has come. You, like your father, have learned to
despise and hate us. Perhaps you are right. You have mingled with the
scum which rises to the surface of still waters. The scum shall be
cleared away, and if it costs us the lives of our greatest, it will
not be at too high a price. We as well as you need the bitter lesson
which only disaster can teach us. We shall see our weakness face to
face, we shall root out our weeds and start afresh. You and the whole
world shall see that the soil is still rich with honor."

A change so rapid that it was scarcely noticeable passed over the
Hindu's face. It would have been a flash of hope but for the
contradiction of the scornfully curved lips.

"My belief is dead, Sahib."

"It must live again."

"Would to God that were possible!" Suddenly he leaned forward and
spoke hurriedly and in English. "Captain Nicholson, there shall be no
treachery. This is not a mutiny as in the past--it is war. And war is
between men. See that--your women are brought into safety. I give you
till midnight."

"They can not go alone."

Nehal Singh laughed sneeringly.

"It is not your lives that I seek. Go with your women. No harm shall
be done you. Make good your escape, for I swear that after midnight I
shall lead my people against their enemies, and he who falls into
their hands need not hope for mercy."

"And I also swear an oath, Rajah Nehal Singh! Not one of us will leave
Marut. The men will remain at their posts, and the women will stand by
them."

"You are throwing away your lives."

"They will not be thrown away. They will prove at least that I have
not boasted."

For an instant the two men watched each other in momentous silence, as
two wrestlers each seeking to measure the other's strength. Then Nehal
Singh raised his hand in dismissal.

"It is well, Englishman. If you have not indeed boasted, we shall meet
again."

"We shall meet again, Rajah Sahib."

Nicholson swung round on his heel. The crowd behind him fell back, and
with a rapid step, neither glancing to the right nor left, he strode
out of the temple into the fading sunshine. His horse was still held
in waiting, and he mounted instantly. Erect in his saddle, he faced
the frowning multitude, then rode forward, as he had come, without
haste, holding their passions in check by his own high, fearless
bearing.

The highroad was empty as he passed through the gates. The enemy lay
behind. He set spurs to his horse and galloped headlong toward Marut.

CHAPTER VIII

FACE TO FACE

Mrs. Carmichael turned up the light with a steady hand. Her gaunt,
harsh features were expressionless.

"Well, what news, Captain Nicholson?" she said. "You can say it
outright. I am not afraid." She turned as she spoke and looked around
her. "Are your nerves strong enough, Mrs. Berry? If not, pull yourself
together. We can only die once, and there's nothing to whimper about."

Mrs. Berry, who sat cowering in the corner of the sofa, lifted her
grey face. The clumsy lips tried to move, but no sound came forth
except an inarticulate murmur. Mrs. Carmichael shrugged her shoulders
as one does at an irresponsible child. "Well?" she repeated.

Nicholson came farther into the room, so that he stood within the
circle of lamp-light. In a rapid glance he had taken in the occupants,
and their attitudes were to him what symptoms are to a quick-sighted
doctor. Mrs. Cary sat in an arm-chair, bolt upright, her hands clasped
before her, her small eyes fixed straight ahead. Beatrice stood at her
side, almost in an attitude of protection, pale, but otherwise calm
and apparently indifferent. As he had entered, Lois had been preparing
some food at a side table. She now came closer, and her dark, serious
eyes rested penetratingly on his face, so that he felt that, even if
he had thought of deceiving them as to the true state of affairs, it
would have been in vain as far as she was concerned. As for Mrs.
Carmichael, she stood in her favorite position--her arms akimbo, her
chin tilted at an angle which lent her whole expression something
bulldog and defiant. The atmosphere of danger with which the little
drawing-room was filled acted differently upon each temperament, but
upon this typical soldier's wife the effect was to arouse in her all
the primitive passions, the fighting instinct, the love of struggle
against heavy odds.

"Come!" she exclaimed, as Nicholson still remained silent. "Do you
think, because one or two of us are a bit 'nervy', that we are really
afraid? Not in the least. For my part, if I've got to die, I shall
take good care that one or two of those black heathen come with me!"
She flung open a drawer, and, taking out a revolver, thumped it
energetically upon the table. "Now then, Captain!"

"My dear lady, I never doubted your courage," Nicholson answered, "and
my news is not so hopeless as you suppose. I spoke with Nehal Singh."
He saw Beatrice start and glance in his direction with an expression
of sudden suspense in her fine eyes. "What he said left me no option.
There could be no idea of coming to terms. At the same time it seems
that he has no desire for a general massacre. His sole ambition is to
drive us out of the country. He has given us till midnight to
escape--those who want to."

"Does he think we are going to be got rid of as easily as that?" Mrs.
Carmichael broke in. "Do you think that I have forgotten those months
when George was fighting around Marut? Do you think I have forgotten
all the fine fellows that laid down their lives to take the place and
put an end to the disgrace of being held at bay by a horde of heathen?
And now we are to run away like sheep? Not if George listens to me!"

"You need have no fear," Nicholson answered. "Not a man of us is going
to leave Marut alive. But you ladies--"

"Well, what about us 'ladies'?" in a tone as though the description
had been an insult.

"I have just told you--Nehal Singh gives you till midnight to get
away."

Mrs. Carmichael snapped her lips together in a straight,
uncompromising line.

"Very much obliged to His Highness, I'm sure, but I stay with the
regiment," she said.

Nicholson could not repress a smile at this description of her
husband, but there was something more than amusement in his
brightening eyes.

"Thank you, Mrs. Carmichael, I knew that would be your answer. But it
is my duty to ask the others--to give them their choice. There is
little hope for those who remain." He could not bring himself to turn
to the cowering figure upon the sofa. There is a shame which is not
personal, and he was passionately ashamed for that quivering bulk of
fear, for that greedy hope which he felt rather than saw creep up into
the livid face. He looked at Lois. Her head was lifted and the fiery
enthusiasm which spoke out of every line of the small dark face
transformed her from a saddened woman back to the girl who never
played a losing game but she won it, point by point, by pluck and
daring.

"If I shan't be a bother, I wish to stay with you all," she said with
studied simplicity. But her tone was eloquent.

"A brave comrade is always welcome," he answered. "Your husband--" He
hesitated, and then concluded in a low voice: "Your husband offered to
go with you. He is waiting outside with the horses." He avoided her
eyes, but her tone betrayed to him the pain that he had unwillingly
caused her.

"Please tell Archie that I will not let him sacrifice himself for me.
I know that he will wish to remain, and I, too, wish to remain. We are
all English, and who knows how little or how much we are all to blame
for this disaster? We must share it together."

Something like a sigh of relief passed Nicholson's compressed lips,
but he said nothing. In duty bound, he dared not offer encouragement
nor plead for the fulfillment of his hopes. With mixed feelings he
turned to Beatrice. Possessed as he now was of all the details of her
conduct, he could not but lay at her door the consequences of a
frivolous and heartless action. But her pitiless self-denunciation at
the meeting, her present quiet and dignity, subdued in him all scorn
and anger. Courage saluted courage as their eyes met.

"And you, Miss Cary?"

"Lois has already answered for me," she said. "If there was any
justice in this world, I alone should suffer; but one can never suffer
alone, it seems. The least I can do is to stand by you all." Her tone
revealed all the remorse and suffering of which human nature is
capable. It stirred in him a sudden impulsive pity. He crossed the
room with outstretched hand.

"You are a brave woman."

She smiled bitterly, but the color rushed to her cheeks.

"Thank you. You have paid me the only compliment for which I care. But
it is a small thing to take one's punishment without crying. After
all, death isn't the worst."

She saw him glance doubtfully at her mother, and she bent down to the
frozen face, speaking now gently but distinctly, as though to a
suffering invalid whose ears had been dulled with pain.

"Mother, what do you want to do? There is still time--and Captain
Nicholson says there is no hope for those who remain. You must not be
influenced by my choice."

Mrs. Cary looked up into her daughter's face with a perplexed frown.
She seemed scarcely to have heard what had been said to her, not even
to have been aware that any escape was possible. She felt for
Beatrice's hand, and taking it in her own, stroked it with pathetic
helplessness.

"A bad mother!" she said absently. "Well, perhaps I was. Yes, no
doubt--and you think so, too, though you never said anything. It was
always position I wanted. Now it's all gone. What is it, dear? Why do
you look at me like that? I haven't said what I oughtn't, have I?"

"No, no. Only Captain Nicholson wants to know--will you stay or go? We
could get some of the servants to go with you. You will be safe then."

Mrs. Cary shook her head.

"Are you--what are you going to do?"

A childish smile twisted the heavy face.

"I'd like to stay with you, Beaty. We have always stuck together,
haven't we?" She lay back with her head against Beatrice's shoulder.
"You always were so clever, Beaty. I'm sure it will be all right.
You'll see your poor mother through." The eyelids sank; she dropped
into a drowse of complete mental and physical breakdown, and for a
moment no one spoke. Mrs. Carmichael had shifted from her defiant
attitude, and her hard, set face expressed a grim satisfaction not
unmixed with pity.

"Now, Mrs. Berry, what about you?" she said. "Captain Nicholson has
wasted enough time with you women. You must make up your mind--if
you've got one," she concluded, in a smothered undertone.

Mrs. Berry drew herself up from her cowering position. Her teeth were
still chattering with terror, but Nicholson saw that the crisis of
panic was over. There was a curious look of obstinate resolve on the
usually weak and silly face.

"If all the men are remaining, I suppose my husband remains, too?" she
asked.

"Yes; he is helping Colonel Carmichael with the defenses."

Wonderful indeed are the _volte-faces_ of which a character is
capable! Nicholson, to whom human nature was a book of revelations,
watched with a sense almost of awe this mean, petty and brainless
woman, who a moment before had been whimpering with fear, smooth out
her skirts and arrange her hair as though death were not sitting at
her elbow.

"I am sure," she said, in a sharp voice which still trembled, "I can
do what Mrs. Cary can do. I shall stay--please tell Percy so, with my
love. And I should like to see him if possible before the end."

Nicholson bowed to her, and for the first time in their acquaintance
the salute had a genuine significance.

"I am proud to have such countrywomen!" he said, and then added in a
low tone as he passed Lois: "The cathedral is nearly finished."

She nodded.

"It could not have been better finished," she said bravely. "And you
see I was right--when there is a noble building in the midst of them,
people grow ashamed of their mud-huts. They pull them down and begin
their own cathedrals--even when it is too late."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24