_ PHASE IV. DUST OF THE ACTUAL
CHAPTER IX
"It has long been a grave question whether any Government
not too strong for the liberties of the people, can be strong
enough to maintain its existence in great emergencies."
--ABRAHAM LINCOLN.
Back in Cantonments, Roy found strong detachments being rushed to all vital points, and Brigade Headquarters moving into Lahore.
It was late before Lance returned, tired and monosyllabic. He admitted they had mopped things up a bit--outside; and left a detachment, in support of the police, guarding the Mall. But--the city was in open rebellion. No white man could safely show his face there. The anti-British poison, instilled without let or hindrance, was taking violent effect. He'd seen enough of it for one day. He wanted things to eat and drink--especially drink. 'Things' were produced; and afterwards--alone with Roy in their bungalow--he talked more freely, in no optimistic vein, sworn foe of pessimism though he was.
"Sporadic trouble? Not a bit of it! Look at the way they're going for lines of communication. And look at these choice fragments from one of their posters I pinched off a police inspector. 'The English are the worst lot and are like monkeys, whose deceit and cunning are obvious to high and low.... Do not lose courage, but try your utmost to turn these men away from your holy country.' Pretty sentiments--eh? Fact is, we're up against organised rebellion."
Roy nodded. "I had that from Dyan, long ago. Paralysis of movement and Government is their game. We may have a job to regain control of the city."
"Not if we declare Martial Law," said the son of Theo Desmond with a kindling eye. "Of course, I'm only a soldier--and proud of it! But I've more than a nodding acquaintance with the Punjabi. He's no word-monger; handier with his
lathi than his tongue. If you stir him up, he hits out. And I don't blame him. The voluble gentlemen from the South don't realise the inflammable stuff they're playing with----"
"Perhaps they do," hazarded Roy.
"M-yes--perhaps. But the one on the electric standard this evening didn't exactly achieve a star turn!--You saw him, eh?" He looked very straight at Roy. "I noticed you--hanging round on the edge of things. You ought to have gone straight on."
Roy winced. "We'd heard wild rumours. She was anxious about the D.C."
Lance nodded, staring at the bowl of his pipe. "When does--Mrs Elton make a move?"
"The first possible instant I should say, from the look of her."
"Good. She's on the right tack, for once! The D.C. deserves a first-class Birthday Honour--and may possibly wangle an O.B.E.! I'm told that he and the D.I.G., with a handful of police, pretty well saved the station before we came on the scene. It's been a nearer shave than one cares to think about. And it's not over."
They sat up till after midnight discussing the general situation, that looked blacker every hour. And, till long after midnight, an uproarious mob raged through the city and Anarkalli, only kept from breaking all bounds by the tact and good-humour of a handful of cavalry and police; men of their own race, unshaken by open or covert attempts to suborn their loyalty--a minor detail worth putting on record.
* * * * *
Friday was a day of rumours. While the city continued furiously to rage, reports of fresh trouble flowed in from all sides: further terrible details from Amritsar; rumours that the Army and the police were being tampered with and expected to join the mob; serious trouble at Ahmedabad and Lyallpur, where seventy British women and children were herded, in one bungalow, till they could safely be removed. Everywhere the same tale: stations burned, railways wrecked, wires cut. Fresh stories constantly to hand; some true, some wildly exaggerated; anger in the blood of the men; terror in the hearts of the women, longing to get away, yet suddenly afraid of trains packed with natives, manned by natives, who might be perfectly harmless; but, on the other hand, might not....
It was as Rose had said; to realise the significance of these things, one needed to have spent half a lifetime in that other India, in the good days when peaceful loyal masses had not been galvanised into disaffection; when an Englishwoman, of average nerve, thought nothing of travelling alone up and down the country, or spending a week alone in camp--if needs must--secure in the knowledge that--even in a disturbed Frontier district--no woman would ever be touched or treated with other than unfailing respect.
Yet a good many were preparing to flit: and to the men their departure would spell relief; not least, to Roy--the new-made lover. Parting would be a wrench; but at this critical moment--for England and India--the tug two ways was distinctly a strain; and the less she saw of it all, the better for their future chance of happiness. He felt by no means sure it had not been imperilled already.
But the exigencies of the hour left no room for vague forebodings. Emergency orders, that morning, detailed Lance with a detachment for the Railway Workshops, where passive resisters were actively on the war-path. Roy, after early stables, was dispatched with another party, to strengthen a cavalry picket near the Badshahi Mosque, on the outskirts of the city, where things might be lively in the course of the day.
Passing through Lahore, he sent his
sais with a note to Rose; and, on reaching the Mosque, he found things lively enough already. The iron railings, round the main gate of the Fort, were besieged by a hooting, roaring mob, belabouring the air with
lathis and axes on bamboo poles; rending it with shouts of abuse and one reiterate cry, "Kill the white pigs, brothers! Kill! Kill!"
Again and again they stormed the railings, frantically trying to bear them down by sheer weight of numbers--yelling ceaselessly the while.
"How the devil can they keep it up?" thought Roy; and sickened to think how few of his own kind there were to stand between the English women and children in Lahore and those hostile thousands. Thank God, there remained loyal Indians, hundreds of them--as in Mutiny days; but surely a few rounds from the Fort just then would have heartened them and been distinctly comforting into the bargain.
The walls were manned with rifles and Lewis guns, and at times things looked distinctly alarming; but not a shot was fired. The mob was left to exhaust itself with its own fury. Part melted away, and part was drawn away by the attraction of a mass meeting in the Mosque, where thirty-five thousand citizens were gathered to hear Hindu agitators preaching open rebellion from Mahommedan pulpits; and a handful of British police officers--present on duty--were being hissed and hooted, amid shouts of "
Hindu-Mussalman ki jai!"
From the city all police pickets had been withdrawn, since their presence would only provoke disturbance and bloodshed. And the bazaar people were parading the streets, headed by an impromptu army of young hotheads, carrying
lathis, crying their eternal '
Hai!' and '
Jai!' with extra special '
Jai's' for the 'King of Germany' and the Afghan Amir.
Portraits of Their Majesties were battered down and trampled in the mud; and over the fragments the crowd swept on, shouting: '
Hai! hai! Jarge Margya!'[34] And the air was full of the craziest rumours, passed on, with embellishments, from mouth to mouth....
Roy, on reaching Cantonments, was relieved to find that the decision had already been taken to regain control of the city by a military demonstration in force; eight hundred troops and police, under the officer commanding Lahore civil area. Desmond's squadron was included; and, sitting down straightway, Roy dashed off a note to Rose.
"MY DARLING,--
"I'm sorry, but it looks like 'no go' to-morrow. You'll hear all
from the Pater. I might look in for tiffin, if things go smoothly,
and if you'll put up with me all dusty and dishevelled from the
fray! From what I saw and heard to-day, we're not likely to be
greeted with marigold wreaths and benedictions! Of course hundreds
will be thankful to see us. But I doubt if they'll dare betray the
fact. I needn't tell you to keep cool. You're simply splendid.
"Your loving and admiring,
ROY."
It was after ten next morning, the heat already intense, when that mixed force, British and Indian, and the four aeroplanes acting in concert with them, halted outside the Delhi Gate of Lahore City, while an order was read out to the assembled leaders that, if shots were fired or bombs flung, those aeroplanes would make things unpleasant. Then--at last they were on the move; through the Gate, inside the City, aeroplanes flying low, cavalry bringing up the rear.
Here normal life and activity were completely suspended--hence more than half the trouble. Groups of idlers, sauntering about, stared, spat, or shook clenched fists, shouting, "Give us Ghandi--and we will open!" "Repeal Rowlatt Bill and we will open."
And, at every turn, posters exhorted true patriots--in terms often as ludicrous as they were hostile--to leave off all dealings with the 'English monkeys,' to 'kill and be killed.'
And as they advanced, leaving pickets at stated points--pausing that Mr Elton might exhort the people to resume work--mere groups swelled to crowds, increasing in number and virulence; their cries and contortions more savage than anything Roy had yet seen.
But it was not till they reached the Hira Mundi vegetable market, fronting the plain and river, that the real trouble began. Here were large excited crowds streaming to and fro between the Mosque and the Mundi--material inflammable as gunpowder. Here, too, were the hotheads armed with leaded sticks, hostile and defiant, shouting their eternal cries. And to-day, as yesterday, the Badshahi Mosque was clearly the centre of trouble. Exhortations to disperse peacefully were unheeded or unheard. All over the open space they swarmed like locusts. Their wearisome clamour ceased not for a moment. And the mosque acted as a stronghold. Crowds packed away in there could neither be dealt with nor dispersed. So an order was given that it should be cleared and the doors guarded.
Meantime, to loosen the congested mass, it was cavalry to the front--thankful for movement at last.
There was a rush and a scuffle. Scattered groups bolted into the city. Others broke away and streamed down from the high ground into the open plain, sowars in pursuit; rounding them up, shepherding them back to their by-lanes and rabbit-warrens.
"How does it feel to be a sheep-dog?" Lance asked Roy, as he cantered up, dusty and perspiring. "A word from the aeroplanes would do the trick. Good God!
Look at them----!"
Roy looked--and swore under his breath. For the half-dispersed thousands were flowing together again like quicksilver. The whole Hira Mundi region was packed with a seething dangerous mob, completely out of hand, amenable to nothing but force.
And now from the doors of the Mosque fresh thousands, inflamed by fanatical speeches, were swarming across the open plain to join them, flourishing their
lathis with threatening gestures and cries....
It was a sight to shake the stoutest heart. Armed, they were not; but the
lathi is a deadly weapon at close quarters; and their mere numbers were overwhelming. Roy, by this time, was sick of their everlasting yells; their distorted faces full of hate and fury; their senseless abuse of 'tyrants,' who were exercising a patience almost superhuman.
An order was shouted for the troops to turn and hold them. Carnegie, of the police, dashed off to the head of the column that was nearing the gate of exit; and the cavalry lined up in support of Mr Elton, who still exhorted, still tried to make himself heard by those who were determined not to hear.
Directly they moved forward, there was a fierce, concerted rush;
lathis in the forefront, bricks and stones hurtling, as at Anarkalli, but with fiercer intent.
A large stone whizzed past the ear of an impassive Sikh Ressaldar; half a brick caught Roy on the shoulder; another struck Suraj on the flank and slightly disturbed his equanimity.
While Roy was soothing him, came a renewed rush, the crowd pushing boldly in on all sides with evident intent to cut them off from the rest.
The line broke. There was a moment of sickening confusion. A howling man, brandishing a
lathi, made a dash at Roy, a grab at his charger's rein....
One instant his heart stood still; the next, Lance dashed in between, riding-crop lifted, unceremoniously hustling Roy, and nearly oversetting his assailant--but not quite----
Down came the leaded stick on the back of his bridle hand, cutting it open, grazing and bruising the flesh. With an oath he dropped the reins and seized them in his right hand.
"Rather neatly done!" he remarked, smiling at the dismay in Roy's eyes. "Ought to have floored him, though--the murdering brute!"
"Lance, you'd no business----"
"Oh, drop it. This isn't polo. It's a game of Aunt Sally. No charge for a shy----!" As he spoke, a sharp fragment of brick struck his cheek and drew blood. "Damn them. Getting above themselves. If it rested with me I'd charge. We can hold 'em, though. Straighten the line."
"But your hand----"
"My hand can wait. I've got another." And he rode on leaving Roy with a burning inner sense as of actual coals of fire heaped on his unworthy self.
But urgent need for action left no leisure for thought. Somehow the line was straightened; somehow they extricated themselves from the embarrassing attentions of the mob. Carnegie returned with armed police; and four files were lined up in front of the troops; the warning clearly given; the response--fresh uproar, fresh showers of stones....
Then eight shots rang out--and it sufficed.
At the voice of the rifle, the sting of buckshot, valour and fury evaporated like smoke. And directly the crowd broke, firing ceased. A few were wounded; one was killed--and carried off with loud lamentations. An ordered advance, with fixed bayonets, completed the effect that nothing else on earth could have produced:--and the Grand Processional was over.
It emerged from the Bathi Gate a shadow of itself, having left more than half its numbers on guard at vital points along the route.
"Scotched--not killed," was Lance's pithy verdict on the proceedings. "As a bit of mere police work--excellent. As to the result--we shall see. The C.O. must have been thankful his force wasn't a shade weaker."
This, unofficially, to Roy, who had secured leave off for tiffin at the Eltons', and had ridden forward to report his departure and inquire after the damaged hand, that concerned him more than anything else just then--not even excepting Rose.
It had been roughly wrapped in a silk handkerchief; and Lance pooh-poohed concern.
"Hurts a bit, of course. But it's no harm. I'll have it scientifically cleaned up by Collins. Don't look pathetic about nothing, old man. My silly fault for failing to ride the beggar down. Just as well it isn't your hand, you know. Unpleasant--for the women."
"Oh, it's all very well," Roy muttered awkwardly. Lance in that vein had him at a disadvantage, always.
"Don't be too late," he added, as Roy turned to go. "We may be needed. Those operatic performers in the City aren't going to sit twiddling their thumbs by the look of them. When's ... the departure?"
"To-morrow or next day, I think."
"Good job." A pause. "Give them my regards. And don't make a tale over my hand."
"I shall tell the truth," said Roy with decision. "And I'll be back about six."
He saluted and rode off; the prospective thrill of making love to Rose damped by the fact that he had not been able to look Lance in the eyes.
Things couldn't go on like this. And yet...? Impossible to ask Rose outright whether there had been anything definite between them. If she said "No," he would not believe her:--detestable, but true. If she--well ... if in any way he found she had treated Lance shabbily, he might find it hard to control himself--or forgive her: equally detestable and equally true. But uncertainty was more intolerable still....
He found the household ready for immediate flitting, and Mrs Elton in a fluster of wrath and palpitation over startling news from Kasur.
"The station burnt and looted. The Ferozepur train held up! Two of our officers wounded and two warrant officers
beaten to
death with those horrible lathis!" She poured it all out in a breathless rush before Roy could even get near Rose. "It's official. Mr Haynes has just been telling us. An English woman and three tiny children--miraculously saved by two N.C.O.'s and a friendly native Inspector. Did you
ever----! And I hear they poured kerosene over the buildings they burnt, and the bodies of those poor men at Amritsar. So
now we know why the price ran up and why 'none was coming into the country!' Yet they say this isn't another Mutiny,--don't tell
me! I was so thankful to be getting away; and now I'm terrified to stir. Fancy if it happened to
us--to-morrow!"
"My dear Mother, it won't happen to us." Her daughter's cool tones had a tinge of contempt. "They're guarding the trains. And Fakir Ali wouldn't let any one lay a finger on us."
Mrs Elton's sigh had the effect of a small cyclone. "Well,
I don't believe we shall reach Simla without having our throats cut--or worse," she declared with settled conviction.
"You'll be almost disappointed if we do!" Rose quizzed her cruelly, but sweetly. "And now
perhaps I may get at Roy, who's probably tired and thirsty after all those hours in the sun."
The Jeremiad revived, at intervals, throughout tiffin; but directly it was over Rose carried Roy off to her boudoir--her own corner; its atmosphere as cool and restful as the girl herself, after all the strife and heat and noise of the city.
They spent a peaceful two hours together. Roy detected no shadow of constraint in her; and hoped the effect of Thursday had passed off. For himself--all inner perturbations were charmed away by her tender concern for the bruised shoulder--a big bruise; she could feel it under his coat--and the look in her eyes while he told the story of Lance; not colouring it up, because of what he had said; yet not concealing its effect on himself.
"He's quite a splendid sort of person," she said, with a little tug at the string of her circular fan. "But
you know all about that."
"Rather."
She drew in her lip and was silent. If he could speak now. In this mood, he might believe her--might even forgive her....
But it was she who spoke.
"What about--the Kashmir plan?"
"God knows. It's all in abeyance. The Colonel's wedding too."
"Will you be
allowed--I wonder--to pay me a little visit first?" Her smile and the manner of her request were irresistible.
"It's just possible!" he returned, in the same vein. "I fancy Lance would understand."
"Oh--he
would. And to-morrow--the night train? Can you be there?"
He looked doubtful. "It depends--how things go. And--I rather bar station partings."
"So do I. But still ... Mother's been clamouring for you to come up with us and guard the hairs of our heads! But I deftly squashed the idea."
"Bless you, darling!" He drew her close, and she leaned her cheek against him with a sigh, in which present content and prospective sadness were strangely mingled. It was in these gentle, pensive moods that Roy came near to loving her as he had dreamed of loving the girl he would make his wife.
"I'm still jealous of the Gilgit plan," she murmured. "And, of course, I wish you were coming up to-morrow--even more than Mother does! But at least I've the grace to be glad you're not--which is rather an advance for me!"
Their parting, if less passionate, was more tender than usual; and Roy rode away with a distinct ache in his heart at thought of losing her; a nascent reluctance to make mountains out of molehills in respect of her and Lance....
Riding back along the Mall, he noticed absently an approaching horsewoman, and recognised--too late for escape--Mrs Hunter-Ranyard. By timely flight on Thursday, he had evaded her congratulations. Intuition told him she would say things that jarred. Now he flicked Suraj with the base intent of merely greeting her as he passed.
But she was a woman of experience and resource. She beckoned him airily with her riding-crop.
"Mr Sinclair? What luck! I'm dying to hear how the 'March Past' went off. Did you get thunders of applause?"
"Oh, thunders. The Monsoon variety!"
"I saw you all in the distance, coming in from my early ride. You looked very imposing with your attendant aeroplanes!--May I?" She turned her pony's head without awaiting permission, and rode beside him at a foot's pace, clamouring for details.
He supplied them fluently, in the hope of heading her off personalities. A vain hope: for personalities were her daily bread.
She took advantage of the first pause to ask, with an ineffable look: "Are you still feeling
very shy of being engaged? You bolted on Thursday. I hadn't a chance. And I'm rather
specially interested." The look became almost caressing. "Did it ever occur to your exquisite modesty, I wonder, that I rather wanted, you for
my cavalier. You seemed so young--in experience, that I thought a little innocuous education might be an advantage before you plunged. But she snatched--oh, she did!--without seeming to lift an eyebrow, in her inimitable way. Very clever. In fact, she's been distinctly clever all round. She's eluded her 'coming man' on one side; and ructions over her soldier man on the other----"
"Look here--I'm engaged to her," Roy protested, trying not to be aware of a sick sensation inside. "And you know I hate that sort of talk----"
"I ought to, by this time!" She made tenderly apologetic eyes at him. "But I'm afraid I'm incurable. Don't be angry, Sir Galahad! You've won the Kohinoor; and although you seem to live in the clouds, you've had the sense to make things
pukka straightaway. 'Understandings' and private engagements are the root of all evil!"
"I'm blest if I know what you're driving at!" he flashed out, his temper rising.
But she only laughed her tinkling laugh and shook her riding-whip at him.
"
Souvent femme varie! Have you ever heard that, you blessed innocent? And the general impression is--there's already been one private engagement--if not more. I was trying to tell you that afternoon to save your poor fingers----"
"It's all rot--spiteful rot!" The pain of increasing conviction made Roy careless of his manners. "The women are jealous of her beauty, so they invent any tale that's likely to be swallowed----"
"Possibly, my dear boy. But I can't tell my neighbours to their faces that they lie! After all, if you win a beautiful girl of six-and-twenty you've got to swallow the fact, with a good grace, that there must have been others; and thank God you're IT--if not the only IT that ever was on land or sea!--After that maternal homily, allow me to congratulate you. I've already congratulated her,
de mon plein coeur!"
"Thanks very much. More than I deserve!" said Roy, only half mollified. "But I'm afraid I must hurry on now. Desmond asked me not to be late."
"Confound the women!" was his ungallant reflection, as he rode away.
Mrs Ranyard's tongue had virtually undone the effect of his peaceful two hours with Rose. After that--clash or no clash--he must have the thing out with Lance, at the first available moment.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 34: "Hai! Hai! George is dead."] _