The gate was thrown open without more ado. The traders were led to the village change-house, where they stalled the camels and their horses, Sherdil then immediately setting out with one of the men to convey the present of cloth to Minghal. When he returned, he reported with great satisfaction that the chief was residing in his tower, which was distant no more than eighty yards away. And then, with Ahmed"s a.s.sistance, he unloaded from the back of one of the camels a small wooden case, which they carried carefully into the one large room of which the guest-portion of the change-house consisted. There were only two other travellers in the room--big bearded Afghans, one of whom inquired curiously what was the contents of the case which the new-comers had brought with them.
"Porcelain from Delhi," replied Sherdil at once. "Care is needed, lest it be shivered to atoms." And he laid it down in a corner near the charpoy placed for him, and covered it with a roll of cloth.
The travellers ate a simple supper, and conversed freely with the Afghans; then they all laid themselves down, and there was silence save for some few snores and the grunting of the camels, which was heard very clearly through the thin wooden wall.
Some hours later, about three o"clock in the morning, there was a slight and almost noiseless scuffle within the change-house. The two Afghans were suddenly awakened from sleep by rough hands laid upon them. The flickering oil lamp gave little light; the Afghans" sleepy eyes but half apprehended the meaning of what they saw; and their tongues suffered from a sudden impediment, for, as they opened their mouths to cry out, gags were slipped in, and fierce voices muttered in their ears a warning to be quiet and lie still, or worse would befall them. Their fellow-guests, the apparently peaceable dealers in cloth and porcelain, with wonderful dexterity and speed tied their feet and hands together, and the Afghans had not recovered from their amazement when they saw two of the merchants creeping out of the door, carrying the small case of precious porcelain between them.
Meanwhile the other members of the party, after a little fumbling among their bales of merchandise, had withdrawn from the folds of innocent cloth a musket apiece, and after the departure of their fellows stood just behind the door in the att.i.tude of men awaiting a call. One of them peered round the door; another slightly drew aside the slats of the adjacent window--an unglazed opening in the wall--and looked eagerly across the street. There was no moon; the village was in darkness; but the forms of the two men who had gone out could be dimly seen as they crept stealthily along by the wall in the direction of the tower between them and the gate.
The two reached the foot of the tower and laid their burden down--gently, as befitted a box containing precious porcelain--at the door. Then one of them stooped lower, and appeared to thrust something into a hole near the bottom of the box. The watchman on the wall must have been half-asleep, or he would have noticed a sudden spark at the foot of the tower. It flashed but for a moment; then the two men, bending low, hastened back stealthily by the way they had gone, came to the change-house, and slipping in by the still half-open door, closed it behind them.
They waited for perhaps a minute, and there was not a sound within the guest-chamber save the slight smothered grunting of the Afghans through their gags. Then from without there came a sudden roar; the ground trembled, the building rocked as if it would fall about their heads, and the waiting men, drawing a long breath, threw open the door and ran with great nimbleness towards the tower The street was filled with acrid fumes; here and there men were crying out, but the merchants paid no heed, but rushed through the smoke and plunged into the yawning chasm where the tower door had been. The opening was clogged with burning wood and fragments of masonry; the intruders stumbled over these, coughing up the smoke that entered their lungs, and groped their way up the narrow winding stairway.
Cries from above a.s.sailed them. At the top of the first flight of steps stood a man armed with a long spear. The stairway was so narrow that only one man could pa.s.s at a time, and the man at the head of the mounting party, coming too suddenly upon the spearman, received a thrust in the breast and toppled backward. But the man behind him slipped aside to avoid his falling body, and caught the spear before it could be withdrawn, dragging the spearman forward. Two others--they were Sherdil and Ahmed--seized the occasion to squeeze past him; but they gained the top of the flight only to see the two men who, behind him, had been content to let him bear the brunt of the attack, dash back across the narrow pa.s.sage to a door on the other side. The pa.s.sage was lit by a small oil lamp--a wick floating in a shallow saucer. By its light Sherdil and Ahmed saw the men fling themselves through the door into the room beyond. They sprang after them, but the door was slammed in their faces and the bolt shot.
And now great shouts floated up the stairway from below. They were cries of surprise and fear, calls for arms, mingled with the fierce war-shout of Pathan warriors. Some little while after the party of merchants had found entrance to the village, Rahmut Khan with all his fighting men had come up in the darkness and lain in hiding beyond the walls. The explosion had been the signal for an attack on the village. They had dashed forward; some had forced the gate, others had scaled the walls, and they now held the village at their mercy, for the explosion had been so startling, and the attack so sudden, that any effective defence was out of the question.
Meanwhile, Sherdil and his band, finding themselves blocked by the bolted door, had sought for some means of breaking it down. Their chief"s quarrel was with Minghal Khan, and it was Minghal Khan whom they were most eager to secure. Some minutes pa.s.sed before axes could be found, then with a few shattering blows the door was broken in. Sherdil sprang into the room, followed closely by Ahmed and the rest. The birds had flown. The room was small, with one narrow window in the outer wall.
A rope hung from it; the men had descended by this and made their escape. Ahmed rushed down the stairs to inform his father, and to send men out in pursuit. Sherdil hastened to the upper apartments in the hope that Minghal might not have been one of the two who had escaped. But he found no one in the tower except the women and children.
The surprise had been entirely successful save in this one matter of the escape of Minghal. The village had fallen to Rahmut almost without a blow. Indeed, save for the one man who had been speared at the head of the steps, and one who had been shot by the sentry before he himself was cut down, the victory had been bloodless. Rahmut"s men patrolled the streets until dawn. Then he called the people to a meeting and rea.s.sured them as to his intentions. Without doubt they had been led away, he told them, in their attack on s.h.a.gpur, by the evil designs of their chief, Minghal. Minghal was now gone--had fled away to escape disgrace and humiliation. But his cowardice was a disgrace still greater. None but a coward would have taken flight thus, leaving his men without a leader and his family defenceless.
"Minghal has a serpent"s cunning, but the heart of a hare," cried the old chief. "He is not fit for rule. He tried to take my village, and failed; and we have shown that even at tricks we can beat him. I will punish no man for Minghal"s ill-doings. I myself will be your chief, and you shall be my people."
The men sent out in pursuit of Minghal returned by and by unsuccessful.
In that hilly country there were many hiding-places where he might dwell. In the afternoon Rahmut returned to s.h.a.gpur, leaving one of his princ.i.p.al lieutenants in charge with a score of men, and taking a like number of Minghal"s men with him for safety"s sake.
Sherdil received great praise for his skilful stratagem. Rahmut wished to keep him at s.h.a.gpur, offering him great inducements to remain. But Sherdil was not to be tempted. He had eaten Lumsden Sahib"s salt, he said, and when his furlough was over he would return to his duties at Mardan, the head-quarters of the Guides. Perhaps later on, when his term of service had expired and he was granted a pension, he might settle in his native village; but for the present he was content to remain one of the Guides and serve the sirkar. And when, a few days later, he donned his khaki again and rode away to rejoin his comrades, no one in s.h.a.gpur was sorrier than Ahmed. Sherdil"s departure had left a blank.
CHAPTER THE SIXTH
In the Nets
The capture of Minghal"s village gave such an accession of strength to Rahmut Khan that he was soon emboldened to plan an expedition of greater importance than any he had undertaken before. He heard that the chief of a small hill village had refused to pay the Government revenue, and that Sir John Lawrence, the Commissioner in Peshawar, would shortly dispatch a force to the village to enforce the payment. The community being a small one, it was not likely that the British force would be numerous; and Rahmut conceived the idea of laying an ambush for it on its return and running off with the revenue. He had a motive beyond that of the mere acquisition of wealth. He felt that a successful attack on a British force would greatly enhance his prestige, and strengthen his hold on the allegiance of his new clansmen.
The project was talked over in council, and the only man who ventured to oppose it was old Ahsan the gate-keeper, who, since his defence of the tower, had enjoyed a much higher consideration with the chief. Ahsan warned Rahmut against measuring his strength with the British. It was one thing to make an occasional raid on the frontier stations for the purpose of stealing horses, and quite another to attack a properly equipped force. But his warning fell on deaf ears, and no one more vehemently opposed him than the chief"s nephew Dilasah, who, since recovering from the wound he had received in the attack on the village, had professed repentance and left nothing undone to win his uncle"s favour. The old man, being of a frank and unsuspicious disposition, freely pardoned Dilasah for his former ill-behaviour and his dealings with Minghal, and was greatly delighted one day when the man told him that he gave up all pretensions to the chiefship and admitted Ahmed"s claims. Dilasah had a certain reputation for shrewdness and bravery, and his voice, being unhesitatingly in favour of the scheme Rahmut proposed, outweighed what was regarded as the more timorous counsel of Ahsan.
The expedition having been decided on, Rahmut sent Dilasah himself to Peshawar in the disguise of a pedlar, to discover what he could of the composition of the British force and the date of its setting out.
Meanwhile he was troubled by the request that Ahmed had made to be allowed to join the expedition. The boy had shown himself brave and resourceful; and Rahmut felt that if he took arms against his countrymen the last link would be removed between him and them. On the other hand, he did not fail to see that the expedition would be a dangerous one, and though he believed that he could carry it through successfully, he was anxious to keep Ahmed out of harm"s way, and especially to run no risk of his falling into English hands. If Ahmed should be taken prisoner, the old chief feared lest the contact with Englishmen should awaken race feelings now dormant, and the boy be lost to him. So, after much hesitation and much pleading on the part of Ahmed, the old chief told him kindly enough that he was not to accompany him, but to be left in charge of the village during his absence.
Ahmed was deeply disappointed. Rahmut gave him no reasons for his decision; he was a wise old man; reasons could be combated and overcome.
When Ahmed asked Ahsan why his father was so loath to let him try his manhood, Ahsan confessed that he did not know, which was true and yet untrue; for, though the chief had not told him, Ahsan had made a shrewd guess.
"Rahmut does not wish it ever to be said of you, "He takes off his clothes before he reaches the water,"" said Ahsan, quoting a proverb against precipitancy. "Why fear?" he went on. ""Milk even in good time becomes curds." He who has patience wins. It will come to you in good time to lead men and do great things."
"I hate your proverbs," said Ahmed; "they have no comfort in them. Will my father never see that I am grown up?"
"Thou wouldst not fight against thy own countrymen, Ahmed-ji?"
"Why not? Sherdil fights against his countrymen, why not I? And they are my countrymen no longer; my countrymen are here. What have I to do with these strangers who come lording it over the free people of the hills?"
"Hush, Ahmed-ji!" said the old man. "Children cry to their parents. To speak ill of the Feringhis is to speak ill of yourself. Let be, my son; what a man desires he will gain if it be G.o.d"s will."
And Ahmed, being a sensible boy, did not nurse his disappointment. But perhaps the old chief would have changed his mind had he known that his refusal had only made the boy more eager to see the white men of whom Sherdil had told him so much.
Dilasah presently returned from his journey to Peshawar. His information was that the expedition was to start in a week"s time, and to consist of a single troop of Sikh hors.e.m.e.n under the command of one sahib. He had learnt the route it was to follow; it would pa.s.s within three days"
march of s.h.a.gpur. Rahmut praised him, and did not inquire how he had made these discoveries; but Ahsan put the question bluntly when the chief called his council together and told them what he had learnt.
"It was the talk of the bazar," said Dilasah, looking astonished.
"Then it cannot be true," said Ahsan. "Would the Feringhis let their purpose be known? Are there not hundreds who would carry the news to Lal Jan, the chief, and warn him, so that he had time to get away into the hills? If it was the talk of the bazar, "tis very certain that things will be otherwise."
Dilasah appeared for a moment to be taken aback. Ahsan was certainly right, and the older members of the council showed their agreement with his reasoning. But Dilasah, after a hesitation so brief as to be scarcely noticeable, said with a disdainful smile--
"The a.s.s does not know how to laugh. Is Ahsan the only man of knowledge and understanding? The knowing bird is not caught in the snare, and I, Dilasah, am not a fledgeling. The expedition was in truth the talk of the bazar, but I did not swallow what was said there. How should the truth be known? I sought out in Peshawar a holy fakir whom I know. He hates the infidel Feringhis, and he has means of finding out their plans, most marvellous. The talk of the bazar and the truth were as different as fire and water; and what I have told is not the bazar-talk, but the truth as I learnt it from the fakir."
"Then, if he hates the Feringhis, will he not warn Lal Jan, and so Lal Jan will fly to the hills with his treasure, and the Feringhis will get nothing, so that when our people fall upon them their bags will be empty?"
"Not so," said Dilasah, in answer to this further question of Ahsan. "He is no friend to Lal Jan; Lal Jan is, indeed, a thorn in his quilt; he will gain double delight from the spoiling, first of Lal Jan, and afterwards of the Feringhis. But why talk thus? If Ahsan, who is old and toothless, thinks himself so clever, let him go to Peshawar and learn the truth of things. As for me, I have done the chief"s bidding; it is for him to command."
And with the air of one who had been deeply offended, Dilasah left the council.
After he had gone, Rahmut asked Ahsan why he threw doubt on the accuracy of the information; and when the old man confessed that he had no reason save a distrust of Dilasah, the chief was angry. Dilasah could have no object in bringing false information, for he was to accompany the chief in the proposed raid, and would suffer equally with the rest if it should fail. It was decided in the end to accept his report as accurate, and preparations for the expedition were hurried on.
A few days later, Rahmut Khan left the village at the head of eighty men--the pick of his own and of Minghal"s warriors. Ahmed, left behind with a score of fighting men to defend the village, watched his father"s departure with envy. How he longed that the place at the chief"s right hand had been bestowed on him instead of on Dilasah! But it was useless to repine; he could only swallow his disappointment and hope that during his father"s absence something might happen to give him an opportunity for active work.
Rahmut could scarcely be expected to return before a fortnight. The British force would take some time in the work a.s.signed to it, and the chief"s plan was to ambush it on its return journey, when in possession of the revenue it had been sent to collect. Ahmed went every day to the top of the tower to scan the surrounding country, but saw nothing to attract his attention. Life went on in the village from day to day as usual, the fighting men spending most of the time in playing games of chance, the workers toiling for an hour or two and idling the rest.
Ahmed was of too active a disposition to remain idle. He practised swordsmanship with one or two of the men, went hunting in the hills behind the village with some of the youths, and induced some of the best riders to join him in the game of nazabaze, in which he proved himself easily first.
And then one day, the fifteenth since his father"s departure, he saw from his look-out on the tower a band of hors.e.m.e.n approaching. There was great excitement in the village when he told them the news; n.o.body had any doubt that the chief was returning successful, and all excitedly speculated on the amount of booty he had taken. Ahmed watched the approach of the hors.e.m.e.n as eagerly as any one. At first a mere blot on the sky, sometimes disappearing behind a copse or in a valley, the band gradually became more distinct and definite, and after two hours he was able to a.s.sure himself that it did indeed consist of his father"s men.
But it seemed somewhat diminished, and when, an hour later, it had come so near that he could distinguish the individuals composing it, he suddenly caught Ahsan by the arm and cried--
"Where is my father? I do not see him; do you?"
"Your eyes are better than mine, Ahmed-ji," replied the old man.
"Without doubt your father is there in the midst, and you will see him by and by."
But after a few more minutes Ahmed cried again--
"He is not there. I do not see his red turban or his white beard. I see Dilasah, but not my father."
And then, feeling no little alarm at the chief"s absence, he ran down to the foot of the tower, mounted his horse, and galloped out to meet the advancing band.