Jones of the 64th: A Tale of the Battles of Assaye and Laswaree

CHAPTER XVIII
Colonel Le Pourton's Legacy

"An order from this white fiend is obeyed as if he were an emperor indeed!" Owen repeated the very words to which Mulha had given utterance that same afternoon when referring to the Colonel, and boldly entered the archway through which Colonel Le Pourton had disappeared. There was a grim and determined look on his dust-smeared face which betokened recklessness, for our hero was in a corner.

"Of what use is it to me to be free of my cell and yet unable to leave the precincts of the palace?" he murmured. "Besides, there are the troopers. They cannot leave till to-morrow without an order from this man, and, well, he will have to give it. The risk is worth the attempt, and if this Colonel was so staggered at my answers to his questions, perhaps he will be even more so at my sudden appearance. If not, I will shoot him like a dog."

He moistened his lips as he drew out his pistol, and taking advantage of the light saw that the weapon was primed and ready. Within the archway he could see a long corridor, lit by a second swinging Eastern lamp of perforated metal-work, and in the distance another opening. The aroma of tobacco filled his nostrils, while he distinctly saw that thin wisps of smoke were issuing from this far room. Then the French colonel was indulging in a smoke, and that pointed to the fact that he had no fears as to the security of his prisoner. Owen took heart at the sight and pushed on without hesitation, determined to get the better of his opponent. He thrust his hand beneath his coat, and treading lightly, advanced to the door.

"Who is there? Speak at once," called the Colonel.

"Your servant, sahib, come at the word of the sentry. The prisoner is fed and has settled for the night. I am told that you desire to speak with him."

"Enter. Come into the room, and listen to what I have to say. Later, we will go to his cell."

At the words Owen advanced again and stepped into the room, to find it brilliantly illuminated, while the lamp hung over a central table at which the long figure of his enemy lounged. Colonel Le Pourton had as yet no suspicion of the intention of his visitor or of his disguise, for as the escaping prisoner entered he barely glanced at him, and then returned to the work he had in hand. There were plans and maps before him, and on one of the latter he was tracing out the positions of the various British forces then in the field. At his elbow stood a massive gold box, in which was his store of tobacco, while he held between his thin lips the stem of an English clay pipe, so much beloved of our forefathers. Smoke issued in thin puffs from his lips and from his nose and billowed into the room, almost hiding him from view, and obscuring some portion of the decorated ceiling, the limp Eastern hangings, and the rich mats which lay on the floor. Owen salaamed, with one hand to his forehead, while he still concealed his pistol.

"You called, my lord," he said. "I am here."

Had he cared he could have shot the Frenchman where he stood with the greatest ease and security, for Colonel Le Pourton was wont to treat all natives as if they were dust beneath his feet. It was not his custom to interrupt any matter upon which he might be engaged because a servant happened to enter his room; and so, for a minute at least, he stood there, lounging over the table, making dots upon the map with a pencil and puffing clouds of smoke into the air. At length he dropped the pencil, smoothed out the map, and slowly swung round to interview his visitor. His eyes fell first upon the stranger's elaborate turban, and then travelled to his face. He opened his lips to speak, taking the pipe out as he did so, and then his jaw dropped, his eyes seemed to start from his head, while his moustaches bristled. He staggered back to the table, and leaned one hand upon it. Then his eyes went to his sabre, which stood against the far side, a growl escaping his lips as he saw that it was out of reach. But he could shout. He could call and give warning to the sentries at the gate. Owen could almost read his thoughts, and saw his lips open again for the purpose of calling. But he had a means within his hand to silence his enemy, and at the sight his pistol flashed out from beneath his coat and in less than a second Colonel Le Pourton was staring with protruding eyes down the muzzle of the weapon.

"It is much the same to me, Colonel," said Owen in the Mahratta language, wonderfully cool now that the time for action had arrived. "I was to have been murdered to-night. If you call out or attempt opposition I will fire, and will at least have the pleasure of seeing you die first. Silence, sir! Sit down!"

There was no mistaking the tone of the order, nor the fact that Colonel Le Pourton in his own apartments, looking down the muzzle of a loaded pistol, was a different individual from the proud and overbearing white officer when in front of Holkar's troops. He weakened. A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead and trickled down his temples. His nervous hands gripped the edge of the table, while what colour he had had disappeared entirely. He became a child, and feebly whined for mercy.

"I would have rescued you," he said. "It was all Holkar's doing. But you would have gone free. I myself would have seen to that."

"Silence!" Owen strode a pace nearer and placed the muzzle against his forehead.

"Another lie such as that and I will blow out your brains," he said sternly, though his heart fluttered now with excitement. "You would have set me free! You will do so. There is paper there. Here is a pen. Prepare to write."

Obedient to every command, the servile Frenchman did as he was told, and scrawled the words which Owen dictated, tracing them across the paper in feeble letters which jostled one another, for his hands were trembling.

"From Colonel Le Pourton, to the officer on guard, and to those stationed at the gates. Holkar bids you pass these twenty troopers, their officer and his servant, in safety, without molestation, from the city."

"That is right, and now we can proceed," said Owen, becoming calmer as the moments passed. "Now look at me. You asked me certain questions. How did they interest you?"

He had no intention of sparing his enemy, and as the Frenchman turned a pair of shifty eyes upon his, the pistol again went to his forehead.

"I cannot say," was the trembling answer. "It was merely curiosity. I know nothing of you or yours."

Owen could see that the man was not telling the truth, and would have pushed the question. Then he frowned at his prisoner, while he still kept the weapon at his head.

"Pshaw!" he thought. "Important though the answer may be, it cannot be of such moment as is the question of escape. Some day we may meet again, and then I will find time to force him to answer. Listen," he went on. "I believe that your questions were prompted by something more than curiosity, and that you are lying to me. We may meet again, and then I will learn what you know. For the present, I have more for you to do. Stand in the corner there and strip your clothing."

By now the small store of courage possessed by the Colonel was beginning to return, and he flashed back a look of defiance at our hero. But Owen gave him little opportunity of going farther. Within a moment he buffeted his enemy across the face, striking him with his open hand.

"Obey me instantly!" he commanded in stern tones. "I give you five seconds."

The Frenchman's courage was not proof against such an attack, and he collapsed immediately. Rising from his chair, he tottered to the far corner and slowly began to divest himself of his clothing, till Owen hastened him with a glance which threatened further violence. A minute later the Colonel stood naked but for a thin under-garment.

"What is in the smaller room beyond?" demanded Owen, for his eye had seen another door, wide open, and a space beyond. "But I will see for myself. Take that lamp. Now walk before me, and recollect that I will shoot you with pleasure."

Following his prisoner, he entered the chamber beyond, to ascertain that it was merely a storeroom filled with maps and other documents, and entirely devoid of windows.

"The very place for him," thought Owen. "I will have two strings to my bow on this occasion – the pass which he has signed, and the disguise which he has so kindly provided. Give me the lamp," he went on. "You will stay here while I arrange matters in the other room. I warn you that if you attempt to give an alarm I will enter and shoot you. You would have murdered me to-night in cold blood, and you must not mind if I feel disposed to kill you on the smallest pretext."

He carried the lamp to the table, keeping his face to his prisoner, then he banged the door of the inner room and secured it with the key which was in the lock. Tucking the pistol into his belt, he then wrestled with a chest which stood in one corner, and by using all his strength moved it over against the door. That done, he wasted no further time on his prisoner, but rapidly donned his clothing. He was ready within a few minutes, and stood looking at himself in a fine glass of European manufacture set in a gilded frame of Mahratta workmanship.

"A little short, and distinctly youngish," he said. "But the impersonation is fairly good, and with something over my mouth will do. I'll risk it."

He was still examining his figure with some satisfaction when a step outside called his attention, and he sprang to the door and stepped into the passage. Some one was entering, and in a moment he recognised the sentry who had been stationed at the foot of the stairway leading to his prison. The man salaamed as Owen appeared, remaining with his head to the tips of his fingers, in abject humility. Owen swung round at once, so as to hide his face, while he appeared to be engaged in looking at something in the room.

"What is it?" he demanded curtly, attempting to imitate the accent of his prisoner.

"The jailer, my lord. I have searched for him – we have all searched every corner of the palace, and without success. There are groans coming from the cell where the prisoner is, and we fancy that he may be there."

"Then you can ease your minds, dolts that you all are," answered Owen in rasping tones. "The man is here, engaged with me, and will remain till – till the time comes for him to visit his prisoner. Go back to your post, and bid the man at the gate make ready to pass me out. I am going without the palace for a little while."

He turned to watch the Mahratta salaaming, and then stared after his retreating figure, his heart palpitating, for discovery had been narrowly averted. When he was gone, he took the lamp again and inspected the door behind which the Frenchman was secured, and finding nothing there to disturb his mind, he slung the Colonel's sword to his belt, picked up his pistol, and drawing a silk scarf which happened to be in the room about his mouth went into the passage. Closing the door, he locked it, doing the same with the one which led into the garden. Then he tossed the keys into the bushes, flinging after them those which opened the door of the cell in which he had been quartered.

"And now for the gate and freedom," he said. "If the fellow on duty dares to stop me – "

He eased the sabre and strode on, the weapon clanking at his heels. And presently he was before the gates, to find three of the Mahrattas standing there, their pikes across their shoulders, while the gates stood wide open. Nodding curtly in acknowledgment of their salute, he passed into the street and turned in the direction opposite to that in which he knew his comrades to be quartered. Then he swung into the first side street, and again to the right, till he came to the back of the building in which Mulha had told him he would find his troopers. Lights were burning within, and some feet above his head there was an open window. Owen picked up a stone and threw it in, sending a second after it. A head suddenly appeared, there was a sharp cry, and within a couple of seconds a lithe and active form had slipped through the window, dropped to the ground, and was weeping and kneeling at his feet, grasping his ankles and legs as if begging life itself from the escaped prisoner.

"Sahib, we have a ladder here. Mount and tell us all that has happened."

The native officer, whose head and shoulders now protruded from the window, lowered a light and flimsy ladder made of sacking, and sternly bade Mulha leave the officer.

"Silence!" he whispered hoarsely. "Would you that the sahib should now be taken when he has made good his escape? Silence!"

"Steady, Mulha. I'm glad to see you. Now, up we go."

In less than a minute he was standing on the floor of a loft, lit by a couple of smoky native lamps, and on which his twenty troopers had been reclining. Now, however, they stood about him exclaiming, giving vent to their joy.

"To-morrow we were to have marched, and this night – "

"I know the tale," said Owen, interrupting the native officer. "The orders are reversed. To-night we march. To-morrow – well, we may be killed. Are the horses saddled?"

"All is in readiness according to your orders, sahib."

"And is there a door by which we can get out without leading into the main street?"

"There is, sahib. The locks are opened already."

"Then listen. My jailer is lying stunned in my cell. The Frenchman who influences Holkar, and who would have killed me to-night, is a prisoner in his own apartments, and is no doubt making frantic efforts to escape or sound the alarm. I am in his place for the moment, for I have taken his clothes. The ruse may or may not succeed. If not, and the guards at the gates refuse to pass us, draw and cut them down at once. For we must not delay. We shall have to ride yet for our lives."

"Silence!" There was a buzz of excitement as Owen rapidly sketched his tale, but the native officer quelled it on the instant. He lifted his hand, and at once all became silent.

"To your horses and mount," he said. "The sahib leads, and you will follow in your order. I claim the post of honour."

There was a flash in his eye as the gallant fellow claimed to pass last out of the city, and then the troopers scattered. Running lightly over the floor, they went to the stables below, and in less than three minutes all were mounted – Owen on his favourite Mahratta horse, Mulha just at his elbow, and the troopers in file behind them. It was very dark down there, but not so dark that they could not make out the outlines of the building. But in any case the horses knew where they were, and wanted only directing. At a touch from Owen's heel the party set out, and rapidly passed through the door of the building. Closing up as they gained the street, they rode in a compact body, their horses' hoofs clattering now and again as they passed over stony ground. But there had been recent rain, and thanks to that their progress was for the most part silent. At length they arrived within a hundred yards of the gate of Indore, and halted to reconnoitre.

"Hark! A horse galloping!"

Mulha lifted his hand and touched Owen's elbow, while all sat still, listening intently. And soon there could be no doubt that a horse was thundering down a neighbouring street and was coming towards the gates. More than that, the man who rode this unseen animal shouted at the top of his voice, and even at that distance Owen could see that the sentries at the gate had come together and were discussing the matter.

"The Colonel must have got free, or the jailer has been discovered," he said suddenly. "Trot! Gallop!"

He set his heels to his horse, and followed by his troopers dashed down upon the gate, drawing his sabre as he rode. And when within some fifteen yards of the gate the horse which had first roused their suspicion burst from a street close beside them, and turning to the gate crashed on towards it, its hoofs striking sparks from the stones. Mounted upon the beast was a strange figure; for, if Owen could believe his eyes, there was the white leader of Holkar's forces, naked but for a light under-garment, his bare legs and arms showing and his moustaches blowing in the wind.

"Treachery! Keep the gates closed and turn out the guard. Treachery!" he shouted.

Owen waved his sabre over his head and again set his heels to his horse. It was a race, and the Colonel had barely the best of it. Dashing up to the astonished sentries, he pulled in his horse with such a jerk that the animal slid some four yards on its heels, scattering stones and sparks. Then he fell from the saddle, and leaping to his feet, rushed into the guard-house. A musket flashed, and a ball flew past the troopers. Shouts filled the air, while armed men appeared from all directions, seeming almost to rise from the ground. Then another musket flashed from the window of the guard-house, and the bullet struck Owen's sabre with a sharp metallic sound, glancing from it and hitting the wall behind.

"Hold them while I open the gate," shouted our hero, flinging himself from the saddle – an example which Mulha and two of the troopers followed, while the remainder, some with their lances, but the majority with their sabres, charged at the enemy, scattering them.

"Here is the bar. Up with it! Now pull!"

Fortunately there was no lock, and therefore little difficulty in opening the gates. In little more than a minute one was thrown back, and the way was open. Owen climbed into his saddle, gave the word to his men, and was in the very act of departing when the figure of the Colonel appeared at the door of the guard-house. He was beside himself with rage, and could barely control his actions. But now was his opportunity, for the attention of the troopers was taken from the guard-house. He levelled a musket which he snatched from one of the soldiers, took as careful aim as his excitement would allow, and pressed the trigger.

"To Cornet Owen Jones," he shouted, as the bullet struck. "A legacy from Colonel Le Pourton."

He stood there at the door, clutching the woodwork and eagerly watching to see what effect his shot would have. His eyes started from his head, so great was his eagerness, and when Owen tottered and fell from his saddle the inhuman Frenchman gave vent to a shriek of joy which could be heard at the palace.

"Down! Mon dieu! He is killed! At last this matter is settled!"

There was a shout of rage from the troopers, two of them slipping from their saddles and lifting their officer. Then as they raised him to the arms of Mulha there was a fierce cry from the native officer.

"See how he gloats over the death of the sahib," he cried, his eyes blazing with wrath. "This for the French leader of Holkar's army. This for all who serve the false and treacherous chief."

He spurred towards the guard-house, mounted the steps, and cut the Colonel down with a terrific blow from his sabre. Then he turned the weapon upon the other soldiers standing near, and so great was the terror that he inspired that within two minutes the guard-house, the gates, and their surroundings were cleared.

"Is the sahib lifted and cared for?" he demanded. "Tell me not that he is dead! If that be so, then I swear that we will turn and rout out more of these traitors, for I care not to live while the sahib falls."

"Come," said Mulha shortly. "He lives. The bullet has struck him hardly, but he will recover with care. Ride on, or we shall all be taken."

They galloped through the gates, one of the troopers leading Owen's horse, and did not draw rein till they had covered some five miles.

"What are the injuries? Let us see to them now while we are halted."

The officer dropped from his saddle and took Owen from Mulha. Then, with the light of the moon to help them, they exposed the wound in his side and dressed it as well as they were able.

"With care, he will recover," said Mulha with authority. "But he must have rest. To ride far will be to kill him."

"While to halt will lead to his death with equal certainty. We must ride, but not in this direction. We will make for Agra."

Turning their horses, they trotted on into the night, and, managing to elude the swarms of horsemen sent to pursue them, finally came to a halt in a shady wood some twenty miles away.

"He shall ride in a litter," said Mulha, as he and the native officer discussed the question. "The journey will do no harm if taken slowly, for the injury is not so grave as appeared at first. We will construct a stretcher to be borne by two of the horses."

Two days later when they set out, Owen, now quite conscious, lay snugly in a long litter made of bamboos, the side members of which were fastened in front and behind to a saddle in such manner that even if the troopers who rode the two horses happened to let their beasts get somewhat far from one another the stretcher could not fall. And in this way they came at length to Agra and fell in with the division under command of the famous General Lake. Owen was at once transferred to the hospital.