Jogging along on his fine Mahratta horse, now showing some trace of the hard work it had done on this eventful day, with the troopers of his regiment behind him and Mulha somewhere near at hand, Owen passed with the army of Wellesley, if such a term could be given to the handful of men who formed the command, down the face of the Mahratta army. And like all his comrades, whether of the non-commissioned ranks or otherwise, he was filled with an indescribable feeling of elation. The chances of victory were small. Utter defeat seemed to face the gallant division marching to the banks of the Kaitna, and but for the stalwart figure of Wellesley at the head of the line confidence might well have been shaken. But not a man hung back. The soldiers in the ranks of the two Highland regiments following in the wake of the General displayed the utmost courage and coolness. They might have been marching to take their position on a parade ground, and not to hurl themselves against fifty-five thousand of the enemy. They joked, called loudly to one another, and laughed as they watched the hurried movements of Scindia's battalions.
"See you later, I hope," sang out Jack Simpson jovially as his Sepoy battalion filed past our hero.
"We've got a nut to crack to-day, old fellow, and we shall be lucky if we manage it. Look at the General!"
He laughed aloud as he pointed with his drawn sword to the figure of the commander, then in the very act of guiding his horse down the bank and into the river. "Ah! There go the guns! Well, good-bye for the present, and mind you and those boys of yours make the most of your horses."
He was gone with another wave of his sword and a shout of farewell, and very soon Owen saw the gallant young fellow wading through the river. By then the guns of the enemy had opened with a rapid and fierce fire which began to have its effect, for men and animals were falling. Some of the shot even reached the ranks of the cavalry where they were drawn up beside the entrance to the ford, and Owen felt a sudden thrill of fear and pity as a trooper a few paces to his right tottered and fell, a shapeless mass, from his saddle.
"War! That's war, my lad," said the Adjutant, who happened to ride up to him a moment before. "You or I might have the same happen to us at any moment. A soldier has to expect such things. It is part of his life and his duty. Look at Scindia's men. They are changing front and making ready to oppose us. 'Pon my word, if we win to-day it will be the greatest battle ever fought in India. We are a mere handful compared with those battalions over there. Hah! That's better. There go the guns!"
It was indeed a glad sound to listen to when the British guns, some seventeen in number, having been dragged into position by their bullock-teams, opened against the enemy, vainly attempting to keep down the storm of shot issuing from the hundred huge brass pieces owned by Scindia. Owen fixed his eyes upon the guns, watching the flashes belching from the muzzles, the recoil of the weapons, and the fervid and furious haste of the gunners as they threw themselves upon the discharged piece, sponged it out, and ran in another charge.
"It's our turn now, Jones," said the Adjutant. "Bear in mind the fact that our infantry are the backbone of this little army, but that victory can hardly be complete without a force of cavalry. When we charge, charge home, through and through them. Lead your men at any number. Take no notice of odds, and you will find that the troopers will follow. They believe in their officers, and will ride with you anywhere. There! In a few hours perhaps we shall be rejoicing."
He jerked his rein and went off down the front of the cavalry, merry and confident. But the very fate which had befallen one of the troopers was soon to be his, for as the cavalry arm of the division trotted down to the ford, to the accompaniment of the booming of cannon, there was a crash at his feet, a blinding flash, and when the dense smoke had blown away, the jovial Adjutant of the 7th native cavalry lay dead, mangled by the shot of the enemy. Owen felt sad as he passed, and reverently uncovered his head. But his thoughts were soon distracted,[Pg 231] for shot passed him every minute, and ere he had gained the far bank four of his men had fallen.
"Now we shall be in the middle of it," he thought. "The General has placed his men, and, hurrah! they are advancing!"
Was there ever such a bold venture undertaken by a British force! Wellesley had very coolly placed his force in two lines, the first comprising the 78th Highlanders and two Sepoy battalions, with advanced pickets to the right, while his second line comprised the 74th Highlanders and also two Sepoy battalions, while in rear of all were the 19th Light Dragoons and three slender cavalry regiments, of which Owen's corps formed one. As for the guns, they had by now practically ceased fire, for the enemy's pieces dominated the place, and had already shot down the majority of the draught teams. In addition, they were plying our thin lines with shell and grape, which were having a terrible effect. It looked as if all would be swept away. Then, too, Scindia had made arrangements to meet the move of his opponents. Seeing that it was his left which was threatened, he swung his battalions and guns round till they faced in a line drawn south and north, looking towards the junction of the two rivers, while a second line was at right angles to this and took up position on the south bank of the river Juah.
And now our first line was advancing, with the great Wellesley at its head—advancing against a force more than five times its own strength, for this portion of the Mahratta army was at least of that number. It was an[Pg 232] amazing sight, and it is not to be wondered at that the French-trained battalions of Scindia gasped, that their officers were thunder-struck at such audacity, while Scindia felt sudden doubts. But whatever their thoughts, our men gave them little time to indulge in them. There was a flash along that stubborn little line as the bayonets came down to the charge. It was to be war this time with the cold steel, and the ominous sight caused a disturbance in the ranks of the enemy. The little force of attackers looked weirdly dangerous—its silence, the grim coolness of its leader and his men, struck dismay now into the hearts of the dusky Mahrattas. But for very shame they could not flee. They stood their ground, then hesitated ere the bayonets reached them, and gave way; this finely disciplined French-trained army shuddered at the sight of a kilted line of born fighters with their Sepoy comrades, and fled! And after them, plunging in amongst them with many a wild Highland yell, or with the high-pitched bellow of excitement to which the native gives vent, went the gallant fellows, slaying, dashing defiant groups aside, pouring with irresistible impetus over guns and crumpling up the advanced lines of the enemy. Not then did they pause, for there was still work to be done and they were eager for it. The fierce hail of cannon-shot and grape to which they had been subjected, and under which they had suffered severely, had left its sting in the ranks, and our men fought to conquer, laughing at the enormous odds—fought perhaps as they never fought before. They drove the first line back upon the second, stationed along the south bank of[Pg 233] the Juah, and, heedless of the fact that their opponents were now increased, hurled themselves upon the doubled line, smashing it, sending it in utter rout across the river, where later our slender cavalry came upon the fleeing troops and completed the work. It was magnificent, if terrible. Chaos now reigned supreme in the neighbourhood of Assaye, and on every hand were fleeing men, cavalry and foot, stampeding horses and camels, bellowing oxen, and the thunder of guns. For the latter had opened again. All that had been accomplished had not been achieved in the space of a minute. Some time had passed since our men threw themselves upon the Mahratta main body; and as they swept on and drove the whole of the infantry force over the Juah, the gunners on the Mahratta side, practising a favourite trick, had thrown themselves beneath their guns as if they were slain. Once the troops had passed on, however, they sprang to their feet, and slewing the cannon round poured shot and shell into the victors. It was as if the contest had begun all over again, and the sight brought consternation for a moment to the minds of the British. Not for long, however. Wellesley, who seemed to be everywhere, placed himself at the head of the Ross-shire Highlanders, while Owen and his regiment galloped up to help. Then they retraced their steps under a murderous fire, and after a great struggle captured the guns. It was here perhaps that they met with the fiercest opposition, for the gunners and the infantry attached as their escort clung to their pieces manfully, while the former showed themselves to be skilled[Pg 234] artillerists. However, they were swept aside, and the field was ours. The battle of Assaye was fought and won, and once again was British pluck and endurance successful.
When the whole tale came to be unfolded, it was hard to say which arm of our service had behaved the best. But that each had done their duty there could be little doubt. In any case, the cavalry came out of the conflict with added glory, for the 19th Dragoons, finding a huge force of Mahratta cavalry about to charge down upon the second line, composed of the 74th and Sepoys, who had suffered very severely under the fire of the enemy, hurled themselves headlong against the mass, turned the ranks of the horsemen, and drove the whole force into the river with frightful slaughter.
We had been engaged in deadly strife for upwards of three hours, and after the march which they had previously accomplished, one of twenty miles, in the heat of the sun too, it can be imagined that our fine fellows were exhausted. But they had much to compensate them, for they had thrashed a magnificent force greatly outnumbering them, and equipped in a manner which aroused the envy of all our officers. They had captured ninety-eight guns, the camp of the enemy, and numerous animals, not to mention seven standards and a huge mass of stores. And this victory had cost us more than a third of our force in killed and wounded, while the enemy left almost as many dead on the field, the countryside being covered in all directions with their wounded. Thus was Scindia's power checked, and the[Pg 235] reader will not feel surprise to read that this chief soon showed a wish to make peace with the British.
Cornet Jones of the 7th native cavalry bore his part manfully in the various phases of the strenuous fight, and for the first time in his life learned what it was to charge home with a handful of men into the clustered ranks of a mounted enemy charging in the opposite direction. At an early hour in the struggle he and his troopers, following the other troops of the regiment, had splashed through the Juah and had spread out into line, when they had dashed through and through the fleeing foot-soldiers of Scindia. That had been simple work, though it wanted a good horseman to sit his animal and use his weapon effectively; and on one occasion the charge of the troop to which our hero was attached had almost proved its last, for of a sudden, having burst through a mass of footmen, it found itself confronted by a battalion of soldiers which had faced round and, encouraged by their officers and helped by their French training, were preparing to mow them down with their fire. There was not an instant to be lost, and the captain of the troop rode on without hesitation.
"Charge!" he shouted in Hindustani. "Don't give them the opportunity to get loaded. Charge home with the lance."
Owen jammed his hat well down on his head, gripped his sabre, and edged his horse a little in advance, so as to line up with his leader, for he rode in front of the left half of the troop. There was a fierce shout, in which he[Pg 236] joined, standing high in his stirrups, and then the pace of the horsemen increased suddenly. Spurs went to the flanks of the panting beasts, and the line, solid, swarthy, and unbroken, bore down upon the enemy like a tornado. Owen saw the flash as the bayonets of the men of the French-trained battalion came down to the charge, he watched the officers turn and address their men encouragingly, and noted that they slipped into the ranks, for to have stayed in front would have been to be killed to a certainty. Then there was a sudden silence, while a line of dusky faces and gleaming Mahratta eyes seemed to stare into his. A flash and a rolling volley followed, while bullets swept through the air, screeching past his ear. There was a thud near at hand, and turning he was just in time to see his captain pitch forward on his head and lie doubled up in the grass, with his horse, half-killed, lying partially on him.
"The captain sahib is down!" shouted the native officer attached to the troop. "Sahib, you command!"
Owen was the leader. The troop depended upon him for its actions. All eyes followed his figure. In a flash he realised his responsibilities, and took them with unbounded eagerness. The bayonets were almost touching him now. He rose in his stirrups again, waved his sabre, and then plunging spurs into the flanks of his Mahratta horse he burst into the ranks of the enemy—cutting, cutting, cutting and slashing to right and left; never parrying, so far as he could remember, but always cutting and slashing, dashing here and there, and ever[Pg 237] moving forward. They were through! The battalion had disappeared almost completely, and on every hand Mahratta enemies were bolting for their lives. Guns and accoutrements strewed the ground, there was a horse here and there plunging madly, and as Owen pulled at his rein and holding up his sabre brought the troop, or what remained of it, to a halt, a horse came thundering past them, its rider dragging at the end of the stirrup, bumping over the grass and rough ground, frantically endeavouring to free himself. How often has such a thing occurred on the field of battle! How many gallant fellows have lost their lives in such a manner! Crash! A Highlander who sat on his knees some little way off, evidently wounded, lifted his weapon and fired at the animal, bringing it to the ground.
"That is one of the French officers," said Owen. "Send two men to release him from the stirrup and bring him here. And send back four men for our officer. What are our losses?"
He beckoned to the native officer, and spoke to him sharply.
"There are six down," was the answer, "and the captain sahib is badly hurt. He is stunned, perhaps worse, by the fall, for his horse was hit. What will your movements be now, sahib? You are in full command."
Owen looked about him, for he could not forget that he belonged to the 7th regiment of cavalry, and his duty was to rejoin at the first opportunity. And very soon he was trotting away towards them, at the head of his men, while his late leader was being conveyed back to[Pg 238] the lines of the British. It was then that the troop, now with diminished numbers, learned that a mass of horsemen, fully a thousand strong, was bearing down upon them, sent to revenge the defeat of the battalion which Owen and his men had just broken. There was no escaping. To flee would be to set the worst example. Owen's mind was made up in a minute.
"Shout and bring your lances down when I lift my sabre," he called out, as he trotted up and down the lines of his troop. "Mind! Shout, and bring the pennons down with a swing."
An old cavalry soldier had given him that piece of advice some weeks before, and in the hour of difficulty he remembered it. Placing himself at the head of the troop, he set out to meet the advancing horsemen at a trot, which soon increased to a steady canter. And as he advanced it was clear that the courage of this small force was already having its effect upon the horsemen of Scindia. There was an air of irresolution about them, and men on the flanks broke away, and, turning, galloped out into the plain, while their leader, a swarthy native, dressed in brilliant uniform and turban, pulled his own animal back a little closer to the leading rank, sure sign that he too was not as eager as he had been.
"They will break if we charge! Shout!"
Owen swung his sabre over his head and bellowed at the top of his voice. Then singling out the Mahratta leader he put his horse full at him, and meeting him end on rode over him, throwing horse and rider to one side as if they were as light as a feather. And[Pg 239] after him swarmed the troopers, infected with the fire and dash of their young leader, their eyes flashing and their nostrils distended. Excellent masters of their horses, they kept their seats steadily, and sitting very low, plunged into the already disheartened ranks of the enemy with a crash and a shout which could be heard afar off. And once more they were successful. The horsemen melted away, and when five minutes had gone the field was clear and the troop was lined up again, standing at their horses' heads to give the animals a breather.
"Mr. Jones, I think? Gallantly led, Mr. Jones. I watched you break up the Mahratta battalion and the cavalry. Go and report to your commander, and say that the General has discovered that the guns are still in the hands of the enemy, and that he is about to lead the Highlanders back to capture them. Your commanding officer is to support with his cavalry. Ride now, and fast."
It was one of the staff officers, and Owen hardly waited to salute with his sabre. He swung himself into his saddle and shouted the order to mount. Then, nicely gathered together, in case of unforeseen attack, he took his troop over to the spot where the 7th were now collecting, and delivered his message.
"Truly a young fire-eater," said the staff officer as he rode on. "There is stuff behind that young officer. He allows his excitement to work him up to a point where he would charge an army with a handful, and yet he does not neglect method and due precaution. On a field[Pg 240] like this, where caution must not be practised, where dash is the only element likely to succeed, and where loss of success means annihilation that young chap is just the man. A regular young fighter!"
He pencilled a note in his despatch-book and turned his horse to the spot where the Highlanders were gathering. And very soon the General and he were leading the men back against the guns. As for Owen, he fell in with his regiment, and rode back with them to the field, their beasts all white with heat after their exertions. And in the hour that followed he faced as murderous a fire of shot and grape as ever in his after-life, and when the action ceased and the enemy were beaten, found himself still the junior cornet of his regiment, but promoted to a higher place for all that, for some of the officers had perished.
"And I prophesy promotion to higher rank, Mr. Jones," said the Colonel, drawing him aside that evening, as the troop dismounted in the lines assigned to them. "The staff officer who witnessed your charge has been over to ask about you and report your conduct. I am pleased. More than pleased, Mr. Jones. It is seldom that I have seen a young officer rise to distinction so rapidly. These are the times for action, when a young fellow who has courage and go and who has discretion also can carve a way for himself in the world. It would not surprise me to hear that the General was about to reward your very gallant services."
Never before in his life had our hero been able even to imagine a battlefield after hostilities had ceased, and[Pg 241] on this evening, as he carried out the duties assigned to him, this time in the absence of all fervour and excitement, his kindly young heart was rent many a time. For war cannot be waged without misery—misery on the field of conflict, and perhaps worse misery and destitution in the homes of those who have fallen. On the battlefield, however, the sights are so numerous that in time the old campaigner becomes accustomed to them, though none the less pitiful. And here was Owen, surrounded by wounded and killed, helping to bring in the men of his own regiment, and carrying water and cheerful messages to any man upon whom his search-party happened to stumble. It was dark by now, and they worked with the aid of torches or any lamp obtainable. The stretcher-bearers of the various companies had long since proved too few, while some had been shot down. And the regimental surgeons had so many upon their hands that long lines of wounded awaited their offices. There were groaning soldiers beneath each waggon and tent, and here and there they encountered some wretched Mahratta, dragging himself along painfully, in the vain hope of getting beyond the camp, little thinking or believing that the British succoured friend and foe alike. Yes, it was all very sad and heart-rending, and very very impressive to a young fellow like our hero. And in time he and his search-party came to a group of Highlanders, all in their shirt sleeves, engaged in burying comrades who had fallen some four hours before under the murderous fire of the French-trained gunners. Owen looked into the trench, saw the poor fellows laid[Pg 242] out side by side, and turned sick and faint. For with all his dash he was but a young soldier, who loved the fight but was horrified by the sight that followed; whose heart was tender, and who in his softer and ordinary moods would have shrunk from causing pain to any one.
"Come over and have something to eat," said one of his brother officers, meeting the party at that moment and seeing at a glance the condition of the last-joined cornet. "A dram of spirit and something to fill your stomach will make you look on matters differently in a little while. Wait though. We will stay till the end of the service."
They stood beside the rough trench while an officer of the Highlanders, his bonnet beneath his arm, and his voice all shaky, read the service for the dead. Then they went back to their lines, the officer talking cheerfully all the way and speaking of the victory. He took Owen by the shoulder and made him sit down on the edge of an ammunition-box, and there watched as he drank the spirit and ate some of the rations which had been issued.
"No one is likely to want you after this, youngster," he said, "and so you will turn in. No? No argument, if you please. That is an order. Your servant will see to you."
He was led off by Mulha, and thoroughly worn out with all that had happened—with his adventurous morning ride, his fortunate discovery of the enemy, and the fierce conflict which had been waged—he very soon fell into a deep sleep. As for the kindly officer who[Pg 243] had taken him in hand, when he and the other officers were gathered round the camp-fire that night there was no name more often on his lips than that of Owen Jones.
"I found him almost fainting as he saw those gallant Highlanders laid in their grave," said the officer, "and I can tell you it did me good to watch the lad. You've all heard how he charged right home to-day, how he found the enemy, and practically gave us the opportunity for which we have so long sought. Well, isn't it a good thing to know that behind all the lad's courage and dash there is a finer feeling still, and that he is man enough not to be ashamed to show it?"
"He is a credit to us," was the Colonel's answer. "Owen Jones is a capital fellow."
"The sahib's coffee. In an hour it will be light."
Mulha, the faithful Mahratta who acted as servant to Owen, kneeled at the feet of the figure rolled in a blanket beside the fire, and wakened his master with a gentle touch of the hand. "Chota hazree, sahib," he said. "Rise and warm yourself before the fire. In a little while it will be time to be starting."
Owen yawned and sat up lazily. Then he opened his eyes with a start, and remembering where he was, leaped to his feet, throwing off the blanket which covered him.
"I had forgotten. I was dreaming," he said. "Are the men up?"
"See them, sahib. They have groomed and fed the horses. They are now eating, and within half an hour will be ready to mount. It will still be dark then."
"And we must be off again as soon as we can see. Good coffee, Mulha. You're a capital fellow! One wants something really hot on a morning like this, for it must be nearly freezing."
Owen paced up and down as he ate his little breakfast,[Pg 245] the cup of coffee and the piece of cake or toast with which Europeans in the East are wont to commence the day. He stamped his feet to restore the circulation, and shivered, for the chill air before the rising of the sun bit keenly. And as he paced to and fro his eye went ever and anon to the busy scene about him. Some twenty native troopers, for the most part still swathed in their blankets, for the native feels the chill air even more than does the European, were bustling round and about the half-dozen fires which blazed amongst the trees. Some were grooming their horses, while others had already performed that duty and were settling saddles and kit in right position. Stalwart and soldierly-looking were these men, and as our hero inspected them he felt proud—proud that he was part of the regiment to which they belonged, and prouder still that he, Cornet Jones, of the 7th native cavalry, was in full command of them. It was a red-letter day in his life, and he was determined to make the most of his opportunity. For reward had come his way, as the colonel of his corps had prophesied, and a special mission, of some gravity, had been entrusted to him. It was on the second morning following the magnificent victory at Assaye, when the camp and surroundings were beginning to assume an orderly appearance, that a trooper, one of the General's bodyguard, rode over to the lines of the 7th, and wending his way in amongst the horses and the tents, finally drew up in front of the tent allocated for orderly-room work.
"From the General," he said, as he handed in a note.
The Colonel tore it open as he lifted his eyebrows in surprise, for it was somewhat early for a message from headquarters, and there was little stirring after the victory, Scindia and his men having taken themselves away. Then he called loudly for his own orderly and gave him a message.
"Call the sahib, Cornet Jones," he said shortly, "and send him to me." Ten minutes later our hero found himself outside the tent occupied by General Wellesley, standing before that redoubtable officer and two members of his staff. And once again Owen was filled with that indescribable feeling approaching fear. For the General seemed to read him as if he were a book, and before this man, whose name was destined to become a household one throughout the civilised world, a humble cornet, however high his spirits, was apt to feel immeasurably small and insignificant. However, he managed to return the glance of the General with his accustomed frankness, and a moment later was listening to his words.
"We have to thank you, Mr. Jones, for the very valuable discovery which you and your men made for us in locating Scindia," said the General slowly. "But for that information, reaching me as it did in convenient time, this campaign might have been greatly extended in this area. I am informed also that you handled a troop of the 7th very well. In fact, that you took them through one of the French-trained battalions, and afterwards against a large force of horsemen. I note those acts while telling you that such behaviour is only what I[Pg 247] expect of every officer, and indeed there is little doubt that at Assaye all under my command behaved nobly. But your name has now been brought to me on more than one occasion, and I must take some notice of that. You are young, but, I understand, quite an old soldier now. It is too early for you to receive the promotion which is your due, and I have therefore sent your name forward in my despatches, recommending that you be gazetted to the rank of captain, such gazette to date from the time when the despatch reaches the Governor-General."
Owen breathed heavily. A mist rose in front of his eyes, while one of his legs would insist on twitching, so that he had the utmost difficulty in remaining strictly at attention. The General and his officers, as they looked keenly at him, noticed that Cornet Jones's colour had suddenly heightened, and that there was a little movement at the corner of his sensitive mouth. They guessed that the information just imparted had somewhat upset our hero. But they did not know that in the mist still hanging before his eyes appeared the figure of the fine sergeant who had fought for him when a boy, stalwart and gallant, the upholder of all that was right, manly, and honourable, and beside his red tunic the elegant form of Mr. Halbut, the powerful Director, his friend, who had lifted him from the gutter, and who, standing aside to watch how he fared, was ever ready with his encouragement. In a flash his words occurred to Owen: "Let the lad rise by his own exertions. I will use no personal interest, sergeant. If there is stuff in him, let him prove it to us."
"I was saying that the gazette would date from the time of the despatches reaching the Governor," said the General, after a little pause, for he saw that Owen was distressed. "I also added that if His Excellency were so minded—and I fully recommended the course—the gazette might with fairness be antedated to the very day of Assaye. It will be a matter of some three months perhaps before we have an answer, and by then, Mr. Jones, you will be more experienced and able to bear promotion. And now, I have something else to say."
He turned to his staff officer and took a map from him, which he placed so that Owen could see it plainly. "This is Indore, Mr. Jones," he continued. "That is where Holkar has his headquarters. No doubt you have heard of him as a powerful chieftain, and robber, I might almost add. We have fears that he will raid the possessions of the Company at any time, and we desire to have information of his movements. You will obtain a despatch from this office, and will ride to Indore. There you will see this Mahratta chief, and amplify what I have said in the despatches. You will be able to tell all that there is to say about the battle of Assaye, and the sweeping defeat suffered by Scindia. When that task is done you will ride on to General Lake, who is in the neighbourhood of the city of Delhi, and will acquaint him with the progress of these operations. That will do, thank you, Mr. Jones."
Owen followed the course of his journey on the map, saluted, and was about to turn when the General arrested him with a movement of his hand.
"You will understand that the mission is a difficult and delicate one," he said, still in the same even tones, as if speaking of an everyday occurrence. "This Holkar is not to be trusted. He might murder an envoy instead of welcoming him, and you will therefore carry your life in your hands. I have chosen you for certain reasons, and because you speak the Mahratta tongue. You may decline the task if you wish, for I could not give a definite order for such a dangerous mission."
He turned on his heel, curtly acknowledging Owen's salute. But this kind-hearted and brilliant general was an astute leader, as he had already proved, and he knew to a nicety the gallant feelings which filled Cornet Jones's breast, ay, and that of every officer in his command. The mission was a dangerous one, and Owen had been selected partly because of the reputation he had so early won and partly because of his facility with the language. The General knew well enough that this young officer, overrunning with zeal and enthusiasm, would have accepted the most forlorn of forlorn hopes with eagerness.
"You say that the lad has shown shrewdness?" he asked his staff officer as they entered the tent. "You have heard that said of him?"
"I have, sir," was the answer. "The Major who came out from home with him told me of his little adventure in Sumatra, and of his well-devised plan of escape. The lad started young, sir, and has seen much for his age. A hard life when he was a mere boy sharpened his wits, and now there is something more to spur him on and keep him[Pg 250] up to the mark. He has a friend at home whose commendation is more to him even than yours, and you will see his object is to rise."
That was why Owen was away from the camp, and why the fires which he and his men had lit were now out of sight of the army at Assaye. He had twenty men and Mulha, and they were already beyond the reach of their friends and traversing a country which was undoubtedly still occupied by large bodies of the enemy. And their destination was Indore in the first place, and afterwards the army under General Lake.
"Time to move," he said at last, as he walked to the edge of the wide tope of trees and looked out into the open. "There comes the light, and we want to make the utmost of it. To horse there. Mount!"
In a compact little body, their lances carried in the rest and their pennons blowing out bravely in the breeze, the little force kept on its way all that day, trotting a few miles and then walking their horses, and halting to slacken girths every three hours, for to obtain the best work from a horse he needs as much and more consideration than does the rider. Owen was as yet somewhat strange to the management of horses, but his men were masters with the animals, and thanks to their teaching he had already commenced to learn that a careful rider is as mindful of his mount's comfort as of his own. He will see that the bit fits well, neither too tight nor too loose, that the saddle sits well down and does not rest upon the prominent portions of the back, and if possible that some sort of ventilation is obtained beneath[Pg 251] the saddle. In a hot country, too, where linings are apt to become saturated with use, and where ridges and lumps are prone to form in consequence, the horseman does well to inspect such matters constantly.
"It will take us a week to get to Indore, I calculate," said Owen that evening as they made their camp in another convenient tope of trees, for it was their aim and object to avoid observation. "That is, of course, if we are not molested. I believe the General is of opinion that Scindia will be anxious to make a truce. In fact, some of his vakeels were in the camp the day after Assaye. But meanwhile we might be pounced upon, and then we should be in a sorry plight if the enemy were very numerous."
And so each night, as darkness closed down upon them, sentries were posted at the edge of the trees, and Owen made a point of visiting them twice at least during the night. At length, however, they arrived within a few miles of Indore, and now that concealment was no longer necessary they rode well in the open, and gaining a side road, turned from it into a main thoroughfare which led to the city.
"There are horsemen, sahib," said Mulha suddenly, pointing towards the city. "They are issuing from one of the gates, and I do not like their manners. They would seem to be prepared to give us trouble."
"Then we shall have to ride on the alert," was Owen's answer. "I have an important message for this Holkar, and it is very necessary that there should be no blows between the horsemen and ourselves; for though they[Pg 252] are Mahrattas, they are not yet at war with us. We will tie a cloth to one of the lances, and raise it as they get nearer."
Mulha at once went to the troopers, and very soon a huge white turban was attached to one of the lances in place of the usual pennon.
"Now we will ride in close order," said Owen; for on the march discipline had been relaxed, and the ranks were broken at times, men jogging up beside one another to chat, and then on to another companion. Now, however, they closed in, and, with Owen at their head and the man with the white-pennoned lance just in rear of him, trotted on to Indore. Meanwhile the horsemen who had appeared were joined by others who could be seen streaming out through the gates of the city, and presently there were a thousand at least of them.
"A dangerous-looking lot," thought Owen as he rode along. "They seem to me to be the class of soldiers who ask few questions before commencing an attack, and leave explanation till afterwards. However, I will see that there is no room for error."
He beckoned to the man with the white pennon, and directed him to ride a few paces in advance.
"You will hoist your flag now," he said, "and if they do not heed it you will retire to the men and fall into your place."
A quarter of an hour later the body of Mahratta horse had approached to close quarters, and when within some three hundred yards a shout burst from their ranks and they flourished their arms in the air. Then smoke[Pg 253] belched from the mass, and a score of bullets swept over the heads of Owen's troopers.
"Wave the flag," shouted our hero, beginning to feel a little anxious, for the firing still continued, and one of the horses pawed the air and rose on his hind legs, having been struck by one of the missiles. "Unsling your carbines, men, but do not fire. If they push us we will answer, but I wish to enter the town in friendship. Ah, there is their officer!"
The firing ceased as the troopers drew their carbines from the buckets, and a horseman was seen to canter out from the ranks of the Mahrattas. He raised his hand in the air, and then waved it to either side, shouting an order the meaning of which could not be ascertained at that distance. At once there was a movement amongst the Mahrattas and they broke into two parties, those on the flanks galloping off with many a shout, waving their arms in the air, and looking altogether very formidable.
"Going to surround us," said Owen to Mulha as the latter came up beside him. "They look an ugly lot of fellows, and could easily cut us to pieces."
"And no doubt would do so if they were not to distinguish a white sahib amongst us," was the answer. "These men and their ruler have caused tales to spread throughout the land. They are fierce and treacherous, and it is said that they will rob and slay friend and foe alike. Also, sahib, it is said that no Mahratta's word is of more weight than is a feather. I fear this Holkar, and shall be glad when we are out of his territories."
Holding up his hand, our hero brought his little party[Pg 254] to a halt, while the Mahrattas, galloping like the wind, surrounded them, and then came to a halt within some hundred yards. And a very forbidding and formidable lot they looked. As Owen gazed at them anxiously, for it appeared as if at any time they might ride over his small command, he could not help admiring the easy seat of these robbers, for Holkar's horse were little better. The men seemed to be a part of the animals they rode, while they had added to their appearance by the richness of their dress. There was no standard uniform amongst these troopers. They wore what they wished, and in consequence the ring about Owen and his party displayed many a brilliant colour. In many cases turbans were discarded for metal head-pieces of Eastern design and workmanship, while not a few wore chain-mail over their necks and shoulders. Then, too, their arms were of every pattern, some having the carbine, a great number lances, while all may be said to have carried tulwars.
"Truly a formidable host, sahib," whispered Mulha as he looked askance at the Mahrattas. "And yet they are no more in numbers than those horsemen against whom you and your troop charged at Assaye. Look at your men. They are uneasy, and yet they bear themselves proudly. They are commanded by Jones Sahib, and they are content."
Indeed, it needed but a glance at the troopers to show that, although they were not entirely sanguine as to the result of this encounter, yet they had confidence in their youthful leader; for, as the shouts of the Mahrattas[Pg 255] rose and some few slipped from their horses with the evident intention of firing at the central party, the eyes of the troopers went to Owen's face and figure, and then back again, with undaunted mien, to the surrounding horsemen. Such is the power which a European of Owen's stamp, and however youthful, has over the native. But matters were again approaching a critical stage, and as the strangers seemed to take but little notice of the white pennon, Owen without hesitation rode out from amongst his men and trotted towards the officer who had given the order which had caused the Mahrattas to divide. He was a magnificently dressed native, swarthy as any, and wearing a glittering aigrette in his turban. The hilt of his tulwar flashed as he turned to Owen, while ever and again there was a scintillation from some portion of his dress as the sun's rays struck there. He halted and watched Owen as if in uncertain mind. Then he called out an order, and at his command a dozen of his men galloped up beside him, and the whole party advanced to meet the white officer.
"Greeting," said Owen in the Mahratta tongue. "I come from His Excellency to your chief. What means this firing? Is not the flag of peace easily seen, and are we not on friendly terms with your ruler? Answer. What means the firing?"
For answer the leader of the horsemen shot his tulwar back into its sheath with a click, and then advanced still nearer.
"Holkar makes no explanation of what seems good to him," he said haughtily. "He sent me here to kill[Pg 256] or capture. You are prisoners. You will return with me."
"On certain terms," answered Owen curtly, "and see that you consider them well, for what has befallen Scindia and his hosts may yet befall you and your men. I am no prisoner. I came as His Excellency the General's vakeel, and I and my men will ride into the city, escorted if you will, but free, carrying our arms, and at liberty to depart when our business is done."
"High tones for one who has so few to back his wishes," sneered the native, casting his eye in the direction of the troopers. "What if we who are so many as to be able to eat you up, to ride over you and leave no trace of your having been, decide to conduct you to the city as prisoners? That were a great fall for the pride of a white officer."
Owen shrugged his shoulders, and made a movement to turn his horse.
"We have met and vanquished almost as many before," he said with as much coolness as he could muster, "and we will try again. If one shot rings out from your ranks I will charge, and you will see who is the better able to ride over the other. As for you, if you decide to carry out this threat I promise that even your chieftain shall not protect you, for, remember, I am an envoy, and I come in peace, beneath the white flag, which is sacred to us all."
Without deigning to turn his head he trotted back to his men, and at his order the carbines were slipped[Pg 257] into their buckets and the lances came down in readiness for a charge.
"I do not greatly fear trouble," he said shortly, so that they alone could hear. "But these fellows may wish to take us prisoners. In that case you will charge, and divide when you are through them. Then you will return and repeat the charge. It would never do to flee, for we should all be cut down for a certainty."
For five minutes the two bodies faced one another, Owen's troopers staring back at the Mahrattas with a calmness which was wonderful. And as they looked they edged their horses into line and selected a likely place for their charge.
To Owen the minutes went like hours, for he had a mission to carry out, and to come to blows with Holkar's men thus early was hardly conducting his task in a successful manner. To oppose these men was madness, and yet if he submitted to be taken a prisoner into Indore he knew very well that he would in all probability be thrown into a cell and there left, without opportunity of seeing Holkar. His hand went to his sabre, and he drew it, resting the blade against his shoulder. And while he and his men made their preparations, the native officer consulted with some of his men. Noisy shouts broke from their midst, and weapons were flourished. However, the threat of retaliation to which Owen had given vent evidently had its effect, for presently the officer advanced and called to our hero.
"Holkar shall decide," he said haughtily. "We[Pg 258] might eat you up here, but there may be information to be obtained. We will escort you into the city."
"To the palace?" demanded Owen.
"To the palace. There you shall be seen by His Highness."
A few minutes later the whole cavalcade was in motion, Owen and his men riding in a compact body, while the Mahratta horse, still divided, marched in front and in rear, completely enclosing them. And in this order they came to the city of Indore, the capital of Holkar, and passed through the streets to the palace. Arrived there, Owen and his men dismounted in the courtyard.
"I like not the arrangement, sahib," whispered Mulha. "They have us in the hollow of their hands, for how can we escape from this city? See the guards which they have set."
"We are virtually prisoners, but I have no fears for the future, Mulha. This fellow, Holkar, must respect the General's messenger and the escort sent with him. I know he has none too good a name, but then he would hardly dare to offer violence to us. In any case, we are here, and can take no more precautions than we have done. But keep a careful watch and be alert, whatever happens."
A moment or two later the officer who had escorted Owen into the city emerged from the palace with a gleam of malice on his face, and beckoned to him.
"Follow me," he said curtly. "His Highness will see you. Take care that you salaam to him."
"And see that you look to your own affairs, my friend," answered Owen. "Now lead the way."
They traversed a number of passages and sumptuous apartments, and finally came to one which was gorgeously decorated. And here, surrounded by servants, pillowed in the lap of luxury, and reclining upon a divan, was Holkar, showing upon his scarred and seamed face the effects of the changing fortunes which had been his. He had but one eye, but that served him to some purpose, for he fixed it upon his visitor and gave him the benefit of a piercing gaze. Owen bowed, and at once handed the despatch he had brought.
"From His Excellency General Wellesley, in command of the army in the field," he said. "He begs me to give you his greetings, and to convey to you this despatch."
Holkar acknowledged his bow coldly, and then tore open the despatch, which was written in Mahratti. Owen saw him give a violent start of surprise as he read of the victory of Assaye. He looked up sharply, pondered for a minute, and then smiled scornfully.
"This great victory your general writes of," he said at length, when the despatch was ended, "these were Scindia's troops who were beaten, cowards whom I have swept from before my path on many an occasion. Had they been the men whom I command there would have been a different tale. What does your general desire? Why does he trouble me by sending an envoy?"
Owen noted his haughty tones, and felt even more[Pg 260] apprehension. But he had had very complete instructions, and he endeavoured to carry them out, showing that the victory had been indeed a very real one, and that General Wellesley was anxious to assure a friendship with Holkar. It was a case for diplomacy, and Owen did his utmost. But though this powerful chieftain answered politely, his tones were of the haughtiest, and as Owen withdrew he felt sure that the friendship then existing between Holkar and the British was but a thing of straw, and that this chieftain only awaited a favourable day for breaking it. A few minutes later he was equally certain of another matter. As he came to the door of the palace Mulha met him, with consternation written on his face.
"It is as I said, sahib," he cried. "No sooner had you passed in when a force of foot-soldiers marched into this square, and when they parted there were guns fully loaded and trained on the troopers. They were forced to dismount, their horses were led away, and they themselves were disarmed and marched out of the courtyard by the soldiers."
Owen was flabbergasted. He had hardly expected such high-handed action, though every minute had increased his anxiety as to the safety of his little command. He swung round without a word, with the intention of forcing his way to Holkar's presence. But as he did so some thirty soldiers issued from a door close at hand and rushed at him. Resistance was useless, and folding his arms he allowed the men to take him. Ten minutes later he was thrust into a cell high[Pg 261] up in one of the wings of the palace, and heard the bolts shot to after him. He was a prisoner. Holkar, the treacherous and cruel chieftain, had him in his power, and with an involuntary shudder our hero realised the gravity of his position.
"One hundred and forty steps up," thought Owen, as the door banged to after him, and he listened to the grating of the bolts, and then to the steps of the men who had conducted him to his prison now growing faint in the distance. He could hear the shuffle of Eastern sandals as they slid down the stone stairs, the metallic ring of a tulwar striking the wall, and then silence—silence save for the medley of sound, dulled by distance, coming to him from the outside world.
"Four stone walls and a flat ceiling," he said as he surveyed the apartment. "I fancy I must be in the highest apartment in one of the flanking towers. Then the roof is just overhead, and if——"
He broke off suddenly and stamped his foot with vexation.
"What use is it to think of the roof!" he exclaimed angrily. "It is altogether out of my reach, and the ground below as well. The door is the only means of exit."
But he was not the lad to give up hope without proper investigation, and for an hour he busied himself[Pg 263] with inspecting every corner of his prison. He went to the window, which was at a convenient level, and craned his head through it, for it was unglazed, and wide enough to admit a man of far larger proportions than his. Below, at a distance which made him feel dizzy, was the courtyard, and outside that the street, buzzing with Eastern life. He watched the thousands of the city of Indore passing, and noted the martial appearance of almost all. There were the usual artisans, the pedlars, the bullock-drivers with their quaint carts, and the bheesties. But amongst them all, passing to and fro with an arrogant swagger which matched their fine appearance well, were hundreds of foot and horse soldiers, armed to the teeth, fierce-looking and pugnacious.
"Holkar is evidently well prepared for a war with any one," thought Owen. "There are his guns, too, and a fine collection he has. If we come to blows with him we shall have to be very wary, for they say that he has even better-trained troops than Scindia has. I heard that he had one or more Englishmen in his employ, and there are certainly Frenchmen. Well, it's no good breaking my neck with craning it out of this window, for escape is out of the question either way, to the roof above or to the ground beneath. But I am armed, and if the worst comes I could throw myself upon the jailer. We'll see. Perhaps Holkar will repent of his action, for surely it is scandalous."
There could be no doubt of that fact, and yet the history of the Mahrattas shows that on more than one[Pg 264] occasion the powerful chieftains did not hesitate to stoop to the most odious acts of treachery. And Holkar's name figured in those acts prominently. As he sat on his divan below, his single eye passing from one to another of his servitors and causing them to cringe, his best and most enthusiastic friend could not but admit that this powerful Mahratta chieftain looked capable of any villainy.
"This victory," he said, turning to a man beside him, by colour a European, but dressed as a Mahratta, "do you think that the details are true? Or has the tale been sent to us by this youth to induce us to hold our hands? I would that I knew, for if in truth this general, known as Wellesley, has conquered Scindia with but a handful, what would be our fortune were we to commence a war with the English?"
He fixed the white man with his eye and waited eagerly for his answer.
"Come, Colonel Sahib," he said. "You who love not the English, but who have every interest in my affairs and prosperity, what prospect have I if I go to war? You know my wishes. I would sweep these arrogant whites from the land, and then——"
"Scindia and his power would be crushed to the very earth, my lord," was the answer, given in Mahratti, but with an accent which was undoubtedly French. "Why believe all that one hears, and particularly of these British? This Scindia, what is he compared with you?"
The French colonel in the employ of Holkar swung round with flashing eye and stared at his chieftain.[Pg 265] "He is but as the wolf compared with the tiger. Time and again he has conciliated you when trouble between you threatened, and we know—he knows that your troops could eat him and his up without trouble. He is defeated by a handful. What of that? His men fled, so we are told, ere the bayonets had crossed. Would that be the case with our troops? They would hold their ground, for they pride themselves upon being invincible. Ask this white officer more questions as to the battle. He will tell you that Scindia's men ran like sheep."
He finished with a scornful toss of his head, and it was abundantly clear that he had the utmost faith in the men under the command of Holkar, and more than that, that his aim was to bring about hostilities with the British.
"Send for this youth again," he cried, "and we will gather all the facts; and remember this, my lord—for the man who dares much there is much reward. Holkar is now a powerful chieftain, and the Peishwa and Scindia tremble when his name is breathed. But what if Holkar conquered the white invaders?"
Holkar's one eye gleamed with enthusiasm, while his hand went involuntarily to his tulwar.
"There indeed would be power," he exclaimed. "It shall be. I will not be frightened by this despatch, by the tales brought by a boy, and by a victory won after an action which was never severely contested. Send for this prisoner. I will interrogate him, and then he shall go."
"Go! My lord, think what cause there is here for war. Keep him. Hang him if you will, and then throw yourself upon the British. They are scattered at this moment, while their hands are full to overflowing. Now is the time to strike. Send your troops against them while they are divided, and annihilate each one of the scattered divisions. Strike now, and let this youth be the cause of war."
The Frenchman's eyes blazed with excitement, while he rose from the seat he had been occupying and stalked up and down in front of his chief. And there was no denying that this officer was as fine a specimen of humanity as one could well meet with. Tall, and handsome to a certain degree, he bore himself proudly. His moustaches bristled, while his whole mien betokened the utmost confidence in himself and in the wisdom of the course he advocated. True, there was a certain air of treachery about the man, and despite his fine appearance he was hardly the one to attract the confidence or friendship of a stranger. One would have thought him cruel and unscrupulous perhaps, and certainly the advice he had just given led one to believe that he was.
"Send for this white officer," he said. "Let me see him and question him. Then deal with him in the manner I have advised."
Holkar clapped his hands, and having attracted the attention of one of his native officers, ordered him to send for the prisoner. That done, he continued to converse with the French colonel in confidential whispers. There was not the smallest doubt this white officer[Pg 267] had the command of the troops under the Mahratta chieftain and was a power in the land. Also he was deeply antagonistic to the British, for the simple reason that he was a Frenchman, and perhaps for some other reason. For those who knew him could tell the tale that the name of an Englishman was hateful to this white officer, and that whenever he mentioned those of that nationality his lip curled, while his teeth showed as if he were about to snarl. Indeed, there were some who said that Colonel Le Pourton had some particular cause for hatred—a cause which he kept very closely to himself.
Ten minutes later Owen was ushered into the room.
"A bold dog," said the Colonel, beneath his breath, as our hero entered, his head in air and a look of indignation on his face. "He must have known the danger of coming to the capital of Holkar, and yet he means now to beard the chieftain. Truly these British are impossible!"
A moment later, as he obtained a full view of Owen's face, he started and changed colour.
"Mon dieu! How like!" he exclaimed, while his colour went and he became deathly pale. "If it could be——"
"Who are you? Your name?" he demanded fiercely in Mahratti.
"Owen Jones, Cornet in His Majesty's 7th native cavalry. And you?"
The Colonel gave a gasp of relief.
"How like to him!" he murmured again. "If it were not for the name I could have thought that it was his[Pg 268] son. Pshaw! How could it be? He is lost. Lost for ever!"
He ground his teeth and snarled at Owen, who returned his glances boldly and advanced to within a couple of yards of the Mahratta chieftain, his eyes blazing, ready to denounce him for his act of treachery. For, though young as yet, Owen had learned many things since he joined the army. And one was that humility before a chieftain of Holkar's class was not profitable. Underneath all the arrogance of these native princes there lurked a wholesome dread of the British, and Owen knew that mild remonstrance would be of little service to him. He must let this chieftain know that his act would not go unpunished, and that if he continued his violence all his troops would be insufficient to protect him. He was in the very act of launching forth when Colonel Le Pourton again interrupted him.
"You say that you are Cornet Owen Jones," he said in breathless and excited tones. "Tell us where you come from in England. Speak, and let it be the truth."
"The truth!" Owen swung round upon him, his face flushing. "Please remember that an Englishman boasts that he always tells the truth. Who are you who ask these questions?"
For a moment the Colonel was staggered by his boldness, while the single eye of Holkar flashed ominously and he was in the act of speaking when the Colonel held up his hand to arrest the words.
"My lord," he said, "let me deal with this youth. I have grave cause to ask these questions, for years ago—but[Pg 269] that is a story which could not interest you. My name? Colonel Le Pourton, in command of some portion of Holkar's forces. Your answer."
Owen thought for a moment before replying. There was something about this Frenchman which repelled him, while the sneer on his face when he spoke told at once that here was a man who was hardly likely to befriend him. What object could he have in asking this question?
"From Winchester," he said at length. "That is my native city."
"And you were born there? Your parents lived there?"
The Frenchman sprang to his feet and strode up and down again in extraordinary excitement while he waited breathlessly for the answer. As for Owen, he was amazed at the questions and hardly knew whether to reply or not. He could see no reason for not gratifying what would seem to be idle curiosity on the part of this white officer, and yet there was something forbidding about the Frenchman, something which warned him to hold his tongue. If only he had known how eagerly the Colonel awaited his information! If only he could have guessed what that information would lead to!
"Ah well, I don't see why he should not know," he said to himself. "Unless——"
Suddenly the thought came to him that this man might in some extraordinary manner be connected with his earlier history—might even have known his parents.[Pg 270] Like a flash the idea swept across his mind, and with it the determination to tell all that he knew.
"I was not born in Winchester," he answered. "I believe I was born in India, and sailed for England when I was some four or five years of age. After that I can only say that it would appear as if I had been stolen and then deserted. I was brought up at the poorhouse, and finally entered the army, when——"
He came to a sudden stop, for Colonel Le Pourton had collapsed into his seat, where he lay rather than sat, a huddled heap, his face the colour of crimson, his eyes bloodshot and staring, and his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He was evidently ill, and at the sight Owen looked at him in amazement, while Holkar leaped to his feet with an oath. A minute later, however, the Colonel recovered and sat upright, his baneful eyes fixed on our hero.
"Let us talk with him another time, my lord," he said feebly. "Take him away. See that he is secured. Put chains upon him if necessary. Warn the jailer that he will be executed if this officer contrives to escape. Do you hear? Take him away!"
His voice rose as he went on till it became almost a scream, while he pointed a finger at Owen. His eyes flashed and blazed like those of a maniac, he frothed at the mouth, while the lips and moustaches curled back from the teeth in a hideous snarl, which was more than disconcerting. Owen recoiled from the man and backed into the centre of the room, while his hand went to the hilt of his sabre. Then the guard which had escorted[Pg 271] him to the presence of the Mahratta chief surrounded him and hastened him away into the corridor, up the endless flight of steps, and then into the large bare cell again. There was a crash as the door swung to, the rasping of bolts and rusty bars, and the slither of departing sandals, the slip, slip, slip of men descending the stairs, the metallic clink of a striking weapon, now so wonderfully familiar, for such small sounds seize upon the attention of a prisoner, and then silence again—silence and the busy hum of the Oriental city, the call of the bullock-drovers, the cry of the mendicant, and the sharp, arrogant shout of the soldiers to clear a passage for them.
"The man is mad! He must be! What on earth can my history be to him—to a Frenchman out here in India!"
Owen passed his fingers through his hair and then mopped his forehead, for the scene which had just passed was amazing. It was filled with the most astonishing incidents—incidents which defied his powers to decipher.
And yet, was the Frenchman mad? Was there an undercurrent of meaning? Surely there must have been reasons for his questions; and his illness, the sudden collapse as the information was given him, were convincing arguments that Colonel Le Pourton had reasons for asking his questions, and that the answers, simple as they undoubtedly were, had brought some dread to his mind which was sufficiently great to upset him. But though Owen pondered on the matter for many hours he arrived at no solution, and finally was compelled to[Pg 272] give the mystery up as unfathomable. Of this, however, he was certain: whatever interest the Frenchman might have in him, it was not a friendly one. Something told him that the Colonel was a bitter enemy, and that he would do well to escape from his power as rapidly as possible. Had he had any doubts on this matter they were set at rest that very night.
As the sun was sinking the door of his prison was thrown open. "You will eat in a room along this passage. There are other prisoners." The Mahratta jailer motioned to him to pass along the corridor, and ushered him into a room in which there was a small table with three chairs set to it. On these were seated three British officers, evidently in the service of Holkar, for they wore Mahratta uniforms. They rose as he entered and welcomed him as only Britishers can welcome their own countrymen abroad.
"Here is another chair. Sit down, please," said one, a pleasant-looking fellow. "Now, it is hardly worth asking what you will have, seeing that very little is allowed. But make the most of the time, for they give us only a few minutes. That's it. Now you have something, and we can talk. We know all about you, and how you were taken. This Holkar is a treacherous fellow, and his French adviser does not help matters. We are in the same box, for we have been serving in his army for some time, and should be now, we fancy, but for the Colonel. He has become very powerful, and, being a Frenchman, hates all English officers. Holkar is about to quarrel with the British, and as we could not possibly fight against our own people we asked to leave[Pg 273] him. That is why we are here, and—but there, we won't think of the future."
"We'll make the most of our time," burst in another; "but there's no denying the fact that things are ugly. This Holkar is capable of murdering us."
There was a nod from the third, while Owen stared at his new acquaintances in astonishment. Later he learned their names. They were Captains Vickers, Todd, and Ryan, all three in the service of Holkar, as many other British officers were in that of other chieftains; and these unfortunate and gallant men, because they refused to fight their own kith and kin, were prisoners. It was another illustration of the treachery of Holkar.
But however hard the fortune which had come to the prisoners, for this brief half-hour, when they were allowed to be together, they banished care and became happy in one another's company. In a very little while Owen learned all about them, while he rapidly told his own history and all about the campaign which had been waged. A little later the door was thrown open and the jailer ordered them back to their cells.
"Good-bye till to-morrow, Owen," said one of the officers, "and take my advice. Beware of that fellow Le Pourton. We are not such close prisoners here that our servants cannot bring us news, and we have learned enough already to know that the Frenchman will have you killed if possible. Look out. The jailer may have picked up a little of our language."
"Then I must get away, whatever the difficulty," thought our hero as the door of his cell was slammed[Pg 274] to again and he found himself alone. "Even if there were only the chief to be considered, I should go, for I could not trust my life to him for an instant. And now that this Frenchman has appeared upon the scene it becomes doubly necessary. But how?"
When night had fallen and the stars had come out in their myriads, shining down upon the city of Indore, Owen stared up at them from the window, puzzling how to make good his escape. Down below he could hear the drowsy chant of some religious enthusiasts, while ever and anon the flash of the fire which burned in a stove before them came to his eyes, some one in the circle of natives about it having changed his position. All manner of strange cries came up to him from the streets of this Eastern city—the neighing of horses, the clatter of human beings, and the bellow of oxen. But as the night passed on all these ceased, and save for the bark of an occasional cur there was not a sound. In the corridor outside, and in other parts of the tower in which he was a prisoner, there was not so much as a murmur. He was alone, helpless, a prisoner in the hands of two men as ruthless and as cruel as could well be found.
And while he is there, groping round the walls, vainly endeavouring to discover some hidden outlet, or thrusting his head out of the window as if he were likely there to find some help, we will leave him for a while to return to the British forces in the field. This Mahratta campaign, which had opened so brilliantly, and which in the quarter where General Wellesley had command[Pg 275] had been waged so successfully and had culminated in the victory of Assaye, is already familiar to the reader. But the country ruled over by the Mahrattas was very extensive, and, as has already been narrated, there was more than one chieftain who had thrown down the gage to England, and in consequence there were other forces to be encountered in addition to that under the command of Scindia in person.
It will be remembered that negotiations for peace had commenced after Assaye, and crushing though the defeat was which had been inflicted there, it will be realised that in itself that was insufficient to bring about such an event, considering the other forces in the field against us—forces which so far have not been mentioned. Some 55,000 men, European and native, had been collected in different parts by the Governor-General of India, and these were divided into various brigades with a view to carrying on a number of campaigns at one and the same time. The areas detailed to these forces were the Deccan, Hindustan, Goojerat, and Cuttack; and the operations resulting in the first-named area have already been outlined, General Wellesley having there already brought the enemy to a condition of humbleness. This brilliant general could not possibly direct armies so widely separated, therefore other commanders had to be selected, and in consequence some 7000 men were placed under the orders of Colonel Murray in Goojerat.
The Rajah of Berar had rashly thrown in his lot with Scindia, and against this chieftain marched another force of European and native troops. The movements of this[Pg 276] part of our army resulted on the 14th of September in the storming of the fort of Barahuttee, one mile from Cuttack, and in the conquest of the province—another strong inducement to Scindia to lay down his arms.
And now we come to the operations in Hindustan proper—operations which may be said to have been the most important of all, for the force allocated to this area, under the command of General Lake, afterwards Lord Lake, was to be opposed to General Perron's battalions, and it was expected that the French element would lead to very great difficulties. For these battalions, nominally in the service of Scindia, were wholly devoted to the interests of France, and were in consequence a thorn in the side of the British. They had assigned to them a considerable territory, the income of which was devoted to their maintenance and pay, and this territory they ruled despotically. There were some 43,650 trained men with 464 guns, and of these it is said that some 23,650 were with Scindia in the Deccan, where General Wellesley had overthrown them; while the remainder, 20,000, were in Hindustan, opposed to General Lake. This last-named general had under his command 10,500 men of all arms. He set out from Cawnpore on the 7th of August, and by 4th September had captured the fortress of Allyghur, which was of the utmost importance to General Perron, and which, having had all the skill of his engineers devoted to it, was of incredible strength. It fell into our hands with a huge quantity of military stores and 281 guns, and its capture must have been a very serious loss to the enemy.[Pg 277] It was followed by the resignation of General Perron, who passed through our lines to Lucknow. He had been informed that he was to be superseded, and in addition had little confidence in the ultimate success of Scindia, or in his European officers. His place was taken by Louis Bourquin, about whom gathered the battalions formerly under the command of General Perron. But the effect of Allyghur and of the general's submission were felt on the way to Delhi, for many places were handed to our troops without a shot being fired. On our arrival within sight of Delhi, however, Louis Bourquin attacked the camp, having some thirteen battalions of infantry with him and 5000 cavalry. Our men were tired out with their long march in the sun and hardly fit for strenuous battle; but in spite of their condition they faced the enemy staunchly, made a counter attack, and finally drove the Mahrattas in wild flight from the field, after a very severely contested action in which we lost heavily, while the enemy left 3000 killed and wounded on the field, besides numbers of guns, ammunition, and two tumbrils laden with treasure. The occupation of Delhi followed as a natural course, while Louis Bourquin and four other French officers, using a wise discretion, forsook the service of Scindia and surrendered to General Lake.