# The Dilemma/Chapter XXXIII

CHAPTER XXXIII.
The members of the little garrison of Mustaphabad, after the first transport of excitement at deliverance from their desperate condition, wandered about the grounds in all the enjoyment of safety and freedom from molestation; and then, going further, visited the court-house and deserted rebel camp, and, penetrating the village, examined the position held by the assailants, and the appearance of their own defences from the outside. Every spot had its associations with some episode in the contest. See, here is the place behind this wall where that fellow used to hide who took such good shots, and bothered us so, till Egan got a sight of him two mornings ago, and that stain on the ground must be the result. Then there were endless questions to be asked of Kirke's subaltern, who had been brought in wounded, about the state of affairs in other parts, and all the stirring events throughout India which had been crowded into the space of their incarceration; and they learned, too, from the young man, now lying on a cot in the shade with his wounds dressed, the particulars of the relief, — how, while Kirke had drawn up his horsemen out of range of the guns while reconnoitring for the best way of relieving the garrison, Falkland had appeared galloping towards them across the plain; how, soon afterwards, an emissary had joined them from the nawab, bringing news which determined Falkland to move on the palace first, and having set the nawab free, to attack the rebels in rear; how, disdaining to dismount, he had fallen while leading the advance through the city, and the assailants had sustained a temporary check from the loss of their gallant leader. All this the wounded officer had many times to tell to the eager listeners round his bed; while Kirke himself, too busy for conversation, was engaged on the various duties of his command.
As for the building which had sheltered them so long, the first thing to be done was to get away from it and its foul atmosphere. The removal of the sandbag screen should be deferred till morning, when hired coolies could once more be procured; but an opening was soon made in the west side, and the wounded were carried outside, and their cots placed on the gravel walk. And a table was set out on the lawn to the east, where those not engaged in tending the sick dined together — a rough ​repast as usual, but seasoned by fresh air. Afterwards they strolled through the lines of the cavalry, whose horses were picketed in the park, exchanging friendly greetings with their gallant deliverers. Then, wearied and ready for sleep, they lay down on their cots in the open air to pass their first quiet night in the happy sense of security; for pickets of Kirke's men had been posted round the park — although, as he remarked, if the enemy had not pluck to stop and fight it out, they would certainly not have pluck to come back again. The two doctors alone had occupation in tending the sick, including Kirke's men who had been brought in wounded, some thirty in number, besides his subaltern.
One member of the garrison, however, was absent from his place at dinner. When Kirke went in on his first arrival to make his report to the brigadier, the poor old man was found dead on the drawing-room couch. The doctor called it heat-apoplexy; at any rate, the revulsion of feeling would appear to have been too much for him. To most of the garrison the event did not cause surprise, the brigadier's feebleness of mind and body having been apparent to all; but the calamity was unexpected by his wife, and for the time she seemed quite stupefied by the shock. Silently she sat for a time holding her dead husband's hand, gazing at the inexpressive features; and then, when she was led away by Mrs. Hodder, and the body was removed into a side-room preparatory to interment in the morning, she passed the night in wandering visits to it from her own apartment, her thoughts occupied perchance with pleasant memories of the past, mingled with remorse that she had treated the poor old man unkindly during his last days.
Another side-room was occupied by the young widow, Mrs. O'Halloran, who, tended by Mrs. Peart and Dr. Grumbull, gave birth that night to her third child, soon to be the eldest; for before morning the two sick children drew their last troubled breath, and their little forms lay still and silent, covered by a sheet, awaiting morning burial.
And poor young Raugh was not moved with the other wounded. Maxwell said there would be no use in disturbing him, and he was left in the sick-room, Olivia, who refused to be relieved of the duty, watching by him. She had gone to the lad's bedside when the news was told her of her husband's death, and was sitting there when Yorke entered the room in the early part of the night. It was almost empty, save for a cot in the middle on which lay the dying youth, while Olivia's pallid face was lighted up by the dim light of the flickering wick in a cup of oil placed on a little table beside the pillow. The poor boy was quiet enough now, and lay breathing slowly and apparently insensible. His nurse from time to time moistened his lips with water.
Yorke came and stood behind her, watching the face of the dying lad.
Olivia was the first to speak. "I knew it must be you," she said, turning round and showing a face which looked as if some shock had deprived it of the power of expressing emotion. "Why are you not taking the rest you must want more than any one? There is little to be done here, you see," she added, with a glance towards the slowly breathing figure beside them." Had you not better leave us?" and her voice seemed to say that she wished to be alone.
But as the young man moved sorrowfully away, she rose, and following, called him by name. Silently they stood facing each other, the one with dishevelled hair and dust-covered face, dressed in a grey flannel blouse and linen trousers which had once been white, a sword and pistols in his belt, a battered pith-helmet in his hand; the other with little to mark the lady by her dress, but with the same graceful carriage as ever, although care and sorrow seemed in this short time to have driven out the first freshness of youth from the sweet face. Olivia was the first to speak. "Mr. Yorke, you must know what I want to ask. No one has told me yet what has become of ——" she faltered over the completion of the question.
"I have been engaged in trying to find him all this evening," he replied, "and have now come back only because it was too dark to continue the search. It seems unaccountable how I should have failed to discover" — the colonel's body he would have said, but checked himself, and added, "but I will begin again the first thing in the morning; we shall surely be successful then."
"Thank you," said Olivia, with fervour; then after a pause she added, "and oh, Mr. Yorke, can you forgive my selfish petulance just now? Captain Buxey has told me of your noble conduct, how you wanted to go yourself instead of him, and it was entirely his overruling. I felt from the first," she went on, after another pause, "that he would never escape, and every time he left my sight I used to think it must be the last. I knew what their news ​was, quite well, when they came to tell me; and oh!" she continued, struggling with her tears, "to think that if he had been spared for a few moments longer the danger would have been over! But it is very hard on you men, when you are doing your duty so bravely, to be worried by the selfish complaints of us useless women. But you will go and try and find him early in the morning, won't you?"
"She selfish!" thought Yorke, as he strode away; "then what must I be? To think that I should be watching her face to see how much of her regard for me is real, while she, poor thing, is breaking her heart for her dead husband lying unburied somewhere in the kennel — yet even in her grief she has time to think of others."
But although Yorke with several of the others renewed the search at daybreak, Falkland's body could not be found. Kirke excused himself from going, having pressing business to look after, but he described the place where the search should be made so clearly that it could not be mistaken. Falkland had fallen in leading an advance on horseback down one of the streets of the city; the party following him had then been repulsed and given way, and the point had not been carried till Kirke advancing down another line took it in rear. Many dead still cumbered the roadway, stripped, and some of them foully mutilated; and Yorke did not dare to tell Olivia when he returned, after the sun was high, from his fruitless errand, that although he believed he had not found the body of her husband, it might possibly have been among those he saw without his being able to recognize it. It added to the grief felt by the members of the garrison at the loss in the moment of victory of the gallant leader who had been the soul of the defence, that they could not give him decent burial with their own hands; but Yorke was not sorry that Olivia should be spared the shock of receiving back, as the body of her husband, one of the mangled corpses amid which his search had been made.
During Yorke's absence in the morning, the bodies of the brigadier and young Raugh were buried in a shady spot in the corner of the garden, and a little grave beside it contained the two children, who made their exit from the world almost at the moment when their little brother came into it. Another funeral took place at the same time. It has been mentioned that just as the relieving force was issuing from the city, some of the garrison had sallied out, and, lining the park-wall, had taken some parting shots at the flying enemy. The latter were for the most part too panic-stricken to reply; but here and there a sepoy, as he stole away, turned round to fire at random, and one of these stray shots had taken effect. When the party, after the first excitement of Kirke's arrival, had time to look about them, it was seen that the jemadar, who had made one of the sally, was lying under the wall with a bullet through his heart — the last man to fall, killed a few minutes after the death of the master he had served so faithfully. As many of the garrison as could be spared followed the body to the Mohammedan burial-ground; for Ameer Khan's gallantry and faithfulness had won universal respect, and the Europeans had come to regard him as a comrade and friend.
"That makes fifteen casualties altogether," said Egan, as the party were returning home; "eleven killed and dead, and four wounded, besides non-combatants. It would not have taken very much longer to use up the whole of us, especially as the rate was increasing."
"The loss was not so great after all," observed Yorke; "there are still some thirty-seven of us untouched. Many a single company at Inkerman must have had as many or more knocked over in a few minutes."
"Yes," said Braddon, who was walking beside the other two; "but it is just the difference between losing your leg at one slice, and having it chopped away bit by bit. Which is likely to try your spirits most? No, depend on it, the relief did not come very much too soon."
And now the survivors set about making their various preparations, some for departure to a place of greater security, others for reorganizing British authority on the spot; while a still more fortunate few, among whom Yorke was included, were invited by Kirke to accompany him in his progress onwards. During that day Kirke would halt, for he had made a long forced march the day before, and with his men had been eighteen hours in the saddle; but on the next he must push forward, his orders being urgent to hasten to the seat of war, where cavalry were much needed. The ladies and sick were to proceed to the hills under escort of a detachment of his troopers. The rebels were known to have moved in the opposite direction; and once over the river, the country for the remainder of the way was in comparative order. The nawab, now reinstated in authority, lent his camel-carriage to convey some of the party, and ​light palanquins were procured for the remainder.
With the sick went Major Dumble. That distinguished officer, by the way, had become commandant of the garrison on the brigadier's death; and it fell to him to sign the despatch to government recounting the siege. How Dumble, whom the promotion caused by casualties in other parts of the country had brought up to the grade of lieutenant-colonel, was thereon made in due course a brevet colonel and C.B., and of the encomiums passed by the press on his literary performances for his very flowery composition, emanating, in fact, from Sparrow's pen, — evidently an Indian Cæsar this Dumble, quoth a London weekly paper famous for accuracy and epigram, and a great authority on India — knows how both to fight and write; these are not times for standing upon routine — why should not Colonel Dumble be made commander-in-chief? — these episodes, and the honours bestowed on other survivors of the famous defence, need not be here detailed. Dumble retired to the hills, there to await his honours, not to reappear on the scene of this history.
The travellers to the hills were to start at sunset, and as the time drew near, numerous and hearty were the farewells exchanged; nor, now that the discomforts and dangers of the siege were ended, were regrets altogether wanting at the termination of the enforced companionship from which only the day before they had been so eager to be delivered. "It wasn't half a bad time after all," said young Dobson of the late 76th; "and now there will be no nervous duty to give a chap a little excitement."
"Good-bye, old fellow," said Spragge to his friend and quondam chum from the recesses of his palanquin, as the latter came up to bid him farewell before the cavalcade set out; "all luck and glory to you in your campaigning. I shall come down to the plains again as soon as ever these ribs of mine get well, which I hope will be before all the fun is over. It will be hard work leaving Kitty ——"
"Kitty?"
"Ah! I ought not to have told you. It's a secret, you know, but she won't mind my telling an old friend like you. Oh yes, it is all settled, and Mrs. Peart agrees, and everything. It seems rather soon, you know, after her poor father's death, and all that; but one lives fast in these times, and the poor little thing has been like, a guardian angel to me since I was wounded, taking care of me as if she had been a sister. But we are not to be married till all the fighting is over. What a wonderful thing this siege has been, to be sure, from first to last! I don't suppose I ever spoke to a young lady before, and here I am, the love-making all done, and engaged to be spliced, and all in less than a fortnight."
"Yes, it is unfortunate, no doubt," said Captain Sparrow, whom Yorke found sitting on a chair and superintending the packing of his palanquin by Justine, — "yes, it is unfortunate that I cannot stay to set things right, now that poor Falkland is gone; but the doctor says I must go away for a bit, and get my tone restored. The least, however, government can do, is to give me the permanent commissionership now, for of course Passey's appointment is quite a temporary affair."
"Justine appears as attentive as ever," observed Yorke, watching the young woman engaged on her knees in making a bed in the palanquin; "you really owe her a debt of gratitude."
"Ah, yes," said Sparrow, trying to look unconcerned, "Mademoiselle Duport's character has come out very brightly under these trials; she possesses a fund of deep delicacy and refinement, which under ordinary circumstances might not have come to notice. Mrs. Falkland, you know, thinks very highly of her abilities and education, and they have always been quite friends. In fact she is far better educated and mannered than nine out of ten girls that you meet in this country. She is fit company for any lady in the land, I say, whatever foolish prejudices people may have."
"My dear fellow, I want no convincing on that point; if you recollect, it was you who objected to sitting down at the same table with the girl."
"Well," said Sparrow, interrupting, "I hope if you hear fellows talking nonsense you will just put them right about these things. The fact is," continued the captain, trying to look unconcerned, but with obvious confusion, "Mademoiselle Duport is about to become Mrs. Sparrow. This is a secret at present, but I know I may trust you. Mademoiselle Duport, you must know, is very well connected. Her father keeps a hotel at Tours, and a French hotel-keeper is a very different kind of person from what he is in England — often owns a vineyard, and that sort of thing. And I feel that I owe her a debt of gratitude that nothing can efface."
"You will see to the grave, won't you?" ​said Mrs. Polwheedle to Mr. Hodder the missionary, as she prepared to step into the nawab's carriage, drawn up before the house; "and to a tombstone being put up and all? I should like everything to be done properly, as it ought to be for a first-class brigadier. You will be sure and let me know what it costs, and I will remit by treasury draft as soon as I get the arrears of pay. The poor dear man!" she continued, in a sort of trembling soliloquy, and wiping away the tears which began to flow as the time came for departure; "to think that I should be leaving him in this way, and that he should not have been spared to get his reward for all that we have gone through. He wasn't like himself, I know; he couldn't bear up and do himself justice for being so bad with the heat and his broken leg; but he was a fine man when I married him, though not, perhaps, so fine a man as poor Jones. Come along, Mrs. Falkland, my dear, they are all waiting for us."
The latter part of her remarks was addressed to Olivia, who had now at last issued from the house ready for departure, and for whose appearance Yorke, while bidding good-bye to the other travellers, had been eagerly watching. He went up to her as she was stepping into the carriage.
"Farewell," she said, holding out both her hands, and smiling kindly through her sorrow; "I shall never, never forget your noble conduct, and what a friend you have been to me — and to him; and remember"
"Here, Yorke," called out Kirke, coming up at this moment, "I want you, like a good fellow, to ride at once to the palace" — and he took him aside to explain what the errand was. Thus Yorke was absent when the actual departure of the travellers took place, and he hurried off, casting a last look back on the scene — the camel-carriage in the midst, the palanquins here and there on the grounds, in which strangely attired women and dirty-looking unshorn men were depositing various parcels and bundles. Around the palanquins squatted the half-naked coolies who were to carry them; beyond was the Sikh escort — wild-looking fellows, sitting their horses like men who knew how to ride, but whose only uniform consisted as yet of a general similarity of turban and in the colour of their clothing; the background to the picture being formed of the residency, the half-destroyed defences of which added to the effects of the cannonade to give it the appearance of being in ruins.
The start was effected soon after sunset, the escort consisting of fifty of Kirke's men, attended by the nawab's head agent. Yorke would fain have seen a larger escort, and asked Kirke if he might go in charge; but the latter considered the guard quite strong enough under the circumstances. Was it likely, he asked, that he would allow his cousin to be exposed to any more risks? And indeed he had shown great solicitude for her comfort, himself superintending all the arrangements for the journey, and consulting her many times during the day about them. "The country behind us is quiet enough now," he said. "I gave them something to remember me by as we came along, and I let them know that if a soul dared so much as to wag his finger I would pay them another visit; and I don't think," he continued, significantly, "that they will venture to act on the invitation." And indeed Captain Kirke had left the track of his march behind him very plainly marked by extemporized gibbets and the smouldering ashes of burnt villages; and the country he had passed through, which on the visible signs of government having been swept away had fallen for a time into a state of anarchy, was now thoroughly cowed by that officer's stern retaliation, and the travellers reached their destination in the mountains without accident or adventure.
Two incidents of the day require to be mentioned. A sale was held during the afternoon of the deceased officers' effects, Egan, in the absence of any more regularly qualified official, acting as auctioneer, standing for that purpose on a chair under a tree in the park. Falkland having left a will which gave all his property to his wife, his furniture and effects were left by her desire at the residency for the present; but Kirke signified that his cousin had consented to the disposal of the saddlery, guns, and so forth — and Kathleen, who had been caught after her master's fall and brought in from the city, was knocked down to himself; while Braddon purchased a couple of carriage-horses, as suitable to carry his weight, for the late jemadar's brother during the day had brought back safely all the horses which were sent to his custody before the siege. One reservation was made in favour of Olivia's own horse Selim, which she requested Yorke to accept as a present, in a message sent through Mrs. Hodder, and conveyed in such pressing terms that the young man could not deny himself the gratification of coming under the ​obligation to her. Falkland's property indeed formed the staple of the auction, for the other deceased officers had brought but little with them into the residency; but such as the things were, they changed owners that day, and poor little Raugh's revolver, Major Peart's pistols, and Braywell's double gun fetched high prices. Such are funeral obsequies in war time. A man is killed one hour and buried the next, and his effects are distributed among friends and strangers before evening. The estate benefits, for on a campaign horses and camp-equipments are always in request; and if we call to mind the smug undertaker with his jolly-looking red-faced myrmidons who grace our funerals at home, and the simulated gravity over the funeral baked meats of conventional life, and the tedious formalities of the lawyers which follow, the comparison is perhaps not altogether unfavourable to the more rapid obsequies. The other incident was the apprehension and disposal of the nawab's rebel brother. News being brought that the man was in hiding at a village about five miles off, Kirke sent out Egan with fifty troopers who surrounded the place and captured him, and he was escorted back to the residency on a horse requisitioned for the occasion. A drum-head court-martial was immediately improvised, composed of Kirke, Braddon, and Egan, who sat on chairs under a tree, without table or other apparatus, the rebel nawab being seated on the ground in front of them, his hands bound with cord, while two troopers with drawn swords stood a little behind. He was a handsome man of middle age, with well-built figure, aquiline nose, and long wavy beard and moustache dyed red. Kirke treated him with civility, using the forms of respect in address which are employed towards an equal or superior — equivalent to "your honour" instead of plain "you;" nor did he waste the time in reproaches; and the man, who answered all the questions put to him without reservation, may have thought with Agag that surely the bitterness of death was past. But after the interrogation had lasted for about ten minutes, Kirke, turning his head to the right and left, said, "I conclude, gentlemen, there is no doubt about the matter?" "None," said Braddon; "there is no need for further evidence; the man admits everything himself." "Quite so," responded Egan. Kirke hereon rose from his chair, the other two did the same, and the prisoner followed their example, and stood up. "Your honour must see," said Kirke, addressing him in a quiet voice, "that there is only one thing to be done. Egan, will you look after this business? and as soon as you come back we will have the auction;" and, so saying, Kirke turned away and walked back towards the house. The man looked pale for a moment, as if the sentence took him by surprise, but recovering himself at once, he shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, "Who cares?" and the little cavalcade stepped out towards the court-house — some troopers, then the prisoner walking unconcernedly, then a few more troopers. Lieutenant Egan bringing up the rear — while those off duty looked on indifferently. Presently, however, just as he had got outside the park-wall, Egan halted the party, and came back to Kirke, now busy in giving orders to various officers. The condemned man reported, Egan said, that he had some important information to communicate, if Kirke would give him a hearing. "That means," replied Kirke, "that he wants to buy off his life; what can he have to tell that is worth hearing? Let him carry his secret with him," and turned impatiently aside. Egan rejoined the procession, and told the big rebel what had passed, who smiled defiantly, and five minutes later was swinging from a tree before the court-house, which had already more than once that day done duty for gallows.
Major Passey remained at Mustaphabad, in civil and military command, with Buxey to help him, taking up his quarters in the court-house while the residency underwent repair and cleansing, with a few of the nawab's attendants for guard and the residue of the faithful sepoys, now reduced to thirteen, the nucleus of a levy to be raised at once. These gallant fellows, the real heroes of the defence — for they had shown the virtues of loyalty and moral courage as well as bravery — would now sink into oblivion. No gazette or public record would avail to hand down their names to the admiration of posterity; and although they had done their duty, it was at the cost of having broken off forever all ties with their old comrades, whose relatives would hardly accord a welcome greeting to the men, should they now live to return to their native villages, who had been instrumental in their extirmination or proscription. The government, however, were not unmindful of the claims of these faithful soldiers. Each of the thirteen was promoted to be a native officer in the Mustaphabad Levy, the name given to the regiment Passey was now ordered to raise, and received also the ​Indian Medal of Honour, and a grant of land into the bargain; and as in India there is no exception to the general rule that prosperity brings friends, it may be hoped that these gallant fellows have had in the long run no reason to regret that they cast in their lot on the side of duty.
Passey offered the second post in his levy to Braddon, who would fain have retained his connection with the gallant remnant of his old regiment; but Kirke, who was now without officers, asked him to join his regiment, and as this offered the chance of immediate service, he naturally accepted the latter invitation in preference. Kirke took Yorke and Egan also with him and a young officer of the 80th, while Maxwell joined him temporarily as surgeon, Grumbull being left in medical charge of Mustaphabad; and the regiment thus reinforced set off the next morning at daybreak.
Mrs. Hodder did not accompany the other ladies to the hills, but stayed with her husband, who on the same day moved back into his old quarters in the city, and set about re-establishing his school. The Hodders took Mrs. O'Halloran to live with them for the present; the poor child with her young baby not being fit to travel.