Part 1 (1/2)
The Jungle Fugitives.
by Edward S. Ellis.
CHAPTER I.
IN THE SPRING OF 1857.
All through India, with its fanatical population five times as great as that of England, the rumblings of the coming uprising had been heard for months. The disaffection had been spreading and taking root. The emissaries of the arch-plotters had pa.s.sed back and forth almost from end to end of the vast empire, with their messages of hatred and appeal. The people were a.s.sured that the ”Inglese loge” were perfecting their insidious schemes for overthrowing their religion, and the faithful everywhere were called upon to crush the infidels in the dust. The evil seed fell upon the rankest of soil, and grew with a vigor and exuberance that threatened to strangle every other growth.
The plot, as agreed upon, was that a general uprising was to take place throughout India on the last day of May, 1857, but, as is often the case in such far-reaching schemes, the impatience of the mutineers precipitated the tremendous tragedy.
The first serious outbreak took place at Meerut on Sunday, May 10th, just three weeks previous to the time set for the general uprising.
That town, with its population of about 40,000 at that time, lies thirty-two miles northeast from Delhi, which was to be the capital of the resurrected Mogul Empire. It was the precipitancy of this first revolt that prevented its fullest success. The intention was to kill every white man, woman and child in the place. Two regiments were clamorous for beginning the ma.s.sacre, but the Eleventh Native Infantry held back so persistently that the others became enraged and fired a volley among them, killing a number. Thereupon the Eleventh announced themselves ready to take their part in the slaughter that was to free India from the execrated ”Inglese loge.”
Seeing now for the first time the real peril, the colonel of the Eleventh made an impa.s.sioned appeal to the regiment to stand by its colors and to take no part in the useless revolt. While he was speaking, a volley riddled his body, and he tumbled lifeless from his saddle. The Eleventh, however, covered the flight of the other officers, but helped to release a thousand prisoners, suffering punishment for various offenses, and then the h.e.l.l fire burst forth.
The bungalows of the officers, the mess houses of the troops, and all the buildings between the native lines and Meerut were fired, and the whole became a roaring conflagration, whose glare at night was visible for miles.
When an appeal was made to the Emperor of Delhi by the troopers, he inquired their errand. The lackl.u.s.tre eyes flashed with a light that had not been seen in them for years, the bowed form acquired new energy, and he gave orders to admit the troopers.
Their message was enough to fan into life the slumbering fires of ambition in the breast of a dying person.
He yielded to the dazzling dream. A throne of silver, laid away for years, was brought into the ”hall of special audience,” and the tottering form was helped to the seat, into which he sank and looked around upon his frenzied followers. Mohammed Suraj-oo-deen Shah Gezee was now the Great Mogul of India. A royal salute of twenty-one guns was fired by two troops of artillery from Meerut in front of the palace, and the wild mult.i.tudes again strained their throats. To the thunder of artillery, the strains of martial music and the shouting of the people, the gates of the palace were flung open, and Prince Mirza Mogul, with his brother, Prince Abu Beker, at the head of the royal bodyguard, rode forth, the king following in an open chariot, surrounded by his bodyguard.
With impressive slowness this strange procession made its way through the princ.i.p.al street, the populace becoming as frantic as so many ghost dancers. Finally a halt was made at the Juma Musjeed, the largest mosque in India, where the banner of the Prophet was unfurled and the Mogul Empire proclaimed.
CHAPTER II.
ON AN AFTERNOON.
Almost due east from Delhi Dr. Hugh Marlowe, a venerable American physician, had lived for more than twenty years. Since the death of his wife, six years previous to the Mutiny, he had dwelt alone with his only daughter, Mary, and their single servant, Mustad, a devout Mussulman. A portion of the time mentioned had been pa.s.sed without the society of his beloved child, who spent several years in New England (where the physician himself was born and had received his education) at one of the fas.h.i.+onable schools.
Shortly after her graduation, Miss Marlowe met Jack Everson, fresh from Yale, and the acquaintance ripened into mutual love, though the filial affection of the young woman was too profound to permit her to form an engagement with the young man until the consent of her father was obtained, and he would not give that consent until he had met and conversed with the young gentleman face to face and taken his measure, as may be said.
”If he doesn't esteem you enough to make a little journey like the one from America to this country he isn't worth thinking about.”
”But he _will_ make the journey,” said the blus.h.i.+ng daughter, patting the bronzed cheek of the parent whom she idolized as much as he idolized her.
”Don't be to sure of that, my young lady; romantic young girls like you have altogether too much faith in the other s.e.x.”
”But he _has_ started,” she added with a sly smile.
”He has, eh? He will change his mind before he reaches here. How far has he got?”
”He was due in England many weeks ago.”
”Well, well! How soon will he arrive _here_?”
”I think he is due now.”