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A History of English Negation
LONGMAN LINGUISTICS LIBRARY

General editors

GEOFFREY HORROCKS, University of Cambridge

DAVID DENISON, University of Manchester

For a complete list of books in the series, see page v.

A History of English
Negation

Gabriella Mazzon

I� ��o�;��n���up
LONDON AND NEW YORK

Ill
First published 2004 by Pearson Education Limited

Published 2014 by Routledge

2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OXl 4 4RN
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017, USA

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business

Copyright© 2004, Taylor & Francis.

The right of Gabriella Mazzon to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by
her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or
by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission
in writing from the publishers.

Notices
Knowledge and best practice in this field are constantly changing. As new research and experience
broaden our understanding, changes in research methods, professional practices, or medical
treatment may become necessary.

Practitioners and researchers must always rely on their own experience and knowledge in
evaluating and using any information, methods, compounds, or experiments described herein. In
using such information or methods they should be mindful of their own safety and the safety of
others, including parties for whom they have a professional responsibility.

To the fullest extent of the law, neither the Publisher nor the authors, contributors, or editors,
assume any liability for any injury and/or damage to persons or property as a matter of products
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instructions, or ideas contained in the material herein.

ISBN 13: 978-0-582-38185-8 (pbk)

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A CIP catalog record for this book can be obtained from the Library of Congress

Set in 10/12.Spt Palatino by 35

LONGMAN LINGUISTICS LIBRARY

General Editors:
G EOFFREY HORROCKS Linguistic Theory
University of Cambridge The Discourse of Fundamental Works
ROBERT DE BEAUGRANDE
DAVID DENISON

University of Manchester A History of American English

J.L. DILLARD

Introduction to Text Linguistics

Aspect in the English Verb
ROBERT DE BEAUGRANDE and
Process and Result in Language
WOLFGANG DRESSLER
YISHAI TOBIN

Psycholinguistics
Language, Mind and World The Meaning of Syntax
A Study in the Adjectives of English
Second edition
CONNOR FERRIS
DANNY D. STEINBERG

HIROSHI NAGATA and DAVID P. ALINE

Latin American Spanish

Principles of Pragmatics JOHN LIPSKI

G EOFFREY N. LEECH

A Linguistic History of Italian

The English Verb MARTIN MAIDEN
Second edition
F.R. PALMER
The History of Linguistics
All edited by GIULIO LEPSCHY
Pidgin and Creole Languages
SUZANNE ROMAINE
Volume Ill:
Renaissance and Early Modern
General Linguistics
Linguistics
An Introductory Survey
Fourth edition
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R.H. ROBINS
Nineteenth Century Linguistics
ANNA MORPURGO DAVIES
Generative and Non-linear Phonology
JACQUES DURAND
To come:

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Second edition The Twentieth Century
F.R. PALMER

Modern Arabic
Dialects of English Structures, Functions and Varieties
Studies in Grammatical Variation CLIVE HOL E S

PETER TRUDGILL and

J. K. c HAMBER s (eds) Frontiers of Phonology
Atoms, Structures and Derivations
An Introduction to Bilingualism JACQUES DURAND and
CHARLOTTE HOFFMANN FRANCIS KATAMBA (eds)
An Introduction to the Celtic The Acquisition of Syntax
Languages Studies in Comparative Developmental
PAUL RUSSELL Linguistics
MARC-ARIEL FRIEDEMANN and
Causatives and Causation LUIGI RIZZI (eds)
A Universal-typological perspective
JAE JUNG SONG Experimental Phonetics
KATRINA HAYWARD

A Short History of Linguistics

Fourth edition Explaining Language Change:
R.H. ROBINS An Evolutionary Approach
WILLIAM CROFT

Grammar and Grammarians in

the Early Middle Ages Linguistic Typology:
VIVIEN LAW Morphology and Syntax
JAE JUNG SONG

Greek
A History of the Language and its Problems and Perspectives:
Speakers Studies in the Modern French Language
GEOFFREY HORROCKS WENDY AYRES-BENNETT and JANICE

CARRUTHERS Wi t h ROSALIND TEMPLE

The New Comparative Syntax

LILIANE HAE GE MAN (ed.) Historical Sociolinguistics
Language Change in Tudor and
The Structure and History of Stuart England
Japanese TERTTU NEVALAINEN and
LONE TAKEUCHI HELENA RAUMOLIN-BRUNBERG

A History of English Negation

GABRIELLA MAZZON
Contents

List of Tables and Figures ix

List of Abbreviations and Conventions x
Preface xiii
Acknowledgements xv

Chapter 1 . General and Typological Issues 1

Chapter 2. Negation in Old English and Early Middle English 18

2.1. Negation in OE Syntax 1 8
2.2. Variation in Old English Negation 24
2.3. Some Specific Phenomena and Rules of OE Negation 36
2.4. Non-sentential Negation and Negative Affixation 45

Chapter 3. The Middle Ages and Early Modern English 52

3.1. Introduction 52
3.2. A Period of Major Syntactic Changes 53
3.3. Negation Phenomena in Medieval and Renaissance English 55
3.4. Negative Coordination 70
3.5. Constituent and Affixal Negation 74
3.6. Negation and the New Sentence Structure 75
3.7. Genres, Individual Texts and the 'Jungle of ME Manuscripts' 81

Chapter 4. P resent-Day English Negation 91

4.0. Interlude: Meta-discourse on English Negation at the Beginning
of the Modern English Period 91
4.1. The Analysis of Negation in English Linguistics 92
4.2. The Placement of Negation in the Modern English Sentence 93
4.3. Negation with Indefinites, Quantifiers and Comparatives 99
4.4. Negative Coordination 103
4.5. The Cliticization of Not: A Relatively Recent Phenomenon 104
4.6. Inversion in Some Negative Contexts 106
4.7. 'He needn't say but a single word': Various Types of
'Marked' Negation 107
4.8. Affixal Negation in Modern English 1 1 1
4.9. Further Discussion on the Pragmatics of Negation 1 12

VII
Contents

Chapter 5. Varieties of English 1 18

5.1. Negation Outside the Standard Variety of English 1 18
5.2. Negation in Pidgins and Creoles 129

Chapter 6. Further Theoretical Considerations and Conclusions 133

6.1. Regularities in the Development of Negation 133
6.2 . Negation and Language Universals 138
6.3. History of Negation and Models of Language Change 140

Appendix I: Sources for Text Analysis 148

Appendix II: Negative Forms 152

References 158
Index 1 73

VIII
List of Tables and Figures

Tables

2.1 Results on word-order and syntax 22

2.2 Results on number of negators and incidence of 'pure' types 25
2.3 Results on the incidence of Neg-Incorporation, its avoidance
(i.e. occurrences of ne adjacent to a form where it could
have been cliticized but where no such cliticization is
visible in the spelling), and its distribution over Verbs
vs. Quantifiers/ Adverbs 30
2.4 Avoided negation and its distribution by part of speech 37
2.5 Incidence of coordination on multiple negation 41
3.1 Results in percentages on number of negators per clause
(out of the total number of clauses within that group of
texts) and incidence of 'pure' types (out of the number of
clauses with that particular number of negators within
that group of texts) 56
3.2 Results on the incidence of Neg-Incorporation, its avoidance
and its distribution over Verbs vs. Quantifiers/ Adverbs 59
3.3 Avoided negation and its distribution by part of speech 63
3.4 Incidence of coordination on multiple negation 73
3.5 Results on word-order and syntax 77

F i g u re

1.1 A basic representation of some standard accounts of the

position of sentential negator in the underlying form in
Modern English and of its realization in the surface structure 8

IX
List of Abbreviations and Conventions

- Particularly relevant terms are given in bold print, either at their first
occurrence or when they are defined, explained or discussed.

- Cross-references are given with indication of relevant chapter (e.g. see

Chapter 1 ) or sections and subsections (e.g. see 6.1 .2.).

- In examples: - negative forms are in italics

- non-assertive forms or implied negatives are underlined
- contrastive elements and conjunctions are underlined
- words or syllables carrying heavy stress are in CAPITALS
- ungrammatical or unacceptable structures are preceded
by * (or ? if doubtful)
- variants or different versions of the same text or item are
marked with the same number followed by a, b, c . . .

- Most common abbreviations and conventions used in the text:

Neg- = Negative, as in Neg-First, Neg-Concord
NegP = negative phrase/particle
NEGl = Neg + V structures
NEG2 = Neg + V + Neg structures
NEG3 = V + Neg structures
NPl(s) = Negative Polarity ltem(s)
S, V, 0, X = Subject, Verb, Object, Complement
NP, VP = noun phrase, verb phrase
Aux = Auxiliary verb (i.e. be, have, do and modal verbs)
V2 = verb second, i.e. rule requiring the finite V in fixed second position
in the linear order
* = precedes ungrammaticat unacceptable or reconstructed, unattested

forms
> = indicates derivation, change of forms over time, or degrees in
implicational scales
[ ] = indicate phonetic forms or, in examples, interpretations and
paraphrases
< > = indicate graphic form

- Abbreviations indicating languages:

OE = Old English
ME = Middle English
EModE = Early Modern English

x
 List of Abbreviations and Conventions

PDE Present-Day English

=

Lat. = Latin
It. Italian
=

Fr. = French

XI
Page Intentionally Left Blank
Preface

This book is an attempt at outlining the complex and multi-faceted phe­

nomenon of English negation, in its diachronic evolution as well as in its
present forms and variations across the English-speaking world. The focus
of the book is, however, not only on the clarification of facts about English
negative structures, but also on methodological issues.
Although technicalities are kept to a minimum, and most of the special­
ized terminology is defined and explained, readers with a basic background
knowledge of linguistics will be at an advantage when tackling some parts
of the book.
This work will, it is hoped, be helpful to students and scholars in English
linguistics and historical linguistics working within different theoretical
frameworks, since it both provides factual data from text-analysis and re­
views research carried out under various perspectives.
Of course, such a basic linguistic phenomenon as negation can be tackled
from several theoretical angles; we will therefore draw from various sources
in the relevant literature, while trying to interpret the multiplicity of factors
that can best account for the historical development and the present con­
figuration of the phenomenon in question. Suggestions from such different
perspectives as first- and second-language acquisition theory, pidgin and
creole studies, discourse analysis, sociolinguistics and pragmatics will be
examined in turn, in the hope not only to clarify the facts pertaining to
English negation, but also to provide a contribution towards showing the
possible applications of different theoretical frameworks to the study of
linguistic phenomena, particularly as seen in their diachronic variation. A
thorough analysis of a wide sample of texts dating from the early stages of
the documented history of English will, in turn, support of disconfirm the
hypotheses about the diachrony of English negation found in the literature.
The book starts by 'setting the scene' of English negation, presenting its
patterns as compared to those of other Inda-European languages, and, more
specifically, Germanic languages. The first perspective adopted, therefore,
is typological. In Chapter 1 , phenomena such as the 'negative cycle' and
rules such as those of Neg-Concord, Neg-Attraction and Neg-Incorporation
are discussed, referring both to typological studies on negation carried out
on large samples of languages, and to the specific studies on features dis­
played by English at various stages in its history.
Chapter 2 deals with the earliest stages of the language, and it presents
data on the forms and structures involved in negation as they emerge from

XIII
Preface

the documents; the chapter traces the developments that negative forms
underwent in these first centuries of documented existence of the language,
touching on various more general problems of the syntax and semantics of
Old English and Early Middle English, and calling into question notions
from historical pragmatics. In this chapter it is shown that standard accounts
of the diachrony of English negation present several overgeneralizations and
oversimplifications, if not inaccuracies.
In Chapter 3, the diachronic analysis of data is continued much as in the
previous chapter. It will be shown that a substantial portion of the literature
on this topic does not take the data into sufficient account, especially as
regards the role that the early grammarians had in ousting multiple nega­
tion from the standard. Again, pragmatic factors will have to be included in
the account, along with structural factors.
Chapter 4 will examine some structural aspects of the system of negation
in Modern English and of its relationships with other language items such
as quantifiers, modal verbs, etc. The discussion will also involve specific
phenomena such as the cliticization of negation and negative coordination,
and will be semantically and pragmatically oriented, besides considering
purely syntactic aspects.
Chapter 5 reviews some aspects of negation in British dialects and non­
standard forms, other native varieties (e.g. African American Vernacular
English), non-native varieties and English-based pidgins and creoles; these
varieties present differences in the forms and the rules of negation, which
are highlighted and, as far as possible, explained in the light of factors
related to the historical origin of the varieties themselves.
Finally, Chapter 6 will take up again the general questions introduced in
the first chapter and will re-examine them in the light of the data presented
in the other chapters. The chapter will draw from a variety of theoretical
approaches (theories of language acquisition, of pidginization and creoliza­
tion, of grammaticalization), and will also make recourse to other factors
that may be relevant to the explanation of the data: discourse strategies,
text-type-dependent distinctions, pragmatic effects, etc. Besides seeking new
explanations for the facts related to English negation, this last chapter will
also stress the fact that drawing from different theoretical approaches may
be very fruitful for historical linguistics.

XIV
Acknowledgements

I have innumerable debts of gratitude to colleagues and friends; the first

and foremost is to David Denison, who believed in this project when it
was little more than a twinkle in my eye, and has been extremely helpful
and supportive (not to mention patient and good-humoured) ever since.
I would also like to thank Geoffrey Horrocks for his suggestions, while
taking responsibility for any shortcomings remaining in the book in spite of
the editors' comments.
I have ideal debts of gratitude to all the participants in a number of
conferences and seminars, who provided the stimulating and knowledge­
able company that is necessary to carry out any piece of research. And since
this project did not receive any financial support, I also have some very
concrete debts of gratitude to those colleagues who sent copies of articles
and other material I had trouble in tracing (besides providing interesting
ideas - thanks to Meg Laing, Carita Paradis, Ingrid Tieken-Boon van Ostade
and Masatomo Ukaji), and especially to two colleagues and friends who
offered hospitality to facilitate my library research (thanks to Rosanna
Sarnicola for sharing her college room in Cambridge, and to Laura Wright
for some nice and fruitful days at her house in London).
I am grateful to the universities I have worked for over these years
(Seconda Universita di Napoli, Universita di Palermo and Universita di
Napoli 'Federico II'), and especially to my colleagues for putting up with
the heaps of 'negative files' piling up on my desk and inside our (often
shared) computers.
My friends outside the profession also deserve heartfelt thanks for putting
up with me and my 'negativity' for so long, and for providing encourage­
ment or simply letting me talk about my work once or twice too often. I
would like to mention my 'adoptive family' in Santa Maria Capua Vetere
and the virtual community of the chatline 'Napoli on Dal.net'. Their warmth
and support is ultimately what made this book come true, keeping the
flame alive even at the darkest of times.

xv
Page Intentionally Left Blank
Chapter 1

General and Typological Issues

The history of English negation is made up of a succession of important

changes and a handful of basic continuities. The aim of this chapter is to
look at this history from a distance, so to speak, that is, from a wider per­
spective, before examining each aspect in detail in the following chapters.
This first exploration will also grant us the opportunity to compare and
contrast English negation with the systems of other languages, which will
enable us to assess the extent to which English stays with the mainstream of
other languages in its family and/ or its area in this particular respect, both
synchronically and diachronically. In this first, introductory chapter I will
briefly introduce the forms of English negation and their main syntactic
features; I will also look at some facts from a typological perspective, and
highlight some problems that standard accounts do not seem to explain
satisfactorily. Before turning to this, let us review some relevant theoretical
points.
Negation is a basic phenomenon of human language that is, however,
capable of taking a variety of different surface forms. Since negation is
a psychological, cognitive universal, linguists have been interested in the
acquisition and realization of the language forms that convey it, looking for
language universals or, at least, strong tendencies showing that the cog­
nitive similarity of negation phenomena all over the world can override
language-specific constraints. For a long time, there has been a tendency to
reduce linguistic negation to logical negation, i.e. the kind of negation which
is employed in philosophy and mathematics, and which has some proper­
ties, and is subject to some constraints, very different from those of nega­
tion in natural languages. In any case, the most widespread view was that
negation is 'derived' from affirmation, in the sense that a negative sentence
seems to presuppose an affirmative one, while an affirmative sentence does
not carry a negative presupposition. This means that a negative sentence is
often considered 'marked', but at the same time less informative than an
affirmative one, mainly because negatives seem to refer to already known
referents, rather than to introduce new topics or entities (Giv6n 1979: 102-3;
for a contrary opinion, see Taglicht 1985: 99-100; see also 4.3. below).
The notion of presupposition belongs to pragmatics, and the pragmatic
perspective undoubtedly seems to have a lot to say about negation, since

1
A History of English Negation

the latter is often used to convey an attitude on the part of the speaker. This
seems confirmed by evidence from the acquisition of negation (see 6.1 .); the
negative element often appears initially and has a single form that can have
various functions. For instance, an utterance like (1) can have an existential
value,

(1) No candy

or it can be a negative imperative or a simple expression of a personal

attitude on the part of a child (i.e. it can be paraphrased as 'there is no
candy', 'don't take away my candy', 'I don't want any candy', etc.).
The pragmatic value is reflected also in the fact that there is a frequent
tendency, in several languages, to multiply the number of 'negative words'
in a sentence to 'reinforce' its negativeness or to emphasize it; see example
(2) from It.

(2) Non devo niente a nessuno

literally: 'I not owe nothing to nobody'

Here the emphasis by means of multiple negation offers a sharp contrast

with the value of negation in logic, where given a proposition p, its con­
trary is -p, and --p p (non-non p p, or 'two negatives positive'). By
= = =

contrast with the behaviour of logical negation, several languages besides

Italian use multiple negation to make negation stronger, not weaker. This
is not the only aspect that the systems of negation have in common across
several languages: especially within a relatively compact area like Europe,
for instance, it is possible to notice that the rules of negation are some­
times shared, or that the differences are not so deep. Similarly, several
European languages show resemblances in the way their systems of nega­
tion have evolved over time, and seem to present analogous tendencies
as regards change within these systems. Some of these tendencies will be
mentioned below; let us turn now to some distinctions between various
types of negation.
A first distinction that has enjoyed some popularity is that between
sentence negation and constituent negation, sometimes also indicated as
nexal vs. special negation. This is a fundamental distinction in some ways,
because it indicates which portion of an utterance is negated, it indicates,
that is, what portion of the sentence is under the scope of the negation (i.e.
within its logical domain). The latter type of negation is often used with
contrastive value; this applies also to sentence negation, but in this case the
whole predication, and not just one phrase or one word, will be under the
scope of negation. This is an important conceptual distinction, but it has
consequences on the syntactic level, especially in a language like Modern
English, where sentence negation is almost always attached to an auxiliary
verb. Cf. the difference between (3a, 3b) vs. (3c, 3d), where negative forms
are capitalized when pronounced with contrastive stress:

2
 1 • General and Typological Issues

(3a) I didN' T go to Rome.

(3b) I didN1T go to Rome, but to Vienna.
(3c) I went to Vienna, NOT to Rome.
(3d) I went NOT to Rome, but to Vienna.

In these examples, the structural differences between the two types of nega­
tion is quite apparent, and they stand out even more when the negative
elements that signal the two types of negation are not formally identical,
as it was in Old English:

(4) Heo n e beon Godces.

'They are not Gods.'
(5) heo ne beon na preo Godces, ac is an Almihtig God . . . 1
'There are not three Gods, but one Almighty God . . . '

Quite often, contrastive negation can be a special realization of a particular

type of negation, i.e. the so-called metalinguistic negation. This is to be dis­
tinguished from ordinary negation because it refers not to the quality of a
proposition of being true/ false, but to the possibility of an utterance of being
acceptable in a context; it acts as a sort of contradiction or correction of the
form or content of an utterance, rather than a comment or opinion on a state
of affairs (Horn 1989: 363-402, 421-5). This kind of negation is normally
accompanied by special intonation patterns or other devices to signal that it
is a non-literal negation, and that the normal presuppositions that hold in
normal cases of negation are suspended here. Let us look at some examples
(6-9, again with capitals signalling heavy stress on the relevant words):

(6) I don't like him.

(7) (A: -You seem to like Jack a lot . . . )
B: -Jack? I don't LIKE him, I LOVE him!
(8) He didn't call the [p6lis], he called the [polls] (uttered by a teacher
of English).
(9) He hasn't got three children.

Example (8) illustrates that it is the form and not the meaning of a previous
utterance that is 'corrected' by this kind of negation, while (6-7) show the
reversal of presupposition: 'normal' negation tends to be interpreted as 'less
than', while metalinguistic negation can imply 'more than': for example,
(9) does literally mean that the number of children is not exactly three (it
may be two, or four), but is normally interpreted as 'less than three'. In
metalinguistic negation, this kind of presupposition is contradicted, and the
point on any scalar value that is intended may well be higher than what
is literally indicated, rather than lower.
It is interesting to notice that metalinguistic negation seems to possess
a number of special properties, among them the constraint whereby the
elements juxtaposed have to belong to the same semantic range; keeping in

3
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one could believe, moreover, that the good Ranee, though misguided
by evil counsellors, could actually permit the slaughter of her English
friends. After a little discussion it was decided that three officers,
each of whom was well known to her, should go out as envoys, and
treat with her for the surrender of the Fort. They went out gaily, but
they never returned. 'What have I to do with English swine?' said the
Ranee, when they were brought before her. The haughty words were
their sentence. At her palace gates they were cut down; and the
story of their fate was shouted derisively under the windows of the
Fort.
Another council was held. The provisions, it was found, would, with
economy, last another three days. It was hoped that, in the
meantime, their desperate situation might be heard of, and a relief
attempted. For another dreadful day and night they held out.
The morning of the third day dawned. The watchers were half dead
with fatigue and anxiety; the children were crying out piteously for
water; the women were faint, weary, and disheartened. When the
sun rose the rebels made an attack in force; but they were driven
back, and there were two or three hours of rest.
Then the Ranee sent the besieged a message. All she wanted was
the Fort. Let those within surrender it, and they would be allowed to
go in peace whither they desired.
Upon this another council was held. The boldest were for holding
out. There was, indeed, little or no hope of successful resistance;
but, if they must die, it would be better to die at their posts,
fighting, like brave men, than to fall into the hands of their cruel and
treacherous enemies. Had they been all men and combatants, this is
the course they would have taken. Unhappily the larger number of
the fifty and odd souls who were clustered together in the Fort were
women and little children and men of peace. To them, as others
urged, this offer of the Ranee gave the one and only loophole of
escape that they could hope for, and so, with heavy hearts and
ominous forebodings of evil, the brave men, who had counselled
resistance, laid down their arms, the gates of the Fort were thrown
open, and the Ranee's bodyguard marched in.
On the afternoon which witnessed the surrender of the English into
the hands of the Ranee, two horsemen crossed the boundaries of
the state, and stopped at a small village where one of them had
friends. These advised them strongly to go no further, alleging that
something extraordinary had been happening in the city. The two
men refreshed themselves and their horses, and galloped on to a
grove, which lay off the road, at a little distance from the village.
Here, their horses being completely spent, they dismounted and let
them rest. As they stood, with their hands on their bridle-reins,
ready to mount and gallop at the least alarm, there came to their
ears a rumbling noise as of distant thunder, and one of them—the
master—said, 'We are too late. It has begun.'
'We are too late, Excellency. There is nothing for us to do now but to
return whence we came,' answered the man.
'Go back you, Subdul! I must enter Jhansi, and see with my own
eyes what is going on.'
'My master is not wise. He will not be able to help, and he will risk
his own life, which is dear to his people.'
'Listen, Subdul!' said the young rajah, impressively. 'I have a friend
in that city—a little child. She loves me and believes in me. All night
long, while we were riding and resting, she has been beside me. I
tell you it is no dream; it is a reality. She is calling me, and I must
go. I must save my poor little Aglaia, or perish in the attempt. But
you have no such call; and why should two of us risk our lives? Stay
here, where you are known, or go back to Gumilcund.'
'Does his Excellency think that I would desert him?' said Subdul
Khan, sorrowfully. 'He has seen what I can do. Let him give himself
into my hands, and I will take him safely into Jhansi.'
'Make your own arrangements, Subdul; but remember that life or
death may hang on the next few moments.'
'I will use every diligence,' said Subdul, and he mounted his horse
and rode off, leaving Tom alone in the wood.
For more than an hour he waited patiently, and then, just as dusk
was beginning to fall, Subdul came back. He had changed his dress
and the accoutrements of his horse, so that at first his master failed
to recognise him; but, just as he was grasping his weapon to defend
himself, he heard his servant's voice.
'Does not my master know me?'
'Scarcely. What have you done to yourself?'
'I am in the dress of the Ranee's body-guard, Excellency. I met one
of them. He was drunk with bhang, and red with the slaughter of
your Excellency's countrymen. I drew him into a solitary place, slew
him, and took his garments.'
Tom gave an involuntary shudder, for he was new to this kind of
thing; but he made no remark. Mounting his horse, he followed
Subdul out of the wood. They avoided the high road, and, the
dimness of the light favouring them, crept along under the shadow
of trees and walls until they reached the outskirts of the city. The
open maidan lay now between them and the Star Fort.
'Stop,' whispered Subdul, as his master was about to gallop across
it. 'Let his Excellency stay here for a few minutes! I will go forward
and see what has happened, and come back to him. In this dress I
can mix amongst them, and they will suppose me one of
themselves.'
'Go,' said Tom; 'but come back quickly, or I shall not be able to bear
it.'
They were close to a mass of ruined masonry, which rose between
them and the town. Sheltering himself behind it, Tom looked and
listened. From the city came a tumult of fierce cries and trampling
feet; here and there clouds of smoke darkened the sky, and tongues
of lurid flame darting from their midst would, for a few moments,
light up the scene of ruin.
Tom's heart sank, and his breath came and went pantingly. He knew
that Subdul was right, that for him to rush into the pandemonium
before him would be ruin to himself and useless for others, and yet
it was only with the greatest difficulty that he could preserve his
patience.
Subdul, meantime, was pricking across the maidan. In the place
where the cantonments had been, but which was now a shapeless
mass of ruins, he met a body of sepoys. They had lanterns in their
hands, and they were looking about for the gold and jewels which
the Feringhees had left behind them. He pulled up, told them he had
lost his way in the darkness, and asked where his comrades—the
Ranee's bodyguard—were. 'Guarding the Feringhees' treasure,' said
one of the men. 'The Ranee has taken it, but we mean to have our
share.'
'Tell her so,' cried another, with a rude jest.
'What is that to me?' said Subdul. 'I obey orders. The Feringhees are
slain?'
'Every man, woman, and child,' answered the soldier, savagely.
'How was it?' said Subdul. 'I have come in from the country, where I
have been visiting my father, and I know nothing.'
The party of sepoys, most of whom were intoxicated, for they had
ransacked the officers' wine-stores, broke into a loud laugh.
'By Allah!' cried one, 'I never thought to see such a sight. The
infidels were in the Fort, pouring out blasphemies, and shooting
down the sons of the Prophet like sheep. The evil one helped them,
for they were few in number. It was hot work, brother: and who
cares to die in the moment of victory? Our mother, the Ranee, who
is a true daughter of the Prophet, saw how it was with us, and
promised them their lives if they would give her up the Fort. They
believed her word, and came out. Then we bound them and carried
them to the yokan Bagh, where we fell upon them with the sword.
There were fifty in all; men, women, and children. The women cried
for mercy, and some of us delayed to smite, that we might hear
them. But the orders were to be swift, so we finished them; and
there they lie, unburied, for the vultures and jackals to feed upon.
So may all enemies of the Prophet perish!'
He was answered by a shout that rang through the ruins. Subdul's
fingers were playing with his sword; but he restrained himself, and
said mildly, 'My brother is a man of war, and his deeds will win for
him a place in Paradise! Will he tell me where this garden is? I have
an enemy amongst the slain Feringhees, and I would fain see him
with my own eyes.'
The sepoy, to whom this was a most natural request, pointed with
his finger to the opposite side of the maidan. 'There is a ruined
mosque close by,' he said. 'The fathers of the devils we have slain
desecrated it, and it has never been rebuilt since.'
'I know the place,' answered Subdul. Sweeping round, he left them
to their devices, and, after a few minutes of rapid riding, rejoined his
master.
'What news?' said Tom.
'The worst!' answered Subdul; and he repeated what he had heard,
adding that the garden where the dreadful deed had been done was
close by the spot where they were standing.
For a few moments Tom was paralysed. This was worse—far worse
—than he had dreamed.
'Women and children!' he groaned.
'Every one of them, Excellency.'
'The brutes! The devils! Subdul, if we had only a score of our
Gumilcund men at our back——'
'We could do nothing, Excellency. There are hundreds in the city.'
'Cowards! every mother's son of them. I should have come with an
army; but it is too late now. Let us look for the child.'
'Have I not told your Excellency that all were slain?'
'Aglaia is not dead! I am certain of it. Are you afraid to come into the
garden where they lie, Subdul?'
'I will lead the way!' answered the man.
It was within a stone's-throw of the ruined mosque where they had
been hiding—an enclosed space surrounded with walls, and set out
with grim old trees, plots of yellow marigold, and shrubberies where
roses, Cape jessamine, the champa, and the asoka grew. Once it
had been a haunt and favourite pleasure-ground of the Ranee, who,
in the days of her power, had built a pavilion in its centre. Now it
was seldom used.
The two men found the gates open and the place deserted. Not a
single soldier was left on guard. The murderers had done their foul
work, and had gone away to their triumph and plunder, leaving the
speechless witnesses of their treachery behind them. As, putting his
horse to a foot-pace, Tom groped his way through the darkness, his
heart contracted and his limbs trembled under him. Rather a
thousand times would he have met a hundred foes in fair fight than
this. Eagerly, meanwhile, he looked and listened, hoping against
hope, that some might have escaped. Nothing was to be seen but
the heavy foliage of the trees that blotted out the moonlight.
Nothing was to be heard but the night-breeze as it played with their
branches.
Suddenly a shriek, penetrating and prolonged, broke upon the
silence. Another and another followed. They came up from the
distance, and swept towards the riders, nearer and nearer, until,
with a rush like a blast of wind in a narrow place, they passed them
by. Sick with horror, Tom pulled up. Subdul struck a match, set fire
to a torch of brushwood which he had been making as they went
along, and swung it round his head, upon which there was another
wild flight, and another prolonged shriek, which went on for a few
moments and then died away in the distance.
'The wild creatures have scented the deed of blood,' said Subdul.
'These are jackals! And see, my master, see!'
As he spoke they came into an open space and Subdul waved his
torch again. On the instant there was an awful, indescribable tumult,
and in the next the heavens were darkened by the wings of gigantic
birds. For a few moments they hovered overhead, casting their
dread shadows on the moonlit earth, and then sailed slowly away to
the grove which the riders had left.
'Does my master wish to see more?' said Subdul. 'They are there.'
He pointed to a group of trees near the centre of the garden, under
which they could faintly distinguish a mass of something dark.
'Subdul! Subdul!' cried the young fellow, piteously. 'I cannot bear it.'
'There is no need. I told my master that he could do nothing. Let us
consider our own safety and go back,' said Subdul.
'But if any of them should be alive.'
'It is impossible. The fiends have done their work too well.'
'I must look for the child, Subdul. If she is there—but she cannot be;
she cannot.'
'Listen,' said Subdul. 'What is that?'
They stopped. A low piping, sweet and clear, like the voice of an
English song-bird in the fresh dawn of the summer morning, fell
upon their ears. It came from a rose thicket, which lay to the right of
the path. In a second Tom was on his feet and had thrown his reins
to Subdul Khan. He stood for a moment listening, moving softly in
the direction whence the sounds had come, and then stood again.
He could now hear a little flutter, as of frightened breathing, and
could dimly discern a white figure moving amongst the bushes.
With a beating heart he went nearer. A fugitive, probably a native
servant, who would be able to tell him what he desired to know. He
was almost afraid of moving, lest he should startle her, and was
pondering how he could make known that he was a friend, when the
piping bird-like voice, which he had first heard, began again:
 There is a happy land, Far, far away,
Where saints in glory stand, Bright, bright as day.
Sweetly the baby-voice lisped the sweet words. He could scarcely
restrain himself. He made an involuntary movement, and the voice
of the woman, faint with terror, came towards him: 'Hushee!
Hushee! Missy Sahib. Some one is near.'
'God is near,' piped the sweet little voice. 'I saw His wings. They
were so big, so big! I want Him to carry us away. I am so tired, and
I don't like hiding all this time. Do you think He will?'
'Missy! Missy!' cried the poor creature. 'Get up; come away. They
have seen us.'
'Tom said he'd come,' murmured the child.
The poor woman seized the child in her arms, but before she could
run, a hand was laid on her garments, and a voice, which, paralysed
as she was with terror, she recognised as the voice of a friend, called
her by her name.
In the next moment, Aglaia had leapt from her arms, and was lying
in the close embrace of her friend. He could not speak. Man as he
was, his eyes were full of tears and his voice was choked with sobs.
Holding the child to his breast, he guided the frightened ayah gently
over the broken ground. Then, as he recovered, he began to
murmur broken words of thanksgiving and endearment. 'My little
darling! My treasure! You are safe! They may tear me limb from
limb, but they shall not hurt you. Oh! thank God, thank God! that I
have found you.'
As for the child, she said not a word. She clung to his neck. And so,
coming back softly they found Subdul and the horses, and set off
together—the child in Tom's arms, and the ayah riding behind
Subdul—for the village where they had friends.
They went slowly, keeping close under the shelter of trees and
houses. No one molested them. Fortunately for themselves they
were in the outskirts of the city and cantonments, and throughout
that dreadful night the revolted sepoys and the Ranee's body-guard
were too busy setting fire to the Europeans' dwellings, and raking
the ashes for treasure, to pay any heed to stragglers. In a short time
they were out in the open country, and now they rode on more
securely.
Aglaia was fast asleep in Tom's arms. The ayah had regained her
powers of speech, and she poured out her history of all that had
happened. The sahibs had gone into the Fort. She would not take
the child in, for she knew what the soldiers were and she did not
trust them. She flew by a secret way to the garden, and there they
hid, she feeding the child on what she could find.
Did little Missy ask for her mother? Oh! yes, again and again; but
she (ayah) told the child that the Feringhees' God had taken her
away to stay in Paradise with Him, and she was satisfied. They were
in the garden when the English were brought in, all of them bound
with cords. It had been a long and sultry day, and the little one was
asleep. Sumbaten heard, she dared not look. There were cries, but
they were soon over, and then the soldiers went away, and
everything was still. 'Missy was dreaming of you, Sahib,' she said to
Tom, 'to-day and the day before. She began to sing when she
awoke, and she said you were coming. Did your God tell her?'
He did not answer, but he pressed the child closer to his heart.
Of their further journey there is no space here to tell in any detail,
nor do I know much concerning its incidents. In my friend's diary it
is only briefly mentioned, and he suffers from a curious confusion of
ideas whenever he thinks of it. It was due, doubtless, in a great
measure to the admirable arrangements which Tom and his servants
had made beforehand that they were able to carry it through
successfully, for in every village on the route there were those who
knew the Rajah of Gumilcund, and were ready to serve him. Once
he was obliged to fall back on the pass given to him by Dost Ali
Khan, who, as he presently found, was becoming a power in the
land. What he most dreaded was an encounter with the White
Ranee, but, being careful to travel by night and along the
unfrequented routes, all of which were well-known to Subdul, he
succeeded in avoiding her. He heard, however, that she continued to
haunt the district, and that her armed train was constantly recruited
by the soldiers whom Dost Ali Khan seduced.
After that first night, Aglaia and the ayah travelled in a litter, as
ladies of high rank. The child's skin was stained, so that she might
pass for an Indian, and Subdul, whose resources were boundless,
managed to get a suitable dress for the ayah. As a general rule they
camped out in the open, when Aglaia would amuse them with her
quaint ways and sayings. Some days she would be as happy as if
nothing had happened. At other times she cried piteously for her
mother and father, and it was only when the ayah, who had a vivid
imagination, assured her that she had seen God carrying them away
to heaven that she would be pacified. 'Why didn't He take me too?'
she would sometimes ask, a question which none of them found it
easy to answer.
Happily for herself she had not, like other little ones, seen the horror
that would ever after haunt them like a nightmare; and, day by day,
as new scenes passed before her eyes, and fresh experiences
greeted her, the memory of her nurse's frenzied flight, and of the
two days in the garden, grew fainter. She still thought of her
parents, but it was reproachfully, rather than sadly. They might have
taken her with them when they went up to God. But this, after all,
was ayah's fault, rather than theirs. Ayah had taken her away and
hidden her. Tom said she had hidden her for him, which to Aglaia,
who was now as deeply devoted to him as she had been on board
the 'Patagonia,' was a sufficient explanation.
So, after several days and nights of travelling, they reached the
borders of Gumilcund.
What an entry it was! Stranger even and more memorable than the
young rajah's first arrival in the city that he was called upon to
govern.
Runners had been sent out in every direction to seek for him, and
when, late in the afternoon of a sultry June day, one of these came
back with the joyful news that their rajah, bringing fugitives with
him, was actually within the boundaries of the state, the enthusiasm
of the people could no longer be suppressed. They poured out in
their hundreds, armed men accompanying them, while in front of
them rode Chunder Singh, the minister, and Vishnugupta, the priest,
and when they saw the little group—the litter and its bearers, and
the two horsemen riding beside it—joyous acclamations and shouts
of welcome, and ejaculations of praise and thanksgiving, rent the air.

CHAPTER XXVI

CAPTAIN BERTIE'S FAQUIR

In Meerut those days had been days of trouble. On the 24th of May,
the day following General Elton's arrival in the city, a strong
detachment had marched out to join the troops that were fighting
their way to Delhi. Many of the residents were of opinion that this
decrease in their defensive force would seriously affect their safety;
and night after night there were panics. But nothing happened. The
rebels, who were daily and hourly being recruited by fresh
regiments, had higher game to fly at, and it would not have suited
their purpose to sit down before a strong and well-provisioned place
like Meerut and wait for its surrender. This the principal men of the
station began to realise at last, so that there was a greater sense of
security.
In the tent where the Eltons lived there was deep distress and
sorrow, for the General was dangerously ill. Fatigue, exposure, and
mental anguish, aggravated by the pain of his wound, which proved
more serious than they had at first imagined, had done their work.
So long as the strain was upon him he kept up. When it was relaxed
he fell. But for the perfection of his health and the iron strength of
his will, he must have died that night. For himself, it may have been
fortunate that his senses soon deserted him; but piteous it was to
the poor women who loved and honoured him to hear the wild
ravings of those awful days and nights. It was all about his soldiers.
They were his children, his little ones. He believed in them, as he
believed in himself. Springing up in bed, he would call the
bystanders to witness how brave and true they were. He would
challenge an imaginary adversary to question their faithfulness,
asserting his own intimate knowledge of their character. Again and
again he would recite the brilliant deeds of arms to which he had led
them, and relate how they had delivered him from a cruel death. His
gentle wife, waiting patiently by his bedside, wept bitterly as she
listened. With all her dread of the future, and passionate sorrow and
pity, she feared his returning to himself. If he was to be taken away,
would it not be better for his sake that he should go now, before his
heart was pierced by the dread knowledge of the truth? And as day
after day went by, bringing little or no change in his condition, they
began to fear that so it would be.
There was another anxiety pressing upon them. Through all these
days no word had been heard of Grace. Whether the troops at
Nowgong had been faithful, or whether they had risen, no one at
Meerut knew. To poor Lady Elton, watching by her husband, and
looking at the pale faces of her girls, as they came and went
sorrowfully, doing what they could to help her, it would seem
sometimes as if Grace was the dearest of all.
She was her first-born. It was her little plaintive voice, and the touch
of her baby-hands, that had awakened in her heart the rapturous
joys of motherhood. From beautiful girlhood she had blossomed
under her eyes into a womanhood that was no less lovely. Always
gentle, always good—too good, the mother said to herself now, with
a contraction of heart that almost made her swoon. And it was not
only the dread of losing her. If she had lain where her father lay, if
they had known that in a short time she would breathe her sweet
life away, bitter as the pang would have been, she might have borne
it. It was this horror worse than death—this uncertainty—that slew
her. It numbed her senses, till she wondered at her own
indifference. It shattered her faith, so that, forgetting the others—
the young creatures who depended upon her—she cried out
piteously to a cruel God to slay her, and then wept and bemoaned
herself over her own wickedness and hardness of heart.
Sometimes those about her saw a wild look in her eyes, as if she
would do some desperate deed. Yaseen Khan, the faithful bearer,
who could read her face as if it were an open book, saw it, and, late
one night, when he and she were alone watching, he crept to Trixy's
bedside and awoke her. 'Mem Sahib is ill,' he said, brokenly. 'Let
Missy Sahib come and see.'
In a moment Trixy was on her feet. They all slept in those days so as
to be ready for any alarm. 'What is it, Yaseen?' she said.
He led the way to the General's bedside, and Trixy saw her mother,
whom she had left sitting beside him quietly in dressing-gown and
slippers, putting on her boots and throwing a shawl about her
shoulders. She looked up when the girl approached her. 'I am glad
you have come, dear,' she said very quietly. 'Father is asleep; I think
he will do now, so I am going to look for Grace. You will help Yaseen
to take care of him while I am away.'
'But, darling,' said Trixy, flinging her strong young arms about her
mother, and making her sit down, 'you can't now. It is the middle of
the night.'
'That is why,' whispered poor Lady Elton; 'don't you see, you little
goose, that they won't let me go in the daytime? Now, like a good
child, loose me. There will be plenty of time for kisses when Grace
comes back.'
'Mother darling, you are dreaming. Will you leave us all, father and
the rest of us? And you couldn't find her alone. Mother, listen to me.
God help us!' cried the poor child, 'she doesn't understand. Yaseen,
help me! She will die if she goes out.'
'She will die! she will die!' echoed the poor fellow. 'Missy Sahib, it is
of no use.'
'It is of use, and she shall not die. Yaseen, you are an idiot,' cried
Trixy. 'Call Maud Sahib, and run as fast as you can for the doctor.'
The interruption, meanwhile, had confused the unhappy mother, and
she was looking before her in bewilderment.
'He left the ninety-and-nine in the wilderness,' she murmured, 'and
went after the one that was lost. Why did it come into my head? I
can't remember. And lost! Who is lost? Not Grace, you silly child! She
has been sitting beside me all night. I thought she was being hurt,
but it was all imagination. No one could hurt Grace.'
'No, no one;' echoed Trixy, whose eyes were full of tears.
'There; I was sure of it. But your father has been going on so
strangely.'
'Father is asleep,' said Trixy. 'He will see things more clearly when he
awakes. You ought to sleep, too, mother, and then you will be ready
to talk to him.'
'Sleep; yes, I should like to sleep, but I can't. There is something
strange in my head and it keeps me awake. What is that? What is
that?'
'Only the doctor,' said Trixy, springing to the curtain before the door
of the tent. 'And—and—Bertie.'
Maud had joined them in the meantime.
She had more power over her mother than Trixy, and between her
and the doctor Lady Elton was persuaded to take a composing
draught and to lie down. Trixy in the meantime drew her friend
Bertie aside. 'Something must be done,' she said, 'or my poor
mother will go mad. Can't you help us?'
'God knows,' he answered earnestly, 'that I would if I could. I asked
to be allowed to take out cavalry and scour the country. I feel certain
that I should have brought back news at least. But I am forbidden.
Lives, they say, are too precious to be wasted in profitless
enterprises. If I had no command I would go out alone.'
'That would be much too dangerous,' said Trixy, shuddering. 'We
must think of something else. How would it do for one of us to go
out disguised?'
'One of you!' said Bertie with a sad smile.
'Well, me, if you will have it. I could dress up as a native woman,
and I know their way of talking. Listen while I mimic ayah.'
'But, my dear girl, don't you know that the poor native servants are
as much hated as ourselves? Numbers of them have been killed
already. Besides, what would you do?'
'I might at least find out where Grace is, and then, perhaps, you
would take out soldiers to rescue her.'
'An impossible plan,' said the young fellow. 'But——'
'Well, Bertie, go on for heaven's sake! Have you thought of
anything?'
'I have made no plan, if that is what you mean. I was only thinking
—have you heard, by the bye, where the young fellow is who visited
you here two months ago? You called him Tom.'
'Curiously enough I was just thinking of him,' said Trixy. 'He has
large estates somewhere in Central India, left him by a cousin or
some one of that sort, who was an Indian rajah. Maud and I felt
sure that he would become an Indian too. He was very much
changed when we saw him. In England long ago he used to be fond
of Grace. What made you think of him now?'
'I have just had rather a curious piece of news. I meant to find out
all I could about it, and tell you later. They say that a new sort of
character has sprung up in these parts—an English rajah. The story
is so romantic that I can scarcely believe it. The state he has come
over to govern is an ideal place, a kind of little Paradise, so at least
they tell me, where for the last two or three generations the most
admirable laws have been in force. The late rajah seems to have
been half a philosopher and half a saint. He bequeathed his rule to a
young man brought up in England, recommending him to his people
by a curious fiction. He said, it appears, that in the person of this
young man, who seems to be strikingly like him, he would himself
return to the earth. If it was a stroke of policy, it was clever and
bold, for his people believed him. The story goes that they received
their new rajah with acclamations.'
'It is Tom! I am sure it is Tom,' interrupted Trixy, breathlessly. 'I
heard the beginning of the story at Surbiton. Father knows it all; and
they said then that he had seen visions. Oh, how strange! how
strange everything is! Can't we send to him?'
'Wait a moment,' said Bertie. 'I have more to tell you. The young
rajah, who, of course, is on our side in this struggle, has spies
everywhere, and he has managed to send one of them into Meerut.
I saw the man just now. He looks like a faquir. They took him at the
outposts an hour or so ago, and he has been with the General ever
since. I heard from Hitchin, who was in the General's quarters, that
he was from Gumilcund. I thought of waylaying him presently, and
trying to send a message to his master.'
'You think of everything! What should we do without you?' said Trixy,
her eyes glistening.
She lifted the curtain of the tent and looked out.
'I should like to go too,' she said. 'It would be so delightful to bring
good news to dearest mother. But I suppose——'
'No, no; it would never do. You must wait patiently a few minutes. I
will come back as soon as ever I can,' said Bertie.

In the silence of the tent, with only sleepers about her, Trixy waited.
She would tell no one of the great hope that had sprung up in her
heart, for fear it might be delusive; but she did not think it would be,
and rosy visions floated before her as she sat watching. The
darkness waned, and the light came pouring in, and, remembering
suddenly her dishevelled condition, she ran back to her own
compartment of the tent, and made herself trim and neat. Then she
looked in upon her father and mother, who were, both of them,
asleep. The doctor had been with them since Yaseen Khan brought
him back. He smiled at the bright little maiden, and told her that if
she would have a cup of coffee made for him he would remain with
her parents until they awoke.
'They are both better,' he said; 'but I rather dread their coming to
themselves.'
'Oh!' said Trixy, with a radiant smile. 'I think I shall have good news
for them.'
By this time the three other girls were stirring, and Trixy, who wished
to be the first to hear the good news, went out into the compound.
It was scarcely day, for the sun had not leapt above the hard rim of
the horizon; but there was a bright diffused light in the sky, and the
night-breeze was sinking to rest. This was the hour when, in the
dear old days of peace and freedom, they used to return from their
morning ride, she and Bertie, as often as not, riding together, and
Maud and Lucy, each with her own attendant, laughing and talking
in front of them. They never talked seriously. That was not their way.
Grace was the only serious one of the family. Banter, and chaff, and
jokes, whose very feebleness made them laugh, formed the staple of
their talk. Then would come the gay little breakfast in their lovely
verandah, crimson and purple and azure-blue flowers peeping in at
them between the pillars, and the foliage of their glorious fig-tree
making a screen against the sun. As in a dream Trixy saw it all—her
gentle mother and Mildred, who was too timid to ride, waiting for
them, and the guests who would drop in—the gallant young colonel
of General Elton's favourite regiment, who had paid with his life for
his reckless confidence in his men, and the judge of the High Court,
with his delightful inimitable stories of Hindu and Eurasian pleaders:
he had gone too, dying at his post like a gallant gentleman: and his
daughter, pretty Ellice Meredith, whom they all loved, although she
could not do much more than quote 'papa'; Ellice, who had died of
fright and anguish when she heard the awful news—these and many
others, some with them, and some taken away; but all changed. 'I
wonder,' said poor little Trixy to herself, 'if we shall ever, ever have
the heart to laugh again.'
She did not feel much like laughing then; but, in the next moment,
to her own great surprise, she found herself laughing heartily. The
figure which provoked this explosion—it was that of a tall man
wrapped in a white garment, having his forehead streaked with red
and white clay, and carrying a staff in his hand—joined in her laugh,
and then said, with some touch of disappointment, 'I didn't think you
would know me at once.'
'Didn't you, Bertie?' cried the girl. 'Well, I'm sorry I disappointed you;
but I'm ridiculously keen-sighted everyone says, and then I know
you so well. Try some one else.'
'I have tried the General. He was quite at sea; thought I had come
in with some wicked intention.'
'But what is it for?' asked Trixy.
'I am going out with the faquir.'
'Oh!' she gasped. 'Why?'
'Didn't we agree that some one ought to go?' he said.
'Yes; but——' She paused to check down her tears.
Bertie was looking at her strangely. He would think her a coward, a
goose. And so she was, but she could not help herself.
'Go away!' she said, in a stifled voice.
'Go away, Trixy!'
'No; don't. I—I am a fool. Tell me——'
And here, to her own consternation and wrath, she broke down
completely, and began to sob and cry like a child.
Bertie went closer to her. His heart, too, was curiously soft. To see
this wild, glorious, high-spirited little creature, whose courage and
audacity he had so often admired, sobbing with childish
abandonment, was almost more than he could bear. 'You are
generally so brave,' he said, in a choked voice. 'Why——'
'Oh; don't ask me!' she sobbed. 'Everything has been so strange;
and I was thinking of the old days. What fun we used to have. And—
and—Bertie, you will take care of yourself?'
'Darling, I will try.'
The endearing word had sprung from him unwittingly; but, having
escaped, it could not stand alone. He paused for a few moments to
collect himself, and then went on gravely, 'You will say that this is no
time to speak of ourselves. I think so too; and yet, for one moment,
just for one moment—Trixy, give me that little hand; let me hold it
while I tell you what you are to me, you bright, beautiful, brave little
creature!'
'Hush, Bertie! hush!' she interrupted brokenly. 'You mustn't; you
don't know me in the least. It is you who—but I shall make you
conceited if I say any more. And,' with a rainbow-like smile, 'we
always tabooed tu-quoques in our nursery. Come back safely, and
we shall see.'
'See what, Trixy?'
'That is for you to say, not me,' she said, dropping a little curtsey.
'But I am better now; and so, I hope, are you. Tell me about Tom.
Does the faquir come from him?'
'I think so. The man brought a letter for your father or mother. It is
only a scrap of paper. He carried it in a quill, which he says he could
have swallowed if he had been searched. Will you take it in?'
'They were both asleep when I came out,' said Trixy, 'so I think I
may venture to read it.'
She opened the little roll, read the words it contained, and gave a
joyful exclamation. They were as follows:—

'I have just come back from Jhansi, with fugitives. Nowgong has
risen, but there has been no violence; and my men are on the
track of your daughter Grace. I hope she will be brought in to-
morrow.
'Thomas Gregory,
'Rajah of Gumilcund.'

'There was another letter for our General,' said Bertie, when Trixy
had read these words to him. 'It contained an urgent request that
some trustworthy and intelligent person should be sent to him. He
suggested this disguise, and I got myself up in it with the help of the
faquir.'
'When will you start?' said Trixy, who was trying to speak firmly.
'The faquir thinks we had better wait until dusk. After we are outside
it will be all right, for our supposed sacred character will ensure us
respect. But no one must see us leaving the station.'
'Then come in and breakfast with us, and we shall see if the others
recognise you.'

The experiment was perfectly successful; for when, preceding Trixy,

the strange figure of the priest appeared suddenly in the
compartment of the tent where the girls were at breakfast, they flew
away with stifled cries, and Trixy had some little difficulty in
persuading them that he was a friend in disguise.
When they were all certain of one another it was decided that
neither of their invalids should hear of the dangerous experiment
until it was over.
To Trixy fell the joyful task of taking in the precious letter to her
parents. She found them better. Lady Elton had forgotten her painful
dream of the night before, and the General was returning slowly to
consciousness. In the midst of the deep depression that weighed
him down, as the reality of what had for so many days seemed like a
vision forced itself upon his heart, this news of Grace came like a
single ray of sunshine.
'If I bring you all safe out of it,' he said to his wife, 'I shall perhaps
be able to forgive myself.'
Through the melancholy days which followed Bertie's departure, this
was the burden of his cry—could he forgive himself? His wife and
the girls reasoned with him. He had not, they said, been more
deceived than others. That these Indians were inscrutable beings
the curious inconsistency of their actions showed. One and another
came in from outside to sit with him, and they spoke in a similar
strain; but his answer was always the same: 'If I didn't know, I
should have known. I am not fit for my post. I will lay it down.' Still
more pitiful were his outbursts of wrath against himself for what he
called his light-hearted folly, in taking his wife and five daughters
from their quiet home, and exposing them to the danger and horror
of this terrible time. 'I am a fool, an idiot,' he said to one of his
friends one day. 'Think of it! Those six innocent creatures—so
innocent and helpless, that they don't know the full horror of their
situation—suffering for me, because I was a blind, credulous fool.
God in heaven! It is almost more than a man can bear!'
This from the stern, self-contained man who, only a few weeks
before, had ridden boldly through a hostile country, commanding the
respect of the fiercest enemies of his race, by his magnificent
audacity, was infinitely pitiful.
And meanwhile Trixy's brave little heart fell, for there came no news
from Bertie. During the latter days of June they heard little news of
any kind at Meerut. The surrounding country had fallen back into the
state of anarchy from which the strong hand of the British
Government had redeemed it. In all the towns where there had been
risings, the gates of the gaols had been thrown open, and convicts,
released from their fetters, joined themselves to men of their caste—
robber tribes, who had of late years been compelled to earn their
bread by honest toil, but who had never lost their longing for the
dear old days of rapine. These roamed through the country,
committing deeds of violence everywhere. Turbulent spirits—
dispossessed landowners in many cases and adopted sons of dead
rajahs—went, with their followers, from village to village, raising
forced contributions for the Holy War. With them came men of
professed sanctity, Indian faquirs and Mohammedan moulvies, who
carried firmans from the emperor, enthroned, as they asserted, in
Delhi, and distributed, in his name, high-sounding titles and robes of
honour. There were, indeed, moments of uneasiness amongst them.
The battle of Ghazee-ood-deen-Nugger, between Delhi and Meerut,
on the 31st of May, and the still more notable victory at Budlee-Ka-
Serai, only five miles from the Imperial city, showed them that the
race they were defying had life in it still. But what they lacked in
audacity they gained in numbers. The English victories, moreover,
decisive as they were for the moment, had little permanent effect.
The army was like a swimmer in a stormy sea. As, with force and
skill, they clove one wave of humanity, others surged up behind
them innumerable, and not the wisest could say whereto this thing
would reach. The people were encouraged to think that it would
have no end; that from north to south, and from east to west, the
whole of the land would rise in insurrection.
It is difficult, however, to make any adequate picture of what the
state of India actually was in that disastrous year. We who were in
the midst of it have forgotten, our impressions have grown dim.
Those who were not lack the sense which would enable them to
grasp it. For security is the watchword of our modern life. To be
robbed of this—to live consciously, day and night, on the brink of an
abyss—to see the earth open, and the subversive forces which are
for ever underlying it, break upwards in ravage and desolating fury—
to have all our softnesses and superiorities swept away, and, in their
place, terror, nakedness and an aching sense of our own
insignificance—who of us all can fitly image it? I cannot, I know,
although I took part in it all long ago. Yet sometimes, even now, a
nightmare vision will flash it all back again. I will hide, breathless, in
the jungle; I will listen to the shouts of infuriated mobs that seem to
be always at my heels; I will plunge into a river, and strike out for
dear life; I will crawl on shore at dead of night to rest my aching
limbs, and measure sadly the distance that divides me from my
friends; I will listen to tales that make the hair of my flesh stand up
with horror, and try feebly to understand that they were our very
own—the dear women and fair children that made the rapture of our
lives—who have been hacked and hewn, and torn limb from limb, by
fiends in human form. I will feel the blood in my body like fire, and
the strength of a hundred will rush into my limbs, and I will grasp
my weapon and slay—slay—till my heart is sick and my head faint;
and still there will be the same awful, insatiable thirst that nothing
can slake. And then, trembling, I will awake, and fall down on my
knees and thank the Father of Mercies that the terror is over, and
that the greater number of those who took part in it—Indians as well
as English—are at rest.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE BREAKING OF THE MONSOON

We return to Gumilcund, where Tom had been established several

days. The warmth of the welcome he had received and the calmness
and wisdom of Chunder Singh, his counsellor, had helped him to
regain the balance of mind which he had nearly lost in the late
expedition. It was perhaps fortunate for him that he had no time to
brood over the terrors of the hour. There was much stir in the city,
and so soon as it was known that the rajah had come back, nothing
was done without consulting him. It gave him a sad sort of
amusement to find that he was looked upon by many not as a
sovereign alone but as a supernaturally gifted oracle. And, in fact, he
was often surprised by his own insight. Stranger as he was, he
seemed to see instinctively into the heart of difficulties that puzzled
the wisest heads in the city, and to propose solutions which were
only reached by other men after arduous and prolonged thought. No
doubt this was due, in a great measure, to the study he had given to
the politics of India, and especially to the constitution of his own
state; but it would come to him sometimes, with curious force, that
this was not all; but that another intelligence, higher and more
original than his own, was working within him and producing ideas
of which he, Tom Gregory, the English-bred youth, could never have
dreamed in the days that had gone by.
His position was a critical one, for Gumilcund lay in the very centre
of the seething mass of insurrection that was converting the fair
region of Central India into a desert. Several of the smaller native
states were looking anxiously towards her to see what she would do.
Those who had already cast off their allegiance sent haughty
messages, threatening untold horrors if she did not join in the Holy
War. The English Resident, who had courageously forced his way
back to his post on the first hint of danger, used his influence on the
other side; but this, as we have seen, was not necessary. Gumilcund
had already taken her part. In one particular Tom was more
fortunate than his loyal neighbours, his army, owing to the wise
provisions of former rulers, being recruited from the lower and not
the higher castes. Although, therefore, as a body of men, they were
less magnificent to look upon, they had in them a root of loyalty that
was altogether lacking in the haughty Brahmins and proud
Mohammedan warriors, who formed the bulk of the Company's
native contingent.
It was now proposed by the Resident that a body of these faithful
troops should be sent to Delhi to help in the siege. On consulting
Chunder Singh and Vishnugupta, both of whom knew the minds of
the people, Tom found that nothing would please them more than
that the army should be employed in such service.
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