Benefit of Doubt/Chapter 16
CHAPTER XVI.
“Tomorrow a big victory!”
Although it only lacked two hours of dawn, the roar amid the trees was like the din of a city. In a clearing, partly natural and partly new-hewn, the watch-fires threw sparks that would have set Ommony's heart on fire, but more by luck than arrangement the dry trees had not caught. There was a glow over the tree-tops, and a great din where the blacksmiths labored, so, that from half-a-mile away it might have looked like a titans' forge. Only, it would have been very risky for strangers to come within a mile, because of the pickets who guarded every negotiable track. Mahommed Babar had done with indecision. He walked resolutely from one fire to the next addressing scant words to the men who cleaned their weapons by the blaze or merely awoke from slumber to greet him as he went by. No need to listen to what he said. His attitude, with a great old-fashioned saber slung from his shoulder by a modern Sam. Brown belt; the reception he received; the air of alert expectancy he left behind him—all were perfectly eloquent.
Nevertheless, the words, being the expression of the spirit in him, were important.
“Tomorrow a big victory! Obedience, remember—wait for the word—leave loot to the jackals—be tigers! Be proud! Seek nothing but to conquer in fair fight—and the rest is sure! You shall have a victory tomorrow, and then forward to another one!”
As savages will, they turned his words over and over by one fire, while he strode to the next, where some one would stir the sleepers and they would all sit up and grunt at him.
“They conquered India by discipline—by obedience to orders—by fighting fair and not establishing resentment. When they take prisoners they treat them well, caring for the wounded. Do ye so likewise. In no other way can ye win freedom.”
He had the fiery eye and carriage of a man of action—looked like a fighting man—promised victory—and yet refrained from foaming at the mouth and calling on God to curse whoever disagreed with him. Which, if they did not analyze, they at least appreciated.
He told them at another fire how he had thrown his all, including life, into the scale. They might trust him to do his best for them.
“There are others who urge you to outrage now, who will run from the first sign of disaster. You will find me with you to the end, whatever that may be!”
'By one fire a fellow sneered openly, demanding what hope of profit had brought him from the North to claim leadership.
“I fight for all India,” he answered. “I forbid rape and murder, and you hate me. But I tell you, it is only by such fighting as I permit that you can win freedom and set India free!”
The idea of setting India free was a brand new one to most of them. If he left an excellent impression, it was much like a ship's wake that prevails, but seldom long. There were men who followed him surreptitiously from fire to fire, undoing his words, reversing them, pouring scorn on them, quoting the Koran in evidence that it is right to murder infidels of all sorts.
“He says he will be with us to the end, but that is talk. Watch him! He will leave us in the lurch. Even tomorrow, possibly. The Khalifate Committee speak ill of him. They say he is paid by Hindus to protect their property and lives. It is hinted that he serves the British. If that were so, that might explain why he insists on treating prisoners so tenderly! Turn that thought over in your minds, my brothers! Victory tomorrow? For whom? For himself doubtless!”
He had no other means of thwarting the discontented element than that he took, constantly moving about and appealing to the spirit of the others. He had hardly had time to surround himself with a group of loyalists, hand picked, really to be depended on, although he had done his best along that line. Over by his tent, which was a tarpaulin spread over branches, his more or less inner guard waited for him. When he approached they showed him a good deal of deference; but that was not necessarily in every instance more than their way of excusing themselves for accepting his leadership. To obey him and not appear to respect him would have been to make themselves ridiculous.
That bonfire in front of a tarpaulin was his G. H. Q. Thither the runners came, bringing messages from the out-thrown intelligence units—spies, the enemy called them—scouts, they called themselves—experts unquestionably. Mahommed Babar sat down on a log with his saber across his knees, and two runners who had been waiting for him stood up to tell their story.
“The British work their way along the railway line. They toil by night, with great oil-burning lamps that roar exceedingly. Where the bridges are broken they use timber very cunningly. Soldiers guard the workers with machine-guns, and a tee-rain follows fifty paces at a time as fast as the rails are laid.”
Another took up the tale from another angle.
“They push supplies along the mended line—heavily guarded—food and ammunition for a thousand men perhaps”
“Perhaps!” agreed Mahommed Babar with a dry nod. “They have no thousand men. Two-hundred men in five days eat as much as a thousand men in one.”
“They come fast, sahib! It is better we oppose them now.”
“Let them come!” he answered.
Some of the men around the fire caught one another's eyes at that. One of them tendered advice:
“But, sahib; if we let them come too far there are others who will pounce on them and get the loot. We are not the only armed men in the woods.”
“We are the wise men of the woods!” he answered. “Let others fight them. We will cut their line of communications when the time comes. They will be obliged to surrender. The more well-treated prisoners we have, the easier it will be to make satisfactory terms. What we must do is to defeat, not aggravate.”
“Sahib, they say you have a purpose in holding us back.”
“I have a purpose.”
“They say, a private purpose.”
“None who believes that needs follow me.”
There began to be a fairly obvious division of his adherents into two. Perhaps a third of them believed their own advantage lay in supporting him as long, at least, as success might seem to attend his methods. Two thirds proposed to use him for their own ends and, if he would not be used either to force his hand or else cast him off.
“We fighting men came to find a leader. You show us words and dalliance,” one man grumbled.
“The woods are already full of loot, but the others have it all! Where is ours?” said another.
“Listen!” said a third. “There is a Hindu shroff who has fled to Calicut, but his house lies yonder, half a day's march. Once he lent me a little money. Three times with the aid of the notes I signed he took away all I had, and he claims that I still owe him more than he originally lent me. Lead to that man's village! Let me see the burning of his whole property! Thereafter you may lead me where you will!”
Mahommed Babar got to his feet, rested his hands on the saber in front of him, and met the gaze of every man in turn. The firelight shone in his eyes, and the most inexpert guesser might have known that even his oriental patience was near exhaustion.
“How many times shall I tell you that I am no man's agent?” he demanded. He spoke through his teeth, spitting the words at them. “TI lead, or I do not lead.”
“Very well, lead on!” retorted some one from just beyond the zone of light. “Thus far you have only led on little forays. We will give you until an hour after dawn to lead us against this big force that comes along the railway. Defeat that for us—lead us to all that loot—and we will follow you from here to the sea and plunder Calicut and give you all the richest gems in the city!”
That was short notice. The stars were already paling. A considerable murmur of applause greeted the last speaker, and before Mahommed Babar could reply another runner came, announcing that Moplahs to the north and westward wanted to know at what hour the attack on the railway repairing party should begin. He was answered in chorus.
“An hour after dawn! Mahommed Babar will lead us then or sooner!”
Somebody hustled the messenger out of the light-zone and sent him away on the run to deliver his answer. Other men by the bivouack fires began passing the word along, and the enthusiasm leaped from fire to fire until the whole clearing roared the news, and the men in the outer ring of Mahommed Babar's circle smiled.
Another word began passing from lip to lip among the shadows:
“Now we shall see! He says he will be with us to the end. They say he will run from real danger. We shall know within an hour or two.”
That was such obviously good leverage that the inner circle caught it up and used it.
“Now deeds may answer words and all will know that you are not paid by the enemy to save their lives and property!”
There was nothing indecisive in his answer. He drew his saber, with a jerk of the wrist that made the fine steel thrum.
“It is good!” he answered. “Ye shall have your way! An hour after dawn I will lead against this British force—and by the holy blood of martyrs ye shall rub your noses into the worst of it! I will pistol the man who flinches! Headmen!—jemadars!—join your parties—inspect weapons—see the men are fed—be ready!”
In a moment he was almost alone by the fire, standing, staring rather gloomily in front of him, angry because he knew he was being forced into a mistake, yet seeing no way out of it. True, he might snatch a victory, but it would be costly and worth nothing. If he could only hold them back he knew he could accomplish something worth while, at almost no cost in life at all. Well, there was nothing else for it; he must establish his reputation, on which authority must rest. He was turning to eat the food that a servant brought when another messenger arrived.
“A sahib comes!” l
“A sahib? What sahib? You are crazy!”
But the sahib, walking swiftly and followed by a weary mullah, arrived almost as soon as the messenger.
“Don't shoot, Mahommed Babar!” said the sahib's good-humored voice. “I'm Ommony.”