At the Point of the Bayonet | Page 4

major and his friend were shot down as they sallied out, sword in hand. The same fate befell Mrs. Lindsay.
Then the Mahrattas proceeded to loot the camp. The ayah had thrust the child underneath the wall of the tent, at the first alarm. A Mahratta seized her, and would have cut her down, had she not recognized him by the light of the lamp which hung from the tent ridge.
"Why, cousin Sufder," she exclaimed, "do you not know me?"
He loosed his hold, and stood back and gazed at her.
"Why, Soyera," he exclaimed, "is it you? It is more than ten years since I saw you!
"It is my cousin," he said to some of his companions who were standing round, "my mother's sister's child."
"Don't be alarmed," he went on, to the woman, "no one will harm you. I am one of the captains of this party."
"I must speak to you alone, Sufder."
She went outside the tent with him.
"You have nothing to fear," he said. "You shall go back with us to Jooneer. I have a house there, and you can stay with my wife. Besides, there are many of your people still alive."
"But that is not all, Sufder. I was ayah to the major and his wife--whom your people have just killed, and whom I loved dearly--and in my charge is their child. He is but a few months old, and I must take him with me."
"It is impossible," Sufder replied. "No white man, woman, or child would be safe in the Deccan, at present."
"No one would see his face," the woman said. "I would wrap him up, and will give out that he is my own child. As soon as we get up the Ghauts I would stain his face and skin, and no one would know that he was white. If you will not let me do it, tell your men to cut me down. I should not care to live, if the child were gone as well as his father and mother. You cannot tell how kind they were to me. You would not have me ungrateful, would you, Sufder?"
"Well, well," the man said good naturedly, though somewhat impatiently, "do as you like; but if any harm comes of it, mind it is not my fault."
Thankful for the permission, Soyera hurried round to the back of the tent, picked up the child and wrapped it in her robe; and then when, after firing the place, the Mahrattas retired, she fell in behind them, and followed them in the toilsome climb up the mountains, keeping so far behind that none questioned her. Once or twice Sufder dropped back to speak to her.
"It is a foolish trick of yours," he said, "and I fear that trouble will come of it."
"I don't see why it should," she replied. "The child will come to speak Mahratta and, when he is stained, none will guess that he is English. In time, I may be able to restore him to his own people."
The other shook his head.
"That is not likely," he said, "for before many weeks, we shall have driven them into the sea."
"Then he must remain a Mahratta," she said, "until he is able to make his way to join the English in Madras or Calcutta."
"You are an obstinate woman, and always have been so; else you would not have left your people to go to be servant among the whites. However, I will do what I can for you, for the sake of my mother's sister and of our kinship."
On the way up the hills Soyera stopped, several times, to pick berries. When they halted she went aside and pounded them, and then boiled them in some water in a lota--a copper vessel--Sufder lent her for the purpose, and dyed the child's head and body with it, producing a colour corresponding to her own.
The party, which was composed of men from several towns and villages, broke up the next morning.
"Have you money?" Sufder asked her, as she was about to start alone on her journey.
"Yes; my savings were all lodged for me, by Major Lindsay, with some merchants at Bombay; but I have twenty rupees sewn up in my garments."
"As to your savings, Soyera, you are not likely to see them again, for we shall make a clean sweep of Bombay. However, twenty rupees will be useful to you, and would keep you for three or four months, if you needed but, as you are going to my wife, you will not want them.
"Take this dagger. When you show it to her, she will know that you come from me; but mind, she is, like most women, given to gossip; therefore I warn you not to let her into the secret of this child's birth, for if you did so, half the