The Star of India
Copyright© 2026 by Edward S. Ellis
Chapter 21: One Incident of Many.
From what has been told, it will be readily believed that Harkins and Dr. Avery had been taken much further from their friends than they suspected; and as is too often the case the actors were not the only sufferers from the wild prank.
The missionary, wife and daughter took up their quarters in the bungalow to await the return of their guide, as well as of those who had gone on the little excursion of their own.
The building, as will be recalled, was but a single story in height, and was provided with two rooms, containing beds, tables and chairs. The general purpose of such structures, built by the East India Company, is that travelers may stop with their attendants, and be furnished meals and lodging for the night.
A khansaman or native cook is in charge to look after the wants of wayfarers, but from some cause or other none showed himself to the fugitives, who were therefore left to their own resources.
The parents were fatigued, and the wife especially felt the need of an extended rest, but her meek, uncomplaining disposition led her to repress all complaint. Indeed there was no need of any, for her companions saw her distress.
It was Marian’s intention to tell Luchman on his return that some means of conveyance must be found for her mother. They had considerable money with them, and, despite the confusion and peril, it ought not to be a difficult matter to buy a horse.
The little party were soon joined by others. A carriage stopped in front of the bungalow, and, looking out, they saw that it was a covered one, such as the wealthy use in India, drawn by a single horse that must have been driven hard, judging by the steaming foam on his flanks; he was almost knocked up.
The native driver sprang down from his seat in front, and, advancing to the side, drew open the door.
Within were two women and a child. In the expectation of finding servants at the bungalow, they sent the driver to announce their wants. He made inquiry in broken English of the figures he indistinctly saw within.
Mr. Hildreth answered in Hindustani, and, walking to the side of the carriage, greeted the ladies, and asked whether he could do anything for them. They said they were in want of food, having been on the road the entire day. They had come from Delhi, and like all those who had escaped so far, had passed through many perils. They were extremely anxious to go on, but their horse was jaded, and they had eaten but a few mouthfuls since leaving the Cashmere Gate. They had no trouble in finding water, but the little child with them was nearly famished.
Nothing in the way of food was immediately obtained, but the missionary assured them that a servant of their own was absent in quest of some, and was momentarily expected back. He urged them to wait and partake with them.
The ladies consulted as to what was best to do. Mr. Hildreth could see no reason why they should decline, and he did not expect them to do so. To his surprise, however, they returned their grateful acknowledgments, and said they thought it best to press on toward Kurnal. The driver climbed back to his seat, and the weary horse once more resumed his dragging course.
The missionary might well wonder at this, for he could not understand what reason the ladies had for forcing the exhausted animal, when a brief rest would be as beneficial to one as the other.
And yet the refusal of the strangers to stop was the means of saving the lives of those left in the bungalow. Had they entered the rude structure and remained for a few minutes, every one of the party would have been massacred.
The rattle of wheels had hardly died out down the dusty highway, when those in the bungalow caught the sound of hurrying footsteps. They proved to be those of Luchman, who was running in great excitement. He carried something under his arm, but without referring to it, he asked,
“Did a carriage go by, sahib, a few minutes ago—drawn by one horse?”
Mr. Hildreth replied in the affirmative, and was about to ask him to run ahead and give them a part of the food which he carried under his arm, when Luchman, in great anguish, said,
“Too late! too late, sahib; do you hear that?”
All heard the sounds made by the hoofs of swiftly galloping horses.
“Look out of the door,” he added; “but be careful they do not see you.”
They were just in time to catch a glimpse of eight or ten horsemen as they rode by, partly hidden by the dust. They were mutineers or Ghoojurs pursuing the carriage.
The faces of the fugitives blanched as they drew near each other in the darkness of the bungalow. They knew the meaning of what they saw, without any explanation from Luchman.
The rattling discharge of guns followed: there could be no mistake either as to what that signified.
A few minutes before the three craved food, but they wanted none now. To a certain extent they had become accustomed to massacre and crime, but there was something unspeakably horrifying in the thought that the two ladies, whose voices still echoed in the ears of the missionary, and the track of whose wheels had not been obliterated by the hoofs of the horses, were no more of earth.
Even Luchman was affected by the awful fate of the party, for there could be no doubt that they were dead. He was silent for a brief space, and then looked around as though he missed Harkins and Avery. They had not spoken, and seeing nothing of them in the gloom, he asked where they were. When told they had been gone for a considerable time, he was impatient.
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