The Story of a Brave Woman.
by M. St. George.
Originally published in The Novel Magazine (C. Arthur Pearson, Ltd.) vol.2 #11 (Feb 1906).
A story of the Shan rising at Rangoon, and of the strange promise a wife made to her husband.
Dick Adair flung down the letter he had been reading.
"It really is too bad, eh, Ferrier?" he said impatiently. "I can get no satisfactory reply from the officials at Rangoon. I have written time and again, warning them of what I feel sure will take place. The Shans are in a very discontented state, and will rise as soon as an opportunity occurs."
John Ferrier knocked the ashes out of his pipe before replying.
"Well, they are moving up troops at last," he said; "in driblets, of course. Still, they have no business to have put you here without some means of defence. It's hard lines, the more so as you have your wife and child with you."
"Just so! If it were not for Nell and the child, of course it would not matter so much. If they should fall into the hands of the Shans, it would mean not only death, but unspeakable cruelties. The thought sickens me!" Adair's voice was husky.
"I suppose you could make some stand against them?" Ferrier asked.
"Yes. Come out and I'll show you." Adair stepped on to the verandah, and, turning the corner of the wall, pointed to a deep ravine on the edge of which the house was situated. The gully was a sheer drop of some hundred feet to an old water course, the dry bed of which was now strewn with huge boulders and dotted with brush wood. Beyond the ravine a dense jungle stretched as far as the eye could see.
It was a desolate, gloomy spot, but had the advantage, as Adair remarked, of there being no possibility of attack from that quarter.
"You see," he explained, "the house is comparatively safe on three sides—it is built on a projection of the cliff, so that I have only the front to defend."
The friends turned and walked slowly back. The sun was disappearing below the horizon and casting a lurid glow over the dark wood.
"There's a lumber-cupboard beyond our bedroom there," resumed Adair, pointing to a door leading from the room, "where I have stowed away some old boxes and mattresses. They might serve as a barricade for this window."
Ferrier, who had dropped into a chair, rose and looked out critically.
"Those demons could come pretty close under the shelter of those trees," he said, pointing over the clearing to the dark edge of the forest, some two hundred yards off. "But if you are prepared, you could make it warm for them as they cross the open. However, I hope we shall have those tardy troops before anything of that sort occurs. As I told you, they are at last beginning to move at Rangoon. I had a letter from Jones the other day, saying that a draft was actually on its way to me, and now I am expecting it every hour. I'll send on a detachment to you at once; it will have a wholesome effect on the natives," he added, with a laugh. Then, suddenly becoming grave: "But your wife! How much does she know?"
"I have told her as little as possible; just saying we might have trouble, and must be prepared. She is very plucky and--" Adair broke off, raising his hand in warning, as the door opened, and a tall, slight girl came in.
"How do you do, Mr. Ferrier?" she said, with a bright smile, putting her small hand in his. "I have a message from Joyce to you. I was to tell you that she has a new fur rabbit, and that it squeaks when you press it."
"I should like to be introduced to the new toy, and see Joyce, too. May I?"
"She has fallen asleep now, but after dinner you shall be allowed in," laughed Nell; "and now, shall we go into the dining room?"
She laid her hand on Ferrier's arm, and led the way, Adair following, his eyes resting with tenderness on the rich brown hair and lissom form of the wife he so much loved.
Adair had been ordered up country on Woods and Forests duty immediately on his arrival at Rangoon, after a year's leave. He had done all in his power to persuade his wife to remain behind, but without avail. "If he could live in the jungle, she could," she had said; so he had yielded after fruitless argument.
The country was very unsettled, and the Adairs were far from any Europeans, the nearest being Ferrier, the magistrate of a small station some miles off.
They were a happy little party at dinner. John Ferrier's jolly laugh was often heard, and for the time being even Dick forgot his anxieties. The short twilight had long given way to the clear darkness of an eastern night when Ferrier rose to say good-bye.
"I have neither seen Joyce nor made the acquaintance of the new fur animal," he said. "May I do so now?"
"Yes, of course!" and Dick led the way to the nursery.
Dick and Nell waited at the door of the room whilst Ferrier crept up to the cot. The dim light of the night-lamp showed the little, fair face of a child, fast asleep, clasping in her arms a soft fur toy, supposed to represent a rabbit, and always taken to bed with her.
Bending down, Ferrier gently kissed her; then, walking on tiptoe to the door, closed it softly after him.
The moon was rising above the dense wood, shedding its silver light over the desolate spot, and making the belt of trees by contrast gloomier than ever, when the friends stepped out on to the verandah.
"Well, good-bye, Mrs. Adair. Good-bye, old chap," and Ferrier sprang into the buggy waiting for him, and drove rapidly away. At the gate he turned to wave his hand and call back a message.
A vague feeling of fear came over Adair as his friend's manly figure disappeared in the shadow.
"Dick!" his wife's voice roused him. "Let us sit out here," she went on, drawing a low chair forward.
Adair flung his long limbs on to a couch near her and lit a cigar. They began talking of their future, and what they would do when once they got away from there.
"It is hard lines on you, Nell," Dick said, laying his hand on hers, and keeping it in his own firm grasp.
"Not a bit, Dick. It does not matter. I am with you, and that is always enough for me," and the grey eyes were raised to his, full of love, and also, if anyone chose to see, a quiet courage.
He bent forward and kissed her. They were silent for a while; then Dick said:
"I must give orders to have my horse ready early to-morrow. I have a long round to make."
He called for a servant; native servants are always at hand. There was no response. He called again, then rose and went into the house. After a short absence he returned; his face looked grave.
"There is not a soul in the house or in the stables."
"No servants, Dick! Where can they have gone?"
Before he could reply, the sharp sound of a shot in the distance startled them. Hark! Another and another! Nell clutched her husband's arm.
"There's mischief!" he exclaimed, flinging away his cigar. "We must be prepared in case they come this way."
She turned deathly white.
"Do you think the servants have joined them?" she asked.
"I expect so. Now, Nell, put Joyce into our room; she will be safer there. I must barricade the windows. This is the only side of the house they can get at, at present." Nell Adair, with beating heart, sped quickly to her child's room and carried her to her own, which opened off the drawing-room, now being prepared for the expected attack. She then went to her husband, who had already begun to pile up mattresses and boxes against the window, leaving an opening to enable him to pick off the assailants from behind the barricade. Suddenly, clear and sharp on the still night air, they heard the galloping of a horse. They rushed to the verandah, just in time to see an empty buggy go past, drawn by Ferrier's grey mare they knew so well. Down its flank a stream of blood was flowing.
Adair's worst fears were confirmed.
"The brutes have shot Ferrier. We must be ready for them," he said, drawing his wife quickly into the house.
Rapidly he completed his preparations, placing the guns and ammunition ready at hand. He then took a revolver from a nail on the wall, and, turning away from Nell, proceeded to load it.
"What are you doing with that old revolver, Dick?" she asked, as he laid it on the table. "I thought you said it was no use."
"My little woman, my darling Nell," he said, taking her in his arms—she was trembling violently—"you will be very brave and calm; I need your help. You will load and hand me the guns—you know how; I have often shown you. And now, dear"—he spoke very gravely—"you see that revolver. Should the Shans get the better of us, promise me you will not let yourself or Joyce fall alive into their hands. The revolver is loaded. Promise!" he repeated.
There was a moment's silence. Then her white lips said:
"I promise, Dick."
He pressed her to his heart; both felt it might be for the last time. No word was said.
"Dick"—Nell's voice broke the silence—"what did Mr. Ferrier mean by 'sending on the men'? He called it out just as he drove off."
"Troops that Jones of the Ghurkas promised. Perhaps—perhaps they may have arrived; and perhaps they heard the firing and may come." He spoke as a man hoping against hope.
All was now ready. They waited silently. It was not long before Dick saw some dark figures steal out from the shadow of the trees and run towards some bushes nearer. A shot struck the house, breaking away some of the plaster. Dick raised his Winchester and fired. The leaden messenger did its work well. One of the assailants fell; the others fled into the darkness.
There was no further movement for some minutes. Evidently the Shans had not expected any resistance. Then the bullets came thick and fast.
Dick returned the fire steadily, handing the Winchester, when empty, to his wife to load and using his gun. Woodwork and plaster were being torn away by the bullets, and once the barricade caught fire, but Dick was prepared against that, and there was water at hand. The child had awakened, and they could hear its sobbing and terrified cries for "Mother." Nell dared not leave her husband. With aching heart she called that mother would soon come. The crying ceased for a while, but soon again the little voice was heard calling.
The firing became more purposeful, and a body of men burst from the bushes and made for the house with savage determination. Suddenly Dick, who was taking aim, staggered, and the gun dropped from his hand. His arm fell powerless by his side, and with a groan he stumbled forward and lay prone in the darkness of the room.
In an instant Nell seized the Winchester and continued firing till the cartridges were exhausted; she knew there would be no time to reload. Then, snatching the gun from beside Dick's inanimate form, she fired both barrels in rapid succession.
The leader fell, and for a moment his followers were disconcerted and faltered. She turned to where her husband was lying and looked into his face. It was too dark for her to distinguish. She took his hand and it fell limp from her clasp. With a heart-rending sob she rose, and was about to rush to the bedroom, when she saw the head of a Shan appear above the barricade. It was the work of an instant to seize the revolver Dick had placed on the table and fire. She missed. He raised himself to climb over. With an immense effort she steadied herself and again drew the trigger. With a yell of pain the man fell back. Nell ran to the bedroom, taking the revolver with her, and bolted the door. Even as she did so, she heard a fresh tumult and shouts, and knew the Shans were rushing on to renew the attack. On they came. She could hear the barricade give way—there was not a minute to lose, she must fulfil her promise—her child must not be left for torture.
Joyce was clinging round her neck, and sobbing. How could she do it? She hesitated, but Dick would not have made her promise so solemnly unless he had known something worse than death was before them. She must obey him.
She pressed the child close, and drew the trigger. There was no report. She summoned all her courage and tried the next chamber. It failed. With fingers that trembled so that she could hardly hold the revolver, she opened the breach. Save for two exploded cartridges the weapon was empty. She then understood that the two shots she had fired were the only cartridges Dick had provided—for her and Joyce.
She and her child were at the mercy of the Shans.
Crash! The door fell in and the room filled with smoke. But what was it! In the opening, instead of the cruel face of a Shan, she saw, dimly outlined in the thick atmosphere, figures in khaki. A clear voice rang out: "It's all right, Mrs. Adair!" Then, as she swayed and fell, her husband's voice—weak and faint, but still his voice:
"Nell! My brave girl!"