“Why should the sepoys attack their own billets if they were bent on mutiny?” he demanded. “They’d have set fire to the British bungalows if that’s what they were up to. As for Meerut, that’s a demmed long way from Captainganj, if you’ll forgive m’language. Special circumstances, too, shouldn’t be surprised. Can’t worry here what happens in China! Now look here, Hopkins, provided you fellows here in Krishnapur remain as usual, showing no sign of fear, everything will be airight … But it’ll be the devil’s own job for us to control our men at Captainganj if you start panickin’ here and diggin’ mud walls …”
On his way to the Residency he had cast a contemptuous eye on the Collector’s fortifications. “Raise extra police with Mohammedan recruits, if you like. They’re more reliable than Hindus or native Christians, but don’t start a panic.”
The Collector flushed, stung by the General’s scornful reference to “mud walls”; after a moment’s hesitation he asked: “How many English troops have you at Captainganj apart from officers of native regiments?”
For a moment it looked as if the General might refuse to reply. “Odds’n’ends left from two or three companies on their way to Umballa … perhaps forty or fifty men.”
“General,” said the Collector in a soothing tone, “I should like to know if you’d have any objection to the women and children being brought in?”
“My dear Hopkins, either we rely on a display of confidence that the natives will behave properly, or we all fortify ourselves. We can hardly do both.” The General paused, exasperated. Normally, this discussion would have stimulated him to a fearful rage, but while walking up and down the library he had relinquished the cricket bat, which had become tiresome to carry, and at some stage his hand had closed over a book. This book caused him some distress because he was unable to remember whether it was in his hand to remind him of something or not. He had taken a surreptitious look at the title, which was Missionary Heroes and told him nothing.
“Provided the civilians at Krishnapur don’t start showin’ fear I can guarantee that m’men will remain loyal. I am in complete control of the situation,” he declared, though with less certainty than before.
“All the same, General, we can’t simply ignore the fires at Captainganj. To do so would be the height of folly.”
“We will bring the culprit to book!” exclaimed the General suddenly, with such a burst of confidence that for a moment even the Collector looked encouraged.
A week of indecision passed. News came of a massacre at Delhi but still the Collector hesitated to give the order for women and children to be brought into the Residency; he could see that there was some truth in what the General had said about showing fear; on the other hand, he continued surreptitiously to collect powder and provisions to store in the Residency in spite of the General’s disapproval. What he most needed were cannons and muskets or, even better, rifles . but he could not ask Captainganj to supply them without risking a fatal breach with the old General.
Meanwhile, those in the cantonment who followed the General and had been advocating a “display of confidence” continued to recommend it … what had gone wrong at Meerut, they declared, was undoubtedly that the Europeans had begun to “croak”, had tried to make concessions. The Collector’s defensive measures, besides being ridiculous and inadequate, could very well generate the very danger they were supposed to guard against! At the same time, another question was being asked in the cantonment by the opposite and more timorous faction: namely, what was the point in feigning a confidence that no one felt and that in the eyes of the natives must appear quite baseless?
But it is probable that the majority of people in the cantonment could not make up their minds as to the best course to follow. While the “confident” party recommended calm and indifference, and the “nervous” party were all for bolting to the Residency, the majority voted now for one course, now for the other, and sometimes even for both at once … a calm and confident bolting to the Residency.
Fleury himself was, in principle, all for bolting, if that was what everybody wanted to do … but he knew so little about the country that he had no real way of knowing whether or not the time for bolting had come. He had no sensation of danger in the least. The result was that he tended, by default, to find himself in the “confident” camp … though, at the same time, quite ready to leg it for the Residency at the first sign of trouble.
The Collector regretted the spirit of animosity that was developing in the cantonment between the two opposing factions. “After all,” he thought, “we both want the same thing: security for our lives and property … Why on earth should we be at each other’s throats? Why do people insist on defending their ideas and opinions with such ferocity, as if defending honour itself? What could be easier to change than an idea?” The Collector himself, however, did not yield an inch in his conviction that the only ultimate refuge lay behind his mud walls. Feuds began to break out between the two factions, exacerbated by the steadily mounting heat of the sun. They accused each other of endangering the lives of the innocent, of women and children. While one party seldom missed an opportunity of loitering unarmed and defenceless in the midst of the crowds that thronged the bazaar, the other never ventured a step from their bungalows unless clanking with weapons.
The Collector, in a first and last effort to lead the community in a democratic manner, spent these days trying to devise measures which combined insouciance with defensive properties. In this spirit he had a number of heavy stone urns set up along one vulnerable stretch of the compound wall and planted with flowers, which promptly withered in the heat. Next, he declared that he wanted a stone wall along another weak section of the compound perimeter in order to shield the croquet lawn from the glare of the evening sun. While it was being built he showed a sudden flourish of paternal indulgence by doggedly knocking balls through hoops in the company of his swooning elder daughters. His daughters at the best of times were not good at croquet, but now, on this sweltering patch of sun-baked earth … So the Collector won game after game, implacably, because it was his duty … and his daughters lost game after game, inevitably, because they were weak.
5
The Maharajah had his own army which although forbidden by law to carry firearms could still prove useful with sabres and the iron-bound bamboo staves, known as latees, with which most disputes among rival zemindars were traditionally settled. If it came to a fight whose side would the Maharajah’s troops be on? Of course they would be no match for the sepoys but they still might come in handy to frighten the badmashes in the bazaar. The Collector had to pay a routine visit to the opium factory some way out of Krishnapur and so it was decided that Fleury and Harry Dunstaple should accompany him for part of the way and pay a visit to the Maharajah’s palace which was not far from the opium factory … in normal circumstances a newcomer like Fleury might be expected to pay a casual visit of courtesy to the Maharajah to collect some exotic items of local colour for his diary, subsequently perhaps to be published under the title Highways and Byways of Hindustan, or something of that sort. At the same time the two young men might be able to see how the land lay with respect to the troops. It was, of course, out of the question to ask openly for the Maharajah’s support because such a question would imply a drastic lack of confidence. Besides, Harry, as a military man loyal to the General, could not have been expected to convey such a request. All the same, one never knew … perhaps the Maharajah’s son, Hari, whom Harry had met several times and who was a great favourite of the Collector’s might pledge this support without being asked.