But, since every rule has its exceptions, there were some among the native servants, who remained ostensibly loyal to their masters, who would better have been shot or hanged at the first suggestion of an outbreak.  For naturally a man who is trusted wrongly is far more dangerous than one who is held in suspicion.  But it never was the slightest use endeavoring to persuade an average English officer that his own man could be anything but loyal.  He may be a thief and a liar and a proved-up rogue in every other way; but as for fearing to let him sleep about the house, or fearing to let him cook his master’s food, or fearing to let him carry firearms—­well!  Perhaps, it is conceit, or maybe just ordinary foolishness.  It is not fear!

So, in a country where the art of poisoning has baffled analysts since analysts have been invented, and where blood-hungry fanatic priests, both Hindu and Mohammedan, were preaching and promising the reward of highest heaven to all who could kill an Englishman or die in the attempt, a native cook whose antecedents were obscured in mystery cooked dinner for a British general, and marched with his column to perform the same service while the general tried to trounce the cook’s friends and relatives!

But General Baines felt perfectly at ease about his food.  He never gave a thought to it, but ate what was brought to him, sitting his horse most likely, and chewing something as he rode among the men, and saw that they filled their bellies properly.  He had made up his mind to march on Harumpore, and to take over the five-hundred-strong contingent there.  Then he could swoop down on any of a dozen other points, in any one of which a blow would tell.

He was handicapped by knowing almost too much.  He had watched so long, and had suspected for so long that some sort of rebellion was brewing that, now that it had come, his brain was busy with the tail-ends of a hundred scraps of plans.  He was so busy wondering what might be happening to all the other men subordinate to him, who would have to be acting on their own initiative, that his own plans lacked something of directness.  But there was no lack of decision, and no time was lost.  The men marched, and marched their swiftest, in the dust-laden Indian heat.  And he marched with them, in among them, and ate what the cook brought him, without a thought but for the best interests of the government he served.

So they buried General Baines some eighty-and-twenty miles from Harumpore, and shot the cook.  And, according to the easy Indian theology, the cook was wafted off to paradise, while General Baines betook himself to hell, or was betaken.  But the column, three thousand perspiring Britons strong, continued marching, loaded down with haversacks and ammunition and resolve.

It was met, long before the jackals had dug down to General Baines’ remains, by the advance-guard of Colonel Kendrick’s column, which was coming out of Harumpore because things were not brisk enough in that place to keep it busy.  Kendrick himself was riding with the cavalry detachment that led the way southward.