by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER IV
ON THE WAY TO CAWNPORE
In Meerut reigned that blessed thing, Pax Britannica, otherwise known asthe British bulldog. But the bulldog was kept on the chain and peaceobtained only within his kennel. Malcolm, deprived of his regiment,gathered under his command a few young civilians who were eager to actas volunteer cavalry, and was given a grudging permission to ride out tothe isolated bungalows of some indigo planters, on the chance that theoccupants might have defended themselves successfully against therioters.
In each case the tiny detachment discovered blackened walls and unburiedcorpses. The Meerut district abounded with Goojers, the hereditarythieves of India, and these untamed savages had lost none of theirwild-beast ferocity under fifty years of British rule. They killed androbbed with an impartiality that was worthy of a better cause. WhenEuropeans, native travelers and mails were swept out of existence theyfought each other. Village boundaries which had been determined underWellesley's strong government at the beginning of the century werere-arranged now with match-lock, spear and tulwar. Old feuds weresettled in the old way and six inches of steel were more potent thanthe longest Order in Council. Yet these ghouls fled at the sight of thesmallest white force, and Malcolm and his irregulars rode unopposedthrough a blood-stained and deserted land.
On the 21st of May, eleven days after the outbreak of the Mutiny, thoughnever a dragoon or horse gunner had left Meerut cantonment since theymarched back to their quarters from the ever-memorable bivouac, Malcolmled his light horsemen north, along the Grand Trunk Road in thedirection of Mazuffernugger.
A native brought news that a collector and his wife were hiding in aswamp near the road. Happily, in this instance, the two were rescued,more dead than alive. The man, ruler of a territory as big as the NorthRiding of Yorkshire, his wife, a young and well-born Englishwoman, werein the last stage of misery. The unhappy lady, half demented, wasnursing a dead baby. When the child was taken from her she fellunconscious and had to be carried to Meerut on a rough litter.
The little cavalcade was returning slowly to the station[4] when one ofthe troopers caught the hoof beats of a galloping horse behind them.Malcolm reined up, and soon a British officer appeared round a bend inthe road. Mounted on a hardy country-bred, and wearing the semi-nativeuniform of the Company's regiments, the aspect of the stranger wassufficiently remarkable to attract attention apart from the fact that hecame absolutely alone from a quarter where it was courting death totravel without an escort. He was tall and spare of build, with reddishbrown hair and beard, blue eyes that gleamed with the cold fire ofsteel, close-set lips, firm chin, and the slightly-hooked nose with thinnostrils that seems to be one of nature's tokens of the man born tocommand his fellows when the strong arm and clear brain are needed inthe battle-field.
[Footnote 4: In India the word "station" denotes any European settlementoutside the three Presidency towns. In 1857 there were few railways inthe country.]
He rode easily, with a loose rein, and he waved his disengaged hand theinstant he caught sight of the white faces.
"Are you from Meerut?" he asked, his voice and manner conveying acurious blend of brusqueness and gentility, as his tired horse willinglypulled up alongside Nejdi.
"Yes. And you?" said Malcolm, trying to conceal his amazement at thisapparition.
"I am Lieutenant Hodson of the 1st Bengal Fusiliers. I have ridden fromKurnaul, where the Commander-in-Chief is waiting until communication isopened with Meerut. Where is General Hewitt?"
"I will take you to him! From Kurnaul, did you say? When did you start?"
"About this hour yesterday."
Malcolm knew then that this curt-spoken cavalier had ridden nearly ahundred miles through an enemy's country in twenty-four hours.
"Is your horse equal to another hour's canter?" he inquired.
"He ought to be. I took him from a bunniah when my own fell dead in avillage about ten miles in the rear."
Bidding a young bank manager take charge of the detachment, Frank ledthe newcomer rapidly to headquarters. Hodson asked a few questions andmade his companion's blood boil by the unveiled contempt he displayed onhearing of the inaction at Meerut.
"You want Nicholson here," said he, laughing with grim mirth. "By allthe gods, he would horse-whip your general into the saddle."
"Hewitt is an old man, and cautious, therefore," explained Frank, inloyal defense of his chief. "Perhaps he deems it right to await theorders you are now bringing."
"An old man! You mean an old woman, perhaps? I come from one. I had togo on my knees almost before I could persuade Anson to let me start."
"Well, you must admit that you have made a daring and lucky ride?"
"Nonsense! Why is one a soldier! I would cross the infernal regions ifthe need arose. If I had been in Meerut on that Sunday evening, nogeneral that ever lived could have kept me out of Delhi before daybreak.The way to stop this mutiny was to capture that doddering old king andhold him as a hostage, and twenty determined men could have done iteasily in the confusion."
That was William Hodson's way. Men who met him began by disliking hishectoring, supercilious bearing. They soon learnt to forget hisgruffness and think only of his gallantry and good-comradeship.
At any rate his stirring advice and the dispatches he brought roused themilitary authorities at Meerut into activity. Carrying with him a letterto the Commander-in-Chief he quitted Meerut again that night, anddismounted outside Anson's tent at Kurnaul at dawn on the second day!
On the 27th, Archdale Wilson led the garrison towards the rendezvousfixed on by the force hurriedly collected in the Punjab for the reliefof Delhi. On the afternoon of the 30th, cavalry vedettes reported thepresence of a strong body of mutineers on the right bank of the riverHindun, near the village of Ghazi-ud-din Nuggur and at a place where ahigh ridge commanded an iron suspension bridge. It was found afterwardsthat the rebels meant to fight the two British forces in detail beforethey could effect a junction. The generalship of the idea was good, butthe sepoys did not count on the pent-up wrath of the British soldiers,who were burning to avenge their murdered countrymen and dishonoredcountrywomen, for it was now becoming known that many a fair Englishlady had met a fate worse than death ere sword or bullet stilled heranguish.
A company of the 60th Rifles dashed forward to seize the bridge,Lieutenant Light and his men took up the enemy's challenge with theirheavy eighteen-pounders, and Colonel Mackenzie and Major Tombs, at thehead of two batteries of horse artillery, crossed the river and turnedthe left flank of the sepoy force. Then the Rifles extended and charged,the mutineers yielded, and Colonel Custance with his dragoons saberedthem mercilessly for some miles.
Next morning, Whit-Sunday, while the chaplains were conducting theburial service over those who had fallen, the mutineers came out ofDelhi again. A severe action began instantly. Tombs had two horses shotunder him, and thirteen out of fifty men in his battery were killed orwounded. But the issue was never in doubt. After three hours' hardfighting the rebels broke and fled. So those men in Meerut could give agood account of themselves when permitted! Actually, they won the twofirst battles of the campaign.
Exhausted by two days' strenuous warfare in the burning sun, they couldnot take up the pursuit. The men were resting on the field when abattalion of Ghoorkahs, the little fighting men of Nepaul, arrived underthe command of Colonel Reid. They had marched by way of Bulandshahr, andMalcolm heard to his dismay that the native infantry detachmentstationed there, aided by the whole population of the district, hadcommitted the wildest excesses.
Yet Winifred and her uncle had passed through that town on the road toCawnpore. Aligarh, too, was in flames, said Reid, and there was nocommunication open with Agra, the seat of Government for the North-WestProvinces. There was a bare possibility that the Maynes might havereached Agra, or that Nana Sahib had protected them for his own sake.Such slender hopes brought no comfort. Black despair sat in Malcolm'sheart until the Brigadier sent for him and ordered him to take charge of
the guard that would escort the records and treasure from Meerut toAgra. He hailed this dangerous mission with gloomy joy. Love had noplace in a soldier's life, he told himself. Henceforth he must rememberWinifred only when his sword was at the throat of some wretched mutineerappealing for mercy.
He went to his tent to supervise the packing of his few belongings. Hisbearer,[5] a Punjabi Mohammedan, who cursed the sepoys fluently fordisturbing the country during the hot weather, handed him a note whichhad been brought by a camp follower.
[Footnote 5: A personal servant, often valet and waiter combined.]
It was written in Persi-Arabic script, a sort of Arabic shorthand thatdemands the exercise of time and patience ere it can be deciphered byone not thoroughly acquainted with it. Thinking it was a request foremployment which he could not offer, Malcolm stuffed it carelessly intoa pocket. He rode to Meerut, placed himself at the head of the 8thIrregular Cavalry, a detachment whose extraordinary fidelity has alreadybeen narrated, and set forth next morning with his train of bullockcarts and their escort.
He called the first halt in the village where he had parted fromWinifred. The headman professed himself unable to give any information,but the application of a stirrup leather to his bare back while hiswrists were tied to a cart wheel soon loosened his tongue.
The king's hunting lodge was empty, he whined; and the Roshinara Begumhad gone to Delhi. Nana Sahib's cavalcade went south soon after theBegum's departure, and a moullah had told him, the headman, that theNana had hastened through Aligarh on his way to Cawnpore, not turningaside to visit Agra, which was fifty miles down the Bombay branch of theGrand Trunk Road.
Malcolm drew a negative comfort from the moullah's tale. That night heencamped near a fair-sized village which was ominously denuded of men.Approaching a native hut to ask for a piece of charcoal wherewith tolight a cigar, he happened to look inside. To his very great surprise hesaw, standing in a corner, a complete suit of European armor, made oftin, it is true, but a sufficiently bewildering "find" in a Goojerhovel.
A woman came running from a neighbor's house. While giving him thecharcoal she hastily closed the rude door. She pretended not tounderstand him when he sought an explanation of the armor, whereupon heseized her, and led her, shrieking, among his own men. The commotionbrought other villagers on the scene, as he guessed it would. A fewfierce threats, backed by a liberal display of naked steel, quicklyevoked the curious fact that nearly all the able-bodied inhabitants "hadgone to see the sahib-log[6] dance."
[Footnote 6: A generic term for Europeans.]
Even Malcolm's native troops were puzzled by this story, but a furtherstring of terrifying words and more saber flourishing led to a directstatement that the white people who were to "dance" had been capturednear the village quite a week earlier and imprisoned in a ruined tombabout a mile from the road. It was risky work to leave the valuableconvoy for an instant, but Malcolm felt that he must probe this mystery.Taking half a dozen men with him, and compelling the woman to act asguide, he went to the tomb in the dark.
The building, a mosque-like structure of considerable size, was situatedin the midst of a grove of mango trees. A clear space in front of thetomb was lighted with oil lamps and bonfires. It was packed withuproarious natives, and Malcolm's astonished gaze rested on threeEuropean acrobats doing some feat of balancing. A clown was crackingjokes in French, some nuns were singing dolefully, and a trio of girls,wearing the conventional gauze and spangles of circus riders, werestanding near a couple of piebald ponies.
He and his men dashed in among the audience and the Goojers ran for dearlife when they caught sight of a sahib at the head of an armed party.The performers and the nuns nearly died of fright, believing that theirlast hour had surely come. But they soon recovered from their fear onlyto collapse more completely from joy. A French circus, it appeared, hadcamped near a party of nuns in the village on the main road, and werecaptured there when the news came that the English were swept out ofexistence. Most fortunately for themselves the nuns were regarded aspart of the show, and the villagers, after robbing all of them, pennedthem in the mosque and made them give a nightly performance. There werefive men and three women in the circus troupe, and among the four nunswas the grave reverend mother of a convent.
Malcolm brought them to the village and caused it to be made known thatunless every article of value and every rupee in money stolen from theseunfortunate people, together with a heavy fine, were brought to him bydaybreak, he would not only fire each hut and destroy the standingcrops, but he would also hang every adult male belonging to the place hecould lay hands on.
These hereditary thieves could appreciate a man who spoke like that.They met him fairly and paid in full. When the convoy moved off, eventhat amazing suit of armor, which was used for the state entry of thecircus into a town, was strapped on to the back of a trick pony.
The nuns, he ascertained, were coming from Fategarh to Umballa and theyhad met the great retinue of Nana Sahib below Aligarh. With him were twoEuropeans, a young lady and an elderly gentleman, but they weretraveling so rapidly that it was impossible to learn who they were orwhither they were going.
Here, then, was really good news. Like every other Englishman in IndiaMalcolm believed that the Mutiny was confined to a very small area, ofwhich his own station was the center. He thought that if Winifred andher uncle reached Cawnpore they would be quite safe.
He brightened up so thoroughly that he quite enjoyed a sharp fight nextday when the budmashes of Bulandshahr regarded the straggling convoy asan easy prey.
There were three or four such affairs ere they reached Agra, and hisFrenchmen proved themselves to be soldiers as well as acrobats. On theevening of the 2d of June he marched his cavalcade into the splendidfortress immortalized by its marble memorials of the great days of theMogul empire.
The fact that a young subaltern had brought a convoy from Meerut wasseized on by the weak and amiable John Colvin, Lieutenant Governor ofthe North-West Provinces, as a convincing proof of his theory that thebulk of the native army might be trusted, and that order would soon berestored. Each day he was sending serenely confident telegrams toCalcutta and receiving equally reassuring ones from a fatuous Viceroy.It was with the utmost difficulty that his wiser subordinates got him todisarm the sepoy regiments in Agra itself. He vehemently assured theViceroy that the worst days of the outbreak were over and issued aproclamation offering forgiveness to all mutineers who gave up theirarms, "except those who had instigated others to revolt, or taken partin the murder of Europeans."
Such a man was sure to regard Malcolm's bold journey from the wrongpoint of view. So delighted was he that he gave the sowars two months'pay, lauded Malcolm in the _Gazette_, and forthwith despatched him on aspecial mission to General Sir Hugh Wheeler at Cawnpore, to whom herecommended Frank for promotion and appointment as aide-de-camp.
This curious sequence of events led to Malcolm's following WinifredMayne along the road she had taken exactly three weeks earlier. Theroute to Cawnpore lay through Etawah, a place where revolt had alreadybroken out, but which had been evacuated by the mutineers, who, likethose at Aligarh, Bulandshahr, Mainpuri, Meerut, and a score of othertowns, ran off to Delhi after butchering all the Europeans within range.
With a small escort of six troopers, his servant, and two pack-horses,he traveled fast. As night was falling on June 4th, he re-entered theGrand Trunk Road some three miles north of Bithoor, where, all unknownto him, Nana Sahib's splendid palace stood on the banks of the Ganges.
It was his prudent habit to halt in small villages only. Towns might betraversed quickly without much risk, as even the tiniest display offorce insured safety, but it was wise not to permit the size of hisescort to be noted at leisure, when a surprise attack might be made inthe darkness.
Therefore, expecting to arrive at Cawnpore early next day, he electednot to push on to Bithoor, and proposed to pass the night under thebranches of a great pipal tree. Chumru, his Mohammedan bearer, was agood cook, in addition to h
is many other acquirements. Havingpurchased, or made his master pay for, which is not always the samething in India, a small kid (by which please understand a young goat) inthe village, he lit a fire, slew the kid, to the accompaniment of anappropriate verse from the Koran, and compounded an excellent stew.
A native woman brought some chupatties and milk, and Malcolm, beingsharp set with hunger, ate as a man can only eat when he is young, andin splendid health, and has ridden hard all day.
He had a cigar left, too, and he was searching his pockets for a pieceof paper to light it when he brought forth that Persi-Arabic letterwhich reached him at the close of the second battle of Ghazi-ud-dinNuggur.
He was on the point of rolling it into a spill, but some subtleinfluence stopped him. He rose, walked to Chumru's fire, and lit thecigar with a burning stick. Then summoning a smart young jemadar withwhom he had talked a good deal during the journey, he asked him to readthe chit. The woman who supplied the chupatties fetched a tiny lamp. Sheheld it while the trooper bent over the strange scrawl, and ran his eyesalong it to learn the context.
And this is what he read:
"To all whom it may concern--Be it known that Malcolm-sahib, late of the Company's 3d Regiment of Horse, is a friend of the heaven-born princess Roshinara Begum, and, provided he comes to the palace at Delhi within three days from the date hereof, he is to be given safe conduct by all who owe allegiance to the Light of the World, the renowned King of Kings and lord of all India, Bahadur Shah, Fuzl-Ilahi, Panah-i-din."
The trooper scowled. Those concluding words--"By the grace of God,Defender of the Faith"--perhaps touched a sore place, for he, too, was atrue believer.
"You are a long way from Delhi, sahib, and the chit is a week old. Isuppose you did not pay the expected visit to her Highness the Begum?"he said.
"If you are talking of the Begum Roshinara, daughter of the King ofDelhi," put in the woman, who was ready enough to indulge in a gossipwith these good-looking soldiers, "she passed through this placeto-day."
"Surely you are telling some idle tale of the bazaar," said Malcolm.
"No, sahib. My brother is a grass-cutter in the Nana's stables. While Iwas at the well this morning a carriage came down the road. It was arajah's carriage, and there were men riding before and behind. I askedmy brother if he had seen it, and he said that it brought the Begum toBithoor, where she is to wed the Nana."
"What! A Mohammedan princess marry a Brahmin!"
"It may be so, sahib. They say these great people do not consider suchthings when there is aught to be gained."
"But what good purpose can this marriage serve?"
The woman looked up at Malcolm under her long eyelashes.
"Where have you been, sahib, that you have not heard that the sepoyshave proclaimed the Nana as King?" she asked timidly.
"King! Is he going to fight the Begum's father?"
"I know not, sahib, but Delhi is far off, and Cawnpore is near.Perchance they may both be kings."
A man's voice called from the darkness, and the woman hurried away.Malcolm, of course, was in a position to appraise the accuracy of herstory. He knew that the Nana, a native dignitary with a grievanceagainst the Government, was a guest of Bahadur Shah a month before theMutiny broke out, and was at the Meerut hunting lodge on the very nightof its inception. Judging by Princess Roshinara's words, her relationswith the Brahmin leader were far from lover-like. What, then, did thissudden journey to Cawnpore portend? Was Sir Hugh Wheeler aware of theproposed marriage, with all the terrible consequences that it heralded?At any rate, his line of action was clear.
"Get the men together, Akhab Khan," he said to the jemadar. "We march atonce."
Within five minutes they were on the road. There was no moon, and thetrees bordering both sides of the way made the darkness intense. Thestill atmosphere, too, was almost overpowering. The dry earth, sun-bakedto a depth of many feet, was giving off its store of heat accumulatedduring the day. The air seemed to be quivering as though it were ladenwith the fumes of a furnace. It was a night when men might die or go madunder the mere strain of existence. Its very languor was intoxicating.Nature seemed to brood over some wild revel. A fearsome thunderstorm orhowling tornado of dust might reveal her fickleness of mood at anymoment.
It was man, not the elements, that was destined to war that night. Thesmall party of horsemen were riding through the scattered houses ofBithoor, and had passed a brilliantly lighted palace which Malcolm tookto be the residence of Nana Sahib, when they were suddenly ordered tohalt. Some native soldiers, not wearing the Company's uniform, formed aline across the road. Malcolm, drawing his sword, advanced towards them.
"Whose troops are you?" he shouted.
There was no direct answer, but a score of men, armed with muskets andbayonets, and carrying a number of lanterns, came nearer. It must beremembered that Malcolm, a subaltern of the 3d Cavalry, wore a turbanand sash. He spoke Urdu exceedingly well, and it was difficult in thegloom to recognize him as a European.
"We have orders to stop and examine all wayfarers--" began some man inauthority; but a lifted lantern revealed Frank's white face; instantlyseveral guns were pointed at him.
"Follow me!" he cried to his escort.
A touch of the spurs sent Nejdi with a mighty bound into the midst ofthe rabble who held the road. Malcolm bent low in the saddle and ascattered volley revealed the tree-shrouded houses in a series of brightflashes. Fortunately, under such conditions, there is more room to missthan to hit. None of the bullets harmed horse or man, and the sowarswere not quite near enough to be in the line of fire. After a quicksweep or two with his sword, Malcolm saw that his men were laying aboutthem heartily. A pack-horse, however, had stumbled, bringing down theanimal ridden by Chumru, the bearer. To save his faithful servant Frankwheeled Nejdi, and cut down a native who was lunging at Chumru with abayonet.
More shots were fired and a sowar was wounded. He fell, shouting to hiscomrades for help. A general melee ensued. The troopers slashed at themen on foot and the sepoys fired indiscriminately at any one onhorseback. The uproar was so great and the fighting so strenuous thatMalcolm did not hear the approach of a body of cavalry until a loudvoice bawled:
"Why should brothers slay brothers? Cease your quarreling, in the nameof the faith! Are there not plenty of accursed Feringhis on whom to tryyour blades?"
Then the young officer saw, too late, that he was surrounded by a ringof steel. Yet he strove to rally his escort, got four of the men to obeyhis command, and, placing himself in front, led them at the vague formsthat blocked the road to Cawnpore. In the confusion, he might have cuthis way through had not Nejdi unfortunately jumped over a wounded man atthe instant Frank was aiming a blow at a sowar. His sword swishedharmlessly in the air, and his adversary, hitting out wildly, struckthe Englishman's head with the forte of his saber. The violent shockdazed Malcolm for a second, but all might yet have been well were it notfor an unavoidable accident. A sepoy's bayonet became entangled in thereins. In the effort to free his weapon the man gave such a tug to thebit on the near side that the Arab crossed his fore-legs and fell,throwing his rider violently. Frank landed fairly on his head. Histurban saved his neck, but could not prevent a momentary concussion. Fora while he lay as one dead.
When he came to his senses he found that his arms were tied behind hisback, that he had been carried under a big tree, and that a tall native,in the uniform of a subadar of the 2d Bengal Cavalry, was holding alantern close to his face.
"I am an officer of the 3d Cavalry," he said, trying to rise. "Why doyou, a man in my own service, suffer me to be bound?"
"You are no officer of mine, Feringhi," was the scornful reply. "You aresafely trussed because we thought it better sport to dangle you from abough than to stab you where you dropped. Quick, there, with thatheel-rope, Abdul Huq. We have occupation. Let us hang this crow here toshow other Nazarenes what they may expect. And we have no time to lose.The Nana may appear at any moment."
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