by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER XIII
THE MEN WHO WORE SKIRTS
That was what the rebels called the 78th,--"the men who wore skirts."
Now, Highland regiments had fought in India for many a year before theMutiny, and the kilt was no new thing in native eyes. The phrase,therefore, is significant. It crystallizes the legend that wentround--that an army of savage English was marching from Allahabad, andthat its most ferocious corps was dressed in skirts, the men havingsworn never to assume male clothing until they had avenged theirmurdered women-folk.
There could be no better proof that the sepoys and their helpers werewell aware that they had outraged all the laws of war and humanity bytheir excesses, and there was a further reason why the garb of old Gaulwas more dreaded throughout India than any other British uniform duringthe autumn and cold weather of 1857. Not many Europeans knew it untillong afterwards, but the natives knew, and told the story with batedbreath, and one British officer knew, for he was with the SeaforthHighlanders in Cawnpore when they took dire vengeance for the Well.
It is a matter of history how Havelock marched his little army of twelvehundred men along the Grand Trunk Road from Allahabad. He led a thousandBritish soldiers, drawn from the 64th, 84th, and 78th Foot, and the 1stMadras Fusiliers. Captain Brasyer brought 130 loyal Sikhs to the column:there were six small guns, and eighteen volunteer cavalry.
These details should be appreciated before it is possible to understandthe supra-miraculous campaign Havelock conducted. For five days theexpedition tramped north in the rain and heat, through a land given overto dead men, vultures and carnivorous animals. Renaud and Spurgin hadmade no prisoners. They did not slay wantonly, but the slightest shadowof suspicion falling on any man meant the short shrift of a rope and thenearest tree.
At last, on the 12th of August, the main body overtook Renaud, whosepatrols were stopped by a large force of rebels entrenched in a villagefour miles south of Fattehpore. The junction took place at one o'clockin the morning. At daybreak, Havelock sent Colonel Tytler, with theeighteen volunteer horse, to reconnoiter. The enemy's cavalry, thinkingthey had only Renaud's tiny detachment to deal with, charged across theplain, to find the whole twelve hundred drawn up to receive them. Struckwith a sudden fear, the white-coated troopers reined in their horses.This was the first real check Nana Sahib had received. It was typical ofthe new order. The flood-tide of mutiny had met its barrier rock.Thenceforth, it ebbed, though it raged madly for a while in the effortto sweep away the obstruction.
Without giving the enemy's cavalry time to recover from their surprise,Havelock threw forward his infantry, Captain Maude, of the RoyalArtillery, rushed his six guns to a point-blank range, there was a shortand sharp fight, and the rebels broke. They were chased through and outof the town of Fattehpore. All their guns and some valuable stores werecaptured, and, greatest marvel in a day of marvels, not one Britishsoldier had fallen!
No wonder Havelock wrote to his wife: "One of the prayers oft repeatedsince my school-days has been answered, and I have lived to command in asuccessful action.... But away with vain glory! Thanks be to God whogave me the victory."
That evening Malcolm witnessed the plundering of Fattehpore, which waspermitted in retribution for its recent rebellion. The town lay on themain road, which, at this point, was removed from the river by manymiles, else he would have ridden to the ghat and sent a message toHossein Beg in order to make sure of the safety of the friendly ryot.
Owing to his knowledge of the vernacular, he managed to pick up a bit ofuseful information while questioning a native on this matter. On thebattle-field he came across a state elephant which had been shot throughthe body by one of Maude's nine-pounders. The manner of the beast'sdeath was remarkable--it is not often that an elephant is bowled over bya cannon-ball like a rabbit by a bullet from a small caliber rifle--andits trappings betokened that it had carried a person of importance.
Now he learned that Tantia Topi was the rider, and it was thus hediscovered that Nana Sahib was directing the operations from Cawnpore,as Tantia Topi was his favorite lieutenant, whereas it was believedpreviously that the Brahmin usurper would lead his hosts to take part inthe siege of Lucknow.
On the 15th a sharp fight gave the British possession of the village ofAong. The position was dearly won, for the gallant Renaud fell there,mortally wounded. The men were about to prepare their breakfast afterthe battle when news came that the enemy, strongly reinforced fromCawnpore, were preparing to blow up a bridge over the Pandoo Nuddee, anunfordable tributary of the Ganges, six miles ahead. Havelock called fora special effort, the troops responded without a murmur, and advancedthrough dense groves of mango trees until they came under fire. For thesecond time that day they hurled themselves on the rebels, drove themheadlong out of a well-chosen position, and saved the bridge.
Cawnpore was now only twenty-three miles distant. With the fickleness ofthe rainy season the sky had cleared, and the sun beat down on theBritish force with a fury that had not been experienced before thatyear, though the hot weather of 1857 was noted for its exceedingly hightemperatures. The elements seemed to have joined with man to try andstop the advance, but neither Indian sun nor Indian sepoy couldrestrain that terrible host. Dogged and uncomplaining, animated ratherby the feelings of the infuriated tigress seeking reprisals for herslain cubs than by the sentiments of soldiers engaged in an ordinarycampaign, they pressed on, until sixteen miles of that sun-scorched roadwere covered.
Then Havelock commanded a halt in a grove of trees, and two level-headedsepoys, deserters from Nana Sahib's army, came in and told the Britishgeneral that the Nana had brought five thousand men out of Cawnpore todo battle for his tottering dynasty. It was in vain. Though he displayedsome tactical skill, placed his men well, and did not hesitate to comeunder fire in person, he was out-generaled by a flank march and sentflying to Bithoor, there to curse his fate, befuddle his wits withbrandy, and threaten to drown himself in the Ganges.
But the battle was not won until one of those strange incidents happenedthat distinguish the Mutiny from all other wars. It must never beforgotten that the sepoys had received their training from Britishofficers. Their words of command, methods of fighting, even theiruniforms, were based on European models.
They had regimental bands, too, and the tunes in their repertoire werethose in vogue in Britain, for native music does not lend itself tomilitary purposes. The musicians, of course, were profoundly ignorant ofthe names or significance of the melodies they had been taught to play.
Hence, when Nana Sahib rallied his men in a village, Havelock called onthe Highlanders and 64th to take it, and the two regiments entered intoa gallant race for the position, while the Highland pipers struck up aninspiring pibroch. Not to be outdone, a sepoy band responded with "TheCampbells are Coming!"
And this, of all airs, to the Mackenzies! It was chance, of course, butit added gall to the venom of the 78th.
This fourth and greatest victory was a costly one to the British, but itleft their ardor undiminished, their reckless courage intensified. Onthe next day they flung themselves against the remnant of the Nana'sarmy that still tried to bar the way into the city. Vague rumors hadreached the men of the dreadful tragedy enacted on the 15th. Theyrefused to credit them. None but maniacs would murder helpless women andchildren in the belief that the crime would hinder the advance of theirrescuers. So they crushed, tore, beat a path through the suburbs, untilthe leading company of Highlanders reached the Bibigarh, the House ofthe Woman.
Malcolm was with them, and he saw a sergeant enter the blood-staineddwelling, while the men lined up in front of the Well in an awedsilence. The sergeant returned. His brick-red face had paled to an ashentint. In his hand he carried the long, rich strands of a woman's hair,strands that had been hacked off some unhappy Englishwoman's head byNana Sahib's butchers.
He removed his bonnet with the solemnity of a man who is in the presenceof God and death. Passing down the ranks he gave a lock of the hair toeach soldier.
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p; "One life for every hair before the sun sets," he said quietly. And thatwas all, but there are old men yet alive in Cawnpore who remember howthe Highlanders raged through the streets that evening like the wrath ofHeaven.
General Neill, who came later and assumed the role of magistrate, showedneither pity nor mercy. Every man who fell into his hands, and who wasconnected in the slightest degree with the infamy of the Well, washanged on a gallows erected in the compound, but not until he hadcleaned with his tongue the allotted square of blood-stained cement thatformed the floor of the house.
Cawnpore, on the 17th, was indeed a city of dreadful night. The fierceexultation of successful warfare was gone. The streets were empty savefor prowling dogs, pigs, and venturesome wild beasts. No sound was heardin the British encampment except the melancholy plaint of the pipesmourning for the dead, during the interment of those who had fallen.Even the unconquerable Havelock said to his son, as they and theofficers of the staff sat at dinner:
"If the worst comes to the worst we can but die with our swords in ourhands."
Next morning his splendid vitality reasserted itself. He advancedtowards Bithoor and took up a strong position in case Nana Sahib mightattempt to recover the city. But that arch-fiend had been deserted bythe majority of his followers, and he was babbling of suicide to hisfellow Brahmins.
Meanwhile Neill brought a few more troops from Allahabad, and Havelockthrew the greater portion of his army across the Ganges. Owing to thedifficulty of obtaining boats and skilled boatmen, this was a slow anddangerous undertaking. It took five days to ferry nine hundred men tothe Oudh side, but Lawrence had said that the Residency could only holdout fourteen days, and come what might the effort must be made torelieve him.
On the 20th while Malcolm was occupied with some details of transport,Chumru came to him. The bearer was no longer "Ali Khan," theswashbuckler, but a white-robed domestic, though no change of attirecould rob him of the truculent aspect that was the gift of nature.
Beside Chumru stood another Mohammedan, an elderly man, who straightenedhimself under the sahib's eye and brought up his right hand in a smartmilitary salute.
"Huzoor," said Chumru, "this is Ungud, Kumpani pinsin (a pensioner ofthe Company), and he would have speech with the Presence."
"Speak, then, and quickly, for I have occupation," said Malcolm. But helistened carefully enough to Ungud's words, for the man coolly proposedto work his way to Lucknow and carry any message to Lawrence that theGeneral-sahib entrusted to him.
It was a desperate thing to suggest. The absence of native spies fromeither Cawnpore or Lucknow proved that the rebels killed, and probablytortured all who attempted to run the gauntlet of their investing lines.Yet Ungud was firm in his offer, so Malcolm brought him to Havelock andthe general at once wrote and gave him a letter to Lawrence, the news ofthe great Commissioner's death not having reached the relieving force.
Frank seized the opportunity to write a few lines to Winifred. He wascharged with the care of Ungud as far as the nearest river ghat, and hescribbled the following as he rode thither:
BRITISH FIELD FORCE, CAWNPORE, July 20th, 1857.
MY DEAREST WINIFRED:
If this note is safely delivered, you will know that Sir Henry Havelock, at the head of a strong force, is on his way to relieve Lucknow. I am with him, as major on the staff.
I reached Allahabad on the 4th, thanks wholly to your loving thought in sending Chumru after me, for I was a prisoner in the hands of a fanatical moulvie when Chumru came to my assistance. He saved my life there, and his quick-witted devotion was shown in many other instances during a most exciting journey. My thoughts are always with you, dear one, and I offer many a prayer to the Most High that you may retain your health and spirits amid the horrors that surround you. Be confident, dear heart, and bid your uncle tell his comrades of the garrison that we mean to cut our way to your rescue through all opposition.
The bearer will endeavor to return with a reply to the general. Perhaps you may be able to send a line with him. In any event, I trust he will see you, and that will bring joy to my soul when I hear of it.
Ever your devoted FRANK.
By Havelock's order, a light, swift boat was placed at Ungud's disposal,and Malcolm supplied him with plenty of money for horses and bribes onthe road, while, in the event of success, he would be liberally rewardedafterwards.
Now it chanced that on the 20th, about the very hour Ungud set out onhis daring mission, the Moulvie of Fyzabad managed to goad hisco-religionists into a determined assault on the Residency.
At ten o'clock in the morning the bombardment suddenly ceased. Thegarrison sentries noted an unusual gathering of the enemy's forces inthe streets and open spaces that confronted the Bailey Guard and theother main posts on the city side.
They gave the alarm and every man rushed to the walls. Even the sick andwounded left their beds. Men with the fire of fever in their eyes, menwith bandaged limbs and scarce able to crawl, asked for muskets andlined up alongside their yet unscathed comrades.
They waited in grim silence, those war-worn soldiers of the Queen. Thesignal for a furious struggle was given in dramatic fashion. A mineexploded, a large section of the defending wall crumbled into ruins, ahundred guns belched forth a perfect hail of round shot, sharpshootersstationed in the neighboring houses fired their muskets as rapidly asthey could lift them from piles of loaded weapons at their command, and,under cover of this fusillade, some three thousand rebels advanced tothe attack.
They came on with magnificent courage. They actually succeeded inplanting scaling-ladders across the breach, and their leader, afierce-looking cavalry rissaldar, leaped into the ditch and stood there,right in front of the Cawnpore battery, waving a green standard toencourage his followers.
He was shot by a man of the 32d, and his body formed the lowermostlayer of a causeway of corpses that soon choked the ditch. But theconcentrated fire of the defenders checked this most audacious of themany assaults delivered during four hours' fighting. At two o'clockthe attack slackened and died away. The rebels had lost some hundreds,while the British had only four men killed and twelve wounded.
There was much jubilation among the garrison at this outcome of thelong-expected and dreaded attack. It added to their spirit ofself-reliance, and it cast down the hopes of the mutineers to acorresponding degree; because their moral inferiority was proved beyonddispute. Like all Asiatics, they had not dared to press on in the faceof death. With one whole-hearted rush those three thousand fighterscould have swarmed into the Residency against all the efforts of the fewEuropeans and natives who resisted them. But that rush was never made bythe assailants as a mass. Not once in the history of the Mutiny did thesepoys adopt the "do or die" method that characterized the Britishtroops in nearly every action of the campaign.
When the moon rose on the night of the 21st a sharp-eyed sentry saw aman creeping across the broken ground in front of the Bailey Guard.He raised his rifle, but his orders were to challenge any one whoapproached thus secretly, lest, perchance, a messenger from somerelieving force might be slain by error.
"Who goes there?" he cried.
"A friend," was the answer, but the rest of the stranger's words showedthat he was a native.
The sentry was no linguist.
"You _baito_[21] where you are," he commanded, bidding a comrade summonan officer, "or somebody who can talk the lingo."
[Footnote 21: "Stop."]
Within a minute the newcomer was admitted. It was Ungud, who had runthe gauntlet of the enemy's pickets and who now triumphantly producedHavelock's letter to "Larrence-sahib Bahadur." Alas, Henry Lawrence wasdead, but Brigadier Inglis, who succeeded him in the command, now learntthat Havelock had defeated Nana Sahib, occupied Cawnpore, and wasadvancing to the relief of Lucknow.
How the gre
at news buzzed through the Residency! How men grasped eachother's hands in glee and exultation and sought leave to take the joyfultidings to the hospital and the women's quarters!
Mayne aroused Winifred to tell her.
"Perhaps Malcolm was able to get through to Allahabad," he said. "Whenyou come to think of the difficulties in the way of our troops--thisman says they have fought three if not four pitched battles betweenFattehpore and Cawnpore--we have been unreasonable in looking for helpso soon."
"Mr. Malcolm would surely succeed if it were possible. He understandsthe native character so well and is so proficient in their language,that he was the best man who could be chosen for such a task."
And that was all that Winifred would say about "Mr. Malcolm," who wouldhave been the most miserable and the most astonished person in Indiathat night had he known how bitter was the girl's heart against him.
Though Winifred was not to blame, for the necklace and the pass offeredstrong evidence of double-dealing on her lover's part, her unjustsuspicions were doomed to receive a severe shock.
In the morning she heard that Captain Fulton wished to see her. She lefther quarters by a covered way and waited outside the Begum Kotee until asoldier found Fulton.
He came, bringing with him a native.
"This is the man who arrived from Cawnpore last night, Miss Mayne," hesaid. "He has a letter for you, but he refuses to deliver it to any onebut yourself. I fancy," added the gallant engineer officer with a smile,"that the sender impressed on him the importance of its reaching theright hands."
Winifred caught a glimpse of Frank's handwriting. Her face grew scarlet.For one delightful instant she forgot the harsh thoughts she hadharbored against him. Then the scourge of memory tortured her. Fulton'skindly assumption that Malcolm was her fiance must be dispelled and shebit her lower lip in vexation at the tell-tale rush of color that hadmantled her cheeks when Ungud discharged his trust and gave her theletter.
"It is from Captain Malcolm," she said coldly. "I suppose he wishes hispersonal belongings to be safeguarded. I am surprised he did not writeto my uncle rather than to me."
Fulton was surprised, but he laughed lightly.
"Every one to his taste," he said; "but from what little I have seen ofMalcolm I should wager that nine out of ten letters addressed to theMayne family would be intended for you, Miss Winifred. By the way, aword in your ear. General Inglis hopes to persuade our friend here totry his luck on a return journey to-night. Perhaps you may have a noteto send on your own account. No one else must know. This is a specialfavor, conferred because Malcolm himself procured Ungud's services, butwe cannot ask the man to act as general postman. Good-by."
He hurried away. Winifred, after the manner of woman, fingered theunopened letter.
"Kuch joab hai, miss-sahib?" asked Ungud.
"There is no answer--yet. I will give you one later."
The girl's Hindustani went far enough to enable her to frame the replyintelligibly. Ungud salaamed and left her, probably contrasting in hisown mind the lady's frigidity with the fervid instructions given him bythe officer-sahib.
Then Winifred went to her own room and opened her letter, and herwoman's heart gleaned the truth from its candor. Of course she cried.What girl wouldn't? But she smiled through her tears and read the nicebits over and over again. Not for twenty necklaces and a whole file ofhieroglyphic passes would she doubt Frank any more.
The reference to Chumru puzzled her and that was a gratifying thing initself, for if Frank could be mistaken about her share in Chumru'sdeparture from Lucknow, why should not she be wrong in herinterpretation of the mysterious presence of the necklace?
When her uncle came she wept again, being hysterical with the sheer joyof watching his face while he perused Frank's note.
A man's bewilderment finds different expression to a woman's. A mantrusts his brain, a woman her heart.
"If there is one thing absolutely clear in this letter it is that Frankknows nothing whatever about the pearls you produced from his turban,"said Mr. Mayne, with the frown of a judge who is dealing with a knottypoint in equity.
"There are--several things--quite clear in it--to me," flutteredWinifred.
"Ah, hum, yes. But I mean that it is ridiculous to suppose he wouldknowingly leave such a valuable article exposed to the chances andchanges of barrack-room life in a siege. Whatever motive he may have hadin concealing the necklace earlier he would surely have said somethingabout it now, given some hint as to its value, asked you to take care ofhis baggage, or something of the sort."
"In my heart of hearts I always felt that we were misjudging Frank,"said she.
Mayne's eyebrows lifted a trifle, but he passed no comment.
"By the way," he said, "where is the necklace?"
"Here," she said, pulling a box out of a cupboard. The string of pearlswas coiled up in the midst of the roll of soiled muslin and the badgewas pinned to one of the folds.
"That is a very unsafe place," said Mayne. "If I were you I would wearit beneath your bodice."
"Would you really?"
"Yes. I can think of no other explanation of the mystery now than thatFrank meant to surprise you with it. You may be sure he obtained ithonorably, so you will only be meeting his wishes by wearing it. At anyrate it will be safer in your possession than in that cupboard."
"Perhaps you are right," said she. And while she clasped thediamond-studded brooch in front of her white throat she glanced roundthe room for a mirror.
Her uncle smiled. He was glad that this little cloud had lifted offWinifred's sky. The sufferings and positive dangers of the siege werebad enough already without being added to by a private grief.
He stooped to pick up the turban and his eye fell on the regimentaldevice of the metal badge.
"This is not an officer's head-dress," he cried. "And Malcolm belongs tothe 3d Cavalry, whereas this badge was worn by a trooper in the 2d."
Winifred, who was turning her neck and shoulders this way and that toget different angles of light, stopped admiring herself and ran to hisside.
"That is the turban Frank wore during our ride from Cawnpore," shewhispered breathlessly.
"It may be. But don't you remember that he was bareheaded when we methim in Nana Sahib's garden? I was knocked almost insensible during thefight for the boat so I am not sure what happened during the next fewminutes. Nevertheless, I can recall that prior fact beyond cavil. If itwere not for the safe-conduct you found at the same time as the pearls,I would incline strongly to the belief that Frank obtained this turbanby accident, and is wholly ignorant of its extraordinary contents."
"I must write at once and tell him how sorry I am that I misjudged him."
"You dear little goose," cried her uncle amusedly, "Frank will begin towonder then what the judging was about. No. Wait until you meet. Write,by all means, but leave problems for settlement during your firsttete-a-tete."
So Ungud carried in his turban a loving and sympathetic note, whichWinifred, with no small pride, addressed to "Major Frank Malcolm,Headquarters Staff, British Field Force, Cawnpore," and she said inside,among other things, that she hoped this would prove to be the firstletter he received with the inscription of his new rank.
Ungud also took confidential details from the Brigadier for Havelock'sinformation, and in three days, being as supple as an eel and cautiousas a leopard, he was back again with a reply from the general to theeffect that the relieving force would arrive in less than a week.
He brought another missive from Frank, cheery and optimistic in tone andstill blithely oblivious of the existence of such baubles ashundred-thousand-dollar necklaces.
And that was all the news that either the garrison or Winifred receivedfor more than a month, when the intrepid Ungud again entered the linesto bring Havelock's ominous advice: "Do not negotiate, but rather perishsword in hand."
This time there was no letter from Frank, and the alarmed,half-despairing girl could only learn that the major-sahib was not withthe co
lumn, which had been compelled to fall back on Cawnpore after someheavy fighting in Oudh. Ungud did not think he was dead; but who couldtell? There were so many sahibs who fell, for out of his twelve hundredHavelock had lost nearly half, and was now eating his heart out in aweary wait for re-enforcements that were toiling up the thousand milesof road and river from Calcutta.
So the blackness of disappointed hope fell on the Residency and itsinmates. Those few natives who had hitherto proved faithful began todesert in scores. About a third of the European soldiers were dead.Smallpox and cholera added their ravages to the enemy's unceasing fireand occasional fierce assaults. Famine and tainted water, and lack ofhospital stores, and every evil device of malign fate that persecutespeople in such straits, were there to harass the unhappy defenders.Officers and men swore that they would shoot their women-folk with theirown hands rather than permit them to fall into the rebels' clutches,and, at times, when the siege slackened a little in its continuouscannonade, the devoted community gave way to lethargy and despondency.
But let the enemy muster for an attack, these veteran soldiers facedthem with the dogged steadfastness that made them gods among the Asiaticscum. The Brigadier, too, never allowed his splendid spirit to flag.Though for three months he had not slept without being fully dressed,though he worked harder than any other man in the garrison, he was thelife and soul of every outpost that he visited during the day or night.
Captain Fulton was another human dynamo in their midst. Finding plentyof miners among the Cornishmen of the 32d, he sunk a countermine foreach mine burrowed by the enemy. His favorite amusement was to sit alonefor hours in a shaft, wait patiently until the rebels bored a way up tohim, and then shoot the foremost workers.
And in such fashion the siege went on, with houses collapsing, becausethey were so riddled with cannon-balls that the walls gave way, andever-nearing sapping of the fortifications, and intolerable breaks inthe monsoon, when the heat became so overpowering that even the nativesyielded to the strain--and the days passed, and the weeks, and themonths, until, on September 16, Ungud, tempted by a bribe of fivethousand rupees, crept away for the last time with despatches forHavelock.
