SALAAM!
This narrative touches only the fringe of the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857.
Its subsequent history is written in letters of flame. Never has the
world witnessed such scenes of atrocity, perfidy and massacre as
swept over India during those lurid months, when the legions of
darkness were loosed for a season.
The Mogul Empire was proclaimed at Delhi in May. On the last day of
the same month took place the mutiny at Cawnpore; the city was
invested by Nana Sahib on the 6th of June; it surrendered twenty days
later, and the garrison were butchered the next day. On the 16th of
July, General Havelock was so close that the most awful massacre of
all (that of the women and children) was perpetrated and Nana Sahib
withdrew, Havelock relieving it the it the day following.
The principal massacres down to the close of July were at Mutta,
Delhi, Lucknow, Bareilly, Neemuch, Fyzabad and Cawnpore.
But the wail of British India was borne across the thousands of miles
of land and sea to England, who arose in the might of her wrath and
sent her veterans of the Crimea to visit retribution on the merciless
Sepoys. In the face of a flaming climate, malignant disease and
wholesale treachery on every hand, her heroes hurled themselves
against the united Hindoos and Mussulmans, and her vengeance was all
the more terrible because it was delayed.
Delhi, the Mogul capital, was invested by General Barnard on June 8,
assaulted September 14, and captured on the 20th. The wretched
puppet, Mohammed Suraj-oo-deen Shah Gezee, over four score years old,
fled before the furious hosts. He was pursued and captured by
Captain Hodson, who promised his life in case of surrender. On the
same day, two sons and one grandson of the Emperor, all three among
the leading demons of the numerous atrocities, were shot dead by
Captain Hodson with his revolver, as they were sitting in a carriage,
surrounded by a frenzied mob that was about to rescue them.
Order having been ultimately restored in Delhi, a military commission
was appointed to try such leading mutineers as had been captured in
or near the city. Such commissions generally convict, and by the
sentence of this one twenty members of the Delhi royal family were
executed, together with a number of red handed Ghoojur chiefs.
In the month of January, the King himself was put on trial. He was
found guilty of each of the four charges alleged against him, the
penalty of which is death as a traitor and felon, but, because of the
assurance given at the time of his surrender to Captain Hodson, he
was sentenced to a life transportation to the Andaman Islands. This
was changed to British Kaffraria, and this in turn to a station in
British Burmah, known as Tonghoo, some three hundred miles inland
from Rangoon, where he arrived on the 9th of December, 1858. And
there, in 1861, miserably ended the career of the last sovereign of
the race of Timur.
Nana Sahib was the leading fiend in the Sepoy Mutiny. His ultimate
fate will never be known. The British government offered a reward of
a lac of rupees (fifty thousand dollars) for his capture, and several
persons were arrested because of their resemblance to him. It was
reported that he had crossed the Himalayas, and found refuge among
the tribes to the north. It was claimed that he was afterwards seen
in different parts of Hindostan, while others were convinced that he
was killed during the closing scenes of the insurrection. Strange as
it may seem, there are people today in India who believe that Nana is
still alive, so changed by years and so disguised that none but his
most intimate friends would suspect his identity. It is incredible,
however, that such can be the case.
The author of the "Land of the Veda" uses the following impressive
language:
"When again defeated, for the fifth time, he fled to the congenial
society of Khan Bahador at Bareilly, where he made his last stand;
and he then, having filled to overflowing the measure of his guilt,
passed away like a thief in the night, and left his wealth to the
spoiler. He and his followers entered the jungles of Ouda, and
penetrated deep into desolate wilds, where the malarious fever soon
thinned out his company and reduced the remnant to the final
distress. For the last that is known of this man's doom we have to
depend upon the reports of two native spies who followed him, and two
of his servants who subsequently found their way out of those
Himalayan solitudes. Wasted and worn at last by fever and
starvation, they are reported to have held a council and concluded to
put their swords each through his own women, and then to separate and
die alone. Certainly a remnant of any of them has never since been
seen. The Nana Sahib wore that great ruby which was so celebrated
for its size and brilliancy. His priests had told him that it was an
amulet which secured to him a charmed life. He trusted in it, no
doubt, to the very last. It was probably in his turban when he
wandered up the deep ravine to die alone; and if so, there it lies
today, for no human hand will penetrate those pestilential jungles to
gather it/ The eagles of the Himalayas alone, as they look down from
their lofty heights for their prey, are the only creatures that will
ever see the burning rays of that ruby, as it shines amid the rags of
the vagrant who perished there long years ago."
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Early in the year 1858, Reverend Francis Hildreth, the missionary,
and his family, reestablished themselves in the royal city of Delhi.
Their house was destroyed during the commune of the preceding twelve
months, but the good man had enough means left to procure another,
and he resumed his work in his Master's vineyard.
Luchman did good service as a guide for the British forces, and
proved, as did every native convert, faithful under all temptations.
It is one of the most striking facts connected with the Sepoy Mutiny
that not a single instance is known where a native professing
Christianity swerved from his faith.
Surgeon Baird Avery was professionally employed during the closing
scenes of the rebellion. He and Luchman were generally within
communicating distance of each other, and one evening they met at the
house of the missionary, where no two persons could have been made
more welcome.
Dr. Avery had done his full duty to his friend, George Harkins, and
the little company were indulging in reminiscences of those memorable
days and nights following the flight from Delhi, when Luchman, who
was in unusually high spirits, asked Mr. Hildreth whether he would be
kind enough to write a letter for him. The gentleman said he would
do so with pleasure, and ink, pen and paper were brought forth.
"We will withdraw," said Marian, supposing there leas something
private about the matter.
But the native protested: he wanted all to have a hand in the
composition of the missive. He had some knowledge of written
English, and spoke it remarkably well, though, for the sake of
smoothness in our narrative, we have always aimed to give him help in
that respect.
"I am ready," said the missionary, with a smile; "to whom shall it be
addressed?"
"To Wana Affghar of Puneput."
"Ah," exclaimed the amanuensis, while all looked at Luchman in
astonishment; "do you mean to give him a lecture on his wickedness?"
"No, sahib; I have something to tell him which will surprise him."
"But how is the communication to be delivered?"
"I will get it to him, sahib."
"I am ready: proceed."
Luchman moved uneasily as he sat on the floor: this was not the kind
of business to which he was accustomed. Noticing his embarrassment,
Mr. Hildreth addressed the letter.
"Unto Wana Affghar of Puneput, Luchman sends salaams."
Reading this aloud, the writer added:
"Now, my good friend, instead of trying to think of the form, tell me
what you want to say, and I will put it together for you."
Still the native was restless.
"Recall to Wana Affghar the agreement which I made for the ransom of
the Feringhees that were shut in the temple."
This was done in proper form.
"Tell him I meant to keep my part as a Christian."
"I will write that you _did_ do so."
"No, sahib, write it as I said."
It was so written.
"But I distrusted him, and so I waited until I was sure he had not
broken his word."
It took the rapidly moving pen but a minute or so to put this in
shape, while every one began to wonder what was coming next.
"Say that if he had been faithful I would have given him the great
diamond, the Star of India."
Every one was breathless with amazement, and, instead of writing the
words as dictated, Mr. Hildreth stared at Luchman. The latter smiled
and said:
"I am waiting, sahib."
"But--but--I do not understand."
And then the guide explained:
"I did not give him the real diamond; I gave him a false one, and
brought away the Star of India with me. It was in my turban all the
time, close to the false one. Had I found that he had kept his
promise, I would have given him the true diamond afterwards, for I
had promised to do so, and I am a Christian. But he broke his vow;
therefore he had no right to the Star of India. I had the false one
made when I was in Calcutta, and carried it with me alongside the
real one."
"It wasn't the paste one which you showed _me_?" ventured Dr. Avery,
when he could find his breath.
"No, sahib; no one ever saw that after I brought it away until I
placed it in the palm of Wana, but you could hardly know any
difference. Wana Affghar will never see the Star of India, for I
have given it to another."
The pen of the writer dropped to the floor.
"Can this be possible?"
"Will you write that, sahib?"
The old gentleman picked up his pen in a mechanical way, but it was
some time before he could recover from the daze in which he was
thrown by the astounding declaration.
At last the words were written, and when the excitement grew less the
story was completed.
Between Wana Affghar and Luchman the game was a genuine one of
"diamond cut diamond;" and though the reader of this narrative may
have concluded that the Ghoojur chieftain overmatched the Hindoo, yet
I am sure he will now revise that verdict and decide the other way.
During one of the visits of Luchman to Calcutta, he secured the
services of a native lapidary, who, by some alchemy unknown out of
his country, made a perfect imitation of the Star of India, which
Luchman took with him, impelled by a vague idea that it might serve
him in some such contingency as arose.
Inserting his fingers again in his turban, he brought forth a piece
of soft brown paper, as he had done before, and partly turning so as
to face Marian Hildreth, tossed the gem into her lap.
"I have saved it for you," said he, "but did not give it before,
because I was afraid you could not keep it while the war was raging
about you. Now it is safe: will you take it?"
"But why do you give it to me, Luchman?"
The native was silent a moment, as if struggling to control his
emotion. Then in a low, touching voice, he said:
"Your father, the sahib, told me so much about Christianity that I
could not sleep for thinking; I was sorrowed by the words of your
good mother; but I had been such a bad man that I did not believe God
would pardon me. But it was you, the daughter, who showed me that my
Heavenly Father would pardon the greatest of sinners. I asked God to
forgive me, and He did so; I found the jewel of great price; you had
it long ago; take this not from me, but from my _heart_."
There could be no refusing such a request.
Thus it was that the Star of India came into the possession of Marian
Hildreth.
"It is a fortune," said Dr. Avery some weeks later, "but vast as is
its worth, a thousand such are not to be compared with my jewel,--my
own beloved wife."
And she did not say him nay.
THE END.