WITHIN THE WALLS OF MEERUT
Within the walls of Meerut, meanwhile, all was confusion and despair.
Those of the English and Eurasian residents who had escaped from the
massacre of the 10th of May were gathered together, in much closer
quarters than they had ever occupied before, tremulously expecting the
worst. The British soldiers, burning to be led against the mutineers,
were kept day and night upon guard, for the rebels' return with
reinforcements, to finish the deadly work they had begun, was hourly
expected; but they did not come, and at last it dawned upon the minds
of those in authority that, seeing they were within entrenchments, a
smaller number of soldiers might serve to guard them. It took some
time for this idea to work in the official mind; but, at last, to the
intense satisfaction of the soldiers and regimental officers, five
hundred men were told off to join the English force which was supposed
to be marching on Delhi.
It was on the 23rd that the General encountered the detachment from his
mutinous regiment in the wood; and, early on the 24th, the force from
Meerut was to be in readiness to march. Hence the ambush. The rebels,
whose intelligence department was much better managed than ours--they
had spies everywhere--knowing exactly what was going to happen, had
imagined that, through the General, whom, they believed, they could
easily entrap, they might paralyse the action of the English, so far,
at least, as to delay, for some days, the march of a detachment from
Meerut.
They had, as we have seen, most grossly miscalculated. But, meanwhile,
the firing had been heard at Meerut, and a gallant young officer, well
known to the General, who had been burning to distinguish himself and
to redeem the honour of the English arms, gained permission to go out
and reconnoitre with a party of fifty horsemen.
It was late in the evening; but the moon was well up, and there was
light enough to guide them to the scene of the little skirmish. It
was over by the time they rode out upon the plain. The General and
his men had taken their own vengeance; but, exhausted as they were,
their chief wounded, their horses dead-beat, and their situation
precarious--since, for all they knew to the contrary, the woods behind
them might be full of rebels--the sight of this little band of their
countrymen coming out to meet them was, beyond expression, cheering.
'They are not all dead then, thank God!' said the General. 'Two of you
gallop out to meet them, boys, and tell them how it is with us.'
'Can you sit a horse, sir,' said Tommy, 'or shall we send for a litter?'
'Litter! Nonsense! I'm not going to give up the ghost yet,' said the
old soldier, testily. 'But,' to himself, 'I shan't mind being at home.
I believe the scoundrel spoke the truth so far. Poor little monkeys!
I wonder which of them is hurt. Oh, God, if I had only listened to
reason, and left them all at home!'
'Do you want anything, sir?' said one of his men, who saw him speaking,
but could not catch his voice.
'No, thank you,' he answered, 'except to get away from this. Ah! here
they are! Friends this time, not foes! Welcome, Bertie,' to the young
officer, who had sprung from his horse, and was looking down upon him
mournfully. 'Don't look so glum, you young rascal. They are safe?'
sharply.
'Your people escaped, General. One of the young ladies was hurt, not
seriously, I believe. Lady Elton has been in the most terrible state of
anxiety.'
'No doubt! No doubt! Well, I shall hear all about it from themselves
soon. Lift me into a saddle, Bertie. We'd better be moving.'
Kullum Khan, who was sobbing like a child, took the General under one
arm, the young officer under the other, and in a few moments they had
him mounted on the quietest and strongest of the horses, a trooper
getting up behind him, to keep him in his place. Then, carrying the
wounded Indians between them, the cavalcade set off across the plain.
The mango grove where the skirmish had begun was within three miles of
Meerut; but as, for the sake of the wounded, they were obliged to move
slowly, the transit took some time. Scouts, meanwhile, were thrown out
in every direction, to keep the coasts clear, and warn them of danger.
But there was not even an alarm. The combatants, as the General said
grimly, were on their faces, and the non-combatants kept out of their
way.
They came upon the outskirts of Meerut. The General was moaning
heavily, with pain and anguish. There was nothing now to keep up his
proud heart, and it fell.
He knew all the landmarks, and each one had some memory for him. There
was the little grove where, one glorious evening, he and his men had
picnicked when they came down upon Meerut from the Sikh war, to enjoy a
little rest after the hardships of the campaign. How splendid they had
looked, and how handy and helpful they were, living on next to nothing,
and going through fatigue and privation that would have floored half a
European regiment!
And now they were close on the cantonments. He had built several of
the bungalows here and laid out their gardens--the mess-house for
the officers of his regiment, the colonel's house, the spacious and
beautiful bungalow, finished while he was in England, to which only
a few weeks before he had brought his wife and children. This last
was outside cantonments and nearer to the native lines than any other
English house.
He remembered now, pacing slowly and sadly over the blackened ground,
with the charred ruins of what had so lately been a happy home staring
him in the face, how one or two had warned him that, in case of a
rising, the situation would be dangerous, and how proudly he had
smiled at the absurdity of the notion. 'While my family and I are in
the station,' he said, 'a rising would be impossible, and I don't ask
anyone else to occupy the house.' And now it was literally gutted.
As they were crossing what had been the garden of the General's
bungalow, an old man came out from the ruins and confronted them. The
young officer who, with drawn sword, was leading the cavalcade, would
have swept him aside, but he cried out so piteously to be heard that
the General, who was some yards behind, ordered that he should be
brought to him.
'I think I know your voice,' he said.
'The Sahib should know,' replied the man, weeping bitterly; 'for I have
served him these twenty years.'
'You are Yaseen Khan, my bearer.'
'I am Yaseen Khan, Sahib General, and my son Kullum----'
'I am here, Yaseen,' said the Sepoy from behind. 'I could not go on,
and I slew Koolraj Sing, who tried to deceive me.'
'The gods be praised!' murmured the old man. 'Sahib, by the God you
worship, I beseech you to take me on with you!'
'Why are you here, Yaseen Khan?' said the General.
'Have patience, Excellency, and I will tell you everything. They
surrounded this house and set it on fire in three places. Then I ran to
the lines and called my son, Kullum, who, with Soubahdar Sufder Jung
and others, came up, and the _budmashes_ fled. Trixy Sahib was hurt;
I know not how. They carried her in their arms--my son Kullum and the
Soubahdar--as if she had been their own child. The others walked, for
no carriage was to be found; but the men guarded them carefully, and
not a hair of their heads was touched. I thought of the General Sahib's
gold, and I went back to get it. I could not carry it away; but I
buried it in a secret place. Then the _budmashes_ came round the house
again, yelling like evil spirits. They found me, and said they would
kill me if I did not find them gold. I said I would find it, and, in
going, I escaped. I was close to them, Sahib, and I heard their cries.
They would have torn me to pieces if they had found me; but there was
an alarm. Some one said, "The Sahibs are coming!" and they ran out, and
I saw and heard them no more. But I dared not move; I kept in hiding,
waiting for your Honour's return, and living on the food I could pick
up. For two days I have not eaten. Have pity on me, Sahib, and take me
on!'
'Mount him on one of the horses, and bring him on behind me,' said the
General. 'I believe that what he tells me is the truth.'
A few moments later they came upon the vedettes, and then, the young
officer having answered the challenge, they entered the town.
Here the General insisted upon dismounting.
'I can't present myself to my wife and children in this guise,' he
said. 'Dismiss your men to their quarters, Bertie, and let them find
quarters for my men, and for the natives who were faithful. You give me
your arm and we will find Lady Elton.'
The officer gave the necessary directions, adding, on his own account,
that the surgeon of his regiment should be sent to the General's
quarters, and they set off together, the General leaning heavily on the
arm of his guide, and Yaseen Khan, the bearer, following them.
Lady Elton and her children were under canvas. They had preferred
this arrangement to accepting shelter from any of the houses thrown
open to them, and the Soubahdar and his men having succeeded in
saving many of their things, they had been able already to give their
new quarters a tolerably home-like appearance. It was only in this
way--in exerting themselves to set things straight 'for father,' who,
they felt sure, must come in soon--that the girls could keep their
mother cheerful, or that any of them could chase away the terrible
despondency and shuddering fear which would, at times, take possession
of them. For upon these unfortunate ladies, bred up in the traditions
of the old Anglo-Indian, who looked upon a native as a cross between a
machine and an animal--a creature to be treated with kindly contempt
when he behaved himself, and to be promptly licked into shape when
he did not--the mutiny fell like a bolt of fire out of a clear sky.
They had heard rumours of discontent, but nothing came of them. They
were disposed to think that the repressive measures had not been
sufficiently severe, and when on May 9 the mutineers of the 3rd
Native Cavalry, who had been condemned by their own countrymen, and
sentenced to ten years' imprisonment, were stripped of their uniform
and put in irons, while sorry for the unhappy men who had been so
miserably deluded, they believed that this one severe example would
be sufficient, and that no more would be heard of mutiny. Lady Elton
was fond of quoting her husband in those days. 'The General says all
they want is firmness. They are the best fellows in the world when
you take them the right way. He ought to know, for he has had so much
experience.' And then Maud would repeat her saucy little phrase about
the riding-whip, and the ladies, who had come to consult them, would
go away reassured. 'You may depend upon it,' they would say, 'General
Elton and his wife know more about these people than we do.'
To be awakened from this dream of security by the rattle of musketry
from the lines; and, after a few minutes of terror-stricken silence,
the tramp of armed men upon the plain, and the shock of contending
forces, was terrible beyond description. How, stirred up by Yaseen
Khan, who ran in hot haste for his son, they barricaded themselves into
the innermost room of the bungalow, piling furniture against the doors
to keep out the mutineers; how, sitting huddled together, clasped in
one another's arms, they heard the defiant shouts and yells of rage
come nearer and nearer; how Trixy, the first to recover presence of
mind, climbed up to a peep-hole under the roof, and came back with
the awful intelligence that the stables and kitchens were in flames;
how they heard the wretches, who were mad with bhang and fanaticism,
getting on to the roof; then the yell, when the thatch was torn aside,
and one of the fierce creatures looked down on them; the screams of the
girls, and brave little Trixy's pistol-shot, followed by a shriek from
the first scoundrel, and a shot from the man behind him, which brought
the poor girl to the ground,--all this lives still in these poor
women's remembrance as a dream of horror!
They were rescued as we have seen. Those surrounding the General's
house were _budmashes_ from the bazaars and the criminals who had
rushed out when the gaol doors were opened, and at the approach of the
disciplined force under Soubahdar Sufder Jung every one of them took
to their heels. The ladies, half dead with fright, and some of their
choicest possessions, were escorted safely to the English barracks,
where they lodged that night. Then began that weary waiting-time, which
to poor Lady Elton was even worse than the scene of horror through
which they had passed. Her husband was away. She had not heard from
him for some days, and did not know where he was. Her beloved eldest
daughter Grace and her niece, only lately married, were in the heart
of a district said to be unsettled before, and which now, when this
terrible news from Meerut went abroad, would be almost certain to rise.
She had friends at Cawnpore, friends at Delhi, friends at Jhansi. None
of them all were so well guarded as they of Meerut. If massacre and
destruction could run riot here, what would it be there?
Day by day she looked for her husband's arrival. She never feared for
his personal safety. She had still the firmest belief in his power over
the native soldiery; but if he came something might be done. For this
made one element in the misery of the old soldier's wife and daughters.
Nothing was being done. 'If I were in command here,' Trixy would say,
clenching her little fists, 'not one of those brutes should have
reached Delhi. Bertie Liston says the men were burning to be off. He
could scarcely keep them quiet. I think I should have let them go--gone
with them.'
'Trixy is a great warrior since she fired that pistol,' said Maud;
'but, seriously, mother, don't you think something ought to be done?'
'My dear children, be patient! We are women. We know nothing. Soldiers
must obey orders,' said Lady Elton sadly. 'If your father would only
come!'
'He will come soon, mother darling, don't be afraid,' said gentle
little Lucy.
Some such conversation as this had taken place on the afternoon of the
day when firing was heard outside the walls. The five women heard it
distinctly as they sat over their tea in the tent. Then Bertie Liston
came rushing in with a radiant face. 'Good-bye,' he said, 'I am sent
out to reconnoitre. What will you give me if I bring you back the
General?'
'Anything, everything--all we have,' cried Trixy impulsively. She was
lying on a charpoy, for she had not yet recovered from her wound.
Bertie looked at her, and her pale face flushed; but there was time for
no more words. He went out: she heard his horse's hoofs clattering over
the paving-stones in the compound of the barracks, and covering her
face with her hands she burst into tears.
* * * * *
An hour or more passed by. The firing outside had ceased. Nothing could
be heard but the pacing of the sentinels and the chowkedars crying
out one to the other. Darkness had fallen; but the little company in
the tent did not stir. Then Maud, crying out that she could stand it
no longer, lighted a lamp; Trixy, who was very much ashamed of her
little outburst, asked for a book, and Lady Elton fell back upon her
never-failing resource--the silk stockings she was knitting for the
General. 'Do you think, dears,' she said to the two youngest girls,
Lucy and Mildred, 'that you could sing one of your duets? If father did
come home to-night, it would please him to hear your voices.' They said
they would try, and in a few moments their sweet clear young voices
rose above the stillness. It was one of the sentimental ditties that
we used to admire in those days, neither the words of the song nor
the music to which it was set of a particularly high order; but as,
supported by his young friend, the old General approached the lighted
tent, and heard in his girls' sweet voices of wild waves whispering and
red roses fading away, his heart thrilled with a rapture such as no
artistic music could have given. 'Bless them,' he said, in a low and
heartfelt voice. 'All right, isn't it, Bertie? They couldn't sing like
that if the shock had been too much for them. There! what an old donkey
I am! I knew the children had the pluck of--Come on, Bertie. They are
stopping. They hear us. Back, Yaseen Khan, you old fool! I don't want
you to announce me.'
And now the curtain before the tent is thrown aside, and he sees
them--his sweet wife and the children, who are dearer to him than his
life, and his stern eyes fill with tears, and the voice of thunder,
which only a few moments before had roared out defiance to a hundred
foes, is as weak as that of a little child. 'Well, here I am! How are
you all?' he says, feebly.
He is in the gloom; they are in the light. They have not seen, but
they have heard. In a moment they spring up, all but poor Trixy, who
is crying quietly, and there are cries of 'Wilfrid! Thank God! Father!
Father!' And a little voice from the corner is heard to say, 'Bertie
has brought him. Don't let Bertie go away!'
All at once there is a lull. They have drawn him under the light, and
they see that his face is pale and drawn, and one of them discovers
that his arm is roughly bandaged. 'Father has been wounded. Children,
don't press round him so,' cries Lady Elton. 'Will some one run for a
doctor?'
'The Doctor Sahib is here,' says a voice outside; a quiet voice, which
contrasts strangely with the agitated tones of those within the tent.
In the next instant Yaseen Khan, the bearer, clad in snow-white tunic
and dhootie, and having on his head a voluminous turban--how he had set
himself in order no one ever knew--steps forward, and having, with his
usual dignity, saluted those in the tent, ushers in the doctor.
Then from that irrepressible little person in the corner there comes a
peal of laughter. 'Bravo, Yaseen Khan!' she cries. 'You are decidedly
master of the situation. Have you been hiding yourself in a band-box
all this time, you most unconscionable old man?'
Yaseen Khan merely salaams and smiles. He is busy attending to his
master, and has no time for banter.