AN AWFUL RIDE AND A RESCUE
Hurry on, brave men! let the wind be your messenger; stop neither
to eat nor drink; through the long sultry day and at nightfall,
when the awful eye of day is closed and the stars come out pale and
languid overhead, even until morning dawns and the terrible round of
sweltering heat and blinding dust begins again--hurry on! By narrow and
unfrequented ways, through villages whose favour has been bought, under
the shade of trees, and across tracts of jungle, where you are obliged
to go at a foot-pace, giving breathing time to the gallant beasts that
have carried you so bravely--on and ever on, for two dreadful days and
nights, that to one of you seem ever afterwards like an awful dream.
And yet, you are too late. And well it may be for yourselves that you
did not arrive earlier. For the storm has broken. In fire, and blood,
and fever it is spreading from city to city, and Jhansi, the home and
citadel of a woman scorned, has caught the dread contagion.
Up to June 1 they were at peace. The Ranee still sat smiling in her
palace, and still she added to her body-guard persons of proved
loyalty, and still the English believed her promises, and still the
troops within the city proclaimed their faithfulness loudly. And why
did the English need to fear? Meerut had not moved them. Delhi had
not moved them. The native states, Gwalior and Gumilcund, and Rewah
and Banda, were holding their hands. Nay, it was known that some of
them had offered help to the Paramount Power in the re-establishment
of order; and even if they had feared, what could they do? To show
mistrust at this eleventh hour would be to undo all that had gone
before, and to ruin everything.
On June 3 mysterious fires broke out; but even these did not unduly
alarm them. They were attributed to accident. It was not until the 4th
that their eyes were opened. Then the soldiers on parade, breaking away
suddenly and causelessly as it appeared to those who had not heard of
the secret messages that had been passing between the palace and the
native lines, shot down their sergeant and seized the artillery, and
with it made their way to the fort within the native city.
The Ranee still sat smiling in her palace; but when the news came to
her she ordered the palace gates to be opened, mounted her horse and
cantered over to the lines with her own faithful body-guard, who in her
name had seized upon the treasury, behind her.
Some of the English officers had been hurrying to her palace. They
were told on the way that she was in the hands of the mutineers,
and instantly the full magnitude of what had happened darted upon
them. They dashed back to the cantonments, calling as they went on
the English and Eurasians to follow them into the Star Fort, the
only building belonging to them now that was capable of defence.
It all happened in a moment. Some of them had not even heard of
the disturbance on parade. In the little house, once a tomb on the
maidan, something had been seen; but no one clearly understood what
had happened. 'Father will be in presently, and then we shall hear,'
said Mrs. White to her little Aglaia, as she tried to soothe her off
to sleep. But then the ayah rushed in like a wild creature, and with
a cry of 'They are coming; hide!' tore the child out of her arms. She
knew little more. Some one came and dragged her out of the house, and
she was mounted on a horse, to which, crying out for her child, she
clung because she could not help herself, and there was a mad, sick
flight across the blaze of the maidan, with yells at her heels, which
seemed to recede as she flew on, and then all at once she was in the
Fort amongst a circle of frightened women, and her husband, who had
not come for her himself, having work to do, was with the men, but her
child--her little darling--was nowhere to be seen. She made a wild rush
for the door. Even amongst the rebels there must be some one who would
have mercy upon her. When they held her back by force her shrieks and
cries were piteous to hear.
But all were not so helpless. In the little spell of time given them by
the rebels who were quarrelling over the booty, the men looked up the
stores of ammunition, and barricaded doors and windows, and allotted to
every combatant his post, and to every non-combatant his duty; and the
women gathered together the food which the more provident had brought
in, soothed the children, and made arrangements for the night.
No one, meanwhile, could tell poor Mrs. White anything of her child.
It was known, however, that some of the little English community had
yet to come in, and the sanguine hoped that Aglaia, who was a general
favourite, might be amongst them. Others feared that the ayah, seized
by panic, or deliberately treacherous, had given her up.
Late that afternoon, when those in the Fort had made all their
dispositions, the mutineers came clustering round, crying out that they
should surrender. They were received by a strong and well-directed
fire, which laid many of them low. This was not what they had bargained
for, so they retreated in some confusion to deliberate.
Slowly and awfully the first night in the Fort passed by. The women
slept, or tried to sleep. The men, fearing surprise, were on the watch.
Early in the morning such food as they had was distributed with a
little water and wine. Then two bold fellows--Eurasians--undertook to
go out in disguise and try to bring relief from the nearest European
station. Hopeless task! They were cut down before they were well clear
of the cantonments. Those inside, meanwhile, heard guns being dragged
into position to batter them to pieces. This attempt was soon given
up, for the defenders of the Fort, several of whom were dead shots,
peppered the artillery-men so freely, that after a score or so had
been shot down, no one could be found to undertake the duty. If only
there had been water and food in the Fort the defence might have been
heard of with that of Arah. But hunger and thirst are to besieged men
the deadliest of foes. No one could believe, moreover, that the good
Ranee, though misguided by evil counsellors, could actually permit
the slaughter of her English friends. After a little discussion it
was decided that three officers, each of whom was well known to her,
should go out as envoys, and treat with her for the surrender of the
Fort. They went out gaily, but they never returned. 'What have I to do
with English swine?' said the Ranee, when they were brought before her.
The haughty words were their sentence. At her palace gates they were
cut down; and the story of their fate was shouted derisively under the
windows of the Fort.
Another council was held. The provisions, it was found, would, with
economy, last another three days. It was hoped that, in the meantime,
their desperate situation might be heard of, and a relief attempted.
For another dreadful day and night they held out.
The morning of the third day dawned. The watchers were half dead with
fatigue and anxiety; the children were crying out piteously for water;
the women were faint, weary, and disheartened. When the sun rose the
rebels made an attack in force; but they were driven back, and there
were two or three hours of rest.
Then the Ranee sent the besieged a message. All she wanted was the
Fort. Let those within surrender it, and they would be allowed to go in
peace whither they desired.
Upon this another council was held. The boldest were for holding out.
There was, indeed, little or no hope of successful resistance; but, if
they must die, it would be better to die at their posts, fighting, like
brave men, than to fall into the hands of their cruel and treacherous
enemies. Had they been all men and combatants, this is the course they
would have taken. Unhappily the larger number of the fifty and odd
souls who were clustered together in the Fort were women and little
children and men of peace. To them, as others urged, this offer of the
Ranee gave the one and only loophole of escape that they could hope
for, and so, with heavy hearts and ominous forebodings of evil, the
brave men, who had counselled resistance, laid down their arms, the
gates of the Fort were thrown open, and the Ranee's bodyguard marched
in.
* * * * *
On the afternoon which witnessed the surrender of the English into
the hands of the Ranee, two horsemen crossed the boundaries of the
state, and stopped at a small village where one of them had friends.
These advised them strongly to go no further, alleging that something
extraordinary had been happening in the city. The two men refreshed
themselves and their horses, and galloped on to a grove, which lay off
the road, at a little distance from the village. Here, their horses
being completely spent, they dismounted and let them rest. As they
stood, with their hands on their bridle-reins, ready to mount and
gallop at the least alarm, there came to their ears a rumbling noise
as of distant thunder, and one of them--the master--said, 'We are too
late. It has begun.'
'We are too late, Excellency. There is nothing for us to do now but to
return whence we came,' answered the man.
'Go back you, Subdul! I must enter Jhansi, and see with my own eyes
what is going on.'
'My master is not wise. He will not be able to help, and he will risk
his own life, which is dear to his people.'
'Listen, Subdul!' said the young rajah, impressively. 'I have a friend
in that city--a little child. She loves me and believes in me. All
night long, while we were riding and resting, she has been beside me. I
tell you it is no dream; it is a reality. She is calling me, and I must
go. I must save my poor little Aglaia, or perish in the attempt. But
you have no such call; and why should two of us risk our lives? Stay
here, where you are known, or go back to Gumilcund.'
'Does his Excellency think that I would desert him?' said Subdul Khan,
sorrowfully. 'He has seen what I can do. Let him give himself into my
hands, and I will take him safely into Jhansi.'
'Make your own arrangements, Subdul; but remember that life or death
may hang on the next few moments.'
'I will use every diligence,' said Subdul, and he mounted his horse and
rode off, leaving Tom alone in the wood.
For more than an hour he waited patiently, and then, just as dusk was
beginning to fall, Subdul came back. He had changed his dress and
the accoutrements of his horse, so that at first his master failed
to recognise him; but, just as he was grasping his weapon to defend
himself, he heard his servant's voice.
'Does not my master know me?'
'Scarcely. What have you done to yourself?'
'I am in the dress of the Ranee's body-guard, Excellency. I met one
of them. He was drunk with bhang, and red with the slaughter of your
Excellency's countrymen. I drew him into a solitary place, slew him,
and took his garments.'
Tom gave an involuntary shudder, for he was new to this kind of thing;
but he made no remark. Mounting his horse, he followed Subdul out of
the wood. They avoided the high road, and, the dimness of the light
favouring them, crept along under the shadow of trees and walls until
they reached the outskirts of the city. The open maidan lay now between
them and the Star Fort.
'Stop,' whispered Subdul, as his master was about to gallop across it.
'Let his Excellency stay here for a few minutes! I will go forward and
see what has happened, and come back to him. In this dress I can mix
amongst them, and they will suppose me one of themselves.'
'Go,' said Tom; 'but come back quickly, or I shall not be able to bear
it.'
They were close to a mass of ruined masonry, which rose between them
and the town. Sheltering himself behind it, Tom looked and listened.
From the city came a tumult of fierce cries and trampling feet; here
and there clouds of smoke darkened the sky, and tongues of lurid flame
darting from their midst would, for a few moments, light up the scene
of ruin.
Tom's heart sank, and his breath came and went pantingly. He knew that
Subdul was right, that for him to rush into the pandemonium before him
would be ruin to himself and useless for others, and yet it was only
with the greatest difficulty that he could preserve his patience.
Subdul, meantime, was pricking across the maidan. In the place where
the cantonments had been, but which was now a shapeless mass of ruins,
he met a body of sepoys. They had lanterns in their hands, and they
were looking about for the gold and jewels which the Feringhees had
left behind them. He pulled up, told them he had lost his way in the
darkness, and asked where his comrades--the Ranee's bodyguard--were.
'Guarding the Feringhees' treasure,' said one of the men. 'The Ranee
has taken it, but we mean to have our share.'
'Tell her so,' cried another, with a rude jest.
'What is that to me?' said Subdul. 'I obey orders. The Feringhees are
slain?'
'Every man, woman, and child,' answered the soldier, savagely.
'How was it?' said Subdul. 'I have come in from the country, where I
have been visiting my father, and I know nothing.'
The party of sepoys, most of whom were intoxicated, for they had
ransacked the officers' wine-stores, broke into a loud laugh.
'By Allah!' cried one, 'I never thought to see such a sight. The
infidels were in the Fort, pouring out blasphemies, and shooting down
the sons of the Prophet like sheep. The evil one helped them, for they
were few in number. It was hot work, brother: and who cares to die in
the moment of victory? Our mother, the Ranee, who is a true daughter
of the Prophet, saw how it was with us, and promised them their lives
if they would give her up the Fort. They believed her word, and came
out. Then we bound them and carried them to the yokan Bagh, where we
fell upon them with the sword. There were fifty in all; men, women,
and children. The women cried for mercy, and some of us delayed to
smite, that we might hear them. But the orders were to be swift, so
we finished them; and there they lie, unburied, for the vultures and
jackals to feed upon. So may all enemies of the Prophet perish!'
He was answered by a shout that rang through the ruins. Subdul's
fingers were playing with his sword; but he restrained himself, and
said mildly, 'My brother is a man of war, and his deeds will win for
him a place in Paradise! Will he tell me where this garden is? I have
an enemy amongst the slain Feringhees, and I would fain see him with my
own eyes.'
The sepoy, to whom this was a most natural request, pointed with his
finger to the opposite side of the maidan. 'There is a ruined mosque
close by,' he said. 'The fathers of the devils we have slain desecrated
it, and it has never been rebuilt since.'
'I know the place,' answered Subdul. Sweeping round, he left them to
their devices, and, after a few minutes of rapid riding, rejoined his
master.
'What news?' said Tom.
'The worst!' answered Subdul; and he repeated what he had heard, adding
that the garden where the dreadful deed had been done was close by the
spot where they were standing.
For a few moments Tom was paralysed. This was worse--far worse--than he
had dreamed.
'Women and children!' he groaned.
'Every one of them, Excellency.'
'The brutes! The devils! Subdul, if we had only a score of our
Gumilcund men at our back----'
'We could do nothing, Excellency. There are hundreds in the city.'
'Cowards! every mother's son of them. I should have come with an army;
but it is too late now. Let us look for the child.'
'Have I not told your Excellency that all were slain?'
'Aglaia is not dead! I am certain of it. Are you afraid to come into
the garden where they lie, Subdul?'
'I will lead the way!' answered the man.
It was within a stone's-throw of the ruined mosque where they had been
hiding--an enclosed space surrounded with walls, and set out with grim
old trees, plots of yellow marigold, and shrubberies where roses, Cape
jessamine, the champa, and the asoka grew. Once it had been a haunt and
favourite pleasure-ground of the Ranee, who, in the days of her power,
had built a pavilion in its centre. Now it was seldom used.
The two men found the gates open and the place deserted. Not a single
soldier was left on guard. The murderers had done their foul work, and
had gone away to their triumph and plunder, leaving the speechless
witnesses of their treachery behind them. As, putting his horse to
a foot-pace, Tom groped his way through the darkness, his heart
contracted and his limbs trembled under him. Rather a thousand times
would he have met a hundred foes in fair fight than this. Eagerly,
meanwhile, he looked and listened, hoping against hope, that some might
have escaped. Nothing was to be seen but the heavy foliage of the
trees that blotted out the moonlight. Nothing was to be heard but the
night-breeze as it played with their branches.
Suddenly a shriek, penetrating and prolonged, broke upon the silence.
Another and another followed. They came up from the distance, and swept
towards the riders, nearer and nearer, until, with a rush like a blast
of wind in a narrow place, they passed them by. Sick with horror, Tom
pulled up. Subdul struck a match, set fire to a torch of brushwood
which he had been making as they went along, and swung it round his
head, upon which there was another wild flight, and another prolonged
shriek, which went on for a few moments and then died away in the
distance.
'The wild creatures have scented the deed of blood,' said Subdul.
'These are jackals! And see, my master, see!'
As he spoke they came into an open space and Subdul waved his torch
again. On the instant there was an awful, indescribable tumult, and
in the next the heavens were darkened by the wings of gigantic birds.
For a few moments they hovered overhead, casting their dread shadows on
the moonlit earth, and then sailed slowly away to the grove which the
riders had left.
'Does my master wish to see more?' said Subdul. 'They are there.' He
pointed to a group of trees near the centre of the garden, under which
they could faintly distinguish a mass of something dark.
'Subdul! Subdul!' cried the young fellow, piteously. 'I cannot bear it.'
'There is no need. I told my master that he could do nothing. Let us
consider our own safety and go back,' said Subdul.
'But if any of them should be alive.'
'It is impossible. The fiends have done their work too well.'
'I must look for the child, Subdul. If she is there--but she cannot be;
she cannot.'
'Listen,' said Subdul. 'What is that?'
They stopped. A low piping, sweet and clear, like the voice of an
English song-bird in the fresh dawn of the summer morning, fell upon
their ears. It came from a rose thicket, which lay to the right of the
path. In a second Tom was on his feet and had thrown his reins to
Subdul Khan. He stood for a moment listening, moving softly in the
direction whence the sounds had come, and then stood again. He could
now hear a little flutter, as of frightened breathing, and could dimly
discern a white figure moving amongst the bushes.
With a beating heart he went nearer. A fugitive, probably a native
servant, who would be able to tell him what he desired to know. He was
almost afraid of moving, lest he should startle her, and was pondering
how he could make known that he was a friend, when the piping bird-like
voice, which he had first heard, began again:
There is a happy land, Far, far away,
Where saints in glory stand, Bright, bright as day.
Sweetly the baby-voice lisped the sweet words. He could scarcely
restrain himself. He made an involuntary movement, and the voice of
the woman, faint with terror, came towards him: 'Hushee! Hushee! Missy
Sahib. Some one is near.'
'God is near,' piped the sweet little voice. 'I saw His wings. They
were so big, so big! I want Him to carry us away. I am so tired, and I
don't like hiding all this time. Do you think He will?'
'Missy! Missy!' cried the poor creature. 'Get up; come away. They have
seen us.'
'Tom said he'd come,' murmured the child.
The poor woman seized the child in her arms, but before she could run,
a hand was laid on her garments, and a voice, which, paralysed as she
was with terror, she recognised as the voice of a friend, called her by
her name.
In the next moment, Aglaia had leapt from her arms, and was lying in
the close embrace of her friend. He could not speak. Man as he was, his
eyes were full of tears and his voice was choked with sobs. Holding
the child to his breast, he guided the frightened ayah gently over the
broken ground. Then, as he recovered, he began to murmur broken words
of thanksgiving and endearment. 'My little darling! My treasure! You
are safe! They may tear me limb from limb, but they shall not hurt you.
Oh! thank God, thank God! that I have found you.'
As for the child, she said not a word. She clung to his neck. And
so, coming back softly they found Subdul and the horses, and set
off together--the child in Tom's arms, and the ayah riding behind
Subdul--for the village where they had friends.
They went slowly, keeping close under the shelter of trees and houses.
No one molested them. Fortunately for themselves they were in the
outskirts of the city and cantonments, and throughout that dreadful
night the revolted sepoys and the Ranee's body-guard were too busy
setting fire to the Europeans' dwellings, and raking the ashes for
treasure, to pay any heed to stragglers. In a short time they were out
in the open country, and now they rode on more securely.
Aglaia was fast asleep in Tom's arms. The ayah had regained her powers
of speech, and she poured out her history of all that had happened. The
sahibs had gone into the Fort. She would not take the child in, for she
knew what the soldiers were and she did not trust them. She flew by a
secret way to the garden, and there they hid, she feeding the child on
what she could find.
Did little Missy ask for her mother? Oh! yes, again and again; but
she (ayah) told the child that the Feringhees' God had taken her away
to stay in Paradise with Him, and she was satisfied. They were in the
garden when the English were brought in, all of them bound with cords.
It had been a long and sultry day, and the little one was asleep.
Sumbaten heard, she dared not look. There were cries, but they were
soon over, and then the soldiers went away, and everything was still.
'Missy was dreaming of you, Sahib,' she said to Tom, 'to-day and the
day before. She began to sing when she awoke, and she said you were
coming. Did your God tell her?'
He did not answer, but he pressed the child closer to his heart.
Of their further journey there is no space here to tell in any detail,
nor do I know much concerning its incidents. In my friend's diary it
is only briefly mentioned, and he suffers from a curious confusion
of ideas whenever he thinks of it. It was due, doubtless, in a great
measure to the admirable arrangements which Tom and his servants had
made beforehand that they were able to carry it through successfully,
for in every village on the route there were those who knew the Rajah
of Gumilcund, and were ready to serve him. Once he was obliged to fall
back on the pass given to him by Dost Ali Khan, who, as he presently
found, was becoming a power in the land. What he most dreaded was
an encounter with the White Ranee, but, being careful to travel by
night and along the unfrequented routes, all of which were well-known
to Subdul, he succeeded in avoiding her. He heard, however, that
she continued to haunt the district, and that her armed train was
constantly recruited by the soldiers whom Dost Ali Khan seduced.
After that first night, Aglaia and the ayah travelled in a litter, as
ladies of high rank. The child's skin was stained, so that she might
pass for an Indian, and Subdul, whose resources were boundless, managed
to get a suitable dress for the ayah. As a general rule they camped
out in the open, when Aglaia would amuse them with her quaint ways and
sayings. Some days she would be as happy as if nothing had happened. At
other times she cried piteously for her mother and father, and it was
only when the ayah, who had a vivid imagination, assured her that she
had seen God carrying them away to heaven that she would be pacified.
'Why didn't He take me too?' she would sometimes ask, a question which
none of them found it easy to answer.
Happily for herself she had not, like other little ones, seen the
horror that would ever after haunt them like a nightmare; and, day
by day, as new scenes passed before her eyes, and fresh experiences
greeted her, the memory of her nurse's frenzied flight, and of the two
days in the garden, grew fainter. She still thought of her parents,
but it was reproachfully, rather than sadly. They might have taken her
with them when they went up to God. But this, after all, was ayah's
fault, rather than theirs. Ayah had taken her away and hidden her.
Tom said she had hidden her for him, which to Aglaia, who was now as
deeply devoted to him as she had been on board the 'Patagonia,' was a
sufficient explanation.
So, after several days and nights of travelling, they reached the
borders of Gumilcund.
What an entry it was! Stranger even and more memorable than the young
rajah's first arrival in the city that he was called upon to govern.
Runners had been sent out in every direction to seek for him, and
when, late in the afternoon of a sultry June day, one of these came
back with the joyful news that their rajah, bringing fugitives with
him, was actually within the boundaries of the state, the enthusiasm
of the people could no longer be suppressed. They poured out in their
hundreds, armed men accompanying them, while in front of them rode
Chunder Singh, the minister, and Vishnugupta, the priest, and when they
saw the little group--the litter and its bearers, and the two horsemen
riding beside it--joyous acclamations and shouts of welcome, and
ejaculations of praise and thanksgiving, rent the air.