A Peep into Spain—Account of the Origin and Services of the Ahmednuggar
Irregulars
HEADQUARTERS, MORELLA: _September_ 15, 1838
I have been here for some months, along with my young friend Cabrera:
and in the hurry and bustle of war—daily on guard and in the batteries
for sixteen hours out of the twenty-four, with fourteen severe wounds
and seven musket-balls in my body—it may be imagined that I have had
little time to think about the publication of my memoirs. _Inter arma
silent leges_—in the midst of fighting be hanged to writing! as the
poet says; and I never would have bothered myself with a pen, had not
common gratitude incited me to throw off a few pages.
Along with Oraa’s troops, who have of late been beleaguering this
place, there was a young Milesian gentleman, Mr. Toone O’Connor Emmett
Fitzgerald Sheeny by name, a law student, and a member of Gray’s Inn,
and what he called _Bay Ah_ of Trinity College, Dublin. Mr. Sheeny was
with the Queen’s people, not in a military capacity, but as
representative of an English journal; to which, for a trifling weekly
remuneration, he was in the habit of transmitting accounts of the
movements of the belligerents, and his own opinion of the politics of
Spain. Receiving, for the discharge of his duty, a couple of guineas a
week from the proprietors of the journal in question, he was enabled,
as I need scarcely say, to make such a show in Oraa’s camp as only a
Christino general officer, or at the very least a colonel of a
regiment, can afford to keep up.
In the famous sortie which we made upon the twenty-third, I was of
course among the foremost in the _mêlée_, and found myself, after a
good deal of slaughtering (which it would be as disagreeable as useless
to describe here), in the court of a small inn or podesta, which had
been made the headquarters of several Queenite officers during the
siege. The pesatero or landlord of the inn had been despatched by my
brave chapel-churies, with his fine family of children—the officers
quartered in the podesta had of course bolted; but one man remained,
and my fellows were on the point of cutting him into ten thousand
pieces with their borachios, when I arrived in the room time enough to
prevent the catastrophe. Seeing before me an individual in the costume
of a civilian—a white hat, a light blue satin cravat, embroidered with
butterflies and other quadrupeds, a green coat and brass buttons, and a
pair of blue plaid trousers, I recognised at once a countryman, and
interposed to save his life.
In an agonised brogue the unhappy young man was saying all that he
could to induce the chapel-churies to give up their intention of
slaughtering him; but it is very little likely that his protestations
would have had any effect upon them, had not I appeared in the room,
and shouted to the ruffians to hold their hand.
Seeing a general officer before them (I have the honour to hold that
rank in the service of His Catholic Majesty), and moreover one six feet
four in height, and armed with that terrible _cabecilla_ (a sword so
called, because it is five feet long) which is so well known among the
Spanish armies—seeing, I say, this figure, the fellows retired,
exclaiming, “Adios, corpo di bacco nosotros,” and so on, clearly
proving (by their words) that they would, if they dared, have immolated
the victim whom I had thus rescued from their fury. “Villains!” shouted
I, hearing them grumble, “away! quit the apartment!” Each man, sulkily
sheathing his sombrero, obeyed, and quitted the camarilla.
It was then that Mr. Sheeny detailed to me the particulars to which I
have briefly adverted; and, informing me at the same time that he had a
family in England who would feel obliged to me for his release, and
that his most intimate friend the English Ambassador would move heaven
and earth to revenge his fall, he directed my attention to a
portmanteau passably well filled, which he hoped would satisfy the
cupidity of my troops. I said, though with much regret, that I must
subject his person to a search; and hence arose the circumstance which
has called for what I fear you will consider a somewhat tedious
explanation. I found upon Mr. Sheeny’s person three sovereigns in
English money (which I have to this day), and singularly enough a copy
of the _New Monthly Magazine_, containing a portion of my adventures.
It was a toss-up whether I should let the poor young man be shot or no,
but this little circumstance saved his life. The gratified vanity of
authorship induced me to accept his portmanteau and valuables, and to
allow the poor wretch to go free. I put the Magazine in my coat-pocket,
and left him and the podesta.
The men, to my surprise, had quitted the building, and it was full time
for me to follow; for I found our sallying party, after committing
dreadful ravages in Oraa’s lines, were in full retreat upon the fort,
hotly pressed by a superior force of the enemy. I am pretty well known
and respected by the men of both parties in Spain (indeed I served for
some months on the Queen’s side before I came over to Don Carlos); and,
as it is my maxim never to give quarter, I never expect to receive it
when taken myself. On issuing from the podesta with Sheeny’s
portmanteau and my sword in my hand, I was a little disgusted and
annoyed to see our own men in a pretty good column retreating at
double-quick, and about four hundred yards beyond me, up the hill
leading to the fort; while on my left hand, and at only a hundred
yards, a troop of the Queenite lancers were clattering along the road.
I had got into the very middle of the road before I made this
discovery, so that the fellows had a full sight of me, and whizz! came
a bullet by my left whisker before I could say Jack Robinson. I looked
round—there were seventy of the accursed malvados at the least, and
within, as I said, a hundred yards. Were I to say that I stopped to
fight seventy men, you would write me down a fool or a liar: no, sir, I
did not fight, I ran away.
I am six feet four—my figure is as well known in the Spanish army as
that of the Count de Luchana, or my fierce little friend Cabrera
himself. “GAHAGAN!” shouted out half-a-dozen scoundrelly voices, and
fifty more shots came rattling after me. I was running— running as the
brave stag before the hounds—running as I have done a great number of
times before in my life, when there was no help for it but a race.
After I had run about five hundred yards, I saw that I had gained
nearly three upon our column in front, and that likewise the Christino
horsemen were left behind some hundred yards more; with the exception
of three, who were fearfully near me. The first was an officer without
a lance; he had fired both his pistols at me, and was twenty yards in
advance of his comrades; there was a similar distance between the two
lancers who rode behind him. I determined then to wait for No. 1, and
as he came up delivered cut 3 at his horse’s near leg—off it flew, and
down, as I expected, went horse and man. I had hardly time to pass my
sword through my prostrate enemy, when No. 2 was upon me. If I could
but get that fellow’s horse, thought I, I am safe; and I executed at
once the plan which I hoped was to effect my rescue.
I had, as I said, left the podesta with Sheeny’s portmanteau, and,
unwilling to part with some of the articles it contained—some shirts, a
bottle of whisky, a few cakes of Windsor soap, &c. &c.,— I had carried
it thus far on my shoulders, but now was compelled to sacrifice it
_malgré moi_. As the lancer came up, I dropped my sword from my right
hand, and hurled the portmanteau at his head, with aim so true, that he
fell back on his saddle like a sack, and thus when the horse galloped
up to me, I had no difficulty in dismounting the rider: the
whisky-bottle struck him over his right eye, and he was completely
stunned. To dash him from the saddle and spring myself into it, was the
work of a moment; indeed, the two combats had taken place in about a
fifth part of the time which it has taken the reader to peruse the
description. But in the rapidity of the last encounter, and the
mounting of my enemy’s horse, I had committed a very absurd oversight—I
was scampering away _without my sword!_ What was I to do?—to scamper
on, to be sure, and trust to the legs of my horse for safety!
The lancer behind me gained on me every moment, and I could hear his
horrid laugh as he neared me. I leaned forward jockey-fashion in my
saddle, and kicked, and urged, and flogged with my hand, but all in
vain. Closer—closer—the point of his lance was within two feet of my
back. Ah! ah! he delivered the point, and fancy my agony when I felt it
enter—through exactly fifty-nine pages of the _New Monthly Magazine_.
Had it not been for that Magazine, I should have been impaled without a
shadow of a doubt. Was I wrong in feeling gratitude? Had I not cause to
continue my contributions to that periodical?
When I got safe into Morella, along with the tail of the sallying
party, I was for the first time made acquainted with the ridiculous
result of the lancer’s thrust (as he delivered his lance, I must tell
you that a ball came whizz over my head from our fellows, and entering
at his nose, put a stop to _his_ lancing for the future). I hastened to
Cabrera’s quarter, and related to him some of my adventures during the
day.
“But, General,” said he, “you are standing. I beg you _chiudete
l’uscio_ (take a chair).”
I did so, and then for the first time was aware that there was some
foreign substance in the tail of my coat, which prevented my sitting at
ease. I drew out the Magazine which I had seized, and there, to my
wonder, _discovered the Christino lance_ twisted up like a fish-hook or
a pastoral crook.
“Ha! ha! ha!” said Cabrera (who is a notorious wag).
“Valdepeñas madrileños,” growled out Tristany.
“By my cachuca di caballero (upon my honour as a gentleman),” shrieked
out Ros d’Eroles, convulsed with laughter, “I will send it to the
Bishop of Leon for a crozier.”
“Gahagan has _consecrated_ it,” giggled out Ramon Cabrera; and so they
went on with their muchacas for an hour or more. But, when they heard
that the means of my salvation from the lance of the scoundrelly
Christino had been the Magazine containing my own history, their laugh
was changed into wonder. I read them (speaking Spanish more fluently
than English) every word of my story. “But how is this?” said Cabrera.
“You surely have other adventures to relate?”
“Excellent sir,” said I, “I have;” and that very evening, as we sat
over our cups of tertullia (sangaree), I continued my narrative in
nearly the following words:-
“I left off in the very middle of the battle of Delhi, which ended, as
everybody knows, in the complete triumph of the British arms. But who
gained the battle? Lord Lake is called Viscount Lake of Delhi and
Laswaree, while Major Gaha—nonsense, never mind _him_, never mind the
charge he executed when, sabre in hand, he leaped the six-foot wall in
the mouth of the roaring cannon, over the heads of the gleaming pikes;
when, with one hand seizing the sacred peishcush, or fish—which was the
banner always borne before Scindiah,—he, with his good sword, cut off
the trunk of the famous white elephant, which, shrieking with agony,
plunged madly into the Mahratta ranks, followed by his giant brethren,
tossing, like chaff before the wind, the affrighted kitmatgars. He,
meanwhile, now plunging into the midst of a battalion of consomahs, now
cleaving to the chine a screaming and ferocious bobbachee,[4] rushed
on, like the simoom across the red Zaharan plain, killing, with his own
hand, a hundred and forty-thr—but never mind—‘_alone he did it;_’
sufficient be it for him, however, that the victory was won: he cares
not for the empty honours which were awarded to more fortunate men!
“We marched after the battle to Delhi, where poor blind old Shah Allum
received us, and bestowed all kinds of honours and titles on our
General. As each of the officers passed before him, the Shah did not
fail to remark my person,[5] and was told my name.
“Lord Lake whispered to him my exploits, and the old man was so
delighted with the account of my victory over the elephant (whose trunk
I use to this day), that he said, ‘Let him be called GUJPUTI,’ or the
lord of elephants; and Gujputi was the name by which I was afterwards
familiarly known among the natives,—the men, that is. The women had a
softer appellation for me, and called me ‘Mushook,’ or charmer.
“Well, I shall not describe Delhi, which is doubtless well known to the
reader; nor the siege of Agra, to which place we went from Delhi; nor
the terrible day at Laswaree, which went nigh to finish the war.
Suffice it to say that we were victorious, and that I was wounded; as I
have invariably been in the two hundred and four occasions when I have
found myself in action. One point, however, became in the course of
this campaign _quite_ evident—_that something must be doen for
Gahagan_. The country cried shame, the King’s troops grumbled, the
sepoys openly murmured that their Gujputi was only a lieutenant, when
he had performed such signal services. What was to be done? Lord
Wellesley was in an evident quandary. ‘Gahagan,’ wrote he, ‘to be a
subaltern is evidently not your fate—_you were born for command;_ but
Lake and General Wellesley are good officers, they cannot be turned
out—I must make a post for you. What say you, my dear fellow, to a
corps of _irregular horse?_’
“It was thus that the famous corps of AHMEDNUGGAR IRREGULARS had its
origin; a guerilla force, it is true, but one which will long be
remembered in the annals of our Indian campaigns.
“As the commander of this regiment, I was allowed to settle the uniform
of the corps, as well as to select recruits. These were not wanting as
soon as my appointment was made known, but came flocking to my standard
a great deal faster than to the regular corps in the Company’s service.
I had European officers, of course, to command them, and a few of my
countrymen as sergeants; the rest were all natives, whom I chose of the
strongest and bravest men in India; chiefly Pitans, Afghans,
Hurrumzadehs, and Calliawns: for these are well known to be the most
warlike districts of our Indian territory.
“When on parade and in full uniform we made a singular and noble
appearance. I was always fond of dress; and, in this instance gave a
_carte blanche_ to my taste, and invented the most splendid costume
that ever perhaps decorated a soldier. I am, as I have stated already,
six feet four inches in height, and of matchless symmetry and
proportion. My hair and beard are of the most brilliant auburn, so
bright as scarcely to be distinguished at a distance from scarlet. My
eyes are bright blue, overshadowed by bushy eyebrows of the colour of
my hair, and a terrific gash of the deepest purple, which goes over the
forehead, the eyelid, and the cheek, and finishes at the ear, gives my
face a more strictly military appearance than can be conceived. When I
have been drinking (as is pretty often the case) this gash becomes ruby
bright, and as I have another which took off a piece of my under- lip,
and shows five of my front teeth, I leave you to imagine that ‘seldom
lighted on the earth’ (as the monster Burke remarked of one of his
unhappy victims) ‘a more extraordinary vision.’ I improved these
natural advantages; and, while in cantonment during the hot winds at
Chittybobbary, allowed my hair to grow very long, as did my beard,
which reached to my waist. It took me two hours daily to curl my hair
in ten thousand little corkscrew ringlets, which waved over my
shoulders, and to get my moustaches well round to the corners of my
eyelids. I dressed in loose scarlet trousers and red morocco boots, a
scarlet jacket, and a shawl of the same colour round my waist; a
scarlet turban three feet high, and decorated with a tuft of the
scarlet feathers of the flamingo, formed my head-dress, and I did not
allow myself a single ornament, except a small silver skull and
cross-bones in front of my turban. Two brace of pistols, a Malay
creese, and a tulwar, sharp on both sides, and very nearly six feet in
length, completed this elegant costume. My two flags were each
surmounted with a real skull and cross-bones, and ornamented one with a
black, and the other with a red beard (of enormous length, taken from
men slain in battle by me). On one flag were of course the arms of John
Company; on the other, an image of myself bestriding a prostrate
elephant, with the simple word ‘GUJPUTI’ written underneath in the
Nagaree, Persian, and Sanscrit characters. I rode my black horse, and
looked, by the immortal gods, like Mars. To me might be applied the
words which were written concerning handsome General Webb, in
Marlborough’s time:-
“‘To noble danger he conducts the way,
His great example all his troop obey,
Before the front the Major sternly rides,
With such an air as Mars to battle strides.
Propitious Heaven must sure a hero save
Like Paris handsome, and like Hector brave!’
“My officers (Captains Biggs and Mackanulty, Lieutenants Glogger,
Pappendick, Stuffle, &c. &c.) were dressed exactly in the same way, but
in yellow; and the men were similarly equipped, but in black. I have
seen many regiments since, and many ferocious-looking men, but the
Ahmednuggar Irregulars were more dreadful to the view than any set of
ruffians on which I ever set eyes. I would to Heaven that the Czar of
Muscovy had passed through Cabool and Lahore, and that I with my old
Ahmednuggars stood on a fair field to meet him! Bless you, bless you,
my swart companions in victory! through the mist of twenty years I hear
the booming of your war-cry, and mark the glitter of your scimitars as
ye rage in the thickest of the battle![6]
“But away with melancholy reminiscences. You may fancy what a figure
the Irregulars cut on a field-day—a line of five hundred black-faced,
black-dressed, black-horsed, black-bearded men—Biggs, Glogger, and the
other officers in yellow, galloping about the field like flashes of
lightning; myself enlightening them, red, solitary, and majestic, like
yon glorious orb in heaven.
“There are very few men, I presume, who have not heard of Holkar’s
sudden and gallant incursion into the Dooab, in the year 1804, when we
thought that the victory of Laswaree and the brilliant success at Deeg
had completely finished him. Taking ten thousand horse he broke up his
camp at Palimbang; and the first thing General Lake heard of him was,
that he was at Putna, then at Rumpooge, then at Doncaradam—he was, in
fact, in the very heart of our territory.
“The unfortunate part of the affair was this:- His Excellency,
despising the Mahratta chieftain, had allowed him to advance about two
thousand miles in his front, and knew not in the slightest degree where
to lay hold on him. Was he at Hazarubaug? was he at Bogly Gunge? nobody
knew, and for a considerable period the movements of Lake’s cavalry
were quite ambiguous, uncertain, promiscuous, and undetermined.
“Such, briefly, was the state of affairs in October 1804. At the
beginning of that month I had been wounded (a trifling scratch, cutting
off my left upper eyelid, a bit of my cheek, and my under- lip), and I
was obliged to leave Biggs in command of my Irregulars, whilst I
retired for my wounds to an English station at Furruckabad, _alias_
Futtyghur—it is, as every twopenny postman knows, at the apex of the
Dooab. We have there a cantonment, and thither I went for the mere sake
of the surgeon and the sticking- plaster.
“Furruckabad, then, is divided into two districts or towns: the lower
Cotwal, inhabited by the natives, and the upper (which is fortified
slightly, and has all along been called Futtyghur, meaning in
Hindustanee ‘the-favourite-resort-of-the-white-faced-
Feringhees-near-the-mango-tope-consecrated-to-Ram’), occupied by
Europeans. (It is astonishing, by the way, how comprehensive that
language is, and how much can be conveyed in one or two of the
commonest phrases.)
“Biggs, then, and my men were playing all sorts of wondrous pranks with
Lord Lake’s army, whilst I was detained an unwilling prisoner of health
at Futtyghur.
“An unwilling prisoner, however, I should not say. The cantonment at
Futtyghur contained that which would have made _any_ man a happy slave.
Woman, lovely woman, was there in abundance and variety! The fact is,
that, when the campaign commenced in 1803, the ladies of the army all
congregated to this place, where they were left, as it was supposed, in
safety. I might, like Homer, relate the names and qualities of all. I
may at least mention _some_ whose memory is still most dear to me.
There was -
“Mrs. Major-General Bulcher, wife of Bulcher of the Infantry.
“Miss Bulcher.
“MISS BELINDA BULCHER (whose name I beg the printer to place in large
capitals).
“Mrs. Colonel Vandegobbleschroy.
“Mrs. Major Macan and the four Misses Macan.
“The Honourable Mrs. Burgoo, Mrs. Flix, Hicks, Wicks, and many more too
numerous to mention. The flower of our camp was, however, collected
there, and the last words of Lord Lake to me, as I left him, were,
‘Gahagan, I commit those women to your charge. Guard them with your
life, watch over them with your honour, defend them with the matchless
power of your indomitable arm.’
“Futtyghur is, as I have said, a European station, and the pretty air
of the bungalows, amid the clustering topes of mango-trees, has often
ere this excited the admiration of the tourist and sketcher. On the
brow of a hill—the Burrumpooter river rolls majestically at its base;
and no spot, in a word, can be conceived more exquisitely arranged,
both by art and nature, as a favourite residence of the British fair.
Mrs. Bulcher, Mrs. Vandegobbleschroy, and the other married ladies
above mentioned, had each of them delightful bungalows and gardens in
the place, and between one cottage and another my time passed as
delightfully as can the hours of any man who is away from his darling
occupation of war.
“I was the commandant of the fort. It is a little insignificant pettah,
defended simply by a couple of gabions, a very ordinary counterscarp,
and a bomb-proof embrasure. On the top of this my flag was planted, and
the small garrison of forty men only were comfortably barracked off in
the casemates within. A surgeon and two chaplains (there were besides
three reverend gentlemen of amateur missions, who lived in the town),
completed, as I may say, the garrison of our little fortalice, which I
was left to defend and to command.
“On the night of the first of November, in the year 1804, I had invited
Mrs. Major-General Bulcher and her daughters, Mrs. Vandegobbleschroy,
and, indeed, all the ladies in the cantonment, to a little festival in
honour of the recovery of my health, of the commencement of the
shooting season, and indeed as a farewell visit, for it was my
intention to take dawk the very next morning and return to my regiment.
The three amateur missionaries whom I have mentioned, and some ladies
in the cantonment of very rigid religious principles, refused to appear
at my little party. They had better never have been born than have done
as they did: as you shall hear.
“We had been dancing merrily all night, and the supper (chiefly of the
delicate condor, the luscious adjutant, and other birds of a similar
kind, which I had shot in the course of the day) had been duly _fêted_
by every lady and gentleman present; when I took an opportunity to
retire on the ramparts, with the interesting and lovely Belinda
Bulcher. I was occupied, as the French say, in _conter_-ing
_fleurettes_ to this sweet young creature, when, all of a sudden, a
rocket was seen whizzing through the air, and a strong light was
visible in the valley below the little fort.
“‘What, fireworks! Captain Gahagan,’ said Belinda; ‘this is too
gallant.’
“‘Indeed, my dear Miss Bulcher,’ said I, ‘they are fireworks of which I
have no idea: perhaps our friends the missionaries—’
“‘Look, look!’ said Belinda, trembling, and clutching tightly hold of
my arm: ‘what do I see? yes—no—yes! it is—_our bungalow is in flames!_’
“It was true, the spacious bungalow occupied by Mrs. Major-General was
at that moment seen a prey to the devouring element—another and another
succeeded it—seven bungalows, before I could almost ejaculate the name
of Jack Robinson, were seen blazing brightly in the black midnight air!
“I seized my night-glass, and looking towards the spot where the
conflagration raged, what was my astonishment to see thousands of black
forms dancing round the fires; whilst by their lights I could observe
columns after columns of Indian horse, arriving and taking up their
ground in the very middle of the open square or tank, round which the
bungalows were built!
“‘Ho, warder!’ shouted I (while the frightened and trembling Belinda
clung closer to my side, and pressed the stalwart arm that encircled
her waist), ‘down with the drawbridge! see that your masolgees’ (small
tumbrels which are used in place of large artillery) ‘be well loaded:
you, sepoys, hasten and man the ravelin! you, choprasees, put out the
lights in the embrasures! we shall have warm work of it to-night, or my
name is not Goliah Gahagan.’
“The ladies, the guests (to the number of eighty-three), the sepoys,
choprasees, masolgees, and so on, had all crowded on the platform at
the sound of my shouting, and dreadful was the consternation, shrill
the screaming, occasioned by my words. The men stood irresolute and
mute with terror; the women, trembling, knew scarcely whither to fly
for refuge. ‘Who are yonder ruffians?’ said I. A hundred voices yelped
in reply—some said the Pindarees, some said the Mahrattas, some vowed
it was Scindiah, and others declared it was Holkar—no one knew.
“‘Is there any one here,’ said I, ‘who will venture to reconnoitre
yonder troops?’ There was a dead pause.
“‘A thousand tomauns to the man who will bring me news of yonder army!’
again I repeated. Still a dead silence. The fact was that Scindiah and
Holkar both were so notorious for their cruelty, that no one dared
venture to face the danger. ‘Oh for fifty of my brave Ahmednuggarees!’
thought I.
“‘Gentlemen,’ said I, ‘I see it—you are cowards—none of you dare
encounter the chance even of death. It is an encouraging prospect: know
you not that the ruffian Holkar, if it be he, will with to- morrow’s
dawn beleaguer our little fort, and throw thousands of men against our
walls? know you not that, if we are taken, there is no quarter, no
hope; death for us—and worse than death for these lovely ones assembled
here?’ Here the ladies shrieked and raised a howl as I have heard the
jackals on a summer’s evening. Belinda, my dear Belinda! flung both her
arms round me, and sobbed on my shoulder (or in my waistcoat-pocket
rather, for the little witch could reach no higher).
“‘Captain Gahagan,’ sobbed she, ‘_Go-Go-Goggle-iah!_’
“‘My soul’s adored!’ replied I.
“‘Swear to me one thing.’
“‘I swear.’
“‘That if—that if—the nasty, horrid, odious black Mah-ra-a-a- attahs
take the fort, you will put me out of their power.’
“I clasped the dear girl to my heart, and swore upon my sword that,
rather than she should incur the risk of dishonour, she should perish
by my own hand. This comforted her; and her mother, Mrs. Major-General
Bulcher, and her elder sister, who had not until now known a word of
our attachment, (indeed, but for these extraordinary circumstances, it
is probable that we ourselves should never have discovered it), were
under these painful circumstances made aware of my beloved Belinda’s
partiality for me. Having communicated thus her wish of
self-destruction, I thought her example a touching and excellent one,
and proposed to all the ladies that they should follow it, and that at
the entry of the enemy into the fort, and at a signal given by me, they
should one and all make away with themselves. Fancy my disgust when,
after making this proposition, not one of the ladies chose to accede to
it, and received it with the same chilling denial that my former
proposal to the garrison had met with.
“In the midst of this hurry and confusion, as if purposely to add to
it, a trumpet was heard at the gate of the fort, and one of the
sentinels came running to me, saying that a Mahratta soldier was before
the gate with a flag of truce!
“I went down, rightly conjecturing, as it turned out, that the party,
whoever they might be, had no artillery; and received at the point of
my sword a scroll of which the following is a translation.
“‘_To Goliah Gahagan Gujputi_.
“‘LORD OF ELEPHANTS, SIR,—I have the honour to inform you that I
arrived before this place at eight o’clock p.m. with ten thousand
cavalry under my orders. I have burned, since my arrival, seventeen
bungalows in Furruckabad and Futtyghur, and have likewise been under
the painful necessity of putting to death three clergymen (mollahs) and
seven English officers, whom I found in the village; the women have
been transferred to safe keeping in the harems of my officers and
myself.
“‘As I know your courage and talents, I shall be very happy if you
will surrender the fortress, and take service as a major-general
(hookahbadar) in my army. Should my proposal not meet with your
assent, I beg leave to state that to-morrow I shall storm the fort,
and on taking it, shall put to death every male in the garrison,
and every female above twenty years of age. For yourself I shall
reserve a punishment, which for novelty and exquisite torture has,
I flatter myself, hardly ever been exceeded. Awaiting the favour of
a reply, I am, Sir,
“‘Your very obedient servant,
“‘JESWUNT ROW HOLKAR.
“‘CAMP BEFORE FUTTYGHUR: _September_ 1, 1804.
“‘R. S. V. P.’
“The officer who had brought this precious epistle (it is astonishing
how Holkar had aped the forms of English correspondence), an enormous
Pitan soldier, with a shirt of mail, and a steel cap and cape, round
which his turban wound, was leaning against the gate on his matchlock,
and whistling a national melody. I read the letter, and saw at once
there was no time to be lost. That man, thought I, must never go back
to Holkar. Were he to attack us now before we were prepared, the fort
would be his in half-an-hour.
“Tying my white pocket-handkerchief to a stick, I flung open the gate
and advanced to the officer: he was standing, I said, on the little
bridge across the moat. I made him a low salaam, after the fashion of
the country, and, as he bent forward to return the compliment, I am
sorry to say, I plunged forward, gave him a violent blow on the head,
which deprived him of all sensation, and then dragged him within the
wall, raising the drawbridge after me.
“I bore the body into my own apartment; there, swift as thought, I
stripped him of his turban, cammerbund, peijammahs, and papooshes, and,
putting them on myself, determined to go forth and reconnoitre the
enemy.”
Here I was obliged to stop, for Cabrera, Ros d’Eroles, and the rest of
the staff, were sound asleep! What I did in my reconnaissance, and how
I defended the fort of Futtyghur, I shall have the honour of telling on
another occasion.