Weighed in the Balance
The principal causes of the great mutiny having now been explained, let
us go back to Meerut and its eighty-five mutineers. These men were
sentenced to long terms of imprisonment, and in the presence of the
sepoy regiments the fetters were placed upon their limbs. The sight of
the degradation angered and alarmed their comrades, and rumours spread
through the town to the effect that all the black soldiers were to be
disgraced in the same way, and at this date no report was too ridiculous
for the sepoys.
On the Sunday evening, 10th May, the 60th Rifles assembled for church
parade. At once the rumour flew round that the white soldiers were
preparing to fall upon their brown comrades, and the absurd tale gained
ready credence. The sepoys were taunted by the women of the town, were
called cowards for permitting their comrades to suffer disgrace; and no
sooner had the Rifles marched off to church than the native troops lost
all control of themselves, broke open the jail, set their eighty-five
comrades free, and, encouraged by the convicts, they began to fire on
the white residents.
All the _budmashes_ of Meerut joining in, pandemonium ensued. Houses
were broken into and set on fire; Englishmen and women were brutally
murdered. Yet whilst this was going on in one part of the town, in
another quarter the sepoys of the same regiments were saluting their
officers and guarding the Treasury as usual.
Back came the 60th Rifles from church and quickly reassembled with arms
and ammunition, but by this time the mutineers were on the road to
Delhi. Though the British dragoons were at once ordered out, their
commanding officer could not grasp the need for prompt punishment. He
allowed the roll to be called in the ordinary way, wasting precious
moments, whilst the rebel sepoys were hastening nearer and nearer to the
imperial city.
Night fell quickly, and as the general commanding did not know which way
the rebels had fled, he did not order pursuit, arguing that the troops
must remain behind to protect the residents of Meerut from the thousands
of _budmashes_ and escaped jail-birds.
Had the dragoons at Meerut been ordered down the road to Delhi (for the
general might easily have guessed that the rebels would take that
direction), the 60th Rifles and the Artillery were strong enough to have
swept all the _budmashes_ in Meerut out of existence; and the dragoons
would certainly have overtaken and destroyed the two foot regiments, and
might have come up with the 3rd Native Cavalry. In the face of the
British horsemen the populace of Delhi would not have dared to
sympathize with the mutineers; the revolt would perhaps have died out,
and the terrible massacres of Delhi, Cawnpore, and other places might
never have occurred. But it is easy to be wise after the event, and the
general commanding at Meerut, though a brave man, was not a far-seeing
one. He was content to save and defend his own station, failing to
recognize that a spark kindled in Delhi, the real capital of India,
would set the whole land ablaze. As it was, the mutineers, scared out of
their wits by the fear of a terrible retribution, hearing in their
frightened imaginations the thundering of the dragoons behind them, got
safely into Delhi and attempted to rouse that city against the
Feringhis. But the people of Delhi said one to another:
"No! The English will be here presently with their terrible horsemen and
still more terrible artillery. Let us take no part in this!"
But not a British soldier was in sight next day from the city walls, and
the rumour soon gained ground that all the white troops in Meerut had
been slain, and that Allah had taken from them their vigour and their
courage. "The Feringhis are _lachar_[4]!" was the cry.
[4] helpless.
And the populace and the sepoys around Delhi joined their brethren from
Meerut, proclaiming Bahadur Shah, the old gentleman poet, "Emperor of
all India"; they massacred the fifty English men and women in the city,
and before many days had passed most of the regiments throughout Bengal
and the Punjab were on the brink of mutiny, hesitating to take the
plunge. Had there been at Meerut on that fatal Sunday a Lawrence or an
Edwardes, a Cotton, Nicholson, or Neill, the revolt might have been
crushed with one decisive blow.
So the news brought to our friends at Aurungpore was too true. Through
the whole land, from Peshawur to Calcutta, spread the black terror, and
though most officers of sepoy regiments trusted their own particular
corps, each feared lest other regiments should throw off their
allegiance and murder without remorse not only the officers, but the
Christian women and children of the towns.
The colonel and officers of the 193rd never doubted that their beloved
regiment would prove true to its salt, for the most friendly feeling
existed between officers and men. Some of the former had more than once
risked their lives for their men, and in return several of the sepoys
had rescued their officers from situations of great peril by their
pluck and devotion.
Terrible as were many of the acts committed by the mutineers, we must
not consider them as so many fiends in the shape of men, nor must we
believe that their delight was to shed human blood. In 1857 the sepoy
was a madman inflamed with rage and bitter hatred against those whom he
mistakenly considered his oppressors; and many who suffered most from
his fury were in truth his best friends and well-wishers.
Most inconsistent were his actions, and his character was a mass of
contradictions. He was simple and credulous as a child, and at the same
time crafty and designing; his cruelty was frequently evident, and never
more so than in this terrible year, yet as a rule he was gentle and
kindly. It was no uncommon sight for the hardened sepoy warrior to be
found watching beside his English officer's sick-bed, and no woman could
be a more gentle nurse; he was devoted to his sahib's children, and
loved to make them happy. Generally he was languid and indolent, yet
capable of being roused to passionate energy; at times light-hearted and
cheerful, at times depressed and given to brooding over his wrongs, both
real and fancied. Mutinies had not been unknown before the year 1857,
but on previous occasions the outbreaks had resembled the naughtiness of
a child, and like a child the sepoy usually injured himself more than
others.
Though no condemnation of those who participated in the murdering of
women and children can be too severe, yet we must not paint the sepoy in
colours too black. Let us try to put ourselves in his place, and see
what it meant. Suppose that he honestly believed that the English were
seeking his destruction, can we not imagine his despair and panic? Many
of the mutineers, however, believed the explanations of their English
officers, and felt assured that the cartridge-paper contained no
offensive matter, and these men tried to put everything right. And what
was the result? Their comrades believed that these sensible sepoys had
sold themselves to the Feringhis; they were taunted and jeered at as
Christians; they became outcasts, and none would eat with them. Not only
did their fellow-soldiers shun them, but also their parents and brethren
and the people of the village who used to crowd round and bow before
them when they visited their homes. They all refused friendship and
connection with the outcasts; the letters written home were never
answered, and no wonder that these well-meaning fellows were
terror-stricken at the thought of their shameful position, and cursed
the English and their unclean ways that had brought this to pass.
Three days after the Meerut revolt Colonel Woodburn addressed his men on
the subject of the crisis. Assuring them of the mighty power of England,
and of the terrible punishment that would be meted out to rebels, he
reminded them of their glorious regimental history, and asked if they
would willingly tarnish their good name. Ted's heart glowed as he
listened to the stirring speech, and the men broke into a shout of
enthusiasm, cheered their colonel, and Pir Baksh, stepping forward,
expressed their willingness to march against the mutineers. At mess the
officers congratulated one another, overjoyed at the splendid spirit
animating those under their command.
With renewed courage and in the highest spirits they buckled on their
swords for the next morning's parade.
"I hope we shall get orders to march against the mutineers," Ted
confided to Paterson as they walked towards the parade-ground in front
of the arsenal.
"And what would happen to our countrymen and country-women at
Aurungpore if the regiment left?" his chum asked with a laugh. "Would
you make the rebels a gift of the fort and arsenal?"
Ted was crestfallen.
"Oh! I'd forgotten them," he replied. "Still, half the regiment would be
enough to defend the town. I'm jolly glad our men are showing such a
good spirit, but I'm afraid for Jim and Spencer. I don't suppose their
Guides are likely to remain loyal very long."
"I've been thinking of them all morning," Alec observed musingly, "and
of all Spencer was telling us the night he was here. I don't think
there's much doubt but that those fellows will sell themselves to the
highest bidder, and he will be the emperor at Delhi. They may pull
through all right though, if they are within reach of Nicholson. He and
Edwardes will be towers of strength along the frontier."
"Don't it make you mad to think of the way they bungled it at Meerut?
Whoever was responsible for such a fiasco ought to be kicked out of the
army."
"Now, Ted Russell, you know nothing about it," the cautious Scot
reproachfully asserted. "It's very easy to say afterwards what ought to
have been done, but we don't know all the circumstances. Here's the
colonel. He's a fine-looking man, and no wonder the sepoys are proud of
him."
The companies were called to attention, numbered, and wheeled into line.
Before the wheel was completed a sepoy suddenly levelled his musket and
pulled the trigger. Two officers at once rushed towards the would-be
assassin, but were met by the fire of some twenty men of the same
company, and fell riddled with bullets.
One-half of the sepoys stood irresolute--some fingering their triggers
menacingly; others, taken by surprise, screamed, "No, no, we must not
slay our officers!"
"Nay, slay them all!" roared a subadar, "whether we love them or not! If
we do not kill them they will persuade us against our will!"
And a shrill clamour approved the advice.
Still five hundred men hesitated. Some of the waverers shouted to the
Englishmen, urging them to run. It was as though they had been bitten by
a mad dog, and, while yet sane, knowing that the poison was working in
their veins, they wished to save bloodshed before the madness should
overpower them and render them pitiless.
Almost broken-hearted by this proof that his trusted regiment had
mutined, Colonel Woodburn lifted up his voice in a last appeal to their
loyalty. Before he had spoken a dozen words, Pir Baksh--dreading lest
the colonel's influence should wreck his plans, even when success seemed
assured--stepped behind a crowd of gesticulating sepoys and took
deliberate aim.
Colonel Woodburn fell from his horse grievously wounded, and Ted and one
of the subalterns dashed forward to convey him to a place of safety.
Captain Markham placed himself at the head of his own hundred men and
appealed to them, for the sake of all they had gone through together, to
remain loyal and true. His company, composed of Hindustanis--mostly
Rajputs--stood silent and puzzled, undecided how to act, when shots from
some Mohammedans of the flank company answered his appeal, and the
well-loved captain fell.
There was no longer any indecision among Markham's Rajputs. Pity for the
murdered officer who had done so much for them, anger that he should be
shot by the Moslems whom they did not love, these feelings turned the
scale. Hastily closing round their captain they guarded his body and
menaced the mutineers. The remaining officers, seeing one faithful
company, placed themselves at its head, and called on the other Hindus
to remain loyal and fight the Mussulmans. But the madness had worked by
now: all the rest cast in their lot with the murderers, and, firing a
few shots at Englishmen and faithful sepoys, whom they dared not charge,
so great was still the influence of the officers, they rushed off to
loot the town and shops.
Including Markham, three officers were killed and two badly wounded, two
of the slain being brother ensigns of Ted--poor little "griffins", who
had been out but a few months.
Then swift as lightning came the thought, "What of the women and
children and civilians?" The appearance of the revolted sepoys would be
the signal for all the _budmashes_ of the _bazar_ to join in the rioting
and murder.
A noise of firing and a babel of fiendish yells from the English quarter
of the town, in close proximity to the fort, told their own tale. The
white residents were being attacked!
"Lieutenant Lowthian," commanded the major, "remain here with Ensigns
Tynan and Russell and about twenty men! We'll take our wounded with us,
the women will attend to them; and when we've cleared the streets we'll
bring the civilians into the fort."
Exhorting the faithful Rajputs to remain true to their salt and so win
eternal fame, the major ordered bayonets to be fixed, and headed the
charge down the street, the wounded with their guard bringing up the
rear.
A disorderly crowd of sepoys and riff-raff of the town had assembled in
front of the large house of Sir Arthur Fletcher, the Commissioner of the
district. The windows were being fired into and the doors battered down,
in spite of a determined resistance from the inmates. Into the crowd
charged the loyal sepoys. Firing a single volley at close quarters they
at once let the rioters taste cold steel, and beneath the gallant
major's sword fell more than one of the ringleaders.
Major Munro was known as one of the strongest officers and best
swordsmen in the army, and the mob gave back before his flashing steel
and the glistening bayonets of his followers. But as the sepoys
recoiled, a number of Wahabis, showering curses upon the faint-hearted,
poured with knives and swords down upon the little band. The leader was
all but lost. Separating him from his men, half a dozen fanatics set on
him at once, yelling triumphantly. But the two who first came within
reach of that mighty arm quickly lay in the dust; the third received the
point in his heart, and a fourth was cloven almost in twain.
Aghast at the fate of their comrades the others faltered. But Munro did
not wait to be attacked; stepping over the prostrate bodies he followed
up the advantage gained, and the pandies shrank from that fatal sword.
Joining forces once more, the sturdy band reached the house, and,
standing with backs to the wall, they poured volley after
volley--irregularly, but coolly and rapidly--into the dense,
disorganized rabble, until at length the barricades were taken from the
door, and one by one they were admitted.