Defence of the Commissioner's House
When Major Munro's eighty officers and men arrived inside the house of
refuge, they found that the few civilians, ladies, and children of
Aurungpore had all escaped thereto, having been warned in time. At the
first sign of outbreak they had found access to the fort impossible, and
had taken refuge in the Commissioner's house, the largest and strongest
in the town, situated within easy reach of all the European bungalows,
and close to the fort itself. They were in sore plight when the soldiers
forced their way in--another half-hour would have been too late.
From roof, loophole, and sheltered parapet blazed the muskets of the
Rajputs, lending their aid to the rifles of the English gentlemen, and
the mob drew back, raging furiously, but afraid to strike at close
quarters. The sad story was told; dry-eyed but heavy-hearted the
residents heard of the murder of their friends. The wounded men were
speedily given every possible assistance, and the ladies left nothing
undone to alleviate their pain. To tend the sufferers was their first
care, but the great-hearted Englishwomen insisted on taking their share
in the defence, refusing to leave the posts of danger for the
comparative safety of the inner rooms whilst there were rifles and
muskets to load and hand to the marksmen.
Greatly to his dismay Munro found it quite impossible to send aid to the
little garrison of the fort, the route being blocked by hundreds of
fanatical savages. If he should despatch even half his command to break
their way through they would be destroyed, and the remaining half would
fall an easy prey to the triumphant rebels.
The continued fusillade from the direction of the fort told him that the
handful of defenders he had left behind was being hotly assailed, and he
sadly feared that he had left them there to die. Bitterly the major
regretted his error. Such concentrated fury on the part of the
inhabitants had never been anticipated; he had felt sure of clearing the
street and bringing the party safely back, and he had made a mistake.
Colonel Woodburn's wound, though serious, was not dangerous, and before
long Ethel was able to leave him for a short time. Whilst the soldiers
were breaking their way through the crowd, she had seen her father
carried in their midst, and had eyes for none but him. Now she looked
around for Ted and could not see him.
"Where is Ted Russell, Major Munro? He's not--surely he has not been
murdered!"
Munro was agitated, and showed it.
"He's in the fort, Ethel; I left Lowthian, Tynan, and Russell with a few
sepoys to guard it, and they're being attacked. Listen! I ought not to
have left 'em. Leigh," he exclaimed, turning to an officer beside him,
"is there nothing to be done? Can we leave those fellows to die? And if
the fort is captured there is no escape for us!"
Lieutenant Leigh shook his head.
"We are helpless, sir. If we make a sortie not one of us would reach the
fort, and the women would be left without protectors."
Still the rattle of musketry kept up, and the inmates listened with
troubled hearts for the firing to cease--the signal of the capture of
the fort and the death of its garrison.
"It's stopped!" groaned Sir Arthur Fletcher, and a shudder ran through
the house.
Ethel Woodburn turned pale, shuddered, and gripped the table for
support. Ted Russell murdered by those savages! She recalled the
ensign's merry looks and honest nature, and realized what a place the
boy had won in her heart. Could it be possible that she would never see
him again? How terribly cut up Jim would be!
Jim! Aye, what of him? If her own trusted, well-tried regiment could so
suddenly transform itself into a horde of fiends, what might not have
happened to the Guides, that collection of outlaws and robbers? In all
probability her lover had already been murdered. Her grief for Ted gave
way to a greater anxiety regarding the fate of her betrothed. She walked
aimlessly towards the window and looked out upon the distant mob, her
thoughts far away from Aurungpore.
"Miss Woodburn, for heaven's sake come away from the window!" Sir Arthur
Fletcher almost shrieked as he planted himself in front of the girl.
"They are not firing now, but--"
A bullet crashed through the shattered window, and passing within an
inch of the Commissioner's head, flattened itself against the far wall.
Ethel awoke and skipped aside, and, seeing that she was safe, Sir Arthur
followed suit. She had forgotten her own danger; she had not reflected
that, even had the Guides proved true to their salt, nothing seemed less
likely than that Jim Russell would ever see her again. She thanked Sir
Arthur mechanically, and began to wonder how poor Jim would bear the
news of her death. Having no doubt of his great love for her, her grief
was more for him than for herself, horrible as the outlook was.
Led by Major Munro, the men grimly went on with their work of
strengthening the defences of the house, whilst their picked shots
replied to the random firing.
Suddenly another volley rang out from the direction of the fort; then a
second; then the loud irregular firing of the pandies.
"They're not done for yet!" Munro cried. "Thank God, there is still a
chance!"
For half an hour the distant firing was heard, and intense anxiety
prevailed as it gradually died away. The tension was nerve-shattering;
so much so, that a half-hearted attack upon the house came almost as a
relief from the suspense. Strong in their defences, they once more beat
the rebels back with heavy loss, and another weary period of waiting
ensued.
Volley after volley, regular and disciplined as though with blank
cartridge on parade, caused their hearts to beat more wildly. What could
it mean? The volley was too heavy to have been the work of the little
garrison, and so far the traitors had fired independently, as each man
thought best, without regard to any word of command. Could help have
come?
They looked out towards the parade-ground, and the unconcerned
appearance of the groups that moved restlessly up and down destroyed
this wild hope. Besides, who could possibly have come to the rescue?
They had heard the cracks of the volleys that covered the first rush of
the battering crews. Unable to fathom its meaning, they rejoiced therein
as a proof that their comrades still held out.
Again a lull, and again an assault upon their own stronghold, directed
this time against the rear of the house. For a space they had no time to
think of the fort, so hotly were they engaged; but the rabble lacked
resolute leaders, and the budmashes would obey no commands. Thirty of
their bravest were slain, and the others sneaked away like a pack of
wolves, beaten and cowed. So far the garrison had lost only two men
killed and one badly wounded.
The sun was wheeling slowly downwards beyond the fort, and for a time no
sound had been heard save the yells of the excited mob ebbing and
flowing through the streets.
"It seems wicked to stay here in safety, Major," Ethel whispered, "and
to think of our plucky fellows at the mercy of those fiends."
The major made no reply. For hours that same thought had made him
wretched, but he knew better than she how helpless was their own
position.
"Could we not make a sortie?" the girl continued. "Might it not be
possible, as soon as darkness comes, for us all to make a rush for the
fort? We might take them completely by surprise, and once inside, a
hundred could hold it for weeks. If only we could get the guns!"
Munro shook his head sadly.
"A hundred to one that we should find the rebels in possession, Ethel,"
he made answer, "and then all would indeed be lost. But we should never
get so far. Here we may hold our own for days--unless indeed the pandies
take the fort and are able to load the guns--but not for half an hour in
the street with women to protect and wounded men to carry. No, it is not
possible; would it were! Believe me, Ethel, there is not a man here but
would gladly take the risk if we had only ourselves to think of."
"I know it well," she admitted, "and I know you are right; but it is
horrible, horrible to think of, and it is our fault. If we were not here
you men could rescue them. That seems so hard."
"Listen!" said Leigh. "I think I hear the sound of firing again. It is
very faint."
Everyone listened intently, and Ethel could hear the ticking of her
watch. She was the first to break the silence.
"I think I hear it. The sound comes from inside the fort."
She had hardly spoken the words when the roar of a tremendous explosion
filled their ears and almost deafened them. The house shook, and a
column of dense smoke rose where the fort had been. They looked at one
another with blanched faces and then at the ruin in front. That portion
of the fort which contained the magazine was demolished, and some
buildings that had partially obstructed their view were dismantled or
levelled with the ground. Streams of natives rushed to and fro in wild
confusion, shrieking with pain and fear. Masses of timber and masonry
fell around, killing numbers in the closely-packed streets, and the
scene was one of destruction and desolation.
Major Munro clapped his hand to his thigh; his face glowed with
admiration and enthusiasm.
"Lowthian's done that!" he exclaimed. "He's saved the arsenal from their
clutches.----Gallant fellows!"
"But what of Ted Russell?" Ethel breathlessly asked. "And of Lieutenant
Lowthian and the others?" she added as an afterthought.
Munro hesitated before replying.
"I'm afraid there's little hope for them, my dear Ethel; though they do
say that those nearest sometimes escape better than others farther
away." This was also an afterthought, added from a weak desire to cheer.
The girl turned away her head to hide her emotion and returned to her
father's room. In awed whispers the men discussed the glorious act, and
various conjectures were hazarded as to the manner of its doing and the
possibility of their comrades' escape.
Away in the west the sun had just vanished below the horizon and
darkness set in swiftly. The vicinity of the Commissioner's house seemed
deserted, and no fresh attack was made that night. Evidently that
bloodthirsty crew was awed and its ardour damped by the appalling
vengeance taken by the unbeaten handful. Scores had been killed, and yet
more injured, by the force of the explosion.
They had been taught the lesson that it does not pay to push white men
too far, and Munro felt assured that for that night at least the house
was safe. Yet he neglected no precaution, and guards were set on every
side, whilst the remainder of the garrison were ordered to rest whether
they wished to or not. Few could sleep, try as they would, and a loud
challenge by one of the sentries at the rear brought men and women
flocking to the scene, ready for the fray.
Ethel hastened to the spot, in time to see the door thrown open, and two
ragged figures, black with smoke and grime, enter the house. A loud
cheer was raised as the door was shut and barricaded.
"Ted!" she joyfully cried. "You, Ted?"
To our hero's embarrassment she stepped forward and kissed his
smoke-begrimed countenance.
Yes, Ensign Russell had escaped! Strange to say, he and Havildar Ambar
Singh, the other survivor, had been the nearest to the magazine when the
explosion occurred, and yet they had escaped its worst effects. The
havildar had pluckily waited for the ensign when the others ran for
safety, and, as they dashed out of the room, they crashed into the thick
of the triumphant pandies.
But no attempt was made to kill them. The rebels had pulled up short as
they saw and heard the spluttering powder, wild terror in their eyes;
and the foremost tried to back away from the spot. The crush was too
great, however, though Ted and Ambar Singh had time to bore their way
into the crowd. They remembered no more. When they came to themselves it
was dark, and they were lying amid a heap of killed and injured men,
with stones and bricks scattered all around. They were both cut and
badly bruised, and Ambar Singh's foot was crushed. In the darkness they
had been able to steal away, stumbling over dead bodies and wrecked
masonry, until they found themselves in the open. So great was the awe
that had come upon the rebels that the neighbourhood was deserted, so
they crept stealthily through the streets, the havildar nearly dead with
pain. Accosted once or twice, Ambar Singh had answered, passing himself
and his companion off as rebels.
As Ted was speaking the plucky Rajput sergeant fainted away, and was
carried to the hospital-room. Munro interrupted the congratulations and
showers of questions by ordering everyone to lie down again, except the
guards. Ted at least was not sorry to obey the command.
Next day he told the tale of the defence of the fort, of the death of
Lowthian, and of the heroism of Ambar Singh and his Rajputs. Men and
women forgot their own danger for a space, and crowded round to listen
to the ensign's story. No need to say that he was silent respecting
Tynan's willingness to surrender to Pir Baksh. He used the word "we",
not "I", throughout.
"But who first thought of destroying the magazine?" asked the
commandant. "You say 'we' decided to do it. The thought would not occur
to both Tynan and yourself at once."
Ted admitted that the plan was his; also, in reply to the next question,
that it was he who had fired the train.
"But it was Tynan's job as senior officer to do that."
"Well, you see, sir, I was the one to--to suggest it; so it was only
fair that I should carry it out."
"Humph!" said the major, who had his own opinion about the affair.
"You're a plucky fellow, Russell, and it's possible that you've saved us
all. The pandies seem thoroughly disheartened to-day."
Paterson passed his arm through Ted's and whispered:
"Well done, old man! I--I can't say what I think about it;" and as he
caught Ethel's glance of admiration, approval, and affection there was
no prouder officer in all India than Ensign Russell.
"I hope that rascal Pir Baksh has been killed," he said presently. "Did
you know, Major, that it was he who shot the colonel?"
"No. Are you sure, Ted? He always seemed such a plausible fellow."
"I didn't see him myself, but Tynan told us that he saw the deed.
Certainly Pir Baksh seemed to be the leader in the attack on the fort."
"Pir Baksh!" said Havildar Ambar Singh as he limped into the room. "The
hound is surely dead. Major Sahib, I have written down the names of all
my men who perished in the fort yesterday, so that their families may
get the pension if you English win, and that their names may be recorded
as true to their salt."
"Thank you, Havildar! It's a good officer who thinks first of his men.
How is your foot to-day?"
"Better, sahib; better, thanks! I do not grudge the injury if that son
of a hyena, Pir Baksh, has been killed. If the young sahib here had not
been resolute and taken over the command, he would have deceived Tynan
Sahib, and we should have been delivered into their hands to be
murdered."
"Ah!" said Munro, pricking his ears; "so Russell Sahib had to take over
the command? How was that?"
"The other was scared, Major Sahib. True, he was but a lad, and it is
hardly to be wondered at. But Russell Sahib refused to surrender, and
appealed to us, and we put aside the other and looked to this one as our
leader. Ha! Russell Sahib played the man, for he threatened to shoot his
comrade when the other objected to being blown up. He will make a
general, will the Ensign Sahib."
"Is this story true, Russell?" demanded Munro.
"It's true, sir; but you oughtn't to be hard on Tynan. He was plucky
enough most of the time."
"John Lawrence shall know about this if I live," said the major with
unwonted emphasis. "All England shall know about it."
"But you won't say anything about Tynan, sir?" Ted asked.
"No, that wouldn't do. We must treat him as dead--ignore his presence in
the fort altogether."
Colonel Woodburn's condition was hopeful. The bullet had been
successfully extracted, and he was doing well. He sent for Ted, and made
him tell the story from beginning to end. Our hero was getting rather
tired of it, and Ethel was merciless. She would not allow him to cut out
the least incident. The colonel was mightily pleased.
"Do you know," the ensign observed as they quitted the invalid's room,
"in the midst of the crowd I noticed the three fanatics who set on us in
the bazaar. I expect the poor beggars are blown to bits by now."
"I suppose there is no chance," Miss Woodburn asked, "that that poor boy
Tynan has survived?"
"I'm afraid not. I think the havildar and I are the only survivors, but
of course there was no time to make certain."
"Poor Tynan!" she murmured, more to herself than to her companion. "I
have always felt so sorry for the boy since he joined us."
"Have you? Why? Don't think me a brute, Ethel, if I say that since that
event most of our fellows seem to have pitied the regiment most."
"You have no right to say that, Ted," Ethel declared, her clear,
steadfast eyes regarding the ensign reproachfully. "Tynan has lost his
life, we believe, and you know the Latin tag about speaking good or
nothing at all of the dead."
Ted was rather surprised. A few moments ago he had tried to omit all
mention of Tynan's cowardice, but she had insisted on the whole truth.
He recollected having read that even the most charming members of the
sex were changeable and unaccountable.
"I'm sorry," said he. "I won't say anything harsh about Tynan; but why
were you so sorry for him all along?"
"Because it struck me as so pitiable that he made no real friends, and I
never once noticed him looking downright happy. The most he seemed to
get out of life was a miserable pretence of enjoyment--a mere attempt to
persuade himself that he was having a good time. His has been such a
wasted life, Ted. I have thought a great deal about it this morning and
last night, and it has seemed so very sad. None of the healthy pleasures
and pursuits that have meant so much to you and Paterson appealed to him
in the least."
"What have Russell and I been doing now, Miss Ethel?" a well-known voice
broke in, and Paterson joined them.
Miss Woodburn hesitated and turned red. To speak freely with her future
brother-in-law was one thing, to discuss serious subjects with a couple
of light-hearted ensigns at once was quite another. Ted came to the
rescue.
"Miss Woodburn was saying how sorry she has always been for poor Tynan,"
he explained.
"So have I," said Alec slowly; "at least at times, when he was not in
the way, but I'm sorry to say I couldn't stand him when he was close at
hand. I wish now that I hadn't tried so hard to be sarcastic."
"You would have risked your lives to save him from death or danger,"
said Ethel, "but it was harder to try and save him from himself. At
least I found it so, for more than once I resolved to try to gain his
confidence and interest him in more sensible pursuits, but being too
cowardly and selfish, I was too easily discouraged."
"He was hardly the sort one could make a friend of," Paterson mused
aloud. "You're right though, Miss Ethel, it was just selfishness and
conceit on our part to regard ourselves as superior beings just because
we didn't happen to like the sort of things he cared about."
"We looked at everything from a different point of view," Ethel resumed
after a pause, "and got more enjoyment out of life."
"I never saw it in that light before," said Ted, "but I think I know
what you mean. For instance, when we were all so excited over the race,
he had no sympathy whatever with the horses or riders, but just regarded
the affair as so much money to be won or lost."
"Yes, but don't be scornful, Ted. Think of all he has lost during his
short lifetime by not having a healthy mind. Think of all the happiness
you have enjoyed from your love of sports and games, through your
friendships and your admiration for what is good and right. But you are
rather young quite to grasp what I mean."
Ethel Woodburn, aged twenty-one, spoke as though she felt the wisdom of
ages within her, and the boys could not help glancing at one another.
She caught the glance, and her eyes twinkled as she continued:
"One could easily see that Tynan was a spoiled child, cursed with
foolish parents. I think, Ted, that of all selfish people, those parents
who are too generous to deny their children anything, or too
tender-hearted to punish them, are the most criminally selfish. And
that's what made me so sorry for the boy. Once or twice I was on the
point of asking you to give him a bit of your friendship, but somehow I
didn't quite like to do it."
"Well," said Ted, "I'm sorry for my share in any rows we had, and I
forgive him his share."
"Rather easy for us to forgive one who is dead, is it not, Ted? Can we
forgive now, at this moment, those rebels who want to kill us?"
"I suppose that you forgive 'em, Ethel, but I can't say that I do."
"But I didn't forgive Tynan, Ted. I heard of that fight you had; in
fact, I met Tynan just afterwards, and very tactlessly asked him what
had happened, supposing he had met with an accident. Unluckily he had
not had time to cool down, and--well, he laughed in my face and forgot
himself. You see, his people are wealthy, but not quite--you know what I
mean?--he's not a gentleman, and he hinted at the cause of your fight."
"The cad!" said Ted.
"Steady, old boy! I felt as if I could never forgive him, so please
don't imagine I'm making myself out better than you. I feel bad about it
now, and if by any chance he should escape I should find it easy to
forgive him, though there's little credit in that."
"I didn't think he could have done such a thing," said Ted. "I forgive
that mullah and his friends who knifed me, so long as I think they've
both been killed, but if I should see 'em to-morrow I'm afraid I should
still remember that I owe 'em one."
"Yet, as I said before, you'd risk your life willingly enough to save
theirs, just as they do in the story-books." Miss Woodburn laughed as
she went on: "I must say that it annoys me to read those tales entitled
_A Noble Revenge_ or _Coals of Fire_, or something of the kind, where
someone who has been greatly injured takes his revenge by saving his
enemy from drowning, or climbs to the top story of a burning house and
rescues the evil-doer, who promptly repents. It's all very noble, of
course; but it's such a thorough vindication, and such glory for the
rescuer, that a more complete triumph over one's enemy couldn't be
wished for. What could one desire better than to make your enemy feel
small, and acknowledge how much nobler you are than he?"
"I should like," said Ted, with feeling, "to make these beggars outside
feel small. We've drifted into a curious talk, considering our
situation."
"Not a bit of it," said Alec. "I quite agree with you, Miss Ethel. I
must go and relieve Leigh now, and you relieve me in a couple of hours,
Ted. Miss Woodburn, I'm glad we've had this talk, and I sha'n't forget
it."
"And I must go back to father now," said Ethel, whereupon Ted turned to
accompany her.
The colonel was fast asleep, breathing easily.
"Good-bye for a few hours, Ethel!" said the ensign; and added in a low,
hesitating tone, "You're a saint."
"I! Oh, Ted, you little know me--you and Jim. It's easy to forgive one
who can no longer injure you, but it's hard to live your ordinary life
with a person who wishes to injure you, or who has done so, and who
hates and despises you. What a terrible prig you must think me, Ted! I
know I can't feel like that myself. I only wish I could."
Ted glanced guiltily round. There was no one in the room save Colonel
Woodburn, and he was sleeping, undisturbed by their whispering. Seizing
the girl's hand he kissed it, awkwardly and nervously, then hastily
dropping it blushed furiously.
"There!" exclaimed the ensign jerkily. "I knew I should do it some day.
I'm sure Jim never did that."
"Oh--?"
Ethel's face was also flushed, and she looked radiantly charming as she
gave utterance to the long-drawn, quizzing exclamation, and a new light
broke in upon Ted.
"What! Old Jim?" he asked. "Well, who'd have thought it? Lucky beggar!
It's a dainty little hand."
"Silence, sir! I must ask you to leave the room."
"Good-bye, then, little sister!"