The Treachery of the Guides
The shadows were slowly lengthening, and the whistling of the kites that
circled overhead, waiting until the groups of sepoys should disperse,
was being supplemented by the querulous howls of the equally impatient
jackals. Yet no fresh attack had been made upon the English post, though
more than an hour had passed since the Guides had joined forces with the
mutineers. That they had not been idle, however, was testified by the
stack of round-shot and grape rescued from the fort and piled ready to
hand behind each cannon.
A guard had been mounted over the guns and ammunition to check any
desperate sortie that might be made by the besieged, and the town
gradually became less riotous. This restoration of order only
intensified the despair of the Europeans, who drew the conclusion that
the rebels were now being controlled by men more able--and therefore
more dangerous--than their late leaders. The more capable their enemies,
the more perilous the situation of the garrison.
That is, if anything more perilous could be imagined.
Just after sunset, and before darkness had set in, a Hindu sepoy was
observed creeping stealthily towards the house, apparently anxious to
attract the attention of the inmates, and equally bent on avoiding
observation from outside. As the man drew near, Ambar Singh and Ted both
recognized him as Dwarika Rai, one of their comrades in the arsenal. He
was quickly smuggled inside, and told the story of his escape from
death and concealment up to the present, when duty had urged him at all
risks to inform his comrades and the Englishmen of the changed
situation.
He explained that the detachment of the Guides had mutinied as soon as
they heard of the arrival of the 138th; they had murdered the only white
officer with them, and had appointed Ressaidar Bahram Khan as
commandant. The announcement was not unexpected, yet up to this moment
Ted had hoped against hope that Jim had escaped.
"Art thou certain, Dwarika Rai, that they have slain my brother?" he
asked after a painful pause.
"Quite, sahib; they make boast of it. And look, their leader is wearing
his uniform."
Ethel Woodburn had entered the room unobserved, and, standing behind
them, had overheard. She grasped a chair to steady herself, and shook
her head as Ted besought her to retire to the ladies' room. There was a
long silence.
"Bahram Khan?" enquired the major presently, hardly knowing what to say.
"Is that he, then, in the English officer's uniform and wearing his
medals?" pointing to a muscular man who could be made out in the
distance apparently ordering the sepoys about.
"That is the hound, sahib," replied Dwarika Rai. "He has sworn to
exterminate you all before noon to-morrow. He has taken command of all
the treacherous curs."
Ethel, half-stunned by the terrible tidings, was now seated, and Ted
leaned against the girl's chair, gently stroking her hand,--dimly
recognizing that her sorrow was even greater than his own. The shock of
Captain Russell's murder was too sudden for her to realize fully, and
the rest of the news seemed dwarfed to mere insignificance. The poor
girl attempted to pull herself together by thinking how greatly her
helpless father stood in need of her.
"Bahram Khan!" said Ted bitterly. "Why, he is the cur who was present at
the steeple-chase,--a robber and outlaw! However could such a crew have
been trusted?"
"It was Sir Henry Lawrence's doing," said Leigh. "It's rare for him to
make a mistake, but here is the result of his great 'Guides' scheme.
Evidently they don't mean to make the grand assault until to-morrow."
"I wish they would," said Ted with feeling; "and end it, to-night."
To give the boy credit, he was thinking more of the hours of bitter
grief Ethel Woodburn was doomed to endure than of himself.
It may be readily surmised that very few of the garrison contrived to
sleep that night. Soon after sunrise all--women, civilians, black
soldiers, and white officers--were gathered together to watch the
mutineers assemble for the final assault. Of its issue there could be no
doubt. As they stood there awaiting their fate Ethel Woodburn could not
remain insensible, even at so trying a moment, to the beauty of the
early Indian morning. The slanting rays of the Eastern sun were gilding
the mosques and minarets of the town and lighting up with lurid glow the
reddish buildings behind the fort, and the thought of Nature's beauty
added to her sorrow. But the greater number of those doomed people had
weightier matters to occupy their thoughts.
In and around the courtyard of the fort itself all was bustle and
confusion; some could be both seen and heard giving commands, and others
obeying the same, though the vast majority of the assembled hundreds
appeared to display a total lack of discipline. Inside the
commissioner's house the feeling of helplessness and suspense was
horrible. The wisdom of a sortie, a mad rush on the guns,--to die
fighting rather than cooped up and made a target of,--was debated, and
not a man there but would have preferred the chance of striking back.
There were women, however, to be considered, and to leave them was out
of the question.
"Whilst there's life there's hope," declared the Commissioner, with an
attempt at cheerfulness. "The house is not destroyed yet."
He barely succeeded, however, in convincing even himself that there was
the faintest glimmer of hope. No British troops were within three days'
journey. The handful of unfortunates bade good-bye to one another, shook
hands all round, and prepared to meet their death with a smile upon
their faces, without flinching or showing the least sign of weakness
before the eyes of their gallant and devoted Rajputs. Nor were the women
behind the men in respect of courage.
Major Munro, after consulting his officers, had advised the faithful
sepoys to save their lives as best they could, either by cutting their
way through at night, or by pretending to desert and to fall in with the
views of their rebel comrades.
To give them this chance was only fair, thought the major; the Rajputs,
having done their duty, deserved consideration, and though the
Englishmen could not leave the wounded and the women, yet the
dark-faces, now that resistance was hopeless, should be allowed to save
their lives. To Munro's delight, however, the gallant fellows announced
a firm resolve to stand by their duty to the last. They took their
places shoulder to shoulder with the pale-faces, grimly waiting and
watching now that the last glimmer of hope had died out.
For in the great square of the fort more than two thousand men were
under arms; and in another moment the nine-pounders were charged with
grape, under the supervision of Bahram Khan and a score of picked Sikhs
and Pathans of the Guide Corps--men who had served in the old Khalsa
Artillery and who thoroughly understood their work.
Behind the guns and flanking them the remaining hundred men of the
Guides, conspicuous by their powerful and soldierly bearing, maintained
some appearance of discipline, whereas the majority of the sepoys and of
armed fanatics and budmashes were acting as seemed best in their own
eyes.
Ressaidar Bahram Khan, however, insisted with many threats and much
strong language on some kind of order being maintained. He placed the
193rd Sepoys in one position, the poorbeahs[7] of the 138th in another,
and the Sikhs of the latter corps to the right front of the guns.
[7] A name given to the Oudh sepoys.
"When the guns have battered down the walls," thundered the rebel
commandant, "then must ye take the house by storm. The Feringhi dogs
prevail against us because they trust to the bayonet, instead of staying
to fire as ye do, for the bayonet is more certain than the bullet. We
must learn from them and attack as they would, for our aim must be to
destroy utterly the hated tyrants; not one must escape our vengeance."
The mob applauded, shouting "Din! din! Death to the Feringhis!" And the
ressaidar went on:
"Take, then, the charges from your muskets, lest ye be tempted to stop
and fire, for if ye do that doubtless many of the dogs may escape our
wrath. Trust to the bayonet! Kill the infidels with the steel! Now,
unload!"
The charges were withdrawn.
"That dacoit fellow has some idea of discipline; he seems to know what
he's about,--though he's placing some of his men in queer positions, to
be sure!" commented Major Munro stoutly, bent on showing an undaunted
front to the end.
"Oh for a good, wholesome, red-coated regiment," sighed Lieutenant
Leigh, "to wipe these fiends off the earth! Watch that treacherous,
murdering Pathan! What's he up to now?"
"Trusting to the bayonet!" exclaimed Munro in astonishment. "That's not
like an Asiatic, but he's right."
They heard but could not distinguish Bahram Khan's commands, and saw the
sepoys empty their muskets and begin to fix bayonets. Their hearts were
beating wildly, and small shame to them, for they were helpless and
could not strike back--as helpless as condemned criminals bound and
gagged. Would the word never be given to fire? What was the matter now?
Waiting in silent agony for the fatal word, they perceived the Pathan
commandant turn hastily to his gunners, who stood port-fire in hand.
Quick as thought, before rebels or onlookers could realize what was
taking place, the muzzles of the guns were turned slightly to the right
and lowered, and ere the assemblage had time to wonder, a shower of
grape was belched forth into the clustered ranks of the faithless Sikhs
of the 138th. At the very same instant, before sepoys or besieged were
able to take in what had happened, the hundred men of the Guides--or as
many of them as were not helping their gunner comrades--brought their
rifles (for theirs were still loaded) to the shoulder, and blazed away
into the helpless mass of brown humanity. The rebels fell in scores,
mown down by the heavy discharge. One or two of the native officers
attempted to rally them, but the cannon, well and promptly served by the
Guides, cut lanes through the mob; and the well-aimed, disciplined
volley-firing of the Pathans and Gurkhas augmented the confusion.
For some seconds open-mouthed wonder kept all our friends silent. The
whole world seemed topsy-turvy.
Then one man grasped the situation.
"Oh, splendid!... Well played, Guides, well played!" shouted Leigh; and
the garrison screamed and danced in a delirium of enthusiasm as their
senses came back to them, and they understood.
"What is it? What does it mean?" demanded Ethel breathlessly and the
sick from the hospital-room echoed the cry.
"It's the Guides!" was shouted back. "The Guides have been shamming
mutiny. They've got possession of the guns, and have turned them on the
traitors!"
Thrice did the mutineers attempt a rally, but the Sikhs--the staunchest
of the rebels--had been almost blown away by the discharge of grape, and
the poorbeahs dared not face that terrible fire--those spurts of flame
that blazed forth, section by section, without hurry and without
confusion, from the steady, levelled rifles.
In the Commissioner's house the Pathan messenger howled and shrieked in
his excitement, then, snatching up rifle and sword, he darted from the
sheltering walls and cut his way through the terrified rebels to the
side of his comrades.
"Look!" cried Lieutenant Leigh. "Bahram Khan has given aver the
command--to a private soldier, too!"
He pointed towards a dark-visaged man, of middle height and sturdy
build, in the uniform of a sepoy of the Guide Corps, who was now
directing the sectional volley-firing. At the same moment the mutineers
broke away in all directions--two thousand men cowed by six score!
"Why, that's Jim!--that's my brother!" screamed our ensign joyfully.
Ethel gave one look, recognized the long scar that showed on the stained
face, and sank down, and to Ted's bewilderment burst into tears.
"Well, that's a rummy go!" he murmured under his breath. "What on earth
should she blub for now that she knows he's safe?"
As the flying, panic-stricken mutineers approached the beleaguered
house, they received a fresh and hardly less deadly fusillade from the
jubilant garrison. They scattered in all directions, staggering in
blind terror. Through the narrow streets ran and stumbled the defeated
sepoys, and after them rushed fifty of the terrible men in drab, the
active little Gurkhas being ever to the front. So thorough was the panic
evoked by the surprise, that here and there a dozen or even a score of
the rebels might be seen running with terrified eyes and panting breath
from a single fierce Afridi or Yusufzai of the hills, or still fiercer
Gurkha from the Himalayan snows; and Ted acknowledged his error of
judgment as he saw one of these little Nepalese Highlanders charge
single-handed a group of ten or a dozen Wahabi fanatics who were
attempting a rally. Cutting down four in rapid succession with his
kukri, heeding the long knives no more than cardboard, the fearless
little fellow scattered the remainder like sheep, and chased them until
their long legs carried them far out of his reach.
Up flew the Union Jack to the top of the fort flagstaff, and Captain
Russell, recalling his pursuing men, posted guards around the place. The
loyal Rajputs, rejoicing now that they had not accepted Major Munro's
permission to desert, had not dared join in the fray except by their
fire from windows and roof, for had they shown themselves outside they
would undoubtedly have been slain by the rescuers.
But now the little garrison marched out in safety, carrying the wounded
in their midst, for not a rebel was to be seen. Never had surprise been
more complete! At the same moment Captain Russell issued forth at the
head of half his men to escort the survivors inside the wing of the fort
that had not been demolished.
There was no time for more than a hasty grip of the hand and a look
exchanged between two pairs of eyes, telling more eloquently than any
speech of the lips its tale of love, anxiety, and deep, grateful joy.
Ethel had thought her lover dead; Jim had hardly dared to hope that both
sweetheart and brother had survived the massacre. We can imagine the
unspoken joy. Leaving Leigh and Ted with a strong guard within the fort,
Munro, Captain Russell, and Paterson sallied forth at the head of one
hundred and fifty Guides and no less eager Rajputs, and chased the
panic-filled pandies from street to street to prevent them from
reassembling. Long before mid-day the rebels had streamed out of the
town in all directions, a wholesome fear planted deep within their
breasts.
One room had been apportioned to the ladies, and others to officers and
sepoys, but all the Europeans came together to cheer their rescuers.
Colonel Woodburn was now well enough to greet his future son-in-law,
whose exciting story all gathered round to hear. Jim told it simply.
"Well, for a gang of double-dyed traitors commend me to the Guides and
their English and native officers!" exclaimed Munro, his eyes twinkling
with delight at the thought of the trick.
"All Bahram Khan's idea," laughed Jim. "We'd sent scouts ahead, and
yesterday we heard of the arrival of the 138th and learned that they
possessed artillery. I felt that I'd no right to risk my handful against
such overwhelming odds, so I consulted the ressaidar[8]. That gentlemen
also thought the task hopeless at first, then he suddenly burst out into
a demoniacal laugh.
[8] A native officer of cavalry.
"'Why, Captain Sahib,' said he,'why shouldn't we mutiny? We could kill
you and make friends with the poorbeahs. Then I'd take command of the
rebels--the curs will only be too glad to have me--and I could get
possession of the guns and post the men as I choose. With our men at the
guns and behind the guns, we can sweep the poorbeahs from off the
earth!'
"It was a glorious idea; we explained it to the men, who took it in like
so many school-boys. Those little Gurkha fiends turned somersault as
they thought of the pandies[9] being taken in; and they laughed till the
tears rolled down their smooth cheeks. I stained my face and put on one
of the men's uniforms, whilst Bahram Khan squeezed himself into mine,
and everything worked beautifully."
[9] A nickname for rebels. Mongul Pandy was the name of the
first noted mutineer.
"And did no one suspect?" asked the major.
"Not a soul! You see, there never were such rabid haters of the British
as we have been for the past twenty-four hours! We were quite willing to
eat you all, either cooked or raw; no half-measures with the Guides!"
"You disgustin' treacherous brutes!" chirped our ensign, who was in a
state of wild and gleeful excitement.
Bahram Khan stood by, grinning, well pleased with his handiwork, as were
all these stalwart soldiers of the Guide Corps. Jim Russell's story
ended, the deputy-commissioner passed his arm through Munro's, and,
announcing that he wished to consult him with respect to granting a
reward to the loyal Rajputs, he led the major from the room. The remark
was accompanied by a significant look, and, taking the hint, the
remaining officers made some excuse to leave.
The ladies saw and understood, and in a few moments Jim and Ethel were
left alone. They were grateful, yet for some moments not a word was
uttered by either. The precious time was not exactly wasted, though.
"My poor girl, what you must have suffered!" Jim murmured as he held her
hands within his own and fondled them.
"Are you really here, Jim, or am I dreaming? It seems too good to be
true."
"I think I really am here," was the reply, and Jim set to work to
convince her.
"You have heard how poor Markham was killed, and Tynan and Lewis and
Arden?"
Jim nodded and tightened his grip of the hands until she winced.
"What a brute I am!" he penitently exclaimed, covering the little hands
with kisses.
"I--I liked it, Jim.---- But you know you oughtn't to reward yourself
for being a brute."
There was another interval of silence.
"And so the young 'un has behaved like a brick!" said Jim at length.
"I'm proud of the kid."
"I should just think he has. I really believe I shall have to marry you,
Captain Russell, if only to have Ted for a brother. I think he likes me
now."
"I'll punch the young 'un's head if he doesn't," declared the brutal
Jim. "It's very decent of the others to give us this good time, little
woman."
"It is, indeed. Oh, Jim, are you sure we're not dreaming? Can you stay
here with your men?"
The captain shook his head sadly.
"I don't know what to do until I have consulted Munro and Fletcher and
your father. We must follow the rest of the corps as quickly as
possible, and I think the best plan will be for you all to come with us,
if we can obtain horses and ekkas for the wounded and the ladies, until
we can drop you at the first safe place."
"Cannot Sir Arthur, as head of the district, countermand your orders to
join the Guide Corps at once? If he says that you are needed here, I
should think he has authority to detain you. Besides, you and your men
are now under father, or rather under Major Munro, whilst you remain
here, and you will have to do as they order."
Jim laughed.
"I wish it were so; but it happens to be John Lawrence himself who has
sent us to Delhi, and he said he wanted us to get there quickly. And
when Jan Larens says 'do this' you've got to do it, and do it smartly.
The major is a brave man, and so is Fletcher, but I shall be very much
surprised if either of them dare trifle with Jan."
Major Munro had assembled the loyal Rajputs and thanked them in a
straight soldierly speech that touched their faithful hearts and brought
a glow of pride to their eyes. The Commissioner, moreover, deemed it
well to let congratulations take a more substantial form. He therefore
distributed the sum of five thousand rupees amongst the seventy
survivors--a welcome reward for their loyalty and courage.
On the following morning Jim's anxiety and hesitation were removed, as a
detachment of the 4th Sikhs--a glorious, loyal regiment--marched in and
maintained order in the town.
Miss Woodburn's safety being thus assured, Captain Russell at once set
out to rejoin his comrades in their seven hundred and fifty miles' march
to the Mogul capital, and, to the delight of Ted and Paterson, the
colonel allowed the boys to accompany the gallant corps.
We shall hear later on of that memorable march of the Corps of Guides to
Delhi--the finest march in Indian history, if not indeed in the records
of any army--as well as of their doings during the famous siege.