The Post of Honour
A great victory had been won! The temper of the men had been tested and
found true as steel; the only loyal dark-faced battalion had been tried
and found worthy to rank side by side with the steadiest of English or
Highland regiments. The praises of the Gurkhas were in every mouth.
Besides these tests two great material advantages had been gained. This
was the first. Less than a mile from the walls the Aravelli range of
hills ended, and underneath this ridge lay the place where the troops
had dwelt before the mutiny. Had the enemy not been driven from the
Ridge, the old cantonments and parade-ground could not have been
occupied, as they would have been swept by the fire from above.
Now that the Ridge had been won, however, the army could safely rest
below, protected by the high ground from the fire of the heavy guns on
the Delhi bastions.
In the second place, the rebels had not only been disheartened by their
first defeat, but the tidings would quickly spread all over India that
the English were still strong enough to defeat thrice their number. This
news would be worth a thousand men, for people were saying that Allah
had deprived the Feringhis of their strength, that they were _lachar_
(helpless), and could no longer fight.
The rebel stronghold lay before the victors, vast, powerful, and filled
with myriads of brave and warlike men. Well might they be defiant, for
what could that tiny army achieve against their great strength. For you
must know that by all the rules of warfare an army attacking a
strongly-fortified place should be much more numerous than the defending
host, and have more powerful or quite as powerful artillery. The
assailants should be able to surround the place to prevent the entrance
of food or reinforcements. But the walls of Delhi measured seven miles
in circumference; the army investing it could with difficulty guard its
own quarters, and rebel reinforcements entered as they pleased. Though
we were supposed to be engaged in an assault on Delhi, yet in reality,
during that summer of 1857, we were on our defence--the defenders of the
Ridge against countless rebel attacks.
At the southern extremity of the Ridge stood a large mansion, built many
years ago by a Mahratta gentleman named Hindu Rao. This house, strong
and well built, commanded a good view of Delhi, and all movements could
be observed therefrom. No force could issue from the walls to surprise
the camp or retake the Ridge without being noticed by the picket holding
the position. So Hindu Rao's house became the post of honour, and the
post of honour is always the post of danger. Less than 1200 yards from
the mansion the 24-pounders of the Mori bastion overlooked the Ridge,
and the house presented an easy target for the shot and shell of the
huge guns.
The little cannon of our soldiers were as pop-guns compared to these
monsters, and not only was the advantage in size, but the sepoys
possessed a dozen heavy guns for every light one of ours, besides vast
stores of ammunition and material of war. The walls had been further
strengthened not many years before by English engineer officers, who had
made a glacis that protected all except the top ten feet of the walls
from injury by shot or shell.
A glacis is a huge bank of earth sloping outwards from the walls, and
not only does it shield the lower portions, but, should an enemy
attempt to escalade the walls or carry the city by assault, they would
first have to run up this glacis, and there they would present such a
target that trained gunners could sweep the assailants away by hundreds.
The engineers, who had so skilfully and carefully constructed these
defences, little thought that their handiwork would merely serve to keep
India in a ferment for many months. The batteries were manned by
artillerymen who had learned their profession--and learned it, alas! too
well--under the tuition of English officers. Within the walls were more
than 20,000 trained and disciplined sepoys, men who had proved their
valour on many a well-fought field, not to mention thousands on
thousands of armed fanatics, warriors by birth and by tradition. All
these fought under shelter, which our brave fellows lacked. But ours
were British, "strong with the strength of the race to command, to obey,
to endure", save the one Gurkha battalion and the Guide Corps (now close
at hand), and these were soon admitted as equals by the British
soldiers.
The British army was small--very small--but the lack of powerful
artillery was an even greater source of weakness. An army without
artillery, matched against even an equal force well supplied with
powerful guns, would have as much chance of success as a man armed with
a light cane fighting another possessed of sword and revolver.
Thousands of people in England and in India, who eagerly devoured the
news and anxiously awaited the fall of the capital, impatiently asked,
"Why are they so long? Why don't they take the city?" These worthy folks
could not understand the difficulties; they could not realize that mere
pluck and endurance avail nothing against stone walls and mighty cannon.
As the weeks rolled by and Delhi was still untaken, other persons, still
more ignorant, exclaimed, "Why don't they leave Delhi if they can't
capture it, and go and help Sir Henry Lawrence at Lucknow?" They did
not see that even if that small army appeared to be doing little, it
still kept shut up in the city forty thousand armed rebels who might
otherwise be spreading over the country conquering and slaying. Nor did
they grasp the fact that had the English army left Delhi unconquered the
warlike Punjab, and then all India, would have risen. To have left the
Mogul capital would have been a confession of weakness; it would have
been to say: "We are beaten, we can do nothing here", and when once the
English say that in India, their empire will collapse.
So, though Barnard's handful was attacking Delhi contrary to all the
rules of war, we must remember what Mr. Rudyard Kipling has pointed out,
that had our British generals never acted against those rules the
boundaries of the empire would have stayed at Brighton beach.
It will be readily understood, even by boys who have engaged in no
battles save those in which snow-balls form the most dangerous missiles,
that this ridge of elevated ground was of the highest importance. Had
the rebels been able to retake it and plant guns thereon, the British
camp would have been at their mercy, and the Punjab would have been
ablaze. As the Ridge defended the British army, so Hindu Rao's house
defended the Ridge.
Let us rejoin the comrades we had left victorious after the battle of
Badli-ka-Serai. The army now occupied its old parade-ground below the
Ridge, and our friends, who had escaped uninjured, were awaiting further
orders, when Major Reid, who had been conversing with the general, came
towards them, his face aglow.
"Grand news, Dorricot!" he shouted. "The Sirmur Battalion is to defend
that house," pointing to the distant mansion of Hindu Rao.
"Score for our Gurkhas!" Dorricot shouted back.
"What do you think of that, youngsters?" he continued, turning to Ted
and Alec. "I feel as though I'd been made a K.C.B. at least. We must
fall the men in and be off."
The Gurkha bugles sounded and the battalion fell in, whilst their
commandant informed them that the general had paid them the great
compliment of selecting them for the post of honour, and he had no doubt
that they would show themselves in every way worthy to uphold the
traditions of their race. The little men grinned, well pleased, as their
officer went on to warn them that it would also be the post of danger;
that upon the house of Hindu Rao would fall the brunt of all the rebel
attacks, and that the building would be the main target for the Delhi
artillery.
The little men huzzaed at the prospect. The fiercer the battle waging
around them the better pleased would they be. They meant to hold their
post tooth and nail.
"What plucky little fiends they are!" Alec whispered. "Danger evidently
appeals to them as a most delightful prospect."
When the news spread that the Gurkhas had been awarded the post of
honour, the soldiers assembled to cheer their comrades from the
mountains of Nepal as they marched away. Never did general make a wiser
selection. Prominent amidst the glorious achievements during the siege
of Delhi stands out the dogged pluck of the Gurkha picket, who
successfully held the house of Hindu Rao during a hundred days of
terrific fighting and bombardment, though only a handful escaped death
or wounds.
Rooms were apportioned to the various ranks, and the Sirmur men were
speedily settled in their new quarters. Ted and Charlie strolled round
the mansion, and, gazing upon the Imperial City, entered into an
argument respecting their distance from the big cannon of the Mori
bastion.
They were still disputing, when a pleasant-looking, gentlemanly young
Gurkha officer joined them, and, jerking our ensign round by his jacket
collar to face the new-comer, Charlie observed:
"I ought to have introduced you two before. Goria Thapa, can you guess
who the ensign sahib is? He is Ensign Russell, son of your father's
comrade, of whom you have often heard. Ted, this is Jemadar Goria Thapa,
son of Jaspao Thapa, your guvnor's great pal of 1815."
Goria Thapa's jolly countenance became wreathed in grins. He held out
his hand, saying:
"I have heard much of thy father, Russell Sahib, who was my father's
brother. I am glad to fight side by side with thee as our fathers
fought."
Ted pressed the young jemadar's hand. This was, then, the grandson of
the famous Nepalese general, Amir Sing Thapa, who had kept our troops at
bay for so long a period in the year of Waterloo. Ted had often heard
the story, and was glad indeed to meet the hero's grandson.
That night the troops slept soundly both on and below the Ridge. In the
early morning the Gurkha picket heard the sound of cheering from the
British camp, and the report ran round that the Guide Corps was marching
in. Ted, Paterson, and their four Pathans--two had fallen on the
previous day--went down to rejoin their regiment, which was being
greeted with the same enthusiasm that had been accorded to the Sirmuris
a few days before.
Though the Guides had taken no part in the battle they had already
covered themselves with undying glory. Daly had promised that the seven
hundred and fifty miles should be covered in a month, and he had done it
in twenty-eight days. The stately height and military bearing of the
frontiersmen and the perfect horsemanship of the cavalry took everyone
by surprise, and such exclamations as "A splendid lot!" "Fighters every
inch of them!" were heard on all sides. Though they had accomplished the
magnificent march--a march that still holds the record--during the
hottest season of the year, they came in, as an onlooker remarked, "as
firm and light of step as if they had marched only a mile".
The Guides had barely arrived before they contrived to give the Delhi
rebels a taste of their temper. Large bodies of horse and foot had been
sent out from the city to harass our advanced posts, and, full of a
fierce joy, the Guides were ordered to the front.
Charlie was engaged in chaffing his cousin, Ted throwing in a word here
and there, when Lieutenant Quintin Battye strolled up, a smile on his
handsome face. He nodded towards the two ensigns.
"I've a bone to pick with you two," he gaily remarked. "What do you mean
by risking the lives of my best troopers by charging a regiment with
half a dozen men? Throw your own lives away if you like, but remember
that our sowars are of value to the state."
Ted had a joke on the tip of his tongue before the slower Paterson had
framed any suitable reply, when the order came for the Guides Cavalry to
advance.
Battye rose in his stirrups, and, thundering forth the order to charge,
dashed straight for the ranks of the mutinous 3rd Native Cavalry. The
sabres of the loyal and disloyal crossed, and down went man and horse
before that furious onslaught. Through the second ranks of the rebels
crashed those Pathan and Sikh troopers, their steel flashing in the
sunlight as the sabres rose and fell again, now tinged with red, in the
fierce conflict. Ever in the forefront rode Quintin Battye. Captain
Daly, with the infantry, looked on in admiration at his subaltern's
charge and could not contain himself.
"Gallant Battye! Well done, brave Battye!" he cried in his enthusiasm.
At that very moment a rebel turned round, and, riding straight for the
English subaltern, discharged his piece into Battye's body from a
distance of twenty yards. The deed was avenged! Subadar Merban Sing,
captain of the Gurkha company of the Guides, had dashed forward and cut
down the sepoy as he fired, but too late to save that precious life.
Battye was carried off the field, wounded mortally; and as he lay dying
in terrible pain, he turned to the chaplain who attended him, and
smiling said: "_Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori!_"
Thus died a gallant officer and true gentleman. Since that date there
has hardly been a campaign in which the Guides have not been officered
by a Battye.
The Guides Infantry were now allotted a position on the Ridge, under the
orders of Major Reid, who had been placed in command of the advanced
posts. Two companies of the 60th Rifles also took up their quarters in
Hindu Rao's house, for it soon became evident that the Sirmur Battalion
would have to bear the brunt of all attacks.
But the little Himalayans did not grumble at that.
On the very first opportunity that presented itself, our three friends
foregathered to talk over the events of the past few years. The two
seniors placidly smoked their pipes and congratulated themselves on
belonging to regiments that had proved their loyalty.
Jim was forced to submit, with as much good-temper and cheerfulness as
could have been expected under the circumstances, to his cousin's
quizzing enquiries and humorous comments in the matter of his love
affair and engagement. Charlie simply wanted to know everything, and,
with as good a grace as possible for a shy young man, Jim laughingly
endeavoured to parry the embarrassing questions.
"Well, tell me what she's like, man, can't you? Teddy here can't say
anything concerning her appearance, except that he's head over heels in
love with her himself.---- And I'm sure that's no recommendation for any
girl!" Captain Dorricot added, as an afterthought.
Ted hereupon indulged in an exclamation and gesture expressive of
dissent, and of the supreme contempt in which he held his cousin.
"What's that, Ted? You never said anything of the sort? Why, you young
bargee, of course you did!" went on the tormentor. "You talked of
poisoning Jim's grub, and what not.---- Well, Captain Russell, once
more: Are her eyes black, blue, brown, purple, violet, green, yellow,
red, or a mixture, or perchance, is she an albino?"
"Oh, I dunno! Something between green and blue, as you seem so anxious
to know."
"Peacock-blue, shall we say? That's a pity! Violet is the favourite hue
with lady novelists--either violet, or purple, or heliotrope. Did you
ever see a woman with eyes of heliotrope hue, young 'un?"
"No, nor don't want to."
"That's very decided. Now then, Jim, cut along! Eyes, peacock-blue;
nose, Roman, Grecian, snub, or what? Grecian? Right. Jot it down. Size?
Ted says she's a dwarf. What? Ted a liar? Surely the boy has not been
deceiving me who trusted in him?"
"I never said anything of the kind!" interrupted Ted indignantly. "Don't
believe a word he says, Jim."
"Oh, Teddy, Teddy, this to your loving cousin? Now, you know that you
said she was smaller than you!" Charlie asserted with a show of
indignant surprise at the ensign's perfidy.
"Well, we're getting at it slowly," Dorricot continued. "Nose Grecian;
peacock-blue eyes; size five feet nothing; hair brown; rides well;
shoots mullahs in the _bazar_ for sport, failing partridges; loads
rifles with considerable ease--for a woman; sings divinely--isn't that
the expression?--"
"Hold on, old man, that's the whole catalogue!" interrupted Jim. "You'll
see her some day, I hope. Now what about this present business?"
Captain Russell then proceeded to give an account of their great march,
and Dorricot told of the temptations placed before his men.
"As we halted one day on the march down to Meerut," he informed the
brothers, "a number of sappers who were on the point of mutiny
approached our lads and began to talk earnestly to them. We pretended to
take no notice, but when the sappers had left, Reid called a couple of
the Gurkhas to him. The little men trotted up, quivering with anger and
indignation.
"'Well, what did those fellows want, my lads?' he enquired.
"'They asked us if we were going up to Meerut to eat the _ottah_ (flour)
sent up specially by government for the Gurkhas,' one of them replied.
'And they said that the _ottah_ at Meerut was nothing but ground bullock
bones, and that we should be defiled.'
"'And what was your answer?' asked Reid.
"The little beggars drew themselves up proudly.
"'We said that we were going wherever we were ordered; that our regiment
obeys the bugle-call!'"
"Good little men!" commented the captain of the Guides, as his cousin
concluded. "Our own Gurkha company would be hard to beat. Look at
Subadar Merban Sing! the man who tried to save poor Battye. His men
simply adore him; they'd do anything for him, and go anywhere with him.
But aren't your 'almond-eyed Tartars' Hindus by religion? How did they
take the greased-cartridge yarn?"
"They're Hindus, right enough, but they are soldiers first. They don't
worship either Siva or Vishnu one-half so fervently as they adore their
rifles and kukris. So they simply said that they would believe whatever
Major Reid told them, and when he assured them that the cartridges and
the cartridge-papers were free from offence, they replied, without a
moment's hesitation:
"'Then serve them out to us! We'll use them, and everyone may see!'"