With the Gurkha Picket
On the morning of the 12th of June our friends on the Ridge were out
soon after dawn, visiting their respective pickets and receiving
reports. All was quiet. They gazed with admiration on the wonderful
panorama, at the stately mosques, minarets, and towers of the royal
city, at the huge mass of walls bulking in threatening manner before
them, at the king's palace--a town in itself--that stood to the far side
of the city, and at the blue waters of the Jumna glittering and
sparkling in the sun, washing the opposite walls to those whose heavy
guns had poured shot and shell at our men but a few hours ago. To the
south of the Ridge lay the picturesque suburbs of the Kishengang and the
Sabzi-mandi, with their magnificent buildings, walled gardens, and shady
groves.
The peaceful scene was not of long duration. The guns of the Mori and
Kashmir bastions presently belched forth a shower of shot and shell,
and, under cover of the heavy fire, two large bodies of mutineers poured
out to the attack, one charging the Gurkha picket, the other pushing its
way through the gardens, sheltered by trees and walls. Those sepoy
regiments attacking Hindu Rao's mansion saw only dark faces between them
and their desire.
"Come over to us!" the Brahmans shouted to the Gurkhas. "Come over, and
we'll reward you; you shall have treasure and honour. You are of our
religion. Siva, the Destroyer, is fighting on our side. Join us in
driving away the white men. Come!"
"Yes, we are coming! Wait for us!" shouted back the Nepalese. And they
went, with bayonets fixed and kukris bared; but the rebels waited not.
Terrified by the determined faces and gleaming steel, they turned and
fled, pursued for some distance by the fierce little mountaineers.
Thenceforward the Gurkhas were hated with a hatred as bitter as that
accorded to the British.
"Those monkeys of Gurkhas are renegades to their faith!" declared the
Brahman priests to those mutineers in Delhi who were of their
persuasion. "They prefer to receive the Englishman's pay rather than
follow the dictates of their holy men. Let them be outcasts! Spare them
not! When we have destroyed the white men, then shall we deal with them,
if any have escaped by that time!"
The attack made at the same time on the troops stationed below the Ridge
met with no better success. The British soldiers down there were no less
eager than their comrades up above to give the foemen a taste of their
quality. After some hours' hard fighting, the rebels were repulsed with
heavy loss, and our men began to feel happy, fondly imagining that the
tide was already turning in their favour.
The unthinking ones and the least experienced talked confidently of
entering Delhi in a few days, or a week or two at most. They underrated
the strength of the enemy, and also the determination of the
mutineers,--a mistake the British soldier is wont to make.
Undismayed by this reverse, the enemy came out to attack our posts every
day between the 12th and 17th of June, and every day they were beaten
back. Time after time they flung themselves in heavy masses against the
small force defending the Ridge, only to be hurled back again and again
by the Gurkhas, the Guides Infantry, and the Englishmen of the 60th
Rifles, who all fought with equally unflinching gallantry.
But on the 17th of June, Major Reid, to his delight, was ordered to act
on the offensive. The enemy had commenced to erect batteries outside the
walls, in the Kishengang and Trevelyan-gang suburbs, commanding the
British positions, and this could not be allowed. Reid's men, with
another column from the main force, sallied forth and stormed the
positions, routed the foe, and destroyed the works. But not without loss
was this accomplished. Our foemen were no cravens; they flung themselves
not once but many times with desperate courage against their assailants,
making little impression, however, on the stern warriors of England,
Scotland, and Ireland, of the Punjab, and of Nepal.
When morning dawned next day the officers reminded the British soldiers
that this was Waterloo-day, and the remembrance of that glorious
victory, and of the valour of their fathers, roused a new enthusiasm. On
this day the Guides Cavalry had their turn, and acquitted themselves
like the heroes they were. But once more they paid a price for so
distinguishing themselves, for Captain Daly, their gallant leader, was
carried away severely wounded.
The knowledge that his men had proved themselves so worthy consoled
Captain Daly in his pain. There were few soldiers in the force now who
were not ready to admit, and to back their opinion with curious and
unnecessary oaths, that these two native regiments were an invaluable
acquisition to the force--that Guides and Gurkhas were worthy to uphold
the reputation of the British army.
Little of importance happened during the next three or four days, though
the batteries were continually playing on the Ridge. One round-shot came
crashing through the portico of Hindu Rao's house with terrible effect,
killing an English officer and eight Gurkhas.
On June the 23rd the rebels made a vow. This day was the centenary of
the battle of Plassy. For just one hundred years had the Feringhis'
dominion lasted, and now, according to the Moslem prophets, their time
was come. So the sepoys, maddened by the resistance offered to their
attacks, furious that these Gurkhas should persistently remain at their
post, ever watchful and ever eager for the fray in spite of the
incessant cannonade, vowed that on this day Hindu Rao's house should be
captured.
About mid-day the attack on the Ridge began, the insurgents swarming up
on every side. Beaten back, but reinforced by fresh hordes, they again
came to the attack with desperate valour, to be once more repulsed by
the Gurkhas. Foiled but not done with, the enemy recommenced a brisk
cannonade of the handful who opposed them. Under cover of this fire a
fresh assault was made, and for a moment the post seemed lost. The dark
uniforms of the English riflemen, the drab of the Guides, and the ugly
dress of the Gurkhas, seemed lost amidst those swarming thousands.
Somehow Ensign Russell found himself in the front with the Gurkha
company of the Guides. Little Subadar Merban Sing, the captain of the
company, stood at his elbow, as mild in appearance as usual, smiling
pleasantly and serenely as he watched the straining and tugging bodies,
the uplifted and downfalling arms, the musket flashes on every side, the
thrusting of bayonets and slicing of kukris, and, as calmly as if on
parade, he gave directions to his men.
Inspired by his companion's coolness and absolute lack of fear, Ted
fought manfully at his side. A Guide in front of him stumbled, badly
wounded. It was Merban Sing's brother. Quick as thought Ted dashed
forward and stood over the body as half a dozen sepoys ran to thrust
their bayonets into the helpless Gurkha. With his pistol Ted shot one,
gave another the point of his sword, and Merban Sing, again at his side,
struck down two more whose bayonet-points were almost plunged in the
ensign's breast. The Gurkha subadar, felled from behind, dropped over
his wounded brother, who at the same time received his death-wound. A
rush from behind brought a dozen more Guides around the lad, who saw
steel flash in front of his face, and felt a burning sensation in his
cheek; then his head seemed to split, and he remembered no more.
With yells of triumph the myriad enemy pushed forward, but not to
victory. Major Reid's voice rang out clear, keeping his men together,
and with a cheer the gallant fellows responded. The riflemen closed up,
shoulder to shoulder, and, first pouring a withering fire into the mass,
dashed forward with the bayonet, followed by the Guides, who also used
that best of weapons. The little Nepalese, throwing down musket and
bayonet, drew their razor-edged kukris and plunged into the thick of
their opponents, hewing them down and scattering them on every side by
the fury of their charge. The foe gave ground and the crisis had passed.
The officers cheered, the men responded, and again a bayonet and kukri
charge drove the pandies farther back. Then the Rifles and Guides,
kneeling down, sent volley after volley into the mass of wavering
sepoys, and followed up their advantage by again charging home, and the
danger was passed. But the enemy, though disheartened, were not routed;
the conflict still raged fast and furious. The rebel guns, which had
ceased firing during the hand-to-hand fighting, again gave tongue with
deadly effect. Taking advantage of the diversion thus created, the
plucky sepoys made a last desperate effort to fulfil their vow, only to
receive further punishment. As the sun went down and the light faded,
the rebels lost heart and retired, discouraged and cowed, to the shelter
of their walls, hastened on the way by the bullets which dropped amongst
them.
Everywhere had the attack failed, both on the Ridge and below. But
though a severe blow had been dealt to the mutineers, too many of our
own had been slain; for the sepoys in Delhi could better spare a
thousand men than could the army before Delhi afford to lose fourscore.
To resist an attack was one thing; to storm the city successfully would
be quite another.
When Ensign Russell came to himself he was back in the Mahratta's
mansion, his brother and cousin by his side as the doctor examined him.
"Thank God that you've a thick head, young man," observed that official;
and turning to the others he added, "He'll be all right in a few days."
"What's the matter?" asked the boy. His head was ringing and singing,
and he felt sick.
"Crack on the head with the butt-end, Teddy," answered Charlie. "It
knocked you senseless, and Goria Thapia carried you out of danger. Good
job you've got the Russell skull. I expect the musket was smashed to
bits! Without joking, old boy, you've had a narrow escape."
"What's the matter with my cheek--it's stinging frightfully?" asked Ted.
"Your cheek?" replied Jim, laughing. "Oh, nothing's the matter with
that! It's as big and fine and well-developed as usual." Jim then placed
his hand on his brother's brow. "A sword or bayonet has just grazed your
cheek, Ted, old man, and taken the skin off. It will be painful, but
you'll hardly feel it in a week's time. Now, go to sleep."
"But how did the fight go after I was dropped, Jim? Was Merban Sing
killed?"
Captain Russell related the stirring incidents of the day, and told how
Merban Sing and two of his brothers had laid down their lives to defend
their trust.
For some time after this determined assault the rebels became more
cautious, whilst our men sat tight, waiting for reinforcements and for a
siege-train with which to batter those heavy walls whereon our little
guns made no impression.
When off duty, officers and men would stroll from one regiment's lines
to another, the chief meeting-place being the Flagstaff Tower on the
north end of the Ridge, well out of range. Games at cricket and quoits,
as well as polo-matches and races, were arranged. Numerous were the
visitors to Hindu Rao's house, as men from all the regiments came to see
this important outpost, to note the damage done by shot and shell, and
to scrutinize those wonderfully tough little Gurkhas who were the first
line of defence, and who were enjoying themselves hugely.
But though Major Reid[14] had many visitors, he himself never once left
his post during these months of bitter fighting. He was guardian of the
Ridge, and cricket, quoits, and races appealed to him in vain.
[14] Afterwards General Sir Charles Reid, K.C.B.
The 60th Rifles and the Sirmuris had become the best of friends and
closest of chums, and in the early days of the fighting, when tobacco
was still to be obtained without difficulty, little Gurkhas and heavy
Yorkshiremen or sprightly Cockneys might be seen sitting side by side,
smoking their pipes contentedly, and offering one another tobacco by
signs, being unable to exchange a word.
By the end of June the casualties among the Rifles, Guides, and Gurkhas
had been terrible, and the top room of the house had been turned into a
Gurkha hospital, for the wounded Nepalese refused to leave their post.
Their British comrades offered to carry them to the big hospital in the
cantonments below, where comparative peace and quietness reigned, and
where they might have the best medical aid, but the Gurkhas would have
none of it. They preferred to stay by their comrades, to listen to the
shot and shell whistling around, to hear the news each day--who had
distinguished himself, and whether their beloved Major Reid and his
officers were still unharmed. So Reid, with tears of pride in his eyes,
yielded to the wish of his children, and there they stayed.
The troops had been reinforced, but no siege-train had arrived. At their
various posts in the Punjab John Lawrence, Herbert Edwardes, and John
Nicholson were recruiting the wild Sikhs and still wilder Pathans into
regiments of irregular cavalry and infantry. Edwardes, Nicholson, and
Brigadier Cotton, in command at Peshawur, the gate of India, had so
impressed the tribes under their sway with the might of England, that
these fierce men, though at first ready to join the rebels, had changed
their tone, and now volunteered to fight against the sahibs' enemy.
Old men, young men, and men of middle age brought their horses and
weapons before these great Englishmen, and begged to be allowed to
enlist. So week by week some Punjabi,[15] Sikh, or Pathan regiments of
foot or horse would march proudly to the Delhi camp, sent down by
command of John Lawrence, who himself could ill afford to spare them.
The first reinforcements to arrive were the 1st and 2nd Punjab Infantry
and the 4th Sikhs. The 1st P.N.I, were commanded by Major Coke, and were
known as "Coke's Rifles" or as "Cokeys", and a gallant lot they proved,
as did indeed their comrade corps.
[15] The Punjabi corps would consist chiefly of Mohammedan
inhabitants of the Punjab, Sikhs, and Pathans, with some
Jats and Dogras.