"Wombwell's Menagerie"
On his return in the early morning of the following day, Ted related his
adventures to brother and cousin, and told of his interview with the
hero of the Punjab.
"Yes," replied Jim, "Nicholson has been here inspecting our defences and
examining our men. He's left his column behind and galloped on to confer
with our general. Lucky for you, young 'un, that he happened to be
present. But, then, you are such a lucky beggar!"
"I wonder what they'll do to your friend the major?" observed Charlie,
whose splendid constitution was doing wonders for him.
"Ask him to resign, I expect," Jim opined.
But that officer of the 15th Derajats had already resigned. Before he
and his escort had left the Ridge a shell from one of the Mori
24-pounders exploded in their midst, killing the major and one sepoy and
wounding four others. Ted, however, did not learn this until the
following day, and at the same time he heard that Nicholson had left the
camp and ridden out to bring in his column, which was now close at hand.
"Before I forget, here's something for you, Ted," Jim exclaimed, after
the three had discussed the ensign's adventures at some length. "The
mail came while you were away, and I had a letter from Ethel enclosing
this for you."
Jim handed his brother a note, which Ted promptly opened and read.
"It's very jolly of her! The colonel has nearly completely recovered,
she says, and they are quite safe. Will you swop letters, Jim?"
"Wouldn't you like to? Cheeky young cub!"
Charlie laughed.
"I've already offered him half my daily pay for a sight of the precious
document, and he's waiting for me to raise the bid. He's been looking so
radiantly absurd, young 'un, since he received it, that I've been
longing to throw my boots at him, but unfortunately I can't get at
them."
Jim winked solemnly at his cousin, and appeared far too happy to be
abashed by the satire of his facetious relatives.
Before long news reached the Ridge that the Punjab Movable Column was
coming in. The whole camp turned out to meet Jan Nikkulseyn's
ever-victorious men. Brigadier Nicholson was, of course, under General
Sir Archdale Wilson, yet the whole army looked upon him as the man
destined to lead them to victory. All felt that a great soldier was in
their midst--nor were they disappointed. Hardly had he arrived before he
led them out to attack the foe at Nujufgurh, where a splendid success
was won, and the enthusiasm of the wearied troops was aroused.
On the 4th September the last reinforcements came in. The remainder of
the 60th Rifles arrived from Meerut to join their brethren, the comrades
of the little Gurkhas at the house of Hindu Rao, as well as a contingent
from the Dogra ruler of Jummu and Kashmir. But the whole camp turned out
to cheer a still more welcome reinforcement which accompanied these.
Escorted by the Rifles came the guns--the big guns, the siege guns, the
real guns at last! With slow and stately tread, as though conscious of
their importance and of the impression they were making, the massive
elephants--two harnessed to each gun--appeared in sight, hauling the
ponderous cannon to the place that needed them so much. With what
delight the long-looked-for guns were greeted may well be imagined. The
fortunate soldiers of 1857 had never heard the classic phrases "Now we
sha'n't be long!" and "Let 'em all come!", but if they had, they would
certainly have used them.
In the thick of the crowd was Ted, who had got leave of absence from the
Ridge, and as Alec could not accompany him, he looked out for any other
chums who might be there, and soon caught sight of the khaki and blazing
scarlet of Claude Boldre, gay with the colours of the "Flamingoes". They
greeted Lieutenant Roberts, who was busy with his multifarious duties as
D. A. Q. M. G., but cheerful and brisk as ever, and stood behind a group
of hilarious Tommies.
"Here come the guns at last!" cried a carabineer in an ecstacy of
enthusiasm.
"Git away wid ye, it's Wombwell's menagerie comin' to give us an
entertainment!" declared an Irish private.
"Nice little ponies them are, drorin' them!" was another comment.
"What--the uttees? Three cheers for the bloomin' uttees!"[19]
[19] "Uttee" is Mr. Thomas Atkins' rendering of "hathi", the
Hindustani for elephant, as readers of _The Jungle Book_
will know.
"What'll we do wiv the huttees when we've got the guns fixed hup?
They'll heat their 'eads hoff 'ere. There won't be none of hus left for
fightin'; we shall hall 'ave to go hout foragin' for food for the
helephints hall day," observed a soldier of Cockney extraction.
"Ay," a friend replied, "and they'll want exercising. Bill, you'll 'ave
to go and take 'arf a dozen helephints for a run every mornin' before
breakfast, same as you used to do them fox-terriers you used to have."
Bill was wont to boast of the ratting qualities of his dogs at home.
"Ay, Bill," chaffed another. "Go an' take 'em rattin' along the banks of
the Jumner; they're beggars for rats are uttees."
Bill was equal to the occasion, however, and readily replied:
"Nothin' of the sort! General told me has the helephints was comin'
to-day, an' 'e says to me, 'Bill,' sez 'e, 'wot are we to do with them
uttees when they come?' 'General,' sez hi, 'why not mount the Gurkeys on
'em an' make 'em into light horsemen?--there's nobody else's legs 'ud go
round a huttee.' 'Bill,' sez 'e, 'you're a genius!'"
The laugh that followed showed that Bill had scored, and a group of
officers standing by, who had up to this point tried to preserve a
sedate demeanour, joined in the merriment at the thought of a little
Gurkha perched astride one of the monsters. Regardless of the jests at
their expense, the huge pachyderms came steadily on through the
clustered ranks of interested and gaping spectators.
"By gum, boys, them are guns! We'll soon be in Delhi now!"
"Three cheers for the Bengal Artillery! and three more for John Lawrence
who sent them!"
The cheers were lustily given, for hopes ran high.
"They ought to make short work of the walls," said Claude. "I think
we're going to have a look in at last."
"Yes; we're all getting a bit sick of waiting. Hope we can get a good
place in the stalls when the theatre doors open," Ted replied.
"And I hope Nicholson leads us. By the way, I suppose you've heard
nothing fresh from Aurungpore?"
"Nothing."
"That's rough on you. It must be horribly upsetting to have the matter
hanging over so long."
"It is. I'm glad we're kept so busy, though, as I haven't much time to
think of it."
"Never say die! Truth will out, you know, and you'll be all right. Alec
Paterson told me the whole story. That chap Tynan must be a pretty
average cad. More guns coming!"
"'Ullo!" exclaimed our friend Bill as the end of the procession came
into sight, "where's the rest of the show? There's nothing but huttees!"
"No more there isn't. This is a bloomin' fine circus, this is!"
"Here, you!" shouted a dragoon to a dignified mahout, "where's yer
giraffes, an' 'ippopotamusses, an' ricoconoseroses, an' kangeroos? Why,
there ain't no clowns nor hacrobats!--this is a fraud! Gimme me money
back, I can see a better menagerie than this in Hengland!"
"Ay, give us our money back!" chimed in the others in tones of simulated
indignation; and roars of laughter went up, to the astonishment of the
staid Sikhs and Punjabis, and to the delight of the jolly little
Gurkhas.
But though the whole camp was in such high spirits, the more knowing
ones understood that Delhi had not fallen yet, and that these cannon
were no bigger, and were greatly inferior in number to those mounted on
the city walls. Also that the mutineers' guns, being sheltered by the
solid masonry, were twice as effective as their own unprotected
armament.
During the next few days the whole camp helped the Engineers to put into
execution the plan of attack which Colonel Baird Smith's masterly brain
had planned. At dead of night the soldiers constructed batteries and
shelter-trenches between the English camp and the walls, in positions
where it would have meant death to have worked by daylight. Before long
thousands of gabions[20] and acres of fascines[21] had been made for the
protection of gunners.
[20] Gabions are hollow cylinders of basket-work filled with earth.
[21] Fascines are large bundles of brushwood faggots.
On the eventful morning of 8th September, 1857, Major Brind of the
Artillery--a man concerning whom an officer present observed: "Talk
about the V.C., why, Brind should be covered with them from head to
foot!"--is given the honour of commencing the bombardment from No. 1
Battery, only seven hundred and fifty yards from the walls. In spite of
all Brind's labours of the night, the sun rises before his battery is
ready for action, and the mutineers at once perceive his designs.
Pitiless showers of well-directed grape plunge in and around the
battery. Though but half-sheltered from this terrible fire, Brind's
gunners, assisted by a detachment of the Gurkhas of the Kumaon
Battalion, go on with the rapid completion of the work. At length a
single howitzer is dragged into position, and the first shot of the real
bombardment is fired. It is but a feeble retort to the thundering giants
of the Mori and Kashmir bastions, and the foemen laugh as they continue
to pound the gallant little band with round-shot, grape, and shell. Ted
from his post on the Ridge looks on with disappointed eyes.
But before long a second gun is on its platform, and then a third, and
the rebels laugh no longer. And soon the battery is complete; five
18-pounders and four 24-pounders, magnificently aimed and served, are
replying in earnest, as though the very cannon knew how long the army
had been waiting for them, and had resolved to do their duty and show
that the waiting had not been in vain. With high hopes and expectations
thousands of British, Gurkha, Pathan, Sikh, and Dogra soldiers look on
at the awful duel. Idle spectators are they, unable to assist, and safe
from the venomous fire of the rebel cannon which are now all directed to
the destruction of this impertinent No. 1 Battery. The insurgents stand
manfully to their guns, but the finest artillerymen in the world are
serving under Brind, and at length, to the delight and amid the
resounding cheers and hurrahs of the spectators, the massive masonry of
the Mori Bastion, that looked but yesterday strong enough to defy an
earthquake, begins to crumble away. The answering fire slackens and
dwindles down.
By this time No. 2 Battery (Campbell's) is ready, but is directed to
wait until No. 3 can also be prepared, in order that the enemy's
surprise may be the greater. With No. 2 is a party of the Jummu
contingent, who are at first unwilling to ply spades and shovels or pile
sand-bags, murmuring that they are come to fight, not to do coolie work.
As the mutineers blaze away, these Dogra Rajputs, throwing down shovels,
seize their muskets and fire harmlessly at the stone walls, to the great
danger of the artillerymen. They are at once told by Major Campbell that
they are there to work and not to play at fighting, and they manfully
settle down to the uncongenial task.
The attention of the foe having been purposely attracted by No. 1
Battery, No. 3 (Scott's)--partially prepared during the night, and
concealed by grass and branches of trees--has been secretly at work, and
is ready on the morning of the 12th. Dangerously near to the rebel
cannon is No. 3; less than two hundred yards separate the British
gunners from their antagonists. Almost at the same moment No. 4 Battery
(Major Tombs') prepares for action. To achieve the secret completion of
these batteries has been the brilliant work of Colonel Baird Smith and
of his worthy second in command, Engineer-Captain Alexander Taylor.
For three days Brind's guns have been reducing the gigantic and
formidable Mori Bastion to powder, whilst the other three batteries have
been preparing to lend him a hand.
"Not much left of our old friend!" observes Major Reid cheerfully to a
small group of his officers, who stand gazing upon the work of
destruction on the evening of September the 11th.
As Reid speaks, another shell strikes their ancient antagonist, the Mori
Bastion, towards which he is pointing.
"They're defending it well, though, sir," replies Captain Russell, as
gun after gun is brought forward by the rebels, who are making
praiseworthy efforts to silence Brind. "We've got so used to the old
bastion that one feels almost sorry to see him going to the dogs in this
way."
"He's losing flesh rapidly," Ted joins in, as yet another of Brind's
kind regards is sent crashing against the once rock-like wall and a
fresh shower of dust is thrown up.
"I can't say that I feel much pity for him," Reid grimly declared. "He
has too many of my brave lads' lives to answer for," the commandant
added with a tinge of sadness in his voice.
"Well, the rest will be merely child's play, I fancy," conjectured a
young lieutenant standing by.
Major Reid solemnly regarded the author of this remark for a few seconds
before replying.
"You think so, young man?" he asked. "Better keep the playing until it
is over. The hard work is yet to come."
Whilst the bombardment proceeds, the Ridge is tolerably safe, for the
Delhi guns are too much occupied with Brind's pestilent battery to pay
much heed to any other place. The duel continues, waxing hotter and
still more hot.
"Splendid practice our fellows are making!" says Jim presently.
"They're a long time with those other batteries," our ensign hazards.
"I wish to goodness they'd hurry them up, and then for storming the
place!"
"Don't be impatient, youngster," Reid replies. "If we play our part as
well as the Artillery and Engineers are doing theirs, our country will
have precious little cause for complaint. They are doing their work
magnificently; they've already accomplished wonders, and it's a lot more
easy to talk about it and to criticise them, than to get guns into
position in the face of those bastions."
Feeling somewhat abashed by his chief's rebuke, as he doubtless deserved
to be, Ted discreetly remains silent.
Darkness closing in brings the artillery duel to an end, and the troops
lie down for the night.
Not all, however.
Under cover of the night the sappers and miners and gunners are hard at
work completing the preparations for batteries Nos. 3 and 4. Our fellows
work like true Britons, for their hearts are in their labour. Encouraged
by Captain Taylor, who superintends the work, and by their other
officers, all of whom lend a hand like the meanest private, they toil on
with steadfast, energetic purpose, and daylight finds them prepared.
Word has mysteriously reached the Ridge that to-morrow's sun will see a
bombardment the like of which has never before been known in the East,
and our friends are stirring soon after sunrise, waiting in exultant
anticipation.
"Is it true, sir," asks Ted, "that all four batteries will be playing on
the town this morning?"
"I'm hoping so, but I can't say how far they got last night."
At length the longed-for moment arrives. At eight o'clock on the morning
of the 12th nine 24-pounders of No. 2 Battery open fire simultaneously
on the Kashmir Bastion. Ringing cheers of triumph greet this, the
greatest salvo of the whole war, for, as the smoke clears away and the
deafening thunder and reverberating echoes die down, our friends and
their fellow-spectators see that this very first discharge is bringing
down huge masses of masonry.
A moment of profound silence follows: then a mighty cry of exultation
bursts forth.
"Ah! Well done! Well aimed, Campbell!" scream the enthusiastic
onlookers.
But the insurgent guns hotly and strenuously reply, and Campbell's
battery seem likely to suffer severely, for the rebel fire is not only
hot, but is also exceedingly well directed.
"They're keeping their tails up pluckily enough. Villains though they
are, they're not cowards," murmurs one.
"That's true! Seems to me that No. 2's in a tight place enough. I only
hope--"
What that officer hoped will never be known.
A deafening roar from another direction interrupts his expression of
opinion and announces that Major Tombs' Battery (No. 4) is dealing with
the rebel guns.
"Hurrah! Tombs is givin' it 'em 'ot! Tombs 'e's a-silencin' of 'em!"
shout the riflemen.
"Ulu-ulu-ulu!" scream the delighted Gurkhas.
"Ah!" gasp the astounded Sikhs and Pathans, who have never before seen
cannonade like this.
Whilst the British riflemen estimate and argue the distance of the
battery from the walls and the probable duration of the bombardment, the
Guides and Gurkhas chatter and scream with excitement. Many of these
allies of ours have been somewhat prone to consider themselves quite as
good soldiers as their employers, but now they are beginning to
understand a little more clearly the extent of the British power and
resources. And such consideration is good for them.
Again Tombs's gunners fling their iron hail against the Delhi cannon,
putting them out of action one by one.
"Why, Tombs has got within two hundred yards!" a spectator guesses.
"No, hardly so close as that," declares a second.
"Well, he ain't much farther away," another joins in. And exclamations
of "Well done, Tombs!" "Well aimed, sir!" ring out from the Ridge
unheeded, because unheard by the gunners steadily plying their grim
trade. For Major Tombs is a general favourite; stories of his prowess
and dare-devilry have spread throughout the British camp, and the
approving cheers are echoed from scores of throats.
"Might this be a cricket match?" suavely enquires a captain of the 60th
Rifles as he smiles at the enthusiasm.
The mutineers are aghast! How have those batteries been brought there
and concealed and protected? And then, only one hundred and sixty yards
from the Water Bastion, No. 3 unmasks. But, alas! the work has
necessarily been done at night, and in the darkness a serious mistake
has been made. The big piles of covered sand-bags, which had been placed
to hide the guns from the watchful enemy, as well as to protect our
gunners from their fire when the moment should come for unmasking, are
found to have been carefully piled in a wrong position, so as to
obstruct the aim of our guns. For men to go outside the shelter in order
to remove the obstruction will not only take a long time, but will
expose to almost certain death any brave enough to venture out. So
thinks the heroic commandant of the battery, who fears nothing for
himself, but hesitates to order his men to be shot down one by one, for
so close are they under the walls that the rebel gunners can hardly miss
them. But while he pauses in doubt, a Sikh sapper calmly springs outside
and commences to throw down the pile before his own gun. With one accord
the other sappers and gunners follow the noble example, and the
clearance is effected with such rapidity that the guns are ready to open
fire before the sepoys have grasped the fact of the battery's presence.
Then is hurled forth such a shower of shell and heavy shot from that
short distance that the traitors are filled with dismay. The iron
hurricane teaches them at last what English artillery can do even in the
face of such tremendous odds. This salvo of heavy guns heralds the
turning-point of the Sepoy war, and determines the fate of the Indian
empire. As the huge Water Bastion crumbles into a shapeless mass of
masonry and is crushed into atoms by these 18-and 24-pounders, so the
great mutiny is crushed and crumbled at the same time. The last hope of
the mutineers is quenched; they may fight on, they may inflict great
damage on the Feringhi, they may still accomplish further murders and
massacres in various places throughout the land, but all hope of final
triumph, all chance of overthrowing the British raj is gone for ever,
destroyed by the fire of this magnificent artillery.
In Hindustan news travels from mouth to mouth over hundreds of miles
almost as quickly as by telegraph; so north and south, east and west,
flew the tidings that the walls and gates of Delhi were being battered
down, that in the course of a few days the great city would be in the
hands of the sahibs and the Mogul emperor a captive. Amongst the Pathan
tribes along the Punjab frontier, in Afghanistan, Beluchistan,
Waziristan, Kashmir, the Black Mountain country, and in Nepal, the news
was told, and Afghan, Beluchi, Waziri, Afridi, Mohmand, Bunerwal, Swati,
Yusufzai, Mamund, and Punjabi, who would most eagerly have helped to
rout and destroy the British had our army retired beaten from Delhi, now
scornfully turned a deaf ear to all appeals of the mutineers to come
over and help them. For the Pathan worships success and despises the
fallen.
"Nay," said they, "if you with forty thousand men and nearly two hundred
cannon, entrenched behind strong walls and with every advantage, if you
could be held in check for weeks by two or three thousand British and
five hundred Gurkha monkey-men, and a few hundred more of our brethren
of the Guides whom ye could not defeat, and then suffered your walls to
be battered down as soon as this small army had been reinforced by more
of our countrymen and neighbours, what chance will ye have now, driven
out of your stronghold? And are not fresh red-coated regiments and corps
of fierce, tall men in women clothes even now arriving from beyond the
seas? Nay, we will not join you; rather will we fight on the side of the
_kafirs_,[22] together with the Gurkha pigs and vile Sikh infidels."
[22] _Kafir_ (infidel) is a term frequently applied by Mohammedans,
to denote a European.
So the tribesmen now offered their services in such numbers that they
had to be refused. They brought wild horses that would not suffer any
man to mount them, and they came with ancient, worn-out steeds, blind,
lame, and weak at the knees, swearing and protesting that these were all
splendid chargers, perfectly trained and in superb condition. With these
they would fight the mutineers, if only the great sahibs, Edwardes and
Jan Larens, would give them a soldier's pay. So John Lawrence,
Commissioner of the Punjab, was enabled to send down more than fifty
thousand men to uphold the British raj.
Day and night throughout the 12th and 13th of September the breaching
operations continued, fifty guns grinding mercilessly at the rock-like
walls. Though defeat stared them in the face the sepoys showed a
courageous front to the end, and as their cannon were one by one knocked
out of action, they brought fresh guns up and returned a rapid and
well-aimed fire. Their sharp-shooters were told off to pick out the
English gunners, and no easy task had those gallant fellows. To our hero
and to the hundreds of onlookers the bombardment formed a grand but
awful spectacle. Fascinated by the sight, they watched the salvoes of
artillery directed at the bastions, every shot striking home, sending up
clouds of dust, and followed often enough by a fall of masonry. The
rebel shots whistled and rattled in the air, guns flashed and shells
exploded both over their own men and over the doomed city. From the
highest to the lowest, from the general in command to the youngest
drummer-boy, all knew that this was the crowning work of anxious months
of toil. Proud men were the engineer officers, Baird Smith and Taylor,
one the brain, the other the hand that had thought out and directed this
supreme finish. Proud also were Brind, Tombs, and the other
artillerymen, for without their magnificent heroism and skill the plans
of the engineers would have come to naught.
One building there was in Delhi close to the Kashmir Gate and the Water
Bastion, which the Sikhs and Pathans and Gurkhas, and the rebel sepoys
themselves, began to regard with awe--a white-domed edifice not unlike a
mosque, save for the cross surmounting its cupola. It was the English
church; and though shot and shell had crashed around and over it, the
cross remained untouched.
On the 13th of September Captain Taylor declared that the breaches in
the walls were large enough to admit of a successful assault, so Baird
Smith, ill and harassed, weak and lame as he was, mapped out precise
directions for five columns to attack the city at various points.
Nicholson was appointed to the first column, and when the others should
join him in the city he was to take command of the whole force.