Ted Distinguishes Himself
Our friends were with the 4th Column. This force, of which Reid (though
but a major) was made commandant in consideration of the splendid way in
which he had held the Ridge, consisted of detachments of European
regiments, the Sirmur Battalion, the Guides Infantry, and the Rajah of
Jummu's contingent. Its duty was to sweep through the suburbs of
Paharunpur and Kishengang, clearing these of the enemy, and then enter
the city by the Lahore Gate. Major Reid gathered his officers together
to give them final instructions, and then, accompanied by Ensign
Russell, entered the Gurkha hospital, where he told his wounded heroes
the plans for the morrow. The scene was one that cut Ted to the heart.
Of those five hundred men, whose proud arrival he had witnessed three
months ago, only five score remained fit for duty, and many even of this
hundred had been wounded or were now suffering from injuries which the
tough and indomitable little fellows did not consider sufficiently
severe to keep them from their work. On the floor (for there were no
cots) lay one hundred and fifty badly-wounded and maimed Gurkhas--the
remainder had lost their lives guarding their trust. The hearts of the
officers could not but be greatly touched by the sight of such suffering
so nobly borne, but Reid's sadness was mingled with pride that he
commanded so gallant a regiment. The Gurkhas glanced up at their officer
with dog-like looks of affection, and right proud they were too of such
a commandant. Sorrowfully he told the men lying there, listening,
regardless of their pain, that only one hundred of his own plucky lads
would be able to follow him to the assault. As though the word of
command had been given, every little Gurkha in that room sprang up or
painfully rose to his knees and vowed to follow the chief, even if he
had to crawl or limp to the attack. Tears came to the eyes of both
Englishmen at the sight of such loyal devotion, and they endeavoured to
dissuade, but the little hillmen insisted. Of those hundred and fifty
men who had been reported by the doctor as unfit for service,
ninety-five were allowed to go,[23] and we can guess what torture from
unhealed wounds and from sickness they must have cheerfully undergone.
But go they would, for the honour of the Sirmur Battalion, and Reid's
heart was cheered by the thought that he had now two hundred of his own
mountaineers at his back.
[23] This incident is literally true.
Next morning an order was given; the roar of the heavy guns ceased as if
by magic; and Nicholson's column, springing up with a shout, rushed to
the assault in the teeth of a tremendous and deadly fire. Up the slope
of the glacis they rushed and on they surged, fired at by musketry and
grape, thrust at by bayonet and spear, with showers of bricks and stones
from the crumbling walls hurled down on their heads. At the other gates
the 2nd and 3rd Columns behaved with equal gallantry, and the small
force left to guard the ridge and camp watched their progress with
interest and anxiety. Up the glacis and through the breach of the
Kashmir Bastion they rushed, appearing at that distance like a swarm of
bees clustering on the slope, then, reaching the top, they disappeared
into the town.
But the adventures of these columns, stirring though they were, cannot
be related here; we must return to Reid's force, where our friends are.
Through no fault of their plucky leader, the 4th Column was soon in
difficulties. It should have been supplied with artillery to clear the
suburbs, but though three guns were lent to them, no gunners were
present. Now, special training is required for the working of artillery,
and guns are useless without trained gunners, so Major Reid sought high
and low for men to work the guns, but none could be found, and
reluctantly, as though giving up hope of real success, he left the
cannon behind. They had not proceeded far before they found barricades
and breast-works erected in the way, and, sheltered by these, thousands
of rebels poured forth a heavy fire from every side. The Gurkhas and
Guides, dashing forward at the double, quickly dislodged the sepoys, put
them to rout, and cleared the way; but farther on they found the foe in
much greater force. Had Reid possessed gunners the barricades would soon
have been cleared, but nothing less than a cannonade would now dislodge
them, for more than ten thousand men opposed him. Unfortunately the
Jummu contingent formed the larger part of his force, and though Dogras
make gallant and loyal soldiers, these men had not had the benefit of
British training, so they became confused, and fell back in disorder.
Britons, Guides, and Gurkhas fought magnificently to retrieve the day,
but what could they do against such odds? Their progress was stayed, and
worse was to follow. The gallant Reid was struck in the head by a
bullet, and fell unconscious. Forty of the few Gurkhas were slain and
scores wounded, the Rifles and Guides were also losing heavily, though
without flinching, and the Rajah of Jummu's troops were doing more harm
than good. Major Reid's successor reluctantly gave the order to retire,
and, followed by thousands of the triumphant foe, the 4th Column fell
back in good order, fighting to the last.
The pressure became more and more severe, and the men of the Jummu
contingent were fast getting out of hand. Large bodies of the mutineers
pushed forward on both flanks, forming a semicircle that threatened to
envelop our men. Several parties from the stauncher battalions were
detailed to delay these flanking movements, and of one of these,
composed of about thirty picked shots of the Gurkhas, Ted was placed in
charge, with Goria Thapa as second in command. He was sent some distance
to the left, with instructions to roll back the right flank of the enemy
for as long a time as possible. A stone breastwork, abandoned by the
sepoys earlier in the day, was pointed out to him, and he had orders to
rejoin the main body with all haste as soon as his position should
become really dangerous.
Ted's command, bending low, scurried to the breastwork, and found not
only good shelter, but a favourable position commanding the enemy's
advance on this flank. Their muskets began to speak, and the discourse
seemed persuasive. Throughout the whole length of the horse-shoe the
action was resolving itself into a series of detached and separate
engagements. Ted's gallant fellows broke up one party after another of
the pandies, aiming with such cool accuracy that every bullet seemed to
find its billet. But while the enemy's right was held at bay, their
centre and left swarmed forward, and our hero, holding on too long,
presently found himself in danger of being cut off.
Meanwhile the main body continued its retirement, the Rifles now forming
the centre of the rear-guard. The British soldiers soon began to find
the ground unfavourable, and the enemy pressed the more eagerly.
Inspired to greater audacity by their success, a large body of mutineers
made a plucky dash forward, and surrounded a half-company of riflemen
and a few Guides in a deep nullah, from which they were in the act of
retiring. These men of the Rifles had been fighting gloriously, and had
spent their last cartridge before they grasped the fact that they were
unsupported and the sepoys were upon them. Hidden from view of their
comrades by the high sloping banks that enclosed the broad river-bed,
now almost dry, they fought for their lives with the overwhelming foe,
and prepared to die like the heroes they were.
The wild charge of the pandies was checked half a dozen paces from those
lines of quivering steel. The hesitation was but momentary. With yells
of triumph the sepoys rushed upon the bayonets, only to be hurled back.
They recoiled, and those in the rear lay down and fired from between
their comrades' legs, and man after man of the Rifles dropped. The
lieutenant gave the order to charge, and back they crashed over the
stony bed; and the pandies gave way, separated, and fired again and
again as they kept clear of the bayonets. It seemed only a question of
moments before the detachment should be exterminated. Already the young
Englishman in charge of the half-dozen Guides was down, when a score of
Gurkhas, led by Ensign Russell, suddenly topped the bank of the nullah,
and tumbled in upon the rebels. In a moment all was confusion.
Unprepared, the sepoys turned upon their new assailants, and the kukris
were keen. Huddled together as the rebels were, the bullets went through
more than one body.
Twenty men were all that Ted had left, but so sudden and unexpected was
their descent upon the scene that the charge was equal to that of a
whole company. How many were following, the sepoys did not know, and a
panic set in. The riflemen rose to the occasion, and before the
mutineers could rally, or realize how insignificant was the
reinforcement, British bayonets were hustling them to and fro, and their
leaders had fallen. The spurt of pluck--of their old courage that had
stood England in good stead on many a hard-won field--had died away;
they had no British officers to inspire and lead them, and a blind panic
set in. Each flashing bayonet, each shimmering kukri seemed multiplied
twenty-fold to the eyes and senses of the terror-stricken rebels.
Ted was hotly engaging a lean pandy subadar, a typical Oudh Mohammedan.
The man was slowly giving way as Ted pressed upon him with rapid
thrusts, when the subadar snatched off his turban and caught Ted's blade
upon it. Before the boy could divine his intention he was at the rebel's
mercy.
Not quite, though. The subadar stumbled awkwardly, let go turban and
sword, and Ted took the opportunity to run him through before he
understood what had happened. Stretched on the ground behind the subadar
lay Alec Paterson, the wounded officer of the Guides. Summoning all his
remaining strength, he seized the sepoy's foot as he was in the act of
slicing at his chum, and so upset his balance. The dead man fell across
Alec's chest, and he fainted away.
Within three minutes from Ted Russell's arrival not a pandy remained in
the hollow who was able to leave it. The lieutenant called his men
together, nodded approvingly towards Ted, and gave the order to continue
the retirement. They joined the main body without encountering any
dangerous opposition.
"Well, you are cool customers, you and your Gurkhas!" remarked the
subaltern in command of the 60th's detachment, as soon as he could find
time to make comments. "Pluckiest thing I've ever seen, to storm a
position like that with such a handful."
"It was nothing," Ted muttered, turning away.
"It probably saved us a few lives, young man, and I'll take care that it
is reported."
As he spoke, the officer who had succeeded to the command of the column
when Major Reid fell hastened to the spot, and hurriedly enquired:
"What happened just now? I was looking on, unable to send you help, when
I saw some Gurkhas come up from behind and drive the pandies from that
nullah."
"He was in command," the subaltern replied, nodding towards the ensign.
"Had about twenty men with him. I never saw such a thing, and how he
managed to escape unhurt I can't understand."
The enemy again began to press, though not so dangerously. Yet every
yard had to be contested, and the odds against our fellows were
enormous.
Of all those gallant officers and men none fought more pluckily than
Captain Russell of the Guides; animating and encouraging his splendid
fellows, he was ever nearest to the foe, as many a mutineer found to his
cost. Inspired by the example, Ted emulated his brother's courage, and
with the Gurkhas did his best to retrieve the day, and always by his
side fought the young officer Jemadar Goria Thapa, son of his father's
friend. As they retired towards the Ridge the boy was more than once
engaged in single combat. Two assailants he had placed _hors de combat_
with sword or pistol, when he perceived that his brother was struck,
though Jim, stifling his pain, continued to fight and to inspire the
men. Ted, gazing anxiously at his brother, forgot for a moment his own
dangerous position, when Goria Thapa knocked him roughly on one side.
Just in time! A bullet flew through the air where Ted's head had been,
and his career would have been ended there and then had not the young
Gurkha officer been on the alert. At the same moment two sepoys, one
being the fellow who had fired the shot, rushed at the boy, who vainly
strove to fend their bayonets with his sword. One of the mutineers soon
broke down his guard and lunged. The steel passed through the fleshy
part of Ted's arm, and the sepoy fell at his feet, slain by the sword of
Goria Thapa. The second pandy turned to flee, but a Gurkha standing near
bowled him over also, and again the little force fell slowly back, the
pandies snarling just out of musket-shot, waiting for a leader brave
enough to inspire them.
Our ensign's wound was extremely painful He tied a handkerchief round
the arm, and remembering his brother's example, gave no sign. As they
drew nearer to camp, two hundred men of the 9th Lancers and four hundred
Sikh horse poured out to their support, charging like a thunderbolt into
the enemy's masses, whilst the few Guides and Kumaon Gurkhas, who had
been left to protect the Ridge, also came out to check the rush of
victorious sepoys. At that moment Jemadar Goria Thapa sank to the ground
with a bullet in his thigh. Here was Ted's chance to repay his debts!
Forgetting his wounds, he dashed at the three men who were rushing to
polish off the Gurkha, and again his life hung by a thread.
But a couple of his Sirmur men had sprung after him, and with their
kukris they quickly despatched two of the pandies. Then with Ted's
assistance the wounded man was hurriedly carried away into the midst of
their Kumaon countrymen, and safety was reached.
* * * * *
When Major Reid recovered consciousness, he found himself on the back of
one of his faithful Gurkhas, who had carried him out of the fight. The
wound, though severe, was happily not mortal. The Nepalese crowded
around, their eyes plainly expressing both alarm and grief, and the man
who had had the good fortune to carry their beloved chief to safety
became an object of envy to his comrades.
"What a lucky fellow," thought they, "to have had the glorious privilege
of saving the life of our wounded leader!"
When Reid became aware of all that had happened since his fall, his
disappointment was intense, and the bitter sorrow occasioned by his
failure to assist the other columns aggravated the pain of his wound. No
less bitterly mortified were all his comrades, the surviving officers
and men of the 4th Column, both British and Asiatic, the reflection that
without artillery to aid, their attempt was doomed to failure, consoling
them but little. Their defeat was the more grievous because of the high
hopes and anticipations engendered by the striking success of the
bombardment. It was generally thought that this would have filled the
rebels with terror, and that the opposition offered to an assault would
have been much less sturdy.
"Are you badly hurt, Jim?" asked Ted, as they looked on while the
surgeon dressed the wounds of their much-injured chief.
"No, not badly. No bone touched. You're not hit, are you?"
"Sword-cut here, but it's only a scratch. It hasn't bled much. Will he
do well, doctor?"
"Sure to. Now I'll have a look at your scratches! Oh, you're right for
once, youngster. It is only a flesh wound, though I guess it hurts."
He pronounced Jim's injury rather worse than Ted's, and ordered him to
take things quietly for some days. Ted accompanied his brother to the
Guides' post to see how Alec was getting on.
"I wonder what's happened to the other columns?" said Ted as they left
their wounded commandant. Jim grunted, and vouchsafed no reply. He was
in a sullen mood, defeat being particularly bitter after such high
hopes.
"Dare say they met with no better success," hazarded the ensign. "What
the dickens were they doing to send us out without guns?--the idiots!
It's a badly managed business anyway!"
"Oh, don't talk so much," Jim replied. "We'll know about the other
columns soon enough--they're all right! And don't be so ready with your
'idiots'. A man directing operations on this large scale has a lot more
to think about than an ensign has, you know; though perhaps he don't
know quite as much as some, to hear you youngsters talk! Do your work,
and don't growl!"
Ted shut up. He would have dearly liked to say something cutting, but
could not think of any suitable retort on the spot. And by the time a
brilliant repartee had come to him, he had perceived that his brother
was at least as much upset as himself. Thereupon he remained discreetly
silent.
"There's Alec lying over there. He looks bad."
"Well, Alec, old chap, not very bad, I hope?"
"Not dead yet! They've got the bullet out all right, and I'll soon be
about again. By Jove, Ted, you're a wonder! It was a mad thing to do,
but rather a good job for all of us."
"What was that?" asked Jim in great surprise. He had not yet heard of
Ted's great feat.
"Nothing; it's all bosh," interrupted Ted, colouring and looking
somewhat sheepish.
"What! Do you mean that you haven't heard?" Paterson demanded, and
proceeded to relate the story of their rescue by the Gurkhas. "It was
one of the pluckiest things I've heard of," he concluded, "to charge a
couple of hundred with twenty. You've saved fifty lives, and ought to be
sure of the V.C. now, in spite of Tynan."
Jim rose from his seat, and solemnly shook hands with his brother.
"Ted," said he, "I'm sorry I was such a beast just now."
Ted turned very red, and his hand remained limp as Jim shook it. His
chum's very evident admiration did not seem to give him any pleasure.
"I s'pose you've not heard anything of the other columns yet?" asked the
invalid.
"Not yet.... I'm afraid we shall hear soon enough."
On the following day, news of the achievements of the other columns
arrived; good news mixed with bad, for Nicholson lay dying, shot through
the body as he headed the charge and led his men to victory.
Soon came also tidings of the glorious acts of the heroes of the 3rd
Column, of Lieutenants Home and Salkeld, of Sergeants Burgess,
Carmichael, and Smith, and of Bugler Hawthorne--the heroes who had taken
their lives in their hands and had blown up the Kashmir Gate, after
overcoming seemingly insurmountable obstacles, a deed with which all
England rang. Of these six men, four were subsequently awarded the
Victoria Cross; and the other two, Burgess and Carmichael, would have
been honoured in the same way had they survived.
Truly, even in this year of heroes and heroic deeds, the story of these
glorious men and of their act of devotion stands out clear to dazzle our
imaginations, to lead us to thank God that they were of our breed, to
make us wonder what we of the same blood would have done had we been in
their place. Then let us hope we become more humble in our pride.
By the 18th of September the Lahore Gate and Bastion were also captured,
and on the 20th the whole of Delhi was in our hands.
The Palace taken and the king a prisoner, the Indian Mutiny had lost its
sting.
Yet, in spite of victory, gloom was over the camp, for a hero lay dying,
and there was no hope of saving his life. John Nicholson's wound had
proved mortal: a life that had promised to be of unusual brilliance
would soon be cut short, even before its work was more than half
done--but that half had been done well. The career of this dying leader
of men had been unique, even in the annals of British rule in India,
whose pages teem with the deeds and lives of heroes in the noblest sense
of that word--men worthy of all admiration, men whose lives inspire
others to follow the gleam.