Ted Extinguishes Himself
"Where shall I find Ensign Russell?" enquired a messenger from
head-quarters as he approached the outpost. Ted was quickly found, and
his agitation may be imagined when he learned that General Nicholson had
sent for him. Nervously, reverently, and full of sorrow, he entered the
tent. The somewhat stern and haughty look, so well known to all
evil-doers who had chanced to cross his path, had vanished from the
great man's countenance as he greeted the boy.
"So, young man, you've escaped unwounded?"
"Yes, sir, ... at least only very slightly."
"Ah, your arm, I see!" began the general. "Perhaps you can guess why I
sent for you? Somehow I took a strange liking to you that day I arrived
on the Ridge, ... though I ought not to approve of disobedience,"
continued the wounded man, smiling.
Ted bent his head and was silent.
"You are the son of Major-general Russell, I hear? I knew your father
well. I served with him in Afghanistan, and he will be a proud man when
he hears that by an act of conspicuous bravery you perhaps averted a
disaster to a whole column."
John Nicholson was silent for a few moments before resuming:
"I have since heard how you distinguished yourself when your regiment
mutinied. You have begun well, keep on in the same way. Put duty first,
and your country may one day be proud of you, as she is to-day of Tombs
and Brind and Reid."
Here the wounded general was interrupted by the entrance of Sir Archdale
Wilson, who, with grave and anxious face, had come to enquire as to the
condition of his second in command.
Nicholson turned to him.
"This is the lad, Wilson, of whom we were speaking yesterday. You
received a report from the officer commanding the 4th Column, stating
how Ensign Russell had helped to bring it safely in."
Ted stood by with downcast eyes, and as he fumbled nervously with his
sword-hilt he looked anything but a hero. Once or twice he opened his
mouth as though he wished to speak, but could not overcome his
nervousness.
General Wilson spoke cordially and kindly to him.
"So you are Ensign Russell? I must tell you that your storming of that
nullah was worthy of the best traditions of our young officers. I am
proud of commanding an army in which deeds of heroism are of daily
occurrence, and young as you are, on General Nicholson's advice, I
intend to mark my appreciation by recommending you for promotion. Whilst
awaiting formal confirmation, I take upon myself to raise you to
subaltern rank. Good-day, Lieutenant Russell!"
"Good-bye, lad!" echoed Nicholson.
"Thank you, sir!" Ted mumbled and moved away, then stopped in some
confusion, and again made as if to speak, but the eyes of the two
generals were turned away.
Anticipating some such reward for his brother's display of courage and
resource, Jim had accompanied him to the camp, and was now walking up
and down at some distance from the general's tent.
"Well, what is it, old boy?" he asked excitedly, for Jim was feeling
proud of his younger brother's distinction.
For a few paces the boy walked on without replying. Then he said quietly
and wearily:
"They complimented me about something or other. I'm sick of it."
"What's the matter, young 'un, you look miserable? Is your cut smarting,
or had you set your heart on promotion and feel disappointed? It's a
shame! I think you ought to be promoted!"
"No, it isn't," Ted contradicted testily.
"Ted, whatever is the matter?"
"Oh, I'm not well, Jim! I'm sorry I'm such a brute."
"You look bad, young 'un; you must have that cut seen to. I thought you
were queer as we came along."
Ted turned on his heel.
"Don't wait for me," he muttered, and retraced his steps towards the
tent he had just quitted, leaving Jim staring in bewilderment.
Recognizing the ensign, the sentry gave admittance without question.
General Wilson was still with his junior, and both turned their heads as
he entered.
"Well, Russell, what is it?" General Wilson asked with surprise.
"I'm very sorry, sir," faltered Ted, "I've been deceiving you."
"How? What do you mean?"
"I never meant to attack that nullah or rescue the fellows in it," the
boy replied, now speaking eagerly and hurriedly. "I never knew there was
such a place. I had lost a lot of my men, sir, and as the enemy were
being reinforced in front, I ordered the men to double back to where I
thought our supports were. The ditch was hidden from us by an
embankment, and we stumbled into the midst of the rebels, and if it
hadn't been that the Gurkhas are so sharp and never get flurried, we'd
all have been cut up, sir. As it happened, the pandies were more
surprised than we were, and they thought, I suppose, that we were in
force, and so they cut away. And everyone thought I had done it on
purpose, and they didn't give me a chance to explain. And then, as
everyone has been congratulating me, and I hadn't denied it at once, I
found it still harder to explain afterwards. And--well, sir, after what
you and General Nicholson said just now, I couldn't stand it any longer.
And I'm very sorry, sir."
General Wilson glanced at General Nicholson, who laughed The former laid
his hand on Ted's shoulder.
"Don't be alarmed, youngster," he said; "I think I see how it was. Of
course I can't send in the recommendation now. You understand that, of
course?"
"Of course, sir."
"Come here, Ensign Russell," said John Nicholson.
Ted approached.
"I like to shake hands with an honest man. Oblige me by taking my
hand--I can't take yours very well."
Gently and reverently Ted pressed the hero's hand, then silently turned
and left the tent, lighter at heart than when he had entered it.
Almost boisterously he greeted his brother, who had anxiously retraced
his steps, and was now awaiting him.
"I'm all right now, Jim!" he cried, and proceeded to relate the whole
story, concluding:
"You'll explain to Charlie and the others, won't you? I don't like to.
There's a good fellow!"
"I'm rather glad it's turned out this way, young 'un," said the elder.
"I knew you were plucky enough before, now I know you're something
better."
"I say, Jim," Ted blurted out after a few moments' silence, "suppose
Tynan's been done the same way?"
"Done? What way?" asked the slower Jim.
"I mean that perhaps someone began praising him for something he'd never
done, and didn't give him a chance to put it right at once, and then he
stuck to it for fear that people would blame him for not denying it
straight off. If it has happened that way I'm sorry for him, for he'll
be jolly miserable."
"It's hardly likely," said Jim.
* * * * *
Outside the dying man's tent a few fierce tribesmen from Hazara and wild
cut-throats from Bannu (in these two provinces Nicholson had been
commissioner) had collected from the various Punjab regiments, and were
loudly lamenting the supposed death of their idol.
"Jan Nikkulseyn is dead! The great sahib is no more!" they wailed, as
Ensign Russell appeared before them.
"Tell us, _huzoor_[24]" a veteran native officer eagerly demanded, "is
he indeed dead?"
[24] A title of respect.
Ted assured the men that their idol still lived; but they shook their
heads, crying that the English were merely trying to keep the death a
secret, and the wailing recommenced still more noisily. A loud voice
from the other side of the canvas thundered:
"Budmashes! Why do ye disturb my peace with that unseemly noise? Wali
Khan, drive the rascals away and thrash them well! Know ye then that Jan
Nikkulseyn is still very much alive!"
At the sound of the well-known voice a cry of joy went up, and Wali
Khan, the old subadar-major, at once proceeded to carry out his order
with vigour. So he mercilessly thrashed those whose chorus he had just
been leading, scattering them in all directions.
"Allah be praised!" yelled the men of Bannu, as they jumped out of reach
of Wali Khan's stick. "Allah be praised! Nicholson Sahib is indeed
alive!"
He only lingered, however, for a very short time. On the 23rd September,
1857, John Nicholson died at the early age of thirty-five, having done
his duty to God and to his country. Heavy were all British hearts that
day, not only with the Delhi army but throughout the Punjab. May our
country never lack such a son in time of trouble!
The tidings of his death were soon proclaimed along the border, and men
went about heavily as though mourning for a father. Many a villainous
fellow, whose evil ways and dark deeds had incurred the displeasure of
the commissioner, felt a sense of personal loss now that Jan
Nikkulseyn--his father and mother and hero--was no more.
Shortly after the arrival of the news, a number of his devotees in Bannu
(a place which has been described as a "hell upon earth", because of its
wickedness, before Nicholson was made commissioner thereof) gathered
together to mourn their beloved chief. A _malik_, or headman, rising,
spoke of the general's virtues, his love of truth and justice; then,
suddenly ending, cried:
"Oh, my brothers, what good is there in life now that our sahib is
dead?"
As he uttered the last word, the malik drew a knife quickly across his
throat, and fell in their midst--a corpse.
"He speaks truly! What is there to live for now?" cried others. But a
pious man of great influence arose, and, stretching forth his hands to
restrain them, spoke:
"My children, think ye that our dead master would approve of this? Our
brother was mistaken; that is not the way to honour him. Let us rather
seek to learn something of the God who was worshipped by Nicholson
Sahib."
The listeners considered and approved this idea, and forthwith a number
set out for Peshawur. From that town a visit was paid to the nearest
missionary, with the result that several were converted to the Christian
faith.
To this day, when the wind blows strongly between the mountains, men
along that frontier declare that they hear the tramp of Nicholson's
war-horse.
* * * * *
The heroes of the Siege of Delhi were without number, but of all the
regiments engaged, the Sirmur Battalion had carried off the highest
honours. With tooth and nail had they defended their post, by day and by
night, for more than three months. No fewer than twenty-six distinct and
determined attacks (one lasting all day and all night) had been made on
them by overwhelming hordes of the enemy, by brave men bent on obtaining
possession of that all-important post, and twenty-six times had they
been hurled back by the handful of loyal, steadfast little highlanders.
Their dogged achievements were not passed by unnoticed.
Twenty years later, when the Prince of Wales paid his visit to India, he
held a review of British and Native troops on the historic Ridge, and
the 2nd Gurkhas (the old Sirmur Battalion) were given the place of
honour in front of Hindu Rao's house, the post with which the corps will
ever be associated.
On that spot the prince spoke to them of the heroic deeds of their
predecessors, and conferred upon the regiment the title of "The Prince
of Wales' Own Gurkhas"; and you can imagine how the little men,
listening on that spot to the words of the great Queen's son, would feel
their hearts stirred within them, and would resolve that they would play
their part as their fathers had done, that the regiment might never
suffer disgrace.
The Guide Corps was also awarded a special recognition of their services
(though not at the same date), the queen granting them the title of "The
Queen's Own Corps of Guides", a compliment of which they are justly
proud. The king is now the colonel of both the "Guides" and the 2nd
Gurkhas, the latter being the corps that distinguished itself so greatly
with the Gordon Highlanders at the storming of Dargai a few years ago.
To return to our story. The capture of Delhi broke the back of the
mutiny. By that feat the British gained the upper hand and kept it, and
thenceforward their part was to attack and hunt the rebels from one
place to another, instead of being constantly attacked and pressed
themselves. The regiments that had taken part in the siege of the Mogul
capital were despatched to various points, to join the different forces
engaged in subduing the revolt.
Charlie Dorricot was too seriously injured to take any further part in
the campaign, and he had left for England before Lucknow was finally
relieved. Alec Paterson had been less seriously injured, and was on his
feet again within a fortnight.
Captain Russell and the Guides returned to the Punjab, for that corps,
as well as the Sirmur Battalion, had suffered terribly during the
three-months' fighting, and they were not employed in Sir Colin
Campbell's campaign along the Ganges. Jim, however, succeeded in
obtaining his majority towards the conclusion of the Sepoy war, and not
very long afterwards he was given the command of one of the newly-raised
Punjab infantry regiments.
Ted, with his usual good luck--as his brother did not forget to inform
him,--was remembered by General Wilson, and was attached to one of the
regiments that was now ordered to reinforce the Lucknow Relief Force.
But before he could join his new regiment an order came for him to
proceed to Lahore, where a court of enquiry would decide whether he or
Tynan was unfit to wear Her Majesty's uniform. The court consisted of
Colonel Bratherton and two captains. Tynan, Pir Baksh, and Dwarika Rai
swore on oath to the truth of the statements made before their officers
at Aurungpore. Colonels Woodburn and Munro gave evidence as to the
character borne by the two ensigns, and related all they had gathered
from Ambar Singh. Ethel Woodburn and Sir Arthur Fletcher corroborated.
Unfortunately for Ted, Ambar Singh, the havildar, could not be traced.
He had evidently been restored to health, for all that could be
discovered pointed to the fact that he had re-enlisted in one of the
newly-enrolled regiments, and was probably with Sir Colin Campbell.
In his evidence Ted flatly denied all Tynan's statements, one by one.
First, he swore that he was positive Tynan had pointed out Pir Baksh by
name as the man who shot Colonel Woodburn; secondly, that Tynan had
cursed Pir Baksh more than once as a ringleader; and thirdly, that Tynan
had never suggested blowing up the arsenal, nor indeed had any idea that
such a step was contemplated. Fourthly, that Tynan had tried to prevent
him from lighting the train, and that there could have been no possible
doubt of his intention when struggling for possession of the light.
Ted's evidence and the manner in which it was given impressed the court
favourably. Tynan's did not. His manner was not convincing, and it was
evident that he shrank from the gaze of the other ensign. Still, there
were three witnesses for him, and Ted's word stood alone.
Then came new evidence to spring a surprise upon Ted's party. Two sepoys
of the Rajputs deposed that Ambar Singh had confessed to them that his
conscience upbraided him for having taken money from Russell Sahib to
blacken the character of the dead ensign--meaning Tynan Sahib.
The feeling in court at once swung round in Tynan's favour, and the
officers of the 193rd looked at one another aghast. Sir Arthur Fletcher
smiled. He knew something about native witnesses. Ethel quietly
whispered to Lieutenant Leigh, who was acting as counsel for Ted, and
his face brightened.
"Admitting the probability of bribery," he said, "what, then, is the
evidence of these two men worth? Mr. Tynan has had better opportunities
and more time than Mr. Russell to resort to such means--and, I may say,
a far greater supply of the wherewithal to bribe."
But in reply to questions of the opposing counsel, Munro admitted that
when Dwarika Rai first gave evidence there was practically no
possibility of collusion with Tynan. Dwarika Rai had at that moment
heard that he was alive, and Tynan was evidently greatly surprised to
see Dwarika Rai.
The court retired to consider their judgment. The evidence was in favour
of one--the bearing and character in favour of the other. They reported
to Sir John Lawrence that they could arrive at no decision in the
matter. The great man listened attentively, and proceeded to give the
matter his consideration. Something must be settled without delay, he
resolved, for the position was intolerable for that one of the two
ensigns who had right and justice on his side.
Sir John requested the senior of the three officers to remain when the
others retired. Colonel Bratherton was a power in the district, with an
excellent reputation among the Sikhs and an unusually intimate knowledge
of the men he commanded.
"Tell me your private opinion about this affair, Bratherton?" asked the
chief commissioner.
Colonel Bratherton was silent and thoughtful for some time.
"Well, Sir John, the evidence is against young Russell, but somehow I'm
convinced that he's straight and that the other is not."
"Um!"
A look of annoyance came over those masterful eyes, and the broad brow
was knit in perplexity. But not for long. A humorous twinkle took the
place of the frown, and the ruler of the Punjab presently whispered to
the soldier, whose expression of deep concern gradually resolved itself
into a smile in sympathy with his chief. They conferred for at least ten
minutes before the colonel rose to take his leave.
"I'll arrange it all, Sir John," said he. "There will be little
difficulty, for I have the very men we want. Kendal will do it
admirably, and he can make up to the life. Where shall we be, though, if
they both hold out?"
"Both?" Sir John's eyes sparkled as he added: "You forget there will be
a third--Pir Baksh. But of the ensigns one is evidently quite
unscrupulous, and will no doubt give himself away."