The Final Scene at Lucknow
Lieutenant Boldre lolled back in his camp-chair and smiled a superior
smile, while Ted Russell scratched his head and gazed with puzzled
expression at the carved pieces upon the chess-board.
It was undoubtedly checkmate, and he asked himself, almost angrily, how
on earth he could have allowed himself to be outmanoeuvred and
surrounded, and his communications cut off, in so absurdly simple a
manner. Now that it was too late to avert defeat, he could clearly see
how his opponent's attack could have been met and repulsed.
"You've licked me this time," he acknowledged. "I'm playing like an
_oont_ this morning."
The tent was Claude's, and it was pitched to the rear of the Dilkusha,
or "Yellow Bungalow" as the soldiers called the palace. Ten days had
passed since the raid on Pindijang, and many things had happened in the
meanwhile.
Having received reinforcements, Sir Colin had once more occupied his old
position a few miles south-east of Lucknow. He meant the final attack
upon that city to be deliberate and scientific, not a wild rush,
entailing perhaps the sacrifice of thousands of lives in the narrow,
winding streets, where Englishmen would be at a disadvantage. There was
plenty of time, therefore, for an occasional game of chess.
"Have your revenge?" asked Boldre confidently; and Ted replied that he
was willing, when in stalked Paterson.
"Well, how's the deputy-assistant, extra-honorary, supernumerary
aide-de-camp? Is he acting as postman?" asked Ted, noticing that Alec
had brought letters.
"The mail has just come in, so I picked yours out to save time. Catch!"
"Thanks, old man!" said Ted, as he picked up the scattered missives.
"I'll do as much for you some day, if ever _I_ become a great man.
Here's one for you, Boldre, from Simla."
"That's from the mater, and I owe her one or two already. It's no end of
a fag writing letters. Are yours from home?"
"One is," Ted replied. "The other is from Aurungpore;" and silence
prevailed for several minutes.
"Good news from home, Ted, I hope?" said Alec presently.
"Yes, they're all well. The pater is wishing he was here with us. He's
been particularly interested in my last letters telling of our doings
with the Sirmur Battalion, because he was taken prisoner by the Gurkhas
in the Nepal war of 1815, and made friends with a lot of them. The mater
is wishing I was back at home. Why do women cross their letters so much,
Alec? It's worse than a Chinese puzzle."
"Nay, Ted, don't ask me. I don't get shoals of letters in feminine
handwriting."
Ted turned red, laughed, and changed the subject.
"This reads very funnily now. They write to say how glad they are that
Delhi has fallen, and that Jim and I escaped without harm, and they
suppose that by now the fighting will all be over."
He opened the second envelope, and Alec winked at Claude, who raised his
eyebrows enquiringly.
"Surely it ain't?" said he, rising quickly to the joke; and Ted looked
up in feigned bewilderment.
"Of course it is," Alec answered. "Don't he look rapturous?"
"And so young!" murmured Claude.
"Yes; he cut me out too. She preferred the colour of his hair, and
fancied that she detected more signs of a moustache."
Alec dodged, as Ted most irreverently threw a bishop at his head, and
resumed:
"A nice little girl too, daughter of one of our officers. Does she send
any message for me, Ted?"
Our hero was blushing violently. He sprang to his feet suddenly, caught
his chum by the collar, and rolled both him and his seat over the floor
of the tent, smashing the stool and damaging Claude's bed. Then, feeling
better, he resumed his seat, and Alec picked himself up, laughing.
"It's a bad case, Claude," said he. "What does she say, Ted?"
"Well, if you want to know, she asks if I still chum with that ass
Paterson, or whether he's been knocked on the head by a praiseworthy
pandy, and a good job too!"
"That's fiction," commented Alec solemnly. "Go ahead."
"She says that the weather is sometimes fine, though not so hot as it
will be in June."
"More fiction. Seems suspicious, Claude, that he should have to
extemporize."
Claude nodded acquiescence.
"He's in a bad way, that's plain," said he. And Ted went on unheeding:
"And that Colonel Woodburn is hardly inconvenienced by his wound; that
she herself is very well, and has seen Jim several times lately; and
that everything is quiet along the frontier; and that Jim is continually
wishing that the Guides could have been spared for Lucknow; and that
she's heard of what you did at Agra."
Here was Alec's turn to blush.
"Never mind all that," he interrupted hastily. "What we want to know is
what she says about you."
But Ted winked, and, pocketing the letter, once more assumed an
aggressive demeanour.
"Pax!" said Alec, retreating. "I'm not going to fight a chap who's in
the habit of exploding gunpowder beneath his opponents. By the way, have
you seen our allies?"
"Not yet. Shall we pay them a visit? Come along."
Among the latest reinforcements were Brigadier Franks' column and Jung
Bahadur's army from Nepal. Franks had been operating with great effect
in Eastern Oudh, from the Nepal border, and his men were mostly Gurkhas,
lent by the Nepal Government. They had done excellent service, and had
won one or two quite remarkable victories. Jung Bahadur's force, nearly
ten thousand strong, had just come in, and as the army was aware that
Sir Colin had been waiting for these Gurkhas, it was expected that the
real struggle was about to begin.
The three lieutenants strolled down to the Gurkha camp to inspect the
new-comers, and Ted thought of that day on the Ridge when Reid's little
Mongolians were indulging in horse-play with their comrades of the
Rifles, and he remembered how one of the Gurkhas had foretold that Jung
Bahadur would bring his troops to assist the British. He little thought
then that he should be present to witness the arrival of the famous
_shikarri_.
The Nepalese allies did not, in Ted's opinion, look quite so tough or so
soldierly as his friends of the Sirmur Battalion, and their officers
compared unfavourably with Merban Sing and Goria Thapa. There was plenty
of good material, but the average, though taller in stature, seemed less
sturdy and considerably dirtier. These Nepalese were not all the true
Magar and Gurung Gurkhas; there was a mixture of other clans and races,
with a bigger proportion of Hindu blood. These were not quite so ugly as
little "Johnny", and they did not possess the true military swagger and
jolly recklessness. Approaching a group whose faces seemed to bear the
right stamp, he addressed them in Magar-Kura, of which tongue Goria
Thapa had taught him a smattering.
The Gurkhas were delighted at being spoken to in their own dialect,
understood by so few foreigners, and they responded eagerly. He tried to
explain how he had served with their brethren at Delhi, and it chanced
that when he mentioned the name of his friend Goria Thapa, one of the
new arrivals repeated the name, and it turned out that he knew the
Sirmur officer, and Ted Russell at once became their blood-brother.
As they conversed, barely half understanding one another, the men round
about sprang up to attention, and Alec Paterson nudged Ted in the ribs
with his elbow. Turning to see what Alec wanted, he perceived Sir Colin,
and by the general's side rode a distinguished-looking, dark-skinned
man, clad gorgeously, and ablaze with diamonds.
It was the Gurkha prince himself, one of the bravest of the brave, as
Ted had heard, but by no means a merry, good-natured personage, such as
his friends of the Ridge. Jung Bahadur motioned one of the Gurkhas to
his side, and, looking suspiciously at Ted, he whispered to the man, who
informed him in reply how it came about that this English youth had
picked up enough of their language to converse with them.
Sir Colin beckoned Ted to approach, and asked questions similar to those
being answered by Jung Bahadur's informant.
"Went all through the siege of Delhi, eh?" said he, when his enquiries
had been satisfied. "And your friend also? Acting as lieutenants of
Boldre's Horse now?"
"Yes, sir."
"Were you the fellows who got that information about the Nana a week or
two ago?---- You were, eh? You seem to know the natives well. Wish more
of my officers did. I'll see about---- Well, what does Mr. Jung want
now?"
The Gurkha prince rode up and addressed Ted in Urdu.
"You were with my countrymen at Delhi?" said he. "How did they fight?"
"Like heroes," Ted replied.
"Ah, that was a fight of giants!" exclaimed the Gurkha with animation.
"Would I had been there! But I heard about it, and the death of
Nikkulseyn."
The generals rode on, the boys saluted, and Ted said ruefully:
"I believe he was going to say that he would see about confirming our
appointments when old Jung interrupted."
"Russell," said Claude solemnly, "I'm going to kidnap that Gurkha chap
some dark night with a few of our Sikhs. Did you notice his diamonds? He
just dazzled. Hullo, who's this?"
With a group of English officers who had witnessed the incident was a
gentleman wearing an unmilitary frock-coat and Hessian boots, whom Ted
had observed more than once in intimate conversation with the
commander-in-chief. He now greeted the boys, and courteously asked what
had interested the Maharaja so. Ted explained, and the stranger thanked
him, and after a few moments' conversation, in which he drew out the
youngsters to speak of those things which interested them most, he
rejoined his friends.
"Who's that, Alec?" asked Ted. "He seems a clever chap. Decent too."
"Don't you know? It's your namesake of the _Times_."
"What? Dr. Russell?---- Crimea Russell?"
"That's the man. Sir Colin seems to think a lot of him, and trusts him
absolutely with his plans."
Next day began the movements on Lucknow. On the morning of March 6th,
Outram, with Hope Grant as second in command, set out to make a flanking
movement and co-operate with Sir Colin from the north bank of the Gumti.
They were to work along the north-east and north of the city with a
strong column, while the main force pushed forward from the east and
south-east, the two armies being in touch and their artillery able to
play upon the same positions from different sides. The rebel defences,
it must be borne in mind, were vast and strong.
Outram's force marched away to the east, and to those ignorant of its
destination it appeared to be deserting Lucknow. Before reaching the
southward bend of the river the engineers constructed a bridge of
floating barrels, over which the column crossed and proceeded
northwards, and presently wheeled to the west and encamped, having
completed the half of a circle. Alec Paterson was with Outram, Boldre's
Horse with the Southern Army.
On March 9th a Union Jack floating over the Chaka Palace told that
Outram had captured an important outpost, and that night he almost
completed the circle, and encamped hardly more than a mile due north of
Sir Colin, on the other side of the Gumti. The two armies were soon in
direct communication, and as a consequence the rebels abandoned their
first line of defence. The British loss was slight, but Sir William
Peel, the newly-promoted seaman, had been mortally wounded.
On the 11th began the first serious fighting for the southern force. Sir
Colin gave Jung Bahadur's army charge of the operations along the
south-eastern line of defence, across the canal, whilst he attacked from
the east, in touch with Outram. The Begum Kothi, a fortified palace
which blocked the way, was stormed with splendid gallantry by
Highlanders and Sikhs, the rebels being driven out after they had lost
many hundreds of their comrades. A number of guns were captured, and
Hodson was slain whilst performing one of his typical feats of valour.
[Illustration: THE REBEL REELED AGAINST THE WALL _Page 340_]
Boldre's Horse had little to do, the work lying with the artillery and
infantry until the rebels fled, when the cavalry completed the rout. It
was not safe to pursue too far, and Ted's Punjabis had the order to
retire, when their young officer chanced to notice that in the confusion
a handful of Gurkhas, whose zeal had outrun discretion, were faring
badly at the hands of a number of better-armed pandies. He clapped spurs
to his steed, and called on his men to charge. A Gurkha officer, his
back to a wall, was defending himself gamely against five sepoys with
bayonets. In the nick of time Ted sliced at one who, having reloaded,
was in the act of firing, and his horse bowled over a second, while the
lance of a Dogra sowar disabled a third.
The long lances of the Punjabis and the force of their charge prevailed,
and, taking the surviving Gurkhas in their midst, they trotted back
amidst a shower of badly-aimed bullets. Ted then perceived that the
Gurkha officer was the man who knew Goria Thapa. His gratitude was
great, but there was little time for speech-making.
The capture of the Begum Kothi was not only a brilliant, but also a
useful, piece of work, by which they were soon to profit. The way was
almost opened to the Kaiserbagh Palace, now a huge fortification
mounting very powerful cannon, and this was the key to the position. But
before this all-important defence could be carried by storm, it was
first necessary to gain possession of the Imambara Mosque, and the
infantry were held back for a time until Outram's guns from the north
and Lugard's from the east should have made some impression upon the
thick walls of the two stout buildings.
When the time did come for the infantry to act, a glorious response was
made. General Franks sent forward the 10th Foot to support. For a time
the resistance was fierce and courageous, but the English and Punjabis
would not be denied. Pressing forward sternly, the rear ranks filling
the gaps as the leaders fell, their determination at length cowed the
pandies, and their bayonets cleared the Imambara. Then the way lay open
to the Kaiserbagh, and British hearts beat high.
Sir Colin had not intended that his brigadier should attempt more than
the Imambara that day, but seeing that the pandies had lost heart,
Franks wisely took upon himself to strike a more decisive blow. While
hotly pursuing the rebels from the Imambara the British troops had
penetrated to a strong position overlooking the Kaiserbagh. It would be
a thousand pities to relinquish this advantage. So Franks pushed forward
reinforcements, and within a few hours the Kaiserbagh was in our hands,
and to all intents Lucknow was gained and a decisive victory had crowned
the British arms. The day had been brilliant and decisive, but marred by
one unfortunate result of the commander-in-chief's over-caution.
Had Outram been allowed to swoop down from the north upon the broken
rebels their collapse would have been complete; in fact the rebellion in
Oudh would have been smashed. Outram was not only prepared, he was most
anxious to do this. But Sir Colin, hardly realizing how thorough was the
demoralization of the pandies, how real was their dread of the British
bayonet, feared lest Outram's men should suffer heavily in securing the
iron and stone bridges over the Gumti for the passage of his troops. He
therefore gave Outram strict orders not to cross the river until he
could do so without the loss of a single man. Outram could do nothing
but obey and look on while the glorious chance slipped away.
There was still fighting in the streets of Lucknow, though the mutineers
had lost their hold on the great city. Next in importance to
Nicholson's storming of Delhi, the capture of Lucknow was the most
severe blow the sepoys had received. Though the army would be employed
for months sweeping the sepoys into the Terai jungle across the Nepal
border, where Nana Sahib was finally lost, and though Sir Hugh Rose
should chase the Nana's slim general, Tantia Topi, from pillar to post
throughout the spring and summer of 1858 as Kitchener's generals chased
De Wet, everyone understood that all danger to the British raj was over
through this day's work.
Ted Russell was on foot in the streets of Lucknow with two or three
Sikhs as Claude Boldre swept past with threescore troopers behind him.
"Horses been shot?" he called out in passing; and Ted nodded that it was
so. Any attempt to pursue on foot would be useless, so they were turning
back towards the Kaiserbagh, where the soldiers, Englishmen,
Highlanders, Irishmen, Punjabis, and Jung Bahadur's Gurkhas, were busy
looting the treasures of the palace. There were no pandies in sight, and
Ted's dismounted sowars left their officer and ran off to share in the
plunder.
The solitary Englishman was not unobserved, though there seemed to be no
enemy at hand; in fact this particular street was deserted, except for a
group or two of Englishmen and Irregulars several hundred yards away in
the direction of the Kaiserbagh, and Ted's sowars, now half-way between
these groups and their officers.
So the young Feringhi seemed an easy prey to the three concealed pandies
who were furtively watching him from behind the curtains. A gleam of
hateful satisfaction lit up their dark faces as they noiselessly slipped
out of the house. Too late to draw his pistol, Ted heard the stealthy
tread, but he had kept his sword drawn, and, turning quickly, he raised
his blade to guard his head and ward off the blow that instinct told him
was being aimed thereat. The tulwar, instead of cleaving his skull,
glanced off the sword, and with diminished force bit into his shoulder.
He sank with a moan of pain, and the traitor raised his weapon for a
deadlier stroke.
But before the blow could be repeated a pistol rang out, and the rebel
reeled against the wall, then sank to his knees and tried to crawl away.
His companions, who had been a few yards to the rear of their comrade,
hesitated, trying to make up their minds whether to run at once or first
to despatch the wounded enemy. An Englishman in volunteer uniform and
one of Ted's Sikhs, who had turned back, threw themselves upon the
pandies, who hesitated no longer but fled like hares. Before a dozen
steps had been taken in pursuit, one of the pandies turned, and, still
running, fired. The Englishman staggered, spun round and dropped dead,
and, as he fell, Ted saw his face, and knew that Tynan had wiped out the
blot upon his honour. Then the ensign fainted away.
The Sikh brought back his comrades, and they carried their officer to
the nearest surgeon, who was fortunately able to take the case in hand
at once, or the boy would have died ere the sun rose upon another day.
Owing to the ignorance of the Sikhs the gush of blood had not been
staunched, until the doctor, with quick grasp of the situation, did what
was necessary to retain the young life that was fast ebbing away.
Next day Ted Russell was removed on a doolie to the Dilkusha, and he
took no further part in the fighting that ensued before the Mutiny was
finally extinguished. Recovery was slow, and a couple of months elapsed
before he was able to walk even a short distance without fatigue. But no
permanent injury had been caused by the blow, and by the end of July he
could get about as usual, both on foot and on horseback; and on the day
that he reported himself as fit for duty, he received the intimation
that both he and his chum Paterson had been officially gazetted as
lieutenants in the corps known as Boldre's Irregular Horse.