THE SPREAD OF INSURRECTION
"The Sepoys have come in from Meerut, and are burning everything.... We
must shut up," had been the last message flashed from Delhi by a young
clerk, who was killed in the act of sending it. This news, kept secret
for a few hours by the authorities, was soon startling the English
stations, north and west, and was put out of doubt by reports of the
fugitives, as they came to spread their dismay from various points.
On this side, fortunately, reigned the energy and foresight which had
so disastrously failed at Meerut. Lahore, the capital of the Punjaub,
swarmed with fierce fanatics, who would willingly have emulated the
deeds of their brethren at Meerut and Delhi. In the Cantonments, a
few miles off, were four regiments of Sepoys, held in check only by a
small force of Europeans. But here Mr. Montgomery, the Commissioner in
charge, showed a prompt mastery of the situation. He at once assembled
a council of the chief civil and military officers; and, not without
doubt on the part of some of his advisers, resolved to disarm the
dangerous regiments before they should be excited to the revolt they
were already conspiring.
Next day, May 12, a ball was to be given at the Cantonments. Lest the
Sepoys should take warning, it went on as if nothing were the matter;
but many of the dancers must have been in no festive mood, at a scene
to recall that famous revelry on the night before Quatre Bras. The
officers had their arms at hand in the ball-room. Dancing was kept up
till two in the morning; then at early dawn, the whole brigade was
turned out on the parade-ground. The native regiments were suddenly
ordered to pile arms. They hesitated in obeying; but the thin line of
English soldiers confronting them fell back to reveal twelve guns,
loaded with grape, behind which the infantry ramrods rang fear into
their doubtful hearts. Sullenly they gave up their arms, 2500 Sepoys
cowed before not one-fourth their number. At the same time, the fort
in the city was made safe by the disarming of its native garrison.
Picquets of Europeans were posted at various points, and arrangements
made for defence against any sudden rising.
Similar bold and prompt measures to secure other stations, forts, and
arsenals of the Punjaub, at once checked the spread of the mutiny in
this direction, and afforded a base of operations for its suppression.
But, on other sides, it ran through the country like wild-fire--here
blazing up into sudden revolt; there smouldering for weeks before it
gathered head; at one place crackling out almost as soon as kindled;
at another resolutely trampled down by vigilant authority; elsewhere
quickly growing to a conflagration that swept over the richest
provinces of India, unchaining the fiercest passions of its mixed
population, and destroying for a time all landmarks of law and order.
Men had to show, then, of what stuff they were made. While some of our
countrymen gave way before the danger, or even precipitated it through
panic or indecision, others stood fast at their posts, and by proud
audacity were able to hold the wavering natives to allegiance, and
still to keep hundreds of thousands overawed before the name of English
rule. Not seldom was it seen how mere boldness proved the best policy
in dealing with a race tamed by centuries of bondage; yet, in too many
cases, gallantry, honour, devotion to duty, fell sacrificed under the
rage of maddened rebels.
It is impossible here to track the irregular progress of the revolt, or
to dwell on its countless episodes of heroism and suffering. Pitiable
was the lot of all English people in the disturbed districts, most
pitiable that of officials who, obliged to expose their own lives from
hour to hour, had to fear for wife and child a fate worse than death.
At their isolated posts, they heard daily rumours of fresh risings,
treasons, massacres, and knew not how soon the same perils might
burst upon themselves and their families. For weeks, sometimes, they
had to wait in sickening suspense, a handful of whites among crowds
of dusky faces, scowling on them more threateningly from day to day,
with no guard but men who would be the first to turn their arms upon
those whose safety was entrusted to them. To many it must have been a
relief when the outbreak came, and they saw clearly how to deal with
false friends and open foes. Then, at a season of the Indian year when
activity and exposure are hurtful to the health of Europeans, for
whom life, through that sweltering heat, seems made only tolerable
by elaborate contrivances and the services of obsequious attendants,
these sorely-tried people had to fight for their lives, pent-up in
some improvised stronghold, wanting perhaps ammunition, or food, or,
worst torment in such a climate, water, till relief came, often only
in the form of death. Or, again, it might be their chance to fly,
sun-scorched, destitute, desperate, skulking like thieves and beggars
among a population risen in arms against the power and the creed they
represented. It should never be forgotten how certain natives, indeed,
showed kindness and pity towards their fallen masters. We have seen
that in some cases the mutinous Sepoys let their officers go unhurt;
occasionally they risked their own lives to protect English women and
children against the fury of their comrades. But one horrible atrocity
after another warned the masterful race how little they had now to
hope from the love or fear of those from whom they had exacted such
flattering servility in quiet times.
Among the natives themselves, the excesses of the Mutiny were hardly
less calamitous. Many, if not most, were hurried into it by panic or
excitement, or the persuasion of the more designing, and their hearts
soon misgave them when they saw the fruit of their wild deeds, still
more when they considered the punishment likely to follow. Anarchy, as
usual, sprang up behind rebellion. Debtors fell upon their creditors;
neighbours fought with neighbours; old feuds were revived; fanaticism
and crime ran rampant over the ruins of British justice. Towns were
sacked, jails broken open, treasuries plundered. Broken bands of
Sepoys and released convicts roamed about the country, murdering and
pillaging unchecked. Tribes of hereditary robbers eagerly returned
to their old ways, now that our police need no longer be feared. The
native police, themselves recruited from the dangerous classes, were
frequently the first to set an example of rebellion. Not a few native
officials, it should be said, gave honourable proofs of their fidelity,
through all risks, while the mass of them behaved like hirelings, or
displayed their inward hostility.
The more thoughtful part of the population might well hesitate on
which side to declare; some prudently did their best to stand well
with both, in case of any event; but those who had much to lose must
soon have regretted the firm rule of our Government. On the whole,
it may be said that the princes and nobles, where not carried away
by ambition or religious zeal, remained more or less loyal to our
cause, having better means than the ignorant mob of judging that our
power would yet right itself, though crippled by such a sudden storm
and staggering like to founder in so troubled waters. But in Oudh and
other recently-annexed districts, where the Zemindars and Talookdars,
or chief landowners, had often been treated with real harshness in the
settlement of revenue, this class naturally proved hostile, yet not
more so than the poor peasants, to whom our rule had rather been a
benefit. The latter, indeed, acted in great part less like determined
rebels than like foolish school-boys, who, finding themselves all
at once rid of a strict pedagogue, had seized the opportunity for a
holiday-spell of disorder; as with the Sepoys themselves, defection
sometimes seemed a matter of childish impulse, and there would come a
moment of infectious excitement, in which the least breath of chance
turned them into staunch friends or ruthless foes. Except in Oudh, it
may be said, the movement was in general a military mutiny rather than
a popular insurrection, while everywhere, of course, the bad characters
of the locality took so favourable an occasion for violence.
To gain some clear idea of what was going on over a region that would
make a large country in Europe, it seems best to take one narrative as
a good example of many. This means somewhat neglecting the rules of
proportion required in a regular historical narrative. It will also
lead to an overlapping of chapters in the order of time. In any case
it must be difficult to arrange orderly the multifarious and entangled
episodes of this story; and the plan of our book rather is to present
its characteristic outlines in scenes which cannot always be shifted
to mark the exact succession of events, but which will roughly exhibit
the main stages of the struggle.
Let us, then, dismount from the high horse of history, to follow
a representative tale of _Personal Adventures_ by Mr. W. Edwards,
Magistrate and Collector at Budaon in Rohilcund, the district lying on
the Ganges between Delhi and Oudh. Almost at once after the outbreak at
Meerut, his country began to show signs of epidemic lawlessness. Just
in time, Mr. Edwards sent his wife and child off to the hill-station
of Nainee Tal; then it was ten weeks before he could hear of their
safety. A British officer, of course, had nothing for it but to stick
to his post, all the more closely now that it was one of danger. The
danger soon began to be apparent. What news did reach him was of
robbers springing up all round, Sepoys in mutiny, convicts being let
loose; and amid this growing disorder, he stood the ruler of more than
a million men, with no force to back him but doubtfully loyal natives,
and no European officials nearer than Bareilly, the head-quarters of
the district, thirty miles off. His best friend was a Sikh servant
named Wuzeer Singh, a native Christian, who was to show rare fidelity
throughout the most trying circumstances.
At the end of the month, he had the satisfaction of a visit from one
of his colleagues, and good news of a small Sepoy force, under an
English officer, on its way to help him. But this gleam of hope was
soon extinguished. For the last time, on Sunday, May 31st, he assembled
at his house a little congregation with whom he was accustomed to hold
Christian services. In the middle of the night, a sowar came galloping
as for his life, to report that Bareilly was up, that the Sepoys there
were in full mutiny, and the roads covered by thousands of scoundrels
released from the jail. His brother magistrate at once dashed off to
his own post. Mr. Edwards thought it his duty to remain to the last,
like the captain of a sinking ship.
In the forenoon a few white men and Eurasians gathered at his house
for poor protection. He wished them to disperse, believing that each
could better escape separately, while their sticking together would
only attract attention; but the others seemed too much overcome by fear
to act for themselves, and refused to leave him. The stifling day wore
on in anxious rumours. In the afternoon, the native officer in charge
of the treasury came to ask Edwards to join the guard there, assuring
him with solemn oaths that the men meant to be faithful. He was about
to start, when Wuzeer Singh earnestly entreated him not to trust them.
He took the advice, and afterwards learned that these men had been
waiting to murder him. They would not come to his house, for fear the
plundering of the treasury might begin in their absence.
About 6 p.m. the mutineers from Bareilly arrived; and tumultuous
shouts announced that Sepoys, police, prisoners and all had broken
loose at Budaon. Now the magistrate might think of himself, all show
of authority being gone. He mounted his wife's horse, that had been
standing saddled all day, and rode off, accompanied by two European
indigo-planters and a Customs officer. His Eurasian clerk and his
family he was obliged to leave, as they had no means of conveyance but
a buggy, and the roads were blocked. All he could do for them was to
consign them to the care of an influential native who happened to come
up; and, as luckily these people were almost as dark as Hindoos, they
succeeded in hiding themselves, at all events for a time.
Mr. Edwards had not ridden far when he met a Mohamedan sheikh, who
proposed to him to take refuge at his house, some three miles in
another direction. He turned with this well-wisher; then, passing his
own bungalow again, saw how in ten minutes the plundering of it had
already begun, his servants being first at the work. Wuzeer Singh and
another faithful follower accompanied him, carrying 150 rupees in their
waist-bands; that was all he had in the world but his watch, revolver,
a little Testament, and a purse which had just arrived from England
as a birthday present, which he kept about him as a dear gift rather
than for use. Such a man in the East is not used to carrying money, but
trusts his servants to act as purse-bearers, who will not cheat him
more than is the custom. A groom had been entrusted with a change of
clothes; but he soon disappeared.
When the party reached the house where they had been promised shelter,
one of the family came out, respectfully informing their leader that
they would not be safe here, but they must go on to a village about
eighteen miles off. Mr. Edwards was much annoyed at this inhospitable
reception, which afterwards turned out a blessing in disguise, for
presently a band of horsemen arrived in search of him, and he would
probably have been murdered, if he had not now been on the way to that
further refuge.
Till midnight the fugitives rode through by-ways and fields, and
villages swarming with armed crowds, who let the Englishmen pass in
silence under the convoy of their chief. He took them to a house of his
in a small village, where, after thanking heaven for their escape, they
lay down to rest on the flat roof. The magistrate, for one, weary and
worn out as he was, could hardly close an eye after the excitement of
such a day. Early in the morning, they were roused up by the sheikh,
who told them they must cross the Ganges at once, as their enemies
would soon be in pursuit. So they did, fired at by an excited crowd
assembled for the plunder of a neighbouring village, whose bullets
luckily did not come near them.
On the other side, they were received by a Mohamedan gentleman, who
was the more civil to them, as he heard that two English officials,
with a large body of horse, were in the neighbourhood to restore order.
Edwards and his party joined their countrymen, but found that the main
body of expected troops had mutinied and made for Delhi, while their
escort of sixty sowars was in such a doubtful disposition, that they
were glad to send most of them off on pretence of guarding a treasury,
which these men at once plundered, and dispersed.
With twenty troopers, whose fidelity they had to trust, the Englishmen
started for Agra, but soon turned back, the road being blocked by
mutineers marching to Delhi. They hardly knew which way to take. A
party of two hundred Sepoys was reported to be hunting them out. Their
escort grew so insolent, that they thought best to dismiss these
fellows to go where they pleased; then, for a moment, it seemed as if
the troopers were about to fall on them, but after a short consultation
turned and rode off. The Englishmen, having been twenty hours on
horseback, came back to the village from which they had started.
But they could not be safe here, and after a day's halt determined
to separate. The other two civilians made a fresh attempt to push on
for Agra. Edwards would not desert his companions, encumbrance as
they were to him, for local chiefs, who might be willing to shelter
Government officers at some risk, in the hope of getting credit for it
on the re-establishment of our power, were unwilling to extend their
services to these private persons. He had received a message asking him
to come back to Budaon, as the mutineers had left it, and things were
comparatively quiet there. He afterwards understood this to be a snare,
the Sepoys being much exasperated against him because less money had
been found in the treasury than they expected. But now he decided to
return with the three who shared his fortunes.
They had first to cross the Ganges. On regaining the house of a
zemindar, who had been a friendly enough host two days before, they met
with a colder reception, for meanwhile this native gentleman had heard
the worst news of the spread of mutiny. He agreed to provide them with
a boat, but it proved too small to carry their horses across. All they
could get out of the zemindar was an evident desire to be rid of them,
and he strongly recommended them to make for Furruckabad, sixty miles
off, where, he said, no mutiny had taken place. Hearing that the other
side of the Ganges was all ablaze with pillage and destruction, they
saw nothing for it but to follow this advice.
They set out, then, by night, and passed by several villages without
being molested. At daybreak they reached a large place, where they
presented themselves to the chief proprietor, who was polite, but
would hardly let them into his house, while a brother of his, drunk
with opium, seemed disposed to shoot them on the spot. The chief did
relax so far as to give them some breakfast, then packed them off under
escort of five horsemen to the care of a neighbour. Before leaving,
he insisted on having a certificate that he had treated them well, a
suspicious sign; and Wuzeer Singh overheard the escort saying that they
were all to be killed. Putting a good face on the chance of having to
fight for their lives, they reached a river-side village, where they
were promised a boat to take them to Futtehgurh, the English station
near Furruckabad. But instead of a boat, about the house in which they
waited for it, a crowd of armed men appeared, with such menacing looks,
that the Englishmen mounted and rode off, to find their way barred by
a body of horse. They turned back. Then the crowd began to fire, and
their escort at once galloped away. So did the Englishmen; but one of
them, who rode a camel, fell into the hands of the mob and was cut to
pieces.
The other three cleared a way for themselves, and rejoined their
escort, who looked rather ill-pleased that they had escaped. Their
leader, however, had shown some traces of pity, and now on Edwards
appealing to him as a husband and a father, he undertook to save their
lives if he could, and conducted them back to his master, who seemed
sorry for what had happened, but would not keep them in the house
beyond nightfall.
Disguised in native dress, their own clothes being burned to conceal
all trace of their visit, they set forth again under the charge of
two guides, and this time were more fortunate. Riding all night, once
chased for their lives, at daybreak they reached the house of Mr.
Probyn, Collector of Furruckabad, from whom they had a hearty welcome,
but little cheering news.
The Sepoys at Futtehgurh had broken out, then had been brought back to
their duty for a time, but could not be depended on. A large number of
the Europeans had gone down the Ganges in boats to Cawnpore; others,
among them Probyn's wife and children, were sheltered in a fort across
the river, belonging to a zemindar named Hurdeo Buksh. Edwards was
for going to Cawnpore, but that very day came the news of the rising
there. After consultation with the officers at Futtehgurh, he agreed
to accompany Probyn to Hurdeo Buksh's fort, where he found a number of
acquaintances and colleagues living in great discomfort, and without
much show of protection, in the dilapidated defences of this native
stronghold.
Uncertainty and doubt reigned among these unfortunate people also. As
the colonel of the Sepoy regiment at the station persisted in believing
it staunch, and as some hopeful news from Delhi seemed calculated to
keep it so, after two or three days most of the refugees returned to
Futtehgurh. Probyn, however, preferred to trust his native friend; and
Edwards, though the others judged him rash, decided to stay with Hurdeo
Buksh. Here he was now joined by the faithful Wuzeer Singh, who had
been separated from him in that riot on the river bank, but had lost no
time in seeking his master out with the money entrusted to him.
When two days more had passed, a band of mutineers arrived from another
station, flushed with massacre, and this was the signal for the
Futtehgurh regiment to rise. The Europeans had taken refuge in the fort
there; outside its walls all was uproar, villagers and Sepoys fighting
for the plunder. Hurdeo Buksh at once assembled his feudal retainers,
a thousand in number, and dug out from various hiding places the guns
which he had concealed on the English Government ordering these petty
chiefs to give up all their ordnance. He explained to his guests that
a body of mutineers was coming to attack the fort, led by a false
report that the two Collectors had several lakhs of treasure with them.
They must at once go into hiding in an out-of-the-way village, as he
could not trust his followers to fight for them. The Englishmen were
unwilling to leave even such doubtful shelter as the fort offered, but
when this Rajpoot chief gave them his right hand, pledging his honour
for their safety, as far as in him lay, they knew he might be trusted,
and consented to go.
Carrying their bedding, arms, and the Probyns' four little children,
they crossed the Ramgunga, and reached the place where their quarters
were to be, a filthy enclosure from which the cattle and goats were
cleared out to make room for them. There at least they remained
undisturbed; but after a few days were startled by sounds of heavy
firing from Futtehgurh, where the Europeans were now being besieged
in the fort. Contradictory rumours kept Probyn and Edwards in painful
suspense, and when trustworthy news did come it was not assuring. The
little force in the fort, some thirty fighting men, with twice that
tale of women and children, could not hold out much longer. But several
days and nights passed, and still the cannonading went on incessantly.
On the morning of the fifth day there was a sudden silence, which
might mean that the attack had been given up, or that the resistance
had been overpowered. Some hours later came fresh sounds of quick and
irregular firing from another quarter, further down the river. While
our miserable refugees were asking themselves what this portended,
a messenger from Hurdeo Buksh came to tell them that the English
had during the night evacuated the fort and fled in boats, only to
be discovered and pursued, so the shots they now heard must be the
death-knells of their wretched countrymen. Still, however, came
conflicting stories. At one time the boats were said to be out of
range, then to have sunk. The firing ceased, to break out again for an
hour towards evening. At last they heard that one boat had escaped to
Cawnpore, but that another had grounded, most of the people on board
being massacred or drowned.
It would take too long to trace all the further perils of Edwards and
the Probyns, who for weeks to come remained hidden in a cow-house
for the most part, owing their safety chiefly to the heavy rains,
that after a time turned their place of refuge into an island. Their
presence here had been betrayed, and the Nawab of Furruckabad kept
pressing Hurdeo Buksh to give them up; but on the whole he proved a
staunch protector, though more than once he seemed ready to get rid
of so compromising guests. At one time, he had started them off by
boat for Cawnpore, to certain death, as they believed; at another,
they were to fly to Lucknow, disguised as natives, but that plan was
frustrated by bad news of how things were going there; then again there
was a design of smuggling them off to the hills; and once it was even
proposed that they should abandon the children and take to the jungle.
They were glad to be allowed to remain in their wretched shelter, where
sometimes they durst not show themselves, or the rain kept them close
prisoners. Poor Mrs. Probyn's baby wasted away for want of proper
nourishment. When it died they had to bury it in the darkness, thankful
to find a dry spot on which to dig a grave. Another of the children had
the same miserable fate. The whole party grew thin and weak on their
poor native fare. Two books they had, which were a great comfort to
them, a Bible and a copy of _Brydges on Psalm cix._ On the fly-leaf
of the latter Edwards wrote a note to his wife at Nainee Tal, and had
the joy of hearing from her that she and his child were safe. The
natives who carried these communications did so at the risk of their
lives; but the severity used to any one caught acting as messenger for
the English, did not prevent more than one letter from reaching the
refugees.
Their native neighbours, on the whole, were kind, at least not showing
any hatred towards them. By and by both Hurdeo Buksh and his dependents
began to exhibit more active friendship, a sign of the advance of
the English troops to reconquer the districts deluged by rebellion.
Finally, at the end of August, their miserable condition was relieved
by a message from General Havelock, who had now reached Cawnpore.
Thither they set out, running the gauntlet of fresh dangers on the
river, and could hardly believe their good fortune when at length they
found themselves safe among British bayonets. The whole story is a most
moving one, and should be read in full in Mr. Edwards' book, to the
interest of which this abridgment by no means does justice, since its
object is rather to show the state of the country than to enlarge on
individual adventures and sufferings.
One passage in his party's obscure experiences brings us back to the
highway of history. More than a month after the fall of Futtehguhr,
there had appeared at their refuge a tall, lean, spectral-looking
figure, almost naked and dripping with water, in whom Edwards with
difficulty recognized a young Mr. Jones, heard of by them as having
escaped from the boats to another of Hurdeo Buksh's villages. There he
had been hiding ever since, and now, in his weak state, burst into
tears at the sight of a countryman again and the sound of an English
voice. From him they learned with horror all the particulars of the
massacre that had been enacted within their hearing.
The little garrison of the Futtehgurh citadel had defended themselves
till their ammunition was almost exhausted as well as their strength,
while the Sepoys had begun to blow down their walls by the explosion of
mines. Hampered by women and children, their only way of escape was the
Ganges, that flowed by this fort. Early in the morning of July 3 they
embarked in three boats to drop down the river. But their flight was
soon discovered, and daylight showed them pursued by the bloodthirsty
Sepoys. The swift current of the Ganges helped them so well that they
might have got off safe but for the shallows that obstruct its channel.
One of the boats soon grounded, and its people had to be transferred to
another under fire. This second boat in turn, on which Jones now was,
stuck fast on another sandbank opposite a village, the inhabitants of
which turned out against it with matchlocks; and two guns opened fire
from the bank. As the men were repelling this attack, and trying in
vain to move off their heavy ark, there drifted down upon them a boat
full of Sepoys, who, after pouring in a deadly volley, boarded the
helpless craft. Most of its passengers, not already killed or wounded,
jumped overboard. What followed, as related by Jones to Edwards, makes
a too true picture of that terrible time.
"The water was up to their waists, and the current running very strong;
the bottom was shifting sand, which made it most difficult to maintain
a footing, and several of those who took to the river were at once
swept off and drowned. Jones himself had scarcely got into the water
when he was hit by a musket ball, which grazed the right shoulder,
without damaging the bone. At the same moment he saw Major Robertson,
who was standing in the stream supporting his wife with one arm and
carrying his little child in the other, wounded by a musket ball in
the thigh. Mrs. Robertson was washed out of her husband's grasp and
immediately drowned. Robertson then put the child on his shoulder and
swam away down the stream. Jones, finding that he could do no more
good, wounded as he was, determined to try to save his own life by
swimming down the river, hoping to reach the leading boat. As he struck
out from the boat, he saw poor Mr. Fisher, the chaplain, almost in
the same position as Robertson, holding his little son, a beautiful
boy eight or nine years old, in one arm, while with the other he
supported his wife. Mrs. Fisher was swaying about in the stream almost
insensible, and her husband could with great difficulty retain his
footing.
"When Jones had got clear of the boat, he continued alternately
swimming and floating for five or six miles, when just as it was
growing dusk, he saw the leading boat anchored for the night. He
reached it, much exhausted by swimming, and by the pain of his wound
and of his back; which, as he was naked to the waist, had been
blistered and made raw by the scorching sun. On being taken on board,
he found that the only casualty which had occurred to this party since
leaving Futtehguhr, was the death of one of the Miss Goldies, who had
been killed by a grape shot from one of the guns on the bank near
Singheerampore.
"Mrs. Lowis--who had maintained her fortitude throughout, and was
indefatigable during the siege in preparing tea and refreshment for
the men--immediately got him some brandy and water and food, and he
was then able to acquaint them with the miserable fate of his own
party, of whom he supposed himself to be the sole survivor. The boat
remained anchored in the same spot all night. Towards morning a voice
was heard from the bank, hailing the boat. It proved to be that of
Mr. Fisher, who, though badly wounded in the thigh, had managed by
swimming a portion of the way, then landing and walking along the bank,
to overtake the boat. He was helped on board more dead than alive, and
raved about his poor wife and son, both of whom were drowned.
"At dawn they weighed anchor and proceeded down the stream; but very
slowly, as there was no pilot or skilful steersman on board, and only
the exhausted officers as rowers. Towards evening they became so
exhausted that they made for a village on the Oudh side of the Ganges,
in hopes of being able to procure some milk for the children and food
for themselves. The villagers brought supplies, and did not show any
ill-will or attempt to attack the party.
"The boat was so crowded with its freight of from seventy to eighty
human beings, that Jones could find no space to lie down and sleep;
he therefore determined, as he was quite exhausted, to go on shore
and endeavour to get some rest. A villager brought him a charpoy, on
which he lay down and fell fast asleep. He was roused by a summons
from Colonel Smith to rejoin the boat, as they were on the point of
starting; but finding himself very stiff and scarcely able to move,
he determined to remain where he was, as he thought he might as well
die on shore as in the boat: in either case he regarded death as
inevitable. He therefore sent back a message that he could not come,
and begged to be left behind. Colonel Smith after this sent him two
more urgent requests to join the boat, which at length departed without
him. He slept till morning, when a poor Brahmin took pity on him and
permitted him to remain in a little shed, where he was partially
sheltered from the sun. There he remained unmolested by the villagers,
and protected by the Brahmin, until he was permitted to join us."
In the absence of other surgery, Jones had a happy thought for treating
his wound, which else might have killed him by mortification. He got a
little puppy to lick it morning and evening, then it at once began to
improve. But he was still in a sorry state when, wading and swimming
all night over the inundated country, he managed to join Edwards' party.
Two of his companions, who had also escaped alive, were hidden in other
villages without being able to communicate with each other. Three
unhappy ladies and a child had been taken back captive to Futtehguhr.
There, three weeks later, by order of the Nawab, who played the tyrant
here for a time, they were blown away from guns or shot down by grape,
along with some scores of native Christians, on whom the Sepoys thus
wreaked the infuriation of their defeat by Havelock's troops. The first
boat's crew had gained Cawnpore, only to be involved in its still more
awful tragedy.
Before coming to that part of the story, let us turn from the provinces
now deluged by rebellion, to see what was being done elsewhere to make
head against such a torrent.