The unthinking ones and the least experienced talked confidently of entering Delhi in a few days, or a week or two at most. They underrated the strength of the enemy, and also the determination of the mutineers,--a mistake the British soldier is wont to make.

Undismayed by this reverse, the enemy came out to attack our posts every day between the 12th and 17th of June, and every day they were beaten back. Time after time they flung themselves in heavy masses against the small force defending the Ridge, only to be hurled back again and again by the Gurkhas, the Guides Infantry, and the Englishmen of the 60th Rifles, who all fought with equally unflinching gallantry.

But on the 17th of June, Major Reid, to his delight, was ordered to act on the offensive. The enemy had commenced to erect batteries outside the walls, in the Kishengang and Trevelyan-gang suburbs, commanding the British positions, and this could not be allowed. Reid's men, with another column from the main force, sallied forth and stormed the positions, routed the foe, and destroyed the works. But not without loss was this accomplished. Our foemen were no cravens; they flung themselves not once but many times with desperate courage against their assailants, making little impression, however, on the stern warriors of England, Scotland, and Ireland, of the Punjab, and of Nepal.

When morning dawned next day the officers reminded the British soldiers that this was Waterloo-day, and the remembrance of that glorious victory, and of the valour of their fathers, roused a new enthusiasm. On this day the Guides Cavalry had their turn, and acquitted themselves like the heroes they were. But once more they paid a price for so distinguishing themselves, for Captain Daly, their gallant leader, was carried away severely wounded.

The knowledge that his men had proved themselves so worthy consoled Captain Daly in his pain. There were few soldiers in the force now who were not ready to admit, and to back their opinion with curious and unnecessary oaths, that these two native regiments were an invaluable acquisition to the force--that Guides and Gurkhas were worthy to uphold the reputation of the British army.

Little of importance happened during the next three or four days, though the batteries were continually playing on the Ridge. One round-shot came crashing through the portico of Hindu Rao's house with terrible effect, killing an English officer and eight Gurkhas.

On June the 23rd the rebels made a vow. This day was the centenary of the battle of Plassy. For just one hundred years had the Feringhis'

dominion lasted, and now, according to the Moslem prophets, their time was come. So the sepoys, maddened by the resistance offered to their attacks, furious that these Gurkhas should persistently remain at their post, ever watchful and ever eager for the fray in spite of the incessant cannonade, vowed that on this day Hindu Rao's house should be captured.

About mid-day the attack on the Ridge began, the insurgents swarming up on every side. Beaten back, but reinforced by fresh hordes, they again came to the attack with desperate valour, to be once more repulsed by the Gurkhas. Foiled but not done with, the enemy recommenced a brisk cannonade of the handful who opposed them. Under cover of this fire a fresh assault was made, and for a moment the post seemed lost. The dark uniforms of the English riflemen, the drab of the Guides, and the ugly dress of the Gurkhas, seemed lost amidst those swarming thousands.

Somehow Ensign Russell found himself in the front with the Gurkha company of the Guides. Little Subadar Merban Sing, the captain of the company, stood at his elbow, as mild in appearance as usual, smiling pleasantly and serenely as he watched the straining and tugging bodies, the uplifted and downfalling arms, the musket flashes on every side, the thrusting of bayonets and slicing of kukris, and, as calmly as if on parade, he gave directions to his men.

Inspired by his companion's coolness and absolute lack of fear, Ted fought manfully at his side. A Guide in front of him stumbled, badly wounded. It was Merban Sing's brother. Quick as thought Ted dashed forward and stood over the body as half a dozen sepoys ran to thrust their bayonets into the helpless Gurkha. With his pistol Ted shot one, gave another the point of his sword, and Merban Sing, again at his side, struck down two more whose bayonet-points were almost plunged in the ensign's breast. The Gurkha subadar, felled from behind, dropped over his wounded brother, who at the same time received his death-wound. A rush from behind brought a dozen more Guides around the lad, who saw steel flash in front of his face, and felt a burning sensation in his cheek; then his head seemed to split, and he remembered no more.

With yells of triumph the myriad enemy pushed forward, but not to victory. Major Reid's voice rang out clear, keeping his men together, and with a cheer the gallant fellows responded. The riflemen closed up, shoulder to shoulder, and, first pouring a withering fire into the mass, dashed forward with the bayonet, followed by the Guides, who also used that best of weapons. The little Nepalese, throwing down musket and bayonet, drew their razor-edged kukris and plunged into the thick of their opponents, hewing them down and scattering them on every side by the fury of their charge. The foe gave ground and the crisis had passed.

The officers cheered, the men responded, and again a bayonet and kukri charge drove the pandies farther back. Then the Rifles and Guides, kneeling down, sent volley after volley into the mass of wavering sepoys, and followed up their advantage by again charging home, and the danger was passed. But the enemy, though disheartened, were not routed; the conflict still raged fast and furious. The rebel guns, which had ceased firing during the hand-to-hand fighting, again gave tongue with deadly effect. Taking advantage of the diversion thus created, the plucky sepoys made a last desperate effort to fulfil their vow, only to receive further punishment. As the sun went down and the light faded, the rebels lost heart and retired, discouraged and cowed, to the shelter of their walls, hastened on the way by the bullets which dropped amongst them.

Everywhere had the attack failed, both on the Ridge and below. But though a severe blow had been dealt to the mutineers, too many of our own had been slain; for the sepoys in Delhi could better spare a thousand men than could the army before Delhi afford to lose fourscore.

To resist an attack was one thing; to storm the city successfully would be quite another.

When Ensign Russell came to himself he was back in the Mahratta's mansion, his brother and cousin by his side as the doctor examined him.

"Thank God that you've a thick head, young man," observed that official; and turning to the others he added, "He'll be all right in a few days."

"What's the matter?" asked the boy. His head was ringing and singing, and he felt sick.

"Crack on the head with the butt-end, Teddy," answered Charlie. "It knocked you senseless, and Goria Thapia carried you out of danger. Good job you've got the Russell skull. I expect the musket was smashed to bits! Without joking, old boy, you've had a narrow escape."

"What's the matter with my cheek--it's stinging frightfully?" asked Ted.

"Your cheek?" replied Jim, laughing. "Oh, nothing's the matter with that! It's as big and fine and well-developed as usual." Jim then placed his hand on his brother's brow. "A sword or bayonet has just grazed your cheek, Ted, old man, and taken the skin off. It will be painful, but you'll hardly feel it in a week's time. Now, go to sleep."

"But how did the fight go after I was dropped, Jim? Was Merban Sing killed?"

Captain Russell related the stirring incidents of the day, and told how Merban Sing and two of his brothers had laid down their lives to defend their trust.

For some time after this determined assault the rebels became more cautious, whilst our men sat tight, waiting for reinforcements and for a siege-train with which to batter those heavy walls whereon our little guns made no impression.

When off duty, officers and men would stroll from one regiment's lines to another, the chief meeting-place being the Flagstaff Tower on the north end of the Ridge, well out of range. Games at cricket and quoits, as well as polo-matches and races, were arranged. Numerous were the visitors to Hindu Rao's house, as men from all the regiments came to see this important outpost, to note the damage done by shot and shell, and to scrutinize those wonderfully tough little Gurkhas who were the first line of defence, and who were enjoying themselves hugely.

But though Major Reid[14] had many visitors, he himself never once left his post during these months of bitter fighting. He was guardian of the Ridge, and cricket, quoits, and races appealed to him in vain.

[14] Afterwards General Sir Charles Reid, K.C.B.

The 60th Rifles and the Sirmuris had become the best of friends and closest of chums, and in the early days of the fighting, when tobacco was still to be obtained without difficulty, little Gurkhas and heavy Yorkshiremen or sprightly Cockneys might be seen sitting side by side, smoking their pipes contentedly, and offering one another tobacco by signs, being unable to exchange a word.

By the end of June the casualties among the Rifles, Guides, and Gurkhas had been terrible, and the top room of the house had been turned into a Gurkha hospital, for the wounded Nepalese refused to leave their post.

Their British comrades offered to carry them to the big hospital in the cantonments below, where comparative peace and quietness reigned, and where they might have the best medical aid, but the Gurkhas would have none of it. They preferred to stay by their comrades, to listen to the shot and shell whistling around, to hear the news each day--who had distinguished himself, and whether their beloved Major Reid and his officers were still unharmed. So Reid, with tears of pride in his eyes, yielded to the wish of his children, and there they stayed.

The troops had been reinforced, but no siege-train had arrived. At their various posts in the Punjab John Lawrence, Herbert Edwardes, and John Nicholson were recruiting the wild Sikhs and still wilder Pathans into regiments of irregular cavalry and infantry. Edwardes, Nicholson, and Brigadier Cotton, in command at Peshawur, the gate of India, had so impressed the tribes under their sway with the might of England, that these fierce men, though at first ready to join the rebels, had changed their tone, and now volunteered to fight against the sahibs' enemy.

Old men, young men, and men of middle age brought their horses and weapons before these great Englishmen, and begged to be allowed to enlist. So week by week some Punjabi,[15] Sikh, or Pathan regiments of foot or horse would march proudly to the Delhi camp, sent down by command of John Lawrence, who himself could ill afford to spare them.

The first reinforcements to arrive were the 1st and 2nd Punjab Infantry and the 4th Sikhs. The 1st P.N.I, were commanded by Major Coke, and were known as "Coke's Rifles" or as "Cokeys", and a gallant lot they proved, as did indeed their comrade corps.

[15] The Punjabi corps would consist chiefly of Mohammedan inhabitants of the Punjab, Sikhs, and Pathans, with some Jats and Dogras.

CHAPTER XVIII

Ted's Hopes are raised and dashed to the Ground

"Have you seen the new arrivals, Ted?" asked Jim, as he came back from a visit to cantonments one day.

"No, who are they?"

"Hodson's Horse, the 'Flamingoes' as they've been nicknamed, from the colour of their sashes. Go down and look at them; they're worth seeing, and so is Hodson, their commandant."

"Is he the Lieutenant Hodson who once commanded our regiment?" asked Ted, who had heard of the famous freelance.

"That's the man. He got into trouble with the Guides, and now he's been allowed to raise this regiment of horse."

So the two chums waited until both were free from duty, and went down to look at the stalwart Sikh and Pathan horsemen, who afterwards became known to fame as the 9th and 10th Bengal Lancers throughout Hindustan and its frontiers, and in China, Egypt, the Soudan, and Abyssinia. A crowd had gathered round the gaudily-attired "Flamingoes", who sat their horses proudly, much gratified by the reception. They were about to exercise the horses.

"Not so bad," said Ted approvingly; "but not quite up to our Guides--eh, Alec?"

"They look good soldiers," Paterson replied. "Why,--well, I'm blowed!

What's Boldre doing there?"

"Who?"

"Claude Boldre! See, that kid on the rat-tailed dun, with a Flamingo sash. I left him at school, and didn't even know he'd got a commission.

His father's the colonel of a regiment that mutinied recently, I heard.

He's a decent sort."

Paterson walked behind his friend, who had not yet perceived them, and dealt him a sounding smack on the thigh.

"Come down off that horse, Boldre!" was his salutation. "Do you imagine yourself a Flamingo?"

"Who are--why, if it ain't Alec Paterson, by all that's wonderful! How did you come here?"