"Have you seen Havelock and Outram?"

"Rather! Saw the meeting between them and Sir Colin and Hope Grant.

Havelock looks bad; I'm afraid he's a dying man. I wouldn't have missed these last few days for anything, Ted. Did you hear where I went the night you were taken bad?"

"No. Were you on a _daur_[26]?"

[26] A surprise expedition on a small scale.

"Not exactly. We had run out of ammunition almost, and Sir Colin was mad with the responsible artillery officer. He sent for little Roberts, and asked if he could find his way back to the Alambagh in the dark with a mob of camels to bring back the ammunition before morning. It was a dangerous bit of night-work, but Roberts said he'd do it. So the chief told him to get one hundred and fifty camels and an escort from Grant, and also take back the wretched artillery officer and leave him at the Alambagh in disgrace. Roberts had left his native guide in charge of some Afghans, but the fellow had given his guard the slip, and he was floored. However, without letting on, he asked for an escort of native cavalry. Grant wished him to take English lancers, but Roberts said Englishmen were too noisy and jingly, and helpless if separated. In charge of the escort were Younghusband and Gough, and I begged leave at the last moment.

"Roberts was in a sweat. Before the previous day he'd never been over the ground, and the night was black, and we were liable to wander in any direction but the right one, and unless he got back with the ammunition within a few hours all the general's plans would be upset. However, with his usual genius for doing the right thing, he landed us within a short distance of the Alambagh, and went on alone to explain, being afraid lest the garrison, mistaking us for rebels, should fire and stampede the _oonts_ (camels), and then we should be left. He soon came back to say that they were getting the ammunition-boxes ready, so we quickly loaded the camels and got back in good time. Sir Colin was awfully pleased with him. It was rather exciting. If young Roberts lives long enough he'll be a great man."

"He's a jolly decent fellow."

"Yes, I saw him do another fine thing a day or two ago. We'd captured the mess-house close to the Residency, and Roberts planted the Union Jack on the top as a signal that we should soon rescue them. He was exposed to the rebel fire, and they soon bowled the flag over. Up he went again, and though they missed him they brought the staff down again. He set it up a third time, and for the third time they knocked it down. But he beat 'em in the end."

"Good!"

"There was a drummer-boy named Ross," Alec continued, "who did a similar thing. When the Shah Nujif, the highest mosque in Lucknow, was captured, he climbed like a monkey to the very top, and there he blew the 93rd's bugle-call towards the Residency while the pandies were making a target of him. Only a kid of twelve too! But I must go now, old chap. Hope you'll be all right for the final assault."

A few days after the arrival of the rescued garrison of Lucknow at the Alambagh, Ted Russell was on his legs again, and the risaldar Govind Singh was describing the part Boldre's Horse had played in the assault.

The veteran's deep-set eyes flashed as he spoke of deeds of daring, when suddenly he changed his tone and his countenance softened.

"He is indeed dead, sahib," he said quietly. "I saw his grave, and they tell me that the English words on the tombstone mean that he tried to do his duty. The old Mohammedan was right."

Ted understood that the grim Sikh was referring to his hero, Sir Henry Lawrence, and he asked Govind Singh to tell him more about the saintly warrior. They strolled into the grounds, and in the square their attention was attracted by a solemn group, who stood bareheaded and downcast. Ted approached, in time to see a coffin lowered.

"Who is dead?" he asked in a whisper of a sergeant of the 93rd, who stood by. The Highlander looked dourly at his questioner.

"Wha should it be but the best of a'?" said he.

"Not Havelock?"

The Highlander nodded, and continued to gaze into the grave. It was indeed the hero of the First Relief of Lucknow who had died, and disappointed the millions who had looked forward to welcoming the victorious soldier home to England.

CHAPTER XXVII

An Encounter with the Nana Sahib

Knowing that his present force would be lost in the mazes of Lucknow, Sir Colin awaited reinforcements. Jung Bahadur, the Gurkha prime minister and commander-in-chief, was marching down to his assistance with a strong column of the Nepal army, and Lord Canning, the governor-general, had advised Sir Colin to wait for the Gurkhas, as their general was keen on taking part in the siege, and Jung Bahadur would be annoyed if he had to return to Nepal without having had a share in any important fighting, and his friendship was worth something to the British. The troops were therefore employed in keeping open communications, and in small expeditions to Bithur, where Nana Sahib lived, and whithersoever the rebels were gathered in force.

Christmas came and went, and a new year opened, before Ted Russell took part in another fight. In the early days of January, 1858, the rebels were attacked at the village of Khuda-ganj, north-west of Cawnpore.

No sooner were the troops within range than the native gunners opened fire, and showed how excellent had been their training. The shells whizzed viciously overhead, and one burst with a crash between Ted and Ramzan Khan, who were within ten paces of each other, the fragments whirring about their ears without touching man or beast. Boldre's Horse were ordered to retire out of range, and the Horse Artillery began to talk back, and Peel's tars came running up, dragging their big guns along without apparent effort, and, wheeling them smartly into action, were soon pumping shot and shell into the rebel stronghold.

The rest of the troops were ordered to take cover and lie down until the cannon should have played havoc among the mutineers, and prepared the way for a bayonet charge. And now Ted and Claude, from behind the sand-hills, witnessed an unusual incident, no less than open defiance of the commander-in-chief himself, by an English regiment--flat mutiny in fact.

The men of the 53rd firmly believed that Sir Colin favoured the Highlanders unduly, and gave them more than their due. Having learned that he had selected the 93rd for the honour of leading the stormers, they quietly determined to baulk their rivals. The rebel fire was still unsilenced--indeed both Sir Colin and General Hope Grant had just been hit by spent bullets--when one of the 53rd rose and ran forward yelling.

A howl of triumph and a cheer, and the regiment dashed after him.

Sir Colin was furious--but the 53rd must be supported, even though they had upset his plans. He gave the 93rd the order to back them up, and Hope Grant advanced his cavalry.

A thrill of delight passed through the nerves of our two lieutenants as the "Charge" was sounded, and the line of British Lancers and Sikh and Pathan Irregulars shot forward at a gallop, knee to knee as though on parade, the earth quivering beneath the hammering, the horses straining as if they entered into the feelings of their riders. It was a supreme moment, and Ted could tell that his good Arab was as excited as himself as the line thundered onwards. And then the regularity of the gallop was spoiled and the better-horsed shot ahead, for the lads of the 53rd had broken Jack Pandy's heart, and he was already scudding away with his guns. One party of rebels after another was overtaken and scattered, and on went the cavalry until all the guns were captured and hardly a rebel was left in sight. Then they turned and charged back upon those who had escaped the first shock.

"Hurt at all?" asked Ted as he came up with Claude Boldre.

Boldre pointed to his leg, from which the blood was welling. "Bit of a bayonet prick from a pandy who was down. I don't think much of it."

"Better have it bathed, though.---- By Jove, look there! Roberts is a dead man--no, he's cut the sepoy down!"

The troop of native cavalry with which the future hero of Kandahar and Pretoria was riding had come across a body of mutineers, who, unable to escape, had turned and fired, mortally wounding Younghusband, the commandant. Roberts was hurrying to his friend's aid, when he noticed a pandy in the act of slaying one of his troopers. He instantly engaged the rebel, and, cutting him down, saved the life of the Punjabi. Turning round Lieutenant Roberts perceived a couple of sepoys hurrying off with a standard, so he pursued and overtook them, and, seizing the standard with his left hand, he killed the bearer. As he did so the other sepoy let fly, his musket barely a foot away. Luckily for England it missed fire, and the second opponent was speedily disposed of, and Lieutenant Roberts bore away the standard and thereby gained the V.C.

"Well done, Roberts!" exclaimed Ted as they watched him ride away.

"Didn't you shiver when you saw the pandy pull the trigger?"

"I went cold all over. I thought he was done for. But come along and bathe your cut if you don't want to be laid up."

"I don't want that, thanks--not until we've driven the beggars out of Lucknow.

"I like that nag of yours better every time I see him," observed Boldre, as his own horse stumbled towards camp, winded by the long gallop.

"Yes, he was a bargain. I should like to know who owned him originally.

By the way, I wonder what Sir Colin will do to the 53rd. The chief can be a peppery old gentleman when he likes, and I expect there'll be a row."

"Yes, I shouldn't care to be in their shoes."

They were not present to witness the scene, but for once in his life Sir Colin was vanquished. Whenever he attempted to "dress down" the regiment, the "bhoys" of the 53rd, highly elated by the success of their trick, would interrupt with shouts of "Three cheers for the commander-in-chief, boys!" And so rapturously did they applaud and with such hearty good-temper that the old general was forced to laugh in spite of himself; and after that it was no use to pretend to be angry.

He rode away amid a storm of cheers. The 53rd had won.

After a prolonged stay at Fatehghar, Boldre's Horse returned to Cawnpore. Now for the first time Ted had leisure to look round this town, so sorrowfully interesting to the English race. Alec knew the place well, having stayed there before Ted came down from Lahore; so he took his chum to the ghaut where the massacre had begun, and then to that last sad scene of the murder.

There were gruesome sights still to be witnessed in Cawnpore, and, partially inured as the lads now were to the horrors of war, there was that in Cawnpore to make them shudder--bones bleaching on the many sand-banks of the broad river, and corpses floating down its sacred stream.

But the saddest sights of all were those which recalled the foul treachery of the previous summer. Nowhere did the British soldiers so long to close with the sepoys, hand to hand and steel against steel, as at Cawnpore. Ill fared it, then, with any natives of that town whom the soldiers suspected of having helped, or even looked on, at that dire tragedy. It is to be feared that the innocent sometimes suffered for the sins of the guilty, for the soldiers were not in a mood to discriminate, and they did not know then that sepoys, even of the rebel regiments, had absolutely refused to obey the Nana, when he gave the order for the women and children to be murdered.

The Sikh and Pathan allies had old scores to pay off against the Oudh sepoys, and they were with difficulty restrained. More than one harmless Hindu, who had taken no part in the outrage--who had perhaps risked his life for his master--fell a victim to their vengeance.

Our two Aurungpore officers were gazing upon the waters of the Ganges, some distance east of the ghaut, silent and meditative. Ted was picturing the scene of the massacre, and the terrible agonies of the women as they saw their husbands being killed off by the concealed marksmen without a chance to retaliate; and the horror of all as the survivors were dragged to shore amid the gleeful shouts of the ruffians.

Perhaps a pandy had been lying down there where he and Alec stood. His hand went to his sword-hilt at the thought.

Paterson on the other hand was trying to realize that this muddy stream was actually the great Ganges, the wonderful river of which he had heard and read so much in childhood--Mother Ganges, the deity of the Hindus.

A nearly-naked Hindu entered the sacred stream, a brass vessel in his hand. Wading until his knees were covered he dipped the loto in the filthy water and drank therefrom, or rather filled his mouth and let it trickle out again. Then he splashed his body from head to foot, and presently crouched down in the water and prayed to Mother Gunga.