The chums left the miserable being--neither man nor boy--to follow as he chose.

"What garred ye say that last, Russell?" asked the Scottish lad, who was still labouring under strong excitement, as soon as they had passed out of hearing.

"What? About Fletcher?"

"Yea You'd no right to drag his refusal into the affair!" Paterson dropped the tell-tale accent as he spoke more slowly. "That's between him and Miss Woodburn, and he wouldn't thank you if he knew, nor would she. It was perhaps very satisfying to you, but they don't need to be defended from a fellow like our friend yonder."

"I'm very sorry--I'm a fool! I was so angry I didn't stop to think. Bah!

he leaves a bad taste in the mouth, that fellow!"

"We should have passed him without taking any notice," Paterson went on.

"But it served him right!"

For the future Tynan gave his conqueror a wide berth, and Ted ignored his existence as far as their respective duties, would permit.

Returning from the officers' mess that evening, Ted was accosted by Pir Baksh, the Mohammedan captain.

"I saw you fight with Ensign Tynan," said he. "He is the kind of officer to ruin a regiment. Once he dared to call me a _soor_ (pig) before my men, and I thank you, sahib, for teaching him a lesson."

CHAPTER VI

The Outbreak of the Mutiny

On the night of Monday, May 11, some weeks after Ted's recovery, Ethel's twenty-first birthday was celebrated, Colonel Woodburn entertaining the officers and British residents of Aurungpore. The season was too warm for more than occasional dancing, and conversation was the order of the night--conversation serious and frivolous, harmless flirtations between the younger members, and solemn interchange of views concerning the rumoured dissatisfaction prevailing amongst the native troops, a subject pooh-poohed by some and laughed at by others, but gravely regarded by a few--when an orderly entered and handed a missive to the colonel. As he opened it and read he gave a start, and his face paled for one brief second, but soon resumed its ordinary aspect as he slowly folded the paper and placed it in his pocket.

A few moments later he crossed over to Major Munro, who at once left the room after speaking to the adjutant and another officer. These two also took their departure before long, and one by one the remainder of the officers were spoken to and retired to their mess-room, where they were shortly joined by Colonel Woodburn.

"I have terrible news," he informed them, "but we must try to avoid alarming either the ladies or the sepoys. The 3rd Native Cavalry and the 11th and 20th Native Infantry have broken into mutiny at Meerut, killed some of their officers, and, so the message runs, are sacking the town and murdering right and left."

"At Meerut!" gasped Major Munro. "How at Meerut of all places? They couldn't--it's simply impossible!"

"It must be true," declared the colonel, "though it certainly does seem impossible. One would think they would have broken out at Cawnpore, or Benares, or Allahabad, or here, or anywhere rather than Meerut. But this report must be exaggerated! How could they sack the town and murder in the face of those English regiments and the Artillery? It's incomprehensible!"

Now even Ensign Russell, a mere griffin, knew that Meerut--a large station more than fifty miles north-east of Delhi--was considered a model cantonment, and contained the strongest British force in all India. Could a revolt seem more hopeless than at this station, where the three native corps were more than counterbalanced by a regiment of British dragoons, the 60th Rifles, and two batteries of the finest artillery in the world--a force sufficient to repress any rising within ten minutes--whereas throughout the seven hundred and fifty miles of territory along the Ganges, in the districts containing the large towns of Agra, Allahabad, Benares, Cawnpore, Lucknow, and Patna, there were only three weak British corps to oppose nearly a score of sepoy regiments and many thousands of armed rebels?

"There's no saying how it will spread," continued the colonel. "We must take all precautions, though I believe our men are perfectly trustworthy. There must be some mistake, and I've no doubt that we shall hear to-morrow that the rebels have been cut to pieces. I'm afraid the silly fellows will be slaughtered by hundreds."

But the news of the morning and of the succeeding days was no less hard to understand. Eighty-five men of the 3rd Native Cavalry (a corps composed of Hindus and Mohammedans) had refused to use the cartridges served out, alleging that the fat of pigs and of cows had been employed in the manufacture.

As most readers will know, the pig is regarded as unclean by all Moslems, and the cow is holy to Hindus, so that to touch the fat of these animals would imperil their salvation and shut them out of Paradise. The mullahs and fakirs had been poisoning the minds of the soldiers by asserting that the government was taking this means of uprooting their religion and converting them to Christianity by destroying their chance of salvation as Moslems or Hindus. If they had no future to which to look forward as Mussulmans or Brahmans, they would be the more ready to listen to the Christian doctrine which might give them some hope.

Unfortunately there is reason to believe that some foundation for the rumour existed, owing to carelessness on the part of those responsible for the manufacture, and to senseless, most blamable, disregard of the sepoy's religious susceptibilities. But these few unclean cartridges had been withdrawn, and those which the men were required to use contained no offensive grease, but merely oil and bees'-wax. The childish, credulous, superstitious sepoys were, however, only too ready to believe all idle tales: they accepted the statements of the fakirs, that by means of charms and witchcraft the English would transform them into animals; that their children would be born with tails like monkeys, and other stories equally absurd.

The sepoys were now in such a panic of fear lest their precious caste should be defiled, that they began to suspect some attempt to destroy this inheritance (without which life was not worth living) in everything prepared for them by the government. The new cartridge-paper had a glazed, greasy appearance. This was enough! Here was another subtle attempt to make them Christians! In this fashion they argued and persuaded one another like foolish children, though in reality the paper was entirely free from fat.

Many years before this a report had spread throughout Hindustan that the English rulers were collecting the salt (a very precious commodity in the East) into two heaps: over that intended for the use of the Mohammedans the blood of pigs was sprinkled, and over the other the blood of cows. This "salt" panic had occurred many years ago, but now in 1857 an equally incredible story was believed by hundreds of thousands, namely, that the government had caused the bones of bullocks and of pigs to be ground and mixed with the flour served out to the troops. For days following the rumour no flour was used, the sepoys preferring to starve rather than eat what they believed to be defiled food.

But these matters of the greased cartridges and bone-flour were by no means the only cause of the great mutiny: they were simply the pretexts for bringing matters to a head. The sepoys had been treated in widely different ways at various times, being now spoiled and petted, and now dealt with haughtily and occasionally unjustly. When first the native army was raised the men were allowed to dress after their own fashion, but early in the nineteenth century many changes had been initiated, and the soldiers began to be clothed and drilled according to the European model.

They were forbidden to wear the cherished caste-marks on their foreheads; the ear-rings to which they were fondly attached, and which the Moslems regarded as a charm against evil spirits, were no longer permitted; they were deprived of the beards of which they had been so proud, and were forced to shave their chins like the "unclean"

Englishmen; and upon their head the national turban was replaced by a stiff round cap. Now, not only are hats and caps the outward and visible signs of Christianity (for Christians are known as _topi-wallahs_, or hat-wearers), but this uniform cap contained leather made either from the hide of the abominable hog or from that of the sacred cow. Thus the new head-dress was an offence to Moslems and Hindus alike.

A further cause of discontent arose from the decline in the importance of the native officer. In the early years of the British-Indian army the native officer had been a great and important man, but at this period his standing had declined. The English officer of sixteen had authority over the grizzled Rajput captain who had served the Company for thirty years. The native officers were not saluted by British privates, and frequently when they visited the tents of their white brother-officers, the latter had not the courtesy to offer them chairs, regarding them, indeed, as in no way different from the common sepoy. The native officers grumbled to one another in indignant tones over these grievances.

"It is better," they said, "to serve in the armies of the native states, where elephants and palanquins and sumptuous tents are provided for the officers, than in the army of 'The Great Lord Company', in which we are compelled to live with the common sepoy when on the line of march."

Again, most of the Hindus had enlisted on the understanding that they were to serve in Hindustan only and not across the sea. Now to cross "The Black Water" is likewise a defilement forbidden to Brahmans, and great dissatisfaction had been caused a few years previously because certain regiments had been ordered to Burma; and during this campaign the Brahmans had been compelled to work as labourers in the construction of barracks. The British soldiers had fallen to with a will, as had the low-caste Madras sepoys, but the men from Bengal demanded to know whether Brahmans and Rajputs were mere coolies that they should so defile themselves.

In addition to the above causes of disquietude, the King of Delhi--a quiet old gentleman who dabbled in poetry--had been recently deprived of certain privileges. This monarch was the descendant of the great Mogul emperors, whose sway had been acknowledged by far more kings, princes, and nations than that of any European sovereign.

Yet the heir to this magnificence was now merely the pensioner of a company of merchants; though permitted to dwell in an enormous palace--almost a town in itself--with the empty title of king, he possessed no real power and no authority. This fact rankled in the minds of all Mohammedans. In one important respect, however, the Company had deferred to the king's wishes. He had begged that none of their troops should be quartered in the imperial city, so that he might at least make pretence to be the real master thereof. The request was granted, and with the exception of a handful of men to guard the great Delhi arsenal, neither sepoys nor British soldiers were stationed in the town, but, instead, had their cantonments on the destined-to-be-famous ridge outside.

Then, again, the great province of Oudh had been recently annexed, and certain privileges had been taken not only from the king thereof, but from the large landholders; and though in the course of time these changes would undoubtedly work for the good of the majority, still they pressed heavily on a certain class; and the poorer people, for whose benefit the changes were made, could not understand, and therefore disliked them. The King of Oudh, like his master the Emperor of Delhi, was a Mohammedan.

There was also a Mahratta rajah, known as Nana Sahib, who had many grievances against the English. The Mahrattas were a powerful Hindu confederacy that had overawed even the Grand Moguls until Wellesley and Lake had broken their power.

Trouble had arisen in many corps over the question of pay. For services outside India the sepoys were paid more than in Hindustan itself. After the annexation of the Punjab in 1849 this extra pay was dropped for regiments serving in the province, and the sepoys could not understand how, if the Punjab was not in Hindustan when they entered, it could become part of Hindustan because the government chose to term it so.

They argued that even if the Punjab had become merged in the Indian Empire, it was still a foreign country in their eyes; that they were still serving away from their native land, and were therefore entitled to extra pay. Some regiments had accordingly refused to obey orders.

The Brahman priests thereupon warned the Indian Government that if they (the priests) chose to forbid Hindus to enlist, the British would have to make shift without a sepoy army. This threat rather frightened "John Company", but not Sir Charles Napier, the commander-in-chief at the period. He promptly took matters into his own hands, and disbanding the 66th Native Infantry, which had refused to obey orders, he gave their title and colours to the Nasiri Gurkha Battalion, who thereupon became the 66th Infantry of the Line.

This step scared the Brahmans, for they saw that if the government was minded to fill their places with Gurkhas, those intrepid little mountaineers would be only too delighted to enlist in the regular army instead of in irregular battalions with less pay, as at present. The occupation of the Brahman sepoys would then be gone, at least to a larger extent than they desired.

Now, in India the status of a soldier is a most honourable one, and the army is not mainly recruited from the lower classes, as in England, but from the most respectable natives of the middle and higher ranks of life; and families consider it a great privilege to have a son in the army, even as a private. Judged by Indian standards the pay is very good, and the pension will keep a family in ease and comfort. The British soldier often enlists because he has no taste for settled employment, or because he has been tempted by coloured placards setting forth "the advantages of the army", or has been attracted by the ribbons of the recruiting-sergeant. Perchance he has been jilted by his sweetheart, or done something of which he is ashamed, and so has run away from home. Often he has taken another name, and has lost sight and touch of the parents at home.

But the sepoy, as soon as his name is on the regimental roll, becomes the pride and prop of his house. He visits home regularly and is regarded as a great man in his village, and his family comes under the special protection of the state. Many families boasted that they had eaten the salt of "The Great Lord Company" from generation to generation. The sepoys usually had a real pride in their colours; they rejoiced in the honourable and well-paid service that was sought by the very flower of the people, by the highest castes in Bengal.

Napier's prompt action checked the spread of revolt, but dissatisfaction still rankled in the sepoys' breasts. In 1857 each injustice was recalled to mind, and thousands of the mutineers honestly believed that they had been very badly treated.

A further incitement to revolt was this. The Moslems cherished a prophecy that India would be ruled by the Feringhis for exactly one hundred years, after which the Mogul Empire would resume its sway. The year 1857 was just a century after Plassey.

CHAPTER VII

Weighed in the Balance

The principal causes of the great mutiny having now been explained, let us go back to Meerut and its eighty-five mutineers. These men were sentenced to long terms of imprisonment, and in the presence of the sepoy regiments the fetters were placed upon their limbs. The sight of the degradation angered and alarmed their comrades, and rumours spread through the town to the effect that all the black soldiers were to be disgraced in the same way, and at this date no report was too ridiculous for the sepoys.

On the Sunday evening, 10th May, the 60th Rifles assembled for church parade. At once the rumour flew round that the white soldiers were preparing to fall upon their brown comrades, and the absurd tale gained ready credence. The sepoys were taunted by the women of the town, were called cowards for permitting their comrades to suffer disgrace; and no sooner had the Rifles marched off to church than the native troops lost all control of themselves, broke open the jail, set their eighty-five comrades free, and, encouraged by the convicts, they began to fire on the white residents.

All the _budmashes_ of Meerut joining in, pandemonium ensued. Houses were broken into and set on fire; Englishmen and women were brutally murdered. Yet whilst this was going on in one part of the town, in another quarter the sepoys of the same regiments were saluting their officers and guarding the Treasury as usual.