Back came the 60th Rifles from church and quickly reassembled with arms and ammunition, but by this time the mutineers were on the road to Delhi. Though the British dragoons were at once ordered out, their commanding officer could not grasp the need for prompt punishment. He allowed the roll to be called in the ordinary way, wasting precious moments, whilst the rebel sepoys were hastening nearer and nearer to the imperial city.

Night fell quickly, and as the general commanding did not know which way the rebels had fled, he did not order pursuit, arguing that the troops must remain behind to protect the residents of Meerut from the thousands of _budmashes_ and escaped jail-birds.

Had the dragoons at Meerut been ordered down the road to Delhi (for the general might easily have guessed that the rebels would take that direction), the 60th Rifles and the Artillery were strong enough to have swept all the _budmashes_ in Meerut out of existence; and the dragoons would certainly have overtaken and destroyed the two foot regiments, and might have come up with the 3rd Native Cavalry. In the face of the British horsemen the populace of Delhi would not have dared to sympathize with the mutineers; the revolt would perhaps have died out, and the terrible massacres of Delhi, Cawnpore, and other places might never have occurred. But it is easy to be wise after the event, and the general commanding at Meerut, though a brave man, was not a far-seeing one. He was content to save and defend his own station, failing to recognize that a spark kindled in Delhi, the real capital of India, would set the whole land ablaze. As it was, the mutineers, scared out of their wits by the fear of a terrible retribution, hearing in their frightened imaginations the thundering of the dragoons behind them, got safely into Delhi and attempted to rouse that city against the Feringhis. But the people of Delhi said one to another:

"No! The English will be here presently with their terrible horsemen and still more terrible artillery. Let us take no part in this!"

But not a British soldier was in sight next day from the city walls, and the rumour soon gained ground that all the white troops in Meerut had been slain, and that Allah had taken from them their vigour and their courage. "The Feringhis are _lachar_[4]!" was the cry.

[4] helpless.

And the populace and the sepoys around Delhi joined their brethren from Meerut, proclaiming Bahadur Shah, the old gentleman poet, "Emperor of all India"; they massacred the fifty English men and women in the city, and before many days had passed most of the regiments throughout Bengal and the Punjab were on the brink of mutiny, hesitating to take the plunge. Had there been at Meerut on that fatal Sunday a Lawrence or an Edwardes, a Cotton, Nicholson, or Neill, the revolt might have been crushed with one decisive blow.

So the news brought to our friends at Aurungpore was too true. Through the whole land, from Peshawur to Calcutta, spread the black terror, and though most officers of sepoy regiments trusted their own particular corps, each feared lest other regiments should throw off their allegiance and murder without remorse not only the officers, but the Christian women and children of the towns.

The colonel and officers of the 193rd never doubted that their beloved regiment would prove true to its salt, for the most friendly feeling existed between officers and men. Some of the former had more than once risked their lives for their men, and in return several of the sepoys had rescued their officers from situations of great peril by their pluck and devotion.

Terrible as were many of the acts committed by the mutineers, we must not consider them as so many fiends in the shape of men, nor must we believe that their delight was to shed human blood. In 1857 the sepoy was a madman inflamed with rage and bitter hatred against those whom he mistakenly considered his oppressors; and many who suffered most from his fury were in truth his best friends and well-wishers.

Most inconsistent were his actions, and his character was a mass of contradictions. He was simple and credulous as a child, and at the same time crafty and designing; his cruelty was frequently evident, and never more so than in this terrible year, yet as a rule he was gentle and kindly. It was no uncommon sight for the hardened sepoy warrior to be found watching beside his English officer's sick-bed, and no woman could be a more gentle nurse; he was devoted to his sahib's children, and loved to make them happy. Generally he was languid and indolent, yet capable of being roused to passionate energy; at times light-hearted and cheerful, at times depressed and given to brooding over his wrongs, both real and fancied. Mutinies had not been unknown before the year 1857, but on previous occasions the outbreaks had resembled the naughtiness of a child, and like a child the sepoy usually injured himself more than others.

Though no condemnation of those who participated in the murdering of women and children can be too severe, yet we must not paint the sepoy in colours too black. Let us try to put ourselves in his place, and see what it meant. Suppose that he honestly believed that the English were seeking his destruction, can we not imagine his despair and panic? Many of the mutineers, however, believed the explanations of their English officers, and felt assured that the cartridge-paper contained no offensive matter, and these men tried to put everything right. And what was the result? Their comrades believed that these sensible sepoys had sold themselves to the Feringhis; they were taunted and jeered at as Christians; they became outcasts, and none would eat with them. Not only did their fellow-soldiers shun them, but also their parents and brethren and the people of the village who used to crowd round and bow before them when they visited their homes. They all refused friendship and connection with the outcasts; the letters written home were never answered, and no wonder that these well-meaning fellows were terror-stricken at the thought of their shameful position, and cursed the English and their unclean ways that had brought this to pass.

Three days after the Meerut revolt Colonel Woodburn addressed his men on the subject of the crisis. Assuring them of the mighty power of England, and of the terrible punishment that would be meted out to rebels, he reminded them of their glorious regimental history, and asked if they would willingly tarnish their good name. Ted's heart glowed as he listened to the stirring speech, and the men broke into a shout of enthusiasm, cheered their colonel, and Pir Baksh, stepping forward, expressed their willingness to march against the mutineers. At mess the officers congratulated one another, overjoyed at the splendid spirit animating those under their command.

With renewed courage and in the highest spirits they buckled on their swords for the next morning's parade.

"I hope we shall get orders to march against the mutineers," Ted confided to Paterson as they walked towards the parade-ground in front of the arsenal.

"And what would happen to our countrymen and country-women at Aurungpore if the regiment left?" his chum asked with a laugh. "Would you make the rebels a gift of the fort and arsenal?"

Ted was crestfallen.

"Oh! I'd forgotten them," he replied. "Still, half the regiment would be enough to defend the town. I'm jolly glad our men are showing such a good spirit, but I'm afraid for Jim and Spencer. I don't suppose their Guides are likely to remain loyal very long."

"I've been thinking of them all morning," Alec observed musingly, "and of all Spencer was telling us the night he was here. I don't think there's much doubt but that those fellows will sell themselves to the highest bidder, and he will be the emperor at Delhi. They may pull through all right though, if they are within reach of Nicholson. He and Edwardes will be towers of strength along the frontier."

"Don't it make you mad to think of the way they bungled it at Meerut?

Whoever was responsible for such a fiasco ought to be kicked out of the army."

"Now, Ted Russell, you know nothing about it," the cautious Scot reproachfully asserted. "It's very easy to say afterwards what ought to have been done, but we don't know all the circumstances. Here's the colonel. He's a fine-looking man, and no wonder the sepoys are proud of him."

The companies were called to attention, numbered, and wheeled into line.

Before the wheel was completed a sepoy suddenly levelled his musket and pulled the trigger. Two officers at once rushed towards the would-be assassin, but were met by the fire of some twenty men of the same company, and fell riddled with bullets.

One-half of the sepoys stood irresolute--some fingering their triggers menacingly; others, taken by surprise, screamed, "No, no, we must not slay our officers!"

"Nay, slay them all!" roared a subadar, "whether we love them or not! If we do not kill them they will persuade us against our will!"

And a shrill clamour approved the advice.

Still five hundred men hesitated. Some of the waverers shouted to the Englishmen, urging them to run. It was as though they had been bitten by a mad dog, and, while yet sane, knowing that the poison was working in their veins, they wished to save bloodshed before the madness should overpower them and render them pitiless.

Almost broken-hearted by this proof that his trusted regiment had mutined, Colonel Woodburn lifted up his voice in a last appeal to their loyalty. Before he had spoken a dozen words, Pir Baksh--dreading lest the colonel's influence should wreck his plans, even when success seemed assured--stepped behind a crowd of gesticulating sepoys and took deliberate aim.

Colonel Woodburn fell from his horse grievously wounded, and Ted and one of the subalterns dashed forward to convey him to a place of safety.

Captain Markham placed himself at the head of his own hundred men and appealed to them, for the sake of all they had gone through together, to remain loyal and true. His company, composed of Hindustanis--mostly Rajputs--stood silent and puzzled, undecided how to act, when shots from some Mohammedans of the flank company answered his appeal, and the well-loved captain fell.

There was no longer any indecision among Markham's Rajputs. Pity for the murdered officer who had done so much for them, anger that he should be shot by the Moslems whom they did not love, these feelings turned the scale. Hastily closing round their captain they guarded his body and menaced the mutineers. The remaining officers, seeing one faithful company, placed themselves at its head, and called on the other Hindus to remain loyal and fight the Mussulmans. But the madness had worked by now: all the rest cast in their lot with the murderers, and, firing a few shots at Englishmen and faithful sepoys, whom they dared not charge, so great was still the influence of the officers, they rushed off to loot the town and shops.

Including Markham, three officers were killed and two badly wounded, two of the slain being brother ensigns of Ted--poor little "griffins", who had been out but a few months.

Then swift as lightning came the thought, "What of the women and children and civilians?" The appearance of the revolted sepoys would be the signal for all the _budmashes_ of the _bazar_ to join in the rioting and murder.

A noise of firing and a babel of fiendish yells from the English quarter of the town, in close proximity to the fort, told their own tale. The white residents were being attacked!

"Lieutenant Lowthian," commanded the major, "remain here with Ensigns Tynan and Russell and about twenty men! We'll take our wounded with us, the women will attend to them; and when we've cleared the streets we'll bring the civilians into the fort."

Exhorting the faithful Rajputs to remain true to their salt and so win eternal fame, the major ordered bayonets to be fixed, and headed the charge down the street, the wounded with their guard bringing up the rear.

A disorderly crowd of sepoys and riff-raff of the town had assembled in front of the large house of Sir Arthur Fletcher, the Commissioner of the district. The windows were being fired into and the doors battered down, in spite of a determined resistance from the inmates. Into the crowd charged the loyal sepoys. Firing a single volley at close quarters they at once let the rioters taste cold steel, and beneath the gallant major's sword fell more than one of the ringleaders.

Major Munro was known as one of the strongest officers and best swordsmen in the army, and the mob gave back before his flashing steel and the glistening bayonets of his followers. But as the sepoys recoiled, a number of Wahabis, showering curses upon the faint-hearted, poured with knives and swords down upon the little band. The leader was all but lost. Separating him from his men, half a dozen fanatics set on him at once, yelling triumphantly. But the two who first came within reach of that mighty arm quickly lay in the dust; the third received the point in his heart, and a fourth was cloven almost in twain.

Aghast at the fate of their comrades the others faltered. But Munro did not wait to be attacked; stepping over the prostrate bodies he followed up the advantage gained, and the pandies shrank from that fatal sword.

Joining forces once more, the sturdy band reached the house, and, standing with backs to the wall, they poured volley after volley--irregularly, but coolly and rapidly--into the dense, disorganized rabble, until at length the barricades were taken from the door, and one by one they were admitted.

CHAPTER VIII

The Fight in the Arsenal

"They are having a hard fight for it," Ted observed to Lieutenant Lowthian. They stood on the walls that surrounded the courtyard of the fort, watching the progress of their comrades through the crowded streets. Lowthian nodded, but, absorbed by the struggle, made no reply.

"Yes, and they've left us here to be killed like rabbits," muttered Tynan.

"Shut up! Don't whine!" Lowthian scornfully exhorted him.

Ted's anxiety had so far been largely centred in the safety of Ethel Woodburn, the charge placed under his protection; and having rightly guessed that the Commissioner's house, surrounded by the clamouring mob, through whose masses Munro was breaking his way, contained the Europeans of Aurungpore, a load was lifted from his mind. The rebels had quitted the immediate vicinity of the fort, and the comparative tranquillity close at hand had made him forget his own danger. Tynan's remark and Lowthian's curtness startled him.

"They won't be long in escorting the women here," he cheerfully opined.

"And a hundred of us ought to hold this place easily."

"Yes, but twenty cannot," Tynan sneered. "If it's as much as Munro can do to force his way through now, how's he going to manage it with a crowd of women to protect?"