Chapter XVI

_JHANSI BESIEGED_

High above the city and the plain, from the loftiest pinnacle of the fortress, the banner of the Rani waved in proud defiance. The city gates were still open to admit a few stragglers fleeing to swell the overcrowded caravansaries. The incessant bleating of goats and sheep, mingled with the lowing of cattle, that rose above the human turmoil, proclaimed forethought in sweeping the country bare of all live stock, available as food for the advancing enemy. With similar prudence, the already arid coloring of the land had been hastened and intensified by the action of the Rani, in setting fire to the scrub jungle for miles in all directions. By this means the horses and baggage animals of the invading force would be deprived of local sustenance.

By the eastern gate a group of horsemen were held in momentary readiness to dash forth upon an urgent mission.

From a commanding point on the walls of the citadel, the Rani, Ahmad Khan, Dost Ali, and others of her officers, anxiously scanned the uneven horizon to the southward. Her arms rested on the parapet from which the rock fell away in a sheer precipice to the plain below. To the east of the city beyond the lake, the waters of the Betwa, gleaming in the afternoon sunshine, wound a sinuous course northward. Directly beneath, the ruined bungalows of the Foreigners, the dismantled Star Fort near the cantonments, and temples amid shading clumps of tamarind, were indistinctly visible through the haze resting lightly upon the surface of the land.

The decision had been taken to defend the city instead of giving battle in the open. As a consequence the whole of the troops had been withdrawn from the cantonments to the walls. The latter presented an animated appearance, manned at all parts ready for the advent of the Foreigners.

The Rani gazing upon this scene, suddenly raised an arm and pointing afar off to a defile in the broken country, engaged Ahmad's attention.

"Look, my Lord," she cried. "Dost thou not make out some horsemen advancing yonder"?

Ahmad shaded his eyes with his hand, and for a few moments looked intently in the direction indicated.

"Aye," he replied at last. "They come on the Chanchanpur road. It must be the vanguard of the enemy."

He leaned over the parapet as if by a more earnest gaze to make sure of his opinion, then drew back with confirmation written on his face.

"Undoubtedly they are of the Foreign Sahib's army, my Lady Rani," he said. "I can tell by the action of their horses."

The Rani turned to a soldier standing to a gun near by. She raised her hand as a signal. Immediately a tongue of flame and a puff of white smoke shot forth from the muzzle of the cannon. The report that followed was borne above the city and echoed amid the crevices of the rock.

It had scarcely died away when similar reports boomed from rampart to bastion along the circuit of the walls, a prearranged warning of the Foreigners' approach. Commotion was manifested on the defenses as the soldiers hurried to their stations. Instantly the troop near the eastern gate clapped spurs to their horses' flanks and dashed forward on the road to Charkari. They bore a message to Tantia Topi, that Jhansi had been invested, and again called upon him for assistance. Behind them the gates swung back upon their hinges, drawbridges were raised, the siege of Jhansi had commenced.

The watchers on the citadel beheld the troop race for life along the Charkari road. They also beheld, with consternation, a flank movement by a detachment from the main body of the Foreign cavalry to intercept the messengers' escape.

"See, my Lord," the Rani cried anxiously, "the Foreign cavalry are in pursuit of our horsemen."

Ahmad glanced quickly in their direction.

"Aye," he replied, "but I doubt if they can reach the Betwa first."

The Rani's troop evidently perceived their danger for their horses were urged on to greater speed. Could the Betwa be reached they would be safe from further pursuit, but it was yet a good five miles distant.

Thus pursuers and pursued raced across the plain in full view of those watching from the fortress. The Foreign cavalry gained ground steadily in spite of the freshness of the others' horses.

"Ahmad," suddenly exclaimed the Rani, as if an idea had flashed upon her mind, "do thou go forth with my bodyguard and seek to draw off the Foreigners; but enter not into any rash engagement as we need every life in the defense of Jhansi. Hasten, good Ahmad, for Tantia Topi must not remain in doubt of our position."

Ahmad obediently hurried from her side, while the Rani anxiously awaited the outcome of her order.

Presently from the eastern gate she beheld Ahmad sweep forth at the head of a body of Valaiti troopers with the object of, in turn, cutting off the Foreign cavalry.

This the Foreigners quickly noticed and wheeled about to meet the new force.

The Rani clapped her hands joyfully, for the manoeuvre enabled her flying mission to gain an unrecoverable advantage. She beheld them plunge to safety through the waters of the Betwa.

Those on the walls also watched the movement and cheered loudly upon its success.

In the gathering darkness Ahmad Khan then withdrew his detachment to the shelter of the walls.

A sleepless night was spent by those in authority within the threatened city. To a late hour the Rani sat in council discussing final plans for the defense. A mandate was issued calling upon every male able to bear arms to repair to the walls, and in her name, the Rani especially appealed to the women and children to render assistance, not in vain lamentations over the slain, but by carrying food and water to those unable to leave their posts.

At daybreak the enemy's cavalry was reported to have completely invested the city, and before night again came round, the main body of their army had arrived and were busily engaged erecting batteries from which to bombard the walls. It was evident their intention was to capture the entire garrison as well as the capital of the state.

A suggestion that the Rani should make her escape while there might yet remain an opportunity, was received by the fair defender with scorn.

"Fear not," she retorted with animation, "that I will suffer the indignity of capture at their hands. My dead body they may find, but the spirit of the Rani of Jhansi will have carried more than one of them to an accounting before the great tribunal of justice."

In two days the enemy's batteries were completed, then the storm of war burst with full violence upon the city. The garrison spiritedly returned the fire shot for shot with many to the good, breaches were made in the walls to be repaired by the hands of the women and children, animated to heroic actions by the presence and inspiring words of their beautiful queen, who seemed oblivious to any form of danger. At all hours she visited the ramparts to encourage her soldiers with stirring appeals.

Day by day, for seventeen in number, the duel of cannon shot was kept up on both sides, while watchers on the Jhansi citadel cast their vision with anxious eagerness across the Betwa to the north and west. Was Tantia Topi going to abandon them to the mercy of the Foreigners? The question forced itself upon their minds.

The situation was fast becoming desperate. Great rents had been made in the solid masonry at strategic points that could not be repaired. The dead and dying numbered hundreds. The besieged began to fight not with the hope of victory, but with the courage of despair.

At last the mamelon itself was reduced by the furious cannonade, its guns silenced. A hand to hand conflict seemed imminent. It was then the Rani performed an act of sublime courage which inspired admiration even in the eyes of her enemies.

Messenger after messenger had arrived at the palace bearing on their faces expressions of dismay that told without words of the terror seizing upon their hearts. One at length brought the worst news yet received.

"My Lady Rani," he spoke hurriedly. "The parapet of the mamelon is shot away, the breach momentarily widens, Ahmad Khan who, although badly wounded, still fights like ten thousand tigers, sends word that it must shortly be abandoned. Alas! the troops are becoming disheartened, and hesitate to obey their orders."

The spirit of the Rani rose upon the instant to confront the impending calamity.

"No," she cried, "the mamelon shall not be captured, while I have a voice to summon men to its defense."

She repaired quickly to her private apartments and arrayed herself in magnificent attire so that in the act she contemplated there might be no doubt concerning her personality. Then she called for a horse and rode swiftly to the threatened spot.

As she approached the ramparts, evidences of the terrible devastation wrought by the shell of the enemy confronted her gaze. Broken walls, bodies horribly mangled where they had fallen, the forms of the mortally wounded writhing in their death agony, terrified faces cowering behind any shelter that could be obtained. A wide gap in the outworks of the mamelon proved that the fire of the besiegers had done effective work.

A feeble cheer greeted the Rani's arrival. She allowed it to pass unheeded. She dismounted, and without a moment's hesitation, strode fearlessly, past ghastly forms and over shattered blocks of masonry, toward the most exposed part of the walls.

Panic-stricken men turned their eyes upon her in wonder. A pulse of renewed courage began to throb in their hearts on beholding her presence among them. What was she about to do? they asked of each other in undertones.

Overhead the shot continued to rain a hail of destruction, but she pressed onward to the broken summit of the bastion. A shell struck the ground a few yards in advance, sending a cloud of dust into the air and scattering stones in all directions, but it did not cause her to swerve a foot from her path.

Ahmad Khan perceived her danger and hurried to her side. His appearance told of the severity of the last few days of combat. One of his arms was suspended in a sling, his turbanless head bandaged to close the wound caused by the flying splinter of a rock, his stern visage dirt begrimed, his beard matted with congealed blood.

"Where goest thou, fair Rani"? he asked anxiously. "Turn back thy steps, I beg of thee. It is certain death to go forward."

She waved him back imperiously.

"I am not afraid," she cried above the din of the bombardment. "This scene is mine as a birthright. Did I not tell thee, I was a true Maratha."

He fell back and stumbled after her at a little distance.

She lightly passed over the remaining obstacles and mounted the broken parapet of the bastion. There in full view of the besiegers, in full range of their guns, she stood, a dauntless, defiant, superb figure of inspiring courage to all beholders. A gentle breeze played with her silken draperies. With a contemptuous smile she gazed serenely toward the enemy's battery. Fire, if you dare, seemed to be her challenge.

A gun that was quickly trained upon her could have instantaneously hurled her into oblivion, and thereby ended the siege of Jhansi. A soldier stood by it ready to fire at the officer's command. But the order did not come. To the credit of the chivalrous spirit of the Foreign general, he enjoined that yonder heroic girl should not suffer harm knowingly by his guns.

For several minutes she thus stood upon the threshold of eternity, gazing calmly into its unfathomed depths; then turned and waved a hand encouragingly to those whose upturned faces regarded her safety in the daring act as an interposition of providence.

With a shout of renewed enthusiasm they rushed from their places of shelter to reman the abandoned fort. The roar of the bombardment rose higher than ever; but for the moment the city was saved from assault.