Chapter XVII

_WITH SWORD AND TORCH_

A grand salvo of artillery burst from the guns of the Jhansi fortress and was echoed by those of the other bastions as a joyful salute to the rising sun on that First of April. In the early light of dawn the sentries on the citadel had discerned far to the north-west the fluttering standards above the massed army of Tantia Topi marching to their relief. As it advanced across the Betwa the main body deployed into a long line of infantry, cavalry, and artillery, twenty thousand strong, with outspread wings to encircle the besieging army and crush it without affording a chance of retreat.

The gloom that on the night before had settled upon every face within the city, gave place to countenances transported with joy. The guns continued to thunder the glad news, bugles sounded their inspiriting notes, light hearts upon the walls gave expression to new hope by shouts of defiance to the enemy, and by bursting into the choruses of ancient war songs.

"The Foreigners are already beaten," they cried one to another, in accents of frenzied exultation. "Not one of them will escape."

But unfortunately for their own safety, they estimated the resource and courage of the enemy in a forlorn situation, at a computation that would have been their own under similar circumstances. The Foreigners were apparently not seized with a panic. Far otherwise, they seemed to be making preparations for a desperate fight. A victory for the Native army was not yet secured.

Early in the previous night the Rani had been informed of the welcome intelligence, and at daybreak had repaired to the citadel to watch the advancing host. She there called to a consultation her chief officers to discover the best means of assisting the Native general in his supreme effort to relieve the city.

After a careful survey of the situation, Ahmad urged the plan of sallying out in force at a critical moment of the forthcoming battle and attacking the rear of the Foreign army. It would undoubtedly throw their front line into confusion and accelerate the complete rout of their foes.

This was quickly acceded to by the others. The Rani was about to give an order for the collecting of the force near the eastern gate, when an unexpected development of the enemy's plan stayed the command.

The Foreign general instead of marching with his whole force to meet that of Tantia Topi, divided his command into two parts, one to continue the bombardment of the city, the other to give battle to the Native general in the open. To the amazement of those on the citadel they beheld a detachment of not more than fifteen hundred strong set out to combat a force over thirteen times superior in men, and almost as much more formidable in guns.

A sortie from the city was thus for the moment considered inadvisable, but the guns were ordered to return the fire of the besieging batteries with redoubled vigor. The men on the walls shouted and cheered to encourage the onward sweep of their deliverers.

From her elevated position the Rani anxiously watched the advance of the two forces toward each other, the result of which, though there could scarcely be any doubt, was fraught with so much consequence to herself. If the Foreigners were beaten and Jhansi relieved, the effect would be to enkindle the dying flames of the rebellion all over India. A long period must then elapse before Jhansi could again be threatened, if indeed the Foreigners would ever reappear before its walls.

But in the excitement of the momentous hour, other thoughts were not absent from her mind. With Tantia Topi was the sole object upon whom her real affection rested. A meeting between Prasad and herself would probably take place before the fall of night. What would be his manner toward her? How would she receive him? were questions to be answered. In the joy of victory it was probable that on her side his past cruelty would be forgiven, if not entirely swept from her memory. But would he have learned wisdom in his banishment? Would he better understand her nature and the difficulties of her position? That she loved him still in spite of his apparent worthlessness had never been a matter of doubt. She leaned her arms upon the parapet wondering over what part of the advancing army he would have been given the command.

Much time was not permitted for these reflections. The Foreign general instead of waiting to be attacked, threw consternation into both flanks of his foe by attacking those positions with his cavalry and horse artillery in impetuous onslaughts. The guns of both armies, added to those of the city bastions and besieging batteries, filled the air with smoke and the deafening sound of their discharges. It became difficult for those on the city walls to see clearly how the battle went. Still they cheered their friends on lustily.

Presently the roar of the cannon on the plain slackened. Were the Foreigners already vanquished the Rani hoped and wondered. Then the cloud of smoke rolled away disclosing to her appalled vision, not the Foreigners defeated, but the relieving army cast into inextricable confusion. Their wings had been doubled in upon the center at the moment that the Foreign infantry had attacked that vulnerable part, and the whole was being driven back upon the second line in a hopeless rout. The shouts of encouragement from the city walls ceased. It was perceived that the victory was not already won, but lost. No relief would come that day to the beleaguered garrison.

The Rani hastened to where her chiefs of staff were gathered. She besought them to lead a sortie to draw off the pursuing enemy. But they shook their heads despondingly. They pointed out that it would be a fruitless waste of life.

"If then there is not a soldier among you," she cried passionately. "I will lead it myself."

"Valiant Rani," petitioned Ahmad. "Surely thou wilt not accuse thy servant of cowardice, but it would be a rash, a hopeless act, unless yonder batteries were first silenced. Between them and the walls thy men would be mown down as grass."

She appeared to comprehend the force of his advice, though she stamped her foot and returned vehemently:

"If the day be lost, the Foreigners need not think that Jhansi hath been captured. Go you," she cried, "and see that rocks and trunks of trees are heaped about the walls, so that if an assault is made there shall be many broken skulls."

In the distance the Native army was retreating across the Betwa, but the Foreign cavalry kept mercilessly upon their heels. They set fire to the jungle to harass the pursuit, but amid the flames and smoke the fight continued. The retreat developed into a rout. Twenty thousand men fleeing before a less number of hundreds.

Presently the sun went down, a blood red orb for a moment resting on the horizon, ominous of the fate in store for those within the city.

On all sides dejected faces surrounded the Rani. Even Ahmad Khan maintained a gloomy silence in the despondency it was evident he felt. One officer even had the temerity to suggest a truce so that the enemy's terms might be learned.

The Rani flashed upon him a look of intense scorn.

"Not while I live," she cried, "hadst thou better do more than contemplate so cowardly an act. By Heaven! had I but officers possessed with daring like yonder Foreigners, they would not now be revelling in their victory. Nay, Jhansi would never have been attacked. In truth, I do not blame them for hanging all their prisoners. He who lives to fall into their hands well deserves that disgraceful fate. Surrender," she cried, "not while the Rani of Jhansi lives to teach you how to fight."

Their sense of honor was stung by the reproach.

Each swore loudly that he was prepared to die by her side.

"Aye, my Lords," she returned, "and I have in mind a plan that will strike amazement into the hearts of our enemies. Jhansi they shall never capture. I will first make of it the greatest funeral pyre that has ever blazed in India. It shall be even more sublime than that of Chitor, when thirteen thousand Hindu women, led by their Queen, cast themselves into a vast furnace, to save their honor from a conqueror."

"Go," she commanded to Ahmad, "and see that firewood is collected in houses in different parts of the town, and here in the palace. When the walls are carried, we will fire the city; when the palace is taken, it shall also be burned; and lastly, when the citadel can no longer hold out, the magazines shall be exploded; and the heavens and earth stand appalled at the last act of a Hindu woman defending her throne. Then let the Foreigners gather what plunder they may from the mound of ashes that was once the city of Jhansi. Truly history will record no more wondrous _johur_."[5]

The officers looked dumbfounded. Ahmad hesitated to execute the order.

"Go," she cried, stretching forth an arm impatiently. "It is my will. He who disobeys me at this hour is a traitor. With my own hand I will relieve the Foreigners of any vengeance on his account."

The officers left her presence marveling at her display of spirit and determination.

She turned to her waiting woman and bade her bring weapons from the palace armory.

"A dagger, I have, with the sharpest point ever yielded to a woman, but pistols, good Rati, and see to it they are well loaded; for perchance I shall be forced to take my own life out of the hands of these Foreigners."

The girl departed and left her mistress alone.

The Rani drew from her girdle Prasad's dagger, and gazed upon it thoughtfully.

"Keen is this blade," she murmured, "and relentless. Ah Prasad! How hath this day gone with thee, I wonder? Far hence our next meeting may be destined to take place. If living, I pray thou hast redeemed thine honor by a score of wounds. If dead, that thy body lies upon the field of battle."

A quiver hovered about the corners of her lips. She hid the dagger in the folds of her sari gathered over her breast.

There was no question that the defensive power of the Jhansi garrison was reduced to the last extremity. They still manned the shattered walls, and massed about the breaches, but the place could not hold out for any length of time. One hope still remained. It was known that the Raja of Banpur had collected a force at Kotra within marching distance. To him, the Rani had dispatched overnight an urgent summons to come speedily to her assistance. But it was unknown if the messenger had been able to pass the enemy's lines.

Meanwhile, the elated Foreigners were making preparations for the final assault.

It was delivered at daybreak on the second morning after the defeat of the army of Tantia Topi.

Suddenly from positions of cover they dashed to those parts of the defenses leveled by the fire of their batteries. In the gray light of dawn bugles rang out on both sides calling men to a ruthless slaughter of each other. For a moment, a storm of bullets from the walls checked the Foreigners' onslaught. Then besiegers and besieged met in death earnest combat.

From the ramparts, missiles of all kinds were hurled upon the heads of those who strove to mount by ladders; through the breaches cannon shot, rockets, and volleys of musketry swept scores of the enemy into eternity. Again and again repulsed they still fought their way onward.

At the part where the attack was directed by an attempt to scale the walls, the Rani encouraged both men and women defenders to invincible efforts. Ah God! how they fought with such inspiration. The ditch below was filled with the dead and dying. Groans called forth in return shouts of defiance. She still held the enemy at bay.

Had the assault at other points been as valiantly repulsed, victory might yet have rested with the besieged; but in the face of Foreign courage and Foreign bayonets they were beaten back. Thus the Rani found herself attacked in rear as well as in front. To defend the streets, the palace, and the citadel, in turn, went forth as the last order of the day.

As a consequence each house became a fort, in the capture of which no quarter was asked or given; every alley a stubbornly contested battlefield in miniature. The slain already numbered thousands.

At last the Foreigners fought their way to the vicinity of the palace, when, to their dismay, flames burst forth on either side throughout the length of the great bazaar. To retreat became impossible, to capture the palace a necessity.

They rushed forward across the open space, while a terrific fire from the guns of the citadel turned full upon them further decimated their ranks. With a supreme effort they battered down the doors to find every room, court, and corridor filled with desperate men, who sought death by the sword as a certain entry into Paradise. In the stables fifty Valaitis held out until the sun hid its face beneath the horizon, though the darkened heavens continued to reflect the angry glow of the burning city.

From the summit of the fortress, the Rani's banner still fluttered in the breeze. By force she had been carried into the citadel.

Her determination had been to perish on the steps of her throne. In the great hall, surrounded by her bodyguard, she stood to hurl a last defiance at her enemies, still unconquered, still resolute, in spite of the horrors she had witnessed. Every moment the din and tumult increased as the Foreigners fought their way to her position. While bronzed sinewy hands grasped their weapons, hers sought the dagger of her lover, lying near her heart.

From a side entrance Ahmad Khan, a dishevelled, conflict-stained object, rushed in, and without seeking her command, grasped her tightly by the arm. Her protest he heeded not, but drew her quickly to a door behind the throne, that opened into a narrow passage leading into the interior of the fortress. The guards closed in on her steps and swept her onward. In a few minutes she was in a place of temporary safety.

Thus night fell as a curtain to veil the scene of carnage.

Within a bare, stone walled room, the Rani had lain down upon a pile of mats, worn out with her exertions. On the floor near by a lamp cast a flickering light upon her features, that still displayed no sign of yielding. Food had been brought to her side by rough, though loving hands; but little of it had been partaken. For the hour, the silence of the visitation of death had succeeded the air-filled tumult of battle.

Presently the Rani turned her face to an officer standing near the door, and asked if Ahmad Khan was within call.

"He has been speaking with someone," the officer replied, "and now cometh this way."

In a moment Ahmad and a soldier entered the room.

"Good Ahmad," she asked. "How long dost think we can hold the citadel"?

"Noble Lady," he replied in a doubtful voice. "I fear not more than two or three days at most. The ammunition is well nigh exhausted; food and water are in scarce quantities. But this good fellow," he added, referring to the soldier, "brings a message from the foot of the rock, that a plan has been effected for your Highness's escape."

"Escape," the Rani cried contemptuously. "Hast thou not heard me vow a hundred times that I would perish with my people"?

"Aye," Ahmad acquiesced. "But, noble Rani," he urged, "I beg thou wilt listen to the best advice. Thy life and not thy death is of most advantage to the cause, bravely as all know thou wouldst yield the former. Tantia Topi now moves on Kalpi. Thy presence there is sorely needed. Below the rock, fathered in the shadow, are three hundred of thy remaining Valaiti troopers, together with a captain's escort from the force of Tantia Topi. The spot may be gained with a rope, and then fear not but that they will cut for thee a passage through a host of enemies. I do beg of thee not to hesitate a moment."

The Rani considered for a little, when it appeared as if she was about to fall in with his suggestion.

"But what will happen to these brave fellows, seemingly deserted in their hour of need"? she asked. "Does it not seem a craven act to abandon them to their fate"?

"Nay, brave Lady," Ahmad reasoned. "In thy flight lies the only safety for their lives. As long as thou art among them they will fight to the death; but when thou art gone they will surrender, and the Foreigners will show them mercy."

His argument evidently impressed the Rani favorably.

"True," she replied, "it would be a useless sacrifice. Besides, I may be able to persuade Tantia Topi to return to fight again for Jhansi. Are these troopers now in waiting"? she asked.

"In all anxiety for thy safety," he answered. "I do beg of thee not to lose a moment, for now that all the Foreigners are within the city there is little danger in thy path of flight. By daybreak it may be too late."

She hesitated a moment, then rose with her mind determined on the act. She drew a shawl over her face and shoulders as much to conceal her features as a protection from the night air.

"Lead quickly to the place," she enjoined, "or the sight of my brave soldiers may bring about a change of mind. I will bid them no farewell. I cannot, I dare not do so."

Through the darkness Ahmad conducted her rapidly to a part of the citadel wall, from which the descent to the plain though steep and hazardous was yet possible with the aid of a rope.

Without permitting her time for reflection, Ahmad secured one end of the rope under his arm pits, and holding her round the waist, swung down from the parapet. A soldier above slowly paid out the rope as Ahmad directed by prearranged signals. More than once it strained and quivered with their weight, several times his feet slid from the ledges of rock upon which they momentarily rested. Above their heads the fortress loomed a huge black mass; below their feet there fell away an impenetrable abyss. The well-feigned cry of a night bird announced to those below that the fugitives had left the fortress. In response, there rose the howl of a jackal.

Presently, it seemed an hour had passed, a familiar voice fell upon the Rani's ears. There was no time permitted to ask its owner's name, for a pair of stout arms relieved Ahmad of his burden, and she found herself placed on the saddle of a horse.

Ahmad quickly disengaged himself from the rope and sprang on to another waiting mount, the cry of the jackal again rose as a signal that the feat had been safely accomplished, and thus shielded by the swords of her devoted troopers, the Rani commenced the second stage of her escape.

On the morrow, the citadel surrendered to terms; and the blind beggar crept forth from his hiding place to resume his seat in the shade by the palace doors.