CHAPTER XLIII.

THE BATTLES AT DELHI.

1857.

The Indian Mutiny had really its outbreak at Delhi, to which place the mutineers fled when they had taken the fatal step which was to bring death to so many, and which was to weld the Indian Empire closer to Britain.

The imperial city of Delhi was destined to play an important part in the mutiny, and early in May, 1857, the mutineers, inflamed with preliminary successes and inspired by a religious frenzy, entered Delhi. Mr. Simon Frazer, the Commissioner, tried to stem the tide by closing the seven gates of the city, but his orders were tardily obeyed, and the mutineers poured into the city, carrying havoc wherever they went. The bungalows in the Durya Gunge were soon in flames, and every European was slaughtered. No white man or woman could venture forth and hope to return alive, for the rebel soldiers, having tasted blood, were determined to have their appetites whetted. Mr. Frazer ventured out in his buggy to the residence of the Delhi princes, but was seized, and after a desperate struggle was hacked to pieces. His head was struck off, and, horrible to relate, was carried through the streets in barbarous triumph.

Terrible were the tragedies enacted within the walls, and the hapless Europeans calmly waited death, for they knew that they would receive no mercy. At the palace fort the rebels asked to see Captain Douglas, who commanded the guard, and on that brave officer appearing, he was shot down ere he could utter a word. In their hunt for victims they ascended to the murdered officer’s quarters, and found there the chaplain of the station, Rev. Mr. Jennings, and his daughter, who had lately arrived from England to be married. They were deaf to her agonising cries and prayers for mercy, and butchered her father before her eyes. After subjecting the poor girl to awful indignities, they hacked her to pieces.

The Delhi arsenal, was at the time of the outbreak the largest in India, and it was well that Britain had brave and capable officers at this quarter. The powder magazine was included in the arsenal, although there was another at the cantonments about two miles from the walls of the city, where three battalions of Bengal infantry were posted. The mutineers intended to attack this point (the arsenal), and Sir T. Metcalfe on the morning that the insurgents initiated the attack closed up the gate at the bridge. He did not suspect that the princes and members of the royal family were hand-in-glove with the mutineers, but his eyes were opened when he saw the rebels march through the palace, which could only have been done through the complicity of the princes. There were only six Britons to defend the arsenal, in charge of sullen and stubborn men whom they dreaded to trust. Guns were posted at every point where attack was possible, and right nobly did the gallant half-dozen prepare to sell their lives dearly in defence of the position. The mutineers were now having the full support of the natives of Delhi, and armed guards came boldly to the arsenal, and demanded its surrender in the name of the King of Delhi. This request was treated with the silent contempt which it deserved, and then the King of Delhi showed his hand by declaring that he would send men with scaling ladders to scale the walls. When these ladders did arrive, the native portion of the garrison availed themselves of this opportunity to desert their posts, and, swarming down the ladders, left the gallant six alone. Outside the howling mass of insurgents, waving their tulwars on high and calling upon the defenders to come out and be killed. Inside, every man of the six--Lieutenants Forrest and Willoughby, Sergeant Stewart, and Conductors Crow, Buckley, and Scully--were cool and calm at their respective posts.

The enemy now began to appear on the top of the walls, and the garrison poured a deadly grape fire upon these customers until the ammunition became almost exhausted. The natives who had deserted the garrison had given valuable information to the rebels as to the position of the guns. Forrest and Buckley were firing and loading the guns as fast as they could, and while the unequal struggle lasted they mowed down the closely-packed rebels. And this they did under a heavy musketry fire at forty yards’ range. It was not until the last round that Buckley had his arm shot and Forrest received two balls in one of his hands. Willoughby had determined that the rebels would never secure the magazine and all its valuable store. A train of powder had been laid by Conductor Scully, and when all seemed lost, the Lieutenant gave orders to blow up the magazine.

The fire rushed along the trains of powder, and then an awful crash and roar which seemed to split the earth and rend the vault of heaven told the rebels that they had been thwarted by the Feringhee. The whole magazine with its deadly contents was hurled into the air, and fell, burying hundreds of the rebels in the ruins.

Meanwhile the brave defenders had made a dash for liberty and reached the Cashmere gate. The brave Willoughby was captured while hiding in the jungle, and, after terrible torture, was mercifully put to death. Simultaneous with the attack upon the magazines things were going hard with the surviving Christian population. The infuriated cowards who glutted their appetite for blood by the massacre of helpless women and children, had gone too far to turn back, for they knew that if the Feringhees became victorious they would all perish. They broke into the bank, and Mr. Beresford, the manager, with his wife and five children, perished. They devised the torturing death of cutting their victims’ throats slowly with broken glass, and it was in this cruel manner that the bank manager and his family were murdered.

All the public buildings and churches were plundered, and robbery and murder was rampant in the streets of the city. A sepoy when he takes service, makes a vow to remain true to his salt, _i.e._, true to their employers. This vow was even more binding in the case of those who had sworn to serve the Queen of Britain, even with their lives, but we shall see how the crafty natives who wore the Queen’s uniform and her medals evaded their vow and yet, in their own opinion, remained true to their salt.

Colonel Ripley was despatched from the cantonments with the 54th Bengal native infantry, which had remained loyal, and the line of march lay towards the Cashmere gate. They obeyed their officers with alacrity, and marched boldly forward. Suddenly fifteen troopers of the rebel 3rd cavalry came dashing out to meet them, brandishing their blood-smeared swords. The treachery of the 54th was soon made apparent, for, on the approach of the Sowars they wheeled to the side of the road and left their officers unguarded in the troopers’ path. The maniac mutineers dashed upon the bewildered officers and shot or cut them down. Colonel Ripley had his pistols with him, and shot two troopers before being killed. When the slaughter was complete, the bloodstained troopers dismounted, and, walking amongst the treacherous 54th, shook hands and complimented their fellow-villains on their action.

The Brigadier at the cantonments had now only the 38th and 74th to fall back upon, both native regiments, in whose fidelity he could put little trust. At all events he formed them into line, posting the 38th on the road that led to the Cashmere gate. As long as possible news of the mutiny of the 54th was kept from the other regiments, but when at last they heard it, they showed evident symptoms of mutiny. When the awful crash of the exploded magazine fell upon their ears, the outburst came. “Deen! Deen!” they shouted, signifying “Faith!” and rushed to their arms, which had been piled. They seized the guns, shot the commandant’s horse, and were soon in a state of complete insubordination.

The first regard of British officers and men in time of danger, whether it be on sea or land, is for the women and children, and now that the sepoys had shown themselves in their true colours, it was absolutely imperative, if the women and children were to be saved from terrible torture, that they should be removed to either Meerut or Kurnool, cities which were meanwhile loyal and unaffected. Brigadier Metcalfe sounded the retire, and those who could find conveyances were fortunate, as in most cases the native drivers had bolted with the horses and vehicles.

In the guard-house at the Cashmere gate a number of women and children, along with several officers, were huddled. Major Abbott, who was in charge, made the attempt to get the helpless females to the shelter of the cantonments, and ordered them to be placed on the gun carriages. The rebel sepoys opened a murderous fire on the carriages, and the ground was soon strewn with the dead and wounded. Several reached the shelter of Brigadier Metcalfe’s house, from whence they were conducted to the river Jumna, where they were allowed to make their escape as best they could.

We need not dwell upon the harrowing details of the adventures of those who escaped. They wandered about the jungle, starving and bruised. Delicately-nurtured women clinging to their babes went raving mad, and many perished. The villagers were every whit as brutal and cruel as the rebel soldiery, and men boasted publicly of outraging white women and then cutting off their breasts. It makes one’s blood boil to think of the awful indignities, the almost incredible tortures, and the slow lingering death which was the fate of our innocent and helpless women and children.

Certain nations accused us of wanton cruelty in the slaying of the rebels at the time when the hand of retribution, guided by Sir Colin Campbell, fell upon the inhuman monsters who had weltered and gloried in the shedding of Christian blood. Could the stab of the bayonet, blowing from the cannon’s mouth or death by hanging ever atone for the fearful sufferings of the pure and innocent? In our humanity we scorned to devise new tortures or have recourse to those of the Inquisition to avenge the massacre of the Christian women who had been outraged and done to death. If those who escaped to the jungle suffered untold agony, it was nothing to that which the women who remained in Delhi had to undergo. An officer who had to be an unwilling witness of many of the scenes tells the following blood-curdling story:--

“The sepoys took forty-eight females, most of them girls from ten to fourteen, many delicately nurtured ladies, and kept them for the base purposes of the heads of the insurrection for a whole week. At the end of that time they made them strip themselves, and gave them up to the lowest of the people to abuse in broad daylight in the streets of Delhi. They then commenced the work of torturing them to death, cutting off their breasts, fingers, and noses. One lady was three days in dying. They flayed the face of another lady, and made her walk naked through the streets.”

A number of officers, women, and children sought refuge in a mosque, where they were without food and water for several days. The men could have endured the hunger and thirst, but the suffering of the women and little children was intense. On the fourth day they treated with the sepoys, who on their oath swore to spare their lives and take them before the king. The men laid down their arms that they might get water for the suffering ones, and the whole party quitted the shelter of the mosque. They were instantly seized, and every one killed, eight officers, eight ladies, and eleven children perishing. The children were swung by the heels, and their brains dashed out in the presence of the parents.

On every side were traces of murder and pillage, and it is said that even greater ferocity, if that were possible, was used at Delhi than by the great assassin Nana Sahib at Cawnpore. Certainly the atrocities practised are unequalled in barbarity and cruelty, and coming from men who had broken our bread and eaten our salt, they demanded the most condign punishment. Delhi was now in full possession of the mutineers, and this ancient city, with its hundred mosques and minarets, seemed lost to the British Empire, for the 200,000 inhabitants were in no way reluctant to accept the change in government.

The king, seeing that Fortune had so far smiled on the insurgents, put himself at the head of the new movement. This crafty monarch, whose kingdom lay within the walls of the city, had a love of pomp and panoply, and no doubt delighted his followers by a State procession through the city to the palace of the Moguls. This is an immense edifice of more than a mile in circumference. The wall which surrounds it is over thirty feet in height, and besides serving as a kingly residence, it thus stands as a gigantic fortress.

The princes of the royal house were also concerned in the spread of the mutiny, Prince Mirza Mogul being commander-in-chief of the army, and his brother Mirza Abubeker, general of the cavalry. Although they had foully murdered many of their officers, the sepoys, to give them credit, did not run amok altogether, but put themselves under the command of native officers of inferior rank, who were now given high commands. They also knew that Britain would not let them hold undisturbed possession of the town, so they set about preparing defences in order to withstand a siege. Heavy guns were mounted on the bastions, and the guards were strengthened at the seven gates.

The mutiny was not long in spreading throughout the provinces, and regiment after regiment rose in insurrection, and either murdered their officers or fled to Delhi. From every part tidings came to Agra of a general rising, and it was not safe for any British officer to place himself at the head of any native regiment. The sepoys would swear undying fidelity at one moment, and the next might be either butchering their officers or on the road to join the main band of rebels at Delhi. Will our men be faithful? was the question many an officer had to put to himself, for they were not to be trusted, despite all their vows.

The British regiments, manned and officered by Europeans, had to pass through many perils, and undoubtedly they did good service in punishing the flying rebels. They shot and bayonetted the sepoys who had mutinied, and only took prisoner those of higher caste, and those who had set themselves up in the leadership of the work of mutiny. These rascals were reserved for another fate, either at the hands of the hangman, or, greater punishment still in the eyes of a true believer--blown from the cannon’s mouth.

This form of punishment may have been brutal, but it was thoroughly deserved, and the swift death cannot be likened to the lingering tortures to which the women and children of our own flesh and blood had to submit. As this method of punishment became common as the mutiny proceeded, a description of the scene at an execution may be of interest:--

“Three sides of a hollow square facing inwards was formed. On the fourth side of the square were drawn up the guns, ten 9-pounders, which were to be used for the execution. The prisoners, under a strong European guard, were then marched into the square, their crimes and sentences read aloud to them and at the head of each regiment; they were then marched round the square and up to the guns. The first ten were picked out, their eyes bandaged, and they were bound to the guns, with their backs against the muzzles and their arms fastened backwards to the wheels. The port fires were lighted, and at a signal from the artillery major the guns were fired.

It was a horrid sight that then met the eye. A regular shower of human fragments--of heads, arms, and legs--appeared in the air, whirling through the smoke; and when that cleared away, these fragments lying on the ground--fragments of Hindoos and of Mussulmans mixed together--were all that remained of those ten mutineers. Three times more this was repeated; but so great is the disgust we all feel for the atrocities committed by the rebels, that we had no room in our hearts for any feeling of pity. Perfect callousness was depicted on every European face; a look of grim satisfaction could even be seen in the countenances of the gunners serving the guns. But far different was the effect on the native portion of the spectators. Their black faces grew ghastly pale as they gazed breathlessly at the awful spectacle.

You must know that this is really the only form in which death has any terror for a native. If he is hanged or shot, he knows that his friends or relatives will be allowed to claim his body and will give him the funeral rites required by his religion; if a Hindoo, that his body will be burned with all due ceremonies, and if a Mussulman, that his remains will be secretly interred, as directed in the Koran. But if sentenced to death in this form, he knows that his body will be blown into a thousand pieces, and that it will be altogether impossible for his relatives, however devoted to him, to be sure of picking up all the fragments of his own particular body; and the thought that perhaps a limb of someone of a different religion to himself might possibly be burned or buried with the remainder of his own body, is agony to him.

But notwithstanding this, it was impossible for the mutineers’ direst hater not to feel some degree of admiration for the way in which they met their deaths. Nothing in their lives became them like the leaving of them. Of the whole party, only two showed any signs of fear, and they were bitterly reproached by the others for so disgracing their race. They certainly died like men. After the first ten had been disposed of, the next batch, who had been looking on all the time, walked up to the guns quite calmly and unfalteringly, and allowed themselves to be blindfolded and tied up without moving a muscle or showing the slightest sign of fear or even concern.”

The army of vengeance which was to stamp out the mutiny and punish the mutineers, was pushing on from Umballa. The great vortex of the mutiny was at Delhi, and the rebels had such excellent fortifications and were so well armed and provisioned, that a prolonged siege was anticipated. There were many princes with large bands of followers who as yet had taken no part on either side. They were wise as Solomon in their judgment, for they deferred taking the great step until they saw how the game was to go. These princes and chiefs of the Delhi provinces were loyal enough, but, like the rebel sepoys, they would turn round and cut our throats if it was to profit them in any way. Holkar and Scindia had already sent their contingents to Agra for service under the British flag, and now the Rajahs of Jheend and Puttiala, two powerful chiefs, sent well-drilled horsemen, and the Rajah of Bhurtpur gave his specially-trained bodyguard. These men were good fighters, and would remain loyal and true to their salt as long as their Rajah willed. General Barnard, who was in command of the troops, pushed on as fast as he could to Delhi, and sent Brigadier Wilson with an advance guard to clear a path.

The gallant Brigadier came up with the enemy at a place known as Ghazee-ood-deen-nugger on the 30th of May, and distant about 15 miles from Delhi. The rebels were present in large numbers, and had some heavy guns to which they trusted in keeping their position. Wilson at once saw that the small iron suspension bridge over the river Hindon would form a key to his own attack, and two companies of the 60th Rifles were told off to keep the bridge at all hazards, while a detachment of the 6th Dragoon Guards, with four guns, went along the riverside to turn the enemy’s flank. The 60th at the bridge were exposed to a heavy fire from the insurgents’ guns, and had to be reinforced. It was plainly evident that the rebels were aware that if they lost this position an important point in the capture of the city would be gained. They handled their guns with great skill, but when the 60th dashed among them with the bayonet they blanched, wavered, and turned tail, leaving the guns in the hands of the Rifles.

“Remember the ladies! remember the babies!” was the battle-cry of the 60th, as they flashed on with gleaming bayonets, and many a mother and many a child were amply avenged in the terrible slaughter they wrought.

Fleeing from the infuriated and victorious troops, the sepoys fled helter-skelter towards Delhi, leaving their guns and hundreds of dead and dying on the field. The Carbineers, who added to the death-roll in the course of the pursuit, chased the fleeing horde to within a few miles of the city. Yet they were not cowed, for, despite the lesson they had received, they were back in greater numbers to the banks of the Hindon the following day. They opened fire with their muskets and big guns, and for two hours there was nothing heard but the boom of the guns and the rattle of musketry. The rebel fire began to slacken, and it was now the time for close combat. Once again the 60th defiled across the bridge, with the 6th Dragoon Guards as support. Alternately firing and charging, the British rushed the rising ground, on which the rebels were posted, and once again the mutineers had to fly to the sheltering walls of Delhi. Our men were too fagged out to pursue, but there was not an inch of fight in the fleeing mass, and many of them cast their swords and guns away in their panic.

The British burned a village which afforded shelter for the enemy, and were content to take a well-won rest. General Barnard was daily expected, and the Brigadier calmly waited, undisturbed by the faint-hearted mutineers, until such time as the General would order a grand advance upon the Imperial City.