CHAPTER XII

The Treachery of the Guides

The shadows were slowly lengthening, and the whistling of the kites that circled overhead, waiting until the groups of sepoys should disperse, was being supplemented by the querulous howls of the equally impatient jackals. Yet no fresh attack had been made upon the English post, though more than an hour had passed since the Guides had joined forces with the mutineers. That they had not been idle, however, was testified by the stack of round-shot and grape rescued from the fort and piled ready to hand behind each cannon.

A guard had been mounted over the guns and ammunition to check any desperate sortie that might be made by the besieged, and the town gradually became less riotous. This restoration of order only intensified the despair of the Europeans, who drew the conclusion that the rebels were now being controlled by men more able--and therefore more dangerous--than their late leaders. The more capable their enemies, the more perilous the situation of the garrison.

That is, if anything more perilous could be imagined.

Just after sunset, and before darkness had set in, a Hindu sepoy was observed creeping stealthily towards the house, apparently anxious to attract the attention of the inmates, and equally bent on avoiding observation from outside. As the man drew near, Ambar Singh and Ted both recognized him as Dwarika Rai, one of their comrades in the arsenal. He was quickly smuggled inside, and told the story of his escape from death and concealment up to the present, when duty had urged him at all risks to inform his comrades and the Englishmen of the changed situation.

He explained that the detachment of the Guides had mutinied as soon as they heard of the arrival of the 138th; they had murdered the only white officer with them, and had appointed Ressaidar Bahram Khan as commandant. The announcement was not unexpected, yet up to this moment Ted had hoped against hope that Jim had escaped.

"Art thou certain, Dwarika Rai, that they have slain my brother?" he asked after a painful pause.

"Quite, sahib; they make boast of it. And look, their leader is wearing his uniform."

Ethel Woodburn had entered the room unobserved, and, standing behind them, had overheard. She grasped a chair to steady herself, and shook her head as Ted besought her to retire to the ladies' room. There was a long silence.

"Bahram Khan?" enquired the major presently, hardly knowing what to say. "Is that he, then, in the English officer's uniform and wearing his medals?" pointing to a muscular man who could be made out in the distance apparently ordering the sepoys about.

"That is the hound, sahib," replied Dwarika Rai. "He has sworn to exterminate you all before noon to-morrow. He has taken command of all the treacherous curs."

Ethel, half-stunned by the terrible tidings, was now seated, and Ted leaned against the girl's chair, gently stroking her hand,--dimly recognizing that her sorrow was even greater than his own. The shock of Captain Russell's murder was too sudden for her to realize fully, and the rest of the news seemed dwarfed to mere insignificance. The poor girl attempted to pull herself together by thinking how greatly her helpless father stood in need of her.

"Bahram Khan!" said Ted bitterly. "Why, he is the cur who was present at the steeple-chase,--a robber and outlaw! However could such a crew have been trusted?"

"It was Sir Henry Lawrence's doing," said Leigh. "It's rare for him to make a mistake, but here is the result of his great 'Guides' scheme. Evidently they don't mean to make the grand assault until to-morrow."

"I wish they would," said Ted with feeling; "and end it, to-night."

To give the boy credit, he was thinking more of the hours of bitter grief Ethel Woodburn was doomed to endure than of himself.

It may be readily surmised that very few of the garrison contrived to sleep that night. Soon after sunrise all--women, civilians, black soldiers, and white officers--were gathered together to watch the mutineers assemble for the final assault. Of its issue there could be no doubt. As they stood there awaiting their fate Ethel Woodburn could not remain insensible, even at so trying a moment, to the beauty of the early Indian morning. The slanting rays of the Eastern sun were gilding the mosques and minarets of the town and lighting up with lurid glow the reddish buildings behind the fort, and the thought of Nature's beauty added to her sorrow. But the greater number of those doomed people had weightier matters to occupy their thoughts.

In and around the courtyard of the fort itself all was bustle and confusion; some could be both seen and heard giving commands, and others obeying the same, though the vast majority of the assembled hundreds appeared to display a total lack of discipline. Inside the commissioner's house the feeling of helplessness and suspense was horrible. The wisdom of a sortie, a mad rush on the guns,--to die fighting rather than cooped up and made a target of,--was debated, and not a man there but would have preferred the chance of striking back. There were women, however, to be considered, and to leave them was out of the question.

"Whilst there's life there's hope," declared the Commissioner, with an attempt at cheerfulness. "The house is not destroyed yet."

He barely succeeded, however, in convincing even himself that there was the faintest glimmer of hope. No British troops were within three days' journey. The handful of unfortunates bade good-bye to one another, shook hands all round, and prepared to meet their death with a smile upon their faces, without flinching or showing the least sign of weakness before the eyes of their gallant and devoted Rajputs. Nor were the women behind the men in respect of courage.

Major Munro, after consulting his officers, had advised the faithful sepoys to save their lives as best they could, either by cutting their way through at night, or by pretending to desert and to fall in with the views of their rebel comrades.

To give them this chance was only fair, thought the major; the Rajputs, having done their duty, deserved consideration, and though the Englishmen could not leave the wounded and the women, yet the dark-faces, now that resistance was hopeless, should be allowed to save their lives. To Munro's delight, however, the gallant fellows announced a firm resolve to stand by their duty to the last. They took their places shoulder to shoulder with the pale-faces, grimly waiting and watching now that the last glimmer of hope had died out.

For in the great square of the fort more than two thousand men were under arms; and in another moment the nine-pounders were charged with grape, under the supervision of Bahram Khan and a score of picked Sikhs and Pathans of the Guide Corps--men who had served in the old Khalsa Artillery and who thoroughly understood their work.

Behind the guns and flanking them the remaining hundred men of the Guides, conspicuous by their powerful and soldierly bearing, maintained some appearance of discipline, whereas the majority of the sepoys and of armed fanatics and budmashes were acting as seemed best in their own eyes.

Ressaidar Bahram Khan, however, insisted with many threats and much strong language on some kind of order being maintained. He placed the 193rd Sepoys in one position, the poorbeahs[7] of the 138th in another, and the Sikhs of the latter corps to the right front of the guns.

[7] A name given to the Oudh sepoys.

"When the guns have battered down the walls," thundered the rebel commandant, "then must ye take the house by storm. The Feringhi dogs prevail against us because they trust to the bayonet, instead of staying to fire as ye do, for the bayonet is more certain than the bullet. We must learn from them and attack as they would, for our aim must be to destroy utterly the hated tyrants; not one must escape our vengeance."

The mob applauded, shouting "Din! din! Death to the Feringhis!" And the ressaidar went on:

"Take, then, the charges from your muskets, lest ye be tempted to stop and fire, for if ye do that doubtless many of the dogs may escape our wrath. Trust to the bayonet! Kill the infidels with the steel! Now, unload!"

The charges were withdrawn.

"That dacoit fellow has some idea of discipline; he seems to know what he's about,--though he's placing some of his men in queer positions, to be sure!" commented Major Munro stoutly, bent on showing an undaunted front to the end.

"Oh for a good, wholesome, red-coated regiment," sighed Lieutenant Leigh, "to wipe these fiends off the earth! Watch that treacherous, murdering Pathan! What's he up to now?"

"Trusting to the bayonet!" exclaimed Munro in astonishment. "That's not like an Asiatic, but he's right."

They heard but could not distinguish Bahram Khan's commands, and saw the sepoys empty their muskets and begin to fix bayonets. Their hearts were beating wildly, and small shame to them, for they were helpless and could not strike back--as helpless as condemned criminals bound and gagged. Would the word never be given to fire? What was the matter now?

Waiting in silent agony for the fatal word, they perceived the Pathan commandant turn hastily to his gunners, who stood port-fire in hand.

Quick as thought, before rebels or onlookers could realize what was taking place, the muzzles of the guns were turned slightly to the right and lowered, and ere the assemblage had time to wonder, a shower of grape was belched forth into the clustered ranks of the faithless Sikhs of the 138th. At the very same instant, before sepoys or besieged were able to take in what had happened, the hundred men of the Guides--or as many of them as were not helping their gunner comrades--brought their rifles (for theirs were still loaded) to the shoulder, and blazed away into the helpless mass of brown humanity. The rebels fell in scores, mown down by the heavy discharge. One or two of the native officers attempted to rally them, but the cannon, well and promptly served by the Guides, cut lanes through the mob; and the well-aimed, disciplined volley-firing of the Pathans and Gurkhas augmented the confusion.

For some seconds open-mouthed wonder kept all our friends silent. The whole world seemed topsy-turvy.

Then one man grasped the situation.

"Oh, splendid!... Well played, Guides, well played!" shouted Leigh; and the garrison screamed and danced in a delirium of enthusiasm as their senses came back to them, and they understood.

"What is it? What does it mean?" demanded Ethel breathlessly and the sick from the hospital-room echoed the cry.

"It's the Guides!" was shouted back. "The Guides have been shamming mutiny. They've got possession of the guns, and have turned them on the traitors!"

Thrice did the mutineers attempt a rally, but the Sikhs--the staunchest of the rebels--had been almost blown away by the discharge of grape, and the poorbeahs dared not face that terrible fire--those spurts of flame that blazed forth, section by section, without hurry and without confusion, from the steady, levelled rifles.

In the Commissioner's house the Pathan messenger howled and shrieked in his excitement, then, snatching up rifle and sword, he darted from the sheltering walls and cut his way through the terrified rebels to the side of his comrades.

"Look!" cried Lieutenant Leigh. "Bahram Khan has given aver the command--to a private soldier, too!"

He pointed towards a dark-visaged man, of middle height and sturdy build, in the uniform of a sepoy of the Guide Corps, who was now directing the sectional volley-firing. At the same moment the mutineers broke away in all directions--two thousand men cowed by six score!

"Why, that's Jim!--that's my brother!" screamed our ensign joyfully. Ethel gave one look, recognized the long scar that showed on the stained face, and sank down, and to Ted's bewilderment burst into tears.

"Well, that's a rummy go!" he murmured under his breath. "What on earth should she blub for now that she knows he's safe?"

As the flying, panic-stricken mutineers approached the beleaguered house, they received a fresh and hardly less deadly fusillade from the jubilant garrison. They scattered in all directions, staggering in blind terror. Through the narrow streets ran and stumbled the defeated sepoys, and after them rushed fifty of the terrible men in drab, the active little Gurkhas being ever to the front. So thorough was the panic evoked by the surprise, that here and there a dozen or even a score of the rebels might be seen running with terrified eyes and panting breath from a single fierce Afridi or Yusufzai of the hills, or still fiercer Gurkha from the Himalayan snows; and Ted acknowledged his error of judgment as he saw one of these little Nepalese Highlanders charge single-handed a group of ten or a dozen Wahabi fanatics who were attempting a rally. Cutting down four in rapid succession with his kukri, heeding the long knives no more than cardboard, the fearless little fellow scattered the remainder like sheep, and chased them until their long legs carried them far out of his reach.

Up flew the Union Jack to the top of the fort flagstaff, and Captain Russell, recalling his pursuing men, posted guards around the place. The loyal Rajputs, rejoicing now that they had not accepted Major Munro's permission to desert, had not dared join in the fray except by their fire from windows and roof, for had they shown themselves outside they would undoubtedly have been slain by the rescuers.

But now the little garrison marched out in safety, carrying the wounded in their midst, for not a rebel was to be seen. Never had surprise been more complete! At the same moment Captain Russell issued forth at the head of half his men to escort the survivors inside the wing of the fort that had not been demolished.

There was no time for more than a hasty grip of the hand and a look exchanged between two pairs of eyes, telling more eloquently than any speech of the lips its tale of love, anxiety, and deep, grateful joy. Ethel had thought her lover dead; Jim had hardly dared to hope that both sweetheart and brother had survived the massacre. We can imagine the unspoken joy. Leaving Leigh and Ted with a strong guard within the fort, Munro, Captain Russell, and Paterson sallied forth at the head of one hundred and fifty Guides and no less eager Rajputs, and chased the panic-filled pandies from street to street to prevent them from reassembling. Long before mid-day the rebels had streamed out of the town in all directions, a wholesome fear planted deep within their breasts.

One room had been apportioned to the ladies, and others to officers and sepoys, but all the Europeans came together to cheer their rescuers. Colonel Woodburn was now well enough to greet his future son-in-law, whose exciting story all gathered round to hear. Jim told it simply.

"Well, for a gang of double-dyed traitors commend me to the Guides and their English and native officers!" exclaimed Munro, his eyes twinkling with delight at the thought of the trick.

"All Bahram Khan's idea," laughed Jim. "We'd sent scouts ahead, and yesterday we heard of the arrival of the 138th and learned that they possessed artillery. I felt that I'd no right to risk my handful against such overwhelming odds, so I consulted the ressaidar[8]. That gentlemen also thought the task hopeless at first, then he suddenly burst out into a demoniacal laugh.

[8] A native officer of cavalry.

"'Why, Captain Sahib,' said he,'why shouldn't we mutiny? We could kill you and make friends with the poorbeahs. Then I'd take command of the rebels--the curs will only be too glad to have me--and I could get possession of the guns and post the men as I choose. With our men at the guns and behind the guns, we can sweep the poorbeahs from off the earth!'

"It was a glorious idea; we explained it to the men, who took it in like so many school-boys. Those little Gurkha fiends turned somersault as they thought of the pandies[9] being taken in; and they laughed till the tears rolled down their smooth cheeks. I stained my face and put on one of the men's uniforms, whilst Bahram Khan squeezed himself into mine, and everything worked beautifully."

[9] A nickname for rebels. Mongul Pandy was the name of the first noted mutineer.

"And did no one suspect?" asked the major.

"Not a soul! You see, there never were such rabid haters of the British as we have been for the past twenty-four hours! We were quite willing to eat you all, either cooked or raw; no half-measures with the Guides!"

"You disgustin' treacherous brutes!" chirped our ensign, who was in a state of wild and gleeful excitement.

Bahram Khan stood by, grinning, well pleased with his handiwork, as were all these stalwart soldiers of the Guide Corps. Jim Russell's story ended, the deputy-commissioner passed his arm through Munro's, and, announcing that he wished to consult him with respect to granting a reward to the loyal Rajputs, he led the major from the room. The remark was accompanied by a significant look, and, taking the hint, the remaining officers made some excuse to leave.

The ladies saw and understood, and in a few moments Jim and Ethel were left alone. They were grateful, yet for some moments not a word was uttered by either. The precious time was not exactly wasted, though.

"My poor girl, what you must have suffered!" Jim murmured as he held her hands within his own and fondled them.

"Are you really here, Jim, or am I dreaming? It seems too good to be true."

"I think I really am here," was the reply, and Jim set to work to convince her.

"You have heard how poor Markham was killed, and Tynan and Lewis and Arden?"

Jim nodded and tightened his grip of the hands until she winced.

"What a brute I am!" he penitently exclaimed, covering the little hands with kisses.

"I--I liked it, Jim.---- But you know you oughtn't to reward yourself for being a brute."

There was another interval of silence.

"And so the young 'un has behaved like a brick!" said Jim at length. "I'm proud of the kid."

"I should just think he has. I really believe I shall have to marry you, Captain Russell, if only to have Ted for a brother. I think he likes me now."

"I'll punch the young 'un's head if he doesn't," declared the brutal Jim. "It's very decent of the others to give us this good time, little woman."

"It is, indeed. Oh, Jim, are you sure we're not dreaming? Can you stay here with your men?"

The captain shook his head sadly.

"I don't know what to do until I have consulted Munro and Fletcher and your father. We must follow the rest of the corps as quickly as possible, and I think the best plan will be for you all to come with us, if we can obtain horses and ekkas for the wounded and the ladies, until we can drop you at the first safe place."

"Cannot Sir Arthur, as head of the district, countermand your orders to join the Guide Corps at once? If he says that you are needed here, I should think he has authority to detain you. Besides, you and your men are now under father, or rather under Major Munro, whilst you remain here, and you will have to do as they order."

Jim laughed.

"I wish it were so; but it happens to be John Lawrence himself who has sent us to Delhi, and he said he wanted us to get there quickly. And when Jan Larens says 'do this' you've got to do it, and do it smartly. The major is a brave man, and so is Fletcher, but I shall be very much surprised if either of them dare trifle with Jan."

Major Munro had assembled the loyal Rajputs and thanked them in a straight soldierly speech that touched their faithful hearts and brought a glow of pride to their eyes. The Commissioner, moreover, deemed it well to let congratulations take a more substantial form. He therefore distributed the sum of five thousand rupees amongst the seventy survivors--a welcome reward for their loyalty and courage.

On the following morning Jim's anxiety and hesitation were removed, as a detachment of the 4th Sikhs--a glorious, loyal regiment--marched in and maintained order in the town.

Miss Woodburn's safety being thus assured, Captain Russell at once set out to rejoin his comrades in their seven hundred and fifty miles' march to the Mogul capital, and, to the delight of Ted and Paterson, the colonel allowed the boys to accompany the gallant corps.

We shall hear later on of that memorable march of the Corps of Guides to Delhi--the finest march in Indian history, if not indeed in the records of any army--as well as of their doings during the famous siege.