CHAPTER XX

An Adventure on the Ridge

The attacks on the Ridge outposts had become less frequent and less dangerous, though the cannonade was as brisk as ever.

Early on the morning following the receipt of the amazing news from Aurungpore, Ted Russell of the Hindu Rao picket was roughly aroused from slumber. All was hurry and scurry as company after company of the Guides and Rifles ran to the assistance of the Gurkhas, who were bearing the brunt of a cleverly-designed attack by ten times their number. Jim, Alec, and Ted raced to the scene of action, arriving just in time to pursue the already defeated foe.

"Charlie means to have that rag," Ted panted to his chum, as they raced side by side.

Shouting, "Follow me, lads!" Dorricot had made a dash for the colours of a rebel regiment, and was rapidly overhauling the flying standard-bearer, a score of mixed-up Rifles, Guides, and Gurkhas following as best they could. The fight and pursuit were being carried on over a great extent of ground, and only the few in Dorricot's immediate neighbourhood knew what was taking place. Seeing that the pursuers were so few in number, a large body of the enemy interposed between the officer and his followers, barring their progress. Charles Dorricot broke through, cut down the colour-bearer, grasped the standard, beat back his assailants, and for a few moments cleared a space around him. But what could one man do against so many? Before help could come Dorricot was beaten to his knees, sorely wounded, though still attempting to defend himself.

He collapsed, a sword-thrust through his breast, just as Corporal Thompson, a huge rifleman, forced his way through the mob by sheer strength and weight and judicious use of the butt-end. In the wake of the corporal came Motiram Rana, a Gurkha, and Hassan Din of the Guides, but, as they got through, the rebels closed up again behind them, baffling the efforts of Ted and his men to follow. Whether their officer was dead or wounded the three knew not; they meant to guard his body with their own. At bay they stood back to back--representatives of the three regiments that had held the Ridge--and, facing them, the rebels snarled like a pack of wolves around a wounded lion. Those behind pressed on those in front, and sepoy after sepoy fell before the weapons of the dauntless three, the Englishman trusting to the butt, the Pathan to the bayonet, and Motiram Rana, of course, to his patron saint, the kukri. The rifle in the Gurkha's left hand was still loaded. Using the weapon as a pistol, the little man pulled the trigger, and the bullet passed through two pandies at least. Having now more room, the gigantic Thompson swung his rifle round and round and up and down like a flail, and cleared a breathing space. The stock broke into splinters, but before the mutineers could get in he snatched a musket, cracked the owner's head, and the pandies again recoiled.

"He's down!" Ted gasped. "At 'em, Guides!"

He and Alec with their Guides around them were pushing and thrusting and smiting their way through the opposing crowd, the pandies on this portion of the sloping ground having rallied round their standard. Suddenly the mob bulged in close by where they fought, as a pricked tennis-ball when squeezed; and amid a babel of shrill yells and jabberings in an unknown tongue, a lane was opened up. A Gurkha corporal had passed the word that Dorricot was down, and, collecting a couple of dozen furious men, had charged at their head. The vicious kukris flashed and flickered and bit deep, and the sepoys fell to right and left of that living wedge of Himalayans. Behind them Ted and Alec, Guides and Riflemen, found their way, and the sepoys broke and fled.

Ted was quickly beside his fallen cousin, and gave a little cry of joy on finding that Charlie still breathed. The cry was echoed by the Gurkhas, who started in pursuit now they were assured of their officer's safety, but Ted restrained them. Dorricot's hand still grasped the colours for whose capture he had risked so much, for which he might yet have to pay with his life.

Ted signed to the Gurkhas to help him carry back their wounded officer. Motiram Rana proffered his aid, but Thompson motioned him back, saying:

"Tha needs carryin' thysen, Johnny; tha'rt bleedin' like a stuck pig."

Up came Major Reid, bringing his men forward at the double from another part of the battle-field where the enemy's rout had been complete. His face fell as he caught sight of his sorely-stricken comrade.

"The rash fellow!" exclaimed the commandant. "He had no right to push the pursuit so far with such a handful. I cannot spare Dorricot. Carry him gently; and you, Paterson, run and bring a doctor to the house."

Right glad was Ted, and hardly less glad were the Gurkhas, when the doctor promised hope in spite of no fewer than four sword or bayonet wounds.

"I have not an unwounded officer left, youngster!" exclaimed Major Reid dolefully. "Would you care to serve with me again?"

"There's nothing I should like better, sir." And then the boy paused. "Except that I should be sorry to leave the Guides."

"Well, go to Daly; he's better off for officers than I am, and ask if he'll transfer you for a few days."

Ted obeyed. Permission was granted, and he again found himself with the Sirmuris.

There were scenes in camp of a less tragic nature witnessed daily by our two ensigns from Aurungpore. The peculiar methods of fraternizing adopted by the British riflemen and the Asiatics of the Guide Corps and Sirmur Battalion provided plenty of amusement for the onlookers. The Gurkhas soon picked up a smattering of English, and a few began to speak the language fairly well, whilst on the other hand the English riflemen gave vent to their feelings in words which they imagined were Hindustani. "Good-morning!" the little men would say with a cheerful grin; and the riflemen, not to be outdone, would reply: "Ram Ram, Johnny Gurkha! Ram Ram!"

Mixed groups would gather after any severe fighting to discuss the conflict and the conduct of the various regiments engaged, amid roars of laughter at the interpreter's attempts to translate the remarks. They were, indeed, the best of comrades; for brave men, of whatever race or creed, cannot but admire one another.

One evening in early August, Ted and Alec, after a long visit to poor Dorricot, joined their good friend Jemadar Goria Thapa, who was sitting on the shady side of the house-fortress watching the men larking. He gave the new-comers a welcoming grin.

"Good little man is Goria," whispered Ted. "We may as well sit by him. Those chaps are enjoying themselves, ain't they? Ram Ram, Jemadar Sahib!"

Goria Thapa returned the greeting, and enquired after the health of his wounded officer and friend.

"He's doing splendidly, thanks! He must be as strong as a horse and as fit as a--what's the native for fiddle, Alec?"

"Dunno; call it a tom-tom. Are you having a good time, Jemadar Sahib, or do you wish you were back in Nepal?"

Goria Thapa grinned broadly.

"I like it," said he simply.

"Hullo, Paterson!" broke in Claude Boldre, who had just strolled up. "How's your cousin, Russell? I came to ask after him."

"Doing finely considering, thanks! Look at these chaps. They're as fond of horse-play as a lot of kids."

It was certainly an amusing scene, and though the merest clowning, even this kind of fooling serves to keep men in good spirits and temper.

The corporal, Thompson, who had carried the wounded Dorricot out of the fight, stood 6 feet 4-1/2 inches in his stockings, and was perhaps the biggest man in the Delhi force. The men were sitting about in groups playing practical jokes, and Thompson caught hold of Karbir Burathoki, the smallest Gurkha there, a lad under five feet high, and led him to an open space within sight of the others. He there offered to teach the Gurkha how to box, and Karbir quickly entered into the joke. Both pulled off their jackets, and the Gurkha's face was entirely hidden by his grin. The difference in build between the two men was too much for the spectators, who shouted and yelled--"Go it, little 'un!" "Jump up and 'it 'im in the face!" "Fetch a step-ladder!" "Now, corpril, go on your knees and give 'im a chanst!"

After a lot of preliminary feinting and puffing and blowing and striking high above the Gurkha's head, the giant began to retire backwards, Karbir following amidst roars of laughter, the Nepalese spectators being quite as delighted as their English comrades.

At length Thompson caught hold of the little man and held him in the air, kicking and shrieking in pretended wrath. As the corporal put the little Himalayan down, he laughingly remarked: "Na, Johnny, tha con haud me up like if tha wants thee revenge."

The Gurkha examined him from head to foot.

"Hould the spalpeen up, Johnny, ye scutt!" advised an Irish corporal. To the astonishment of all, the little man calmly proceeded to place the giant on his back like a sack of potatoes. Thompson offered no objection, and Karbir was soon staggering from one group of laughing spectators to another. Suddenly upsetting the rifleman full length on the ground, he sat on his chest and proceeded to light his pipe, whereupon the onlookers shrieked. Thompson arose, tossing the Gurkha from his perch, and the two strolled back arm in arm, attempting to keep step, and quarrelling every few yards as to whose pace was at fault.

Reid had come behind the ensign, and was looking on with twinkling eyes. Noting that Ted appeared astonished at Karbir's strength, he observed: "They're terribly strong are Gurkhas in the back, loins, and legs."

When they had settled down again one of the Nepalese observed:

"This war will soon be over. Jung Bahadur is going to march down to Lucknow with his army."

"An' 'oo the dickens is young Bardoor?" asked a rifleman.

"He is our prime minister and commander-in-chief in Nepal. He offered to bring an army down to help you English two months ago, and now the government has accepted his offer."

"An' so 'e's goin' to wipe out the rebels, eh, all hon 'is own 'ook?"

The Gurkha did not understand all this.

"What chance will those dogs have," said he, "against ten thousand Gurkhas? Truly, he will slay them all!"

"Bedad, then," interrupted an Irishman, "tell him, will ye, wid me compliments--Privut O'Brien's compliments--to lave a few fer us. Sure, we're wishful to git hould av some av thim Cawnpore and Lucknow haythen. Tell him to bear that in moind."

Then the Gurkhas began to speak of their own beloved country of Nepal, by the mighty snow-clad Himalayas, of its wonderful beauty, and of its unequalled sport and wealth of animal life; and the Englishmen tried to explain the extent of their empire and the wonders of London, and told of their mighty ships of war and great sea-borne commerce. They also related the histories of their regimental colours, of the recent Crimean War, and of the fights between Wellington and the French. The Nepalese were very much interested in all the tales of war, for they also had tattered regimental colours of which they were very proud, and which had cost them many lives.[16]

[16] Before the end of the siege Riflemen and Gurkhas spoke of one another as "brothers", and at the close of the war the Sirmur Battalion begged that it might be granted a uniform similar to that of their brethren of the 60th, the request being willingly granted. The 2nd Gurkhas are very proud of the little red line on their facings, and the uniform thus gained at Delhi they wore in London at King Edward's Coronation forty-five years later.

By this time the Gurkha hospital was very full. More than half of those five hundred men had been stricken down, and the Guides had also suffered severely. And the great city still defied the British power.

A few more reinforcements were coming in, but no heavy guns had yet arrived. One or two new Sikh and Mohammedan cavalry corps and Punjab infantry regiments, recruited from the Sikhs, Punjabi Mohammedans, Jats, Pathans, and Dogras, as well as the Kumaon Gurkha Battalion (now the 3rd Gurkhas), were fighting on our side. The big Sikh horsemen, who were proud of their new uniform and despised the rebel cavalry, quickly snatched at opportunities to cover themselves with glory. The "Flamingoes", as Hodson's Horse were called, had not been in camp many days before they were in action, distinguishing themselves in a way that none but the very best of troops dare attempt. Faced by a greatly superior force, Hodson, with supreme confidence in the steadiness and valour of his men, feigned a retreat, and when he had drawn the enemy into the open by this manoeuvre, the Flamingoes turned round at his command and charged into the black mass. The foemen hesitated, confused and bewildered; they glanced at the steady line of stalwart, bearded cavaliers, heard the thunder of the galloping horses almost upon them, and were routed, broken and scattered before the oncoming of those determined Sikhs and Pathans.

Though daily witnessing such instances of dash and courage, Ted Russell marvelled less thereat than at the quiet indifference to peril displayed by the native servants. These men were not of the fighting castes: a dozen of them would have fled cringing from the anger of a single Englishman, Pathan, Sikh, or Gurkha. Yet, in such different ways is courage shown, they performed without flinching duties which most Britons would have shrunk from. They would sit at their work or at their meals in the most exposed places, with bullets flicking up the dust all round, no more concerned than a bullock would have been.

To bring meals and provisions to Hindu Rao's house they were forced to cross the dangerous "Valley of the Shadow of Death". Any soldier who might have to pass this spot would await the opportunity to dart across; but these mild non-combatants would calmly walk over, and should any of their number be struck down, would stop to shed a few tears over the corpse and then resume the even tenour of their way.

The army before Delhi was absolutely dependent on these servitors. In that terrible heat the English could not have existed without them; and yet, it must be sorrowfully confessed, they were occasionally ill-treated by some of the more churlish and lawless of those to whose wants they ministered. The boy who bullies at school remains often enough a bully when he has grown up. Bullies are generally stupid fellows, and in the eyes of such men one "nigger" was much the same as another, and the faithful brown servants had to suffer for the sins of the Cawnpore murderers. There was one man in particular, a major of the 15th Derajat Infantry, whose bullying propensities had more than once aroused indignation in the breasts of Ted's friends. Fortunately there were not many Englishmen of his stamp.

One day Ted was told off for picket duty with half a dozen men some distance from the "Sammy" House. When close to his lonely post his attention was attracted by the strange demeanour of a group of wild-looking frontiersmen, assembled in a sheltered hollow. He drew nearer, and perceived to his disgust that a miserable native servant had been tied up and was being flogged with bamboo rods, while a white officer looked on approvingly. Ted recognized the man, and his blood boiled. Taking no account of the difference in rank, he hastened to the spot, and hotly demanded what the poor fellow had been doing to deserve such treatment. The major of the Derajats--for he it was--opened his eyes in amazement, and his face became convulsed with anger. Controlling his rage he contemptuously asked:

"And who are you, little boy?"

Thereat one or two of the Punjabis laughed.

"I'm in command of this picket, sir, and I can't allow this where I'm responsible. Look! the poor beggar is fainting!"

The officer looked round--first at the miserable Hindu, whose back was a mass of bleeding weals, and then continued to gaze about him as though in search of someone.

"Where is she?" he asked at length. "I can't see her."

"Whom do you mean, sir?" asked Ted in bewilderment.

"Why, your nurse, of course; she'll be looking for you everywhere."

Our ensign's face flushed, and his temper rose at the insult. He turned to the Gurkha _naik_[17].

[17] Corporal.

"Karbir, cut that man loose!"

The little man promptly drew his kukri and cut the thongs. One of the Panjabis stepped forward and laid his hand on the naik to prevent him. Karbir turned on him like a tiger, with kukri uplifted, and the Punjabi jumped back. The major could no longer restrain his anger. He stepped up to Ted and struck him across the mouth with clenched fist, loosening a couple of teeth and felling the lad to the ground. Quick as thought Karbir dashed at the Englishman, but Ted, from the ground, shrieked out just in time:

"Back, Karbir, you must not touch him!" and the little man reluctantly obeyed. Ted rose, now as white as he had before been red. The major laughed.

"Consider yourself fortunate, young man, if I take no further notice of your insolence. Do you know that you have been guilty of mutiny--rank mutiny--and that I could have you dismissed from the service? Now, you may go, and explain the loss of your teeth as you best please. No--stay! I've not done with you yet. I'll teach you the difference in our rank. Order that corporal of yours to tie up that beast again, and then command each of your men to give him half a dozen strokes."

Ensign Edward Russell cared a deal for his commission, and had no wish to be broken for disobedience, but this order he would not obey. His eyes gleamed as he scornfully cried:

"You great detestable brute! Break me if you can! I'd rather lose my commission as an officer than forget my duty as a gentleman!"

"Did you hear my command?" the major repeated.

Ted was silent. He glanced around, and beheld a tall, bearded man, whom he had never seen before--a man with stern and forbidding look, in untidy civilian attire. The major's glance followed, and an expression of annoyance came into his face as he noticed the stranger.

"Well, my good fellow, what do you want here?" he exclaimed.

"I? Oh, I'm just looking round."

"Oh! Then you'd better get back to whatever your business may be."

The man was silent for a moment.

"Won't that lad obey you?" he asked presently.

"No, that I shall not," Ted asserted firmly, though feeling very miserable.

"What right have you, lad," continued the stranger sternly, "to question your superior officer's commands? Your business is to obey."

"And obey he will," the major declared with an oath, "or I'll know the reason why!"

"That's right, sir," agreed the tall man. "Always insist on obedience from your juniors."

Ted was becoming nervous and feeling very lonely. Though assured he was in the right, the boy could not but feel unhappy.

The batteries of the Mori Bastion once more commenced their horrible work. Round-shot and grape whistled overhead.

"What does it matter to you, young man, whether you obey the command or not?" asked the tall man harshly. "That _bhisti_ will be flogged just the same; he won't benefit by your refusal."

"No, that he most certainly won't!" asserted the major with a repulsive laugh. "Nor will he thank you for your interference."

"I'm an officer, not a hangman," said Ted stoutly.

"Well, you will not be an officer long," declared the major.

The stranger had approached, and now stood by their side.

"If you won't obey him," he said in tones of authority, "you must obey me! I order you to place that man under arrest," pointing to the major. "Do you hear me, boy?" as Ted hesitated in his bewilderment.

The major swore furiously. "Who on earth may you be? What do you mean by this impertinence, you drunken civilian?"

The tall man took not the slightest notice. He looked at the boy with stern set face, and there was something in his look that enforced obedience. Still doubtful, but unable to resist the tone of authority, Ensign Russell stepped towards the bully, saying:

"You must consider yourself under arrest, sir."

Naik Karbir understood some English, and was attentively following the course of events. He whispered to his men, and a couple at once placed themselves, with bayonets fixed, on either side of the Englishman. The prisoner foamed at the mouth.

"What do you mean by this outrage, you young whipper-snapper? Take your men away! You'll repent this, you impertinent hound!"

Our hero looked towards the stranger, who fixed his eyes on the boy, but took no further notice. Then the major appealed to his men.

"My lads, drive these Gurkhas away, and take that English cub prisoner. Kill those little fiends if they resist!"

Nothing loth, ten men of the 15th Derajats sprang forward, and the Gurkhas closed round their officer. The stranger raised his hand imperiously.

"Stop, my children! Come back!" cried a shrill voice, that quavered with fear; and the Punjabis pulled up short and regarded the speaker with amazement as profound as that of Ted. His new ally was the native officer of the party, a grizzled Waziri from the Bannu district.

"It is an order, my children; we must obey," the old man continued to the wondering sepoys.

Their own subadar and chieftain on the side of the Gurkhas and of that infidel dog of a _bhisti_! What could it mean? But most astounded of all were the major and the ensign.

"What! Ahmed Khan!" exclaimed the bully. "Wilt thou suffer me to be insulted in this way?"

"What can I do, sahib? It is an order," the Waziri answered in troubled tones.

Then the stranger spoke again.

"Ensign, you are on duty here, and here you had better remain. I relieve you of the prisoner." Turning to the Waziri subadar he continued: "Ahmed Khan is thy name?"

The subadar fell on his knees. "It is thy servant's name, O Hakim[18]!"

[18] Lord.

"Ahmed Khan, I see that thou dost know me, and therefore thou wilt obey. I charge thee to escort this officer--thine officer no longer, whose commands thou must not obey--to the tent of General Wilson, and there say who sent thee. Also, see that this _bhisti_ is carried gently to the hospital, and treat him well. It is my command."

The Waziri salaamed.

A shell whistled overhead and burst some way in front. A second quickly followed, and splinters flew around.

"This is becoming warm, youngster," remarked the tall man, smiling. "Ahmed Khan, begone quickly!"

The subadar whispered to his men, who thereupon glanced hurriedly, with awe-stricken eyes, at the bearded Englishman, placed two on each side of the prisoner, with bayonets fixed, and gave the word to march. The escort moved rapidly away, the major too dazed and cowed to attempt resistance.

The stranger advanced and placed a hand on Ted's shoulder. His face was no longer stern and forbidding; it was the face of a great and good man.

"My lad," he said kindly, "let this be the last time you disobey your senior officer. On this occasion you were right No gentleman, no Christian, could have obeyed his brutal order. But such a case rarely happens, and you must beware lest you take too much upon yourself."

Ted bowed his head. He knew already that he was in the presence of the greatest and noblest man he had ever seen.

The stranger continued:

"I see you are with the Sirmur Battalion. I have heard of their glorious deeds."

Ted, full of the subject, and more at his ease now, poured forth for five minutes an account of the valour displayed by Rifles, Guides, and Gurkhas, then stopped, ashamed at having spoken so much. But, moved thereto by the kind expression of interest in the man's face, he added:

"When are we to make the assault, sir?"

The stranger's countenance lighted up.

"It will not be very long now, lad; the time is at hand. Well, I have much to do; good-bye, ensign!"

The man held out his hand, adding, "Remain a true, God-fearing gentleman, of whom your country may be proud, as it is not of that man who has just left us."

"Good-bye, sir!---- But would you tell me your name?"

"I am Brigadier Nicholson," was the simple reply.

Ted's heart glowed with pride and pleasure. He had shaken hands with this famous man; he had actually enjoyed ten minutes' private talk with him--a thing half the officers in the camp would have given much for. The name of the young general was on everyone's lips. Over the heads of his seniors in rank John Nicholson had been given the command of the Punjab Movable Column, and wherever that column had marched victory had crowned its arms, no matter what the odds. Along the frontier of the Indus, amidst the wild robber clans of Bannu, he was worshipped as a deity; and Ted now understood what had been incomprehensible before, namely, the strange behaviour of the subadar, and the sudden awe that had fallen upon the Pathans as soon as Ahmed Khan had whispered the magic words "Jan Nikkulseyn".