CHAPTER XXVI

Lucknow Relieved

Pushing forward with all speed past Mainpuri and Bewar, Colonel Boldre arrived in the British camp on November 13th, shortly after Sir Colin Campbell had assumed command of the Relief Force. The column was encamped within and around the grounds of the Alambagh, a big mansion enclosed by a high wall, three or four miles south of Lucknow. Here they met many of their Delhi friends, who had come down with Colonel Hope Grant, and one of the first to greet them was Alec Paterson. There was plenty to say on both sides.

Ted found that Alec, who still limped a little in walking, had been appointed an extra aide-de-camp by the brigadier, who had noticed the lad's great energy and thoroughness at Delhi. Alec told his chum how glad he was that his name had been cleared, and wanted to know all about the trial at once; but Ted was too anxious to look round the camp and find out the notables, so, observing that the story would keep, he asked Alec to act as guide. Paterson, by the way, did not mention the little fact that he had greatly distinguished himself under Greathed at Agra on the way down, and had been recommended for promotion. Ted found that out from another source.

"We advance to-morrow," the aide-de-camp informed his chums, and broke off abruptly to call their attention to a big, square-shouldered man in blue tunic, white cords, and jack-boots. "Here, do you see that man with the reddish hair and beard? He's a plucky chap. He's a clerk, not a soldier, but he's done a feat that any man might be proud of."

"What's he done?" asked Claude.

"Well, he don't look much like a mild Hindu or any other sort of Asiatic, does he? But he volunteered to disguise himself and break through the rebel lines with a note from Outram and plans of the enemy's weak points and advice for Sir Colin. And he did it. Fancy a man of his build and hair and features disguised as a native of Oudh! He must have a nerve. But he got through, and the general now has the plans; and if we succeed, Kavanagh will deserve a share of the credit. He's in the Volunteer Cavalry now."

"I want to see Sir Colin," said Ted. "Is he likely to be about?"

"I'll point him out if we see him. And who do you think is going to conduct the force to-morrow?"

"Who? How should I know?"

"Why, Lieutenant Roberts, the Artillery D.A.Q.M.G. at Delhi. That young man will be a major-general before any of us commands a battalion. He's a wonderful fellow, but so modest that nobody is jealous."

"Fine-looking lot those Highlanders!" Alec observed as they passed a group of men wearing the kilt and bonnet and white gaiters.

"They're the 93rd, I suppose," said Ted. "Hoot, mon, what for do ye no don the kilt yourself, Sandy?"

"I should like to," Alec replied. "The 93rd's a grand regiment, and I'm proud of being a countryman of theirs."

"Hear, hear!" said Ted. "They look fit."

The three friends entered the Alambagh enclosure.

"Who are those two?" asked Claude, nodding towards a couple of distinguished-looking officers who were walking about slowly, in earnest conversation.

"Ssh!--not so loud. Why, the older man is Sir Colin himself, and the taller one with glasses is General Mansfield, his chief of staff."

"Oh!"

The boys looked with keen interest upon the commander-in-chief. They saw a spare man, with a slight stoop, but a soldier to the backbone--an elderly man with furrowed brows, bearing the marks of long and arduous service; but there was no sign of weakness about the firm mouth, or the eyes so clear and alert.

"Yes, that's the commander-in-chief," said Paterson again. "Now, Ted, I've shown you round, and it's your turn to enlighten me now. I only know the bare facts that you have been cleared, and that Tynan is a howling cad."

So Ted had once more to tell what had befallen Tynan and himself at Lahore, and when he had finished the narrative, Alec asked:

"And what became of Pir Baksh?"

"He was condemned to death and shot the day before I left Lahore. Colonel Woodburn and Munro were almost as pleased as I was when the truth came out, for I really think that they believed that I had been unjust to poor Tynan. But Ethel Woodburn had stuck up for me through thick and thin."

"Miss Woodburn is the nicest, jolliest girl in India," said Alec with conviction, "and your brother's a jolly lucky fellow."

"He is so. Yes, she's all that and more, and she kept my spirits up when I was feeling jolly well down in the mouth. Wasn't she glad when I was cleared! It was almost worth while having gone through it all. I don't suppose I'll ever see Tynan again. Poor beggar, I'm sorry for him, for I don't think he ever meant to do it."

"What became of those Rajputs he'd bribed?"

"They were dismissed from the service. Dwarika Rai begged my pardon before he went. He said that he hadn't understood that his evidence might disgrace me until it was too late for him to draw back, and I believed him."

"It was a funny business altogether," was Claude's opinion, given in a tone of unusual thoughtfulness. "The man must have been mad."

"He was a born cad," said Paterson, "and deserved the same fate as Pir Baksh."

"I don't agree with you," said Ted. "I think there's some good in him."

"Precious little. But I haven't time to argue; I must make a strategical retirement. See you to-morrow."

After Alec's departure Claude and Ted found their way to the roof of the Alambagh, where were one or two officers whom they did not know. Over the expanse of wooded plain they caught glimpses of the mosques and minarets and gilded spires of Lucknow, rearing their heads above the abundant foliage of the parks and great gardens. The city seemed to stretch as far as the eye could reach, and they both experienced a curious thrill as they gazed thereat.

"And that's where Sir Henry Lawrence died, and where Outram and Havelock are now," observed Ted, almost in a whisper.

"Eighty-seven days they held out before Havelock got through," Claude reflected aloud. "It was a grand defence. I wonder whereabouts the Residency is?"

"Over there, due north," said a voice beside them.

"Thank you!" Claude replied; and they looked at the speaker, a clean-shaven man with hair inclined to wave, attired in a dress that seemed singularly out of place there, even among so great a variety of uniforms. He wore a blue frock-coat, and his white trousers were unstrapped; there was a white cover to his cap, and hunting-spurs adorned his shoes.

"Where are you youngsters from?" he asked.

"Delhi," Ted replied. "We've just arrived with some Irregular Horse."

"Delhi! And you two had the luck to take part in the siege?"

"I served all through," Ted answered with a little pride. "I went there with the Guides."

"Lucky young cub! Wish I could have taken my boys there."

"Rummy customer!" was Claude's comment, as the stranger turned away. "Who is he?"

"I wonder. Looks more like a sailor than a soldier. But whoever he is, he's accustomed to command; I could see that. But I fancy it's time to find our way back to our own lines."

At 9 a.m. next day the column moved off in high spirits, Lieutenant Roberts conducting the advance, with the aid of a native guide he had secured. The enemy had been led to believe that the movement would be made direct, by the northern route taken by Havelock two months previously. But from the Alambagh the column struck eastwards for the Dilkusha (Heart's Delight) Palace. The ruse was successful. Having made their plans to meet the direct assault, the sepoys were not prepared for the flanking movement, and no time was given them to strengthen the defences of the positions now threatened. Outside the wall of the Dilkusha Park the column halted until a large enough breach had been made by the guns, and Ted watched the Highlanders of the 93rd pulling up carrots in a field, and, after a hurried scrape, munching them with great content.

The obstruction was short; a portion of the park wall was soon broken down, and in went the Highlanders, eager to close. But the rebels had fled. A staff-officer, short and slight, trotted past as Ted's Arab was picking its way over the fallen masonry.

"There goes plucky wee Bobs!" he heard a sergeant of the 93rd remark to his mate; and Ted recognized the officer as Lieutenant Roberts. It was the first time he had heard the affectionate nickname bestowed upon the much-loved hero by the soldiers of forty-five years ago. Roberts, an artillery officer, had, of course, never served with the 93rd, but the "Scotties" had seen much of him lately, and even so early in his career he had won a place in their hearts rarely filled by any whose name is not prefixed by "Mac". "Bobs" they had christened him, "Plucky wee Bobs". To be known by such a name among these gallant fellows of the 93rd--the famous Thin Red Line of Balaclava--told of unusual coolness and daring.

Ted saw Lieutenant Roberts shoot ahead to reconnoitre, a native trooper following. The artillery officer halted, gazed in front, and signalled for the guns to advance. As he did so the roar of cannon thundered from behind the yellow palace. The rebels had opened point-blank upon the two solitary horsemen from a hidden battery, cutting the orderly's horse in two, and the trooper fell beneath his dead steed. Roberts was seen coolly to dismount in the face of the guns, and a loud huzza rose from the throats of the Highlanders as he dragged the orderly from under the weight, though the grape whizzed about them.

Under his direction the guns advanced, and the mutineers did not stay to test the British marksmanship, but made off with all speed in the direction of the Martinière. Almost without a pause the cavalry cantered across the high swards of the Dilkusha Park, the startled deer scudding away on all sides in vain endeavour to escape the noise.

As the Horse Artillery and cavalry drew nearer, the Martinière was quickly deserted, and Boldre's Horse and a few squadrons of regulars and irregulars pursued the sepoys as far as the canal. There was no dressed line of thundering horses, for the troopers broke off in threes or fours, whenever they saw a chance of engaging the pandies; and Ted, spurring after Govind Singh, who, having the start of him, was hotly in pursuit of one body of rebels, suddenly saw his friend Boldre busily engaged with three faithless sowars and in sore plight. Turning to Claude's aid, he drew off one, and, with a clever thrust, was able to disable the man's sword-arm. Boldre, who was no swordsman, by good luck cut down a second, and the third fled as Ramzan Khan came up at a gallop.

"Thanks, Russell!" said Claude. "But look out! here are half a dozen more."

Perceiving that the two Englishmen were separated from their comrades, a number of rebel troopers--men of the Irregular Cavalry who had deserted Henry Lawrence at Chinhut five months before--charged down upon the little group with sharp, angry cries. Before the lads had resolved how to withstand the shock, Ramzan Khan shot out to meet the pandies, and there was nothing for it but to back him up.

"Plucky beggar! He'll be killed!" groaned Claude; but to their amazement the orderly showed himself a consummate wielder of the sword. He swerved aside as they bore down upon him, and slashed at the nearest rebel as he passed, the man tumbling like a sack of flour from his horse. Parrying a blow, he disarmed another by a turn of the wrist, and smote a third over the shoulder just as Ted arrived on the scene and made for the pandy on his orderly's right. Ted swung his sword aloft--and then his head seemed to split, and he saw the stars dancing in their courses. The sword fell from his grasp, but his knees instinctively retained their grip, and the blood streamed down his face.

"I'm not killed anyhow," said he to himself, and began to look about him. Ramzan Khan was engaged with two at once, and the cruel-looking little pandy at whom he had ridden was clearly getting the better of Boldre. Ted urged his restive Arab alongside the sepoy's horse, and, having no sword, clutched the man by his tunic collar and under his left arm, and putting forth all his strength, he swung him from the saddle. Before he could drop him, the sowar, turning half round in the air, got his knee on the neck of Ted's horse and aimed a vicious cut at his captor. The blow would have done for Ted, had not Claude been able to strike up the sword and give the point, and the pandy sank at the horse's feet. Ramzan Khan's remaining opponents had fled.

"You've saved me twice to-day, Russell," said Boldre quietly. "Are you hurt?"

"I don't know. Something struck me in the face, but I can't imagine what it was. It seems as if my nose is bleeding."

Claude roared most ungratefully.

"Why," said he, "as you charged the pandy, he suddenly backed his horse away from Ramzan Khan, and your Arab cannoned into it, and, half-rearing, he threw up his head and caught you full on the nose as you were leaning forward. Then I drew the pandy's attention from you."

"Is that how it was? Where did my sword go?---- Ah! there it is; but what an ass I am!"

"Why particularly so?"

"I never had the sense to use my pistol." He took out his Deane and Adams revolver and fingered it regretfully, adding to the orderly as they turned back towards the Martinière and again joined their comrades:

"We owe our lives to your courage and skill, Ramzan Khan. You are bleeding. Are you hurt?"

The Mohammedan grinned, showing his even teeth and the whites of his eyes.

"It is nothing. I owed you a debt, sahib, so let there be no talk of thanks. It was for this purpose that my father sent me to ride by your side."

"I thank you no less," Ted assured him; and added, "You can use your sword."

"Ah! my father taught us. He is indeed a swordsman. He will be pleased that I have proved of service."

As they drew near to the Martinière Claude exclaimed:

"Hullo, there's our friend of yesterday! Why, of course it's Peel! What duffers we were not to guess!"

Peel! Captain Peel of H.M.S. _Shannon_, commanding the famous Naval Brigade with the big guns from the man-of-war at Calcutta. Yes, he it was who had shown them the position of the Residency. Right glad were the troops in Ladysmith of the aid of the sailors and their splendid guns, and glad were the raisers of the Lucknow siege when Peel and his jolly tars came to bear a hand.

The sailors had unyoked the stolid bullocks--"cow-horses" they contemptuously termed them--and were hauling on the drag-ropes, drawing the mighty engines of destruction along as though they were but wooden toys, and the Punjabis of Boldre's Horse gazed in bewilderment at this new species of Feringhi. Shorter men than themselves, but what giants in strength!

"Who are they, sahib?" asked Govind Singh. "Is it a new kind of soldier like those big warriors in petticoats we first saw yesterday?" And Ted tried hard to explain to the Sikhs how Britain's chief strength lay, not in her comparatively small army, but in her glorious navy.

"But why are they doing coolie work? They are indeed strong as bullocks."

"Do bullocks take a pride in their work, or can they do it half so well?" Ted replied. "These men love their guns, and they rejoice in their strength, and so they are invincible."

In all probability Ramzan Khan had saved our hero's life that November afternoon, but the same night he was fighting desperately against an equally remorseless foe, against whom his orderly's swordmanship was of no avail. For he was again down with cholera, and this time a far worse attack than the slight one at Delhi, and when his chums left his bedside next morning they hardly dared hope to see him again. For days he lay between life and death, and then, thanks to a tough constitution and a healthy life, he rallied and began to pick up.

The Martinière, in which he lay, was a vast palace built by Claude Martin, a French adventurer who had amassed great wealth in Lucknow. It was a curious building, with statues placed wherever they would stand, in grotesque profusion. The Frenchman had hoped to sell the palace to his friend the King of Oudh, naming a price of one million sterling. But the monarch had laughed at the idea, informing old Monsieur Martin that by their law the property would belong to the sovereign on the death of the owner. So Martin determined to outwit the king, and prepared his own tomb within the building. In due course Claude Martin died and was buried therein, thus circumventing his royal master, for no Mussulman dare live in a building in which the body of an unbeliever has lain. Previous to the siege the Martinière had been used as a school for the children of soldiers.

As Ted lay in helpless pain the booming of the guns never seemed to cease. In spirit he was back again with the Gurkhas on the Ridge, watching Brind's battery pounding at the walls of Delhi. At last the thunder of the cannon ceased, and he fell asleep. When he woke up Alec Paterson was talking to the doctor, and he heard the latter say: "I think he's all right now; he's had a bad time, though."

"Hullo, Alec! Has Brind breached the walls yet?"

"Brind? You're wandering, old man; we're just outside Lucknow." And, faintly remembering, Ted began to collect his scattered wits.

"I've been dreaming," said he. "I thought we were still on the Ridge. I remember now. Sir Colin is attacking to-day, isn't he?"

"Not to-day; we're retreating to-day."

"What? D'you think you can pull my leg so easily?"

"It's a fact. The force is retiring, and I've come on with instructions. Listen! Those are Blunt's guns."

"And do you mean to say that we're leaving Lucknow to the rebels?"

"I do."

"And Outram and Havelock, and the women and children?"

"No," laughed his chum; "we've brought them away. I've just ridden from the Dilkusha, where preparations are being made to receive them. I've been ragging you. We have relieved Lucknow, but, not being strong enough to hold the town, Sir Colin is retiring on Cawnpore. He means to send the women to Allahabad and wait for reinforcements. You've missed a lot, old man. Your luck deserted you this time."

"How did our fellows behave?"

"Boldre's Horse? Hardly engaged. The brunt of the work fell on the 53rd, 93rd, and 4th Sikhs. It was fine to see the two last regiments storm the Sikanderbagh, the Sikhs going off with a rush and the Highlanders after them, racing like mad. A Highlander jumped first through the breach and was killed, then Sikhs and Pathans and Highlanders all mixed. It was fine! The Englishmen and Irishmen of the 53rd did some good work too."

"Have you seen Havelock and Outram?"

"Rather! Saw the meeting between them and Sir Colin and Hope Grant. Havelock looks bad; I'm afraid he's a dying man. I wouldn't have missed these last few days for anything, Ted. Did you hear where I went the night you were taken bad?"

"No. Were you on a _daur_[26]?"

[26] A surprise expedition on a small scale.

"Not exactly. We had run out of ammunition almost, and Sir Colin was mad with the responsible artillery officer. He sent for little Roberts, and asked if he could find his way back to the Alambagh in the dark with a mob of camels to bring back the ammunition before morning. It was a dangerous bit of night-work, but Roberts said he'd do it. So the chief told him to get one hundred and fifty camels and an escort from Grant, and also take back the wretched artillery officer and leave him at the Alambagh in disgrace. Roberts had left his native guide in charge of some Afghans, but the fellow had given his guard the slip, and he was floored. However, without letting on, he asked for an escort of native cavalry. Grant wished him to take English lancers, but Roberts said Englishmen were too noisy and jingly, and helpless if separated. In charge of the escort were Younghusband and Gough, and I begged leave at the last moment.

"Roberts was in a sweat. Before the previous day he'd never been over the ground, and the night was black, and we were liable to wander in any direction but the right one, and unless he got back with the ammunition within a few hours all the general's plans would be upset. However, with his usual genius for doing the right thing, he landed us within a short distance of the Alambagh, and went on alone to explain, being afraid lest the garrison, mistaking us for rebels, should fire and stampede the _oonts_ (camels), and then we should be left. He soon came back to say that they were getting the ammunition-boxes ready, so we quickly loaded the camels and got back in good time. Sir Colin was awfully pleased with him. It was rather exciting. If young Roberts lives long enough he'll be a great man."

"He's a jolly decent fellow."

"Yes, I saw him do another fine thing a day or two ago. We'd captured the mess-house close to the Residency, and Roberts planted the Union Jack on the top as a signal that we should soon rescue them. He was exposed to the rebel fire, and they soon bowled the flag over. Up he went again, and though they missed him they brought the staff down again. He set it up a third time, and for the third time they knocked it down. But he beat 'em in the end."

"Good!"

"There was a drummer-boy named Ross," Alec continued, "who did a similar thing. When the Shah Nujif, the highest mosque in Lucknow, was captured, he climbed like a monkey to the very top, and there he blew the 93rd's bugle-call towards the Residency while the pandies were making a target of him. Only a kid of twelve too! But I must go now, old chap. Hope you'll be all right for the final assault."

A few days after the arrival of the rescued garrison of Lucknow at the Alambagh, Ted Russell was on his legs again, and the risaldar Govind Singh was describing the part Boldre's Horse had played in the assault. The veteran's deep-set eyes flashed as he spoke of deeds of daring, when suddenly he changed his tone and his countenance softened.

"He is indeed dead, sahib," he said quietly. "I saw his grave, and they tell me that the English words on the tombstone mean that he tried to do his duty. The old Mohammedan was right."

Ted understood that the grim Sikh was referring to his hero, Sir Henry Lawrence, and he asked Govind Singh to tell him more about the saintly warrior. They strolled into the grounds, and in the square their attention was attracted by a solemn group, who stood bareheaded and downcast. Ted approached, in time to see a coffin lowered.

"Who is dead?" he asked in a whisper of a sergeant of the 93rd, who stood by. The Highlander looked dourly at his questioner.

"Wha should it be but the best of a'?" said he.

"Not Havelock?"

The Highlander nodded, and continued to gaze into the grave. It was indeed the hero of the First Relief of Lucknow who had died, and disappointed the millions who had looked forward to welcoming the victorious soldier home to England.