CHAPTER XXVII

An Encounter with the Nana Sahib

Knowing that his present force would be lost in the mazes of Lucknow, Sir Colin awaited reinforcements. Jung Bahadur, the Gurkha prime minister and commander-in-chief, was marching down to his assistance with a strong column of the Nepal army, and Lord Canning, the governor-general, had advised Sir Colin to wait for the Gurkhas, as their general was keen on taking part in the siege, and Jung Bahadur would be annoyed if he had to return to Nepal without having had a share in any important fighting, and his friendship was worth something to the British. The troops were therefore employed in keeping open communications, and in small expeditions to Bithur, where Nana Sahib lived, and whithersoever the rebels were gathered in force.

Christmas came and went, and a new year opened, before Ted Russell took part in another fight. In the early days of January, 1858, the rebels were attacked at the village of Khuda-ganj, north-west of Cawnpore.

No sooner were the troops within range than the native gunners opened fire, and showed how excellent had been their training. The shells whizzed viciously overhead, and one burst with a crash between Ted and Ramzan Khan, who were within ten paces of each other, the fragments whirring about their ears without touching man or beast. Boldre's Horse were ordered to retire out of range, and the Horse Artillery began to talk back, and Peel's tars came running up, dragging their big guns along without apparent effort, and, wheeling them smartly into action, were soon pumping shot and shell into the rebel stronghold.

The rest of the troops were ordered to take cover and lie down until the cannon should have played havoc among the mutineers, and prepared the way for a bayonet charge. And now Ted and Claude, from behind the sand-hills, witnessed an unusual incident, no less than open defiance of the commander-in-chief himself, by an English regiment--flat mutiny in fact.

The men of the 53rd firmly believed that Sir Colin favoured the Highlanders unduly, and gave them more than their due. Having learned that he had selected the 93rd for the honour of leading the stormers, they quietly determined to baulk their rivals. The rebel fire was still unsilenced--indeed both Sir Colin and General Hope Grant had just been hit by spent bullets--when one of the 53rd rose and ran forward yelling. A howl of triumph and a cheer, and the regiment dashed after him.

Sir Colin was furious--but the 53rd must be supported, even though they had upset his plans. He gave the 93rd the order to back them up, and Hope Grant advanced his cavalry.

A thrill of delight passed through the nerves of our two lieutenants as the "Charge" was sounded, and the line of British Lancers and Sikh and Pathan Irregulars shot forward at a gallop, knee to knee as though on parade, the earth quivering beneath the hammering, the horses straining as if they entered into the feelings of their riders. It was a supreme moment, and Ted could tell that his good Arab was as excited as himself as the line thundered onwards. And then the regularity of the gallop was spoiled and the better-horsed shot ahead, for the lads of the 53rd had broken Jack Pandy's heart, and he was already scudding away with his guns. One party of rebels after another was overtaken and scattered, and on went the cavalry until all the guns were captured and hardly a rebel was left in sight. Then they turned and charged back upon those who had escaped the first shock.

"Hurt at all?" asked Ted as he came up with Claude Boldre.

Boldre pointed to his leg, from which the blood was welling. "Bit of a bayonet prick from a pandy who was down. I don't think much of it."

"Better have it bathed, though.---- By Jove, look there! Roberts is a dead man--no, he's cut the sepoy down!"

The troop of native cavalry with which the future hero of Kandahar and Pretoria was riding had come across a body of mutineers, who, unable to escape, had turned and fired, mortally wounding Younghusband, the commandant. Roberts was hurrying to his friend's aid, when he noticed a pandy in the act of slaying one of his troopers. He instantly engaged the rebel, and, cutting him down, saved the life of the Punjabi. Turning round Lieutenant Roberts perceived a couple of sepoys hurrying off with a standard, so he pursued and overtook them, and, seizing the standard with his left hand, he killed the bearer. As he did so the other sepoy let fly, his musket barely a foot away. Luckily for England it missed fire, and the second opponent was speedily disposed of, and Lieutenant Roberts bore away the standard and thereby gained the V.C.

"Well done, Roberts!" exclaimed Ted as they watched him ride away.

"Didn't you shiver when you saw the pandy pull the trigger?"

"I went cold all over. I thought he was done for. But come along and bathe your cut if you don't want to be laid up."

"I don't want that, thanks--not until we've driven the beggars out of Lucknow.

"I like that nag of yours better every time I see him," observed Boldre, as his own horse stumbled towards camp, winded by the long gallop.

"Yes, he was a bargain. I should like to know who owned him originally. By the way, I wonder what Sir Colin will do to the 53rd. The chief can be a peppery old gentleman when he likes, and I expect there'll be a row."

"Yes, I shouldn't care to be in their shoes."

They were not present to witness the scene, but for once in his life Sir Colin was vanquished. Whenever he attempted to "dress down" the regiment, the "bhoys" of the 53rd, highly elated by the success of their trick, would interrupt with shouts of "Three cheers for the commander-in-chief, boys!" And so rapturously did they applaud and with such hearty good-temper that the old general was forced to laugh in spite of himself; and after that it was no use to pretend to be angry. He rode away amid a storm of cheers. The 53rd had won.

After a prolonged stay at Fatehghar, Boldre's Horse returned to Cawnpore. Now for the first time Ted had leisure to look round this town, so sorrowfully interesting to the English race. Alec knew the place well, having stayed there before Ted came down from Lahore; so he took his chum to the ghaut where the massacre had begun, and then to that last sad scene of the murder.

There were gruesome sights still to be witnessed in Cawnpore, and, partially inured as the lads now were to the horrors of war, there was that in Cawnpore to make them shudder--bones bleaching on the many sand-banks of the broad river, and corpses floating down its sacred stream.

But the saddest sights of all were those which recalled the foul treachery of the previous summer. Nowhere did the British soldiers so long to close with the sepoys, hand to hand and steel against steel, as at Cawnpore. Ill fared it, then, with any natives of that town whom the soldiers suspected of having helped, or even looked on, at that dire tragedy. It is to be feared that the innocent sometimes suffered for the sins of the guilty, for the soldiers were not in a mood to discriminate, and they did not know then that sepoys, even of the rebel regiments, had absolutely refused to obey the Nana, when he gave the order for the women and children to be murdered.

The Sikh and Pathan allies had old scores to pay off against the Oudh sepoys, and they were with difficulty restrained. More than one harmless Hindu, who had taken no part in the outrage--who had perhaps risked his life for his master--fell a victim to their vengeance.

Our two Aurungpore officers were gazing upon the waters of the Ganges, some distance east of the ghaut, silent and meditative. Ted was picturing the scene of the massacre, and the terrible agonies of the women as they saw their husbands being killed off by the concealed marksmen without a chance to retaliate; and the horror of all as the survivors were dragged to shore amid the gleeful shouts of the ruffians. Perhaps a pandy had been lying down there where he and Alec stood. His hand went to his sword-hilt at the thought.

Paterson on the other hand was trying to realize that this muddy stream was actually the great Ganges, the wonderful river of which he had heard and read so much in childhood--Mother Ganges, the deity of the Hindus.

A nearly-naked Hindu entered the sacred stream, a brass vessel in his hand. Wading until his knees were covered he dipped the loto in the filthy water and drank therefrom, or rather filled his mouth and let it trickle out again. Then he splashed his body from head to foot, and presently crouched down in the water and prayed to Mother Gunga.

"Well," observed Ted with disgust, "if that chap ain't poisoned he deserves to be purified. Ugh! drinking that filth!"

"He keeps looking at us," said Alec. "I wonder what he wants."

"No good, I'll be bound. He's praying now."

The devotee came to the bank and began to smear himself with holy mud, facing in turn north, east, south, and west. A number of Hindus were now in the water, but none was so devout as he, whom the others watched in respectful admiration. Quite suddenly he raised his arm on high, and, fixing the two with his rolling eyes, he cursed them aloud. Pretending not to notice, the boys turned away, but the _yogi_ ran after them, the holy water dripping from his hair and body as he ran.

Calling them to halt, he fired off another volley of curses in a high shrill voice, greatly to the delight of his co-religionists. He called heaven to witness that he hated the unclean Feringhi, and vowed that destruction would come upon them suddenly unless they gave heed to him and returned to their own country.

By this time the yogi had approached within a pace or two of the lads, who were quickly walking away from the scene, and fifty yards to the rear followed admiring groups. The yogi leaned his head forward, spitting forth his curses, and then ostentatiously drew a knife from the folds of his loincloth, and changed his tone in a most unexpected manner.

"Take me prisoner! Quick, sahibs!" he hurriedly whispered. "I have news for you. Your pistols, quick!" and then he made pretence to strike at the nearer boy.

Alec was the quicker to act. He whipped out his revolver, and, springing towards the yogi, who had recoiled, placed the muzzle against his head. The group of Hindus howled with rage.

"Come along, you rebel dog!" Alec shouted in Urdu. "Well see how you like being shot out of a cannon."

"That's right," whispered the yogi encouragingly, and aloud he shrieked appeals to his gods to destroy the Englishmen. Ted had now hold of one of the strange fellow's arms, and together they dragged him along, he making pretence to resist.

"What do you want?" Alec whispered.

"I am loyal, but I am suspected, and there are spies perhaps watching even now. If I had come to the English camp with the news, or even spoken to you in a friendly manner, I might have lost my life. Three times have I performed _puja_ here in the hope of a chance of speaking to an English officer unsuspected. My news is that Dundu Pant of Bithur is at Pindijang. Now let me wrest myself free, and you must chase me."

"How can we know that your news is true?" asked Ted dubiously.

"Ask Lawson Sahib if he will believe Pancham Tewari. He will know."

An adroit twist and wrench and the yogi was free and running down the road. Ted fired--and missed--and Alec followed suit, both taking care not to hit the man. The onlookers howled with delight at the supposed discomfiture of the Feringhis, and the yogi turned and cursed them afresh, and the boys judged it best to retire when they saw the mob pick up stones and advance to protect the holy man.

"We'd better clear away," said Alec. "I know Major Lawson; he'll tell whether the man is genuine."

"Hope his news is true. It'll be a feather in our caps if we help to catch the Nana. Where is Pindijang?"

"No idea. It's rather a fishy business altogether, and I'm afraid it's a trap."

"I shouldn't be surprised," Ted replied. "I hope not, though, for it may be a great score for us if we help to catch the ruffian."

They lost no time in reaching camp, and Alec led the way to Major Lawson's quarters, where they told the story of the encounter with the mysterious yogi, and how they had been referred to him for a character.

"Pancham Tewari is to be trusted," said the major. "He's an old friend of mine, and he loves the Nana Sahib about as much as we do, for the scoundrel has dispossessed the Tewari family of their lands by fraud some time ago, and Pancham would do anything to get even with him. I'll see this matter through. Not a word to a soul, mind."

They kept their own counsel, and had heard no more about the matter when they turned in for the night. But Ted Russell felt sure that something was in the air, and could hardly sleep for excitement. He dreamt that he was engaged in hand-to-hand conflict with a yogi, who quite casually changed to the infamous Rajah of Bithur, and, emerging from the bed of the Ganges, chased him for many miles, finally tripping him up; whereupon Ted caught him by the throat, and the murderer began to groan. He awoke and listened. Surely someone was groaning close at hand! Alec had of late been sharing his tent, and he stretched out his hand and groped for his chum.

"What's wrong?" came a growl.

"Listen!"

"It is only the silly camels warbling. Go to sleep."

"So it is. You can whiff 'em, too! We get too much camel here. I wish the wind 'ud change."

The camel, that useful but detested animal, grunts and grumbles all night long, and the soldier blesses him in picturesque language. The fact that, moreover, "'e smells most awful vile" does not tend to increase his popularity.

"I wish you wouldn't spoil my beauty-sleep whenever you have a nightmare," Paterson sleepily grumbled, as he rolled over and became blissfully unconscious.

But Ted was restless and could not sleep. The camels kept up their serenade until he longed to sally forth with a whip. Presently a footstep was heard outside and the tent-flaps parted. Ted rose to a sitting posture and laid hold of his pistol.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

"'For Valour'!" came the cool reply. "Why, my V.C. winner, you're as frightened as a babu! Get up! we're going on a daur."

It was Claude Boldre. Giving Alec a joyous kick, Ted hurriedly dressed and went out. The sun had not yet risen, but the camp was fitfully lighted by the wood-fires, around which half-clad native servants squatted and shivered. Others were running to and fro, aimlessly to all appearance, and the horses had begun to neigh. Away to the right he could make out against the walls of white canvas the dark forms of Govind Singh and Hira Singh superintending the preparations of their men.

"Come along, Ted, and have some breakfast," said Claude, appearing from behind the tents. "Your horse is being looked after. We start in half an hour."

Linking his arm in Ted's he marched him into the colonel's tent, calling to Paterson to follow. As they entered, Colonel Boldre looked up from his map, nodded, and motioned towards the breakfast-table. The coffee-pot was steaming thereon, and the boys did not hesitate. The tent was not more than a dozen feet square, and there was only one spare chair. Claude sat on the pallet-bed and Ted on a trunk.

"Are we going to Pindijang?" asked the latter, "and if so, where is it?"

"Why!" exclaimed the colonel in surprise, "how did you know?"

Ted and Alec laughed.

"This is our daur, colonel. Didn't you know?"

"Your daur! What on earth do you mean?"

"We brought the news last night that the Nana was there," Alec replied. "We had it from a spy."

Colonel Boldre regarded them with interest.

"You never told me," said Claude.

"We were told to keep it quiet," said Ted.

"Quite right!" observed their commandant. "Pindijang is about nine miles away, and this is to be a cavalry affair. Our fellows are going, with a detachment of Hodson's and Probyn's, and a squadron of the 9th Lancers, and a troop of Horse Artillery."

"The pater's in command," whispered Claude.

"I congratulate you, colonel," said Alec promptly.

In came Major Lawson, and the boys cleared out. The wild-looking men of Boldre's Horse had broken their fast and were eager for the fray, chattering in groups, discussing the probable destination, and hazarding all kinds of wild conjectures. A few moments later without any sound of bugles, the regiment was in the saddle and trotting away to the north-west.

Paterson sorrowfully watched them depart, for he had not obtained permission to accompany the force.

"Where are the others?" Ted enquired of Claude.

"Don't know.... Who are these?--oh! the Flamingoes, and there are the Probyn ruffians. We've done it very quietly."

A blurred mass appeared presently away to the right.

"Those will be the Lancers and the guns," Ted hazarded his opinion. "Yes, there's no mistaking that music. Good old Horse Artillery!"

With joined forces the little flying column pushed forward at a trot, the pleasant clatter of hoofs and jingle and rattle of the guns forming an accompaniment, inspiring with its martial noise.

A flash of yellow light gleamed far away on the eastern horizon, as the metal upon one of the tall minarets of Lucknow caught the first rays, and the sun had risen. There before them lay the fortified village of Pindijang in the dip hollowed out by the shallow tributary running south-east to join the Granges. The place was walled, and they could see the black muzzles of cannon peeping from the embrasures. The neighbourhood was well wooded, affording good cover for sharp-shooters.

Colonel Boldre grumbled at his hard luck. Half an hour earlier and he could have taken the village by surprise. The fault was not his, for the map showed Pindijang as nine miles from Cawnpore. It had proved not less than a dozen, and would have to be taken by hard fighting, not by a _coup_.

He sent the Lancers with two of the horse-guns away to the right to cut off retreat in the direction of Lucknow, the Irregular Horse remaining concealed by a wood until the flanking party should be ready to co-operate. Ted and Claude stood watching the Englishmen ride off, admiring the gallant bearing of the splendid Bengal Horse Artillery, a corps that has given so many famous men to India. The lances of the cavalry flashed and glittered as the steel points caught the sun, making, with the picturesque trappings of the Artillery and the fascination of their guns, one of the bright and beautiful scenes of war. The other side of the picture was presently to be seen.

"We're quite on a hill here," said Ted. "I should not have thought the ground dipped so much. They're out of sight."

"There will be a stream to cross down there."

Presently a myriad flashing of tiny points of moving fire, like the facets of waves dancing in the sun, and the Lancers were seen emerging from the hollow and trotting up the slight incline. But the guns were not with them, for the wheels had sunk deep in the mud of the far bank. A score of the Lancers had remained to help, while the remainder trotted across the plateau to cut off the retreat.

Suddenly a bank of smoke obscured the trunks of the trees, and the ranks of the Lancers seemed to break up, as the crash and rattle of musketry rang in the ears of the distant onlookers. Then were seen gaps and empty saddles and maddened horses. The officer in command, himself wounded, could be seen steadying his men, and, resisting the temptation to charge in among the trees, he drew them off rapidly and in good order, and brought them under cover, where they dismounted, and their carbines began to seek out the hidden pandies.

Colonel Boldre was visibly agitated. The sepoys had seen their approach and laid a trap, and, should they be strong enough to overwhelm the cavalry, the stuck guns would be lost.

He was about to give the order to support the Lancers, when there was heard a clang and a clatter and a rattle, and a whirl of dust was seen rushing up the slope, as though wind-impelled.

"B. H. A. for ever!" Ted exclaimed. "By George! they are going!"

The sound of firing so close at hand had put double strength into the backs of the gunners, and they tugged and pushed, and the plucky horses also heard the sound, and out of the mud came the guns. Mounting rapidly, the drivers cracked their whips and urged forward their teams of six good horses. The dust rose and enveloped them as they bounded along; then they wheeled, stopped sharply, and unlimbered.

Colonel Boldre's face relaxed, and he gave no command. The watchers saw the gunners busy as ants; then came a flash and a roar as a shell hurtled among the trees, and a second was in the air before the first had burst.

With hardly a pause a third and fourth shell exploded among the pandies, apparently with deadly effect. Their fire slackened, died down; they wavered, and another shell fell amongst them. Panic-stricken they streamed away towards the sheltering walls. The Lancers mounted their horses; the guns scattered another shell or two amid the fugitives, and, limbering up, rattled after them.

But the surprise had failed, and there was now little chance of capturing the arch-traitor. With poignant disappointment Colonel Boldre saw the troops pouring out of the village through the north-western gate, the exit farthest from them. He gave the word, and the Irregulars galloped away to their left front to cut them off.

Ted's Arab was both fleet and great-hearted, and he and Govind Singh were soon to the front, half a length in advance of the ragged line. It was a race, not a charge, and Ted remembered with a smile how he had once guided "The Padre" to victory. The pace of the runaways was checked by the river which, bending from the north-east, looped round the western and southern sides of the village, leaving only the eastern side open, and _there_ were the British Lancers, now quite near to the walls. Close behind him Ted could hear the jingle of a gun and the mad galloping of its team, tearing the big weapon along with jolt and clatter. Few sights are there to surpass horse artillery galloping into action, and few sounds more musical; and the noble horses seem inspired thereby, and enter into the spirit of the movement with a zest as great as that of the men.

They were now level with the ghaut, or ford, and a few hundred yards to the west thereof. The guns unlimbered, and, after sending a couple of shells after the leading fugitives who had made good their escape, they opened on the ghaut and got range with the second shot. More than half the pandies were checked; on the one side were English cavalry and a couple of those deadly guns, on the other the only way of escape was a death-trap. Colonel Boldre despatched a body of Probyn's Horse and of his own men under Claude to ride down to the ghaut and take charge of the prisoners. The rest continued in the track of the Nana.

Ted, Govind Singh, and a handful of the better-mounted men had kept on their way without a pause, and they quickly perceived that they were overhauling the sepoys, the hindmost of whom presently began to scatter across the fields and swampy ground, making for the woods and jungle. And after them went most of the pursuers.

But Ted and Govind Singh with some of their Jalandar men kept straight ahead. They had noticed that amongst the runagates who had stuck to the road were two or three men of consequence, to judge by their costumes and the caparisons of their steeds. And some instinct told our ensign that he in the middle of the group, decked out in a conspicuous saffron shawl, with a glittering turban, was none other than the Nana himself. Heedless of all other considerations he urged his handful onward, speeding farther and farther away from the main body, intent only on slaying or capturing the Mahratta ruffian.

They were now within a hundred yards of their quarry, and almost up with the laggards, some of whom broke away into the paddy-fields, while those who were not quick enough received short shrift from Govind Singh's compatriots. With hardly a pause the Punjabis again swept forward, their number reduced by one. As they lessened the distance separating them from the rear-guard a couple of pandies swiftly swerved aside, off the track, and fired as the Sikhs, unprepared for the manoeuvre, flew past in a bunch. The sowar on the right of Govind Singh reeled in his saddle and then his horse shot to the front, relieved of its burden, and Ted noticed that a second of his men winced, let his carbine fall, and clapped a hand to his side.

"Forward!" shouted the young officer as the men began to pull on the reins. "Forward! Never mind those two; there's a big reward for him who catches that saffron fellow in front!"

With much reluctance the Punjabis allowed the two pandies to continue their flight unmolested. The chieftain and his body-guard were within pistol-shot, and Ted fired twice, and unhorsed the sepoy who rode next to the leader, at whom he had aimed. And suddenly the rebels turned and with savage yells charged back upon their pursuers. Ted again aimed at the leader and again missed, and the Nana's men were upon them, three to one.

With a yell as savage as theirs Govind Singh rose in his stirrups and felled his nearest opponent with one mighty blow, and, leaning forward, buried his tulwar in the shoulder of another. Before he could recover his blade a lance was thrust into his breast, and he dropped like a log. Ted saw the fall of his right-hand man, and was near enough to cut down the striker just as another of the mutineers rode full tilt at him.

The lance-point grazed his tunic, and he caught the shaft under his arm-pit, gave the pandy his point, and went forward, straight for the man with the saffron shawl, who was keeping well in the background. He cut at the villain's head, but a tulwar interposed, caught his blade, and snapped it off at the hilt. And at this moment, when the superior strength and size and courage of the Punjabis were barely enabling them to hold their own, the two pandies who had escaped had now wheeled round and charged to the aid of their comrades, taking Ted's two or three unexpectedly in the rear and deciding the issue.

A tremor of cold fear ran through our hero's frame as he found himself armed only with a useless sword-hilt wherewith to defend himself. The vile Mahratta raised his pistol, and, at a distance of three paces, fired point blank at the lad's breast. Ted Russell's career would have ended then and there had not his Arab, at the very moment that the trigger was pulled, trodden on the edge of a naked blade. The horse reared, received the bullet in its head, and rolled over dead, almost crushing its rider.

One Sikh and one only of the reckless few who had galloped in the wake of Ted and Govind Singh remained alive, and he was unhorsed and fighting valiantly on foot. He hacked his way to the rescue of his officer, and wounded the pandy who, having disarmed Ted, was about to deal a finishing blow. Then he in his turn was laid low. Ted still had his revolver; raising himself on his elbow he took aim at the Nana, who instantly set spurs to his horse, and his two surviving retainers followed his example. But Ted had the Mahratta rajah covered. Filled with exultation at the thought that the murderer was at last at his mercy he pulled the trigger.

There was no report, and he realized with a heavy heart that the weapon's chambers were all empty, that the arch-traitor had escaped, and that he was helpless!

He rose and looked about him, and a reaction of thankfulness followed the bitter disappointment as the thought stole upon him that he had escaped with no injury more serious than a scratch or two. He perceived that it was lucky that his enemies, as well as he himself, had been under the impression that the revolver was still loaded. What would have been his fate had they known the truth?

He began to search for Govind Singh's body. The veteran risaldar had ceased to breathe; he had died as he would have wished, fighting against odds. The boy had come to regard his grim old comrade with an affection that had been returned by the risaldar. The other Sikhs were also all dead, so fierce had been the hand-to-hand combat; and of the Nana's following at least a dozen were slain or were dying. One of the latter, a youngster barely sixteen, was regarding the Feringhi with eyes in which hatred and a desire to propitiate struggled mutely for mastery. Ted divined the meaning of that look and hastened to hand his water-bottle to the sufferer, who greedily gulped the water down and regarded his benefactor with gratitude.

"Tell me," said Ted, "who was he with the saffron shawl?"

"That was the Rajah of Bithur," replied the wounded lad.

With a glance of regret towards the good Arab that had served him so well, Ted mounted Govind Singh's horse, which was standing beside its dead master, and sped away to rejoin his comrades, some of whom could be seen in the distance returning from the chase. Colonel Boldre had many prisoners and several guns to show as the result of the daur, but the main object of the expedition had escaped.

"I was afraid you had been killed, Russell," said he.

"I've lost Govind Singh, the risaldar, and a good many men, sir, and we just missed the Nana. He unhorsed me, and I should have shot him if I'd had the sense to reserve a bullet for him."

"Unhorsed you? Dundu Pant himself?" exclaimed the commandant.

Ted reported the affair, and Colonel Boldre, uncertain whether to praise or blame, remained deep in thought.

"You had a narrow squeak," said he at last.