"Here, you," he growled, "was aught said to thee whereby thou hast a scruple to tell me how many guns defend the Cashmere Gate?"

"Huzoor," said Chumru, "there are but two things that concern me, my master's safety and the size of that jaghir your honor promised me."

Nicholson laughed with an almost boyish mirth.

"By gad," he cried, "you are fortunate in your friends, Malcolm." Then he turned to Chumru again. "The jaghir is of no mean size," he said, "but I shall see to it that a field is added for every useful fact you make known."

Frank listened to his servant's enumeration of the guns and troops at the Lah.o.r.e, Mori, and Cashmere Gates, and he was surprised at the accuracy of Chumru's mental note-taking.

"I need not have gone at all, sir," he could not help commenting when the bearer had answered Nicholson's final question. "I seem to have a Napoleon for a valet."

The brigadier laid a kindly hand on Frank's shoulder.

"You forget that you have brought me the most important news of all," he said. "The enemy is defeated before the first ladder is planted against their walls. They know it, and, thanks to you, now we know it. My only remaining difficulty is not to take Delhi, but to screw up our Chief to make the effort."

Then his voice sank to a deep growl.

"But I'll bring him to reason, I will, by Heaven, even if I risk being cashiered for insubordination!"

CHAPTER XVII

THE EXPIATION

Two hours after midnight--that is a time of rest and peace in most lands. Men have either ceased or not yet begun their toil. Even warfare, the deadliest task of all, slackens its energy, and the ghostly reaper leans on his scythe while wearied soldiers sleep. Wellington knew this when he said that the bravest man was he who possessed "two-o'clock-in-the-morning" courage, for shadows then become real, and dangers antic.i.p.ated but unseen are magnified tenfold.

Yet, soon after two o'clock in the morning of September 14, 1857, four thousand five hundred soldiers a.s.sembled behind the Ridge for the greatest achievement that the Mutiny had demanded during the four months of its wonderful history. They were divided into five columns, one being a reserve, and the task before them was to carry by a.s.sault a strongly fortified city, surrounded by seven miles of wall and ditch, held by forty thousand trained soldiers and equipped with ample store of guns and ammunition. Success meant the certain loss of one man among four--failure would carry with it a rout and ma.s.sacre unexampled in modern war.

Men had fallen in greater numbers in the Crimea, it is true--a British army had been swallowed alive in the wild Khyber Pa.s.s--but these were only incidents in prolonged campaigns, whereas the collapse of the a.s.sailants of Delhi would set free a torrent of murder, rapine and pillage, such as the utmost triumph of the rebels had not yet produced.

The Punjab, the whole of the Northwest, Central India and Rajputana, all northern Bengal and Bombay, must have been submerged in the flood if the gates of Delhi were unbarred. It is not to be marveled at, therefore, that General Wilson, the Commander-in-Chief, "looked nervous and anxious" as he rode slowly along the front of the gathering columns, nor that many of the British officers and men received the Holy Communion at the hands of their chaplains, ere they mustered for what might prove to be their last parade.

In some tents, of their own accord, the soldiers read the Old Testament lesson of the day. With that extraordinary aptness which the chronicles of the prophets often display in their relation to current events, the chapter foretold the doom of Nineveh: "Woe to the b.l.o.o.d.y city! It is full of lies and robbery ... draw the waters for the siege, fortify thy strongholds ... then shall the fire devour thee; the sword shall cut thee off; it shall eat thee up like the canker-worm."

How thrilling, how intensely personal and human, these words must have sounded in their ears, for it should ever be borne in mind that the Britons who recovered India in '57 were not only determined to avenge the barbarities inflicted on unoffending women and children, but were inspired by a religious enthusiasm that showed itself in almost every diary kept and letter sent home during the war.

And now, while the brilliant stars were dimmed by bursting sh.e.l.ls and rockets hissing in glowing curves across the sky, the columns moved forward.

English, Scotch, Irish and Welsh--swarthy Pathans, bearded Sikhs, dapper little Ghoorkahs--marched side by side, from the first column on the left, commanded by Nicholson, to the fourth, on the extreme right, led by Reid.

The plan of attack was daring and soldier-like. John Nicholson, ever claiming the post of utmost danger, elected to hurl his men across the breach made by the big guns in the Cashmere Bastion, the strongest of the many strong positions held by the enemy. The second column, under Brigadier Jones, was to storm the second breach in the walls at the Water Bastion. The third, headed by Colonel Campbell, was to pa.s.s through the Cashmere Gate when the gallant six who had promised to blow open the gate itself had accomplished their task, while the fourth column, under Major Reid, undertook to clear the suburbs of Kishengunge and Pahadunpore and force its way into the city by way of the Lah.o.r.e Gate.

Brigadier Longfield, commanding the reserve, had to follow and support Nicholson. Generally speaking, if each separate attack made good its objective, the different columns were to line up along the walls, form posts, and combine for the bombardment and escalade of the fortress-palace. Nicholson, who directed the a.s.sault, had not forgotten the half-implied bargain made between Malcolm and the Princess Roshinara. Strict orders were given that the King and members of the royal family were to be taken prisoners if possible. As for Akhab Khan and other leaders of rebel brigades, it was impossible to distinguish them among so many. Not even Nicholson could ask his men to be generous in giving quarter, when nine out of every ten mutineers they encountered were less soldiers than slayers of women and children.

At last, in the darkness, the columns reached their allotted stations and halted. The engineers, carrying ladders, crept to the front.

Nicholson placed a hand on Jones's shoulder.

"Are you ready?" he asked, with the quiet confidence in the success of his self-imposed mission that caused all men to trust in him implicitly.

"Yes," answered Jones.

Nicholson turned to Malcolm and two others of his aides.

"Tell the gunners to cease fire," he said.

Left and right they hurried, stumbling over the broken ground to reach the batteries, which were thundering at short range against the fast crumbling walls. In No. 2, which Malcolm entered, he found a young lieutenant of artillery, Frederick Sleigh Roberts, working a heavy gun almost single-handed, so terribly had the Royal Regiment suffered in the contest waged with the rebel gunners during seven days and nights.

Almost simultaneously the three batteries became silent. With a heart-stirring cheer the Rifles dashed forward and fired a volley to cover the advance of the ladder-men, and the first step was taken in the actual capture of Delhi.

The loud yell of the Rifles served as a signal to the other columns.

The second, gallantly led by Jones, rushed up to the Water Bastion and entered it, but not until twenty-nine out of thirty-nine men carrying ladders were killed or wounded. On Jones's right, Nicholson, ever in the van, seemed to lift his column by sheer strength of will through an avalanche of musketry, heavy stones, grape-shot and bayonet thrusts, while the rebels, swarming like wasps to the breach, inspired each other by hurling threats and curses at the Nazarenes. But to stop Nicholson and his host they must kill every man, and be killed themselves in the killing, and, not having the stomach for that sort of fight, they ran.

Thus far a magnificent success had been achieved. It was carried further, almost perfected, by the splendid self-sacrifice displayed by the six who had promised to blow open the Cashmere Gate. To this day their names are blazoned on a tablet between its two arches--"Lieutenants Home and Salkeld of the Engineers, Bugler Hawthorne of the 52d and Sergeants Carmichael, Smith and Burgess of the Bengal Sappers." Smith and Hawthorne lived to wear the Victoria Crosses awarded for their feat. The others, while death glazed their eyes and dimmed their ears, may have known by the rush of men past where they lay that their sacrifice had not been in vain. The stout timbers and iron bands were rent by the powder-bags, and the third column fought a pa.s.sage through the double gateway into the tiny square in front of St.

James's Church.

Then, as if the story of Delhi were to serve as a microcosm of fortune's smiles and frowns in human affairs, the victorious career of the British columns received a serious, almost a mortal check. The mutineers were in full retreat, terror-stricken and dismayed. Thousands were already crossing the bridge of boats when the word went round that the Feringhis were beaten.

They were not, but the over-caution against which Nicholson had railed for months again betrayed itself in the failure of the second column to capture the Lah.o.r.e Gate when that vital position lay at its mercy.

Audacity, ever excellent in war, is sound as a proposition of Euclid in operations against Asiatics.

Brigadier and men had done what they were asked to do--they ought to have done more. Having penetrated beyond the Mori Bastion they fell back and fortified themselves against counter a.s.sault, thus displaying unimpeachable tactics, but bad generalship in view of the enemy's demoralization. Instantly Akhab Khan, who commanded in that quarter of the city, claimed a victory. The mutineers flocked back to their deserted posts. While one section pressed Jones hard, another fell on Reid's Ghoorkahs and the cavalry brigade. They actually pushed the counter attack as far as Hindu Rao's house on the Ridge, until Hope Grant's cavalry and Tomb's magnificent horse artillery tackled them. A terrific _melee_ ensued. Twenty-five out of fifty gunners were killed or wounded, the 9th Lancers suffered with equal severity, but the rebels were held, punished, and defeated, after two hours of desperate conflict.

The mischance at the Lah.o.r.e Gate cost England a life she could ill spare. When he heard what had happened, Nicholson ran to the Mori Bastion, gathered men from both columns and tried to storm the Lah.o.r.e Bastion at all hazards. It was asking too much, but those gallant hearts did not falter. They followed their beloved leader into a narrow lane, the only way from the one point to the other. They fell in scores, but Nicholson's giant figure still towered in front. With sword raised he shouted to the survivors to come on. Then a bullet struck him in the chest and he fell.

With him, for a time, drooped the flag of Britain. The utter confusion which followed is shown by Lord Robert's statement in his Memoirs that he found Nicholson lying in a dhooly near the Cashmere Gate, the native carriers having fled. Although Baird Smith, a skilled engineer and artillerist, had secured against a _coup de main_ that small portion of the city occupied by the besiegers, General Wilson was minded to withdraw the troops. Even now he considered the task of subduing Delhi to be beyond their powers. Baird Smith insisted that he should hold on.

Nicholson sent a typical message from his deathbed on the Ridge that he still had strength enough left to struggle to his feet and pistol the first man who counseled retreat, and the hara.s.sed commander-in-chief consented to the continuance of the fighting.

Although his judgment was mistaken he had good reasons for it. Akhab Khan, on whom the real leadership devolved when it became known that the King and his sons had fled from the palace, tried a ruse that might well have proved fatal to his adversaries. Counting on the exhaustion of the British and the privations they had endured during the long months on the Ridge, he caused the deserted streets, between the Cashmere and Mori Gates, to be strewed with bottles of wine, beer and spirits. To men enfeebled by heat and want of food the liquor was more deadly than lead or steel. Were it not that Akhab Khan himself was shot through the forehead while trying to repel the advance of Taylor's engineers along the main road to the palace from the Cashmere Gate, it was well within the bounds of possibility that the afternoon of the 14th might have witnessed a British _debacle_.

In one respect the sepoy commander's death was as serious to his cause as the loss of Nicholson to the English. The rebels, fighting fiercely enough in small detachments, but no longer controlled by a man who knew how to use their vastly superior numbers, allowed themselves to be dealt with in detail. Soon the British attack was properly organized, and a six days' orgy of destruction began.

Although no Briton was seen to injure a woman or child in the streets or houses of Delhi, the avenging army spared no man. Unhappily thousands of harmless citizens were slaughtered side by side with the mutineers. The British had received a great provocation and they exacted a terrible payment. On the 20th the gates of the palace were battered in and the British flag was hoisted from its topmost turret. Then, and not till then, did Delhi fall. The last of the Moguls was driven from the halls which had witnessed the grandeur and pomp of his imperial predecessors, and the great city pa.s.sed into the hands of the new race that had come to leaven the decaying East. It was a dearly-bought triumph. On September 14 the conquering army lost sixty-six officers and eleven hundred and four men. Between May 30 and September 20 the total British casualties were nearly four thousand.

Malcolm soon learnt that the Princess Roshinara had fled with her father and brothers. Probably the death of Akhab Khan had unnerved her, and she dared not trust to the mercy of the victors. Frank was among the first to enter the palace. After a few fanatical ghazees were made an end of, he hurried towards the zenana. It was empty. He searched its glittering apartments with feverish anxiety, but he met no human being until some men of the 75th entered and began to prise open boxes and cupboards in the search for loot.

After that his duties took him to the Ridge, and it was not until all was over that he heard how Hodson had captured the King and shot the royal princes with his own hand. This tragedy took place on the road from Humayun's Tomb, whither the wretched monarch retreated when it was seen that Delhi must yield. Hodson claimed to be an executioner, not a murderer. He held that he acted under the pressure of a mob, intent on rescuing Mirza Moghul, the heir apparent, and his brother and son. That all three were cowardly ruffians and merciless in their treatment of the English captured in Delhi on May 11, cannot be denied, but Hodson's action was condemned by many, and it was perhaps as well that he found a soldier's grave during Colin Campbell's advance on Lucknow.

It was there that the fortune of war next brought Malcolm. Delhi had scarce quieted down after the storm and fury of the week's street fighting when Havelock, re-enforced by Outram, drove the relief force through the insurgent ring around the Residency like some stout ship forcing her way to port through a raging sea.

No sooner had he entered the entrenchment on the 25th of September than the rebel waves surged together again in his rear, and on the 27th the Residency was again invested almost as closely as ever. But the new column infused vigor and hope in the hearts of a garrison that had ceased even to despair. Apathy, a quiet waiting for death, was the prevalent att.i.tude in Lucknow until the Highland bonnets were seen tossing above the last line of mutineers that tried to bar their pa.s.sage through the streets. At once the besieged took up the offensive. The lines were greatly extended, the enemy's advanced posts were carried with the bayonet, troublesome guns were seized and spiked and the rebel mining operations summarily stopped.

Two days before Havelock's little army cut its way into Lucknow, Ungud, the pensioner, crept in to the retrenchment and announced the coming relief. He was not believed. Twice already had he brought that cheering message and events had falsified his news.

Winifred, a worn and pallid Winifred by this time, sought him and asked for tidings of Malcolm. He had none. There was a rumor that Delhi had fallen, and an officer had told him that there was a Major Malcolm on Nicholson's staff. That was all. Not a letter, not a sign, came to rea.s.sure the heart-broken girl, so the joy of Havelock's arrival was dimmed for her by the uncertainty that obtained in regard to her lover's fate.