Portrait of John Nicholson
Some days before this dramatic scene a notable incident took place at Jalandhar in which Nicholson was the chief figure. The city was found to be in no little confusion on the arrival of the Movable Column, mutiny being rampant among the troops, and the military authorities taking scarcely any precautions to prevent an outbreak. In the streets it was apparent from the swagger of the native soldiers that they believed the sahibs were powerless through fear.
To strengthen his hands, Major Lake, the Commissioner, invited Nicholson to a durbar at which the officers of the Kapurthala troops were to be present. Nicholson attended, and at the close of the ceremony observed that Mehtab Singh, a native general, was leaving the room with his shoes on. This was an act that implied great disrespect. Lord Roberts, who was a spectator, tells the story of what happened in a graphic manner.[1]
Stalking to the door, Nicholson, he says, "put himself in front of Mehtab Singh, and waved him back with an authoritative air. The rest of the company then passed out, and when they had gone, Nicholson said to Lake, 'Do you see that General Mehtab Singh has his shoes on?' Lake replied that he had noticed the fact, but tried to excuse it. Nicholson, however, speaking in Hindustani, said, 'There is no possible excuse for such an act of gross impertinence. Mehtab Singh knows perfectly well that he would not venture to step on his own father's carpet save barefooted, and he has only committed this breach of etiquette to-day because he thinks we are not in a position to resent the insult, and that he can treat us as he would not have dared to do a month ago.'
"Mehtab Singh looked extremely foolish, and stammered some kind of apology; but Nicholson was not to be appeased, and continued, 'If I were the last Englishman left in Jalandhar, you should not come into my room with your shoes on!' Then, politely turning to Lake, he added, 'I hope the Commissioner will now allow me to order you to take your shoes off and carry them out in your own hands.'"
Major Lake assented, and the crestfallen general did as he was bidden. Mr. Henry Newbolt pictures his discomfiture for us in the stirring ballad he has written on this incident[2]—
"When Mehtab Singh came to the door
His shoes they burned his hand,
For there in long and silent lines
He saw the captains stand.
When Mehtab Singh rode from the gate
His chin was on his breast:
The captains said, 'When the strong command,
Obedience is best.'"
The immediate result of Nicholson's high-handed action was to change the current of public feeling in Jalandhar. The natives dropped their impudent manner, and realised that the British raj was by no means in as tottering a condition as they had supposed.
From Jalandhar the Movable Column proceeded to Umritsur, where tidings reached it of fresh outbreaks at Jhelum and Sialkot. Nicholson lost no time in dealing out vengeance to the mutineers, who had killed many Europeans. Pushing on with his force at full speed, he came in touch with them on the banks of the river Ravi, a branch of the Chenab, and opened fire. It was a short but sharp engagement, for numbers of the rebels were inflamed by the drug known as bhang, and fought like fiends. In less than half an hour the sepoys turned tail, leaving some hundreds dead or wounded on the battlefield.
Two days later the pursuit was again taken up, and the mutineers were cornered at another spot on the Ravi. As before, Nicholson had it all his own way. Shot and shell quickly drove the enemy out of their position on an island in the river, and those who escaped death from bullet or bayonet flung themselves panic-stricken into the river, to be drowned or captured subsequently. This victory was all the more notable by reason of the fact that the 3000 (some say 4000) sepoys who lost their lives were at the time marching to join the mutineers at Delhi.
In connection with this episode, Mr. R. G. Wilberforce, who served with the column, makes an interesting note in his book. Nicholson, he says, told him the story of how he had once killed a tiger with his sword while on horseback, the affair taking place (if the narrator is not mistaken) on the very island in the Ravi where the rebels had sought refuge.
This feat, with which Sir James Outram is also credited, is performed "by riding round and round the tiger at a gallop, gradually narrowing the circle until at last the swordsman is near enough to deliver his blow." The tiger, it is said, follows the flying figure of the horseman, waiting an opportunity to spring upon him, but eventually becomes too bewildered to act.
The same writer also records an incident which illustrates Nicholson's remarkable faculty for recognising rebels, however well disguised. On the march from the camp at Goodaspore, whence the column hurled itself on the Sialkot mutineers, two natives were observed by the wayside. They were miserable-looking wretches, with bundles on their backs, and the soldiers gave them but a passing glance. When Nicholson came along, however, his keen eyes rested on them with interest. Then, turning to the Pathans who rode behind him, he uttered the word "Maro!" (kill), and the stalwart troopers instantly cut the pair down.
Nicholson's instinct had not failed him. The natives, for all their innocent appearance, were sepoys carrying swords to a mutinous regiment which had been disarmed at Goodaspore.
How fully the Movable Column justified its existence in those critical two months of June and July, 1857, there is ample testimony. Nicholson moved his light-footed force from point to point with surprising celerity, striking mercilessly at every spot where mutiny threatened, until the possibility of the Punjaub bursting into a blaze of rebellion was averted. It was a difficult task throughout, and its magnitude was the greater in that the famous column itself had to be purged more than once. There was the ever-present danger of disaffection in his own ranks. In the end, we are told, his force consisted of little more than one field battery, one troop of horse-artillery, and an infantry regiment, all of which were British, with a few hundred trusted Pathans.
Of the native levies special mention must be made of the Mooltani Horse. These men, Sikhs for the most part, had followed Nicholson from sheer personal devotion. They recognised no head but him, and, it is said, refused to accept pay from the Government. At his death they disbanded, returning to their homes on the frontier.
In the last week of July Nicholson proceeded to Lahore to consult Sir John Lawrence as to the next step to be taken. The upshot of the conference was that he received instructions to march the Movable Column on to Delhi, where General Archdale Wilson had commenced the siege. So, on the 25th of the month, the Punjaub saw him once more on the move, his face set eagerly towards the old Mogul capital, where he was to place the crown upon his achievements and find a soldier's grave.
[1] Forty-One Years in India.
[2] "A Ballad of John Nicholson" (The Island Race).
CHAPTER IX.
BEFORE DELHI.
In the long march to Delhi Nicholson's temper must have been tried time and time again. He was all impatience to get to his goal and urge on the assault, the delay of which every day added to the peril that threatened British India. The tardy progress made, owing to the heavy guns he carried in his train, caused him to chafe as he had done on that rebel-pursuing march from Goodaspore some weeks earlier, when his tireless energy could not brook even a brief halt for rest.
Captain Trotter, in his Life of Nicholson, gives us a vivid picture of the officers and men of the column snatching an hour's repose in the shade of some trees while their leader remained "in the middle of the hot, dusty road, sitting bolt upright on his horse in the full glare of that July sun, waiting, like a sentinel turned to stone, for the moment when his men should resume their march."
Early in August the Movable Column had crossed the Sutlej, and four days later Nicholson was galloping on ahead to General Wilson's headquarters on the Ridge. Wilson, to his relief, had sent an urgent message summoning him to a council. It was the 7th of the month when Nicholson rode into the British camp. Before nightfall on that day everyone was aware that a new power had arrived and was on tiptoe with excitement to know what the new-comer intended doing.
With the thoroughness that characterised his methods, Nicholson promptly made a round of the pickets; his tall, striking figure exciting comment from those who had not seen him before. "His attire," says an officer who was on the Ridge at the time, "gave no clue to his rank; it evidently never cost its owner a thought." But one had only to look at the dark, handsome, sombre face to see that here was a man of no little distinction. Grave of demeanour as he always was, his features were saddened still more now by the news of Sir Henry Lawrence's death at Lucknow. The loss of his old chief and patron touched him very nearly, and it was with a heavy heart that he went about his duties.
Riding back a day or two later to rejoin his troops, Nicholson found that the column had been strengthened by several additions, bringing its numbers up to a total of over four thousand men, less than a third of whom were British. This formidable body made a welcome reinforcement to Wilson's little army, and put fresh encouragement into the hearts of the besiegers. In the camp Nicholson renewed his acquaintance with Chamberlain, then recovering from a wound; Hodson, the dashing cavalry leader, who had raised a regiment of horse; and other distinguished leaders. One and all were unfeignedly glad to see him on the scene, and looked to him to spur the over-cautious commander-in-chief to a more resolute course of action.
The opportunity for Nicholson to prove his worth came before very long. A powerful siege-train had been despatched by Sir John Lawrence from Ferozepore. About the middle of August it was learnt that a large body of mutineers had sallied out from Delhi with the intention of intercepting the train, which was proceeding slowly under a rather weak escort. The duty of attacking the rebels and preventing what would be a terrible disaster was allotted to Nicholson, and he at once started off with a column of cavalry, infantry, and artillery, to give battle.
Inquiries revealed the fact that the sepoys occupied a strong position at Najafgarh, where they had repaired the bridge across the river. The road thither was a difficult one, and was rendered almost impassable at places by the swampy nature of the ground. It was the rainy season, unfortunately, so that the streams that had to be crossed were in flood. But, despite all obstacles, Nicholson pushed on doggedly, taking the lead with Sir Theophilus Metcalfe, who had volunteered to act as guide.
Sir John Kaye records the opinion of a Punjaubi officer of note who averred that not another man in the camp—"except, perhaps, Chamberlain"—could have taken the column to Najafgarh. "They went through a perfect morass," he states. "An artillery officer told me that at one time the water was over his horses' backs, and he thought they could not possibly get out of their difficulties; but he looked ahead, and saw Nicholson's great form riding steadily on as if nothing was the matter, and so he felt sure all was right."
