"You have just five minutes to read it, and give me any message for your husband."
There was no time for the poor lady to express her gratitude as fully as she would have liked. Having read the welcome letter, she told her visitor what she wished him to say to her husband, and then—the five minutes having expired—Nicholson departed.
"These two incidents," says Sir John Kaye, "speak for themselves. There is no lack, thank God, of kind men, brave men, or good men among us, but out of them all how many would have done these two things for 'his neighbour'? How many respectable men would at this moment condemn them both?"
What Henry Lawrence and his noble wife thought of the Kossuth enterprise was expressed in a letter from the latter some months later. "You can hardly believe," she wrote, "the interest and anxiety with which we watched the result of your projected deed of chivalry.… When I read of your plan my first thought was about your mother, mingled with the feeling that I should not grudge my own son in such a cause."
After having performed his mission, Nicholson made his way to London, where he found his mother awaiting him at Sir James Hogg's town house. It was now the month of April. The rest of the year he spent in sight-seeing, visiting his old home at Lisburn, and looking up various relatives in Ireland and England. He found time, however, to make a journey to St. Petersburg, where he was much impressed by a grand review of troops by the Tsar. This opportunity to study the Russian military system gave him considerable satisfaction, as he had already devoted some attention to the French and Prussian armies. But what struck him most was a recent Prussian invention, the needle-gun, which he saw would be the arm of the future. In strong terms he urged the importance of introducing this weapon in place of the old-fashioned muskets then in use, but his counsel was unheeded.
At the end of 1851 Nicholson bade good-bye to his mother, and set off on his return journey to India. His friend, Herbert Edwardes, had preceded him thither some months earlier, taking with him his newly-wedded wife. To Nicholson Edwardes had said before he left, "If your heart meets one worthy of it, return not alone," but the advice was not followed. Nicholson, with all the fascination which his personality exerted over women, gave no indication of being susceptible to the grand passion, and he went forth to take up the great task that lay before him single-handed.
CHAPTER VI.
THE MASTER OF BANNU.
On reporting himself at his old station at Lahore, Nicholson was not left waiting long for a fresh appointment. Reynell Taylor, who had been in charge of the Bannu district, had applied to be relieved, and Sir Henry Lawrence, now Chief Commissioner for the Punjaub, offered the post to Nicholson. The latter accepted, and in May of 1852 entered upon his duties as Deputy Commissioner.
This new position was one fraught with considerable difficulties. Bannu, which lay on the north-western frontier of the Punjaub, was populated by a wild and lawless people. Waziris, Marwatis, and men of other Afghan tribes, they had lived an open, free-booting life, raiding far and wide at will, and were known as the most daring thieves and bloodthirsty ruffians on the border. Under Taylor's wise but gentle rule they had been kept within certain bounds, but much remained to be done. They were now to learn from Nicholson the lesson which in time transformed the province into the most orderly one in the whole Punjaub.
Truly could Herbert Edwardes, who had had no little experience of them, say afterwards, "I only knocked down the walls of the Bannu forts; John Nicholson has since reduced the people to such a state of good order and respect for the laws, that in the last year of his charge not only was there no murder, burglary, or highway robbery, but not an attempt at any of these crimes."
The new hákim (or magistrate) quickly made his influence felt when he arrived on the scene at Bannu. Up in the hills to the westward lived the Umarzai Waziris, among the worst of the outlaws. The knowledge that a fresh ruler had been appointed over them troubled them not a whit, and they proceeded to swoop down on the villages in the plain for the purpose of taking toll as aforetime. Nicholson acted promptly. Placing himself at the head of 1500 mounted police, he carried war into the enemy's country, penetrating the hill-fastnesses into which no one else had yet dared to venture. To the surprise of the Umarzais, he turned the tables completely upon them, and in a week or two he had their headmen at his feet suing for pardon.
The moral of this swift retribution was not lost upon the other people of the district. One and all came to agree that "Nikalseyn" was a man to be feared, respected, and obeyed. His hand fell heavily and surely on the wrong-doer within the limits of his jurisdiction, and he was a bold Bannuchi indeed who dared to challenge his power. At the same time that the new Deputy Commissioner was a stern dispenser of justice he showed himself an impartial ruler. If he punished the lawless he certainly protected the oppressed, irrespective of rank. Lies availed little in the court over which he presided; sooner or later he would get to the bottom of the matter, and the wrong would inevitably be righted.
The villagers, it is said, after long discussion of his merits under the vine trees, where they gathered of an evening, came to the conclusion that "the good Mohammedans" of olden days must have been "just like Nikalseyn," and emphatically approved him as every inch a hákim.
Of Nicholson's methods in dealing with his turbulent subjects Mr. S. Thorburn, who served in the same district some years afterwards, tells this story. The locale, he believes, was Rawal Pindi. A reward of a hundred rupees had been offered for the capture of a noted freebooter, whose whereabouts were well known, but whose reputation had deterred anyone from arresting him. On taking his seat in his court-house one day Nicholson demanded to know whether the man had been caught. The officers of justice shook their heads.
"Double the reward at once," said Nicholson. This was done, but without any result. The same afternoon he inquired again it the fellow had been caught, and received the same answer, "Not yet, my lord." The timorous officials added the suggestion that a very strong force of police would be necessary, as the man was surrounded by his kinsmen.
"Very well, then," said Nicholson, "saddle my horse."
A few minutes later he rode off alone to the village in which the outlaw was sheltering, though, as a matter of fact, the latter walked about openly in little fear of capture. Almost the first person Nicholson met was the very man he had come to find. At his order to surrender the desperado rushed upon him with drawn sword. Nicholson calmly awaited the attack, and with a sweeping stroke of his own sword cut the man down. Then, riding back to his court, he commanded that the body should be brought in, and the head cut off and placed on his table.
It was a gruesome thing to do, perhaps, but it must be remembered that it was necessary to strike terror into the hearts of other evil-doers, to whom the free-booter in question had been something of a hero. Every Malik[1] who came into court recognised the features of the dead man's head as it rested by Nicholson's elbow, and understood that the same fate would befall him did he venture on a like course.
A more pleasing anecdote is that which tells of how Nicholson settled a complicated land dispute. One Alladâd Khan was accused of having seized the inheritance of his orphan nephew, to whom he had acted as guardian during the boy's minority. As usual there was much hard swearing on both sides, but the weight of the evidence went with Alladâd Khan. The most influential man in the village, he made it understood that it would be wisest to support his claim. To Nicholson the case was perplexing, but he had strong reasons for believing that the youth was in the right. He decided upon a novel plan to solve the difficulty.
One morning, therefore, Alladâd Khan and his neighbours were greatly concerned at seeing their hákim's famous white mare grazing untethered on a piece of grass on the outskirts of the village. This meant a fine or a whipping at least for some one, so the party resolved to drive the animal to the next village, and let the people there bear the brunt of their lord's wrath. The mare was accordingly turned into the road, but Alladâd Khan and his followers had not gone far before they saw Nicholson himself fastened with ropes to a tree!
