The scene of the incident which I am about to narrate was Kolapore (or Kolhapur, as the modern spelling has it), an important town in the Bombay Presidency. Even before the Mutiny broke out there had been no little disaffection among the people in that quarter of India, and when the news of the revolt at Meerut and Delhi reached the Presidency grave fears were entertained lest the native troops there should join the rebels.
It was characteristic of most English officers attached to native regiments in those days that they firmly believed in the loyalty of their men. Only at the last moment, when the soldiers they had drilled and taught broke into open mutiny, could they grasp the truth, and then it was often too late. But in Bombay there was one officer whose trust was not belied. This was Lieutenant William Alexander Kerr, of the Southern Mahratta Irregular Horse.
“I know my men,” he would say, when the question of loyalty was raised, “and I know they are true. I’ll answer for my troopers at any time.”
Rather short men were these Mahrattas, but sturdy, stocky fellows with somewhat flat features, long jet black hair, and bronze faces, out of which small fiery black eyes gleamed at one. They were excellent fighters, as many a hill fight had proved, and there were not a few officers in India who would as soon have had a company of wild Mahratta warriors at their back as Sikhs or Punjabis, when it came to a tussle.
Lieutenant Kerr certainly held this opinion. Long service with them had made him acquainted with their courage and faithfulness.
“The Bombay Infantry may rise, but not my Mahrattas,” he affirmed. “There isn’t a man among them who wouldn’t follow me to the ends of the earth!”
He was stating this fact for the hundredth time at a memorable council that was held in the officers’ mess at Satara on the night of July 8th, 1857, when the startling news was flashed over the wires that the 27th Bombay Native Infantry had revolted at Kolapore. The message ran that nearly all their English officers had been killed, only a few escaping to find uncertain refuge in the Residency. Help was needed urgently.
What was to be done? The officer commanding at Satara faced his staff with a grave face. Here was confirmation of their worst fears. The looks that met his were full of foreboding; all, that is, save Kerr’s.
Rising to his feet, the young lieutenant turned quickly to his superior.
“Give me leave, sir,” he said, “and I’ll undertake with a company of our sowars to clear every mutineer out of Kolapore.”