It was the chance he longed for, the chance to prove the loyalty of his troopers.
The colonel pondered some moments, for the little force at Satara was not over strong.
“I can give you fifty men,” he said at last; “a troop of fifty, no more. Can you manage with that?”
“I can and I will,” answered Kerr tersely. And half an hour later saw him spurring fast southward with his Mahrattas behind him, in all the glory of their gold-braided green coats and scarlet turbans.
Kolapore lay seventy-five miles due south, as the crow flies, but their way led through unfrequented roads and jungle paths, with swollen rivers and flooded nullahs to swim across, for the rains had been heavy of late and the fords were gone. Swamps impeded their progress, clutching at the feet of the wiry hill horses to drag them down, but they were clear at last, and galloped breathless into Kolapore in rather less than six-and-twenty hours from their start.
The mutineers of the revolted 27th Regiment had entrenched themselves in a strongly built stone fort on the outskirts of the town. The main entrance to this was a massive wooden door which would need to be forced open, for inside there were heavy bolts and bars to secure it. So Kerr, choosing the quickest way, borrowed a couple of antique cannon from the Rajah of the place and pounded away to break the outer wall; but the guns turned out to be worthless and had to be abandoned.
There now remained the door to be broken open. That offered the best, indeed the only, means of effecting an entrance. Night was fast drawing nigh, and the lieutenant was determined to take action at once. It would not do to give the rebels breathing space.
Halting his Mahrattas some distance from the fort, Kerr picked seventeen of his most trusted men and bade them dismount and follow him to the attack. For himself and a trooper whose name, strangely enough, was Gumpunt Rao Deo Ker, he had obtained two stout iron crowbars with which to force open the door, and at a signal from him the little party dashed eagerly forward.