It was late in the evening when we returned to cantonments. The destination of my small party, which was to have started next morning into the district, was unexpectedly changed.
A message had been received by General Hewett from a party of fugitives from Delhi, who were wandering about in the jungles near that place, and who implored that help should be sent to them. When I heard of this I felt that women and children could not possibly be left to their fate among the rebels without at least an effort being made to save them; so I went to General Hewett and offered to attempt the rescue with twenty-five men of the remnant of my regiment. He asked if I was in earnest, and told me that the fugitives had not got far from Delhi, and that he had considered it hopeless to send a succouring party. The letter, which was written in the French language, had been thrown under a table, whence I saw it picked up. The General then gave me permission, and on the forenoon of the 17th my party started. On our way out of Meerut we met Lieutenant Hugh Gough of our regiment (now Sir H. Gough, V.C., K.C.B., commanding the Lahore Division). He told me that he had just heard of my having volunteered for this duty, and that he could not let me go alone. So he galloped back to get his arms, and thus, in this most gallant and self-sacrificing manner, came with me on an errand which both of us felt pretty sure was to be our last. We rode all day, expecting every moment our men to turn on us and bolt to Delhi. The temptation must have been very sore to them; for they had witnessed the extreme demoralisation which the Mutiny had caused in Meerut; but providentially they remained staunch. Only once did we meet with a show of opposition at a large village, but most fortunately we thought it probable that the inhabitants were alarmed at our French-grey uniforms, and took us for a party of mutineers on the prowl. So Gough and I halted the men and rode on alone. The sight of our white faces re-assured the villagers, and our explanations calmed them.
Late in the evening we arrived at the village of Hirchinpore, where we had ascertained from people in the fields that the fugitives were to be found. Again our light-grey uniforms caused alarm and confusion. The gate of a walled enclosure was shut in our faces, and it was with great difficulty that we got those inside to believe that we were friends. At last, on our promising to leave the men outside, Gough and I were admitted; and we rode in, not without suspicion that we might ourselves have fallen into a trap. We found a very dark old gentleman called Cohen, the zemindar of the village, an Orientalised Jew I think, seated in the doorway with a gun in his hand, evidently determined in case of treachery to sell his life dearly. The fugitives of whom we were in search had in despair stowed themselves away in various hiding places, and when they appeared presented a pitiable spectacle from the effects of the hardships they had undergone. All that night we had to remain there while Cohen's people collected carts to convey the women and children. If one of our men or one of the villagers had bolted and carried to Delhi the news of what a haul could be made at Hirchinpore, two or three hours would have sealed our fate. But again Providence befriended us, and early next morning our little caravan started for Meerut, where we safely arrived that night, and I had the joy of once more seeing my Sister, of whom I could not bear to take leave when I started, and who had been in ignorance of my having gone till I was miles on my way. The following are the names of the ladies and gentlemen who composed the party of fugitives:—
Very glad was I to turn in that might with the prospect of a good rest, but I had not been asleep very long before the late Major Sanford, then a Lieutenant in my old regiment, and one of the most gallant gentlemen that ever buckled on a sword-belt, came and woke me up and told me that he had volunteered to carry despatches from General Hewett to the Commander-in-Chief at Umballa viâ Kurnal, and that he wanted me to escort him with my little faithful party. Of course I agreed, and went off to our lines, where the already tired men willingly consented to undertake the fresh and still more fatiguing and possibly more dangerous journey. Their horses were, however, quite knocked up, so I asked and obtained permission to select for them twenty-five of the partially-broken remounts of the Carabineers.
Early in the morning we paraded in the lightest of light marching order, the young horses vigorously resenting being so unceremoniously pressed into the ranks before passing through Riding School. For the first few miles there was not much order in our little column. The half-broken troopers rearing, buck-jumping and plunging about, had it pretty much their own way; but before night they were quiet enough. All day we marched, and all night, and all next day, halting for an hour or so at a time, when a wayside well enabled us to water the horses. We requisitioned feeds of grain for them and of chuppatis for ourselves as we went along, duly giving receipts for them. En route we made a long detour off the road to a district where we had been ordered to go in search of baggage-camels, which we were to have seized if we had found them; but they had departed. On the second day we met the late gallant Major (then Lieutenant) Hodson who, escorted by a party of the Jhind Horse, had started on his ride to Meerut with despatches from General Anson to General Hewett, and who was to return with despatches from the latter to Army Head-Quarters. So unexpected was this meeting that at first each party took the other for "moofsids," as we used in those days to designate the rebels; but we soon discovered our mistake. Hodson was naturally much relieved to find that the road in front of him was open, though doubtless disappointed that his errand was forestalled. The reader, who has read of Hodson's famous ride to Meerut, and who has not to this moment ever heard that it was anticipated by others, will probably be surprised by this narration, but nevertheless it is simply true. The credit of carrying the first despatches from Meerut to Umballa is due to the late Major Sanford, who, to me and to all who knew him, was a type of all that is most noble and brave and modest; but alas! his memory is buried in our hearts. The world has heard little of him.
In the evening we arrived at Kurnal, having traversed in less than thirty-six hours more than ninety miles: for the straight road between Meerut and Kurnal is seventy-six, and our fruitless detour after the camels took us many more miles. Sanford at once went on by dâk to Umballa and delivered his despatches to General Anson. He eventually got command of the cavalry of the guide corps before Delhi, and retained it till the close of the siege.
My small party was not then sent back to Meerut, but moved down towards Delhi with the advanced body of troops, making itself useful in collecting supplies and scouting. On the road we succeeded in capturing several miscreants who had committed murderous outrages on our unfortunate countrymen and women while trying to effect their escape from Delhi. They were given the benefit of a fair trial; and those who were found guilty were duly hanged. One of these wretches who had been tried and sentenced one afternoon was subsequently confined till sunset—the usual hour for executions—in the guard tent of the 1st Bengal Fusiliers, which happened on that occasion to contain another tenant, an Irish soldier who had been drinking, "not wisely but too well." When the Provost Marshal's party came in the evening for the condemned criminal they found him in a sorry plight. The half-sober Irishman begged that they would not take him away. "Bedad," said he, "he has been the most divarting companion I iver had." The "divarsion" had been perhaps a little one-sided.
One evening, shortly before the force reached Alipore, I was suddenly ordered to take my party back to Meerut viâ Bagput, for the General expected an engagement, and evidently felt uncertain as to whether my men were to be trusted under such trying circumstances as an actual fight against their old comrades. Previously to this poor General Anson had died, worn out by anxiety and fatigue, and General Barnard was in command. Accompanied by the Adjutant-General, Colonel Chester, and by his Interpreter, Captain Howell, he inspected my little party on parade, and after praising its conduct in the highest terms, informed us that he would give each native member of it a step of substantive rank for each of the two expeditions in which they had shared. He then told them that in a short time he expected to engage the rebels, and that, though he had no doubt of their loyalty, he was unwilling to take them into action against men who so lately had been their comrades, of their own race and religions, and that therefore he had decided to send them back to Meerut. The whole of them implored to be allowed to remain and to prove their loyalty in the field; but the General was not to be turned from his decision. He was evidently much moved, and for a moment I hoped that he was wavering; but presently he turned away; and with deep disappointment I felt that there was nothing for it but to turn our horses' heads to the east and make for the ferry at Bagput. Before General Barnard could carry out his promise he fell a victim to cholera. Colonel Chester was killed in action, and Captain Howell also died—I think from that scourge of the camp—cholera. Thus was left on my shoulders the whole onus of securing to my men the fulfilment of the General's promise—a task in which, after much trouble and delay, I was happily eventually successful.