When the evening of the 14th arrived we had made a lodgment in Delhi. We held the ramparts from the Cabul Gate, along the north front, to the Jumna. We held the church and the college, and several houses. The palace, the magazine, the Selimghur, the great gardens, the Jumma Musjid—four-fifths of the city—were still in the hands of the enemy. To win what we had won had cost the little army 66 officers and 1,104 men killed and wounded—nearly a third of the whole force engaged! The position gained was fortified, and preparations were made for pushing on the work next day. But, unhappily, the troops found plenteous stores of liquor, and, demoralised by prolonged labour, with systems exhausted by the burning climate, they drank without stint, and on the night of the 14th and the morning of the 15th the Sepoys might have driven the helpless host out of the place. General Wilson was so alarmed that he talked of retreating to the ridge! Happily there were firmer minds about him, and he had sense enough to take their advice, and hold on. Nicholson's voice pealed up from his death-bed against the madness of the thought, the bare mention of which raised a storm of anger in our lines. To put a stop to intoxication, General Wilson sent a party into the warehouses to destroy every bottle of beer, wine, or spirits that could be found. It was done, and the army was saved at the expense of the sick and wounded, who needed the stimulants poured out in waste in the cellars of Delhi.
Once rescued from drunkenness, the troops steadily carried out their arduous enterprise, and at the end of six days Delhi was ours. On the 16th the walls of the magazine were breached, and the 4th Punjabees and Beloochees, going in with the bayonet, drove out or killed the defenders. The enemy, losing courage, withdrew from Kishengunge, and the Ghoorkas replaced them. On the 17th the Delhi Bank House was carried, and a mortar battery planted to bombard the palace. All this time the enemy kept up a heavy fire from every point of vantage; but this did not prevent us from making progress. On the 18th the Burun Bastion was taken by surprise, and the Rifles had sapped their way through the houses up to the palace, the main gate of which was now exposed to a severe cannonade. The people and the Sepoys were now hurrying out of the city on all sides. Hosts of women had passed through our lines towards our camp, guarded by our soldiers, for we did not make war on women. There were signs that the palace had been deserted, and, rushing in, the troops found only a few fanatics inside, and these soon received the death they sought. On the 20th we were in entire possession of the city, every large building and fortified post having been taken or abandoned.
But the King of Delhi, the descendant of Timur—the man around whom insurrection would gather its thousands—had not been taken. With the blood-stained princes of his house, he had found refuge in the Tomb of Humayoun, and the ruins of old Delhi. Hodson, who always saw into the heart of the business in hand, now felt that without the capture of the king, the capture of Delhi would be shorn of half its fruit. He therefore implored the general to allow him to take a body of his horse, and bring in the king, on the sole condition that his life should be spared if he surrendered. Wilson was obdurate. He did not want to be "bothered" with the king and the princes. He could not spare European troops, and so on. Neville Chamberlain threw the weight of his counsel into Hodson's scale, and again the words of Nicholson were forthcoming on the same side. The general gave way. He gave Hodson authority to spare the life of the king, but he declined to be responsible for the enterprise. Hodson selected fifty troopers from his Horse. The ruins were swarming with townspeople and the followers of the king. The peril was very great. Here was one white man; he had fifty faithful swordsmen with him; around him were a host of natives, chiefly Moslems. But he did not hesitate, and the king surrendered. The march towards the city began—the longest five miles, as Captain Hodson said, that he ever rode; for of course the palkees only went at a foot pace, with his handful of men around them, followed by thousands, any one of whom could have shot him down in a moment. His orderly said that it was wonderful to see the influence which his calm and undaunted look had on the crowd. They seemed perfectly paralysed at the fact of one white man (for they thought nothing of his fifty black sowars) carrying off their king alone. Gradually as they approached the city the crowd slunk away, and very few followed up to the Lahore Gate.
This adventure was followed by one still more striking, more tragic—the capture and summary execution of the felon princes. Again the general had to be entreated earnestly to permit their capture. Having obtained permission, Hodson called up his lieutenant, Macdowell, and ordered him to bring a hundred men. They set out about eight in the morning of the 21st, and arriving at the Tomb, the troopers were so posted as to invest the huge building, in which were several thousands of armed men. In spite of this support the princes surrendered. Writes Macdowell, recounting the story to a friend, "As we got about a mile off, Hodson turned to me and said, 'Well, Mac, we've got them at last;' and we both gave a sigh of relief. Never in my life, under the heaviest fire, have I been in such imminent danger. Everybody says it is the most dashing and daring thing that has been done for years (not on my part, for I merely obeyed orders; but on Hodson's, who planned and carried it out). Well, I must finish my story. We came up to the princes, now about five miles from where we had taken them, and close to Delhi. The increasing crowd pressed close on the horses of the sowars, and assumed every moment a more hostile appearance. 'What shall we do with them?' said Hodson to me. 'I think we had better shoot them here; we shall never get them in.' There was no time to be lost; we halted the troop, put five troopers across the road, behind and in front. Hodson ordered the princes to strip (that is, to take off their upper garments), and get again into the cart; he then shot them with his own hand. So ended the career of the chiefs of the revolt, and of the greatest villains that ever shamed humanity. Before they were shot, Hodson addressed our men, explaining who they were, and why they were to suffer death. The effect was marvellous—the Mussulmans seemed struck with a wholesome idea of retribution, and the Sikhs shouted with delight, while the mass moved off slowly and silently." The bodies were taken into the city, and flung down in the Chandni Chowk, in front of the Kotwallee, the very place where, four months before, they had exposed the bodies of our countrywomen whom they had slain! Our soldiers looked on this as poetic justice. To the Sikhs it had a deeper significance. Two hundred years before, the great King Aurungzebe, a fanatical Moslem, as intolerant as an inquisitor, had cut off the head of the Sikh prophet, Tej Singh, and had caused his body to be thrown on that very spot. Here, also, had come retribution for them, and the awful fulfilment of one of their cherished prophecies. There lay three scions of the hated house of Timur, on the public way. Hodson, who had fulfilled their desire of vengeance, and who had done rough justice at the same time, at once rose tenfold in their estimation.
Delhi captured, the king in captivity, the Sepoy army routed, broken, demoralised—and all without any aid from England—the back of the mutiny in the North-West was broken. This was the work of Lawrence, and Edwardes, and Montgomery, and the able men who were their assistants. That Delhi did not fall a moment too soon is shown by the fact that, contemporaneously with its fall, a rebellion broke out in Gogaira, the country lying between Mooltan and Lahore, a wilderness inhabited by predatory tribes. Nearly two months were occupied in quenching this fresh flame; but long before that the road to Mooltan was cleared. The incident itself showed what combustible material was scattered over the Punjab. Had Delhi not been taken, there would have been perhaps a general revolt. As it was, the "good fortune" of the British filled the people with awe and admiration, for nothing succeeds like success, especially in Asia. The name of Sir John Lawrence, always powerful in the Punjab, was now more powerful than ever. All doubt of our might disappeared, and recruits to any amount were forthcoming at the slightest hint that men were wanted. But this supremacy had not been reasserted without measures of extreme severity. No mercy was shown anywhere to mutineers or rebels. All caught in the act were hanged or blown from guns. The only justification for this sweeping destruction of life is the old one—necessity. It was their lives or ours. Sometimes, no doubt, men were killed who may have been innocent, but on the whole, considering the peril of the hour, justice was done.
RUINS OF THE RESIDENCY, LUCKNOW. (From a Photograph by Frith & Co., Reigate.)
Once established in Delhi, it became of the utmost importance to clear the Doab, or country between the Jumna and Ganges, as far as Agra, and re-open communications with Calcutta by way of Cawnpore. It was reported everywhere that we had been foiled at Delhi, and that the Padishah was still a great king. Ocular and tangible proof of the contrary was required, and on the 22nd a column 2,790 strong, with sixteen guns, traversed Delhi, crossed the Jumna, and emerged into the purer air of the open country. The whole were under Colonel Greathed. Crossing the Hindon by the suspension bridge, the scene of Wilson's first successes, the force swept round to the right, and marched on Bolundshuhur. Here a smart action ensued; but in three hours the enemy was routed, driven through the town, and his guns were captured. Crossing the Kalee Nuddee, it was found that Walidad Khan, the rebel chief, had fled from Malaghur across the Ganges. The fort was blown up, but in that operation Lieutenant Home, who had earned the Victoria Cross by his exploits at the Cashmere Gate of Delhi, was accidentally killed. Marching on, the column did justice on the road upon well-known and flagrant offenders, and had passed Alighur, when expresses came from Agra demanding instant help. For 10,000 mutineers from Delhi and elsewhere were moving from Dholpore upon Agra, and Colonel Fraser, who had succeeded Mr. Colvin, had got alarmed beyond measure.
THE MAUSOLEUM OF AKBAR, AGRA.