Kullum Khan, who was sobbing like a child, took the General under one arm, the young officer under the other, and in a few moments they had him mounted on the quietest and strongest of the horses, a trooper getting up behind him, to keep him in his place. Then, carrying the wounded Indians between them, the cavalcade set off across the plain.
The mango grove where the skirmish had begun was within three miles of Meerut; but as, for the sake of the wounded, they were obliged to move slowly, the transit took some time. Scouts, meanwhile, were thrown out in every direction, to keep the coasts clear, and warn them of danger. But there was not even an alarm. The combatants, as the General said grimly, were on their faces, and the non-combatants kept out of their way.
They came upon the outskirts of Meerut. The General was moaning heavily, with pain and anguish. There was nothing now to keep up his proud heart, and it fell.
He knew all the landmarks, and each one had some memory for him. There was the little grove where, one glorious evening, he and his men had picnicked when they came down upon Meerut from the Sikh war, to enjoy a little rest after the hardships of the campaign. How splendid they had looked, and how handy and helpful they were, living on next to nothing, and going through fatigue and privation that would have floored half a European regiment!
And now they were close on the cantonments. He had built several of the bungalows here and laid out their gardens—the mess-house for the officers of his regiment, the colonel's house, the spacious and beautiful bungalow, finished while he was in England, to which only a few weeks before he had brought his wife and children. This last was outside cantonments and nearer to the native lines than any other English house.
He remembered now, pacing slowly and sadly over the blackened ground, with the charred ruins of what had so lately been a happy home staring him in the face, how one or two had warned him that, in case of a rising, the situation would be dangerous, and how proudly he had smiled at the absurdity of the notion. 'While my family and I are in the station,' he said, 'a rising would be impossible, and I don't ask anyone else to occupy the house.' And now it was literally gutted.
As they were crossing what had been the garden of the General's bungalow, an old man came out from the ruins and confronted them. The young officer who, with drawn sword, was leading the cavalcade, would have swept him aside, but he cried out so piteously to be heard that the General, who was some yards behind, ordered that he should be brought to him.
'I think I know your voice,' he said.
'The Sahib should know,' replied the man, weeping bitterly; 'for I have served him these twenty years.'
'You are Yaseen Khan, my bearer.'