Lady Elton and her children were under canvas. They had preferred this arrangement to accepting shelter from any of the houses thrown open to them, and the Soubahdar and his men having succeeded in saving many of their things, they had been able already to give their new quarters a tolerably home-like appearance. It was only in this way—in exerting themselves to set things straight 'for father,' who, they felt sure, must come in soon—that the girls could keep their mother cheerful, or that any of them could chase away the terrible despondency and shuddering fear which would, at times, take possession of them. For upon these unfortunate ladies, bred up in the traditions of the old Anglo-Indian, who looked upon a native as a cross between a machine and an animal—a creature to be treated with kindly contempt when he behaved himself, and to be promptly licked into shape when he did not—the mutiny fell like a bolt of fire out of a clear sky. They had heard rumours of discontent, but nothing came of them. They were disposed to think that the repressive measures had not been sufficiently severe, and when on May 9 the mutineers of the 3rd Native Cavalry, who had been condemned by their own countrymen, and sentenced to ten years' imprisonment, were stripped of their uniform and put in irons, while sorry for the unhappy men who had been so miserably deluded, they believed that this one severe example would be sufficient, and that no more would be heard of mutiny. Lady Elton was fond of quoting her husband in those days. 'The General says all they want is firmness. They are the best fellows in the world when you take them the right way. He ought to know, for he has had so much experience.' And then Maud would repeat her saucy little phrase about the riding-whip, and the ladies, who had come to consult them, would go away reassured. 'You may depend upon it,' they would say, 'General Elton and his wife know more about these people than we do.'
To be awakened from this dream of security by the rattle of musketry from the lines; and, after a few minutes of terror-stricken silence, the tramp of armed men upon the plain, and the shock of contending forces, was terrible beyond description. How, stirred up by Yaseen Khan, who ran in hot haste for his son, they barricaded themselves into the innermost room of the bungalow, piling furniture against the doors to keep out the mutineers; how, sitting huddled together, clasped in one another's arms, they heard the defiant shouts and yells of rage come nearer and nearer; how Trixy, the first to recover presence of mind, climbed up to a peep-hole under the roof, and came back with the awful intelligence that the stables and kitchens were in flames; how they heard the wretches, who were mad with bhang and fanaticism, getting on to the roof; then the yell, when the thatch was torn aside, and one of the fierce creatures looked down on them; the screams of the girls, and brave little Trixy's pistol-shot, followed by a shriek from the first scoundrel, and a shot from the man behind him, which brought the poor girl to the ground,—all this lives still in these poor women's remembrance as a dream of horror!
They were rescued as we have seen. Those surrounding the General's house were budmashes from the bazaars and the criminals who had rushed out when the gaol doors were opened, and at the approach of the disciplined force under Soubahdar Sufder Jung every one of them took to their heels. The ladies, half dead with fright, and some of their choicest possessions, were escorted safely to the English barracks, where they lodged that night. Then began that weary waiting-time, which to poor Lady Elton was even worse than the scene of horror through which they had passed. Her husband was away. She had not heard from him for some days, and did not know where he was. Her beloved eldest daughter Grace and her niece, only lately married, were in the heart of a district said to be unsettled before, and which now, when this terrible news from Meerut went abroad, would be almost certain to rise. She had friends at Cawnpore, friends at Delhi, friends at Jhansi. None of them all were so well guarded as they of Meerut. If massacre and destruction could run riot here, what would it be there?
Day by day she looked for her husband's arrival. She never feared for his personal safety. She had still the firmest belief in his power over the native soldiery; but if he came something might be done. For this made one element in the misery of the old soldier's wife and daughters. Nothing was being done. 'If I were in command here,' Trixy would say, clenching her little fists, 'not one of those brutes should have reached Delhi. Bertie Liston says the men were burning to be off. He could scarcely keep them quiet. I think I should have let them go—gone with them.'
'Trixy is a great warrior since she fired that pistol,' said Maud; 'but, seriously, mother, don't you think something ought to be done?'
'My dear children, be patient! We are women. We know nothing. Soldiers must obey orders,' said Lady Elton sadly. 'If your father would only come!'
'He will come soon, mother darling, don't be afraid,' said gentle little Lucy.
Some such conversation as this had taken place on the afternoon of the day when firing was heard outside the walls. The five women heard it distinctly as they sat over their tea in the tent. Then Bertie Liston came rushing in with a radiant face. 'Good-bye,' he said, 'I am sent out to reconnoitre. What will you give me if I bring you back the General?'
'Anything, everything—all we have,' cried Trixy impulsively. She was lying on a charpoy, for she had not yet recovered from her wound. Bertie looked at her, and her pale face flushed; but there was time for no more words. He went out: she heard his horse's hoofs clattering over the paving-stones in the compound of the barracks, and covering her face with her hands she burst into tears.