AN AWFUL RIDE AND A RESCUE
Hurry on, brave men! let the wind be your messenger; stop neither to eat nor drink; through the long sultry day and at nightfall, when the awful eye of day is closed and the stars come out pale and languid overhead, even until morning dawns and the terrible round of sweltering heat and blinding dust begins again—hurry on! By narrow and unfrequented ways, through villages whose favour has been bought, under the shade of trees, and across tracts of jungle, where you are obliged to go at a foot-pace, giving breathing time to the gallant beasts that have carried you so bravely—on and ever on, for two dreadful days and nights, that to one of you seem ever afterwards like an awful dream. And yet, you are too late. And well it may be for yourselves that you did not arrive earlier. For the storm has broken. In fire, and blood, and fever it is spreading from city to city, and Jhansi, the home and citadel of a woman scorned, has caught the dread contagion.
Up to June 1 they were at peace. The Ranee still sat smiling in her palace, and still she added to her body-guard persons of proved loyalty, and still the English believed her promises, and still the troops within the city proclaimed their faithfulness loudly. And why did the English need to fear? Meerut had not moved them. Delhi had not moved them. The native states, Gwalior and Gumilcund, and Rewah and Banda, were holding their hands. Nay, it was known that some of them had offered help to the Paramount Power in the re-establishment of order; and even if they had feared, what could they do? To show mistrust at this eleventh hour would be to undo all that had gone before, and to ruin everything.
On June 3 mysterious fires broke out; but even these did not unduly alarm them. They were attributed to accident. It was not until the 4th that their eyes were opened. Then the soldiers on parade, breaking away suddenly and causelessly as it appeared to those who had not heard of the secret messages that had been passing between the palace and the native lines, shot down their sergeant and seized the artillery, and with it made their way to the fort within the native city.
The Ranee still sat smiling in her palace; but when the news came to her she ordered the palace gates to be opened, mounted her horse and cantered over to the lines with her own faithful body-guard, who in her name had seized upon the treasury, behind her.
Some of the English officers had been hurrying to her palace. They were told on the way that she was in the hands of the mutineers, and instantly the full magnitude of what had happened darted upon them. They dashed back to the cantonments, calling as they went on the English and Eurasians to follow them into the Star Fort, the only building belonging to them now that was capable of defence. It all happened in a moment. Some of them had not even heard of the disturbance on parade. In the little house, once a tomb on the maidan, something had been seen; but no one clearly understood what had happened. 'Father will be in presently, and then we shall hear,' said Mrs. White to her little Aglaia, as she tried to soothe her off to sleep. But then the ayah rushed in like a wild creature, and with a cry of 'They are coming; hide!' tore the child out of her arms. She knew little more. Some one came and dragged her out of the house, and she was mounted on a horse, to which, crying out for her child, she clung because she could not help herself, and there was a mad, sick flight across the blaze of the maidan, with yells at her heels, which seemed to recede as she flew on, and then all at once she was in the Fort amongst a circle of frightened women, and her husband, who had not come for her himself, having work to do, was with the men, but her child—her little darling—was nowhere to be seen. She made a wild rush for the door. Even amongst the rebels there must be some one who would have mercy upon her. When they held her back by force her shrieks and cries were piteous to hear.
But all were not so helpless. In the little spell of time given them by the rebels who were quarrelling over the booty, the men looked up the stores of ammunition, and barricaded doors and windows, and allotted to every combatant his post, and to every non-combatant his duty; and the women gathered together the food which the more provident had brought in, soothed the children, and made arrangements for the night.
No one, meanwhile, could tell poor Mrs. White anything of her child. It was known, however, that some of the little English community had yet to come in, and the sanguine hoped that Aglaia, who was a general favourite, might be amongst them. Others feared that the ayah, seized by panic, or deliberately treacherous, had given her up.
Late that afternoon, when those in the Fort had made all their dispositions, the mutineers came clustering round, crying out that they should surrender. They were received by a strong and well-directed fire, which laid many of them low. This was not what they had bargained for, so they retreated in some confusion to deliberate.
Slowly and awfully the first night in the Fort passed by. The women slept, or tried to sleep. The men, fearing surprise, were on the watch. Early in the morning such food as they had was distributed with a little water and wine. Then two bold fellows—Eurasians—undertook to go out in disguise and try to bring relief from the nearest European station. Hopeless task! They were cut down before they were well clear of the cantonments. Those inside, meanwhile, heard guns being dragged into position to batter them to pieces. This attempt was soon given up, for the defenders of the Fort, several of whom were dead shots, peppered the artillery-men so freely, that after a score or so had been shot down, no one could be found to undertake the duty. If only there had been water and food in the Fort the defence might have been heard of with that of Arah. But hunger and thirst are to besieged men the deadliest of foes. No one could believe, moreover, that the good Ranee, though misguided by evil counsellors, could actually permit the slaughter of her English friends. After a little discussion it was decided that three officers, each of whom was well known to her, should go out as envoys, and treat with her for the surrender of the Fort. They went out gaily, but they never returned. 'What have I to do with English swine?' said the Ranee, when they were brought before her. The haughty words were their sentence. At her palace gates they were cut down; and the story of their fate was shouted derisively under the windows of the Fort.