Now all the belongings the Colonel had were his horse and the few clothes he stood in. He had to go round camp and beg: one gave him a coat, a shirt, and some cigars, another a sword and belt. He was made a member of the mess of the 1st E. B. Fusiliers, but had neither fork, spoon, plate, nor glass—for the mess merely provides food and dishes. However, he soon begged these or bought all he needed at a sale of an officer’s effects.
“My first night’s rest was heavenly,” he says. “I heard distinctly the firing, but it did not disturb me. I was lulled by a feeling of security to which I had been a stranger for many nights before the 60th mutinied. No wonder my sleep was profound.”
Delhi is situated on the right bank of the river Jumna. The walls are pear-shaped, on the river or eastern side rendered irregular by the excrescence of the old fort of Selimgurh. To the south the walls run to a point. Inland from Delhi is a ridge of rocks, which at its nearest point is about 1,400 yards from the walls. Our camp lay under the ridge, on the side away from the city; there were canals and swamps to protect us in rainy seasons. It was quite evident that a regular siege was out of the question, from the vast size of the place and from our want of guns, etc. A coup de main was our only resource. Accordingly a plan was drawn up by the Engineers and Hodson, and approved by the General. It was a hazardous step, but one and all were crying out “Take Delhi!”
Nor was this cry to be wondered at. Delhi, once the capital of the great Mogul Empire in India, strongly fortified, and supplied with war material, was now in the possession of our own trained sepoys. The King, once our puppet, had placed himself at the head of the rebellion, and Delhi had become the focus of insurrection.
Moreover, there was a vehement desire in camp for instant vengeance on the traitors in the city, who had cruelly murdered their officers, our brethren in arms, with their wives and little ones. One bold stroke now, every one said, would make us masters of Delhi. At the appointed hour the troops began to move down to their allotted posts.
All were waiting impatiently for the pickets from the ridge, but the proper time slipped by, and the assault was countermanded.
The storm of indignation in camp at the failure of this bold design was frightful. But, as Colonel Norman justly remarked, “It was one of those happy interpositions in our behalf of which we had such numbers to be thankful for.”
For, even if the rebels should have been driven out of Delhi, what if they rallied and returned in force? Our poor 3,000 men would have been swallowed up in the immensity of the city. The postponement of the assault gave the rebels full scope: it bred anarchy, confusion, and disorder, and the native trading population soon felt the difference between the violence and robbery of the sepoy domination and the peace and security they had enjoyed under us. But in camp the abandonment of the assault was followed by a period of despondency and gloom.
In a few days cheering news came from the Punjab. The Chief Commissioner, John Lawrence, aided by worthy officers, had made all safe at the chief points of danger. All through the Punjab the Hindoo cavalry and sepoys were being disarmed; the magazines had been secured; the Sikhs and Punjabees, men who had no sympathy with the mutineers, were being enrolled and formed into corps and re-armed. With bold and daring hand, that “out of this nettle, danger, plucks the flower safety,” Lawrence was gathering as volunteers from the warlike frontier tribes all the restless, turbulent spirits who might have been bitter foes in extremity. He took them into pay, and made them eager to march on Delhi, to assist in its capture and share in its plunder.