Jones of the 64th: A Tale of the Battles of Assaye and Laswaree

by F. S. Brereton

He looked grimly round at the peons, his pistol in his left hand, while his sabre was firmly grasped in his right. There was an air of easy assurance about him, the air which he had worn when fighting Hargreaves on the ship. But in his heart he could not feel that assurance, for the result of the contest was more than doubtful. It promised to end in utter defeat and in the death of the defenders. Mulha thought that too, for as the Mahrattas charged in at the gateway the faithful native edged closer to his master, and catching his eye[Pg 179] for the space of one second salaamed to him gravely, as if bidding farewell. There was no time for more, for like a stream which has overflowed its banks the dismounted Mahrattas, each struggling to enter the gateway, struck in a long wave against the wall, and those who happened to be opposite the entrance came struggling and stumbling through the rent. Owen lifted his hand and shouted to his men. Then as the report of their muskets broke out, and shouts of excitement began to come from the peons in answer to those of the enemy, he leaned his pistol on the top of the barricade and took careful aim at the Mahratta leader, who, seeing his design, held back for an instant. But his own men pressed him on. In a moment he was well within the gateway, and seeing the impossibility of retiring, he summoned all his courage and sprang at the white officer behind the barricade. Click! The hammer fell, but there was no answering flash. The weapon had missed, and the Mahratta had escaped. But it was only for an instant. An example was required to put heart into the peons, and Owen set it. With a shout of anger at the failure of his weapon he sprang on the top of the barricade, and shifting the pistol into his right hand threw it with all his force at the leader. There was a dull crash as the loaded butt struck his head, and then a rousing shout of triumph.

"He is down! Fight! Beat them back! Drive them from the wall!"

It was Mulha who voiced the words, and a shout of defiance and triumph burst from the peons. Desperation[Pg 180] had hitherto helped to keep their courage up, though the numbers opposed to them brought dismay to the majority. But as Owen struck the Mahratta leader to the ground, their determination to hold the place was suddenly increased. Like a flash they saw that what he had done might be accomplished by others. They had a wall in front of them, and a white man to lead them. All was not hopelessly lost, and at the thought they threw themselves upon the Mahrattas fiercely. The struggle which followed was carried on with the utmost determination, and for a little while it seemed as if Owen and his men would drive the enemy clear of the gateway. Tulwars clashed against tulwars, muskets and pistols flashed, while the air was rent with deafening shouts, with the shriek of the wounded, and with the loud reports of fire-arms. From the wall above stones were tossed down upon the Mahrattas, while the four men posted in the window of the house kept up a steady fire. Indeed, the defenders did their utmost. But numbers were beginning to tell, while some five of the peons had already been killed or severely wounded. Owen still held his place in the centre, and standing on the barricade thrust and cut savagely at the enemy. Mulha had edged still closer, and his keen blade rose and fell, guarding a cut here, and returning it with lightning-like rapidity, or darting over there to parry a cut made at the white sahib. If bravery and determination could have brought the victory, it would have been theirs. But the Mahrattas were far too many for them, and their anger and hate had been raised to a high pitch by the losses they had[Pg 181] already sustained. By now they were pressing against the barricade, which in one part was almost levelled. In a minute they would probably sweep the obstacle aside and force their way in. The end was close at hand, and as Owen unconsciously noticed how matters were going, and sought for a remedy as he struck with his sabre, he could think of nothing. He must stand there fighting to the last till some of the robbers threw themselves upon him and cut him to pieces.

But there was one within the fort who had a remedy, and he came to the rescue with a shriek of excitement which rose above the shouts of the combatants and the roar of the muskets. It was the old man who had first induced Owen and Mulha to enter, offering them a haven when the Mahrattas galloped out to surround them. Suddenly emerging from the house he raced across the courtyard at his topmost speed, and arriving at the stone stairway, ascended it with a succession of agile leaps, four steps at a time. Then he sped along the narrow pathway on the wall till he reached the very edge where the masonry had been blown away. No one seemed to notice him, for all were engaged in the deadly contest below, while those of the Mahrattas who still remained outside for the reason that there was no room for them within the gateway, pressed against their comrades, hoping by sheer force to drive them through the barricade. And as they pressed they watched the contest with eager eyes, failing to note the figure of the old man above.

For a few seconds he stood there, bending over a[Pg 182] bundle which he carried beneath his arm. Then he threw off the rag which formed the outside covering, and disclosed a cask of small dimensions, to the top of which he held a smoking brand. Not till then did the enemy catch sight of him, and when they did they were helpless to interfere. Some shouted at the top of their voices to warn their comrades, while others, on the outskirts of the attacking crowd, took to their heels without a moment's hesitation. And meanwhile the old man held his small brand to the cask, till the fuse which emerged from an auger-hole began to splutter. Then he threw the brand behind him, and looking down sought for the best spot in which to toss the barrel. A moment later he had it poised above his head, and seemed to be in the very act of throwing it. And all the while the fuse spluttered, sending out a cloud of thin sulphurous smoke.

"Throw it! Blow them to atoms! Send it now, or you will be killed!"

Mulha had caught sight of the figure above, and realising in a flash what he was about to do shouted to the old man. But he did not stir, or attempt to throw his missile. He stood there, poising the barrel, looking from the struggling mass below to the spluttering fuse, as if he were fascinated; and while he waited the train which he had fired swept down the fuse with appalling rapidity. It was barely an inch from the auger-hole now, and in less than a minute it would disappear within. And then——

"Is the man mad? Throw it!" shouted Mulha,[Pg 183] while the men stationed in the window behind repeated the warning, bellowing the words at the top of their voices, and with all the force of their lungs.

"Throw it, master! You will be blown to atoms. Toss it into the robbers and send them to the sky!"

And if they wondered why he still clung to his bomb, as if seeking his death, the Mahrattas marvelled even more. The shouts of warning had reached their ears, and not a man but had turned his eyes upon the figure above. Instantly they were thrown into a panic, and forgetful of the white officer and his peons they turned in desperate haste, and mindful only of the bomb and of the figure above they struggled to get out of the gateway with more desperation than they had shown when making the attack. There came a shriek of triumph from the old man, a shriek which set the enemy quaking.