Right across the vast Punjab swept the famous corps of Guides, through shady groves of peach and apricot trees, and over dusty plains destitute of shelter; across the five rivers to which the land owes its name,[1] each day bringing the stalwart frontiersmen nearer to the goal of their desire. Every man in that band was eager for the fray.
[1] Punjab means “the country of the five rivers”.
Afridis, Afghans, and the various Pathan tribesmen of the corps looked forward to the sacking of the wealthy city. For centuries past their forefathers had marched down at frequent intervals to plunder the rich plains of Hindustan, and, as children, they had listened to glowing accounts of the vast wealth of the Mogul capital. The Sikhs of the corps were equally ready to loot, for the Sikh is nearly as rapacious as the Pathan, and much more miserly. They remembered also the bitter enmity between their ancestors and the Mohammedan rulers of Delhi, and their persecution at the hands of the Moslems. The single company of little Gurkhas, though by no means grasping like their comrades, were no less eager to come in contact with the mutinous hordes. The “Irishmen of Asia” these short-legged warriors might be called, from their readiness for battle and love of a fight at all times and seasons.
The Guide Corps consisted of three troops of cavalry and six companies of infantry, about eight hundred men in all, under the command of Captain Daly. The greater part of both infantry and cavalry were Pathans, and they were the best irregular horsemen in the world. The troopers supplied their own horses, and were men of some wealth and standing in their own country. As the fierce borderers rode and marched along, laughing as they spoke of the fun they would have at Delhi, Bahram Khan grimly told of the punishment meted out to the rebels of Aurungpore, and boasted of having played the most important rôle in the hoax.
“Truly it was all my idea, not Russell Sahib’s,” he repeated. “But for me all the Sahib-Logue would have been dead ere this.”
“Tell us, how did it all happen, cousin?” enquired a duffadar, a relation of the ressaidar’s, Nawab Khan by name.
“When Ishar Das brought the news that another rebel regiment had marched into Aurungpore,” began the quondam bandit, gratified by the opportunity thus afforded of displaying his triumph, “assuredly we knew not what to do. Russell Sahib called a halt, and there we consulted together. Truly brothers, for a moment even I thought we must give up the attempt. But what is impossible to the true believer? and the idea came into my mind, placed there doubtless by the Prophet. Thereupon I advised our officer to call the men together, that we might instruct them secretly to prepare for mutiny. Then with many oaths we slew Russell Sahib and threw his body into the ditch”—(here the Pathan chieftain chuckled gleefully and his comrades laughed out loudly)—“then we dressed him up as a sepoy, and darkened his face, whilst I robbed him of his watch and his sword and took the command, and we marched along swiftly in great disorder, proclaiming that Bahadur Shah was king in Delhi, and that not a Feringhi should escape our swords. Truly, my brothers, we were fiercer and more bloodthirsty than any of the real rebels. The mutinous dogs, as they heard of our approach, sent out men to meet us, and we rejoiced with them, though we should have greatly loved to slay them. As we entered the courtyard at Aurungpore they greeted us with cheers and great praise, and I spoke scornfully of their methods of fighting. Yea, I laughed in the face of their commandant, for he had no authority, and told him, so that all might hear, that he would never exterminate the infidels. Therefore they placed me in command, as I intended they should, and because I treated them as little better than curs, they became my dogs, and allowed me—the fools!—to place my men, with Sultan Jan and Dayal Singh the Sikh in command, in charge of the guns.
“They watched over them all night, and when morning came—ho! ho!—I made the madmen—surely the Prophet had smitten them all with madness—I made them, I say, empty all their firearms in the air, pretending that we must trust in the bayonet as soon as the cannon had done their work.
“‘Aye,’ said I, ‘if your muskets are still loaded ye will lie down and fire as they escape. Ye must surround them with a ring of steel,’ I said. So the madmen delivered themselves into my hands! Then I gave the order, and Sultan Jan of Kohat and Dayal Singh the Sikh cried out, and we let fly into their midst, first destroying the Sikhs, for they are true soldiers, though unbelieving dogs, and the others were but children. Yea, by the beard of the Prophet we destroyed them! Aye, we swept them away, mown down like the yellow corn in the Tirah before the strokes of the sickle.
“So they ran, and we followed; through the streets they ran screaming and throwing down their weapons, and we slew them by scores and by hundreds. But ’twas I, Bahram Khan, who saved Aurungpore. By the Prophet’s beard, ’twas I!”