Loudly the Afghan horsemen applauded the strategy of the ressaidar. They laughed and shouted with glee as they listened, and greatly they regretted that they had not been present to participate therein.
Bahram Khan also told his countrymen how the boy-officer riding beside them—younger than any of their own officers, for the Guides required strong men to handle them—had blown up the magazine and miraculously escaped death; and the stern warriors looked approvingly at our hero, and one remarked in English, “Truly, we shall make a Guide of you, sahib!” Officers as well as men treated him as an equal, because of the experience he had gained, and the way in which he had looked death in the face.
For Captain Daly, Ted soon felt an ardent admiration. Said this gallant soldier to the lad on the day that the main body of the regiment was rejoined, “Well, youngster, do you know that you’re taking part in what is going to be the best march in Indian history?”
“I’m glad I’m here, sir,” replied Ted; and indeed he looked content.
“Yes,” continued the commanding officer; “seven hundred and fifty miles is the distance from Murdan to Delhi, and I’ll do it in thirty days. We shall probably be the only native regiment that can be trusted to take part in the siege.”
Ted had looked in vain for his brother’s friend Spencer, until Jim explained that this unlucky officer had been shooting in Kashmir when the outbreak occurred, and so had not yet been able to rejoin his regiment. Ted admired Spencer greatly, and was very sorry to miss him. He was soon attracted, however, by a new acquaintance, Quintin Battye, the noble and well-loved lieutenant of the Guides, whose name was soon to gain such tragic fame.
Through Attock and Rawal Pindi along the frontier, through the large Sikh capitals of Ludhiana, Amballa, and Kurnaul, had marched the famous corps, and wherever they went the Sikh and Punjabi inhabitants looked on in wonderment. As the great troopers in khaki (for the Guides were the first to wear that uniform), sitting their horses as though born in the saddle, rode haughtily past the gaping countrymen, at whom they hardly deigned to look, or as with firm step the six hundred infantry marched easily through the villages, the knots of men gathered under the shade of the banyan-tree discussing the fall of the English raj,[1] would quickly disperse to their houses, and from that shelter watch the regiment swing past.
[1] Government or dominion.
“Ah! did I not tell thee, Maun Singh, that the English had not all been swept away?” one would say.
“True, brother. Let us mind our own business and look after our fields, it is not safe to meddle with the Feringhis,” would be the reply.