The Disputed V.C.: A Tale of the Indian Mutiny

by Frederick P. Gibbon

On the morning of the 12th of June our friends on the Ridge were out soon after dawn, visiting their respective pickets and receiving reports. All was quiet. They gazed with admiration on the wonderful panorama, at the stately mosques, minarets, and towers of the royal city, at the huge mass of walls bulking in threatening manner before them, at the king’s palace—a town in itself—that stood to the far side of the city, and at the blue waters of the Jumna glittering and sparkling in the sun, washing the opposite walls to those whose heavy guns had poured shot and shell at our men but a few hours ago. To the south of the Ridge lay the picturesque suburbs of the Kishengang and the Sabzi-mandi, with their magnificent buildings, walled gardens, and shady groves.

The peaceful scene was not of long duration. The guns of the Mori and Kashmir bastions presently belched forth a shower of shot and shell, and, under cover of the heavy fire, two large bodies of mutineers poured out to the attack, one charging the Gurkha picket, the other pushing its way through the gardens, sheltered by trees and walls. Those sepoy regiments attacking Hindu Rao’s mansion saw only dark faces between them and their desire.

“Come over to us!” the Brahmans shouted to the Gurkhas. “Come over, and we’ll reward you; you shall have treasure and honour. You are of our religion. Siva, the Destroyer, is fighting on our side. Join us in driving away the white men. Come!”

“Yes, we are coming! Wait for us!” shouted back the Nepalese. And they went, with bayonets fixed and kukris bared; but the rebels waited not. Terrified by the determined faces and gleaming steel, they turned and fled, pursued for some distance by the fierce little mountaineers. Thenceforward the Gurkhas were hated with a hatred as bitter as that accorded to the British.

“Those monkeys of Gurkhas are renegades to their faith!” declared the Brahman priests to those mutineers in Delhi who were of their persuasion. “They prefer to receive the Englishman’s pay rather than follow the dictates of their holy men. Let them be outcasts! Spare them not! When we have destroyed the white men, then shall we deal with them, if any have escaped by that time!”

The attack made at the same time on the troops stationed below the Ridge met with no better success. The British soldiers down there were no less eager than their comrades up above to give the foemen a taste of their quality. After some hours’ hard fighting, the rebels were repulsed with heavy loss, and our men began to feel happy, fondly imagining that the tide was already turning in their favour.

The unthinking ones and the least experienced talked confidently of entering Delhi in a few days, or a week or two at most. They underrated the strength of the enemy, and also the determination of the mutineers,—a mistake the British soldier is wont to make.

Undismayed by this reverse, the enemy came out to attack our posts every day between the 12th and 17th of June, and every day they were beaten back. Time after time they flung themselves in heavy masses against the small force defending the Ridge, only to be hurled back again and again by the Gurkhas, the Guides Infantry, and the Englishmen of the 60th Rifles, who all fought with equally unflinching gallantry.

But on the 17th of June, Major Reid, to his delight, was ordered to act on the offensive. The enemy had commenced to erect batteries outside the walls, in the Kishengang and Trevelyan-gang suburbs, commanding the British positions, and this could not be allowed. Reid’s men, with another column from the main force, sallied forth and stormed the positions, routed the foe, and destroyed the works. But not without loss was this accomplished. Our foemen were no cravens; they flung themselves not once but many times with desperate courage against their assailants, making little impression, however, on the stern warriors of England, Scotland, and Ireland, of the Punjab, and of Nepal.

When morning dawned next day the officers reminded the British soldiers that this was Waterloo-day, and the remembrance of that glorious victory, and of the valour of their fathers, roused a new enthusiasm. On this day the Guides Cavalry had their turn, and acquitted themselves like the heroes they were. But once more they paid a price for so distinguishing themselves, for Captain Daly, their gallant leader, was carried away severely wounded.