The knowledge that his men had proved themselves so worthy consoled Captain Daly in his pain. There were few soldiers in the force now who were not ready to admit, and to back their opinion with curious and unnecessary oaths, that these two native regiments were an invaluable acquisition to the force—that Guides and Gurkhas were worthy to uphold the reputation of the British army.
Little of importance happened during the next three or four days, though the batteries were continually playing on the Ridge. One round-shot came crashing through the portico of Hindu Rao’s house with terrible effect, killing an English officer and eight Gurkhas.
On June the 23rd the rebels made a vow. This day was the centenary of the battle of Plassy. For just one hundred years had the Feringhis’ dominion lasted, and now, according to the Moslem prophets, their time was come. So the sepoys, maddened by the resistance offered to their attacks, furious that these Gurkhas should persistently remain at their post, ever watchful and ever eager for the fray in spite of the incessant cannonade, vowed that on this day Hindu Rao’s house should be captured.
About mid-day the attack on the Ridge began, the insurgents swarming up on every side. Beaten back, but reinforced by fresh hordes, they again came to the attack with desperate valour, to be once more repulsed by the Gurkhas. Foiled but not done with, the enemy recommenced a brisk cannonade of the handful who opposed them. Under cover of this fire a fresh assault was made, and for a moment the post seemed lost. The dark uniforms of the English riflemen, the drab of the Guides, and the ugly dress of the Gurkhas, seemed lost amidst those swarming thousands. Somehow Ensign Russell found himself in the front with the Gurkha company of the Guides. Little Subadar Merban Sing, the captain of the company, stood at his elbow, as mild in appearance as usual, smiling pleasantly and serenely as he watched the straining and tugging bodies, the uplifted and downfalling arms, the musket flashes on every side, the thrusting of bayonets and slicing of kukris, and, as calmly as if on parade, he gave directions to his men.
Inspired by his companion’s coolness and absolute lack of fear, Ted fought manfully at his side. A Guide in front of him stumbled, badly wounded. It was Merban Sing’s brother. Quick as thought Ted dashed forward and stood over the body as half a dozen sepoys ran to thrust their bayonets into the helpless Gurkha. With his pistol Ted shot one, gave another the point of his sword, and Merban Sing, again at his side, struck down two more whose bayonet-points were almost plunged in the ensign’s breast. The Gurkha subadar, felled from behind, dropped over his wounded brother, who at the same time received his death-wound. A rush from behind brought a dozen more Guides around the lad, who saw steel flash in front of his face, and felt a burning sensation in his cheek; then his head seemed to split, and he remembered no more.
With yells of triumph the myriad enemy pushed forward, but not to victory. Major Reid’s voice rang out clear, keeping his men together, and with a cheer the gallant fellows responded. The riflemen closed up, shoulder to shoulder, and, first pouring a withering fire into the mass, dashed forward with the bayonet, followed by the Guides, who also used that best of weapons. The little Nepalese, throwing down musket and bayonet, drew their razor-edged kukris and plunged into the thick of their opponents, hewing them down and scattering them on every side by the fury of their charge. The foe gave ground and the crisis had passed. The officers cheered, the men responded, and again a bayonet and kukri charge drove the pandies farther back. Then the Rifles and Guides, kneeling down, sent volley after volley into the mass of wavering sepoys, and followed up their advantage by again charging home, and the danger was passed. But the enemy, though disheartened, were not routed; the conflict still raged fast and furious. The rebel guns, which had ceased firing during the hand-to-hand fighting, again gave tongue with deadly effect. Taking advantage of the diversion thus created, the plucky sepoys made a last desperate effort to fulfil their vow, only to receive further punishment. As the sun went down and the light faded, the rebels lost heart and retired, discouraged and cowed, to the shelter of their walls, hastened on the way by the bullets which dropped amongst them.
Everywhere had the attack failed, both on the Ridge and below. But though a severe blow had been dealt to the mutineers, too many of our own had been slain; for the sepoys in Delhi could better spare a thousand men than could the army before Delhi afford to lose fourscore. To resist an attack was one thing; to storm the city successfully would be quite another.
When Ensign Russell came to himself he was back in the Mahratta’s mansion, his brother and cousin by his side as the doctor examined him.
“Thank God that you’ve a thick head, young man,” observed that official; and turning to the others he added, “He’ll be all right in a few days.”
“What’s the matter?” asked the boy. His head was ringing and singing, and he felt sick.