“Delhi! And you two had the luck to take part in the siege?”
“I served all through,” Ted answered with a little pride. “I went there with the Guides.”
“Lucky young cub! Wish I could have taken my boys there.”
“Rummy customer!” was Claude’s comment, as the stranger turned away. “Who is he?”
“I wonder. Looks more like a sailor than a soldier. But whoever he is, he’s accustomed to command; I could see that. But I fancy it’s time to find our way back to our own lines.”
At 9 a.m. next day the column moved off in high spirits, Lieutenant Roberts conducting the advance, with the aid of a native guide he had secured. The enemy had been led to believe that the movement would be made direct, by the northern route taken by Havelock two months previously. But from the Alambagh the column struck eastwards for the Dilkusha (Heart’s Delight) Palace. The ruse was successful. Having made their plans to meet the direct assault, the sepoys were not prepared for the flanking movement, and no time was given them to strengthen the defences of the positions now threatened. Outside the wall of the Dilkusha Park the column halted until a large enough breach had been made by the guns, and Ted watched the Highlanders of the 93rd pulling up carrots in a field, and, after a hurried scrape, munching them with great content.
The obstruction was short; a portion of the park wall was soon broken down, and in went the Highlanders, eager to close. But the rebels had fled. A staff-officer, short and slight, trotted past as Ted’s Arab was picking its way over the fallen masonry.
“There goes plucky wee Bobs!” he heard a sergeant of the 93rd remark to his mate; and Ted recognized the officer as Lieutenant Roberts. It was the first time he had heard the affectionate nickname bestowed upon the much-loved hero by the soldiers of forty-five years ago. Roberts, an artillery officer, had, of course, never served with the 93rd, but the “Scotties” had seen much of him lately, and even so early in his career he had won a place in their hearts rarely filled by any whose name is not prefixed by “Mac”. “Bobs” they had christened him, “Plucky wee Bobs”. To be known by such a name among these gallant fellows of the 93rd—the famous Thin Red Line of Balaclava—told of unusual coolness and daring.
Ted saw Lieutenant Roberts shoot ahead to reconnoitre, a native trooper following. The artillery officer halted, gazed in front, and signalled for the guns to advance. As he did so the roar of cannon thundered from behind the yellow palace. The rebels had opened point-blank upon the two solitary horsemen from a hidden battery, cutting the orderly’s horse in two, and the trooper fell beneath his dead steed. Roberts was seen coolly to dismount in the face of the guns, and a loud huzza rose from the throats of the Highlanders as he dragged the orderly from under the weight, though the grape whizzed about them.
Under his direction the guns advanced, and the mutineers did not stay to test the British marksmanship, but made off with all speed in the direction of the Martinière. Almost without a pause the cavalry cantered across the high swards of the Dilkusha Park, the startled deer scudding away on all sides in vain endeavour to escape the noise.