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

by Frederick P. Gibbon

And the populace and the sepoys around Delhi joined their brethren from Meerut, proclaiming Bahadur Shah, the old gentleman poet, “Emperor of all India”; they massacred the fifty English men and women in the city, and before many days had passed most of the regiments throughout Bengal and the Punjab were on the brink of mutiny, hesitating to take the plunge. Had there been at Meerut on that fatal Sunday a Lawrence or an Edwardes, a Cotton, Nicholson, or Neill, the revolt might have been crushed with one decisive blow.

So the news brought to our friends at Aurungpore was too true. Through the whole land, from Peshawur to Calcutta, spread the black terror, and though most officers of sepoy regiments trusted their own particular corps, each feared lest other regiments should throw off their allegiance and murder without remorse not only the officers, but the Christian women and children of the towns.

The colonel and officers of the 193rd never doubted that their beloved regiment would prove true to its salt, for the most friendly feeling existed between officers and men. Some of the former had more than once risked their lives for their men, and in return several of the sepoys had rescued their officers from situations of great peril by their pluck and devotion.

Terrible as were many of the acts committed by the mutineers, we must not consider them as so many fiends in the shape of men, nor must we believe that their delight was to shed human blood. In 1857 the sepoy was a madman inflamed with rage and bitter hatred against those whom he mistakenly considered his oppressors; and many who suffered most from his fury were in truth his best friends and well-wishers.

Most inconsistent were his actions, and his character was a mass of contradictions. He was simple and credulous as a child, and at the same time crafty and designing; his cruelty was frequently evident, and never more so than in this terrible year, yet as a rule he was gentle and kindly. It was no uncommon sight for the hardened sepoy warrior to be found watching beside his English officer’s sick-bed, and no woman could be a more gentle nurse; he was devoted to his sahib’s children, and loved to make them happy. Generally he was languid and indolent, yet capable of being roused to passionate energy; at times light-hearted and cheerful, at times depressed and given to brooding over his wrongs, both real and fancied. Mutinies had not been unknown before the year 1857, but on previous occasions the outbreaks had resembled the naughtiness of a child, and like a child the sepoy usually injured himself more than others.

Though no condemnation of those who participated in the murdering of women and children can be too severe, yet we must not paint the sepoy in colours too black. Let us try to put ourselves in his place, and see what it meant. Suppose that he honestly believed that the English were seeking his destruction, can we not imagine his despair and panic? Many of the mutineers, however, believed the explanations of their English officers, and felt assured that the cartridge-paper contained no offensive matter, and these men tried to put everything right. And what was the result? Their comrades believed that these sensible sepoys had sold themselves to the Feringhis; they were taunted and jeered at as Christians; they became outcasts, and none would eat with them. Not only did their fellow-soldiers shun them, but also their parents and brethren and the people of the village who used to crowd round and bow before them when they visited their homes. They all refused friendship and connection with the outcasts; the letters written home were never answered, and no wonder that these well-meaning fellows were terror-stricken at the thought of their shameful position, and cursed the English and their unclean ways that had brought this to pass.

Three days after the Meerut revolt Colonel Woodburn addressed his men on the subject of the crisis. Assuring them of the mighty power of England, and of the terrible punishment that would be meted out to rebels, he reminded them of their glorious regimental history, and asked if they would willingly tarnish their good name. Ted’s heart glowed as he listened to the stirring speech, and the men broke into a shout of enthusiasm, cheered their colonel, and Pir Baksh, stepping forward, expressed their willingness to march against the mutineers. At mess the officers congratulated one another, overjoyed at the splendid spirit animating those under their command.

With renewed courage and in the highest spirits they buckled on their swords for the next morning’s parade.

“I hope we shall get orders to march against the mutineers,” Ted confided to Paterson as they walked towards the parade-ground in front of the arsenal.

“And what would happen to our countrymen and country-women at Aurungpore if the regiment left?” his chum asked with a laugh. “Would you make the rebels a gift of the fort and arsenal?”