The Story of the Guides

by G. J. Younghusband

At this juncture, loud and exulting shouts proclaimed that fresh heart had been given to the besiegers by the arrival of some new reinforcement. The cause was self-apparent; two guns were being run by hand into position at the gateway barely one hundred yards away. Two guns, neither then nor now, could face the open within a hundred yards of armed infantry who could freely use their weapons. But here was a different case. Driven by the storm of fire all round into rooms without loopholes, and incapable of affording either offensive or defensive fire, the Guides could only get snapshots here and there as occasion offered.

By a curious coincidence the story of those newly-arrived guns was told with almost faithful accuracy, in the brief testimony of a witness who was nearly three miles away. He said: "We heard the big guns fire twice, and then there was silence for some time; then they fired once or twice more; and then, after a long interval, one or two more shots. Perchance, seven or eight shots altogether were fired." What to the distant hearer were impressive, unaccountable pauses, were on the scene of action filled with the bravest incidents. Cooped up as they were with a murderous artillery firing point blank into them at one hundred yards range, and spreading not only death and destruction amongst wounded and unwounded alike, but still further aiding the conflagration, which had by now taken well hold of the buildings, yet still stout of heart the Guides girded up their loins to meet the new encounter.

Dr. Kelly left his wounded, and Jenkyns, the young civilian, took again a sword and pistol, and with the boy Hamilton as their leader, and with twelve staunch and true men of the Guides behind them, they opened the door. Then charging forth, they quickly crossed the bullet-swept courtyard, and fell with fury on the amazed gunners and the crowd behind the wall. Shooting, thrusting, and slashing, they killed or routed every man about the guns, and seizing them tried to drag them back. But here their strength was too small, though great their heart, and though they swung the guns round, and pulled them a few yards, they could not get them away. The little band was falling fast, right out in the open as it was; and at last the overwhelming tide returned and drove them back with the loss of half their numbers. Dr. Kelly, too, must in the sortie have received his mortal wound, for though he struggled back with the rest, he was never again seen alive. Requiescat in pace: physician and soldier, he died a hero's death.

Again the furious crowd surged up to the guns, recaptured them, slewed them round, and laid them on the door. Then came the second salvo heard by the distant listener; and again, scarce taking breath, Hamilton made preparations for his new attempt. "Do you stand here and here; and you two, there and there; and all of you shoot for all you're worth at the gunners, while I and the rest again charge out and capture the guns," he said. "And I come too," said Jenkyns.

Then a second time they threw open the door, and a second time those two young Englishmen at the head of the faithful few charged out on the guns. But for Jenkyns the glorious end had come, and sword in hand he fell, some seventy paces out, a lasting honour to the great Civil Service of India. Yet on went Hamilton and his dwindling band, and taking no denial, stayed not by bullet nor sword nor bayonet, again captured the guns. And then began again the dreadful heart-straining struggle of desperate men set to a task too great. Again with splendid effort they dragged the guns a few yards, and again the great returning wave engulfed them, and fighting foot by foot the Guides were again driven back.

And now the flames had got strong hold of the buildings, and here and there the roofs fell in, and dead and dying were entombed together. So the few survivors driven from end to end found last refuge in the hamam, or bath, which, being below the surface of the ground and built of solid brick, gave welcome shelter. But even so death was but a question of hours or minutes, and neither Hamilton nor his men were of the sort to sit tamely down to wait for it. Taking rest for awhile from the exhaustion of seven hours of this Homeric struggle, the undefeated Hamilton again laid his plans. "Now two or three," said he, "will fire from here, so as to try to keep down the fire on our assaulting party, while the rest dash out again. Arrived at the guns, I alone will face the enemy, while all of you, paying no heed to the fighting, will harness yourselves to one gun and bring it in. We shall then, at least, have one gun less against us, and may perhaps be able to use the captured one in defence. Then, in the same way, we will again charge out, and get the other gun." "Your Honour speaks well, we are ready," said his men.

This was the fourth sortie Hamilton had led that day; the first with all four Englishmen in a line, the second with three, the third with two, and now alone. Over six feet in height, splendidly made, lithe and strong, with all the activity of youth, expert with sword and pistol, he was a noble specimen of the British officer, and none more fit than he to stand in the deadly breach. Out then they went and acted on the plan arranged. For a third time those fateful guns were captured, and then alone to stem the fierce assault stood Hamilton, while his men laboured at the gun; but the odds were too great, and the gallant subaltern, after killing three men with his pistol and cutting down two more with his sword, was himself borne down. And so fighting died as brave a young heart as ever did honour to the uniform he wore. Swarming over his body, the mutineers recaptured the gun and again drove back the remnants of the forlorn hope. Hamilton lay where he fell close to the gun, till darkening night settled down on the dreadful scene. But when, next morning, a witness passed that way, he mentions that the brave young fellow's body was laid across the gun. Perchance it was the kindly act of a friend, or perchance the rough chivalry of one who had watched his heroic deeds.

It might be thought that a day so full of great deeds, of patient courage, and unshaken loyalty could, as the sun sank slowly down, produce no further spark from those exhausted, starving few. But it remained for the evening hour to produce, perhaps, the brightest flash of all.

It was apparent to all the besiegers, fighters or spectators, that one by one all the sahibs had been killed or sore wounded, and that now none remained to lead their men. At intervals during the day loud voices, as of those in command, had shouted to the garrison of Guides: "We have no quarrel with you. Deliver over the sahibs, and you shall all go free, with what loot you can take. Be not foolish thus to fight for the cursed Feringhis against your own kith and kin." But for answer all they got was fierce showers of bullets, and fiercer still the staunch defenders cried: "Dogs and sons of dogs, is this the way you treat your nation's guests? To hell with you! we parley not with base-born churls!"

And now, again, when all the Englishmen were dead, the voices cried: "Why fight any longer? Your sahibs are killed. Save yourselves, and surrender, before you are all killed. We will give you quarter." Left in command was Jemadar Jewand Singh, a splendid Sikh officer of the Guides' cavalry, and not one whit behind his British officers in brave resolve. He deigned no word of answer to the howling crowd without, but to the few brave survivors within, perhaps a dozen or so, he said: "The Sahibs gave us this duty to perform, to defend this Residency to the last. Shall we then disgrace the cloth we wear by disobeying their orders now they are dead? Shall we hand over the property of the Sirkar, and the dead bodies of our officers, to these sons of perdition? I for one prefer to die fighting for duty and the fame of the Guides, and they that will do likewise follow me." Then, as the evening closed, went forth unhurried the last slender forlorn hope. The light of the setting sun fell kindly on those grim and rugged faces, out of which all anger and excitement and passion had passed away: they were marching out to die, and they knew it. One last glimpse we have of their gallant end. From a window hard by an old soldier pensioner, himself a prisoner, saw, and bore witness, that the leader of those pathetic few, fighting with stern and steadfast courage, killed eight assailants before he himself, the last to fall, was overborne.