“Captain Ogilvie, of the 9th Lancers, aide-de-camp to Sir Colin Campbell,” was the reply; “and I’d advise you to be jogging. He himself must be yonder where you see the group of men.”
Retracing his steps, Major Hughes soon stood in the Martiniere compound. A group of officers of all arms surrounded Sir Colin. Colonel Hay, 93rd Regiment, was speaking as Hughes strode up, and just outside the group an officer dismounted, but holding his horse by the bridle, stood listening. The poor fellow’s uniform was torn and dirty, the horse, whose colour had once been grey, was now of a blue black with sweat and foam, his head was hanging down, and it was evident that steed and rider were dropping with fatigue.
A twisted scrap of paper was between Sir Colin’s fingers, his brows were knit, and the forage-cap he wore was pushed from his forehead.
“Bad news from Cawnpore,” whispered an officer of Hussars, as Major Hughes joined the group.
“What has gone wrong?” asked the latter.
“The Gwalior Contingent have attacked the city, and poor Edwardes yonder has managed to get through their lines, the bearer of urgent requests for help.”
“Silence, gentlemen,” said Sir Colin. “There is not an hour to be lost. The troops will break ground immediately, falling back from their position of Dil Kooshah and the Martiniere. Commanding officers of corps will at once make their preparations, and will move at daybreak, taking up their several positions on the plain below the city, exactly where each corps bivouacked before the attack. Good morning, gentlemen. Captain Gough, send the Quartermaster-General to me. Major Hughes, give this to General Outram,” he continued, handing him a note. The little crowd of officers melted away, and borrowing a horse from a captain of Lancers, Major Hughes rode through the confusion, towards the Bunnee camp, the position occupied by General Outram.
It was past midnight when he reached the lines, and was challenged by the outlying pickets, yet he found the General awake and watchful, for every now and then a heavy prolonged thud shook the air, telling of the firing of great guns, and though Cawnpore was forty miles away yet every man of the little army knew that the Gwalior mutineers, with a force far exceeding any which Sir Colin Campbell could bring against them, were pressing hard upon the handful of men who garrisoned the entrenchments.
Major Hughes delivered his letter. It contained an enclosure from Brigadier Carthew, telling a sad tale. One after another the different outposts had been taken, and given to the flames. The enormous force opposed to them was literally crushing out the handful of the defenders of Cawnpore, and unless immediate help came all were lost. Such were the details, of which he was the bearer, and they were disastrous enough. The note itself directed Brigadier Outram to move forward one portion of the force early the next morning, Sir Colin Campbell proposing to join the advanced guard.
“Major Hughes, you will be under arms by daybreak.” “Good night” were the only words which greeted him, as General Outram turned to his aide-de-camp and summoned his staff round him to make his arrangements for the advance.