This plan was, that it was to be given out that he was preparing himself for self-immolation. He was to consign himself to the sacred waters of the Ganges. There was to be a signal displayed in the darkness of the night, at the precise moment when he took his suicidal immersion. This signal was to be a red light hoisted at a given spot.
Soon the news was spread far and wide, taken up by thousands of tongues, and carried through the bazaars and the city, for miles around, that Nana Sahib was going to kill himself; and some of the Brahmin priests, who were still true to his cause, went through religious ceremonies, in which they prayed for the immortal welfare of the erstwhile Prince.
But he had no thought of dying. As darkness closed in he gathered the women of his household together, and hurried to the Ganges. There a small boat was waiting him. In this he embarked, and ascended towards Futtehgurh, and at a favourable spot emerged on the Oude side of the river and fled; perhaps with the voice of the Furies—who are said to avenge foul crimes—ringing in his ears.
At the moment that he disembarked, the red light was hoisted. Thousands of eyes had been watching for it; but no prayer floated upward for the man who was supposed to have drowned himself. Those eyes had been watching for another purpose, and when the red light appeared, a howling crew rushed towards the Bhitoor Palace. In a little time its magnificent halls and rooms were swarming with the rabble, who fought and killed each other for possession of the valuables. Everything was plundered. Not a yard of carpet, not a single curtain was left; even the marble pavement was torn up. And when the morning came, the Bhitoor Palace was a wreck inside.
As the sun rose, a large number of English soldiers were sent down from the cantonment to Bhitoor to search for the Nana. But they were too late—the bird had fled. They found nothing but the bare building. Some guns were brought up, and the muzzles turned towards the walls. The building was battered down. The Palace was entirely destroyed, and ere the sun set again, the last home of the Peishwah was a ruin.[6]
FOOTNOTE:
[6] It is needless perhaps to remind the reader that Nana Sahib, the Tiger of Cawnpore, was never captured, nor is it known how he met his end. It is supposed that he fled into the vast and miasmatic jungle, known as the Terai, where, deserted by his followers, broken-hearted and despised, he died a miserable death.