The mutineers, finding the Calcutta Gate closed, rushed along the road that runs between the Palace walls and the river, until they reached the Ragghat Gate, which was instantly opened to them by the Mohammedans, and the murderous crew clattered into the town, shouting as they went—
“Glory to the Padishah, and death to the Feringhees!”
Then ensued a scene that can scarcely be described. They murdered every European they met; they set fire to every house, and then doubled back to the Calcutta Gate. Here Captain Douglas, Commissioner Fraser, and several other Englishmen, had stationed themselves. And, as the troopers galloped up, Fraser seized a musket, and shot the foremost one dead.
A buggy, with a horse attached, was standing by, for Commissioner Fraser had just driven up. He sprang into the vehicle, and, lashing the horse into a gallop, made for the Lahore Gate, whilst Douglas jumped into the ditch of the fort.
He was severely injured by the fall, but he was sheltered from the enemy’s fire. In a little while he was discovered by a soldier of his guard, whom he had once befriended. This man lifted him on his back, and carried him into the Palace, to a room where the English chaplain and his two daughters were listening to the horrible tumult below.
But soon it became known that the Europeans were there. Then a demoniacal crew rushed up the stairs, and, breaking into the room, massacred the little party with exultant ferocity.
It was a brief and bloody murder, as horrible as any that stained the walls of the Delhi Palace.
Next the courtyards were turned into stables, the Hall of Audience into a barrack-room; and the human fiends, tired with their long ride and their murderous work, strewed straw on the marble floors, and lay down to rest.
When the first excitement had passed, Jewan Bukht prepared to take his departure. He had secured one of the best horses and a light vehicle.