Gwalior was captured by the Rani of Jhansi. Such was the astounding news carried swiftly from end to end of the Indian Peninsula. The Natives, for the greater part, hailed it either with secret or open joy, many nobles, with their retainers, hastening to join the standard of the redoutable Princess. To the Foreigners, it brought astonishment and perplexity, with fears that the whole rebellion would burst forth anew. They realized that a second Jeanne D'Arc, as valiant in battle, more subtle in council than the Maid of Orleans, moved by the same passionate love for her country, had cast in their teeth a wager of defiance, to stand until either they were driven from her state, or she had perished.
It was no hour for deliberation. Her coup de main had been so well timed, that unless Gwalior was immediately recaptured, the rains would descend, making the country impassable for military operations, and her position thus secure for months to come. The result was unpleasant to conjecture.
With all haste the army of Central India, that had retired to quarters for the approaching season of storm, was reorganized, and the general who had fought against the Rani at Jhansi, at Kunch, and at Kalpi, marched forth to another test of skill. In his long and honorable career he had never met an opposing leader more worthy of his steel.
In the meantime the Rani threw all the force of her character, all the energy of both her body and mind, into preparations for the struggle she quickly perceived was at hand. She fully appreciated the material advantage she had gained, she also understood the weaknesses of her comrades in arms—their tendency to prolong the festivities in celebration of their victory, their unconquerable disposition to retreat the moment the Foreigners closed in battle. But now that she was in supreme command, she determined that at Gwalior it would either be another victory, or death for herself and the majority of her companions.
"Canst thou not rest for a little, dear Rani"? Prasad asked, when after days of untiring energy she continued to bend her efforts to perfect the defenses. "If the Foreigners come, surely we are safe from them here."
"Nay Prasad," she returned. "No rest will I take while danger threatens, and this work remains uncompleted. But in a little there will come a long rest for me, either in thy arms, my love; or in those of God."
Prasad, the Rao Sahib, even Tantia Topi, through his jealousy, marvelled at the spirit of the woman. They curtailed their feasting, and zealously furthered her commands.
The general belief that the Foreigners would not march upon Gwalior before the rains was soon dispelled. From two directions, the East and South, it was learned, that the enemy was rapidly approaching. It was evident they regarded the recapture of Gwalior as of supreme importance.
It was impossible for the Rani to superintend in person the long line of defenses raised before Gwalior, so she delegated the command of those to the south to Tantia Topi, reserving for herself the less strongly fortified position amid the hills and ravines to the south-east of the city, lying between that place and the village of Kotah-ki-sari. There she awaited the army advancing from the east, impatiently for a few days; with still greater impatience on the Sixteenth of June, when the distant roar of cannon announced that Tantia Topi was engaged with the Foreigners at Morar, on her extreme right.
Throughout the day various reports reached her ears. At one time, it was claimed, that the Foreigners were successively repulsed, beaten, and in full retreat; later, that Tantia Topi was as usual practicing masterly tactics in a retrograde movement.