In response, Ahmad solemnly swore upon the holy Koran that if the Foreigners would open the gates no harm should befall them.
But the oath of the Mohammedan was not regarded as sufficiently binding. The Foreigners required a further assurance of safety from the Rani.
In her name Ahmad reiterated his vow of protection. This was all the hope of security they could possibly look for in their desperate situation. The Rani had ever been regarded as an upright woman. Upon the faith of her word they opened the gates and laid down their arms. Then under Ahmad's direction they marched out to a field nearby,—a pitiful, defenseless band, of men, women, and children.
The sun never shone upon a more brutal tragedy.
Beside a clump of trees all were ruthlessly butchered. Their honor alone was spared. Without a plea for mercy, without a cry of anguish, these heroes met a cruel fate, that might have been averted by a less exacting government.
Ahmad Khan was elated almost to a condition of intoxication by this final successful act of the revolt. He was now prompted to strike another immediate blow to gratify a long secretly nourished ambition. While outwardly he had professed intense devotion to the Rani's cause, in his heart, he aspired to seat himself on the throne of the Rajas of Jhansi. As to the Rani, he purposed that her rule should be encompassed by the walls of a luxurious harem.
At the head of a crime-frenzied Mohammedan band, bearing upon the points of their bayonets ghastly trophies of the recent massacre, he set forth on a triumphant progress to the palace.
To secure his object, he instructed his followers to overawe the Hindu population, devoted to the Rani's cause, by fierce gestures and loud shouts in his honor.
He entered the gate set in the massive stone wall, and waved his sword aloft crying—