On the evening of the 8th of July, 1857, a party of officers belonging to different regiments in the Indian service were seated round the mess-room table in the barracks of Sattara, in the Bombay Presidency. An expression of anxiety was depicted on all their faces, and they spoke in that hushed subdued tone which men usually assume in moments of great peril. And they had reason to look anxious. The Indian Mutiny had already broken out, and recent events showed that its limits were not to be confined to the Bengal Presidency. The seeds of disaffection had been sown among their own men, and they knew not at what hour they might be called upon to meet them in open mutiny. The Orientals can veil the most treacherous designs under the deepest secrecy, and every officer felt, as it were, that he was carrying his life in his hands. At any hour the men, outwardly so respectful and obedient, might enter the very room where they sat and shoot them down at the mess-table. They had done so in other cases, and what guarantee had these that their lives were more secure? The inhabitants of Sattara were at no pains to conceal their rebellious tendencies, and their men were only restrained by that discipline which soldiers find it so difficult to shake off from openly expressing their sympathies with them. In truth, the whole country was in a state of slumbering rebellion, and no one could tell when the embers of disaffection might burst forth into an open flame. They felt as Prometheus might have felt if he had been bound to the sides of Mount Etna, in hourly expectation of an eruption. Escape there was none. If it came to the worst, they could meet their fate like brave men, and die sword in hand.
One young officer, whose stalwart frame and slight accent betokened his Northern origin, took a more hopeful view of the subject. This was Lieutenant William Alexander Kerr, of the South Mahratta Horse, an officer who had already secured the confidence and respect of the wild troopers under his command. He expressed his conviction that, however treacherous the other native troops might prove, he could always count on the loyalty of the South Mahratta Horse, and if any emergency should occur it would be seen that their courage was equal to their loyalty. The words had scarcely passed his lips, when an orderly entered the room and delivered a slip of paper to the officer in command. The door was carefully closed to prevent the servants from hearing, for at that trying period almost every native was suspected to be a rebel in disguise. The paper was then read aloud. It proved to be a telegraphic message from Kolapore, a town about seventy-five miles distant from Sattara. Its contents were such as might well appal the bravest heart. The 27th Regiment of Bombay Native Infantry had suddenly mutinied and murdered all the officers on whom they could lay their hands. Those who escaped had taken shelter in the Residency, where they were guarded by a troop of the South Mahratta Horse and the Kolapore Light Infantry. The mutineers, from carelessness or ignorance, had neglected to cut the telegraph wires, and the beleaguered party had thus been enabled to communicate with their countrymen at Sattara, to whom they made an urgent appeal for assistance. Almost destitute of provisions, and surrounded by a merciless foe thirsting for their blood, they could not hold out long, and if they yielded their fate was certain. In this the hour of their need they turned to their countrymen for assistance.
A momentary silence ensued. It was not that they were unwilling to incur any risk in order to aid those whose case was so desperate; the only question was whether they could trust their men in such an undertaking. Kerr was not the man to unsay the words he had just spoken. He had expressed the confidence he reposed in the loyalty and courage of his men; he was now prepared to prove that that confidence was not misplaced.
His position as adjutant of the regiment afforded him the best opportunities of becoming acquainted with the personal character of the men. He was brought into daily contact with them; had to listen to all their grievances; had to receive the complaints made against defaulters; and, in minor cases, to decide the punishments to be awarded. Unswerving firmness and impartial justice are the two qualities most requisite to enable one to obtain a powerful hold on the Oriental mind, and these two qualities Lieutenant Kerr possessed in the highest perfection. He knew his men, and his men knew him; they could, therefore, trust one another in the hour of danger. He at once volunteered to lead a party of the South Mahratta Horse to the rescue; all the assistance that could be spared was fifty men. Small as that number was for such an undertaking, he did not hesitate to take the command. No time was consumed in needless preparation; in half an hour he was in the saddle and on the road. We use the expression “road” in a figurative sense; literally speaking, there was no road at all, merely a rough path leading through the cotton-fields, where the horses sank to the fetlocks, often to the knees, in the mud. The distance to be travelled was only seventy-five miles: a short distance to those accustomed to railways and steamers, but those familiar with the roads in India will appreciate the difficulties which Kerr and his gallant little party had to surmount. It was the middle of the monsoon season; the rain descended in torrents; the country was half flooded; the smallest streams were converted into dangerous rivers. But the gallant band went on; swam their horses over three large and two smaller rivers, besides seven nullahs, all swollen with the heavy rains, and reached Kolapore within twenty-six hours. We have all heard of Dick Turpin’s ride to York; but the rapid advance of Lieutenant Kerr and his party, in such a country, and at such a season, was scarcely less wonderful.
They did not arrive a moment too soon. The mutineers, elated by a temporary success, were ready to offer them battle. They had already encountered the Kolapore Light Infantry, and defeated them with considerable loss. After this they had taken up their position in a pagah, or fortified square with circular bastions, situated near the town. This pagah was a place of considerable strength, and the attacking party had no artillery to effect a breach in the walls. Recourse was had to the rajah, who lent them a couple of old guns, which, on trial, were found to be useless. Night was at hand, and Kerr knew well the danger of delay; if he waited till morning, his men, worn out and discouraged, might refuse to follow him. All his hopes of success depended on an immediate attack; so he resolved at once to carry the place by storm. His men had already witnessed his courage; he had headed the party which occupied the brushwood outside the pagah; he had laid the guns at thirty yards’ range from the western bastion under a heavy fire; he had passed through all this unhurt. The Orientals, fatalists by creed and by constitution, have the greatest faith in the luck that attends certain leaders; they recognised in Kerr one of the favourites of Allah, and were prepared to follow him wherever he chose to lead.
He did not give them long to wait. Causing the sowars to dismount from their horses, he placed himself at their head and led them on to the attack. On approaching the walls they found that the task they had undertaken was one of no ordinary difficulty. The only entrance to the place was by small doors of thick teak-wood, from five and a half to six feet in height, which the mutineers had taken the precaution to block up with large stones, so as to render them almost as solid as the walls. If they had been provided with guns this obstacle might easily have been removed; but, as the event proved, the two lent by the rajah were evidently intended more for ornament than use.
But Kerr was not a man to be easily discouraged. His conduct proved the truth of the good old adage, that “where there’s a will there’s a way.” Among the dismounted sowars there was, fortunately, one who entered readily into his plans, and volunteered to share with him the danger. This was Gumpunt Row Deo Ker, a gallant trooper, worthy to be known and admired by all who can appreciate valour in the field, though the singularity of his name will, we fear, prevent it from ever becoming familiar to our readers as a household word. Kerr and Gumpunt armed themselves with crowbars and marched through the heavy fire of the enemy till they reached one of the small doors. Both plied their instruments so well that they soon made an aperture sufficiently wide to admit a man in a stooping attitude. It seems almost miraculous that no hostile bullet should have reached them while thus engaged, but they escaped unhurt. The opening was made, but who would have the courage to be the first to enter? To do so was almost certain death: the rebels were waiting and watching to shoot down the first man who appeared inside the walls, and yet there was not a moment’s hesitation. Kerr rushed through the opening, followed by Gumpunt Row and others whose courage was inspired by the example of their daring leader. As soon as he appeared within the pagah, twenty of the mutineers took deliberate aim and fired a volley at him. He had the presence of mind to retain his stooping position, and all the bullets passed harmlessly over his head. He did not give them time to reload, but rushed at them sword in hand. They fought with bayonets, and kept their ground for a time, till several of them were killed and wounded. Nothing could resist the impetuous onset of the stormers: the rebels were driven back till they found refuge in a house which covered the other entrance. It so happened that this house was loopholed, and the rebels were thus enabled to continue their resistance. They fired heavy volleys upon the attacking party as they advanced, and did everything they could to make good their position; but it was all in vain. Kerr, followed by his brave sowars, got round the flanks, set fire to the building, and burnt the enemy out. The other mutineers retreated through the door already alluded to, and began to barricade it. This spot now became the central point of attack and defence; the mutineers quitted the other bastions which they had been defending, and joined the party who had formed the barricade. Knowing the fate that awaited them if they yielded, they fought with all the fury of despair.
Captain William Alexander Kerr, South Mahratta Horse, at Kolapoor.