THE END.
REBEL-CATCHING.
We were in camp, and our chief was a very distinguished officer of middle age, who had won his first spurs in the Indian Mutiny, and had been winning additional spurs ever since. We were a small party, which perhaps partly accounted for the chief’s communicativeness, for to induce him to narrate any of his own experiences under ordinary circumstances was well nigh an impossibility. Be this as it may, on this occasion he did abate a little of his habitual reserve, and though he would not even hint at one of the score of incidents in which his coolness and gallantry had been almost historical, still, what he did tell us may be of some general interest. Moreover, to the best of my knowledge—and I can claim something more than a nodding acquaintance with the literature of the Sepoy Revolt—the two following stories have never been even alluded to in print. I am sorry I cannot recollect the exact words in which they were told; but I will do my best, and will only ask that any deficiencies in the narrative may be attributed to me, and not to the anonymous speaker.
‘Talking of catching rebels reminds me that I had a good deal to do in that line in the Mutiny days. I was only a youngster, not much more than a boy at the time; but I suppose I was rather zealous and active, for I was given a small independent command, a troop of native cavalry and a handful of infantry, and posted near the Nepal frontier to look out for rebels. This was quite at the fag-end of the Mutiny; and my chief duty was to catch, if possible, one or two noted scoundrels who had hitherto escaped, and who, it was supposed, might try to take refuge in the Nepal valley. Amongst the objects of my especial solicitude was a subahdar [native officer] who had taken a prominent part in the massacre of women and children at Cawnpore. I had full permission to shoot this hound if only I could catch him; and I waited longingly for some tidings of his whereabouts. At last, one evening a native arrived at my post, and declared that the subahdar was lying hid in a village some little distance off, on the Nepal side of the frontier. I had got my chance, and I was not going to lose it by delay. Getting together my troop of cavalry, I made a night-march to the village, and in the very early morning, before any of the inhabitants were astir, I drew a cordon round it, and waited. When day broke, I sent a message to the head-man of the village and explained matters. I called upon him to deliver up the subahdar, and pointed out that I was master of the situation. To my disgust, the head-man declared that he could not give up the subahdar, for the simple reason that he was not in the village at all. However, my information had been trustworthy, and I did not like the idea of having had a long and troublesome march for nothing, so I ordered a search. This was accordingly made, but with no results except that of putting me into a rather bad temper. Finally, I said to the head-man that every single inhabitant of the place should turn out by a given time that day, or I would burn the village over their heads. The head-man sorrowfully consented; and man, woman, and child evacuated the huts, after which the troopers scoured the village in their endeavours to find their man. But not a sign of him was present, and I began to feel that I had been befooled. Somewhat sick at heart, I ordered my troopers to stop searching and to prepare for the return march.
‘As the troopers were trotting up to fall in, one of them happened to pass a small hut in which was a heap of most innocent-looking but not very savoury rubbish. Through the doorway the trooper casually poked his lance at this heap, more for swagger or to show his zeal than with any hope of making a discovery. Suddenly, up from the rubbish jumped a scared figure, who was promptly caught and brought to me. It was the subahdar!’
The speaker went on to say that they made short work of the scoundrel, who had reddened his foul hands with the blood of English ladies and children. He had his trial; but the evidence was conclusive, and mercy was out of the question. The subahdar was shot; and when one reads the details of the two massacres at Cawnpore, one is tempted to think that the death was too good for him. Our chief concluded this episode by noting that he subsequently had no difficulty in explaining to the Nepalese authorities his conduct towards the villagers, which had been, to say the least, somewhat brusque. These authorities looked upon the matter as rather humorous than otherwise, and certainly not worthy of serious notice.
‘Another curious thing happened to me,’ continued the chief, ‘during the time that I was rebel-hunting. One day I caught a criminal with a very peculiar face, one that I could not help remembering rather more clearly than I generally remember the countenances of natives. This particular rebel had done something particularly bad, and had to be shot without delay. I gave the necessary orders for a firing-party to be formed, and the execution was duly carried out. Something prevented me from being actually present on the ground, but there was a native officer, and my men were presumably to be trusted. I remember distinctly hearing the volley delivered by the firing-party, and when I subsequently inquired whether everything had been all right, it was reported to me that the man was dead.
‘About a fortnight afterwards, a man was brought in to me whose face seemed strangely familiar. Suddenly it flashed on my mind that this was the very man whose death-knell I had heard only a few days ago. Looking at him closely, I said: “How is this? Who are you? Surely I had you shot a fortnight ago?”
“It is true, sahib,” said the poor wretch. “I am the man your soldiers caught, and I was brought before your honour, and you ordered me to be shot. I was taken out, and they stood me on the edge of a nala nala and crept away. Your soldiers never came to look for me, and I escaped. By evil chance, I have been captured again. But, sahib, do not order me to be shot again.”
“No,” said I; “I will not do that—not this time, at anyrate. You are free, and had better make the best use of your legs. But if I catch you again, I shall really be obliged to have you shot in downright earnest. Be off, and take care you don’t fall a third time into my hands.”