India -- History -- Sepoy Rebellion, 1857-1858 -- Fiction
What had they gained by this tremendous fusillade and bombardment?
Nothing. Their ammunition had been expended by cart-loads; thousands
upon thousands of rounds had been fired; but all the time they had never
seen their enemy, who, behind their entrenchments, waited until they saw
the whites of the rebels' eyes, and then sent them reeling back with
withering volleys. Hundreds of forms lay motionless in the eye of the
rising sun, some in red coats, some in white dhotis, some in the chogahs
of hill-men, with turbans of many colours, amid muskets and swords and
bugles, and everywhere the green flag of the Prophet. And on the Ridge
there was great rejoicing; for this bitter lesson to the Pandies had
cost their masters no more than a dozen men.
Nowhere did the fight rage more fiercely on that night than at the
breastworks before the Flagstaff Tower. But though fierce, the fight was
short, for Rahmut Khan was no fanatic; and when he found, after a brief
trial, that he was opposed, not by warriors with whom his men could
contend in equal fight, but by solid ramparts which burst into flame,
though behind it no men were seen, he concluded that this was fighting
he did not understand, and drew off his men. And Minghal Khan,
approaching with his regiment the spot from which, as he fondly hoped,
most of the Feringhis had been withdrawn to meet the attack against
which he had warned them, was met by a crashing volley so terrible that
a third of his men were stricken down, and he himself barely escaped
with his life. A bullet grazed his cheek, ploughing a red furrow through
it, and carrying away the lobe of his ear; a spent bullet struck his
brow, and he staggered half-unconscious to the ground. And when he
regained the city, and learnt that his enemy, Rahmut, had come unscathed
through the battle, and, moreover, that the men he had left to raid
Rahmut's serai during his absence had been beaten off with great loss by
a guard posted there, for some incomprehensible reason, by Bakht Khan
himself, he boiled with insensate fury, heaping curses on the heads of
those who had betrayed him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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