“On the night of the first of November, in the year 1804, I had invited
Mrs. Major-General Bulcher and her daughters, Mrs. Vandegobbleschroy,
and, indeed, all the ladies in the cantonment, to a little festival in
honor of the recovery of my health, of the commencement of the shooting
season, and indeed as a farewell visit, for it was my intention to take
dawk the very next morning and return to my regiment. The three amateur
missionaries whom I have mentioned, and some ladies in the cantonment of
very rigid religious principles, refused to appear at my little party.
They had better never have been born than have done as they did: as you
shall hear.
“We had been dancing merrily all night, and the supper (chiefly of the
delicate condor, the luscious adjutant, and other birds of a similar
kind, which I had shot in the course of the day) had been duly feted by
every lady and gentleman present; when I took an opportunity to retire
on the ramparts, with the interesting and lovely Belinda Bulcher. I
was occupied, as the French say, in conter-ing fleurettes to this
sweet young creature, when, all of a sudden, a rocket was seen whizzing
through the air, and a strong light was visible in the valley below the
little fort.
“'What, fireworks! Captain Gahagan,' said Belinda; 'this is too
gallant.'
“'Indeed, my dear Miss Bulcher,' said I, 'they are fireworks of which I
have no idea: perhaps our friends the missionaries--'
“'Look, look!' said Belinda, trembling, and clutching tightly hold of my
arm: 'what do I see? yes--no--yes! it is--OUR BUNGALOW IS IN FLAMES!'
“It was true, the spacious bungalow occupied by Mrs. Major-General was
at that moment seen a prey to the devouring element--another and another
succeeded it--seven bungalows, before I could almost ejaculate the name
of Jack Robinson, were seen blazing brightly in the black midnight air!
“I seized my night-glass, and looking towards the spot where the
conflagration raged, what was my astonishment to see thousands of black
forms dancing round the fires; whilst by their lights I could observe
columns after columns of Indian horse, arriving and taking up their
ground in the very middle of the open square or tank, round which the
bungalows were built!
“'Ho, warder!' shouted I (while the frightened and trembling Belinda
clung closer to my side, and pressed the stalwart arm that encircled
her waist), 'down with the drawbridge! see that your masolgees' (small
tumbrels which are used in place of large artillery) 'be well loaded:
you, sepoys, hasten and man the ravelin! you, choprasees, put out the
lights in the embrasures! we shall have warm work of it to-night, or my
name is not Goliah Gahagan.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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