India -- History -- Sepoy Rebellion, 1857-1858 -- Fiction
“I am awfully glad to see you back,” Wilson said, shaking him warmly by
the hand. “I wish I could have gone with you. Two together does not seem
so bad, but I should not like to start out by myself as you did.”
There was a hearty cordiality in the young fellow’s voice that was very
pleasant to Bathurst.
“We have all our gifts, as Hawkeye used to say, as I have no doubt you
remember, Wilson. Such gifts as I have lay in the way of solitary work,
I fancy.”
“Now, light a cheroot, Bathurst,” the Major said, “and drink off this
tumbler of brandy and soda, and then let us hear your story.”
“The story is simple enough, Major. I got through without difficulty.
The sentries are some distance apart round the garden wall. As soon as I
discovered by the sound of their footsteps where they were, it was easy
enough to get through them. Then I made a longish detour, and came down
on the lines from the other side. There was no occasion for concealment
then. Numbers of the country people had come in, and were gathered round
the Sepoys’ fires, and I was able to move about amongst them, and listen
to the conversation without the smallest hindrance.
“The Sepoys were loudly expressing their dissatisfaction at their
officers leading them against the house today, when they had no means
of either battering down the walls or scaling them. Then there was a
general opinion that treachery was at work; for how else should the
Europeans have known they were going to rise that morning, and so moved
during the night into the house? There was much angry recrimination
and quarreling, and many expressed their regret they had not marched
straight to Cawnpore after burning the bungalows.
“All this was satisfactory; but I learned that Por Sing and several
other Zemindars had already sent in assurances that they were wholly
with them, and would be here, with guns to batter down the walls, some
time tomorrow.”
“That is bad news, indeed,” the Major said gravely, when he had
finished. “Of course, when we heard that Nana Sahib had thrown in his
lot with the mutineers, it was probable that many of the landowners
would go the same way; but if the Sepoys had marched off they might not
have attacked us on their own account. Now we know that the Sepoys are
going to stay, and that they will have guns, it alters our position
altogether.”
There was a murmur of assent.
“I should tell you before you talk the matter over further,” Bathurst
went on, “that during the last hour some hundreds of peasants have taken
up their posts round the house in addition to the Sepoy sentries. I came
back with one party about a hundred strong. They are posted a couple of
hundred yards or so in front of the gate. I slipped away from them in
the dark and made my way here.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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