The Disputed V.C.: A Tale of the Indian MutinyGibbon, Frederick P.
History
The Disputed V.C.: A Tale of the Indian Mutiny
Gibbon, Frederick P.
India -- History -- Sepoy Rebellion, 1857-1858 -- Juvenile fiction
"When the guns have battered down the walls," thundered the rebel
commandant, "then must ye take the house by storm. The Feringhi dogs
prevail against us because they trust to the bayonet, instead of staying
to fire as ye do, for the bayonet is more certain than the bullet. We
must learn from them and attack as they would, for our aim must be to
destroy utterly the hated tyrants; not one must escape our vengeance."
The mob applauded, shouting "Din! din! Death to the Feringhis!" And the
ressaidar went on:
"Take, then, the charges from your muskets, lest ye be tempted to stop
and fire, for if ye do that doubtless many of the dogs may escape our
wrath. Trust to the bayonet! Kill the infidels with the steel! Now,
unload!"
The charges were withdrawn.
"That dacoit fellow has some idea of discipline; he seems to know what
he's about,--though he's placing some of his men in queer positions, to
be sure!" commented Major Munro stoutly, bent on showing an undaunted
front to the end.
"Oh for a good, wholesome, red-coated regiment," sighed Lieutenant
Leigh, "to wipe these fiends off the earth! Watch that treacherous,
murdering Pathan! What's he up to now?"
"Trusting to the bayonet!" exclaimed Munro in astonishment. "That's not
like an Asiatic, but he's right."
They heard but could not distinguish Bahram Khan's commands, and saw the
sepoys empty their muskets and begin to fix bayonets. Their hearts were
beating wildly, and small shame to them, for they were helpless and
could not strike back--as helpless as condemned criminals bound and
gagged. Would the word never be given to fire? What was the matter now?
Waiting in silent agony for the fatal word, they perceived the Pathan
commandant turn hastily to his gunners, who stood port-fire in hand.
Quick as thought, before rebels or onlookers could realize what was
taking place, the muzzles of the guns were turned slightly to the right
and lowered, and ere the assemblage had time to wonder, a shower of
grape was belched forth into the clustered ranks of the faithless Sikhs
of the 138th. At the very same instant, before sepoys or besieged were
able to take in what had happened, the hundred men of the Guides--or as
many of them as were not helping their gunner comrades--brought their
rifles (for theirs were still loaded) to the shoulder, and blazed away
into the helpless mass of brown humanity. The rebels fell in scores,
mown down by the heavy discharge. One or two of the native officers
attempted to rally them, but the cannon, well and promptly served by the
Guides, cut lanes through the mob; and the well-aimed, disciplined
volley-firing of the Pathans and Gurkhas augmented the confusion.
For some seconds open-mouthed wonder kept all our friends silent. The
whole world seemed topsy-turvy.
Then one man grasped the situation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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