rebels. The consequences to himself he little recked; they would most likely be fatal. There was, it is true, a subterranean passage, of which he might avail himself; but even there the effects of an explosion would probably be felt. He was convinced, that after the first desire for blood was glutted, there would be a rush to secure the stores in the magazine; there he could await the insurgents, and there should they find their doom.
It turned out as he predicted: on they came, red with gore, infuriated with slaughter: in the meanwhile he had laid the train and stood ready to fire it. Not for an instant did his coolness desert him; not for a second, when he placed in the balance his own life against theirs, did he hesitate; he thought only of the consequences to the rebels and to his countrymen hereafter. Gradually the place was filling, and yet the portfire was not applied. Now, now it is full—they are struggling for admittance, it will contain no more; and now he stoops, the steady hand is applied, the slow-match burns,—a few seconds, then a puff of white smoke,—an immense cloud of red dust—an explosion—and the bodies of two thousand[1] rebels are hurled into the air!
And he! where was he, the gallant author of the deed? Scorched, maimed, bruised, almost insensible, he still had life. How he escaped, how he afterwards got away, I cannot tell; but I read in the paper of this morning (1st July) that he had died of his injuries at Meerut. Let us hope that his death,—the death of one so young,—so gallant, so devoted to his country, will be still more terribly avenged. Will it be so? I cannot say. The proclamation of Mr. John Colvin, the Lieutenant-Governor of the North-west Provinces, offering pardon to these villains, is yet unrepealed!
To those assembled at the Flagstaff Tower this explosion could have but one meaning: it plainly told, or seemed to tell, that the rebels had penetrated into the heart of the city, and would be upon them before long: it had, at all events, the effect of deciding the movements of the company of the 38th. The men, previously hesitating, now became actually hostile, and, taking possession of two guns which had been sent up to increase the defences of that position, they prepared to point them against the tower. It was now evident that nothing more could be effected: the troops, almost to a man, had revolted; the jail-birds, as at Meerut, had been released; the Delhi population, composed principally of ignorant and bigoted Mahomedans, were up in arms: this intelligence would shortly be conveyed to the surrounding inhabitants, who were chiefly Googiers, a race of savage marauders, and by them escape would be cut off. Not an instant was to be lost. Brigadier Graves perceived this, and advised every one to escape as best he could: his own conscience was clear: he had done his duty, and now that the inevitable hour of departure had arrived, he remained, the last to leave the ancient capital of the Mogul. Some on foot, others crowded in carriages, a few riding, the remnants of the Europeans left Delhi: their fate has yet
- ↑ The numbers are variously stated from 1500 to 3000.
