CHAPTER XVII.
We now return again to the rebels.
Their position being menaced by “flying”columns scouring Oudh right and left, they deemed it advisable to “move on,” rather than remain stationary, and thus run the risk of being intercepted by some of these columns. So leisurely, however, were their movements conducted that it would have been no difficult matter to have brought them within ‘arm’ length of the Brigade immediately after they had “broken cover,” had not the Eapte, flowing between them and us, proved an effectual barrier. This river, in fact, so completely kept them out of harm's way, and arrested the object of the pursuit, that for days they must have laughed at our happy-go-lucky, and devil-may-care rambles over the burning plains, and in the blazing hot winds.
There can be little doubt that never in any war, since the world began, was the sun a greater enemy than in the Mutiny campaign. And some idea may be gained of the insufferable heat under his vertical beams, when I state the fact that we could not retain our feet in the burning stirrups, and the ground was heated to such a degree, as not to be borne by the naked foot. The dismounted portion of the Brigade therefore naturally suffered more in proportion to ourselves, and as they droopingly dragged themselves along the line of march, and struggled on with the hardships of their lot, they looked sun-dried, ghastly, and like ghosts, while a large number among them presented a pitiful appearance, with blood trickling down their sun-cracked cheeks and blistered noses.
But who among us cared to growl at exposure or hardship in those days, when we knew that all over Upper India tens of thousands of England’s “war-dogs” were having their day like ourselves, and undergoing a similar process of roasting?
So, while dogging like bloodhounds the track of the rebels, they suddenly doubled round to Amorah once more, and made a stand there, on the same memorable battle-field, where they had already received so many fatal blows. And on our approaching the locality, we beheld literally an army of vultures settled down on the blood-stained plains on which we had fought so often, and so fat and unwieldy had they become on the flesh of rebels, that not one among their countless numbers seemed disposed to quit the scene of their festivities, or move out of our way as we positively rode through them, amidst shocking sights which, in compassion to the feelings of my readers, I pass over in silence.
On June 9th, when morning dawned after a night almost as hot as day, the dropping of long shots and the distant reports of muskets warned us to prepare for action; and the action throughout its main features resembled those I have already so briefly described.
In one respect, however, there was a novel exception, in our encountering the mutineers on this occasion before the sun had risen. They were accordingly punished with terrible severity. Drawn up in two divisions, and led by the usurper of the Gorukpūr district, they fought with all the energy of despair, until the naval howitzers and Enfield rifles had stretched their best men hors de combat on all sides. Then the Corps, en masse, were let loose in pursuit, and with hearts as hard as stones, and tempers rendered furious by aggravating exposure, they irresistibly swept over the retreating hordes, in the final scene of another sanguinary and crushing defeat.
The signs of the rainy season were now beginning to reveal themselves in the white, woolly-looking clouds, which in their airy flight had commenced to appear above the horizon; and these harbingers, so to say, of milder or cooler days were hailed with positive delight as, after the defeat of the enemy, we marched to Buste.
Here an agreeable surprise awaited us in the unexpected arrival of the 13th Light Infantry, under the command of the gallant Lord Mark Kerr. That many valuable lives might have been spared had this distinguished regiment joined the Brigade at the commencement of hostilities in this part of the country is self-evident, and so easily understood from the contents of the preceding chapters that it needs no comment in this place. But in passing, it may be noticed as somewhat flattering to the B.Y.C. that, in welcoming the reinforcement, the Brigadier openly declared to the gallant new arrivals his belief that, but for the cavalry, his force would probably have been overwhelmed by the sheer numerical weight of the rebels. And the truth of this remark requires no confirmation, because the insurgents well knew that in action they were always within arm’s length, so to say, of mounted men with drawn swords, who never did things by halves, and from whom they could not easily escape in flight. At the same time, too, they dreaded nothing more than the thundering clatter of our horses’ hoofs at their heels, and our hard-hearted warwhoop of “devil-take-the-hindmost” resounding in their ears.
The reader will remember that when we passed through Buste, half-dead from the effects of hardships, and privations sustained in the early part of the year, its inhabitants, instead of showing some sympathy in behalf of our deplorable condition, received us with scowls and growls; but the tide having now turned in our favour, a reciprocal change also came over the spirit of their insolence, and they at once became like brothers in their kindness to us all; so that Orientals, too, (though less civilised than Europeans in general) evidently understand the art of exemplifying the insincerity of this hypocritical world. When we were struggling with adversity, they stroked their black moustaches and scoffed at us; now in “prosperity” — if I may use the word to express our improved prospects — their professed friendship seemed apparently to have no bounds!
With regard to Buste itself, its suburbs had been transformed into a huge military cantonment, as by the wave of a magician’s wand; and on our occupying the sheds and huts which had been constructed for the Brigade, we were indeed thankful for having at last got into even such rough quarters, as a harbour of refuge, after our merciless experiences and ruthless toil. But these pleasant reflections were soon dispelled by the indefatigable rebels having again reappeared in the neighbourhood of Cuptāngung. Undoubtedly, their only object in displaying all this activity, was merely to harass the Brigade while the hot weather lasted, for they were well aware that the sun was as much our mortal enemy, as he was their powerful ally. But for all that, so soon as the shadows of evening fell upon the land, we were once more on the wing, with the prospect of attacking the “Devils” on the morrow.
As we crept along at a snail’s pace in a sultry night, it was top dark to notice anything; but there was an ominous stillness in the air like that foreboding the approach of a tropical storm.
The hot winds had lulled themselves to rest with the sun, the country still panted with glowing heat, and the sky, though cloudless, was dimmed by a brassy film that obscured the stars. Suddenly from the far-off distance a dull rumbling sound resembling thunder was heard, followed by vivid flashes of lightning on the horizon. Presently we were unexpectedly kissed with cool puffs of wind, which instantly turned into strong gusts, and developed a howling hurricane. Soon flashes of lightning followed each other with amazing rapidity, and peals of thunder absolutely deafening, rolled onwards, louder, louder still as they approached, and yet louder than the roar of all our artillery fired off simultaneously. Then there seemed a momentary lull in the furious rush of the hurricane — as if to allow the forlorn creatures below to prepare for what was coming — while from the electrical discharge above descended a terrific crash, accompanied with oceans of rain seldom seen out of India, and which drenched us in a moment.
This perfect deluge assailed the Brigade about midnight, and brought it to a standstill; and although it poured down upon us in pitiless torrents until broad daylight, and every man was saturated to the skin and wet through and through, without a dry rag on his back for several mortal hours, we thoroughly enjoyed the refreshing “ducking,” as a downright treat and relief to the fearful fiery torture we had helplessly endured so long.
Notwithstanding, however, this prolonged halt under a waterspout in the dark, and the road having become a river of mud, the whole Brigade reached Cuptāngung before noon, and encamped under some of those well-known pepul trees which grow to such colossal size in India, and are “reverenced” by all Hindus, owing — as tradition tells them — to Old Buddha having invariably meditated and taught his profoundly beautiful precepts under the benevolent foliage of the pepul tree! Apart, however, from this hobgoblin of Buddhistic tradition, the pepul tree is a grand product of the vegetable kingdom, and its dense foliage will not only defy the rays of the sun, but its gigantic leafy canopy will effectually shade a whole regiment of a thousand men.
While on this expedition we realised, with raptures of delight, that the welcome rainy season had been ushered in by the recent thunderstorm, and which, in fact, was the herald of the periodical monsoon. And with its advent what a sudden transition from misery to joy; what a charming transformation in the aspect of the country, and the temperature of the atmosphere reciprocally occurred, to be sure! Only a few days before the whole face of the earth, as far as the eye could wander, was burnt up like a cinder; but now, within a week since the bountiful rain, all Nature, satiated with the refreshing deluge and washed clean, suddenly revived, and sprang, as it were, into new life, and came out in a new toilet. Over the refreshed landscape now stretched a rolling carpet of verdant grass; innumerable birds joyfully singing appeared upon the scene, as mysteriously as the thousands of frogs that found their way out from the bowels of the earth, and croaked in loud, unearthly chorus the return of cooler days; myriads of flying and crawling insects swarmed everywhere; while we ourselves felt as if, at a single bound, we had unconsciously sprung from a perfect hell into an agreeable clime.
In other respects, too, luck seemed to be turning in our favour; for Bazār rumours — which in India are borne from mouth to mouth with almost inconceivable rapidity, and, though gathering impetus as they fly, generally are substantially correct — floated in the air, and predicted the approach of calmer times.
So that what with our being overshadowed by cool foliage, the delightful change in the temperature, and the remorseless burning winds subsiding, we could well afford to patiently wait for the absorption of the surface water round about the position taken up by the rebels, before striking them the fatal blow that shattered the last remaining hope — whatever that might have been — in the hopelessness of their “cause,” — a blow that struck them down to the ground, and from which they only rose again as armed fugitives in full cry, with their tails between their legs, like a pack of whelping curs flying before the wrath of superior dogs.
Moreover that stronghold at Belwa, having been evacuated by the enemy, was in the ravenous claws and paws of vultures and jackals. Hostile guns were now seldom heard; and incendiary fires for the best of reasons had long since ceased, there being nothing more left to bum. The villages lay in ruins and ashes; desolation and the gloom of death reigned supreme everywhere; and, wherever we went, the whole country looked as if a wave of fire — quenched with torrents of blood — had passed over it, and left nothing but human and animal skeletons strewn over its ghastly and disfigured face.
But from such desolate and hideous scenes, we passed into the darkness of yet another eventful night, and, under the guidance of some intelligent peasants, made a very hazardous detour, and got fairly in rear of the rebel position. Meanwhile our artillery and infantry, having waited for daylight, now advanced upon the enemy’s front with such impetuosity that a general engagement at once ensued, and, amid the din of cannon and the roll of musketry, kindled a fire among our fellows that burst out in an appalling blaze along the whole line of the Brigade, without, however, silencing the rebel guns, which were sweeping with shot and shell the approaches to their camp. But, unchecked by this storm of iron, the attacking force bravely rushed on to carry the position. Thus far the conflict had progressed, when suddenly a body of mounted men dashing on to the plain occupied by us, beheld in their front, face to fade, a bristling array of sabres flashing in the morning sun; and aware as they were of the irresistible line of bayonets approaching from the opposite direction, they turned round like men on wheels, and raced back helter-skelter to their camp, and spread an alarm there, probably to the effect that they were hemmed in on all sides. At all events, whatever alarm they raised, it resulted in a bloody and disastrous rout, followed by the loss of all their field equipage. From the effects of that loss they never recovered; and from that moment the peace of these districts was secured.
Thus the object of the expedition having been absence from their avocations having been sanctioned, forty-six volunteers — retaining many souvenirs of the campaign, in the shape of bullet-wounds and sword-scars; or shattered in health or constitution — amid the waving of helmets in the air on the points of bayonets and sabres, cries of “Bravo,” and cheers from the whole Brigade, sheathed their sabres, and bade farewell to the Corps for ever.