At the Point of the Bayonet

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AT THE POINT OF THE BAYONET:

A Tale of the Mahratta War

by

G. A. HENTY.

Illustrated by Wal Paget.

1901

Contents

Preface.
Chapter 1: A Faithful Nurse.
Chapter 2: A Strange Bringing Up.
Chapter 3: A Change In Affairs.
Chapter 4: A British Resident.
Chapter 5: Down To Bombay.
Chapter 6: In The Company's Service.
Chapter 7: An Act Of Treachery.
Chapter 8: Nana's Release.
Chapter 9: A Popular Tumult.
Chapter 10: A Mission By Sea.
Chapter 11: A Prisoner.
Chapter 12: The Defence Of Johore.
Chapter 13: The Break Up Of The Monsoon.
Chapter 14: The Great Andaman.
Chapter 15: Assaye.
Chapter 16: A Disastrous Retreat.
Chapter 17: An Escape.
Chapter 18: An Awkward Position.
Chapter 19: Bhurtpoor.
Chapter 20: Home.

Illustrations

For a year he worked with the shikaree.
Harry went up to him and salaamed.
Harry . . . saw a party of soldiers coming along the road.
There was a little haggling over the terms.
Harry ran up to the proclamation and tore it down.
As he rode through the streets he saw . . . how fierce a
feeling of resentment had been excited by the news.
'Well, sir, I will now return to shore,' the governor said.
Without a cry the rajah fell back, shot through the head.
The rattle of musketry broke out again.
Plan of the Battle of Assaye.
Plan of the Battle of Laswaree.
Harry succeeded in crossing the river.
Abdool at once slipped down.
Harry drew out his handkerchief, and waved it.
View of the Rajah's Palace, Bhurtpoor.

Preface.

The story of the war in which the power of the great Mahratta
confederacy was broken is one of the most stirring pages of the
campaigns which, begun by Clive, ended in the firm establishment of
our great empire in the Indian Peninsula. When the struggle began,
the Mahrattas were masters of no small portion of India; their
territory comprising the whole country between Bombay and Delhi,
and stretching down from Rajputana to Allahabad; while in the south
they were lords of the district of Cuttack, thereby separating
Madras from Calcutta. The jealousies of the great Mahratta leaders,
Holkar and Scindia, who were constantly at war with each other, or
with the Peishwa at Poona, greatly facilitated our operations; and
enabled us, although at the cost of much blood, to free a large
portion of India from a race that was a scourge--faithless,
intriguing and crafty; cruel, and reckless of life. The Mahrattas,
conquering race as they were, yet failed in the one virtue of
courage. They could sweep the land with hordes of wild horsemen,
could harry peaceful districts and tyrannize over the towns they
conquered; but they were unable to make an effective stand against
British bayonets and British sabres. They were a race of
freebooters; and even the most sentimental humanitarian can feel no
regret at the overthrow of a power that possessed no single claim
to our admiration, and weighed like an incubus upon the peoples it
oppressed. The history of the Mahrattas, as written by Grant Duff,
whose account I have, throughout, followed, is one long record of
perfidy, murder, and crime of all sorts.

Chapter 1: A Faithful Nurse.

On a swell of ground, in the wild country extending from Bombay to
the foot of the Ghauts, stood a small camp. In the centre was a
large pavilion; the residence, for the time, of Major Lindsay, an
officer whose charge was to keep the peace in the district. It was
no easy matter. The inhabitants, wild and lawless, lived in small
villages scattered about the rough country, for the most part
covered with forest, and subject to depredations by the robber
bands who had their strongholds among the hills. Major Lindsay had
with him a party of twenty troopers, not for defence--there was
little fear of attack by the natives of the Concan--but to add to
his authority, to aid in the collection of the small tax paid by
each community, and to deter the mountain robbers from descending
on to the plain. He generally spent the cool season in going his
rounds while, during the hot weather, his headquarters were at
Bombay.

He had with him his wife and infant child. The child was some three
months old, and was looked after by an ayah, who had been in Major
Lindsay's service ten years; for three elder children had been born
to him--all, however, dying from the effects of the climate before
reaching the age of five. The ayah had nursed each, in succession,
and had become greatly attached to the family, especially to her
youngest charge. She had come to speak English well; but with the
child she always talked in her native tongue, as the major saw the
advantage it would prove to the boy, when he grew up, to be able to
speak fluently one, at least, of the native languages.

The nurse was a Mahratta. She had been in the service of the
British Resident at Poona and, when he was recalled, had entered
that of Major Lindsay, at that time a captain who acted as
secretary to the Resident.

A young officer from Bombay had just ridden out, to spend a day or
two with the major, and was sitting with him at the entrance to the
tent.

"The news from the army," he said, "is most unsatisfactory. As you
know, to the astonishment of everyone Colonel Egerton was appointed
to the command, in spite of the fact that he was so infirm as to be
altogether unfit for active service; and Mostyn, our late Resident
at Poona, and Carnac accompanied him as deputies of the Council."

"That is altogether a bad arrangement," the major said. "It has
always been a great disadvantage for a general to be accompanied by
civilians, with power to thwart his combinations. Against Mostyn's
appointment no one could raise any objection as, having been for
some years at Poona, he understands the Mahrattas, and indeed is
much liked by them, so that in any negotiations he would have far
more chance of success than a stranger; but Carnac is hot headed
and obstinate, with a very high idea of his own importance, and it
is certain that there will be difficulties between him and
Egerton."

"I am sorry to say, Major, that these anticipations were very
speedily verified. As you know, the advance party landed at Aptee,
on November 23rd, and seized the roads over the gorge; and on the
25th the main body disembarked at Panwell. No sooner had they got
there than there was a quarrel between Egerton and Carnac. Most
unfortunately Mostyn, who would have acted as mediator, was taken
ill on the very day after landing, and was obliged to return to
Bombay; and I hear there is hardly any chance of his recovery. The
army did not reach the top of the Ghauts till the 23rd of
December--instead of, at the latest, three days after landing--and
actually spent eleven days before it arrived at Karlee, only eight
miles in advance of the Bhore Ghauts. Of course this encouraged the
enemy, and gave plenty of time for them to assemble and make all
their arrangements and, when we last heard, they were harassing our
march. For the past two days no news has arrived, and there seems
to be little doubt that the Mahrattas have closed in round their
rear, and cut off all communications."

"It is monstrous that they should march so slowly. The whole thing
has been a hideous blunder, and the idea of encumbering a force of
four thousand men with something like thirty thousand camp
followers, and with a train of no less than nineteen thousand
bullocks, to say nothing of other draught animals, is the most
preposterous thing I ever heard of. In fact, the whole thing has
been grossly mismanaged.

"I don't say that the conduct of the Mahrattas has not for some
time been doubtful, if not threatening. It is well known that the
Governor General and the Council at Calcutta have most strongly
disapproved of the whole conduct of the Council at Bombay. Indeed,
no explanation has ever been given as to why they took up the cause
of Rugoba, the scoundrel who grasped the crown; and who was privy
to, if he did not instigate, the murder of his nephew, the young
Peishwa.

"He was not unopposed, for Nana Furnuwees and Hurry Punt, two of
the leading Mahratta ministers, formed a regency under Gunga Bye,
the widow of the murdered Peishwa. While matters were undecided,
the Bombay Council opened communications with Rugoba, who they
thought was likely to be successful; and promised to assist him, if
he would advance a considerable sum of money, and cede to the
Company Salsette, the small islands contiguous to Bombay and
Bassein, which had been captured from the Portuguese by the
Mahrattas--an altogether inexcusable arrangement, as the Mahrattas
were at peace with us, and Rugoba was not in a position to hand the
islands over. That matter, however, was settled by sending an
expedition, which captured Salsette and Tannah in 1775, four years
ago. Since then Rugoba has become a fugitive and, without a shadow
of reason, is making war against the whole force of the Mahratta
confederacy; who, although divided amongst themselves and
frequently engaged in the struggles for supremacy, have united
against us--for they say that Scindia, Holkar, and Hurry Punt are
in command of their army. To send four thousand men, of whom less
than six hundred are Europeans, against the whole Mahratta power is
a desperate step.

"I know we have fought and won against greater odds, many times in
the history of India; but our forces have always been well led,
marched with the smallest amount of baggage possible, and made up
for inferiority in numbers by speed, activity, and dash. Here, on
the contrary, we have a force hampered to an unheard-of degree by
baggage and camp followers; with an invalid at its head, controlled
by two civilians; and moving at a rate which, in itself, testifies
to divided councils and utter incompetency on the part of its
commander. It is almost impossible even to hope for success, under
such conditions."

"The lookout is certainly bad," the younger officer agreed.
"However, before now the fighting powers of the British soldier
have made up for the blunders of his commanders; and we may hope
that this will be the case, now."

"If a disaster happen," the major said, "we shall have the
Mahrattas down at the gates of Bombay; and as soon as I hear a
rumour of it--and news travels wonderfully fast among the
natives--I shall return to the city."

"Oh, I don't think you need fear anything of that sort, Major!
Besides, this is not on the direct line between the Ghauts and the
city. And even if they find they cannot push on, I should say our
force would be able to secure their retreat. The Mahratta horse
will never be able to break our squares; but of course, in that
case we should have to abandon all our baggage and baggage
animals."

"I agree with you that the Mahrattas would doubtless hang on the
skirts of our force, and follow them down the Bhore Ghaut, and so
would not come anywhere near us; but they might detach flying
parties to burn and plunder, as is their custom. Brave as they are,
the Mahrattas do not fight for the love of fighting, but simply
from the hope of plunder and of enlarging their territories.

"Well, we may hope, in a day or two, to hear that a battle has been
fought, and that a victory has been won. Not that one victory would
settle the matter, for the Mahratta force consists almost entirely
of cavalry and, as we have only a handful, they would, if beaten,
simply ride off and be ready to fight again, another day. If we had
pushed on and occupied Poona, directly we landed--which should have
been easy enough, if the baggage train had been left behind, for it
is but forty miles from Panwell to the Mahratta capital--the
position would have been altogether different. The Mahrattas would
not have had time to collect their forces, and we should probably
have met with no opposition and, once in Poona, could have held it
against the whole Mahratta force. Besides, it is certain that some
of the chiefs, seeing that Rugoba was likely to be made Peishwa,
would have come to the conclusion that it would be best for them to
side with him.

"Of course, the baggage should all have been left at Panwell and,
in that case, the force could have entered Poona three days after
landing, instead of delaying from the 25th of November until today,
the 7th of January; and even now, at their present rate of advance,
they may be another fortnight before they arrive at Poona. I don't
think there has been so disgraceful a business since we first put
foot in India.

"At any rate, I shall send Mary and the child down to Bombay,
tomorrow. It is all very well to have her with me, when everything
is peaceable; but although I do not think there is any actual risk,
it is as well that, in turbulent times like these, with nothing but
a force under such incompetent leading between us and a powerful
and active enemy, she should be safe at Bombay."

Just before daybreak, next morning, there was a sudden shout from
one of the sentries; who had for the first time been posted round
the camp. The warning was followed by a fierce rush, and a large
body of horse and foot charged into the camp. The escort were, for
the most part, killed as they issued from their tents. The major
and his friend were shot down as they sallied out, sword in hand.
The same fate befell Mrs. Lindsay.

Then the Mahrattas proceeded to loot the camp. The ayah had thrust
the child underneath the wall of the tent, at the first alarm. A
Mahratta seized her, and would have cut her down, had she not
recognized him by the light of the lamp which hung from the tent
ridge.

"Why, cousin Sufder," she exclaimed, "do you not know me?"

He loosed his hold, and stood back and gazed at her.

"Why, Soyera," he exclaimed, "is it you? It is more than ten years
since I saw you!

"It is my cousin," he said to some of his companions who were
standing round, "my mother's sister's child."

"Don't be alarmed," he went on, to the woman, "no one will harm
you. I am one of the captains of this party."

"I must speak to you alone, Sufder."

She went outside the tent with him.

"You have nothing to fear," he said. "You shall go back with us to
Jooneer. I have a house there, and you can stay with my wife.
Besides, there are many of your people still alive."

"But that is not all, Sufder. I was ayah to the major and his
wife--whom your people have just killed, and whom I loved
dearly--and in my charge is their child. He is but a few months
old, and I must take him with me."

"It is impossible," Sufder replied. "No white man, woman, or child
would be safe in the Deccan, at present."

"No one would see his face," the woman said. "I would wrap him up,
and will give out that he is my own child. As soon as we get up the
Ghauts I would stain his face and skin, and no one would know that
he was white. If you will not let me do it, tell your men to cut me
down. I should not care to live, if the child were gone as well as
his father and mother. You cannot tell how kind they were to me.
You would not have me ungrateful, would you, Sufder?"

"Well, well," the man said good naturedly, though somewhat
impatiently, "do as you like; but if any harm comes of it, mind it
is not my fault."

Thankful for the permission, Soyera hurried round to the back of
the tent, picked up the child and wrapped it in her robe; and then
when, after firing the place, the Mahrattas retired, she fell in
behind them, and followed them in the toilsome climb up the
mountains, keeping so far behind that none questioned her. Once or
twice Sufder dropped back to speak to her.

"It is a foolish trick of yours," he said, "and I fear that trouble
will come of it."

"I don't see why it should," she replied. "The child will come to
speak Mahratta and, when he is stained, none will guess that he is
English. In time, I may be able to restore him to his own people."

The other shook his head.

"That is not likely," he said, "for before many weeks, we shall
have driven them into the sea."

"Then he must remain a Mahratta," she said, "until he is able to
make his way to join the English in Madras or Calcutta."

"You are an obstinate woman, and always have been so; else you
would not have left your people to go to be servant among the
whites. However, I will do what I can for you, for the sake of my
mother's sister and of our kinship."

On the way up the hills Soyera stopped, several times, to pick
berries. When they halted she went aside and pounded them, and then
boiled them in some water in a lota--a copper vessel--Sufder lent
her for the purpose, and dyed the child's head and body with it,
producing a colour corresponding to her own.

The party, which was composed of men from several towns and
villages, broke up the next morning.

"Have you money?" Sufder asked her, as she was about to start alone
on her journey.

"Yes; my savings were all lodged for me, by Major Lindsay, with
some merchants at Bombay; but I have twenty rupees sewn up in my
garments."

"As to your savings, Soyera, you are not likely to see them again,
for we shall make a clean sweep of Bombay. However, twenty rupees
will be useful to you, and would keep you for three or four months,
if you needed but, as you are going to my wife, you will not want
them.

"Take this dagger. When you show it to her, she will know that you
come from me; but mind, she is, like most women, given to gossip;
therefore I warn you not to let her into the secret of this child's
birth, for if you did so, half the town would know it in the course
of a day or two.

"Now, I must go back with my men to join a party who are on their
way to fight the English. I should have gone there direct, but met
the others starting on this marauding expedition, which was so much
to the taste of my men that I could not restrain them from joining.
I shall see you at Jooneer, as soon as matters are finished with
the English; then I shall, after staying a few days there, rejoin
Scindia, in whose service I am."

Soyera started on her way. At the villages through which she
passed, she was questioned as to where she came from; and replied
that she had been living down near Bombay but, now that the English
were going to fight the Mahrattas, she was coming home, having lost
her husband a few months before.

As the road to Jooneer diverged widely from that to Poona, she was
asked no questions about the war. All were confident that the
defeat of the English was certain, now that Scindia and Holkar and
the government of the Peishwa had laid aside their mutual
jealousies, and had joined for the purpose of crushing the whites.

On arriving, after two days' journey, at Jooneer, she went to the
address that Sufder had given her; but was coldly received by his
wife.

"As it is Sufder's order, of course I must take you in," she said,
"but when he returns, I shall tell him that I do not want another
woman and child in the house. Why do you not go to your own people?
As you are Sufder's cousin, you must be the sister of Ramdass. Why
should you not go to him?"

"I will gladly do so, if you will tell me where he lives."

"He has a small farm. You must have passed it, as you came along.
It is about a mile from here."

"I will go to him at once," Soyera said.

"No, no," the woman exclaimed; "that will never do. You must stop a
day or two here. Sufder would be angry, indeed, were he to find
that you did not remain here; and would blame me for it. I should
be willing enough for you to stay a week, or a month; that is a
different thing from becoming an inmate of the house."

"I will wait till tomorrow, for I have made a long two days'
journey from the top of the Ghauts and, as I am not accustomed to
walking, my feet are sore. In the morning I will go and see my
brother. I did not so much as know that he was alive. I feel sure
he will take me in, willingly; for he is but two years older than
myself, and was always kind to me."

Accordingly the next morning she retraced her steps, and had no
difficulty in finding the farm of Ramdass. Choosing the time when
he would be likely to be in for his dinner, Soyera walked up to the
door of the house, which was standing open.

As she stood there, hesitating, Ramdass came out. He was a man of
some forty years of age, with a pleasant and kindly face. He looked
at her enquiringly.

"Do you not know me, Ramdass?" she asked.

"Why, 'tis Soyera!" he exclaimed. "And so you have come back, after
all these years--thirteen, is it not, since you went away?

"Welcome back, little sister!" and he raised his voice, and called,
"Anundee!"

A young woman, two or three and twenty years of age, came to the
door.

"Wife," he said, "this is my sister Soyera, of whom you have often
heard me speak.

"Soyera, this is my wife. We have been married six years; but come
in, and let us talk things over.

"You have come home for good, I hope," he said. "So you too have
married and, as you come alone with your child, have, I suppose,
had the misfortune to lose your husband?"

"Yes, I was alone in the world, and came hither not knowing whether
you were alive or dead; but feeling sure of a welcome, if I found
you."

"And you were not mistaken," he said heartily.

"Anundee, you will, I am sure, join me in the welcome; and
willingly give my sister and her child a place in our home?"

"Assuredly. It will be pleasant for me, when you are in the fields,
to have some one to talk to, and perhaps to help me about the
house."

Soyera saw that she was speaking sincerely.

"Thank you, Anundee; you may be sure that I shall not be idle. I
have been accustomed to work, and can take much off your hands; and
will look after your two children;" for two boys, three or four
years old, were standing before her, staring at the newcomer.

"That will be pleasant, Soyera; indeed, sometimes they hinder me
much in my work."

"I am accustomed to children, Anundee, as I was for years nurse to
English children, and know their ways."

"Well, now let us to dinner," Ramdass broke in. "I am hungry, and
want to be off again. There is much to do in the fields."

The woman took a pot off the embers of a wood fire, and poured its
contents into a dish. The meal consisted of a species of pulse
boiled with ghee, with peppers and other condiments added.

"And how did you like being among the English, Soyera?"

"I liked it very well," the woman said. "They are very kind and
considerate to nurses and, although they get angry when the
gorrawallah or other men neglect their duty, they do not punish
them as a Mahratta master would do. They are not double faced; when
they say a thing they mean it, and their word can always be
trusted. As a people, no doubt they are anxious to extend their
dominion; but they do not wish to do so for personal gain. They are
not like the princes here, who go to war to gain territory and
revenue. It was reasonable that they should wish to increase their
lands; for they are almost shut up in Bombay, with Salsette and the
other islands occupied by us, who may, any day, be their enemies."

Her brother laughed.

"It seems to me, Soyera, that you have come to prefer these English
people to your own countrymen."

"I say not that, Ramdass. You asked me how I liked them, and I have
told you. You yourself know how the tax collectors grind down the
people; how Scindia and Holkar and the Peishwa are always fighting
each other. Do you know that, in Bombay, the meanest man could not
be put to death, unless fairly tried; while among the Mahrattas men
are executed on the merest excuse or, if not executed, are
murdered?"

"That is true enough," Ramdass said; "none of the three princes
would hesitate to put to death anyone who stood in his way, and it
seems strange to me that even the Brahmins, who would not take the
life even of a troublesome insect, yet support the men who have
killed scores of other people. But it is no use grumbling; the
thing has always been, and I suppose always will be. It is not only
so in the Deccan, but in the Nizam's dominions, in Mysore and, so
far as I know, in Oude and Delhi. It seems so natural to us that
the powerful should oppress the weak, and that one prince should go
to war with another, that we hardly give the matter a thought; but
though, as you say, the English in Bombay may rule wisely, and
dislike taking life, they are doing now just as our princes
do--they are making war with us."

"That is true but, from what I have heard when the English sahibs
were speaking together, it is everything to them that a prince
favourable to them should rule at Poonah for, were Holkar and
Scindia to become all powerful, and place one of their people on
the seat of the Peishwa, the next step might be that a great
Mahratta force would descend the Ghauts, capture Bombay, and slay
every white man in it."

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