A Narrative of the Siege of Delhi | Page 6

waited for the result, when, after a short
interval, shots were heard, and we knew that our men had engaged the
sepoy guard. The firing was continuous while it lasted, but soon died
away. A mounted officer then rode out at the gate, and, galloping to
where the Colonel was standing, reported that the sepoys, when ordered
to lay down their arms, refused, and that one of them, taking direct aim
at the Major,[2] shot him in the thigh, leaving a dangerous wound. Our
men then poured a volley into the mutineers, who fired in return, but
fortunately without causing any casualty on our side. Two sepoys had
been killed and several wounded, while the remainder, offering no
further resistance, were disarmed and made prisoners.
Meantime the regiment stood under arms in line, and another company
was sent to reinforce the men in the fort.
Amid great excitement, more especially among the young soldiers, we
waited to see what would follow when the sepoy battalions marching
from cantonments into the country appeared in sight. Eagerly it was
whispered amongst us, "Will the rascals fight, or remain loyal and
obedient to the orders of their officers?"
The evening was drawing on apace, but at last, about six o'clock, the
heads of the columns emerged from the houses and gardens of the
station, the 45th Native Infantry advancing in almost a direct line to the
fort, while the 57th Native Infantry were inclined to their right, and
followed the road leading to the rear of our lines. All eyes were turned
on the former regiment, and its movements were ardently scanned.
Closer and closer they came to the fort, till, when only about fifty paces
distant, the column wavered. We could see the officers rushing about
among their men, and in another instant the whole mass broke into
disorder and ran pell-mell in hundreds towards the ditch which
surrounded the entrenchment.
This was of no depth, with sloping sides, and easy to escalade, and in
less time than I take to write it the sepoys, with a shout, jumped into the

trench, scrambled up the parapet, and disappeared from our sight into
the enclosure.
It was not long before we heard the sound of firing, and shots came in
quick succession, maddening us beyond control, for we thought of our
men, few in number and scattered over the fort, opposed to some five
or six hundred of these savages.
We had loaded with ball-cartridge soon after forming on parade, and
the men now grasped their muskets, and cries and murmurs were heard,
"Why do we not advance?" and all this couched in language more
forcible than polite.
The order at last was given to fix bayonets, and then came the welcome
words:
"The line will advance."
Every heart thrilled with excitement. All longed to have a brush with
the mutineers, and help our comrades in the fort who were fighting
against such odds.
Twenty paces only we advanced, and then, by the Brigadier's command,
our Colonel[3] gave the order to halt.
The men were furious, and could hardly be restrained from marching
forward, when, looking towards the outer side of the fort, we saw some
sepoys on the ramparts, evidently in a state of panic, throw themselves
into the ditch, and mounting the other side, run helterhelterskelter into
the country. These were followed by numbers of others, who all made
off as fast as their legs would carry them, and then we heard a true
British cheer, our men appeared on the walls shooting at the fugitives,
bayonetting and driving them over the glacis.
The fight had continued some twenty minutes, and was pretty severe
while it lasted. A few of our men were more or less hurt, but of the
sepoys many had been killed and wounded. About 100 also had laid
down their arms, and, begging for mercy, were taken prisoners.

Nothing could have been more culpable than the conduct of the
Brigadier in not advancing a portion, at any rate, of my regiment to the
fort at the time the sepoys broke their ranks and entered the
entrenchment. Had he done so, it is probable that not one of the
mutineers of the 45th Native Infantry would have escaped, nor would
the havoc which afterwards occurred in the cantonment have taken
place. But he was an old East India Company's officer, and had served
upwards of forty years in the native army, having to the last, like many
others at that eventful time, implicit confidence in the loyalty of the
sepoys. He feared, also, the responsibility of letting loose the English
soldiery to wreak their vengeance on the mutineers, knowing too well
that, with passions roused and hearts steeled to pity by the murders and
outrages committed at Meerut, and the