"What do you want?" Alec whispered.

"I am loyal, but I am suspected, and there are spies perhaps watching
even now. If I had come to the English camp with the news, or even
spoken to you in a friendly manner, I might have lost my life. Three
times have I performed _puja_ here in the hope of a chance of speaking
to an English officer unsuspected. My news is that Dundu Pant of Bithur
is at Pindijang. Now let me wrest myself free, and you must chase me."

"How can we know that your news is true?" asked Ted dubiously.

"Ask Lawson Sahib if he will believe Pancham Tewari. He will know."

An adroit twist and wrench and the yogi was free and running down the
road. Ted fired--and missed--and Alec followed suit, both taking care
not to hit the man. The onlookers howled with delight at the supposed
discomfiture of the Feringhis, and the yogi turned and cursed them
afresh, and the boys judged it best to retire when they saw the mob pick
up stones and advance to protect the holy man.

"We'd better clear away," said Alec. "I know Major Lawson; he'll tell
whether the man is genuine."

"Hope his news is true. It'll be a feather in our caps if we help to
catch the Nana. Where is Pindijang?"

"No idea. It's rather a fishy business altogether, and I'm afraid it's a
trap."

"I shouldn't be surprised," Ted replied. "I hope not, though, for it may
be a great score for us if we help to catch the ruffian."

They lost no time in reaching camp, and Alec led the way to Major
Lawson's quarters, where they told the story of the encounter with the
mysterious yogi, and how they had been referred to him for a character.

"Pancham Tewari is to be trusted," said the major. "He's an old friend
of mine, and he loves the Nana Sahib about as much as we do, for the
scoundrel has dispossessed the Tewari family of their lands by fraud
some time ago, and Pancham would do anything to get even with him. I'll
see this matter through. Not a word to a soul, mind."

They kept their own counsel, and had heard no more about the matter when
they turned in for the night. But Ted Russell felt sure that something
was in the air, and could hardly sleep for excitement. He dreamt that he
was engaged in hand-to-hand conflict with a yogi, who quite casually
changed to the infamous Rajah of Bithur, and, emerging from the bed of
the Ganges, chased him for many miles, finally tripping him up;
whereupon Ted caught him by the throat, and the murderer began to groan.
He awoke and listened. Surely someone was groaning close at hand! Alec
had of late been sharing his tent, and he stretched out his hand and
groped for his chum.

"What's wrong?" came a growl.

"Listen!"

"It is only the silly camels warbling. Go to sleep."

"So it is. You can whiff 'em, too! We get too much camel here. I wish
the wind 'ud change."

The camel, that useful but detested animal, grunts and grumbles all
night long, and the soldier blesses him in picturesque language. The
fact that, moreover, "'e smells most awful vile" does not tend to
increase his popularity.

"I wish you wouldn't spoil my beauty-sleep whenever you have a
nightmare," Paterson sleepily grumbled, as he rolled over and became
blissfully unconscious.

But Ted was restless and could not sleep. The camels kept up their
serenade until he longed to sally forth with a whip. Presently a
footstep was heard outside and the tent-flaps parted. Ted rose to a
sitting posture and laid hold of his pistol.

"Who's there?" he demanded.

"'For Valour'!" came the cool reply. "Why, my V.C. winner, you're as
frightened as a babu! Get up! we're going on a daur."

It was Claude Boldre. Giving Alec a joyous kick, Ted hurriedly dressed
and went out. The sun had not yet risen, but the camp was fitfully
lighted by the wood-fires, around which half-clad native servants
squatted and shivered. Others were running to and fro, aimlessly to all
appearance, and the horses had begun to neigh. Away to the right he
could make out against the walls of white canvas the dark forms of
Govind Singh and Hira Singh superintending the preparations of their
men.

"Come along, Ted, and have some breakfast," said Claude, appearing from
behind the tents. "Your horse is being looked after. We start in half an
hour."

Linking his arm in Ted's he marched him into the colonel's tent, calling
to Paterson to follow. As they entered, Colonel Boldre looked up from
his map, nodded, and motioned towards the breakfast-table. The
coffee-pot was steaming thereon, and the boys did not hesitate. The tent
was not more than a dozen feet square, and there was only one spare
chair. Claude sat on the pallet-bed and Ted on a trunk.

"Are we going to Pindijang?" asked the latter, "and if so, where is it?"

"Why!" exclaimed the colonel in surprise, "how did you know?"

Ted and Alec laughed.

"This is our daur, colonel. Didn't you know?"

"Your daur! What on earth do you mean?"

"We brought the news last night that the Nana was there," Alec replied.
"We had it from a spy."

Colonel Boldre regarded them with interest.

"You never told me," said Claude.

"We were told to keep it quiet," said Ted.

"Quite right!" observed their commandant. "Pindijang is about nine miles
away, and this is to be a cavalry affair. Our fellows are going, with a
detachment of Hodson's and Probyn's, and a squadron of the 9th Lancers,
and a troop of Horse Artillery."

"The pater's in command," whispered Claude.

"I congratulate you, colonel," said Alec promptly.

In came Major Lawson, and the boys cleared out. The wild-looking men of
Boldre's Horse had broken their fast and were eager for the fray,
chattering in groups, discussing the probable destination, and hazarding
all kinds of wild conjectures. A few moments later without any sound of
bugles, the regiment was in the saddle and trotting away to the
north-west.

Paterson sorrowfully watched them depart, for he had not obtained
permission to accompany the force.

"Where are the others?" Ted enquired of Claude.

"Don't know.... Who are these?--oh! the Flamingoes, and there are the
Probyn ruffians. We've done it very quietly."

A blurred mass appeared presently away to the right.

"Those will be the Lancers and the guns," Ted hazarded his opinion.
"Yes, there's no mistaking that music. Good old Horse Artillery!"

With joined forces the little flying column pushed forward at a trot,
the pleasant clatter of hoofs and jingle and rattle of the guns forming
an accompaniment, inspiring with its martial noise.

A flash of yellow light gleamed far away on the eastern horizon, as the
metal upon one of the tall minarets of Lucknow caught the first rays,
and the sun had risen. There before them lay the fortified village of
Pindijang in the dip hollowed out by the shallow tributary running
south-east to join the Granges. The place was walled, and they could see
the black muzzles of cannon peeping from the embrasures. The
neighbourhood was well wooded, affording good cover for sharp-shooters.

Colonel Boldre grumbled at his hard luck. Half an hour earlier and he
could have taken the village by surprise. The fault was not his, for the
map showed Pindijang as nine miles from Cawnpore. It had proved not less
than a dozen, and would have to be taken by hard fighting, not by a
_coup_.

He sent the Lancers with two of the horse-guns away to the right to cut
off retreat in the direction of Lucknow, the Irregular Horse remaining
concealed by a wood until the flanking party should be ready to
co-operate. Ted and Claude stood watching the Englishmen ride off,
admiring the gallant bearing of the splendid Bengal Horse Artillery, a
corps that has given so many famous men to India. The lances of the
cavalry flashed and glittered as the steel points caught the sun,
making, with the picturesque trappings of the Artillery and the
fascination of their guns, one of the bright and beautiful scenes of
war. The other side of the picture was presently to be seen.

"We're quite on a hill here," said Ted. "I should not have thought the
ground dipped so much. They're out of sight."

"There will be a stream to cross down there."

Presently a myriad flashing of tiny points of moving fire, like the
facets of waves dancing in the sun, and the Lancers were seen emerging
from the hollow and trotting up the slight incline. But the guns were
not with them, for the wheels had sunk deep in the mud of the far bank.
A score of the Lancers had remained to help, while the remainder trotted
across the plateau to cut off the retreat.

Suddenly a bank of smoke obscured the trunks of the trees, and the ranks
of the Lancers seemed to break up, as the crash and rattle of musketry
rang in the ears of the distant onlookers. Then were seen gaps and empty
saddles and maddened horses. The officer in command, himself wounded,
could be seen steadying his men, and, resisting the temptation to charge
in among the trees, he drew them off rapidly and in good order, and
brought them under cover, where they dismounted, and their carbines
began to seek out the hidden pandies.

Colonel Boldre was visibly agitated. The sepoys had seen their approach
and laid a trap, and, should they be strong enough to overwhelm the
cavalry, the stuck guns would be lost.

He was about to give the order to support the Lancers, when there was
heard a clang and a clatter and a rattle, and a whirl of dust was seen
rushing up the slope, as though wind-impelled.

"B. H. A. for ever!" Ted exclaimed. "By George! they are going!"

The sound of firing so close at hand had put double strength into the
backs of the gunners, and they tugged and pushed, and the plucky horses
also heard the sound, and out of the mud came the guns. Mounting
rapidly, the drivers cracked their whips and urged forward their teams
of six good horses. The dust rose and enveloped them as they bounded
along; then they wheeled, stopped sharply, and unlimbered.

Colonel Boldre's face relaxed, and he gave no command. The watchers saw
the gunners busy as ants; then came a flash and a roar as a shell
hurtled among the trees, and a second was in the air before the first
had burst.

With hardly a pause a third and fourth shell exploded among the pandies,
apparently with deadly effect. Their fire slackened, died down; they
wavered, and another shell fell amongst them. Panic-stricken they
streamed away towards the sheltering walls. The Lancers mounted their
horses; the guns scattered another shell or two amid the fugitives, and,
limbering up, rattled after them.

But the surprise had failed, and there was now little chance of
capturing the arch-traitor. With poignant disappointment Colonel Boldre
saw the troops pouring out of the village through the north-western
gate, the exit farthest from them. He gave the word, and the Irregulars
galloped away to their left front to cut them off.

Ted's Arab was both fleet and great-hearted, and he and Govind Singh
were soon to the front, half a length in advance of the ragged line. It
was a race, not a charge, and Ted remembered with a smile how he had
once guided "The Padre" to victory. The pace of the runaways was checked
by the river which, bending from the north-east, looped round the
western and southern sides of the village, leaving only the eastern side
open, and _there_ were the British Lancers, now quite near to the
walls. Close behind him Ted could hear the jingle of a gun and the mad
galloping of its team, tearing the big weapon along with jolt and
clatter. Few sights are there to surpass horse artillery galloping into
action, and few sounds more musical; and the noble horses seem inspired
thereby, and enter into the spirit of the movement with a zest as great
as that of the men.

They were now level with the ghaut, or ford, and a few hundred yards to
the west thereof. The guns unlimbered, and, after sending a couple of
shells after the leading fugitives who had made good their escape, they
opened on the ghaut and got range with the second shot. More than half
the pandies were checked; on the one side were English cavalry and a
couple of those deadly guns, on the other the only way of escape was a
death-trap. Colonel Boldre despatched a body of Probyn's Horse and of
his own men under Claude to ride down to the ghaut and take charge of
the prisoners. The rest continued in the track of the Nana.

Ted, Govind Singh, and a handful of the better-mounted men had kept on
their way without a pause, and they quickly perceived that they were
overhauling the sepoys, the hindmost of whom presently began to scatter
across the fields and swampy ground, making for the woods and jungle.
And after them went most of the pursuers.

But Ted and Govind Singh with some of their Jalandar men kept straight
ahead. They had noticed that amongst the runagates who had stuck to the
road were two or three men of consequence, to judge by their costumes
and the caparisons of their steeds. And some instinct told our ensign
that he in the middle of the group, decked out in a conspicuous saffron
shawl, with a glittering turban, was none other than the Nana himself.
Heedless of all other considerations he urged his handful onward,
speeding farther and farther away from the main body, intent only on
slaying or capturing the Mahratta ruffian.

They were now within a hundred yards of their quarry, and almost up with
the laggards, some of whom broke away into the paddy-fields, while those
who were not quick enough received short shrift from Govind Singh's
compatriots. With hardly a pause the Punjabis again swept forward, their
number reduced by one. As they lessened the distance separating them
from the rear-guard a couple of pandies swiftly swerved aside, off the
track, and fired as the Sikhs, unprepared for the manoeuvre, flew past
in a bunch. The sowar on the right of Govind Singh reeled in his saddle
and then his horse shot to the front, relieved of its burden, and Ted
noticed that a second of his men winced, let his carbine fall, and
clapped a hand to his side.

"Forward!" shouted the young officer as the men began to pull on the
reins. "Forward! Never mind those two; there's a big reward for him who
catches that saffron fellow in front!"

With much reluctance the Punjabis allowed the two pandies to continue
their flight unmolested. The chieftain and his body-guard were within
pistol-shot, and Ted fired twice, and unhorsed the sepoy who rode next
to the leader, at whom he had aimed. And suddenly the rebels turned and
with savage yells charged back upon their pursuers. Ted again aimed at
the leader and again missed, and the Nana's men were upon them, three to
one.

With a yell as savage as theirs Govind Singh rose in his stirrups and
felled his nearest opponent with one mighty blow, and, leaning forward,
buried his tulwar in the shoulder of another. Before he could recover
his blade a lance was thrust into his breast, and he dropped like a log.
Ted saw the fall of his right-hand man, and was near enough to cut down
the striker just as another of the mutineers rode full tilt at him.

The lance-point grazed his tunic, and he caught the shaft under his
arm-pit, gave the pandy his point, and went forward, straight for the
man with the saffron shawl, who was keeping well in the background. He
cut at the villain's head, but a tulwar interposed, caught his blade,
and snapped it off at the hilt. And at this moment, when the superior
strength and size and courage of the Punjabis were barely enabling them
to hold their own, the two pandies who had escaped had now wheeled round
and charged to the aid of their comrades, taking Ted's two or three
unexpectedly in the rear and deciding the issue.

A tremor of cold fear ran through our hero's frame as he found himself
armed only with a useless sword-hilt wherewith to defend himself. The
vile Mahratta raised his pistol, and, at a distance of three paces,
fired point blank at the lad's breast. Ted Russell's career would have
ended then and there had not his Arab, at the very moment that the
trigger was pulled, trodden on the edge of a naked blade. The horse
reared, received the bullet in its head, and rolled over dead, almost
crushing its rider.

One Sikh and one only of the reckless few who had galloped in the wake
of Ted and Govind Singh remained alive, and he was unhorsed and fighting
valiantly on foot. He hacked his way to the rescue of his officer, and
wounded the pandy who, having disarmed Ted, was about to deal a
finishing blow. Then he in his turn was laid low. Ted still had his
revolver; raising himself on his elbow he took aim at the Nana, who
instantly set spurs to his horse, and his two surviving retainers
followed his example. But Ted had the Mahratta rajah covered. Filled
with exultation at the thought that the murderer was at last at his
mercy he pulled the trigger.

There was no report, and he realized with a heavy heart that the
weapon's chambers were all empty, that the arch-traitor had escaped, and
that he was helpless!

He rose and looked about him, and a reaction of thankfulness followed
the bitter disappointment as the thought stole upon him that he had
escaped with no injury more serious than a scratch or two. He perceived
that it was lucky that his enemies, as well as he himself, had been
under the impression that the revolver was still loaded. What would have
been his fate had they known the truth?

He began to search for Govind Singh's body. The veteran risaldar had
ceased to breathe; he had died as he would have wished, fighting against
odds. The boy had come to regard his grim old comrade with an affection
that had been returned by the risaldar. The other Sikhs were also all
dead, so fierce had been the hand-to-hand combat; and of the Nana's
following at least a dozen were slain or were dying. One of the latter,
a youngster barely sixteen, was regarding the Feringhi with eyes in
which hatred and a desire to propitiate struggled mutely for mastery.
Ted divined the meaning of that look and hastened to hand his
water-bottle to the sufferer, who greedily gulped the water down and
regarded his benefactor with gratitude.

"Tell me," said Ted, "who was he with the saffron shawl?"

"That was the Rajah of Bithur," replied the wounded lad.

With a glance of regret towards the good Arab that had served him so
well, Ted mounted Govind Singh's horse, which was standing beside its
dead master, and sped away to rejoin his comrades, some of whom could be
seen in the distance returning from the chase. Colonel Boldre had many
prisoners and several guns to show as the result of the daur, but the
main object of the expedition had escaped.

"I was afraid you had been killed, Russell," said he.

"I've lost Govind Singh, the risaldar, and a good many men, sir, and we
just missed the Nana. He unhorsed me, and I should have shot him if I'd
had the sense to reserve a bullet for him."

"Unhorsed you? Dundu Pant himself?" exclaimed the commandant.

Ted reported the affair, and Colonel Boldre, uncertain whether to praise
or blame, remained deep in thought.

"You had a narrow squeak," said he at last.

CHAPTER XXVIII

The Final Scene at Lucknow

Lieutenant Boldre lolled back in his camp-chair and smiled a superior
smile, while Ted Russell scratched his head and gazed with puzzled
expression at the carved pieces upon the chess-board.

It was undoubtedly checkmate, and he asked himself, almost angrily, how
on earth he could have allowed himself to be outmanoeuvred and
surrounded, and his communications cut off, in so absurdly simple a
manner. Now that it was too late to avert defeat, he could clearly see
how his opponent's attack could have been met and repulsed.

"You've licked me this time," he acknowledged. "I'm playing like an
_oont_ this morning."

The tent was Claude's, and it was pitched to the rear of the Dilkusha,
or "Yellow Bungalow" as the soldiers called the palace. Ten days had
passed since the raid on Pindijang, and many things had happened in the
meanwhile.

Having received reinforcements, Sir Colin had once more occupied his old
position a few miles south-east of Lucknow. He meant the final attack
upon that city to be deliberate and scientific, not a wild rush,
entailing perhaps the sacrifice of thousands of lives in the narrow,
winding streets, where Englishmen would be at a disadvantage. There was
plenty of time, therefore, for an occasional game of chess.

"Have your revenge?" asked Boldre confidently; and Ted replied that he
was willing, when in stalked Paterson.

"Well, how's the deputy-assistant, extra-honorary, supernumerary
aide-de-camp? Is he acting as postman?" asked Ted, noticing that Alec
had brought letters.

"The mail has just come in, so I picked yours out to save time. Catch!"

"Thanks, old man!" said Ted, as he picked up the scattered missives.
"I'll do as much for you some day, if ever _I_ become a great man.
Here's one for you, Boldre, from Simla."

"That's from the mater, and I owe her one or two already. It's no end of
a fag writing letters. Are yours from home?"

"One is," Ted replied. "The other is from Aurungpore;" and silence
prevailed for several minutes.

"Good news from home, Ted, I hope?" said Alec presently.

"Yes, they're all well. The pater is wishing he was here with us. He's
been particularly interested in my last letters telling of our doings
with the Sirmur Battalion, because he was taken prisoner by the Gurkhas
in the Nepal war of 1815, and made friends with a lot of them. The mater
is wishing I was back at home. Why do women cross their letters so much,
Alec? It's worse than a Chinese puzzle."

"Nay, Ted, don't ask me. I don't get shoals of letters in feminine
handwriting."

Ted turned red, laughed, and changed the subject.

"This reads very funnily now. They write to say how glad they are that
Delhi has fallen, and that Jim and I escaped without harm, and they
suppose that by now the fighting will all be over."

He opened the second envelope, and Alec winked at Claude, who raised his
eyebrows enquiringly.

"Surely it ain't?" said he, rising quickly to the joke; and Ted looked
up in feigned bewilderment.

"Of course it is," Alec answered. "Don't he look rapturous?"

"And so young!" murmured Claude.

"Yes; he cut me out too. She preferred the colour of his hair, and
fancied that she detected more signs of a moustache."

Alec dodged, as Ted most irreverently threw a bishop at his head, and
resumed:

"A nice little girl too, daughter of one of our officers. Does she send
any message for me, Ted?"

Our hero was blushing violently. He sprang to his feet suddenly, caught
his chum by the collar, and rolled both him and his seat over the floor
of the tent, smashing the stool and damaging Claude's bed. Then, feeling
better, he resumed his seat, and Alec picked himself up, laughing.

"It's a bad case, Claude," said he. "What does she say, Ted?"

"Well, if you want to know, she asks if I still chum with that ass
Paterson, or whether he's been knocked on the head by a praiseworthy
pandy, and a good job too!"

"That's fiction," commented Alec solemnly. "Go ahead."

"She says that the weather is sometimes fine, though not so hot as it
will be in June."

"More fiction. Seems suspicious, Claude, that he should have to
extemporize."

Claude nodded acquiescence.

"He's in a bad way, that's plain," said he. And Ted went on unheeding:
"And that Colonel Woodburn is hardly inconvenienced by his wound; that
she herself is very well, and has seen Jim several times lately; and
that everything is quiet along the frontier; and that Jim is continually
wishing that the Guides could have been spared for Lucknow; and that
she's heard of what you did at Agra."

Here was Alec's turn to blush.

"Never mind all that," he interrupted hastily. "What we want to know is
what she says about you."

But Ted winked, and, pocketing the letter, once more assumed an
aggressive demeanour.

"Pax!" said Alec, retreating. "I'm not going to fight a chap who's in
the habit of exploding gunpowder beneath his opponents. By the way, have
you seen our allies?"

"Not yet. Shall we pay them a visit? Come along."

Among the latest reinforcements were Brigadier Franks' column and Jung
Bahadur's army from Nepal. Franks had been operating with great effect
in Eastern Oudh, from the Nepal border, and his men were mostly Gurkhas,
lent by the Nepal Government. They had done excellent service, and had
won one or two quite remarkable victories. Jung Bahadur's force, nearly
ten thousand strong, had just come in, and as the army was aware that
Sir Colin had been waiting for these Gurkhas, it was expected that the
real struggle was about to begin.

The three lieutenants strolled down to the Gurkha camp to inspect the
new-comers, and Ted thought of that day on the Ridge when Reid's little
Mongolians were indulging in horse-play with their comrades of the
Rifles, and he remembered how one of the Gurkhas had foretold that Jung
Bahadur would bring his troops to assist the British. He little thought
then that he should be present to witness the arrival of the famous
_shikarri_.

The Nepalese allies did not, in Ted's opinion, look quite so tough or so
soldierly as his friends of the Sirmur Battalion, and their officers
compared unfavourably with Merban Sing and Goria Thapa. There was plenty
of good material, but the average, though taller in stature, seemed less
sturdy and considerably dirtier. These Nepalese were not all the true
Magar and Gurung Gurkhas; there was a mixture of other clans and races,
with a bigger proportion of Hindu blood. These were not quite so ugly as
little "Johnny", and they did not possess the true military swagger and
jolly recklessness. Approaching a group whose faces seemed to bear the
right stamp, he addressed them in Magar-Kura, of which tongue Goria
Thapa had taught him a smattering.

The Gurkhas were delighted at being spoken to in their own dialect,
understood by so few foreigners, and they responded eagerly. He tried to
explain how he had served with their brethren at Delhi, and it chanced
that when he mentioned the name of his friend Goria Thapa, one of the
new arrivals repeated the name, and it turned out that he knew the
Sirmur officer, and Ted Russell at once became their blood-brother.

As they conversed, barely half understanding one another, the men round
about sprang up to attention, and Alec Paterson nudged Ted in the ribs
with his elbow. Turning to see what Alec wanted, he perceived Sir Colin,
and by the general's side rode a distinguished-looking, dark-skinned
man, clad gorgeously, and ablaze with diamonds.

It was the Gurkha prince himself, one of the bravest of the brave, as
Ted had heard, but by no means a merry, good-natured personage, such as
his friends of the Ridge. Jung Bahadur motioned one of the Gurkhas to
his side, and, looking suspiciously at Ted, he whispered to the man, who
informed him in reply how it came about that this English youth had
picked up enough of their language to converse with them.

Sir Colin beckoned Ted to approach, and asked questions similar to those
being answered by Jung Bahadur's informant.

"Went all through the siege of Delhi, eh?" said he, when his enquiries
had been satisfied. "And your friend also? Acting as lieutenants of
Boldre's Horse now?"

"Yes, sir."

"Were you the fellows who got that information about the Nana a week or
two ago?---- You were, eh? You seem to know the natives well. Wish more
of my officers did. I'll see about---- Well, what does Mr. Jung want
now?"

The Gurkha prince rode up and addressed Ted in Urdu.

"You were with my countrymen at Delhi?" said he. "How did they fight?"

"Like heroes," Ted replied.

"Ah, that was a fight of giants!" exclaimed the Gurkha with animation.
"Would I had been there! But I heard about it, and the death of
Nikkulseyn."

The generals rode on, the boys saluted, and Ted said ruefully:

"I believe he was going to say that he would see about confirming our
appointments when old Jung interrupted."

"Russell," said Claude solemnly, "I'm going to kidnap that Gurkha chap
some dark night with a few of our Sikhs. Did you notice his diamonds? He
just dazzled. Hullo, who's this?"

With a group of English officers who had witnessed the incident was a
gentleman wearing an unmilitary frock-coat and Hessian boots, whom Ted
had observed more than once in intimate conversation with the
commander-in-chief. He now greeted the boys, and courteously asked what
had interested the Maharaja so. Ted explained, and the stranger thanked
him, and after a few moments' conversation, in which he drew out the
youngsters to speak of those things which interested them most, he
rejoined his friends.

"Who's that, Alec?" asked Ted. "He seems a clever chap. Decent too."

"Don't you know? It's your namesake of the _Times_."

"What? Dr. Russell?---- Crimea Russell?"

"That's the man. Sir Colin seems to think a lot of him, and trusts him
absolutely with his plans."

Next day began the movements on Lucknow. On the morning of March 6th,
Outram, with Hope Grant as second in command, set out to make a flanking
movement and co-operate with Sir Colin from the north bank of the Gumti.
They were to work along the north-east and north of the city with a
strong column, while the main force pushed forward from the east and
south-east, the two armies being in touch and their artillery able to
play upon the same positions from different sides. The rebel defences,
it must be borne in mind, were vast and strong.

Outram's force marched away to the east, and to those ignorant of its
destination it appeared to be deserting Lucknow. Before reaching the
southward bend of the river the engineers constructed a bridge of
floating barrels, over which the column crossed and proceeded
northwards, and presently wheeled to the west and encamped, having
completed the half of a circle. Alec Paterson was with Outram, Boldre's
Horse with the Southern Army.

On March 9th a Union Jack floating over the Chaka Palace told that
Outram had captured an important outpost, and that night he almost
completed the circle, and encamped hardly more than a mile due north of
Sir Colin, on the other side of the Gumti. The two armies were soon in
direct communication, and as a consequence the rebels abandoned their
first line of defence. The British loss was slight, but Sir William
Peel, the newly-promoted seaman, had been mortally wounded.

On the 11th began the first serious fighting for the southern force. Sir
Colin gave Jung Bahadur's army charge of the operations along the
south-eastern line of defence, across the canal, whilst he attacked from
the east, in touch with Outram. The Begum Kothi, a fortified palace
which blocked the way, was stormed with splendid gallantry by
Highlanders and Sikhs, the rebels being driven out after they had lost
many hundreds of their comrades. A number of guns were captured, and
Hodson was slain whilst performing one of his typical feats of valour.

  [Illustration: THE REBEL REELED AGAINST THE WALL         _Page 340_]

Boldre's Horse had little to do, the work lying with the artillery and
infantry until the rebels fled, when the cavalry completed the rout. It
was not safe to pursue too far, and Ted's Punjabis had the order to
retire, when their young officer chanced to notice that in the confusion
a handful of Gurkhas, whose zeal had outrun discretion, were faring
badly at the hands of a number of better-armed pandies. He clapped spurs
to his steed, and called on his men to charge. A Gurkha officer, his
back to a wall, was defending himself gamely against five sepoys with
bayonets. In the nick of time Ted sliced at one who, having reloaded,
was in the act of firing, and his horse bowled over a second, while the
lance of a Dogra sowar disabled a third.

The long lances of the Punjabis and the force of their charge prevailed,
and, taking the surviving Gurkhas in their midst, they trotted back
amidst a shower of badly-aimed bullets. Ted then perceived that the
Gurkha officer was the man who knew Goria Thapa. His gratitude was
great, but there was little time for speech-making.

The capture of the Begum Kothi was not only a brilliant, but also a
useful, piece of work, by which they were soon to profit. The way was
almost opened to the Kaiserbagh Palace, now a huge fortification
mounting very powerful cannon, and this was the key to the position. But
before this all-important defence could be carried by storm, it was
first necessary to gain possession of the Imambara Mosque, and the
infantry were held back for a time until Outram's guns from the north
and Lugard's from the east should have made some impression upon the
thick walls of the two stout buildings.

When the time did come for the infantry to act, a glorious response was
made. General Franks sent forward the 10th Foot to support. For a time
the resistance was fierce and courageous, but the English and Punjabis
would not be denied. Pressing forward sternly, the rear ranks filling
the gaps as the leaders fell, their determination at length cowed the
pandies, and their bayonets cleared the Imambara. Then the way lay open
to the Kaiserbagh, and British hearts beat high.

Sir Colin had not intended that his brigadier should attempt more than
the Imambara that day, but seeing that the pandies had lost heart,
Franks wisely took upon himself to strike a more decisive blow. While
hotly pursuing the rebels from the Imambara the British troops had
penetrated to a strong position overlooking the Kaiserbagh. It would be
a thousand pities to relinquish this advantage. So Franks pushed forward
reinforcements, and within a few hours the Kaiserbagh was in our hands,
and to all intents Lucknow was gained and a decisive victory had crowned
the British arms. The day had been brilliant and decisive, but marred by
one unfortunate result of the commander-in-chief's over-caution.

Had Outram been allowed to swoop down from the north upon the broken
rebels their collapse would have been complete; in fact the rebellion in
Oudh would have been smashed. Outram was not only prepared, he was most
anxious to do this. But Sir Colin, hardly realizing how thorough was the
demoralization of the pandies, how real was their dread of the British
bayonet, feared lest Outram's men should suffer heavily in securing the
iron and stone bridges over the Gumti for the passage of his troops. He
therefore gave Outram strict orders not to cross the river until he
could do so without the loss of a single man. Outram could do nothing
but obey and look on while the glorious chance slipped away.

There was still fighting in the streets of Lucknow, though the mutineers
had lost their hold on the great city. Next in importance to
Nicholson's storming of Delhi, the capture of Lucknow was the most
severe blow the sepoys had received. Though the army would be employed
for months sweeping the sepoys into the Terai jungle across the Nepal
border, where Nana Sahib was finally lost, and though Sir Hugh Rose
should chase the Nana's slim general, Tantia Topi, from pillar to post
throughout the spring and summer of 1858 as Kitchener's generals chased
De Wet, everyone understood that all danger to the British raj was over
through this day's work.

Ted Russell was on foot in the streets of Lucknow with two or three
Sikhs as Claude Boldre swept past with threescore troopers behind him.

"Horses been shot?" he called out in passing; and Ted nodded that it was
so. Any attempt to pursue on foot would be useless, so they were turning
back towards the Kaiserbagh, where the soldiers, Englishmen,
Highlanders, Irishmen, Punjabis, and Jung Bahadur's Gurkhas, were busy
looting the treasures of the palace. There were no pandies in sight, and
Ted's dismounted sowars left their officer and ran off to share in the
plunder.

The solitary Englishman was not unobserved, though there seemed to be no
enemy at hand; in fact this particular street was deserted, except for a
group or two of Englishmen and Irregulars several hundred yards away in
the direction of the Kaiserbagh, and Ted's sowars, now half-way between
these groups and their officers.

So the young Feringhi seemed an easy prey to the three concealed pandies
who were furtively watching him from behind the curtains. A gleam of
hateful satisfaction lit up their dark faces as they noiselessly slipped
out of the house. Too late to draw his pistol, Ted heard the stealthy
tread, but he had kept his sword drawn, and, turning quickly, he raised
his blade to guard his head and ward off the blow that instinct told him
was being aimed thereat. The tulwar, instead of cleaving his skull,
glanced off the sword, and with diminished force bit into his shoulder.
He sank with a moan of pain, and the traitor raised his weapon for a
deadlier stroke.

But before the blow could be repeated a pistol rang out, and the rebel
reeled against the wall, then sank to his knees and tried to crawl away.
His companions, who had been a few yards to the rear of their comrade,
hesitated, trying to make up their minds whether to run at once or first
to despatch the wounded enemy. An Englishman in volunteer uniform and
one of Ted's Sikhs, who had turned back, threw themselves upon the
pandies, who hesitated no longer but fled like hares. Before a dozen
steps had been taken in pursuit, one of the pandies turned, and, still
running, fired. The Englishman staggered, spun round and dropped dead,
and, as he fell, Ted saw his face, and knew that Tynan had wiped out the
blot upon his honour. Then the ensign fainted away.

The Sikh brought back his comrades, and they carried their officer to
the nearest surgeon, who was fortunately able to take the case in hand
at once, or the boy would have died ere the sun rose upon another day.

Owing to the ignorance of the Sikhs the gush of blood had not been
staunched, until the doctor, with quick grasp of the situation, did what
was necessary to retain the young life that was fast ebbing away.

Next day Ted Russell was removed on a doolie to the Dilkusha, and he
took no further part in the fighting that ensued before the Mutiny was
finally extinguished. Recovery was slow, and a couple of months elapsed
before he was able to walk even a short distance without fatigue. But no
permanent injury had been caused by the blow, and by the end of July he
could get about as usual, both on foot and on horseback; and on the day
that he reported himself as fit for duty, he received the intimation
that both he and his chum Paterson had been officially gazetted as
lieutenants in the corps known as Boldre's Irregular Horse.

CHAPTER XXIX

Jim Disposed Of

That dignity had hardly been attained when an interesting ceremony, in
which Ted played but a subordinate part, took place in Simla. Major
Russell and Ethel Woodburn, finding how much they had to talk about, and
how many thrilling experiences must be related, very sensibly came to
the conclusion that their best course would be to marry with as little
delay as possible.

Colonel Woodburn's natural objections to such haste had first to be
overcome, but having at length become reconciled to the idea of losing
his daughter, he allowed the date to be fixed. Charlie and Ted were sent
for, and at the latter's urgent request, Subadar Goria Tapa was invited
to the wedding. The Sirmur Battalion's head-quarters were then, as now,
situated at no great distance from Simla, so that neither Captain
Dorricot nor the subadar found any difficulty in attending. Captain
Spencer was another guest whom Ted was glad to meet again. Rapidly as he
had returned from Kashmir on hearing the news of the outbreak, he had
been too late to join his regiment and take part in the march to Delhi.
John Lawrence had found employment for him with the Movable Column, and
he had been badly wounded in the fighting that took place while
Nicholson was in command.

Three days before the wedding date Ted entered Simla and greeted his
brother with a salute. Now that the dull days of exile and inaction had
come to an end he was in the merriest of moods.

"Come to report myself, sir," said he with a solemn face.

"Hullo, Lieutenant Russell, V.C.!" was his brother's greeting as Jim
looked up from a table strewn with papers. "Glad you're looking fit
again. I'm blest if I know what you want here, but Ethel would have you.
Nice nuisance you'll be, I know."

The words of this truly fraternal greeting were belied by the hearty
handgrip. Ted retorted in kind.

"Well, that's brotherly love if you like," said he. "Wretched man! Here
I've come, my heart swelling with sympathy and pity for you, and this is
your return. I won't be sorry for you any longer, not one bit. Serves
you jolly well right. Hope you forget the ring, and gash yourself whilst
shaving, and that you're late, and that you get stuck in the service,
and that your collar comes undone, and your tie crawls round your neck."

"Much obliged, I'm sure," replied Jim, laughing at his brother's
boisterous spirits.

"Bless you, Major Russell, you're very welcome."

Jim winked with much deliberation, whereupon Ted thumped him between the
ribs and continued his chaff.

"Cheer up, old man; it'll soon be over, and p'raps you'll recover.
You're not the first fellow to be married, though I suppose you imagine
that there's never been such an important affair upon this poor old
globe before. Cheer up! I've heard of fellows who've survived it."

"Thanks! I'm fairly cheerful considering, but being with the Lucknow
Army don't seem to have improved your at-no-time very admirable
manners."

"Never had any. Everybody used to tell me how much I took after my
eldest brother. Seriously, Jim, I wish you'd been with us at Lucknow.
I've had a great time."

And Jim listened, leaning back with legs crossed and hands clasped
behind his head, while Ted recounted some of the most striking episodes
of the campaign and of his own adventures.

"You're a decent sort of kid, Ted," the elder brother allowed. "I wish
the Guides had been there. Now I believe you're dying to have a chat
with Ethel, and I know she's as anxious as can be to see you again. So
go and find her, young 'un. I'm horribly busy and can't go with you. I
would if I could, you may be sure."

"I will go and condole with her. _She_ needs some genuine sympathy and
consolation, and she shall have it. How far is it? Worth taking the
horse out again?"

"No, not five minutes away."

Before Ted had proceeded a couple of hundred yards, he beheld the object
of his search riding towards home, her thoughts uplifted far above the
humble wayfarer whom she was about to pass without recognition.

"Evening, Miss Woodburn!" said Ted.

Ethel gave a start and reined in her horse.

"Why, Ted, I didn't know you'd arrived."

"Just come. Affectionate brother intimated that, as he had no room for
thinking of anyone but you, I disturbed him."

"So you were coming to see me? You are looking well, Ted. I half
expected to see a decrepit invalid with crutches and bandages."

"I'm all right now. Should have come though to see you married if I'd
had to be brought on a doolie."

He assisted the girl to dismount, and, giving the horse in charge of the
sais, they entered the house.

"I am glad you look so well," repeated Miss Woodburn. "Paterson kept us
posted up as to your state so long as he remained at Lucknow. We had an
anxious time for a week or two."

"You heard about Tynan, I suppose? He proved a brick in the end, did he
not?"

"Yes, I was glad when I read Alec's account of how he died. That is--you
know what I mean?"

Ted nodded.

"Had you not seen him since that night at Lahore?" Ethel continued.

"Never once until that moment. I've not been able to find out anything
about him either. He must have enrolled in the Volunteers, under an
assumed name, of course."

Colonel Woodburn, looking his old self again, was genuinely pleased to
welcome the boy. For half an hour he drew him out on the subject of the
Lucknow campaign, and then Ethel claimed her brother-in-law again.

"Come and see my presents, Ted," she ordered.

"With pleasure--oh, by the way, I've brought my little contribution.
Hope you'll like it."

She gave a little scream of delight as he handed her an open box.

"Oh, how beautiful! How lovely! Ted, you shouldn't have given me
anything like this. It's much too good."

"It's not half good enough."

"Look at this necklet, father! Is it not exquisite?"

Colonel Woodburn examined the present, and gave a whistle of amazement.

"Ted, my boy, wherever did you get this?" he asked. "It's worth hundreds
or I'm no judge. Diamonds and rubies of this size! And what
workmanship!"

"It's from Lucknow, colonel. Loot, I'm afraid."

"Loot?" The colonel looked more serious, as he asked the question.

"I'm not certain--only circumstantial evidence. You see, there was a lot
of looting when we entered Lucknow, and the Sikhs and Jung Bahadur's
Gurkhas got nearly everything. Jung's men took several thousand carts
filled with loot back to Nepal. A day or two before I was wounded I
happened to save the life of one of Jung's Gurkhas who was being set
upon by a crowd. He seemed to be an officer of good standing, and he was
very grateful, and when I spoke to him in Magar-Kura, he was just
delighted. When I was well enough I found that this parcel had been
handed to me, and this necklace was inside, and not a word of
explanation. So I guess they came from him, but couldn't make sure as
he'd gone. It was probably one of many things he'd picked up in the
palace, but I don't know that for certain. They were allowed to loot for
a little while to repay their services, so it's come by perfectly
honestly, Ethel. I offered it to the general of our column for him to
send to the common stock, but he sent back word that it was mine, right
enough. So it's quite right, isn't it, Colonel Woodburn? Mayn't she
accept it with a clear conscience?"

"Certainly, except that it's much too costly a present to accept, Ted."

"It is indeed, old boy. I'm very, very grateful, and it's very generous
of you, but you must keep it. You'd be sorry in a year or two, and you'd
blame me for taking it."

Ted began to grow angry. "If you won't take it, Ethel," he sullenly
declared, "I'll throw it on the fire. I mean it."

"But, Ted, you'll be married some day, and think how you would like your
wife to have this--and she _ought_ to have it. Then you would think it
mean of me to have taken it."

He laughed scornfully.

"Marry? Me? I'm not going to get married! I don't want anyone to have it
but you; I meant it for you as soon as I saw it."

A way of escape occurred to the girl.

"Let us strike a bargain, old boy. If I accept it now, will you allow me
to present it to your wife on the day you get married?"

Again Ted laughed, this time with light heart.

"I agree to that--it amounts to the same thing."

"Do you approve of the arrangement, father?"

"Trust a woman to find some way out," said the colonel. "I think the
arrangement a good one. Honour satisfied on both sides."

"Now, Ted, I can thank you properly--especially for your thought on
first seeing the necklet. But come and see the rest of the 'loot', as
your unprincipled and shameless brother calls it."

"He calls it that, does he? Good judge, Jim."

"Yes, his first daily enquiry is, 'Any more loot to-day?' After being
satisfied on that point he condescends to enquire after me."

"I shouldn't have thought he was ever 'satisfied on that point'."

Ethel Woodburn laughed merrily.

"Quite true, he's not. He invariably grunts, 'Is that all to-day?' and
tells me that I ought to have laid myself out to be particularly nice to
everyone for the past fortnight."

"Greedy brute, isn't he? But I say, Ethel, isn't he content with these?
I call it a jolly good show considering that the presents from England
haven't come yet. I s'pose it's just Jim's peculiar way of expressing
his gratitude."

"Have you shown him the necklet?"

"No fear; he'd have collared it and stuck to it, and pawned it before
you could see it. He wouldn't have had your scruples."

"I'm afraid that you have a very poor opinion of my husband
that-is-to-be, Lieutenant Russell."

Ted laughed, and most rudely winked.

"About as bad as your own, I guess, Mrs. Major Russell."

Ted walked round from table to table reading the cards and asking who
was who.

"Sir Arthur Fletcher," he read out, halting before one of the presents.
"That's jolly nice of him!"

"I see Charlie Dorricot's sent nothing yet?" he added. "He's due
to-night, isn't he?"

"Yes, I expect to make his acquaintance shortly."

"Ripping good chap, Charlie! You'll like him.

"He's very anxious to inspect you," the young subaltern continued. "He
did all he could to draw Jim out about you, but it was no go--Jim just
gazed amiably upon him. Then he drew a fancy picture of you."

"Who did? Jim?"

"Don't jeer! You know who I mean. He also offered bribes to read your
letters--precious small bribes, though! But nothing could make Jim
wrathy when he was reading the epistles of Ethel."

"You helped him, I suppose?"

"Helped Jim--to read them? Who's mixed with the personal pronouns now?"

"From your account of your cousin," Ethel observed, disdaining to answer
the gibes, "I think it very doubtful that I shall like him. He appears
to have been--well--impertinent."

"Regular impudent beggar he is! I knew you'd think so; that's why I told
you. Never mind, Ethel, you may be sure of this, that he'll like you.
Besides, I stuck up for you, as Jim wouldn't."

"I am indeed grateful, Lieutenant Russell."

"You do look nice when you laugh, Ethel. Ah! here they are, I can hear
Charlie's voice."

They went down to greet the new-comers.

"I seem to know you quite well already, Captain Dorricot," Ethel
remarked as they were introduced.

"I'm afraid I can hardly say that I know you at all," Charlie replied,
"as Jim would never venture on a description, however greatly I
encouraged him, feeling, no doubt, his inability to do the subject
justice."

"That's really rather nice, you know," Ted commented, with a grave air
of abstraction; and the girl blushed becomingly.

An awkward pause ensued. Then four people spoke together. Three stopped
respectfully.

"Can you guess, Jim, what Ted has given us for a present?"

"That's a hint for you, Charlie. Open your packages at once. I am about
to marry a most sordid little woman, whose absorbing thought is:
'Presents, and how to obtain them'."

"Sir, you speak that which is not true. Look at this!"

"Whew! You've been looting, young man. Where?"

"Not at all--present--Lucknow--Gurkhas. By the way, Charlie, did you
know that young Roberts, your school-fellow, won the V.C.? Won it twice
over, in fact--I saw him."

"Well done, D.A.Q.M.G.! That young man will make his mark in the world.
He's a man that understands men--and things."

Ethel then related Ted's story of the jewels and the bargain made, and
Charlie presented his gifts, a pair of paintings brought back with him
from England two months before. To everyone's surprise he next dragged
out a pair of silver-mounted kukris, Goria Thapa's present to Major
Russell, in memory of their father's friendship.

Charlie and Ted returned to Jim's quarters, leaving the lovers half an
hour of solitude.

"My stars, Ted, that's a pretty girl!" observed the former.

"Isn't she stunning? She's no end fun either, though she looks so
demure."

"Jim has displayed unusual discrimination, I must say."

The day, by custom termed "auspicious"--though why the bridegroom cannot
tell--came round at last. Major Russell appeared as joyous as could
reasonably be expected--and no more. Whilst awaiting the bride's
appearance Captain Dorricot, as best man, apparently considered his a
most gladsome task. Why does "a best man" consider it necessary to be
ribald?

"Major Russell," he whispered, "are you or are you not going to hold
yourself straight? Think of me! You're disgracing me before all these
people. Don't look so cheap, man; you'll get used to it!

"Now remember my advice and start from to-day as master; let her see
that you won't be trodden upon."

"Oh, don't be an idiot!"

"Bless us, he thinks, poor fellow, that it'll be rather nice to be
trodden upon by her! Quick! She's coming! Take your eyes from the roof
and try to look as though you'd been here before and could do it on your
head."

Good as the advice was it passed unheeded, for all eyes were now turned
towards the church porch as Ethel Woodburn entered--charmingly sweet,
and shyly happy.

The ceremony over, our friend Ted forgot his new-born dignity and became
a boy again, and a perfectly irrepressible one, until Jim and his
dainty wife had driven away in the direction of the everlasting hills.

Then came the reaction of depression that must inevitably attend the
happiest and best-suited marriages.

"Poor old colonel seems cut-up!" said Charlie, as he and Spencer and Ted
lounged in the veranda some hours later gazing at the spangled velvet of
the sky.

"No wonder," mused Spencer. "He's left alone now, poor fellow! It's
hardly a joyful occasion for him. Have a cheroot, Russell?"

"No, thanks!" Ted replied.

"Teddy's a good boy," Dorricot laughed.

"He's quite right," said Spencer. "Nothing to be ashamed of in knowing
that one is not old enough to have stopped growing."

"She's a pretty girl!" Dorricot observed thoughtfully after a pause.
"Hope I may do as well as Jim when my time comes."

Ted Russell's adventures as a boy were over. Readers interested in his
subsequent career, if any such there be, may care to know that shortly
after his return to India after serving under Sir Hope Grant in China,
he obtained twelve-months' home leave. While in England the necklet,
curiously enough, did again change hands, and Captain Edward Russell was
by no means so greatly astounded by the circumstance as, to judge from
former declarations, he ought to have been.

Throughout the Second Afghan War he commanded one of the regiments of
Roberts' army, and Colonel Paterson distinguished himself during the
same campaign at Ahmed Khel, his regiment being with Sir Donald Stewart.
The old friends met at Kabul, and Ted took part in the famous march to
Kandahar, whilst Paterson proceeded with his general to the Kyber, and
thence to Peshawur.

A few years later Colonel Russell was in command of a brigade in one of
the North-west Frontier expeditions, and he finally retired from the
army with a hammered slug in his right leg, as Major-general Russell.

End of Project Gutenberg's The Disputed V.C., by Frederick P. Gibbon