# Volunteering in India/Chapter 8

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CHAPTER VIII.
Having undertaken to faithfully trace this narrative exactly as it was recorded in the journal of my youth, I have accordingly now to transcribe a few pages of it in diary form, and as this diary records the passing events that actually occurred until we were succoured, its contents will, in some measure, tend to illustrate the perilous position held at this time by the Corps.
Amorah, February 23rd, 1858. — Early this morning some attention was paid to “comfort,” and the tents were pitched in a manner quite novel to witness, and with a tidiness we had not yet seen.
The regimental guards are stationed in front of the encampment, and pickets with chains of videttes keep sharp eyes on the surrounding country.
The horses are picketed in four parallel lines of one troop each, and the baggage elephants occupy a patch of ground immediately in rear of the encampment.
The camp followers seeing these unusual precautions taken for the protection of the camp, and hearing the enemy‘s guns in the distance, begin to show signs of apprehension, so much so that in all probability, if in the darkness of night a hearty cheer was raised by ​ourselves, few, or perhaps none, of them would be found by daylight to ridicule their fears.
No attempt made to annoy us.
24th. — Duty! duty! everlasting duty continues, and in consequence some grumbling may be excused until the arrival of the Field Force on its way to succour us.
25th. — Last night, without intermission, half the Corps patrolled to and fro in all directions, especially along the main road leading into Oudh — grim work! As rebel horsemen were hovering about, fifty sabres were kept in the saddle by day and by night, ready for any emergency.
26th. — This morning a strong patrol, while reconnoitring, intercepted a band of rebels, gave chase, overtook, encountered, and slew some of them; but owing to the difficult ground the rest escaped, except three who were captured, and on their arrival in the camp some sensation was caused when their arms and accoutrements proved them to be genuine Sepoys of the Bengal Army.
As no intelligence concerning the rebels at Belwa could be extracted from them, and to all our interrogatories they assumed a sullen silence, they were at once led away to be hanged; and then followed a scene that, thank God! never — except in such times as these — falls to the lot of Christians to witness. Nobody in the camp who saw that scene has forgotten it, I am sure, or ever will forget it. Within the boundary of the encampment a gibbet having been extemporised in a cluster of trees, the mutineers were ordered to ​mount the elephant usually employed on such ghastly occasions; this they did with alacrity, and their arms being unpinioned they helped to adjust the nooses in the cords round their own necks; then the elephant by “command” of its keeper moved off, and left the trio suspended to the branches in dying agony, until death — by strangulation — relieved their sufferings. In ordinary times such scenes would have chilled the blood of the living, but now men who had never perhaps in the whole course of their lives witnessed the execution of a human being were actually superintending, with a sort of superhuman calmness, the “surroundings” of a common hangman. Such, alas! is the eventful epoch we live in, and in which there is no alternative.
27th. — Weather charming; the air mild, the sky clear, and of the loveliest turquoise blue — Mars and Ceres appear in strange fellowship at Amorah. A boundless and rolling carpet of rich crops lies spread out before us on every side, but not a living form is seen lingering about the pleasant landscape. Heavy firing at intervals on the Oudh frontier. Every horse saddled; every man accoutred and on the alert. Sent off a spy to the rebel camp at Belwa. He is, I am told, a desperate scoundrel; but as at the risk of his life he proved himself faithful to us on a former occasion, he was again allowed to venture into the enemy's lines.
As I sit conversing with a chum under the protruding outer fly of our tent, overlooking the main ​road, one of the picket is seen galloping in at speed. We feel conscious of something unusual having occurred. He sweeps round to the Commandant’s quarters, and now we hear the “assembly”; we fly to the horses.
28th. — The “alarm” was a true one. The picket, surprised by the approach of some rebels, called in the videttes, formed up, despatched a messenger to the camp, then charged and engaged the ruffians in a hand-to-hand encounter. But not yet had the notes of the trumpets ceased when the camp-picket of fifty sabres were let loose, and away they rushed “to the rescue,” while the main body to a man stood with bridle in hand if need be in readiness to mount. The picket had, however, attacked with such vigour and effect that, before aid could reach our fellows, the rebels were routed, and thrown out in their calculations; for, armed with muskets and matchlocks, which commanded a longer range than our carbines and revolvers, they probably had calculated on driving in the outposts, with a view no doubt to ascertaining our strength. Thus warned, as it were, we passed the night fully accoutred and on the qui vive.
In yesterday’s affair several of the picket were wounded, but poor Randolph was killed. His head was literally cloven in two by a sword cut, and over the shoulder there was a wound extending right down into the lungs. Early in the morning his remains, wrapped in a horse-cloth, were buried, while the perpetual booming of the enemy’s guns in the distance, ​formed an appropriate accompaniment to the short prayer read over his grave, by the Lieutenant of the troop to which he belonged.
Being the first volunteer killed in action, Randolph’s name is recorded here; but no other casualty in the Corps will be mentioned in this narrative, for the melancholy list, alas! is too long, to warrant its insertion within the narrow space allotted to these pages. I may, however, mention that the numerous Government Gazettes of 1858, and 1859, contain the category of the killed and wounded.
March 1st — Although the safety of our position is reduced to a calculation of hours, and our heads are in tigers’ mouths, it was cheering to hear that the advance guard of the Field Force would be with us on the morrow. From the rebel camp the spy also brought intelligence of armed men flocking out of the Belwa fort, and preparing for a foraging raid over the district. And to this information he also supplemented other intimations concerning the movements of the rebels, which, as on a former occasion, proved so true that, instead of being a “desperate scoundrel” — as his fellow camp followers for some occult reason had dubbed him — he became the native hero in the camp; and when the fighting commenced in downright earnest, he was present in all the engagements, sticking to the Corps like a leech, until eventually the brave fellow, with broken sword in hand, was killed while endeavouring to save the life of a wounded trooper. Such was the fate of Mohun (a low-caste ​shoemaker), than whom a more faithful, and courageous spy no European force ever had in India.
The purport of the message received from the Field Force was, of course, known only to those in command of the Corps, but immediately on its receipt we were warned to march as soon as there should be daylight enough, for obvious reasons, to discern objects at considerable distances. As to the camp, that was to be left standing under the protection of the approaching advance guard; while the camp followers were instructed to await the arrival of the whole Force before striking the tents, and with baggage, etc., following the road we were about to take.
When the morning brightened, we drew sabres and moved off into an unpleasant white mist that hung over our route, but it did not last long before the rising sun, and as it disappeared the features of the country towards which we were proceeding could be distinctly traced for miles in their forlorn solitude — even the very villages we passed were wholly deserted. But this dull, monotonous ride was suddenly enlivened on our reaching some undulating land in the environs of Belwa, and coming in view of its swarming insurgents. And here we had hardly halted, when round-shot ploughed across the fields and ricochetted over the slopes that protected us, while shells rushed and hissed like monsters of the air above our devoted heads — the heads only were visible from the fort, so that the instant the smoke of the cannon appeared in the embrasures, they bobbed approval as regularly and ​simultaneously as if they had moved by machinery.
The rebel sharpshooters, too, appeared active, for as we looked up at them we could see hundreds more venturesome than others sally out rifle in hand, advance some distance in front, and with long, sustained aim, fire. They were, however, indifferent marksmen, inasmuch as, with the exception of a few bullets whizzing harmlessly past our ears, all their shots fell short.
A bird’s-eye glance having been cast over the fortress and its environs, amid savage yells mingled with foul execrations poured out upon us by the villains, we retraced our steps to Amorah; and about halfway between that village and the rebel stronghold just reconnoitred, we met our camp equipage and followers en route to join us. And this circumstance was exhilarating to all spirits; it was in fact, as it were, the “friendly precursor” of the Field Force, and indicated the arrival of succour within hailing distance at last so that whatever might now follow, incidental to the recent passage-of-arms before the fort, we had its support, as well as our own good sabres to trust to.
A word here about Belwa may not be without some interest to the reader, though I sketch the features of the whole place merely in outline; for living as we were in the saddle, with graves always open at our feet, and grappling with a rebellion in which human blood was flowing like water, we were in no mood to notice in detail the general aspect of any place or scenery.
Belwa, then, is a village situated on the confines of ​the Gorukpūr district, and overlooks the river Ghagrā, which flows between it and Ajudya, the ancient capital city of Oudh. The plains on which this village lies, and through which this boundary river passes, are remarkably fertile, but in rural features without any pretensions to landscape beauty. Across these plains runs the high road to Luknow, and to the right of them extensive fields stretch onwards until they vanish from sight near the banks of the Ghagrā on the one side, and likewise disappear in a vast circular sweep of vegetation on the other. In the background topes form a sort of amphitheatre on a colossal scale, and in front of all is the plateau on which the village of Belwa stands; while in a sandy dip adjoining this plateau its fort frowns over the surrounding country.
This village and fort, as well as other adjacent earthworks, were occupied by Nipal troops when we reached Amorah; but the day following our arrival, they suddenly evacuated the place, and started to rejoin their chief (Jung Bahadur), who was then with a Nipalese army on the march to Luknow. And to this extraordinary “move” must be attributed the harassing trouble and toil through which we struggled.
The insurgents were well aware of the importance of this formidable post, considerably increased by the difficult nature of the ground, possessing the command of the highway into Oudh, and having all the advantages of a concentric position; they were therefore not slow in seizing it immediately after the Nipalese had retired.
​On the spot where we met our camp-equipage the Corps rested en bivouac, and was there presently joined by the Field Force. With the union, we enter upon a new stage in our eventful career, as the next chapter will show.