# Volunteering in India/Chapter 5

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CHAPTER V.
Thus far it seemed as if these mutineers — to whom we were indebted for our late trials — were caught in a fatal trap. For here they were surrounded and intercepted by the Terai, the Kose, and a force of European troops; and, moreover, as the friendly relationship between the Government of India and Nipal appeared true and genuine, we naturally-concluded that the Nipalese themselves would readily help us to clear this part of the country — adjoining their own — of the cut-throats who had taken shelter in it, and we also anticipated no delay or difficulty in accomplishing this object; but how far, and with what results, these anticipations were realised will be seen by-and-bye.
That the mutineers had not crossed the river, was a fact known to us all; but the actual locality of their bivouac no one knew — not even the Nipalese inhabitants of the surrounding villages! And yet, they were busy in circulating rumours to the effect that the villains, apprehending certain death from jungle fever by lingering in; the Terai, had risked the passage of the river in the darkness of night, and had thus succeeded in getting away!
Needless to say, a deaf ear was turned to these ​suspicious rumours, and without much ado, we at once started on a farcical search of hide-and-seek along the outskirts of the jungles; and presently found ourselves floundering in treacherous quicksands which were terribly dangerous; so much so indeed that the local guides, who were slowly and cautiously directing our course, informed us that even elephants would not escape being swallowed up bodily, if they ventured over some of them.
Really, our adventurous ride across these quicksands, though it may not have been a military spectacle of an imposing kind, in the equestrian art it certainly presented a very laughable scene; and the climax in the comical performance was reached, when suddenly we were compelled to hold on like “grim death” to frantic horses plunging, rearing, struggling, wriggling, in short performing a sort of romping “Sir Roger de Coverley,” or a fantastic rocking-horse dance, in their nondescript efforts to get through these frightful sands. At length, however, we passed out of them, and found ourselves on the margin of a boundless ocean of bushes and brushwood foliage; but the sun was then setting, and it being too late, especially in a trackless wilderness like this, to proceed farther that day, we bivouacked for the night, and tried to forget our “roughings” — to use an impressive phraseology of the Corps — in repose. But the weather was bitterly cold, in fact the temperature was at freezing point, and the gnawing wind that moaned through the surrounding trees wafted slumber away. ​In the absence of clothing it was found impossible to sleep; and all around the bivouac the horses kept up a restless stamp and tramp, while deep and discordant growls issued from the men, as if from the bowels of the earth, on every side. Our only comfort therefore was the fire — kindled by the “guides” to scare away, as they said, the beasts of prey. Towards midnight, while we still sat smoking and basking over the fire, and a sepulchral stillness reigned over the jungles — interrupted occasionally by the loud and dismal howl of jackals — we heard sounds far more impressive and striking than had yet fallen on our ears, sounds as of shouts of exultation long and loud, and savage yells sharp and clear pervading the surrounding gloom. With bated breath and necks craned we listened, while the sentinels called out to one another, and confirmed to each other what had been heard. What were those sounds? whence did they come? could the mutineers be in our vicinity or on the move? were questions earnestly asked, and subsequently answered by a grim apparition in the jungles.
At break of day, after passing a wretched and sleepless night, we pioneered our way along a web of thorny bushes that stretched from the Terai into the plains on all sides, and in solemn silence rode on, backwards and forwards, now here, now there, according to the directions of the “guides”; until at last, a few days having passed in this “wild-goose chase” — this jungly promenade — all hopes of discovering the rebel camp were abandoned; and therefore, for the last time, as ​the insects began to hum the decline of day and gloom gathered around, we halted for the night in this wild solitude.
Dawn broke obscurely through a mist that did not disperse until noon, and then our retrograde “goose-step” movement towards the plains began; and presently we were gladdened by seeing the open country again, with much the same feeling as castaway mariners are wont to enjoy when in sight of land once more.
But what was to be done next? To abandon the search altogether in uncertainty would doubtless stimulate the panic in the districts where its symptoms had already appeared. Sinister rumours gained ground; alarm spread abroad; a body of revolted troops was known to be " somewhere in the neighbourhood, and unless their locality was traced out, or their mysterious disappearance accounted for, the departure of the column from so inhospitable a region could not be sanctioned. At all events, that being the “order” of the day, a second search, with the aid of Nipal Gūrkhas, instead of us, immediately commenced.
While the adventurous hunt on the outer fringe of jungles was going on, time with ourselves, now bivouacked in Nipal territory, passed in vigilant monotony, and without any affair of moment occurring. In these inactive moments, therefore, I subjoin a few remarks concerning the Nipal troops, called Gūrkhas — with whom we are now in confederate intercourse, and with whom I was well acquainted in days prior to ​those at present under notice — premising, however, that these scraps, disengaged from all trammels of prejudice and thrown together in the following paragraphs, are intended for the sake merely of readers unacquainted with the “Highlanders” of Nipal. In the first place, then, it is permissible to say that real Gūrkhas are rarce aves out of Nipal, and a race by themselves; so much so indeed that if they should ever have occasion to leave their country, it is never for any length of time. True, the Government of India has several so-called Gūrkha regiments in its service; but the men of those regiments, though excellent soldiers, are not Gūrkhas, but belong to the numerous tribes of the Himalaya, and not to the Khas or real Gūrkha race.
They are eminently cheerful, good-tempered, free from prejudice to Europeans; and, though short-statured, are a thickset, broad-shouldered, and large-limbed race of men, with features rarely prepossessing. Their predominant vices are licentiousness, avarice, cruelty, and treachery; their virtues hardihood, patience of fatigue, patriotism, and love of liberty. Their affection for Mammon is as intensely ardent as that of their Hindu neighbours. But they shun as much as possible mercantile pursuits; for, according to their social ideas of trade, a trader holds a peculiar position, in so much that should he become rich he is called a knave, if he continues poor he is deemed a fool! In fact, to reveal their sentiments in this matter clearly, they regard all traders as no better ​than plausible rogues! They are blessed with what in common phraseology would be termed “iron constitutions,” rarely, if ever, seem sick or sorry, have no experience of medicine, and, as a matter of fact, it would be impossible to find a healthier race in Asia, or discover a more pre-eminently jovial set of fellows than they are. And they possess an amount of rational “chaff” during convivial feasts very seldom, if ever, to be found among people so completely isolated and secluded from foreign intercourse as they always have been; and this is all the more striking, when at such feasts and annual festivals they become strenuous worshippers of Bacchus, and when it is by no means exceptionally rare for these martial spirits to drink off at a draught, or gulp down, full “tumblers” (called kuttoras) of some form of alcohol, stronger than raw rum, as if the liquor were water!
In addition to their military equipments, they carry (as may be said of the whole nation) the ancient weapon of Nipal — namely, the terrible kokre, which, parenthetically described, is a massive curved knife some twenty inches long and about five broad, manufactured from the finest-tempered steel, and whetted with an edge as sharp as that of a razor. The reader, who may not have seen the kokre used, cannot by mere description form any conception of its power in the hands of a strong man skilful in the art of wielding it. Even we ourselves, while looking on at some Nipalese sacrificing animals to their gods, could hardly believe our eyes when we saw the head of a buffalo ​severed from the neck by a single stroke from this truly formidable weapon. The man who performed this amazing feat informed us, with broad grins following a convulsive “Ha, ha!” that he could as easily decapitate two human heads with one blow; and a confederate bystander explained the purport of this savage remark by observing that, in divorce cases, not the ordinary law of civilisation, but the all-powerful kokre, summarily settles, and effectually avenges any injury to the matrimonial bed. A more useful weapon it would be impossible to place in the hands of any man than the kokre is in those of the Nipale. He uses it for all purposes, and without it he seldom stirs out abroad. It is his sword, his table-knife, his razor, and his nail-parer; with it he clears the jungle for his cultivation, builds his log-hut, skins the animals that he slaughters — in short, without the kokre he is as helpless as a child; with it he is a formidable warrior, as well as a man of all work.
A few days have passed; the season of Christmas-tide approached, and time, as it went on, revealed indications in a manner not to be mistaken, and into which it was not difficult to see, that our worthy “allies” had been engaged in other plans than those which appeared upon the surface; for by this time it had become self-evident that they had been watching, and waiting for a favourable opportunity to throw off the hypocritical mask, in which they had so long performed a deceitful farce; and now that, by the co-operation of their own troops with ours, they conceived ​their part plausibly played out, with a coolness and nonchalance characteristic of their race, they unanimously proclaimed the escape of the rebels, and in confirmation of their statement voluntarily offered to point out the deserted rebel lair! Of course this unexpected and doubtful news at once aroused an excitement and commotion that soon culminated in a general rush of armed men to the indicated spot, where were found proofs of a recent encampment, and a few dead horses corroborative of the news.
It is needless to describe the rage and indignation that prevailed in the camp, when it was discovered that every man in the expedition had been fooled and duped to hunt for rebels who had already crossed the Kose, and fled during that night when those loud and protracted shouts were heard in the jungles; and so, it will suffice to say, this jungly melodrama, in the end, confirmed the suspicions that had rested on our “allies” as to their having been “charmed” by the plundered treasure of the mutineers, and thus — shall I say it? — that “golden wand,” wafted them into thin air!
We were now off on another flying march, and for days together literally lived in the saddle, and rode until our horses were fagged well-nigh to death. But this sweeping and rattling ride — dogging the trail of the fugitives — had the desired effect in pacifying apprehensions among the European community of the neighbouring districts, and restoring confidence in a part of the country where alarm, bordering on panic, had already begun to exhibit itself uncomfortably.
​Christmas in the Mutiny!
When did Englishmen ever pass a more extraordinary Christmas Day than we did in 1857?
Bivouacked by the roadside in a lovely country surrounded with evergreen foliage, like the holly, decorating the scene, we rested in a headlong pursuit under wreaths formed of sabres hanging in the trees over our heads like the mistletoe, and thought of all the dear ones in Old England at home, and toasted them in copious draughts of warm milk, while we feasted ourselves on the only food procurable — namely, parched grain, and some native fruit!