The Ruined Cities of Zululand Part 46

Precisely at the same moment, on the left, Sir Colin heard the scream of his Highlanders, the whole British force dashing forward at the charge.

It was a splendid sight, as emerging from the heavy smoke cloud, the long line of bayonets glittering in the sun, with one mighty shout for vengeance, the English force buried itself in the heavy opposing ma.s.ses of the murderers of Cawnpore.

"Forward--remember Cawnpore," shouted Hughes, as at the head of his men he dashed on, leaving a long line of dead and dying in his rear.

Utterly astonished at the attack, the mutineers of the Gwalior Contingent gave way, then came the ringing cheer of the 8th Regiment, as the men dashed onward with the bayonet, and the enemy fairly doubled up, turned and fled.

At this moment, and just when the first runaways carried dismay into the ranks of the still resolute right wing, the Highland scream was heard as the little army moved forward, and emerging from the smoke, hurled itself in one glittering line on the mutineers, who broke at once.

"General Mansfield," shouted Sir Colin, as he rode on through the enemy's camp, among whose white tents the Highlanders and the men of the 32nd Regiment were bayoneting right and left.

"General Mansfield, take Greathead's brigade, and storm the enemy's left at Subadar's Camp."

"Colonel Hughes, let your bugles sound the recall, and fall into line at once," cried General Mansfield, as he rode up in obedience to the order.

The men of different regiments were now fairly mixed, and a motley corps was hastily got together. There were the uniforms of the 23rd, 64th, the 90th Regiments, with the 150th, and some dismounted troopers of the 9th Lancers.

"You will take the command, Colonel Hughes," said General Mansfield, as they moved hastily forward against the enemy's left, "one volley only, and then the bayonet. Steady men, you will have enough to do soon."

The enemy's fire now reached them, and man after man dropped as the line moved forward. A withering volley was poured in, and then came the irresistible charge of the British soldier, and the next moment the 150th were among the tents, and the whole Gwalior Contingent in full flight.

Gun after gun was spiked; the English Artillery playing upon the ma.s.ses of retreating and disorganised mutineers. Grape and canister being poured into their broken ma.s.ses at two hundred paces distant, while the Lancers and Dragoons rode them down, sabring right and left.

Sir Colin himself led the pursuit, and for fourteen miles along the banks of the river the carnage continued, until tired out and unable to do more, the bugles and trumpets sounded a halt, and men and horses bivouacked on the ground, not an enemy in sight.

The whole of the rebel stores, ammunition, and a great part of the guns were taken, but the loss on the side of the English was heavy.

The 150th counted over one hundred men in killed and wounded, and the 93rd Highlanders alone had ninety-three killed and one hundred and eight wounded.

"It was a splendid sight, Curtis," said Hughes, as he sat on a spiked gun, while a hospital dresser who had happened to be pa.s.sing was looking to a bullet wound in his right leg. "It was indeed a splendid sight when the cavalry debouched from yonder grove, and with Sir Colin at their head, dashed into the retreating pandies. I shall never forget the day."

"Where's Harris? I have not seen him for the last two hours."

"Poor fellow, he is lying among the tents at Subadar's Tank, shot through the heart. He fell close to me at our first charge."

The two were silent, for the mad excitement of the fray was pa.s.sing away, and the cost had now to be counted. They were seated at the junction of the Calpee and Cawnpore roads, ma.s.ses of men of different regiments, and peletons of cavalry and artillery were moving across the plain in every direction, the animals f.a.gged and weary, the men exultant, and bandying rough jokes.

Their horses covered with sweat and dust, their arms and accoutrements jingling as they rode, a group of officers came along. It was Sir Colin, General Mansfield, and Brigadier Greathead, with their staffs.

Reining in his horse, Sir Colin spoke.

"Colonel Hughes, you will parade the 150th to-morrow afternoon. I have a word to say to them."

Steadying himself, with his right hand leaning on the gun-carriage, his left being useless, his leg half swathed up in its b.l.o.o.d.y bandages, and the hospital dresser kneeling at his feet, his forage-cap lost, and the heavy ma.s.ses of black hair hanging over a forehead smeared with blood, Colonel Hughes saluted, and the General and his staff rode on.

"I wonder what he wants with us," said Curtis. "We shan't be able to turn out very well."

Events in India had justified fully the confidence reposed in her sons by England. The retreating rebels were pursued the following day, and the column, under Sir Hope Grant, came up with and at once attacked them at a place called Serai Ghat, took fifteen guns, and a vast quant.i.ty of ammunition, then pushing on to Bithoor, carried Nana Sahib's palace, and captured all his treasure. It was one of the closing scenes of the Indian mutiny.

"Steady, men, steady," said Colonel Hughes, as leaning heavily on his sword, he stood in the centre of his regiment formed up in square, just where the Calpee and Cawnpore roads join.

"There comes the General and his staff--150th, attention!"

The rattle of the muskets as the men came to attention was heard. "Fix bayonets--shoulder arms," were the words of command which followed as a mounted aide, at the gallop, left the group who were advancing across the plain, their plumes dancing in the breeze, and the sun glinting from their accoutrements.

"Order arms, and keep the men at attention only," were the directions given and obeyed. "Have you the muster roll of your losses?" asked the aide.

"A heavy casualty list, Colonel Hughes," said Sir Colin, as, with the paper in his hand, he rode into the centre of the square. "Three officers, and one hundred and four rank and file. 150th Regiment, I am proud of you!" said the stern old soldier, raising his plumed hat as he spoke. "Twice have you done good service to the whole force under my command. At the race stand, your determined gallantry saved our communications being cut off; to your splendid charge, we owe our first success yesterday. Men of the 150th, I repeat I am proud to have had you under my command. This I give as a token of the admiration of the whole force under my orders, and you it is who have won it for your commanding officer. As he spoke, the old soldier stooped, and himself attached the Victoria Cross, the first ever won in India, to Colonel Hughes's breast. For you, my men, the glorious word 'Cawnpore' shall in future be borne on your regimental colours."

"Colonel Hughes, dismiss your regiment."

Three hearty cheers for Sir Colin were given, as the regiment broke its ranks, and the general and his staff rode away, winding in and out, among the fatigue parties, busy burying the dead.

The Gwalior Contingent melted away. British supremacy again reigned in India, and regiment after regiment was poured into the country, now rapidly being pacified.

Three months had hardly elapsed, when the 150th Regiment was marching for Calcutta, under orders for embarkation for England.

The sun was shining brightly on the ocean, and the houses of Cape Town.

Isabel sat at her window looking across the sea, watching the white sails of a large ship, which with a pyramid of canvas, rising over a dark hull, was standing right for the anchorage. It was her favourite spot, and much of her time had been spent at that window, looking over the sea. Many a vessel had she watched, driving through the waves, while she speculated on the hopes and fears which attached themselves to those whose home lay within the dark hulls. Some had been coming from Europe, bound for far-away lands; others returning, but all bearing, doubtless, their living cargoes, and their freights of happiness and of misery.

The successes of the British army had been known, but no news had arrived in the colony for some time, and so Isabel looked musingly over the sea, and the stately ship came on letting fly her royals, and next the topgallant sails were handed, her topsails settled down on the caps, her lower sails hung in the brails, and soon a heavy splash was heard, as the anchor dropped into the water, and a crowd of sh.o.r.e boats surrounded the ship.

There was nothing in the scene that she had not watched daily, and now she remained at her window, sunk in reverie. A gentle breeze was blowing, the sun was shining brightly, and her book had dropped from her hand. Suddenly her ear caught a quick step on the stairs, which sent the red blood mantling under the clear olive skin, the fluttering heart beat wildly, and the net-work of blue veins seemed filled to bursting.

Isabel rose, her hands clasped together, her eyes fixed on the door. It opened, and, with a cry of happiness, the next moment she found herself clasped in her husband's arms.

Sobbing with delight, Isabel raised her head, and her eye caught the glitter of that cross, the n.o.blest decoration the world can give.

"Where, oh, where did you win that, Enrico mio?" she asked, pushing the cl.u.s.tering hair from her eyes, and resting her two hands on her husband's shoulder.

"On the battle-field of Cawnpore," replied the soldier, "from the hand of the bravest of the brave."

Isabel's head sunk on the speaker's breast, resting on the cross given only for deeds of high daring and devoted courage, and she sobbed heavily, not from sorrow but joy.

A knock came to the door. Encircling Isabel's waist with his arm, Hughes bid the new comer enter, and Major Curtis stepped into the room.

"Captain Edmonds wants to know--" he said hastily, and then stopped abruptly.

"Allow me to present you, Curtis, to my Kaffir bride," said Colonel Hughes, laughing.

That night Isabel was on board the "Larkins" hired transport, surrounded by her husband's men, and his comrades, tried and proved trusty on many an occasion, and when the morning sun tipped the ocean waves with its rising beams, the gallant ship, with every sail set, and a leading wind, could just be made out from land, as she steered her course straight for the white chalk cliffs of England.

The End.