out to those who passed by — this was the first rush of a defeat, by gum! and Sher Khan was dragging me into it.
'What the blazes is happening?' I asked him again, but all I got was a snarl as he whipped my pony to a gallop, and we clattered down the roadside, he keeping just to rear of me, past the mob of men and beasts streaming back to Gwalior. The formations were closer now, and not all of them were retreating: we passed artillery teams who were unlimbering and siting their guns, and regiments of infantry waiting in the humid heat, their faces turned towards the distant hills, their 'mks stretched out in good order across the plain. Not far in front artillery was thundering away, with smoke wreathing up in the still air, and bodies of cavalry, pandy and irregular, were waiting — I remember a squadron of lancers, in green coats, with lobster-tail helmets and long ribbons trailing from their lance-heads, and a band — native musicians, squealing and droning fit to drown gunfire. But less than half a mile ahead, where the at-clouds were churning up, and the flashes of cannon shone dully through the haze, I knew what was happening — an army's vanguard was slowly breaking, falling back on main body, with the weaker vessels absolutely flying down the road.
We crossed a deep nullah, and Sher Khan wheeled me all along its far lip, towards a grove of palm and thorn, Where tents were pitched. A line of guns to my left was shelling away towards the unseen enemy on the hills — my, by God, that was my army! — and round the Nis of tents and trees there was a screen of horsemen.
With a shock I recognised the long red coats of the Jhansi Royal guard, but for the rest they were only the ragged ghosts of the burly Pathans I remembered, their uniforms torn and filthy, their mounts lean and ungroomed. We passed through them, in among the tents, to where a carpet was spread before the biggest pavilion of all; the royal guardsmen there, and a motley mob of niggers, military and civilian, and then Sher Khan was pulling me from the saddle, thrusting me forward, and crying out: 'He is here, highness — as you ordered.'
She was in the doorway of the tent, alone — or perhaps I just don't remember any others. She was sipping a glass of sherbet as she turned to look at me, and believe it or not I was suddenly conscious of the dreadful, scarecrow figure I cut, in my rags and unkempt hair. She was in her white jodhpurs, with a mail jacket over her blouse, and a white cloak; her head was covered by a cap of polished steel like a Roman soldier's, with a white scarf wound round it and under her chin. She looked damned elegant, I know, and even when you noticed the shadows on that perfect coffee-coloured face, beneath the great eyes, she was still a vision to take your breath away. She frowned at sight of me, and snapped at Sher Khan: 'What have you done to him?'
He mumbled something, but she shook her head impatiently and said it didn't matter. Then she looked at me again, thoughtfully, while I waited, wondering what the devil was coming, dimly aware that the volume of gunfire was increasing. Finally she said, simply:
'Your friends are over yonder,' and indicated the hills. 'You may go to them if you wish.'
That was all, and for the life of me I couldn't think of anything to say. I suppose I was still bemused and in a shocked condition — otherwise I might have pointed out that there was a battle apparently raging between me and those friends of mine. But it all seemed unreal, and the word which I finally managed to croak out was: 'Why?'
She frowned again at that, and then put her chin up and snapped her cloak with one hand and said quickly:
'Because it is finished, and it is the last thing I can do for you — colonel.' I couldn't think when she'd last called me that. 'Is that not enough? Your army will be in Gwalior by tomorrow. That is all.'
It was at this moment that I heard shouting behind us, but I paid it no heed, not even .when some fellow came running and calling to her, and she called something to him. I was wrestling with my memory, and it will give you some notion of how foundered I was when I tell you that I absolutely burst out:
'But you said I would be your bargain — didn't you?' She looked puzzled, and then she smiled and said to Sher Khan: 'Give the colonel sahib a horse,' and was turning away, when I found my tongue.
'But … but you! Lakshmibai! I don't understand … what are you going to do?' She didn't answer, and I heard my own voice hoarse and harsh: 'There's still time! I mean — if you … if you think it's finished — well, dammit, they ain't going to hang you, you know! I mean Lord Canning has promised … and-and General Rose!' Sher Khan was growling at my elbow, but I shook him off 'Look here, if I'm with you, it's sure to be all right. I'll tell 'em -
God knows what else I said — I think I was out of my wits just then. Well, when the shot's flying I don't as a rule think of much but my own hide, and here I was absolutely arguing with the woman. Maybe the dungeon had turned my brain a trifle, for I babbled on about surrender and honourable terms while she just stood looking at me, and then she broke in:
'No — you do not understand. You did not understand when you came back to me at Jhansi. But it was for me you came — for my sake. And so I pay my debt at the end.'
'Debt?' I shouted. 'You're havering, woman! You said you loved me — oh, I know now you were tricking me, too, but … but don't it count for anything, then?'
Before she could answer there was a flurry of hooves, and some damned interfering scoundrel in an embroidered coat flung himself off his horse and started shouting at her; behind me there was a crackle of musketry, and shrieks and orders, and a faint trumpet note whispering beyond the cannon. She cried an order, and a groom hurried forward, pulling her little mare. I was roaring above the noise, at her, swearing I loved her and that she could still save herself, and she shot me a quick look as she took the mare's bridle — it was just for an instant, but it's stayed with me fifty years, and you may think me an old fool and fanciful, but I'll swear there were tears in her eyes — and then she was in the saddle, shouting, and the little mare reared and shot away, and I was left standing on the carpet.
Sher Khan had disappeared. I was staring and yelling after her, as her riders closed round her, for beyond them the gunners were racing towards us, with pandy riflemen in amongst them, turning and firing and running again. There were horsemen at the guns, and sabres flashing, and above the hellish din the trumpet was blaring clear in the 'Charge!' and over the limbers came blue tunics and white helmets, and I couldn't believe my eyes, for they were riders of the Light Brigade, Irish Hussars, with an officer up in his stirrups, yelling, and the troopers swarming behind him. They came over the battery like a wave, and the scarlet-clad Pathan horsemen were breaking before them. And I'll tell you what I saw next, as plain as I can.
Lakshmibai was in among the Pathans, and she had a sabre in her hand. She seemed to be shouting to them, and then she took a cut at a Hussar and missed him as he swept by, and for a moment I lost her in the melee. There were sabres and pistols going like be-damned, and suddenly the white mare was there, rearing up, and she was in the saddle, but I saw her flinch and lose the reins; for a moment I thought she was gone, but she kept her seat as the mare turned and raced out of the fight — and my heart stopped as I saw that she was clutching her hands to her stomach, and her head was down. A trooper drove his horse straight into the mare, and as it staggered he sabred at Lakshmibai back-handed — I shrieked aloud and shut my eyes, and when I looked again she was in the dust, and even at that distance I could see the crimson stain on her jodhpurs.
I ran towards her — and there must have been riders charging past me as I ran, but I don't remember them — and then I stumbled and fell. As I scrambled up I saw she was writhing in the dust; her scarf and helmet were gone, she was kicking and clawing at her body, and her face was twisted and working in agony, with her hair half across it. It was hideous, and I could only crouch there, gazing horrified. Oh, if it were a novel I could tell you that I ran to her, and cradled her head against me and kissed her, while she looked up at me with a serene smile and murmured something before she closed her eyes, as lovely in death as she'd been in life — but that ain't how people die, not even the Rani of jhansi. She arched up once, still tearing at herself, and then she flopped over, face down, and I knew she was a goner.47
It was only then, I believe, that I began to think straight again.
There was one hell of a skirmish in progress barely twenty yards away, and I was unarmed and helpless, on all fours in the dirt. Above all other considerations, I'm glad to say, one seemed paramount — to get to hell out of this before I got hurt. I was on my feet and running before the thought had consciously formed — running in no particular direction, but keeping a weather eye open for a quiet spot or a riderless horse. I dived into the nullah, barged into someone, stumbled up and raced along it, past a group of pandies in pill-box hats who were scrambling into position at the nullah's edge to open fire, leaped over a wrecked cart — and then, wondrous sight, there was a horse, with a wounded nigger on his knees holding the bridle. One kick and he was sprawling, I was aboard and away; I put my head down and fairly flew — a fountain of dirt rose up just ahead of me as a cannon-shot from somewhere ploughed into the nullah hank, and the last thing I remember is the horse rearing up, and something smashing into my left arm with a blinding pain; a great weight seemed to be pressing down on my head and a red
