It is not easy to give any kind of real impression of India twenty-four
hours after the outbreak of the mutiny. Movement was the keynote
of the picture--stealthy, not-yet-quite-confident pack-movement on
the one hand, concentrated here and there in blood-red eddies, and,
on the other hand, swift, desperate marches in the open.
The moment that the seriousness of the outbreak had been understood,
and the orders had gone out by galloper to "Get a move on!" each
commanding officer strained every nerve at once to strike where a
blow would have the most effect. There was no thought of anything
but action, and offensive, not defensive action. Until some one
at the head of things proved still to be alive, and had had time
to form a plan, each divisional commander acted as he saw fit. That
was all that any one was asked to do at first: to act, to strike,
to plunge in headlong where the mutiny was thickest and most dangerous,
to do anything, in fact; except sit still.
Even with the evidence of mutiny and treachery on every side, with
red flames lighting the horizon and the stench of burning villages
on every hand, the strange Anglo-Saxon quality persisted that has
done more even that the fighting-quality to teach the English tongue
to half the world.
Pages:
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113