THE INDIAN MUTINY.

Taranaki Daily News, Volume L, Issue 61, 14 December 1907, Page 3

THE INDIAN MUTINY.

Sir Evelyn Wood lias been contributing to the London '•'Times" a. scries of chapters iu connection with the Indian Jlutiny. We take the following irom chapter ID:— The revolution in Bundelkhand affected the adjoining (Jwaliar territory. At a small town heid by an outpost of S:ndhia's Contingent the few resident Europeans were advised to hasten soutliwariH. Two gentlemen and a lady, wife of an officer then- on active service, rode oil' one morning in June, escorted bj Sergeant Mecr Umjcid Ali, a well-born Mahomedan gentleman, and a troop of twenty-live of bis relations. He was a landowner of influence in Hindustan, and the King of Delhi iiad written personally to urge him to cast iu his Ut with the true believers. Umjcid Ali steadily resisted this appeal, as he had previously resisted several i.tlier requests to l)e unfaithful to Sindl.ia, to whom he had sworn to he loyal and true. The party, having marched

for some days, had halted at 10 a.m. one day at a dark bungalow, intending u; go on m the evening, when the burning rays of the June sun became less oppressive. A dark bungalow 50 years i'go in Central India was a one-storey : .uihling, containing three rooms—the centre one for meals in common, that i n the other side for gentlemen aa; ladies—and bathrooms at the back, with one native in charge, who cooked for travellers. At 2 p.m. one of the gentlemen, calling through the curtain whic'i shut off the ladies' room (for thc;e were no doors), said: "Mrs. , come e.niekly; your horse is being saddled 'J hei» are 500 men pureuin'sr us." "I •nnnot move," said the lady. "You must." "Jt is impossible; I have had a kibv born to me." "[ fear we mu.t

•ay good-bye to you for over." "Wliy f . r ever? "'Will they kill me?" 'T fe.i'r Ihcv may do so." ''Then wait five minutes, and I'll tonif." The lady rode Ueiity-five miles that afternoon, carrying the Imliy under her arm, and lived forty-five years after the mutiny. When I'mjeid Ali arrived at the station for which the party was making the commanding officer absolutely declined to allow his men inside the outposts. To his appeal: "Though our skins are dark, our hearts are those- of white men," came the reply: "No, ive cannot again trust natives." But what can we do? We will never fight against the Government, our Maharajah aupports."' was 4ghJU-Jyi_ TOVwn'ere the about to mutiny; and help 4 the officers, to escape. Umjciil Ali did so, and when, three months later, the forces mutinied on parade, he escorted the eight European combatants from the station, aad the wife of the senior officer. The little

party was followed and fired on by a few infantry and a crowd of bad characters from the town. When passing some scattered houses in the outskirts a bullet broke the hind leg of the lady's horse, which fell to the ground. Ali Rasul, eighteen years of age, a tall, slight youth, weighing flst, and active as a cat, sprang from his horse, and begged the lady to escape on it, saying: "I am only a black man; it matters nothing if T die." The ladv was elderly—old enough, indeed, to have known bet-

tor—but she replied decidedly, in perfect Hindustani: "I ride in a man'.; saddle? Never! never! never!" The young man. a kinsman of Umjeid Ali, was equally determined, and, throwing arms around the lady, he endeavoured 11 put her on his saddle; but she. beinc im.ch heavier than the youth, by squat" ting on the ground like a partridge, successfully resisted his efforts, and he mounted and galloped off. just before the pursuing crowd inrned a corner of the road. The scene occurred immediately in front of the house of a native tradesman, who had worked for the lady. He ran out and dragged her inside, unseen by the rebels. He became then greatly alarmed lest he should suffer for his act. and, it was said, stained the lady a dark colour from head to foot. She was restored in a few (lays to her husband, otherwise inscnthed. Ali Rasul showed distinguished courage in action the following year.

when the writer served in the' same foive. Meer Umjeid Ali rose to the lushest, grade of native officer in the 3Sth (PriiK-e of Wales's Own) Central fnrli.i Ttorse, and died an honoured pensioner.