JOHN NICHOLSON

"THE LION OF THE PUNJAUB"

by

R. E. CHOLMELEY

"My Lord, you may rely upon this, that if ever
there is a desperate deed to be done in India,
John Nicholson is the man to do it."
Sir Herbert Edwardes to Lord Canning,
March 1857.

WITH EIGHT COLOURED PLATES

LONDON:
ANDREW MELROSE
16 PILGRIM STREET, E.C.
1908

TO
GILBERT BRANDON WHITE

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

JOHN NICHOLSON

CHAPTER I.

EASTWARD HO!

High up on the crest of the wild and rugged Margalla Pass, on the north-western frontier of India, stands a plain stone obelisk. It looks down on to the road that winds from Rawal Pindi to Hasan Abdal, the road where once only the Afghan camel-train passed on its way to and from Peshawur, but where now a railway marks the progress of modern India. Severely simple in its exterior, the obelisk is yet one of the most notable monuments to be seen in our great Eastern Empire, for it commemorates a soldier-hero of high fame. On its base is inscribed the name of John Nicholson.

This Margalla monument is not the only memorial to Nicholson in India: there is a tablet to his memory in a church at Bannu, the scene of his administrative work; and there is at Delhi, where he lies buried, a fine bronze statue of recent erection. But the stone obelisk in the frontier pass will stand for ever as the most striking tribute to the man who played so prominent a part in the saving of India. Its very position appeals strongly to the imagination. Here it was, in the district which he ruled so wisely and well, that Nicholson's early reputation was made; and here it is that among the wild tribesmen whom he tamed to his will his memory is still fondly cherished.

Who was John Nicholson? The question may well rise to the lips of many, for the writers of history textbooks have hitherto done him scant justice. And yet the tale of the Great Mutiny cannot be properly told without due acknowledgment being made to his genius. Those who know how the fate of India trembled in the balance in those dark days of 1857, know what we owe to him among other strong men whom the occasion brought to the front. It is now fifty years since Nicholson fell in the hour of victory at Delhi; the present year is, therefore, a fitting time to retell the story of his short but glorious career.

Like his distinguished chief, Sir Henry Lawrence, John Nicholson was an Irishman. He was born, in December 1822, at Lisburn, near Belfast, where his father, Dr. Alexander Nicholson, had a flourishing practice. On the paternal side he came of a family which had been established in Ireland since the sixteenth century, while through his mother, who was a Miss Hogg, he was connected with a well-known Ulster family, of which the late Lord Magheramorne was a representative.

Of young John's early life several stories have been preserved which give some indication of his character. According to Sir John Kaye, he was "a precocious boy almost from his cradle; thoughtful, studious, of an inquiring nature; and he had the ineffable benefit of good parental teaching of the best kind." Both his father and mother were deeply religious people, and their children—seven in all—were brought up with an intimate knowledge of the Bible. One day, it is said, when John was three years old, Mrs. Nicholson found him alone in a room with a knotted handkerchief in his hand and striking furiously at some invisible object. On being asked what he was doing, John answered, "Oh, mamma dear, I am trying to get a blow at the devil! He is wanting me to be bad. If I could get him down, I'd kill him!"

The boy's willingness to be taught enabled him to learn how to read and write at the early age of four. When, five years later, his father died, and the family removed to Delgany, in County Wicklow, he was sent to a school in that town. Thence he proceeded to the Royal School at Dungannon, where, although he did not greatly distinguish himself as a scholar, he made good progress. His chief characteristics were a fiery temper and a reputation for truthfulness and courage. A relative has placed on record her remembrance of having heard as a child that her cousin John was always leader in games, and was never known to tell a lie. "He was quite a hero from the first," she says.

Another feature of the boy's character was his very real love for his mother. With two girls and five boys to bring up on a slender income, Mrs. Nicholson was sometimes worried as to their future, and at these times John, as her eldest son, would do his best to smooth away the wrinkles from her forehead. "Don't fret, mamma dear," he would say; "when I'm a big man I'll make plenty of money, and I'll give it all to you." The mother no doubt smiled her pleasure at these brave words, but she little guessed then how faithfully her son would keep his word in the years to come.

The only other anecdote recorded of John Nicholson as a boy tells of a serious accident, which came very near to putting an abrupt end to his career. While spending a holiday at home in Lisburn he was playing with gunpowder, when some of it unexpectedly exploded in his face. With his hands over his eyes he ran into the house calling out that he was blinded. Mrs. Nicholson on looking at his face saw that it was a blackened mass, the eyes being completely closed, and blood trickling down his cheeks.

"For ten days," says Sir John Kaye, "during which he never murmured, or expressed any concern except for his mother, he lay in a state of total darkness; but when at the end of that time the bandages were removed, it was found that God in His mercy had spared the sight of the boy, and preserved him to do great things."

By the time John was sixteen he was ready to leave the school at Dungannon. The question of a profession for him now presented itself, and at this juncture a good fairy stepped in in the person of his uncle, Mr. (afterwards Sir) James Weir Hogg. Mr. Hogg, who was a Member of Parliament and a Director of the East India Company, had had a remarkable career. Going out to the East as a mere youth, he had found fame and fortune at the Calcutta Bar. Having become a man of wealth, he had returned to England to enter public life. He felt now that he ought to do something for his sister and her large family, and offered to obtain for John a cadetship in the Bengal Infantry. To this Mrs. Nicholson gladly assented.

In the days of "John Company" the interest of influential persons was sufficient to procure entry into the service. Young Nicholson was therefore spared the ordeal of an examination or special course of training. In the New Year of 1839 he went up to London to meet his uncle and make final arrangements. An outfit was bought for him by Mr. Hogg, and, at a momentous interview with the "honourable Directors of the East India Company" at their office in Leadenhall Street, John took the necessary oath of allegiance.

A few weeks later he sailed for India in the Camden, with his uncle's sage counsel to work hard and live carefully, and his mother's last injunction, "Never forget to read your Bible, John," treasured in his heart.

CHAPTER II.

FIGHTING THE AFGHANS.

After a five months' voyage Nicholson reached Calcutta safely. Here he spent a little time with certain of his uncle's friends, until at last he was temporarily appointed to the 41st Regiment of Sepoys quartered at Benares. At this station he studiously mastered his drill and prepared himself for the permanent appointment which was promised him. This followed at the end of the same year, 1839, when he was placed in the 27th Native Infantry at Ferozepore, on the Sutlej.

The young ensign was now to experience his first taste of war. Soon after he had joined his new regiment, the 27th was ordered up into Afghanistan and despatched to Jellalabad. At that time Afghanistan was occupied by British troops, and to all intents and purposes was well disposed towards us, but appearances were deceitful. Though hardly anyone knew it, trouble was brewing in the Amir's capital. Below the surface of calm, feeling ran high against Shah Soojah, the unpopular Afghan ruler, and his supporters, the British; and the followers of Dost Mahomed, the rival claimant to the throne, had no difficulty in fomenting a general revolt. The blow fell on the 2nd of November 1841. On that day Sir Alexander Burnes, the British envoy at Cabul, was assassinated, and the streets of the city ran red with blood.

When the insurrection thus blazed forth, John Nicholson was at Fort Ghuzni, nearly a hundred miles to the south of Cabul. His regiment had been ordered there some months previously to relieve the 16th. In three weeks' time the hill fortress was surrounded by Afghan warriors, and Colonel Palmer, the commandant, found himself in a state of siege. Unfortunately for the little garrison, the winter was now upon them. Situated very high up, Ghuzni was exposed to the full severity of the pitiless snowstorms which swept over the neighbourhood. These not only added to the discomfort of the troops, but had the effect of checking the advance of a relief column under General Maclaren that had started from Candahar.

For a time the enemy was kept at bay without the city, their old-fashioned jezails, or matchlocks, failing to produce much effect. Then treachery made itself felt. Actuated by humane motives, Colonel Palmer had refrained from expelling the Afghan townspeople, and the latter now repaid this act of kindness by undermining the city walls to admit their countrymen. One dark December night the Afghans poured in through the breach, driving the Sepoys and their British officers into the shelter of the citadel.

For a month the little garrison held out bravely, suffering some loss from the enemy's bullets and suffering even more from the scarcity of water. While the snow fell it was possible to melt it and replenish their store, but when the storms ceased they were in a desperate case. Instructions now came from General Elphinstone at Cabul that the fortress should be surrendered. Colonel Palmer, who was loth to believe the message, prolonged negotiations as long as he could, but reflection showed him that he had no choice but to submit. The water supply was at an end, and the Afghans threatened to renew the siege in a more determined manner than before. Very reluctantly, therefore, he yielded, having first bargained that the garrison should be permitted to march out with the honours of war and should be escorted in due time to Peshawur.

To this course the enemy's leaders agreed. But an oath counts for little in the Afghan mind, and Nicholson quickly learned of what depths of treachery this people were capable. No sooner had the sepoys of the 27th marched out to the quarters assigned them in the city than a crowd of ghazis fell upon them, massacring many of the poor fellows in cold blood. Nicholson himself, with Lieutenants Crawford and Burnett, was on the roof of a house near by and saw the terrible deed. In the building were two companies of sepoys. Joining these without delay, the officers prepared to make a bold stand.

The attack on the house was not long in coming. Storming the door in their furious desire to get at the hated infidels, the Afghans endeavoured to effect an entrance. When it was seen that this could not be done, the place was set on fire, and soon the flames and smoke drove the inmates from room to room. Before very long the position became untenable. With the few men remaining Nicholson and his brother officers cut a hole with their bayonets in the back wall of the house, and one by one dropped through into the narrow street below. Fortunately, the two other buildings in which Colonel Palmer and his sepoys had taken refuge, were close by. In a few moments the fugitives had joined forces with their comrades.

But though safety for a time had been gained, the chances of ultimate escape seemed hopeless. The houses were filled to overflowing with sepoy soldiers and camp followers, men, women, and children, and when by and by the large guns of the fortress were trained upon them the slaughter was very great. The British officers, it is stated, expected nothing less than death. They even began to burn the regimental colours to prevent them falling into the enemy's hands.

In this extremity the Afghan leaders made fresh proposals of honourable treatment on surrender, and Colonel Palmer at last consented to yield. How Nicholson regarded this move was very clear. In his anger at the base treachery he had witnessed he would have fought to the last gasp ere trusting again to the word of an Afghan. When the command came to surrender he refused to obey, and it is recorded that he "drove the enemy thrice back beyond the walls at the point of the bayonet, before he would listen to the order given him to make his company lay down their arms." Then, with bitter tears, he gave up his sword, and allowed himself to be made prisoner.

Of the five months' captivity at Ghuzni, from March to August 1842, we learn most from Lieutenant Crawford's narrative. From the first the prisoners were treated miserably. The British officers—ten in number—were confined in a small room "only 18 feet by 13," and for several weeks deprived of any change of clothing. What possessions they had were taken from them by their guards; watches, money, and jewellery, and even their pocket-knives, thus being lost to them.

Only one officer succeeded in retaining a cherished trinket, and this was Nicholson himself. Captain Trotter, who records the incident,[1] quotes from a letter sent by Nicholson to his mother in which the writer says, "I managed to preserve the little locket with your hair in it … and I was allowed to keep it, because, when ordered to give it up, I lost my temper and threw it at the soldier's head, which was certainly a thoughtless and head-endangering act. However, he seemed to like it, for he gave strict orders that the locket was not to be taken from me."

The severities of the confinement increased when in April news came of the death of Shah Soojah at the hands of an assassin, and the little prison in the citadel became almost a second "Black Hole of Calcutta." The one window was shut and darkened, making the air of the room unbearable. To add to the horror of the situation, Colonel Palmer was now cruelly tortured before his comrades' eyes, one of his feet being twisted by means of a tent peg and rope. This was done in the hope that he or some one of his fellow-captives would reveal the hiding-place of a phantom "four lakhs of rupees," which the Afghans declared the British had buried in the vicinity.

But in June came a change for the better. The prisoners were now allowed to sleep out in the open courtyard in the postins, or rough sheepskin coats, supplied them. Two months later they learned that they were to be sent to Cabul, where Dost Mahomed's son, Akbar Khan, was keeping captive Lady Sale, Mrs. Sturt, George Lawrence, Vincent Eyre, and other Europeans. The exchange was a welcome one. Slung in camel panniers, they were jolted along the rough country roads for three days, arriving in the Afghan capital on the 22nd of August, when they were generously dined by the chief and his head men.

The quarters in which the party were now housed, together with Lady Sale and the other survivors of the Cabul massacre, were a paradise compared to their former lodging. They had a beautiful garden to walk in, servants to wait upon them, and an abundant supply of food. Their satisfaction, however, was shortlived. In a few days the prisoners were hurried off to Bamian, in the hill country to the north-west, and thence to Kulum. The reason for this move was apparent. Generals Pollock and Nott had already commenced their victorious advance upon Cabul, and Akbar Khan resolved to keep his captives as hostages for his own safety.

To Nicholson and his companions it looked as if their fate was sealed, but a ray of hope dawned for them. The Afghan officer in charge of their escort showed himself ready to consider the offer of a bribe. A bond was eventually drawn up ensuring him a handsome recompense for his services did he lead them to safety, and in the middle of September they found themselves once more free.

Late one afternoon the rescue party sent to their aid by General Pollock met them toiling along the dusty road on the other side of the Hindu Kush mountains. Within a few hours they were safe inside the British lines.

Nicholson duly marched with the main army to Cabul, and had the satisfaction of seeing the Afghan capital suffer the punishment it justly merited. On the way home, however, he experienced the first great loss in his life. His youngest brother, Alexander, who had but recently joined the Company's service, was killed in the desultory fighting outside the city, and to Nicholson fell the sad duty of identifying the boy's body as it was found, stripped and mutilated, by the roadside.

[1] Life of John Nicholson.

CHAPTER III.

ONE OF LAWRENCE'S LIEUTENANTS.

The three years that John Nicholson had spent in India had left their mark upon him. The stripling had grown to man's stature. He was now full six feet in height, black-haired and dark of eye, and with a grave manner which the exciting experiences he had passed through had intensified. Many people found the young officer too cold and austere for their liking, but the haughty demeanour which characterised him in reality covered a warm and sympathetic nature, of which those who were admitted into his intimacy were fully aware. By this time he had made several notable friends, including Major George Lawrence (brother of the future Lord Lawrence), and a subaltern in the 16th Native Infantry, named Neville Chamberlain, who was to make a great name for himself in the stirring days to come.

To such as had followed his career Nicholson had come through his baptism of fire with flying colours. He had shown himself possessed of high courage, and had won admiration as much for his fortitude in captivity as for his bravery in action. So far, indeed, the life of a soldier had suited him; he was now to see the other side of the shield and experience the peaceful but monotonous existence in cantonments at Meerut and Moradabad.

In this distasteful period of inaction, he applied himself diligently to the study of native languages, and was able to report to his mother ere long that he had passed the interpreter's examination. What also eased the irksomeness of his situation was his appointment as adjutant of his regiment. The new duties that fell to his lot gave him plenty of employment.

But the reign of peace was destined to be short. In the autumn of 1845 came the first signs of a great rising among the Sikhs, whose territory was divided from the British by the river Sutlej. This warlike nation had reached the height of their power under the famous Ranjit Singh. After his death no fit successor was found to rule in his place, and the turbulent soldiery quickly found an excuse to rebel against the British Government which held them in check by the troops massed upon the frontiers.

War was declared in November. In the following month occurred the battles of Moodkee and Ferozeshah, in which General Sir Hugh Gough was victorious over the Sikh army. At these fierce engagements Nicholson was present as a commissariat officer, and not, to his regret, as a combatant. Some weeks later followed the victories of Aliwal and Sobraon, which resulted in the youthful Prince Dhuleep Singh, the avowed head of the Sikhs, making his submission, and gave the British a foothold in the Punjaub.

By one clause of the treaty which was concluded, the province of Cashmere was ceded to us, but shortly afterwards it was made over to the Maharajah Gholab Singh of Jummu for the sum of one million sterling. At the request of the Maharajah, the Government now selected two officers to assist the new ruler in keeping his subjects in order, their choice falling on Captain Broome of the Bengal Artillery and Lieutenant Nicholson. The latter owed this step to Henry Lawrence, to whom he had been already introduced and upon whom he had made a distinct impression. Colonel Lawrence himself had succeeded Major George Broadfoot,[1] the distinguished political agent for the Punjaub, and was installed as British Resident at Lahore.

The ostensible reason for the appointment of Broome and Nicholson was the need for drilling and disciplining the Cashmere army, but they soon found that their presence was required by the Maharajah simply to show that he had the support of the British. It was highly desirable that a display of such friendship should be made, for the Sikh inhabitants did not take at all kindly to their new chief. After a stay at Jummu Gholab Singh set out for Cashmere, accompanied by Broome and Nicholson and a small body of his own troops. Before many days had elapsed he was hastening back to his capital with such of his soldiers who could escape from the insurgents, while the two British officers just managed to avoid capture in the mountain passes, and join him later at Jummu.

The Sikh insurrection, however, had a brief life. A few months later Nicholson was again in Cashmere with a definite appointment in the North-West Frontier Agency. He was marked out by Lawrence as one of the men whom he could rely upon to help in the work of keeping peace in the Punjaub. Of the other lieutenants of Lawrence—Herbert Edwardes, Abbott, Reynell Taylor, Becher, and the rest—mention will be made in due course. Never was master better served than was the British Resident by these young and able officers.

To the wise way in which they carried out his policy of conciliation we owe it that the vast district of the Punjaub not only remained quiet at the outbreak of the Mutiny, but itself furnished us with native troops who had a great share in quelling the rebellion.

From Cashmere Nicholson was in time transferred to Lahore to act as Assistant to Colonel Henry Lawrence. This was a pleasing promotion, and held out hopes of even more important posts in the future. On the way down to the old Sikh capital he had the satisfaction of meeting his younger brother Charles, who had followed him into the service and arrived in India some months previously. Another brother, Alexander, as has been noted, had been killed in action in the fighting round Cabul in 1842, and a third—William—was to meet with a sadder fate. He was found dead in circumstances that gave rise to a suspicion of foul play.

Now began for Nicholson that useful training in administrative work which gained him such repute a few years later. Within three weeks of his arrival at Lahore he was despatched on a mission to Umritsur, with instructions to survey and report generally on the district. This done, he proceeded to the Sind Sagur Doab country, where he was stationed as political officer in command. To cultivate the acquaintance of the two Nazims, or ruling chiefs, the Sirdars Chuttur Singh and Lall Singh, and support their authority, at the same time that he protected the people from oppression, was Nicholson's charge from Lawrence, and he applied himself to the difficult task with zeal and enthusiasm.

"Avoid as far as possible any military movement during the next three months," wrote Lawrence; "but, should serious disturbance arise, act energetically." By peaceful methods, if possible, did he wish to bring the Punjaub under subjection. Still, if the

". . . new-caught, sullen peoples,
Half-devil and half-child,"

were rebellious and needed chastening, the hand that smote them was to smite heavily.

Very soon after Nicholson reached his new district the occasion arose for him to assert his power. Captain Abbott, then acting as Boundary Commissioner, was having trouble with the chiefs of Simulkund. These worthies had committed some dastardly outrages in the neighbourhood, and refused point-blank to appear at his court to answer for their misdeeds. In response to the other's summons, Nicholson led a small force to Simulkund, where he acted in conjunction with Abbott. The result of these prompt measures was to make the Simulkund rebels abandon their position without firing a shot.

This was a peaceful termination to an overt act of rebellion. The next piece of lawlessness that called for punishment was of a more serious nature, and gave Nicholson more opportunity to display his mastery. Although the country round Rawal Pindi was apparently tranquil, the natives were, as a matter of fact, only waiting for a convenient moment to shake off the yoke. Pathans, Rajputs, Jats, Gujars, and men of other tribes, alike resented the check laid upon their raiding and cattle-lifting, while the rough soldiery especially lamented the lost opportunities for plundering.

Before the winter of 1847-48 had come to an end there was a violent outbreak in Mooltan. In that district the Moolraj treacherously murdered some white officers and proclaimed a "holy war" against the British.

The revolt soon began to spread. Tribe after tribe helped to fan the fires of rebellion into a blaze, until at last Sirdar Chuttur Singh, whom everybody had thought to be tamed, threw off his allegiance and raised his wild Hazara followers. To Nicholson news speedily came that Chuttur Singh meant to seize the fort at Attock, an important hill station. Although suffering from fever, he declared to Lawrence his readiness to start at once for the fort and occupy it before the rebel chief could forestall them.

"I will start to-night," said Nicholson. "The fever is nothing, and shall not hinder me."

Lawrence having consented to his departure, he set off some hours later with a body of Peshawur Horse and Mohammedan levies, and by dint of hard riding reached the fort in the nick of time. The garrison were on the point of closing the gates against him. Leaping from his horse, and striding boldly among them, Nicholson ordered the Sikh soldiers to arrest their leaders. For a moment they wavered, and the young officer's life hung in the balance. But no one dared fire the shot which would have turned the scale for mutiny.

"Seize those men!" commanded Nicholson fiercely, as he pointed out the ringleaders. And, impressed by his resolute bearing, as he towered above them with grim determination written on his face, the soldiers did as he ordered, whereupon he placed the prisoners in fetters and made arrangements for the security of the fort.

It was a daring and characteristic piece of work, made all the more noteworthy by the fact that Nicholson was almost alone when he leapt thus upon the mutineers. In his fiery impatience he had outdistanced his escort of sixty horsemen, only a handful of these being able to keep up with him to the end. The infantry, he noted in his report, did not arrive until midnight.

Such a swift blow at their plans as this was not without its lesson to the Sikhs, and the name of "Nikalseyn" from that time began to assume a terrible significance in their minds.

[1] Killed at the battle of Ferozeshah.

CHAPTER IV.

THE SECOND SIKH WAR.

The capture of Attock effected, there still remained much to be done in the immediate neighbourhood. Chuttur Singh's Hazara forces were moving about with the intention of joining the main army under another Sikh leader, Shere Singh. With his newly raised troop of 700 levies Nicholson dashed hither and thither, striking heavy blows at the scattered portions of the enemy whom he encountered and damping the ardour of other tribesmen who had thoughts of swelling the numbers of the rebels.

Hasan Abdal received one of these sudden and unexpected visits. Here a body of Sikh horse had mutinied and expelled their commander from the fort. Nicholson promptly paraded the garrison, placing the ringleaders under arrest, as he had done at Attock. In this instance, however, he thought it better policy to show some leniency. When the Sikhs begged hard for forgiveness he granted it, wishing to show that he was "not entirely without confidence in them."

Almost immediately after this incident he learned that a Sikh regiment of some strength, with two guns, was at Rawal Pindi on its way to meet Chuttur Singh's army. By a quick march he intercepted the rebels at a place called Jani-ka-sang, near the Margalla Pass. The mutineers had taken up a strong position within the walls of a cemetery, and if it came to a fight in the open the advantage lay entirely on their side.

Nicholson made up his mind quickly as to his course of action. Concealing his men in a piece of jungle, he called out the colonel of the disaffected regiment and gave him half an hour in which to decide whether he would surrender or be attacked. What Nicholson would have actually done had the Sikh commander remained obdurate is a question; possibly he would have risked a dash across the open ground in front of the cemetery walls and taken the chance of his men facing the rebels' fire or turning tail. But he was spared such a crucial test. Before the half-hour was up the Sikh colonel reappeared to announce that he and his men regretted their disobedience, and were ready to place themselves at his service.

Once more Nicholson's reputation for fearlessness had won him a bloodless victory. Having read them a severe lecture, he dismissed the mutineers with no further punishment, and sent them off to Rawal Pindi.

From now on Nicholson was busy scouring the country round Hasan Abdal, reducing Chuttur Singh's chances of increasing his army as far as was possible. Wherever mutiny reared its head, there was the young lieutenant with his troop of irregulars ready to crush it at once with a stern hand. There was no temporising with him. He held much the same views at this time as some years later when, in reply to a lengthy despatch from Sir Henry Lawrence calling upon him for a report of the courts-martial he was holding and punishments he was inflicting, he wrote on the other side of the document in large letters: "The punishment of mutiny is death."

By September 1848 Chuttur Singh, with several regular regiments and nearly a score of field-pieces, was making a determined forward movement. There was also another but smaller force in the field led by a son of the Sikh chief. When Nicholson learned that the latter body was endeavouring to join the main army he made a bold attempt to cut it off, and started off post-haste for the Margalla Pass. At this spot, through which he knew the rebel troops would be compelled to march, was a formidable tower situated high up on the hillside. To gain entrance to this it was necessary to clamber up to an opening in the outer wall some ten feet from the ground, but Nicholson was not daunted by this. It was most essential that the tower should be carried by storm and its position held by his men.

Accordingly he led his troops to the assault in a mad rush that carried the Pathans to the base of the tower before they could realise what a foolhardy undertaking they were engaged upon. The rest of his men very cowardly lagged behind. Then, no ladder being procurable, he set to work to break down the wall, while from above the defenders rained down a storm of stones upon them. One of these missiles hit Nicholson in the face and knocked him over, but the wound was luckily not a severe one.

In the end he was forced to fall back with his handful of men, the tower being practically impregnable and a large body of Sikhs having been observed marching to the relief of the garrison. But the vigour of his attack had its moral effect. The Sikh soldiers, fearing that the assault would be renewed next day, and that Nicholson would take some terrible revenge upon them for their resistance, quietly stole away under cover of the darkness, leaving him master of the situation!

It was somewhere about this time that the famous sect of Sikhs arose which honoured Nicholson by elevating him to the rank of a deity. A certain Hindu devotee in Hazara gave out that he had discovered in "Nikalseyn" the incarnation of the Brahman god, and he soon gathered about him a little company of enthusiastic fellow-worshippers. To their hero's annoyance, the "Nikalseyns," as they styled themselves, indulged in open adoration, even prostrating themselves at his feet. In vain did he threaten them with condign punishment, and at last actually resort to flogging. The devotees admired him all the more for his severity, and sang his praises still louder.

"After the last whipping," says Sir Herbert Edwardes in a character sketch of the hero, "Nicholson released them, on the condition that they would transfer their adoration to John Becher (Abbott's successor at Hazara), but, arrived at their monastery, they once more resumed the worship of the relentless Nikalseyn."

In his reminiscences of India[1] Mr. R. G. Wilberforce states that the Sikhs declared they would raise a Taj to Nicholson, beside which the famous Golden Taj at Umritsur should be as nought, did he but openly profess their religion.

"During the time that Nicholson was with the column," he continues, writing of the days before the march to Delhi, "it was a common sight of an evening to see the Sikhs come into camp in order that they might see him. They used to be admitted into his tent in bodies of about a dozen at a time. Once in the presence, they seated themselves on the ground and fixed their eyes upon the object of their adoration, who all the while went on steadfastly with whatever work he was engaged in, never even lifting his eyes to the faces of his mute worshippers."

"Sometimes, overcome perhaps by prickings of conscience, or carried away by feelings he could not control, one of them would prostrate himself in prayer. This was an offence against the committal of which warning had been given, and the penalty never varied: three dozen lashes with the cat-o'-nine-tails on the bare back."

With Chuttur Singh's open revolt the second Sikh War had fairly begun. Nicholson was now more and more in demand, doing guerilla service, or engaged in such useful work as collecting boats for Sir Joseph Thackwell to cross the Chenab River and acting as intelligence officer to the forces. At the battle of Chillianwallah he did duty as aide-de-camp to Lord Gough, and at Guzerat, which followed soon after, he and his Pathans enjoyed the distinction of capturing nine guns from the enemy.

A striking tribute to Nicholson's personality, and the valour he displayed on these occasions, is the well-vouched-for story that for many years afterwards, when visitors came to view these battlefields, the country people would begin their accounts by saying, "Nikalseyn stood just there!"

After the conclusion of the campaign, which saw him a brevet-major, Nicholson decided to take a two years' holiday and return home. What influenced him to this most was the desire to comfort his mother, who, he knew, was grieving over the loss of her two sons, William and Alexander. But it was not easy for him to leave. India, as he wrote, was "like a rat-trap," more difficult to get out of than into, and it was not until January 1850 that he was at last free to depart. His old friend and colleague, Herbert Edwardes, as it happened, was also of a mind to see "the old country" again, so the two journeyed together down to Bombay, whence they took ship for England.

But before Nicholson was to see his widowed mother again he was to pass through a romantic experience which deserves a chapter to itself.