However, I
put the lime on my hand, and held out my arm steadily. The juggler
balanced himself, and, with a swift stroke cut the lime in two
pieces. I felt the edge of the sword on my hand as if a cold
thread had been drawn across it. So much (he added) for the brave
swordsmen of India, whom our fine fellows defeated at Meeanee."
The recent terrible struggle in India has served to bring out,
perhaps more prominently than any previous event in our history,
the determined energy and self-reliance of the national character.
Although English officialism may often drift stupidly into gigantic
blunders, the men of the nation generally contrive to work their
way out of them with a heroism almost approaching the sublime. In
May, 1857, when the revolt burst upon India like a thunder-clap,
the British forces had been allowed to dwindle to their extreme
minimum, and were scattered over a wide extent of country, many of
them in remote cantonments. The Bengal regiments, one after
another, rose against their officers, broke away, and rushed to
Delhi. Province after province was lapped in mutiny and rebellion;
and the cry for help rose from east to west. Everywhere the
English stood at bay in small detachments, beleaguered and
surrounded, apparently incapable of resistance.
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