firing. They saw bodies of armed men hurrying on their way as if to a rendezvous. Then there succeeded columns of smoke, as if many bungalows had been set on fire. In a moment more the whole truth burst upon them. The native troops at Mírath had revolted.
Far differently had that day been passed in the lines of the native troops. There the utmost excitement had prevailed. Conspiring makes conspirers suspicious. Conscious of their own meditated treason, the sipáhís attributed to their masters designs not dissimilar to their own. It is very doubtful whether there were at Mírath, at this crisis, any of those who were deep in the conspiracy: who had fostered the movement from its very birth; who were in the confidence of the Maulaví and his colleagues. Their place was occupied by the committees they had caused to be formed in each regiment. But the sipáhís, excited, suspicious, ready to believe the idlest tale as they were, required leading. On this occasion the men of the 11th N. I. seemed inclined to hang back. To bring them to the right pitch, and to confirm possible wavering on the part of any of the others, the regimental committees took care that the most telling rumours should be circulated. Nowhere in the world does rumour rise so easily or take such exaggerated forms as in India. It appeals to a people singularly simple, and yet singularly superstitious. The fables of their religion teach them to believe in the supernatural, and for them the improbable is an ever-living power. When, then, rumour told them that the European troops at the station were preparing for them the fate of their manacled comrades, they believed the rumour. Hence they determined to rise and rescue those comrades whilst the Europeans should be unarmed and unsuspicious.
