On the formation of the Movable Column to which the council of war at Peshawur had agreed, Sir John Lawrence gave the command to Brigadier-General Neville Chamberlain. Nicholson, like Edwardes and Cotton, had volunteered for the post, and, in view of the fact that the suggestion had been his, was somewhat disappointed at being passed over; but he made no protest. On the other hand, he affirmed that the Chief Commissioner had made the best choice. His loyal friendship to Chamberlain would admit of no jealousy.

Soon after the cutting up of the 55th Regiment of Sepoys at Mardan, however, Neville Chamberlain was promoted to be Adjutant-General, and Nicholson, with the rank of Brigadier-General, was placed in command of the column. It was a popular choice. After Chamberlain there was no one better fitted for the post. With the exception of, perhaps, Edwardes, Nicholson surpassed any of his confreres in the Punjaub in his intimate knowledge of the native mind, while his commanding presence and strong personality marked him out as the man for a crisis such as had arisen.

The first thing to be done in Nicholson’s estimation when he took over the leadership of the Movable Column was to purge it thoroughly of any taint of disaffection. Two native regiments were suspected, and he resolved on disarming these at once. On the morning of the 25th of June, while the column was halting on the high road leading to Delhi, the British regiments, with the guns, were manoeuvred into position so that they would completely command the sepoys of the 33rd and 35th, who were marching into camp a little later. When they arrived they would walk straight into a trap.

There was no hitch in the proceedings. Not a native of the suspected regiments had any idea that anything out of the usual was about to occur. Some of the British officers were lying carelessly on the ground laughing and talking as the 35th came up and found themselves suddenly confronted by a menacing line of infantry and guns. As Nicholson, through his staff officer, Roberts, gave the order to “pile arms,” the sepoys’ faces fell. But a moment’s reflection showed them that they were outwitted, and sullenly they threw down their muskets and belts, which were immediately carted off to the fort.

In due course the 33rd were similarly treated, though not without a vigorous protest from their old colonel, Sandeman. “I will answer with my life for the loyalty of every man in the regiment,” he declared. But the order was final. It was all over in a very few minutes, and Nicholson was impressing upon the disarmed sepoys the warning that desertion would be punished by death.

Some days before this dramatic scene a notable incident took place at Jalandhar in which Nicholson was the chief figure. The city was found to be in no little confusion on the arrival of the Movable Column, mutiny being rampant among the troops, and the military authorities taking scarcely any precautions to prevent an outbreak. In the streets it was apparent from the swagger of the native soldiers that they believed the sahibs were powerless through fear.

To strengthen his hands, Major Lake, the Commissioner, invited Nicholson to a durbar at which the officers of the Kapurthala troops were to be present. Nicholson attended, and at the close of the ceremony observed that Mehtab Singh, a native general, was leaving the room with his shoes on. This was an act that implied great disrespect. Lord Roberts, who was a spectator, tells the story of what happened in a graphic manner.

Stalking to the door, Nicholson, he says, “put himself in front of Mehtab Singh, and waved him back with an authoritative air. The rest of the company then passed out, and when they had gone, Nicholson said to Lake, ‘Do you see that General Mehtab Singh has his shoes on?’ Lake replied that he had noticed the fact, but tried to excuse it. Nicholson, however, speaking in Hindustani, said, ’There is no possible excuse for such an act of gross impertinence. Mehtab Singh knows perfectly well that he would not venture to step on his own father’s carpet save barefooted, and he has only committed this breach of etiquette to-day because he thinks we are not in a position to resent the insult, and that he can treat us as he would not have dared to do a month ago.’

“Mehtab Singh looked extremely foolish, and stammered some kind of apology; but Nicholson was not to be appeased, and continued, ’If I were the last Englishman left in Jalandhar, you should not come into my room with your shoes on!’ Then, politely turning to Lake, he added, ’I hope the Commissioner will now allow me to order you to take your shoes off and carry them out in your own hands.’”

Major Lake assented, and the crestfallen general did as he was bidden. Mr. Henry Newbolt pictures his discomfiture for us in the stirring ballad he has written on this incident

“When Mehtab Singh came to the door
His shoes they burned his hand,
For there in long and silent lines
He saw the captains stand.

When Mehtab Singh rode from the gate
His chin was on his breast:
The captains said, ’When the strong command,
Obedience is best.’”

The immediate result of Nicholson’s high-handed action was to change the current of public feeling in Jalandhar. The natives dropped their impudent manner, and realised that the British raj was by no means in as tottering a condition as they had supposed.

From Jalandhar the Movable Column proceeded to Umritsur, where tidings reached it of fresh outbreaks at Jhelum and Sialkot. Nicholson lost no time in dealing out vengeance to the mutineers, who had killed many Europeans. Pushing on with his force at full speed, he came in touch with them on the banks of the river Ravi, a branch of the Chenab, and opened fire. It was a short but sharp engagement, for numbers of the rebels were inflamed by the drug known as bhang, and fought like fiends. In less than half an hour the sepoys turned tail, leaving some hundreds dead or wounded on the battlefield.

Two days later the pursuit was again taken up, and the mutineers were cornered at another spot on the Ravi. As before, Nicholson had it all his own way. Shot and shell quickly drove the enemy out of their position on an island in the river, and those who escaped death from bullet or bayonet flung themselves panic-stricken into the river, to be drowned or captured subsequently. This victory was all the more notable by reason of the fact that the 3000 (some say 4000) sepoys who lost their lives were at the time marching to join the mutineers at Delhi.

In connection with this episode, Mr. R. G. Wilberforce, who served with the column, makes an interesting note in his book. Nicholson, he says, told him the story of how he had once killed a tiger with his sword while on horseback, the affair taking place (if the narrator is not mistaken) on the very island in the Ravi where the rebels had sought refuge.

This feat, with which Sir James Outram is also credited, is performed “by riding round and round the tiger at a gallop, gradually narrowing the circle until at last the swordsman is near enough to deliver his blow.” The tiger, it is said, follows the flying figure of the horseman, waiting an opportunity to spring upon him, but eventually becomes too bewildered to act.

The same writer also records an incident which illustrates Nicholson’s remarkable faculty for recognising rebels, however well disguised. On the march from the camp at Goodaspore, whence the column hurled itself on the Sialkot mutineers, two natives were observed by the wayside. They were miserable-looking wretches, with bundles on their backs, and the soldiers gave them but a passing glance. When Nicholson came along, however, his keen eyes rested on them with interest. Then, turning to the Pathans who rode behind him, he uttered the word “Maro!” (kill), and the stalwart troopers instantly cut the pair down.

Nicholson’s instinct had not failed him. The natives, for all their innocent appearance, were sepoys carrying swords to a mutinous regiment which had been disarmed at Goodaspore.

How fully the Movable Column justified its existence in those critical two months of June and July, 1857, there is ample testimony. Nicholson moved his light-footed force from point to point with surprising celerity, striking mercilessly at every spot where mutiny threatened, until the possibility of the Punjaub bursting into a blaze of rebellion was averted. It was a difficult task throughout, and its magnitude was the greater in that the famous column itself had to be purged more than once. There was the ever-present danger of disaffection in his own ranks. In the end, we are told, his force consisted of little more than one field battery, one troop of horse-artillery, and an infantry regiment, all of which were British, with a few hundred trusted Pathans.

Of the native levies special mention must be made of the Mooltani Horse. These men, Sikhs for the most part, had followed Nicholson from sheer personal devotion. They recognised no head but him, and, it is said, refused to accept pay from the Government. At his death they disbanded, returning to their homes on the frontier.

In the last week of July Nicholson proceeded to Lahore to consult Sir John Lawrence as to the next step to be taken. The upshot of the conference was that he received instructions to march the Movable Column on to Delhi, where General Archdale Wilson had commenced the siege. So, on the 25th of the month, the Punjaub saw him once more on the move, his face set eagerly towards the old Mogul capital, where he was to place the crown upon his achievements and find a soldier’s grave.