Instead of finding themselves faced by spineless nincompoops, the rebels reeled before the sudden, well-timed tactics of real officers with eyes and ears and brains.

The mask was off on both sides, and the sudden, stripped efficiency of one was no less disconcerting than the unexpected rebellion of the other.
Byng-bahadur--"Byng the Brigadier"-- was in command of a force again within three days of the news of the first massacre; and because he was Byng, with Byng's record, and Byng's ability to handle loyal natives, the men who succeeded to the reins packed him off at once with a free hand, and with no other orders than to hit, hit hard, and keep on hitting.
"Go for them, Byng, old man.

Live off the country, keep moving, and don't let 'em guess once what your next move's going to be!" So Byng recruited as he went, and struck like a brain-controlled tornado at whatever crossed his path.

But irreparable damage had been done before the old school was relieved, and Byng--like others--was terribly short of men.

Many of his own irregulars were so enraged at having been disbanded at a moment's notice that they refused to return to him.