about sixty feet above the general level of the city, extending along a
line, obliquely to the front of attack, of a little over two miles, its
left resting upon the Jumna some three miles above Delhi, and its right
approaching the Cabul gate at a distance of about a thousand yards.
Prominent points on this “Ridge” were the Flagstaff Tower, a ruined
mosque, an ancient observatory, Hindoo Rao’s House, and Swami House,
which, in the mouth of Tommy Atkins, speedily became “Sammy” House.
These were all good points in favour of the British. But, on the other
hand, the rebels, sallying out of the city, could profit by the cover
afforded them by the suburban villages (Subzee Mundee, or “vegetable
market,” the chief of them), gardens, groves, house-clusters, and
walled enclosures, to indulge in a perpetual series of attacks on the
British position. For though the English had come to besiege, the
fewness of their numbers and the temporary want of heavy guns reduced
them at first to the position of besieged; and for a long time--more
than three months, in fact--their energies were consumed in fending off
the ferocious sorties of the Delhi garrison. These sorties they began
on the very day after the sitting down of the British on the “Ridge,”
but were sent packing back again with serious loss. The repulse of
their first sally was mainly due to the bravery of the famous Corps
of Guides, composed of stalwart frontier men of all races, arrayed in
their own loose, dusky shirts, and sun-proof, sword-proof turbans, who
had marched into camp with a swinging stride that very morning, after
moving for twenty-seven miles a day for three weeks, at the hottest
time of the year--one of the greatest feats of the war. Three hours
after their arrival they were launched against the rebels, whom they
pursued up to the city walls, but at the cost of their dearly-loved
commander, Lieutenant Quintin Battye. “Now I have a chance of seeing
service,” he had joyfully exclaimed on setting out with his regiment,
for he was a keen soldier, a good swordsman, and a splendid rider.
But he fell in his very first fight, saying gaily to a comrade as he
breathed his last: “Well, old fellow, _dulce et decorum est pro
patriâ mori_; you see it’s my case.”
[Illustration: MAJOR TOMBS.]
A few days after this General Barnard, believing with Macbeth that
“’twere well it were done quickly,” had yielded to a scheme for
storming the city offright--a scheme in which the bold and fiery
Hodson had a prominent share. Under cover of the darkness, two columns
were to steal up to as many gates, blow these in with gunpowder, and
then rush into the city. But owing to a misunderstanding on the part
of one of the commanders, the plan had finally to be abandoned--much
to the disgust of the younger members of Barnard’s staff, who were
simply dying for the performance of such a feat. Another council of
war debated the chances of its success; but cautious--call it not
timorous--counsels meanwhile prevailed, for the news of a repulse,
following upon an ill-advised assault, would have added fresh fuel to
the fire of the mutiny, which was now blazing up more furiously than
ever, beyond the extinguishing power of rivers of blood, over the
length and breadth of Hindostan.
From every part of the country the mutineers continued to stream in
to Delhi, and ever, as fresh contingents arrived, they were sent out
to try their prowess on the holders of the “Ridge”; and hold it they
did with a tenacity which neither wounds, nor death, nor disease, nor
pestilence could in the least degree relax. In the men’s tents they
made merry, and, like the Greeks before Troy, had their sports just
as if they had been far away at home on the village-greens of Old
England. Stricken to death, the soldier told his officer he would soon
be up again and ready for another brush with the mutineers. In the
space at our disposal we cannot detail, we can scarcely enumerate, the
actions that were fought in front of Delhi--more than thirty of them
in twelve weeks, and all to the glory of the British name. Let one or
two instances of conspicuous personal valour before the foe serve to
illustrate the spirit which animated all our little besieging army.
[Illustration: “IT WAS BAYONET TO BAYONET”
(_p._ 130).]
“I must tell you,” wrote an officer, “of a noble action of Lieutenant
Hills of the Artillery (a young man who only four years ago had been
a pupil at the Edinburgh Academy). He was on picket, with his two
horse-artillery guns, when the alarm was sounded and an order sent him
to advance, given under the impression that the enemy were at some
distance. He was supported by a body of Carabineers--eighty, I believe,
in number. He advanced about 100 yards, while his guns were being
limbered up to follow, and suddenly came on about 120 of the enemy’s
cavalry close upon them.
Disgraceful to say, the Carabineers turned and bolted. His guns being
limbered up, he could do nothing, but, rather than fly, he charged
them by himself. He fired four barrels of his revolver and killed two
men, hurling the empty pistol in the face of another and knocking him
off his horse. Two horsemen then charged full tilt at him, and rolled
him and his horse over. He got up with no weapons, and, seeing a man
on foot coming at him to cut him down, rushed at him, got inside his
sword, and hit him full in the face with his fist. At that moment he
was cut down from behind, and a second blow would have done for him had
not Tombs, his captain, the finest fellow in the service, who had been
in his tent when the row began, arrived at the critical moment and
shot his assailant--by a splendid shot, fired at thirty paces. Hills
was able to walk home, though his wound was severe; and on the road
Tombs saved his life once more by sticking another man who attacked
him. If they don’t both get the Victoria Cross, it won’t be worth
having.” But they both did.
Another personal exploit of a similar kind was thus recorded by an
officer:--“We took Khurkonda by surprise, and Hodson immediately placed
men over the gates and we went in. Shot one scoundrel _instanter_,
cut down another, and took a ressaldar (native officer) and some sowars
prisoners, and came to a house occupied by some more, who would not
let us in at all. At last we rushed in, and found the rascals had
taken to the upper storey, still keeping us at bay. There was only one
door and a kirkee (window). I shoved in my head through the door, with
a pistol in my hand, and got a clip over my turban for my pains. My
pistol missed fire at the man’s breast, so I got out of that as fast
as I could, and then tried the kirkee with the other barrel, and very
nearly got another cut. We tried every means to get in, but could not,
so we fired the house, and out they rushed--running amuck among us. The
first fellow went at Hugh (the writer’s brother), and somehow or other
he slipped and fell on his back. I saw him fall, and, thinking he was
hurt, rushed to the rescue. A Guide got a chop at the fellow, and I
gave him such a swinging back-hander that he fell dead. I then went at
another fellow rushing by my left, and sent my sword through him like
butter, and bagged him. I then looked round and saw a sword come crash
on the shoulders of a poor little boy--oh, such a cut! and up went the
sword again, and the next moment the boy would have been in eternity;
but I ran forward and covered him with my sword and saved him.”
“What a sight our camp would be,” wrote another officer, “even to those
who visited Sebastopol! The long lines of tents, the thatched hovels of
the native servants, the rows of horses, the parks of artillery, the
British soldier in his grey linen coat and trousers, the dark Sikhs
with their red and blue turbans, the Afghans with the same, their wild
air and coloured saddle-cloths, and the little Goorkhas, dressed up
like demons of ugliness in their black worsted Kilmarnock bonnets and
woollen coats. In the rear are the booths of the native bazaars, and
further out, on the plain, thousands of camels, bullocks, and horses
that carry our baggage. The soldiers are loitering through the lines
or in the bazaars. Suddenly an alarm is sounded, and everyone rushes
to his tent. The infantry soldier seizes his musket and slings on his
pouch; the artilleryman gets his gun horsed; the Afghan rides out to
explore; and in a few minutes everyone is in his place.”
[Illustration: Siege of DELHI.]
Such was the state of the camp in repose. And now for a picture, from
another hand, of the same camp when roused into action. “I was out
this night,” wrote an officer, “in one of our principal batteries with
a party of my Guides, placed there to protect the guns; and I shall
never forget the scene at two o’clock in the morning. The sight was
a most magnificent one--all our batteries and all the city ones were
playing as hard as they could, the shells bursting, round shot tearing
with a _whooshing_ sound through our embrasures, the carcasses
(or large balls of fire) flying over our heads, the musketry rolling
and flashing, made the place as light as day. The noise was terrific,
though the roar of the cannon was frequently drowned in the roar of
human voices, for, when the whole city turned out, there could not
have been less than 20,000 voices all screaming at once. The mutineers’
yell of ‘Allah! Allah! Allah Akbar! Allah Akbar!’ was answered by our
jolly English hurrahs, and the din was most frightful. I never remember
seeing such a beautiful sight or hearing such a noise. The mutineers,
though they tried very hard to take our batteries, could not succeed,
though some of them got up near enough to throw hand-grenades into
them. The grand attack lasted about two hours, when the enemy gave in
a little, though they didn’t retire. The fighting went on all the rest
of the night, and up to two o’clock next day, when both sides retired.
We were all glad of a little rest, as most of us had been fighting for
upwards of thirty hours.”
It was only after the 23rd of June that the prospects of the besiegers
had begun to brighten. This was the hundredth anniversary of the day
on which Clive, at Plassey, had founded British rule in India; and
there had been a superstitious belief among the natives that on this
centenary the English Raj would also come to an end. Accordingly, the
Delhi mutineers, hounded on by their priests and astrologers, as well
as encouraged by copious draughts of bhang (the native intoxicant),
made an unusually vigorous push for the British position with intent to
turn it and assail it in the rear; but they were finally repulsed with
great slaughter, carrying back with them the bitter conviction that,
far from being exterminated, the British Raj was now again in a fair
way of being restored to its previous supremacy.
But perhaps the most brilliant action fought in front of Delhi--or,
rather, several miles to the west of it--was that of Nujuf-gurh. The
mutineers had got to know that our heavy siege-train, with but a
slender escort, was at last approaching, and they determined to make a
dash for it. But this was a game at which two could play, and Brigadier
Nicholson, one of the greatest heroes of the war, who had by this time
come down from the Punjab to take part in, and indeed conduct, the
siege, was despatched with the Movable Column to do diamond cut diamond
against the rebels. He found them in a very strong position, and
greatly superior to him in numbers and guns. But what did that matter?
Turning to his infantry, whom he ordered to lie down to avoid the
showers of grape, Nicholson thus addressed them: “Now, 61st, I have but
a few words to say. You all know what Sir Colin Campbell said to you
at Chillianwallah, and you must also have heard that he used a similar
expression (to his Highlanders) at the Alma: that is, ‘Hold your fire
till within twenty or thirty yards of the battery, and then, my boys,
we will make short work of it.’”
Let one of Nicholson’s officers now take up the tale:--“Our guns went
away to the flank. We got ‘Fix bayonets; quick--march!’ On we went,
in a beautiful line, at a steady pace. On we went, and we got within
some fifty yards of them, when the men gave a howl, and on we dashed,
and were slap into them before they had time to depress the guns. It
was bayonet to bayonet in a few moments, but we cut them up and spiked
the guns. We had very few men killed in the charge, as we got in
before they fired the grape. Lieutenant G., 61st, was bayoneted by a
sepoy after cutting down two. N. shot the man that did it. He had his
horse shot under him, and I saw him hand-to-hand with a sepoy, whom he
polished off with his sword.... On we went after the brutes, and cut up
a heap at the serai and behind it. We then drew up in line, rallied,
and went at the camp, took it, sent a party to take the village, and
then we went and took the guns at the bridge, over which the enemy was
bolting in thousands. Here we took six guns more. Up came our guns, and
blazed away at the enemy, and off they went, leaving a host of stores,
etc., all along the road.... I was so tired that I lay down on a hide
and fell asleep. Next morning the work of destruction was finished,
and off we marched with a lot of treasure, etc., and thirteen guns,
and brought all safe into camp, after a hard march, arriving at the
camp-bridge just in the cool of the evening, when the camp turned out
to meet us, and gave us ‘three times three,’ and played us in with some
lively airs, with a final ‘Hip--hip--hurrah!’ for the gallant 61st, who
had reserved their fire, as the Highlanders of the ‘thin, red line’
had done at Balaclava, until they had almost seen the whites of their
enemy’s eyes, and then ‘given them beans’ with bullet and bayonet.”
On the 4th of September the siege train, each gun drawn by twenty pairs
of bullocks, at last arrived, and the hearts of all the British beat
high at the thought that the assault must now soon be delivered on the
doomed city. Two days later also considerable reinforcements came in,
bringing up our little siege army to 6,500 infantry, 1,000 cavalry,
and 600 artillery--of which only 3,317 were British troops, and the
European corps were now mere skeletons of their former selves. In order
to stimulate the spirits of this miscellaneous host, Wilson issued
a general order, in which he expressed his assurance that “British
pluck and determination will carry everything before them, and that
the bloodthirsty and murderous mutineers whom we are fighting will be
driven headlong out of their stronghold and exterminated”; but, to
enable them to do this, he warned the troops of the absolute necessity
of their keeping together, and not straggling from their columns.
By this only could success be secured. “Major-General Wilson,” he
continued, “need hardly remind the troops of the cruel murders of their
officers and comrades, their wives and children, to move them to the
deadly struggle. No quarter should be given to the mutineers! At the
same time, for the sake of humanity and the honour of the country they
belong to, he calls upon them to spare all women and children that may
come in their way.”
Meanwhile the Engineers, directed by Baird-Smith, another of the giants
of this Trojan-Delhi fray, set to work in the darkness and silently
traced out the siege-batteries. A long string of camels brought in
fascines and sandbags, and hundreds of men exerted themselves to the
utmost in raising them, as the work had to be completed before dawn.
Showers of grape-shot were rained on them from the battlements, but our
devoted men worked on with a will, and by morning Battery No. 1 was in
working order and belching forth its eighteen-pound shot at such a rate
that the Moree Bastion soon became a heap of ruins. This battery was
commanded by Major Brind, of whom it was said that “he never slept,”
and would say to his men as he shouldered a musket--“Now, you lie and
rest; your commandant will defend the battery.” “We talk about Victoria
Crosses,” said someone; “Brind should be covered with them from head
to foot!” Battery No. 2, of eighteen guns, was constructed in two
portions on the left about 500 yards from the Cashmere Gate, its task
being to knock away the parapet right and left that gave cover to the
defenders, and to open the main breach by which the city was to be
stormed. Conspicuous for his cool bravery in this battery was a young
lieutenant--Roberts--who had some very narrow shaves during the siege,
but luckily escaped death in all its various forms to become one of
the most distinguished fighters ever produced by India, that cradle of
great soldiers, and to gain for himself an immortal name as the hero of
the famous march from Cabul to Candahar.
Two other batteries, Nos. 3 and 4, were also raised, one of them
mounting six eighteen-pounders; and at eight o’clock on the morning
of the 11th of September a terrific roar announced that our biggest
breaching-guns had opened fire. A loud cheer, sending the smoke
whirling away in eddies, burst from the throats of our artillerymen
as they saw how well their fire had taken effect, and beheld huge
blocks of stone tottering and tumbling down from the parapets of the
walls. Cheer after cheer went up at this most gratifying sight, and in
about ten minutes the enemy’s counter-fire from the bastions had been
completely silenced. Yet they did not at once give up the artillery
duel. For what they could not do from the walls they tried to compass
in the open, and ran out several guns, with which they did great damage
by enfilading our batteries. They also sent out rockets from their
Martello towers, and kept up a storm of musketry from their advanced
trench as well as from the walls, causing us severe loss. But who
cared for loss when Delhi was there to be won? Night and day, day and
night, did our siege-batteries belch forth their thunderbolts against
the city walls; and by the 13th of September it was concluded that the
long-wished-for time had at last arrived. Yet it behoved the besiegers
to proceed with caution, and so four Engineer officers were selected to
steal forward to the Cashmere and Water Bastions and find out whether
the breaches there were now big enough to allow of the assault.
There was no moon, but the sky was bright with stars, and with the
lurid light of flashing rockets and fire-balls. Suddenly, as the clock
struck ten, the thunder of the guns ceased, and then the explorers,
drawing their swords and feeling for their revolvers, began to creep
towards the ditch. Medley and Lang, Home and Greathed were the officers
who had volunteered for this perilous service. The two former got down
into the ditch undiscovered; but then, to quote the words of Medley
himself, “a number of figures appeared on the top of the breach, their
forms clearly discernible against the bright sky, and not twenty
yards distant. We, however, were in the deep shade, and they could
not apparently see us. They conversed in a low tone, and presently
we heard the ring of their steel ramrods as they loaded. We waited
quietly, hoping they would go away, when another attempt might be
made. Meanwhile, we could see that the breach was a good one, the slope
easy of ascent, and that there were no guns on the flank. We knew by
experience, too, that the ditch was easy of descent. It was, however,
desirable to get to the top, but the sentries would not move.” Medley
then gave the signal, and the party started to return to the camp. But
the sound of their departing feet betrayed them. “Directly we were
discovered a volley was sent after us; the balls came whizzing about
our ears, but no one was touched.” A favourable report being also
received from Home and Greathed, orders were given for the assault at
dawn.
[Illustration: THE PALACE, DELHI.]
[Illustration:
[_Photo: Frith & Co., Reigate._
THE CHANDNEE CHOUK, DELHI.]
The infantry of the storming force was divided into five columns, the
duty of the first, under Brigadier Nicholson, being to storm the breach
near the Cashmere Bastion. The second, under Brigadier Jones, had
likewise to storm the Water Bastion. To the third, commanded by Colonel
Campbell, fell the task of storming through the Cashmere Gate after it
had been blown in; while the fourth column, under Major Reid, was told
off to assault the suburb of Kissengunge and support the main attack by
effecting an entrance at the Cabul Gate after it should be taken; and
the fifth, under Brigadier Longfield, was to follow the first and act
according to circumstances.
By three o’clock the whole camp was astir. Many of the officers and
men had taken the Holy Communion the night before, and in some tents
the Old Testament lesson for the day had been read--the chapter being
that in which the doom of Nineveh was foretold. Some 6,000 men, of whom
only about 1,200 were British soldiers, were going to take a walled
city defended by 30,000 desperate and disciplined rebels. The news of
the foul and treacherous massacre at Cawnpore by the Nana Sahib had by
this time reached the soldiers, and inflamed their hearts anew with
the desire to take fearful vengeance on such barbarous foes. They had
suffered more than tongue could tell; but the hour of their retribution
and their great reward was now at hand.
[Illustration: “THE STORMERS DASHED OVER THE
_DÉBRIS_ OF THE BREACH” (_p._ 133).]
Suddenly the roar of the guns ceased, and the columns started to their
feet as the Rifles, with a loud cheer, dashed to the front in
skirmishing array. In a stern silence the storming columns tramped away
towards the ditch; but it was now bright day, for, owing to some hitch,
they had not been able to move with the dawn. The consequence was that
before they had reached the crest of the glacis, with the Engineers and
laddermen in front, numbers of them had fallen under the truly infernal
shower of bullets that was rained upon them from the walls. For several
minutes the first column found it impossible to lower the ladders and
descend into the ditch while the fiendish-looking rebels cursed and
yelled at them from the other side, daring them to come on. Presently
the ladders were thrown into the ditch, and the men, leaping down
after them, planted them against the scarp and swarmed up. Nicholson
himself, the “Lion of the Punjab,” as he was well called, was the first
to mount the breach, waving with his sword for his men to follow. In a
similar manner Lieutenant Fitzgerald led the escalade of the adjoining
bastion and fell mortally wounded. With a rousing cheer the stormers
dashed over the _débris_ of the breach like an irresistible wave
bursting in a breakwater wall. For a few minutes there was a wild chaos
of cheers, groans, yells, blazing of musketry, and clash of crossing
bayonets, and then the rebels turned and fled like a pack of wolves,
leaving this portion of their ramparts in possession of the victorious
Nicholson.
[Illustration: “OUR DEVOTED MEN WORKED ON WITH A
WILL” (_p._ 131).]
Meanwhile, the second column on the extreme left had carried the Water
Bastion by an equally successful, but an equally sacrificial, rush. For
of the thirty-nine laddermen preceding the column, twenty-nine were
struck down in a few minutes; but their comrades seized the ladders and
reared them up against the scarp, while others rushed up the breach,
and bayoneting all before them, drove the rebels from the walls. Then,
turning to the right, the stormers swept along the ramparts towards the
Cashmere Bastion, where they were joined by some of Nicholson’s men,
and, rushing ever along the walls, reached the Moree Bastion, where
they slew the gunners and leapt on to the parapets, sending up a cheer
and waving their caps to their comrades on the Ridge as a signal of
victory.