INDIA.--SOME OTHER CROSSES OF THE MUTINY.
The full tale of the Crosses of the Mutiny (do they not number one
hundred and eighty-two in all?) is a long one, and cannot be told here.
But before bringing this chapter of V.C. history to a close I must tell
of yet a few more and the manner of their winning, for they call to mind
deeds which we ought not willingly to let fade from our memories.
I would like much to dwell, did space permit, on Lawrence’s heroic stand
at the Lucknow Residency; to tell of Lieutenant Robert Aitken of the
Bailey Guard “Post,” who won the V.C. many times over in that six-months’
siege; of brave Commissioner Gubbins; and of Captain Fulton, the garrison
engineer, who had a countermine for every mine that the rebels drove
under the British defences, and to whom the dangerous game of sepoy
hunting above and below earth was “great fun and excitement.” They
were gallant fellows all, and the record of their exploits is truly an
inspiring one; but I must hurry on to the taking of Lucknow, and to the
story of the V.C.’s gained in that last desperate struggle for supremacy.
When Sir Colin Campbell started on his march to the relief of Havelock
and Outram he had an army of only some 4700 men, but in this force were
picked regiments such as the 93rd Highlanders, the 9th Lancers, Hodson’s
Horse, the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, and the 53rd Foot (the “Shropshires”),
together with some squadrons of Sikh cavalry and two regiments of Punjab
infantry. The famous 93rd were Sir Colin’s special favourites. They had
been with him in the Crimea, and had formed the “thin red line” which
had so successfully routed the Russian cavalry. “You are my own lads,
Ninety-third!” he said, addressing them at the parade at Buntera, “and
I rely on you to do the work;” to which the stern-faced Highlanders,
mindful of what had been done at Cawnpore, responded with a mighty shout.
How well the 93rd acquitted themselves is to be read in any history; what
is of particular interest here is that they gained no fewer than seven
Crosses in the Lucknow fighting.
Four of these belong to the fierce assault on the Secunderabagh, the
first and most formidable rebel position to be attacked. When the
artillery had made a breach in the face of the fortress wall there was a
race between Sikhs and Highlanders to be the first in. Accounts differ as
to the result; some say a Sikh won the honour, being shot dead instantly;
others a Highlander, who suffered the same fate. However that may be,
it is pretty certain that Lance-Corporal Dunley of the 93rd (Archibald
Forbes writes him down an Irishman) was the first man of his regiment to
reach the goal and get through alive.
Behind him streamed Highlanders and Sikhs, tumbling in with bayonets
fixed, before which the sepoys fell in scores. There were upwards of 2000
rebels in the Secunderabagh, and but three or four, says Lord Roberts,
dropped over the wall on the city side and escaped. Every other man of
them was killed. The carnage that took place within the courtyard almost
passes description.
In the first terrible rush, which resolved itself into a series of
personal combats, Private P. Grant and Colour-Sergeant J. Munro
distinguished themselves by saving the lives of two officers. Grant saw
his officer in difficulties with a crowd of sepoys whose colour he had
captured, and rushing up cut down five of the rebels. That was not the
only sepoy ensign taken that day, for Private D. Mackay secured one after
a fierce contest and bore it triumphantly away.
Dunley, Grant, Munro, and Mackay were elected by their comrades as
most worthy to be decorated when their regiment was singled out for
distinction, and each duly received the V.C.
There was a Punjabi Mahommedan, by the way, Mukarrab Khan by name, who
in this same Secunderabagh fight earned the V.C. as much as did any man.
Lord Roberts, who was an eye-witness, tells the story of his bravery. The
enemy, he says, having been driven out of the earthwork, made for the
gateway, which they nearly succeeded in shutting behind them. But just
as the doors were closing Mukarrab Khan pushed his left arm, on which he
bore a shield, between them. A sword-cut slashed his hand, whereupon the
dauntless Mahommedan, withdrawing his left arm, thrust in his right, and
had his other hand all but severed at the wrist. He gained his object,
however, for he kept the doors from being closed until his comrades
rushed to his help and forced them open.
It was an act of heroic devotion, and it is satisfactory to know that
Mukarrab Khan was awarded the Order of Merit, which is the Indian
equivalent of the V.C., and carries with it an increase of pay.
At the taking of the Shah Nujeef, on the same day, the 16th of November
1857, Sergeant John Paton, of the 93rd, did a daring thing, which added
another V.C. to the regimental record.
The Shah Nujeef was a mosque built over the tomb of an old king of Oudh,
a massively built structure with loopholed walls, and the guns of the
Naval Brigade, under Captain Peel, were unable to make a breach. As night
was fast coming on, Sir Colin Campbell determined to make a bold effort
to carry the place by storm, and called on the Highlanders to follow him.
That the 93rd would have scaled the walls of the mosque though half of
them fell in the task need not be doubted, but fortunately they were not
called on to do so.
Soon after the order to advance had been given, Sergeant Paton came
tearing down the ravine with the news that he had discovered a breach in
the north-east corner of the rampart, close by the river Goomtee. “It
appears,” says Forbes-Mitchell of the 93rd, who records the incident,
“that our shot and shell had gone over the first breach, and had blown
out the wall on the other side in this particular spot. Paton told how he
had climbed up to the top of the ramparts without difficulty, and seen
right inside the place, as the whole defending force had been called
forward to repulse the assault in front.”
A detachment was promptly sent round to this point with the sergeant as
guide, and an entrance to the position effected. But the sepoys, finding
themselves thus taken in the rear, gave up the fight and fled with all
speed.
The other two V.C. heroes of the Highlanders were Captain Stewart, who
headed a splendid charge against the rebel guns at the position known as
the Mess-house; and Lieutenant and Adjutant William M’Bean, who at the
onslaught on the Begumbagh Palace bore himself like a paladin of old, and
was seen to slay eleven sepoys single-handed. M’Bean was a mighty figure
in a corps wherein every man was a doughty fighter, and the tale of his
exploits is a notable one. An Inverness ploughman before he enlisted, he
rose to command the regiment which he had entered as a private, and died
a Major-General.
I have mentioned the Naval Brigade in connection with the attack on the
Shah Nujeef. Peel’s gallant bluejackets, whom we last met doing great
things at Sebastopol, had been hurried to India from their station at
Hong Kong, immediately news arrived of the outbreak of the Mutiny; and
after smelling powder at Cawnpore and other places they accompanied the
relief army to Lucknow.
Right up under the frowning walls of the mosque did they run their useful
24-pounders, as coolly as if “laying alongside an enemy’s frigate,” to
use Sir Colin’s own words. But the guns were not powerful enough to
break down the masonry. Despite the obvious hopelessness of the task,
however, Lieutenant Young and Seaman William Hall (a negro, be it noted)
fearlessly stood by their gun, reloading and pounding away at the wall
under a most deadly fire, and only desisting when the order eventually
came to fall back. They both got the V.C. for that gallant action.
The other Crosses that fell to the Naval men in the same fight were won
by a young lieutenant whose name still figures on the Active List as
Admiral Sir Nowell Salmon, G.C.B., and Boatswain’s Mate John Harrison.
These two pluckily volunteered to climb trees that overlooked the mosque
walls and reconnoitre the rebel position, at the same time picking off
the sepoys with their rifles. A mark at once for the rebel sharpshooters,
who quickly espied them, both men drew upon themselves a heavy fire,
but though they were wounded they accounted for several mutineers ere
clambering down from their perches, and secured valuable information for
their commander.
In the taking of Lucknow young Lieutenant Henry Havelock, son of the
famous General, played a prominent part, leading a storming party that
captured a palace close to the rebel citadel, the Kaisarbagh. But he had
won his V.C. before this, at Cawnpore, where he captured a rebel gun in
the face of an appalling fire; and at the Charbagh Bridge, Lucknow, while
serving under his father.
His action at the latter place was characteristic of his impulsive
bravery. Neill, who held a position by the bridge, would not move to
“rush” the sepoys and their guns without orders from Outram. Wheeling
his horse, it is said, young Havelock rode off in the direction of the
General and his staff, but soon after turning the bend in the road he
galloped hastily back to trick Neill into taking action. Giving a salute,
he said, “You are to carry the bridge at once, sir!”
Taking this to be an order from the General, Neill gave the word to
advance, and Arnold of the Madras Fusiliers led his men forward in a
gallant charge, being shot down almost immediately. A storm of grape
swept the bridge clear, and Havelock found himself the only officer--and
almost the only man--standing there alive. With a wave of his sword and
a shout to the rest of the Fusiliers whom the guns had checked, he led a
second charge, and this time the bridge was won.
Young Havelock’s gallantry in the Indian Mutiny marked him out for a
distinguished career, and he did not disappoint those who prophesied
thus concerning him. As is well known, he became in after years
Lieutenant-General Sir Henry Havelock-Allan, Bart., K.C.B.
Among the many other pictures of the Mutiny that present themselves
vividly to my mind is one of a young Fusilier officer swimming the river
Goomtee in plain sight of any sepoys who might be upon the farther
bank, and audaciously climbing up the parapet of a rebel battery. It
had been shelled by our troops, but with what success was not known. He
stands there on the wall signalling to his impatient comrades that it is
abandoned, but it is some time ere their officers will let them follow
where he has led. The Highlanders and Sikhs get across the river at last,
however, and with a laugh at the discomfited sepoys who have been vainly
trying to “pot” him from an adjacent battery, the young officer--Butler
by name--hands over his captured position to the new-comers, and swims
back to his own regiment.
That was a V.C. exploit, and it holds the imagination as much as does
that which won the decoration for Ensign Patrick Roddy of the Bengal
Army. The scene of Roddy’s achievement was Kuthirga, and the date
September 27, 1858. At the close of an action with a rebel force at this
place some of the cavalry were kept at bay for some time by a determined
sepoy subadar of a revolted regiment, a tall, powerful fellow. This man
knelt alone in the middle of the road and with musket at shoulder covered
his enemies.
While his sowars hung back, afraid to face that gleaming barrel, young
Roddy did not hesitate. Spurring his horse, he charged straight upon the
rebel subadar, who firing at close range brought down the ensign’s horse.
Roddy had some difficulty in freeing himself from the stirrups as he lay
on the ground, but ere the sepoy could get really to grips with him he
managed to draw his sword, and in the tussle ran the fellow through the
body. Sir Hope Grant had had occasion previously to remark on the young
ensign’s conspicuous bravery, and he took care that this special feat was
fittingly rewarded.
Mention of Roddy’s hand-to-hand combat reminds me of the great fight
between Sapper Sam Shaw, of the Rifle Brigade, and a white muslin-clad
Ghazi, at Nawabgunge. It was after the sharp action at that place in June
1858 that the fanatic was seen to enter a grove of trees. A dozen men
hastened in pursuit, but Shaw was easily the first, and coming up with
his man he engaged him with the short sword that sappers carry.
A Ghazi at best is a dangerous fellow to tackle, and a Ghazi wounded
and at bay, as this one was, might well have made Sam Shaw hesitate
before venturing to attack him alone. But the sapper was not a man to
think twice of danger, and in he went, sword against tulwar, until after
several minutes’ fierce hacking and thrusting he saw his chance to close,
and finished the affair with a mighty lunge.
It was a great fight, as I have said, and Sapper Shaw well earned the
V.C. he got for it. But against his decoration he had to put a terrible
slashing cut on the head from that keen-edged tulwar, a wound that came
very near to ending his career then and there.
Last on my list of Mutiny V.C.’s come Lance-Corporal William Goate, of
the 9th Lancers, and that popular hero, Sir Evelyn Wood, whose names
still figure in the list of surviving recipients of the Cross for Valour.
Goate had just been three years and a half in the Lancers when the
Mutiny broke out. His regiment was stationed at Umballa at the time, and
proceeded at once to Delhi. After the fall of the old Punjab capital
he was at the second captures of Cawnpore and Lucknow, taking part in
some of the fiercest engagements of the campaign, and it was here--at
Lucknow--that he performed the deed of valour which won him the Cross.
On the 6th of March--a blazing hot day, it is recorded--there was a bold
sortie from the rebel lines which a British brigade was sent to repulse.
The 9th Lancers was one of the regiments ordered to charge, and away they
went, neck and neck with the 2nd Dragoons, for the enemy who had taken up
their position on the racecourse. The sepoys broke before the onset of
the cavalrymen, but the latter at length had to retire owing to a heavy
fire from artillery and battery.
In the ride back Major Percy Smith, of the Dragoons, was shot through the
body and fell from his horse. Corporal Goate was close by, and springing
to the ground he quickly lifted the major on to his shoulder and ran with
him thus alongside his horse. The major was a heavy weight, however;
Goate found himself lagging behind with several of the enemy close upon
him. Clearly he couldn’t get away with his burden, so he determined to do
what he could for himself and the major. Placing the wounded officer on
the ground, he sprang into his saddle and rode at his foes.
“I shot the first sepoy who charged,” he says in his account of the
incident, “and with my empty pistol felled another. This gave me time to
draw my sword, my lance having been left on the field. The sepoys were
now round me cutting and hacking, but I managed to parry every slash and
deliver many a fatal thrust. It was parry and thrust, thrust and parry
all through, and I cannot tell you how many saddles I must have emptied.
The enemy didn’t seem to know how to parry.”
So our brave corporal (he was only a little more than twenty, mind you)
“settled accounts with a jolly lot,” and was still hard at it when some
of his comrades came to his assistance. In the fight his horse had
carried him some distance from where the major lay, and when the rebels
had been forced back he went out again to look for him. Poor Major Smith
was found after a long search, but it was a mutilated corpse that was
brought sadly and reverently back to the camp.
Sir Colin Campbell and Sir Hope Grant had seen Goate’s gallant attempt at
rescue, and after the action there was a cordial handshake for him from
both the veterans, with many compliments upon his pluck that filled the
corporal with just pride.
The scene of Sir Evelyn Wood’s principal exploit was the wilds of
Sindhora, near Gwalior. It was at the close of the Mutiny, when the
rebels had been split up and only kept the fires of rebellion burning in
detached districts. After a fatiguing pursuit of some mutineers one day,
news came to the young officer’s ears (he was a lieutenant in the 17th
Lancers then) that a potail--a loyal native named Chemmum Singh--had been
carried off by a band of these marauders. With a duffadar, two or three
sowars of Beatson’s Horse, and half a dozen sepoys of the Bareilly Levy,
he started off promptly in pursuit.
The mutineers were discovered at night in the jungle, twelve miles away,
preparing to hang their captive. Creeping up unseen, Lieutenant Wood and
his few followers sprang upon them from several points at once, firing a
volley and shouting as if they had a whole company behind them. This was
enough for the rebels. They took to their heels incontinently, and before
they could rally and discover the numbers of their assailants Wood and
his men were riding swiftly back with the released potail.
That daring adventure, together with a very notable rout of rebel cavalry
at Sindwaho a little earlier, was sufficient recommendation for the V.C.,
and the honour, though slow in coming, was eventually bestowed upon him.
It is curious to note how persistently the authorities refused to
recognise Evelyn Wood’s valour. In the Crimea, where as a middy he
served with the Naval Brigade, he was singled out for distinction for
his bravery at the Redan assault; but his claim was ignored, despite the
strong protests of his commander, Captain Lushington.
His subsequent career, after he had abandoned the Navy for the Army,
should be well known to every British boy. There has not been a war since
the Mutiny in which he has not played a leading part,--witness the
Ashanti, Zulu, Transvaal, and Egyptian campaigns,--and to-day there is
no finer soldier in the service than the ex-Sirdar of the Egyptian army,
Field-Marshal Sir Henry Evelyn Wood, G.C.B.