THE EL-HAMET DISASTER
Colonel McLeod’s death and losses of his detachment—Captain Mackay
honoured by Turkish Pasha—Return to Sicily—78th goes to
England—Attack of ophthalmia
WE had soon another trial awaiting us. When we got to Etcho there was no
appearance of Colonel McLeod or his detachment, nor any message from
him. It was therefore at once determined to march back to El-Hamet, to
ascertain his fate; and there we received information that Colonel
McLeod had been attacked that morning by a large force of Turks in boats
from Cairo, and the whole of his detachment destroyed, and he, that good
and promising soldier, was amongst the first who fell. After a short
council of war we again wheeled about and marched back to Etcho, where
we camped for the night. Next day we continued our retreat to
Alexandria, where we arrived without any further molestation.
Day by day several rumours reached us about our lost detachment and the
gallant defence they made, but nothing positive or upon which we could
rely, until the sudden appearance, six weeks afterwards, at Alexandria
of Lieutenant Mathieson, who was one of the survivors, who now came to
us in a Turkish dress with some proposals from the Turks at Cairo. From
him we learnt that they were attacked most unexpectedly on the morning
of the 21st April by a large Turkish force, who came down the Nile in
boats from Cairo, on their way to Rosetta, and after gallantly resisting
until more than two-thirds of their number were either killed or
wounded, and the last rounds of ammunition expended, the remnant were
overpowered and obliged to surrender. He also described their position
at El-Hamet. Colonel McLeod and the main force were stationed on the top
of a hill, and detachments of fifty, thirty, and twenty men were posted
round the base, in the strongest possible places, with orders to fall
back on the main body if attacked. While so posted and before daylight,
the enemy landed from their boats, surrounded the hill, and at once
commenced the attack. Our men fought desperately, for they expected no
quarter, and numbers fell. Captain Colin Mackay with his grenadier
company commanded one of the outposts, and, like all the others, fought
heroically; but his two subalterns, McCrae and Christie, and nearly half
his men were soon killed. He himself received a fearful sabre cut in the
neck (from which, although he lived for many years, he never completely
recovered) and also a severe musket wound in the thigh, both of which
rendered him at once prostrate. But Mackay’s spirit was not gone, for he
then ordered his few remaining men to leave him to die there, and to
make the best of their retreat to the headquarters; but this they would
not do, declaring to a man that they would sooner die with him, than
leave him. Two of his remaining sergeants then got their captain on
their shoulders and succeeded under a heavy fire in carrying him off in
safety to the top of the hill, and there learnt that their Colonel was
already amongst the slain.
The command then devolved upon a Major Vogalson (a German); he at once
wished to surrender, fixing his white handkerchief on the top of his
sword, as a sign of truce to the enemy. Colin Mackay lay under a gun
bleeding and suffering severely from his wound, but he happily still
retained his senses, and being told that Major Vogalson wished to
surrender he cried out, “Soldiers, never, never while we have a round
left!” upon which they cheered him again and again, and set Major
Vogalson’s authority completely aside; thus they actually continued to
fight until the very last round of their ammunition was gone. The enemy
pressed in upon them, and after a desperate struggle they were
overpowered and obliged to surrender. The Turkish Pasha who commanded,
then rode up and inquired, “Where is the brave man who has so long and
so ably resisted me?” Colin Mackay, the hero of the day, was pointed out
to him lying still in agony under a gun, on which Ali Pasha dismounted
and, creeping near Mackay, took the sword off his own neck and shoulders
and placed it gracefully on Mackay, saying, “You are indeed a brave man,
and you deserve to wear my sword.” From that time and long afterwards
(although still a prisoner) he received the most marked attentions from
the Pasha.
The few prisoners who survived were then secured, the dead were
decapitated (and I fear many of the wounded also), and their living
comrades were forced to carry their heads in sacks to the boats, and
poor Colonel McLeod’s conspicuous amongst the number. Most of the enemy
then embarked with their prisoners and their trophies and returned in
triumph to Cairo. There the heads of the dead were exhibited on poles
for some weeks round the principal palaces of the authorities. The
survivors were committed to confinement, and the officers were allowed
at large on their paroles and treated well, especially Captain Mackay,
who continued to receive the most marked attentions from every one. In
this state they remained nearly eight months, when, after a variety of
negotiations, they were exchanged and sent back to join us at
Alexandria.
In another month the whole of our force left Egypt and returned to
Sicily, far from proud of the result of our unfortunate and badly
managed expedition. The 78th went to Messina, and, without landing, were
ordered to Gibraltar, and on arrival there were sent direct to England.
Here I must mention that during the last eight months of our inactive
life in Egypt our troops suffered much from ophthalmia. I was for many
months laid up from that fearful malady, from which I suffer to this
day, as I have partially lost the sight of my right eye; many of our men
lost one, some both eyes, and became totally blind. From that period
until now I have been subject to occasional attacks of inflammation of
the eyes, so bad in 1821 and 1822 that I was recommended by my medical
attendants to apply for a pension. This I did through Lord Palmerston,
then Secretary of War, on which I was ordered for treatment and report
to Fort Pitt at Chatham, where for six weeks I was exposed to all kinds
of pains and penalties. In consequence, I received a letter from Lord
Palmerston saying that His Majesty was pleased to grant me the pension
of an ensign, that being the rank I held when I received the injury to
my sight. I wrote back to thank his lordship, but saying that, as the
regulations for pensions had been changed, the amount now being allowed
to increase with the rank of the individual so favoured, I still hoped,
as I was now a captain, I should not be made a solitary exception to the
rule. To this I received a reply ordering me again to Fort Pitt for
treatment there. I remained under similar torture for another month.
Soon after, I had a third reply, informing me that on the second report
of the medical board His Majesty was pleased to grant me the pension of
a lieutenant. I was then quartered in the Isle of Wight, so got leave of
absence and went to London, determined in so good a cause to see Lord
Palmerston in person. I was admitted, and then renewed my application
and entreated his lordship to reconsider my case, adding that not only
one eye was nearly gone but the other suffering much also. He was
writing at the time and never took his pen from his paper, yet he was
very kind and appeared to listen to me attentively; then, looking up,
said, “I must put you on half-pay, sir, if you are so great a sufferer.”
I said, “I hope not, my lord, while I am able to do my duty, as I have
nothing else to depend upon but my commission.” He then smiled and said,
“Well, write to me again, and I shall see what can be done.” I did so,
and in due course had the satisfaction to receive a notification stating
that under the circumstances of my case His Majesty was graciously
pleased to grant me the pension of a captain.
But to return from this long digression to where I left my early history
in the brave 78th, I proceed to say that after finally leaving Gibraltar
we arrived safely in Portsmouth and marched for Canterbury, a few months
after to Chichester, and then to the Isle of Wight, where we detached in
companies to all parts of the island. I was sent even further with a
small detachment to Selsea barracks in Sussex, to take charge of a large
ophthalmic depot of that station.
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