1857
George Ricketts at Ludhiana--Pushing on to Delhi
--In the camp before Delhi
The mail-cart rattled across the bridge of boats, and in less than an
hour I found myself at Ludhiana, at the house of George Ricketts,[1]
the Deputy Commissioner. Ricketts's bungalow was a resting-place for
everyone passing through _en route_ to Delhi. In one room I found
Lieutenant Williams of the 4th Sikhs, who had been dangerously wounded
three weeks before, while assisting Ricketts to prevent the Jullundur
mutineers from crossing the Sutlej.
While I was eating my breakfast, Ricketts sat down by my side and
recounted a stirring tale of all that had happened at Philour
and Ludhiana consequent on the rising of the Native regiments at
Jullundur. The mutineers had made, in the first instance, for Philour,
a small cantonment, but important from the fact of its containing a
fair-sized magazine, and from its situation, commanding the passage
of the Sutlej. It was garrisoned by the 3rd Native Infantry, which
furnished the sole guard over the magazine--a danger which, as I have
mentioned, had fortunately been recognized by the Commander-in-Chief
when he first heard of the outbreak at Meerut. The men of the 3rd
remained quiet, and even did good service in helping to drag the guns
of the siege-train across the river, and in guarding the treasury,
until the mutineers from Jullundur arrived on the 8th June. They then
gave their British officers warning to leave them, saying they did not
mean to injure them or their property, but they had determined they
would no longer serve the _Sirkar_. Twelve British officers (there
could not have been more), confronted by 3,000 sepoys, felt themselves
powerless, and retired to the fort.
Ricketts had with him at that time an assistant named Thornton,[2] who
had gone to Philour to lodge some money in the treasury. This officer
had started to ride back to Ludhiana, when he suddenly became aware of
what had happened, and how perilous was the position. Had he consulted
his own safety, he would have returned and taken refuge in the
fort, instead of which he galloped on, having to pass close by the
mutineers, until he reached the bridge of boats, which, with admirable
coolness and presence of mind, he cut behind him, then, hurrying on,
he informed Ricketts of what had taken place; and that the rebels
might shortly be expected to attempt the passage of the river.
Fortunately the 4th Sikhs from Abbottabad had that very morning
marched into Ludhiana, and Ricketts hoped, with their assistance, to
hold the sepoys in check until the arrival of the British troops,
which he believed must have been despatched from Jullundur in pursuit
of the mutineers.
The garrison of Ludhiana consisted of a detachment of the 3rd Native
Infantry, guarding the fort, in which was stored a large amount of
powder. The detachment was commanded by Lieutenant Yorke, who, on
hearing Thornton's story, went at once to the fort. He was much liked
by his men, who received him quite civilly, but told him they knew
that their regiment had joined the rebels from Jullundur, and that
they themselves could no longer obey his orders. Ricketts then
understood that he had but the 4th Sikhs and a small party of troops
belonging to the Raja of Nabha to depend upon. There were only
two officers with the 4th Sikhs--Captain Rothney, in command, and
Lieutenant Williams, the Adjutant. Taking three companies of the
regiment under Williams, and two guns of the Nabha Artillery, one
dragged by camels, the other by horses, Ricketts started off towards
the bridge of boats. Galloping on alone, he found that the gap in the
bridge made by Thornton had not been repaired, which proved that the
rebels had not crossed by that passage, at all events. He widened the
gap by cutting adrift some more boats, and then had himself ferried
across the river, in order to ascertain the exact state of affairs at
Philour. He learnt that no tidings had been received of any British
troops having been sent from Jullundur in pursuit of the mutineers,
who, having failed to get across the bridge, owing to Thornton's
timely action, had gone to a ferry reported to be three miles up the
river.
Ricketts recrossed the river as quickly as he could, and joined
Williams. It was then getting dark, but, hoping they might still be
in time to check the rebels, they pushed on in the direction of the
ferry, which proved to be nearer six than three miles away. The ground
was rough and broken, as is always the case on the banks of Indian
rivers, swollen as they often are by torrents from the hills, which
leave behind boulders and debris of all kinds. They made but little
way; one of the gun-camels fell lame, the guides disappeared, and they
began to despair of reaching the ferry in time, when suddenly there
was a challenge and they know they were too late. The sepoys had
succeeded in crossing the river and were bivouacking immediately in
front of them.
It was not a pleasant position, but it had to be made the best of; and
both the civilian and the soldier agreed that their only chance was
to fight. Williams opened fire with his Infantry, and Ricketts took
command of the guns. At the first discharge the horses bolted with the
limber, and never appeared again; almost at the same moment Williams
fell, shot through the body. Ricketts continued the fight until his
ammunition was completely expended, when he was reluctantly obliged to
retire to a village in the neighbourhood, but not until he had killed,
as he afterwards discovered, about fifty of the enemy.
Ricketts returned to Ludhiana early the next morning, and later in
the day the mutineers passed through the city. They released some 500
prisoners who were in the gaol, and helped themselves to what food
they wanted, but they did not enter the cantonment or the fort. The
gallant little attempt to close the passage of the Sutlej was entirely
frustrated, owing to the inconceivable want of energy displayed by the
so-called 'pursuing force'; had it pushed on, the rebels must have
been caught in the act of crossing the river, when Ricketts's small
party might have afforded considerable help. The Europeans from
Jullundur reached Philour before dark on the 8th; they heard the
firing of Ricketts's guns, but no attempt was made by the officer in
command to ascertain the cause, and they came leisurely on to Ludhiana
the following day.
Having listened with the greatest interest to Ricketts's story, and
refreshed the inner man, I resumed my journey, and reached Umballa
late in the afternoon of the 27th, not sorry to get under shelter, for
the monsoon, which had been threatening for some days past, burst with
great fury as I was leaving Ludhiana.
On driving to the dâk-bungalow I found it crowded with officers, some
of whom had been waiting there for days for an opportunity to go on to
Delhi; they laughed at me when I expressed my intention of proceeding
at once, and told me that the seats on the mail-carts had to be
engaged several days in advance, and that I might make up my mind to
stay where I was for some time to come. I was not at all prepared for
this, and I determined to get on by hook or by crook; as a preliminary
measure, I made friends with the postmaster, from whose office the
mail-carts started. From him I learnt that my only chance was to
call upon the Deputy-Commissioner, by whose orders the seats were
distributed. I took the postmaster's advice, and thus became
acquainted with Douglas Forsyth, who in later years made a name for
himself by his energetic attempts to establish commercial relations
with Yarkand and Kashgar. Forsyth confirmed what I had already heard,
but told me that an extra cart was to be despatched that night, laden
with small-arm ammunition, on which I could, if I liked, get a seat,
adding: 'Your kit must be of the smallest, as there will be no room
for anything inside the cart.'
I returned to the dâk-bungalow, overjoyed at my success, to find
myself quite an important personage, with everyone my friend, like the
boy at school who is the lucky recipient of a hamper from home. 'Take
me with you!' was the cry on all sides. Only two others besides the
driver and myself could possibly go, and then only by carrying our
kits in our laps. It was finally arranged that Captain Law and
Lieutenant Packe should be my companions. Packe was lamed for life
by a shot through his ankle before we had been forty-eight hours
at Delhi, and Law was killed on the 23rd July, having greatly
distinguished himself by his gallantry and coolness under fire during
the short time he served with the force.
We got to Kurnal soon after daybreak on the 28th. It was occupied by a
few of the Raja of Jhind's troops, a Commissariat officer, and one or
two civilians, who were trying to keep the country quiet and collect
supplies. Before noon we passed through Panipat, where there was a
strong force of Patiala and Jhind troops, and early in the afternoon
we reached Alipur. Here our driver pulled up, declaring he would go no
further. A few days before there had been a sharp fight on the road
between Alipur and Delhi, not far from Badli-ki-Serai, where the
battle of the 8th June had taken place, and as the enemy were
constantly on the road threatening the rear of the besieging force,
the driver did not consider it safe to go on. We could not, however,
stop at Alipur, so after some consultation we settled to take the
mail-cart ponies and ride on to camp. We could hear the boom of guns
at intervals, and as we neared Delhi we came across several dead
bodies of the enemy. It is a curious fact that most of these bodies
were exactly like mummies; there was nothing disagreeable about them.
Why this should have been the case I cannot say, but I often wished
during the remainder of the campaign that the atmospheric influences,
which, I presume, had produced this effect, could assert themselves
more frequently.
We stopped for a short time to look at the position occupied by the
enemy at Badli-ki-Serai; but none of us were in the mood to enjoy
sight-seeing. We had never been to Delhi before, and had but the
vaguest notion where the Ridge (the position our force was holding)
was, or how the city was situated with regard to our camp. The sound
of heavy firing became louder and louder, and we knew that fighting
must be going on. The driver had solemnly warned us of the risk we
were running in continuing our journey, and when we came to the point
where the Grand Trunk Road bifurcates, one branch going direct to the
city and the other through the cantonment, we halted for a few minutes
to discuss which we should take. Fortunately for us, we settled to
follow that which led to the cantonment, and, as it was then getting
dark, we pushed on as fast as our tired ponies could go. The relief
to us when we found ourselves safe inside our own piquets may be
imagined. My father's old staff-officer, Henry Norman, who was then
Assistant-Adjutant-General at Head-Quarters, kindly asked me to share
his tent until I could make other arrangements. He had no bed to offer
me, but I required none, as I was thoroughly tired out, and all I
wanted was a spot on which to throw myself down. A good night's rest
quite set me up. I awoke early, scarcely able to believe in my good
fortune. I was actually at Delhi, and the city was still in the
possession of the mutineers.
[Footnote 1: George Ricketts, Esq., C.B., afterwards a member of the
Board of Revenue of the North-West Provinces.]
[Footnote 2: Thomas Thornton, Esq., C.S.I., afterwards Secretary to
the Government of India in the Foreign Department.]
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