START FOR LUCKNOW--SIR COLIN--THE DILKOOSHA--MARTINIERE--SECUNDRABAGH
When proceeding on our march to Lucknow it was clear as noonday to the
meanest capacity that we were now in an enemy's country. None of the
villages along the route were inhabited, the only visible signs of life
about them being a few mangy pariah dogs. The people had all fled on the
first advance of Havelock, and had not returned; and it needed no great
powers of observation to fully understand that the whole population of
Oude was against us.
The deserted villages gave the country a miserable appearance. Not only
were they forsaken, but we found, on reaching our first halting-ground,
that the whole of the small bazaar of camp-followers, consisting of
goat-herds, bread, milk, and butter-sellers, etc., which had accompanied
us from Allahabad, had returned to Cawnpore, none daring to accompany
the force into Oude. This was most disappointing for young soldiers with
good appetites and sound digestions, who depended on bazaar
_chupatties_,[6] with a _chittack_[7] of butter and a pint of goat's
milk at the end of the march, to eke out the scanty commissariat
allowance of rations. What made the privation the more keenly felt, was
the custom of serving out at one time three days' biscuits, supposed to
run four to the pound, but which, I fear, were often short weight.
Speaking for myself, I did not control my appetite, but commenced to eat
from my haversack on the march, the whole of my three days' biscuits
usually disappearing before we reached the first halting-ground, and
believe me, I ran no danger of a fit of indigestion. To demolish twelve
ordinary-sized ship's biscuits, during a march of twenty to twenty-five
miles, was no great tax on a young and healthy stomach.
I may here remark that my experience is that, after a forced march, it
would be far more beneficial to the men if the general commanding were
to serve out an extra ration of tea or coffee with a pound of bread or
biscuit instead of extra grog. The latter was often issued during the
forced marches of the Mutiny, but never an extra ration of food; and my
experience is that a pint of good tea is far more refreshing than a dram
of rum. Let me also note here most emphatically that regimental canteens
and the fixed ration of rum in the field are the bane of the army. At
the same time I am no teetotaller. In addition to the bazaar people, our
cooks and _dhobies_[8] had also deserted. This was not such a serious
matter for the Ninety-Third just fresh from the Crimea, as it was for
the old Indian regiments. Men for cooking were at once told off for
each of our tents; but the cooking-utensils had also gone with the
cooks, or not come on; the rear-guard had seen nothing of them. There
were, however, large copper water-cans attached to each tent, and these
were soon brought into use for cooking, and plenty of earthen pots were
to be found in the deserted houses of the villagers. Highlanders, and
especially Highlanders who are old campaigners, are not lacking in
resources where the preparation of food is concerned.
I will relate a rather amusing incident which happened to the men of the
colour-sergeant's tent of my company,--Colour-Sergeant David Morton, a
Fifeshire man, an old soldier of close on twenty years' service, one of
the old "unlimited service" men, whose regimental number was 1100, if I
remember rightly. A soldier's approximate service, I may here state, can
almost always be told from his regimental number, as each man on
enlisting takes the next consecutive number in the regiment, and as
these numbers often range up to 8000 or even 10,000 before commencing
again at No. 1, it is obvious that the earlier numbers indicate the
oldest soldiers. The men in the Ninety-Third with numbers between 1000
and 2000 had been with the regiment in Canada before the Crimean war, so
David Morton, it will be seen, was an old soldier; but he had never seen
tobacco growing in the field, and in the search for fuel to cook a
dinner, he had come across a small plot of luxuriant tobacco leaf. He
came back with an armful of it for Duncan Mackenzie, who was the
improvised cook for the men of his tent, and told us all that he had
secured a rare treat for our soup, having fallen on a plot of "real
Scotch curly kail!" The men were all hungry, and the tobacco leaves were
soon chopped fine, washed, and put into the soup. But when that soup was
cooked it was a "caution." I was the only non-smoker in the squad, and
was the first to detect that instead of "real Scotch curly kail" we had
got "death in the pot!" As before remarked we were all hungry, having
marched over twenty miles since we had last tasted food. Although
noticing that there was something wrong about the soup and the "curly
kail," I had swallowed enough to act as a powerful emetic before I was
aware of the full extent of the bitter taste. At first we feared it was
a deadly poison, and so we were all much relieved when the _bheestie_,
who picked up some of the rejected stalks, assured us that it was only
green tobacco which had been cooked in the soup.
The desertion of our camp-followers was significant. An army in India is
followed by another army whose general or commander-in-chief is the
bazaar _kotwal_.[9] These people carry all their household goods and
families with them, their only houses being their little tents. The
elder men, at the time of which I write, could all talk of the victories
of Lords Lake and Combermere, and the Caubul war of 1840-42, and the
younger hands could tell us of the victories of Lords Gough and Hardinge
in the Punjab. The younger generations took up the handicrafts of their
fathers, as barbers, cobblers, cooks, shoeblacks, and so forth, a motley
hive bred in camps but unwarlike, always in the rear of the army. Most
of these camp-followers were low-caste Hindoos, very few of them were
Mahommedans, except the _bheesties_. I may remark that the _bheesties_
and the _dooly_-bearers (the latter were under the hospital guard) were
the only camp-followers who did not desert us when we crossed into
Oude.[10] The natives fully believed that our column was doomed to
extermination; there is no doubt that they knew of the powerful force
collecting in our rear, consisting of the Gwalior Contingent, which had
never yet been beaten and was supposed to be invincible; also of the
Central India mutineers who were gathering for a fresh attack on
Cawnpore under the leadership of Nana Sahib, Kooer Sing, Tantia Topee,
and other commanders. But we learned all this afterwards, when this army
retook Cawnpore in our rear, which story I will relate in its proper
place. For the present, we must resume our advance into Oude.
Every hour's march brought us three miles nearer Lucknow, and before we
made our first halt, we could distinctly hear the guns of the enemy
bombarding the Residency. Foot-sore and tired as they were, the report
of each salvo made the men step out with a firmer tread and a more
determined resolve to overcome all difficulties, and to carry relief to
the beleaguered garrison and the helpless women and children. I may
mention that the cowardly treachery of the enemy, and their barbarous
murders of women and children, had converted the war of the Mutiny into
a _guerre a la mort_,--a war of the most cruel and exterminating form,
in which no quarter was given on either side. Up to the final relief of
Lucknow and the second capture of Cawnpore, and the total rout of the
Gwalior Contingent on the 6th of December, 1857, it would have been
impossible for the Europeans to have guarded their prisoners, and, for
that reason, it was obvious that prisoners were not to be taken; while
on the part of the rebels, wherever they met a Christian or a white man,
he was at once slain without pity or remorse, and natives who attempted
to assist or conceal a distressed European did so at the risk of their
own lives and property. It was both horrible and demoralising for the
army to be engaged in such a war. Looking back to those days, over my
long experience of thirty-five years in India, I must admit that, with
few exceptions, the European soldiers went through the terrible scenes
of the Mutiny with great moderation, especially where women and
children, or even unarmed men, came into their power.
On the 10th of November the total force that could be collected for the
final relief of Lucknow was encamped on the plain about five miles in
front of the Alumbagh. The total strength was under five thousand of all
arms, and the only really complete regiment was the Ninety-Third
Highlanders. By this time the whole regiment, consisting of ten
companies, had reached the front, numbering over a thousand men in the
prime of manhood, about seven hundred of them having the Crimean medals
on their breasts. By the afternoon of the 11th of November, the whole
force had been told off into brigades. The Fifty-Third Shropshire Light
Infantry, the Ninety-Third, and the Fourth Punjab Infantry, just come
down from Delhi with Sir Hope Grant, formed the fourth brigade, under
Colonel the Hon. Adrian Hope of the Ninety-Third as brigadier. If I am
not mistaken the whole of the Fifty-Third regiment were not present. I
think there were only six or seven companies, and there was no
field-officer, Captain Walton, late commandant of the Calcutta
Volunteers, being the senior captain present.[11] Under these
circumstances Colonel Gordon, of ours, was temporarily put in command of
the Fifty-Third. The whole force was formed up in a line of columns on
the afternoon of the 11th for the inspection of the Commander-in-Chief.
The Ninety-Third formed the extreme left of the line in quarter-distance
column, in full Highland costume, with feather bonnets and dark waving
plumes, a solid mass of brawny-limbed men. I have never seen a more
magnificent regiment than the Ninety-Third looked that day, and I was,
and still am, proud to have formed one of its units.
The old Chief rode along the line, commencing from the right, halting
and addressing a short speech to each corps as he came along. The eyes
of the Ninety-Third were eagerly turned towards Sir Colin and his staff
as he advanced, the men remarking among themselves that none of the
other corps had given him a single cheer, but had taken whatever he had
said to them in solemn silence. At last he approached us; we were called
to attention, and formed close column, so that every man might hear what
was said. When Sir Colin rode up, he appeared to have a worn and haggard
expression on his face, but he was received with such a cheer, or rather
shout of welcome, as made the echoes ring from the Alumbagh and the
surrounding woods. His wrinkled brow at once became smooth, and his
wearied-looking features broke into a smile, as he acknowledged the
cheer by a hearty salute, and addressed us almost exactly as follows. I
stood near him and heard every word. "Ninety-Third! when I took leave of
you in Portsmouth, I never thought I should see you again. I expected
the bugle, or maybe the bagpipes, to sound a call for me to go somewhere
else long before you would be likely to return to our dearly-loved home.
But another commander has decreed it otherwise, and here I am prepared
to lead you through another campaign. And I must tell you, my lads,
there is work of difficulty and danger before us,--harder work and
greater dangers than any we encountered in the Crimea. But I trust to
you to overcome the difficulties and to brave the dangers. The eyes of
the people at home,--I may say the eyes of Europe and of the whole of
Christendom are upon us, and we must relieve our countrymen, women, and
children, now shut up in the Residency of Lucknow. The lives at stake
are not merely those of soldiers, who might well be expected to cut
themselves out, or to die sword in hand. We have to rescue helpless
women and children from a fate worse than death. When you meet the
enemy, you must remember that he is well armed and well provided with
ammunition, and that he can play at long bowls as well as you can,
especially from behind loopholed walls. So when we make an attack you
must come to close quarters as quickly as possible; keep well together
and use the bayonet. Remember that the cowardly sepoys, who are eager to
murder women and children, cannot look a European soldier in the face
when it is accompanied with cold steel. Ninety-Third! you are my own
lads, I rely on you to do the work!" A voice from the ranks called out:
"Ay, ay, Sir Colin, ye ken us and we ken you; we'll bring the women and
children out o' Lucknow or die wi' you in the attempt!" and the whole
regiment burst into another ringing cheer, which was taken up by the
whole line.
I may here mention the service rendered to the relieving force by Mr.
Kavanagh, an enterprise of consummate daring which won for him a
well-deserved Victoria Cross; only those who know the state of Lucknow
at the time can fully appreciate the perils he encountered, or the value
of the service he rendered. My own company, made up to one hundred men,
with a troop of the Ninth Lancers and a company of the Fourth Punjab
Infantry, formed the advance piquet at which Mr. Kavanagh, who had made
his way from the Residency through the heart of the enemy, disguised as
a native scout, arrived. I will not give any account of his venturesome
march. He has already told his own story, and I need not repeat it. I
only allude to the value of the service rendered, and how it was
appraised in the force at the time. Oude had only been annexed in 1856,
and the Mutiny broke out in May, 1857. There had been no time to
complete a survey of Lucknow and its surroundings, and consequently the
Commander-in-Chief had no plan of the city, and there was no officer in
the force, or, for that matter, no European outside the Residency, who
knew the strong positions of the enemy or the intricacies of the
streets. When Generals Havelock and Outram forced their way into the
Residency, their advance was through miles of intricate and narrow
lanes. The sequel is well known. The relieving force got into the
Residency, but they had lost so many men in the attempt that they were
unable to come out again in charge of the women and children, and so
they were themselves besieged. In our force, among the ranks (I don't
know what the plans of the Commander-in-Chief were), it was understood
that we were to advance on the Residency by the same route as Generals
Havelock and Outram had done, and that the streets were all duly
prepared for giving us a warm reception. But after "Lucknow" Kavanagh,
who thoroughly knew the ground, came out to act as a guide to the
relieving force, the Commander-in-Chief was supposed to have altered the
plan of his line of advance. Instead of forcing his way through
loopholed and narrow lanes, he decided to avoid the city altogether, and
advance through the Dilkoosha park and by the right bank of the
Goomtee, having thus only six or seven posts to force, instead of
running the gauntlet of miles of fortified streets. The strongest
positions which we had to attack on this route were the Dilkoosha palace
and park, the Martiniere college, the Thirty-Second mess-house, the
Secundrabagh, the Shah Nujeef, and the Moti Munzil. The force in the
Residency would thus be able to assist and to distract the enemy by
advancing from their side to meet us at the Chutter Munzil and other
positions. This was what was believed in the camp to be the intentions
of the Commander-in-Chief, and the supposed change of route was
attributed to the arrival of Mr. Kavanagh; and whatever history may say,
I believe this is the correct statement of the position. It will thus be
seen and understood by any one having a plan of Lucknow before him,--and
there is no want of plans now--that the services rendered by Mr.
Kavanagh were of the greatest value to the country and to the relieving
force, and were by no means over-paid. I mention this because on my
recent visit to Lucknow I met some gentlemen at the Royal Hotel who
appeared to think lightly of Mr. Kavanagh's gallant deed, and that fact
has made me, as a soldier of the relieving force, put on record my
impressions of the great value of the service he rendered at a most
critical juncture in the fortunes of the country.[12]
By the afternoon of the 12th of November the total force under command
of Sir Colin Campbell for the final relief of Lucknow numbered only four
thousand five hundred and fifty men of all arms and thirty-two guns--the
heaviest being 24-pounders--and two 8-inch howitzers, manned by the
Naval Brigade under Captain William Peel of glorious memory. I have read
some accounts that mentioned 68-pounders, but this is a mistake; the
68-pounders had to be left at Allahabad when we started, for want of
cattle to drag them. There are four 68-pounders now in the Residency
grounds at Lucknow, which, during my recent visit, the guide pointed out
to me as the guns which breached the walls of the Secundrabagh,[13] and
finally relieved the Residency; but this is an error. The 68-pounders
did not reach Lucknow till the 2nd of March, 1858. I am positive on this
point, because I myself assisted to drag the guns into position in the
assault on the Secundrabagh, and I was on guard on the guns in Allahabad
when the 68-pounders had to be sent into the fort for want of bullocks,
and I next saw them when they crossed the river at Cawnpore and joined
the ordnance park at Oonao in February, 1858. They were first used on
the works in defence of the Martiniere, fired from the Dilkoosha park,
and were advanced as the out-works were carried till they breached the
defences around the Begum's palace on the 11th of March. This is a small
matter; I only wish to point out that the four 68-pounders now in the
Residency grounds are _not_ the guns which relieved the garrison in
November, 1857.
On the 13th of November a strong force, of which the Ninety-Third formed
the infantry, was sent to attack the mud fort of Jellalabad, lying
between the Alumbagh and the Dilkoosha, on the right of Sir Colin
Campbell's advance. As soon as the artillery opened fire on the fort the
enemy retired, and the force advanced and covered the engineers until
they had completed arrangements for blowing in the main gate and
breaching the ramparts so that it would be impossible for Jellalabad to
be occupied in our rear. This was finished before dark, and the force
returned to camp in front of the Alumbagh, where we rested fully
accoutred.
We commenced our advance on the Dilkoosha park and palace by daybreak
next morning, the 14th. The fourth brigade, composed of the Fifty-Third,
Ninety-Third, and Fourth Punjab regiments, with a strong force of
artillery, reached the walls of the Dilkoosha park as the sun was
rising. Here we halted till a breach was made in the wall, sufficiently
wide to allow the Ninety-Third to march through in double column of
companies and to form line inside on the two centre companies.
While we were halted my company and No. 8, Captain Williams' company,
were in a field of beautiful carrots, which the men were pulling up and
eating raw. I remember as if it were only yesterday a young lad not
turned twenty, Kenneth Mackenzie by name, of No. 8 company, making a
remark that these might be the last carrots many of us would eat, and
with that he asked the colour-sergeant of the company, who belonged to
the same place as himself, to write to his mother should anything happen
to him. The colour-sergeant of course promised to do so, telling young
Mackenzie not to let such gloomy thoughts enter his mind. Immediately
after this the order was passed for the regiment to advance by double
column of companies from the centre, and to form line on the two centre
companies inside the park. The enclosure swarmed with deer, both black
buck and spotted, but there were no signs of the enemy, and a
staff-officer of the artillery galloped to the front to reconnoitre.
This officer was none other than our present Commander-in-Chief, then
Lieutenant Roberts, Deputy Assistant Quartermaster-General of Artillery,
who had joined our force at Cawnpore, and had been associated with the
Ninety-Third in several skirmishes which had taken place in the advance
on Alumbagh. He was at that time familiarly known among us as "Plucky
wee Bobs." About half of the regiment had passed through the breach and
were forming into line right and left on the two centre companies, when
we noticed the staff-officer halt and wheel round to return, signalling
for the artillery to advance, and immediately a masked battery of six
guns opened fire on us from behind the Dilkoosha palace. The first round
shot passed through our column, between the right of No. 7 company and
the line, as the company was wheeling into line, but the second shot was
better aimed and struck the charger of Lieutenant Roberts just behind
the rider, apparently cutting the horse in two, both horse and rider
falling in a confused heap amidst the dust where the shot struck after
passing through the loins of the horse. Some of the men exclaimed,
"Plucky wee Bobs is done for!"[14] The same shot, a 9-pounder,
ricochetted at almost a right angle, and in its course struck poor young
Kenneth Mackenzie on the side of his head, taking the skull clean off
just level with his ears. He fell just in front of me, and I had to step
over his body before a single drop of blood had had time to flow. The
colour-sergeant of his company turned to me and said, "Poor lad! how can
I tell his poor mother. What would she think if she were to see him now!
He was her favourite laddie!" There was no leisure for moralising,
however; we were completely within the range of the enemy's guns, and
the next shot cut down seven or eight of the light company, and old
Colonel Leith-Hay was calling out, "Keep steady, men; close up the
ranks, and don't waver in face of a battery manned by cowardly
Asiatics." The shots were now coming thick, bounding along the hard
ground, and MacBean, the adjutant, was behind the line telling the men
in an undertone, "Don't mind the colonel; open out and let them [the
round-shot] through, keep plenty of room and watch the shot." By this
time the staff-officer, whose horse only had been killed under him, had
got clear of the carcase, and the Ninety-Third, seeing him on his feet
again, gave him a rousing cheer. He was soon in the saddle of a spare
horse, and the artillery dashed to the front under his direction,
taking the guns of the enemy in flank. The sepoys bolted down the hill
for shelter in the Martiniere, while our little force took possession of
the Dilkoosha palace. The Ninety-Third had lost ten men killed and
wounded by the time we had driven the enemy and their guns through the
long grass into the entrenchments in front of the Martiniere. I may note
here that there were very few trees on the Dilkoosha heights at this
time, and between the heights and the city there was a bare plain, so
that signals could be passed between us and the Residency. A semaphore
was erected on the top of the palace as soon as it was taken, and
messages, in accordance with a code of signals brought out by Kavanagh,
were interchanged with the Residency. The 15th was a Sunday; the force
did not advance till the afternoon, as it had been decided to wait for
the rear-guard and provisions and the spare ammunition, etc., to close
up. About two o'clock Peel's guns, covered by the Ninety-Third,
advanced, and we drove the enemy from the Martiniere and occupied it,
the semaphore being then removed from the Dilkoosha to the Martiniere.
The Ninety-Third held the Martiniere and the grounds to the left of it,
facing the city, till about two A.M. on Monday the 16th of November,
when Captain Peel's battery discharged several rockets as a signal to
the Residency that we were about to commence our march through the city.
We were then formed up and served with some rations, which had been
cooked in the rear, each man receiving what was supposed to be three
lbs. of beef, boiled in salt so that it would keep, and the usual dozen
of commissariat biscuits and a canteenful of tea cooked on the ground.
Just before we started I saw Sir Colin drinking his tea, the same kind
as that served out to the men, out of a Ninety-Third soldier's canteen.
Writing of the relief of Lucknow, Lady Inglis in her lately-published
journal states, under date the 18th of November, 1857, two days after
the time of which I write: "Sir Colin Campbell is much liked; he is
living now exactly as a private soldier, takes his rations and lies down
wherever he can to rest. This the men like, and he is a fine soldier. A
Commander-in-Chief just now has indeed no enviable position." That is
true; the Commander-in-Chief had only a staff-sergeant's tent (when he
_had_ a tent), and all his baggage was carried by one camel in a pair of
camel trunks, marked "His Excellency the Commander-in-Chief." I suppose
this was _pour encourager les autres_, some of whom required six or
seven camels and as many as four bullock-hackeries, if they could have
got them, to carry their stuff.
After getting our three days' rations and tea, the Ninety-Third were
formed up, and the roll was called to see that none, except those known
to be wounded or sick, were missing. Sir Colin again addressed the men,
telling us that there was heavy work before us, and that we must hold
well together, and as much as possible keep in threes, and that as soon
as we stormed a position we were to use the bayonet. The centre man of
each group of three was to make the attack, and the other two to come
to his assistance with their bayonets right and left. We were not to
fire a single bullet after we got inside a position, unless we were
certain of hitting our enemy, for fear of wounding our own men. To use
the bayonet with effect we were ordered, as I say, to group in threes
and mutually assist each other, for by such action we would soon bayonet
the enemy down although they might be ten to one; which as a matter of
fact they were. It was by strictly following this advice and keeping
cool and mutually assisting each other that the bayonet was used with
such terrible effect inside the Secundrabagh. It was exactly as Sir
Colin had foretold in his address in front of the Alumbagh. He knew the
sepoys well, that when brought to the point of the bayonet they could
not look the Europeans in the face. For all that they fought like
devils. In addition to their muskets, all the men in the Secundrabagh
were armed with swords from the King of Oude's magazines, and the native
_tulwars_ were as sharp as razors. I have never seen another fact
noticed, that when they had fired their muskets, they hurled them
amongst us like javelins, bayonets first, and then drawing their
_tulwars_, rushed madly on to their destruction, slashing in blind fury
with their swords and using them as one sees sticks used in the sham
fights on the last night of the _Mohurrum_.[15] As they rushed on us
shouting "_Deen! Deen!_ (The Faith! the Faith!)" they actually threw
themselves under the bayonets and slashed at our legs. It was owing to
this fact that more than half of our wounded were injured by sword-cuts.
From the Martiniere we slowly and silently commenced our advance across
the canal, the front of the column being directed by Mr. Kavanagh and
his native guide. Just as morning broke we had reached the outskirts of
a village on the east side of the Secundrabagh. Here a halt was made for
the heavy guns to be brought to the front, three companies of the
Ninety-Third with some more artillery being diverted to the left under
command of Colonel Leith-Hay, to attack the old Thirty-Second barracks,
a large building in the form of a cross strongly flanked with
earthworks. The rest of the force advanced through the village by a
narrow lane, from which the enemy was driven by us into the
Secundrabagh.
About the centre of the village another short halt was made. Here we saw
a naked wretch, of a strong muscular build, with his head closely shaven
except for the tuft on his crown, and his face all streaked in a hideous
manner with white and red paint, his body smeared with ashes. He was
sitting on a leopard's skin counting a rosary of beads. A young
staff-officer, I think it was Captain A. O. Mayne, Deputy Assistant
Quartermaster-General, was making his way to the front, when a man of my
company, named James Wilson, pointed to this painted wretch saying, "I
would like to try my bayonet on the hide of that painted scoundrel, who
looks a murderer." Captain Mayne replied: "Oh don't touch him; these
fellows are harmless Hindoo _jogees_,[16] and won't hurt us. It is the
Mahommedans that are to blame for the horrors of this Mutiny." The words
had scarcely been uttered when the painted scoundrel stopped counting
the beads, slipped his hand under the leopard skin, and as quick as
lightning brought out a short, brass, bell-mouthed blunderbuss and fired
the contents of it into Captain Mayne's chest at a distance of only a
few feet. His action was as quick as it was unexpected, and Captain
Mayne was unable to avoid the shot, or the men to prevent it.
Immediately our men were upon the assassin; there was no means of escape
for him, and he was quickly bayoneted. Since then I have never seen a
painted Hindoo, but I involuntarily raise my hand to knock him down.
From that hour I formed the opinion (which I have never had cause to
alter since) that the pampered high-caste Hindoo sepoys had far more to
do with the Mutiny and the cowardly murders of women and children, than
the Mahommedans, although the latter still bear most of the blame.
Immediately after this incident we advanced through the village and came
in front of the Secundrabagh, when a murderous fire was opened on us
from the loopholed wall and from the windows and flat roof of a
two-storied building in the centre of the garden. I may note that this
building has long since been demolished; no trace of it now remains
except the small garden-house with the row of pillars where the wounded
and dead of the Ninety-Third were collected; the marble flooring has,
however, been removed. Having got through the village, our men and the
sailors manned the drag-ropes of the heavy guns, and these were run up
to within one hundred yards, or even less, of the wall. As soon as the
guns opened fire the Infantry Brigade was made to take shelter at the
back of a low mud wall behind the guns, the men taking steady aim at
every loophole from which we could see the musket-barrels of the enemy
protruding. The Commander-in-Chief and his staff were close beside the
guns, Sir Colin every now and again turning round when a man was hit,
calling out, "Lie down, Ninety-Third, lie down! Every man of you is
worth his weight in gold to England to-day!"
The first shots from our guns passed through the wall, piercing it as
though it were a piece of cloth, and without knocking the surrounding
brickwork away. Accounts differ, but my impression has always been that
it was from half to three-quarters of an hour that the guns battered at
the walls. During this time the men, both artillery and sailors, working
the guns without any cover so close to the enemy's loopholes, were
falling fast, over two guns' crews having been disabled or killed before
the wall was breached. After holes had been pounded through the wall in
many places large blocks of brick-and-mortar commenced to fall out, and
then portions of the wall came down bodily, leaving wide gaps. Thereupon
a sergeant of the Fifty-Third, who had served under Sir Colin Campbell
in the Punjab, presuming on old acquaintance, called out: "Sir Colin,
your Excellency, let the infantry storm; let the two 'Thirds' at them
[meaning the Fifty-Third and Ninety-Third], and we'll soon make short
work of the murdering villains!" The sergeant who called to Sir Colin
was a Welshman, and I recognised him thirty-five years afterwards as old
Joe Lee, the present proprietor of the Railway Hotel in Cawnpore. He was
always known as Dobbin in his regiment; and Sir Colin, who had a most
wonderful memory for names and faces, turning to General Sir William
Mansfield who had formerly served in the Fifty-Third, said, "Isn't that
Sergeant Dobbin?" General Mansfield replied in the affirmative; and Sir
Colin, turning to Lee, said, "Do you think the breach is wide enough,
Dobbin?" Lee replied, "Part of us can get through and hold it till the
pioneers widen it with their crowbars to allow the rest to get in." The
word was then passed to the Fourth Punjabis to prepare to lead the
assault, and after a few more rounds were fired, the charge was ordered.
The Punjabis dashed over the mud wall shouting the war-cry of the Sikhs,
"_Jai Khalsa Jee_!"[17] led by their two European officers, who were
both shot down before they had gone a few yards. This staggered the
Sikhs, and they halted. As soon as Sir Colin saw them waver, he turned
to Colonel Ewart, who was in command of the seven companies of the
Ninety-Third (Colonel Leith-Hay being in command of the assault on the
Thirty-Second barracks), and said: "Colonel Ewart, bring on the
tartan--let my own lads at them." Before the command could be repeated
or the buglers had time to sound the advance, the whole seven companies,
like one man, leaped over the wall, with such a yell of pent-up rage as
I had never heard before nor since. It was not a cheer, but a
concentrated yell of rage and ferocity that made the echoes ring again;
and it must have struck terror into the defenders, for they actually
ceased firing, and we could see them through the breach rushing from the
outside wall to take shelter in the two-storied building in the centre
of the garden, the gate and doors of which they firmly barred. Here I
must not omit to pay a tribute of respect to the memory of Pipe-Major
John M'Leod, who, with seven pipers, the other three being with their
companies attacking the barracks, struck up the Highland Charge, called
by some _The Haughs of Cromdell_, and by others _On wi' the Tartan_--the
famous charge of the great Montrose when he led his Highlanders so often
to victory. When all was over, and Sir Colin complimented the pipe-major
on the way he had played, John said, "I thought the boys would fecht
better wi' the national music to cheer them."
The storming of the Secundrabagh has been so often described that I need
not dwell on the general action. Once inside, the Fifty-Third (who got
in by a window or small door in the wall to the right of the hole by
which we got through) and the Sikhs who followed us, joined the
Ninety-Third, and keeping together the bayonet did the work. As I before
remarked, I could write pages about the actions of individual men whose
names will never be known to history. Although pressed for space, I
must notice the behaviour of one or two. But I must leave this to
another chapter; the present one has already become too long.
NOTE.
With regard to the incident mentioned on page 40 Captain W.
T. Furse, A.D.C. to his Excellency, wrote to me as follows:
"Dear Forbes-Mitchell--His Excellency has read your Mutiny
Reminiscences with great interest, and thinks they are a
very true description of the events of that time. He wishes
me, however, to draw your attention to a mistake you have
made in stating that 'the horse of Lieutenant Roberts was
shot down under him.' But the Chief remembers that though he
was in the position which you assign to him at that moment,
it was not his horse that was shot, but the horse of a
trooper of the squadron commanded by Lieut. J. Watson (now
Sir John Watson, V.C., K.C.B.), who happened to be near Lord
Roberts at the time."
Now I could not understand this, because I had entered in my
note-book that Lieutenant Fred. Roberts, Deputy Assistant
Quartermaster-General of Artillery, was the first man to
enter the Dilkoosha park and ride to the front to
reconnoitre, that the enemy opened fire on him at
point-blank range from a masked battery of 9-pounder guns,
and that his horse was shot under him near the Yellow
Bungalow (the name by which we then knew the Dilkoosha
palace) on the morning of the 14th of November, 1857. And I
was confident that about half-a-dozen men with Captain
Dalziel ran out from the light company of the Ninety-Third
to go to the assistance of Lieutenant Roberts, when we all
saw him get on his feet and remount what we believed was a
spare horse. The men of the light company, seeing that their
assistance was not required, returned to the line, and
directly we saw Lieutenant Roberts in the saddle again,
unhurt, the whole regiment, officers and men, gave him a
hearty cheer. But here was the Commander-in-Chief, through
his aide-de-camp, telling me that I was incorrect! I could
not account for it till I obtained an interview with his
Excellency, when he explained to me that after he went past
the Ninety-Third through the breach in the wall of the
Dilkoosha park, Lieutenant Watson sent a trooper after him,
and that the trooper was close to him when the battery
unmasked and opened fire on them, the guns having been laid
for their horses; that the second shot struck the trooper's
horse as described by me, the horse and rider falling
together amidst the dust knocked up by the other round shot;
and that he, as a matter of course, dismounted and assisted
the trooper to get from under the dead horse, and as he
remounted after performing this humane and dangerous service
to the fallen trooper, the Ninety-Third set up their cheer
as I described.
Now I must say the true facts of this incident rather add to
the bravery of the action. The young lieutenant, who could
thus coolly dismount and extricate a trooper from under a
dead horse within point-blank range of a well-served battery
of 9-pounder guns, was early qualifying for the
distinguished position which he has since reached.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] Unleavened griddle-cakes.
[7] Rather less than two ounces.
[8] Laundry-men.
[9] The native official in charge of the bazaar; he possesses certain
magisterial powers.
[10] The _bheesties_, or water-carriers, have been noted for bravery and
fidelity in every Indian campaign.
[11] Now Colonel Bendyshe Walton, C.I.E.
[12] Kavanagh was a European clerk in one of the newly-instituted
Government offices.
[13] _Bagh_ means a garden, usually surrounded by high walls.
[14] See note at end of chapter.
[15] The great Mussulman carnival.
[16] Religious mendicants.
[17] "Victory to the _Khalsa_!"