THE SIEGE OF LUCKNOW--SIR COLIN APPOINTED COLONEL OF THE NINETY-THIRD
--ASSAULT ON THE MARTINIERE--A "RANK" JOKE.
After leaving Oonao our division under Sir Edward Lugard reached
Buntera, six miles from the Alumbagh, on the 27th of February, and
halted there till the 2nd of March, when we marched to the Dilkoosha,
encamping a short distance from the palace barely beyond reach of the
enemy's guns, for they were able at times to throw round-shot into our
camp. We then settled down for the siege and capture of Lucknow; but the
work before us was considered tame and unimportant when compared with
that of the relief of the previous November. Every soldier in the camp
clearly recognised that the capture of the doomed city was simply a
matter of time,--a few days more or less--and the task before us a mere
matter of routine, nothing to be compared to the exciting exertions
which we had to put forth for the relief of our countrywomen and their
children.
At the time of the annexation of Oude Lucknow was estimated to contain
from eight to nine hundred thousand inhabitants, or as many as Delhi and
Benares put together. The camp and bazaars of our force were full of
reports of the great strength and determination of the enemy, and
certainly all the chiefs of Oude, Mahommedan and Hindoo, had joined the
standard of the Begum and had sworn to fight for their young king Brijis
Kuddur. All Oude was therefore still against us, and we held only the
ground covered by the British guns. Bazaar reports estimated the enemy's
strength at from two hundred and fifty to three hundred thousand
fighting men, with five hundred guns in position; but in the
Commander-in-Chief's camp the strength of the enemy was computed at
sixty thousand regulars, mutineers who had lately served the Company,
and about seventy thousand irregulars, matchlock-men, armed police,
dacoits, etc., making a total of one hundred and thirty thousand
fighting men. To fight this large army, sheltered behind entrenchments
and loophooled walls, the British force, even after being joined by Jung
Bahadoor's Goorkhas, mustered only about thirty-one thousand men of all
arms, and one hundred and sixty-four guns.
From the heights of the Dilkoosha in the cool of the early morning,
Lucknow, with its numerous domed mosques, minarets, and palaces, looked
very picturesque. I don't think I ever saw a prettier scene than that
presented on the morning of the 3rd of March, 1858, when the sun rose,
and Captain Peel and his Blue-jackets were getting their heavy guns,
68-pounders, into position. From the Dilkoosha, even without the aid of
telescopes, we could see that the defences had been greatly
strengthened since we retired from Lucknow in November, and I called to
mind the warning of Jamie Green, that if the enemy stood to their guns
like men behind those extensive earthworks, many of the British force
would lose the number of their mess before we could take the city; and
although the Indian papers which reached our camp affected to sneer at
the Begum, Huzrut Mahal, and the legitimacy of her son Brijis Kuddur,
whom the mutineers had proclaimed King of Oude, they had evidently the
support of the whole country, for every chief and _zemindar_ of any
importance had joined them.
On the morning after we had pitched our camp in the Dilkoosha park, I
went out with Sergeant Peter Gillespie, our deputy provost-marshal, to
take a look round the bazaars, and just as we turned a corner on our way
back to camp, we met some gentlemen in civilian dress, one of whom
turned out to be Mr. Russell, the _Times'_ correspondent, whom we never
expected to have seen in India. "Save us, sir!" said Peter Gillespie.
"Is that you, Maister Russell? I never did think of meeting you here,
but I am right glad to see you, and so will all our boys be!" After a
short chat and a few inquiries about the regiment, Mr. Russell asked
when we expected to be in Lucknow, to which Peter Gillespie replied:
"Well, I dinna ken, sir, but when Sir Colin likes to give the order,
we'll just advance and take it." I may here mention that Sergeant
Gillespie lived to go through the Mutiny, and the cholera epidemic in
Peshawar in 1862, only to die of hydrophobia from the bite of a pet dog
in Sialkote years after, when he was about to retire on his sergeant's
pension. I mention this because Peter Gillespie was a well-known
character in the old regiment; he had served on the staff of the
provost-marshal throughout the Crimean war, and, so far as I now
remember, Colonel Ewart and Sergeant Gillespie were the only two men in
the regiment who gained the Crimean medal with the four clasps, for
Alma, Balaklava, Inkerman, and Sebastopol.
On the 4th of March the Ninety-Third, a squadron of the Ninth Lancers,
and a battery of artillery, were marched to the banks of the Goomtee
opposite Beebeepore House, to form a guard for the engineers engaged in
throwing a pontoon bridge across the Goomtee. The weather was now very
hot in the day-time, and as we were well beyond the range of the enemy's
guns, we were allowed to undress by companies and bathe in the river. As
far as I can remember, we were two days on this duty. During the
forenoon of the second day the Commander-in-Chief visited us, and the
regiment fell in to receive him, because, he said, he had something of
importance to communicate. When formed up, Sir Colin told us that he had
just received despatches from home, and among them a letter from the
Queen in which the Ninety-Third was specially mentioned. He then pulled
the letter out of his pocket, and read the paragraph alluded to, which
ran as follows, as nearly as I remembered to note it down after it was
read: "The Queen wishes Sir Colin to convey the expression of her great
admiration and gratitude to all European as well as native troops who
have fought so nobly and so gallantly for the relief of Lucknow, amongst
whom the Queen is rejoiced to see the Ninety-Third Highlanders." Colonel
Leith-Hay at once called for three cheers for her Majesty the Queen,
which were given with hearty good-will, followed by three more for the
Commander-in-Chief. The colonel then requested Sir Colin to return the
thanks of the officers, non-commissioned officers, and men of the
regiment to her Majesty the Queen for her most gracious message, and for
her special mention of the Ninety-Third, an honour which no one serving
in the regiment would ever forget. To this Sir Colin replied that
nothing would give him greater pleasure than to comply with this
request; but he had still more news to communicate. He had also a letter
from his Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge to read to us, which he
proceeded to do as follows: "One line in addition to my letter addressed
to you this morning, to say that, in consequence of the Colonelcy of the
Ninety-Third Highlanders having become vacant by the death of General
Parkinson, I have recommended the Queen to remove you to the command of
that distinguished and gallant corps, with which you have been so much
associated, not alone at the present moment in India, but also during
the whole of the campaign in the Crimea. I thought such an arrangement
would be agreeable to yourself, and I know that it is the highest
compliment that her Majesty could pay to the Ninety-Third Highlanders to
see their dear old chief at their head." As soon as Sir Colin had read
this letter, the whole regiment cheered till we were hoarse; and when
Sir Colin's voice could again be heard, he called for the master-tailor
to go to the headquarters camp to take his measure to send home for a
uniform of the regiment for him, feather bonnet and all complete; and
about eighteen months afterwards Sir Colin visited us in Subathoo,
dressed in the regimental uniform then ordered.
Early on the 7th of March General Outram's division crossed the Goomtee
by the bridge of boats, and we returned to our tents at the Dilkoosha.
About mid-day we could see Outram's division, of which the Seventy-Ninth
Cameron Highlanders formed one of the infantry corps, driving the enemy
before them in beautiful style. We saw also the Queen's Bays, in their
bright scarlet uniform and brass helmets, make a splendid charge,
scattering the enemy like sheep, somewhere about the place where the
buildings of the Upper India Paper Mills now stand. In this charge Major
Percy Smith and several men galloped right through the enemy's lines,
and were surrounded and killed. Spies reported that Major Smith's head
was cut off, and, with his helmet, plume, and uniform, paraded through
the streets of Lucknow as the head of the Commander-in-Chief. But the
triumph of the enemy was short. On the 8th General Outram was firmly
established on the north bank of the Goomtee, with a siege-train of
twenty-two heavy guns, with which he completely turned and enfiladed the
enemy's strong position.
On the 9th of March we were ordered to take our dinners at twelve
o'clock, and shortly after that hour our division, consisting of the
Thirty-Eighth, Forty-Second, Fifty-Third, Ninetieth, Ninety-Third, and
Fourth Punjab Infantry, was under arms, screened by the Dilkoosha palace
and the garden walls round it, and Peel's Blue-jackets were pouring shot
and shell, with now and again a rocket, into the Martiniere as fast as
ever they could load. About two o'clock the order was given for the
advance--the Forty-Second to lead and the Ninety-Third to support; but
we no sooner emerged from the shelter of the palace and garden-walls
than the orderly advance became a rushing torrent. Both regiments dashed
down the slope abreast, and the earthworks, trenches, and rifle-pits in
front of the Martiniere were cleared, the enemy flying before us as fast
as their legs could carry them. We pursued them right through the
gardens, capturing their first line of works along the canal in front of
Banks's bungalow and the Begum's palace. There we halted for the night,
our heavy guns and mortar-batteries being advanced from the Dilkoosha;
and I, with some men from my company, was sent on piquet to a line of
unroofed huts in front of one of our mortar-batteries, for fear the
enemy from the Begum's palace might make a rush on the mortars. This
piquet was not relieved till the morning of the 11th, when I learned
that my company had been sent back as camp-guards, the captains of
companies having drawn lots for this service, as all were equally
anxious to take part in the assault on the Begum's palace, and it was
known the Ninety-Third were to form the storming-party. As soon as the
works should be breached, I and the men who were with me on the
advance-piquet were to be sent to join Captain M'Donald's company,
instead of going back to our own in camp. After being relieved from
piquet, our little party set about preparing some food. Our own company
having gone back to camp, no rations had been drawn for us, and our
haversacks were almost empty; so I will here relate a mild case of
cannibalism. Of the men of my own company who were with me on this
piquet one was Andrew M'Onvill,--Handy Andy, as he was called in the
regiment--a good-hearted, jolly fellow, and as full of fun and practical
jokes as his namesake, Lever's hero,--a thorough Paddy from Armagh, a
soldier as true as the steel of a Damascus blade or a Scotch Andrea
Ferrara. When last I heard of him, I may add, he was sergeant-major of a
New Zealand militia regiment. Others were Sandy Proctor, soldier-servant
to Dr. Munro, and George Patterson, the son of the carrier of Ballater
in Aberdeenshire. I forget who the rest were, but we were joined by John
M'Leod, the pipe-major, and one or two more. We got into an empty hut,
well sheltered from the bullets of the enemy, and Handy Andy sallied out
on a foraging expedition for something in the way of food. He had a
friend in the Fifty-Third who was connected in some way with the
quarter-master's department, and always well supplied with extra
provender. The Fifty-Third were on our right, and there Handy Andy found
his friend, and returned with a good big steak, cut from an artillery
gun-bullock which had been killed by a round-shot; also some sheep's
liver and a haversack full of biscuits, with plenty of pumpkin to make
a good stew. There was no lack of cooking-pots in the huts around, and
plenty of wood for fuel, so we kindled a fire, and very soon had an
excellent stew in preparation. But the enemy pitched some shells into
our position, and one burst close to a man named Tim Drury, a big stout
fellow, killing him on the spot. I forget now which company he belonged
to, but his body lay where he fell, just outside our hut, with one thigh
nearly torn away. My readers must not for a moment think that such a
picture in the foreground took away our appetites in the least. There is
nothing like a campaign for making one callous and selfish, and
developing the qualities of the wild beast in one's nature; and the
thought which rises uppermost is--Well, it is his turn now, and it may
be mine next, and there is no use in being down-hearted! Our steak had
been broiled to a turn, and our stew almost cooked, when we noticed
tiffin and breakfast combined arrive for the European officers of the
Fourth Punjab Regiment, and some others who were waiting sheltered by
the walls of a roofless hut near where we were. Among them was a young
fellow, Lieutenant Fitzgerald Cologan, attached to some native regiment,
a great favourite with the Ninety-Third for his pluck. John M'Leod at
once proposed that Handy Andy should go and offer him half of our
broiled steak, and ask him for a couple of bottles of beer for our
dinner, as it might be the last time we should have the chance of
drinking his health. He and the other officers with him accepted the
steak with thanks, and Andy returned, to our no small joy, with two
quart bottles of Bass's beer. But, unfortunately he had attracted the
attention of Charley F., the greatest glutton in the Ninety-Third, who
was so well known for his greediness that no one would chum with him.
Charley was a long-legged, humpbacked, cadaverous-faced, bald-headed
fellow, who had joined the regiment as a volunteer from the
Seventy-Second before we left Dover in the spring of 1857, and on
account of his long legs and humpback, combined with the inordinate
capacity of his stomach and an incurable habit of grumbling, he had been
re-christened the "Camel," before we had proceeded many marches with
that useful animal in India. Our mutual congratulations were barely over
on the acquisition of the two bottles of beer, when, to our
consternation, we saw the Camel dodging from cover to cover, as the
enemy were keeping up a heavy fire on our position, and if any one
exposed himself in the least, a shower of bullets was sent whistling
round him. However, the Camel, with a due regard to the wholeness of his
skin, steadily made way towards our hut. We all knew that if he were
admitted to a share of our stew, very little would be left for
ourselves. John M'Leod and I suggested that we should, at the risk of
quarrelling with him, refuse to allow him any share, but Handy Andy
said, "Leave him to me, and if a bullet doesn't knock him over as he
comes round the next corner, I'll put him off asking for a share of the
stew." By that time we had finished our beer. Well, the Camel took good
care to dodge the bullets of Jack Pandy, and he no sooner reached a
sheltered place in front of the hut, than Andy called out: "Come along,
Charley, you are just in time; we got a slice of a nice steak from an
artillery-bullock this morning, and because it was too small alone for a
dinner for the four of us, we have just stewed it with a slice from Tim
Drury, and bedad it's first-rate! Tim tastes for all the world like
fresh pork"; and with that Andy picked out a piece of the sheep's liver
on the prongs of his fork, and offered it to Charley as part of Tim
Drury, at the same time requesting him not to mention the circumstance
to any one. This was too much for the Camel's stomach. He plainly
believed Andy, and turned away, as if he would be sick. However, he
recovered himself, and replied: "No, thank you; hungry as I am, it shall
never be in the power of any one to tell my auld mither in the Grass
Market o' Edinboro' that her Charley had become a cannibal! But if you
can spare me a drop of the beer I'll be thankful for it, for the sight
of your stew has made me feel unco' queer." We expressed our sorrow that
the beer was all drunk before we had seen Charley performing his oblique
advance, and Andy again pressed him to partake of a little of the stew;
but Charley refused to join, and sitting down in a sheltered spot in the
corner of our roofless mud-hut, made wry faces at the relish evinced by
the rest of us over our savoury stew. The Camel eventually discovered
that he had been made a fool of, and he never forgave us for cheating
him out of a share of the savoury mess.