THE INDIAN MUTINY--DELHI (1857-1858)
The Mutiny begins--A warning from a sepoy--A near thing--A noble
act of a native officer--In camp at Delhi with no kit--A plan that
failed--Our first check--Wilson in command--Seaton wounded--Arrival
of Nicholson--Captures guns--The assault--The fate of the
Princes--Pandy in a box.
A rumour had been going through the bazaars of India that the British
rule was to be limited to one hundred years from the date of the Battle
of Plassey (1757). The sepoy troops had grown self-confident and
arrogant through the victories they had won under English officers, and
fancied that they held the destiny of India in their own hands. Then
came the story that the cartridges of the new Enfield rifles, which
were just then being introduced among the native troops, were greased
with fat of beef or pork, and were thus rendered unclean for Mohammedan
and Hindoo alike. The sepoys, or native troops, believed that the new
cartridges were being given out solely for the purpose of destroying
their caste, and so of introducing Christianity by force.
Delhi, where the deposed King Bahadur Shah was living, was the centre
and focus of rebellion; it was to Delhi that the first mutineers
marched after killing their English officers. Sir Thomas Seaton has
left us some picturesque stories of his part in the Mutiny. He had
rejoined his native regiment at Rohtuck, forty-five miles from Delhi,
after some years’ leave in England, and found the manners of the sepoy
greatly changed for the worse. He writes:
“On the 4th of June I was in the mess-tent writing to the
Adjutant-General about the hopeless state of the regiment, when the
native Adjutant came in and said:
“‘Colonel, I wish particularly to speak to you.’
“It was close upon 5 p.m., and, as several officers were in the tent, I
went outside with the Adjutant.
“‘Well, Shebbeare, what is it?’
“‘Why, Colonel, I have just heard from two of our drummers, who have
their information from friends amongst the men, that the regiment is to
mutiny to-night, murder the officers, and be off to Delhi.’
“Though I expected this, it was startling enough to hear it was so
close at hand. And now that the great difficulty stared me in the face,
how, with this small body of officers, was I to meet and grapple with
reckless and determined mutineers? But as this was not the time to
flinch or show indecision, I said:
“‘Well, Shebbeare, let me see the men. I’ll make a few inquiries first.
I will go to the hospital. Do you lounge out that way too.’
“As I had been used to visit the hospital about this hour, my going
there would excite no suspicion.
“In a few minutes I had found out that it was too true that an outbreak
was planned for that night. Meanwhile I addressed the Adjutant:
“‘Now, Shebbeare, will you stand by me?’
“‘Yes, Colonel,’ replied the gallant fellow, ‘that I will.’
“‘Very well. Now, I’ll tell you what I propose to do. I will go on
parade, and, as there is nothing like facing a difficulty, I’ll tax
them with their intended outbreak, and we will see what they will do.
Tell the officers to look out.’”
Seaton’s idea was that the men, finding he knew all about their plans,
would be so disconcerted that they would put off the mutiny; we should
probably gain a day or two of delay, and might hear that Delhi was
taken or the mutineers defeated. So at sunset he went on parade,
assembled the native officers in front, at some distance from their
companies, and taxed them with their intended treachery. As he had
expected, the sepoys were utterly confounded; they flatly denied the
intended treachery, and swore by all their gods that they would be
faithful to their salt, and that no harm should happen to the officers.
The native officers then begged permission to appoint a guard to keep
watch in the camp at night, as there might be some _badmashes_ in the
regiment.
It was a dangerous experiment, but the only chance was to take things
coolly, still seeming to trust the men, keeping at the same time a
sharp look-out.
It was Seaton’s duty to keep the regiment together as long as possible
at any risk. The Commander-in-Chief was marching on Delhi with a small
force hurriedly got together; to have placed at this critical moment a
regiment of mutineers in his rear would simply have been destruction,
for they could have fortified some spot on the road and so cut off
supplies from our camp.
Whilst he was taxing the native officers, the men of their companies
were looking on--they were too far off to hear; but they took their
cue from their officers and were quiet and respectful. Seaton left the
circle of native officers, and went up and addressed each company,
meeting with the same vows of fidelity.
As he came from parade after this trying scene, some officers inquired
anxiously: “What is it, Colonel? Is it all right?”
“Oh yes. I think our throats will not be cut to-night.”
But his mind was not at ease until he had seen the guard for the night.
However, a few days passed quietly enough; but on the 8th a curious
thing happened. As Seaton was going in the evening to visit the
hospital, and was crossing a ditch, a young sepoy gave him a hand and
whispered in his ear:
“Colonel Sahib, when your highness’ people shall have regained the
Empire, I will make my petition to your highness.”
This was all he said, but Seaton could not help pondering on his
meaning. Was this a warning to him of the coming outbreak of the
regiment?
Resistance was out of the question, as he had only twelve English
officers with him and one English sergeant. He was tormented by the
ever-recurring thought that not only the lives of his officers, but
perhaps the safety of our little army, might be dependent on himself.
“All I could do,” he says, “was to trust in God’s mercy and goodness.”
The night of the 9th passed off quietly--all was still. In the morning
he could detect nothing suspicious in camp. The men were civil and
respectful to him personally. Some were parading for guard, some going
to bathe, others preparing their food. Five of the young officers asked
leave to go out shooting. Seaton had no objection, and they went. At
4 p.m., when he was in the usual camp hot-weather deshabille, all at
once he was startled by a loud explosion. He ran out to see what was
the matter, but neither saw nor heard anything strange--no crowd, not a
sound, the men mostly sleeping after their day’s meal. He was going on
when the havildar-major (native sergeant-major) came rushing up to him.
Catching him in his arms, he said in a very agitated voice:
“Colonel Sahib, don’t go to the front.”
“Why not?”
“The Grenadiers are arming themselves. They have mutinied!”
The hour for which he had trembled had come at last. He tried
to collect one or two of the native officers, but in vain. The
havildar-major entreated him to be off whilst there was time. While
the grooms were saddling the horses they heard musket-shots, and the
havildar rushed past him. Immediately the whole body of the Grenadiers
burst out of their tents, firing and shouting, in order to rouse the
regiment and hurry it into mutiny.
The shouts and cries of terror, the galloping of horses, the report
of muskets, all tended to confusion. Seaton had not time to take his
sword, for the mutineers were within ten paces of him. He had got a
few seconds’ start, and in a mêlée like this a second makes all the
difference between life and eternity.
Just outside camp they overtook Major Drought, who was walking.
The havildar instantly cried: “Colonel, the poor old fellow will be
murdered. I’ll put him on my horse and run for it.”
It was a noble and heroic act, for Shebbeare had been wounded by the
mutineers. So they made Shebbeare get on the lee side of the Colonel’s
horse; he laid hold of the stirrup, and off they went at a round canter.
After running 400 yards he got blown, and they pulled up to a walk.
Soon they found the officers waiting for them at a bend in the road;
they were all unhurt. After a time they saw clouds of smoke ascending,
and knew that they were burning the tents. They kept on all night at
a moderate pace. About 3 a.m. they heard a horseman coming along. Who
could it be? They drew up and challenged.
“Who is there?”
“Sowar” (trooper).
“What sowar?”
“Hodson Sahib Ka Sowar” (one of Captain Hodson’s troopers). And then,
saluting, he continued: “Are you the Sahib log? I have a letter for
Colonel Cheetun Sahib.”
“Yes, come along; here is the Colonel Seaton.”
Seaton read the note by the light of a cigar vehemently smoked by an
officer. It was to the effect that we had driven the rebels from the
ridge into Delhi, and that our camp was pitched in the cantonments. So
now they were all right, and knew where to find their camp. At 9 a.m.
the Colonel dismounted at Sir H. Barnard’s tent.
They were all surprised to see him, as they had been informed that he
and his officers were all killed: the young officers who had gone out
shooting had been so informed, and had ridden to Delhi before them with
the news.
Now all the belongings the Colonel had were his horse and the few
clothes he stood in. He had to go round camp and beg: one gave him a
coat, a shirt, and some cigars, another a sword and belt. He was made
a member of the mess of the 1st E. B. Fusiliers, but had neither fork,
spoon, plate, nor glass--for the mess merely provides food and dishes.
However, he soon begged these or bought all he needed at a sale of an
officer’s effects.
“My first night’s rest was heavenly,” he says. “I heard distinctly
the firing, but it did not disturb me. I was lulled by a feeling of
security to which I had been a stranger for many nights before the 60th
mutinied. No wonder my sleep was profound.”
Delhi is situated on the right bank of the river Jumna. The walls are
pear-shaped, on the river or eastern side rendered irregular by the
excrescence of the old fort of Selimgurh. To the south the walls run to
a point. Inland from Delhi is a ridge of rocks, which at its nearest
point is about 1,400 yards from the walls. Our camp lay under the
ridge, on the side away from the city; there were canals and swamps to
protect us in rainy seasons. It was quite evident that a regular siege
was out of the question, from the vast size of the place and from our
want of guns, etc. A _coup de main_ was our only resource. Accordingly
a plan was drawn up by the Engineers and Hodson, and approved by the
General. It was a hazardous step, but one and all were crying out “Take
Delhi!”
Nor was this cry to be wondered at. Delhi, once the capital of the
great Mogul Empire in India, strongly fortified, and supplied with war
material, was now in the possession of our own trained sepoys. The
King, once our puppet, had placed himself at the head of the rebellion,
and Delhi had become the focus of insurrection.
Moreover, there was a vehement desire in camp for instant vengeance on
the traitors in the city, who had cruelly murdered their officers, our
brethren in arms, with their wives and little ones. One bold stroke
now, every one said, would make us masters of Delhi. At the appointed
hour the troops began to move down to their allotted posts.
All were waiting impatiently for the pickets from the ridge, but the
proper time slipped by, and the assault was countermanded.
The storm of indignation in camp at the failure of this bold design was
frightful. But, as Colonel Norman justly remarked, “It was one of those
happy interpositions in our behalf of which we had such numbers to be
thankful for.”
For, even if the rebels should have been driven out of Delhi, what if
they rallied and returned in force? Our poor 3,000 men would have been
swallowed up in the immensity of the city. The postponement of the
assault gave the rebels full scope: it bred anarchy, confusion, and
disorder, and the native trading population soon felt the difference
between the violence and robbery of the sepoy domination and the peace
and security they had enjoyed under us. But in camp the abandonment of
the assault was followed by a period of despondency and gloom.
In a few days cheering news came from the Punjab. The Chief
Commissioner, John Lawrence, aided by worthy officers, had made all
safe at the chief points of danger. All through the Punjab the Hindoo
cavalry and sepoys were being disarmed; the magazines had been secured;
the Sikhs and Punjabees, men who had no sympathy with the mutineers,
were being enrolled and formed into corps and re-armed. With bold
and daring hand, that “out of this nettle, danger, plucks the flower
safety,” Lawrence was gathering as volunteers from the warlike frontier
tribes all the restless, turbulent spirits who might have been bitter
foes in extremity. He took them into pay, and made them eager to march
on Delhi, to assist in its capture and share in its plunder.
There were several sorties to repulse, and these small successes kept
up the men’s spirits. In the first six weeks of the siege, or until the
reinforcements began to flow in, night or day no man undressed, except
for a few minutes for the necessary ablutions and changes of clothes,
and this was not always possible. They lay down and slept in their
clothes, with arms and ammunition either on or by their sides, ready to
slip on the moment the alarm should be sounded.
The heat was fearful, yet day after day they had to stand for hours in
the sun and hot wind, or, worst of all, to endure the torture of lying
down on the burning rocks on the Ridge--baked by them on one side,
whilst the sun was “doing” the other. Many an officer and man, struck
by the sun and unable to rise, was carried off to hospital delirious
and raving. The flies were in myriads, and added to their torments;
they clung to hands and faces, they covered the food until it was
uneatable, and they worried all incessantly until dusk. Many men had
sunstroke twice; some who were wounded suffered from it also, and the
great heat and fatigue began to tell on the soldiers, and sent them
into hospital, from whence many were never to return.
Fortunately, food in camp was both abundant and good; the troops got
their meals and their dram of grog with great regularity.
It was quite amusing to see the cook-boys of companies bring up the
dinners to their respective squads. Battery or advanced picket, it was
all the same to them; cannonade or no cannonade--it made no difference,
they were sure to come.
A large flat shallow basket held twenty or more metal plates; on each
a piece of beef and some nicely browned potatoes, all smoking and
frizzling from a few bits of live charcoal in a small earthen pan under
each.
On the 18th, the 15th and 30th Native Infantry, with the famous
Jellalabad battery--Abbott’s battery that was--marched into Delhi, to
the great joy of the mutineers and the King.
At noon on the 19th the rebels began to pour out of Delhi in great
numbers. The alarm was sounded, and in a few minutes every one was at
his post; but as no enemy appeared, the troops were allowed to return
to their tents.
A gun fired in their rear startled the English; then galloped up a
trooper to say that the Pandies (as they called the rebels) were
killing the grass-cutters and carrying off the cattle. Then troops were
sent out, and fighting went on long after dusk. The casualty list was
heavy: a limber of Scott’s battery was blown up, while one of Turner’s
guns was disabled and left on the field. “I well remember the gloomy
impression which the result of this fight made on our minds. It was our
first check.”
Next morning a strong party was sent out to the scene of action. To
their great surprise, there was Turner’s gun; there also a gun and
two ammunition waggons abandoned by the rebels. There were so many
evidences on the field that the enemy had suffered severely that all
gloom and despondency were quite relieved.
This was the most trying period of the whole siege. If an officer sat
down to write a letter or to shave himself the alarm was sure to sound,
and he was compelled to throw down his pen or razor, buckle on his
sword, and rush out to his post.
The 23rd of June was the centenary of the Battle of Plassey, and their
spies told the English officers they were to be attacked at all points.
They began to fight at sunrise, and, strange to say, in the very height
of the mêlée our first reinforcements marched into camp! Three times
the rebels assaulted our position, each time being repulsed with great
loss. “We drove them back, and then we began a series of attacks on
houses, gardens and enclosures filled with mutineers, whom we cleared
out; our heavy guns hastened or retarded their flight into the city.
“I look upon this day as the turning-point in the siege: our first
reinforcements had come in, and we had gained an important victory over
the rebels.”
Soon was seen a great smoke beyond Delhi: they were burning their dead!
“Of the many interpositions of a merciful Providence in our behalf
during this wonderful siege,” says Seaton, “I think the most striking
was this--that the rains were so abundant and the season so favourable
that cholera was in a comparatively mild form. The rains filled the
Jumna on one side and the canal on the other, thus forming, as it were,
a wall to the right and left of our road to the Punjab, guarding it
more effectually than many thousand men could have done.”
During the night of the 4th it rained in torrents. Colonel Seaton
was driven into the Flagstaff Tower for shelter, but could only get
standing room, so he went and visited the pickets, and sentries, and
returned soaked through and through. He then lighted a cigar and stood
about till daylight, when the picket turned out and he turned in and
slept till sunrise.
At sunrise he was relieved, after thirty-six hours on duty. On getting
into camp he found his own tent pitched, his servants all waiting,
clean clothes, washing tackle, a clean breakfast table, and Hodson,
with a smiling face, waiting for him.
“We felt like men who had just inherited large fortunes! My things had
been sent on from Alipore. Oh! it was a comfort to get my own clothes
and uniform, to be able to appear in camp once more dressed like a
gentleman, and to have the attendance of my own servant.”
On the night of the 5th of July General Sir H. Barnard died of cholera,
brought on by fatigue and anxiety of mind.
General Wilson began on a new system. They no longer attacked the
villages, losing men and gaining little. They were now to remain on
the defensive, and to burn or bury all corpses. For it was sickening
to see the dogs and jackals, disturbed by the burying-parties, slowly
waddling off, fat and gorged with their horrible feast.
Until buried the rebels were still enemies: their effluvia carried
death into our ranks. As a sergeant once said: “Them Pandies, sir, is
wuss when they are killed.”
On the 19th they received the first intelligence of the Cawnpore
tragedy--of Wheeler’s capitulation and destruction--causing great
depression in camp and more cholera.
They had been clearing the gardens of rebels beyond the Metcalfe
grounds when Seaton saw two of Coke’s men coming along, carrying
Captain Law, who had just been killed. He stopped to help them, and was
stooping to take the men’s muskets when he was struck full on the left
breast by a musket-ball fired at thirty-five paces’ distance. The blow
was so violent that he was nearly knocked off his horse, and for some
seconds could not breathe, the blood rushing from his mouth in foam.
He naturally thought he was done for, but as soon as his breath came
again, he opened his clothes and found out the course of the ball.
Seeing that no air issued from the wound, he secured his sword and
pistol, and, dismounting from his horse, led him over a broken wall,
and was on the point of falling headlong in a faint when the two men he
had tried to help took him under the arms and got him to the Metcalfe
picket.
The men there ran to meet him: one gave him a drop of rum and water,
others brought a _charpoy_ (native bedstead) and carried him off to the
doctor. On the way he met Hodson, who galloped off at once to camp, so
when they reached his tent, he found the doctor waiting and everything
ready. The ball had struck on a rib, fractured it, driven it down on
the lung, and then had passed out at his back. Hodson cared for him
with the affection of a brother. He was to lie quite still and not
speak for a week.
On the 1st of August the doctor took off this embargo--Seaton was
recovering rapidly. In Delhi, our spies said, the Pandies were all
jealous of one another and would not act in concert. The rebel sepoy
carried in a purse round his waist the gold he had made by selling his
share of our plundered treasures; this gold made him unwilling to risk
his life in battle and made him suspect his comrades.
Their wounded were in a horrible state: there were no surgeons to
perform any operations, no attendants to bring food or water. The limbs
of some were rotting off with gangrene, others had wounds filled with
maggots from neglect; all were bitterly contrasting their lot with the
life of comfort they had enjoyed under British government. The old
King, too, was in despair, and vented it in some poor poetry.
On the 7th of August there was a tremendous explosion in the city, and
next day they heard that a powder manufactory had blown up, killing 400
people.
“About this time”--to quote the words of one who wrote a history of
this siege--“a stranger of very striking appearance was remarked
visiting all our pickets, examining everything, making most searching
inquiries about their strength and history. His attire gave no clue to
his rank; it evidently never gave the owner a thought. He was a man
cast in a giant mould, with massive chest and powerful limbs, and an
expression ardent and commanding, with a dash of roughness, features
of stern beauty, a long black beard, and deep, sonorous voice. There
was something of immense strength, talent, and resolution in his whole
gait and manner, and a power of ruling men on high occasions that no
one could escape noticing at once. His imperial air, which never left
him, and which would have been thought arrogant in one of less imposing
mien, sometimes gave offence to his own countrymen, but made him
almost worshipped by the pliant Asiatics. Such a man would have risen
rapidly from the ranks of the legions to the throne of the Cæsars; but
in the service of the British it was thought wonderful that he became
a Brigadier-General when, by seniority, he could only have been a
Captain.”
The stranger thus described was Nicholson, the best man that Sir John
Lawrence possessed in the Punjab. He had ridden ahead of his force
to consult with General Wilson before Delhi. On the following day he
returned to his force, On the 14th he again rode into the English camp
at the head of his column--a splendid addition of 4,200 men to the
besiegers. The small force upon the ridge now amounted to 8,000 men of
all arms; the siege-train was on its way, and despair began to settle
down on the rebels in the city and on the Princes.
They had heard of the defeat of the Nana, and of Havelock’s entry into
Cawnpore; they knew that fresh troops were coming from Calcutta, and
that Nicholson, whose name had spread far and wide, had arrived in
our camp with a large force. They knew, too, that this compact force
of white men was swayed by one arm and governed by one will. Every
soul in Delhi knew that John Lawrence directed the storm that was
gathering around them, and the cold, dread shadow of the coming event
was creeping over the shuddering city. A look through our camp would
have shaken the courage of the boldest rebel. Instead of tents half
filled with sick men, our camp now was teeming with soldiers of various
races, all cheerful and confident. Hodson’s men were mostly Sikhs,
tall and slender, yet wiry and strong; their clothes of ash colour,
with wrist-band, turban, and sash over the left shoulder, all of
bright crimson. In contrast with these were Coke’s men, more wild and
picturesque, with large turbans of dark blue and enormous waist-bands.
Their lofty stature, long hair, bright black eyes, sandalled feet, and
bold look, would have made them remarkable anywhere.
Our artillery park, too, was filled with guns captured from the
mutineers. The battery-train was on its way, but it was reported by
spies that a very strong body of rebels was about to leave the city
to attempt its capture. Nicholson was sent out with 700 cavalry and
1,200 infantry, and three troops of horse artillery, to head them off.
He returned in triumph, bringing with him thirteen captured guns. In
Nicholson’s fight the following incident occurred, which shows a little
bit of the native character:
A rebel native officer was overtaken in his flight from the field by a
man of Green’s Punjab regiment. The officer immediately went down on
his knees in the midst of a pool of water, and putting up his hands,
roared out: “I’ve been forty years in the Company’s service, and
thirteen years a Subadar. Spare--oh, spare my life!” With an execration
and a very rude term of abuse the Punjabee thrust his bayonet into the
traitor.
On the 4th of September the long-expected battery-train arrived in
camp, with an ample supply of shot, shell, and powder for all the guns.
The activity in the Engineers’ camp was now pushed to the utmost, and
all the material for trenches and batteries was accumulated with great
rapidity.
To prevent the men plundering, the General promised that all the
captured property should be prize, and prize agents were appointed.
We were about to throw a small force of about 4,500 men into a city
seven miles in circumference, a perfect maze of narrow streets and
gullies, abounding in strong blocks of houses, where one might expect
that the defence would be obstinate.
On the night of the 7th 1,300 men in working and covering parties were
sent down with the Engineers to open trenches and erect the first
siege-battery against Delhi. On the 12th the whole of the batteries
were completed, and in full play on the parts of the walls intended
to be breached or shelled. The parapet was soon knocked off, each
block of masonry rarely requiring more than two well-planted shots to
demolish it completely. There was outside the wall a ditch 25 feet wide
and 16 feet deep, before crossing which it was necessary that all the
parapets and bastions should be cleared of their defenders. The army
inside Delhi numbered at least 40,000 men; the besiegers only 11,000,
after all their reinforcements had come in. Of these only 3,300 were
Europeans. Our heavy guns were 54 in number, while those in the city
amounted to 300.
There was considerable risk in attempting to storm under such
conditions. One of the batteries was only 160 yards from the Water
Bastion, and the heavy guns had to be dragged up to it, through the
open, under a heavy fire of musketry. Baird Smith, the Chief Engineer,
prepared all the plans; Alexander Taylor superintended their execution.
With the very first shot the masonry of the fortifications began to
fly. Fifty-four guns and mortars belched out havoc on the city. Cheers
rang out from our men as the smoke cleared away, and they saw the
dreaded bastions crumbling into ruins, while the defenders were forced
to seek shelter far away in the city. For the next forty-eight hours
there was no cessation of the roar of artillery. The worn-out gunners
would throw themselves down to snatch a short sleep beneath their very
guns, while volunteers filled their place; then, springing up again,
they would go on with their task with fresh ardour.
The sepoys were fighting on with the courage of despair. They ran out
light guns to enfilade our batteries; they manned the gardens in front
of the city with sharp-shooters to pick off our gunners.
On the evening of the 13th the breaches in the walls were to be
examined, and so at dusk Lieutenants Greathed, Home, Medley, and Lang,
of the Engineers, were sent to execute their dangerous mission. As
the hour struck ten the batteries ceased firing, and the four young
officers, slipping out of the gardens with a small covering party of
the 60th Rifles, crept forward to the edge of the glacis, Greathed
and Home going to the Water, Medley and Lang to the Cashmere Bastion.
A ladder was quietly lowered, Medley and Lang descended, and found
themselves on the edge of the ditch; but the enemy heard them, and
several ran towards them. The Englishmen saw that the breach was
practicable, so rose and ran back, being followed by a harmless volley.
Greathed and Home returned safely also, and reported that all was
favourable.
Then was the thrilling order made known: “The assault at 3 a.m.!”
No. 1. column, under Nicholson, were to assault the Cashmere Bastion;
No. 2, under Colonel James, the Water Bastion; No. 3, under Colonel
Campbell, to enter by the Cashmere Gate; No. 4, under Major Reid, to
attack Kissengunge.
To Nicholson fell the post of honour. Sir John Lawrence had sent him
down “to take Delhi,” and the whole army was willing that he should
have that honour. He was to head the first column in person. Our
batteries redoubled their roar whilst the columns were taking up their
positions, throwing shells to drive the enemy away from the breaches.
The morning was just breaking; the thunder of our artillery was at its
loudest, when all at once it stopped. Every one could hear his heart
beat.
The Rifles now ran forward as skirmishers to cover the advance of the
assaulting columns, and the men, who had been lying on the ground, now
sprang up, and, with a cheer, made for the walls. They crossed the
glacis, and left it behind them dotted with wounded men; they went
down into the ditch--many to stay there; but the ladders were planted
against the scarp, and very soon the dangers of the escalade were over.
Soon the whole line of ramparts which faced the ridge was ours; the
British flag was once more run up upon the Cabul Gate.
Meanwhile at the Cashmere Gate there had been some delay. Lieutenants
Home and Salkeld, with some sergeants and native sappers, had at
sunrise crossed the beams of the bridge, from which the rebels had
removed the planking, and in broad daylight, without a particle of
cover, had laid their powder-bags. The enemy were so daunted by this
daring act that, when they saw Home coming, they hastily shut the
wicket, and he and his men laid the bags and jumped down into the ditch
unhurt.
Salkeld was not so fortunate. The rebels fired on him from the top of
the gateway, and he fell. Sergeant Burgess caught up the portfire, but
was shot dead. Carmichael fired the fuse, and fell mortally wounded.
Sergeant Smith, finding the fuse was alight, threw himself into the
ditch, and instantly the gate was burst open with a tremendous crash.
[Illustration: A DARING DEED: BLOWING-UP THE CASHMERE GATE, DELHI
In broad daylight, and without a particle of cover, Lieuts. Home and
Salkeld, with a few sappers, laid their powder bags and fired them.
Salkeld and some of the others were shot before they could escape.]
The bugler sounded the advance, and with a cheer our men rushed
through the gateway, and met the other columns, who had carried their
respective breaches. The Lahore Gate alone defied our attempts, and
Nicholson called for volunteers to follow him through the narrow
street towards the Lahore Gate.
As he strode forward, sword in hand, though there was death in every
window and on every house-top, his great stature marked him out as
a target for the enemy, and he fell, mortally wounded, the one man
England wanted most.
The long autumn day was over, and we were in Delhi, but had not taken
it. Sixty-six officers and 1,100 men had fallen, while not a sixth part
of the city was ours. Many of our men were lying drunk in the shops.
Had the sepoys possessed a General, they might have recovered the
ridge, and taken our whole camp, defended as it was mainly by the sick
and wounded.
On the next day, by order of General Wilson, vast quantities of
beer, wine, and brandy were destroyed. On the 16th active operations
were resumed. By sapping gradually from house to house we managed to
avoid street fighting and slowly pressed the rebels back into the
ever-narrowing part of the city from which, like rats, they streamed.
Whilst Seaton was in the Cashmere Gateway, he saw some artillerymen who
were on duty there rummaging about. One of them was looking into a long
arm-chest, when all at once he slammed down the lid, sat upon it sharp,
and roared out: “Hi! Bill, run! be quick! Here’s a devil of a Pandy in
the box!”
Bill lost no time in attending to his comrade’s request, and others
running up to see what it was, they pulled out of the box a fine
powerful sepoy, who was taken at once to the ditch and disposed of
without more ceremony.
On the 18th, between 9 and 10 a.m., there was an eclipse of the sun.
There is little doubt that this had a great effect on the minds of the
superstitious natives, for they now began to leave the city in streams.
On the morning of the 20th, as the city in the direction of the palace
seemed to be deserted, Colonel Jones came down with a column; a
powder-bag was applied to the palace gates, a few defenders were slain,
and the British flag was hoisted.
That night the mess dinner was laid in the celebrated Dewan Khas, the
marble building that Moore describes in “Lalla Rookh.”
The inner room is the King’s throne-room, and round the walls, inlaid
with black marble, are the famous words: “If there be an elysium on
earth, it is this.”
The habits of the late King and family rendered that elysium a very
dirty one, though the white marble was inlaid with coloured stones in
flowers and arabesques. The houses and huts in which the Princes of
the royal blood lived with their wives and children were a perfect
rabbit-warren, so closely packed were they. The exterior walls
enclosing the palace are 60 feet high, and built of red sandstone,
loopholed and crenellated, and make a noble appearance.
But the squalor and filth in the whole place were inconceivable. As
none of the Princes could engage in any business, the pittance they
had to live on barely supplied the necessaries of life. Seaton saw
some of the Princes. He says: “There was no trace of nobility, either
of birth or of mind, in their faces. They were stamped with everything
vile, gross, ignoble, sensual. Noble blood is a fine thing, but a noble
heart is better, and will shine through the most forbidding features;
but these wretches, with the cold, calm hand of death on them, showed
nothing of kingly descent or nobility of heart, their countenances
being as forbidding as the despicable passions in which they had
indulged could make them.”
It was laughable to see what rubbish was found in the palace. In one
room were found at least 200 pair of those trousers which Mohammedan
ladies wear instead of petticoats. Some of these were so stiff with
brocaded silk that they must have needed a hearty kick with each foot
at every step.
The quantities of pots and pans which they had amassed would have
furnished a whole street of dealers; then, there were telescopes and
guns and other valuables.
Much blame has been cast on Hodson for his severity to the royal
family. He fetched out the King and three Princes from the tomb where
they had taken refuge. The Princes were in a native carriage, and as
they drew near to Delhi an immense crowd surged round them, which was
increasing every moment, pressing on Hodson’s few men. They could
hardly proceed. Hodson, perhaps fearing a rescue, ordered the three
prisoners to get out. The poor wretches, seeing that something was
about to happen, put up their hands and fell at his feet, begging that
their lives might be spared.
Hodson merely said, “Choop ruho” (be silent); “take off your upper
garments.” They did so. Then, “Get into the cart.” They obeyed.
Hodson then took a carbine from one of his men, and shot them all
three. Then, turning to his men, he said: “These three men whom I
have just shot are the three Princes who contrived and commenced the
slaughter of our innocent women and children, and thus retributive
vengeance has fallen on them.”
The crowd, overawed, parted, and the carriage passed on. The bodies
were exposed on the very spot where our unfortunate countrymen had been
exposed. It seems cruel and vindictive, but we are judging in security.
Hodson had an angry people to daunt, and their sense of justice to
satisfy.
One must do our soldiers the justice to say that, though infuriated by
the slaughter of their officers and countrymen, with their wives and
children, inflamed by the news of the Cawnpore massacre, not an old
man, not a woman or child, was wilfully hurt by them. As Seaton was
waiting on the 20th by the Palace Gate, some soldiers were bringing
along an old man, whom they held by the arms. He went up and said to
them: “Remember you are Christian men, and he is very old.”
“Oh, sir!” was the reply, “we doesn’t forget that. We don’t mean him no
harm. We only wants a bit of baccy.”
So he let them go on, and in a few minutes saw them stuffing their
pipes, and the old fellow genially bringing a coal to light them.
“I have seen hundreds of instances where the greatest humanity and
kindness were shown, both to young and old, as well as to females, by
our noble-hearted fellows, even in their wildest moments.”
From Major-General Sir Thomas Seaton’s “From Cadet to Colonel.” By
kind permission of Messrs. G. Routledge and Sons.