THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW (31ST OF MAY TO 25TH OF SEPTEMBER, 1857)
Firing at close quarters--Adventures of fugitives--Death of Sir H.
Lawrence--His character--Difficulty of sending letters--Mines and
counter-mines--Fulton killed--Signs of the relief coming--A great
welcome--Story of the escape from Cawnpore.
For about ten days previous to the outbreak at Lucknow daily reports
were made that an _émeute_ was intended, and Sir Henry Lawrence, the
brother of Sir John Lawrence, had ordered all kinds of stores to be
bought and stored. The ladies and children had been removed from the
cantonments to the Residency in the city, which was already occupied by
a party of the 32nd foot and two guns.
The 9 p.m. gun on the 30th of May was evidently the signal for the
mutiny to begin, as a few minutes after it had been fired, whilst Sir
Henry and his staff were at dinner at the Residency, a sepoy came
running in, and reported a disturbance in the lines.
Sir Henry took two guns and a company of the 32nd, and took post on
the road leading to the town. Meanwhile bands of insurgents began to
plunder and burn our officers’ bungalows. Many officers had wonderful
escapes from death; some were killed by the rebels. Muchee Bhawun,
the residence of the late King, had been selected as a fitting place
of security and retreat: it was being strengthened and supplied with
stores.
On _June 10_ houses and buildings around began to be demolished; tents
were set apart for the European refugees who arrived daily from the
districts.
On _June 12_ the military police mutinied in a body, and went off to
Cawnpore; they were pursued for eight miles and about twenty were
killed.
On _June 15_ a hundred barrels of gunpowder were brought from the
Muchee Bhawun and buried in the Residency enclosure; twenty-three lacs
of rupees were also buried in front of the Residency to save the use
of sentries. Cash payments were now suspended, the men being paid by
promissory notes.
On _June 20_ large stacks of firewood, covered with earth, were placed
to protect the front of the Residency: they formed an embankment 6 feet
high, and embrasures were cut through them for the guns, of which there
were four 9-pounders on that side.
A letter arrived from Cawnpore giving very bad news. The enemy had
shelled them for the last eight days with fearful effect within their
crowded trenches, and one-third of their number had been killed. More
guns are brought in. They hear that eight or ten regiments of rebels
are within twenty miles of Lucknow.
On _June 28_ Mrs. Dorin, wife of Lieutenant Dorin, arrived at evening
in a country cart, disguised as a native and accompanied by some
clerks. The enemy are nine miles off. Though a force was sent out to
meet them, we had to retire before overwhelming numbers, with the loss
of the 8-inch howitzer and three 9-pounders.
The rebels came boldly on, investing the English on all sides, and
firing from all the houses round, which they rapidly loopholed.
_July 1._--We managed to send message to blow up the Muchee Bhawun
fort and come to the Residency at 12 p.m., bringing the treasure and
guns. We opened fire from our batteries in order to distract the
attention of the enemy from them.
At 12.15 they were at the Lower Water Gate. Here there was some delay,
as the gates had not yet been opened. A very serious accident had
nearly happened, for the leading men, finding the gate closed, shouted
out, “Open the gates!” but the artillerymen at the guns above, which
covered the entrance, mistook the words for “Open with grape,” and
were on the point to fire when an officer ran up and put them right.
The whole force came in safely, not a shot being fired. The explosion
which had been ordered had not yet taken place, but soon a tremor of
the earth, a volume of fire, a terrific report, and a mass of black
smoke shooting up into the air announced to Lucknow that 240 barrels of
gunpowder and 594,000 rounds of ball and gun ammunition had completed
the destruction of Muchee Bhawun, which we had fortified with so much
labour.
Strange stories were told by some of the refugees from outlying
districts. Here is one told by the wife of a surgeon: “I heard a number
of shots fired in our station, and looking out, I saw my husband
driving furiously from the mess-house. I ran to him, and, catching
up my child, got into the buggy. At the mess-house we found all the
officers assembled, with sixty sepoys who had remained faithful.
“As we went our homes were seen to be on fire. Next morning our sepoy
escort deserted us. We were fired on by matchlock men and lost one
officer. We had no food. An officer kindly lent us a horse. We were
very faint. Our party now was only nine gentlemen, two children, the
sergeant, and his wife. On the 20th Captain Scott took my little
two-year-old Lottie on to his horse. Soon after sunrise we were
followed by villagers armed with clubs and spears. One of them struck
Captain Scott’s horse on the leg. He galloped off with Lottie, and my
poor husband never saw his child again.
“We rode on several miles, keeping away from villages, and then crossed
the river. Our thirst was extreme. Soon I saw water in a ravine. I
climbed down the steep descent. Our only drinking-vessel was M.’s cap
(which had once been a sepoy’s). Our horse got water and I bathed
my neck. I had no stockings and my feet were torn and blistered. My
husband was very weak, and, I thought, dying. He wished me good-bye
as he lay on the ground. My brain seemed burnt up: no tears came. Our
horse cantered away, so that escape was cut off. We sat down on the
ground waiting for death. Poor fellow! he was very weak; his thirst was
frightful, and I went to get him water. Some villagers came and took my
rupees and watch. I took off my wedding-ring, twisted it in my hair and
replaced the guard. I tore off the skirt of my dress to bring water in;
but it was no use, for when I returned, my beloved’s eyes were fixed,
and, though I called and tried to restore him and poured water into his
mouth, it only rattled in his throat. He never spoke to me again, and
he gradually sank down and died. I was alone. In an hour or so about
thirty villagers came. They dragged me out of the ravine and took off
my jacket; then they dragged me to a village, mocking me all the way.
The whole village came to look at me. I lay down outside the door of a
hut. They had dozens of cows, and yet refused me milk. When night came
and the village was quiet, some old woman brought me a leafful of rice.
The next morning a neighbouring Rajah sent a palanquin and a horseman
to fetch me, who told me that a little child and three sahibs had come
to his master’s house. That little child was my Lottie! She was sorely
blistered, but, thank God! alive and well.”
That is the sort of experience some ladies went through--ladies that
had never before known what thirst or privation or insult was like.
_July 2._--About 8 a.m. Sir Henry returned to the Residency and lay
down on his bed. Soon after an 8-inch shell from the enemy’s howitzer
entered the room at the window and exploded. A fragment struck the
Brigadier-General on the upper part of the right thigh near the hip,
inflicting a fearful wound.
Captain Wilson, who was standing alongside the bed with one knee on it,
reading a memorandum to Sir Henry, was knocked down by falling bricks.
Mr. Lawrence, Sir Henry’s nephew, had an equally narrow escape, but
was not hurt. The fourth person in the room, a native servant, lost
one of his feet by a fragment of the shell. The ceiling and the punkah
all came down, and the dust and smoke prevented anyone seeing what had
happened.
Neither Sir Henry nor his nephew uttered a sound, and Captain Wilson,
as soon as he recovered from the concussion, called out in alarm: “Sir
Henry, are you hurt?”
Twice he thus called out and got no reply. After the third time Sir
Henry said in a low tone: “I am killed.”
His bed was being soaked with blood. Some soldiers of the 32nd soon
came in and placed Sir Henry in a chair. When the surgeon came he saw
that human aid was useless. Lucknow and England had lost what could
never be replaced. For all who ever came in contact with Sir Henry
Lawrence recognized in him a man of unstained honour, a lover of
justice, pure, unselfish and noble. His successor, Brigadier Inglis,
wrote of him: “Few men have ever possessed to the same extent the
power which he enjoyed of winning the hearts of all those with whom
he came in contact.” He gained also by his frankness the trust of the
natives, who said of him: “When Sir Henry looks twice up to heaven and
once down to earth, and then strokes his beard, he knows what to do.”
His dying wish was that, if any epitaph were placed on his tomb, it
should be this: “Here lies Henry Lawrence, who tried to do his duty.”
He had indeed tried to do his duty towards the defence of Lucknow.
Three weeks before anyone else thought of a siege he began to collect
supplies, and even paid for them much over their market value. He
collected and buried much treasure in the grounds of the Residency;
he stored up in underground cellars guns and mortars, shot and shell
and grain; strengthened the outworks, and cleared the ground of small
buildings around. Even then the assailants and the besieged were quite
close to each other, and no man on either side dared expose himself
to fire his musket: they fired through loopholes in the walls. This
placed a never-ending strain on the besieged, for they never knew when
to expect an assault. On the one side of a narrow lane were myriads of
swarthy foemen, on the other side a few hundreds, who were bound always
to be ready, day and night, to meet a storming party. All through the
siege officers and men alike stood sentry; all bore an equal burden of
toil and fighting.
The stench, too, from dead animals was dreadful: they had so few
servants, and the fighting men were so harassed, that they were
helpless to bury them.
Heavy showers night and day kept the garrison drenched to the skin, and
they had no change of clothes. The sick and wounded were much crowded,
as they could not use the upper story of the hospital because it was
under fire of round shot.
_August 12._--A letter to General Havelock, rolled up and put inside
a quill, was despatched by the hands of an old woman. She left the
position about 9 p.m., and it was hoped she would be permitted to pass
the enemy’s sentries. During the past forty-five days they had sent by
different hands, in a similar manner, some twenty letters. To only one
of these was any reply received.
_August 18._--At daylight the enemy exploded a large mine under one
of the principal posts. The three officers and three sentries on the
top of the house were blown up into the air; the guard below were all
buried in the ruins. The officers, though much stunned, recovered and
escaped. A clear breach had been made in our defences to the extent of
30 feet in breadth. One of the enemy’s leaders sprung on the top of the
breach and called on his comrades to follow; but when he and another
had been shot the rest hung back. Boxes, doors, planks, etc., were
rapidly carried down to make cover to protect the men.
_August 23._--There was work nightly for at least 300 men, as they had
the defences to repair daily, mines to countermine, guns to remove,
corpses to bury, rations to serve out. The Europeans were not capable
of much exertion, as from want of sleep, hard work, and constant
exposure, their bodily strength was greatly diminished. The ladies had
to be removed, as the upper story of Mr. Gubbins’ house was no longer
safe, owing to the number of round shot through it. It was difficult
to find quarters for them, every place being so crowded, and the
ladies were already four and five together in small, badly ventilated
native dwellings. Dreadful smells pervaded the whole place, from the
half-buried bodies of men, horses, and bullocks, and also from the
drains.
_September 9._--During the night a shell exploded in a room occupied
by a lady and some children, and, though almost every article in the
room was destroyed, they all escaped unhurt. Finding that the enemy
were rapidly mining towards the Cawnpore battery, they sprung a mine
containing 200 pounds of powder. The effect was tremendous, and it
evidently astonished the enemy to see their miners going up skywards in
fragments.
As the uniforms wore out they clothed themselves as they could. One
officer had a coat made out of an old billiard cloth; another wore a
shirt made out of a floor-cloth. They had no tobacco, and had to smoke
dried tea-leaves.
“_September 14._--A grievous loss to-day: Captain Fulton, of the
Engineers, while reconnoitring from a battery, was killed by a round
shot which struck him on the head. He had conducted all the engineering
operations of the siege for a long time. He was a highly gifted, brave
and chivalrous officer, and a great favourite.”
_September 22._--About 11 p.m. Ungud, pensioner, returned to Lucknow,
bringing a letter containing the glad tidings that the relieving force,
under General Outram, had crossed the Ganges, and would arrive in a few
days.
His arrival and the cheering news he brought of speedy aid was well
timed, for daily desertions of servants were becoming the rule. All the
garrison were greatly elated at the news, and on many of the sick and
wounded the speedy prospect of a change of air and security exercised a
most beneficial effect.
_September 25._--About 11 a.m. increasing agitation was visible among
the people in the town. An hour later they heard guns and saw the
smoke. All the garrison was on the alert; the excitement amongst many
of the officers and men was quite painful to witness. At 1.30 p.m.
many were leaving the city with bundles of clothes on their heads. The
rebels’ bridge of boats had evidently been destroyed, for they could
see many swimming across the river, most of them cavalry, with their
horses’ bridles in their hands. During all this apparent panic the guns
of the enemy in position all round were keeping up a heavy cannonade,
and the riflemen never ceased firing from their loopholes.
At 4 p.m. report was made that some officers dressed in shooting-coats
and caps, a regiment of Europeans in blue pantaloons and shirts, could
be seen near Mr. Martin’s house. At 5 p.m. volleys of musketry, rapidly
growing louder, were heard in the city. But soon the firing of a
minie-ball over their heads gave notice of the still nearer approach of
their friends. It was very exciting, but they as yet could see little
of them, though they could hear the rebels firing on them from the
roofs of the houses.
Will they again be repulsed? The heart sickens at the thought. No. Five
minutes later, and our troops are seen fighting their way through one
of the principal streets, and though men are falling at almost every
step, yet on they come. Nothing can withstand the headlong gallantry
of our reinforcements. Once fairly seen and all doubts and fears
are ended. And now the garrison’s long pent-up feelings of anxiety
and suspense burst forth in a succession of deafening cheers. From
every pit, trench and battery, from behind the sand-bags piled up on
shattered houses, from every post still held by a few gallant spirits,
rose cheer on cheer--aye, even from the hospital.
Many of the wounded were crawling forth to join in that glad shout
of welcome to those who had so bravely come to their assistance.
The ladies were in tears--tears of joy; some were on their knees,
already thanking God for a deliverance from unspeakable horrors. It
was a moment never to be forgotten. Soon all the rearguard and heavy
guns were inside our position, and then ensued a scene which baffles
description. For eighty-seven days the Lucknow garrison had lived in
utter ignorance of all that had taken place outside. Wives who had
mourned their husbands as dead were again restored to them; others,
fondly looking forward to glad meetings with those near and dear to
them, now for the first time learnt that they were alone in the world.
On all sides eager inquiries were made for relations and friends.
Oh, what a hubbub of voices, what exclamations of delight, what sad
silences!
The force under the command of Sir James Outram and Havelock had
suffered heavily. Out of 2,600 who had left Cawnpore nearly one-third
had been either killed or wounded in forcing their way through the
city. Indeed, their losses were so heavy that they could effect little
towards the relief, for the rebels were in overpowering force, so that
the garrison remained on three-quarter rations, as closely besieged as
before, looking for a day when they might be more effectually relieved
by a larger and stronger force.
Then, after the personal inquiries had died down, with bated breath
they asked for news of Cawnpore. What a tale of horror, of pride, of
shame! On the 5th of June, so they were told, the Cawnpore regiments
mutinied and set off for Delhi. On the 6th they were brought back
by Nana Sahib, a man who had once been well received in London
drawing-rooms, now the arch-traitor and murderer.
Not less than 1,000 persons took refuge in the Residency, which Nana
proceeded to invest. It was a poor, weak place to defend, yet they
kept the flag flying till the 24th of June, when their ammunition and
provisions were all gone. Time after time the gallant little garrison
repulsed all the Nana’s attacks. At length he approached them with
treacherous smiles, and offered to transmit them safely to Allahabad
on conditions of surrender. General Sir Hugh Wheeler undertook to
deliver up the fortifications, the treasure, and the artillery on
condition that our force should march out under arms, with sixty rounds
of ammunition to every man; that carriages should be provided for the
conveyance of the wounded, the women, and the children; that boats
provided with flour should be in readiness at the landing-place.
What happened was described by one who had been on the spot. He said:
“The whole of Cawnpore was astir at an early hour to see the English
depart. They poured down to the landing-place in thousands. Meanwhile
a crowd of carriages and beasts of burden had been collected outside
the entrenchments. The bullock-carts were soon filled with women and
children. A fine elephant had been sent for the General, but he put his
wife and daughters in the state howdah, and contented himself with a
simple palanquin. The wounded were placed in litters with such care as
soldiers could employ. Many sepoys mingling with the crowd expressed
admiration for the British defence; some even wept over the sufferings
of their late masters. Eleven dying Europeans were left behind, too ill
to be moved.
“They set off, with the men of the 32nd Regiment at their head; then
came a throng of naked bearers, carrying the palanquins full of sick
and wounded; then came the bullock-carts crowded with ladies and
children; and next, musket on shoulder, came all who could still walk
and fight. Major Vibart of the Second Cavalry came last. Colonel and
Mrs. Ewart started late, she on foot, walking beside her husband, who
was borne by four native porters. As they dropped astern some natives
belonging to the Colonel’s own battalion approached him. They began to
mock him, and then cut him in pieces with their swords. They did the
same to his wife.
“The road to the landing-place, which is about a mile from the
entrenchments, runs down a ravine, which in summer is dry, and is
enclosed on either side by high banks and crumbling fences. As the van
turned down this ravine a great mob of natives watched them go in a
strange silence.
“Rather disorderly, with swaying howdahs and grunting beasts, the
unwieldy caravan wound along the sandy lane. When they were all
entangled in the little defile some sepoys quietly formed a double line
across the mouth of the gorge, shutting, as it were, the top of the
trap.
“Meanwhile the head of the caravan had reached the landing-place, being
a little surprised at the want of a pier or planks to serve as gangway.
“But the English officers went in knee-deep and hoisted the wounded
and the women into the covered barges, which had been hauled into the
shallows, and were in many cases grounded on the sandy bottom. The
boats were 30 feet from stem to stern and 12 feet in beam, roofed with
straw, having a space at each end for the rowers and the steersman.
They looked very old and dilapidated, but beggars may not choose.
Hindoo boatmen were waiting sullenly and silently, not deigning to
return a smile to the little English children, who already began to
scent fun and enjoyment in a long river excursion.
“All at once a bugle rang out from the top of the defile. Away splashed
the native rowers, jumping from their boats into the water.
“The rebels put up their muskets and fired point-blank into the laden
boats; but the English had their rifles, and returned the fire.
“Yet another surprise! Suddenly the straw roofs of the native boats
burst into flame, and from either shore of the river grape and musket
shot were poured in relentlessly. The wounded lay still and were burnt
to death. Ladies and children sought the protection of the water,
and crouched in the shallows under the sterns of the barges. The men
tried to push off, but the keels stuck fast. Out of two dozen boats
only three drifted slowly down from the stage. Of these three two went
across to the Oude bank, where stood two cannon, guarded by a battalion
of infantry and some cavalry. The third boat, containing Vibart and
Whiting and Ushe, Delafosse and Bolton, Burney and Glanville and Moore,
the bravest of the brave, got clear away, and drifted down the main
channel.”
Mrs. Bradshaw thus describes what she saw: “In the boat where I was
to have gone were the school-mistress and twenty-two missies. General
Wheeler came last in a palkee. They carried him into the water near a
boat. I was standing close by. He said, ‘Carry me a little further near
the boat.’ But a trooper said, ‘No; get out here.’ As the General got
out of the palkee, head foremost, the trooper gave him a cut with his
sword into the neck, and he fell into the water. My son was killed near
him. I saw it--alas! alas! Some were stabbed with bayonets; others were
cut down with swords and knives. Little infants were torn in pieces.
We saw it, we did, and tell you only what we saw. Other children were
stabbed and thrown into the river. The school-girls were burnt to
death. I saw their clothes and hair catch fire. In the water, a few
paces off, by the next boat, we saw the youngest daughter of Colonel
Williams. A sepoy was going to kill her with his bayonet, when she
said, ‘My father was always kind to sepoys.’ He turned away, and just
then a villager struck her on the head with his club, and she fell into
the water.”
After a time the women and children who had not been shot, stabbed, or
burnt were collected and brought to shore, some of them being rudely
handled by the sowars, who tore from ear or finger such jewels as
caught their fancy.
About 120 sat or lay on the shore or on logs of timber, full of misery,
fear, and despair. There they waited in the blinding sun on the Ganges
shore all that morning. Then they were herded back along the narrow
lane by which they had come with hope in their bosoms, while the sepoys
who guarded them grinned with fiendish delight, and showed gleefully
all their spoils. Past the bazaar and the chapel and the racquet-court
and the entrenchments they limped along, until they were paraded before
the pavilion of the Maharajah, who looked them well over, and ordered
them to be confined in the Savada House. Two good-sized rooms, which
had been used by native soldiers for a month, were given them to live
in, and a guard was placed over them.
One witness says: “I saw that many of the ladies were wounded. Their
clothes had blood on them. Some were wet, covered with mud and blood,
and some had their dresses badly torn, but all had clothes. I saw one
or two children without clothes. There were no men in the party, but
only some boys of twelve or thirteen years of age. Some of the ladies
were barefoot and lame. Two I saw were wounded in the leg.”
And what of the third boat which floated down-stream?
More than 100 persons had taken refuge in it. Some officers and men,
seeing how hopeless was the fight on the bank, had swum out to Vibart
and his crew. Now they stranded on a mud-bank, now they drifted towards
the guns on the other shore, ever under a hot fire of canister and
shell, and continually losing brave men who were shot at point-blank
range. Down in the bottom of the great barge lay dying and dead, till
at last the survivors were compelled to throw the bodies overboard.
At night a fire-ship was sent down to set them alight, and fire-tipped
arrows were shot into the thatched roof, forcing our people to cut them
away. Then they came under a fierce fire from the militia of Ram Bux.
Pelting rains came down, and they drifted up a backwater, and soon
after a host of rebels surrounded the poor, stricken fugitives and took
them back to Cawnpore.
The doomed boat-load were seen to be drawing near the landing-place
early on the morning of the 30th. This is what a native spy said of
them:
“There were brought back sixty sahibs, twenty-five mem sahibs, and four
children. The Nana ordered the sahibs to be separated from the mem
sahibs, and shot by the 1st Bengal Native Infantry. But they said, ‘We
will not kill the sahibs; put them in prison.’ Then said the Nadiree
Regiment: ‘What word is this--put them in prison? We will kill the
males ourselves.’
“So the sahibs were seated on the ground. Two companies stood with
their muskets, ready to fire. Then said one of the mem sahibs, the
doctor’s wife: ‘I will not leave my husband. If he must die, I will die
with him.’ So she ran and sat down behind her husband, clasping him
round the waist.
“When she said this the other mem sahibs said: ‘We also will die with
our husbands;’ and they all sat down, each by her husband.
“Then their husbands said: ‘Go back;’ but they would not do so.
“So then the Nana gave order, and his soldiers went in and pulled them
away by force. But they could not pull away the doctor’s wife, who
stayed there. Then the padre asked leave to read prayers before they
died. He did so, and then shut the book. Then all the sahibs shook
hands and bid good-bye. Then the sepoys fired. One sahib rolled one
way, one another, but they were not quite dead; so the sepoys went at
them and finished them off with their swords.”
Can you imagine the breathless horror with which the garrison of
Lucknow listened to these details of a most cruel and treacherous
onslaught upon wounded men, upon refined ladies, and innocent children?
How they sighed for a force strong enough to take an adequate revenge
upon these miscreants! But for the present they were besieged
themselves, though reinforced; and who of them could count upon a day’s
security? Perhaps, if the bullet spared them at Lucknow their would-be
rescuers might be unable to fight their way through the city, and these
poor ladies and children of the Lucknow garrison might be reserved for
a lot even worse than death. “Will they come?--will they come to help
us here at Lucknow? That is our anxious thought night and day.”