[1] Rascals.
[2] The name given to the enclosed grounds of a house in the
North-Western Provinces.
II.
SKIRMISHING.
Before continuing my narrative, I wish to draw particular attention
to a circumstance which, so far as I know, has been overlooked by
every historian of the Mutiny. This is the fact that as I was at the
time informed, the military authorities, in view of the lengthening
days and the increasing heat of the season, had caused, on May 10th,
1857, the evening church parade to take place half an hour later
than formerly. In my firm belief, this change saved us from an awful
catastrophe. In those days British troops attended divine service
practically unarmed, for they did not take with them their rifles or
carbines and ammunition. Their only weapons were their side-arms. The
mutineers were, of course, unaware of this change. They broke into
revolt half an hour too soon. Had they waited till the 60th Rifles
were securely gathered into the church, what could have prevented
them from overpowering the small guards over the rifles and the guns,
and utterly destroying the defenceless crowd of soldiers penned, like
sheep, within four walls. Providence befriended us. When the first
scouts of the cavalry came galloping down to the European lines, they
found the white soldiers falling into their places on parade. Once the
alarm was given, all attempt at surprise was out of the question, and
the hope of achieving an easy massacre was changed into fear of the
awful retribution which they thought the European troops, now on the
alert, would not fail speedily to exact. This fear altered all their
plans, and hastened their flight to Delhi, so graphically described by
Sir John Kaye; but, alas! no swift retribution followed.
The European troops, 1,500 strong, were paralysed by the irresolution
of their chief. Had the gallant Hearsey or Sidney Cotton occupied
Hewett's place at Meerut, it is safe to say that, in spite of the wings
which fear lent to the mutineers on their flight to Delhi, few of them
would ever have reached that haven of their hopes. The shrapnel of the
artillery and the swords of the Carabineers would have annihilated
them. It is true that Generals Hewett and Archdale Wilson, late in
the evening, moved the troops over the open plain of the infantry
parade-ground and that they caused a few rounds to be fired, in the
dark, at some belated stragglers of the cavalry, which said rounds, by
the way, nearly killed an officer, Lieutenant Galloway, of my regiment,
who had taken refuge in an out-house in the line of fire; but General
Hewett, instead of even then detaching the Carabineers and a battery
of horse artillery in pursuit of the flying mutineers, acted on the
ill-starred advice of his Brigadier to withdraw the whole force to the
European lines. No greater mistake from any point of view was ever
committed.
There can be no doubt that the offer of Captain Rosser, of the 6th
Dragoon Guards, to take a squadron and a couple of guns in pursuit, was
really made and declined; for it was well known and much discussed
at the time. It is true that intimation of this offer never reached
the Colonel Commanding the Regiment; but it is equally certain that
somebody blundered in not taking immediate steps to bring it to the
notice of Colonel Custance. The prompt punishment which even such a
small body could have inflicted would have been of the utmost value as
a lesson both to the rebels and to the faint-hearted among ourselves;
but the opportunity was wilfully thrown away; and the magnificent
brigade of British troops of all arms, which afterwards covered itself
with glory at the Hindun Nuddee, at Delhi, at Lucknow, and wherever its
members met the enemy, was marched back to Meerut, and condemned for a
period to the humiliating _rôle_ of passive inaction.
Difficult as it is to understand, and impossible to excuse the motives
which paralysed the nerves of General Hewett, it can only be hoped that
all our officers have laid to heart the lesson so frequently learned
in the great school of the Sepoy Mutiny that, in dealing with an
Oriental enemy, _l'audace! et toujours l'audace_ is not only the most
soldierlike but the surest road to success. "Strike promptly and strike
hard" should be their motto. Over and over again have small bodies of
Englishmen, under the most desperate circumstances, and against the
most fearful odds, by acting on this maxim, "plucked the flower safely
from the nettle danger." When the day comes, as come it will, that we
Englishmen will once more have to fight for the preservation of our
Indian Empire, the issue will only be doubtful if timid and irresolute
counsels prevent us from putting forth the whole of our strength at the
first serious symptoms of internal disaffection or external menace.
During the next few days the Meerut garrison lay inert. Far from
undertaking any distant reconnaisances or making any active efforts to
restore to quiet the surrounding districts, not even was punishment
inflicted on the city or the bazars, which had poured forth their
swarms of murderers and robbers on the night of the 10th. A few
individual marauders were, it is true, caught and hanged; but there
retributive measures ceased. Native houses, choked with plunder, were
left unsearched, and their occupants were allowed unmolested to swagger
about in the sight of all men, and to boast among themselves of the
shame and havoc they had wrought on the "Feringhi."
Our women and children and unarmed civilian refugees were given shelter
in the "Dumdama," an often-described walled enclosure. The Generals and
their staffs and many other officers took refuge in a barrack, over
which a guard was duly mounted. Piquets, inlying and outlying, were
told off; and every precaution was taken to prevent the cantonments
being rushed by the "budmashes" of the "Burra Bazar" or the Goojars of
the neighbouring villages!
As a comic element is never absent from the most tragic events, I may
interpolate here a little story _anent_ Colonel Blank. That gallant
officer rejoiced in a long and scanty moustache, which up to the
moment of the Mutiny had retained the glossy black of youth. A few
days afterwards, an officer who met me asked me if I had observed the
terrible effect which late events had evidently wrought on the Colonel.
"Poor fellow!" said he, "his hair has turned perfectly white!" My
irreverent laughter amazed and shocked him. He little knew that the
blanching of the old gentleman's moustache was due to his not having
had the time or the presence of mind to bring with him in his hurried
flight from the mutineers his trusty bottle of hair-dye.
A very few nights after the Generals and other officers had taken up
their quarters in the barrack already mentioned, they suffered from
a scare which, if it did not whiten their hair, might easily have
proved a very serious matter to its innocent cause. This was how it
happened. It must be premised that a row of beds lined each wall of
the long barrack-room, each bed containing a General, a staff, or at
the least a field officer, every one of whom reposed his head on a
pillow under which lay a revolver, while his sword was either resting
on a chair beside him or hanging on the wall. Outside was a guard of
British soldiers, and in the immediate vicinity were some fifteen or
sixteen hundred more. Altogether as secure and well-guarded a dormitory
as it is possible to conceive, and one in which the most timid and
nerve-shaken creature might placidly entrust himself to the arms of
Morpheus. Not so, thought one of its warrior occupants. Were there not
three Hindu punkah-coolies in the verandah, and were not all their
lives at the mercy of these miscreants? It behoved one at least to
remain on the alert, and, with a watchful eye on the coolie toiling
at the punkah rope at one end of the room, to safeguard the lives of
all the careless sleepers. He should be that one! So, ostentatiously
snoring, and pretending to be wrapped in slumber, he devoted himself
to his task. A couple of hours passed without incident; but at last
his vigilance was justified and rewarded. The ruffian at the rope who,
while there remained a chance that any of his proposed victims might
be still awake, had pulled with steady cadence the heavy punkahs, now
began to simulate slumber, and at intervals to cease pulling. Evidently
this was a deep and artful ruse to discover if the cessation of the
fanning breeze might, peradventure, rouse any of the sleepers; but
none of them stirred. The moment for action had clearly arrived. So
the blood-thirsty coolie coughed a smothered cough once or twice as
a signal to his two confederates in the verandah; but as no response
came, he prepared to go and personally warn them. As a precautionary
measure, however, he noiselessly laid down the rope, and, approaching
the nearest sleepers, bent over them to satisfy himself that they were
really unconscious. As he repeated this performance over our watchful
friend, whose hair was now standing on end with horror, he found
himself suddenly clutched in the embrace of a pair of arms nerved with
the strength of panic fear, while loud shouts of "I've got him! I've
got him!" echoed through the room. Breathless with excitement, the bold
captor told his thrilling tale, and demanded that the three villains
should be led to instant execution. He laughed to scorn the plausible
story of his captive, to the effect that he had been left at the punkah
rope longer than his rightful turn, that he had coughed to attract the
attention of his "budlee" or relieving coolie, that on this signal
failing he had then determined to go and fetch him; but _dur ki maree_,
"the fear of being beaten," had induced him to make sure, before
doing so, that none of the "sahibs" was likely to jump up, and, _more
Anglo-Indico_, chastise him. Fortunately for the wretched coolie his
explanation was accepted, not without much laughter, and he escaped the
gallows; but nothing could ever convince his gallant captor that he had
not by his courage and presence of mind averted a dreadful massacre.
It is really difficult to exaggerate the demoralisation which at that
period seemed to overcome the nerves of certain of the more weak-kneed
among us. Every native was to their excited imagination a "Pandy." My
own faithful bearer, Sheodeen, owed to the natty twist of his turban
and the martial way in which he habitually curled up his moustaches,
a very close interview with the hangman. He was, during my absence,
arrested, and would undoubtedly have been given a short shrift if an
officer who knew him had not sent for me in hot haste. My earnest
advice to him after that grim experience was to roll his "puggrie"
anyhow, to take the curl out of his moustaches, to drop his jaunty
swaggering gait, and generally to look as mean and dirty as possible.
On the night of the 11th an adventure happened to myself, which at the
time I was rather shy of mentioning, but which I may now relate. I had
taken it on myself to do a little patrolling on my own account; and
as I was starting from near the main gate of the "Dumdama," I came
across a Eurasian Trumpeter named Murray, of my own regiment. As he was
mounted I asked him to accompany me. This he did. We had not gone far
before we saw, indistinctly, through the dusk, what appeared to be a
small group of the rebels, cautiously creeping towards where a tree,
growing close to the wall, gave them a fair chance of successfully
scaling it. "Will you stick by me, Murray, and charge them?" I
whispered. "That I will, sir," replied he: "I will stand by you to the
last drop of my blood." So, drawing our swords, and moving quietly
forward for a few yards, we suddenly clapped spurs to our horses and
charged--to the bewilderment and complete demoralisation of a speckled
cow, over whose body we narrowly escaped "coming to grief," and who,
as soon as she could recover her senses, dashed off into the darkness.
"Never mind, Murray," said I. "It might have been the Pandies, you
know. We'll just say nothing about this--yet a while." Poor fellow! he
was killed not many days afterwards, bravely fighting, at the Hindun
Nuddee.
On the evening of the 15th May the native Sappers and Miners from
Roorkee marched into Meerut. Next afternoon it so happened that a small
party of the faithful remnant of the 3rd Light Cavalry, which was about
to proceed under my command to the support of the civil authorities
in a neighbouring station, was paraded, mounted, for the General's
inspection, close to the barrack where he had taken up his quarters,
when I heard the report of a single shot, rapidly followed by two or
three more, from the direction of the Sapper Camp; and presently saw
that a scene of confusion and uproar was going on there. A rumour
reached me--how I do not remember--that the Sappers had mutinied, had
killed Alfred Light, the artillery officer who afterwards became so
distinguished, and were about to fly into the jungle. Naturally I lost
no time in dismounting and running in to the barrack to inform General
Hewett, whom I found in the dishabille of shirt and pyjamas.
While I was making my report to the bewildered General, Brigadier
Archdale Wilson pushed up to us, buckling on his sword-belt, and
ordered me to mount at once and follow the Sappers and keep them in
sight till he could come up with some of the Carabineers and guns. By
this time the Sappers, who, I firmly believe, had at first no intention
whatever of mutinying, but had been seized by sudden panic through
groundless fear of an attack by the European troops, were swarming in
flight over the plain, some in uniform, some in native clothes, but all
armed with their muskets.
The shot which I had heard had been fired, as I subsequently learnt,
by an Afghan, and had killed the Commanding Officer, Major Fraser. The
action of this one man compromised all his comrades. However loyally
disposed they might have been, they must have felt that now appearances
were so fatally against them that no quarter could be hoped for from
the enraged European troops who surrounded them; and that instant
flight offered the only slender chance of escape from destruction.
As my little party galloped after them I was stopped by an artillery
officer, evidently senior in rank to myself, who ordered me to halt and
asked me where I was going. I told him that the Brigadier-General had
ordered me to follow the Sappers who had mutinied and killed Alfred
Light. "That is hardly possible," he said, "seeing that I am Alfred
Light. These Sappers are not mutinying at all, but are going with
permission to destroy a neighbouring village of budmashes. You stop
where you are. I will take the responsibility." Taken quite aback by
all this, I was still remonstrating with him when the Brigadier-General
rode up, furious with me for having halted, and ordered me on again.
I was glad to leave Alfred Light to settle the question of my delay
with him, and dashed on in pursuit. Soon we overtook about fifty men,
who took refuge in a grove of trees surrounded by a wall; and there
I kept guard over them till the arrival of the Brigadier-General with
a squadron of Carabineers and some guns. A few rounds were fired into
the grove, but without much effect, and then dismounted Carabineers
and a number of officers skirmished into it, and pursued the Sappers
from tree to tree. The poor fellows fought with the energy of despair.
No quarter was given, and all were destroyed, except two who were made
prisoners by myself, and who, I believe, were afterwards retained in
the service, and proved perfectly loyal.
At the close of this affair I noticed a man who had retreated through
the grove and had taken refuge behind a low wall on its further side,
from which shelter he betrayed himself by firing at us.
As I rode round the outside of the enclosure on its left and got in
line with him, a Trooper of the Carabineers appeared at the opposite
end of the wall, and we both came down on him at full gallop. The
Sapper jumped to his feet and fixed his bayonet. We reached him almost
at the same moment. As the Trooper lifted his sword to deliver a
swinging cut the Sapper charged him with his bayonet and transfixed him
through the breast, with a sickening ripping sound which still haunts
my ears, while my straining sword arm failed by an inch to reach and
lift the bayonet. Before he could withdraw the bayonet I had run him
through the body. The uplifted arm of the Carabineer dropped, the sword
slipped from his grasp, he reeled for a moment on his saddle, and then
fell to the ground dead.
A correspondent wrote to the _Pioneer_:--"The Carabineer who was killed
just outside Meerut in the Sapper Affair was a Trooper, named Frederick
Kingsford, who rode an untrained horse, which became unsteady at the
time of charging the rebel. He was the first man killed in action in
the Mutiny, although many Europeans had fallen before that day."
It was late in the evening when we returned to cantonments. The
destination of my small party, which was to have started next morning
into the district, was unexpectedly changed.
A message had been received by General Hewett from a party of fugitives
from Delhi, who were wandering about in the jungles near that place,
and who implored that help should be sent to them. When I heard of this
I felt that women and children could not possibly be left to their
fate among the rebels without at least an effort being made to save
them; so I went to General Hewett and offered to attempt the rescue
with twenty-five men of the remnant of my regiment. He asked if I was
in earnest, and told me that the fugitives had not got far from Delhi,
and that he had considered it hopeless to send a succouring party.
The letter, which was written in the French language, had been thrown
under a table, whence I saw it picked up. The General then gave me
permission, and on the forenoon of the 17th my party started. On our
way out of Meerut we met Lieutenant Hugh Gough of our regiment (now
Sir H. Gough, _V.C._, _K.C.B._, commanding the Lahore Division). He
told me that he had just heard of my having volunteered for this duty,
and that he could not let me go alone. So he galloped back to get his
arms, and thus, in this most gallant and self-sacrificing manner, came
with me on an errand which both of us felt pretty sure was to be our
last. We rode all day, expecting every moment our men to turn on us
and bolt to Delhi. The temptation must have been very sore to them;
for they had witnessed the extreme demoralisation which the Mutiny had
caused in Meerut; but providentially they remained staunch. Only once
did we meet with a show of opposition at a large village, but most
fortunately we thought it probable that the inhabitants were alarmed at
our French-grey uniforms, and took us for a party of mutineers on the
prowl. So Gough and I halted the men and rode on alone. The sight of
our white faces re-assured the villagers, and our explanations calmed
them.
Late in the evening we arrived at the village of Hirchinpore, where we
had ascertained from people in the fields that the fugitives were to
be found. Again our light-grey uniforms caused alarm and confusion.
The gate of a walled enclosure was shut in our faces, and it was with
great difficulty that we got those inside to believe that we were
friends. At last, on our promising to leave the men outside, Gough and
I were admitted; and we rode in, not without suspicion that we might
ourselves have fallen into a trap. We found a very dark old gentleman
called Cohen, the zemindar of the village, an Orientalised Jew I think,
seated in the doorway with a gun in his hand, evidently determined
in case of treachery to sell his life dearly. The fugitives of whom
we were in search had in despair stowed themselves away in various
hiding places, and when they appeared presented a pitiable spectacle
from the effects of the hardships they had undergone. All that night
we had to remain there while Cohen's people collected carts to convey
the women and children. If one of our men or one of the villagers had
bolted and carried to Delhi the news of what a haul could be made at
Hirchinpore, two or three hours would have sealed our fate. But again
Providence befriended us, and early next morning our little caravan
started for Meerut, where we safely arrived that night, and I had the
joy of once more seeing my Sister, of whom I could not bear to take
leave when I started, and who had been in ignorance of my having gone
till I was miles on my way. The following are the names of the ladies
and gentlemen who composed the party of fugitives:--
1. Colonel Knyvett, 38th Regiment, N. I.
2. Lieutenant Salkeld, Bengal Engineers. (Died of
wounds received at the assault of Delhi).
3. Lieutenant Wilson, Bengal Artillery.
4. " Montague M. Proctor, 38th N. I.
5. " H. Gambier, 38th N. I. (Died of
wounds received at the assault of Delhi).
6. Captain G. Forrest, _V.C._ (Died from the effects
of injuries received in the defence of the Delhi
Magazine on 11th May, 1857).
7. Lieutenant Vibart, 54th N. I.
8. Mrs. Forrest.
9. Mrs. Fraser, widow of Major Fraser, who had been
killed at Meerut by the mutineer sappers.
10. Miss Forrest.
11. " Annie Forrest.
12. " Eliza Forrest.
13. Mr. Marshall (merchant).
14 & 15. Two European women whose names I do
not know.
Very glad was I to turn in that might with the prospect of a good rest,
but I had not been asleep very long before the late Major Sanford, then
a Lieutenant in my old regiment, and one of the most gallant gentlemen
that ever buckled on a sword-belt, came and woke me up and told me
that he had volunteered to carry despatches from General Hewett to
the Commander-in-Chief at Umballa _viâ_ Kurnal, and that he wanted me
to escort him with my little faithful party. Of course I agreed, and
went off to our lines, where the already tired men willingly consented
to undertake the fresh and still more fatiguing and possibly more
dangerous journey. Their horses were, however, quite knocked up, so I
asked and obtained permission to select for them twenty-five of the
partially-broken remounts of the Carabineers.
Early in the morning we paraded in the lightest of light marching
order, the young horses vigorously resenting being so unceremoniously
pressed into the ranks before passing through Riding School. For the
first few miles there was not much order in our little column. The
half-broken troopers rearing, buck-jumping and plunging about, had it
pretty much their own way; but before night they were quiet enough. All
day we marched, and all night, and all next day, halting for an hour or
so at a time, when a wayside well enabled us to water the horses. We
requisitioned feeds of grain for them and of chuppatis for ourselves
as we went along, duly giving receipts for them. _En route_ we made a
long detour off the road to a district where we had been ordered to
go in search of baggage-camels, which we were to have seized if we
had found them; but they had departed. On the second day we met the
late gallant Major (then Lieutenant) Hodson who, escorted by a party
of the Jhind Horse, had started on his ride to Meerut with despatches
from General Anson to General Hewett, and who was to return with
despatches from the latter to Army Head-Quarters. So unexpected was
this meeting that at first each party took the other for "moofsids," as
we used in those days to designate the rebels; but we soon discovered
our mistake. Hodson was naturally much relieved to find that the road
in front of him was open, though doubtless disappointed that his
errand was forestalled. The reader, who has read of Hodson's famous
ride to Meerut, and who has not to this moment ever heard that it was
anticipated by others, will probably be surprised by this narration,
but nevertheless it is simply true. The credit of carrying the first
despatches from Meerut to Umballa is due to the late Major Sanford,
who, to me and to all who knew him, was a type of all that is most
noble and brave and modest; but alas! his memory is buried in our
hearts. The world has heard little of him.
In the evening we arrived at Kurnal, having traversed in less than
thirty-six hours more than ninety miles: for the straight road between
Meerut and Kurnal is seventy-six, and our fruitless detour after the
camels took us many more miles. Sanford at once went on by dâk to
Umballa and delivered his despatches to General Anson. He eventually
got command of the cavalry of the guide corps before Delhi, and
retained it till the close of the siege.
My small party was not then sent back to Meerut, but moved down towards
Delhi with the advanced body of troops, making itself useful in
collecting supplies and scouting. On the road we succeeded in capturing
several miscreants who had committed murderous outrages on our
unfortunate countrymen and women while trying to effect their escape
from Delhi. They were given the benefit of a fair trial; and those who
were found guilty were duly hanged. One of these wretches who had
been tried and sentenced one afternoon was subsequently confined till
sunset--the usual hour for executions--in the guard tent of the 1st
Bengal Fusiliers, which happened on that occasion to contain another
tenant, an Irish soldier who had been drinking, "not wisely but too
well." When the Provost Marshal's party came in the evening for the
condemned criminal they found him in a sorry plight. The half-sober
Irishman begged that they would not take him away. "Bedad," said he,
"he has been the most divarting companion I iver had." The "divarsion"
had been perhaps a little one-sided.
One evening, shortly before the force reached Alipore, I was suddenly
ordered to take my party back to Meerut _viâ_ Bagput, for the General
expected an engagement, and evidently felt uncertain as to whether my
men were to be trusted under such trying circumstances as an actual
fight against their old comrades. Previously to this poor General
Anson had died, worn out by anxiety and fatigue, and General Barnard
was in command. Accompanied by the Adjutant-General, Colonel Chester,
and by his Interpreter, Captain Howell, he inspected my little party on
parade, and after praising its conduct in the highest terms, informed
us that he would give each native member of it a step of substantive
rank for each of the two expeditions in which they had shared. He then
told them that in a short time he expected to engage the rebels, and
that, though he had no doubt of their loyalty, he was unwilling to take
them into action against men who so lately had been their comrades,
of their own race and religions, and that therefore he had decided to
send them back to Meerut. The whole of them implored to be allowed to
remain and to prove their loyalty in the field; but the General was not
to be turned from his decision. He was evidently much moved, and for a
moment I hoped that he was wavering; but presently he turned away; and
with deep disappointment I felt that there was nothing for it but to
turn our horses' heads to the east and make for the ferry at Bagput.
Before General Barnard could carry out his promise he fell a victim to
cholera. Colonel Chester was killed in action, and Captain Howell also
died--I think from that scourge of the camp--cholera. Thus was left on
my shoulders the whole _onus_ of securing to my men the fulfilment of
the General's promise--a task in which, after much trouble and delay,
I was happily eventually successful.
To march off the ground and out of camp no preparations were needed,
for we were without camp equipage of any kind whatever. It must be
remembered that all this took place in the middle of the hot weather,
before the rains; so that it was no hardship to sleep in the open air
on the ground beside our horses, who also required no blankets. Except
our horses, their saddles and bridles and our arms, and the clothes on
our backs, we possessed literally nothing in the world.
It was not long, therefore, before we had put a good distance between
ourselves and our late comrades. When dawn broke we found ourselves
debouching from a grove of trees on to a plain, at the further side of
which was the river and the bridge-of-boats with the village of Bagput
on the opposite bank; but to our horror the bridge was occupied by a
strong body of apparently rebel troops, whom our appearance threw into
sudden commotion. We could see infantry rapidly falling in, troopers
mounting in hot haste, and camels and elephants rushing to the bridge,
flying from our expected onslaught. Scant time was there to decide on
a course of action. With our tired horses escape from so strong a body
of cavalry was hopeless. Nothing was left but to charge the bridge and
trust to luck and the rapidity of our attack to disconcert the enemy,
and enable some at least of us to get through with whole skins. These
were the days of drilling by "threes;" but as I judged that there would
be room for four men abreast on the bridge, I formed my party as
quickly as possible into what would now be called a column of sections
of fours, and moved down the slope on to the plain at a gallop,
increasing our pace as we approached the bridge. To my delight and
surprise the enemy seemed quite demoralised and in confusion, and I was
beginning to feel sure of a successful rush through them, when I was
startled by the apparition of a white face peering at me from behind
a mass of stones, and the shout of an English voice yelling at me to
halt. Never was man more relieved and pleased to be out of a frightful
scrape. In another second I had halted my party and had ridden across
the bridge and was talking to ----, an officer who informed me that
he had been sent with a strong body of the Raja of Jhind's troops to
occupy the bridge and hold it till further orders; but he said that
he was not going to stay any longer. The place was a great deal too
near Delhi and too liable to sudden attack to please him, and the
fright he had got from the sudden appearance of my small party had put
the finishing touch to his resolution. He said that our French-grey
uniforms and the swiftness of our attack had convinced him that we
were the advanced party of a large body of the enemy, and he had given
himself up for lost. At any rate he had had enough of Bagput and meant
to be off at once. In vain I implored him to defer his departure till
the evening, pointing out that my horses were quite done up, and that
we would be obliged to stop there for some hours to rest and feed.
Nothing would move him, and there and then he marched off, bag and
baggage, and left us to our own devices. We could plainly hear the guns
of a fight, which must have been that at the Hindun Nuddee; and, tired
as we were, rest was impossible. In the afternoon we moved on, and next
morning marched into Meerut without further misadventure.
III.
BEFORE DELHI.
For the next few weeks time passed quietly enough with me. The greater
portion of the garrison of Meerut had gone to strengthen the besieging
force at Delhi; and had, under Brigadier-General Archdale Wilson, at
the hard fought battles at the Hindun Nuddee, gloriously wiped away the
reproach of the supine inaction which had been imposed on it by General
Hewett on the 10th of May. We, who were left to kick our heels in
idleness at Meerut, spent most of our time in moving Heaven and Earth
to get transferred to the army at Delhi. At last the red-letter-day
came for me. My friend and comrade, Captain Sanford, had been appointed
to officiate in the command of the Cavalry of the Guides Corps, and he
lost no time in writing to me and promising that if I could get over
to Delhi, he would manage to have me attached to the regiment. At that
moment I was laid up with a touch of fever, due probably to previous
exposure; but I was not long in presenting myself to the Staff Officer
of the garrison and shewing him Sanford's letter, taking very good
care not to remind him that I was on the sick list--a circumstance
which he fortunately overlooked. That afternoon I joyfully took French
leave of the Doctor, and started in company with some half-dozen other
officers, who were also bound for the Delhi force, back again along the
well-remembered track to Bagput. We marched at night, thinking that
we were then, more likely than in the day time, to escape encounter
with any prowling bands of rebels or Goojars. The district between
Meerut and Bagput was infested by the latter, a tribe of hereditary
criminals whose chief amusement during peaceful times seems to consist
in effecting breaches of the Penal Code, while they invariably take
advantage of periods of disturbance to indulge to the utmost their
ingrained predatory propensities. Small as our party was, we were
therefore careful to adopt all practical precautions. As I knew the
road I was sent in advance as a scout, while on each flank rode another
officer, the main body of three or four men detaching one more to the
rear. In this order we rode all night, fortunately without adventure;
and in the gray dawn we reached Bagput.
The bridge-of-boats had been removed, and we crossed the river in a
large flat-bottomed ferry boat. Here we had the misfortune to lose one
of our horses, belonging to Captain Craigie of my regiment. His owner
had neglected to unfasten the rather tight standing-martingale which
he always used; and this hampered the animal when it tried to jump
into the boat, and caused it to fall into the deep water between it
and the bank. Even now all would have been well but for that unlucky
standing-martingale which entirely prevented the struggling horse from
swimming, and held its nose hopelessly underwater till it was drowned,
without any possibility of help being given it. In a few moments the
poor horse sank, carrying with it Craigie's saddle and bridle and a
revolver which was in one of the holsters. The efforts which some
native divers made to recover the saddle, &c., were fruitless; and we
had to abandon the endeavour, borrow a "country" nag for Craigie, and
cross the river. When we reached the opposite bank we heard shouts
from the Bagput side, and saw men holding up the saddle and revolver
which they had succeeded in fishing up. That was, however, the last
that Craigie saw of his property. As we crossed the stretch of sand on
the further bank we narrowly escaped another casualty; for one of our
party got into a quicksand, and for some moments horse and man were
in serious danger of being swallowed up. At last, however, we all got
safely under way and continued the second half of our journey.
Never shall I forget the moment when, from a rising ground, the
frowning walls of Delhi and the white tents of the besieging force
burst into view.
So vast an extent of ground was covered by the huge city--so puny and
diminutive in comparison was the encampment which nestled under the
famous "Ridge!" Truly a sight to fill the heart with exulting pride;
for we knew that the men in these tent were sure, some day before many
weeks were over, to storm the formidable walls of the great fortress,
and to carry the British flag in triumph into its innermost citadel. No
shadow of doubt of the ultimate success of our arms ever troubled any
of our minds in those days. The insolent belief in the irresistibility
of the _furor Britannicus_ had not then met any of the rude shocks
which in latter days have somewhat shaken it, in spite of an army
composed of short-service soldiers and of leaders trained to a pitch of
theoretical perfection by the Professors of the Staff College.
Directly we arrived in camp I reported myself to Sir Henry Norman,
then Assistant Adjutant-General of the Force, and, I think, in rank a
captain. In a few hours I was put in orders as attached to the Cavalry
of the Guides. The famous forced march of that splendid corps under
Daly from Hoti Murdan to Delhi is matter of history, and can never be
forgotten. The honourable roll of its losses in officers and men during
the siege is recorded on a tablet on the wall of the memorial tower on
the Ridge.
I do not propose to inflict on the reader's patience the often-told
story of the siege. That task has been performed by far abler pens than
mine. It will be sufficient for me to endeavour to sketch two or three
of the minor episodes at which I was present, and which seemed to me to
be picturesque or interesting.
As may be easily understood, much of our time in the Cavalry branch was
occupied on picquet or outpost duty. One of these outposts, at a place
called, I think, Azadpore, far away on the extreme right rear of our
position, was peculiarly liable to attack, as it was pretty well "in
the air," and offered a tempting object for a sudden swoop by a large
body of the enemy. One afternoon when my commanding officer, Captain
Sanford, and myself, being off duty, were mounting to enjoy a quiet
ride, we became aware of a great commotion in the Azadpore direction.
Clouds of dust rapidly whirling in the air! Camels and grass-cutters'
ponies flying wildly to the camp! Evidently something wrong! "Gallop
to the lines. Sound the Boot-and-Saddle and the Mount" was the order
Captain Sanford gave me, while he tore off into the clouds of dust to
reconnoitre. Instantly was the quiet of our camp changed into a scene
of the liveliest bustle. Horses being saddled--men tumbling out of
their tents--buckling on their belts--jumping on their horses, and
"falling in"--all this in frantic haste--when Sanford returned and
shouted to me "Bring along as many men as have mounted. Never mind
telling off. The Azadpore picquet is being driven in." By this time not
more than 20 or 25 men were in their saddles, and away we went after
Sanford as hard as we could tear, leaving the rest of the regiment
to follow as soon as it could be got together. Through the flying
animals and camp followers, many of them wounded, we galloped along,
straining our eyes into the distance; and presently we saw the picquet,
surrounded by clouds of the rebel horse, being driven slowly back,
stubbornly fighting and disputing every inch of ground. As we hove
into sight the enemy more or less disengaged itself from the picquet,
and attempted to throw itself into formation to meet our attack. There
must have been several hundred of them. The whole ground in front
seemed thick with them; and I must confess my heart sank within me
when the gallant Sanford, instead of waiting for the reinforcements
which must have been close behind us, simply increased the pace, and
evidently meant to hurl our small party straight into the overwhelming
mass before us. "It is all up with you this time" was my ejaculation
to myself, but "needs must" when--one's commanding officer leads! So
I set my teeth and determined to make the best of a bad job. Could I
believe my eyes? The dense body that had begun to advance against us
slowed down to a walk--halted--wavered--and finally scattered! With a
roar we charged into them. Our pace was so great that it was impossible
for them to put on the steam in time to escape our onslaught. The
picquet joined in--our own reinforcements caught us up--and then was
seen on that plain as pretty a bout of sword play as ever rejoiced
the heart of a horseman. No attempt at keeping order was possible. As
the "Pandies" scattered, so did we, each man singling out his victim.
The slaughter of the enemy was considerable, the losses on our side
extremely trifling. As the fierce pursuit rolled on we became aware
that the masses of the flying mutineers were thickening in our front,
and were gradually concentrating towards one point. Evidently some
obstruction prevented their escape to the flanks. At last a huge living
wedge of frantic, struggling, panic-stricken men and horses was crowded
together, hemmed in between a deep canal and a masonry aqueduct which
crossed it at right angles. Into this solid mass it was impossible to
penetrate, but the outer fringe of it was mowed down by the _tulwars_
of our men. No quarter was ever given or taken before Delhi. If the
mutineers had been cruel as the most savage of wild beasts, fearful
was the revenge which many and many a time was wreaked on them by our
maddened troops.
Where the aqueduct crossed the canal it had been partially destroyed,
and on the masses of fallen masonry it was just possible for one
horseman at a time to pick his way across; but where one escaped
many were overthrown and trampled on by the struggling mob. It had
been comparatively easy for the enemy, intent on the surprise of the
Azadpore picquet, to steal across in single file; but it was quite a
different thing for a confused and terrified crowd to force its way
across. At this point great slaughter took place, and many, in despair,
turned round and charged their pursuers, only to meet a certain and
speedy death. One poor wretch, extricating himself from the crowd,
jumped his horse on to a detached fragment of the broken aqueduct on
the plain before it joined the canal, and there he stood, as on a
pedestal six or eight feet high, in vain seeking a short respite from
his inevitable fate. Almost simultaneously one of our men sprung his
horse alongside of him, and on that precarious platform, with barely
footing for their horses, these two engaged in a savage fight for
life. Like lightning their swords flashed as they cut at each other
without any attempt at parrying. In a second or two our man received a
frightful slash on his arm, and it would have gone hard with him if at
that moment one of his comrades who was armed with a long spear had not
charged straight at the group, and, as he pulled his horse up on its
haunches at the base of the masonry, transfixed the Pandy through the
body. At the same instant our man, maddened with pain and excitement,
drove his horse against his antagonist and thrust him clean off the
block of masonry, horses and men all rolling together on the ground
below.
The survivors of the adventurous spirits who had attacked the outpost
rode back into Delhi that night considerably crestfallen.
The picquet had been furnished by one of the Punjab cavalry regiments,
and was commanded by a gentleman of a rather taciturn habit who is
still well remembered under his nickname of "Fowls." Never shall I
forget the quaint but gallant spectacle which he presented, as with
his faithful quizzing glass firmly glued on to one eye he faced his
enemies and laid about him with his sword, grimly silent, while being
slowly driven back by the _force majeure_ of overwhelming numbers.
The story goes that he earned his _petit nom_ as follows:--On some
occasion, on the line of march, he had, for days and weeks, ridden
solemnly and silently among his comrades. Not a word had ever escaped
his lips till, on one memorable morning, as his detachment entered
a village, our friend, who must have been gloomily pondering on the
scantiness of the supplies in the camp larder of the mess, espied a
family of _moorgis_ busily scratching up the dust on the road before
him. The welcome sight was too much for him. Then and there he lifted
up his voice and cried "Fowls!" and straightway relapsed into pristine
dumbness. Seldom if ever has so short a speech been greeted with such
loud applause. His delighted comrades, now that the spell was broken,
naturally hoped that the sudden ejaculation was but a preliminary to a
permanent loosening of the hitherto tied tongue; but they were doomed
to disappointment. From that time forth not a word escaped those lips.
Neither fowls nor ducks nor geese nor turkeys, nor even sheep availed
any more to draw forth the slightest oral token of appreciation--merely
would the half sleepy eyes glisten into life at the sight of the
welcome "find," and possibly a nod of the head would direct attention
to it. Thus came it about that the soubriquet of "Fowls" was by
unanimous vote conferred on its possessor.
That evening when we were all assembled at dinner in the mess tent, an
unfortunate "Pandy" who had been found skulking under a bush by some
of our men was brought before the commanding officer. There was no
mistaking him for anything but a sepoy; and there could be no doubt
about his fate. Still I could not help thinking his luck was very hard;
and doubtless my face betrayed my feelings; for the unfortunate man,
with an appealing look at me, declared he was no sepoy, but had been
my domestic servant; and he implored me to bear witness to his truth
and save his life. What could I do! It was impossible to swear to a
falsehood; but I pleaded hard, though, I fear, unsuccessfully, that he
might be allowed to escape.
During one of the numerous encounters with the enemy which kept the
camp before Delhi lively, an officer serving with the infantry of the
Guides Corps was wounded in a manner sufficiently curious to deserve
record. During a pause in the operations he was standing with his back
to a tree when a bullet struck the ground close to him, and caused a
fragment of stone to fly up against his forehead, on which it inflicted
a slight flesh wound. As he threw his head back at the sudden shock, it
came in contact with a sharp splinter of a broken branch sticking out
from the tree. Instinctively he put his right hand up to his forehead.
It was covered with blood. Then he felt the back of his head with his
left hand. That also was all bloody. "My God!" He exclaimed, "I'm a
dead man! Shot right through the head!" and he sought a soft place to
lie down on and die, an event which he expected to take place in a
second or two. To his surprise, after fully a minute, he was as alive
as ever. So, again, he felt the two wounds. There was no mistake about
it. They were both bleeding freely. Once more he curled himself up;
but as death did not come, he presently began to think that there must
be something strange and abnormal about the hole right through his
head, and his relief may be imagined, when a brother officer, after a
hurried examination of it, explained matters to him. I am afraid he was
flippant enough, as he jumped to his feet, to join in the laugh against
himself. Wonderful recoveries from apparently mortal wounds were by no
means uncommon. I have myself seen an officer hit full in the chest by
a bullet which came out at his back. I jumped off my horse and wrung
his hand for the last farewell, and rode on (for this occurred during
a pursuit), leaving him to the care of the surgeon who at that moment
came up. What was my surprise to find, many hours afterwards when we
returned to camp, that the wounded officer was not only not dead, but
not likely to die. The bullet had glanced off a rib and gone round
his chest under the skin, and so out of his back. Another officer had
his jaw smashed by a bullet which did not apparently make its exit
anywhere. The simple fact was that he swallowed it, along with some of
his teeth.
On the Ridge stood a lofty building, the Observatory Tower, from the
summit of which, during the early part of the siege, a look-out used to
be kept on the operations of the enemy.
This fact becoming known, drew on the tower an altogether undesirable
share of attention from the guns on the walls of Delhi; and the upper
parts of it soon got considerably knocked about by shot and shell. Long
after this look-out post had been withdrawn occasional shells used
still to be "loosed off" at the tower, making things rather hot for
the small knot of officers off duty which used generally to be found up
there enjoying the view when anything more interesting than usual was
going on in front. On one occasion two or three other men and myself
had found our way to the top of it, when we were joined by a gentleman
connected with a mercantile firm, to whose enterprise the camp was
indebted for its supplies of "tar bund" beer (a luxury for which we
were glad to pay sixteen rupees a dozen), Exshaw's brandy and Harvey's
sauce, and many varieties of tinned provisions, besides Holloway's
pills and ointment, and such like patent nostrums. While we were all
looking at the walls of the city, a puff of white smoke was seen to
issue from a point known to us as "the hole in the wall" where dwelt
a mortar of large calibre. In a few seconds the big shell vomited out
from it burst high in the air, fully a quarter of a mile away from us,
but in a very accurate alignment for our position. "Down," shouted one
of our number, and we all, with the exception of our civilian friend,
crouched behind a heavy mass of solid masonry. He, however, stood his
ground, folded his arms across his chest, and for a moment surveyed
us with a look of half contemptuous surprise. "Why have these stupid
fellows sought shelter?" thought he. "The shell has burst ever so far
away. The danger is all over now. The pieces must be falling to the
ground." Very speedily was he undeceived. Hurtling and hissing, the
broken fragments of the shell came rushing onwards and crashed against
the tower, fortunately without hitting him. As we stood up he threw
himself down. He then learned a lesson, which I dare say he did not
soon forget, concerning the momentum of projectiles, and the general
advisability of taking a hint from persons presumably likely to know
what they were about.
All this time the siege, if so it could be described, "dragged its slow
length along;" but in reality, neither was the City invested by us,
nor was our force besieged, as has been so often asserted, by the rebel
troops. Both forces lay facing each other. Both were in contact along a
comparatively short front. Both were entirely open to their respective
rear, with practically unmenaced communications in those directions.
Neither could prevent reinforcements or supplies reaching the other. We
on our part could not even attempt to intercept the various contingents
of mutineers which, during the early part of the siege, poured into
Delhi from the south; and were hurled, in almost monotonous succession,
against our position, while still fresh and undemoralised by defeat,
only to be driven back, time after time, with immense slaughter, by
the invincible little phalanx of Britons, Sikhs and Gurkhas, which
sturdily clung, bull-dog fashion, to the ground it had taken up. For
a time the numbers of the enemy continued to increase, as almost
daily fresh bodies by regiments and brigades marched into the already
crowded city, their arrival noisily saluted by heavy artillery. Our
muster roll, on the other hand, far from augmenting, actually dwindled
away; for incessant losses from casualties in action were heavily
supplemented by deaths from fever and cholera; and our much-needed
reinforcements were long in coming. But we rested secure in the firm
assurance that sooner or later they would certainly come. We all knew
that John Lawrence and his lieutenants were straining every nerve
to secure the safety of the Punjab in our rear, by disarming the
disaffected Hindustani regiments in that province, and by raising fresh
ones, both of cavalry and infantry, from the staunch fighting men of
the Khalsa. We knew that as swiftly as could possibly be compassed by
human forethought and human energy, these trustworthy and brave levies,
and every British regiment that could be spared, and every heavy gun
and mortar in the Ferozepore Arsenal, and, almost better than all, the
heroic Nicholson would come to our aid; and that then the real siege
would begin in earnest, and the fate of Delhi would be sealed.
Early in August took place the only serious effort on the part of the
enemy to cut off our communications. To quote from a letter written
by General Wilson to Nicholson and received by the latter on the
3rd of August[3]:--"The enemy have re-established the bridge over
the Najufgurh Canal (which we had destroyed) and have established
themselves in force there, with the intention of moving on Alipore and
our communications with the rear. I therefore earnestly beg you to
push forward with the utmost expedition in your power, both to drive
these fellows from my rear, and to aid me in holding my position."
How promptly and effectually Nicholson carried out these instructions
is graphically described in the pages of Sir John Kaye's work. On the
14th of August he led into the Delhi Camp the moveable column which had
already done yeoman's service by disarming the mutinous regiments at
Phillour and Umritsar, and destroying the Sealkote Brigade of rebels at
Trimmoo Ghât. On the 25th of August he marched out again at the head
of a small force of all arms; and before nightfall he had swept from
Najufgurh the "Neemuch Brigade" which was lying in wait to intercept
the siege train on its slow approach from Ferozepore Arsenal.
There are some men whose personal appearance harmonises so perfectly
with their intellectual and moral characteristics that any one on
seeing them for the first time would be almost certain intuitively
to guess their identity. Nicholson was one of these. Tall, dark, and
stern, he looked every inch what he was, a fearless, self-reliant,
fierce and masterful man, born for stormy times and stirring events. It
was impossible to associate him with anything commonplace, or otherwise
than heroic or great. On me, as on every one else, he produced a vivid
impression, which can never become dim. When I first saw him it was
only for a moment. He said something in low tones to an acquaintance,
and passed on; but instinctively I felt that I had come into contact
with one who stood apart from and overtopped other men. "That is
Nicholson," I said, knowing that it could be no one else.
On the 4th of September the huge guns and mortars of the siege train,
fitly drawn by still more colossal elephants, slowly and solemnly
rolled through the camp on to the Ridge. On the 6th the very last
batch of reinforcements, a detachment of the 60th Rifles from Meerut,
arrived, marching "in their usual jaunty way" as described by Hervey
Greathead in a letter to his wife written on that day. The Royal
Engineers had already filled a vast "Engineers' park" with fascines,
gabions, sand bags, and every conceivable appliance for the bombardment
and storm. Nothing had been overlooked. Nothing remained but to begin
the real and final siege and deliver the assault.
That no time was lost is evidenced by the fact that one breaching
battery of six heavy guns, within seven hundred yards of the Moree
Bastion, was finished and armed on the evening of the 6th, and began
its work of destruction on the 7th.