[11] Beware.
VIII.
LUCKNOW.
A story is told of the behaviour of a company of Native Infantry on
the establishment of a sister Presidency, which I may be pardoned for
reproducing here, since it may be new to some of my readers.
The company in question was performing an uncommonly rapid movement to
the rear, to get away from an undesirable neighbourhood, when a British
officer, who tried to stop the stampede, roared after it Halt! Halt!
Halt! At this a fat old Subadar, who was doing his best to keep up with
his command, indignantly spluttered out as he scuttled along, puffing
and blowing--"Kaun guddha halt bolta hai? Yih halt ka wakt nahin hai!"
"What ass says halt! This is no time to halt." Down in Madras that
story, if known, is doubtless put to the credit of a Bengal regiment,
and probably with equal truth. _Si non e vero e ben trovato_--which
must be my excuse for repeating it.
During this morning's work I happened to come across a British
soldier--I think of the 9th Lancers--who had been wounded, but not very
seriously, though sufficiently to cripple him. He was lying patiently
under a tree waiting for the hospital establishment to come up and
find him; and when I asked if I could do anything for him, he said he
was suffering agonies from thirst, and would give anything for a drink
of water. "Would you prefer beer?" I asked. "Oh, Sir," he replied,
"don't make game of me." His face was delightful to see when I lugged
out of one of my holsters a pint bottle of "Bass" which I had stowed
in it according to my invariable practice, and knocked off its head by
sliding my sword against it. The grateful fellow tried hard to make me
drink half of it; but I could not resist the temptation of watching
him swallow it to the last drop. When I presented him with a better
Manilla cheroot than he had probably ever smoked in his life before,
he began, I really believe, to think he was dreaming, and that such
strange luck could not be real.
Before the evening of the next day a huge canvas city had sprung up
in rear of the Dilkhoosha Palace. "The Cabul scale equipment" had
not been invented in those days; and even subalterns luxuriated in
large, old-fashioned hill tents, ten or twelve feet square, while the
British soldiers were lodged in roomy-double-poled affairs; so that
an encampment took up a deal more room than would now be required. No
wonder that Sir Colin's army of fighting men was hampered by a much
larger one of helpless camp-followers, of which Dr. Russell, the famous
war correspondent, thus wrote:--"Who really can bring before his mind's
eye a train of baggage animals twenty-five miles long, a string of
sixteen thousand camels, a siege-train park covering a space of four
hundred by four hundred yards, with twelve thousand oxen attached to
it, and a following of sixty thousand non-combatants."
Sir Colin Campbell lost no time in pushing on the siege, for it
practically began on the 2nd March, the day that he reached the
Dilkhoosha. I well remember watching with admiration the brilliant
performance of the Naval Brigade, the blue jackets of the _Shannon_,
under the heroic Captain Peel, as they pushed forward to a position
in front of the Palace, where, on the open ground sloping downwards
towards the Martinière, without a vestige of cover, they planted
their guns, and commenced a fierce reply to the cannonade of the
rebels from the huge defensive earthworks which they had thrown up on
the south-east of the City. Our gallant old Chief was far too wise,
however, to throw his whole weight against these terrible lines of
defence till he had discounted their value by the simple yet effective
device of a turning movement, that old-established favourite with all
great commanders. To carry out this design Sir James Outram was sent
across the Goomti, near Bibiapore, on the 6th of March, with a very
strong force of all arms, which fought its way up the left bank of the
river, driving the enemy before it, till, on the 9th, it had reached a
position whence it successfully enfiladed the rebel lines of defence.
Now was Sir Colin able to advance without the enormous sacrifice of
life which otherwise would have been inevitable. That day the Black
Watch stormed the Martinière at the point of the bayonet without
firing a shot. The day after, "Banks' House" was seized and promptly
fortified; and from this coign of vantage, step by step, deliberately
and irresistibly, did our Engineers and Artillery sap and breach the
way for our infantry through block after block of buildings, till by
the 21st of March every palace, mosque and walled enclosure in Lucknow
had been carried, and the entire City was in our hands.
While this was being accomplished, my regiment had formed part of a
Brigade under Brigadier W. Campbell, which marched round the City,
past the Alumbagh, to a position opposite the Moosabagh, with the view
of cutting off the escape of the rebels when they should be driven
out of the town by the bayonets of the Infantry. During this movement
we met with desultory opposition, and lost several lives; but we came
across no large masses of the enemy; and there can be no doubt that
thousands of them slipped through our fingers and effected their
escape, to re-unite later on and prolong into the rapidly approaching
"hot weather" a struggle which, if we had been more fortunate,
would have been ended there and then. At the same time, in justice
to Brigadier Campbell, it must be remembered that the semi-circle
traversed by him was of great extent--probably more than thirty
miles--and it needs no great effort of imagination to conceive how
difficult was the task of preventing, with a small Brigade of Cavalry
and Horse Artillery, so long a line from being penetrated by bodies of
fugitives at one point or another, even by day, still more under cover
of night.
I was much struck during this march by an instance of heroism on the
part of two village matchlockmen which deserves record, and which, if
it had been performed by natives of a European country in defence of
their homes, would have been sung by poets in patriotic ballads, and
would have earned for the brave actors an immortality of applause.
The scouts of the advanced guard were approaching a very broad deep
"nullah" which I had been ordered to reconnoitre with the view of
finding a practicable way across it for our guns. On the level plain
behind us, under the bright sun, moved slowly onwards the strong
body of Cavalry, of which we were merely the forerunners. Beyond the
"nullah," nestled among its fields and mango groves a small village,
from which emerged two tall peasants, clad in their usual white cotton
working clothes, each of them carrying a matchlock.
With the utmost deliberation these two men approached the ravine, and,
lying down in a sheltered hollow, opened fire on us. They could have
been under no illusions as to their chances of escape. They saw that
they were two against two thousand. They knew that their puny effort
to stop us was hopeless; but yet they did all they could, and devoted
themselves to death in defence of the brown mud walls which held their
household gods. In vain we shouted to them that we did not intend to
harm their village--that we were going past it, and would not enter it.
They evidently did not believe us; and continued to load and fire with
as much expedition as their long, clumsy, tinder-locks allowed them.
They were sure to hit some of us in time: so we were obliged to scatter
and cross the nullah at different points, and "fall upon them with the
edge of the sword."
When the final great eruption of the rebels from the Moosabagh took
place on the 21st March, Brigadier Campbell was undoubtedly caught
napping. It was not till many thousands of the enemy had streamed
out and had already crossed miles of country that the Brigade was
slipped in pursuit. The first to get under way were two troops of the
1st Sikh Irregulars under Captain the Hon'ble Hugh Chichester, with
whom Lieutenant Sandeman and I were sent. We galloped for several
miles without coming across more than a few scattered groups, and
were beginning to think that the reported flight of the "Pandies"
was a false alarm, when suddenly the numbers of the fugitives began
to increase, and presently we were in the thick of them. With the
exception of a few men of rank on elephants, they were all on foot.
Their horsemen had got clean away from us. Our progress now became less
rapid, for we were engaged in a series of "scrimmages," and before
long the rest of the regiment came up, as did the 7th Hussars and the
Military Train.
Late as we were in catching up the rebels, we yet inflicted great
slaughter on them, with hardly any damage to ourselves till late in
the day, almost at the end of the pursuit, when our regiment suffered
an irreparable loss, which will be presently narrated.
We had, as usual in similar affairs, got broken up into small groups
and single individuals, when I noticed on my left front a sturdy
rascal, seemingly, from his dress, a dismounted cavalry soldier,
stalking along, with a musket on his shoulder, sullenly disdaining to
run. Him I marked for my prey and dashed after: but when I got within
a few yards of him he faced about and covered me with his musket,
expressing himself at the same time in very forcible terms of abuse
and defiance. This uncompromising attitude on his part made me think
it would be more prudent to shoot than to attempt to sabre him: so I
wheeled off to the left and circled round him to the right, returned my
sword, and drew my revolver. All this time he held his ground, slowly
turning on his pivot, and never ceasing to follow my movements with
his aim; but he reserved his fire, for no doubt he coolly reflected
that, if he missed me, he would be at my mercy. Every barrel of my
revolver did I empty at him, and every time without hitting him.
Between his legs--under his arms--past his head--flew my bullets, till
the whole six were expended. Nothing remained but to gallop away to a
safe distance, re-load, and renew the experiment, or else to trust to
my sword and charge him. I dare say that if there had been no witnesses
about I would have chosen the former alternative: but there were many
men of the regiment close by, and sheer shame prevented me; so I
returned the useless pistol, drew my sword, and with my heart in my
mouth went straight at him at full speed. As I raised my arm to smite,
he pulled the trigger. Bending myself half out of the saddle on the
near side I escaped the bullet, and delivered on his head with all my
force a cut which dropped him to the ground. Though mortally wounded
he was not dead; and he fumbled in his _cummerbund_ for a revolver
which was sticking out of it; so I dismounted, and as he--dazed and
blinded--pulled the pistol out of his waist-cloth, I seized his wrist
and directed his aim harmlessly into the air. I then wrenched the
weapon from his grasp and used another barrel of it to put him out of
his pain. That revolver was subsequently identified as having belonged
to an officer named Thackwell, if my memory serves me right, who had
been killed in the City a few days previously when separated from his
comrades.
Some little time after this incident I saw a small group of fugitives
far away on our left, making for a walled village, and it occurred to
me to try a long shot at them with my Lancaster rifle, which was always
carried by my orderly on a belt slung over his shoulder; so I turned
round and asked for it, but the orderly was not to be seen, and some of
the other men said:--"Don't you know, Sahib, that your orderly has been
killed?" "Killed!" I exclaimed. "When? Has he not been following me all
along?" Then, for the first time, I learned that the faithful fellow,
who must have been close at my heels when I charged the sepoy, but of
whose presence in my excitement I had been totally oblivious, had been
hit in the chest by the bullet which I had so narrowly escaped and had
been seen to fall. I could not then return to the fatal spot, but I
sent a couple of men back at once to find the poor fellow, and, if he
should be still alive, to get a doolie and carry him to the hospital
tent in camp.
For several miles we kept up the pursuit till we had apparently
exhausted the lead--to use a miner's term--on which we had struck. We
were about to give up the chase, when, from the far side of a ravine, a
solitary fugitive fired his musket at a group of our officers. He must
have aimed at the one who, from his full brown beard and apparent age,
seemed to him the most important and most likely to be the commander.
That shot cost us the life of our brave Commanding Officer. The gallant
Captain Wale fell, mortally wounded by two slugs, one of which passed
through his beard into his throat, the other into his mouth. He was
instantly avenged, for, as the rebel sepoy turned to fly, he also
fell dead, hit in the spine by a bullet from the revolver of Captain
Chichester.
In a few minutes, to the deep grief of his officers and men, by whom he
was loved as few Commanding Officers are ever loved, poor Wale breathed
his last. A doolie was sent for from the rear, his body placed in it
and reverently carried back to camp. Sick at heart, I now sought the
place where my unfortunate orderly had met his fate. My worst fears
were realized. He was dead. His body had not been disturbed by the men
whom I had sent to find him, and he was lying on his back, the rifle
underneath him, with a hole through the leather sling just where it
crossed over the heart. Close by lay the corpse of the sepoy.
Very sad was our return to camp that day. I had no sooner placed before
my tent the doolie in which was the body of my poor orderly than his
father, a fine old Sikh, who also was a sowar in the regiment, and who,
having remained in camp on that occasion, was in complete ignorance of
our losses, came up to me with a smile on his handsome old face to ask
after his son. My heart was too full to speak. I could only point to
the doolie, the curtains of which were closed. Lifting one of them up,
he looked in and knew his bereavement. The proud old soldier set his
face hard, drew himself up, saluted me, and said:--"My son's 'nokri'
(service) is over. Let me take his place. I will be your orderly now,
Sahib." I am not ashamed to say that this touching act of simple,
unaffected Spartan fortitude completely unmanned me.
The remains of the brave Captain Wale rest in the Moosabagh, a walled
garden which formerly belonged to the Nawabs of Oudh, but which was
confiscated from Wajid Ali, the last of that race, by the British
Government. The massive walls and towers and gateways of the erst
Royal pleasance are now rapidly crumbling into ruins. The huge garden
which once bloomed within them is now a wilderness of thorns and jungle
trees, interspersed with ill-kept patches of cultivation. Everything
speaks of decay and neglect, except the tomb itself and its little
walled enclosure, which I was glad to find on the 4th of January, 1891
in perfect repair, and shewing evident signs of careful attention
on the part of the district authorities. About a furlong beyond the
fourth milestone on the Lucknow-Bareilly road, and about a mile to the
right, is the Moosabagh, in which, under the spreading arms of a fine
old mango tree, will be found the solitary tomb, bearing on it the
following inscription:--
"Sacred to the memory of Captain F. Wale, who raised and commanded
the 1st Sikh Irregular Cavalry. Killed in action at Lucknow on the
1st March, 1858. This monument is erected by Captain L. B. Jones,
Acting Commandant of the 1st Sikh Irregular Cavalry, as a token
of regard for this officer, whom he admired both as a friend and
soldier. Captain Wale lived and died a Christian Soldier."
The original designation of the 1st Sikh Irregular Cavalry has
disappeared from the _Army List_. It is now known as the 11th (Prince
of Wales' Own) Bengal Lancers. While that distinguished regiment
continues to exist--and may that be as long as the British Empire
itself!--will be imperishably associated with its annals the first name
inscribed on its muster-roll, that of its Founder and first Commander,
the gallant Captain Wale.
IX.
A HERO'S DEATH.
Not long after following to the grave the remains of my beloved
Commanding Officer, I was so unfortunate as to be prostrated by a
severe attack of remittent fever, and to be sent on six months' sick
leave to the hills.
Before closing these brief memoirs I must fulfil my promise of relating
how my dear comrade and former Commanding Officer, Captain Sanford,
lost his life.
He had succeeded the gallant Younghusband, who had been killed shortly
before at Futtehgarh, in the command of a detachment of the 5th Punjab
Cavalry, which formed part of the Mounted Brigade under Sir Hope Grant,
and was attached to Sir James Outram's force during the operations
in March, 1858 on the left bank of the Goomti. On the 10th of March,
while the Cavalry Brigade was returning from a reconnaissance, it was
fired on by a small group of rebels. Sir Hope Grant ordered Captain
Sanford to attack these men; but before he could overtake them they had
reached the shelter of a village which Sanford decided to reconnoitre
personally before taking his men into it. He therefore dismounted them
and left them outside, while he penetrated into the place without a
single companion. He climbed on to the flat roof of a house, and moved
forward to a low wall which separated it from the roof of the next
house. Over that wall he must have vaulted, when he found himself
confronted by the loopholes of a higher building within a few yards of
him. From these loopholes a volley flashed, and he fell, struck by a
bullet in the forehead. Thus ended a life which till that moment had
seemed a charmed one. Always utterly reckless of his own safety, while
considerate of others to a fault--a magnificent horseman--a finished
master of swordsmanship--he had hitherto triumphantly and gaily carried
his life through a hundred perils. His first wound was his last. The
day before he fell he had read in the _Gazette_ the announcement of his
promotion to a brevet majority for distinguished service before Delhi:
and doubtless his heart was full of soldierly pride and of hope of
yet more brilliant honour when the fatal bullet suddenly and for ever
stilled it.
As he did not return, the worst was feared; and a gallant young officer
volunteered to go in search of him. With him went two of Sanford's men.
They followed the route which he had taken, but had no sooner got on
to the top of the house than another volley laid low both the sowars,
killing one and wounding the other. The officer immediately dragged the
wounded man off the house, and then returned and brought away the body
of his comrade. Once more he started on his heroic errand, accompanied
by two fresh volunteers. During the previous brief episode he had
noticed that the loopholes in the high building were so cut that the
muzzles of the muskets of its occupants could not be depressed at a
very acute angle. He now left his two men at the foot of the wall of
the house, and himself climbed on to the roof. Throwing himself flat on
his stomach, he crawled up to the low partition-wall beyond which lay
Captain Sanford's body. As he vaulted over this and again threw himself
flat, a volley was fired, but missed him. His surmise proved to have
been correct. While he lay prone the muskets of the rebels could not be
depressed so as to hit him: so he crept up to the body, and, dragging
it with him, reached the low wall. Exerting all his strength, he
hoisted it over, and fell with it on the other side, escaping unscathed
from the hurried fusillade which pursued him. In a few seconds he was
once more in safety with his sacred burden. Then ensued a smart little
fight. The village was stormed, and every one of the rebels in it was
killed. The young hero whose story I have told was recommended by Sir
Hope Grant for the Victoria Cross, which I have no doubt my readers
will agree with me in thinking he had well earned, but--it was not
awarded to him.
Though I was not an eye-witness of the events above described,
and cannot therefore vouch from personal knowledge for the strict
accuracy of all the details, the reader may perfectly rely on the main
correctness of the relation: for I have repeated it as it was told to
me at the time; and, deeply interested as I was in all that pertained
to the fate of so dear a friend as was Sanford to me, the story burnt
itself into my memory. Moreover, I have lately sought and obtained
satisfactory confirmation of it.
About a hundred and fifty yards to the right of the Lucknow-Fyzabad
road, and about a hundred yards beyond the bridge where that road
crosses the Gokral nullah, stands an obelisk in a small walled
enclosure. On a white marble tablet let in to the obelisk is the
following inscription:--"Beneath this monument rest the mortal remains
of Charles Sanford, late Captain of the 3rd Bengal Light Cavalry,
who, when gallantly leading a body of dismounted Punjab Cavalry in an
assault on a fortified place near Lucknow, on the 10th March, 1858, met
a soldier's death."
"Stranger: Respect the lonely resting-place of the brave!"
A slab on the wall of the enclosure records that it was consecrated by
the Right Reverend Ralph, Bishop of Calcutta, on the 17th of January,
1878.
Truely, a lonely resting-place for the ashes of a hero. A solitary tree
marks the spot on the bare brown plain, the desolate surface of which
is scored by small ravines trending down to the Gokral nullah. Not far
off is a village, probably the one where the gallant Sanford fell.
A broad cultivated valley, through which the tortuous Goomti river
rolls, like a huge snake, its sluggish folds, fills, to the south, the
foreground of the landscape. Beyond the fields, through the distant
haze, rise, embosomed among groves of trees, the domes and minarets of
Lucknow--a beautiful and placid scene--realising the Poet's vision of
a "haunt of ancient peace."
Such are now the surroundings of the sacred spot where, nearly
thirty-three years ago, was laid to rest, while the air was thick with
the smoke of battle, all that could die of the heroic Charles Sanford.