DR. HOME AND DR. BRADSHAW AND THE VICTORIA CROSS.
When the gallant Havelock effected his entrance into Lucknow on the
25th of September, 1857, a considerable number of our wounded men who
were being conveyed in “doolies,” or hospital litters, were left behind
near the Motee Munzil under the charge of a military escort. As soon as
the army of rescue had made good its position in the Residency, General
Outram, who had assumed the command, despatched a party of 250 men to
effect a junction with Colonel Campbell, of the 90th, and to assist him
in bringing in the wounded. They ultimately succeeded in this object, but
some idea of the dangers they had to encounter may be formed from the
following narrative. The doolies containing the wounded remained during
the night of the 25th of September in the passage in front of the Motee
Munzil Palace without attracting the notice of the enemy. On the morning
of the 26th the mutineers opened fire upon them, and numbers were killed
by the shot and shells. The surgeons in charge of the wounded behaved
with the greatest coolness and courage. One of them, an assistant-surgeon
in the artillery, requested one of his brother officers to assist him in
an operation. On their way to the spot they were exposed to a constant
fire. “Well, Bartrum,” said one of them, “I wish I could see my way out
of this.” “Oh,” said the other, “there is no danger whatever.” The words
had scarcely passed the lips of the assistant-surgeon when he was shot
down. Two minutes before he was speaking of his wife and child, and the
pleasure he would have in meeting them in the Residency. They were
destined never to meet in this world. The position of the wounded now
became critical; they were separated from the main body of the army by
about a mile; they were surrounded on all sides by the enemy; their only
hope of safety lay in forcing their way to the intrenched camp.
Such was the opinion of Colonel Campbell, of the 90th, who had charge
of the escort. Addressing Dr. Home, whom he believed to be the senior
medical officer present, he informed him that he had completed his
arrangements for conducting the wounded to the Residency, and requested
him to take charge of the party. It was of importance to secure the
services of some one acquainted with the _locale_ to act as guide. Mr.
J. B. Thornhill, a gallant young civilian, anxious for the safety of his
relative, Lieutenant H. M. Havelock, who was still among the wounded,
expressed his readiness to perform this arduous duty, and the offer
was at once accepted by General Outram. He reached the Motee Munzil
in safety, and Dr. Home’s party prepared to start under his guidance.
Colonel Campbell informed them that after traversing a space of about
340 yards they would no longer be exposed to the fire of the enemy, as
there was a way through the palaces skirting the river where they would
be sheltered from attack. The military escort of 150 men was placed
under the command of Major Simmonds, of the 5th Fusiliers, one of the
best and bravest officers we have ever known. He subsequently died of
his wounds, leaving a young widow in Mauritius to deplore his loss. No
time was lost in collecting the doolies. When all was ready a rush was
made for Martin’s house, a stone building about forty yards from where
they stood. The moment they left the gate the enemy opened fire on them
from a battery across the river. No time was lost in reaching Martin’s
house, where they looked for shelter. Their position there was as unsafe
as before; the round shot from the enemy’s battery pierced the walls of
the house in every direction. After a delay of half on hour they resumed
their dangerous march. Major Simmonds advanced in front with the escort
to clear the way, followed by the doolies in long procession. They
continued their march for two hundred yards without suffering any loss,
till they reached a “nullah,” or pond, three or four feet deep, through
which they had to wade. Some of the doolie-bearers and wounded were
drowned or killed by the enemy’s grape; those who succeeded in crossing
reached a street where they were partly sheltered by a high wall.
Major Simmonds did all that could be done for their safety. The gallant
escort were shot down right and left, but they kept up a steady fire and
never ceased to advance. On leaving this street the guide lost his way;
instead of pursuing the path by the river he led them into an oblong
square lined on three sides with sheds, which is now familiarly known to
every resident in Lucknow as Doolie-square. No sooner had they entered
this square than the enemy, who had posted themselves on the roofs of the
sheds and behind the walls, opened fire upon them and shot down many of
the escort and doolie-bearers. Many of the latter threw down the doolies
in despair, and no threats or entreaties on the part of the officers
in charge could induce them to take them up again. They either fled or
met their fate with stoical indifference; it was the will of Allah, and
to Allah’s will they must submit. In the case of a few the instinct of
self-preservation was stronger than their creed; they ran the gauntlet
of the enemy’s fire and escaped. The medical officers and those who
accompanied them rushed through the square till they reached a covered
archway opposite to a corner house occupied by the enemy, who fired into
them with such destructive effect at the distance of a few yards that the
same bullet often passed through several men. If they left the archway
they were exposed to the fire of the enemy who were concealed on the
roofs of the sheds; to remain there was certain destruction.
[Illustration: Drs. Home and Bradshaw superintending the removal of the
wounded to the Residency at Lucknow.]
Mr. Thornhill, the guide, who had unwittingly brought them into this
danger, now proposed that they should retrace their steps and turn the
doolies back. This could no longer be done, as the doolie-bearers had
abandoned the wounded already in the square, but an effort was made to
prevent others from entering it. Dr. Bradshaw and Dr. Home’s apothecary
went back and persuaded the doolie-bearers in the rear to resume their
burdens and to follow them along the path by the river which the guide
had missed; in this way they reached the Residency in safety. Poor
Thornhill in passing through the square was twice wounded; one of these
wounds proved mortal. Those who remained beneath the archway looked out
in every direction for some place of shelter. There was no time to be
lost; armed soldiers were entering the square and murdering the helpless
men in the doolies. It was a harrowing scene, but Dr. Home never lost his
coolness or presence of mind; he stuck to the doolies as a young ensign
would stick to his colours in the hour of danger.
On the right side of the archway was an open door leading into a house;
here a small party sought for shelter. It consisted of Dr. Home, Captain
Becher, of the 40th Native Infantry, Swanson, of the 78th Highlanders,
nine soldiers as yet unhurt, and three wounded men. This small party of
fifteen persons were hemmed in on every side by the enemy; their only
chance of safety lay in holding out till assistance reached them from
the Residency. It was now about ten o’clock in the morning; they might
not have long to wait. They screened themselves as much as they could
from the fire of the rebels, who crowded round the door and might have
forced their way in had it not been for the gallant conduct of Private
Patrick McManus, of the 5th Fusiliers. This heroic Irishman stood in the
gateway as their guardian angel; ensconcing himself behind a pillar near
the door, he kept up a steady fire on the enemy for half an hour, and
thus prevented them from effecting an entrance. His hand was so steady,
his aim so certain, that whenever he raised his piece the cowardly Sepoys
fled from their loopholes or prostrated themselves on the ground. There
stood McManus, a hero in the strife, keeping the whole multitude of the
mutineers at bay. He had not even to fire; he had only to show his rifle,
when all the cowardly wretches trembled before him—such was the influence
exercised over them by the bearing of one undaunted man. The house at the
gateway became the central point of attack; the mutineers assembled there
from all quarters, and yelled like beasts of prey thirsting for human
blood. As in the Homeric battles, the combatants were so close that they
could revile one another. Sometimes the assailants would advance within
twenty yards of the house. “The Feringees are cowards,” they would
say; “why do they not come into the street?”—an unreasonable question,
considering that the Feringees were only fifteen in number and the enemy
more than a thousand. On this the redoubted McManus would show his rifle,
when the cowards became silent through abject fear. Ah, Patrick McManus,
my boy, if the mother that bare you had seen you that day, her old heart
would have been proud of you!
The leader of the mutineers abused them for their cowardice. “Come on!”
he would say; “what are you afraid of? There are only three Feringees.”
On hearing this the gallant little party, wounded and all, would give a
loud shout to make the enemy believe that they were more numerous than
they really were, and Patrick McManus would peep out from behind his
pillar. They also strengthened their position by barricading the door
with lumber and with sandbags, to form which they stripped the dead
Sepoys of their “cummerbunds,” or waistcloths. The mass of dead bodies
which had accumulated round the door served as a barrier to prevent the
mutineers from entering. On finding that they could not force the house
they directed their fire against the wounded in the doolies, and killed
about forty of them.
At this moment an incident occurred which serves to prove what sacrifices
our soldiers are ready to make for officers whom they love. In one of the
doolies close to the beleaguered house lay Captain Arnold, of the Madras
Fusiliers, a gallant officer who had been severely wounded. Among the
holders of the house was Private Ryan, of the same regiment, who resolved
to make an effort to rescue him from his dangerous position. As he could
not do this alone he called for some one to assist him, when Patrick
McManus stepped out from behind his pillar and offered to accompany him.
He was already wounded in the foot, but a wound was nothing when danger
had to be encountered. The two brave men cleared the barricade, rushed
through the gateway amid a shower of bullets, and reached the doolie
in safety. Here they had to encounter a new difficulty. Their united
strength could not raise the doolie from the ground, so they took poor
Arnold in their arms and bore him to the house. It is a remarkable fact,
that while the ground around them was torn with musket-balls, and Captain
Arnold received a wound in the thigh which afterwards proved mortal,
both of his deliverers escaped unhurt. Encouraged by their success, they
ventured forth a second time and carried in a wounded soldier whose
piteous cries had excited their compassion. The result was the same as
before; they were safe, but the soldier received two mortal wounds and
died before he reached the house. Such incidents almost justify the
belief that the age of miracles has not yet passed away.
During this struggle the duties that devolved on Dr. Home, the only
unwounded officer in the house, were most arduous. He had to direct and
encourage the men by his example, to dress the wounded, and to assist
in shooting down their assailants. In all this he was ably assisted by
Private Hollowell, of the 78th Highlanders, who proved himself worthy
of such a leader. When the rebels found that they could not force an
entrance, they stole stealthily up to the window and fired through the
plastered venetians. Our men lay down on the floor; the bullets thus
passed harmlessly over them. The Sepoys then attempted to rush the house,
when Hollowell, watching his opportunity, shot down their leader, an
old man, armed with sword and shield, and dressed in white with a red
waistband. One man was now told off to fire from each window and three
from the door. Dr. Home kept watch and ward at one of the windows with
his revolver in his hand; he could see all that was passing in the street
through a hole made by a bullet. A Sepoy crept stealthily up to the
window at the distance of three yards; the doctor shot him dead with his
revolver. Hollowell gave another his quietus, and then for a time all was
still.
About an hour elapsed before the attack was resumed. During this interval
the beleaguered party broke through the plaster and took up their
position in the outer room. Thus far they had made good their defence,
but a still greater danger awaited them. As they were congratulating
themselves on their success they heard a dull, heavy, rumbling noise.
Home started up and shouted, “Now, men, or never! Let us rush out and
die in the open air, and not be killed like rats in a hole. They are
bringing a gun on us!” The men were preparing to act on this advice,
when they observed that it was not a gun but a screen, moved on wheels,
which the rebels pushed up against the door. A minié rifle fired at the
distance of a few yards made no impression on it. On observing this
our men retreated into the room they had formerly occupied, while the
enemy mounted on the roof, broke through the plaster, and threw lighted
straw down upon them. The house took fire; their position was no longer
tenable, and death seemed to stare them in the face.
What were they to do? One thing was evident—they could no longer remain
in the house; the smoke and heat had become intolerable. Raising the
three most helpless and wounded in their arms, they rushed through the
back door into the open square. At the distance of about ten yards they
observed a shed on the north side of the square and made for it. During
the passage the three wounded men were hit, and subsequently died of
their wounds, while those who carried them escaped unhurt. Among the
wounded was Lieutenant Swanson, of the 78th, whose name has been already
mentioned. They found the floor of the shed covered with dead and dying
Sepoys. This movement took the enemy by surprise; they had expected them
to issue forth by the door, and not by the way they came; and though the
little party was exposed to the fire of at least six hundred men, none
but the wounded were hit. On rallying their forces they found that they
had six men capable of bearing arms, and four wounded able to do duty as
sentries. It was now three o’clock in the afternoon, and, though their
position seemed desperate, no one dreamed of surrendering; they knew that
they could expect no mercy from their ruthless assailants, and determined
to hold out to the last. Their position must be known to the general;
Havelock was not a man to abandon them in the hour of danger. Could it be
that his gallant little army had been destroyed by the rebels, and that
they were the last survivors? If so, their only resource was to hold out
to the last and to sell their lives as dearly as possible.
Such were the thoughts that presented themselves to the minds of these
heroic men. No time was to be lost; the enemy was already upon them. The
shed, which was loopholed in every direction, afforded little shelter;
it had been used the day before by the mutineers for the purpose of
firing on our army. Two shots were suddenly fired on the little party
through a broken passage in one end of the shed; a sentry was placed
there to guard it against the enemy. Such was their cowardly terror, that
the presence of one man was sufficient to ward them off. They now came
creeping stealthily up to the walls, discharged their pieces through the
loopholes, and then made off. To guard against this annoyance a sentry
was placed at every loophole; the wounded men cheerfully did their duty
the same as the others. So long as they had remained in the house at the
archway, they had been able to protect the doolies from the attacks of
the enemy, but now that they had changed their position they could no
longer afford them any assistance. On observing this, the Sepoys came
rushing through the gate, and began to massacre the wounded men; some
were burnt alive in the doolies; others were cut to pieces by their
savage assailants. Their countrymen were saved the horror of witnessing
this spectacle, as the enemy, while engaged in this massacre, kept on the
other side of the doolies, so as to escape observation; but their blood
was chilled and their own sufferings intensified by the piercing shrieks
of the tortured men, who were now beyond the reach of all human aid.
At this moment a singular incident occurred. While the Sepoys were
passing from doolie to doolie engaged in their ruthless work, they came
to one which contained Lieutenant Knight, a wounded officer of the
90th Regiment. A Sowar drew aside the curtain and made a thrust at him
with his sword. With that sudden energy which is often imparted to the
helpless in the hour of danger, Knight sprang through the opening in the
other side of the doolie, and ran off in the direction of the rear-guard,
pursued by the enemy, who had witnessed his escape. He was already
wounded in the leg, but, notwithstanding this drawback, he succeeded in
distancing all his pursuers. More than fifty shots were fired at him,
two of which struck him in the legs, making three wounds in all; he had
strength, however, to continue his flight till he reached the rear-guard,
where he found himself in safety.
On finding that the loopholes in the walls of the shed were guarded,
the Sepoys mounted the roof, made holes through it, and began to fire
on the party below. Though the muzzles of their pieces were only about
four feet from our men, none of the latter were seriously wounded; in
truth, the miraculous escapes that occurred on this occasion are so
numerous and surprising as to be almost incredible, if they were not well
authenticated. As the shed was no longer tenable, they bored through the
wall into the courtyard, so as to escape for a moment from the heavy fire
from the roof. Their position was desperate; the most sanguine had almost
ceased to hope; the strongest were prostrated by hunger, heat, anxiety,
and fatigue; the wounded, parched with thirst and terror-struck by the
shrieks of the tortured, longed to escape from such misery, and prayed
for death at the hands of their countrymen. We have heard men who shared
in the horrors of this fearful scene declare that, if they had not been
restrained by Christian principle, they would have laid violent hands on
themselves, or courted death from the bullets of the enemy.
Such feelings may have sprung up in their minds as they listened to the
shrieks of the tortured, and thought of their own fate if they fell
into the hands of the enemy; but the love of life is strong, and they
continued to defend themselves. Was there no other place of shelter than
the shed they occupied? On looking out from the courtyard they observed
the rear of a large building at the distance of thirty yards. Dr. Home
and one of his party stole cautiously out to reconnoitre; night was
setting in, and the darkness was favourable to their undertaking. They
reached the building without attracting the notice of the Sepoys, and
discovered that it was a large mosque, with an arched opening about eight
feet from the ground. By mounting on the shoulders of his companion,
Dr. Home was enabled to enter the building through this opening, and
found himself in a spacious courtyard looking into a garden. No pious
Mussulman was performing his devotions there; the place seemed to have
been designed by Providence for their preservation; and Dr. Home, after
advancing a short distance into the mosque, returned to the opening in
the wall, and beckoned to the others to join him. They hesitated to do
so, and during this delay Dr. Home and his companion were discovered by
the enemy, who opened fire on them from the roof of the shed, and drove
them back to their former position. Their enterprise was not altogether
fruitless; inside the mosque they had found a _chatty_ of excellent
water belonging to the Sepoys—a prize at that moment far more precious
in their eyes than all the gold of Ophir or the diamonds of Golconda.
They had been biting cartridges all day; their lips were dry and cracked
with thirst; but they thought of the wounded, whose sufferings were still
more intense, and carried with them the _chatty_ of water for their
relief. All partook of the reviving draught, which, to borrow their own
expressive language, “made them twice the men they were before.” It
is a common belief among physiologists that water only increases the
sufferings of those who have long been unable to satisfy their thirst;
but it was not so in this instance. It made them twice the men they were
before, and thus enabled them to continue their resistance.
Sentries were told off for the night, and every man who could stand had
to take his share of duty. Every loophole had its guardian; owing to the
length of the shed none were left unemployed. The darkness which had now
set in was favourable to our men; it prevented the enemy on the roof
from watching their movements or observing the position they occupied,
and enabled them to fire through the roof with the additional advantage
of knowing from the sound of their feet where the Sepoys stood. On
discovering this, the latter quitted the roof, and for a time all was
still; it seemed as if they had given up the attack as hopeless. When the
firing ceased, a reaction set in after the fierce excitement of the day;
the stoutest hearts were almost appalled by a sense of their desperate
condition. They had long since ceased to hope for deliverance; they
clung to life with that instinctive feeling which leads the shipwrecked
mariner to cling to a plank, though he knows that escape is all but
impossible. If the shed was forced, their only thought was to rush
forth and sell their lives as dearly as possible. As they listened to
the shrieks of the tortured, they swore in their hearts that, come what
might, they would never fall into the hands of the enemy. Death had lost
all its bitterness; the grim king was stripped of all his dark imagery of
terror. If he had come of his own accord, they would have welcomed him
as a friend, but as Christian soldiers, whose lives were not their own,
they were bound to wait for his coming. And all through the long, dreary
hours of that night of horror they _did_ wait for him, but he came not;
those who retained their consciousness almost envied the wounded who
had become delirious. Their ammunition was almost exhausted; there only
remained about seven rounds for six men; if the enemy renewed the attack,
all would soon be over. But the enemy did _not_ renew the attack; they
found it easier and safer to torture the wounded in the doolies than to
dislodge or destroy a few resolute men driven to bay.
Sleep would at times overpower them; they sank down on the floor, but the
mental tension was too great to permit them long to rest. Their fearful
position was still present to their minds, and after a few minutes of
troubled sleep, they would start to their feet with the impression that
the enemy were upon them. No enemy appeared; on finding that it was a
false alarm, they would keep watch for a time, till, overpowered by
sleep and exhaustion, they again sank upon the floor. One desperate man
proposed to his comrades to rush forth and fight their way back to the
rear-guard; two offered to join him in the attempt; the others refused to
leave the wounded in the hands of the enemy.
About two o’clock in the morning they were roused to a fresh life by the
sound of heavy firing close at hand. Their hearts leaped to their mouths
as they heard the sharp crack of the Enfield rifles and the rush of the
enemy over their heads. Hurrah! Havelock had not forgotten them; it was
their own countrymen advancing to the rescue. The revulsion of feeling
made them wild with joy; they shouted with all their might, “Europeans!
Europeans!” they cheered them on to the attack—“Charge them! charge
them! Keep to your right!” The firing died away in the distance; in a
few minutes all was silent. They listened for the advancing tramp of
armed men, but no such sound was heard; again they gave themselves up
to despair. Any fate was preferable to further suspense; they agreed
to fight their way to the Residency or perish in the attempt; but on
creeping forward under the shadow of the building, they observed a large
body of men clustered round a fire in the archway. Escape in that way
was evidently impossible; it would have been madness for a few starving
men to attack a body of the enemy who had just repulsed our own troops;
so they crept back to their former place of shelter. The bitterness of
death was already past; they could meet their fate with indifference.
The dreary hours passed silently on till a little after daybreak, when
they heard the sound of distant firing; it failed to rouse them from
their apathy; the hope of deliverance had died out within them. The sound
came nearer and nearer, till at length they could distinguish the sharp
crack of the Enfields, and the regular rattling volleys which told them
that their countrymen were at hand. Ryan, the sentry, with the usual
vivacity of his country, was the first to express the feelings of his
comrades; jumping up with sudden energy, he shouted, “Oh, boys! them’s
our own chaps!” Ryan’s language was far from being elegant or correct;
but their position was too critical for weighing the niceties of speech,
and we question whether Demosthenes himself could have spoken more to the
point. Its effect was immediate and striking; those who were prostrated
by despair sprang to their feet with renewed energy, and shouted to their
deliverers to keep to the right. “Cheer together, men,” cried Home. They
cheered, and waited anxiously for the result. They had not long to wait;
a ringing cheer came back from their countrymen, which told them that
deliverance was at hand. They had still a few charges remaining; these
were expended on the Sepoys, who were firing from the loopholes on our
men. The enemy were soon dislodged; the party of rescue forced their way
into the shed; Dr. Home received the congratulations of his countrymen
on his successful resistance, and the wounded, whom he had defended to
the last, were conducted in safety to the Residency.
When the report of their gallant conduct reached England, Home and
Bradshaw were rewarded with the Victoria Cross. Mr. Desanges has assigned
them a place in his Gallery. All who have read this simple narrative of
their heroic defence of the wounded intrusted to their care, will admit
that they were entitled to this honourable distinction.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]