WITH SIR COLIN CAMPBELL AND THE SUTHERLANDS TO LUCKNOW
Pipes of the misty moorlands,
Voice of the glens and hills;
The droning of the torrents,
The treble of the rills!
Not the braes of broom and heather,
Nor the mountains black with rain,
Nor maiden bower, nor border tower,
Have heard your sweetest strain!
_The Pipes of Lucknow._
Lucknow was fated to hear of three advances to its relief. The initial
attempt by Havelock failed owing to lack of ammunition. He was compelled
to return to Cawnpore and wait patiently until the arrival of Sir James
Outram.
On the 4th of August Havelock began his second advance towards Lucknow,
his force consisting of Highlanders, Fusiliers, and Sikhs. Facing him
stretched thirty miles of the enemy’s country, the city of Lucknow
itself defended by a large army, while a force of the enemy was detached
to cut his communications with Cawnpore. Cholera again broke out in the
ranks, and the whole situation speedily became impossible. Havelock
consulted with his officers and they decided that it would be useless to
advance. He therefore fell back upon Mungulwar and appealed to Sir
Patrick Grant for reinforcements.
Shortly afterwards the Seaforth Highlanders distinguished themselves in
an engagement with the enemy, capturing two of their guns. The Sepoys
who threatened Cawnpore next received Havelock’s attention, and were
defeated, the British falling back again upon the latter.
It was after this second advance of Havelock’s that he was superseded by
Sir James Outram. No man could have taken over the command with less
satisfaction than Outram, but at the same time no man could have made it
as bearable to Havelock. In the meantime news was received from Lucknow
that Inglis was determined to cut his way out if the relieving force
could not cut their way in. “You must bear in mind,” he wrote, “how I am
hampered, that I have between 120 sick and wounded and at least 220
women and about 230 children, and no carriage of any description. In
consequence of news received I shall soon put this force on half
rations; our provisions will thus last us till the end of September. If
you hope to save this force no time must be lost in pushing forward.”
Havelock instantly called for reinforcements. Sir Colin Campbell, who
had landed in Calcutta as Commander-in-Chief, made every exertion to
forward the despatch of troops. Before the advance Outram wrote to
Havelock, “To you shall be left the glory of relieving Lucknow, for
which you have already struggled so much. I shall accompany you only in
my civil capacity as Commissioner, placing my military services at your
disposal if you please, serving under you as a volunteer.”
With this cordiality between the leaders of the Expedition the force set
out upon its third, this time the historic, march to save the women and
children in Lucknow.
Lucknow is roughly forty-five miles from Cawnpore. The relieving army
crossed the Ganges, marched again on Mungulwar, and drove the rebels
back to Busseerutgunge. Their advance until September 22—when they were
within some sixteen miles of Lucknow—was almost uncontested. The
swiftness of their approach took the enemy by surprise. The Sepoys put
up a desperate resistance before Lucknow, but by the charge of the
Seaforths the bridge was crossed and the city entered. Inside the
Residency anxiety grew almost unbearable. They had heard so often
rumours and more rumours of relief. Already the garrison knew in their
heart that help was coming—eagerly they watched for the first glimpse of
a kent face in the dim street below.
Oh, they listened, dumb and breathless,
And they caught the sound at last;
Faint and far beyond the Goomtee
Rose and fell the pipers’ blast!
Then a burst of wild thanksgiving
Mingled woman’s voice and man’s;
God be praised! The March of Havelock!
The piping of the clans!
The rebels had not yet realised how small a force was opposing them, and
when they did they rallied again to the attack undismayed. The British
pushed on with desperate courage, driving the Sepoys before them,
fighting every inch of the way towards the Residency. Night was falling
when the last terrible struggle commenced. It was now or never. Already
the Residency was almost within hail. The Highlanders, supported by the
Sikhs, were in the forefront, and Havelock, placing himself at their
head, gave the order to charge. Above the turmoil of the swaying street
the thin scream of the pipes pierced the hubbub like the bell of a
light-ship over a winter sea. Suddenly the English watchers at the
Residency gates beheld the long-looked-for figures of the British
soldiery.
Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance,
Sharp, and shrill as swords at strife,
Came the wild MacGregor’s clan-call
Stinging all the air to life.
But when the far-off dust-cloud
To plaided legions grew,
Full tenderly and blithesomely
The pipes of rescue blew!
It was a supreme, a dramatic moment. The gates were flung open, and
“from every pit, trench, and battery—from behind the sand-bags piled on
shattered houses—from every post still held by a few gallant spirits,
rose cheer on cheer—even from the hospital many of the wounded crawled
forth to join in that glad shout of welcome to those who had so bravely
come to our assistance. It was a moment never to be forgotten. The
delight of the ever-gallant Highlanders, who had fought twelve battles
to enjoy that moment of ecstasy, and in the last four days had lost a
third of their numbers, seemed to know no bounds.”
It was mainly by the magnificent efforts of the Seaforth Highlanders
that a passage was forced through the condensed masses of Sepoys into
the heart of Lucknow and into the Residency itself. “Never did the
valour of this gallant regiment shine brighter than in this bloody
conflict.”
It had been the hope of Sir James Outram that after the relief of
Lucknow the garrison would be able to withdraw under safe protection to
Cawnpore. Most unhappily, however, it became evident that not only would
it be impossible for the troops to force their way out through 50,000
Sepoys, but that, as the provisions and ammunition had been left
temporarily in the rear, they were in actual danger of becoming a
further drain upon the resources of the Residency. Whatever hope there
was that the soldiers could fight their way out, there was little chance
that 700 women and children would be able to reach Cawnpore. But what
they had brought, however, was perhaps as good as food and arms—the
presence of strong hearts and news of Colin Campbell. For six weeks,
therefore, Havelock and Outram and the Seaforths were in their turn
besieged in Lucknow.
In the meantime, namely the beginning of November, troops had reached
India from England, and the officer in command was Sir Colin Campbell, a
name associated for all time with the stand of the ‘thin red line’ at
Balaclava. He was sixty-five years of age, considerably younger than
Field-Marshal Roberts when he was asked by the Government to go to South
Africa. But he was only too ready to start to the support of the hapless
garrison. Landing at Calcutta on August 13, he reached Cawnpore on
November 3, and on the 9th was already on the road to Lucknow.
Under Sir Colin Campbell were some 4700 men, a small force of cavalry,
the Naval Brigade, artillery, and amongst the infantry the veteran
Sutherland Highlanders. It is related that when Sir Colin passed before
the ranks of the ‘thin red line,’ preliminary to the advance on Lucknow,
he cried, “93rd! You are my own lads. I rely on you to do the work.” At
which a reply came, “Ay, ay, Sir Colin, ye ken us, and we ken you. We’ll
bring the women and children out of Lucknow, or die with you in the
attempt.”
On November 12 the British had reached the Alumbagh. At this point Colin
Campbell decided that he would not force his way through the narrow
lanes of the city, but would take what was called the Dilkusha Park—a
property some two miles to the east of the Residency. Making that his
base, he planned to attack the north of the city, forcing his way by the
Secundrabagh.
In the meantime Outram had despatched particulars to Campbell regarding
the plans of the city. He also sent a guide named Kavanagh. Kavanagh
disguised himself as a Sepoy, and dropping out of the Residency at
night, passed safely through the hordes of Sepoys, and crossing the
river managed to reach the British. Never did his nerve fail him. By
mistake he ran into a battery of the enemy’s guns. The slightest
hesitation would have betrayed the fact that, despite his disguise, he
was not an Indian. With the utmost coolness he made a great business of
inspecting the guns, and thus disarming the suspicion of the Sepoy
soldiers, walked on in a leisurely manner, and in due course reached the
British lines. In all the history of heroism in the Mutiny it would be
difficult to find a more hazardous undertaking than that of Kavanagh. He
was afterwards awarded the Victoria Cross.
On the 15th Sir Colin Campbell made a feint of assaulting the extreme
left, but during the night he advanced in another quarter, and by the
morning was in full march upon the fortified position to his right. The
Secundrabagh was a garden of considerable size, with walls 20 feet high,
and reached by a narrow lane. By a dexterous movement the British guns
were moved up to the top of this lane, and from thence opened fire upon
the walls, and for nearly an hour the bombardment went on. At last a
breach was made, and the three regiments of the 53rd, the Sutherlands,
and the Sikhs darted forward, each determined to be the first among the
enemy. Indeed it is doubtful whether any command was given; the
soldiers—straining like dogs upon the leash—were only too anxious to
take the first excuse for a charge. It is recorded that a drummer-boy of
the 93rd was one of the first to leap over the breach, and as Roberts
himself has written, “When I got in I found him just inside the breach,
lying on his back quite dead. A pretty, innocent-looking, fair-headed
lad, not more than fourteen years old.”
Their officers all shot, the Sikhs hesitated. Sir Colin Campbell saved
the situation. “Colonel Ewart,” he cried, “bring on the tartan!” and at
that, says an eye-witness, “the whole seven companies like one man
leaped for the wall with such a yell of pent-up rage as I never heard
before or since.” In the face of this Gaelic charge the Sepoys were
driven back into the building. The rebels were hounded back from floor
to floor, and from building to building. In the records of war there
have been few scenes of slaughter so fierce as that which took place at
the Secundrabagh. Hardly a Sepoy escaped, and without pausing, the
Highlanders rushed on to the attack of the Shah Nujeef. It took many
hours for these positions to be stormed, during which Major Branston was
killed, and the late Lord Wolseley—then a promising young officer—took
the command. But the tide was on the turn. Gradually the artillery
asserted its superiority, and at last Sir Colin Campbell, galloping up
to the 93rd, announced that the place must be carried, and that he
himself would give them the lead, at which they answered proudly and
with a fear for his safety, “We can lead ourselves.” But it is doubtful
whether it would have been possible to take this position had not the
gallantry of Sergeant John Paton, V.C., come to the aid of the
Sutherlands. He had discovered a breach in the rampart, and owing to
this invaluable news the place was speedily carried. From the point
known as the ‘Mess-house,’ Campbell signalled to the Residency that they
were on the eve of their last attack. Full of joy Outram began to
advance to meet the relieving force, carrying one building after another
until, at last, that memorable scene took place when Havelock, Campbell,
and Outram shook hands before the Mess-house.
Havelock, who was profoundly touched, could be heard saying, “Soldiers!
I am happy to see you. Soldiers! I am happy to think you got into this
place with a smaller loss than I did.” But it was no time for speeches
of congratulation. There were still the women and children to be saved.
Outside the Residency there lurked an enemy five times more numerous
than the British troops. Again the besieged saw the Highlanders fight
their way in, and again they were to learn that danger still threatened
their lives.
[Illustration: THE SUTHERLAND HIGHLANDERS AT LUCKNOW]
After the dramatic entry it was decided that the garrison must be
conveyed out of range of the enemy, and so adroitly was this conducted
that the Sepoys did not realise until many hours after the Residency was
evacuated that the British had evaded them and were in retreat upon
Cawnpore.
Havelock, the brave defender of Lucknow, died almost as soon as the
withdrawal had begun. He contracted illness through running
three-quarters of a mile under a heavy fire to greet the relieving
force. As he was dying he turned to Outram with the memorable words: “I
have for forty years so ruled my life that when death came I might face
it without fear.” No loss could have cast a darker shadow over the
withdrawal.
With all speed Sir Colin Campbell made his way towards the Alumbagh,
where he left Outram with 4000 men as garrison until the final assault
upon Lucknow should take place. Until that time came the Alumbagh was to
be held as a revolver at the head of Lucknow.
Unfortunately bad news came from Cawnpore, which had been left with a
garrison of 500 troops under Windham, a Crimean soldier. It was
threatened by Nana Sahib, whose mind was concentrated upon a second
massacre, and the defeat of the British troops. Sir Colin Campbell had
many perils to face. In his rear lay a hostile country, between Lucknow
and Cawnpore a Sepoy force of some 14,000 men might threaten him at any
moment, while over Cawnpore there hung a cloud of dangers, known and
dreaded. Should Windham be defeated the bridge of boats across the
Ganges would fall into the hands of the enemy, leaving Sir Colin with
his little force of soldiers and the large number of sick and wounded
hopelessly cut off.
It was with these anxious thoughts in his mind that he received a
despatch from Windham marked, ‘Most urgent,’ and indicating that the
garrison at Cawnpore were in a perilous state. Campbell knew that if the
worst came to the worst, Windham would have fallen back within the
entrenchments of the city, which meant that Cawnpore proper would be in
the hands of the rebels. It was a hazardous position for any general.
Every moment was precious, and Sir Colin appealed to his gallant
Highlanders to make all speed. Let us see how they answered the call.
With the utmost haste the force laboured on, and in the words of one of
them, “The whole army eagerly pressed on towards the scene of danger....
The anxiety and impatience of all became extreme. Louder and louder grew
the roar—faster and faster became the march—long and weary was the
way—tired and footsore grew the infantry—death fell on the exhausted
wounded with terrible rapidity—the travel-worn bearers could hardly
stagger along under their loads—the sick men groaned and died. But
still, on, on, on, was the cry. Salvos of artillery were fired by the
field battery of the advanced guard in hopes that its sound might convey
to the beleaguered garrison a promise of the coming aid. At last some
horsemen were seen spurring along the road; then the veil that had for
so long shrouded us from Windham was rent asunder, and the disaster
stood before us in all its deformity.”
Roberts was despatched to ascertain if the bridges were still in the
hands of the British. He found an officer on guard, and learned from him
that Windham was surrounded on three sides. Spurring on he made his way
into the entrenchments and delivered his message. There followed a
dramatic incident. From far off came the clatter of hoofs. A little
party of cavalry, headed by a familiar figure, galloped towards the
fort. SIR COLIN CAMPBELL had come himself! His appearance at that
critical moment had the same electric effect as the first glimpse of his
worn face in the shell-raked streets of Lucknow. Always impetuous, he
had no sooner despatched Roberts than he must hasten upon the same
errand. Meeting the officer at the bridges he had inquired how matters
stood, and received the reply, “Windham’s men are at their last gasp.”
It was not the sort of remark to make to the commander of the 93rd
Highlanders. “How dare you say of Her Majesty’s troops that they are at
their last gasp?” he roared, and hurrying across the bridges he carried
to the disheartened garrison the inspiration of his indomitable
personality.
With the breaking of the dawn the plain across the river was white with
the tents of the British Army, and in a short time the smoke of battle
began to trail across the Ganges. The conflict for the bridges began,
and Sir Colin, who fully realised that sooner or later the Sepoys would
rightly appreciate the importance of preventing the British crossing the
river, stationed Peel and his artillery upon the other bank. The
Sutherlands, under a very heavy shell fire, reached the position where
the hapless Wheeler had withstood for so long Nana Sahib’s soldiery.
They were the first to cross, but by the evening the army were on the
Cawnpore side of the river.
For a few days they maintained their position there without assuming the
offensive, and on December 3 Sir Colin despatched a convoy conveying the
sick and wounded to a place of safety.
This settled, the British set about the defeat of the rebels. But before
the attack commenced a new regiment reached the troops before Cawnpore.
The Black Watch—having marched seventy-eight miles in three days—came
into line with the 93rd, and Sir Colin Campbell greeted his old comrades
of the Crimea, shaking hands with the officers and speaking to the men.
On December 6 the action commenced. Under Sir Colin were some 5000
troops, a small body of cavalry, 35 guns, and opposed to him 25,000
Sepoys.
The engagement opened with Windham’s artillery. Presently the
Highlanders of the 42nd advanced, their bayonets gleaming white in the
sunlight. Driving the enemy before them they made way for Peel and his
sailors, together with their 24-pounder. The swift approach of the
Highlanders was irresistible, “and so complete,” says one writer, “was
the surprise, so unexpected was the onslaught, that the chupatties were
found heating upon the fires, bullocks stood tied behind the hackeries,
the sick and wounded were lying in the hospitals, the smith left his
forge, and the surgeon his ward, to fly from the avenging bayonets.”
In the meantime the rebel right, struck by an iron hand, was flung into
an irretrievable confusion, and took to its heels. “Gun after gun was
spiked; cartloads of ammunition lay strewed along the road. For two
miles without a check the pursuit was carried on by the 17th battery
alone, accompanied by Hope Grant and his staff. Four times in that
distance did we go into action to clear our front and our flanks, until
General Grant, thinking wisely that we were too far from our supports,
determined to wait for more artillery. Then a small cloud coming nearer
and nearer was seen on the left, and the head of the cavalry column
debouched from a grove. The order for a further pursuit was given; the
cavalry spread like lightning over the plain in skirmishing order. Sir
Colin took the lead, and the pursuit was continued, taking all the
character of a fox-hunt.”
After the rout of the enemy came the return of the victorious British
troops, who cheered Sir Colin Campbell, as the Kabul-Kandahar Field
Force cheered Roberts on the road to Sibi.
“In front,” says one writer, “came the 9th Lancers with three captured
standards at their head, the wild-looking Sikh horsemen rode in the
rear. As they passed the Commander-in-Chief he took off his hat to them
with some words of thanks and praise. The Lancers shook their lances in
the air and cheered; the Sikhs took up the cry, waving their sabres
above their heads. The men carrying the standards gave them to the wind;
the Highland Brigade who were encamped close by ran down and cheered
both the victorious cavalry and the veteran chief, waving their bonnets
in the air. It was a fair sight, a reminder of the old days of
chivalry.”
With the relief of Cawnpore, there followed a few days in which the army
awaited anxiously the order to advance again on Lucknow. The delay was
caused by a difference of opinion between Sir Colin Campbell and Lord
Canning. The latter was most anxious that Lucknow should be retaken once
and for good; Sir Colin, who was ever a methodical soldier, was strongly
of belief that it would be better to concentrate the British forces
before the advance commenced. Lord Canning won the day, and in the
beginning of March 1858 the final assault upon Lucknow took place. By
this time the forces of the rebels had been badly broken up and
dispirited. The tide had turned, fresh troops were pouring into India,
everything was in favour of the British. Instead of the little force
which had accompanied Havelock to Lucknow, the British commander had a
siege train with guns and ammunition and stores, 30,000 men, and more
than 150 guns.
On January 19 the Queen had written to Sir Colin Campbell congratulating
him on his Indian campaign, and mentioning in particular the gallantry
of the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders. With this letter had come a despatch
from the Duke of Cambridge, begging Sir Colin to place himself at the
head of the 93rd as their Colonel, which he was only too proud to do. In
the attack upon Lucknow and under Sir Colin Campbell were the Black
Watch, the Sutherlands, and the Camerons—the Brigade that he had led to
victory in the Crimea. The Camerons had arrived shortly before, and were
given a cordial welcome by their comrades. The task before the British
was a very severe one, despite the large numbers in the field; it was
also a very critical one. Should the rebels be completely crushed then
the Indian Mutiny would be virtually at an end, but since the retreat of
Sir Colin to Cawnpore their numbers had been greatly strengthened, their
fortifications largely rebuilt, and an outer line erected, heavily
protected by cannon.
Lucknow was a wonderful city. Dr. Russell, in his _Diary in India_, has
described it as “a vision of palaces, minarets, domes azure and golden,
cupolas, colonnades, long façades of fair perspective in pillars and
columns, terraced roofs, all rising up amid a calm, still ocean of the
brightest verdure. Look for miles and miles away, and still the ocean
spreads and the towers of the fairy city gleam in its midst. Spires of
gold glitter in the sun, turrets and gilded spheres shine like
constellations.”
On the 9th of March Sir Colin Campbell opened the engagement that was to
prove the most final and the most terrible of the Indian Mutiny. It was
given to the Black Watch to lead the attack, while in support were the
Sutherlands.
The 42nd advanced in perfect order, their pipes playing ‘The Campbells
are comin’.’ They were received by a hot fire from the rebels, but with
the eyes of the army upon them the veterans of the Alma never paused in
their stride. The Sepoys did not wait to dispute the matter with them,
but fell back towards the city, where the Begum’s Palace was to prove
the citadel of their defence. The suburbs of Lucknow were quickly in the
hands of the British, and the 93rd led the attack upon the Begum’s
Palace. It was a place of tremendous strength, the walls loopholed and
the gateways strongly protected, with an exceedingly deep ditch before
the whole front of the position. For a long time the artillery kept up a
bombardment of the walls in the frail hope that a breach would be made,
and that, as in the attack upon the Secundrabagh, the Highlanders would
obtain a foothold. On the following day the artillery suddenly ceased
fire, the Sutherlands leapt to their feet, for a few minutes took cover
in the building facing the position, and then charged for the ditch.
“Every obstacle,” says Captain Burgoyne, “that could be opposed to the
stormers had been prepared by the enemy; every room, door, gallery, or
gateway was so obstructed and barricaded that only a single man could
pass at a time. Almost every window or opening that could afford the
slightest shelter was occupied by the enemy, and in threading their way
through the narrow passages and doorways our men were exposed to unseen
foes.”
It would appear to have been an almost impossible position to take, but
the Sutherlands never flinched, and the more foes and the greater
numbers of the enemy that faced them the more did they press on with the
bayonet. A hand-to-hand struggle lasting for two hours took place, while
above the din of the conflict rang the shrill notes of the pipes of John
Macleod—the Pipe-Major of the 93rd. The engagement was very similar to
that of the Secundrabagh, the Highlanders pursuing the enemy from
courtyard to courtyard, from room to room, giving no quarter, and
expecting none.
Well might the Brigadier write in his despatch, “The Brigadier-General
has shared in many a hard-fought action during his service, but on no
occasion has he witnessed a more noble and determined advance than was
made by the 93rd this day.”
By March 20 the rebels were finally driven back, and Lucknow was
captured. We must not forget that in the siege the Camerons were also
engaged, but in another part of the operations, being included in the
division under Outram. There is very little information regarding their
share in the engagement, while the 93rd and the 42nd were achieving such
memorable work elsewhere. But it is certain, from the _Life of Outram_,
that the Cameron Highlanders engaged in the suburbs of Lucknow managed
to repulse the enemy with considerable loss.
Following the storming of Lucknow, Sir Colin Campbell prepared the
dispersion of the enemy at Bareilly. This town was to be reached by two
columns, converging upon it from different directions, one under the
command of General Walpole, with whom were the 42nd and the 93rd, and
the other under the command of Brigadier-General John Jones. The first
attack by Walpole resulted in a reverse, and the loss of Brigadier
Adrian Hope, a most distinguished officer, whose death caused amongst
the members of the Highland regiments the deepest resentment and
distress. The incident was like that later one of Magersfontein, one
that rankled—whether justly or not we cannot say—for many years. The
loss of the 42nd was very heavy, and later on Sir Colin Campbell himself
took command, advancing upon Bareilly.
On May 5 there was a fierce attack upon the British by the Ghazees, a
fanatical tribe, and, as Sir Colin himself said, “the most determined
effort he had seen during the war.” Uttering their fierce shouts, they
flung themselves upon the Black Watch. Colonel Cameron was dragged from
his horse; General Walpole was wounded, and had it not been for the
presence of Sir Colin Campbell himself, the Highlanders might have been
overcome by the fierceness of this attack, being outflanked as well as
outfaced by the enemy.
On the following day the British delivered their attack upon Bareilly,
practically clearing the position of the enemy. The remnants were
dispersed by the 93rd. This action concludes the main features of the
Highland regiments’ part in the Indian Mutiny campaign.
The 42nd remained in India until January 1868, nearly ten years after
the 78th had marched into Edinburgh with the band playing ‘Scotland
Yet.’
It would not be fitting to conclude a chapter on the Indian Mutiny
without recalling the name of Sir Colin Campbell. Broken in health
through the toils and anxieties of the campaign, he was compelled to
return to England, where he was raised to the Peerage as Baron Clyde.
The remaining years of his life were spent in the quiet enjoyment of the
honours that were showered upon him by a grateful country, and on August
14, 1863, the great Scottish soldier passed away, and was buried in
Westminster Abbey.
THE BATTLE HONOURS OF THE ARGYLL AND SUTHERLAND HIGHLANDERS
Cape of Good Hope, 1806; Rolica, Vimiera, Corunna, Pyrenees, Nivelle,
Nive, Orthez, Toulouse, Peninsula, Alma, Balaclava, Sevastopol, Lucknow;
South Africa, 1846-1847, 1851-1852-1853, 1879; South Africa, 1899-1902;
Modder River, Paardeberg.
The 1st Battalion was raised in 1794 and called the 91st Argyllshire
Highlanders.
The 2nd Battalion was raised in 1799 and known as the 93rd Sutherland
Highlanders.
The two regiments became the 1st and 2nd Battalions of the Argyll and
Sutherland Highlanders in 1881.