The news of the fearful outbreak in India had taken the English by
surprise. The dreadful atrocities of Cawnpore, the massacres
perpetrated by Nana Sahib, who had ever been looked upon as the
Englishman's friend, had carried a sense of woe and desolation to the
heart of the land, but the first numbing sense of sorrow had passed, and
many a gallant fellow was on his way to India to wipe out the stain,
which the revolt of her Sepoy army had cast upon the time-honoured
banner of England.
"Lucknow has fallen!" were the words which met Major Hughes as he
hurried on to the front one bright November morning in the memorable
year of 1857. Then came reports of the demise of Sir John Lawrence, and
at last, when within a few hours' march of the place itself, a rumour
soon changed into a certainty, spread far and wide, announcing the death
of the gallant Havelock. For a time the horizon of the Indian world
seemed again clouded over by an event which was wholly unexpected.
Lucknow had fallen before a small force, whose determined gallantry had
carried all before it, but the man whose masterly brain had planned, and
whose daring gallantry had carried out the advance through a country
literally swarming with enemies, the soldier under whose direct
superintendence the Secunderabagh had been stormed, and who had spared
neither health, constitution, nor blood in the cause of his country, had
consummated the sacrifice with his life. The gallant Havelock was no
more. His body lay in a small grave in the Alumbagh. The flag of
England was thrown over him in his death, and his country, though
mourning her loss, found another, second perhaps to none, to step into
the gap.
"You will take the command of your regiment this day, Major Hughes,"
said Sir Colin Campbell, as that officer reported himself on the morning
of the 26th November, 1857. "You will find the 150th attached to
General Outram's brigade, holding the Bunnee Bridge. Report yourself at
once, and take your command," he continued, rising as he spoke.
This order was given in the sharp tones of one who had not a moment to
lose; and Hughes, saluting his superior, turned to carry it out, without
a word.
The general's tent was pitched in the Dil Kooshah Park, and the scene of
confusion through which he picked his way was enough to confuse anyone.
Regiment after regiment passed him. Infantry, cavalry, and artillery,
all moving in one direction towards the Alumbagh, and it became evident
that some great movement was going on. Ladies were to be seen wandering
hopelessly about with children poorly provided for, only lately rescued
from imminent peril. Guns lay here and there, which not being worth
taking away, had been burst. Camp followers were shouting and
quarrelling, and a scene of more inextricable confusion could hardly be
imagined. Moving along with the crowd, Major Hughes found his way to
the Martiniere, where lay Brigadier Little and a cavalry brigade. On
the banks of the canal the 63rd Regiment and the 4th Sikh infantry were
bivouacked, and soon he stumbled on the lines of the 93rd Highlanders,
and of Captain Peel's gallant Naval Brigade. The heavy dome of the Shah
Nujeef mosque lay before him, its walls pierced for musketry, and
breached by the fire of the British guns; and there stood the
Secunderabagh itself, with its yawning breaches and shattered walls.
The gardens of the doomed city had been destroyed, the mosques, houses,
even to the European mess-house, had been in detail carried by storm.
In one spot alone, the bodies of three thousand mutineers had been
found, every corpse showing that death had been caused by the deadly
bayonet. Major Hughes had proceeded thus far, and was just asking his
way from a captain of the Royal Artillery, when down a roughly cut road,
his horse white with foam, came an officer of the 9th Lancers.
Pulling up with a sharp jerk, which brought the tired animal on his
haunches, and sent the light gravel flying in the air--
"You are Major Hughes, commanding the 150th?" he asked.
"I am; on my way to report myself as having joined."
"You will find the chief in the Martiniere compound. Officers
commanding regiments are directed to join him there. Evil tidings have
arrived."
Touching his horse with the spur the officer dashed on.
"Who is that?" inquired Hughes from his companion; "I saw him with Sir
Colin."
"Captain Ogilvie, of the 9th Lancers, aide-de-camp to Sir Colin
Campbell," was the reply; "and I'd advise you to be jogging. He himself
must be yonder where you see the group of men."
Retracing his steps, Major Hughes soon stood in the Martiniere compound.
A group of officers of all arms surrounded Sir Colin. Colonel Hay,
93rd Regiment, was speaking as Hughes strode up, and just outside the
group an officer dismounted, but holding his horse by the bridle, stood
listening. The poor fellow's uniform was torn and dirty, the horse,
whose colour had once been grey, was now of a blue black with sweat and
foam, his head was hanging down, and it was evident that steed and rider
were dropping with fatigue.
A twisted scrap of paper was between Sir Colin's fingers, his brows were
knit, and the forage-cap he wore was pushed from his forehead.
"Bad news from Cawnpore," whispered an officer of Hussars, as Major
Hughes joined the group.
"What has gone wrong?" asked the latter.
"The Gwalior Contingent have attacked the city, and poor Edwardes yonder
has managed to get through their lines, the bearer of urgent requests
for help."
"Silence, gentlemen," said Sir Colin. "There is not an hour to be lost.
The troops will break ground immediately, falling back from their
position of Dil Kooshah and the Martiniere. Commanding officers of
corps will at once make their preparations, and will move at daybreak,
taking up their several positions on the plain below the city, exactly
where each corps bivouacked before the attack. Good morning, gentlemen.
Captain Gough, send the Quartermaster-General to me. Major Hughes,
give this to General Outram," he continued, handing him a note. The
little crowd of officers melted away, and borrowing a horse from a
captain of Lancers, Major Hughes rode through the confusion, towards the
Bunnee camp, the position occupied by General Outram.
It was past midnight when he reached the lines, and was challenged by
the outlying pickets, yet he found the General awake and watchful, for
every now and then a heavy prolonged thud shook the air, telling of the
firing of great guns, and though Cawnpore was forty miles away yet every
man of the little army knew that the Gwalior mutineers, with a force far
exceeding any which Sir Colin Campbell could bring against them, were
pressing hard upon the handful of men who garrisoned the entrenchments.
Major Hughes delivered his letter. It contained an enclosure from
Brigadier Carthew, telling a sad tale. One after another the different
outposts had been taken, and given to the flames. The enormous force
opposed to them was literally crushing out the handful of the defenders
of Cawnpore, and unless immediate help came all were lost. Such were
the details, of which he was the bearer, and they were disastrous
enough. The note itself directed Brigadier Outram to move forward one
portion of the force early the next morning, Sir Colin Campbell
proposing to join the advanced guard.
"Major Hughes, you will be under arms by daybreak." "Good night" were
the only words which greeted him, as General Outram turned to his
aide-de-camp and summoned his staff round him to make his arrangements
for the advance.
"Take this to Brigadier Greathead. The 8th, the 2nd Punjaub Infantry,
with the 150th Regiment will form the advance," were the last words
which reached his ears as he stepped forth into the night, to find his
corps as best he might. A sentry, who had held his horse, pointed out
the lines of the 150th, and taking his way to a large tent which he
rightly conjectured to be the mess tent, the officers were soon roused,
and flocking around him.
"Do you remember I said you were a lucky fellow, Major," said Harris, as
he shook his commanding officer warmly by the hand, "that night when we
shot the tiger at Bellary?"
"I think you were the lucky fellow, then," replied Major Hughes,
laughing.
"Yes, but only fancy Colonel Desmond being sent home on sick leave.
Colonel Sedley invalided from the effects of that ball through the lungs
at Quatre Bras, and you joining just in time to take the command."
"Well, it was lucky, I must own. And what has become of Major Ashley?"
"Hit in the neck at the storming of the Dilkhoosha House,"--replied
Harris, now Lieutenant of the Light Company; "but here's Curtis."
"How are you, Curtis?"
"Glad to see you once more among us," was the reply, as that officer,
now the senior captain of the regiment, shook hands with him, "and
where's the Kaffir bride you promised to bring back?" he added,
laughing.
And one after another flocked in, roused out of their well-earned
slumbers by the hasty summons, glad to welcome an old comrade, and
pleased to hear of the advance.
"I say, Biddulph, won't we trounce those Gwalior chaps? They'd have
done better to have stayed at Calpee, and they'll know it when old Colin
gets at them."
"There goes the reveille," replied Biddulph, as the quivering notes of
the bugle rose on the air, the morning light just breaking grey over the
plain, showing the tents of the little force lying here and there.
"The 150th Regiment will fall in at once, and move off on the Cawnpore
road, as soon as ready," shouted a mounted orderly officer as he rode
up.
"Major Hughes, the Brigadier desires you will cover your advance with
the Light Company, and move on slowly, the sooner the better."
Saluting as he spoke with his sword, the officer rode away to deliver
his orders, and the work of inspecting their several companies went on
rapidly by the regimental officers of the corps destined to lead the
advance.
For the first time Major Hughes, as he sat on his borrowed horse in the
grey dawn, found himself in command of the regiment he had entered as an
ensign, and that too with an enemy of overpowering strength in his
front. He thought of Isabel, his wife, "where was she now?" and then
the memories of the past thronged quickly upon him; the elephant hunt on
the Shire river, the "Halcyon," the death of the old noble; and he had
left that brave wife, who had herself been the first to bid him go
alone, without a protector. What if he fell in the unequal fight which
was to take place? and then on the sharp morning air came the subdued
but heavy thud, which told him of his countrymen and countrywomen in
dire peril, with the soldiers of the treacherous Nana gathering closely
around them. The Adjutant rode up, giving in his report. Was there a
quiver in the voice which gave the order, "With ball cartridge. Load?"
The regiment stood in column of companies, bayonets fixed and
shouldered, the Grenadier company leading.
"By double files from the centre rear wing to the front. Two centre
sections outwards wheel," were the words of command, hoarsely shouted.
"Quick march."
By this manoeuvre, the two centre sections of each company opening out,
permitted that immediately in their rear to pass through their ranks.
Thus the Light Company, from being in rear of all, now became the
leading one, advancing through the opened sections four deep at the
double, each company closing its ranks, and following in its turn, the
Grenadiers forming the rear guard.
"Captain Curtis, throw out the light bobs as skirmishers, and advance
cautiously," said Hughes, the men having cleared the Grenadiers, and
again formed up as a company.
The notes of the bugle sounding the Light Infantry call to extend from
the centre, floated on the air; the light company obeyed it, spreading
across the country, their right flank resting on the left of the
skirmishers of the Punjaub Infantry, their own left on the right of the
Light Bobs of H.M.'s 8th Foot, the whole regiment moving off along the
Cawnpore road just as the bugles of the different brigades rang out on
the plain, and the guns of Colonel Bourchier's battery of Horse
Artillery came jingling along in rear.
"How slowly we move on, with the halt sounding every moment, Curtis!"
said Major Hughes, as he sat on his horse at the head of the regiment,
speaking to his senior captain, towards midday of the 27th of November.
"Slowly indeed, and our force is weak, in artillery particularly. Two
troops of Horse Artillery, the Naval Brigade, one heavy field battery,
and three light ones, with the 4th, 5th, and 6th Infantry Brigades, and
a handful of cavalry, seem a small force."
"The more the honour for us; they shall hear of us with pride in the old
land," answered Hughes. "If ever we meet those scoundrels of Nana's
with the bayonet, we will teach them a lesson."
The regiment was halted near the village of Onao, on a slight eminence,
and the two officers looking back could see the long tortuous march of
the little army, while far away, far as the eye could reach, the plain
was covered with the vast horde of camp followers, which is the great
pest of a march in India, mixed with camels and baggage waggons.
The jingling of accoutrements was now heard, as, at a sharp trot, a
splendid regiment of English cavalry moved to the front.
"Look out, 150th, there'll be sharp work for you soon!" shouted the
officer commanding, as he rode past, his words replied to by a cheer
from the men.
"Major Hughes, call in your light company!" shouted an orderly officer,
as he dashed on, not checking his horse. "The Lancers will act as
videttes."
Almost at the same moment, the bugles of the 8th Regiment on the left,
and the Punjaub Infantry on the right, were heard, sounding the recall,
as an officer of Hodgson's Horse came up at a hard gallop from the
front.
"Bad news from Cawnpore!" he shouted. "Wyndham's hard pressed; all his
outposts driven in, and hardly able to hold his entrenchments!"
"Steady, men, steady!" called Hughes, as a thrill of excitement ran
through the corps.
"Orders for the 150th to press to the front!" shouted another orderly
officer, as he galloped past.
"One Hundred and Fiftieth, attention! Shoulder arms! Slope arms! By
your right! Quick, march! Steady, men! Officers commanding companies,
look to your distance!" were the words of command, as the whole force
moved on leaving Onao after a couple of hours' halt, and still following
the Cawnpore road.
Sir Hope Grant now rode with the advance, and the cavalry videttes on
the flanks had an idle time of it, for not the trace of an enemy was to
be seen, while every hour caused the heavy cannonade in front to be
heard louder and louder.
The morning of the 28th dawned, and Sir Colin Campbell's force encamped
on the banks of the Ganges, with the city of Cawnpore in its front. A
bridge of boats had been thrown across the river, as it afterwards
appeared, and this bridge had, by some unaccountable oversight, been
overlooked by the mutineers.
"Where are Major Hughes's quarters?" asked a mounted dragoon of
Hodgson's Horse, before daylight, on the morning of the 29th, making the
inquiry of an out-picket of the corps.
"Yonder," replies the man, pointing to a tent, whose single pole was
surmounted with a small fluttering flag.
The man rode on. Before the tent door lay several servants fast asleep.
The one nearest the trooper, as he checked his horse near the tent
pegs, was lying on his face. The dragoon, leaning from his saddle,
pricked the sleeper gently in the bareback with the point of his sword,
intending to rouse him; but, thus rudely woke from deep sleep, the man
thought at once that a snake had bitten him, commencing a series of
howlings, which at once effectually roused the occupants of the tent.
"What on earth is the matter?" asked Hughes and the adjutant of the
regiment, who had both thrown themselves down on the ground to sleep,
dressed as they were.
"Just stop that fellow's bellowing, Reynolds, will you?" said Hughes, as
he advanced to the mounted orderly, who, saluting, handed him a written
note.
"Brigadier Hope's Brigade will hold itself in readiness to carry the
bridge at eight o'clock a.m., on the morning of the 29th."
Here followed details as to the formation of the various corps.
"Let the orderly sergeants fall in, Reynolds," said Major Hughes, as he
handed the trooper a receipt, and half an hour after, the 150th broke
ground at the quick step, but in perfect silence, moving across the flat
plain towards the Ganges, here spanned by a bridge of boats, the
approach to which was covered by the guns of the Naval Brigade.
"There's Remington's Horse Artillery," said Reynolds, pointing to a
battery; "and there are the dragoons."
"Commanding officers of regiments to the front!" was the order now
given.
"You will content yourselves, gentlemen, with your assigned positions;
your orders are first to gain then to hold your ground, and act purely
on the defensive. The 150th will have the honour of carrying the
bridge," said Sir Hope Grant.
"At this moment a heavy gun was fired from the camp, when, and, as if in
answer to it, Peel's Naval Battery opened fire, and shortly after,
Wyndham's from the entrenchments, replied to by the artillery of the
Gwalior rebels.
"You will push your pickets on to the banks of the Ganges Canal. And
now, Major Hughes, show us the way."
The next instant Hughes was at the head of his regiment, and dashing
over the bridge at the double. The fierce cannonade still continued;
but whether from apathy or want of forethought, the English column was
not meddled with, but quietly allowed to pass the bridge, and establish
itself in the buildings called the Dragoon Barracks, and those adjoining
it. This at once opened a communication with Wyndham's force, and left
the road to Allahabad free, enabling Sir Colin Campbell to send away his
enormous train of women, children, wounded, and non-combatants, over the
bridge of boats thus secured by the gallantry of Major Hughes and his
regiment. The object was gained, as hour after hour, and day after day,
passed the long files of those who had been the little army's greatest
encumbrances, the helpless women and children.
It was early morning, and singularly enough a heavy fog had settled down
on the banks of the Ganges, while a cool breeze was driving it along in
densely packed masses, sometimes lifting a little, but only to settle
down more heavily than ever on the domes and minarets of Cawnpore. It
rolled among the long lines of white tents, and along the canal banks,
while a heavy dull explosion, coming from the town, seemed to shake the
dense vapour from time to time, and show a lurid patch near the guns.
Then came the crashing sound of splintering wood, and tumbling bricks,
telling that the mutineers of Oude had found out their mistake, and were
cannonading the Dragoon Barracks, where the 150th Regiment had
entrenched themselves. In the English camp all was quiet. The
possession of the bridge of boats, and of the line of the canal, had
given Sir Colin what he wanted, communication with Wyndham's
entrenchments, and also with Allahabad, and so enabled him to rid
himself of the most fearful accumulation of non-combatants an army was
ever called upon to encumber itself with.
"I feel uneasy, I know not why," said Major Hughes to his adjutant,
Lieutenant Reynolds, as they stood within a roughly constructed
barricade, near the race stand, his regiment supplying the main picket,
posted close to the Trunk Road, leading to Allahabad.
"Who holds Saint Salvador House?"
"A strong detachment of our 53rd, Major," was the reply.
"It's a nasty morning, Reynolds, just visit the outlying pickets, and
tell Biddulph to keep a sharp look-out."
The adjutant wrapped himself in his cloak, and went out into the rolling
fog, and his superior officer, leaning against an upright post, his
drawn sword in his hand, listened eagerly for any passing noise.
He began speculating as to the chance of an attack on the important post
he held, covering the road by which the wounded, the ladies and children
were making their weary way towards safety. Isabel was safe in her
little home looking over the Indian Ocean, but there were many Isabels
among that sad column, equally dear to others, and whose safety was in
his hands.
"Captain Robertson," he said, speaking to one of a group of officers,
who were laughing and chatting near, with their swords drawn, "get the
men under arms at once. Pandy will never miss such a chance of surprise
as this fog gives him."
The picket, consisting of about two hundred rank and file, were soon
under arms, and the grey dawn was just breaking through the mist, when
suddenly the explosion of a single musket was heard, followed by several
others, then a heavy volley from the front.
"I thought so!" exclaimed Hughes, with a sigh, as though his breast was
relieved of a great weight.
Firing as they were driven in, the officers and men of the outlying
picket were now to be seen through the dense mist as clearing away from
the front of the line; the well-trained fugitives dashed round the
flanks and re-formed under cover of the race stand.
"Steady, my lads, aim low!" shouted the major, as a dark, dense mass of
men loomed through the fog, and from the race stand and the stockade
near, came the quick, sharp fire of the English musketry, poured at
twenty paces distant into the serried ranks of the mutineers.
Staggered by the volley, the attacking party for an instant fell back,
the sharp cry of pain, mixing with the yell for revenge, as confident in
their numbers, they poured in volley upon volley, and again advanced,
literally swarming round the English outposts.
The guns of Wyndham's entrenchment were now heard, replied to hot and
fast by those of the Gwalior mutineers, while their Artillery from the
town opened a heavy fire on the Dragoon Barracks. Fearfully
overmatched, the 150th fought on, the bayonet doing its deadly work,
while the clubbed muskets came crashing down on the heads of the
assailants as they appeared above the stockade, the deep oath, the loud
shout of triumph, the yell of pain, and the scream of agony, mixed with
the rattle of the deadly volley poured into the dense files of the rebel
force.
"Remember, my lads," shouted Hughes, "the safety of the women and
children are in our hands," as his sword descended on the dark shako of
a man who had just gained the race stand, and was firing his pistol into
the ranks of the 150th. "Ye fight for your wives and your children," he
shouted, as the man, with a deep groan, fell back, impaled on the
clustering bayonets of his friends below.
A loud cheer answered his words, taken up by the defenders of the
stockade, but now a second column of the enemy, nearly a thousand
strong, came dashing along. They were fresh men, and pouring in a
volley as they came, they took the little force in flank, seeming to
bury it under their heavy mass, as they dashed on. The fight became a
_melee_ now.
Major Hughes had received a ball in the shoulder. His adjutant lay on
the planking of the stand, with a bullet through his forehead, his fair
hair bedabbled in a stream of blood, the groans of the wounded, the sad,
pitiful cries for water, rang around him, while the heavy guns from the
town and entrenchment, combined with the rattling volleys of musketry,
to make a fiendish uproar, such as few had ever heard.
There was no time for thought, it was a hand-to-hand struggle now, but
still the loud cry, "Ye fight for your wives and children, men!" rang
out, answered by a feeble cheer, from race stand and stockade, and a
storm of yells from the swaying, panting crowd of assailants below.
The day was dawning clear now, but the cheers from the stockade became
more and more feeble, as man after man went down. No time to load, but
the bayonet and clubbed musket are doing their work, doggedly,
desperately, and in silence. The British force is melting away, when
hark! the feeble cheers from the battered race stand are at last
answered, as a long line of tall shakoes and red uniforms comes into
view in rear. It was his regiment, the 150th, commanded by its senior
captain, Curtis.
"Hurrah, my lads, we are safe now!" shouted Hughes, as he swung himself
from the rear of the stand, a desperate leap; and the next moment,
without his forage-cap, his face streaked with blood, and begrimed with
smoke, stood among his men. "Halt!" shouted his powerful voice, as he
waved his sword in his right hand, his left hanging powerless.
"Men of the 150th, prepare to charge!"
The muskets came down with a clang, as of one man.
"Charge;" shouted Major Hughes, and round the stockade, round the stand,
with a loud howl for vengeance, came the British line. The shock was
tremendous, for the men fought like fiends, while from the two positions
which had been so hotly contested, the bright flashes of musketry came
thick and fast, mingling their reports with the roar of the heavy guns
from town and entrenchment.
The men of the Gwalior Contingent were literally borne back by that
terrible bayonet charge, then the whole mass became mixed, the scene
more resembling an Irish row than a fight among disciplined men.
Pandies and English were jumbled together, fighting for life, and for
revenge more than for victory, the red glare of the guns seen through
the rising mist, the shouts and cheers of the men in the race stand,
maddening still further the already savage combatants below.
"Clear the way, my hearties," shouted a hoarse voice, as with a loud
cheer, the men of Peel's Naval Brigade came laughing and shouting along,
after forming behind the grand stand, dragging along a 24-pounder.
"Starboard, you may. Heave ahead with the gun."
"Who is commanding officer?" asked Captain Peel. "Here, bugler, sound
the recall. Now, my lads, give them Number one broadside, ram in
grape!" and as the notes of the bugle sounded in the morning air, the
discipline momentarily lost, again regained its hold; and the 150th came
streaming back, re-forming behind the gun, Major Hughes grasping the
gallant sailor's hand as he passed him.
Staggered by the bayonet charge, the mutineers paused. A man, evidently
an officer of high standing, could be seen encouraging them, and urging
them on. At length, with a savage yell, the massive column wavered to
and fro, the officer, grasping a green flag, dashed forward, full twenty
paces in front of his men.
"File firing from the right of companies," shouted Hughes, as the
regiment, re-formed, once again, stood in line.
"Take that, you landlubber," shouted a sailor, hitting the mutineer
officer over the head with his short cutlass, as the brave fellow dashed
at the gun, and cutting it literally in two, the 24-pounder, with its
terrible fire of grape, sweeping right through the advancing column.
The mutineers wavered, stopped dead, while with a cheer the gallant tars
loaded the gun.
Over the din, came the well-known shout, "Men of the 150th prepare to
charge."
"Charge!"
And once more the indomitable British line hurled itself on the foe, who
broke and fled just as the tramp of cavalry was heard, and three troops
of the Lancers, among whom could be seen the brilliant uniforms of
Brigadier Hope Grant's staff, came sweeping over the plain.
The fight had lasted two hours, and was the only attack made on the
British picket. The punishment inflicted by the Lancers was severe, and
the 24-pounder took an active part in the pursuit.
Volume 2, Chapter XIII.