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Romance Of Modern Sieges; Describing The Personal Adventures, Resource And Daring of Besiegers and Besieged In All Parts Of The World

<h2>CHAPTER XII THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW (1857)</h2> The scene at Cawnpore—Fights before Lucknow—Nearly blown up—A hideous nightmare—Cheering a runaway—All safe out of the Residency—A quick march back—Who stole the biscuits?—Sir Colin’s own regiment. “I had enlisted in the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders to go to India to put down the Mutiny,” writes Mr. Forbes-Mitchell, an old friend of the author. “We reached Cawnpore on the 27th of October, having marched the last forty-six miles in two days. We were over 1,000 strong, and many of us had just been through the Crimean War. After a few hours’ rest we were allowed to go out in parties of ten or twelve to visit the scene of the late treachery and massacre.” Wheeler’s entrenchments at the highest place did not exceed 4 feet, and could not have been bullet-proof at the top. The wonder was how the small force could have held out so long. In the rooms were still lying about broken toys, pictures, books, and bits of clothing. They then went to see the slaughter-house in which our women and children had been barbarously murdered and the well into which their mangled bodies were flung. On the date of this visit a great part of the house had not been cleaned out. The floors of the rooms were still covered with congealed blood, and littered with[Pg 176] trampled, torn dresses, shoes, locks of long hair, many of which evidently had been severed by sword-cuts. But the most horrible sight they saw was an iron hook fixed into the wall. This was covered with dried blood, and from the marks on the whitewashed wall it was evident that a little child had been hung on to it by the neck, with its face to the wall. There the poor thing must have struggled for long, because the wall all round the hook was covered with the hand-prints, and below the hook with the footprints, of a little child—in blood. The number of victims killed at Cawnpore, counted and buried in the well by Havelock’s force, was 118 women and 92 children. This sight was enough, they said, to make the words “mercy” and “pardon” appear a mockery. The troops crossed into Oude on the 2nd of November, and on the 3rd a salute fired from the mud fort on the Cawnpore side told them that, to their great delight, Sir Colin Campbell had come up from Calcutta. They were all burning to start for Lucknow. Every man in the regiment was determined to risk his life to save the women and children from the fate of Cawnpore. On their march they saw they were at once in an enemy’s country. None of the villages were inhabited. There was no chance of buying chupatties (girdle-cakes) or goat’s milk. It was the custom to serve out three days’ biscuits at one time, running four to the pound. Most men usually had finished their biscuits before they reached the first halting-ground. Before they made their first halt they could hear the guns of the rebels bombarding the Residency. Footsore and tired as they were, the report of each salvo made the men step out with a firmer tread and a more determined resolve to relieve those helpless women and children. [Pg 177] On the 10th of November they were encamped on the plain about five miles in front of the Alumbâgh, about 5,000 of them, the only really complete regiment being the 93rd Highlanders, of whom some 700 wore the Crimean medal. They were in full Highland costume, feather bonnets and dark waving plumes—a solid mass of brawny-limbed men. The old chief rode along the line, saying a few words to each corps as he passed. The regiment remarked that none of the other corps had given him a single cheer, but had taken what he said in solemn silence. At last he came to the 93rd, who were formed close column, so that every man might hear. When Sir Colin rode up he seemed to have a worn and haggard expression on his face, but he was received with such a cheer, or rather shout of welcome, as made the echoes ring. His wrinkled brow at once became smooth, and his weary features broke into a smile as he acknowledged the cheer by a hearty salute. He ended his speech thus: “Ninety-third, you are my own lads. I rely on you to do the work.” A voice from the ranks called out: “Ay, ay, Sir Colin! ye ken us, and we ken you. We’ll bring the women and children out of Lucknow or die in the attempt;” and the whole regiment burst into another ringing cheer. On the morning of the 14th of November they began the advance on the Dilkoosha Park and Palace. The Fourth Brigade, composed of the 53rd, 93rd, and 4th Punjab Regiments, with a strong force of artillery, reached the walls at sunrise. Here they halted till a breach was made in the walls. The park swarmed with deer—black buck and spotted. There were no signs of the enemy, and a staff-officer of the artillery galloped to the front to reconnoitre. This was none other than the present Lord Roberts, known to the men then as “Plucky Wee Bobs.” About half of the regiment had passed[Pg 178] through the breach, when a masked battery of six guns opened fire on them from behind the palace. The first shot passed through the column, the second cut in two a trooper’s horse close to Roberts, who dismounted and helped the trooper to his feet. They all cheered the young Lieutenant for his coolness under a point-blank fire of 9-pounders. They kept on pegging away until the sepoys bolted down the hill for shelter in the Martinière. About two o’clock they drove the rebels out, occupied the Martinière and erected a semaphore on the roof to communicate with the Residency. They next fought their way to a village on the east side of the Secundrabâgh. Here they saw a naked wretch with shaven head and body painted and smeared with ashes. He was sitting on a leopard-skin, counting a rosary of beads. James Wilson said: “I’d like to try my bayonet on that fellow’s hide;” but Captain Mayne replied: “Oh, don’t touch him. These fellows are harmless Hindoo jogees” (mendicants). The words had scarcely been uttered when the painted scoundrel stopped counting his beads, slipped his hand under his leopard-skin, brought out a short brass blunderbuss, and fired it into Captain Mayne’s chest, a few feet off. The fellow was instantly bayoneted, but poor Mayne died. From the Secundrabâgh came a murderous fire, and they had to wait for the guns to make a breach. “Lie down, 93rd, lie down!” shouted Sir Colin. “Every man of you is worth his weight in gold to England to-day.” When the breach was large enough the 4th Punjabis led the assault, but seeing their officers shot down, they wavered. Sir Colin turned to Colonel Ewart and said: “Bring on the tartan. Let my own lads at them.” Before the buglers had time to sound the advance the whole seven companies, like one man, leaped the wall[Pg 179] with such a yell of pent-up rage as never was heard before nor since. The bayonet did the work effectually. Many of the Highlanders were wounded in the leg because the native tulwârs were as sharp as razors, and when the rebels had fired their muskets they hurled them like javelins, bayonets first, and then drawing their tulwârs, slashed in blind fury, shouting, “Deen! Deen!” (“The faith!”), and some threw themselves down and slashed at the legs of the Highlanders. In the centre of the inner court of the Secundrabâgh there was a large peepul-tree (Indian fig), with a very bushy top, and round the foot of it were set some jars full of cool water. Captain Dawson noticed that many of our men lay dead under this tree, and he called out to Wallace, a good shot, to look up and try if he could see anyone in the top, as the dead seemed to be shot from above. Wallace stepped back and scanned the tree. “I see him, sir,” he shouted, and cocking his rifle, he fired. Down fell a body dressed in a tight-fitting red jacket and rose-coloured silk trousers. The breast of the jacket bursting open with the fall showed that the wearer was a woman. She was armed with a pair of heavy old-pattern cavalry pistols. From her perch in the tree, which had been carefully prepared before the attack, she had killed more than half a dozen men. Poor Wallace burst into tears, saying: “If I had known it was a woman I would never have harmed her.” When the roll was called it was found that we had lost nine officers and ninety-nine men. Sir Colin rode up and said: “Fifty-third and Ninety-third, you have bravely done your share of this morning’s work, and Cawnpore is avenged.” “On revisiting Lucknow many years after this I saw no tablet or grave to mark the spot where so many of the[Pg 180] 93rd are buried. It is the old, old story which was said to have been first written on the walls of Badajos: <div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> <div class="i0">“When war is rife and danger nigh,</div> <div class="i0">God and the soldier is all the cry;</div> <div class="i0">When war is over and wrongs are righted,</div> <div class="i0">God is forgot and the soldier slighted.”</div> </div></div> </div> “After the Secundrabâgh we had to advance on the Shâh Nujeef. As the 24-pounders were being dragged along by our men and Peel’s sailors a poor sailor lad just in front had his leg carried clean off above the knee by a round shot, and although knocked head over heels by the force of the ball, he sat bolt upright on the grass, with the blood spouting from the stump of his limb like water from the hose of a fire-engine, and shouted: “‘Here goes a shilling a day—a shilling a day! Pitch into them, boys! Remember Cawnpore, 93rd—remember Cawnpore! Go at them, my hearties!’ and then he fell back in a dead faint. He was dead before a doctor could reach him.” Sir Colin himself was wounded by a bullet after it had passed through the head of a 93rd Grenadier. Amongst the force defending the Shâh Nujeef there was a large body of archers on the walls armed with bows and arrows, which they discharged with great force and precision, and on Sergeant White raising his head above the wall an arrow was shot right into his feather bonnet. Inside the wire cage of his bonnet he had placed his forage-cap, folded up, and instead of passing right through, the arrow stuck in the folds of his cap. White, drawing out the arrow, cried: “My conscience! Bows and arrows! Have we got Robin Hood and Little John back again? Well, well, Jack Pandy, since bows and arrows are the word, here’s at you!” and with that he raised his bonnet on the point of his bayonet above the[Pg 181] top of the wall, and at once another arrow pierced it through, while a dozen more whizzed past a little wide of the mark. <div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG id="img_8" src="images/i_193.jpg" width-obs="378" height-obs="600" alt="" /> <div class="caption"> The Lighter Side of War at Lucknow A body of archers were amongst the defenders of the Shâh Nujeef. A Highland sergeant put his bonnet on his bayonet and held it up, and it was at once pierced by an arrow. </div> </div> Just then Penny, of No. 2 Company, looking over the wall, got an arrow right through his brain, the shaft projecting more than a foot at the back of his head. Then they all loaded and capped, and, pushing up their bonnets again, a whole shower of arrows went past or through them. Up they sprang and returned a well-aimed volley from their rifles at point-blank distance, and more than half a dozen of the rebels went down. But Montgomery exposed himself a little too long to watch the effects of the volley, and before he could get down into shelter an arrow was sent through his heart, passing clean through his body, and falling on the ground a few yards behind him. He leaped about 6 feet straight up in the air and fell stone dead. But as yet we had made little impression on the solid masonry walls, and one of our ammunition waggons exploded, killing several men, and our storming party was repulsed. Just then Sergeant Paton came running up out of breath to say he had found a wide breach on the other side. It seems our shot and shell had gone over the first wall and had blown out the wall on the other side. Paton had climbed up easily and seen right inside the place. So Captain Dawson and his company were sent with Paton, and when the enemy saw them come in behind them they fled like sheep. Thus ended the terrible 16th of November, 1857. “An adventure happened to me in the Shâh Nujeef,” says Forbes-Mitchell, “which I still sometimes dream of with horror. This place was the tomb of the first King of Oude, and a place of Mohammedan pilgrimage. It had a number of small rooms round the enclosure for the pilgrims. These the enemy had used for quarters,[Pg 182] and in their hurry to escape many had left their lamps burning. As I had lost my greatcoat in the fight, and felt very cold at night, so that I could not sleep, it struck me that some of the sepoys might have left blankets behind them. With this hope I went into one of the rooms where a lamp was burning, took it off its shelf, and walked to the door of the great domed tomb, which was only 20 yards or so away from the spot where the arms were piled and the men lying round the still burning fire. I peered into the dark vault, but could see nothing, so I advanced slowly, holding above my head the clay saucer of oil containing a loose cotton wick. I was looking cautiously round, for fear of surprise from a concealed foe, till I came near the centre of the great vault, where my progress was obstructed by a big black heap about 4 feet high, which felt to my feet as if I were walking in loose sand. I lowered the lamp to see what it was, and discovered that I was standing up to the ankles in loose gunpowder! “About 40 hundredweight of it lay in a great heap in front of my nose, while a glance to my left showed me a range of some thirty barrels also full of powder, and on the right lots of 8-inch shells, all loaded, with the fuses fixed. “By this time my eyes had become accustomed to the darkness of the mosque, and I took in my position at a glance. Here I was up to my knees almost in powder—in the very bowels of a magazine—with a naked light! “My hair literally stood on end. I felt the skin of my head lifting my feather bonnet off my scalp. My knees knocked together, and, despite the chilly night air, the cold perspiration burst out all over me and ran down my face and legs. “I had neither cloth nor handkerchief in my pocket, and there was not a moment to be lost, as already the[Pg 183] overhanging wick was threatening to shed its smouldering red tip into the live magazine at my feet. “Quick as thought I put my left hand under the down-dropping flame and clasped it firmly. Holding it so, I slowly turned to the door and walked out with my knees knocking one against the other. I never felt the least pain from the wick, fear had so overcome me; but when I opened my hand on gaining the open air, I felt the smart acutely enough. I poured the oil out of the saucer into the burnt hand, then kneeling down, I thanked God for having saved me and all our men around from horrible destruction. I then got up and staggered rather than walked to the place where Captain Dawson was sleeping. I shook him by the shoulder till he awoke, and told him of my discovery and fright. “‘Bah, Corporal Mitchell!’ was all his answer. ‘You have woke up out of your sleep and have got frightened at a shadow’—for he saw me all trembling. “I turned my smarting hand to the light of the fire and showed the Captain how it was scorched; and then, feeling my pride hurt, I said: ‘Sir, you’re not a Highlander, or you would know the Gaelic proverb, “The heart of one who can look death in the face will not start at a shadow,” and you, sir, can bear witness that I have not shirked to look death in the face more than once since morning.’ “He replied: ‘Pardon me. I did not mean that. But calm yourself and explain.’ “I then told him that I had gone into the mosque with a naked lamp, and had found it half full of loose gunpowder. “‘Are you sure you’re not dreaming from the excitement of this awful day?’ he asked. “With that I looked down to my feet and my gaiters, which were still covered with blood from the slaughter[Pg 184] in the Secundrabâgh. The wet grass had softened it again, and on this the powder was sticking nearly an inch thick. I scraped some of it off, throwing it into the fire, and said: “‘There is positive proof for you that I’m not dreaming, nor my vision a shadow.’ “On that the Captain became almost as alarmed as I was, and a sentry was posted near the door of the mosque to prevent anyone entering it. “The sleeping men were aroused, and the fire smothered out by jars of water. Then Captain Dawson and I, with an escort of four men, went round the rooms. As Wilson, one of the escort, was peering into a room, a concealed sepoy struck him over the head with his tulwâr; but his bonnet saved him, and Captain Dawson put a pistol bullet through the sepoy to save further trouble. “After all was quiet the men rolled off to sleep again, and I too lay down and tried to sleep. My nerves were, however, too much shaken, and the burnt hand kept me awake, so I lay and listened to the men sleeping round me. And what a night that was! The horrible scenes through which the men had passed during the day had told with terrible effect upon their nerves, and the struggles with death in the Secundrabâgh were fought over again by some of the men in their sleep, oaths and shouts of defiance being often strangely intermingled with prayers. “One man would be lying calmly asleep and then suddenly break out into a fierce battle-cry of ‘Cawnpore! you bloody murderer!’ Another would shout, ‘Charge! give them the bayonet!’ and a third, ‘Keep together, boys; don’t fire yet. Forward! forward! If we are to die, let us die like men!’ “Then I would hear one muttering, ‘Oh, mother, forgive me, and I’ll never leave you again.’ So it was through all that memorable night, and I have no doubt it was the same at the other posts. At last I dozed off[Pg 185] and dreamed of blood and battle, and anon of Dee or Don side and the Braemar gathering; then the scene would change, and I was a little boy again, kneeling beside my mother, saying my evening hymn. Verily Campbell’s ‘Soldier’s Dream’ is no fiction.” Next morning they found plenty of pumpkins and piles of flat cakes already cooked, but no salt; but Mitchell had an old matchbox full of salt in his haversack. An old veteran who used to tell stories of Waterloo had said to him at home: “Always carry a box of salt in your haversack when on active service: it will be useful.” So it was very often. After breakfast they sponged out their rifles, which had become so foul that the men’s shoulders were black with bruises from the recoil. They had to assault the mess-house next, and after they had driven the rebels into the River Goomtee they peppered every head that showed above water. One tall fellow acted as cunningly as a jackal. Whether struck or not, he fell just as he got into shallow water on the opposite side, and lay without moving, with his legs in the water and his head on the land. He appeared to be stone dead, and every rifle was turned on those that were running across the plain, while many that were wounded were fired on, as the fellows said, in mercy to put them out of pain. For this war of the Mutiny was a demoralizing war for civilized men to be engaged in. The cold-blooded cruelty of the rebels branded them as traitors to humanity and cowardly assassins of helpless women and children. But to return to our Pandy. He was ever after spoken of as “the Jackal,” because jackals often behave as he did. After he had lain apparently dead for about an hour, some one noticed that he had gradually dragged himself out of the water. Then all at once he sprang to his feet and ran like a deer. He was still within easy[Pg 186] range, and several rifles were levelled at him; but Sergeant Findlay, who was on the rampart, called out: “Don’t fire, men; give the poor devil a chance.” So instead of a volley of bullets the men’s better feelings gained the day, and Jack Pandy was reprieved, with a cheer to speed him on his way. As soon as he heard it he realized his position, and like the Samaritan leper of old, he halted, turned round, and putting up both his hands with the palms together in front of his face, he salaamed profoundly, prostrating himself three times on the ground by way of thanks, while the men on the ramparts waved their bonnets and clapped their hands to him in token of goodwill. Just at this time was heard a great sound of cheering near the Residency, the cause of which they shortly learned. It was because General Sir Colin Campbell had met Havelock and Outram. So then they knew the Residency was relieved, and the women and children were saved, though not yet out of danger. Every man in the force slept with a lighter heart that night. A girl in the Residency—Jessie Brown—had stated that she heard the skirl of the bagpipes hours before the relieving force could be seen or heard by the rest of the garrison, “and I believe it was quite true. I know we heard their bagpipes a long way off. Well, we had relieved Lucknow, but at what a cost! No less than forty-five officers and 496 men had been killed—more than a tenth of our whole number.” The Residency was relieved on the afternoon of the 17th of November, and the following day preparations were made for the evacuation of the position and the withdrawal of the women and children. To do this in safety, however, was no easy task, for the rebels showed but small regard for the laws of chivalry. There was a long stretch of plain, exposed to the fire of the enemy’s[Pg 187] artillery and sharp-shooters from the opposite side of the Goomtee. To protect this part of the route all the best shots were placed on the north-west corner of the ramparts next to the Goomtee. They were under the command of Sergeant Findlay. One very good shot that excellent marksman made. A rebel officer rode out with a force of infantry from the east gate of the Bâdshâh-hibâgh. They had a couple of guns, too, to open fire on the line of retreat. They might have played havoc with the retiring garrison, but Findlay managed to unhorse the officer at long distance, and as soon as he was knocked over the enemy retreated into the bâgh, and did not show themselves any more that day. By midnight of the 22nd of November the Residency was entirely evacuated, and the enemy completely deceived as to the movements. The women and children had passed the exposed part of their route without a single casualty. The roll was called on reaching the Martinière, and two were found to be missing. They had been left asleep in the barracks, and came in later, saying that the rebels had not yet discovered that the English had gone and were still firing into the Residency. Shortly after the roll-call a most unfortunate accident took place. Corporal Cooper and four or five men went into one of the rooms of the Martinière in which there was a quantity of loose powder which had been left by the enemy, and somehow the powder got ignited and they were all blown up, their bodies completely charred and their eyes scorched out. The poor fellows all died in the greatest agony within an hour or so of the accident, and none of them could tell how it happened. “This sad accident made me very mindful of and thankful for my own narrow escape and that of my comrades in the Shâh Nujeef. [Pg 188] “An amusing thing occurred on the march to Cawnpore. As all the subaltern officers in my company were wounded I was told off, with a guard of twenty men, to see all the baggage-carts across Bunnee Bridge. A commissariat cart, loaded with biscuits, got upset, and its wheel broke just as we were moving it on to the road. “The only person in charge of the cart was a young bâboo, a boy of eighteen years of age, who defended his charge as long as he could; but he was soon put on one side, the biscuit bags were ripped open, and the men commenced filling their haversacks. “Just at this moment an escort of the 9th Lancers, with some staff-officers, rode up from the rear. It was the Commander-in-Chief and his staff. “The boy bâboo seeing him, rushed up and called out aloud: “‘Oh, my lord, you are my father and my mother. What shall I tell you? These wild Highlanders will not hear me, but are stealing commissariat biscuits like fine fun!’ “Sir Colin pulled up, and tried not to smile. ‘Is there no officer here?’ he asked. “The bâboo replied: ‘No officer, sir—my lord—only one very big corporal, and he tell me grandly “Shut up, you! or I’ll shoot you, same like rebel mutineer.”’ “Hearing this, I stepped out of the crowd, and, saluting Sir Colin, told him that this cart had broken down, and as there were no other means of carrying the biscuits, the men had filled their haversacks with them rather than leave them on the ground. “Then the bâboo again came to the front with clasped hands, saying: ‘Oh, my lord if one cart of biscuits short, Major Fitzgerald not listen to me; rather order thirty lashes with Provost Marshal’s cat. Oh, what can a poor bâboo do with such supreme and wild Highlanders?’ [Pg 189] “Sir Colin replied: ‘Yes, bâboo, I know these Highlanders are very wild fellows when they are hungry. Let them have the biscuits,’ and turning to one of the staff, he directed him to give a voucher to the bâboo that a cart loaded with biscuits had broken down, and the contents had been divided amongst the rearguard by order of the Commander-in-Chief. Sir Colin then turned to us and said: ‘Men, I give you the biscuits. Divide them with your comrades in front; but you must promise me should a cart loaded with rum break down, you will not interfere with it.’ “We all replied: ‘No, no, Sir Colin; if rum breaks down, we’ll not touch it.’ “‘All right,’ said Sir Colin, ‘remember! I trust you, and I know every one of you.’ “We honestly shared those biscuits, and it was well we had them, for about five miles further on a general halt was made for a short rest and for all stragglers to come up. Sir Colin ordered the 93rd to form up, and calling the officers to the front, he announced to the regiment that General Wyndham had been attacked by the Nana Sahib and by the Gwalior contingent in Cawnpore; that his force had been obliged to retire within the fort at the bridge of boats; and that we must reach Cawnpore that night, because if the bridge of boats should be captured before we got there, we should be cut off in Oude, with 50,000 of our enemies in our rear, a well-equipped army of 40,000 men in our front, together with a powerful train of artillery numbering over forty siege-guns to face, and with all the women and children, sick and wounded, to guard. ‘So, 93rd,’ said the old chief, ‘I don’t ask you to undertake this forced march in your present tired condition without good reason. You must reach Cawnpore to-night at all costs.’ “As usual, when he took the men into his confidence,[Pg 190] he was answered from the ranks: ‘All right, Sir Colin, we’ll do it.’ And we did.” By this time they could hear the guns of the Gwalior contingent bombarding General Wyndham’s position in Cawnpore. Although terribly footsore and tired, not having had their clothes off for eighteen days, they trudged on their weary march, every mile hearing the guns more clearly. There is nothing to rouse tired soldiers like a good cannonade in front. It is the best tonic out. But they will never forget the misery of that march. They reached the sands on the banks of the Ganges, on the Oude side of the river opposite Cawnpore, just as the sun was setting, having covered the forty-seven miles under thirty hours. And when they got in sight of Cawnpore the first thing they saw was the enemy on the other side of the river making bonfires of their spare kit and baggage, which had been left at Cawnpore when they advanced for the relief of Lucknow. How on the 29th of November they crossed the bridge of boats; how by the 3rd of December all the women and children and wounded were on their way to Allahabad; how they smashed up the famous Gwalior contingent and sent the Nana flying into the desert—all this belongs to another story. Sir Colin thanked his old regiment for their great toil and prowess. “But we old soldiers should like our deeds and the deeds of those who gave their lives for England to be remembered by our children’s children, and to be studied with a grateful sympathy.” <div class="source">From “Reminiscences of the Great Mutiny,” by William Forbes-Mitchell. By kind permission of Messrs. Macmillan and Co. This is one of the most interesting books that has been written by a soldier who took part in the Mutiny War. </div> <hr class="chap" /> [Pg 191] <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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