The Cannons of Lucknow, page 21
“The bastard’s not going to fall for it, sir!” Mahoney exclaimed, his voice harsh with disappointment.
“He’s being cautious,” Alex returned impatiently. “The devil take him!”
The moment had come when he would have to trail his coat to some effect, he knew, or lose forever the chance of enticing the Moulvi of Fyzabad into the trap so carefully prepared for him. Some of the rebel cavalrymen were taking matchlocks from slings and saddle-holsters, and he winced involuntarily as a fusillade of shots whined overhead, a few coming unpleasantly close. The range was long, but most Oudh Irregulars were good marksmen, even when mounted, and he heard Mahoney swear as a spent musket-ball struck his horse, causing it to rear and whinny. It would behoove them to retire; no ordinary reconnaissance patrol would stay under fire from so large a force in normal circumstances. He glanced around and saw that a second and slightly larger body of Pandy sowars, armed with lances, had also been detached and was now cantering off to the right of where he and Mahoney were waiting, for the obvious purpose of cutting off their retreat to the Alam Bagh. Theirs and Olpherts’ … he rose in his stirrups, checking their position in the vanishing glow of the sunset, measuring the distance with his eye.
“Is your animal all right, Sergeant?” he asked. Receiving Mahoney’s assurance that it was, he added crisply, “Then ride like hell back to the road! Don’t wait for me.”
“But, sir, you—”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Alex promised. “On your way, lad.”
The sergeant obeyed him, driving spurs into his horse’s flanks and heading, at an oblique angle, for the road. Half a dozen of the Moulvi’s sowars went after him with yells of derision, but the Moulvi continued to sit his motionless grey Arab, the spy-glass still to his eye, the main body of his followers equally motionless at his back. Clearly their suspicions had not been allayed. Alex bit back a sigh. He swung his own borrowed charger right-handed and then, as if only now aware that the way back to the Alam Bagh was about to be contested, he changed direction, succeeding—as he had hoped he would—in drawing the detached body of horsemen in pursuit.
Like Mahoney, he headed back towards the road at an angle, taking a line that would bring him well within the Moulvi’s vision. It was now or never, his mind registered, as he drew level, his horse fully extended. Would hatred and the memory of old scores as yet unsettled overcome suspicion? He glimpsed the grey as it made a sudden surge forward and then he was past, listening for the thud of hooves pounding after him as he jerked his sweating animal into a second swift change of direction which almost brought it to its knees.
Ahead of him he could see Mahoney, well in advance of his pursuers and, at the road verge, the Volunteers coming from concealment and making their expected move forward in an extended line, to invite the enemy’s charge.
He was within less than a hundred yards of them when, without warning, his horse stumbled and went crashing down, flinging him over its head. Winded, he lay where he had fallen, facedown on the rough ground, momentarily expecting to be ridden down by the Moulvi’s horsemen as they charged in answer to the challenge. He heard the guns open and the sound of galloping hooves and realised, dazedly, that both sounds were receding. They had faded into the distance—and the guns to silence—when, bruised and shaken but otherwise unhurt, he finally picked himself up.
Outram himself, with Palliser leading a spare horse, came to meet him as he stumbled across the damp, sandy space that separated him from the road. The light had almost gone and it was difficult to read the expressions on their faces. Alex let Charles Palliser assist him to mount and then, looking down at him, saw that he was smiling. “We failed, didn’t we?” he asked uncertainly.
“We failed to bag the Moulvi,” General Outram admitted. “But I wouldn’t say the ambush was a failure, my dear Sheridan … and you played your part magnificently! So did the Volunteers. Damn, they went out and routed close on six hundred Pandy!”
“But surely they didn’t charge, sir? If they had, I shouldn’t be here.”
Outram laughed. “No, we charged them as planned, from either flank, leaving the guns in the centre. And they turned tail and fled. We chased them as far as we could. Knocked quite a few of them down, too. The light’s gone, so it’s impossible to say how many, but Olpherts’ gunners accounted for at least fifty from the detached squadron.” He clapped a friendly hand on Alex’s shoulder. “We’ll call it a day, shall we? And not a bad day, Sheridan, not a bad day at all, my dear fellow.”
They rode back to the Alum Bagh, to find the British column already occupying both Palace and walled enclosure, with bivouac fires springing to life on all sides of the newly captured stronghold. As they neared the battered gateway, a staff officer galloped up with a despatch for Outram.
The general read it by the light of a lucifer, frowning; then his expression changed.
“Thanks be to God!” he exclaimed, his voice not quite steady. “Thanks be to God … My friends, Delhi has fallen! General Archdale Wilson has retaken Delhi! Make it known to your commands, gentleman … for what better inducement could we be given to succeed in our own task than this wonderful news?”
He put spurs into his weary horse and dashed off in search of General Havelock, the cheers of the Volunteer Cavalry, as the news was made known to them, echoing behind him in the swiftly falling darkness.
“The tide is turning in our favour at last,” Lousada Barrow said. “For which I, too, say thank God.”
Rain started to fall again, as piquets were posted and guns mounted to guard against any possible night attacks, but in spite of the rain, more cheers rang out as the news that Delhi was once more in British hands reached regiments and batteries. Since only a few of the tents had come up, most of the men were compelled to spend their third night on the waterlogged ground, but the intelligence from Delhi had put them in good heart, and there was general disappointment when they learned the following morning that no immediate attack on Lucknow was to be made. General Havelock, showing his accustomed consideration for the men he commanded, ordered that tents were to be pitched and the day spent in rest and recuperation. An attack by rebel cavalry on the baggage train delayed the arrival of the tents until just before midday. It was beaten off by the baggage guard from the 90th Light Infantry but not until Olpherts’ battery, with the Volunteer Cavalry, had gone to their aid.
Throughout the day, the roar of guns could be heard from Lucknow—the defenders, evidently, were being subjected to a heavy bombardment, to which they replied with spirit. Not all the rebel guns were turned on them, however; those mounted behind a screen of trees near the Char Bagh bridge fired continuously at extreme elevation on Havelock’s Force, and round-shot ricocheted among the tents, causing a number of casualties. All Eyre’s efforts, with his howitzers and 24-pounders, failed to silence them, but he kept at it tirelessly, refusing to rest. For the Volunteer and Irregular Cavalry also there was little time to rest; patrols had to be sent out and a lengthy reconnaissance made to ascertain enemy gun positions covering the approaches to the Residency.
Alex went out, with Lousada Barrow, on a final reconnaissance ordered by General Outram, late in the afternoon. All day, he and General Havelock had been debating plans for the attack, which was to be launched next morning, and it was rumoured that the two generals were not in complete agreement as to the best route to follow. Outram, who knew Lucknow well, having been both Resident and Chief Commissioner for several years before the mutiny, was not in favour of the plan which Havelock had put forward and he said so forcibly, as he trotted toward the city with his staff and escort.
Alex, who was also reasonably familiar with the geography of the sprawling, densely populated city, listened with interest to the snatches of conversation he could hear, conscious that whichever route was finally chosen would, inevitably, present hazards none of them could foresee.
The most direct route was by the road they were now on, crossing the Char Bagh bridge and thence straight through the heart of the city for a mile and a half, entering the Residency through the Bailey Guard gate. This being the route the rebels were expecting the British force to take, it was strongly defended, and spies told of palisades and trenches across the road and every house loopholed and filled with riflemen. Havelock considered that it would prove impossible or, at best, cost the lives of half his force. His own plan was to move across the open ground to the southeast, seize a building known as the Dilkusha Palace, bridge the River Gumti under cover of its walls, and then move round the city to its northwest angle, recrossing the river by an iron bridge immediately in front of the Residency and under the protection of its guns. Near the iron bridge and on the north bank of the Gumti, a palace with a walled garden—the Padshah Bagh—offered an excellent defensive position for his troops to assemble in before crossing the five hundred yards of open ground which separated it from the Residency.
In theory, this was an admirable plan, Outram conceded.
“But how the devil,” he demanded, of no one in particular, “does General Havelock imagine he can move his artillery—and the elephant battery in particular—across country so waterlogged it’s virtually a morass? It can’t be done, can it, Cooper?”
Major Cooper, newly appointed to command of the column’s artillery, hesitated. “General Havelock asked my opinion, sir,” he answered finally. “I said I believed we could manage well enough with Maude’s and Olpherts’ batteries. But, of course, Eyre’s is a different proposition. It will take time and—”
“Too much infernal time!” Outram growled. “But General Havelock won’t move without his heavy guns.” He pulled up and subjected the distant Char Bagh bridge and enclosure, and the yellow house behind, to a lengthy scrutiny with his field glass. The rebel guns were still throwing their round-shot into the British camp and puffs of white smoke, rising above the trees, revealed their position to the watchers. “On the other hand, Major,” Outram said thoughtfully. “If we brought Eyre’s 24-pounders along the road at first light and mounted them there”—he pointed—“he could knock out those two and the guns in the yellow house before our main body began the advance. Then once across the bridge, the assault brigade under General Neill could advance along the left bank of the canal until it reaches open ground, then swing left by the Sikander Bagh and advance to the Residency by the plain between the river and the Kaiser Bagh. Maude’s battery could cover the crossing and Olpherts’ accompany Neill.”
“There’s a well-entrenched 24-pounder sited directly across the Char Bagh bridge, General,” Fraser Tytler reminded him. “And another five or six covering the approaches from the Lucknow side. Our batteries will have no cover if they’re brought up to engage them and there will only be space for two field guns … The road is narrow.”
“They’ll have to be taken at bayonet point by the infantry,” Outram agreed. “But Maude can have a crack at them first.” He puffed at his cheroot, dark brows furrowed. “Whatever route we decide on will entail heavy losses, I fear, Tytler … but it’s got to be done. Our people have taken Delhi, which was held to be impossible, but I’ll warrant that wasn’t done without loss. I’m in favour of the shorter way. General Havelock’s plan simply isn’t feasible after all this rain and we cannot afford to delay until the ground dries out. The assault has to be made tomorrow and it has to be completed in daylight. Havelock is in command, of course, until we enter Lucknow. But he must be persuaded that, in conditions like these, no detour round the city, with heavy guns, is possible. You can see that, can’t you? Take your horse off the road, for God’s sake, and you’ll be over his hocks in water.”
“I know that, sir,” Fraser Tytler conceded. “But all those palaces near the Kaiser Bagh will have batteries in them. We shall have to fight every foot of the way.”
“We shall in any case, my dear Colonel—every infernal foot. We can’t take the most direct way in—we’re all agreed that would be suicidal. The long way round might cost fewer lives, but it would take too long—the guns would be held up, if they made it at all, and the infantry exhausted by wading through swamp. So we haven’t much choice, have we?” He sighed and swung his horse round in the direction of the camp. “Come back with me, Tytler, and help me to convince your Chief that his plan is unworkable.”
“Very well, sir.” Tytler exchanged a rueful glance with Barrow and the reconnaissance party returned to the Alam Bagh.
That evening the wounded and sick, together with the baggage and the tents, were moved into the Alam Bagh, with a guard of three hundred men. The two assault brigades were ordered to parade at first light; they were to cook breakfast and to take with them 60 rounds of ammunition per man and 48 hours’ rations. Spare ammunition was to be carried by camels and the only camp followers to accompany the force were cooks, dhoolie-bearers, and officers’ syces.
The morning of 25th September dawned clear and fine. Havelock, after inspecting the force, sat down to breakfast with his son Harry at a table set out in the open beneath the Alam Bagh wall, where Outram and his staff joined them, at a little before eight. With a map spread out between them, the two generals were making their final depositions when a 9-pound round-shot from the battery near the Char Bagh bridge, a thousand yards away, struck the ground a few feet from them, bounded over their heads, and killed a gun-bullock, already limbered and standing a short distance away.
Havelock smiled and gestured to the map. “I agree to your route, Sir James, but my heavy guns I must and will have!”
“So be it, my dear Henry.” Outram held out his hand. “You are in command … Permit me to wish you success.”
At eight-thirty Neill’s brigade, with all the artillery and accompanied by Outram, moved off. It was to be followed by the second brigade, with Havelock in personal command, the plan being for Neill to force the Char Bagh bridge and then for Hamilton’s brigade to pass through it and lead the advance to the Kaiser Bagh. The Volunteer and Irregular cavalry formed the rear guard, covering the ammunition supplies and the baggage.
Firing was soon heard from the Char Bagh. Barrow and Alex, sitting their horses at the rear of the baggage train, as the long column made yet another of its frequently inexplicable halts, listened and wondered, unable to make out much through the smoke. The firing and the crackle of musketry redoubled in volume and became continuous; they looked at each other anxiously and Lousada Barrow said, “It sounds as if they are meeting with even more opposition than we anticipated. Pray heaven they get through!” He cursed as a small body of camp followers attempted to leave the train and sent Mahoney and Cullmane to round them up. “If we fail today, it will be all up with the garrison … and possibly with us as well. Dear God, I wish I knew what was happening!”
It was half an hour before news began to filter through to them, mainly from wounded being carried back to the Alam Bagh in dhoolies and tumbrils. The first brigade had met with an inferno of fire and Maude’s gunners had been virtually wiped out as he had sought vainly to put the enemy battery defending the Char Bagh bridge out of action.
“It was fearful.” a young Fusilier officer confided, as Alex and Lousada Barrow bent over his dhoolie to give him the lighted cheroot he had asked for. “The round-shot and grape literally tore up the road, cutting our brave fellows to pieces, while the bullets fell among us like a shower of hail. How I escaped I do not know.” He looked down at his shattered legs and shuddered. “Maude’s guns are being served by volunteers from the infantry—his sergeant-major, a fine fellow named Lamont, had the whole of his stomach carried away by a round-shot, and two of his other men were decapitated. The general—Outram—was wounded in the arm. But he was very cool, just asked someone to bind his arm with a neckerchief, to stop the bleeding, and carried on. He took the 5th to see if he could find a way to enfilade the bridge.”
“Are we across the bridge?” Alex asked.
The injured boy nodded. “I think some of us are. Harry Havelock came up with orders for General Neill to charge and carry the bridge, and Lieutenant Arnold, with about a dozen of our Blue Caps, went at it, led by Colonel Tytler and young Havelock. The enemy 24-pounder opened on them at point-blank range. Poor Arnold lost both legs, Colonel Tytler’s horse was killed under him, and all the rest killed or wounded, except Havelock and a corporal of ours called Jakes. Those two stayed on the bridge, Havelock on his horse, with bullets flying round him, waving the rest on with his sword. And they went at it, sir. It was the finest thing I ever saw—our Blue Caps and some of the 84th went over the bridge and took the enemy battery with the bayonet, before they could reload. That was when I was hit, so I don’t know any more. But all the guns were taken, the ones in the yellow house too.”
The wounded Fusilier subaltern had scarcely finished his account when an A.D.C. galloped up with orders for the baggage train to advance and cross over the canal.
“The 78th are to form your rear guard, sir. It’s imperative that you hurry—ammunition is running short and the men must replenish their pouches as soon as you can get the spare ammunition to them.”
With the Volunteers harrying them, the camelteers and waggon-drivers made reasonably rapid progress. They came under musketry fire from loopholed houses on the Lucknow side of the canal and found the road and the approaches to the bridge littered with bodies, but all the buildings on the Alam Bagh side had been secured and, when the Highlanders of the rear guard had replenished their ammunition pouches, the whole train negotiated the narrow bridge without suffering more than a dozen casualties. When they started to move along the lane which followed the canal to the right, however, they ran into a hail of musket balls, which only ceased when two companies of the 78th carried and occupied the houses from which the fire had been coming, hurling the occupants out through doors and windows on the points of their bayonets.
