The Cannons of Lucknow, page 22
It had taken almost two hours for the baggage train to cross and enter the lane and, as the last tumbrils were toiling up a steep incline beyond the bridge, a fierce attack was launched on them from the Cawnpore road. A large force of rebels—mutineers and Oudh troops—advanced with drums beating and banners flying. Dividing, as they neared the canal, one section with two brass guns seized a small temple overlooking the lane, from which they subjected the hapless baggage train to a withering fire of grape.
The second and larger section flung themselves with suicidal courage upon the Highlanders, and the Volunteer Cavalry, with no room to charge, could only go to their aid in ones and two, hacking at the fanatical Oudh men with their sabres and losing half a dozen men and a number of horses in the melee. Alex saw young Graham Birch cut down and with Cullmane beside him, went to try and hold off the sepoys who were stabbing at him with their bayonets. He managed to do so for long enough to enable Cullmane to rescue the wounded subaltern and then his good little mare, which had carried him thus far so bravely, died from a musket-ball in the chest. He had no time to mourn her; as he picked himself up, badly shaken, two sepoys came at him and he had to fight his way back to the lane with the Highlanders, hard put to it to preserve his own life when a fresh wave of attackers issued from a nearby building, to drive a wedge between the men he was with and the rest of their company. But the Highlanders were doughty fighters and, as he charged breathlessly after them, the newly arrived rebels turned tail and fled, several of them flinging themselves into the muddy waters of the canal rather than face the menace of the line of levelled bayonet.
Back in the lane once more, Alex saw that the temple had been cleared and he stood watching and struggling to regain his breath as the Highlanders dragged out the two brass cannons and dumped them unceremoniously into the canal, cheering derisively as they did so. Order was restored and the attack finally beaten off, the Highlanders sending a well-aimed volley into the retreating backs of their assailants. Alex sheathed his sabre and, still breathing hard, limped across to rejoin Lousada Barrow, who was organising the collection of wounded. Only then could the baggage train reform and continue on its way, the ammunition tumbrils serving to carry some of the wounded. Preceded by a melancholy line of laden dhoolies, the tumbrils rolled slowly down the narrow, rutted lane under the escort of Johnson’s faithful Irregulars, many of whom had wounded men on their cruppers or clinging to their stirrup-leathers.
The Volunteers’ casualties had been light in comparison with those suffered by the hard-pressed 78th, but six men had been wounded, Barrow said, including Charles Palliser, young Birch and Cullmane—all three of whom had insisted on remaining with the squadron. He added, tight-lipped, that Lieutenants Grant and Brown and a civilian volunteer, John Erskine, had lost their lives. At his suggestion, Alex took over Erskine’s horse, a handsome grey Arab, and rode with him to the rear to aid the Highlanders’ withdrawal.
From their commander, Captain Hastings, they learnt that Harry Havelock had been wounded in the street fighting beyond the Char Bagh Bridge.
“He took a musket-ball in the arm,” Hastings said, mopping his red, smoke-grimed face with the back of his hand. “Sergeant Young, of ours, picked him up and put him into a dhoolie.” He gestured to the baggage train, dimly seen in the smoke of battle as it wound its way along the narrow, circuitous lane of General Outram’s chosen route, in the direction of the Dilkusha road and the still-distant Kaiser Bagh. “His orderly went with him but his father should be told, I think—if you can spare a man to take the message, Captain Barrow. I can’t, I’ve few enough as it is with whom to effect our withdrawal. The minute we leave this street, the infernal Pandies will be into it like the bloody jackals they are. If you can help to cover our rear guard, Colonel Stisted will be grateful, I know. He’s still down there somewhere.”
Lousada Barrow glanced at Alex. “Will you find the general and tell him?”
Alex nodded and set off after the main column. Its pace was slow, the delay, he thought, almost certainly due to the difficulty of dragging Eyre’s heavy guns along the waterlogged sand of the road. But, because the rebels had expected Havelock to follow the direct route to the Residency, his detour to the right along the bank of the canal had taken them by surprise, and opposition—judging by the lack of bodies—had been slight, and most of it had been concentrated on the Highlanders left to hold the street leading from the Char Bagh bridge.
Reaching a more open area, Alex was able to quicken his pace. The Kaiser Bagh was, he knew, about a quarter of a mile to his left, hidden from him by the intervening buildings, but he could see the cupolas of the Begum Koti directly ahead. He followed the road to the Sikander Bagh until it made a sharp turn to the left and, riding toward the city again, glimpsed the magnificent, pearl-shaped dome of the Moti Mahal and the river ahead and to his right. The baggage train held him up as he made for the Moti Munzil Palace and the sound of very heavy cannon fire warned him that the column must be approaching Kaiser Bagh.
“They’ve run into trouble,” Johnson told him, as he reined in beside the baggage escort. “The Thirty-Second’s Mess house seems to be occupied in great strength and they must have a heavy battery in the Kaiser Bagh. I’ve never heard such fire … listen to it, for God’s sake! It’s hard to make out what’s going on but I think a halt has been called under cover of one of the palaces. I hope to heaven it has … I want to get the wounded to a place of safety as soon as I can. There’s only us and a few walking wounded to guard them and it’s taking us all our time to stop the dhoolie-bearers from running off.”
Alex asked for Harry Havelock but Johnson shook his head regretfully.
“I haven’t seen him, sir. He may be in one of the dhoolies but, as you can appreciate, there are the devil of a lot of them. I’ll make a search as soon as I can and send word if I find him. You’re on the way to inform the general I take it?”
Alex nodded. He said, with a wry smile, “It’s a pity you and your sowars can’t repeat your exploit of the other day and take those guns at the Kaiser Bagh—but I fear they’ll be too well entrenched. The Pandies have been preparing to receive us ever since they realised we’d changed direction at the bridge—and they’ve had plenty of time, alas to dig in and wait for us.”
He rode on, running the gauntlet of musketry fire from loopholed buildings and rooftops and guided by the ceaseless roar of cannon fire ahead and to his left. He passed a few dhoolies and picked up a wounded Fusilier, who was gallantly struggling along, using his Enfield as a crutch, but of Harry Havelock there was no sign. He found the column halted behind the sheltering walls of the Moti Munzil Palace and, in a narrow passage-way, at the centre of a confused circle of staff officers, soldiers, guns, wounded men, bullocks and ammunition waggons, he saw that the generals were conferring.
Outram, on his big roan waler, had his arm in a sling and his Malacca cane grasped in his sound hand, the inevitable cheroot clamped between his teeth, at which he was puffing more from habit than enjoyment. Havelock—whose horse had been shot under him, an A.D.C. said—was on foot, pacing up and down displaying the first signs of agitation Alex had ever known him to reveal in public throughout the campaign. They were too far away for him to hear what they said but it was evident, from the expressions on both their faces and the restrained courtesy with which their discussion was being conducted that, once again, the two commanders were far from being in agreement as to what course to pursue. Captain Moorsom had his survey map spread out on the ground a short distance from them and, from time to time, Havelock raised his voice to ask for information concerning the position of some of the buildings which still separated them from the Residency.
Colonel Tytler, his uniform mudstained and his face grey with fatigue, was sitting his horse in silence on the edge of the group of staff officers and Alex reined in beside him and started to make his report. Seeming almost as if he had not heard, the Deputy-Judge-Advocate-General told him, in a tired voice, that General Outram had advocated remaining in one of the Palaces for the night and resuming the attempt to reach the Residency next day, when the fighting troops were fed and rested, the sick and wounded taken care of and the scattered column reformed.
“Sir James thinks we should advance no further than the Chutter Munzil and halt there.”
“It would seem prudent,” Alex suggested uncertainly
“General Havelock, on the hand, believes that we should push on,” Tytler said. “He fears that, if we do not, the garrison may fall to a night attack … and it’s on the cards that they might. They’re under a cruel bombardment now, as you can hear, Sheridan—and from all sides, not only this. We’re within less than a quarter of a mile of the Bailey Guard gate and can advance under cover through Martin’s House and the King’s Stables to the Chutter Munzil, once those heavy guns outside the Kaiser Bagh are silenced. Eyre’s trying to knock the Kaiser Bagh battery out now and Olpherts is engaging the Mess House.” He sighed. “The general proposes to halt only long enough to enable the baggage train and the rearguard to catch up with us and then go on. We’ve only about three more hours of daylight left, so a decision must be reached very soon.”
Alex listened, frowning. The Chutter Munzil Palace—so called from the gilt chutters or umbrellas which crowned its summit—was, he knew, a large, rambling building surrounded by a high brick wall. Built originally for a seraglio, it would afford shelter and protection to the harassed column … he hesitated and then asked bluntly, “What do you think the final decision will be, Colonel? “
Tytler answered with a shrug. “General Havelock,” he said flatly, “is still in command until we reach the Residency. The street leading to it is reported to be entrenched and heavily defended by batteries and thousands of rebel infantry—and we shall not be able to bring the guns in that way. All the same, I think we must go on.” He sighed and then asked sharply, as if suddenly awakening to the fact, “Weren’t you and Barrow with the rearguard, Sheridan? What the devil’s happened to them? And what about the baggage train, for heaven’s sake? I’ve had a detachment of the 90th standing by to go in search of them—they’re not in serious trouble, are they?”
“The Highlanders were being very hard pressed, sir, and had suffered heavy casualties,” Alex told him. He made his report and Colonel Tytler winced when he mentioned Harry Havelock’s wound. “Dear heaven, this will break the poor old man’s heart! Is Harry badly wounded?”
Alex had perforce to shake his head. “I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid,” he said apologetically. “All I know is that he took a musket-ball in the arm and Hastings of the 78th had him put into a dhoolie. I was unable to find him but Johnson has a large number of wounded with the baggage train. He should be almost in sight by now—he wasn’t far behind me, but he had been separated from the rearguard and he could do with help to bring the wounded in, Colonel. His dhoolie-bearers were in a state of panic and he had his hands full keeping them with the train. I’ll go back with the detachment of the 90th, if you wish, and look for Harry Havelock.”
“No, wait,” Tytler bade him. “The general may want to speak to you. I’ll go and have a word with him now.” He started to thrust a way through the assembled officers but, before he reached Havelock’s side, there was a sudden hush as somewhere near at hand the roar of a heavy gun faded abruptly into silence and, rising above the incessant crackle of musketry and the thunder of more distant guns, came the sound of British cheers.
“The Kaiser Bagh battery has been put out of action! “the general exclaimed. “We must go on.” He appealed to General Outram. “The street will be the worst but we know what to expect. At most it will be five hundred yards from the Chutter Munzil to the Bailey Guard, Sir James. We shall be slated but we can push on and get it over.”
General Outram reddened angrily but he controlled himself. “In God’s name,” he returned, “Let us go on, General Havelock!”
There were a few subdued cheers from the officers grouped about them but Colonel Hamilton cut them short. “My regiment is not yet here, sir,” he reminded Havelock; then, seeing Alex, he called out above the hubbub, “Colonel Sheridan, how fare the 78th? Have you brought news of them?”
Alex crossed to his side. He repeated what he had told Tytler. “Captain Barrow’s squadron is with them, sir, assisting their withdrawal. It took longer than anyone anticipated because of the severity of the attack launched against them from the Cawnpore road.” Colonel Hamilton asked a number of questions concerning the 78th’s position and casualties, which Alex answered to the best of his knowledge and, with a brusque nod of thanks, the Highlanders’ senior Colonel went to confer with the two generals. They were still discussing the situation, out of earshot of their staffs, when word came that the baggage train, with the wounded, had rejoined the column.
Orders went out swiftly and, Alex’s mind registered, Havelock was showing something of his old decisiveness and fire at last, undeterred by the presence of the man who had relinquished command to him. The 90th Light Infantry, under Colonel Campbell, were ordered to take up defensive positions with Vincent Eyre’s two heavy guns remaining where they were, in the Moti Munzil Palace, into which the wounded, the baggage and all the ammunition tumbrils were brought and placed under cover. The 90th sent out its detachment to search for and aid the 78th and, with ammunition pouches replenished, the rest of the column was ordered to advance, with Olpherts’ battery and a cavalry escort, through the enclosed garden of Martin’s House and under cover of the wall of the King’s Stables to the Chutter Munzil Palace.
All went well until the head of the column emerged from Martin’s garden and struck one of the main roads, when it was met by artillery and musketry and found its way barred by a massive gate at the entrance to the King’s Stables. The skirmishers of the 5th Fusiliers, who were in the van, scattered into cover and Olpherts—as always, in his element when the situation called for dash and daring—galloped up with two of his field guns, unlimbered and opened fire on the gate. Alex, who was with Johnson and the scanty escort of his Irregulars, twice charged and dispersed large bodies of rebel infantry attempting to outflank the gunners. Johnson’s sowars fought like tigers with lance and sabre but, inevitably, saddles were emptied and each time those who were left returned with wounded comrades mounted behind them or clinging to their stirrups.
At last the great gate sagged and then crashed down under the impact of Olpherts’ round-shot and James Neill, commanding the leading brigade, led his Blue Caps in a bayonet charge and carried the building, cheering wildly. They continued, driving all opposition before them, and had vanished into the smoke when Olpherts limbered up and guns and cavalry clattered after them into a long, narrow passage-way which led to the Chutter Munzil Palace, the walls of which offered adequate protection for the whole column.
The order came to halt and bring in wounded. As it was being obeyed, the two generals, with Hamilton, Tytler and a number of staff officers gathered round Moorsom’s survey map, and Outram again urged a halt until daylight. Havelock, grim faced and determined, shook his head firmly to the suggestion.
“The poor old general! “Jack Olpherts observed, with feeling. He slid wearily from his horse beside Alex and Henry Delafosse, who had also taken the opportunity to stretch their cramped limbs. “There’s been no word of his son, apparently, and he’s nearly beside himself with anxiety … but, in spite of that, he’s for pushing on to the Residency to finish the job. Look at his face, for God’s sake! No power on earth could stop him now, with less than five hundred yards to go to his goal!”
“They may be the hottest five hundred yards we’ve ever had to face,” Delafosse said. His face was blackened by gunsmoke and he looked exhausted, the sweat tracing a score of tiny rivulets across cheeks and chin but he grinned in Alex’s direction. “Hotter even than it was at the Suttee Chowra Ghat, Alex my friend! They say there are thousands of the swine out there in that street, just waiting for us to show ourselves, and they’ve got a battery in the Clock Tower, Moorsom thinks, covering the Bailey Guard gate. All the same, I’m for going on to finish the job, aren’t you? Those poor devils in the garrison have waited three months for us to come to their relief—we can’t fail them now.”
“The more you look at it, the less you’ll like it, my men,” Alex quoted and Jack Olpherts laughed in genuine amusement.
“Very true,” he agreed. “Whose words of wisdom were those? They sound like the general’s.”
“Yes, they were … they referred to a twenty-four-pounder howitzer on the road to Cawnpore, which he wanted the Sixty-Fourth to charge.”
“And did they charge it?”
Alex nodded. “Yes, indeed they did—led by young Havelock because none of their own officers were mounted. That was the occasion when Harry didn’t get recommended for the Victoria Cross. He—”
“Haven’t you heard the latest?” Delafosse put in.
“The latest?” Alex eyed him blankly, too tired to be interested in gossip or rumour. “The latest what, pray?”
“Incentive to heroism on the part of the Company’s soldiers,” Delafosse answered, his tone unexpectedly dry. “The general told Jack earlier today that he would recommend him for a Victoria Cross. Provided …” he paused, and added with emphasis, “provided the award of the Cross is opened to the Company’s officers and men! Did you know that it wasn’t?”
