Guns to the Far East (25 page)

Finally the long line of guns, with limbers and ammunition waggons, joined the column, with the Engineer Park and Brigadier Greathead's 8th Regiment, the 2nd Punjab Infantry, and the Battalion of Detachments forming up in the rear. The canal was found to be virtually dry—the rebels, believing that the British advance would be made by the Char Bagh Bridge, had dammed it at that point—and even the great twenty-fourpounder siege guns of the Naval Brigade were able to cross without much difficulty, to William Peel's elation. Following the river bank through narrow, tortuous lanes between thick plantations and enclosed gardens, little opposition was met with but, when the advance guard made the sharp, left-hand turn on to a narrow, sandy track leading to the Sikanderbagh, a galling fire of musketry greeted them.

This came, Phillip saw, appalled by its volume, from a village on the left and from the Sikanderbagh itself, to the right. The great 150-yard-square enclosure was bristling with musketeers and from its bastions and loopholed walls, from the sandbagged windows and flat, parapeted roof of its extensive interior came a triple-tiered fire, which mowed down the advancing cavalry and sent the infantry scattering for cover. The cavalry, unable to retreat for the column to their rear, had no choice but to go on and they made for the village, only to find themselves trapped, with Blunt's troop, in a narrow lane with high banks hemming them in on either side.

Sir Colin Campbell showed his mettle then. Spurring into the thick of the tumult, careless of his own safety, he ordered the cavalry to disperse into side lanes to clear the way and then shouted to Blunt to mount the bank with his battery and bring it into action. With the 53rd lining an enclosure to the right, to give what covering fire they could, the gallant Blunt put his guns in motion, swung the horses' heads round and, with whip and spur and shout, his gunners drove their teams up the bank and forward, into an open space beneath the walls of the Sikanderbagh. They unlimbered and opened fire, to be joined by Captain Travers's eighteen-pounder battery, his guns dragged bodily up the bank by infantry volunteers. Sitting his small white horse behind the foremost gun, Sir Colin himself directed their fire, unmoved by the musket balls whining over his head and—as he always was under attack—the personification of coolness and courtesy. The two batteries were compelled to fire in three different directions—right-handed, to keep down the musketry fire from the Sikanderbagh, left-handed to check a deadly fusillade from the village, and then to their front, in an attempt to reply to a cannonade which the enemy opened, at long range from their principal fortress, the Kaiser Bagh.

As the Highlanders and the main body of the 53rd advanced under Hope Grant's command to clear and capture the village and the enclosure to the left, Phillip—waiting perforce amongst the Commander-in-Chief's entourage—received the order he had hoped for. “Be so good, Commander Hazard,” Sir Colin said, over his shoulder, “as to request Captain Peel to bring us up some artillery support, if you please. A field battery and the rocket-tubes will suffice, I think, for he'll not get his siege-guns up here. We have to blow a breach in the wall of the Sikanderbagh and that”—he took a watch from his pocket—“and that right soon, kindly tell him.”

Predictably, Peel was already on his way, anticipating the order, and Phillip jerked his panting horse to a halt beside him to be greeted with cheers from the eager seamen as he delivered the Commander-in-Chief's message.

It took a further half hour's bombardment by the combined batteries before a small breach was made in the massive wall some twenty yards to the right of the main gate, on the river side of the enclosure. Seen through a cloud of smoke and dust, it looked scarcely large enough to admit one man and the
Shannon
seamen concentrated all their efforts in a desperate attempt to enlarge it. Casualties were beginning to mount; the guns became heated, so that a lengthy pause had to be made between salvoes to enable the barrels to cool and, as the gunners waited, roundshot from the distant Kaiser Bagh came hurtling into their midst, while sharpshooters on the walls of the Sikanderbagh took steady toll of them.

Sir Colin Campbell was struck in the thigh by a spent musket ball but he made light of his wound, shaking his head firmly to pleas from his A.D.C.s and his Chief of Staff, General Mansfield, that he submit to having it dressed. Twice, scorning the enemy's attempts to shoot him down, he trotted across to where the men of Hope Grant's infantry brigade lay—as he had ordered them to—in the shelter of a low mud wall, to bid them curb their impatience. Hearing the crash of falling masonry, as more of the wall came down, the Highlanders besought him to give them the order to go in and take the palace by storm, but he shook his head.

“Lie down, 93rd!” he rasped at them hoarsely. “Lie down! Every man of you is worth his weight in gold to England today … and the breach is not yet of a size to admit you.”

The tall, black-bearded Sikhs of the 4th Punjab Infantry, grasping their bayoneted rifles, began to edge forward, as eager as their Highland comrades to come to grips with the foe, but still Sir Colin sat his horse, giving no sign, as shells screamed overhead and musket balls raised the dust from the ground about him. A veteran sergeant of the 53rd, whose company was occupying a shallow trench to the right of the line, called out to him urgently.

“Sir Colin, let the infantry storm! We'll make short work of the murdering villains, Your Excellency, if you'll just give the word!”

The old Commander-in-Chief recognised him. “D'ye think the breach is wide enough, Dobbin?” he shouted back.

“Aye, sir—let the two Thirds at it and you'll see!” Sergeant “Dobbin” Lee assured him.

The Sikhs could be restrained no longer. Without waiting for orders, they surged forward, a section of their turbanned Sappers with them, carrying crowbars with which to enlarge the breach, and led by a young British officer and a huge Subedar-Major, both with drawn swords. A terrible fire of musketry met and mowed them down; for a moment, brave though they were, they hesitated and, above the roar of the guns, Sir Colin shouted to the 93rd's Colonel.

“Bring on the tartan, Colonel Ewart!” he commanded. “Let my own lads at them!” He lifted his pith helmet from his head and held it high and the Highlanders sprang to their feet, determined to be first at the breach, even now. Led by their pipers and cheering wildly, they tore after the Sikhs, and some of the 53rd went with them, vying for the honour. Some hurled themselves in through the narrow, littered opening, others made for the towering wall to tear at its line of iron-barred windows and force a way in thus, while the main body of Highlanders blew in the lock of the gate and burst it open. A great shout went up—more an expression of concerted fury than a cheer—as they fought their way into the enclosure and were lost to sight in the smoke of the guns.

“They'll take that place or die in the attempt, every manjack of them!” William Peel said, his normally calm voice sounding oddly shaken. “Just listen to the appalling din, Phillip! Dear God, there'll be no quarter given or asked inside there now … the Highlanders will remember Cawnpore!”

He mopped at his sweat-streaked face as, in the sudden lull which had fallen outside the enclosure, the guns ceased fire.
Doolies
were being brought up, led by their Chaplain, and the gunners roused themselves and turned to attend to wounded shipmates who, until then, had been compelled to lie where they had fallen, their cries unheard in the fury of the battle.

Returning to his post with the Commander-in-Chief's staff, Phillip waited, with growing anxiety, for news of the fight still going on inside the walls of the Sikanderbagh. It came, just before noon, when the 93rd's Commanding Officer, Colonel Ewart, emerged at a shambling run and, after looking dazedly about him, saw Sir Colin Campbell and came hurrying towards him. He was bare-headed, his uniform stained with blood, and slung across his shoulder was a roll of scarlet cloth which, as he approached, he shook out to reveal the regimental Colour of the 71st Native Infantry.

“We are in possession of the Sikanderbagh, sir!” he gasped. “I have killed the last two of the enemy with my own hand and here is their Colour!”

The staff, with one accord, started to cheer him but Sir Colin Campbell, his explosive temper frayed by the strain of waiting, silenced them with a raised hand.

“Be damned to your Colours, sir! It's not your place to be taking Colours,” he told poor Ewart wrathfully. “Go back to the regiment you command and bring them out. There's more fighting to be done before this day is over and your wounded must be attended to.”

Crestfallen, the Highlanders' tall Commander saluted and retraced his steps to the shambles of the Sikanderbagh where— as William Peel had predicted—his men had taken terrible vengeance for the dead of Cawnpore.

“There'll be another apology from the Chief tonight,” one of the A.D.C.s observed to Phillip, his tone wryly amused. “When he finds out that Colonel Ewart's brother, with his family, was murdered at Cawnpore. But Sir Colin's always the same in action. Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth when the shots are flying and he's in the thick of it … but when he has to wait, whilst other men are facing the danger, there's no pleasing him and he becomes as sour as an old crab apple. I've learnt to keep out of his way on such occasions. All the same,” he added, with feeling, “I'd follow the old man anywhere—he's a damned fine soldier and, when he campaigns, he leaves nothing to chance. Look—the field hospital's coming up!
That's
what I mean, Commander Hazard … the Chief ordered it up an hour ago, with the water carts and the reserve ammunition.”

The field hospital was set up under the outer wall of the Sikanderbagh and, within a short while, a long procession of laden
doolies
emerged from the interior and the surgeons and orderlies unpacked their instruments and dressings and started work among the wounded. The column reformed,
bhisties
with their goatskin carriers answered calls for water from the parched and weary men, as ammunition limbers were replenished and the infantry refilled their cartridge pouches and munched dry rations from their haversacks, waiting for the muster roll to be called.

It was well on into the afternoon when bugles sounded the advance, and leaving some two thousand rebel sepoys dead behind them, the column turned again in the direction of the Residency. Now they were following almost the same route as Outram and Havelock had followed—but had reached more directly, via the Char Bagh Bridge—their objectives the one-time Mess House of the Queen's 32nd, the Khurshed Manzil, and the Moti Mahal Palace, in which Havelock's gallant rearguard had been trapped, with their wounded and their heavy guns, in September. Here, Campbell had arranged by semaphore, Outram and some of his defenders were to make a sally to meet him when he signalled that both buildings were again in British hands.

But before they could hope to join forces, there was another formidable obstacle to be overcome. The road led across a wide plain, open and seemingly undefended for the first few hundred yards, but the advance guard had scarcely started to cross it when a murderous fire of grape and musketry assailed them from a fortified village on their left. The column halted, just out of range, while this was cleared by Colonel Gordon, with two companies of the 93rd, and then the advance was resumed towards the Shah Nujeef—a domed mosque, surrounded by the inevitable walled garden—which lay a hundred yards ahead and to the right of the road. Henry Kavanagh, the volunteer sent by Outram to guide the Relief Force to the Residency, had warned that—apart from the Kaiser Bagh—the Shah Nujeef was the rebels' mightiest stronghold, specially reinforced and fortified to bar the road to the Residency and Sir Colin Campbell's preliminary reconnaissance had confirmed Kavanagh's warning.

Recalling Captain Peel's earlier description of their route, Phillip took out his Dollond and subjected what he could see of the Shah Nujeef to a careful scrutiny. Jungle grew right up to its walls which, as always, were loopholed; there were walls and huts, affording cover for sharpshooters, lining the narrow defile of the approach and, he saw, the entrance gate had been covered by a regular work in masonry, with what appeared to be a gun emplacement to the rear. The flat top of the building, below its mushroom-shaped dome, had been crowned by a breast-high parapet, now lined with scarlet uniformed sepoy musketeers.

The afternoon was already well advanced but the Shah Nujeef would have to be taken by dusk, Sir Colin announced grimly, consulting his watch. He rode forward to make a personal reconnaissance, under a fire so heavy that two of his aides were wounded and five or six had their horses shot within the space of five minutes. After an unhurried inspection with his gilt-and-ivory field-glass, he lowered it and motioned Phillip to his side.

“Inform Captain Peel, if you please, Commander, that I require his siege-guns and mortars with all possible speed. We've no scaling ladders, alas, so he'll have to breach those walls.” With one of his rare smiles, he added, “You had better remain with him—he will need every officer and man he's got, unless I'm much mistaken.”

Phillip swung his horse 'round and went at a gallop to deliver his message. The guns were brought up with what seemed to him agonising slowness, the long train of bullocks straining at their wooden yokes, reluctant to face the hail of fire into which they were being goaded. One team, drawing the howitzer commanded by Midshipman Martin Daniel, lost two yokes of the poor beasts but the seamen of Lieutenant Salmon's rifle company slung their Miniés and manhandled the great squat gun into position. Men, horses, and bullocks went down in the ghastly hail of fire and Sir Colin Campbell, in an attempt to reduce it, sent a company of infantry to burn some of the huts which were giving the sharpshooters cover. Remmington's troop of Horse Artillery went with them.