The Cannons of Lucknow (24 page)

And the following day, God willing, would see the Nana's defeat at Bithur … .

At first light on Sunday, 16th August, the 78th's five pipers played the column of gaunt, war-weary men on their way through the city to the Bithur road. The total force that could be raised was now under a thousand, of whom a bare 750 were Europeans, but the Highlanders marched with heads held high, singing the words of their Regimental March, as the pipes skirled it proudly from the front of the column.

Pibroch o'Donuil Dhu! Pibroch o'Donuil!
Wake thy wild voice anew—summon Clan Connel!
Leave the deer, leave the steer, leave nets and barges
,
Come with your fighting gear, broadswords and targes!

General Havelock watched them, tears in his eyes. They were, he knew, about to face the strongest force the enemy had yet gathered to oppose them. His spies had been explicit; the Nana was defending his town and Palace of Bithur with 4,000 picked troops, all of them regulars—the 31st and 42nd regiments of Native Infantry from Saugor; the 17th from Fyzabad; and portions of the 34th, disbanded at Barrackpore the previous March. With them were portions of three regular cavalry regiments, including the 2nd Light Cavalry, a battery of five guns, and a horde of Mahratta irregulars.

As the day advanced, the sun rose and men fell out, struck down by sunstroke and cholera; the singing ceased and the column marched in grim silence, rifles shouldered and bearded faces grey with dust. After an eleven-mile march, a halt was called and the general himself rode forward, with Colonel Tytler and an escort of Volunteer Cavalry, to reconnoitre the position. In front lay a wide plain, dotted with villages and dense plantations of sugar cane, through which flowed a tributary of the Ganges, too flooded to be fordable by troops of any arm. The only access to the town, which lay behind it, was by a narrow stone bridge, defended by a breastwork and armed with artillery. The road ran across the plain to the bridge, and the rebel troops could be glimpsed behind the loopholed walls of villages and moving amongst the trees on either side of it, whilst others were occupying entrenched enclosures recently constructed to cover the approaches to the bridge.

As Havelock studied the Nana's depositions, his glass to his eye, a strong body of native cavalry emerged from the trees to his right; calmly moving across to the opposite side of the road, the general called for the leading guns of his artillery to open fire on them. The horsemen swiftly dispersed and galloped out of range, and two of the enemy guns—whose position had, until then, been masked by the vegetation by which they were surrounded—returned the fire. Smiling as he trotted back to the column, Havelock directed Captain Olpherts to silence them and, whilst this was being done, he deployed his column to right and left of the road.

Alex, riding as escort to Maude's battery, found himself still on the road as the advance was ordered. To the right, the 78th and the Fusiliers made a rush to attack a village, from which a heavy fire of musketry was impeding the advance; they made short and bloody work of it and, as the defenders were driven out at the point of the British bayonets, Francis Maude unlimbered his heavy guns and opened fire on the main entrenchment at a range of 1,000 yards. To the left, Olpherts' horsed battery moved gallantly forward, supported by the Sikhs and the 64th and the 84th, meeting with a punishing fire from rebel troops concealed amongst the trees. They were soon lost to sight in the smoke of battle but, as Francis Maude again limbered up to bring his guns to within canister range of their objective, Alex glimpsed one of Olpherts' teams dashing from the trees a long way ahead of the supporting infantry and thought he recognised Henry Delafosse leading them. They were halted by one of the general's A.D.C.s, but, undeterred by this, unlimbered without losing a yard of ground and poured a heavy infilading fire into the redoubt which barred their path to the bridge.

On the right, the Fusiliers and the 78th kept pace with Maude's bullock-drawn guns; the rebels, waiting behind their breastwork, held their fire until the advancing line was five hundred yards from them and then, displaying an unusual measure of disciplined courage, poured volley after volley into the British ranks. Major Stephenson, commanding the Fusiliers, led both regiments into a field of sugar cane, and emerging from this to the left of the breastwork, they stormed and entered it. Hand-to-hand fighting ensued, of which the onlookers could see little, and then, to the cheers of his men, the 78th's adjutant, Lieutenant Macpherson, mounted the parapet and waved his sword high above his head to signify that they had taken the position.

The rebels were retreating across the bridge into the town now, and as Lousada Barrow cantered up to join him, Alex begged, in a fever of impatience, “Can't you get the general's permission for us to pursue them? If the Nana is here, he can't be allowed to escape—he must not!”

“I'm sorry, Alex,” Barrow answered with bitterness. “A pursuit has been ordered, but by the infantry. We're to cover the bridge, in case any of them break back or the cavalry threaten our rear.”

The Highlanders and the Fusiliers, who had borne the brunt of the attack, flung themselves down exhausted in such shade as they could find, and Alex watched, fuming, as the bridge and the road beyond it filled with fleeing mutineers. They were so close that he could distinguish their uniforms; he saw a company of the 42nd Native Infantry, carrying their Colours, go running across the bridge without a shot being fired after them until Lieutenant Crump galloped up with a 9-pounder and, at his behest, sprayed their retreating backs with grape. The rebel cavalry were nowhere to be seen—which, he reminded himself wryly, was typical of the Second, who had not distinguished themselves during the siege, and he wondered whether
Subedar
Teeka Singh was still commanding them.

“Ah, here are the Sikhs at last!” Barrow exclaimed. “I gather that they and the 84th were held up by a loop in the stream. The general's orders are that they are to lead the pursuit.”

Led by Jeremiah Brasyer and supported by the two Queen's regiments which had been with them on the left flank, the Sikhs charged eagerly across the bridge, yelling their battle cry, but, to their evident disappointment, meeting with little opposition. The weary Highlanders and the Blue Caps dragged themselves to their feet and prepared to march in after them and the
dhoolie
-bearers and sick carts went about the melancholy task of picking up wounded. The sun was sinking before the last of these were borne in the wake of the infantry into Bithur, and Alex, once again consumed with impatience, called Tom Vibart over to him.

“Ride in, Tom,” he ordered. “Find out what's happening and whether or not the Nana has been taken prisoner. If he hasn't, ask Captain Barrow's permission for me to take a patrol to make a search along the riverbank.”

“Right, sir.” Vibart hesitated. “Do you—do you suppose he
has
been taken?”

“No, I do not!” Alex answered explosively. “But I'm hoping against hope that he has.”

He waited, a prey to conflicting emotions, as the light faded and the sick carts returned, with a burial party, to pick up the dead, and Lieutenant Crump led half a dozen of his gunners into the rebels' entrenchment to spike the 24-pounder they had left behind them there. The artillery officer was cursing as he rode back across the bridge.

“They saved their field guns, blast them to hell! Must have taken them out under cover of the smoke while our fellows were coming up. And the infernal Sikhs kicked up such a shindy that about two hundred Pandies, who were in the Palace garden plundering anything they could lay their hands on, managed to get clean away. They were cavalry, regulars, too, and they'd evidently been camping in the garden—their tents are still there and a few of their horses as well.”

“What about the Nana?” Alex demanded.

“Neither sight nor sound of him, alas!” Crump answered regretfully. “The devil take him!”

Young Vibart cantered up a few minutes later to confirm this disappointing news. “Captain Barrow obtained the general's permission for you to make a search of the riverbank, sir, but he told me to tell you that he fears it will be too late. On very reliable information, he said, sir, the Nana fled from the town two or three hours ago.”

“Alone, Tom?”

“No, apparently he had some of the women of his
zenana
with him and an escort of several hundred of his own troops. They rode out toward the river, where there were boats waiting, Captain Barrow said.”

Alex concealed his chagrin. As Lousada Barrow had feared, his search of the riverbank proved abortive, but some frightened fishermen, at a village half a mile beyond Bithur, confirmed that the Nana, with his escort, had crossed to the Oudh shore some two hours previously. It was useless to prolong the search and, with darkness over taking them, the patrol rode back to Bithur to bivouac for the night in the grounds of the Palace.

Receiving an urgent message from Neill, who had been left to hold Cawnpore with barely a hundred fit men, warning him that a large detachment of rebels was advancing from the south, General Havelock led the column back next morning, leaving the Nana's defences in ruins behind him. He had achieved his ninth victory, for the loss of 49 killed and wounded—against the rebels' 250—but he felt little elation, for the Nana had once again eluded him, and reports coming in from Oudh confirmed his worst fears. His withdrawal across the Ganges had had a disastrous effect; where, initially, local rajahs and
zamindars
had refused to join in the revolt, now, encouraged by his retreat to Cawnpore, virtually all of them had done so, and spies brought reports of rebellion and anarchy throughout the province. This augered ill for Lucknow but, with only 700 of his column still capable of fighting, there was nothing Havelock could do until reinforcements reached him, save wait with what patience he could muster and rest the men who had served him so well.

Returning to his old Headquarters, he found a copy of the official
Calcutta Gazette
awaiting him. It was dated 5th August and contained the announcement that Major-General Sir James Outram, under whom he had served in Persia, had been appointed to command the Dinapore and Cawnpore Divisions, which were to be combined in one command. Havelock read it, at first conscious of bitter disappointment; his independent command was ended and his task of relieving Lucknow would now fall to his new Chief.

“Neill will say that you have been superseded, Father,” his son Harry told him indignantly. “And if you have, it will be thanks to the reports he has been sending behind your back to Calcutta. A plague on him for his disloyalty!”

“No,” General Havelock said. “This is not intended as supersession, Harry. After all, it is dated the fifth of August, when Government—and, indeed, we ourselves—still had hopes of being able to fight our way to Lucknow. James Outram is the first senior general to become available; I'm still only a brigade commander, don't forget, not of sufficient seniority to be appointed to the combined command. In any case, my dear boy”—his smile, like his tone, held genuine warmth—“James Outram and I are old friends. There is no one in the British or Indian Army under whom I would rather serve … and he'll get things done, he'll see to it that we are sent the two Dinapore regiments. And when Sir Colin Campbell arrives to take over from Pat Grant as Commander-in-Chief, we may confidently expect an improvement in the allocation of reinforcements and supplies, to enable us to go forward into Oudh once more. What matters it who is given the honour and glory of saving Lucknow? What is essential is to save the garrison, and Sir James Outram will do it, if anyone can.”

“Yes, but—” Harry began, still angry. His father shook his white head in reproof.

“We have no cause for resentment, Harry—even against General Neill, because this is
not
his doing. It might have been kinder, perhaps, had General Grant written to me personally concerning the appointment, but he, too, has been superseded by Sir Colin, so …” He spread his small, neat hands in a gesture of resignation. “Our task is now to restore our brave fellows to health and fitness. They must be rested, but their fighting powers must not be impaired by any lapse of discipline and, above all, there must be no drunkenness. The first thing I want to do is tell them how splendidly they have fought, because every man deserves the highest praise a commander can bestow on him.”

He seated himself at his table and, when Harry brought him pen and paper, set to work to compose the last Order of the Day he would issue as Force Commander.

The brigadier-general congratulates the troops on the result of their exertions in the combat of yesterday. The enemy was driven, with the loss of 250 killed and wounded, from one of the strongest positions in India, which they obdurately defended. They were the flower of the mutinous soldiery flushed with the successful defection at Saugor and Fyzabad; yet they stood only one short hour against a handful of soldiers of the State, whose ranks had been thinned by sickness and the sword. May the hopes of treachery and rebellion be ever thus blasted! And if conquest can now be achieved under the most trying circumstances, what will be the triumph and retribution of the time when the armies from China, from the Cape, and from England shall sweep through the land?

Soldiers, in that moment your labours, your privations, your sufferings, and your valour will not be forgotten by a grateful country! You will be acknowledged to have been the stay and prop of British India in the time of her severest trial.

Harry read the Order when he had done. “I believe, Father,” he observed, “that you may have written your own epitaph. Did you intend to?”

The general smiled. “Yes, my dear boy,” he admitted. “I rather think I did … and indeed, I think I'm entitled to, don't you?” He did not wait for Harry's answer but, pulling out a fresh sheet of paper, took up his pen again. “Now,” he said, his smile fading. “I will make a few notes concerning recreation and the maintenance of discipline. We need a Chaplain at one end of the scale and more cavalry at the other; I want band concerts organised as soon as possible and … yes, why not some horse racing, to raise the men's spirits? Can you think of anything else we could do, Harry?”