The Romance of Modern Sieges

This was the most trying period of the whole siege. If an officer sat down to write a letter or to shave himself the alarm was sure to sound, and he was compelled to throw down his pen or razor, buckle on his sword, and rush out to his post.

The 23rd of June was the centenary of the Battle of Plassey, and their spies told the English officers they were to be attacked at all points. They began to fight at sunrise, and, strange to say, in the very height of the mêlée our first reinforcements marched into camp! Three times the rebels assaulted our position, each time being repulsed with great loss. “We drove them back, and then we began a series of attacks on houses, gardens and enclosures filled with mutineers, whom we cleared out; our heavy guns hastened or retarded their flight into the city.

“I look upon this day as the turning-point in the siege: our first reinforcements had come in, and we had gained an important victory over the rebels.”

Soon was seen a great smoke beyond Delhi: they were burning their dead!

“Of the many interpositions of a merciful Providence in our behalf during this wonderful siege,” says Seaton, “I think the most striking was this – that the rains were so abundant and the season so favourable that cholera was in a comparatively mild form. The rains filled the Jumna on one side and the canal on the other, thus forming, as it were, a wall to the right and left of our road to the Punjab, guarding it more effectually than many thousand men could have done.”

During the night of the 4th it rained in torrents. Colonel Seaton was driven into the Flagstaff Tower for shelter, but could only get standing room, so he went and visited the pickets, and sentries, and returned soaked through and through. He then lighted a cigar and stood about till daylight, when the picket turned out and he turned in and slept till sunrise.

At sunrise he was relieved, after thirty-six hours on duty. On getting into camp he found his own tent pitched, his servants all waiting, clean clothes, washing tackle, a clean breakfast table, and Hodson, with a smiling face, waiting for him.

“We felt like men who had just inherited large fortunes! My things had been sent on from Alipore. Oh! it was a comfort to get my own clothes and uniform, to be able to appear in camp once more dressed like a gentleman, and to have the attendance of my own servant.”

On the night of the 5th of July General Sir H. Barnard died of cholera, brought on by fatigue and anxiety of mind.

General Wilson began on a new system. They no longer attacked the villages, losing men and gaining little. They were now to remain on the defensive, and to burn or bury all corpses. For it was sickening to see the dogs and jackals, disturbed by the burying-parties, slowly waddling off, fat and gorged with their horrible feast.

Until buried the rebels were still enemies: their effluvia carried death into our ranks. As a sergeant once said: “Them Pandies, sir, is wuss when they are killed.”

On the 19th they received the first intelligence of the Cawnpore tragedy – of Wheeler’s capitulation and destruction – causing great depression in camp and more cholera.

They had been clearing the gardens of rebels beyond the Metcalfe grounds when Seaton saw two of Coke’s men coming along, carrying Captain Law, who had just been killed. He stopped to help them, and was stooping to take the men’s muskets when he was struck full on the left breast by a musket-ball fired at thirty-five paces’ distance. The blow was so violent that he was nearly knocked off his horse, and for some seconds could not breathe, the blood rushing from his mouth in foam. He naturally thought he was done for, but as soon as his breath came again, he opened his clothes and found out the course of the ball.

Seeing that no air issued from the wound, he secured his sword and pistol, and, dismounting from his horse, led him over a broken wall, and was on the point of falling headlong in a faint when the two men he had tried to help took him under the arms and got him to the Metcalfe picket.

The men there ran to meet him: one gave him a drop of rum and water, others brought a charpoy (native bedstead) and carried him off to the doctor. On the way he met Hodson, who galloped off at once to camp, so when they reached his tent, he found the doctor waiting and everything ready. The ball had struck on a rib, fractured it, driven it down on the lung, and then had passed out at his back. Hodson cared for him with the affection of a brother. He was to lie quite still and not speak for a week.

On the 1st of August the doctor took off this embargo – Seaton was recovering rapidly. In Delhi, our spies said, the Pandies were all jealous of one another and would not act in concert. The rebel sepoy carried in a purse round his waist the gold he had made by selling his share of our plundered treasures; this gold made him unwilling to risk his life in battle and made him suspect his comrades.

Their wounded were in a horrible state: there were no surgeons to perform any operations, no attendants to bring food or water. The limbs of some were rotting off with gangrene, others had wounds filled with maggots from neglect; all were bitterly contrasting their lot with the life of comfort they had enjoyed under British government. The old King, too, was in despair, and vented it in some poor poetry.

On the 7th of August there was a tremendous explosion in the city, and next day they heard that a powder manufactory had blown up, killing 400 people.

“About this time” – to quote the words of one who wrote a history of this siege – “a stranger of very striking appearance was remarked visiting all our pickets, examining everything, making most searching inquiries about their strength and history. His attire gave no clue to his rank; it evidently never gave the owner a thought. He was a man cast in a giant mould, with massive chest and powerful limbs, and an expression ardent and commanding, with a dash of roughness, features of stern beauty, a long black beard, and deep, sonorous voice. There was something of immense strength, talent, and resolution in his whole gait and manner, and a power of ruling men on high occasions that no one could escape noticing at once. His imperial air, which never left him, and which would have been thought arrogant in one of less imposing mien, sometimes gave offence to his own countrymen, but made him almost worshipped by the pliant Asiatics. Such a man would have risen rapidly from the ranks of the legions to the throne of the Cæsars; but in the service of the British it was thought wonderful that he became a Brigadier-General when, by seniority, he could only have been a Captain.”

The stranger thus described was Nicholson, the best man that Sir John Lawrence possessed in the Punjab. He had ridden ahead of his force to consult with General Wilson before Delhi. On the following day he returned to his force, On the 14th he again rode into the English camp at the head of his column – a splendid addition of 4,200 men to the besiegers. The small force upon the ridge now amounted to 8,000 men of all arms; the siege-train was on its way, and despair began to settle down on the rebels in the city and on the Princes.

They had heard of the defeat of the Nana, and of Havelock’s entry into Cawnpore; they knew that fresh troops were coming from Calcutta, and that Nicholson, whose name had spread far and wide, had arrived in our camp with a large force. They knew, too, that this compact force of white men was swayed by one arm and governed by one will. Every soul in Delhi knew that John Lawrence directed the storm that was gathering around them, and the cold, dread shadow of the coming event was creeping over the shuddering city. A look through our camp would have shaken the courage of the boldest rebel. Instead of tents half filled with sick men, our camp now was teeming with soldiers of various races, all cheerful and confident. Hodson’s men were mostly Sikhs, tall and slender, yet wiry and strong; their clothes of ash colour, with wrist-band, turban, and sash over the left shoulder, all of bright crimson. In contrast with these were Coke’s men, more wild and picturesque, with large turbans of dark blue and enormous waist-bands. Their lofty stature, long hair, bright black eyes, sandalled feet, and bold look, would have made them remarkable anywhere.

Our artillery park, too, was filled with guns captured from the mutineers. The battery-train was on its way, but it was reported by spies that a very strong body of rebels was about to leave the city to attempt its capture. Nicholson was sent out with 700 cavalry and 1,200 infantry, and three troops of horse artillery, to head them off. He returned in triumph, bringing with him thirteen captured guns. In Nicholson’s fight the following incident occurred, which shows a little bit of the native character:

A rebel native officer was overtaken in his flight from the field by a man of Green’s Punjab regiment. The officer immediately went down on his knees in the midst of a pool of water, and putting up his hands, roared out: “I’ve been forty years in the Company’s service, and thirteen years a Subadar. Spare – oh, spare my life!” With an execration and a very rude term of abuse the Punjabee thrust his bayonet into the traitor.

On the 4th of September the long-expected battery-train arrived in camp, with an ample supply of shot, shell, and powder for all the guns.

The activity in the Engineers’ camp was now pushed to the utmost, and all the material for trenches and batteries was accumulated with great rapidity.

To prevent the men plundering, the General promised that all the captured property should be prize, and prize agents were appointed.

We were about to throw a small force of about 4,500 men into a city seven miles in circumference, a perfect maze of narrow streets and gullies, abounding in strong blocks of houses, where one might expect that the defence would be obstinate.

On the night of the 7th 1,300 men in working and covering parties were sent down with the Engineers to open trenches and erect the first siege-battery against Delhi. On the 12th the whole of the batteries were completed, and in full play on the parts of the walls intended to be breached or shelled. The parapet was soon knocked off, each block of masonry rarely requiring more than two well-planted shots to demolish it completely. There was outside the wall a ditch 25 feet wide and 16 feet deep, before crossing which it was necessary that all the parapets and bastions should be cleared of their defenders. The army inside Delhi numbered at least 40,000 men; the besiegers only 11,000, after all their reinforcements had come in. Of these only 3,300 were Europeans. Our heavy guns were 54 in number, while those in the city amounted to 300.

There was considerable risk in attempting to storm under such conditions. One of the batteries was only 160 yards from the Water Bastion, and the heavy guns had to be dragged up to it, through the open, under a heavy fire of musketry. Baird Smith, the Chief Engineer, prepared all the plans; Alexander Taylor superintended their execution. With the very first shot the masonry of the fortifications began to fly. Fifty-four guns and mortars belched out havoc on the city. Cheers rang out from our men as the smoke cleared away, and they saw the dreaded bastions crumbling into ruins, while the defenders were forced to seek shelter far away in the city. For the next forty-eight hours there was no cessation of the roar of artillery. The worn-out gunners would throw themselves down to snatch a short sleep beneath their very guns, while volunteers filled their place; then, springing up again, they would go on with their task with fresh ardour.

The sepoys were fighting on with the courage of despair. They ran out light guns to enfilade our batteries; they manned the gardens in front of the city with sharp-shooters to pick off our gunners.

On the evening of the 13th the breaches in the walls were to be examined, and so at dusk Lieutenants Greathed, Home, Medley, and Lang, of the Engineers, were sent to execute their dangerous mission. As the hour struck ten the batteries ceased firing, and the four young officers, slipping out of the gardens with a small covering party of the 60th Rifles, crept forward to the edge of the glacis, Greathed and Home going to the Water, Medley and Lang to the Cashmere Bastion. A ladder was quietly lowered, Medley and Lang descended, and found themselves on the edge of the ditch; but the enemy heard them, and several ran towards them. The Englishmen saw that the breach was practicable, so rose and ran back, being followed by a harmless volley. Greathed and Home returned safely also, and reported that all was favourable.

Then was the thrilling order made known: “The assault at 3 a.m.!”

No. 1. column, under Nicholson, were to assault the Cashmere Bastion; No. 2, under Colonel James, the Water Bastion; No. 3, under Colonel Campbell, to enter by the Cashmere Gate; No. 4, under Major Reid, to attack Kissengunge.

To Nicholson fell the post of honour. Sir John Lawrence had sent him down “to take Delhi,” and the whole army was willing that he should have that honour. He was to head the first column in person. Our batteries redoubled their roar whilst the columns were taking up their positions, throwing shells to drive the enemy away from the breaches. The morning was just breaking; the thunder of our artillery was at its loudest, when all at once it stopped. Every one could hear his heart beat.

The Rifles now ran forward as skirmishers to cover the advance of the assaulting columns, and the men, who had been lying on the ground, now sprang up, and, with a cheer, made for the walls. They crossed the glacis, and left it behind them dotted with wounded men; they went down into the ditch – many to stay there; but the ladders were planted against the scarp, and very soon the dangers of the escalade were over. Soon the whole line of ramparts which faced the ridge was ours; the British flag was once more run up upon the Cabul Gate.

Meanwhile at the Cashmere Gate there had been some delay. Lieutenants Home and Salkeld, with some sergeants and native sappers, had at sunrise crossed the beams of the bridge, from which the rebels had removed the planking, and in broad daylight, without a particle of cover, had laid their powder-bags. The enemy were so daunted by this daring act that, when they saw Home coming, they hastily shut the wicket, and he and his men laid the bags and jumped down into the ditch unhurt.

Salkeld was not so fortunate. The rebels fired on him from the top of the gateway, and he fell. Sergeant Burgess caught up the portfire, but was shot dead. Carmichael fired the fuse, and fell mortally wounded.

Sergeant Smith, finding the fuse was alight, threw himself into the ditch, and instantly the gate was burst open with a tremendous crash.

The bugler sounded the advance, and with a cheer our men rushed through the gateway, and met the other columns, who had carried their respective breaches. The Lahore Gate alone defied our attempts, and Nicholson called for volunteers to follow him through the narrow street towards the Lahore Gate.

As he strode forward, sword in hand, though there was death in every window and on every house-top, his great stature marked him out as a target for the enemy, and he fell, mortally wounded, the one man England wanted most.

The long autumn day was over, and we were in Delhi, but had not taken it. Sixty-six officers and 1,100 men had fallen, while not a sixth part of the city was ours. Many of our men were lying drunk in the shops. Had the sepoys possessed a General, they might have recovered the ridge, and taken our whole camp, defended as it was mainly by the sick and wounded.

On the next day, by order of General Wilson, vast quantities of beer, wine, and brandy were destroyed. On the 16th active operations were resumed. By sapping gradually from house to house we managed to avoid street fighting and slowly pressed the rebels back into the ever-narrowing part of the city from which, like rats, they streamed.

Whilst Seaton was in the Cashmere Gateway, he saw some artillerymen who were on duty there rummaging about. One of them was looking into a long arm-chest, when all at once he slammed down the lid, sat upon it sharp, and roared out: “Hi! Bill, run! be quick! Here’s a devil of a Pandy in the box!”

Bill lost no time in attending to his comrade’s request, and others running up to see what it was, they pulled out of the box a fine powerful sepoy, who was taken at once to the ditch and disposed of without more ceremony.

On the 18th, between 9 and 10 a.m., there was an eclipse of the sun. There is little doubt that this had a great effect on the minds of the superstitious natives, for they now began to leave the city in streams.

On the morning of the 20th, as the city in the direction of the palace seemed to be deserted, Colonel Jones came down with a column; a powder-bag was applied to the palace gates, a few defenders were slain, and the British flag was hoisted.

That night the mess dinner was laid in the celebrated Dewan Khas, the marble building that Moore describes in “Lalla Rookh.”

The inner room is the King’s throne-room, and round the walls, inlaid with black marble, are the famous words: “If there be an elysium on earth, it is this.”

The habits of the late King and family rendered that elysium a very dirty one, though the white marble was inlaid with coloured stones in flowers and arabesques. The houses and huts in which the Princes of the royal blood lived with their wives and children were a perfect rabbit-warren, so closely packed were they. The exterior walls enclosing the palace are 60 feet high, and built of red sandstone, loopholed and crenellated, and make a noble appearance.

But the squalor and filth in the whole place were inconceivable. As none of the Princes could engage in any business, the pittance they had to live on barely supplied the necessaries of life. Seaton saw some of the Princes. He says: “There was no trace of nobility, either of birth or of mind, in their faces. They were stamped with everything vile, gross, ignoble, sensual. Noble blood is a fine thing, but a noble heart is better, and will shine through the most forbidding features; but these wretches, with the cold, calm hand of death on them, showed nothing of kingly descent or nobility of heart, their countenances being as forbidding as the despicable passions in which they had indulged could make them.”

It was laughable to see what rubbish was found in the palace. In one room were found at least 200 pair of those trousers which Mohammedan ladies wear instead of petticoats. Some of these were so stiff with brocaded silk that they must have needed a hearty kick with each foot at every step.

The quantities of pots and pans which they had amassed would have furnished a whole street of dealers; then, there were telescopes and guns and other valuables.

Much blame has been cast on Hodson for his severity to the royal family. He fetched out the King and three Princes from the tomb where they had taken refuge. The Princes were in a native carriage, and as they drew near to Delhi an immense crowd surged round them, which was increasing every moment, pressing on Hodson’s few men. They could hardly proceed. Hodson, perhaps fearing a rescue, ordered the three prisoners to get out. The poor wretches, seeing that something was about to happen, put up their hands and fell at his feet, begging that their lives might be spared.

Hodson merely said, “Choop ruho” (be silent); “take off your upper garments.” They did so. Then, “Get into the cart.” They obeyed.

Hodson then took a carbine from one of his men, and shot them all three. Then, turning to his men, he said: “These three men whom I have just shot are the three Princes who contrived and commenced the slaughter of our innocent women and children, and thus retributive vengeance has fallen on them.”

The crowd, overawed, parted, and the carriage passed on. The bodies were exposed on the very spot where our unfortunate countrymen had been exposed. It seems cruel and vindictive, but we are judging in security. Hodson had an angry people to daunt, and their sense of justice to satisfy.

One must do our soldiers the justice to say that, though infuriated by the slaughter of their officers and countrymen, with their wives and children, inflamed by the news of the Cawnpore massacre, not an old man, not a woman or child, was wilfully hurt by them. As Seaton was waiting on the 20th by the Palace Gate, some soldiers were bringing along an old man, whom they held by the arms. He went up and said to them: “Remember you are Christian men, and he is very old.”

“Oh, sir!” was the reply, “we doesn’t forget that. We don’t mean him no harm. We only wants a bit of baccy.”

So he let them go on, and in a few minutes saw them stuffing their pipes, and the old fellow genially bringing a coal to light them.

“I have seen hundreds of instances where the greatest humanity and kindness were shown, both to young and old, as well as to females, by our noble-hearted fellows, even in their wildest moments.”

From Major-General Sir Thomas Seaton’s “From Cadet to Colonel.” By kind permission of Messrs. G. Routledge and Sons.

CHAPTER XI

THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW (31st of May to 25th of September, 1857)

Firing at close quarters – Adventures of fugitives – Death of Sir H. Lawrence – His character – Difficulty of sending letters – Mines and counter-mines – Fulton killed – Signs of the relief coming – A great welcome – Story of the escape from Cawnpore.

For about ten days previous to the outbreak at Lucknow daily reports were made that an émeute was intended, and Sir Henry Lawrence, the brother of Sir John Lawrence, had ordered all kinds of stores to be bought and stored. The ladies and children had been removed from the cantonments to the Residency in the city, which was already occupied by a party of the 32nd foot and two guns.

The 9 p.m. gun on the 30th of May was evidently the signal for the mutiny to begin, as a few minutes after it had been fired, whilst Sir Henry and his staff were at dinner at the Residency, a sepoy came running in, and reported a disturbance in the lines.

Sir Henry took two guns and a company of the 32nd, and took post on the road leading to the town. Meanwhile bands of insurgents began to plunder and burn our officers’ bungalows. Many officers had wonderful escapes from death; some were killed by the rebels. Muchee Bhawun, the residence of the late King, had been selected as a fitting place of security and retreat: it was being strengthened and supplied with stores.

On June 10 houses and buildings around began to be demolished; tents were set apart for the European refugees who arrived daily from the districts.

On June 12 the military police mutinied in a body, and went off to Cawnpore; they were pursued for eight miles and about twenty were killed.

On June 15 a hundred barrels of gunpowder were brought from the Muchee Bhawun and buried in the Residency enclosure; twenty-three lacs of rupees were also buried in front of the Residency to save the use of sentries. Cash payments were now suspended, the men being paid by promissory notes.

On June 20 large stacks of firewood, covered with earth, were placed to protect the front of the Residency: they formed an embankment 6 feet high, and embrasures were cut through them for the guns, of which there were four 9-pounders on that side.

A letter arrived from Cawnpore giving very bad news. The enemy had shelled them for the last eight days with fearful effect within their crowded trenches, and one-third of their number had been killed. More guns are brought in. They hear that eight or ten regiments of rebels are within twenty miles of Lucknow.

On June 28 Mrs. Dorin, wife of Lieutenant Dorin, arrived at evening in a country cart, disguised as a native and accompanied by some clerks. The enemy are nine miles off. Though a force was sent out to meet them, we had to retire before overwhelming numbers, with the loss of the 8-inch howitzer and three 9-pounders.

The rebels came boldly on, investing the English on all sides, and firing from all the houses round, which they rapidly loopholed.

July 1.– We managed to send message to blow up the Muchee Bhawun fort and come to the Residency at 12 p.m., bringing the treasure and guns. We opened fire from our batteries in order to distract the attention of the enemy from them.