The Romance of Modern Sieges

“The trenches are two and three feet deep with mud, snow, and slush. Many men, when they take off their shoes, are unable to get their swollen feet into them again. The other day I was riding through the French camp, 5th Regiment, when an officer came up and invited me to take a glass of the brandy which had been sent out by the Emperor as a Christmas gift. He had a bright wood fire burning in his snug warm pit. Our presents have so far all miscarried.

“January 19.– After frost and snow milder weather. Our warm clothing has come! Many thousands of fine coats, lined with fur and skins, have been served out to the men, together with long boots, gloves, socks, and mits.

“What a harvest Death has reaped! How many are crippled by the cold!

“January 24.– I have been viewing Sebastopol from a hill. The suburbs are in ruins. All the streets I saw had their houses broken down. Roofs, doors, and windows were all off, but the Russian riflemen shoot from them. I saw many walking from the sea with baskets of provisions. The harbour is covered with boats.

“May 18.– The Sardinians are encamped on the slopes of pleasant hills. Their tents are upheld by their lances, one at each end of the tent. Their encampment, with its waving pennons, has a very pretty effect. The Sardinians’ horses are rather leggy, but not such formidable neighbours as the horses of the 10th Hussars, which are the terror of the camp, breaking their picket-ropes and tearing about madly.

“Yesterday I was riding peaceably along with an officer of artillery and of 8th Hussars, when suddenly we heard cries of ‘Look out!’ and lo! there came a furious steed down upon us, his mane and tail erect. He had stepped out of a mob of Hussar horses to offer us battle, and rushed at full gallop towards our ponies.

“‘Out swords!’ was the word, as the interesting beast circled round us, now menacing us with his heels, now with his teeth; but he was repelled by two bright swords and one strong whip, and at last, to our relief, he caught sight of Colonel Mayo, who was then cantering by in ignorance of his danger, till he was warned by the shouts of the soldiers. The Colonel defended himself and horse with great resolution, and, drawing his sword, gave point or cut right and left as the case required, till the men of the 10th came up and beat off the creature. It is rather too exciting this hot weather to have to run the risk of being demolished by the heels of an insane Arab.

“June 7.– It has leaked out that something of import was to take place to-day. Between 5 and 6 p.m. Lord Raglan and his staff took up a conspicuous position looking straight into the teeth of the Redan. The man with the signal rockets was in attendance. About half-past six the French attacking column was seen to be climbing the arduous road to the Mamelon fort.

“The rocket was fired, and our small force rushed for the quarries to divert the Russians. The French went up the steep to the Mamelon in beautiful style and in loose order. Their figures, like light shadows flitting across the dun barrier of earthworks, were seen to mount up unfailingly in the evening light – seen running, climbing, scrambling like skirmishers up the slopes amid a plunging fire from the guns.

“As an officer who saw Bosquet wave them on said at the moment, ‘They went in like a clever pack of hounds.’ Then we see the Zouaves standing upon the parapets and firing down into the fort from above. Now they are in the heart of the Mamelon, and a fierce hand-to-hand encounter, with musket and bayonet, is evidently taking place. It was only seven minutes and a half from the commencement of the enterprise. There is still another sharp bayonet fight, and this time the Russians run out on the other side, spiking their guns. But the roar of guns is heard on the side towards the town: the Russians have been reinforced!

“When rocket after rocket went up ominously from the French General’s position we began to be nervous. It was growing darker, and the noise of the fight seemed to be on our side of the fort. At last the swell and babble of the fight once more rolled down the face of the hill. ‘They are well into it this time,’ said a General, handing over his glass to his neighbour. All was still. No more musket flashes, no more lightning of the heavy guns from the embrasures. A shapeless hump upon a hill, the Mamelon was an extinct volcano, until such time as we should please to call it again into action.

“‘How are our men getting on?’ says one.

“‘Oh, take my word for it they’re all right,’ says another.

“They were in the quarries, but had to fight all night and repel six successive attacks of the Russians, who displayed the most singular pertinacity and recklessness of life. Meanwhile the Zouaves, emboldened by success, carried their prowess too far, and dreamt of getting into the round tower by a coup de main. The fire of the musketry from the round tower was like a shelf of flame, and the shells of our gunners – for we were supporting the French – stood out dark against the heavens as they rose and swooped to their fall.

“June 9.– As an illustration of character I note that one of our sailor artillerymen, being desired to keep under cover and not put his head out to tempt a rifle bullet, grumbled at the prohibition, saying to his comrades: ‘I say, Jack, they won’t let a fellow go and look where his own shot is. We ain’t afraid, we ain’t. That’s what I call hard lines.’

“Lance-Corporal Quin, of the 47th, has been brought to notice for bravery. In one of the attacks made by the enemy on the quarries the Russians had some difficulty in bringing their men again to the scratch. At length one Russian officer succeeded in bringing on four men, which Corporal Quin perceiving, he made a dash out of the work, and with the butt-end of his musket brained one, bayoneted a second, and when the other two took to their heels he brought in the officer as a prisoner, having administered to him a gentle prick by way of quickening his movements.

“After delivering him up he said to his comrades: ‘There’s plenty more yonder, lads, if so be you’ve a mind to fetch in a prisoner or two.’

“June 20.– A plan of attack was proposed – that the French were to assault the Malakoff and we the Redan; but though they got into the Malakoff, they were driven out again, with loss. As our 37th Regiment advanced they were met by a well-aimed fire of mitraille, which threw them into disorder.

“Poor Colonel Zea in vain tried to steady them, exclaiming: ‘This will never do! Where’s the bugler to call them back?’

“But at that moment no bugler was to be found. In the gloom of early dawn the gallant old soldier by voice and gesture tried to reform his men, but as he ran to the head of the column a charge of the deadly missle passed, and he fell dead. Next day we had to ask for an armistice to bury our dead, which was not granted until 4 p.m. It was agonizing to see the wounded men who were lying out under a broiling sun, to behold them waving their caps or hands faintly towards our lines, over which they could see the white flag waving, and not to be able to help them. Many of them had lain there for thirty hours.

“As I was riding round I came upon two of our men with sad faces.

“‘What are you waiting here for?’ said I.

“‘To go out for the Colonel, sir,’ was the reply.

“‘What Colonel?’

“‘Why, Colonel Zea, to be sure, sir,’ said the good fellow, evidently surprised at my thinking there could be any other Colonel in the world.

“Ah! they liked him well. Under a brusque manner he concealed a most kind heart, and a soldier more devoted to his men and to his country never fell in battle. The Fusiliers were the first who had hospital huts. When other regiments were in need of every comfort Zea’s regiment had all that exertion and foresight could procure. I ride on, and find two Voltigeurs with a young English naval officer between them. They are taking him off to shoot him as a spy. He has not enough French to explain his position to his captors.

“‘He tells us he is an officer of the Viper, that he got into the Mamelon by mistake.’ The matter is explained to our allies, who let him go with the best grace in the world. As to the attack which failed, we are disappointed, yet we do not despair; but we learn now that we are going to attack the Redan and Malakoff by sap and mine – a tedious process of many weeks.

“September 5.– The Russians have evacuated the forts of Sebastopol and withdrawn to the north side of the harbour. The Crimean War is over!”

From Sir W. Howard Russell’s “Letters from the Crimea.” By kind permission of Messrs. George Routledge and Sons, Ltd.

CHAPTER X

THE INDIAN MUTINY – DELHI (1857-1858)

The Mutiny begins – A warning from a sepoy – A near thing – A noble act of a native officer – In camp at Delhi with no kit – A plan that failed – Our first check – Wilson in command – Seaton wounded – Arrival of Nicholson – Captures guns – The assault – The fate of the Princes – Pandy in a box.

A rumour had been going through the bazaars of India that the British rule was to be limited to one hundred years from the date of the Battle of Plassey (1757). The sepoy troops had grown self-confident and arrogant through the victories they had won under English officers, and fancied that they held the destiny of India in their own hands. Then came the story that the cartridges of the new Enfield rifles, which were just then being introduced among the native troops, were greased with fat of beef or pork, and were thus rendered unclean for Mohammedan and Hindoo alike. The sepoys, or native troops, believed that the new cartridges were being given out solely for the purpose of destroying their caste, and so of introducing Christianity by force.

Delhi, where the deposed King Bahadur Shah was living, was the centre and focus of rebellion; it was to Delhi that the first mutineers marched after killing their English officers. Sir Thomas Seaton has left us some picturesque stories of his part in the Mutiny. He had rejoined his native regiment at Rohtuck, forty-five miles from Delhi, after some years’ leave in England, and found the manners of the sepoy greatly changed for the worse. He writes:

“On the 4th of June I was in the mess-tent writing to the Adjutant-General about the hopeless state of the regiment, when the native Adjutant came in and said:

“‘Colonel, I wish particularly to speak to you.’

“It was close upon 5 p.m., and, as several officers were in the tent, I went outside with the Adjutant.

“‘Well, Shebbeare, what is it?’

“‘Why, Colonel, I have just heard from two of our drummers, who have their information from friends amongst the men, that the regiment is to mutiny to-night, murder the officers, and be off to Delhi.’

“Though I expected this, it was startling enough to hear it was so close at hand. And now that the great difficulty stared me in the face, how, with this small body of officers, was I to meet and grapple with reckless and determined mutineers? But as this was not the time to flinch or show indecision, I said:

“‘Well, Shebbeare, let me see the men. I’ll make a few inquiries first. I will go to the hospital. Do you lounge out that way too.’

“As I had been used to visit the hospital about this hour, my going there would excite no suspicion.

“In a few minutes I had found out that it was too true that an outbreak was planned for that night. Meanwhile I addressed the Adjutant:

“‘Now, Shebbeare, will you stand by me?’

“‘Yes, Colonel,’ replied the gallant fellow, ‘that I will.’

“‘Very well. Now, I’ll tell you what I propose to do. I will go on parade, and, as there is nothing like facing a difficulty, I’ll tax them with their intended outbreak, and we will see what they will do. Tell the officers to look out.’”

Seaton’s idea was that the men, finding he knew all about their plans, would be so disconcerted that they would put off the mutiny; we should probably gain a day or two of delay, and might hear that Delhi was taken or the mutineers defeated. So at sunset he went on parade, assembled the native officers in front, at some distance from their companies, and taxed them with their intended treachery. As he had expected, the sepoys were utterly confounded; they flatly denied the intended treachery, and swore by all their gods that they would be faithful to their salt, and that no harm should happen to the officers.

The native officers then begged permission to appoint a guard to keep watch in the camp at night, as there might be some badmashes in the regiment.

It was a dangerous experiment, but the only chance was to take things coolly, still seeming to trust the men, keeping at the same time a sharp look-out.

It was Seaton’s duty to keep the regiment together as long as possible at any risk. The Commander-in-Chief was marching on Delhi with a small force hurriedly got together; to have placed at this critical moment a regiment of mutineers in his rear would simply have been destruction, for they could have fortified some spot on the road and so cut off supplies from our camp.

Whilst he was taxing the native officers, the men of their companies were looking on – they were too far off to hear; but they took their cue from their officers and were quiet and respectful. Seaton left the circle of native officers, and went up and addressed each company, meeting with the same vows of fidelity.

As he came from parade after this trying scene, some officers inquired anxiously: “What is it, Colonel? Is it all right?”

“Oh yes. I think our throats will not be cut to-night.”

But his mind was not at ease until he had seen the guard for the night.

However, a few days passed quietly enough; but on the 8th a curious thing happened. As Seaton was going in the evening to visit the hospital, and was crossing a ditch, a young sepoy gave him a hand and whispered in his ear:

“Colonel Sahib, when your highness’ people shall have regained the Empire, I will make my petition to your highness.”

This was all he said, but Seaton could not help pondering on his meaning. Was this a warning to him of the coming outbreak of the regiment?

Resistance was out of the question, as he had only twelve English officers with him and one English sergeant. He was tormented by the ever-recurring thought that not only the lives of his officers, but perhaps the safety of our little army, might be dependent on himself. “All I could do,” he says, “was to trust in God’s mercy and goodness.”

The night of the 9th passed off quietly – all was still. In the morning he could detect nothing suspicious in camp. The men were civil and respectful to him personally. Some were parading for guard, some going to bathe, others preparing their food. Five of the young officers asked leave to go out shooting. Seaton had no objection, and they went. At 4 p.m., when he was in the usual camp hot-weather deshabille, all at once he was startled by a loud explosion. He ran out to see what was the matter, but neither saw nor heard anything strange – no crowd, not a sound, the men mostly sleeping after their day’s meal. He was going on when the havildar-major (native sergeant-major) came rushing up to him. Catching him in his arms, he said in a very agitated voice:

“Colonel Sahib, don’t go to the front.”

“Why not?”

“The Grenadiers are arming themselves. They have mutinied!”

The hour for which he had trembled had come at last. He tried to collect one or two of the native officers, but in vain. The havildar-major entreated him to be off whilst there was time. While the grooms were saddling the horses they heard musket-shots, and the havildar rushed past him. Immediately the whole body of the Grenadiers burst out of their tents, firing and shouting, in order to rouse the regiment and hurry it into mutiny.

The shouts and cries of terror, the galloping of horses, the report of muskets, all tended to confusion. Seaton had not time to take his sword, for the mutineers were within ten paces of him. He had got a few seconds’ start, and in a mêlée like this a second makes all the difference between life and eternity.

Just outside camp they overtook Major Drought, who was walking.

The havildar instantly cried: “Colonel, the poor old fellow will be murdered. I’ll put him on my horse and run for it.”

It was a noble and heroic act, for Shebbeare had been wounded by the mutineers. So they made Shebbeare get on the lee side of the Colonel’s horse; he laid hold of the stirrup, and off they went at a round canter.

After running 400 yards he got blown, and they pulled up to a walk. Soon they found the officers waiting for them at a bend in the road; they were all unhurt. After a time they saw clouds of smoke ascending, and knew that they were burning the tents. They kept on all night at a moderate pace. About 3 a.m. they heard a horseman coming along. Who could it be? They drew up and challenged.

“Who is there?”

“Sowar” (trooper).

“What sowar?”

“Hodson Sahib Ka Sowar” (one of Captain Hodson’s troopers). And then, saluting, he continued: “Are you the Sahib log? I have a letter for Colonel Cheetun Sahib.”

“Yes, come along; here is the Colonel Seaton.”

Seaton read the note by the light of a cigar vehemently smoked by an officer. It was to the effect that we had driven the rebels from the ridge into Delhi, and that our camp was pitched in the cantonments. So now they were all right, and knew where to find their camp. At 9 a.m. the Colonel dismounted at Sir H. Barnard’s tent.

They were all surprised to see him, as they had been informed that he and his officers were all killed: the young officers who had gone out shooting had been so informed, and had ridden to Delhi before them with the news.

Now all the belongings the Colonel had were his horse and the few clothes he stood in. He had to go round camp and beg: one gave him a coat, a shirt, and some cigars, another a sword and belt. He was made a member of the mess of the 1st E. B. Fusiliers, but had neither fork, spoon, plate, nor glass – for the mess merely provides food and dishes. However, he soon begged these or bought all he needed at a sale of an officer’s effects.

“My first night’s rest was heavenly,” he says. “I heard distinctly the firing, but it did not disturb me. I was lulled by a feeling of security to which I had been a stranger for many nights before the 60th mutinied. No wonder my sleep was profound.”

Delhi is situated on the right bank of the river Jumna. The walls are pear-shaped, on the river or eastern side rendered irregular by the excrescence of the old fort of Selimgurh. To the south the walls run to a point. Inland from Delhi is a ridge of rocks, which at its nearest point is about 1,400 yards from the walls. Our camp lay under the ridge, on the side away from the city; there were canals and swamps to protect us in rainy seasons. It was quite evident that a regular siege was out of the question, from the vast size of the place and from our want of guns, etc. A coup de main was our only resource. Accordingly a plan was drawn up by the Engineers and Hodson, and approved by the General. It was a hazardous step, but one and all were crying out “Take Delhi!”

Nor was this cry to be wondered at. Delhi, once the capital of the great Mogul Empire in India, strongly fortified, and supplied with war material, was now in the possession of our own trained sepoys. The King, once our puppet, had placed himself at the head of the rebellion, and Delhi had become the focus of insurrection.

Moreover, there was a vehement desire in camp for instant vengeance on the traitors in the city, who had cruelly murdered their officers, our brethren in arms, with their wives and little ones. One bold stroke now, every one said, would make us masters of Delhi. At the appointed hour the troops began to move down to their allotted posts.

All were waiting impatiently for the pickets from the ridge, but the proper time slipped by, and the assault was countermanded.

The storm of indignation in camp at the failure of this bold design was frightful. But, as Colonel Norman justly remarked, “It was one of those happy interpositions in our behalf of which we had such numbers to be thankful for.”

For, even if the rebels should have been driven out of Delhi, what if they rallied and returned in force? Our poor 3,000 men would have been swallowed up in the immensity of the city. The postponement of the assault gave the rebels full scope: it bred anarchy, confusion, and disorder, and the native trading population soon felt the difference between the violence and robbery of the sepoy domination and the peace and security they had enjoyed under us. But in camp the abandonment of the assault was followed by a period of despondency and gloom.

In a few days cheering news came from the Punjab. The Chief Commissioner, John Lawrence, aided by worthy officers, had made all safe at the chief points of danger. All through the Punjab the Hindoo cavalry and sepoys were being disarmed; the magazines had been secured; the Sikhs and Punjabees, men who had no sympathy with the mutineers, were being enrolled and formed into corps and re-armed. With bold and daring hand, that “out of this nettle, danger, plucks the flower safety,” Lawrence was gathering as volunteers from the warlike frontier tribes all the restless, turbulent spirits who might have been bitter foes in extremity. He took them into pay, and made them eager to march on Delhi, to assist in its capture and share in its plunder.

There were several sorties to repulse, and these small successes kept up the men’s spirits. In the first six weeks of the siege, or until the reinforcements began to flow in, night or day no man undressed, except for a few minutes for the necessary ablutions and changes of clothes, and this was not always possible. They lay down and slept in their clothes, with arms and ammunition either on or by their sides, ready to slip on the moment the alarm should be sounded.

The heat was fearful, yet day after day they had to stand for hours in the sun and hot wind, or, worst of all, to endure the torture of lying down on the burning rocks on the Ridge – baked by them on one side, whilst the sun was “doing” the other. Many an officer and man, struck by the sun and unable to rise, was carried off to hospital delirious and raving. The flies were in myriads, and added to their torments; they clung to hands and faces, they covered the food until it was uneatable, and they worried all incessantly until dusk. Many men had sunstroke twice; some who were wounded suffered from it also, and the great heat and fatigue began to tell on the soldiers, and sent them into hospital, from whence many were never to return.

Fortunately, food in camp was both abundant and good; the troops got their meals and their dram of grog with great regularity.

It was quite amusing to see the cook-boys of companies bring up the dinners to their respective squads. Battery or advanced picket, it was all the same to them; cannonade or no cannonade – it made no difference, they were sure to come.

A large flat shallow basket held twenty or more metal plates; on each a piece of beef and some nicely browned potatoes, all smoking and frizzling from a few bits of live charcoal in a small earthen pan under each.

On the 18th, the 15th and 30th Native Infantry, with the famous Jellalabad battery – Abbott’s battery that was – marched into Delhi, to the great joy of the mutineers and the King.

At noon on the 19th the rebels began to pour out of Delhi in great numbers. The alarm was sounded, and in a few minutes every one was at his post; but as no enemy appeared, the troops were allowed to return to their tents.

A gun fired in their rear startled the English; then galloped up a trooper to say that the Pandies (as they called the rebels) were killing the grass-cutters and carrying off the cattle. Then troops were sent out, and fighting went on long after dusk. The casualty list was heavy: a limber of Scott’s battery was blown up, while one of Turner’s guns was disabled and left on the field. “I well remember the gloomy impression which the result of this fight made on our minds. It was our first check.”

Next morning a strong party was sent out to the scene of action. To their great surprise, there was Turner’s gun; there also a gun and two ammunition waggons abandoned by the rebels. There were so many evidences on the field that the enemy had suffered severely that all gloom and despondency were quite relieved.