The History of the Indian Revolt and of the Expeditions to Persia, China and Japan 1856-7-8

The military movement in this evacuation of the Residency was spoken of by Sir Colin, in his official dispatch, as something masterly. He told how Outram so planned that each corps and regiment, each detachment and picket, should be able to march out silently in the dead of the night, without exciting suspicion among the myriads of enemies near; and yet that there should be guns and riflemen so posted as to repel the enemy if they should attempt any serious molestation of the retiring troops. It must be remembered that Outran and Havelock’s gallant and much-enduring men had many things to effect after the non-combatants had departed from the Residency. They were called upon to bring away as many of the stores as could conveniently be conveyed, and to destroy those which, if left behind, would too much strengthen the enemy; they had to escort and protect their weaker companions, and to maintain a bombardment of the Kaiser Bagh and other posts, to deceive the enemy. The last of the men came out as quietly and cautiously as possible, in the dead of the night between the 22d and 23d of November, leaving lights burning, that the departure might not be suspected. They silently passed through the streets and roads, and safely reached the Dil Koosha. Captain Waterman, through some misconception, was left behind, and found himself, at two o’clock in the morning, the only living man in the intrenched position which had lately been so crowded. The situation was a terrible one, surrounded as he was by fifty thousand vindictive armed enemies. In an agony of mind, he ran past the Taree Kothee, the Fureed Buksh, the Chuttur Munzil, the Motee Mehal, the Secunder Bagh, and the Martinière, to the Dil Koosha, which he reached in a state of mental and bodily prostration. Sir Colin was among the last to leave the place. So cleverly was the evacuation managed (without the loss of one man), that the enemy continued to fire into the Residency enclosure long after the British had quitted it. What the scene was among the women and children, we have just been informed; what it was among the soldiers, is well described in a letter from one of the officers: ‘An anxious night indeed that was! We left at twelve o’clock, having withdrawn all our guns from position, so that if the scoundrels had only come on, we should have had to fight every inch of our way while retiring; but the hand of Providence, which had watched the little garrison for so long a time, never left it to the last. The eye of the wicked was blinded while we marched breathlessly with beating hearts from our post, and, forming into line, walked through the narrow defiles and trenches leading from the ever-memorable Bailey guard. Out we went, while the enemy’s guns still pounded the old wall, and while the bullets still whistled over the buildings; and, after a six miles’ walk in ankle-deep sand, we were halted in a field and told to make ourselves comfortable for the night. Here we were in a pretty plight. Nothing to cover ourselves, while the cold was intense; so we lay down like so many sheep huddled together to keep ourselves warm, and so lay till the morning, when we rose stiff and cold, with a pretty prospect of the chance of finding our servants in a camp of 9000 men.’

The world-renowned ‘Residency’ at Lucknow being thus abandoned, it may be well to give in a note111 Sir James Outram’s comments on the eight weeks’ defence of that place, as a sequel to Brigadier Inglis’s account (p. 336) of the previous three months’ defence before Outram arrived. To Outram was due the planning and execution of the strategical movement by which the evacuation of the Residency was accomplished. The commander-in-chief, in a general order issued on the 23d, thus spoke of it: ‘The movement of retreat last night, by which the final rescue of the garrison was effected, was a model of discipline and exactness. The consequence was, that the enemy was completely deceived, and the force retired by a narrow, tortuous lane – the only line of retreat open – in the face of fifty thousand enemies, without molestation.’112

Great and universal was the grief throughout the camp when the rumour rapidly spread that Havelock, the gallant Christian soldier, was dead. He shared the duties of Outram at the Dil Koosha on the 23d and 24th, but died the next day, stricken down by dysentery, brought on by over-fatigue. All men talked of him as a religious as well as a brave man – as one, more than most men of his time, who resembled some of the Puritans of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. A few words may give the outline of his career. Henry Havelock was born near Sunderland in 1795. He was educated at the Charterhouse, and then studied for the bar for a short time; but afterwards adopted the military profession, following the example of his elder brother William. He entered the 95th regiment just after the battle of Waterloo, and during forty-two years saw a good deal of active service. After serving eight years in the United Kingdom, he exchanged into the 13th regiment, and went to India in 1823. He joined in the first Burmese war, of which he afterwards wrote and published a narrative. He served in various capacities twenty-three years before he became a captain, having no patronage in high places to facilitate his advancement. Then he served in the Afghan campaign, of which he wrote a memoir; and took a leading part in the memorable defence of Jelalabad. Rising gradually in office and in influence, he served in later periods at Gwalior, Moodkee, Ferozshah, Sobraon, the Sutlej, and other scenes of battle. When the Persian war broke out at the close of 1856, he was put in command of one division of the Anglo-Indian army; and when that war ended, he returned to India. What he achieved during 1857 the foregoing pages have shewn. All classes in England mourned his death. The Duke of Cambridge as commander-in-chief, Lords Palmerston and Panmure as ministers of the crown, the Earl of Derby as chief representative of the party at that time in opposition, the Court of Directors, the Court of Proprietors, the corporation of London, public functionaries and municipal bodies, religious and missionary societies – all sought to pay respect to the noble soldier who was at once pious, daring, and skilful. His widow, made Lady Havelock in virtue of his knighthood, received a pension of £1000 a year. His son received a baronetcy from the Queen, the rank of major from the commander-in-chief, and a pension of £1000 a year from the House of Commons. The public afterwards took up the subject of a monument to the hero, and a provision for his daughters, as matters not unworthy of support by voluntary efforts independent of the government. With or without a monument, the name of Henry Havelock will be held in grateful remembrance by the nation.

Sir Colin Campbell, like all around him, mourned the loss of his gallant coadjutor; but his thoughts had no time to dwell on that topic. He had to think of the living, to plan the march from the Dil Koosha to the Alum Bagh, and thence onward to Cawnpore. Certain state-prisoners had to be guarded, as well as the women and children, the sick and the wounded, the treasure and the stores. The whole army was thrown into two divisions: one under Brigadier Hope Grant, to form an escort from the Dil Koosha to the Alum Bagh; the other, under Outram, to keep the enemy at bay until the convoy was safely on its road. It was on the 24th that this novel and picturesque procession set out. The distance to the Alum Bagh was about four miles; and over the whole length of very rough road was a stream of bullock-carriages, palanquins, carts, camels, elephants, guns, ammunition and store wagons, soldiers, sailors (of the naval brigade), sick, wounded, women, children, and prisoners. The delays were great, the stoppages many, the fatigue distressing, the dust annoying; and all gladly rested their weary limbs at the Alum Bagh when night came.

It had been fully intended to afford the troops and their convoy several days’ repose at the Alum Bagh; but on the 27th, Sir Colin was surprised to hear very heavy firing in the direction of Cawnpore. No news had reached him from that place for several days; therefore fearing some disaster, he felt it necessary to push forward as quickly as possible. Leaving Outram in command of part of the force at the Alum Bagh, and placing the rest under the immediate command of Hope Grant, he resumed his march at nine o’clock on the morning of the 28th. Messages now reached him, telling of a reverse which General Windham had suffered at Cawnpore, at the hands of the Gwalior mutineers. Sir Colin hastened forward, convoy and all; but he and a few officers took the start, and galloped on to Cawnpore that same night. The nature of Windham’s disaster will come for notice in the next chapter; here we have only to speak of its immediate effect upon Sir Colin’s plans. The enormous train of helpless women, children, sick, and wounded, could cross the Ganges and quit Oude only by a bridge of boats; if that were broken, the result might be tragical indeed. Orders were sent for the heavy guns to hurry on, and to take up such a position as would prevent the enemy from destroying or attacking the bridge; while a mixed force of infantry, cavalry, and horse-artillery was to cross quickly, and command the Cawnpore end of the bridge. Happily all this was effected just in time. When the passage was rendered safe, the artillery, the remaining troops, and the non-combatants, were ordered to file over the bridge; this they did, occupying the bridge in a continuous stream for thirty hours– unmolested, owing to Sir Colin’s prompt plans, by the enemy’s guns. All having safely crossed, the troops encamped around the ruinous old intrenchment rendered memorable by the gallant spirit and hapless fate of Sir Hugh Wheeler; while the women, children, sick, and wounded, were put temporarily into occupation of the old foot-artillery lines.

Although Sir Colin Campbell abandoned Lucknow for a while, he did not abandon the Alum Bagh. This post, a compact enclosure, capable of being defended on all sides, would afford an important base for future operations if maintained. Taking Hope Grant’s division back with him to Cawnpore, he left Outram with three to four thousand men to hold the Alum Bagh against all odds, furnishing him with as large a supply as possible of provisions and stores. This force consisted of all the remaining or available companies of H.M. 5th, 78th, 84th, and 90th foot, the Madras Europeans, the Ferozpore Sikhs, three field-batteries, some heavy guns, two squadrons of the military train acting as dragoons, and a body of irregular cavalry. While the enemy were busily engaged in refortifying the city, so as to make it more formidable than ever, Sir James was making the Alum Bagh proof against all their attacks. The position thus occupied included not only the Alum Bagh itself, but a standing camp about three-quarters of a mile distant, and the bridge of Bunnee, which was separately held by 400 Madras sepoys and two guns.

Serious work and anxious thoughts occupied the mind of the commander-in-chief. He could do little in active military operations while so many helpless beings were depending on him for protection. Hence the sojourn of those who, from sex, age, or sickness, could render no active service at Cawnpore, was rendered as brief as possible. Vehicles, animals, provisions, and stores, were quickly collected; and on the 3d of December the march was resumed towards Allahabad – under an escort of H.M. 34th foot, two guns, and some cavalry. How the released Europeans fared on their journey; how they were cheered and greeted at Allahabad; how they felicitated themselves on once again sleeping in safety; and how they ultimately reached Calcutta by steamers on the Ganges – need not be told in detail. Let it suffice to say that when the ladies and children, with the invalided officers, who had passed through so wonderful a series of events, were approaching Calcutta, Lord Canning issued a notification, in which he said: ‘No one will wish to obtrude upon those who are under bereavement or sickness any show of ceremony which shall impose fatigue or pain. The best welcome which can be tendered upon such an occasion is one which shall break in as little as possible upon privacy and rest. But the rescue of these sufferers is a victory beyond all price; and in testimony of the public joy with which it is hailed, and of the admiration with which their heroic endurance and courage are viewed,’ it was ordered that a royal salute should be fired from the ramparts of Fort William as soon as the steamer arrived; that all ships-of-war in the river should be dressed in honour of the day; that officers would be appointed to conduct the passengers on shore; and that the state-barges of the governor-general should be in attendance.

Thus ended a great achievement. The women, children, sick, and wounded, who had to be brought away from the very heart of a city swarming with deadly enemies, and escorted through a country beset by mutinous sepoys and rebellious chieftains, were not fewer than two thousand in number. Let it be remembered, that while this helpless train of persons was on the way through Oude, behind them was the enormous hostile force of Lucknow, while in front of them were the Gwalior mutineers flushed by a recent victory. That all should have passed through this perilous ordeal with scarcely the loss of one life, reflects lasting credit on the generals who planned and executed the manœuvre. Of the five noble officers whose names are imperishably connected with the extraordinary sieges and defences of Lucknow – Inglis, Havelock, Neill, Outram, and Campbell – two fell before the grateful thanks of their countrymen at home could reach them; but the remaining three, when Christmas arrived, had the infinite satisfaction of knowing that their arduous labours had been rewarded by the safe arrival, at or near Calcutta, of the tender and weakened, the broken-down and invalided – those who had so long formed the European community in the Lucknow Residency.

Note

Cavanagh’s Adventure.– At p. 362 it is mentioned that Mr Cavanagh, an uncovenanted civil servant of the Company in the Residency at Lucknow, volunteered to make the perilous journey from that post to the commander-in-chief’s camp many miles beyond the Alum Bagh, in order to establish more complete correspondence between Sir James Outram and Sir Colin Campbell than was possible by the simple medium of a small note enclosed in a quill. Mr Cavanagh’s account of his hair-breadth run was afterwards published in the Blue-books; and as it affords a good idea of the state of Lucknow and its environs at the time, we will reprint it here:

‘While passing through the intrenchment of Lucknow, about ten o’clock A.M. on the 9th inst., I learned that a spy had come in from Cawnpore, and that he was going back in the night as far as the Alum Bagh with dispatches to his excellency, Sir Colin Campbell, the commander-in-chief, who, it was said, was approaching Lucknow with 5000 or 6000 men.

‘I sought out the spy, whose name is Kanoujee Lall, and who was in the court of the deputy-commissioner of Duriabad before the outbreak in Oude. He had taken letters from the intrenchment before, but I had never seen him till now. I found him intelligent, and imparted to him my desire to venture in disguise to the Alum Bagh in his company. He hesitated a great deal at acting as my guide, but made no attempt to exaggerate the dangers of the road. He merely urged that there was more chance of detection by our going together, and proposed that we should take different roads, and meet outside of the city, to which I objected. I left him to transact some business, my mind dwelling all the time on the means of accomplishing my object.

‘I had, some days previously, witnessed the preparation of plans which were being made by direction of Sir James Outram to assist the commander-in-chief in his march into Lucknow for the relief of the besieged, and it then occurred to me that some one with the requisite local knowledge ought to attempt to reach his excellency’s camp beyond or at the Alum Bagh. The news of Sir Colin Campbell’s advance revived the idea, and I made up my mind to go myself at two o’clock, after finishing the business I was engaged upon. I mentioned to Colonel R. Napier, chief of Sir James Outram’s staff, that I was willing to proceed through the enemy to the Alum Bagh, if the general thought my doing so would be of service to the commander-in-chief. He was surprised at the offer, and seemed to regard the enterprise as fraught with too much danger to be assented to; but he did me the favour of communicating the offer to Sir James Outram, because he considered that my zeal deserved to be brought to his notice.

‘Sir James did not encourage me to undertake the journey, declaring that he thought it so dangerous that he would not himself have asked any officer to attempt it. I, however, spoke so confidently of success, and treated the dangers so lightly, that he at last yielded, and did me the honour of adding, that if I succeeded in reaching the commander-in-chief, my knowledge would be a great help to him.

‘I secretly arranged for a disguise, so that my departure might not be known to my wife, as she was not well enough to bear the prospect of an eternal separation. When I left home, about seven o’clock in the evening, she thought I was gone on duty for the night to the mines; for I was working as an assistant field-engineer, by order of Sir James Outram.

‘By half-past seven o’clock my disguise was completed, and when I entered the room of Colonel Napier, no one in it recognised me. I was dressed as a budmash, or as an irregular soldier of the city, with sword and shield, native-made shoes, tight trousers, a yellow silk koortah over a tight-fitting white muslin shirt, a yellow-coloured chintz sheet thrown round my shoulders, a cream-coloured turban, and a white waistband or kumurbund. My face, down to the shoulders, and my hands, to the wrists, were coloured with lampblack, the cork used being dipped in oil to cause the colour to adhere a little. I could get nothing better. I had little confidence in the disguise of my features, and I trusted more to the darkness of the night; but Sir James Outram and his staff seemed satisfied. After being provided with a small double-barrelled pistol, and a pair of broad pyjamahs over the tight drawers, I proceeded with Kanoujee Lall to the right bank of the river Goomtee, running north of our intrenchment, accompanied by Captain Hardinge, of the irregular cavalry.

‘Here we undressed and quietly forded the river, which was only about four and a half feet deep, and about a hundred yards wide at this point. My courage failed me while in the water, and if my guide had been within reach, I should perhaps have pulled him back and abandoned the enterprise; but he waded quickly through the stream. Reaching the opposite bank, we went crouching up a ditch for three hundred yards, to a grove of low trees on the edge of a pond, where we stopped to dress. While we were here, a man came down to the pond to wash, and went away again without observing us.

‘My confidence now returned to me, and with my tulwar resting on my shoulder we advanced into the huts in front, where I accosted a matchlockman, who answered to my remark that the night was cold: “It is very cold – in fact, it is a cold night.” I passed him, adding that it would be colder by and by.

‘After going six or seven hundred yards further, we reached the iron bridge over the Goomtee, where we were stopped and called over by a native officer who was seated in an upper-storied house, and seemed to be in command of a cavalry picket, whose horses were near the place saddled. My guide advanced to the light, and I stayed a little back in the shade. After being told that we had come from Mundeon – our old cantonment, and then in the possession of the enemy – and that we were going into the city to our homes, he let us proceed. We continued on along the left bank of the river to the stone bridge, which is about eight or nine hundred yards from the iron bridge, passing unnoticed through a number of sepoys and matchlockmen, some of whom were escorting persons of rank in palanquins preceded by torches.

‘Recrossing the Goomtee by the stone bridge, we went by a sentry unobserved, who was closely questioning a dirtily dressed native, and into the chowk or principal street of the city of Lucknow, which was not illuminated as much as it used to be previous to the siege, nor was it so crowded. I jostled against several armed men in the street without being spoken to, and only met one guard of seven sepoys, who were amusing themselves with some women of pleasure.

‘When issuing from the city into the country, we were challenged by a chowkeedar, or watchman, who, without stopping us, merely asked who we were. The part of the city traversed that night by me seemed to have been deserted by at least a third of its inhabitants.

‘I was in great spirits when we reached the green fields, into which I had not been for five months. Everything around us smelt sweet, and a carrot I took from the roadside was the most delicious I had ever tasted. I gave vent to my feelings in a conversation with Kanoujee Lall, who joined in my admiration of the province of Oude, and lamentation that it was now in the hands of wretches whose misgovernment and rapacity were ruining it.

‘A further walk of a few miles was accomplished in high spirits. But there was trouble before us. We had taken the wrong road, and were now quite out of our way in the Dil Koosha Park, which was occupied by the enemy. I went within twenty yards of two guns to see what strength they were, and returned to the guide, who was in great alarm, and begged I would not distrust him because of the mistake, as it was caused by his anxiety to take me away from the pickets of the enemy. I bade him not to be frightened of me, for I was not annoyed, as such accidents were not unfrequent even when there was no danger to be avoided. It was now about midnight. We endeavoured to persuade a cultivator, who was watching his crop, to shew us the way for a short distance, but he urged old age and lameness; and another, whom I peremptorily told to come with us, ran off screaming, and alarmed the whole village. We next walked quickly away into the canal, running under the Char Bagh, in which I fell several times, owing to my shoes being wet and slippery and my feet sore. The shoes were hard and tight, and had rubbed the skin off my toes, and cut into the flesh above the heels.

‘In two hours more we were again in the right direction, two women in the village we passed having kindly helped us to find it. About two o’clock we reached an advanced picket of sepoys, who told us the way, after asking where we had come from, and whither we were going. I thought it safer to go up to the picket, than to try to pass them unobserved.

‘Kanoujee Lall now begged I would not press him to take me into the Alum Bagh, as he did not know the way in, and the enemy were strongly posted around the place. I was tired, and in pain from the shoes, and would therefore have preferred going into the Alum Bagh; but, as the guide feared attempting it, I desired him to go on to the camp of the commander-in-chief, which he said was near Bunnee (a village eighteen miles from Lucknow) upon the Cawnpore road. The moon had risen by this time, and we could see well ahead.

‘By three o’clock we arrived at a grove of mango-trees, situated on a plain, in which a man was singing at the top of his voice. I thought he was a villager, but he got alarmed on hearing us approach; and astonished us, too, by calling out a guard of twenty-five sepoys, all of whom asked questions. Kanoujee Lall here lost heart for the first time, and threw away the letter intrusted to him for Sir Colin Campbell. I kept mine safe in my turban. We satisfied the guard that we were poor men travelling to Umroula, a village two miles this side of the chief’s camp, to inform a friend of the death of his brother by a shot from the British intrenchment at Lucknow, and they told us the road. They appeared to be greatly relieved on discovering that it was not their terrible foe, who was only a few miles in advance of them. We went in the direction indicated by them, and after walking for half an hour we got into a jheel or swamp, which are numerous and large in Oude. We had to wade through it for two hours up to our waists in water, and through weeds; for before we found out that we were in a jheel, we had gone too far to recede. I was nearly exhausted on getting out of the water, having made great exertions to force our way through the weeds, and to prevent the colour being washed off my face. It was nearly gone from my hands.