CHAPTER XX.

DR. HOME AND DR. BRADSHAW AND THE VICTORIA CROSS.

When the gallant Havelock effected his entrance into Lucknow on the 25th of September, 1857, a considerable number of our wounded men who were being conveyed in “doolies,” or hospital litters, were left behind near the Motee Munzil under the charge of a military escort. As soon as the army of rescue had made good its position in the Residency, General Outram, who had assumed the command, despatched a party of 250 men to effect a junction with Colonel Campbell, of the 90th, and to assist him in bringing in the wounded. They ultimately succeeded in this object, but some idea of the dangers they had to encounter may be formed from the following narrative. The doolies containing the wounded remained during the night of the 25th of September in the passage in front of the Motee Munzil Palace without attracting the notice of the enemy. On the morning of the 26th the mutineers opened fire upon them, and numbers were killed by the shot and shells. The surgeons in charge of the wounded behaved with the greatest coolness and courage. One of them, an assistant-surgeon in the artillery, requested one of his brother officers to assist him in an operation. On their way to the spot they were exposed to a constant fire. “Well, Bartrum,” said one of them, “I wish I could see my way out of this.” “Oh,” said the other, “there is no danger whatever.” The words had scarcely passed the lips of the assistant-surgeon when he was shot down. Two minutes before he was speaking of his wife and child, and the pleasure he would have in meeting them in the Residency. They were destined never to meet in this world. The position of the wounded now became critical; they were separated from the main body of the army by about a mile; they were surrounded on all sides by the enemy; their only hope of safety lay in forcing their way to the intrenched camp.

Such was the opinion of Colonel Campbell, of the 90th, who had charge of the escort. Addressing Dr. Home, whom he believed to be the senior medical officer present, he informed him that he had completed his arrangements for conducting the wounded to the Residency, and requested him to take charge of the party. It was of importance to secure the services of some one acquainted with the _locale_ to act as guide. Mr. J. B. Thornhill, a gallant young civilian, anxious for the safety of his relative, Lieutenant H. M. Havelock, who was still among the wounded, expressed his readiness to perform this arduous duty, and the offer was at once accepted by General Outram. He reached the Motee Munzil in safety, and Dr. Home’s party prepared to start under his guidance. Colonel Campbell informed them that after traversing a space of about 340 yards they would no longer be exposed to the fire of the enemy, as there was a way through the palaces skirting the river where they would be sheltered from attack. The military escort of 150 men was placed under the command of Major Simmonds, of the 5th Fusiliers, one of the best and bravest officers we have ever known. He subsequently died of his wounds, leaving a young widow in Mauritius to deplore his loss. No time was lost in collecting the doolies. When all was ready a rush was made for Martin’s house, a stone building about forty yards from where they stood. The moment they left the gate the enemy opened fire on them from a battery across the river. No time was lost in reaching Martin’s house, where they looked for shelter. Their position there was as unsafe as before; the round shot from the enemy’s battery pierced the walls of the house in every direction. After a delay of half on hour they resumed their dangerous march. Major Simmonds advanced in front with the escort to clear the way, followed by the doolies in long procession. They continued their march for two hundred yards without suffering any loss, till they reached a “nullah,” or pond, three or four feet deep, through which they had to wade. Some of the doolie-bearers and wounded were drowned or killed by the enemy’s grape; those who succeeded in crossing reached a street where they were partly sheltered by a high wall.

Major Simmonds did all that could be done for their safety. The gallant escort were shot down right and left, but they kept up a steady fire and never ceased to advance. On leaving this street the guide lost his way; instead of pursuing the path by the river he led them into an oblong square lined on three sides with sheds, which is now familiarly known to every resident in Lucknow as Doolie-square. No sooner had they entered this square than the enemy, who had posted themselves on the roofs of the sheds and behind the walls, opened fire upon them and shot down many of the escort and doolie-bearers. Many of the latter threw down the doolies in despair, and no threats or entreaties on the part of the officers in charge could induce them to take them up again. They either fled or met their fate with stoical indifference; it was the will of Allah, and to Allah’s will they must submit. In the case of a few the instinct of self-preservation was stronger than their creed; they ran the gauntlet of the enemy’s fire and escaped. The medical officers and those who accompanied them rushed through the square till they reached a covered archway opposite to a corner house occupied by the enemy, who fired into them with such destructive effect at the distance of a few yards that the same bullet often passed through several men. If they left the archway they were exposed to the fire of the enemy who were concealed on the roofs of the sheds; to remain there was certain destruction.

Mr. Thornhill, the guide, who had unwittingly brought them into this danger, now proposed that they should retrace their steps and turn the doolies back. This could no longer be done, as the doolie-bearers had abandoned the wounded already in the square, but an effort was made to prevent others from entering it. Dr. Bradshaw and Dr. Home’s apothecary went back and persuaded the doolie-bearers in the rear to resume their burdens and to follow them along the path by the river which the guide had missed; in this way they reached the Residency in safety. Poor Thornhill in passing through the square was twice wounded; one of these wounds proved mortal. Those who remained beneath the archway looked out in every direction for some place of shelter. There was no time to be lost; armed soldiers were entering the square and murdering the helpless men in the doolies. It was a harrowing scene, but Dr. Home never lost his coolness or presence of mind; he stuck to the doolies as a young ensign would stick to his colours in the hour of danger.

On the right side of the archway was an open door leading into a house; here a small party sought for shelter. It consisted of Dr. Home, Captain Becher, of the 40th Native Infantry, Swanson, of the 78th Highlanders, nine soldiers as yet unhurt, and three wounded men. This small party of fifteen persons were hemmed in on every side by the enemy; their only chance of safety lay in holding out till assistance reached them from the Residency. It was now about ten o’clock in the morning; they might not have long to wait. They screened themselves as much as they could from the fire of the rebels, who crowded round the door and might have forced their way in had it not been for the gallant conduct of Private Patrick McManus, of the 5th Fusiliers. This heroic Irishman stood in the gateway as their guardian angel; ensconcing himself behind a pillar near the door, he kept up a steady fire on the enemy for half an hour, and thus prevented them from effecting an entrance. His hand was so steady, his aim so certain, that whenever he raised his piece the cowardly Sepoys fled from their loopholes or prostrated themselves on the ground. There stood McManus, a hero in the strife, keeping the whole multitude of the mutineers at bay. He had not even to fire; he had only to show his rifle, when all the cowardly wretches trembled before him—such was the influence exercised over them by the bearing of one undaunted man. The house at the gateway became the central point of attack; the mutineers assembled there from all quarters, and yelled like beasts of prey thirsting for human blood. As in the Homeric battles, the combatants were so close that they could revile one another. Sometimes the assailants would advance within twenty yards of the house. “The Feringees are cowards,” they would say; “why do they not come into the street?”—an unreasonable question, considering that the Feringees were only fifteen in number and the enemy more than a thousand. On this the redoubted McManus would show his rifle, when the cowards became silent through abject fear. Ah, Patrick McManus, my boy, if the mother that bare you had seen you that day, her old heart would have been proud of you!

The leader of the mutineers abused them for their cowardice. “Come on!” he would say; “what are you afraid of? There are only three Feringees.” On hearing this the gallant little party, wounded and all, would give a loud shout to make the enemy believe that they were more numerous than they really were, and Patrick McManus would peep out from behind his pillar. They also strengthened their position by barricading the door with lumber and with sandbags, to form which they stripped the dead Sepoys of their “cummerbunds,” or waistcloths. The mass of dead bodies which had accumulated round the door served as a barrier to prevent the mutineers from entering. On finding that they could not force the house they directed their fire against the wounded in the doolies, and killed about forty of them.

At this moment an incident occurred which serves to prove what sacrifices our soldiers are ready to make for officers whom they love. In one of the doolies close to the beleaguered house lay Captain Arnold, of the Madras Fusiliers, a gallant officer who had been severely wounded. Among the holders of the house was Private Ryan, of the same regiment, who resolved to make an effort to rescue him from his dangerous position. As he could not do this alone he called for some one to assist him, when Patrick McManus stepped out from behind his pillar and offered to accompany him. He was already wounded in the foot, but a wound was nothing when danger had to be encountered. The two brave men cleared the barricade, rushed through the gateway amid a shower of bullets, and reached the doolie in safety. Here they had to encounter a new difficulty. Their united strength could not raise the doolie from the ground, so they took poor Arnold in their arms and bore him to the house. It is a remarkable fact, that while the ground around them was torn with musket-balls, and Captain Arnold received a wound in the thigh which afterwards proved mortal, both of his deliverers escaped unhurt. Encouraged by their success, they ventured forth a second time and carried in a wounded soldier whose piteous cries had excited their compassion. The result was the same as before; they were safe, but the soldier received two mortal wounds and died before he reached the house. Such incidents almost justify the belief that the age of miracles has not yet passed away.

During this struggle the duties that devolved on Dr. Home, the only unwounded officer in the house, were most arduous. He had to direct and encourage the men by his example, to dress the wounded, and to assist in shooting down their assailants. In all this he was ably assisted by Private Hollowell, of the 78th Highlanders, who proved himself worthy of such a leader. When the rebels found that they could not force an entrance, they stole stealthily up to the window and fired through the plastered venetians. Our men lay down on the floor; the bullets thus passed harmlessly over them. The Sepoys then attempted to rush the house, when Hollowell, watching his opportunity, shot down their leader, an old man, armed with sword and shield, and dressed in white with a red waistband. One man was now told off to fire from each window and three from the door. Dr. Home kept watch and ward at one of the windows with his revolver in his hand; he could see all that was passing in the street through a hole made by a bullet. A Sepoy crept stealthily up to the window at the distance of three yards; the doctor shot him dead with his revolver. Hollowell gave another his quietus, and then for a time all was still.

About an hour elapsed before the attack was resumed. During this interval the beleaguered party broke through the plaster and took up their position in the outer room. Thus far they had made good their defence, but a still greater danger awaited them. As they were congratulating themselves on their success they heard a dull, heavy, rumbling noise. Home started up and shouted, “Now, men, or never! Let us rush out and die in the open air, and not be killed like rats in a hole. They are bringing a gun on us!” The men were preparing to act on this advice, when they observed that it was not a gun but a screen, moved on wheels, which the rebels pushed up against the door. A minié rifle fired at the distance of a few yards made no impression on it. On observing this our men retreated into the room they had formerly occupied, while the enemy mounted on the roof, broke through the plaster, and threw lighted straw down upon them. The house took fire; their position was no longer tenable, and death seemed to stare them in the face.

What were they to do? One thing was evident—they could no longer remain in the house; the smoke and heat had become intolerable. Raising the three most helpless and wounded in their arms, they rushed through the back door into the open square. At the distance of about ten yards they observed a shed on the north side of the square and made for it. During the passage the three wounded men were hit, and subsequently died of their wounds, while those who carried them escaped unhurt. Among the wounded was Lieutenant Swanson, of the 78th, whose name has been already mentioned. They found the floor of the shed covered with dead and dying Sepoys. This movement took the enemy by surprise; they had expected them to issue forth by the door, and not by the way they came; and though the little party was exposed to the fire of at least six hundred men, none but the wounded were hit. On rallying their forces they found that they had six men capable of bearing arms, and four wounded able to do duty as sentries. It was now three o’clock in the afternoon, and, though their position seemed desperate, no one dreamed of surrendering; they knew that they could expect no mercy from their ruthless assailants, and determined to hold out to the last. Their position must be known to the general; Havelock was not a man to abandon them in the hour of danger. Could it be that his gallant little army had been destroyed by the rebels, and that they were the last survivors? If so, their only resource was to hold out to the last and to sell their lives as dearly as possible.

Such were the thoughts that presented themselves to the minds of these heroic men. No time was to be lost; the enemy was already upon them. The shed, which was loopholed in every direction, afforded little shelter; it had been used the day before by the mutineers for the purpose of firing on our army. Two shots were suddenly fired on the little party through a broken passage in one end of the shed; a sentry was placed there to guard it against the enemy. Such was their cowardly terror, that the presence of one man was sufficient to ward them off. They now came creeping stealthily up to the walls, discharged their pieces through the loopholes, and then made off. To guard against this annoyance a sentry was placed at every loophole; the wounded men cheerfully did their duty the same as the others. So long as they had remained in the house at the archway, they had been able to protect the doolies from the attacks of the enemy, but now that they had changed their position they could no longer afford them any assistance. On observing this, the Sepoys came rushing through the gate, and began to massacre the wounded men; some were burnt alive in the doolies; others were cut to pieces by their savage assailants. Their countrymen were saved the horror of witnessing this spectacle, as the enemy, while engaged in this massacre, kept on the other side of the doolies, so as to escape observation; but their blood was chilled and their own sufferings intensified by the piercing shrieks of the tortured men, who were now beyond the reach of all human aid.

At this moment a singular incident occurred. While the Sepoys were passing from doolie to doolie engaged in their ruthless work, they came to one which contained Lieutenant Knight, a wounded officer of the 90th Regiment. A Sowar drew aside the curtain and made a thrust at him with his sword. With that sudden energy which is often imparted to the helpless in the hour of danger, Knight sprang through the opening in the other side of the doolie, and ran off in the direction of the rear-guard, pursued by the enemy, who had witnessed his escape. He was already wounded in the leg, but, notwithstanding this drawback, he succeeded in distancing all his pursuers. More than fifty shots were fired at him, two of which struck him in the legs, making three wounds in all; he had strength, however, to continue his flight till he reached the rear-guard, where he found himself in safety.

On finding that the loopholes in the walls of the shed were guarded, the Sepoys mounted the roof, made holes through it, and began to fire on the party below. Though the muzzles of their pieces were only about four feet from our men, none of the latter were seriously wounded; in truth, the miraculous escapes that occurred on this occasion are so numerous and surprising as to be almost incredible, if they were not well authenticated. As the shed was no longer tenable, they bored through the wall into the courtyard, so as to escape for a moment from the heavy fire from the roof. Their position was desperate; the most sanguine had almost ceased to hope; the strongest were prostrated by hunger, heat, anxiety, and fatigue; the wounded, parched with thirst and terror-struck by the shrieks of the tortured, longed to escape from such misery, and prayed for death at the hands of their countrymen. We have heard men who shared in the horrors of this fearful scene declare that, if they had not been restrained by Christian principle, they would have laid violent hands on themselves, or courted death from the bullets of the enemy.

Such feelings may have sprung up in their minds as they listened to the shrieks of the tortured, and thought of their own fate if they fell into the hands of the enemy; but the love of life is strong, and they continued to defend themselves. Was there no other place of shelter than the shed they occupied? On looking out from the courtyard they observed the rear of a large building at the distance of thirty yards. Dr. Home and one of his party stole cautiously out to reconnoitre; night was setting in, and the darkness was favourable to their undertaking. They reached the building without attracting the notice of the Sepoys, and discovered that it was a large mosque, with an arched opening about eight feet from the ground. By mounting on the shoulders of his companion, Dr. Home was enabled to enter the building through this opening, and found himself in a spacious courtyard looking into a garden. No pious Mussulman was performing his devotions there; the place seemed to have been designed by Providence for their preservation; and Dr. Home, after advancing a short distance into the mosque, returned to the opening in the wall, and beckoned to the others to join him. They hesitated to do so, and during this delay Dr. Home and his companion were discovered by the enemy, who opened fire on them from the roof of the shed, and drove them back to their former position. Their enterprise was not altogether fruitless; inside the mosque they had found a _chatty_ of excellent water belonging to the Sepoys—a prize at that moment far more precious in their eyes than all the gold of Ophir or the diamonds of Golconda. They had been biting cartridges all day; their lips were dry and cracked with thirst; but they thought of the wounded, whose sufferings were still more intense, and carried with them the _chatty_ of water for their relief. All partook of the reviving draught, which, to borrow their own expressive language, “made them twice the men they were before.” It is a common belief among physiologists that water only increases the sufferings of those who have long been unable to satisfy their thirst; but it was not so in this instance. It made them twice the men they were before, and thus enabled them to continue their resistance.

Sentries were told off for the night, and every man who could stand had to take his share of duty. Every loophole had its guardian; owing to the length of the shed none were left unemployed. The darkness which had now set in was favourable to our men; it prevented the enemy on the roof from watching their movements or observing the position they occupied, and enabled them to fire through the roof with the additional advantage of knowing from the sound of their feet where the Sepoys stood. On discovering this, the latter quitted the roof, and for a time all was still; it seemed as if they had given up the attack as hopeless. When the firing ceased, a reaction set in after the fierce excitement of the day; the stoutest hearts were almost appalled by a sense of their desperate condition. They had long since ceased to hope for deliverance; they clung to life with that instinctive feeling which leads the shipwrecked mariner to cling to a plank, though he knows that escape is all but impossible. If the shed was forced, their only thought was to rush forth and sell their lives as dearly as possible. As they listened to the shrieks of the tortured, they swore in their hearts that, come what might, they would never fall into the hands of the enemy. Death had lost all its bitterness; the grim king was stripped of all his dark imagery of terror. If he had come of his own accord, they would have welcomed him as a friend, but as Christian soldiers, whose lives were not their own, they were bound to wait for his coming. And all through the long, dreary hours of that night of horror they _did_ wait for him, but he came not; those who retained their consciousness almost envied the wounded who had become delirious. Their ammunition was almost exhausted; there only remained about seven rounds for six men; if the enemy renewed the attack, all would soon be over. But the enemy did _not_ renew the attack; they found it easier and safer to torture the wounded in the doolies than to dislodge or destroy a few resolute men driven to bay.

Sleep would at times overpower them; they sank down on the floor, but the mental tension was too great to permit them long to rest. Their fearful position was still present to their minds, and after a few minutes of troubled sleep, they would start to their feet with the impression that the enemy were upon them. No enemy appeared; on finding that it was a false alarm, they would keep watch for a time, till, overpowered by sleep and exhaustion, they again sank upon the floor. One desperate man proposed to his comrades to rush forth and fight their way back to the rear-guard; two offered to join him in the attempt; the others refused to leave the wounded in the hands of the enemy.

About two o’clock in the morning they were roused to a fresh life by the sound of heavy firing close at hand. Their hearts leaped to their mouths as they heard the sharp crack of the Enfield rifles and the rush of the enemy over their heads. Hurrah! Havelock had not forgotten them; it was their own countrymen advancing to the rescue. The revulsion of feeling made them wild with joy; they shouted with all their might, “Europeans! Europeans!” they cheered them on to the attack—“Charge them! charge them! Keep to your right!” The firing died away in the distance; in a few minutes all was silent. They listened for the advancing tramp of armed men, but no such sound was heard; again they gave themselves up to despair. Any fate was preferable to further suspense; they agreed to fight their way to the Residency or perish in the attempt; but on creeping forward under the shadow of the building, they observed a large body of men clustered round a fire in the archway. Escape in that way was evidently impossible; it would have been madness for a few starving men to attack a body of the enemy who had just repulsed our own troops; so they crept back to their former place of shelter. The bitterness of death was already past; they could meet their fate with indifference. The dreary hours passed silently on till a little after daybreak, when they heard the sound of distant firing; it failed to rouse them from their apathy; the hope of deliverance had died out within them. The sound came nearer and nearer, till at length they could distinguish the sharp crack of the Enfields, and the regular rattling volleys which told them that their countrymen were at hand. Ryan, the sentry, with the usual vivacity of his country, was the first to express the feelings of his comrades; jumping up with sudden energy, he shouted, “Oh, boys! them’s our own chaps!” Ryan’s language was far from being elegant or correct; but their position was too critical for weighing the niceties of speech, and we question whether Demosthenes himself could have spoken more to the point. Its effect was immediate and striking; those who were prostrated by despair sprang to their feet with renewed energy, and shouted to their deliverers to keep to the right. “Cheer together, men,” cried Home. They cheered, and waited anxiously for the result. They had not long to wait; a ringing cheer came back from their countrymen, which told them that deliverance was at hand. They had still a few charges remaining; these were expended on the Sepoys, who were firing from the loopholes on our men. The enemy were soon dislodged; the party of rescue forced their way into the shed; Dr. Home received the congratulations of his countrymen on his successful resistance, and the wounded, whom he had defended to the last, were conducted in safety to the Residency.

When the report of their gallant conduct reached England, Home and Bradshaw were rewarded with the Victoria Cross. Mr. Desanges has assigned them a place in his Gallery. All who have read this simple narrative of their heroic defence of the wounded intrusted to their care, will admit that they were entitled to this honourable distinction.