CHAPTER XIV.

INDIA.--SOME OTHER CROSSES OF THE MUTINY.

The full tale of the Crosses of the Mutiny (do they not number one hundred and eighty-two in all?) is a long one, and cannot be told here. But before bringing this chapter of V.C. history to a close I must tell of yet a few more and the manner of their winning, for they call to mind deeds which we ought not willingly to let fade from our memories.

I would like much to dwell, did space permit, on Lawrence’s heroic stand at the Lucknow Residency; to tell of Lieutenant Robert Aitken of the Bailey Guard “Post,” who won the V.C. many times over in that six-months’ siege; of brave Commissioner Gubbins; and of Captain Fulton, the garrison engineer, who had a countermine for every mine that the rebels drove under the British defences, and to whom the dangerous game of sepoy hunting above and below earth was “great fun and excitement.” They were gallant fellows all, and the record of their exploits is truly an inspiring one; but I must hurry on to the taking of Lucknow, and to the story of the V.C.’s gained in that last desperate struggle for supremacy.

When Sir Colin Campbell started on his march to the relief of Havelock and Outram he had an army of only some 4700 men, but in this force were picked regiments such as the 93rd Highlanders, the 9th Lancers, Hodson’s Horse, the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, and the 53rd Foot (the “Shropshires”), together with some squadrons of Sikh cavalry and two regiments of Punjab infantry. The famous 93rd were Sir Colin’s special favourites. They had been with him in the Crimea, and had formed the “thin red line” which had so successfully routed the Russian cavalry. “You are my own lads, Ninety-third!” he said, addressing them at the parade at Buntera, “and I rely on you to do the work;” to which the stern-faced Highlanders, mindful of what had been done at Cawnpore, responded with a mighty shout.

How well the 93rd acquitted themselves is to be read in any history; what is of particular interest here is that they gained no fewer than seven Crosses in the Lucknow fighting.

Four of these belong to the fierce assault on the Secunderabagh, the first and most formidable rebel position to be attacked. When the artillery had made a breach in the face of the fortress wall there was a race between Sikhs and Highlanders to be the first in. Accounts differ as to the result; some say a Sikh won the honour, being shot dead instantly; others a Highlander, who suffered the same fate. However that may be, it is pretty certain that Lance-Corporal Dunley of the 93rd (Archibald Forbes writes him down an Irishman) was the first man of his regiment to reach the goal and get through alive.

Behind him streamed Highlanders and Sikhs, tumbling in with bayonets fixed, before which the sepoys fell in scores. There were upwards of 2000 rebels in the Secunderabagh, and but three or four, says Lord Roberts, dropped over the wall on the city side and escaped. Every other man of them was killed. The carnage that took place within the courtyard almost passes description.

In the first terrible rush, which resolved itself into a series of personal combats, Private P. Grant and Colour-Sergeant J. Munro distinguished themselves by saving the lives of two officers. Grant saw his officer in difficulties with a crowd of sepoys whose colour he had captured, and rushing up cut down five of the rebels. That was not the only sepoy ensign taken that day, for Private D. Mackay secured one after a fierce contest and bore it triumphantly away.

Dunley, Grant, Munro, and Mackay were elected by their comrades as most worthy to be decorated when their regiment was singled out for distinction, and each duly received the V.C.

There was a Punjabi Mahommedan, by the way, Mukarrab Khan by name, who in this same Secunderabagh fight earned the V.C. as much as did any man. Lord Roberts, who was an eye-witness, tells the story of his bravery. The enemy, he says, having been driven out of the earthwork, made for the gateway, which they nearly succeeded in shutting behind them. But just as the doors were closing Mukarrab Khan pushed his left arm, on which he bore a shield, between them. A sword-cut slashed his hand, whereupon the dauntless Mahommedan, withdrawing his left arm, thrust in his right, and had his other hand all but severed at the wrist. He gained his object, however, for he kept the doors from being closed until his comrades rushed to his help and forced them open.

It was an act of heroic devotion, and it is satisfactory to know that Mukarrab Khan was awarded the Order of Merit, which is the Indian equivalent of the V.C., and carries with it an increase of pay.

At the taking of the Shah Nujeef, on the same day, the 16th of November 1857, Sergeant John Paton, of the 93rd, did a daring thing, which added another V.C. to the regimental record.

The Shah Nujeef was a mosque built over the tomb of an old king of Oudh, a massively built structure with loopholed walls, and the guns of the Naval Brigade, under Captain Peel, were unable to make a breach. As night was fast coming on, Sir Colin Campbell determined to make a bold effort to carry the place by storm, and called on the Highlanders to follow him. That the 93rd would have scaled the walls of the mosque though half of them fell in the task need not be doubted, but fortunately they were not called on to do so.

Soon after the order to advance had been given, Sergeant Paton came tearing down the ravine with the news that he had discovered a breach in the north-east corner of the rampart, close by the river Goomtee. “It appears,” says Forbes-Mitchell of the 93rd, who records the incident, “that our shot and shell had gone over the first breach, and had blown out the wall on the other side in this particular spot. Paton told how he had climbed up to the top of the ramparts without difficulty, and seen right inside the place, as the whole defending force had been called forward to repulse the assault in front.”

A detachment was promptly sent round to this point with the sergeant as guide, and an entrance to the position effected. But the sepoys, finding themselves thus taken in the rear, gave up the fight and fled with all speed.

The other two V.C. heroes of the Highlanders were Captain Stewart, who headed a splendid charge against the rebel guns at the position known as the Mess-house; and Lieutenant and Adjutant William M’Bean, who at the onslaught on the Begumbagh Palace bore himself like a paladin of old, and was seen to slay eleven sepoys single-handed. M’Bean was a mighty figure in a corps wherein every man was a doughty fighter, and the tale of his exploits is a notable one. An Inverness ploughman before he enlisted, he rose to command the regiment which he had entered as a private, and died a Major-General.

I have mentioned the Naval Brigade in connection with the attack on the Shah Nujeef. Peel’s gallant bluejackets, whom we last met doing great things at Sebastopol, had been hurried to India from their station at Hong Kong, immediately news arrived of the outbreak of the Mutiny; and after smelling powder at Cawnpore and other places they accompanied the relief army to Lucknow.

Right up under the frowning walls of the mosque did they run their useful 24-pounders, as coolly as if “laying alongside an enemy’s frigate,” to use Sir Colin’s own words. But the guns were not powerful enough to break down the masonry. Despite the obvious hopelessness of the task, however, Lieutenant Young and Seaman William Hall (a negro, be it noted) fearlessly stood by their gun, reloading and pounding away at the wall under a most deadly fire, and only desisting when the order eventually came to fall back. They both got the V.C. for that gallant action.

The other Crosses that fell to the Naval men in the same fight were won by a young lieutenant whose name still figures on the Active List as Admiral Sir Nowell Salmon, G.C.B., and Boatswain’s Mate John Harrison. These two pluckily volunteered to climb trees that overlooked the mosque walls and reconnoitre the rebel position, at the same time picking off the sepoys with their rifles. A mark at once for the rebel sharpshooters, who quickly espied them, both men drew upon themselves a heavy fire, but though they were wounded they accounted for several mutineers ere clambering down from their perches, and secured valuable information for their commander.

In the taking of Lucknow young Lieutenant Henry Havelock, son of the famous General, played a prominent part, leading a storming party that captured a palace close to the rebel citadel, the Kaisarbagh. But he had won his V.C. before this, at Cawnpore, where he captured a rebel gun in the face of an appalling fire; and at the Charbagh Bridge, Lucknow, while serving under his father.

His action at the latter place was characteristic of his impulsive bravery. Neill, who held a position by the bridge, would not move to “rush” the sepoys and their guns without orders from Outram. Wheeling his horse, it is said, young Havelock rode off in the direction of the General and his staff, but soon after turning the bend in the road he galloped hastily back to trick Neill into taking action. Giving a salute, he said, “You are to carry the bridge at once, sir!”

Taking this to be an order from the General, Neill gave the word to advance, and Arnold of the Madras Fusiliers led his men forward in a gallant charge, being shot down almost immediately. A storm of grape swept the bridge clear, and Havelock found himself the only officer--and almost the only man--standing there alive. With a wave of his sword and a shout to the rest of the Fusiliers whom the guns had checked, he led a second charge, and this time the bridge was won.

Young Havelock’s gallantry in the Indian Mutiny marked him out for a distinguished career, and he did not disappoint those who prophesied thus concerning him. As is well known, he became in after years Lieutenant-General Sir Henry Havelock-Allan, Bart., K.C.B.

Among the many other pictures of the Mutiny that present themselves vividly to my mind is one of a young Fusilier officer swimming the river Goomtee in plain sight of any sepoys who might be upon the farther bank, and audaciously climbing up the parapet of a rebel battery. It had been shelled by our troops, but with what success was not known. He stands there on the wall signalling to his impatient comrades that it is abandoned, but it is some time ere their officers will let them follow where he has led. The Highlanders and Sikhs get across the river at last, however, and with a laugh at the discomfited sepoys who have been vainly trying to “pot” him from an adjacent battery, the young officer--Butler by name--hands over his captured position to the new-comers, and swims back to his own regiment.

That was a V.C. exploit, and it holds the imagination as much as does that which won the decoration for Ensign Patrick Roddy of the Bengal Army. The scene of Roddy’s achievement was Kuthirga, and the date September 27, 1858. At the close of an action with a rebel force at this place some of the cavalry were kept at bay for some time by a determined sepoy subadar of a revolted regiment, a tall, powerful fellow. This man knelt alone in the middle of the road and with musket at shoulder covered his enemies.

While his sowars hung back, afraid to face that gleaming barrel, young Roddy did not hesitate. Spurring his horse, he charged straight upon the rebel subadar, who firing at close range brought down the ensign’s horse. Roddy had some difficulty in freeing himself from the stirrups as he lay on the ground, but ere the sepoy could get really to grips with him he managed to draw his sword, and in the tussle ran the fellow through the body. Sir Hope Grant had had occasion previously to remark on the young ensign’s conspicuous bravery, and he took care that this special feat was fittingly rewarded.

Mention of Roddy’s hand-to-hand combat reminds me of the great fight between Sapper Sam Shaw, of the Rifle Brigade, and a white muslin-clad Ghazi, at Nawabgunge. It was after the sharp action at that place in June 1858 that the fanatic was seen to enter a grove of trees. A dozen men hastened in pursuit, but Shaw was easily the first, and coming up with his man he engaged him with the short sword that sappers carry.

A Ghazi at best is a dangerous fellow to tackle, and a Ghazi wounded and at bay, as this one was, might well have made Sam Shaw hesitate before venturing to attack him alone. But the sapper was not a man to think twice of danger, and in he went, sword against tulwar, until after several minutes’ fierce hacking and thrusting he saw his chance to close, and finished the affair with a mighty lunge.

It was a great fight, as I have said, and Sapper Shaw well earned the V.C. he got for it. But against his decoration he had to put a terrible slashing cut on the head from that keen-edged tulwar, a wound that came very near to ending his career then and there.

Last on my list of Mutiny V.C.’s come Lance-Corporal William Goate, of the 9th Lancers, and that popular hero, Sir Evelyn Wood, whose names still figure in the list of surviving recipients of the Cross for Valour.

Goate had just been three years and a half in the Lancers when the Mutiny broke out. His regiment was stationed at Umballa at the time, and proceeded at once to Delhi. After the fall of the old Punjab capital he was at the second captures of Cawnpore and Lucknow, taking part in some of the fiercest engagements of the campaign, and it was here--at Lucknow--that he performed the deed of valour which won him the Cross.

On the 6th of March--a blazing hot day, it is recorded--there was a bold sortie from the rebel lines which a British brigade was sent to repulse. The 9th Lancers was one of the regiments ordered to charge, and away they went, neck and neck with the 2nd Dragoons, for the enemy who had taken up their position on the racecourse. The sepoys broke before the onset of the cavalrymen, but the latter at length had to retire owing to a heavy fire from artillery and battery.

In the ride back Major Percy Smith, of the Dragoons, was shot through the body and fell from his horse. Corporal Goate was close by, and springing to the ground he quickly lifted the major on to his shoulder and ran with him thus alongside his horse. The major was a heavy weight, however; Goate found himself lagging behind with several of the enemy close upon him. Clearly he couldn’t get away with his burden, so he determined to do what he could for himself and the major. Placing the wounded officer on the ground, he sprang into his saddle and rode at his foes.

“I shot the first sepoy who charged,” he says in his account of the incident, “and with my empty pistol felled another. This gave me time to draw my sword, my lance having been left on the field. The sepoys were now round me cutting and hacking, but I managed to parry every slash and deliver many a fatal thrust. It was parry and thrust, thrust and parry all through, and I cannot tell you how many saddles I must have emptied. The enemy didn’t seem to know how to parry.”

So our brave corporal (he was only a little more than twenty, mind you) “settled accounts with a jolly lot,” and was still hard at it when some of his comrades came to his assistance. In the fight his horse had carried him some distance from where the major lay, and when the rebels had been forced back he went out again to look for him. Poor Major Smith was found after a long search, but it was a mutilated corpse that was brought sadly and reverently back to the camp.

Sir Colin Campbell and Sir Hope Grant had seen Goate’s gallant attempt at rescue, and after the action there was a cordial handshake for him from both the veterans, with many compliments upon his pluck that filled the corporal with just pride.

The scene of Sir Evelyn Wood’s principal exploit was the wilds of Sindhora, near Gwalior. It was at the close of the Mutiny, when the rebels had been split up and only kept the fires of rebellion burning in detached districts. After a fatiguing pursuit of some mutineers one day, news came to the young officer’s ears (he was a lieutenant in the 17th Lancers then) that a potail--a loyal native named Chemmum Singh--had been carried off by a band of these marauders. With a duffadar, two or three sowars of Beatson’s Horse, and half a dozen sepoys of the Bareilly Levy, he started off promptly in pursuit.

The mutineers were discovered at night in the jungle, twelve miles away, preparing to hang their captive. Creeping up unseen, Lieutenant Wood and his few followers sprang upon them from several points at once, firing a volley and shouting as if they had a whole company behind them. This was enough for the rebels. They took to their heels incontinently, and before they could rally and discover the numbers of their assailants Wood and his men were riding swiftly back with the released potail.

That daring adventure, together with a very notable rout of rebel cavalry at Sindwaho a little earlier, was sufficient recommendation for the V.C., and the honour, though slow in coming, was eventually bestowed upon him.

It is curious to note how persistently the authorities refused to recognise Evelyn Wood’s valour. In the Crimea, where as a middy he served with the Naval Brigade, he was singled out for distinction for his bravery at the Redan assault; but his claim was ignored, despite the strong protests of his commander, Captain Lushington.

His subsequent career, after he had abandoned the Navy for the Army, should be well known to every British boy. There has not been a war since the Mutiny in which he has not played a leading part,--witness the Ashanti, Zulu, Transvaal, and Egyptian campaigns,--and to-day there is no finer soldier in the service than the ex-Sirdar of the Egyptian army, Field-Marshal Sir Henry Evelyn Wood, G.C.B.