Volume 2, Chapter XII.

THE RELIEF OF CAWNPORE.

The news of the fearful outbreak in India had taken the English by surprise. The dreadful atrocities of Cawnpore, the massacres perpetrated by Nana Sahib, who had ever been looked upon as the Englishman's friend, had carried a sense of woe and desolation to the heart of the land, but the first numbing sense of sorrow had passed, and many a gallant fellow was on his way to India to wipe out the stain, which the revolt of her Sepoy army had cast upon the time-honoured banner of England.

"Lucknow has fallen!" were the words which met Major Hughes as he hurried on to the front one bright November morning in the memorable year of 1857. Then came reports of the demise of Sir John Lawrence, and at last, when within a few hours' march of the place itself, a rumour soon changed into a certainty, spread far and wide, announcing the death of the gallant Havelock. For a time the horizon of the Indian world seemed again clouded over by an event which was wholly unexpected. Lucknow had fallen before a small force, whose determined gallantry had carried all before it, but the man whose masterly brain had planned, and whose daring gallantry had carried out the advance through a country literally swarming with enemies, the soldier under whose direct superintendence the Secunderabagh had been stormed, and who had spared neither health, constitution, nor blood in the cause of his country, had consummated the sacrifice with his life. The gallant Havelock was no more. His body lay in a small grave in the Alumbagh. The flag of England was thrown over him in his death, and his country, though mourning her loss, found another, second perhaps to none, to step into the gap.

"You will take the command of your regiment this day, Major Hughes," said Sir Colin Campbell, as that officer reported himself on the morning of the 26th November, 1857. "You will find the 150th attached to General Outram's brigade, holding the Bunnee Bridge. Report yourself at once, and take your command," he continued, rising as he spoke.

This order was given in the sharp tones of one who had not a moment to lose; and Hughes, saluting his superior, turned to carry it out, without a word.

The general's tent was pitched in the Dil Kooshah Park, and the scene of confusion through which he picked his way was enough to confuse anyone. Regiment after regiment passed him. Infantry, cavalry, and artillery, all moving in one direction towards the Alumbagh, and it became evident that some great movement was going on. Ladies were to be seen wandering hopelessly about with children poorly provided for, only lately rescued from imminent peril. Guns lay here and there, which not being worth taking away, had been burst. Camp followers were shouting and quarrelling, and a scene of more inextricable confusion could hardly be imagined. Moving along with the crowd, Major Hughes found his way to the Martiniere, where lay Brigadier Little and a cavalry brigade. On the banks of the canal the 63rd Regiment and the 4th Sikh infantry were bivouacked, and soon he stumbled on the lines of the 93rd Highlanders, and of Captain Peel's gallant Naval Brigade. The heavy dome of the Shah Nujeef mosque lay before him, its walls pierced for musketry, and breached by the fire of the British guns; and there stood the Secunderabagh itself, with its yawning breaches and shattered walls. The gardens of the doomed city had been destroyed, the mosques, houses, even to the European mess-house, had been in detail carried by storm. In one spot alone, the bodies of three thousand mutineers had been found, every corpse showing that death had been caused by the deadly bayonet. Major Hughes had proceeded thus far, and was just asking his way from a captain of the Royal Artillery, when down a roughly cut road, his horse white with foam, came an officer of the 9th Lancers.

Pulling up with a sharp jerk, which brought the tired animal on his haunches, and sent the light gravel flying in the air--

"You are Major Hughes, commanding the 150th?" he asked.

"I am; on my way to report myself as having joined."

"You will find the chief in the Martiniere compound. Officers commanding regiments are directed to join him there. Evil tidings have arrived."

Touching his horse with the spur the officer dashed on.

"Who is that?" inquired Hughes from his companion; "I saw him with Sir Colin."

"Captain Ogilvie, of the 9th Lancers, aide-de-camp to Sir Colin Campbell," was the reply; "and I'd advise you to be jogging. He himself must be yonder where you see the group of men."

Retracing his steps, Major Hughes soon stood in the Martiniere compound. A group of officers of all arms surrounded Sir Colin. Colonel Hay, 93rd Regiment, was speaking as Hughes strode up, and just outside the group an officer dismounted, but holding his horse by the bridle, stood listening. The poor fellow's uniform was torn and dirty, the horse, whose colour had once been grey, was now of a blue black with sweat and foam, his head was hanging down, and it was evident that steed and rider were dropping with fatigue.

A twisted scrap of paper was between Sir Colin's fingers, his brows were knit, and the forage-cap he wore was pushed from his forehead.

"Bad news from Cawnpore," whispered an officer of Hussars, as Major Hughes joined the group.

"What has gone wrong?" asked the latter.

"The Gwalior Contingent have attacked the city, and poor Edwardes yonder has managed to get through their lines, the bearer of urgent requests for help."

"Silence, gentlemen," said Sir Colin. "There is not an hour to be lost. The troops will break ground immediately, falling back from their position of Dil Kooshah and the Martiniere. Commanding officers of corps will at once make their preparations, and will move at daybreak, taking up their several positions on the plain below the city, exactly where each corps bivouacked before the attack. Good morning, gentlemen. Captain Gough, send the Quartermaster-General to me. Major Hughes, give this to General Outram," he continued, handing him a note. The little crowd of officers melted away, and borrowing a horse from a captain of Lancers, Major Hughes rode through the confusion, towards the Bunnee camp, the position occupied by General Outram.

It was past midnight when he reached the lines, and was challenged by the outlying pickets, yet he found the General awake and watchful, for every now and then a heavy prolonged thud shook the air, telling of the firing of great guns, and though Cawnpore was forty miles away yet every man of the little army knew that the Gwalior mutineers, with a force far exceeding any which Sir Colin Campbell could bring against them, were pressing hard upon the handful of men who garrisoned the entrenchments.

Major Hughes delivered his letter. It contained an enclosure from Brigadier Carthew, telling a sad tale. One after another the different outposts had been taken, and given to the flames. The enormous force opposed to them was literally crushing out the handful of the defenders of Cawnpore, and unless immediate help came all were lost. Such were the details, of which he was the bearer, and they were disastrous enough. The note itself directed Brigadier Outram to move forward one portion of the force early the next morning, Sir Colin Campbell proposing to join the advanced guard.

"Major Hughes, you will be under arms by daybreak." "Good night" were the only words which greeted him, as General Outram turned to his aide-de-camp and summoned his staff round him to make his arrangements for the advance.

"Take this to Brigadier Greathead. The 8th, the 2nd Punjaub Infantry, with the 150th Regiment will form the advance," were the last words which reached his ears as he stepped forth into the night, to find his corps as best he might. A sentry, who had held his horse, pointed out the lines of the 150th, and taking his way to a large tent which he rightly conjectured to be the mess tent, the officers were soon roused, and flocking around him.

"Do you remember I said you were a lucky fellow, Major," said Harris, as he shook his commanding officer warmly by the hand, "that night when we shot the tiger at Bellary?"

"I think you were the lucky fellow, then," replied Major Hughes, laughing.

"Yes, but only fancy Colonel Desmond being sent home on sick leave. Colonel Sedley invalided from the effects of that ball through the lungs at Quatre Bras, and you joining just in time to take the command."

"Well, it was lucky, I must own. And what has become of Major Ashley?"

"Hit in the neck at the storming of the Dilkhoosha House,"--replied Harris, now Lieutenant of the Light Company; "but here's Curtis."

"How are you, Curtis?"

"Glad to see you once more among us," was the reply, as that officer, now the senior captain of the regiment, shook hands with him, "and where's the Kaffir bride you promised to bring back?" he added, laughing.

And one after another flocked in, roused out of their well-earned slumbers by the hasty summons, glad to welcome an old comrade, and pleased to hear of the advance.

"I say, Biddulph, won't we trounce those Gwalior chaps? They'd have done better to have stayed at Calpee, and they'll know it when old Colin gets at them."

"There goes the reveille," replied Biddulph, as the quivering notes of the bugle rose on the air, the morning light just breaking grey over the plain, showing the tents of the little force lying here and there.

"The 150th Regiment will fall in at once, and move off on the Cawnpore road, as soon as ready," shouted a mounted orderly officer as he rode up.

"Major Hughes, the Brigadier desires you will cover your advance with the Light Company, and move on slowly, the sooner the better."

Saluting as he spoke with his sword, the officer rode away to deliver his orders, and the work of inspecting their several companies went on rapidly by the regimental officers of the corps destined to lead the advance.

For the first time Major Hughes, as he sat on his borrowed horse in the grey dawn, found himself in command of the regiment he had entered as an ensign, and that too with an enemy of overpowering strength in his front. He thought of Isabel, his wife, "where was she now?" and then the memories of the past thronged quickly upon him; the elephant hunt on the Shire river, the "Halcyon," the death of the old noble; and he had left that brave wife, who had herself been the first to bid him go alone, without a protector. What if he fell in the unequal fight which was to take place? and then on the sharp morning air came the subdued but heavy thud, which told him of his countrymen and countrywomen in dire peril, with the soldiers of the treacherous Nana gathering closely around them. The Adjutant rode up, giving in his report. Was there a quiver in the voice which gave the order, "With ball cartridge. Load?"

The regiment stood in column of companies, bayonets fixed and shouldered, the Grenadier company leading.

"By double files from the centre rear wing to the front. Two centre sections outwards wheel," were the words of command, hoarsely shouted. "Quick march."

By this manoeuvre, the two centre sections of each company opening out, permitted that immediately in their rear to pass through their ranks. Thus the Light Company, from being in rear of all, now became the leading one, advancing through the opened sections four deep at the double, each company closing its ranks, and following in its turn, the Grenadiers forming the rear guard.

"Captain Curtis, throw out the light bobs as skirmishers, and advance cautiously," said Hughes, the men having cleared the Grenadiers, and again formed up as a company.

The notes of the bugle sounding the Light Infantry call to extend from the centre, floated on the air; the light company obeyed it, spreading across the country, their right flank resting on the left of the skirmishers of the Punjaub Infantry, their own left on the right of the Light Bobs of H.M.'s 8th Foot, the whole regiment moving off along the Cawnpore road just as the bugles of the different brigades rang out on the plain, and the guns of Colonel Bourchier's battery of Horse Artillery came jingling along in rear.

"How slowly we move on, with the halt sounding every moment, Curtis!" said Major Hughes, as he sat on his horse at the head of the regiment, speaking to his senior captain, towards midday of the 27th of November.

"Slowly indeed, and our force is weak, in artillery particularly. Two troops of Horse Artillery, the Naval Brigade, one heavy field battery, and three light ones, with the 4th, 5th, and 6th Infantry Brigades, and a handful of cavalry, seem a small force."

"The more the honour for us; they shall hear of us with pride in the old land," answered Hughes. "If ever we meet those scoundrels of Nana's with the bayonet, we will teach them a lesson."

The regiment was halted near the village of Onao, on a slight eminence, and the two officers looking back could see the long tortuous march of the little army, while far away, far as the eye could reach, the plain was covered with the vast horde of camp followers, which is the great pest of a march in India, mixed with camels and baggage waggons.

The jingling of accoutrements was now heard, as, at a sharp trot, a splendid regiment of English cavalry moved to the front.

"Look out, 150th, there'll be sharp work for you soon!" shouted the officer commanding, as he rode past, his words replied to by a cheer from the men.

"Major Hughes, call in your light company!" shouted an orderly officer, as he dashed on, not checking his horse. "The Lancers will act as videttes."

Almost at the same moment, the bugles of the 8th Regiment on the left, and the Punjaub Infantry on the right, were heard, sounding the recall, as an officer of Hodgson's Horse came up at a hard gallop from the front.

"Bad news from Cawnpore!" he shouted. "Wyndham's hard pressed; all his outposts driven in, and hardly able to hold his entrenchments!"

"Steady, men, steady!" called Hughes, as a thrill of excitement ran through the corps.

"Orders for the 150th to press to the front!" shouted another orderly officer, as he galloped past.

"One Hundred and Fiftieth, attention! Shoulder arms! Slope arms! By your right! Quick, march! Steady, men! Officers commanding companies, look to your distance!" were the words of command, as the whole force moved on leaving Onao after a couple of hours' halt, and still following the Cawnpore road.

Sir Hope Grant now rode with the advance, and the cavalry videttes on the flanks had an idle time of it, for not the trace of an enemy was to be seen, while every hour caused the heavy cannonade in front to be heard louder and louder.

The morning of the 28th dawned, and Sir Colin Campbell's force encamped on the banks of the Ganges, with the city of Cawnpore in its front. A bridge of boats had been thrown across the river, as it afterwards appeared, and this bridge had, by some unaccountable oversight, been overlooked by the mutineers.

"Where are Major Hughes's quarters?" asked a mounted dragoon of Hodgson's Horse, before daylight, on the morning of the 29th, making the inquiry of an out-picket of the corps.

"Yonder," replies the man, pointing to a tent, whose single pole was surmounted with a small fluttering flag.

The man rode on. Before the tent door lay several servants fast asleep. The one nearest the trooper, as he checked his horse near the tent pegs, was lying on his face. The dragoon, leaning from his saddle, pricked the sleeper gently in the bareback with the point of his sword, intending to rouse him; but, thus rudely woke from deep sleep, the man thought at once that a snake had bitten him, commencing a series of howlings, which at once effectually roused the occupants of the tent.

"What on earth is the matter?" asked Hughes and the adjutant of the regiment, who had both thrown themselves down on the ground to sleep, dressed as they were.

"Just stop that fellow's bellowing, Reynolds, will you?" said Hughes, as he advanced to the mounted orderly, who, saluting, handed him a written note.

"Brigadier Hope's Brigade will hold itself in readiness to carry the bridge at eight o'clock a.m., on the morning of the 29th."

Here followed details as to the formation of the various corps.

"Let the orderly sergeants fall in, Reynolds," said Major Hughes, as he handed the trooper a receipt, and half an hour after, the 150th broke ground at the quick step, but in perfect silence, moving across the flat plain towards the Ganges, here spanned by a bridge of boats, the approach to which was covered by the guns of the Naval Brigade.

"There's Remington's Horse Artillery," said Reynolds, pointing to a battery; "and there are the dragoons."

"Commanding officers of regiments to the front!" was the order now given.

"You will content yourselves, gentlemen, with your assigned positions; your orders are first to gain then to hold your ground, and act purely on the defensive. The 150th will have the honour of carrying the bridge," said Sir Hope Grant.

"At this moment a heavy gun was fired from the camp, when, and, as if in answer to it, Peel's Naval Battery opened fire, and shortly after, Wyndham's from the entrenchments, replied to by the artillery of the Gwalior rebels.

"You will push your pickets on to the banks of the Ganges Canal. And now, Major Hughes, show us the way."

The next instant Hughes was at the head of his regiment, and dashing over the bridge at the double. The fierce cannonade still continued; but whether from apathy or want of forethought, the English column was not meddled with, but quietly allowed to pass the bridge, and establish itself in the buildings called the Dragoon Barracks, and those adjoining it. This at once opened a communication with Wyndham's force, and left the road to Allahabad free, enabling Sir Colin Campbell to send away his enormous train of women, children, wounded, and non-combatants, over the bridge of boats thus secured by the gallantry of Major Hughes and his regiment. The object was gained, as hour after hour, and day after day, passed the long files of those who had been the little army's greatest encumbrances, the helpless women and children.

It was early morning, and singularly enough a heavy fog had settled down on the banks of the Ganges, while a cool breeze was driving it along in densely packed masses, sometimes lifting a little, but only to settle down more heavily than ever on the domes and minarets of Cawnpore. It rolled among the long lines of white tents, and along the canal banks, while a heavy dull explosion, coming from the town, seemed to shake the dense vapour from time to time, and show a lurid patch near the guns. Then came the crashing sound of splintering wood, and tumbling bricks, telling that the mutineers of Oude had found out their mistake, and were cannonading the Dragoon Barracks, where the 150th Regiment had entrenched themselves. In the English camp all was quiet. The possession of the bridge of boats, and of the line of the canal, had given Sir Colin what he wanted, communication with Wyndham's entrenchments, and also with Allahabad, and so enabled him to rid himself of the most fearful accumulation of non-combatants an army was ever called upon to encumber itself with.

"I feel uneasy, I know not why," said Major Hughes to his adjutant, Lieutenant Reynolds, as they stood within a roughly constructed barricade, near the race stand, his regiment supplying the main picket, posted close to the Trunk Road, leading to Allahabad.

"Who holds Saint Salvador House?"

"A strong detachment of our 53rd, Major," was the reply.

"It's a nasty morning, Reynolds, just visit the outlying pickets, and tell Biddulph to keep a sharp look-out."

The adjutant wrapped himself in his cloak, and went out into the rolling fog, and his superior officer, leaning against an upright post, his drawn sword in his hand, listened eagerly for any passing noise.

He began speculating as to the chance of an attack on the important post he held, covering the road by which the wounded, the ladies and children were making their weary way towards safety. Isabel was safe in her little home looking over the Indian Ocean, but there were many Isabels among that sad column, equally dear to others, and whose safety was in his hands.

"Captain Robertson," he said, speaking to one of a group of officers, who were laughing and chatting near, with their swords drawn, "get the men under arms at once. Pandy will never miss such a chance of surprise as this fog gives him."

The picket, consisting of about two hundred rank and file, were soon under arms, and the grey dawn was just breaking through the mist, when suddenly the explosion of a single musket was heard, followed by several others, then a heavy volley from the front.

"I thought so!" exclaimed Hughes, with a sigh, as though his breast was relieved of a great weight.

Firing as they were driven in, the officers and men of the outlying picket were now to be seen through the dense mist as clearing away from the front of the line; the well-trained fugitives dashed round the flanks and re-formed under cover of the race stand.

"Steady, my lads, aim low!" shouted the major, as a dark, dense mass of men loomed through the fog, and from the race stand and the stockade near, came the quick, sharp fire of the English musketry, poured at twenty paces distant into the serried ranks of the mutineers.

Staggered by the volley, the attacking party for an instant fell back, the sharp cry of pain, mixing with the yell for revenge, as confident in their numbers, they poured in volley upon volley, and again advanced, literally swarming round the English outposts.

The guns of Wyndham's entrenchment were now heard, replied to hot and fast by those of the Gwalior mutineers, while their Artillery from the town opened a heavy fire on the Dragoon Barracks. Fearfully overmatched, the 150th fought on, the bayonet doing its deadly work, while the clubbed muskets came crashing down on the heads of the assailants as they appeared above the stockade, the deep oath, the loud shout of triumph, the yell of pain, and the scream of agony, mixed with the rattle of the deadly volley poured into the dense files of the rebel force.

"Remember, my lads," shouted Hughes, "the safety of the women and children are in our hands," as his sword descended on the dark shako of a man who had just gained the race stand, and was firing his pistol into the ranks of the 150th. "Ye fight for your wives and your children," he shouted, as the man, with a deep groan, fell back, impaled on the clustering bayonets of his friends below.

A loud cheer answered his words, taken up by the defenders of the stockade, but now a second column of the enemy, nearly a thousand strong, came dashing along. They were fresh men, and pouring in a volley as they came, they took the little force in flank, seeming to bury it under their heavy mass, as they dashed on. The fight became a _melee_ now.

Major Hughes had received a ball in the shoulder. His adjutant lay on the planking of the stand, with a bullet through his forehead, his fair hair bedabbled in a stream of blood, the groans of the wounded, the sad, pitiful cries for water, rang around him, while the heavy guns from the town and entrenchment, combined with the rattling volleys of musketry, to make a fiendish uproar, such as few had ever heard.

There was no time for thought, it was a hand-to-hand struggle now, but still the loud cry, "Ye fight for your wives and children, men!" rang out, answered by a feeble cheer, from race stand and stockade, and a storm of yells from the swaying, panting crowd of assailants below.

The day was dawning clear now, but the cheers from the stockade became more and more feeble, as man after man went down. No time to load, but the bayonet and clubbed musket are doing their work, doggedly, desperately, and in silence. The British force is melting away, when hark! the feeble cheers from the battered race stand are at last answered, as a long line of tall shakoes and red uniforms comes into view in rear. It was his regiment, the 150th, commanded by its senior captain, Curtis.

"Hurrah, my lads, we are safe now!" shouted Hughes, as he swung himself from the rear of the stand, a desperate leap; and the next moment, without his forage-cap, his face streaked with blood, and begrimed with smoke, stood among his men. "Halt!" shouted his powerful voice, as he waved his sword in his right hand, his left hanging powerless.

"Men of the 150th, prepare to charge!"

The muskets came down with a clang, as of one man.

"Charge;" shouted Major Hughes, and round the stockade, round the stand, with a loud howl for vengeance, came the British line. The shock was tremendous, for the men fought like fiends, while from the two positions which had been so hotly contested, the bright flashes of musketry came thick and fast, mingling their reports with the roar of the heavy guns from town and entrenchment.

The men of the Gwalior Contingent were literally borne back by that terrible bayonet charge, then the whole mass became mixed, the scene more resembling an Irish row than a fight among disciplined men.

Pandies and English were jumbled together, fighting for life, and for revenge more than for victory, the red glare of the guns seen through the rising mist, the shouts and cheers of the men in the race stand, maddening still further the already savage combatants below.

"Clear the way, my hearties," shouted a hoarse voice, as with a loud cheer, the men of Peel's Naval Brigade came laughing and shouting along, after forming behind the grand stand, dragging along a 24-pounder. "Starboard, you may. Heave ahead with the gun."

"Who is commanding officer?" asked Captain Peel. "Here, bugler, sound the recall. Now, my lads, give them Number one broadside, ram in grape!" and as the notes of the bugle sounded in the morning air, the discipline momentarily lost, again regained its hold; and the 150th came streaming back, re-forming behind the gun, Major Hughes grasping the gallant sailor's hand as he passed him.

Staggered by the bayonet charge, the mutineers paused. A man, evidently an officer of high standing, could be seen encouraging them, and urging them on. At length, with a savage yell, the massive column wavered to and fro, the officer, grasping a green flag, dashed forward, full twenty paces in front of his men.

"File firing from the right of companies," shouted Hughes, as the regiment, re-formed, once again, stood in line.

"Take that, you landlubber," shouted a sailor, hitting the mutineer officer over the head with his short cutlass, as the brave fellow dashed at the gun, and cutting it literally in two, the 24-pounder, with its terrible fire of grape, sweeping right through the advancing column.

The mutineers wavered, stopped dead, while with a cheer the gallant tars loaded the gun.

Over the din, came the well-known shout, "Men of the 150th prepare to charge."

"Charge!"

And once more the indomitable British line hurled itself on the foe, who broke and fled just as the tramp of cavalry was heard, and three troops of the Lancers, among whom could be seen the brilliant uniforms of Brigadier Hope Grant's staff, came sweeping over the plain.

The fight had lasted two hours, and was the only attack made on the British picket. The punishment inflicted by the Lancers was severe, and the 24-pounder took an active part in the pursuit.