Chapter XXI (2)

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.

Fort of Alum Bagh, near Lucknow.
]

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.

‘I now rested for fifteen minutes, despite the remonstrances of the
guide, and went forward, passing between two pickets of the enemy,
who had no sentries thrown out. It was near four o’clock in the
morning when I stopped at the corner of a tope or grove of trees to
sleep for an hour, which Kanoujee Lall entreated I would not do; but
I thought he overrated the danger, and, lying down, I told him to
see if there was any one in the grove who would tell him where we
then were.

‘We had not gone far when I heard the English challenge “Who comes
there?” with a native accent. We had reached a British cavalry
outpost: my eyes filled with joyful tears, and I shook the Sikh
officer in charge of the picket heartily by the hand. The old
soldier was as pleased as myself when he heard whence I had come;
and he was good enough to send two of his men to conduct me to the
camp of the advance-guard. An officer of her Majesty’s 9th Lancers,
who was visiting his pickets, met me on the way, and took me to his
tent, where I got dry stockings and trousers, and, what I much
needed, a glass of brandy—a liquor I had not tasted for nearly two
months.

‘I thanked God for having safely conducted me through this dangerous
enterprise, and Kanoujee Lall for the courage and intelligence with
which he had conducted himself during this trying night. When we
were questioned, he let me speak as little as possible. He always
had a ready answer, and I feel that I am indebted to him in a great
measure more than to myself for my escape. It will give me great
satisfaction to hear that he has been suitably rewarded.

‘In undertaking this enterprise, I was actuated by a sense of duty,
believing that I could be of use to his excellency the
commander-in-chief when approaching, for its relief, the besieged
garrison, which had heroically resisted the attack of thirty times
its own number for nearly five months, within a weak and irregular
intrenchment; and, secondly, because I was anxious to perform some
service which would insure to me the honour of wearing our Most
Gracious Majesty’s Cross.

‘My reception by Sir Colin Campbell and his staff was cordial and
kind to the utmost degree; and if I never have more than the
remembrance of their condescension and of the heartfelt
congratulation of Sir James Outram and of all the officers of his
garrison on my safe return to them—I shall not repine, though to be
sure having the Victoria Cross would make me a prouder and a happier
man.

‘JAMES CAVANAGH.

‘_Camp, Alum Bagh, Nov. 24._’

GROUP OF MAHRATTA ARMS.—From the Collection of Sir S. Meyrick: _a_
_a_, Helmet; _b_, Sword; _c_, Musket; _d_, Knife and Sheath; _e_,
Mace; _f_, Shield.
]

-----

Footnote 115:

‘Story of the Lucknow Residency,’ chap. xix. pp. 316-337.

Footnote 116:

The _thalookdaree_ system of Oude requires a little explanation, in
relation to the participants in the Revolt. Most of the annexations
effected by the East India Company were followed by changes either in
the ownership of the soil, or in the assessment of land-tax—such
land-tax being the chief item in the Company’s revenue. When the
several annexations occurred, it was found throughout a great part of
India that superior holders—whether proprietors, hereditary farmers of
revenue, or hereditary middlemen—held large tracts of land, in a
middle position between the native governments and the cultivating
communities, and were responsible for the revenue to the state. In
Bengal, these influential men were generally recognised by the Company
as proprietors, and the rights of the sub-holders almost wholly
ignored. In the Northwest Provinces, acquired by the Company at a much
later date, the thalookdars, zemindars, or whatever these landowners
may have been called, were generally set aside; but the asserted
rights of some of them became subjects of endless litigation in the
courts of law; the landowners frequently obtained decrees against the
Company, and many received a percentage in compromise of their rights
or claims. In Oude, annexed in 1856, the thalookdaree system was
particularly strong. Almost the whole country had by degrees become
parcelled out among great thalookdars or zemindars. Though under a
Mohammedan government, these men were almost universally
Hindoos—native chiefs who had obtained great prescription, exercised
great power and authority, and were in fact feudatories of the
government. They were much more than mere middlemen or farmers of
revenue. They had their own forts, troops, and guns; they obeyed their
nawab or king so far as they chose or were compelled; they seized with
the strong hand estates which had unquestionably belonged to village
communities in earlier times; and they fought with each other as
English barons or Scottish clan-chieftains were wont to do in past
ages. Sir William Sleeman estimated the number of armed retainers,
whose services these thalookdars could command, at scarcely less than
one hundred thousand; while they had nearly five hundred pieces of
cannon in their several forts or strongholds. Under this system the
village proprietary rights, even if not actually thrown aside and
disregarded, became more weak and undefined than when the villagers
held directly from the government. Hence arose a very embarrassing
question when the Company took possession of Oude. With whom was the
settlement to be made? The thalookdars were strong and in possession;
the village communities were dormant, broken, and ill defined. It
would have taken some time to suppress the one and revive the other.
The opinions of revenue officers in the Northwest Provinces ran
strongly in favour of village proprietaries; still stronger in the
Punjaub; and Oude was treated somewhat in the same way. The result in
many cases was to eject the thalookdars, and make direct settlements
with the village communities. When the Revolt began, the thalookdars
at first behaved well to the British personally; with the butchery by
a rabble they had no sympathy; and many were the Europeans whose lives
they saved. But, the Company’s government being for a time upset; and
the period since the annexation having been too short to destroy the
strength of the thalookdars, or to enable the village proprietors to
acquire a steady possession of their rights—the thalookdars almost
universally resumed what they considered to be their own. There is
evidence, too, that in this course of proceeding they met with a
considerable amount of popular support. It was in this way they became
committed against the British government. Till Havelock’s retreat from
his unsuccessful attempt to relieve Lucknow in August, the thalookdars
adopted a temporising policy; but when they saw him and Outram retreat
across the Ganges to Cawnpore, they thought their time had arrived.
They began to act in concert—not because they had much sympathy with
mutinous sepoys, with the decrepit king of Delhi, or with the deposed
king of Oude—but in the hope that, amid the general anarchy, they
might regain their old influence.

Footnote 117:

See NOTE, at the end of this chapter.

Footnote 118:

One of the two hard-worked and sorely tried chaplains, in a letter to
a relation when the dangers were past, employed a few simple words
that really described the position of the Residency enclosure better
than any long technical details. English friends had talked and
written concerning the ‘impregnable fort’ in which the garrison were
confined; to which he replied: ‘We were in no fort at all; we occupied
a few houses in a large garden, with a low wall on one side, and only
an earthen parapet on the other, in the middle of a large city, the
buildings of which completely commanded us, and swarming with
thousands of our deadly foes, thirsting for our blood. God gave us
protection and pluck, the former in a wonderful degree, or not one of
us would be here to tell about it.... The engineers calculated that
all those months never one second elapsed without a shot being thrown
in at us, and at times upwards of seventy per second, besides round
shot and shell.’ This probably means that the _average_ was a shot per
second for nearly five months—_twelve or fourteen million deadly
missiles_ thrown into this narrow and crowded space.

Footnote 119:
H.M. 8th, 53d, 75th, and 93d foot.
2d and 4th Punjaub infantry.
H.M. 9th Lancers.
Detachments 1st, 2d, and 5th Punjaub cavalry.
Detachment Hodson’s Horse.
Detachments Bengal and Punjaub Sappers and Miners.
Naval brigade, 8 guns; Bengal H.A., 10 guns.
Bengal horse field-battery, 6 guns; Heavy field-battery.
—About 700 cavalry and 2700 Infantry, besides artillery.

Footnote 120:

Detachments H.M. 23d and 82d foot.

Detachments Madras horse-artillery, royal artillery, royal engineers,
and military train.

Footnote 121:

The officers killed were Lieutenant-colonel Biddulph; Captains Hardy,
Wheatcroft, Dalzell, and Lumsden; Lieutenants Mayne, Frankland, and
Dobbs; Ensign Thompson; and Midshipman Daniel. The wounded were Sir
Colin Campbell; Brigadier Russell; Lieutenant-colonels Ewart and Hale;
Majors Alison and Barnston; Captains Alison, Anson, Grant, Hammond,
Travers, Walton, and Burroughs; Lieutenants Salmond, Milman, Ford,
Halkett, Munro, French, Wynne, Cooper, Welch, Goldsmith, Wood, Paul,
M’Queen, Oldfield, and Henderson; Ensigns Watson, Powell, and
M’Namara; Midshipman Lord A. P. Clinton; and Assistant-surgeon Veale.

Footnote 122:

‘I am aware of no parallel to our series of mines in modern war.
Twenty-one shafts, aggregating 200 feet in depth, and 3291 feet of
gallery, have been executed. The enemy advanced twenty mines against
the palaces and outposts; of these they exploded three, which caused
us loss of life, and two which did no injury; seven have been blown
in; and out of seven others the enemy have been driven, and their
galleries taken possession of by our miners—results of which the
engineer department may well be proud. The reports and plans forwarded
by Sir Henry Havelock, K.C.B., and now submitted to his excellency,
will explain how a line of gardens, courts, and dwelling-houses,
without fortified _enceinte_, without flanking defences, and closely
connected with the buildings of a city, has been maintained for eight
weeks in a certain degree of security; notwithstanding the close and
constant musketry-fire from loopholed walls and windows, often within
thirty yards, and from every lofty building within rifle-range, and
notwithstanding a frequent though desultory fire of round-shot and
grape from guns posted at various distances, from seventy to five
hundred yards. This result has been obtained by the skill and courage
of the engineer and quartermaster-general’s departments, zealously
aided by the brave officers and soldiers, who have displayed the same
cool determination and cheerful alacrity in the toils of the trench
and amid the concealed dangers of the mine that they had previously
exhibited when forcing their way into Lucknow at the point of the
bayonet, and amid a most murderous fire.’

Footnote 123:

The fate of the few English prisoners at Lucknow is not clearly
traceable; but one account has stated that four Englishmen were put to
death on the night when the Residency was finally evacuated. When the
English troops, the women and children, the guns and baggage, and a
quarter of a million sterling in silver, had safely reached the Dil
Koosha, the leaders among the rebels became enraged beyond measure at
a manœuvre which completely balked them. A few of them rushed to the
Kaiser Bagh, where the unfortunate prisoners were confined, tied four
of them—Sir Mountstuart Jackson, Mr Orr, Mr Barnes, and Sergeant
Martin—to guns, and blew them away. The ladies were said to have been
spared at the intercession of one of the begums or princesses of Oude.