The Burma Wars: 1824-1886 (Conflicts of Empire)

by George Bruce

  To give the men some rest and an opportunity of procuring water, I took up a position on the plain and there remained on the alert during the night. One of the Mugs [sic] fancied he saw some Burmahs creeping towards us, and commenced a running fire, which was with difficulty stopped, otherwise we remained quiet. The enemy were firing and shouting during the whole time. From the circumstance of the ammunition-coolies having deserted, and the guns being rendered perfectly useless… and not placing any confidence in the Mugs [sic] for support should we again have experienced a fire from the hills… I deemed it most prudent to return again to Ramu, there to await Captain Trueman’s detachment, as well as to obtain further information as to the strength of the enemy’s force. Our loss was severe, in all seven missing and eleven wounded, Ensign Bennett… being severely wounded in the left arm… Ensign Campbell likewise receiving a hurt in the right ankle and also some shot in his legs.

  At Ramu, Noton was then joined by Captain Trueman’s three companies of 40th Native Infantry, making his whole force a little over one thousand strong, of whom less than half were trained regulars, but more reinforcements were on their way, he learned from Trueman. Noton therefore determined to hold out, despite being still heavily outnumbered. He was, after all, holding one of the gateways to India.

  Early in the morning of the next day, 13 May, the enemy advanced from the south in strength and encamped on the south side of the river. The following day, in the evening, they attempted a crossing, but Noton had placed his two 6-pounders ready for this and accurate fire drove back the enemy, but the day after, just before first light, they succeeded in crossing to the left of Noton’s detachment, then quickly advanced and seized a small reservoir surrounded by a high embankment. This reservoir, of the kind called a tank throughout India, gave them good cover.

  In face of this new danger Noton quickly redeployed his men behind a bank about three foot high, completely surrounding his encampment. At 8 a.m. the Burmese advanced and began entrenching themselves 300 yards in front of his position, the right flank of which was protected by the river and by a water tank about 60 yards in front. This being surrounded by a high embankment, serving as a breastwork, Noton utilised as a post for an outlying picquet, who fired on the entrenched enemy during the whole of that day and the following night, but with little effect.

  Meanwhile, Noton strengthened his position still more by posting a numerically strong detachment of the Provincials and the Mugh Levy around a third water tank to the rear, and he may well have felt that provided there were no desertions among the non-regular troops he could hold out without much difficulty.

  On the morning of 16 May he discovered that the Burmese had during the night entrenched themselves on his left flank and had advanced the troops in front considerably. At the time it made little difference, for the desultory fire of the next 24 hours caused few casualties on either side, but by daybreak on the 17th the Burmese had pushed their trenches right up to within 12 paces of the outlying picquet around the water tank and to within a short distance of the rear tank held by the Mughs and the Provincials.

  So dexterously did the Burmese take cover in their deep trenches that the sharp fire Noton’s men kept up still had little effect; and so heavily outnumbered was he that to attempt a bayonet charge, especially with not very reliable troops, would be suicidal. Already the Provincials and some of the Mughs showed signs of alarm and insubordination, while three or four of his officers were wounded. Noton now very seriously considered retreating, but knowing that Captain Brandon, with a detachment of the 23rd Native Infantry, had left Chittagong on the 13th and should arrive that same day, the 17th, he stubbornly decided not to give way. It was a fatal error, for he should now have made a strategic withdrawal towards the reinforcements advancing from the Chittagong frontier. In staying he lost his only chance of saving some of his officers, many of his men, and himself.

  A heavy and destructive fire was now poured in by the Burmese. This and the fear of a charge by overwhelming forces now so much frightened the Mughs and Provincial troops holding the water tank to the rear of the position that suddenly, at about 9 a.m., they abandoned it and fled at a fast pace out of harm’s way. The Burmese at once occupied it, so that the rear of Noton’s position was now undefended. As the alarm spread still more of the Mughs fled. Fear-stricken as well were the elephant drivers who drove their animals to join the rout of hundreds of running men. The wounded Lieutenant Scott had been tied for safety to the back of one of these animals.

  Noton’s position was now obviously untenable, being very nearly surrounded and under heavy fire, with barely 400 men, exhausted after having been continuously under arms since the 13th. Regretfully, he therefore ordered a retreat, but it was too late. ‘The bugle was sounded repeatedly for the recall of the picquet,’ noted one of the surviving officers in his report.[26]

  But from the heavy fire which was kept up at the time it was not heard and as there was no time to lose, the detachment commenced its retreat. The officer on picquet perceived by chance the retrograde movement of the detachment after it had proceeded a considerable distance. The picquet was then instantly withdrawn and joined the main body, which by having from necessity abandoned the two 6-pounders, proceeded in column order for about half a mile, keeping up a desultory fire on the enemy, who poured in on us on every side in immense numbers.

  On the arrival of the enemy’s cavalry, who fell upon our rear and cut to pieces numbers of Sepoys, the detachment quickened its pace; and the utmost combined exertions of the officers to preserve the ranks and effect the formation of a square, were unavailing, and each corps and company presently became so intermingled with each other that all order and discipline became at an end.

  The exertions of the officers to restore order were nevertheless persevered in until our arrival at the river, when the detachment dispersed and each Sepoy, hastily divesting himself of his arms, accoutrements and clothes, plunged into the river and endeavoured to gain the opposite bank.

  Noton was on foot, commanding the rearguard, who were fighting off by gun, sword and pistol the Burmese attempt to steamroller them. Shot and wounded, Noton fell, and was at once sabred to death by Burmese cavalry. Trueman, who took his place in command of the rearguard, was then ridden down by the cavalrymen, who dismounted and cut him also to pieces. Captain Pringle and Ensign Bennett were killed in attempting to cross the river. Also killed were Lieutenant Grigg and Assistant-Surgeon Maysmore. Some 300 men lost their lives and another 230, mainly Bengal Sepoys, were taken prisoner.

  The British advanced defence in the south was thus destroyed. The war had started far from well for them.

  Reactions ranging from unease to alarm and panic in Chittagong, Dacca and even Calcutta followed upon the news of this decisive defeat of a British force by the Burmese. It was thought quite likely, though not by the British, that the enemy might penetrate the Sunderban forest and advance on Calcutta itself; some Indian merchants even moved themselves and their families under the guns of Fort William.

  General Paget, however, frankly recognised that the error of overlooking the possibility of an attack from Arakan had caused Chittagong to be too weakly held. Colonel Shapland was speedily reinforced. The province would now be out of danger, it was believed, should Bundula justify his reputation and exploit his victory by a swift advance.

  But apart from an attempt to cut off the gunboats on the river and an advance of a few miles to Chekeria, whence his forces soon withdrew, Bundula stayed uncharacteristically passive, even though the king had ordered him to advance into Bengal. Probably news of the British maritime invasion — they had entered Rangoon on 9 May — had reached him via the swift-running messengers the Burmese used, and such an event would certainly have stayed him. Towards the end of May he wrote to King Bagyidaw[27] declaring that ‘he was ashamed that the King had no more brave generals’. He would engage at any time, he boasted, to beat off 100 Sepoys with 50 Burmans. He begged to be recalled and sent below [to Rangoon].
Later, his request was granted. He vanished silently overnight with his entire army and prisoners, none of the British troops encamped less than a mile away hearing him go and knowing nothing of it until villagers told them.

  On Sunday, 23 May, King Bagyidaw received the news of the fall of Rangoon in his new capital of Ava, where he had recently taken up residence after a final farewell to the old capital of Amarapura. While the British were sailing for Rangoon, Bagyidaw, expecting no danger from that region of his kingdom, had been taking triumphant possession of the capital, which would be the target of the ‘white-faced barbarians’’ invasion. An American lady, Mrs Anne Judson, wife of the missionary Adoniram Judson, noted the assurance and ostentation of the ceremony ‘when majesty with all its attendant glory, entered the gates of the golden city, and amid the acclamation of millions, I may say, took possession of the palace.’

  The sawbwas of the provinces bordering on China, all the viceroys and high officers of the kingdom, were assembled on the occasion, dressed in their robes of state, and ornamented with the insignia of their office. The white elephant, richly adorned with gold and jewels, was one of the most beautiful objects in the procession. The King and Queen alone were unadorned, dressed in the simple garb of the country; they, hand in hand, entered the garden in which we had taken our seats, and where a banquet was prepared for their refreshment… Soon after His Majesty had taken possession of the palace an order was issued that no foreigner should be allowed to enter, excepting Lanciego [a Spanish merchant].[28]

  The cause of the exclusion of Europeans, towards whom Bagyidaw had hitherto shown great friendship, as well as generosity, was the fall of Rangoon, which whipped up feelings of bravado and revenge. The Kee Wungyi, prime minister, was immediately sent south with an army of 12,000 and orders to arouse the entire southern region against the invaders. Henry Gouger, British merchant, recalled that he was told that the king was pleased about the British landing — they had fallen into a snare and would be a sure prey. Their arms, the king observed, would be useful in his projected conquest of Siam.[29] Said Gouger:

  The whole city was convulsed with rage… at the loss of their great seaport. But there was a feeling of satisfaction and exultation that the white foreigners had fallen into a trap from which they could not escape, and would inevitably be destroyed like vermin. Such a hold had this delusion taken, that the only fear now expressed was that their enemies would plunder the town and escape before the Royal army had time to arrive and give them battle.

  Their expressions of confidence were as unbounded as their indignation; indeed, this buoyancy of feeling gave the town the resemblance of a joyous festival, intermingled with fits of frantic rage. Many songs were extemporised, teeming with ridicule and defiance. The burden of one of them was singularly refined and elegant. It contemplated nothing less than hunting the British General for the sake of his hide; he was to be caught, flayed and his skin tanned into leather to make shoes for the Heir Apparent!

  Anne Judson also noted the wave of braggadocio. ‘No doubt was entertained of the defeat of the English,’ she remarked.

  The only fear of the king was that the foreigners, hearing of the advance of the Burman troops, would be so alarmed as to flee on board their ships and depart, before there would be time to secure them as slaves. ‘Bring for me,’ said a wild young buck of the palace, ‘six kala-pycos (white strangers) to row my boat.’ ‘And to me,’ said a lady of a Woongyee [minister], ‘send four white strangers to manage the affairs of my house, as I understand they are trusty servants.’ The war-boats in high glee, passed our house, the soldiers singing and dancing and exhibiting gestures of the most joyous kind. ‘Poor fellows,’ said we, ‘you will probably never dance again!’

  King Bagyidaw was thus by no means dismayed when he heard that the British had landed in Rangoon. Adoniram Judson, who met him almost every day, portrays him as the sort of man high-ranking British officials would probably have liked had they taken the trouble to meet him, instead of deputing underlings. Though he was dignified, with graceful manners, in public, Judson saw him as affable and playful almost to boyishness in private and curiously anxious to see everyone around him happy.

  He spent his time, apart from court affairs, riding on horseback or upon an elephant; listening to music, or attending dancing or theatrical shows, but always in the company of his chief queen, ‘to whom he is devoted even to infatuation’. Although he was officially the patron of the Buddhist religion in Burma, Judson was inclined to think he was indifferent to all religions. Once only did he see him perform ‘an act of devotion’.

  A beautiful image of Buddha stood in a recess in the audience chamber, before which, after a levee, many of the courtiers performed their devotions, but Judson saw the king do so only once. One day, while the American was in the audience chamber alone, Bagyidaw came walking in ‘in his usual brisk and lively manner. He looked about him, and, appearing to have nothing else to do, knelt before the image, made a hasty prayer and obeisance to it, and jumped up again, proceeding straight to the stables to see his favourite horses fed.’[30]

  But this hedonistic king, good-natured and unwilling to disoblige those near to him, urged on by ambitious generals into a war with the British, whose invasion he regarded as a marauding excursion of mere rebels, was about to receive a stunning shock about the true nature of the implacable western world.

  General Campbell spent the days following the invasion of Rangoon deploying his men at strategic points in the town, in the great pagoda of Shwedagon, about two and a half miles north of the town and in the numerous pagodas and religious buildings along the roads which, leading from each of the two northern gates, converged in an open space before the great pagoda. Its terrace was occupied by troops of HM’s 89th Regiment and the Madras Artillery, housed in smaller gilded shrines carved out of teak — homes of the attendant priests — and was the key to the whole position.

  Fortunately, these temple rooms formed dry and airy billets, for it soon became clear that the C-in-C and his advisers had miscalculated and that there was no chance at all of sailing on up the Irrawaddy towards Ava, as they had planned, and for these reasons: first, because it was clear there would be no provisions to be had from the Burmese, upon whom General Campbell had depended, so that he had to rely entirely upon those sent across the Bay of Bengal from Madras and Calcutta. Second, naval reconnaissance had shown already that the banks of the Irrawaddy were defended by guns behind stockades where the channel ran close inshore. Therefore the flotilla would risk attack by night and day from these shore-based batteries. Even if it succeeded in penetrating far up the river, supply vessels from India could not follow unless powerfully escorted. Until the end of the monsoon season Campbell was therefore stuck ashore, surrounded by swamps becoming lakes and jungle turning into swamp, and unable to move more than a few miles.

  Meanwhile, seamen from the various naval vessels and troops from the British regiments at Rangoon rowed up river through the clouds of mosquitoes to seek out and destroy enemy fireboats and war canoes. A yellow bamboo stockade was observed beside the bank, defending the village of Kemmendine, some six miles up on the right, and on 16 May Captain Richard Birch embarked with the grenadier company of HM’s 38th Regiment on board boats of HMS Liffey, commanded by Lieutenant James Wilkinson, RN, to expel the Burmese troops defending it.

  Heavy monsoon rains soaked the sailors and soldiers, rowing in the hot and humid atmosphere up river against the current towards their objective, but the prospect of action after the long stay aboard excited them and the stroke of the oars never flagged. Captain Birch saw a stockade on the right bank manned by the enemy about a mile from their objective. He immediately landed his men and stormed it, driving off the defenders, who left ten or twelve dead.

  While Lieutenant Wilkinson and his sailors then rowed up towards Kemmendine to make a frontal attack, Birch led his troops through the jungle to assail it by the rear. But swamps and dense impenetrable jungle stopped them, so they r
e-embarked and joined the boats. They pulled in higher up alongside a flat bank where the troops could easily land, but suddenly with a crackle of musketry bullets thudded against the boats. An immediate attack was ordered against the concealed stockade whence the fire came. ‘We had many unforseen difficulties to overcome, the enemy having placed bamboos and spikes so as to make a landing both difficult and dangerous,’ Birch reported.

  But in this first real test of their ability to overcome the Burmese stockades the soldiers and sailors, steady and disciplined, scaled the obstacles as if on a training exercise, established themselves within and drove the enemy out at bayonet point. Of the estimated 400 defenders, 60 — well armed with muskets and a small gun — were left dead. ‘I must do them the justice to say that they fought with very great spirit, many of them receiving our charge on their spears,’ Birch reported. After this action, he and Wilkinson re-embarked again and attacked a third stockade on the opposite side of the river. From this too they drove the enemy out with losses. British losses were comparatively light, only Lieutenant Thomas Kerr and one soldier being killed, Lieutenant Wilkinson wounded in the thigh and eighteen soldiers and sailors wounded.