“Cockayne?” Phillip echoed. “The Irregular Cavalry Colonel from—where was it? Ghorabad, I think. He was with us on the bridge for a while. Do you know him?”
Harriet nodded. “He told me … and he was singing your praises, Phillip. He said you were a most efficient and courageous officer.” She smiled. “Colonel Cockayne was a friend of Jemmy’s—not a close friend, but they used to shoot together. His regiment was in Sitapur before being posted to Ghorabad, and last cold weather the Colonel came to stay with us, so that he and Jemmy could go on shikar. Agnes Cockayne and their daughter came with him—Agnes is a darling, rather quiet and mousey, I suppose you’d call her, but a darling. And the daughter, Andrea, is a beauty … you’d hardly expect her to be, with such ordinary-looking parents, but she really is one of the loveliest girls I ever saw in my life. But now, alas, they—”
“Now,” Phillip put in, recalling the Colonel’s impassioned outburst, “they are both under siege by the rebels in Ghorabad, I understand? The Colonel escaped.” Harriet, he saw, was frowning as he repeated the gist of the accusations he had heard being hurled at Sir Colin Campbell. “I confess,” he added dryly, “that it would have taken more nerve than I’ve got to beard Sir Colin as Cockayne did—the Chief doesn’t take kindly to criticism from his subordinates! And Cockayne didn’t mince his words.”
“All the same, I can sympathise with him,” Harriet defended. “Poor man, he is heartbroken and close to despair. He risked his life to come here, imagining he had only to ask and he would be given British troops to save the Ghorabad garrison but, of course, that wasn’t possible. We in Lucknow were given first priority.” Her slender shoulders rose in an expressive shrug. “But perhaps, once we are safely in Allahabad and Sir Colin has cleared Cawnpore of rebels, the Colonel will get his troops. I pray that he may. The Ghorabad people have been defending themselves in a small fort outside the town for over three months, in conditions which are a great deal worse than we endured in poor Sir Henry Lawrence’s Residency. My heart bleeds for them, Phillip.”
“I know, Harriet, my dear,” Phillip offered awkwardly. “I know how you must feel.” Tactfully, he changed the subject, bringing the conversation back to Graham and their parents and the prospect of her returning to England. The children were delivered to the tent by Colonel Cockayne, who exchanged greetings and then hurried on, with the plea that he had other children to return to their mothers. The picnic had evidently been a great success; little Phillip, his shaven locks starting to grow again and clad in a freshly laundered white sailor suit, was bubbling over with excitement, full of the games they had played and the pony which one of their hosts had allowed him to ride. Already he was changing, Phillip realised thankfully, learning to laugh again and to think and behave as a child. Augusta, small and still looking very fragile, could talk only of the wonders of the repast set before them and then, quite suddenly, the colour had drained from her thin little face and she had rushed from the tent, wailing that she felt sick and that her stomach pained her.
“It’s all right,” Harriet said, when the crisis had been dealt with and the child tucked up in one of the tent’s two charpoys to sleep off her indisposition. “They’re simply not accustomed to rich food and Augusta has had two bad bouts of dysentry. I shall be thankful when I can take them home, Phillip. Home, to England’s green and pleasant land … imagine it! I hope they’ll send us soon.” She clung to him tearfully as he took his leave, begging him to take care of himself. “Dearest Phillip, it has done my heart good to have had even this brief glimpse of you, after so many years. I shall pray for you, dear brother, and wait eagerly for news of you. God bless you, Phillip!”
Phillip did not see her again before the convoy left for Allahabad, under a strong escort, on the night of 3rd December. Each day prior to their leaving, the rebels had cannonaded the camp and, in a furious attack on the lines occupied by the 93rd Highlanders, six men were wounded, including their gallant Commanding Officer, Colonel Ewart, whose left arm was shattered by a roundshot. A field battery— whether by accident or design—ranged for several hours on Sir Colin Campbell’s own sleeping tent and those of his staff, causing some casualties and considerable damage. Unable to do more than hold the rebels at bay until free of the restraint imposed by the presence of the women and children and the wounded, the Commander-in-Chief bided his time, making plans for the attack he would launch as soon as the convoy was safely on its way.
Misconstruing this as weakness, the Gwalior rebels made frequent raids on out-lying piquets and subjected the British camp to almost incessant bombardment, sending fire rafts down river in an unsuccessful attempt to burn the Ganges Bridge. The Shannon’s guns and rocket-tubes were kept busy, in the entrenchment and in the occupied Generalgunj area of the city, striving to keep down the enemy’s fire. At all costs, Sir Colin Campbell was determined to prevent any pursuit of the convoy and a heavy attack on his left flank—aimed at regaining control of the Allahabad road—was met and vigorously repulsed on 5th December, in an artillery duel lasting over two hours.
Word reached him that evening that the convoy had reached the railhead at Chimi, 45 miles from Allahabad and, presuming it now to be out of danger, Sir Colin issued orders for his force to assume the offensive the following morning.
CHAPTER THREE
The position occupied by the Gwalior rebels was a strong one and Sir Colin Campbell considered it carefully before calling a conference of his senior officers. Studying the reports brought in by spies and those obtained by personal reconnaissance, he weighed up the possibilities, aware that his own inactivity and the trouncing General Windham had suffered at their hands had left his enemy confident of victory. With newly arrived reinforcements, he had five thousand infantry, six hundred cavalry and thirty five guns, including the Shannon’s powerful twenty-four-pounders. The rebels outnumbered him by five to one but … he smiled a trifle sourly. The initiative was with him—he could choose at which point to attack them.
Their left, he saw, checking his maps, contained the whole of the old cantonment area, from whence they had launched their final and most dangerous assault on General Windham’s entrenchment and Brigadier Carthew’s ill-fated piquet. The tree-clad ground was cluttered with ruined bungalows and burnt-out public buildings; these, and the two ravines, which cut deep into the river bank between the city and the entrenchment, afforded cover for whole regiments of infantry, with supporting guns, and were strongly held. An attack in that direction would be costly and he dismissed the idea of it, as he had dismissed Windham’s suggestion that he make a frontal attack on the city. That was where they expected him to attack, undoubtedly. The Gwalior infantry had occupied the houses and bazaars in the centre of the city for days now; with snipers posted on the rooftops and the narrow, winding streets barricaded and defended by guns, it would take a much larger force than he had at his disposal to drive them out.
Their right, however, might well prove vulnerable. It extended from the west side of the city almost to the Grand Trunk Road, following the line of the canal and taking in the brick kilns, where Windham and Walpole had fought their rearguard action. Two miles to the rear, on the open plain bordering the Calpee road, the Gwalior Contingent’s camp was pitched, with that of the Nana’s forces on the east—or river— side of the city, a further two miles distant across the plain. If he could drive a wedge between them, taking advantage of the open ground, on which native troops seldom fought well, whilst holding their reserves in the city, then … The Commander-in-Chief’s expression relaxed. He said, when he had dictated his orders with his accustomed attention to detail, “Send for the Brigade Commanders and I’ll acquaint them with the plan of attack.”
Captain Peel, returning from the conference on the evening of the 5th December, was enthusiastic as he issued his own orders.
“Sir Colin’s plan of attack is delightfully simple, gentlemen,” he informed his assembled officers with smiling confidence. “We strike camp at seven tomorrow morning, sendin
g our baggage to the riverside under guard. At nine o’clock General Windham is to open a heavy bombardment from the fort, to create the impression that an attack is impending from his position on their left and centre. When the bombardment is well under way, our attacking columns will advance against their right, forming up to the rear of the old Cavalry Lines, where they will be masked from the enemy’s observation. Our Brigade will remain in the Generalgunj, mounting a bombardment of the brick kiln position, here.” His finger jabbed at the map spread out on the table in front of them, as he went into precise detail of the units involved and the positions they would take up. Then, his smile widening, he added, “Sir Colin intends to fall on their main camp—here, on the Calpee road—and the advance is to be made with all possible speed, the cavalry and horsed guns making a detour to their left and crossing the canal by the bridge—here—so as to threaten the enemy’s rear. We are to advance with the main infantry attack, crossing by the bridge fronting the brick kiln position, once it has been cleared by our skirmishers … and, if our practise has been good enough, there should not be much left to clear.”
There was a murmur of eager assent and Peel went on, “Gentlemen, I have assented to a request from General Windham that Mr Garvey’s party shall remain to assist in manning the fort’s batteries. For the rest, since the Commander-in-Chief desires our guns to be handled like field-guns—that is how we will handle them. Double crews on each gun, Mr Vaughan, if you please, with drag-ropes in case our gun-cattle fail us, and the rifle companies in support. There will be no hanging back—our guns will be up, wherever they’re needed, or by heaven, I’ll know the reason why!”
“They will be there, sir,” the Shannon’s First Lieutenant assured him. “You need have no fear on that score.”
“I haven’t,” William Peel returned. “I’m only making sure you know that we’ve been given carte blanche, my dear fellow, and the opportunity to show the Army what we can really do! Goodnight, my boys—good luck and God go with all of you tomorrow.”
At 9 a.m. the following morning, General Windham opened his batteries and was promptly answered by the enemy. For two hours the artillery duel continued, whilst the assault force—hidden from view by the city wall and its surrounding buildings—formed up in continuous columns to the rear of the old Cavalry Lines. At 11 a.m., when the bombardment slackened, the infantry deployed along the line of the canal and started to advance, the Shannon’s guns coming into effective action on the left, as Brigadier Greathed’s infantry attacked the enemy on his front with a sharp fire of musketry.
Waiting, with the Commander-in-Chief’s staff, Phillip watched through his Dollond as the attack developed. The Rifle Brigade, under Walpole, with a detachment of the 38th, rushed the bridge over the canal on Greathed’s left, and moved forward under the shadow of the city wall towards the brick kilns. The high, grassed-over mounds which covered the kilns concealed a large force of enemy infantry and a number of field-guns and, when the two remaining British Brigades, under Brigadiers Adrian Hope and Inglis, took ground to the left and wheeled into three parallel lines fronting the canal, a heavy fire was opened on them from the kilns.
Peel’s twenty-four-pounders, Longden’s mortars, and Bouchier’s and Middleton’s field batteries replied, subjecting the kilns to a merciless pounding and, under cover of their fire, the two brigades completed their formation. Preceded by the 53rd and the 4th Punjab Rifles, in skirmishing order, Hope’s Brigade began to advance, with Inglis’s in support.
Sir Colin Campbell, who had also been watching through his field-glass, sent an aide galloping across to warn the cavalry and horsed guns to make their detour. He said gruffly to Phillip, “Away and tell Captain Peel to give the infantry the best support he can, Commander. And you may stay with him.” He smiled suddenly, the smile lighting his lined, rather austere face to what, for a fleeting moment, was boyish eagerness. “I fancy the tartan may welcome the sight of me at their head for the last hundred yards!”
He put spurs to his horse and Phillip, galloping off obediently on his own errand saw, out of the corner of his eye, the old Chief take his place in front of the line of Highlanders of the 42nd and 93rd, which was advancing in the wake of the skirmishers. Even above the din of battle, the cheers which greeted his unexpected appearance could be heard quite clearly, echoing from man to man.
Feeling oddly uplifted, Phillip rode on, to find William Peel with two of his guns already limbered up.
“One of them should suffice to get us across the canal,” he said. “We can’t move them all at light infantry speed!” Grinning, he gestured to a single twenty-four-pounder, its double crew of seamen at the drag-ropes. “But that should give them an unpleasant shock, I think. Right, my lads! Put your backs into it … all together now—heave!”
Slowly the great gun moved forward into an inferno of fire. Grouped in their hundreds about the high mounds of the brick kilns, rebel infantry fired from cover, the gunners on their flanks sending over a storm of shot and shell. As the leading skirmishers approached the bridge over the canal, they were halted by withering volleys of musketry, but pressing on, they drove back the sepoys who opposed them, only to be driven back themselves when the well-masked supporting guns swept the approaches to the bridge with grape. They took cover. Then, as Bouchier’s guns unlimbered and opened fire on their left, they made a second attempt to carry the bridge, Sikh and Irishman fighting shoulder to shoulder in the choking smoke, but were again hurled back by an impenetrable curtain of fire.
Shouting at the pitch of his lungs for them to make way, Peel led his single gun up to the bridge. Phillip’s horse went down under the most murderous fire he had ever experienced. He picked himself up, bruised and dazed, hearing from somewhere over to his right, the skirl of Highland pipes and fullthroated cheering, both drowned, an instant later, by volleys of rifle fire. Without conscious thought, he seized the end of one of the drag-ropes as the seaman who had been hauling on it took a charge of grape in the stomach and fell to the ground. With Peel’s tall figure just visible through the smoke ahead, a private of the 53rd beside him, they manhandled the great gun over the bridge.
“Action front, my boys!” the Shannon’s Captain yelled. “Let ’em have it!”
The twenty-four-pounder opened with dramatic effect and, inspired by its presence, the main body of the British infantry pressed forward, many of them fording the canal. Resuming their line of formation on the other side, they advanced on the brick kiln position with the bayonet, cheering as they went, and the defenders abandoned the mounds and ditches they had held and fled in panic. All along the line of attack,it was the same story. Lieutenant Young, the Shannon’s Gunnery Officer, came up with the second gun and both limbered up to join in the pursuit of the fleeing rebels. As bullocks were being yoked to them, Midshipmen Kerr and the diminutive Clinton received permission to mount their howitzers on the crest of one of the mounds, from which they shelled a force of rebel cavalry and horsed guns, attempting to slip out from the west side of the city to go to the support of their defeated infantry.
A Royal Artillery officer galloped back to Captain Bouchier, whose smoking field-guns had just ceased fire and Phillip heard him shout to the battery commander, “Come on, George! The Pandies are bolting like the devil—you don’t want to miss the hunt, do you?”
William Peel, overhearing him, too, threw back his head and gave vent to a bellow of laughter. “Well, we don’t want to miss it, do we, boys? Look lively there and get those bullocks moving, for pity’s sake, or we shall be left behind!”
“We’d do a lot better without them cows, sir,” a big gunner’s mate suggested, with wry frankness, as the first team started to move reluctantly forward under the prodding of the drivers’ goads. “With respect, Captain, sir, they need a fire under ’em to make the sodding things put their backs into it … but we don’t. Just you say the word, sir, and we’ll catch up with them skirmishers again, quick an’ lively!”
Peel, waxing impatient, d
uly “said the word” when the Gwalior Contingent’s camp was sighted, and the great guns, propelled with a will by their crews, reached its boundary as the Sikhs and the 53rd were clearing it of its last remaining occupants. So rapid had been the advance that the rebels had been taken completely by surprise. Everywhere there was evidence of this, from the chupatties left heating on a score of bivouac fires to the strings of gun-cattle still tied beside their ammunition tumbrils and the sick and wounded, abandoned where they lay.
When Sir Colin Campbell rode in at the head of his Highlanders, it was to prolonged and hearty cheers but he waved them sternly to silence. “We’ve not finished the job yet,” he reminded his commanders. “It’s only two o’clock, which leaves us another four hours of daylight, so let us use them to advantage.” Leaving the 23rd Fusiliers and the 38th Regiment to hold the captured camp, he directed his Chief of Staff, General Mansfield, to move round the north side of the city with the Rifle Brigade, the 93rd and two field batteries, to cut off the rebels’ line of retreat by the Delhi road. Brigadier Inglis, with the remainder of his Brigade and the 42nd was sent along the Calpee road to rendezvous with the Cavalry and Horse Artillery and perform a similar service to Mansfield’s.
“Be so good,” the old General requested Captain Peel, “as to despatch two of your field-guns, with your Marines, to cover the Fattehpore road. Captain Bouchier’s Battery will continue the pursuit to prevent the enemy making off with their guns and I should be obliged if you would give him support with yours until the cavalry come up, Captain Peel. There’s no need,” he added, with a faint smile, “for you to keep up with the skirmishers this time—although to say that I appreciate the zeal and energy with which, this morning, your gallant sailors have impelled and worked their guns is an understatement. Now, however, we have Pandy on the run and haste is not quite so necessary.”
Escape from Hell Page 7