Escape from Hell

by Stuart, V. A.

  Phillip, on a borrowed horse, rode back to direct Midshipman Kerr to take his battery to the Futtepore road; Lieutenant Young and Midshipman St John Daniels, with two more field-guns and the rocket-launchers, were detailed to accompany General Mansfield’s force, and the remaining brigades continued the pursuit. Bouchier’s battery led for two miles, checking only to spike abandoned enemy guns; then some of the rebels made a stand and the British gunners swiftly unlimbered and went into action at grape range, the Shannon’s seamen again hauling up their ponderous twenty-four-pounders to give supporting fire, as the 53rd and the 64th advanced menacingly in line. Brigadier Hope Grant was with the battery and it was he who finally called a halt, when a cloud of dust on the left flank heralded the belated arrival of the cavalry, whose detour—due to mistaken directions from their native guide—had delayed them for almost an hour.

  Sir Colin Campbell ordered them to take over the pursuit, which he led in person and Phillip, resuming his role as naval liason officer, had the exhilarating experience of joining a spirited cavalry charge, as the 9th Lancers and the Sikhs of Hodson’s Horse and the Punjab Cavalry detachments spread out across the plain in extended order, eager to make up for the tardiness of their arrival.

  The demoralised rebels did not attempt to try conclusions with them and the retreat became a rout, as wounded, guns, and equipment were abandoned and the panic-stricken survivors lost all cohesion, intent only on escape. It was dusk when the chase ended on the banks of the Pandoo River, fourteen miles from Cawnpore. Thirty-four guns had been captured, the camp of the Gwalior Contingent, with its tents and supplies, was in British hands and, by now, General Mansfield’s force was almost certainly in a position to threaten those rebels who had remained in the city, in addition to cutting them off from all chance of reinforcement from the Nana’s camp outside. Expressing his satisfaction at the outcome of the battle, the Commander-in-Chief ordered the column to re-form and retrace its steps. It was midnight when they reached the camping ground which had been selected at the junction of the Calpee and Grand Trunk roads and, since no tents had yet been brought up, the weary men bivouacked on the ground.

  No word was received from General Mansfield until the following morning, when it was learnt that he had fired for some time on bodies of rebels retreating along the Bithur road. Being himself attacked by enemy gun batteries in the old cantonment area, he had been compelled to break off in order to reply to them and, when dusk fell, he had posted strong piquets and had then also bivouacked for the night. Under cover of darkness, the remaining rebels evacuated the city and, on the morning of 7th December, two squadrons of cavalry, sent in to reconnoitre, reported Cawnpore entirely clear of enemy troops.

  A column under Brigadier Hope Grant, consisting of cavalry, infantry and horse artillery, was despatched towards Bithur in the hope of intercepting the Nana’s force and those of the Gwalior troops who had eluded Mansfield the previous night. Learning that the Nana had passed the night at Bithur and then beaten a hasty retreat, with his troops and guns, to a ferry some miles up river, Hope Grant trailed him for thirteen miles and then halted, continuing the hunt at first light. A further thirteen-mile dash brought him to the ferry, to find a large rebel force on the point of embarking their guns, preparatory to crossing into Oudh. Grant attacked them at once with his cavalry and artillery and, after a brisk engagement, captured all fifteen guns and sent the survivors fleeing in confusion, the Nana leading the retreat into Oudh.

  When the column returned in triumph to camp with their captured guns, a brief period of rest was decreed and William Peel suggested that Phillip might take a few days’ leave in order to visit his sister in Allahabad.

  “They’ll be sending the women and children to Calcutta before Christmas, I imagine,” he said. “And you’d like to bid them farewell, would you not? You had very little opportunity even to talk to that poor sister of yours while we were on the march—so take this chance while you’ve got it, Phillip.”

  “I should like to very much, sir,” Phillip admitted. “If you’re sure—”

  “That there will be nothing doing here?” Peel finished for him. He smiled. “It’s unlikely, my dear fellow. The Chief’s next objective is the restoration of our communications with Delhi and the Punjab, and to do that he says will require what amounts to a re-conquest of the Doab … that is the whole area between the Jumna and the Ganges. He intends, as the first step, to occupy Futtehghur, which is a town on the Ganges opposite Agra that he believes to be of great strategic importance. But before he can move from here, he’s got to wait for the carriage he sent to Allahabad with the women and the wounded to be returned to him, and he’s also planning to link up with another British column from Delhi. There’ll be nothing much doing for us until the end of the month and we shan’t be short of officers or men—as you know, our fellows are being relieved of their garrison duties in Allahabad and I’ve sent for them to join us. The first party should be here within a day or so—Wilson, Verney, and eighty Jacks. Accompanying them, as a volunteer, believe it or not is a Post-Captain by the name of Oliver Jones!”

  “A Post-Captain?” Phillip echoed, in some surprise. “Is he to join the Brigade, sir?”

  Peel shook his head. “We should be a trifle top-heavy if he did … no, he’s attached himself to Her Majesty’s 53rd, I understand, and is only by coincidence coming up here with young Wilson’s party. A wing of the 53rd is on its way, too, to reinforce the regiment.”

  “Then presumably Captain Jones is on half-pay?”

  “So I gather, yes.” Peel’s quick smile was amused, but it held a measure of relief. “Fortunately he’s junior to me by a couple of years and a lot further down the Post-Captain’s list. When I was first informed of his impending arrival, I feared he might be vastly senior and tend, perhaps, to stand on his rank. We’re a happy ship’s company, Phillip, and I would not want anything or anyone to interfere with my Shannons—least of all a volunteer.”

  “I’m officially a volunteer, sir,” Phillip reminded him. William Peel clapped him affectionately on the shoulder.

  “Why, for God’s sake, so you are!” he agreed with mock dismay. “And, if I recall the circumstances in which you joined us—you’re officially on sick leave, are you not?”

  “That, too. I—”

  “My dear Phillip,” Peel put in forcefully. “You are very much one of us and I don’t intend to lose you. On your return from Allahabad, you ought possibly to apply for a medical board, so as to keep the record straight and avoid any official complications over your pay. But it can wait till then.” He searched among the papers on his camp table. “There’s a convoy of wounded going by road and rail to Allahabad tomorrow morning—you can travel with that and return with our second party. No date has yet been fixed for their departure but I’d like them here before the end of the month. You and Henry Wratislaw can bring them up.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Phillip acknowledged. “And thank you very much indeed. I appreciate your consideration.”

  “You’ve more than earned it, my dear fellow,” William Peel assured him. He found what he had been searching for among his papers and handed over several letters addressed to Lieutenants Hay and Salmon. “Be so good as to deliver these to our invalids, will you please? Ted Hay won’t be fit to return to duty for a while, I’m afraid, but Nowell Salmon might be, by the time you start back—although I shouldn’t encourage him. Tell them both that I’ll send for them without fail before we tackle the re-conquest of Lucknow.”

  There were various other personal commissions and messages, and Phillip set off for Allahabad next morning with his valise bulging. It was a slow journey to the railhead, with over a hundred sick and wounded from the last action, in addition to a similar number from the Lucknow garrison who had been delayed by lack of carriage. But Chimi was reached by noon on the third day and the rest of the journey to Allahabad, in a crowded open rail-truck, took only two hours. Harriet and her children were staying as guests in the spacio
us bungalow of one of the military surgeons—an old friend—and already Phillip was able to see an improvement in her health and that of the children, which greatly relieved his mind on their account. A letter from Graham arrived for Harriet during his stay, informing her that he and Catriona were in Calcutta and anxious to receive them.

  “We sail for England in the Lady Wellesley during the third week in January,” Graham wrote. “And I can give you and the children passage, if you can expedite your departure from Allahabad. If not, my house will be at your disposal for as long as you may require to use it and I will arrange with the Agents for your passage in one of our sister ships.”

  “It would be wonderful to take passage in Graham’s ship,” Harriet said wistfully. “It seems half a lifetime since I saw him. He wasn’t at my wedding, of course, and … Papa has forgiven him, has he not? They are on good terms again at last?”

  “Indeed they are,” Phillip assured her. “And you will love his wife, Catriona. We must make certain that you are in Calcutta in time to sail with them.” He made every effort on her behalf and was able to escort her, with the two children, on board the first of the river steamers engaged by the Indian Government to transport the Lucknow survivors to Calcutta, satisfied that they would reach their destination at least a week prior to the Lady Wellesley’s date of departure.

  The Shannon’s two wounded officers, Edward Hay and Nowell Salmon, were also comfortably accommodated and making good progress, the latter now able to walk with the aid of a stick but neither was, as yet, fit to return to duty. Consoled by Captain Peel’s promise, which Phillip passed on to them, they offered no more than bantering complaints when he and Henry Wratislaw prepared to march the remainder of the Shannon Brigade to Cawnpore, on the day following Harriet’s departure. Thirty sick and wounded men were left with the two young officers in Allahabad, and a hundred and thirty fit and eager bluejackets paraded, long before dawn, to escort a train of ammunition waggons and two 24-pounder rocket-tubes to add to the already formidable armament of the Brigade.

  The journey, made partly by rail and in company with fresh drafts of infantry, was uneventful and the detachment reached camp at Cawnpore on the evening of the 23rd December, having caught up with the convoy of transport waggons for which Sir Colin Campbell had been waiting.

  “We’re under orders to march on Futtehghur,” William Peel said, when Phillip reported to him. “Now that the necessary carriage has arrived, there’s no reason to delay. Brigadier Walpole left with a column for Bewar five days ago and he’s to rendezvous with us and a column from Delhi, under Colonel Seaton, at a place called Mynpooree—fifteen miles from Futtehghur—in approximately ten days’ time.” He went into more precise detail and then said, smiling, “You can, of course, come with us if you wish, Phillip—but I’ve had a very pressing request for your services elsewhere.”

  “For my services, sir?” Phillip echoed, brows lifting in surprise.

  Peel nodded. “In addition,” he went on, his tone a trifle dry, “I have received a communication from Captain Cooper Key, Senior Naval Officer, Calcutta, and my immediate superior. He has been ordered to rejoin Admiral Seymour’s Flag in China, with the Sanspareil, and he’s somehow got wind of the fact that I have a convalescent Commander who, he considers, must—if fit for duty—be surplus to my requirements. Technically, Phillip, in view of Jim Vaughan’s impending promotion to the same rank as yourself, it would seem that I have.”

  Phillip eyed him uncertainly. “The—er—the surplus, Commander, would, I take it, be posted to the Sanspareil?” he suggested.

  “Very probably—she’s not sailing until mid-January. But it’s not a posting you would welcome, is it?”

  “No, it’s not, sir,” Phillip admitted feelingly.

  William Peel rose to refill both their glasses. “On the other hand, my dear fellow,” he observed. “You haven’t yet passed a medical board and, as I mentioned, I’ve had a very pressing request for your services … on detached duty, away from the Brigade.”

  “Not, I trust, to command General Windham’s batteries in the fort, sir?” Phillip qualified.

  Peel’s blue eyes lit with an amused gleam. “No, I’m giving that command to two of our young gentlemen—Kerr and Clinton—who will remain here with 78 Jacks at the Major-General’s specific request. You are wanted to assist in a rescue attempt which, by the sound of it, may be something of a forlorn hope, I’m afraid. It’s a task for a volunteer, Phillip— or rather for volunteers. If you take it on I can let you have two of our field-guns, with a mid and thirty men—but you’ll have to volunteer them. I thought, however, that you might prefer it to the possibility of being ordered back to China.”

  “I should, sir—infinitely!” Phillip assured him, without hesitation.

  “Then you had better seek out Colonel Cockayne of the Irregular Cavalry and tell him so,” William Peel advised. “He’ll be overjoyed.”

  “Ah, of course!” Comprehension dawned and Phillip grinned his relief. “Colonel Cockayne has prevailed upon the Commander-in-Chief to send a force to endeavour to rescue his garrison at Ghorabad—is that it, sir?”

  “That’s it,” the Shannon’s commander confirmed. “Sir Colin has promised him two hundred and fifty British troops and a squadron of Sikh cavalry. He was offered a half-battery of Madras field artillery but he particularly asked for two of our guns, under your command. He appears to have a very high opinion of you—he was with you and Garvey at the Bridge of Boats, was he not, the night we came in from Lucknow?”

  “Yes, he was. He—”

  “What impression did you form of him? Your party will be under his command, you know, and very much dependent on him—he’s the man with the local knowledge.”

  Phillip considered the question, a thoughtful frown creasing his brow. His sympathies were all with Colonel Cockayne, whose single-minded determination to rescue his stricken garrison compelled both sympathy and admiration but—apart from the little Harriet had been able to tell him—he really did not know a great deal about his future commander. There had been the incident with Sir Colin Campbell, of course … he repeated this to William Peel, adding wryly, “Cockayne is no respecter of persons, at any rate, and I should say he’s a brave man—he’d have to be, to tackle the Chief like that! For the rest, I don’t know, sir.”

  “Frankly, nor do I,” Peel confessed. “Ghorabad is—what? About fifty or sixty miles east of here, in hostile country, and the force Cockayne’s been offered is small enough, in all conscience. You’ll have to proceed with caution, Phillip.”

  “I will, sir,” Phillip promised. He hesitated, still frowning. “I suppose you wouldn’t consider giving me one of the twelve-pounder rocket-tubes in place of a gun, would you, sir? Ghorabad is on the Sye River, I believe, and it occurred to me that it might be possible to mount an attack from boats, as we did at Fatshan. I brought you two 24-pounder tubes from Allahabad and—”

  “My dear fellow!” William Peel clapped a hand on his shoulder in warm approval. “Of course you may take one of the rocket-tubes and I will not require you to sacrifice a gun— although I’m afraid I cannot let you have any more men. Thirty’s the most I can spare and I have to remind you, they must be volunteers. The Chief is expecting considerable resistance at Futtehghur and our siege-train will almost certainly be needed at full strength.” Again he went into details concerning Sir Colin Campbell’s plans for the occupation of Futtehghur and the Doab, adding pensively, “Sir Colin is hoping that he will be able to retake Lucknow by the end of March, Phillip. In the meantime, he intends to send out relatively small forces to subdue the surrounding countryside and punish the rebel chiefs and landowners, so as to clear the way. Hope’s Brigade and Hope Grant’s Cavalry are at it now and, once Futtehghur is secured, he talks of subduing the Rohilcund. Our Jacks and their guns are in great demand and I’ve had to agree to letting detachments go with these punitive expeditions, little as I like splitting up the Brigade. But I’ll want all my detachments bac
k for the advance on Lucknow … including yours, however your forlorn hope may have fared. You understand, do you not?”

  “Perfectly, sir,” Phillip assured him. He made his report on the Shannon’s sick and wounded in Allahabad and Peel brought him up to date on recent happenings in Cawnpore during his absence.

  “There was a rumour that the Nana had hidden a vast hoard of treasure in one of the wells at Bithur,” he said. “And at Brigadier Hope Grant’s request, I sent Jim Vaughan and Walter Kerr, with a party, to assist in pumping it out and removing the loot. Unhappily they could make no headway against the spring by which the well is supplied and all they found was a small silver goblet, which Petty Officer Devereux managed to dredge up with some sort of homemade grappling iron. Sly old devil that he is, Devereux was endeavouring to hide it when one of the bluejackets spotted what he was at and threatened to report him. You know Devereux’s habit of swearing in very bad French when anyone annoys him? Well, he was at it hammer and tongs when Jim Vaughan overheard him and demanded to know what he’d said. Quick as a flash, the old reprobate answered, ‘Why, sir, I was just making the remark as ’ow it blows werry ’ard in the Chiny seas!’ Now, of course, his remark has become the Jacks’ favourite excuse for talking out of turn!”

  Phillip laughed, visualising the veteran petty officer’s sparsely covered red head and his scarred and wrinkled face, with its habitual expression of injured innocence. A fine seaman, Tom Devereux had joined the Navy as a boy of ten and was one of the wits of the Shannon’s lower deck to which— when deprived of his rank for insobriety—he frequently returned. Although Devon born and bred, he liked to claim Gallic ancestry and was known as “Frenchie” Devereux.

  “How about the Post-Captain, sir—Captain Oliver Jones?” he asked curiously. “He’d left Allahabad before I arrived, so presumably he turned up here, as expected?”

  “He did indeed!” William Peel answered with relish. “A capital fellow, riding a very dashing charger equipped with a brand new set of white leather saddlery. He dresses for military campaigning in a frock coat, with top boots, spurs, and corduroy breeches, and carries all his current needs on his person or attached to his horse by means of wonderfully contrived leather straps. They include a drinking flask, a revolver case, a present-use pouch, a reserve pouch, and a cased Dollond, plus the most formidable-looking sword, curved like a native tulwar with which, according to the 53rd’s CO, he has already given a good account of himself! But he’s remaining with the 53rd pro tem—I suspect because he imagines they’re more likely to see action than we are. Between ourselves, Phillip, I’ve made no attempt to convince him to the contrary and he’s gone off as a volunteer ADC with Brigadier Hope, to scour the countryside for the Nana.”