Victoria’s Scottish Lion

by Greenwood, Adrian; Haythornthwaite, Philip;

  After taking Cawnpore, Havelock had left Neill in charge. Neill decided that every captured mutineer should clean up the blood-soaked slaughterhouse, the Bibigarh. ‘The task will be made as revolting to his feelings as possible,’ he ordered, ‘and the Provost Marshal will use the lash freely in forcing any one objecting to complete his task.’114 Each rebel was whipped until he had swept (or in some cases licked) clean a square foot of floor. He was then taken outside, smeared with beef and pork fat and hanged.115** The Tablet labelled Neill ‘a brute in human form. Satan himself can never go beyond him … The atrocities of the Sepoys are horrible, but they have not yet reached that of this murderer of souls.’116

  September saw the arrival of more troops from the China task force, among them the Sutherland Highlanders. ‘Sir Colin has been in a state of delight ever since his favourite 93rd landed five days ago’, wrote Lady Canning on 25 September. ‘He went to see them on board their transport before they disembarked, and when asked how he found them, replied that the only thing amiss was that they had become too fat on the voyage and could not button their coats.’117 She went on to explain that ‘Sir Colin had quite set his heart on marching these pet Highlanders of his, his Balaklava regiment, through the town and showing them to us, but the Quartermaster found so many difficulties about landing and disembarking that the thing cannot be done.’118 The bazaars soon abounded with tales of their fierceness, of how they were ‘kept in cages and let out to fight’ and ‘carried 9 pounders and 12 pounders in their arms as a cooly does a parcel’.119 ‘We learnt from our native servants that they had invented fearsome stories of the ferocity of the Gogra-wallahs [petticoated men].’ wrote Lieutenant Gordon-Alexander of the 93rd, ‘imputing to us a particular liking for curried black babies, especially if we could catch them ourselves, and break their backs across our bare knees!’120

  As the Highlanders disembarked, the force at Cawnpore* was already gaining a critical mass. By 16 September Havelock had 3,179 men, but found himself superseded by that popular veteran of Indian warfare, Sir James Outram, whom Canning had recalled from Persia (see Plate 23). A few days before Campbell had landed, Outram had been appointed Chief Commissioner of Oudh (in place of Sir Henry Lawrence) and been given military responsibility for an area stretching from Calcutta to Cawnpore. Like his commander-in-chief, he rejected Neill’s methods, preferring instead an amnesty, as he put it, ‘to show we do not purpose war to the knife and extermination against all Hindoos because they are Hindoos, or against all sepoys because they are sepoys’.121

  Despite that shared philosophy, relations between the two generals were frosty. There was bad blood dating from Outram’s service with Sir Charles Napier. Having dubbed him the Bayard of India,** Napier had appointed Outram in 1843 to negotiate a new treaty with the amirs of Scinde. The outcome was, in Napier’s opinion, far too conciliatory. For his part, Outram was rightly suspicious of Napier’s ambitions regarding Scinde. Napier responded with a stream of claims, counterclaims and accusations, leaving the two sworn enemies. ‘It cannot be doubted on whose side of the controversy Campbell enlisted himself’, wrote Hope Grant. ‘We may assume both these distinguished officers ostensibly ignored the bitterness of former days, and yet there was a manifest want of cordiality – there was even a coolness on the part of Sir Colin towards the Bayard of India.’122

  For the moment they put aside personal differences and concentrated on Lucknow. The situation there was degenerating fast. Inglis’s messages were becoming desperate. Two and a half months’ siege had exhausted his garrison. Hoping to put some steel into them, Havelock had ordered, ‘Do not negotiate, but rather perish sword in hand.’ At this, many of Inglis’s loyal sepoys deserted.123 All the while, the rebels were getting bolder. ‘Their mines have already weakened our post,’ Inglis warned, ‘and I have every reason to believe they are carrying on others.’124 Outram was unperturbed. ‘We have no direct accounts thence, but I am pretty sure they are not in such stress as represented’, he assured Campbell. ‘Indeed an officer likely to be well informed writes from Cawnpore … “Lucknow is all right and in good spirits”. We are well assured the Lucknow garrison is quite able to hold its own until we get there, however leisurely we may advance.’125

  The British column finally left Cawnpore for Lucknow on 19 September. Outram had unexpectedly handed command to his subordinate. ‘Outram has behaved very handsomely to Havelock’, reported Campbell. ‘He is to join the latter in the movement on Lucknow in his capacity as commissioner and as a volunteer,*** leaving to Havelock all the glory’126 (and the biggest share of the loot). Whether this left the best man in charge is a moot point. ‘Judging him [Havelock] as a leader of soldiers and from a soldier’s point of view,’ wrote Field Marshal Wolseley, ‘he was, according to my estimate of the two men, Outram’s inferior – except from a purely religious aspect.’127 But for Field Marshal Lord Roberts, who also witnessed Outram’s generalship at first hand, he was ‘no soldier, and I should say no politician’.128

  Havelock’s first obstacle was the Alumbagh,**** ‘a large three-storied and very substantially built square brick building, with a tower at each corner’, set within ‘a large square garden, whose sides were about four hundred yards each, the whole enclosed by a thick wall some twelve or more feet in height’ (see Plate 24). A couple of miles from Lucknow, it offered an obvious forward base. Havelock stormed it with little difficulty on 23 September. Here he left his sick and wounded, camels and wagons, plus 200 elephants, and 280 men under Major McIntyre to guard them.129

  Next Havelock planned to skirt round, north of the city, and then force his way across the iron bridge spanning the River Goomtee and into the Residency. This route invited the least street fighting, but Outram, worried that the heavy artillery would never make it across country after the rains,***** instead advised a direct assault from the south.130 Havelock submitted, and on 25 September they advanced up the main road towards the Charbagh Bridge. Here five enemy guns and dozens of sharpshooters opposed them, but they persevered and took the crossing. Havelock detailed a detachment of the 78th Highlanders to guard the bridge while the vanguard pressed forward past close-packed, loop-holed buildings studded with native muskets. ‘It was cruel work’, recalled one civil servant accompanying the column. ‘Brave troops being exposed to such unfair fighting … our men were knocked down like sheep, without being able to return the fire of the enemy with any effect.’131 As the rebels closed in, the 78th were forced to abandon the bridge and follow the rest of the column. ‘The slaughter which now began was terrible’, wrote Ensign Barker:

  Some 20,000 men arrayed against us, occupied every house and stood behind every wall, firing showers of musketry on our advancing troops, and their batteries dealing fierce destruction amongst us. Our artillery here lost upwards of one third of their numbers, and all suffered severely … We hastened through the streets followed by the Sikhs, at every turn encountering a fresh volley and being fired at from the houses on either side, and now and then peppered with grape. At the end of a half a mile, the large gates of the Residency appeared in view, and the tops of the houses inside were covered with the waving caps of the garrison who were cheering us on.132

  Outram advised Havelock to halt at the Chuttah Munzil (Umbrella Palace) to allow the rearguard, heavy guns and wounded to catch up. From there they could secure a path to the Residency along which the garrison could be evacuated the next day.133 Havelock, however, ‘esteemed it to be of such importance to let the beleaguered garrison know that succour was at hand’, that he pushed on regardless.* Under heavy fire, and incurring terrible losses, the British clawed their way inside the Residency compound. It was difficult to say who was the more pleased to see the other. ‘The big, rough-bearded soldiers were seizing the little children out of our arms,’ wrote Mrs Harris, ‘kissing them with tears rolling down their cheeks, and thanking God they had come in time to save them from the fate of those at Cawnpore.’134

  Havelock’s advance cost him 535 men,
including Neill. Because of his haste the wounded had been ambushed and many of them burnt to death in their dhoolies.135 All told, Havelock had lost 246 men killed since he had left Cawnpore. Another 700 were wounded or missing.136 The number of sick and wounded in the Residency rose from 130 to 627.137 According to Mrs Harris, the hospital was so ‘densely crowded that many have to lie outside in the open air’, while inside ‘amputated arms and legs [were] lying about in heaps’.138 With a lack of medicines, sanitary beds, fresh vegetables, clean water and clean clothes, the prognosis for an injured soldier was poor. ‘I have seen men only hit with a spent ball … declining day by day until the bruise became a frightful wound, and ultimately led to their death’, reported one officer.139

  Shrugging off the losses, Outram took back overall control and prepared to evacuate. Carriage was essential. Victorian ladies in crinolines and corsets could not walk far in Oudh’s tropical heat. Neither could their young children or the hundreds of sick and wounded. Having left his elephants, camels and carts at the Alumbagh, Outram blithely instructed the Financial Commissioner of Oudh, Martin Gubbins, to negotiate transport with the people of Lucknow.140 ‘It seems strange that a man of Outram’s experience* should have entered upon a military enterprise under such an absolute misconception of the true state of affairs,’ observed Fortescue, ‘still stranger that none of his contemporaries should have considered it anything out of the common.’ That Outram believed he could fight his way through a rebel-held city into a besieged compound and then wait while the townsfolk obediently provided carriage is extraordinary. For two months past Inglis had reported that he could get no supplies, but Outram had dismissed him as a crepehanger. Outram was sure the people of Lucknow were his secret allies. Back on 7 September he had explained to Campbell that his ‘object is merely to withdraw the garrison, after forming a provisional government of influential inhabitants to maintain the city on behalf of the British Government, until we can conveniently reoccupy it’.141 So, now inside the Residency, Outram ordered a sortie, in Forrest’s words, ‘to secure the iron bridge and to open communications with well-wishers in the city’. Unsurprisingly, the British were beaten back and the loyal burghers of Lucknow failed to materialise.

  Major McIntyre reported that the locals at the Alumbagh were proving just as unco-operative.142 Outram’s carriage and animals were now marooned. As one veteran of the garrison reported:

  That the 300 men left as an escort to protect the immense number of elephants, camels, horses and camp followers, with hundreds of laden carts, should afterwards themselves be besieged without our being able to assist them, was never contemplated by any individual of the forces. Indeed from the confident manner in which our new friends spoke, we could easily see that, even after those dearly-paid-for-victories of the 25th and 26th of September, they expected the city to be cleared in a few days … We who had had experience enough of the indomitable perseverance of our foes, whatever their courage might be, knew well that they would never think of leaving the city unless driven out of it at the point of the bayonet.143

  After a few days, realisation dawned. ‘Want of carriage alone rendered the transport through five miles of disputed suburb an impossibility’, Outram informed Campbell.144 Nevertheless, he was sure a modest British force could fight their way in. With just one brigade and two batteries of artillery ‘we could without difficulty open out our communications and withdraw the whole, or such portion of our forces as may be desired, after re-establishing our authority over Lucknow [my italics]’, i.e. after having retaken one of the biggest cities in India. ‘I have strong doubts if any thing effectual will be done with so small a force’, advised Campbell.145

  By 7 October Outram had come to appreciate his predicament. ‘Our position here is more untenable than that of the previous garrison’, he admitted. ‘Still no communication with the town, and little prospect of procuring provisions … We have grain and gun bullocks and horses on which we may subsist a month I hope, but nothing else. No hospital stores, and but little medicine.’146 Havelock’s column, the one significant field force in Bengal, was now effectively neutralised. They had taken with them almost all the available field artillery, leaving Campbell with virtually none.147 A campaign by gentleman amateurs who scoffed at preparation, premised on the idea that something would turn up, had failed. War by the seat of your pants had failed. ‘It is clear to me, without positively stating it in so many words, that the C-in-C thinks Outram and Havelock very rash in throwing themselves into Lucknow without knowing for certain whether or not they could get out again’, the Duke of Cambridge told Panmure.148 ‘It is difficult to resist the conclusion that the affair was a muddle, however gloriously conducted, from beginning to end’, complained one of Havelock’s artillery officers.149 ‘All, therefore, that had been gained was the throwing of a strong garrison into the Residency, without any corresponding addition to its supplies’, wrote Alison:

  To furnish it, however, every disposable man had been sent on, and they not only had for all offensive purposes become useless, but would require at least a force equal to two strong brigades for their extrication from the pit into which they had fallen … To relieve the place in time seemed to be almost impossible, and a disaster almost equal to that of Caubul appeared to be impending.150

  The Residency garrison was understandably irritated to find that, far from being relieved, it now had double the mouths to feed. ‘Famine as well as war and pestilence stare us in the face’, complained Mrs Bartrum.151 ‘The troops that came in with General Havelock brought no more than the clothes of their backs’,152 as another of the garrison wrote. Inglis had scarcely any ammunition for their Enfield rifles, while the scarcity of clothing as winter approached was alarming.153 At least with his extra men Outram could expand the compound. His troops occupied the Taree Khotee (the Royal Observatory), the Farhat Baksh Palace and the Chuttah Munzil. Inside they found:

  the most magnificent divans studded with pearls, dresses of cloth of gold, turbans of the most costly brocade … chinaware enough to set up fifty merchants in Lombard Street, scientific instruments, ivory telescopes, pistols, and what was better than all, tobacco, tea, rice, grain, spices and vegetables – the provisions, however, unfortunately, in very small quantities.154

  The boys from La Martinière were more taken by a cache of fireworks:

  This was a grand opportunity for us and we immediately seized the rockets and began to fire them in the direction of the enemy. One of them, however, took a retrograde movement and, exploding in the room itself, ignited the other combustibles … The place continued burning for some days.155

  But even with this newly extended position, the garrison faced a stark choice: they could either stay and starve, or be gunned down as they fought their way out. ‘I would rather have a lucky general than a smart general’, observed General Eisenhower. He would have liked Outram. Total disaster was only averted by happenstance. Shortly after the ‘relief’, a soldier discovered that Sir Henry Lawrence had drained the large plunge bath under the Residency banqueting hall (see Plate 32) and stocked it with grain. There was enough for the whole garrison for another two months if they moved to half rations,156 or rather quarter rations since they had already been halved. Instead of 1lb of meat and 1lb of flour or bread per person, per day, it was now only 4 ounces of each – less if you were a woman, a child or a native.157 ‘Our grand diet consists of coarse, exceedingly coarse, “attah”, “mash dall” and bitter salt, with every day a bitter piece of coarse beef, half of it bones’, complained one civilian. ‘The whole of this, when passed under the hands of my chef-de-cuisine, a filthy black fellow, who cooks for three or four others and whom I am obliged to pay twenty rupees a month, results in an abomination which a Spartan dog would up his nose at.’158 Such food as there was became instantly coated with flies. ‘As we had no coolies to work the punkahs to bate this nuisance, they swarmed in myriads’, complained one officer.159

  The burden was very unevenly shouldered. Pe
rsonal food supplies brought into the Residency at the start of the siege were sacrosanct, and consequently some continued dining in style. ‘We enjoyed both sugar and milk in our tea,’ wrote Martin Gubbins, whose house was inside the compound, ‘a luxury which few possessed … This often attracted friends.’160 Although Gubbins was reduced to ‘a cold luncheon only’ everyday, his guests got a glass of Sauterne to wash it down. Dinner was less austere, with ‘one glass of sherry and two of champagne or of claret’ for each gentleman, and rather less for ladies, although if they were breast-feeding they got bottled beer which was otherwise almost unobtainable. Those, like Gubbins, with food to spare were free to sell it at exorbitant prices, and there were many takers. ‘Money was plentiful,’ recalled one officer, ‘and none of us were sure if we should ever be able to spend it’.161

  Lucknow might be on its last legs, but at least there was good news from Delhi. Brigadier John Nicholson had arrived on 14 August with reinforcements, followed by a thirty-two piece siege train on 4 September, giving Archdale Wilson 9,000 soldiers plus a further 3,000 from the rajahs of Jhind and Cashmere. Ten days later the British advanced through the breaches punched by their heavy guns. It took six more days of heavy fighting to subdue the city. Taking Delhi cost 3,500 British casualties, but the seat of rebellion had fallen.

  Campbell was in Barrackpore when the news arrived on 26 September. It ‘seemed scarcely possible to be real’, wrote Lady Canning. ‘Sir Colin came back from the cantonments in the highest spirits, having given the news to be spread everywhere! We could think of nothing else but this great news.’162 ‘All have done their duty most nobly,’ the commander-in-chief announced, ‘in spite of scanty means and a deadly season.’163 ‘We have now, so far as I can judge, weathered the gale,’ John Lawrence assured Campbell, ‘but until the troops arrive from England our position must continue to be precarious.’164