Reminiscences of the Great Mutiny 1857-59. William Forbes-Mitchell
to this painted wretch saying, "I would like to try my bayonet on the hide of that painted scoundrel, who looks a murderer." Captain Mayne replied: "Oh don't touch him; these fellows are harmless Hindoo jogees,[16] and won't hurt us. It is the Mahommedans that are to blame for the horrors of this Mutiny." The words had scarcely been uttered when the painted scoundrel stopped counting the beads, slipped his hand under the leopard skin, and as quick as lightning brought out a short, brass, bell-mouthed blunderbuss and fired the contents of it into Captain Mayne's chest at a distance of only a few feet. His action was as quick as it was unexpected, and Captain Mayne was unable to avoid the shot, or the men to prevent it. Immediately our men were upon the assassin; there was no means of escape for him, and he was quickly bayoneted. Since then I have never seen a painted Hindoo, but I involuntarily raise my hand to knock him down. From that hour I formed the opinion (which I have never had cause to alter since) that the pampered high-caste Hindoo sepoys had far more to do with the Mutiny and the cowardly murders of women and children, than the Mahommedans, although the latter still bear most of the blame.
Immediately after this incident we advanced through the village and came in front of the Secundrabâgh, when a murderous fire was opened on us from the loopholed wall and from the windows and flat roof of a two-storied building in the centre of the garden. I may note that this building has long since been demolished; no trace of it now remains except the small garden-house with the row of pillars where the wounded and dead of the Ninety-Third were collected; the marble flooring has, however, been removed. Having got through the village, our men and the sailors manned the drag-ropes of the heavy guns, and these were run up to within one hundred yards, or even less, of the wall. As soon as the guns opened fire the Infantry Brigade was made to take shelter at the back of a low mud wall behind the guns, the men taking steady aim at every loophole from which we could see the musket-barrels of the enemy protruding. The Commander-in-Chief and his staff were close beside the guns, Sir Colin every now and again turning round when a man was hit, calling out, "Lie down, Ninety-Third, lie down! Every man of you is worth his weight in gold to England to-day!"
The first shots from our guns passed through the wall, piercing it as though it were a piece of cloth, and without knocking the surrounding brickwork away. Accounts differ, but my impression has always been that it was from half to three-quarters of an hour that the guns battered at the walls. During this time the men, both artillery and sailors, working the guns without any cover so close to the enemy's loopholes, were falling fast, over two guns' crews having been disabled or killed before the wall was breached. After holes had been pounded through the wall in many places large blocks of brick-and-mortar commenced to fall out, and then portions of the wall came down bodily, leaving wide gaps. Thereupon a sergeant of the Fifty-Third, who had served under Sir Colin Campbell in the Punjâb, presuming on old acquaintance, called out: "Sir Colin, your Excellency, let the infantry storm; let the two 'Thirds' at them [meaning the Fifty-Third and Ninety-Third], and we'll soon make short work of the murdering villains!" The sergeant who called to Sir Colin was a Welshman, and I recognised him thirty-five years afterwards as old Joe Lee, the present proprietor of the Railway Hotel in Cawnpore. He was always known as Dobbin in his regiment; and Sir Colin, who had a most wonderful memory for names and faces, turning to General Sir William Mansfield who had formerly served in the Fifty-Third, said, "Isn't that Sergeant Dobbin?" General Mansfield replied in the affirmative; and Sir Colin, turning to Lee, said, "Do you think the breach is wide enough, Dobbin?" Lee replied, "Part of us can get through and hold it till the pioneers widen it with their crowbars to allow the rest to get in." The word was then passed to the Fourth Punjâbis to prepare to lead the assault, and after a few more rounds were fired, the charge was ordered. The Punjâbis dashed over the mud wall shouting the war-cry of the Sikhs, "Jai Khâlsa Jee!"[17] led by their two European officers, who were both shot down before they had gone a few yards. This staggered the Sikhs, and they halted. As soon as Sir Colin saw them waver, he turned to Colonel Ewart, who was in command of the seven companies of the Ninety-Third (Colonel Leith-Hay being in command of the assault on the Thirty-Second barracks), and said: "Colonel Ewart, bring on the tartan—let my own lads at them." Before the command could be repeated or the buglers had time to sound the advance, the whole seven companies, like one man, leaped over the wall, with such a yell of pent-up rage as I had never heard before nor since. It was not a cheer, but a concentrated yell of rage and ferocity that made the echoes ring again; and it must have struck terror into the defenders, for they actually ceased firing, and we could see them through the breach rushing from the outside wall to take shelter in the two-storied building in the centre of the garden, the gate and doors of which they firmly barred. Here I must not omit to pay a tribute of respect to the memory of Pipe-Major John M'Leod, who, with seven pipers, the other three being with their companies attacking the barracks, struck up the Highland Charge, called by some The Haughs of Cromdell, and by others On wi' the Tartan—the famous charge of the great Montrose when he led his Highlanders so often to victory. When all was over, and Sir Colin complimented the pipe-major on the way he had played, John said, "I thought the boys would fecht better wi' the national music to cheer them."
The storming of the Secundrabâgh has been so often described that I need not dwell on the general action. Once inside, the Fifty-Third (who got in by a window or small door in the wall to the right of the hole by which we got through) and the Sikhs who followed us, joined the Ninety-Third, and keeping together the bayonet did the work. As I before remarked, I could write pages about the actions of individual men whose names will never be known to history. Although pressed for space, I must notice the behaviour of one or two. But I must leave this to another chapter; the present one has already become too long.
NOTE.
With regard to the incident mentioned on page 40 Captain W. T. Furse, A.D.C. to his Excellency, wrote to me as follows: "Dear Forbes-Mitchell—His Excellency has read your Mutiny Reminiscences with great interest, and thinks they are a very true description of the events of that time. He wishes me, however, to draw your attention to a mistake you have made in stating that 'the horse of Lieutenant Roberts was shot down under him.' But the Chief remembers that though he was in the position which you assign to him at that moment, it was not his horse that was shot, but the horse of a trooper of the squadron commanded by Lieut. J. Watson (now Sir John Watson, V.C., K.C.B.), who happened to be near Lord Roberts at the time."
Now I could not understand this, because I had entered in my note-book that Lieutenant Fred. Roberts, Deputy Assistant Quartermaster-General of Artillery, was the first man to enter the Dilkooshá park and ride to the front to reconnoitre, that the enemy opened fire on him at point-blank range from a masked battery of 9-pounder guns, and that his horse was shot under him near the Yellow Bungalow (the name by which we then knew the Dilkooshá palace) on the morning of the 14th of November, 1857. And I was confident that about half-a-dozen men with Captain Dalziel ran out from the light company of the Ninety-Third to go to the assistance of Lieutenant Roberts, when we all saw him get on his feet and remount what we believed was a spare horse. The men of the light company, seeing that their assistance was not required, returned to the line, and directly we saw Lieutenant Roberts in the saddle again, unhurt, the whole regiment, officers and men, gave him a hearty cheer. But here was the Commander-in-Chief, through his aide-de-camp, telling me that I was incorrect! I could not account for it till I obtained an interview with his Excellency, when he explained to me that after he went past the Ninety-Third through the breach in the wall of the Dilkooshá park, Lieutenant Watson sent a trooper after him, and that the trooper was close to him when the battery unmasked and opened fire on them, the guns having been laid for their horses; that the second shot struck the trooper's horse as described by me, the horse and rider falling together amidst the dust knocked up by the other round shot; and that he, as a matter of course, dismounted and assisted the trooper to get from under the dead horse, and as he remounted after performing this humane and dangerous service to the fallen trooper, the Ninety-Third set up their cheer as I described.
Now I must say the true facts of this incident rather add to the bravery of the action. The young lieutenant, who could thus coolly dismount and extricate a trooper from under a dead horse within point-blank range of a well-served battery of 9-pounder guns, was early qualifying for the distinguished position which