Mention of Roddy’s hand-to-hand combat reminds me of the great fight between Sapper Sam Shaw, of the Rifle Brigade, and a white muslin-clad Ghazi, at Nawabgunge. It was after the sharp action at that place in June 1858 that the fanatic was seen to enter a grove of trees. A dozen men hastened in pursuit, but Shaw was easily the first, and coming up with his man he engaged him with the short sword that sappers carry.
A Ghazi at best is a dangerous fellow to tackle, and a Ghazi wounded and at bay, as this one was, might well have made Sam Shaw hesitate before venturing to attack him alone. But the sapper was not a man to think twice of danger, and in he went, sword against tulwar, until after several minutes’ fierce hacking and thrusting he saw his chance to close, and finished the affair with a mighty lunge.
It was a great fight, as I have said, and Sapper Shaw well earned the V.C. he got for it. But against his decoration he had to put a terrible slashing cut on the head from that keen-edged tulwar, a wound that came very near to ending his career then and there.
Last on my list of Mutiny V.C.’s come Lance-Corporal William Goate, of the 9th Lancers, and that popular hero, Sir Evelyn Wood, whose names still figure in the list of surviving recipients of the Cross for Valour.
Goate had just been three years and a half in the Lancers when the Mutiny broke out. His regiment was stationed at Umballa at the time, and proceeded at once to Delhi. After the fall of the old Punjab capital he was at the second captures of Cawnpore and Lucknow, taking part in some of the fiercest engagements of the campaign, and it was here—at Lucknow—that he performed the deed of valour which won him the Cross.
On the 6th of March—a blazing hot day, it is recorded—there was a bold sortie from the rebel lines which a British brigade was sent to repulse. The 9th Lancers was one of the regiments ordered to charge, and away they went, neck and neck with the 2nd Dragoons, for the enemy who had taken up their position on the racecourse. The sepoys broke before the onset of the cavalrymen, but the latter at length had to retire owing to a heavy fire from artillery and battery.
In the ride back Major Percy Smith, of the Dragoons, was shot through the body and fell from his horse. Corporal Goate was close by, and springing to the ground he quickly lifted the major on to his shoulder and ran with him thus alongside his horse. The major was a heavy weight, however; Goate found himself lagging behind with several of the enemy close upon him. Clearly he couldn’t get away with his burden, so he determined to do what he could for himself and the major. Placing the wounded officer on the ground, he sprang into his saddle and rode at his foes.
“I shot the first sepoy who charged,” he says in his account of the incident, “and with my empty pistol felled another. This gave me time to draw my sword, my lance having been left on the field. The sepoys were now round me cutting and hacking, but I managed to parry every slash and deliver many a fatal thrust. It was parry and thrust, thrust and parry all through, and I cannot tell you how many saddles I must have emptied. The enemy didn’t seem to know how to parry.”
So our brave corporal (he was only a little more than twenty, mind you) “settled accounts with a jolly lot,” and was still hard at it when some of his comrades came to his assistance. In the fight his horse had carried him some distance from where the major lay, and when the rebels had been forced back he went out again to look for him. Poor Major Smith was found after a long search, but it was a mutilated corpse that was brought sadly and reverently back to the camp.
Sir Colin Campbell and Sir Hope Grant had seen Goate’s gallant attempt at rescue, and after the action there was a cordial handshake for him from both the veterans, with many compliments upon his pluck that filled the corporal with just pride.