The Story of the British Army

by Charles Cooper King

Still the struggle continued, but not for long. Nearly all the European officers were down, twenty were killed or wounded, and then the cavalry were let go. The enemy had held his ground for three hours, and then sullenly retired, beaten, but not subdued. “The victors followed closely, pouring in volley after volley, until tired of slaughtering; yet these stern, implacable warriors preserved their habitual swinging stride, and would not quicken it to a run, though death was at their heels.”[59]

One more fight at Dubba, and then the pacification of the province and the dispersion of robber bands was left to Sir Charles Napier. Scinde and Meerpore were added to the British dominions in India; and no finer or more loyal regiments have we now in the Indian army than the Belooch regiments, composed of the descendants of those men who fought us so gallantly at Meanee.

But the fighting of the year 1843 was not finished. The usual domestic disturbances as regards the succession, nearly as periodic in native states in those days as “the rains,” broke out in the Mahratta State of Gwalior. Of course, again we were “pledged” to somebody or something, and marched an army there to carry out our “pledge.” It is somewhat curious that, in thus assisting others, we always managed to get something, usually the whole thing, out of it! Sir Hugh Gough was despatched to pull this particular chestnut out of the Indian fire, and he carried out his instructions with the customary completeness.

One opponent, “the usurper” of course, took up a position at Maharajpore with 18,000 men, 3000 of which were cavalry, and 100 guns. Against him Gough employed an army, in the glories of which shared the 3rd, 39th, 40th, and 50th Regiments of the line, with sundry regiments of Sepoys, in all 14,000 men, with 40 guns. The 39th and 40th stormed the entrenchments with the bayonet and took the guns also. Crosses were made of their gun-metal afterwards, and were issued to the troops engaged, in commemoration of this act of daring. The cost had been 7 officers killed and a total loss of about 800 men. On the same day, General Grey similarly defeated 1200 Mahrattas at Punniar, a battle in which the 3rd and 50th took part, and bear these names, therefore, on the colours.

This terminated the war. For a brief space there was peace; but not for very long. The endless repetition of the same causes that brought about hostilities in the past history of British India is almost monotonous.

We were next to deal with the Sikhs in the Punjaub. Rungeet Singh, by way of being on friendly terms with his dangerous neighbour, died in 1839. Naturally, domestic disturbances followed, and in 1844 there was a child and a regency. There often was before these wars of ours. Sir Henry Hardinge had meanwhile become Governor-General, and with far-seeing wisdom introduced the railway, and promoted many measures which both lessened the friction between the military and civil departments of his rule, as well as introducing others which ameliorated the condition of the native as well as of the European soldier. He might have made his reign distinguished only by such useful and peaceful measures, but in this case, the Sikhs took the offensive and forced his hand. The child, Dhuleep Singh, the nominal head of the Punjaub, was too young to reckon as an active factor in the coming, or rather existing, complications at Lahore. His ambitious ministers or chieftains saw this, and thought the time had come for a war of rapine. This is what Hardinge had to face soon after he assumed the reins of command.

The Sutlej separated the two States and the two armies, and the Governor-General was reluctant to believe that the Sikhs would take the offensive. But they did, and crossed the river in December 1845 with 60,000 men, and so invaded British territory. To this there could be but one reply. Sir Hugh Gough, the Commander-in-Chief, hurried to the front, and with him went Sir Henry Hardinge, who was the political chief, but, by seniority, his military subordinate.

The opponents first met at Moodkee, on the 18th December 1845. Gough’s force had marched twenty-two miles. Be it remembered, again, that this was not when uniform was comfortable, and kit was carried, and ammunition and weapons were both light. Such a march nowadays would call for letters in the Times. Then it was different. The story of the army in the past is widely different from that of the army in the present, as far as marching, and in heavy marching order, is concerned. The loss in the campaigns before 1870, too, was excessive; but nobody dreamed of talking big about it. Now, a very small percentage of men hit is magnified, and all the papers talk of it.

When this long march was finished, and the alarm sounded, the dinner preparations were dropped, and the men of that time went to fight before feeding. And bloody was the contest. There were on the British side twelve battalions and some batteries. The Sikhs were so strong that to all intents and purposes the British army formed but one line to meet them. The infantry met them in front; the 3rd Light Dragoons, with the Second Brigade of cavalry, turned their left and swept along their line, while the rest of the cavalry threatened the right. Night only saved the Sikhs from actual disaster, and when the firing ceased, they fell back with a loss of 17 guns. On the attacking side 3850 Europeans and 8500 native troops, with 42 guns, had lost 84 officers and 800 men, and among the dead was Sir Robert Sale of Jellalabad. It was midnight when Gough returned to Moodkee camp, and the Sikhs to Ferozeshah, where they entrenched with 120 guns. This was the first phase of a long-continued struggle.

On the 19th, reinforcements reached the general, in the shape of more heavy guns, the 29th, the 1st European Light Infantry, and some Sepoys. Sir H. Hardinge then, waiving his official rank, elected to serve as second in command to the commander-in-chief.