From Egypt to Japan

by Henry M. Field

"August 5th we marched toward Lucknow nine miles and then encamped on a large plain for the night. You must bear in mind that we had no tents with us, they are not allowed, so every day we were exposed to the burning sun and to the rain and dew by night. No baggage or beds were allowed; but the soldier wrapped his cloak around him, grasped his musket and went to sleep, and soundly we slept too. My Arab horse served me as a pillow, I used to lie down alongside of him, with my head on his neck, and he never moved with me except now and then to lick my hand." But he adds, "We found that it was impossible to proceed to Lucknow, for our force was too small—for though we were a brave little band, and could fight to Lucknow, yet we could not compel them to raise the siege when we got there."

Another enemy also had appeared. Cholera had broken out in the camp; eleven men died in one day. The Rebels too were rising behind them. As soon as Havelock crossed the Ganges they began to gather in his rear. Nana Sahib was mustering a force and threatened Cawnpore. Thus beset behind and before, Havelock turned and marched against the Mahratta chief, and sent him flying towards Delhi. In reading the account of these marches and battles, it is delightful to see the spirit between the commander and his men. After this victory, as he rode along the lines, they cheered him vehemently. He returned their salute, but said, "Don't cheer me, my lads, you did it all yourselves." Such men, fighting together, were invincible.

In September Havelock had collected 2,700 men, and again set out for Lucknow. Three days they marched "under a deluge of rain." But their eyes were "steadfastly set" towards the spot where their countrymen were in peril, and they cared not for hardships and dangers. The garrison was apprised of their coming, and waited with feverish anxiety. In the relieving force was a regiment of Highlanders, and if no crazy woman could put her ears to the ground (according to the romantic story so often told) and hear the pibroch, and shout "The Campbells are coming," they knew that those brave Scots never turned back. As they drew near the city over the Cawnpore road, they found that it was mined to blow them up. Instantly they wheeled off, and marched round the city, and came up on the other side. Capturing the Alumbagh, one of the royal residences, which, surrounded by a wall, was easily converted into a temporary fortress, Havelock left here his heavy baggage and stores of ammunition, with an immense array of elephants and camels and horses; and all his sick and wounded, and the whole train of camp-followers; and three hundred men, with four guns to defend it. Thus "stripped for the fight," he began his attack on the city. It was two miles to the Residency, and every step the English had to fight their way through the streets. The battle began in the morning, and lasted all day. It was a desperate attempt to force their way through a great city, where every man was an enemy, and they were fired at from almost every house. "Our advance was through streets of flat-roofed and loop-holed houses, each forming a separate fortress." Our informant told us of the frenzy in the Residency when they heard the sound of the guns. "The Campbells were coming" indeed! Sometimes the firing lulled, and it seemed as if they were driven back. Then it rose again, and came nearer and nearer. How the tide of battle ebbed and flowed, is well told in the narratives of those who were actors in the scenes:

"Throughout the night of the 24th great agitation and alarm had prevailed in the city; and, as morning advanced, increased and rapid movements of men and horses, gave evidence of the excited state of the rebel force. At noon, increasing noise proclaimed that street fighting was growing more fierce in the distance; but from the Residency nought but the smoke from the fire of the combatants could be discerned. As the afternoon advanced, the sounds came nearer and nearer, and then we heard the sharp crack of rifles mingled with the flash of musketry; the well-known uniforms of British soldiers were next discerned."

A lady who was in the Residency, and has written a Diary of the Siege, thus describes the coming in of the English troops:

"Never shall I forget the moment to the latest day I live. We had no idea they were so near, and were breathing the air in the portico as usual at that hour, speculating when they might be in; when suddenly just at dusk, we heard a very sharp fire of musketry close by, and then a tremendous cheering. An instant after, the sound of bagpipes—then soldiers running up the road—our compound and veranda filled with our deliverers, and all of us shaking hands frantically, and exchanging fervent 'God bless you's' with the gallant men and officers of the 78th Highlanders. Sir James Outram and staff were the next to come in, and the state of joyful confusion and excitement was beyond all description. The big, rough-bearded soldiers were seizing the little children out of our arms, 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. We were all rushing about to give the poor fellows drinks of water, for they were perfectly exhausted; and tea was made down in the Tye-khana, of which a large party of tired, thirsty officers partook, without milk or sugar. We had nothing to give them to eat. Every one's tongue seemed going at once with so much to ask and to tell; and the faces of utter strangers beamed upon each other like those of dearest friends and brothers."

It was indeed a great deliverance, but the danger was not over. Of all that were in the Residency when the siege began, three months before, more than half were gone. Out of twenty-two hundred but nine hundred were left, and of these less than one-half were fighting men. Even with the reinforcement of Havelock the garrison was still far too small to hold such a position in the midst of a city of such a population. The siege went on for two months longer. The final relief did not come till Sir Colin Campbell, arriving with a larger force, again fought his way through the city. The atrocities of the Sepoys had produced such a feeling that he could hardly restrain his soldiers. Remembering the murders and massacres of their countrymen and countrywomen, they fought with a savage fury. In one walled enclosure, which they carried by storm, were two thousand Sepoys, and they killed every man!

Even then the work was not completed. Scarcely had Sir Colin Campbell entered the Residency before he decided upon its evacuation. Again the movement was executed at midnight, in silence and in darkness. While the watch-fires were kept burning to deceive the enemy, the men filed out of the gates, with the women and children in the centre of the column, and moving softly and quickly through a narrow lane, in the morning they were several miles from the city, in a strong position, which made them safe from attack.

The joy of this hour of deliverance was saddened by the death of Havelock. He had passed through all the dangers of battle and siege, only to die at last of disease, brought on by the hardships and exposures of the last few months. But his work was done. He had nothing to do but to die. To his friend, Sir James Outram, who came to see him, he stretched out his hand and said: "For more than forty years I have so ruled my life, that when death came, I might face it without fear."

The garrison was saved, but the city was still in the hands of the Rebels, who were as defiant as ever. It was some months before Sir Colin Campbell gathered forces sufficient for the final and crushing blow. Indeed it was not till winter that he had collected a really formidable army. Then he moved on the city in force and carried it by storm. Two days of terrible fighting gave him the mastery of Lucknow, and the British flag was once more raised over the capital of Oude, where it has floated in triumph unto this day.