“I cannot tell the loss on the part of Tippoo, but on the English side there were between five and six hundred, reckoning killed, wounded and missing, altogether.”
“We should think it a terrible thing to see one man killed, but five or six hundred! that is dreadful.”
“Well, if I now tell you of the storming of Ghuznee, you will have had enough of fighting for one while. The storming of Ghuznee, in Affghanistan in Eastern Persia, a year or two ago, produced a strong sensation, both on account of the desperate resistance of the garrison and the courage and complete success of the besiegers.”
“Please to give us the account, and we will not interrupt you with a single word.”
“I should have told you, that in storming a place it is customary for a small party to go first. This party is composed of soldiers who freely volunteer their services; it is called the ‘forlorn hope,’ on account of the extreme peril hazarded by the party. In this instance the party was a strong one. When a soldier goes on a forlorn hope he often does two things at once—he wins a reputation for bravery and loses his name from the muster-roll. The gate of the fortress was blown in with gunpowder, and when the single bugle sounded, the stormers, headed by Colonel Dennie, rushed into the dark and smoking entrance, where they came at once into deadly conflict with the Affghans of the garrison. It was night, and nothing could be distinctly seen in the gateway; but the clash and clang of contending swords and bayonets were fearful. Hand to hand some fought their way, others poured in, as opportunity occurred, at pistol-shot, a destructive fire of musketry. At last they could see, as they penetrated further, a little of the blue sky, and, here and there, a twinkling star, over the heads of their enemies; but they had no time for star-gazing. On they went, till a force of four companies had, in some sort, established themselves in the fortress! A loud cheer was then raised to announce their success to their companions outside the place. Brigadier Sale was bringing up his men to support the forlorn hope, when he met an engineer officer who had been injured by the explosion at the gate. This officer told him the forlorn hope could not force its way, the passage was so choked up with rubbish. Brigadier Sale, knowing that under such circumstances it would be sacrificing his party to proceed, sounded a retreat, and thereby put the victorious forlorn hope in extreme danger from the want of support. This was, however, but for a short time, for, soon after, the success of the stormers was made known to him. The Brigadier then advanced with his men, but was met by a large body of Affghans, rushing headlong from the ramparts to the opening to make their escape. The encounter was desperate; and one of the Affghans, leaping over the fallen timber, brought down the brigadier with a cut in the face with his sharp shumsheer, striking him also, as he fell, another stunning blow. The Affghan lost his footing, and grappling his enemy, rolled with him on the ground. This was a critical moment: the brigadier contrived to grasp the Affghan’s hand, so as to keep fast the hilt of his shumsheer till Captain Kershaw came up and passed his sabre through his body. Still the desperate struggle continued, for the infuriated Affghan was not subdued till the brigadier got his right hand sufficiently at liberty to cleave the head of his opponent with his sword, when the latter shouted out ‘Ue Allah!’ and breathed his last. Allah, or Ullah, is the name the Mahomedans give to God.
“Though Brigadier Sale was unable at the moment to enter on active service, he yet calmly directed the movements of his men. There was desperate fighting; but British muskets and British bayonets won their way, and repeated shouts from the area of the fortress told the commander-in-chief, posted on the heights, that the walls were in possession of his troops. An order was now given to turn every gun on the heights towards the citadel. Colonel Croker with his troops entered the gates, winding his way upwards, as well as the ruins of the place would allow, towards the citadel, while the reserve troops, which had closed up close to the walls, had to endure the fire of hidden enemies from the ramparts. At last the reserve troops also entered the gates. It was thought the most desperate resistance would take place in the citadel, but it was not so, for Mohammed Hyder, in consternation at the boldness of the stormers, abandoned the mound. The gates of the citadel were burst open, and the colours of the 13th light infantry, and of the 17th regiment, were soon seen waving on the stronghold of Ghuznee. All was confusion; the rattle of muskets, the clashing of bayonets and swords, and the shrieks of the women of the harem were mingled, while the cries and groans of the wounded, and the flight of the fugitives increased the general consternation of the garrison. The reserve troops pressed on to the eastern rampart, when a body of concealed Affghans madly rushed forth, sword in hand, to cut a passage to the gateway. Just then a group of wearied soldiers were resting on the low ground below the citadel, where many of the wounded men lay, and where hundreds of Affghan horses were wildly galloping to and fro. On this group the furious Affghans rushed. The soldiers sprang to their feet, and a dreadful carnage ensued. A wild fusillade was directed against the Affghans, who fell, grinding their teeth with rage, crying, ‘Ue Allah!’ or giving vent to curses. Courage, calmness, rage, suffering, supplication, and despair, were all visible. The dying were mingled with the dead. The narrow streets of the town were scoured by the besiegers, the detached tower was carried by the gorge, and the garrison completely subdued. In little better than two hours after the attack commenced, Ghuznee, with its garrison of three thousand five hundred men, was taken, without a single ladder being raised in escalade—thus showing the wondrous superiority of British valour and British tactics.”
“Well! that was a very desperate affair.”
“It was; but war is a desperate game; it is often so to the winner, and always to the loser. There has been sad news lately from India. The Affghans have been victorious, some thousands of our troops have fallen, and the wives of several British officers are in the hands of the enemy.”
