“No firing, 64th and 78th. Trust to the bayonet, and remember that I am with you.”
These words inspired the men with a fresh courage, so, with a ringing cheer, they dashed forward. Steadily they advanced, the enemy sending round shot into the ranks up to 300 yards’ range, and then poured a perfect fusilade of grape. The 64th were directly in line of the gun, and suffered severely, but when the order to “Charge!” came, each man bounded forward.
The rebels did not wait for the bayonet, but broke and fled, with the British in pursuit, showing no mercy to the fugitives. The Nana’s forces were now in total confusion, and retired upon Cawnpore. The British guns were now up, and a heavy fire was opened upon the retreating host. The battle was over, and the tired troops halted for the night, while the wounded were attended and the dead interred. The British loss was found to be about 100 killed and wounded, which does not say much for the rebel fire, seeing that they had practically target shooting for a considerable time. The enemy’s loss was severe, as the dead and dying strewed the road to Cawnpore.
Hardly had the troops settled down to rest when a tremendous explosion shook the earth. Nana Sahib, recognising his defeat, had blown up the Cawnpore magazine, and abandoned the place, with which his name will be for ever darkly associated.
Next day Havelock’s force entered Cawnpore, to find that they were too late; a glance at the blood-bespattered room and the ghastly sight of the mangled bodies in the well spoke all too plainly of the fearful carnage. It was to find this that the brave force had marched 126 miles, defeated the enemy four times, and captured 24 guns. Little wonder that the brave soldiers were maddened by such a spectacle; little wonder that they swore terrible oaths of vengeance.
“I wept,” wrote one of the officers of the 78th, “when I looked into the room where the massacre had taken place, and saw the blood on the floor and walls, portions of clothing, and shreds of hair which had been torn from the innocent heads of our women and children. And I was not the only one to weep, for I saw old and hardened soldiers, who had endured the carnage of many a battlefield without a tremor, with tears running down their tanned cheeks.”
No mercy was shown to the rebels who were caught. First of all they were compelled to clean up a portion of the blood-stained floor, and as to touch blood is abhorrent to the high-caste natives (they thinking that by doing so they are doomed to perdition), this was a terrible punishment. They were then hanged, and Brigadier Neill, who had now command at Cawnpore, was successful in sending many to their just doom.
Large numbers of the enemy still hung about in the vicinity of Cawnpore, and the troops made several successful sorties. The Nana had wisely quitted the field, and had taken refuge in his palace at Bithoor, where he was strongly supported. The skirmishing bands of mutineers which molested the Cawnpore garrison were gradually driven back, and must have suffered severely. An incident, gruesome it may be, is related of a stalwart Highlander, who had taken part in one of the skirmishes. He was discovered standing musing and gazing intently upon two headless corpses which lay upon the ground.
“What’s troubling you, my man?” said an officer who chanced to be near.
“Lo’d, sir, I sliced aff baith their heads, and noo I dinna ken the ane fae the ither, so I doot I’ll need tae lat them lie as they are”; and, as if playing football, he kicked the heads aside.