When the gallant Havelock effected his entrance into Lucknow on the 25th of September, 1857, a considerable number of our wounded men who were being conveyed in “doolies,” or hospital litters, were left behind near the Motee Munzil under the charge of a military escort. As soon as the army of rescue had made good its position in the Residency, General Outram, who had assumed the command, despatched a party of 250 men to effect a junction with Colonel Campbell, of the 90th, and to assist him in bringing in the wounded. They ultimately succeeded in this object, but some idea of the dangers they had to encounter may be formed from the following narrative. The doolies containing the wounded remained during the night of the 25th of September in the passage in front of the Motee Munzil Palace without attracting the notice of the enemy. On the morning of the 26th the mutineers opened fire upon them, and numbers were killed by the shot and shells. The surgeons in charge of the wounded behaved with the greatest coolness and courage. One of them, an assistant-surgeon in the artillery, requested one of his brother officers to assist him in an operation. On their way to the spot they were exposed to a constant fire. “Well, Bartrum,” said one of them, “I wish I could see my way out of this.” “Oh,” said the other, “there is no danger whatever.” The words had scarcely passed the lips of the assistant-surgeon when he was shot down. Two minutes before he was speaking of his wife and child, and the pleasure he would have in meeting them in the Residency. They were destined never to meet in this world. The position of the wounded now became critical; they were separated from the main body of the army by about a mile; they were surrounded on all sides by the enemy; their only hope of safety lay in forcing their way to the intrenched camp.
Such was the opinion of Colonel Campbell, of the 90th, who had charge of the escort. Addressing Dr. Home, whom he believed to be the senior medical officer present, he informed him that he had completed his arrangements for conducting the wounded to the Residency, and requested him to take charge of the party. It was of importance to secure the services of some one acquainted with the locale to act as guide. Mr. J. B. Thornhill, a gallant young civilian, anxious for the safety of his relative, Lieutenant H. M. Havelock, who was still among the wounded, expressed his readiness to perform this arduous duty, and the offer was at once accepted by General Outram. He reached the Motee Munzil in safety, and Dr. Home’s party prepared to start under his guidance. Colonel Campbell informed them that after traversing a space of about 340 yards they would no longer be exposed to the fire of the enemy, as there was a way through the palaces skirting the river where they would be sheltered from attack. The military escort of 150 men was placed under the command of Major Simmonds, of the 5th Fusiliers, one of the best and bravest officers we have ever known. He subsequently died of his wounds, leaving a young widow in Mauritius to deplore his loss. No time was lost in collecting the doolies. When all was ready a rush was made for Martin’s house, a stone building about forty yards from where they stood. The moment they left the gate the enemy opened fire on them from a battery across the river. No time was lost in reaching Martin’s house, where they looked for shelter. Their position there was as unsafe as before; the round shot from the enemy’s battery pierced the walls of the house in every direction. After a delay of half on hour they resumed their dangerous march. Major Simmonds advanced in front with the escort to clear the way, followed by the doolies in long procession. They continued their march for two hundred yards without suffering any loss, till they reached a “nullah,” or pond, three or four feet deep, through which they had to wade. Some of the doolie-bearers and wounded were drowned or killed by the enemy’s grape; those who succeeded in crossing reached a street where they were partly sheltered by a high wall.
Major Simmonds did all that could be done for their safety. The gallant escort were shot down right and left, but they kept up a steady fire and never ceased to advance. On leaving this street the guide lost his way; instead of pursuing the path by the river he led them into an oblong square lined on three sides with sheds, which is now familiarly known to every resident in Lucknow as Doolie-square. No sooner had they entered this square than the enemy, who had posted themselves on the roofs of the sheds and behind the walls, opened fire upon them and shot down many of the escort and doolie-bearers. Many of the latter threw down the doolies in despair, and no threats or entreaties on the part of the officers in charge could induce them to take them up again. They either fled or met their fate with stoical indifference; it was the will of Allah, and to Allah’s will they must submit. In the case of a few the instinct of self-preservation was stronger than their creed; they ran the gauntlet of the enemy’s fire and escaped. The medical officers and those who accompanied them rushed through the square till they reached a covered archway opposite to a corner house occupied by the enemy, who fired into them with such destructive effect at the distance of a few yards that the same bullet often passed through several men. If they left the archway they were exposed to the fire of the enemy who were concealed on the roofs of the sheds; to remain there was certain destruction.
Drs. Home and Bradshaw superintending the removal of the wounded to the Residency at Lucknow.
Mr. Thornhill, the guide, who had unwittingly brought them into this danger, now proposed that they should retrace their steps and turn the doolies back. This could no longer be done, as the doolie-bearers had abandoned the wounded already in the square, but an effort was made to prevent others from entering it. Dr. Bradshaw and Dr. Home’s apothecary went back and persuaded the doolie-bearers in the rear to resume their burdens and to follow them along the path by the river which the guide had missed; in this way they reached the Residency in safety. Poor Thornhill in passing through the square was twice wounded; one of these wounds proved mortal. Those who remained beneath the archway looked out in every direction for some place of shelter. There was no time to be lost; armed soldiers were entering the square and murdering the helpless men in the doolies. It was a harrowing scene, but Dr. Home never lost his coolness or presence of mind; he stuck to the doolies as a young ensign would stick to his colours in the hour of danger.
On the right side of the archway was an open door leading into a house; here a small party sought for shelter. It consisted of Dr. Home, Captain Becher, of the 40th Native Infantry, Swanson, of the 78th Highlanders, nine soldiers as yet unhurt, and three wounded men. This small party of fifteen persons were hemmed in on every side by the enemy; their only chance of safety lay in holding out till assistance reached them from the Residency. It was now about ten o’clock in the morning; they might not have long to wait. They screened themselves as much as they could from the fire of the rebels, who crowded round the door and might have forced their way in had it not been for the gallant conduct of Private Patrick McManus, of the 5th Fusiliers. This heroic Irishman stood in the gateway as their guardian angel; ensconcing himself behind a pillar near the door, he kept up a steady fire on the enemy for half an hour, and thus prevented them from effecting an entrance. His hand was so steady, his aim so certain, that whenever he raised his piece the cowardly Sepoys fled from their loopholes or prostrated themselves on the ground. There stood McManus, a hero in the strife, keeping the whole multitude of the mutineers at bay. He had not even to fire; he had only to show his rifle, when all the cowardly wretches trembled before him—such was the influence exercised over them by the bearing of one undaunted man. The house at the gateway became the central point of attack; the mutineers assembled there from all quarters, and yelled like beasts of prey thirsting for human blood. As in the Homeric battles, the combatants were so close that they could revile one another. Sometimes the assailants would advance within twenty yards of the house. “The Feringees are cowards,” they would say; “why do they not come into the street?”—an unreasonable question, considering that the Feringees were only fifteen in number and the enemy more than a thousand. On this the redoubted McManus would show his rifle, when the cowards became silent through abject fear. Ah, Patrick McManus, my boy, if the mother that bare you had seen you that day, her old heart would have been proud of you!
The leader of the mutineers abused them for their cowardice. “Come on!” he would say; “what are you afraid of? There are only three Feringees.” On hearing this the gallant little party, wounded and all, would give a loud shout to make the enemy believe that they were more numerous than they really were, and Patrick McManus would peep out from behind his pillar. They also strengthened their position by barricading the door with lumber and with sandbags, to form which they stripped the dead Sepoys of their “cummerbunds,” or waistcloths. The mass of dead bodies which had accumulated round the door served as a barrier to prevent the mutineers from entering. On finding that they could not force the house they directed their fire against the wounded in the doolies, and killed about forty of them.
At this moment an incident occurred which serves to prove what sacrifices our soldiers are ready to make for officers whom they love. In one of the doolies close to the beleaguered house lay Captain Arnold, of the Madras Fusiliers, a gallant officer who had been severely wounded. Among the holders of the house was Private Ryan, of the same regiment, who resolved to make an effort to rescue him from his dangerous position. As he could not do this alone he called for some one to assist him, when Patrick McManus stepped out from behind his pillar and offered to accompany him. He was already wounded in the foot, but a wound was nothing when danger had to be encountered. The two brave men cleared the barricade, rushed through the gateway amid a shower of bullets, and reached the doolie in safety. Here they had to encounter a new difficulty. Their united strength could not raise the doolie from the ground, so they took poor Arnold in their arms and bore him to the house. It is a remarkable fact, that while the ground around them was torn with musket-balls, and Captain Arnold received a wound in the thigh which afterwards proved mortal, both of his deliverers escaped unhurt. Encouraged by their success, they ventured forth a second time and carried in a wounded soldier whose piteous cries had excited their compassion. The result was the same as before; they were safe, but the soldier received two mortal wounds and died before he reached the house. Such incidents almost justify the belief that the age of miracles has not yet passed away.
During this struggle the duties that devolved on Dr. Home, the only unwounded officer in the house, were most arduous. He had to direct and encourage the men by his example, to dress the wounded, and to assist in shooting down their assailants. In all this he was ably assisted by Private Hollowell, of the 78th Highlanders, who proved himself worthy of such a leader. When the rebels found that they could not force an entrance, they stole stealthily up to the window and fired through the plastered venetians. Our men lay down on the floor; the bullets thus passed harmlessly over them. The Sepoys then attempted to rush the house, when Hollowell, watching his opportunity, shot down their leader, an old man, armed with sword and shield, and dressed in white with a red waistband. One man was now told off to fire from each window and three from the door. Dr. Home kept watch and ward at one of the windows with his revolver in his hand; he could see all that was passing in the street through a hole made by a bullet. A Sepoy crept stealthily up to the window at the distance of three yards; the doctor shot him dead with his revolver. Hollowell gave another his quietus, and then for a time all was still.