Havelock turned the enemy’s right with his second brigade, while he engaged the enemy’s guns with Eyre’s battery in front. Olpherts, with his guns, was sent to assist the turning movement. Here is a stirring battle picture drawn by Forbes:—
At a stretching gallop, with some volunteer cavalry in front of it, the horse battery dashed up the road past the halted first brigade, which cheered loudly as the cannon swept by, Neill waving his cap and leading the cheering. On the left of the road there was a great deep trench full of water, which had somehow to be crossed. Led by Barrow, the cavalry escort plunged in, and scrambled through, and then halted to watch how Olpherts would conquer the obstacle. “Hell-fire Jack” was quite equal to the occasion, and his men were as reckless as himself. With no abatement of speed the guns were galloped into the great trough. For a moment there was chaos—a wild medley of detachments, drivers, guns, struggling horses, and splashing water; and then the guns were out on the further side, nobody and nothing the worse for the scramble, all hands on the alert to obey Olpherts’ stentorian shout, “Forward at a gallop!”
Hamilton’s men marched and fought knee-deep in water; but the enemy’s right was smashed, his centre tumbled into ruin, and the men of the 78th and the Fusileers actually carried the Alumbagh in ten minutes! To tumble 12,000 men into flight, and carry the Alumbagh in this fashion, and in a space so brief, was a great feat; and while the men were in the exultation of victory, a messenger came riding in with the news—unhappily not true—that Delhi had fallen!
On the 24th the little force rested, while its leaders matured their plans for the advance to the Residency. Before them ran the great canal, the road crossing it by what was called the Charbagh bridge. Havelock’s plan was to bridge the Goomtee, the river into which the canal ran, march along its further bank, round the city to its north-west angle, and re-cross by the iron bridge immediately in front of the Residency, and in this way avoid the necessity of forcing his way, with desperate and bloody street-fighting, through the interlaced and tangled lanes of the city.
But the soil between the canal and the river was little better than a marsh, and it was determined to force the Charbagh bridge, advance on a lane which skirted the left bank of the canal, then turn sharply to the left, and fight a way across the city to the Residency.
Three hundred footsore and sick men were left to hold the Alumbagh. In the grey dawn of September 25, Havelock’s men, scanty in number, worn with marching, and hardened with a score of fights, were falling into line for the final march, which was to relieve Lucknow. “The sergeants of companies,” says an eye-witness, “acting on their orders, were shouting ‘Fall out, all you men that are footsore or sick;’ but many added the taunt, ‘and all you fellows whose heart isn’t good as well!’” But no man fell out of the ranks that grey September morning on that coward’s plea! At half-past eight the bugles sang out the advance, and with a cheer, and a quick step which the officers could scarcely restrain from breaking into the double, the men moved off for the last act in this great adventure.
Maude’s guns moved first, covered by two companies of the 5th (Northumberland) Fusileers. Outram rode by Maude’s side with the leading gun. Instantly, from a wide front, a cruel and deadly fire smote the head of the little column. From the enemy’s batteries on either flank, carefully laid and admirably served, from the cornfields, from the garden walls, from the house-roofs, a terrific fire of musketry and cannon-shot lashed, as with a scourge of flame, the causeway on which the English guns were moving. Maude’s guns were halted, and opened fiercely in answer to this fire. The men fell fast. A musket-ball passed through Outram’s arm, but, says Maude, “he only smiled, and asked one of us to tie his handkerchief tightly above the wound.” The cluster of British guns, with their gallant gunners, stood in the very centre of a tempest of shot. Here is a picture, drawn by Maude, of the carnage in his battery:—
Almost at the same moment the finest soldier in our battery, and the best artilleryman I have ever known, Sergeant-Major Alexander Lamont, had the whole of his stomach carried away by a round shot. He looked up to me for a moment with a piteous expression, but had only strength to utter two words, “Oh! God!” when he sank dead on the road. Just then another round shot took off the leg, high up the thigh, of the next senior sergeant, John Kiernan. He was afterwards carried back to the Alumbagh, but soon died from the shock. Kiernan was an excellent specimen of a Roman Catholic North of Ireland soldier. He was as true as steel. Another tragic sight on that road was the death of a fine young gunner, the only one, I believe, who wore an artillery jacket that day. A round shot took his head clean off, and for about a second the body stood straight up, surmounted by the red collar, and then fell flat on the road. But as fast as the men of the leading gun detachments were swept away by the enemy’s fire I replaced them by volunteers from other guns. Several times I turned to the calm, cool, grim general standing near, and asked him to allow us to advance, as we could not possibly do any good by halting there. He agreed with me, but did not like to take the responsibility of ordering us to go on.
At last the order to move on came, and Charbagh bridge was reached. It was defended on the further side by a solid earthen rampart 7ft. high, but with a narrow slit in the middle through which one man at a time could pass. It was armed with six guns, two of them 24-pounders. Tall houses, crowded with musketrymen, covered the bridge with their fire, and solid battalions were drawn up in its rear. Maude was planted with two of his guns in the open, and within short range of the enemy’s battery, and commenced a valiant duel with it. Outram led the 5th Fusileers by a detour for the purpose of smiting the battery at the bridge-head with a flank-fire. Maude’s two guns were fighting six, at a distance of 150 yards, and his gunners fell fast.
Again and again he had to call for volunteers to work his guns from the Madras Fusileers lying down under cover near him. The guns were of an ancient pattern, and carried a large leathern pouch full of loose powder for priming uses. “As the lane was very narrow,” says Maude, “the two guns were exceedingly close to one another, and when in their recoil they passed each other, amid a shower of sparks and smoke, they frequently set fire to the loose powder in the priming pouches, and blew the poor gunners up!” Yet Maude’s gallant lads worked their guns unflinchingly.