CHAPTER VIII
ANECDOTES—ACTION WITH THE GWALIOR CONTINGENT—ITS DEFEAT—PURSUIT OF THE NÂN—BITHOOR—JOHN LANG AND JOTEE PERSHÂD
So far as I now remember, the 30th of November, 1857, passed without any movement on the part of the enemy, and the Commander-in-Chief, in his letter describing the state of affairs to the Governor-General, said, "I am obliged to submit to the hostile occupation of Cawnpore until the actual despatch of all my incumbrances towards Allahabad is effected." As stated in the last chapter, when our tents came up our camp was pitched (as near as I can now make out from the altered state of Cawnpore), about the spot where Joe Lee's hotel and the jute mill of Messrs. Beer Brothers and Co. now stand. St. Andrew's day and evening passed without molestation, except that strong piquets lined the canal and guarded our left and rear from surprise, and the men in camp slept accoutred, ready to turn out at the least alarm. But during the night, or early on the morning of the 1st of December, the enemy had quietly advanced some guns, unseen by our piquets, right up to the Cawnpore side of the canal, and suddenly opened fire on the Ninety-Third just as we were falling in for muster-parade, sending round-shot and shell right through our tents. One shrapnel shell burst right in the centre of Captain Cornwall's company severely wounding the captain, Colour-Sergeant M'Intyre, and five men, but not killing any one.
Captain Cornwall was the oldest officer in the regiment, even an older soldier than Colonel Leith-Hay who had then commanded it for over three years, and for long he had been named by the men "Old Daddy Cornwall." He was poor, and had been unable to purchase promotion, and in consequence was still a captain with over thirty-five years' service. The bursting of the shell right over his head stunned the old gentleman, and a bullet from it went through his shoulder breaking his collar-bone and cutting a deep furrow down his back. The old man was rather stout and very short-sighted; the shock of the fall stunned him for some time, and before he regained his senses Dr. Munro had cut the bullet out of his back and bandaged up his wound as well as possible. Daddy came to himself just as the men were lifting him into a dooly. Seeing Dr. Munro standing by with the bullet in his hand, about to present it to him as a memento of Cawnpore, Daddy gasped out, "Munro, is my wound dangerous?" "No, Cornwall," was the answer, "not if you don't excite yourself into a fever; you will get over it all right." The next question put was, "Is the road clear to Allahabad?" To which Munro replied that it was, and that he hoped to have all the sick and wounded sent down country within a day or two. "Then by ——" said Daddy, with considerable emphasis, "I'm off." The poor old fellow had through long disappointment become like our soldiers in Flanders,—he sometimes swore; but considering how promotion had passed over him, that was perhaps excusable. All this occupied far less time than it takes to write it, and I may as well here finish the history of Daddy Cornwall before I leave him. He went home in the same vessel as a rich widow, whom he married on arrival in Dublin, his native place, the corporation of which presented him with a valuable sword and the freedom of the city. The death of Brigadier-General Hope in the following April gave Captain Cornwall his majority without purchase, and he returned to India in the end of 1859 to command the regiment for about nine months, retiring from the army in 1860, when we lay at Rawul Pindee.
But I must return to my story. Being shelled out of our tents, the regiment was advanced to the side of the canal under cover of the mud walls of what had formerly been the sepoy lines, in which we took shelter from the fire of the enemy. Later in the day Colonel Ewart lost his left arm by a round-shot striking him on the elbow just as he had dismounted from his charger on his return from visiting the piquets on the left and rear of our position, he being the field-officer for the day. This caused universal regret in the regiment, Ewart being the most popular officer in it.
By the evening of the 3rd of December the whole of the women and children, and as many of the wounded as could bear to be moved, were on their way to Allahabad; and during the 4th and 5th reinforcements reached Cawnpore from England, among them our old comrades of the Forty-Second whom we had left at Dover in May. We were right glad to see them, on the morning of the 5th December, marching in with bagpipes playing, which was the first intimation we had of another Highland regiment being near us. These reinforcements raised the force under Sir Colin Campbell to five thousand infantry, six hundred cavalry, and thirty-five guns.
Early on the morning of the 6th of December we struck our tents, which were loaded on elephants, and marched to a place of safety behind the fort on the river bank, whilst we formed up in rear of the unroofed barracks—the Forty-Second, Fifty-Third, Ninety-Third, and Fourth Punjâb Infantry, with Peel's Brigade and several batteries of artillery, among them Colonel Bourchier's light field-battery (No. 17 of the old Company's European artillery), a most daring lot of fellows, the Ninth Lancers, and one squadron of Hodson's Horse under command of Lieutenant Gough,[29] a worthy pupil of a famous master. This detachment of Hodson's Horse had come down with Sir Hope Grant from Delhi, and served at the final relief of Lucknow and the retreat to the succour of Cawnpore. The headquarters of the regiment under its famous commander had been left with Brigadier Showers.
As this force was formed up in columns, masked from the view of the enemy by the barracks on the plain of Cawnpore, the Commander-in-Chief rode up, and told us that he had just got a telegram informing him of the safe arrival of the women and children, sick and wounded, at Allahabad, and that now we were to give battle to the famous Gwalior Contingent, consisting of twenty-five thousand well-disciplined troops, with about ten thousand of the Nânâ Sâhib's Mahrattas and all the budmâshes of Cawnpore, Calpee, and Gwalior, under command of the Nânâ in person, who had proclaimed himself Peishwa and Chief of the Mahratta power, with Tântia Topee, Bâlâ Sâhib (the Nânâ's brother), and Râja Koor Sing, the Râjpoot Chief of Judgdespore, as divisional commanders, and with all the native officers of the Gwalior Contingent as brigade and regimental commanders. Sir Colin also warned us that there was a large quantity of rum in the enemy's camp, which we must carefully avoid, because it was reported to have been drugged. "But, Ninety-Third," he continued, "I trust you. The supernumerary rank will see that no man breaks the ranks, and I have ordered the rum to be destroyed as soon as the camp is taken."
The Chief then rode on to the other regiments and as soon as he had addressed a short speech to each, a signal was sent up from Peel's rocket battery, and General Wyndham opened the ball on his side with every gun at his disposal, attacking the enemy's left between the city and the river. Sir Colin himself led the advance, the Fifty-Third and Fourth Punjâb Infantry in skirmishing order, with the Ninety-Third in line, the cavalry on our left, and Peel's guns and the horse-artillery at intervals, with the Forty-Second in the second line for our support.
Directly we emerged from the shelter of the buildings which had masked our formation, the piquets fell back, the skirmishers advanced at the double, and the enemy opened a tremendous cannonade on us with round-shot, shell, and grape. But, nothing daunted, our skirmishers soon lined the canal, and our line advanced, with the pipers playing and the colours in front of the centre company, without the least wavering,—except now and then opening out to let through the round-shot which were falling in front, and rebounding along the hard ground-determined to show the Gwalior Contingent that they had different men to meet from those whom they had encountered under Wyndham a week before. By the time we reached the canal, Peel's Blue-jackets were calling out—"Damn these cow horses," meaning the gun-bullocks, "they're too slow! Come, you Ninety-Third, give us a hand with the drag-ropes as you did at Lucknow!" We were then well under the range of the enemy's guns, and the excitement was at its height. A company of the Ninety-Third slung their rifles, and dashed to the assistance of the Blue-jackets. The bullocks were cast adrift, and the native drivers were not slow in going to the rear. The drag-ropes were manned, and the 24-pounders wheeled abreast of the first line of skirmishers just as if they had been light field-pieces.