Guns to the Far East (26 page)

William Peel was everywhere, bearing a seemingly charmed life as he dashed from gun to gun, exhorting his men to further effort, laughing and making boyish jokes with them, urging them on.

“Stay on hand, Phillip,” he warned, his smile briefly fading. “If they get me, you and Jim Vaughan will have to take over.” Then, his voice rising above the yells of the sepoys and the incessant crackle of their musketry, “Come on, lads—get that gun into action! One more heave will do it!”

At last the guns were in position, a scant twenty yards from their target, the battery's left resting on the newly captured village, from which smoke and flames rose sullenly skywards. Young Martin Daniel was the first to report his gun ready.

“Fire the howitzer, Mr Daniel!” Peel yelled.

The boy's high-pitched “Aye, aye, sir!” ended in a cry of horror from one of his crew as a roundshot took the right side of his head away and, bounding on, killed two of the yoked bullocks thirty feet behind him. Lieutenant Young sent Lightfoot to take the dead midshipman's place and the howitzer opened with the rest.

For three hours, the
Shannon
's siege battery pounded the towering walls, firing salvo after salvo at virtually point-blank range, stripping them of mortar but unable to breach them. From the Kaiser Bagh and the Mess House and from an enemy battery across the river, roundshot hurtled amongst the sweating gunners as, from the mosque itself, the rebels kept up an unremitting hail of grape and musket balls, screaming their hatred from the parapet. Rockets hissed high into the sky, to descend in a shower of incandescent flame into the enclosure, shells burst above the parapet and smashed against the bulbous dome but still, it seemed, there was no diminution in the number of the mosque's defenders, whilst the
Shannon
's casualties steadily increased.

Phillip laid one of the twenty-four-pounders for over an hour, losing two men of his crew when an uncannily accurate shot from the Mess House battery blew up an ammunition tumbril behind them. One of Arthur Clinton's crew had his left leg carried away above the knee and, long after the battle ended, Phillip could hear his voice in memory, mouthing oaths and crying out dazedly, “Here goes a shilling a day, a shilling a day! Go at the bastard niggers, boys—go at them!” until death mercifully silenced him.

Little Clinton, himself wounded in the arm, left his gun only long enough to have the bleeding staunched and then returned to it, yelling frenziedly to his gun-captain to keep on firing. Lightfoot had an Engineer named Bone and two of Gray's Marines making up his howitzer crew; Thomas Young and Edward Daniels were, Phillip saw, like himself, working guns, coatless and bare-headed. Pausing for the long minutes necessary to cool his own twenty-four-pounder, he wiped the sweat from his blackened face and saw, through the swirling smoke, that Sir Colin Campbell was still sitting his horse like a statue barely thirty yards off. He had evidently sent for infantry support for, as he watched, he saw the old General rise in his saddle and wave on Major Barnston's battalion of detachments, who were advancing in skirmishing order towards the fringe of jungle and the walled enclosures to the right of the mosque. A burst of grape thinned their leading rank and the stout Barnston fell forward on his face. Two of the skirmishers ran to pick him up and the rest hesitated, some flinging themselves down on their faces, as their leader had done, either wounded or seeking cover. Sir Colin roared an order and another officer of Greathead's brigade spurred his horse forward to lead them to their objective. Gallantly they attempted to scale the wall, but, without ladders, it was impossible and they were compelled to retreat, firing as they did so.

Minutes later, Captain Middleton's battery of Royal Horse Artillery galloped up to lend further support to the
Shannon
's hard-pressed gunners. Waving their caps and cheering, they passed the seamen's battery on the right, to unlimber and pour round after round of grape on to the parapets of the mosque and its enclosure.

“We're doing no damned good!” William Peel gasped bitterly, halting by Phillip's side. “We've scarcely made an impression on those infernal walls and the light'll be gone in half an hour.” He slid from his horse, holding out his hand gratefully for the pannikin of water Nowell Salmon offered him. Wiping his smoke-grimed lips inelegantly with the back of a clenched first, he swore under his breath. “There's one particular black swine, who's a deadly marksman, perched up on the wall over there and I swear he's hit more of our poor Jacks than all the rest put together. A fellow in a green turban—look you can just see his head, behind that tree growing up the wall.” He pointed and Salmon said excitedly, “Yes, I see him, sir.”

“He's been up there for at least an hour,” Peel said aggrievedly. “The devil take his black hide! We've all taken a pot at him and we can't knock him down.”

“I believe I could, sir,” Salmon offered. He checked his Enfield carefully. “I'm not a bad shot, after all the practice Commander Hazard has made us put in and if I were to shin up that tree, sir, I think I'd have a clear view of him. May I try?”

“I'll see you get a Victoria Cross if you succeed, Nowell,” Peel promised recklessly. “But for God's sake, have a care! He's as liable to hit you as you are to knock him down. Take a man with you to hold your rifle until you get into position in the tree.”

“Aye, aye, sir!” The young lieutenant thrust his rifle into the hand of the man nearest him and they ran forward together, dodging bullets as they made for the tree.

Peel met Phillip's gaze and shrugged resignedly.

“I shouldn't have let him go … damn it, he'll get himself killed! And I can't afford to lose officers, least of all officers of his calibre. But we've lost so many good men today, I … oh the devil! This is worse than the Crimea, Phillip, isn't it?” He did not wait for Phillip's reply. Wearily, shoulders bowed, he walked over to his horse. “Another broadside, gentlemen, if you please!” he requested, his voice husky with the strain of shouting above the thunder of the guns. “Give the swine another broadside! And, Phillip—”

“Sir?” Phillip waited, guessing what his Commander was about to say.

“I shall have to tell Sir Colin it's no use,” Peel said regretfully. “I don't want to admit defeat but we can't smash those walls with roundshot in the time that's left to us. The only answer will be to wait till after dark and then try to explode a couple of charges under them.”

Phillip felt his pain, aware of how much the admission would gall him when he had to make it to the Commander-in-Chief. “Shall I tell Sir Colin for you?” he offered. “I'm supposed to be naval liaison officer. If you can find anyone to replace me on this gun, I'll go and—”

“No.” William Peel shook his head. “Reporting failure is my responsibility. The worst of it is, I don't see how the column
can
pull out now. Damn it, the entire road is blocked by the baggage train coming up behind and that has to be got under some sort of cover before nightfall, in case they attack from the rear. We …” He was interrupted by a shout from one of Nowell Salmon's rifle company.

“Captain Peel, sir!” The man was grinning his delight. “Mr Salmon did it, sir—he shot down that nigger in the green turban! Took one in the leg while he was doing it but he's not badly hurt. Harrison's helping him back now, sir, and he sent me to get a
doolie.
”

“Good lad!” Peel exulted. His mood of depression left him. “By heaven, if I live long enough, I'll see the boy gets his Cross! All right, Phillip—I'll take you up on your offer after all. Give the C-in-C the bad news for me. Tell him I'll prepare charges and call for volunteers to lay them, if he wishes, and in the meantime I'll try to take the rocket-carts in a bit closer. If we could clear the enclosure to our front, we might be able to get the charges in place before dark.”

Phillip found Sir Colin Campbell already aware that the attack had been a failure. He said gruffly, “Captain Peel did everything possible, and with zeal and gallantry. But I—” he broke off, as a company of the 93rd came marching along the road towards him, the setting sun glinting on their long bayonets. They halted and the officer in command crossed to his side.

“The 93rd are in close column and ready, sir,” he stated. “Five companies, sir.”

“Thank you, Colonel Hay,” Sir Colin acknowledged. “I had not intended to call on your regiment again today but it is five o'clock and the Shah Nujeef must be carried.” Motioning Phillip to wait, he rode over to the column of Highlanders and addressed them, his voice firm and clear. “Remember, men, the lives of women and children are at stake in the Residency and they must be saved. It is not
will
you take that mosque, my lads—you
must
take it! And I will lead you at it myself.”

There was a chorus of protest. “We can lead ourselves, Sir Colin,” a voice from the ranks assured him. “And we'll take it, never fear.”

Uncannily as if they had sensed the presence of the Highlanders, the rebels in the Shah Nujeef enclosure set up a tremendous hubbub. Bugles sounded the “Advance” to be followed, moments later, by the “Double” and suddenly all firing ceased. Sir Colin looked round in frowning puzzlement and then Brigadier Hope Grant, who had been supervising the collection of his wounded, came cantering over, a sergeant of the 93rd running beside him, clinging to his stirrup.

“Sir Colin!” Hope Grant's tone was urgent. “This man”—he gestured to the sergeant—“Paton, sir, of the 93rd, has found a breach in the rear wall. It seems the naval guns have succeeded after all—some of their roundshot must have ricocheted and brought it down. I'd like your permission to take fifty men to inspect it.”

Permission was readily given. The Brigadier, with Colonel Allgood of his Staff, dismounted and, with fifty Highlanders and a party of Sikh sappers, both officers set off to investigate under the guidance of the sharp-eyed Sergeant Paton. Darkness fell and tension grew among the little knot of Staff officers gathered about the Commander-in-Chief. The firing had not been renewed and, in the oddly unnatural silence, they spoke in whispers, as if fearful that raised voices might bring about its resumption.

Then, shattering the silence, came the welcome skirl of the 93rd's pipers, coming from inside the great mosque which had defied them for so long, the tune they played to signify their hard-earned victory one that brought a beaming smile to Sir Colin Campbell's lined and weary face.

“‘The Campbells are coming!'” he exclaimed. “Aye, they've done that fine today, God bless their gallant hearts!”

Colonel Allgood galloped back, his forage cap held high above his head. “The enemy have gone, sir,” he stated triumphantly. “We entered through the breach in time to see the last of them fleeing into the darkness!”

“Convey the good news to Captain Peel, if you please,” Sir Colin said, turning to Phillip. “With my thanks for his noble exertions, tell him that he may withdraw his guns.”

As the moon rose, the old Chief and his Highlanders entered the Shah Nujeef enclosure to bivouac for the night, the men sleeping fully accoutred, their arms piled, each rifle loaded and capped. Pickets were posted, sentries paced beside the guns, and the rearguard spread out, alert for any attack which might be launched against the long procession of carts and tumbrils, camp followers and beasts of burden.

When all the necessary precautions had been taken, the dead were buried, William Peel and his ship's company standing bare-headed as Chaplain Bowman read the service, hearing in the distance the pipes of the 93rd playing “The Flowers of the Forest” as they, too, lamented their dead.

Next day—Tuesday, 17th November—the Naval Brigade was early astir. Anxious to reduce the number of casualties, which already exceeded four hundred, Sir Colin ordered a preliminary bombardment of the Mess House of the 32nd before bidding his infantry advance.

Leaving his First Lieutenant, Jim Vaughan, to move the siege-guns and mortars into position, Peel took Phillip with him to visit the wounded. They found both Nowell Salmon and young Arthur Clinton in good spirits but the field hospital in so exposed and dangerous a site that Peel was horrified. During the night a rumour had been spread that the Sikanderbagh contained large reserves of powder and, fearing that this might explode, the senior surgeon, Dr Dickson, had moved the wounded in their
doolies
into open ground.

“The reserves of powder are in the Shah Nujeef,” Peel told him grimly. “Tons of it! No doubt that was why the Pandies evacuated the place so suddenly last night—we were firing rockets into the enclosure. They probably feared we'd blow it and them to smithereens … as, indeed, we should have done, if we'd known the stuff was there. But”—he sighed—“you can't stay here, Doctor. I'll speak to General Mansfield and see if he'll arrange for you to get your patients under cover.”

Thanks to his intervention, the hospital was removed, a few hours later, to a captured village which, although under occasional fire from an enemy battery across the river, at least afforded shade and shelter for the wounded.

The bombardment of the Mess House lasted for almost three and a half hours. It was stubbornly defended but eventually the fire from its loopholed walls slackened and Sir Colin Campbell gave the order to storm. The column advanced, led by a company of the Queen's 90th, with the Battalion of Detachments in support, and soon two figures in British uniform could be discerned on the roof, planting their Colour on its summit.

Now less than a thousand yards separated the Relief Force from the Residency defenders. The previous day, two gun batteries from the Residency had been set up in the courtyard of the Chuttur Manzil Palace and an intervening wall partially breached by the explosion of a mine to afford a clear field of fire on the Hirun Khana and the Kaiser Bagh. Seeing the British flag flying from the Mess House roof, Sir James Outram ordered his two batteries to open fire and the storming party of twelve hundred men, drawn from each of the Lucknow regiments, set out to capture and occupy some of the intervening courts and buildings. This they did in heartening style, cheering as they charged, and the rebels fled before their vengeful bayonets, as Campbell's troops pressed forward with equal determination from the Mess House to the Moti Mahal. Here the enemy made their last stand, putting up an obstinate resistance but, sensing victory, the men of the Relief Force went surging through gaps blown in the walls, to drive the sepoys from enclosure and palace at bayonet-point and, once again, to plant their Colour triumphantly on its roof.