The Cannons of Lucknow (30 page)

He rode on, running the gauntlet of musketry fire from loopholed buildings and rooftops and guided by the ceaseless roar of cannon fire ahead and to his left. He passed a few
dhoolies
and picked up a wounded Fusilier, who was gallantly struggling along, using his Enfield as a crutch, but of Harry Havelock there was no sign. He found the column halted behind the sheltering walls of the Moti Munzil Palace and, in a narrow passage-way, at the centre of a confused circle of staff officers, soldiers, guns, wounded men, bullocks and ammunition waggons, he saw that the generals were conferring.

Outram, on his big roan waler, had his arm in a sling and his Malacca cane grasped in his sound hand, the inevitable cheroot clamped between his teeth, at which he was puffing more from habit than enjoyment. Havelock—whose horse had been shot under him, an A.D.C. said—was on foot, pacing up and down displaying the first signs of agitation Alex had ever known him to reveal in public throughout the campaign. They were too far away for him to hear what they said but it was evident, from the expressions on both their faces and the restrained courtesy with which their discussion was being conducted that, once again, the two commanders were far from being in agreement as to what course to pursue. Captain Moorsom had his survey map spread out on the ground a short distance from them and, from time to time, Havelock raised his voice to ask for information concerning the position of some of the buildings which still separated them from the Residency.

Colonel Tytler, his uniform mudstained and his face grey with fatigue, was sitting his horse in silence on the edge of the group of staff officers and Alex reined in beside him and started to make his report. Seeming almost as if he had not heard, the Deputy-Judge-Advocate-General told him, in a tired voice, that General Outram had advocated remaining in one of the Palaces for the night and resuming the attempt to reach the Residency next day, when the fighting troops were fed and rested, the sick and wounded taken care of and the scattered column reformed.

“Sir James thinks we should advance no further than the Chutter Munzil and halt there.”

“It would seem prudent,” Alex suggested uncertainly

“General Havelock, on the hand, believes that we should push on,” Tytler said. “He fears that, if we do not, the garrison may fall to a night attack … and it's on the cards that they might. They're under a cruel bombardment now, as you can hear, Sheridan—and from all sides, not only this. We're within less than a quarter of a mile of the Bailey Guard gate and can advance under cover through Martin's House and the King's Stables to the Chutter Munzil, once those heavy guns outside the Kaiser Bagh are silenced. Eyre's trying to knock the Kaiser Bagh battery out now and Olpherts is engaging the Mess House.” He sighed. “The general proposes to halt only long enough to enable the baggage train and the rearguard to catch up with us and then go on. We've only about three more hours of daylight left, so a decision must be reached very soon.”

Alex listened, frowning. The Chutter Munzil Palace—so called from the gilt
chutters
or umbrellas which crowned its summit—was, he knew, a large, rambling building surrounded by a high brick wall. Built originally for a seraglio, it would afford shelter and protection to the harassed column … he hesitated and then asked bluntly, “What do you think the final decision will be, Colonel? “

Tytler answered with a shrug. “General Havelock,” he said flatly, “is still in command until we reach the Residency. The street leading to it is reported to be entrenched and heavily defended by batteries and thousands of rebel infantry—and we shall not be able to bring the guns in that way. All the same, I think we must go on.” He sighed and then asked sharply, as if suddenly awakening to the fact, “Weren't you and Barrow with the rearguard, Sheridan? What the devil's happened to them? And what about the baggage train, for heaven's sake? I've had a detachment of the 90th standing by to go in search of them—they're not in serious trouble, are they?”

“The Highlanders were being very hard pressed, sir, and had suffered heavy casualties,” Alex told him. He made his report and Colonel Tytler winced when he mentioned Harry Havelock's wound. “Dear heaven, this will break the poor old man's heart! Is Harry badly wounded?”

Alex had perforce to shake his head. “I can't tell you that, I'm afraid,” he said apologetically. “All I know is that he took a musket-ball in the arm and Hastings of the 78th had him put into a
dhoolie
. I was unable to find him but Johnson has a large number of wounded with the baggage train. He should be almost in sight by now—he wasn't far behind me, but he had been separated from the rearguard and he could do with help to bring the wounded in, Colonel. His
dhoolie
-bearers were in a state of panic and he had his hands full keeping them with the train. I'll go back with the detachment of the 90th, if you wish, and look for Harry Havelock.”

“No, wait,” Tytler bade him. “The general may want to speak to you. I'll go and have a word with him now.” He started to thrust a way through the assembled officers but, before he reached Havelock's side, there was a sudden hush as somewhere near at hand the roar of a heavy gun faded abruptly into silence and, rising above the incessant crackle of musketry and the thunder of more distant guns, came the sound of British cheers.

“The Kaiser Bagh battery has been put out of action! “the general exclaimed. “We
must
go on.” He appealed to General Outram. “The street will be the worst but we know what to expect. At most it will be five hundred yards from the Chutter Munzil to the Bailey Guard, Sir James. We shall be slated but we can push on and get it over.”

General Outram reddened angrily but he controlled himself. “In God's name,” he returned, “Let us go on, General Havelock!”

There were a few subdued cheers from the officers grouped about them but Colonel Hamilton cut them short. “My regiment is not yet here, sir,” he reminded Havelock; then, seeing Alex, he called out above the hubbub, “Colonel Sheridan, how fare the 78th? Have you brought news of them?”

Alex crossed to his side. He repeated what he had told Tytler. “Captain Barrow's squadron is with them, sir, assisting their withdrawal. It took longer than anyone anticipated because of the severity of the attack launched against them from the Cawnpore road.” Colonel Hamilton asked a number of questions concerning the 78th's position and casualties, which Alex answered to the best of his knowledge and, with a brusque nod of thanks, the Highlanders' senior Colonel went to confer with the two generals. They were still discussing the situation, out of earshot of their staffs, when word came that the baggage train, with the wounded, had rejoined the column.

Orders went out swiftly and, Alex's mind registered, Havelock was showing something of his old decisiveness and fire at last, undeterred by the presence of the man who had relinquished command to him. The 90th Light Infantry, under Colonel Campbell, were ordered to take up defensive positions with Vincent Eyre's two heavy guns remaining where they were, in the Moti Munzil Palace, into which the wounded, the baggage and all the ammunition tumbrils were brought and placed under cover. The 90th sent out its detachment to search for and aid the 78th and, with ammunition pouches replenished, the rest of the column was ordered to advance, with Olpherts' battery and a cavalry escort, through the enclosed garden of Martin's House and under cover of the wall of the King's Stables to the Chutter Munzil Palace.

All went well until the head of the column emerged from Martin's garden and struck one of the main roads, when it was met by artillery and musketry and found its way barred by a massive gate at the entrance to the King's Stables. The skirmishers of the 5th Fusiliers, who were in the van, scattered into cover and Olpherts—as always, in his element when the situation called for dash and daring—galloped up with two of his field guns, unlimbered and opened fire on the gate. Alex, who was with Johnson and the scanty escort of his Irregulars, twice charged and dispersed large bodies of rebel infantry attempting to outflank the gunners. Johnson's sowars fought like tigers with lance and sabre but, inevitably, saddles were emptied and each time those who were left returned with wounded comrades mounted behind them or clinging to their stirrups.

At last the great gate sagged and then crashed down under the impact of Olpherts' round-shot and James Neill, commanding the leading brigade, led his Blue Caps in a bayonet charge and carried the building, cheering wildly. They continued, driving all opposition before them, and had vanished into the smoke when Olpherts limbered up and guns and cavalry clattered after them into a long, narrow passage-way which led to the Chutter Munzil Palace, the walls of which offered adequate protection for the whole column.

The order came to halt and bring in wounded. As it was being obeyed, the two generals, with Hamilton, Tytler and a number of staff officers gathered round Moorsom's survey map, and Outram again urged a halt until daylight. Havelock, grim faced and determined, shook his head firmly to the suggestion.

“The poor old general! “Jack Olpherts observed, with feeling. He slid wearily from his horse beside Alex and Henry Delafosse, who had also taken the opportunity to stretch their cramped limbs. “There's been no word of his son, apparently, and he's nearly beside himself with anxiety … but, in spite of that, he's for pushing on to the Residency to finish the job. Look at his face, for God's sake! No power on earth could stop him now, with less than five hundred yards to go to his goal!”

“They may be the hottest five hundred yards we've ever had to face,” Delafosse said. His face was blackened by gunsmoke and he looked exhausted, the sweat tracing a score of tiny rivulets across cheeks and chin but he grinned in Alex's direction. “Hotter even than it was at the Suttee Chowra Ghat, Alex my friend! They say there are thousands of the swine out there in that street, just waiting for us to show ourselves, and they've got a battery in the Clock Tower, Moorsom thinks, covering the Bailey Guard gate. All the same, I'm for going on to finish the job, aren't you? Those poor devils in the garrison have waited three months for us to come to their relief—we can't fail them now.”

“The more you look at it, the less you'll like it, my men,” Alex quoted and Jack Olpherts laughed in genuine amusement.

“Very true,” he agreed. “Whose words of wisdom were those? They sound like the general's.”

“Yes, they were … they referred to a twenty-four-pounder howitzer on the road to Cawnpore, which he wanted the Sixty-Fourth to charge.”

“And did they charge it?”

Alex nodded. “Yes, indeed they did—led by young Havelock because none of their own officers were mounted. That was the occasion when Harry didn't get recommended for the Victoria Cross. He—”

“Haven't you heard the latest?” Delafosse put in.

“The latest?” Alex eyed him blankly, too tired to be interested in gossip or rumour. “The latest what, pray?”

“Incentive to heroism on the part of the Company's soldiers,” Delafosse answered, his tone unexpectedly dry. “The general told Jack earlier today that he would recommend him for a Victoria Cross. Provided …” he paused, and added with emphasis, “
provided
the award of the Cross is opened to the Company's officers and men! Did you know that it wasn't?”

Alex shook his head and Jack Olpherts laughed his deep, booming laugh. “I don't think the general did, until quite recently. Must be an official pronouncement but, like so many of these damfool rules and regulations, Alex, I don't suppose it's intended as a slight against the Company's officers, do you? Anyway, what the hell? We're not fighting for bloody Crosses are we?
I'm
certainly not—I just want to show the thrice-damned Pandies what it means to betray their salt … and put the fear of God into them for what they did at Cawnpore. To be honest, I enjoy being in action with my guns—it's what we're trained for, dammit, and it beats peacetime soldiering into a cocked hat. And talking of guns, I wonder if Henry Moorsom can find us a route that would enable us to take that battery in the Clock Tower when they're not expecting it? I think I'll have a word with him.”

“Hold on, Jack,” Alex warned him. “Here comes Neill. Perhaps he's got news—he seems in an almighty hurry.”

General Neill jerked his sweating, dust-covered horse to a standstill close to where his fellow generals and their staffs were waiting. “Your gallant Highlanders have covered themselves with glory, Colonel Hamilton! “he announced in ringing tones. “They took a providentially wrong turning and advanced by the Hazarat Gunj road, instead of following our route to the Sikander Bagh. It brought them out, with Barrow's Volunteers, at the rear of the Kaiser Bagh and they took and spiked the four guns at the gate—charging the gunners from the rear, whilst they were engaged in replying to Eyre's battery on their front. The 78th have now rejoined the column, General Havelock, with Barrow's Volunteers … and they've brought your son in.”

Cheers greeted this heartening announcement and grew in volume, as the news spread from man to man. Havelock smiled briefly and congratulated Colonel Hamilton; then, his face deathly pale he raised a hand for silence. “The wounded and the baggage train will remain in the Moti Munzil, with the rearguard, covered by Major Eyre's guns. The rest of the column will reform, with the 78th leading. We shall move out through the courtyard and make straight for the Bailey Guard gate of the Residency—the guns will be guided to it by Captain Moorsom, using a different route. God grant that we may succeed in gaining our objective!”

This time the cheers were deafening and Alex felt his heart lift with them, as even the wounded added their voices to applaud their general's decision. Five hundred yards lay between Havelock's Force and the beleaguered Residency … what mattered it if those five hundred yards should demand the utmost in courage and sacrifice of the men who had fought for so long and against such desperate odds to gain this one objective? What mattered it if, as Henry Delafosse had said they proved to be the hottest five hundred yards which any of them had yet been called up on to face? The men were still cheering and, from the far end of the passage-way the 78th's Pipemajor was playing
Pibroch o'Donuil Dhu
as, nearer at hand, Jeremiah Brayser yelled to his Sikhs to fall in and the Blue Caps and the 5th Fusiliers replenished their ammunition pouches. They were ready to continue the advance …