“Early on the following morning….the heavy guns were withdrawn from the advanced picquet on the canal, as were the detachments which formed portions of Brigadier Hope’s Brigade, while Brigadier Grcathed, with the rest of the advanced force, maintained that position until mid-day, at which, time we formed the rear guard of the column. The route of the attaching force lay towards the Goomtee, where, crossing the canal, a direct advance was made upon the Secunderbagh…” (Bourchier)
At 8 a.m. on the 16th of November, the troops moved off. In the advanced guard, consisting of Blunt’s troop of Horse Artillery, a wing of HM’s 53rd and Gough with a squadron of Hodson’s Horse, was Lieutenant Roberts, thus rewarded by Sir Colin Campbell, for his night ride of the 15th. With Greathed’s Brigade and Bourchier’s Battery remaining to guard the left flank until mid-day, the remaining troops – HM’s 93rd, 2 Sikh regiments, two provisional detachments of regiments, and portions of the 23rd and 82nd regiments – in all not more than 3000 bayonets. What Campbell might have lacked in infantry, he made up for with artillery – Peel’s naval brigade with two 24-pounders, two 8-inch howitzers and two rocket tubes, Greathed’s column mustered a heavy and a light field- battery and mortar battery of the Royal Artillery, one-half field battery of the Bengal Artillery and two Madras horse-artillery guns, making a total of thirty-nine guns and howitzers, six mortars and two rocket-tubes. The work before Campbell was formidable and he was outnumbered by a foe, who by anyone’s guess, numbered 30’000, though this may have been significantly more, or for that matter, less.
The line of march was from the extreme right along the right bank of the river for nearly a mile, then through a narrow lane, garden enclosures and between low-roofed houses, to reach the rear of the Secundrabagh. The rebels did not suspect Campbell would advance from the right and thus the force could cross the canal with no opposition. They kept close along the bank of the river, their left still covered by high grass. A mile beyond the canal, Campbell’s road now took a sharp left and led the men through a narrow street – as the rear of the Sikandarbagh became visible, a sharp fire of musketry rang out from a myriad of loopholes and the north-eastern corner walls of the Secundrabagh.
In the extended positions of the Martiniere and the Dilkusha, HM’s 8th, the rest of Hodson’s Horse and three guns of the Royal Artillery (under Lieutenant Walker) all commanded by Colonel Lyttle were left to protect the baggage, stores and the sick and the wounded. A body of rebel Infantry, some 2000 strong, managed to evade Greathed’s battery and cross the river, and after creeping along quietly, attempted a rush at the Martiniere. Lieutenant Patrick Stewart, a wide-awake young officer of the Bengal Engineers atop the Martiniere manning the semaphore and sending messages to the Residency regarding Campbell’s progress, along with Watson, observed the rebels, sneaking along the walls of the Martiniere. The officers rushed down the stairs, leapt onto their horses and then, joining Watson’s squadron and the two Madras Native Horse Artillery guns, rode towards the city on the Martiniere side, to try and cut off the rebels. As for the rebels, finding the building empty and realising if they remained their own line of retreat would be cut off, tried to get back to Lucknow. The Horse Artillery opened up on them with grape while Watson’s sowars made short work of any man who crossed them. It would be a busy day for everyone.
The SikandarBagh
Built just ten years before the revolt by the last Nawab of Oudh, Wajid Ali Shah for his favourite wife, Umrao, who upon their union, received the rather long title, ‘Habib-us-Sultan Mukarramat-uz-Zamani Jenab Sikander Mahal Begum.’ The garden had been laid out in 1800 by Nawab Sadaat Ali Khan – however, out of love for the woman whom out of only her hands he would eat, Nawab Wajid Ali Shah improved not just the garden but built a palatial villa and a mosque; in the centre of the garden was a small wooden pavilion used for cultural performances. Albeit briefly, the compound served in better days as a summer residence. It was enclosed by a fortified wall with loopholes, corner bastions and three gateways, encompassing 4.5 acres. It had cost him the princely sum of 500’000 rupees and was built in one year – only the best builders had been contracted to raise this short-lived nest. The favourite wife died shortly after her marriage and she never saw the destruction of the palace built in her name.
And destruction it would be.
The Attack
The guides for the advance to the Residency were Henry Thomas Kavanagh and Kanoji Lal – the two men who knew the route the best and as far as anyone could tell, the insurgents were not expecting an attack from the east. At first, everything was silent. Some rebel cavalry observed the force from across the river but did not fire a shot. The route now lay between the river and a second village; again, it was supposed the rebels would shortly open fire, but nothing happened. No one was expecting them.
That is until they turned a sharp left and entered a narrow, sunken lane. All of a sudden, the rebels opened fire from the houses on the right and the top of the high, northeastern corner wall of the Sikandarbagh. Gough and Hodson’s Horse in the advance was checked by abattis and barricades in front, and had to dipose themselves as best they could – they could not turn back but found a place to the side behind a mudwall which gave them some cover from the firing. Coming up behind them at pace was the Infantry and Artillery – the lane was soon jammed with men, horses and guns.
Quickly the 53rd, on advanced guard, were thrown out as skirmishers now dashed forward on both sides of the Sikandarbagh, forcing any such insurgents back into the enclosure; and the word was passed on for the right wing of the 93rd to move forward with all haste. The 5 companies composing it moved to the front under Lieut-Colonel Leith-Hay, leaving Colonel Ewart in command of the other 5 as Lieut-Colonel Gordon had been attached to lead the 53rd. Now, several things happened at once.
Lieutenant Arthur Moffat Lang and the sappers started their work, knocking down a wall so the 24-pounder could “play from the street at the Sikandar Bagh…” Lang then went to work making ramps from the street up an embankment up which more heavy guns could be pulled up. This opened the road for Blunt who could now lead his guns up the bank, unlimber and commence firing at a distance of 60 yards from the building. The 53rd was told off to line a shallow trench to cut off any retreat to the bridge of boats. Enthusiastic young Lord Seymour, mistaking Campbell’s orders as a signal to assault, sprang forward with his horse and with his sword drawn called to the men to follow him, exposed as he was to a destructive fire. His obvious fervour and excitement extended to the 53rd who with equal zeal, were ready to follow him and probably would have had not the loud voice of Sir Colin Campbell checked them.
““ Come back I come back Lord Seymour (Edward Percy St. Muir); you have no business there! I did not order it! I witnessed your gallantry with great pleasure. Consider yourself, my lord, as attached to my staff for the present! I admire your noble spirit, and must take care of you!”
As the bullets crashed around his head the embarrassed young man returned and quietly took his place as ordered.
The heavy guns were dragged up by men of the 93rd and the sailors of Peel’s Brigade and Blunt, in grand style, mounted the high embankment but soon found himself under heavy fire from three different directions, – on the right from the Sikandarbagh, on the left and left front from the barracks, a few huts and from a serai, only 20 yards off and from the front from the mess house, the Kaiserbagh and the surrounding buildings. He swiftly pointed his guns in these three directions, regardless of the deadly fire being poured on him. The advance guard however could not hold their position much longer; with relief, Hope’s brigade pushed forward to their assistance and a company of the 53rd, admirably forced the rebels from the position on the left front, while the right wing of the Highlanders, without a moment’s hesitation were ordered by Sir Colin Campbell to go “In at the roof! Tear off the tiles and go in through the roof, Highlanders !” They clambered up the huts tore off thet tiles and “in an instant bonnets and kilts disappeared through smashed tiles, tor mats, and broken bamboos” driving the rebels before them, out to the right, clearing the houses. Two companies under Captain Cornwall and Captain Stewart then pushed on in advance and took possession of a large building called the barracks – surprised, the rebels fled, leaving their guns to the Highlanders. Meanwhile, the other three companies of the right wing two now joined the left wing with the third remaining with Lieutenant-Colonel Leith-Hay.
Their action silenced the destructive fire that was being levelled at the force, but it did not end the danger and Sir Colin Campbell realised he could not move forward until the Sikandarbagh was taken. To better understand the position, he rode up close to one of Blunt’s guns, Mansfield and Hope Grant at his side with Augustus Anson and Lieutenant Roberts right behind him. In a low voice, Roberts heard the Commander-in-Chief say, “I am hit.” It was a spent bullet – it had passed through a gunner, killing him instantly before striking Sir Colin on the leg, giving him a severe bruise.
One of Travers’ guns and a howitzer were now dragged with much effort up the bank and opened fire on the exact spot Sir Colin had chosen for a breach in the massive walls of the Sikandarbagh – the southeast corner. All around, death reigned – Captain Hardy (captain of the batter) was killed and the senior subaltern was wounded; Blunt’s horse was shot and of the few men under his command 14 Europeans and Gun Lascars were either dead or wounded; 20 of the troop horses had been knocked over.
“
Meanwhile, the left wing of the 93rd under Colonel Ewart was ordered to occupy a a small grove of trees and line a bank only 100 yards from the Sikandar Bagh, directly opposite one of its side, with the 53rd to their right. “As soon as the guns opened fire the Infantry Brigade was made to take shelter at the back of a low mud wall behind the guns, the men taking steady aim at every loophole from which we could see the musket-barrels of the enemy protruding. The Commander-in-Chief amThis staff were close beside the guns, Sir Colin every now and again turning round when a man was hit, calling out, “Lie down, NinetyThird, lie down! Every man of you is worth his weight in gold to England today!” The building was full of loopholes and from these, a heavy fire was levelled at the Highlanders, who made good their replies.
Ewart dismounted his horse and gave it over to his groom; he then took a rifle from one of the men and fired several shots at the men lining the walls of the building, as he waited for Sir Colin to send him word. In the meantime, the 53rd, under Adrian Hope cleared off a body of rebels that had been gathering on the left front and then connected the newly won barracks with the main attack by a line of skirmishers, as the heavy guns continued to pound against the walls of the Sikandarbagh. For the next 45 minutes, the guns blasted at the wall, as the men and sailors working without any cover and being so close to the loopholes fell fast – before the breach was deemed practicable, over 2 gun crews were disabled or killed. After holes were pounded through the wall and the brick and mortar rained down, it became clear a gap was starting to form. A sergeant of the 53rd named Joe Lee, who had served under Sir Colin in the Punjab, called out, “Sir Colin, your Excellency, let the infantry storm; let the two ‘Thirds’ at them [meaning the Fifty-Third and NinetyThird], and we’ll soon make short work of the murdering villains!” The sergeant who called to Sir Colin was a Welshman…he was always known as Dobbin in his regiment; and Sir Colin, who had a most wonderful memory for names and faces, turning to General Sir William Mansfield who had formerly served in the Fifty-Third, said, “Isn’t that Sergeant Dobbin?” Genend Mansfield replied in the affirmative; and Sir Colin, turning to Lee, said, “ Do you think the breach is wide enough, Dobbin? ” Lee replied, “ Part of us can get through and hold it till the pioneers widen it with their crowbars to allow the rest to get in.”
As the 93rd patiently waited for the order to advance in their lines a man named Hope started to curse and and swear in such a dreadful manner Captain Dawson was forced to check him, telling him foul language and oaths were hardly the sign of a brave man. Hope replied he did not give a damn what the captain or any other man thought, he would defy death and he commenced to show himself above the mud wall. Believing Hope drunk, Dawson prepared to send him to the rear when Piper John Mcleod took hold of his arm – “Don’t mind the puir lad, sir; he’s not drunk, he is fey! (doomed)” It’s not himself speaking; he will never see the sunset.” Mcleod had barely finished speaking when Hope leapt onto the mudwall – a bullet hit him on the right side, striking the buckle of his purse belt – instead of going through his body, the bullet cut him around the front of his stomach below the waist – his bowels burst from the wound as he fell to his knees. As he gasped for breath, two more bullets slammed into his chest. He died without a groan. McLeod turned to Dawson and said, “I told you so sir, the lad was fey! It was not himself who spoke when swearing in such a terrible manner.” There was no time to mourn Hope – the signal for the advance sounded.
The opening was no more than three feet square and three feet from the ground. Time, however, was of the essence and Sir Colin at once ordered a bugler to sound the advance and out from behind the bank dashed the 4th Punjabis, leading the charge but as two of their officers fell before them, Campbell saw them hesitate for brief moment – he called to Ewart- “Ewart, bring on the tartan; ” and Ewart ordered a drummer to sound the “Advance” – as if made of one man, the entire line of Highlanders leapt to their feet with a yell and charged the wall. Above the din of battle, Pipe-Major John McLeod and seven pipers struck up the Highland Charge, the “Haughs of Cromdel” while the other three struck up “On wi’ the Tartans.” As Ewart watched his men run forward, he wistfully thought how much he would rather have been wearing a kilt instead of his tight strapped-down trousers and spurs.
“There was no pause, no halting hesitation of a moment. The men saw their enemy in front, and, obeying the sharp and ready words of command, dashed forward. They neither thought of the enemy’s greater numbers nor of their advantages of position. Instantly rifle and bayonet were at work, and the battle raged hand to hand. This was no conflict of a few minutes. For two whole hours it continued — the Highlanders, courageously supported by the Punjaubees [sic], performing prodigies of valour. Above the roar of battle was sounding the wild war notes of the bagpipes — sweetest music in a highland soldier’s ear — for John MacLeod, the Pipe Major of the 93rd, remembered well his duty in the turmoil. He has been among the first to force his way through the breach, and no sooner was he within the building then he began to encourage the men by vigorously playing his pipes. The more hot and deadly the battle became the more high-strung became the piper’s feelings, and the more loudly did the bagpipes peal and scream — John standing the while in positions perfectly exposed to the fire of the enemy, to whom doubtless he appeared as some unearthly visitant.” (Cromb, James. The Highland Brigade: Its Battles and Its Heroes)
Alongside Ewart was William Forbes-Mitchell. Ewart pushed Mitchell through the breach and then dropped in behind him – Mitchell was barely on the ground when a sepoy fired point-blank at him, a shot that should have left him for dead, hit the brass clasp of his waistbelt and sent Mitchell spinning, head over heels, to the ground. Captain Cooper dashed forward and struck down the assailant while Ewart as he ran past Mitchell, remarked, “Poor fellow, he is done for…” A little out of breath but otherwise unhurt, Mitchell scrambled back to his feet.
Lieutenant Lang, who was still working at getting one of the guns closer up to the Sikandarbagh, suddenly saw Lieutenant Paul rush ahead waving his sword, and the 4th Punjabis, yelling and shouting, hard at his heels – for Lang, the “effect was electrical; down we dropped the ropes and rushed along too, up sprung the 93rd and 53rd, cheering and shouting, “Remember Cawnpore” on went, some at a breach in one of the corner towers and some (with whom I was) over a loopholed mud wall straight at the gate…”
With crowbars and pickaxes, the men widened the breach and as soon as they could, men struggled to get through. The first through, according to Kavanagh, was a Sikh but as he dropped over the breach, he was shot dead; “The agitated plumes of a Highland bonnet rose— the wearer stood for an instant in the breach, and fell forward! Another, and another! Two more struggled in the opening to die first.”
At any rate, Ewart was sure it was not him. Captain Burroughs claimed that position, but so did Sergeant-Major Murray of the 93rd while the 4th Punjabis swore it was Subadar Gokul Singh. Ewart blamed the confusion on the 93rd with their light brown holland coats over their uniforms and the khaki of the Punjabis were practically indistinguishable in the confusion of the moment. Lieutenant Roberts would afterwards write that the first man through the breach was a young drummer boy who he found “just inside the breach lying on his back quite dead. A pretty, innocent-looking lad, not more than fourteen years of age.” Whoever it was mattered little to the rebels. To their horror, they found themselves trapped.
Having blocked up the northern gate for their defence, they were now cornered with no way out. The main gate was being battered with axes and rifle butts, and the breach was being steadily widened as more men poured into the enclosure, each one ripping yet more out of the masonry in their struggle to get in and if they tried to get over the walls, Sir Colin Campbell and the guns would soon make short work of them. There was nothing for it but to fight.
The crush at the breach was so great that a regular blockade ensued as each man vied with the other to get through. One party, however, led by Willoughby of the 4th Punjabis made their way to the main gate while the 53rd for a barred window close by, all determined to break their way through. The gate was protected by an entrenchment and two small brass guns – the men who had been forced out of the entrenchment ran towards the gate and tried to barricade from the inside when to their surprise a man of the 4th Punjabis, “Mahomedan (Mukairab Khan by name) pushed his left arm, on which he carried a shield, between them, thus preventing their being shut; on his hand being badly wounded by a sword-cut, he drew it out, instantly thrusting in the other arm, when the right hand was all but severed from the wrist.”
It was enough for the men behind him to force the gate open. As they ran inside, they joined together with the men who had gone through the breach. At the window, men of the 53rd encouraged by Lieutenant Ffrench, violently continued to smash against the bars and with loud shouts soon had it down. Close by, Lieutenant D. Campbell who had been hospitalised for ulcerated feet but had been allowed to join the the advance in his doolie, now got out to fight in his slippers.
The gate was forced open, the breach widened and the window open – in poured the men the Highlanders with their orders to fight in threes, the Punjabis with their deadly tulwars unsheathed, the 53rd and the detachments. Immediately behind the storming party came Lieutenant Roberts and Augustus Anson. As they reached the gateway, a bullet hit Anson in the head, grazing the base of his skull just behind his right ear, and sent him tumbling off his horse. Shortly after he was back in the saddle, only to have his horse shot from under him. Somewhere in the din, Lang was sent spinning by a “stinging crack on the shoulder, with my sword flung out of my hand, but I was delighted when I found I didn’t drop and a man called out that bullet had hit the wall behind me. It was a sharp glance of my pouch-belt…”
There was John Tower Lumsden, attached to the 93rd as an interpreter, ” waving his sword and shouting words of encouragement at the Highlanders, calling out to them to fight for the honour of Scotland.” With Ewart he charged up a path and turned a corner, only to find a large body of rebels in their way. They, on the other hand, did not take a liking to Ewart and promptly bolted through a passageway to the right which led to an inner court. In a moment, Ewart and the others were on them and they fought with fury. Lumsden was killed and Cooper was cut across the head. Ewart dashed with his men into the court and found his adversaries, grimly determined, armed with guns and many of them carrying swords and shields. They fired a direct volley at a distance of only 10 yards, which sent Ewart’s Highland bonnet flying off his head – the aim was off by a few inches. Since he was in front, he could not see how many of his men fell in the volley, but with his sword drawn, he chose his man, who he took to be the leader of this group. They fought for some time, but the man’s shield gave him the advantage; and when a second man appeared on the scene, “a fierce-looking gentleman” dressed completely in white with a turban, Ewart realised he was running out of options. A few of his men were still standing and Ewart quickly pulled out his Colt revolver and shot the two attackers and then took care of four more before his gun was empty. He then called on the Highlanders to stop wasting their bullets and go in with the bayonet. A veritable harvest of death was unleashed on the Sikandarbagh.
“The scene that ensued requires the pen of a Zola to depict. The rebels, never dreaming that we should stop to attack such a formidable position, had collected in the Sikandarbagh to the number of upwards of 2,000, with the intention of falling upon our right flank so soon as we should become entangled amongst the streets and houses of the Hazratganj. They were now completely caught in a trap, the only outlets being by the gateway and the breach, through which our troops continued to pour. There could therefore be no thought of escape, and they fought with the desperation of men without hope of mercy and determined to sell their lives as dearly as they could. Inch by inch they were forced back to the pavilion, and into the space between it and the north wall, where they were all shot or bayoneted. There they lay in a heap as high i as my head, a heaving, surging mass of dead and dying inextricably entangled. It was a sickening sight, one of those which even in the excitement of battle and the flush of victory make one feel strongly what a horrible side there is to war. The wretched wounded men could not get clear of their dead comrades, however great their struggles and those near the top of this ghastly pile of writhing humanity vented their rage and disappointment on every British officer who approached by showering upon him abuse of the grossest description.”
The Highlanders had been told by Sir Colin to hold together, fight in threes and as much as possible and use the bayonet – the centre man of each group was to make the attack while the other two on his left and right would come to his assistance as needed. He had told them this at the Alambagh, days before – and now in the Sikandarbagh, the words came to terrible use.
“For all that they fought like devils. In addition to their muskets, all the men in the Secundrabagh were armed with swords from the King of Glide’s magazines, and the native tulwars were as sharp as razors. I have never seen another first noticed, that when they had tired their muskets, they hurled them amongst us like javelins, bayonets first, and then drawing their tulwars rushed madly on to their destruction, slashing in blind fury with their swords and using them as one sees sticks used in the sham fights on the last night of the Mohirrum} As they rushed on us shouting “Deen! Deen! (The Faith ! the Faith !) ” they actually threw themselves under the bayonets and slashed at our legs. It was owing to this fact that more than half of our wounded were injured by sword cuts.”
In the enclosure, the work of death continued, the Highlanders and the Sikhs vying with each other in ferocity. On each side of the arched gateway was a very narrow staircase leading to an upper storey in where many insurgents had taken shelter and were keeping a steady fire on their opponents below. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Sikhs ran up the corkscrew stairs and attacked the men with their tulwars, while hurling others out of the open windows. Other storming parties were steadily driving the rebels back through the bushes, cornering them in a small house in the middle of the garden. The farther end of the garden was closed in by a long, double-storied building with verandahs on both levels; as this continued almost from one garden wall to the other, it only left a space on either side for the doors that opened into the enclosure with a half moon shaped wall at the same height as the rest of the walls. The men were pushed further and further into these areas, while Campbell’s force took up their positions behind trees in the small house in the centre and began to pour volley after volley into the building at the end of the garden.
“The mass of dark men moved here, there, backwards, and forwards, trampling down the plants that sent forth their fragrance to nostrils choked with blood — many ran in and out of the rooms, pursued by their fearless and merciless foe. The scene was animated and horrible to the utmost degree, when the effect was increased by a conflagration, from which the mutineers struggled on to our weapons, and were thrown back upon the raging flames! Some wretches, as a last resource, sought- concealment on the roofs and in the towers, where they were remorselessly followed and chucked dying to the yard below. The strife was obstinately maintained at one tower. Officers and men courageously threw themselves against the door to burst it, and were killed, and another, and another fell in fruitless efforts to enter. Artillery were brought in, and the awful uproar was made more awful by its booming and by crashing walls, as the balls passed through the room of the desperate defenders.”
In the midst of this all, Captain McQueen noticed the body of Lumsden lying too close to a fire that had broken out – he ran out to drag it away when he suddenly felt a blow from behind as if someone had just given him a severe kick. Furious, he turned around to see who the culprit was and at the same time, clapped his hand over the wound. Taking his hand away, he found it covered in blood – to his shock, he had been shot. Although not fatal, the bullet would never be found and it remained with him, a permanent reminder of the Sikandarbagh.
Outside the walls, the field hospital had been brought up and took up its position under the walls of the Sikandarbagh; it was the safest position that could be found but the shot, shell and musketballs were cutting up the trees in all directions, the branches and splinters falling in among the wounded who were arriving in a steady stream from the battle within. In a few hours the place was covered with dhoolies, full of wounded and dying men. Later, many would be placed on rezais and laid down against the wall to afford them a little cover. They would remain there through the night.
“Death held his fearful sway in the beautiful garden. The despairing rebels fought with desperation; but after the gate had been forced in, our troops poured in in such numbers that the mutineers had no chance, and heaps of slain cumbered he ground in terrible confusion. Upwards of 2000 bodies were afterwards counted in this fearful charnel-house. Roses and other’flowers were scattered amongst the dying rebels, as if in derision.” (Sir Hope Grant)
Outside the sound of Peel’s guns thundered and the advance continued. The day had not as yet been won. There was yet more fighting to do before nightfall.
Sources:
Eight Months Campaign against the Bengal Sepoy Army during the Mutiny of 1857 – Col. George Bourchier (1858)
The Shannon’s Brigade in India – Edmund Hope Verney (1862)
A Lecture on the Relief of Lucknow – Colonel H.W.Norman (1867)
Incidents of the Sepoy War, compiled from the private journals of General Sir Hope Grant – Henry Knollys (1873)
Story of a Soldier’s Life or Peace, War and Mutiny – Lieut.-General John Alexander Ewart (1881)
Reminiscences of the Great Mutiny – William Forbes-Mitchell (1893)
Old Memories – General Sir Hugh Gough (1897)
The Highland Brigade its Battles and its Heroes – James Cromb (1902)
The Story of a Soldier’s Life, Vol. 1 – Field Marshal Viscount Wolseley (1903)
Forty-One Years in India, Vol I – Field Marshall Lord Roberts (1911)
The Devil’s wind : the story of the naval brigade at Lucknow from the letters of Edmund Hope Verney, and other papers concerning the enterprise of Ship’s Company of H.M.S. Shannon in the campaign in India 1857-58 – Major General G.L. Verney (1956)
Through the Indian Mutiny – the Memoirs of James Fairweather – William Wright (2011)
Lahore to Lucknow – the Indian Mutiny Journal of Arthur Moffatt Lang – edited by David Blomfield (1992)
Mutiny Reflections 