“To the left, as we advanced the ground was fairly open (with the exception of quite a small village) for about 1,100 yards in the direction of the British Infantry mess-house. To the right also, for about 300 yards, there was a clear space, then a belt of jungle intersected by huts and small gardens extending for about 400 yards further, as far as the Shah Najaf, a handsome white-domed tomb, surrounded by a court-yard, and enclosed by high masonry loopholed walls; and beyond the Shah Najaf rose the Kadam Rasul, ‘another tomb standing on a slight eminence.”
The Shah Najaf
The next point in the advance was the Shah Najaf. Constructed in 1818 by Nawab Ghazi-ud-Din Haidar who constructed the imambara as a token of his devotion to Hazrat Ali, the son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad. Built at Paltan Ghat on the banks of the Gomti, it is supposedly a replica of Hazrat Ali’s mausoleum in Iraq. The compound housed a mosque and house for his wife Mumtaz Mahal and within the main hall, Ghazi-ud-Din Haidar would be buried, along with his three wives.
In 1857, however, it presented a problem.
There had been little resistance when passing through the village and it was swiftly carried by the infantry while the artillery was brought up to open fire on the Shah Najaf and the Kudam Rasul – things went swimmingly at the Kudam Rasul which was taken with no resistance and quickly fell into the hands of the 2nd Punjab Infantry.
Injured with 2 sword cuts to the arm, Colonel Ewart with Major McBean still went up, as ordered, to take charge of the barracks being held by the 93rd. They were situated 1000 yards to the left of the Sikandar Bagh but to get there was to run the gauntlet of the rebel’s guns – across an open space, Ewart and McBean dashed with the rebels doing their best to shoot them. Once inside the enclosure, he formed up his men and they spent the day returning the fire of the rebels outside.
Then, quite unexpectedly, the advance stopped in front of the walls of the Shah Najaf.
“The artillery bombarded the next position…Captain Peel, cool and calm, rolled forward his ponderous guns before a deadly fire. Major William Middleton, with his lighter guns, passed on the right at a gallop and unlimbered close under the walls. His fine manly figure could be seen through the smoke, and his loud voice could be heard at intervals encouraging his gallant men. Horses and gunners rolled fast in the sand. The fire redoubled on the side of Peel, while Middleton threw shot and shell at the tower from whence the enemy poured their fatal volleys. It was all in vain. The thick hard walls remained unbroken, and the nerve of the enemy, unshaken. The infantry and guns withdrew and the foe yelled, and made a feint through the gateway of following.”
Garnet Wolseley was ordered by Adrian Hope to advance his company at the double and occupy a series of ruined huts as the rebels had already started to irritate the artillery from that position. His men were on the road which led from the Sikandar Bagh to the barracks and had thus to cover Blunt’s guns on the left while attacking the sepoys in the front. But doing as he was told, Wolseley ordered his men to advance at pace, with Wolseley himself holding onto Hope’s stirrup leather as he rode forward. He quickly had his men under cover among the walls and ruins but soon discovered he needed as much protection from the rear as from the front – too many of Blunt’s shells were bursting at the muzzle as the fuses were poor, showering his men with splinters and bullets. Barnston’s detachment battalion advanced in skirmishing order acting on the rather blunt instructions of Sir Colin,
“If you cannot force your way in, get your men undercover near it and come back and tell me what you had done and seen.”
Barnston did as he was told and he advanced up to the walls, trying in vain to find an opening – when it was clear there was none, he put his men under shelter but as he rode back to report to Sir Colin, one of the shells from Blunt’s battery burst at the muzzle and a fragment lodged itself in Barnston’s thigh. All but killed, he was carried to the rear. It was not a good omen. The men of his brigade faltered and hesitated – the loss of their leader and the sudden, withering fire being poured over their heads from the Shah Najaf, had suddenly beset them with panic. From across the Gumti, a rebel gun opened fire – its first shot smashed one of Peel’s tumbrils to pieces. Close by, Sir Colin Campbell with his staff sat on their horses, anxiety setting in, as they watched the Barnston’s men run through the jungle and back towards them. Henry Wylie Norman was the first to grasp the situation – with quick thinking, he put spurs to his horse and galloped towards the retreating men, calling out for them to “pull themselves together” – they rallied and advanced back to the cover from whence they had just retreated.
Meanwhile, Peel seeing his guns had only managed to smash a small breach in the wall, which on closer inspection was found useless as there was another wall directly behind it, and his men were falling fast, sent a message to Sir Colin that he would have to retire. The dust and smoke were making it impossible to see what effect the guns were having – Peel called for volunteers to climb a nearby tree to observe the fire and shoot at the rebels in the enclosure. Three men at once answered the call, Lieutenant N. Salmon, Leading Seaman John Harrison and Lieutenant Southwell. Southwell was killed almost immediately and the other two though wounded, achieved their objective – they could report back to Peel and put out of commission a number of the rebels that had so devasted Peel’s gunners.
One of Peel’s guns had been run right up to the wall and the crew were on the receiving end of deadly grenades that rained down around their heads. Captain of the Foretop, William Hall was one of the gun crew.
“After firing each round we ran our gun forward until at last my gun’s crew were actually in danger of being hit by splinters of brick and stone mortar from the walls we were bombarding. Our Lieutenant, Mr. Thomas Young, moved about with a quiet smile and a word of encouragement, and at last, the gunner next to me fell dead, Mr. Young at once took his place.”
Meanwhile, the rebels had gathered up their strength and were pounding Campbell’s force from the Kaiserbagh and the old mess house of the 32nd Regiment. The musketry fire was so deadly that one of Peel’s guns could not be worked for lack of manpower.
If there was something that Sir Colin Campbell did not want was to turn back. It would have spelt doom for the Residency, for his force and above all, for himself. He had started on this road and had a goal in mind; there was no question that he would fulfil his objectives. Until he came to the Shah Najaf, things had been proceeding more or less to plan. The road behind him was cleared as far as the Alambagh and the Sikandar Bagh had been taken. The adjoining serai and nearby barracks were in the hands of his men – but the day coming to a close.
In front of him stood the Shah Najaf still – the entrance had been covered by masonry and the top of the building hosted parapets. From there and from the garden an unceasing fire of musketry had been kept up by very resolute sepoys, ensconced in what looked like an impenetrable position. The problem was the wall – it was 24 feet high and made of massive stones. It had taken 45 minutes to pound a small hole in the wall of the Sikandar Bagh but three hours into shelling the walls of the Shah Najaf, there was barely a crack.
The insurgents had a new trick up their sleeves – in addition to the regular sepoys, they had lined the walls of the Shah Najaf with archers and aimed their arrows with great precision at the 93rd. The Highlanders were taken aback. As one of them received an arrow through his feather bonnet (into which he had fortunately placed his folded-up forage cap in the cage where the arrow stuck fast) exclaimed,
“My conscience! “Bows and arrows! bows and arrows! Have we got Robin Hood and Little John back again? Bows and arrows! My conscience, the sight has not been seen in civilised war for nearly two hundred years. Bows and arrows! And why not weavers’ beams as in the days of Goliath? Ah ! that Daniel White should be able to tell in the Sant Market of Glasgow that he had seen men fight with bows and arrows in the days of Enfield rifles! Well, well. Jack Pandy, since bows and arrows are the words, here’s at you ! ” and with that he raised his feather bonnet on the point of his bayonet above the top of the wall, and immediately another arrow pierced it through, while a dozen more whizzed past a little wide of the mark.”
Just then an arrow caught Private Penny straight in the head, the shaft protruding a a foot out of the back of his skull. The sight of the dead man riled up the Highlanders who loaded, capped and pushed up their feather bonnets again as a whole shower of arrows passed through them. The men sprang up, and returned the challenge with a well-aimed volley, which left 6 of the archers dead. Meanwhile, the wall was falling down but only just, the masonry flaking off in patches as the insurgents kept up a perfect hail – missiles, grenades and round shot were thrown from guns on the walls, arrows and brickbats rained down and burning torches of rags saturated with oil – at one moment, they even tossed pots of boiling water on the heads of the 93rd.
Sir Colin now called on the 93rd to advance and he, sword in hand put himself at the front, taking them right up to the wall. He shouted encouragement at the men, to remember that the lives of the Residency garrison were at stake and the wall must be carried. The men called back they had stood by him at Balaklava and would stand by him here – with a shout the 93rd rushed forward.
“Almost instantaneously the narrow path along which we were proceeding was choked with wounded officers and dead and struggling horses. It was here that Sir Archibald Alison, Sir Colin’s Aide-de-camp, lost his arm, and his brother (another Aide-de-camp) was wounded. Adrian Hope’s horse was shot dead — indeed, very few escaped injury, either to themselves or their horses. I was one of the lucky few. On reaching the wall of the Shah Najaf enclosure, it was found to be twenty feet high, no entrance could be seen, and there were no scaling ladders available, so there was nothing for it but to endeavour to breach the massive wall. The ‘24-pounders hammered away at it for some time, but proved quite unequal to the task; though only a few yards off, they made no impression whatever, and it seemed as if the attempt to take the position must be abandoned. Peel was, therefore, ordered to withdraw his guns under cover of some rockets, which were discharged into the enclosure, and Hope was directed to retire as soon as he could collect the killed and wounded.”
By the time the battalions had cleared the front and the insurgents were still yelling from the walls to them to “come on!” and the shells from their guns continued to fall among them, Captain Peel brought up his rocket battery and sent a volley of rockets through the crowd of rebels. Through the smoke and dust and failing light a man was seen running down the ravine that lay between the Kudum Rasul and the Shah Najaf – out of breath he soon stood in front of Adrian Hope. Paton had gone up the ravine when the regiments were ordered to storm and to his surprise, discovered there was a breach, albeit a small one, on the northeast corner of the rampart next to the river. The shot and shell had gone over the first breach and had blown out the wall on the other side – Paton had climbed up the rampart with ease and could see directly into the compound. The defenders had all pushed forward and no one noticed a lone sergeant standing on the rampart. Then Peel let his rockets loose.
“Musket bullets are not pleasant flying about, singing gaily as they pass; and a ten-inch shell plump*ing down among the hospital-litters and medical comforts makes one start a bit — eh, Doctor? But there is something undeniably horrible in the bang of a round shot; its very whiz at a distance makes you feel uncomfortable: nothing, in reality, is more destructive, and one thing only worse in sound, and that is one of Peel’s rockets. Though on your own side, the very sight of the little car, with the mast slipt in its centre, makes your hair stand on end. Reader, if you ever see it coming near you (Peel in all probability will be whistling or telling some amusing anecdote — in fact, as much unconcerned as if going to an evening party), and you are trying to snooze off the effects of a hard day’s work, quietly move off as far as possible: your rest is gone. A more diabolical apparatus for rousing an army from its repose never was invented, but, abominable as is the disturbance they make, their effect, as Peel used them, must have been terrific in a crowded city.”
As Peel’s rockets thumped into the compound, terrified and thrown into a panic, the rebels were rapidly deserting the building. Seeing what he needed to see, Paton ran back. After carefully listening to Paton, Hope ordered Captain Dawson and his company to follow Paton. While the others opened fire once again on the rebels in front, the men rushed down the ravine. The breach was deemed passable and in poured the Highlanders.
“The appearance of the whole scene more resembled Dante’s Inferno” than anything. The darkness of night had set in, but all was as light as day: the whole panorama was in a blaze. Shot and shell were flying about in all directions; the rattle of musketry never ceased; while the Highland yell and responsive British cheer, as the columns cleared the contested position, told that they had carried all before them.”
As soon as the insurgents saw the breach they just as quickly realised their impregnable position was no longer tenable – they fled in a body through the back gate next to the river – instead of another Sikandar Bagh most of them managed to evade the bayonets of the Highlanders and no more than score were caught up in the fight. The main gate was soon thrown open and in rode Sir Colin Campbell and his staff.
“It was getting dark when at length we occupied the Shall Najaf; some of us got on to the top of the building to take a look round. There was just light enough to show us a sepoy sauntering unconcernedly up to the gate, evidently in happy ignorance of what had happened. Ho soon discovered that his comrades were no longer masters of the situation, and, letting his musket fall, he made all haste to the river, into which he dropped, and swam to the other side.”
No. 17 Battery was immediately ordered up to cover the withdrawal of Peel’s guns from the Shah Najaf as a precaution against any attack that might have been made from the villages that extended to the left front of the position – but in the shocked night, there was no attack. For taking the Shah Najaf, Captain Dawson’s company was given the honour of holding the enclosure. That was still days away – meanwhile, the fight for at least this night was over.
Back at the Sikandar Bagh, James Fairweather and the other surgeons were desperately tending to the wounded who were coming back from the front in a steady stream. The roar of the battle, with the constant crack of musketry and the cannon shot that rained down from the Kaiserbagh and crashed into the trees under which the wounded lay, showering them in splinters of smashed wood. Fairweather moved the wounded as close to the wall of the enclosure as possible, each with a blanket under them and another over which he had taken from the Commissariat. The officer in charge had not been above a little red tape and told Fairweather the blankets were only for Europeans – Fairweather offered him a receipt but refused to give them up and turned his back on the blustering officer. In the midst of it all, he was told the Sikandar Bagh was going to be blown up so to compound upon which the doolie bearers fled, carrying with them several of the wounded. Fairweather searched for three officers of his regiment, McQueen, Paul and Oldfield and could only find two; Oldfield had disappeared with the bearers. There would soon be a march of the wounded back to the Dilkusha but for this night, many would have to stay in the Sikandar Bagh which after all, was not blown up.
A cold November night in Lucknow gave other men their worries too. Garnet Wolseley now found his thin silk jacket was no match for the cold – he spent a miserable night with little to eat, shivering in a corner of the Shah Najaf. Meanwhile, others were not fairing any better. Forbes-Mitchell, unlike Ewart, was sorry he did not have a pair of trousers; the kilt, though fine for a fight was no match for the chilled air. He had lost his greatcoat, which the Highlanders carried rolled up Crimean roll fashion, with the ends strapped together across the right shoulder, where it doubled as protection for the chest while not impeding the use of the rifle – his had been cut away in the Sikandar Bagh, where, in the heat of the fight he had not been sorry to lose it. Then in the ensuing rush, he had not picked up one from the dead.
Now, coming off patrol in the Shah Najaf, Forbes-Mitchell realised he had no possible way to sleep. The grass was cold and wet; all around him lay men rolled up in their greatcoats, oblivious to the dampness. Not Forbes-Mitchell.
Denied permission by the colour sergeant to go and find a blanket in one of the myriad of rooms in the Shah Najaf, which had been used as quarters by the insurgents. In their rush, they had not taken anything with them and some of the charpoys were kitted out with quilts. Many of the lamps in the rooms were still burning just as the rebels had left them, with their dinners half-cooked on makeshift fireplaces. In one of these rooms, Forbes-Mitchell decided he would look for a blanket. Throwing orders to the wind, he stepped into one of the rooms and, taking the lamp off the shelf strode inside.
“I peered into the dark vault, not knowing that it was a king’s tomb, but could see nothing, so I advanced slowly, holding the chirag high over my head and looking cautiously around for fear of surprise from a concealed enemy, till I was near the centre of the great vault, where my progress was obstructed by a big black heap about four or five feet high which felt to my feet as if I were walking among loose sand. I lowered the lamp to see what it was, and immediately discovered that I was standing up to the ankles in loose gunpowder! About forty cwt. of it lay in a great heap in front of my nose while a glance to my left showed me a range of twenty to thirty barrels also full of powder, and on the right over a hundred 8-inch shells, all loaded with the fuses fixed, while spare fuses and slow matches and port-fires in profusion lay heaped beside the shells.”
Feeling the skin of his head lifting his feather bonnet of his scalp, with knocking knees and hair standing on end, Forbes-Mitchell suddenly realised he was holding an open flame in his hand. The wick hung over the edge of the lamp and looked for all intents and purposes as if it meant to fall. Without any way to put it out, he put his bare hand over the wick and retreated with haste out of the room. His first thought was to find Captain Dawson.
Dawson was fast asleep and took none too kindly to Forbes-Mitchell shaking him awake.
“Bah! Corporal Mitchell, you have woken out of your sleep and got frightened at a shadow!” Forbes-Mitchell showed him his burnt hand. He told his captain about the gunpowder, but Dawson was still sceptical.
“With that, I looked down to my feet and my gaiters, which were still covered with blood from the slaughter in the Secundrabagh; the wet grass had softened it again, and on this, the powder was sticking nearly an inch thick. I scraped some of it off, throwing it into the fire, and said, “There is positive proof for you that I’m not dreaming, nor my vision a shadow! ”
Dawson suddenly became as alarmed as the corporal as the powder cracked in the fire – he posted a sentry at the door of the chamber and woke up several men to put out any other fires in the building. While the colour-sergeant insisted Forbes-Mitchell be arrested for disobeying orders, Dawson reminded him if he had a mind to arrest anyone it was the colour sergeant for not finding the powder before Mitchell. Other rooms were inspected but no more powder was found – only one sepoy who had managed to evade detection rushed out and smacked one of the Highlanders over the head with his tulwar. The feather bonnet saved the Highlander but there was no escaping for the sepoy who received a bullet to the chest from Captain Dawson’s double-barrelled pistol.
Forbes-Mitchell found a blanket but he could not sleep.
In the dark and quiet of the night all around him, men screamed in their sleep, reliving in their dreams the nightmare that had been the Sikandar Bagh. Most of the men shouted oaths, others muttered prayers, and some did both.
“One man would be lying calmly sleeping and commence muttering something inaudible, and then break out into a fierce battle cry of “ Cawnpore, you bloody murderer! ”; another would shout,“Charge! give them the bayonet ! ” and a third, “ Keep together, boys, don’t fire; forward, forward; if we are to die, let us die like men! ” Then I would hear one muttering, “ Oh, mother, forgive me, and I’ll never leave you again ! ” while his comrade would half rise up, wave his hand, and call, “There they are! Fire low, give them the bayonet! Remember Cawnpore !”
As for Arthur Moffat Lang, he went over to the European barracks – but in the dark, he could not find his troop and bedded down with Remmington’s Troop. There was only one call, “Stand to your Arms!” but it was false – another man shouting wildly in his sleep.
In the barracks, Ewart too was in for a long night – the rebels decided to pepper his post with musketry at a distance of 70 yards, enough to keep anyone awake. They fired through the loopholes in the wall and sometimes straight over it and sometime during the night they called out, “Halt! Limber up!” and other English words of command – as Ewart peered into the darkness he could not see what they were doing but no shot came; it would appear they were trying their hardest to frighten the Highlanders.
In the morning, Ewart would ask Sir Colin for some guns.
There was now only a short distance left to the Residency – the next day would show how far they still had to go. For now, the day had indeed ended.
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 