the post they held open to the enemy, and scribbled on the walls in several places the explanation, 'Because we have no opium.' Jones and his fellow-deserters, it is not unsatisfactory to know, were shot by the Sepoys. One of the ugly features of the siege was that several European renegades-amongst them at least one Englishman-were fighting on the side of the mutineers. Rees says that at the battle of Chinhut a European-'a handsome-looking man, well-built, fair, about twenty-five years of age, with light moustache, and wearing the undress uniform of a European cavalry officer' -headed a cavalry charge on the men of the 32nd. He might have been a Russian, but was vehemently suspected of being an Englishman, who had forsaken both his faith and his race. His name was even whispered, and Rees adds that he was of good family. Two of his cousins were fighting valiantly in the Residency against the rebels, a third was wounded at Agra, a fourth held a high military appointment. Yet this apostate was recognised laying a gun against the Residency! His shrift would have been particularly short had he fallen into British hands. The British privates in the Residency, too, were kindled to a yet higher temperature of wrath by hearing the bands of the Sepoy regiments playing as if in irony-God save the Queen' under the shelter of the ruined buildings that came almost up to the line of the British entrenchments. But on the whole the average Briton is apt to be grimly cheerful when a good fight is in progress, and even this dreadful siege was not without its humours. Thus Rees tells how, on the night of July 26, the men of his post were spreading themselves out in the chorus of 'Cheer, Boys, cheer,' with the utmost strength of their voices, when an alarm was given at the front. They dashed out, and, with the unfinished syllables of that chorus yet on their lips, found themselves in the tumult and fury of a desperate assault. After the fight was over they returned and finished their interrupted song! Innes, again, relates how, when a long mine of the enemy had been seized, and two officers were exploring its darkness, they heard the earth fall in behind them. One of the two, famous for his resonant laugh, shouted with a burst of merriment, 'What fun! They are cutting us off,' and turned round gaily to charge on his foes! Danger, in a word, had become an inspiring jest to these brave 35 spirits. 'Sam' Lawrence, who commanded the Redan, was famous for the cheerful view he always took of affairs. It was known that the Sepoys had several mines converging on the projecting horn of the Redan, and Lawrence, as unconquerably jolly as Mark Tapley himself, expressed his view of the situation to his brigadier by saying, with a laugh, that 'he and his men expected very shortly to be up amongst the little birds!' On June 14, Fayrer records, 'If we can believe our enemies, we are the last Englishmen in the country.' This might or might not be the case; but the garrison determined grimly that, if they were the last of their race, they would not disgrace it. In the vernacular of the camp, they had agreed to blow the whole thing into the air' rather than surrender. I was quite determined,' says Fayrer, 'that they should not take me alive, and I would kill as many of them as I could before they took me. Some men asked me to give them poison for their wives, if the enemy should get in. But this I absolutely refused to do.' ، Courage, when high-strung, sometimes evolves an almost uncanny cheerfulness. The Sepoys brought a mortar into action that dropped shell after shell on one particular house. We got the ladies up out of the Tyekhana,' records Fayrer, and they amused themselves by trying to be cheerful and singing part-songs in the portico, to the rushing of shells and the whistling of musket-balls. When before were such songs attempted to such an accompaniment? But the women of the Residency showed throughout a courage quite as high as that of the men. During the great assault on July 20, when, on the explosion of a mine, the Sepoys attempted to storm the Residency at half-a-dozen points, 'every one,' says Fayrer, 'was at his post, and poured shot, shell, grape, and musketry into them as hard as possible. The noise was frightful, the enemy shouting and urging each other on. It certainly seemed to me as if our time had come. But all the poor ladies were patiently awaiting the result in the Tyekhana.' 'During the whole siege,' says Gubbins, 'I never heard of a man among the Europeans who played the coward. Some croaked, no doubt, many were despondent, yet others grew grimly desperate during those terrible days.' Gubbins relates how he was one evening taken aside by an officer, who explained that he had arranged with his wife that, if the Sepoys forced their way in, he would shoot her. She had declared herself content to die by a pistol-ball from his hand.' He offered to do the same friendly service for Gubbins's wife, if necessary, and wanted Gubbins to undertake a like desperate office for his wife, if required. To such desperate straits were civilised and Christian men driven! The courage shown by the women was uniform and wonderful. Dr. Fayrer relates how a shell broke in the bedroom where his wife was lying. It shattered the room and set fire to the bedclothes with its explosion. Fayrer ran in; and, he says, 'My wife immediately spoke to me out of the smoke, and said she was not hurt. She was perfectly composed and tranquil, though a nine-pound bombshell had just burst by the side of her bed.' There were three great all-round attacks, on July 20, August 10, and September 5. The most desperate, perhaps, was that on the Cawnpore battery, the most nearly successful that on the Sikh square. The attack on the Sikh square was preceded by the explosion of a mine which made a breach thirty feet wide in the British defences, and buried seven of its defenders under the ruins. There was good cover for the enemy close up to the breach, and no reason why they should not have swarmed in, except the argument of the smoke-blackened, grim-looking Sahibs who suddenly appeared, musket in hand, to guard the great gap. A rush was, indeed, made by the Sepoys, and a native officer of the Irregular Cavalry, who headed the rush gallantly enough, actually crossed the line of the entrenchments-the only mutineer who, during the long siege, succeeded in putting his foot on the soil held by the British. He was instantly shot, and so cruel and swift was the fire poured in upon the Sepoys that they fell back in confusion, and under Inglis's orders planks and doors were brought quickly up, and arranged, one overlapping the other, till the whole gap was covered, and a pile of sand-bags built behind it. Gubbins describes one critical moment in the siege. On July 21st it was discovered the Sepoys had dug through an adjoining wall and found their way into a narrow lane which skirted the compound; and, literally, only a canvas screen parted them from the British position! Gubbins ran to the single loophole which commanded the lane, and, with his rifle, shot down every Sepoy who attempted to cross it while the gap in the British defences was being hurriedly built up. 'At this moment,' he says, 'I heard the voice of a European behind me, and, without turning my head, begged that the wall in the rear of the mutineers might be loopholed and musketry opened upon them. The person behind me, it seems, was Major Banks. He approached my post to get a sight of the enemy, and while looking out incautiously received a bullet through the temples. I heard the heavy fall and turned for a second. He was dead. He never moved, and I resumed my guard over the enemy.' For two stern hours Gubbins guarded the gap. Then assistance came, the Sepoys were driven from their point of vantage and the gap in the defences built up. Later on in the siege the fighting was carried on beneath the surface of the earth. The Sepoys had amongst them many men belonging to a caste famous for skill with the spade, and from more than a score of separate points they drove mines towards the entrenchments. Spade had to fight spade; and, as in the 32nd were many Cornishmen familiar with mining work, these were employed to countermine the enemy. The Sepoys undertook 37 separate mines, and of these 36 were failures, only one-that directed against the Sikh square-proving successful. One of the most heroic figures in the immortal garrison was Captain Fulton, the garrison engineer, who, on the death of Major Anderson, took charge of all engineering operations. Fulton was a superb engineer, and all the stories of the siege do justice to the part he played in the defence. Gubbins says he was 'the life and soul of everything that was persevering, chivalrous, and daring,' and declares that he deserved to be called 'the Defender of Lucknow.' Mr. Fulton, of Melbourne, a relation of this brave man, still preserves the journal of the siege kept by his kinsman. It is a document of real historical value, and gives a graphic picture of the great struggle from day to day. He tells again and again how he met the enemy's mines by countermines, how he broke in upon them, swept them from their drive like flying rabbits, and blew the whole affair up, as he puts it, 'with great enjoyment of the fun and excitement!' ، Fulton once found that they had driven a mine close up to the wall of a house that formed part of the British defence, and he could hear the sound of pick and shovel distinctly. I thought this very impudent,' he writes; 'they could be so easily met; but it seemed a bore to begin to counter. So I just put my head over the wall and called out in Hindustanee a trifle of abuse and "Bagho! bagho!"-"Fly! fly!"- when such a scuffle and bolt took place I could not leave for half an hour for laughing. They dropped it for good-that was the best of the joke.' Fulton took his full part in the general fighting. Thus, in the assault on the Cawnpore battery, he relates that he found the enemy led by a man in pink, whom I had noticed several times directing them as they came up. I put a rifle-ball through him, and then sent Tulloch to order hand-grenades, the second of which, well thrown, cleared the ditch.' Here is a picture, again, of one of Fulton's many sorties to destroy houses by which the British were annoyed: We sneaked out of our lines into a house. I had only a penknife, slow match, and port-fire in my hand, and was followed close by two Europeans, and supported by a dozen more. We expected to find the house empty, but George Hutchinson, who was first, suddenly startled us by firing his revolver and calling out "Here are twenty of them!" The two Europeans-indeed, all of them-fell back a pace or two; but I seized a musket from one, and ran forward. They followed, and I put them in position to guard doors, while I twitted the enemy with not showing their faces, as I did, in front of the door, but standing with only their firelocks showing. The chaff had the effect, for one dashed out and fired at me, but I shot him instanter. They then bolted as I gave the word "charge!" and we blew up the house. Great fun and excitement in a small way!' 6 Fulton detected a mine the enemy had driven a certain distance; he ran a short countermine to meet it, and then sat patiently, revolver in hand, waiting for the unconscious enemy to break through. Some one,' he relates, 'looking for me, asked one of the Europeans if I was in the mine.' "Yes, sir!" said the sergeant, "there he has been for the last two hours, like a terrier at a rathole, and not likely to leave it either all day!"" It was to the energy, skill, and daring of this gallant officer that the complete defeat of the enemy's mines was due. The last entry in his journal is dated September 11; on September 13 he was killed. Says Captain Birch, 'The death of this brilliant officer was occasioned by one of the most curious of wounds. He had been inspecting a new battery in an earthwork opposite Mr. Gubbins's house. He was lying at full length in one of the embrasures, with a telescope in his hand. He turned his face, with a smile on it, and said: "They are just going to fire," and sure enough they did! The shot took away the whole of the back of Captain Fulton's head, leaving his face like a mask still on his neck. When he was laid out on his back on a bed, we could not see how he had been killed. His was the most important loss we had sustained after that of Sir Henry Lawrence.' (To be continued.) |