CHAPTER XI.
We come now to a memorable day — April 17th, 1858 — on which the unbroken tranquillity of a brief interval, since our last encounter with the enemy, was disturbed by vigorous cannonading on the Oudh frontier.
Now experience — and experience tends to instruct, and ripen men more than time — had taught us a valuable lesson in the preliminary tactics of rebel warfare; for we had learned that whenever they really meant to attack us, they invariably commenced the prelude to their operations with as much arrogant noise as possible; and as spies had previously brought intelligence of fugitive mutineers from Luknow having fraternised with their friends at Belwa, the prospect of another struggle became evident, and the roar of the hostile thunder as it echoed over the placid plains was greeted cheerfully, and roused the Brigade for the deadly encounter that was coming.
All was now activity and preparation for thrashing the approaching rebel army; and as soon as the troops were under arms, and all things pronounced in order for action, the word was given to advance, and in two contiguous columns the Brigade moved out to the attack.
The rebels came on with all the confidence imparted by superior numerical strength, though their appearance was rather “picturesque” than military, insomuch that from right to left within eye-range they appeared arrayed in a variety of showy costumes, while moving about in their midst were elephants also gaudily caparisoned. The Sepoy portion of this host, however, retained what might be termed half of their original uniform — that is to say, they wore the regulation white jacket of their defunct regiments, while their nether garments were strictly native. Their horse artillery (formerly, of course, belonging to the East India Company, but now “annexed” to their own forces) also astonished us by displaying surprising facility of movement; and in spite of the rugged ground that intersected the flat country, they could be distinctly seen galloping at speed from position to position, and bringing their guns to bear upon, our ranks with a precision equal to the celerity with which they limbered up and unlimbered, and which was unquestionably worthy of applause.
A general fusilade opened on both sides, and was immediately followed by a thundering cannonade. A sanguinary conflict now ensued, and men began to drop, few killed, many wounded. The clash of arms, the deafening roar of guns, the whizzing of shells and thousands of bullets, all evidenced the desperate onset and fight. But as by this time dense clouds of smoke and dust had enveloped the whole scene, it will, nay, it must, suffice (for, as already stated, I am relating througliout this narrative only what I saw) to say that after repeated efforts to check the Brigade in its crashing advance, the rebels in despair commenced leisurely to retreat.
Presently, however, a gun opening in front of our right flank announced the proximity of another rebel force, and this incident seemed to reassure the retreating multitude, for they faced about, and made further efforts to stand; but in vain. Grapeshot swept them off once more as before; the front ranks broke, those behind recoiled, wild panic and disorderly rout ensued. With increased impetuosity the advance continued, until our line debouching from a tope we saw in the distance a body of Sepoys vainly attempting to rally the vanquished fugitives; but terror-stricken the beaten and scattered host heeded them not, and away over the road and fields with active strides, they soon disappeared behind the surrounding woodlands.
In front of the position on which the Sepoys, under notice, had apparently decided to make a final stand, stretched an extensive plain, in the rear was the main road leading into Oudh, on the right the land declined to broad ravines of difficult access, and close by on the left, enfolded in the graceful arms of gigantic trees, reclined a pleasant-looking little village, bearing the soft and gentle name of Tilga — a spot in appearance so picturesque and peaceful, that it seemed unnaturally savage to associate its charming rural precincts with a ghastly and deadly struggle, such as the one that was just on the point of being witnessed.
From our point of view, this body of mutineers seemed so small that, notwithstanding they were supported by a grim eighteen-pounder gun, a squadron of the Corps was deemed sufficient to dislodge, if not literally to annihilate them. Accordingly one hundred and twenty-two sabres, with the Colonel at their head, prepared to charge. The words March, Trot, Gallop, in rapid succession, had scarcely passed the lips of the leader, when on dashed the Yeomanry like greyhounds slipped for the chase. They sweep over the plain, they plunge into an intercepting ravine half full of water that momentarily checks their race into the jaws of death, they tear through the stream in the teeth of a shower of grape from the eighteen-pounder. Still on flew the squadron, with every nerve braced, every sabre gripped; knee to knee the onrushing wave of steel roared, as it were, “Now for the gun! Now for the gun!” as the scowling black monster from its gaping muzzle vomits for the last time another discharge of deadly grape into our faces; but with free rein, neck and neck, and outstretched strides the maddened and gallant horses fly, like the irresistible shower of the iron hail that had just flown over their heads. Yet the mutineers, with muskets levelled from the shoulder, stand like posts, and draw not a trigger — a few strides more and bayonet and sabre would have crossed each other — when lo! in an instant up sprang hundreds of Sepoys on every side as if out of the very ground itself. They had been crouching, in fact, like tigers prepared to spring from behind the village, and the thin line of their front ranks by which we were decoyed. It was now too late to check the headlong rush, and had it been attempted, in the confusion that doubtless would have followed, the destruction of the whole squadron would probably have been the result. No sooner therefore were these numerous assailants disclosed than the Colonel thundered forth. Charge! And the next moment a stream of musketry, like a sheet of fire, met us with terrible effect, and literally cut down a section of the squadron, and encumbered the spot where this withering volley was received, with men and horses struggling in dying agony.
But nothing could daunt the remnant of that devoted band, and seeing their comrades fall, with wild enthusiasm and sabres flashing in the blazing sunshine, they plunged in among the enemy with an ardour that could not be resisted; and then followed a scene which to this day has not faded from the memories of those who saw it — a scene of dare-devil enterprise, which my feeble pen would fail to describe with adequate force, and tragical effect.
In an area of Heaven knows how many square yards, the killed and wounded lay crowded together as they had fallen; while some of the latter, having been blown off their horses when within a few yards of the muskets, with their “garments” — yes, reader, garments (for many of us, in contempt for dress, were fighting in shirt sleeves) — on fire, were unable to move; others fell and died without a groan; others, weltering in their blood, or bleeding to death, dragged themselves up into sitting postures, and with revolvers in hand watched the doubtfnl fight; and others again, having escaped severe injuries and lost their horses, were standing over their helpless comrades, and shooting down the scattered Sepoys as they approached within revolver range of that gory spot. Indeed, in the tumult and hurry that prevailed, the black legs of these red-handed desperadoes were trampling over the bodies of our fallen as they rushed onwards to rejoin their main body, from which they had been cut off by the violent shock of the charge.
While all this was going on, the undaunted remnant — roused to almost superhuman efforts — having ridden into and over the mutineers, drew their revolvers, and an unrelenting and indiscriminate carnage ensued. And now the left squadron, noticing their comrades hard pressed, also raced into the mêlée; and then the clanking of steel, the rattling of musketry, the yells of the mutineers — which might possibly have been heard a mile off — supplemented by a wild chaos of sabres, bayonets, revolvers, and muskets, all mingled in a desperate hand-to-hand encounter. No quarter was sought, nor offered. In fact, these blood-stained ferocious demons had apparently determined to fight out their cause (?) or die in the attempt; and so fierce was their resistance that all the gunners to a man were killed and cut to pieces, fighting in defence of their gun, while the general slaughter was “ wholesale”; and it was only when a cannon-ball, like a friendly messenger from the approaching Brigade, suddenly hummed over our heads, that these desperadoes were startled into a retreat, and flinging themselves into the adjoining ravines, they soon disappeared in and among the deserted villages beyond.
This brilliant and bloody encounter marks, in the reddest of letters, a page in the annals of Volunteering. And I could transcribe from my memoranda a few notes on the heroic deeds that were done by many of my comrades during that desperate day; but those deeds need no comment here now, and are hallowed by my silence. This encounter also having terminated the struggle of the day, I once more for all quote from Brigadier Rowcroft’s gazetted despatch (No. 241, dated April 19th, 1858), wherein the following paragraph is recorded, which speaks for itself:—
“I ordered Colonel Richardson, in command of the right (Squadron Bengal Yeomanry Cavalry, to move from my right flank, and charge this body of the enemy. The squadron, under its gallant leader, made a noble home charge; and though they came upon a larger body of the enemy behind a village, and the Sepoys made desperate resistance, nothing stopped this brave Cavalry, and they cut down and killed great numbers, and captured an eighteen-pounder gun with limber; and the enemy were completely dispersed.”