The Battle of Sucheta

It can be disputed as to whether the Battle of Sucheta or Shahgunj was a show of British pluck and daring or an unmitigated disaster. The outcome, however, would force the situation at Agra to a new direction – but it would come at the cost of 140 killed and wounded they could scarcely bear to lose. No one doubted they had to meet the enemy; the question was whether they should wait until the mutineers reached Agra or should the small force go out and meet them.
On Sunday, the 5th of July, Brigadier Polwhele led 568 men of the 3rd Europeans, under Colonel Riddell, Captain D’Oyly’s troop of Artillery which consisted of 69 Europeans including officers and 54 Indian drivers and 55 men of the Volunteer Cavalry and 54 other volunteers consisting of officers and men who had taken refuge in Agra, against the 72nd BNI, the 7th Regiment Gwalior Contingent, part of the Kotah Contingent, two troops of the 1st Light Cavalry, four troops of the Mehdipur Horse and one troop of horse artillery, one horse field battery and 11 guns – 8000 men. If Polwhele lost, Agra would fall, but his chance of victory was slim at best.
Polwhele’s force left the parade ground at 1 p.m., taking the road towards Fatehpur Sikri. They proceeded to the village of Shahgunj, where a halt was sounded to allow the reconnoitring parties to return. They came in at 2 with the information the mutineers were in full strength at the village of Sassiah, a mile distant. Polwhele ordered the advance, and after clearing the village of Shahgunj they left the road and formed up, with Captain D’ Oyly taking three guns on the right flank and an equal number under Captain Pearson on the left, the infantry in line in the centre with the guns and a handful of cavalry covering either flank. As they marched, Polwhele noticed the rebel infantry appeared to be posted in and behind the village of Sassiah; their artillery was likewise on either flank, however, their guns were screened by a natural rise in the ground which formed an impromptu breastwork along with a thick grove of trees. Behind their flanks, the cavalry was amassed, holding their ground. The rebels allowed Polwhele’s force to advance within half a mile of their position before they opened fire from their left battery. The brigadier halted his men, ordered the Europeans to lie down and the guns on the flanks to return fire.

Wrote Colonel S. Dewé White, then serving with the 3rd Europeans as a subaltern,

“But the enemy was too well posted undercover for us to do them any serious injury. I took particular notice of the effect produced by the fire of our guns, as the balls in quick succession struck the mud walls of the village, which appeared to me as harmless as beating carpets, and which was just what it reminded me of; so that I believe the only one gun that did the enemy any damage was the howitzer.”

Between the urging of Captain D’Oyly, who believed it would be small work to silence the enemy’s artillery and Polwhele’s hesitancy to expose the Europeans, for the next 2 hours, an unequal artillery duel was allowed to proceed. Instead of ordering the men to advance, Polwhele continued to keep them lying down, while the rebels, too well undercover for D’Oyly’s and Pearson’s guns to do any damage, were able to get their range. Where before the mutineers had been firing over their heads, they were now able to produce a terrible effect, exploding 2 ammunition wagons, dismounting one gun and igniting its carriage. Meanwhile, Polwhele, undaunted, continued to trust the guns and waste ammunition.
D’Oyly and Pearson behaved with unmatch gallantry throughout, working their nine pounders, but it would be finally, for nought. D’ D’Oyley had his horse shot from under him, forcing him to command on foot. In the second hour of the duel, as he was attempting to set a gun to rights that had problems with a wheel, he was shot in the side by grapeshot. His men placed him on a tumbril, and from his position, severely wounded as he was, D’Oyly continued to give orders until out of sheer exhaustion and loss of blood, he fell unconscious. He was carried from the battlefield and died shortly after in the Fort hospital, uttering those last words, “Put a stone on my grave and write that I died fighting my guns.” Nor did it fair better for his subaltern, Lieutenant Lambe. Shortly after received a shot in the right thigh that shattered his leg. Lieutenant Pearson, in the left battery, who had witnessed one of his guns dismantled, the limber blown up and the carriage ignited, continued to man his remaining guns with his men. Occasionally molested by sudden rushes of enemy cavalry, they remounted the gun with as much coolness as if they were on a parade – but with 2 ammunition wagons destroyed, and rapidly running out of shot and shell, at the end of 2 hours, the duel ended. The Europeans had expended 90 rounds for each gun, but by four o’clock in the afternoon, hardly a gunshot had been fired.
Only after the officers reported, they were indeed out of ammunition that Colonel Riddell received the orders to advance the Europeans. At first, two small columns were thrown forward – the right, under Major G.P. Thomas of the 3rd Europeans and the left under Colonel Fraser, his comrade in arms Major Wheler with his shirt sleeves tucked up, close beside him. Eager now for a fight, they rushed the village and after an obstinate defence, carried it. The troops suffered severe losses from the enemy’s guns and the withering fire from the marksmen positioned on the rooftops and in the doorways of the strong mud houses. In the advance, Major Thomas was mortally wounded, and the army lost a man whose remarkable courage had carried him through the 2nd Afghan War.
Meanwhile, Fraser, determined to hold the position as the enemy’s centre had been pierced and one gun spiked, told Weller to drum up some artillery support – it was still possible that Pearson had some ammunition left; it was hoped with the remaining, provided Pearson could bring up some guns. For his part, Pearson replied in the negative – he had already lost so many men and horses, and besides, he had nothing left to throw at the enemy. It can only have been a strange twist of fate that the mutineers, to their shock, realised they too were practically out of ammunition, and their artillery had already limbered the guns, ready for flight. However, their cavalry was still on the ready and they now descended to cut off the British Artillery, should they be able to advance.
All that was left then for Polwhele to do was send in his cavalry. But this was not a regular cavalry – it was the Agra Volunteers. The force, gallant as it was, consisted of military officers whose regiments had mutinied or had been disarmed (called Military Gardeners), members of the Civil Service, salaried clerks from the public offices, sectioners, men drafted from other regiments, pensioners, Christian drummers and musicians from Native regiments, and a few sundry individuals who had nothing to do with the EICo at all which included horse riders from a travelling French circus. They were barely trained and hardly disciplined, having been exercised for only ten days previous to the battle, and in all, there were no more than 55 of them. They had with them, besides, young Hennessey who had saved his mother at Gwalior, Captain Alexander and Lieutenant Cockburn of the Gwalior Contingent Cavalry. Without hesitation, they charged the mighty rebel cavalry at more than ten to one, who, if they had been well commanded, would have cut up this audacious little force, “root and branch.”

“With such mighty odds against them, they could not conquer but took a glorious part in the defeat. Seven of the little party fell mortally wounded – including Monsieur Jourdan, the chief of the equestrian troupe, who said that he went to fight pour l’honneur d’alliance and proved his sincerity by his death.”

With “audacity almost sublime” they had galloped forward to meet the enemy – brave, cool and desperate and almost without any effect on the densely packed host they rode forward to meet. A volley from the infantry covering the guns delivered at a distance of seventy yards at the advancing enemy threw their ranks into confusion, allowing the volunteers to retreat; while the rebels then wheeled to the right making for the village, a second volley from the 3rd Europeans held them in check. Only a few managed to get in amongst the guns, but they were swiftly dispatched by the waiting infantry.
Back at the village, which Fraser was so desperate to hold, things were not going well. The mud wall of a tobacco field provided perfect cover for the rebels, who now let loose a fire akin to the worse side of hell. Polwhele’s force was outmatched and it was soon apparent that by remaining in their position, they would soon be destroyed to a man. The attacking columns were withdrawn to join the main body, and preparations were made for the retreat. Neither Pearson’s disabled piece nor the gun Fraser had spiked could be taken from the field. Captain Pearson was the last to leave the field, despairing for his gun, but in retiring, Polwhele appeared to have forgotten the artillery; he sent them no orders or took no measures for their protection. Pearson was left to figure out his retreat for himself, grabbing as many volunteers as he could to drag the guns back to Agra.
Two elephants, sent from Agra, were used to transport the wounded, while the dead were left where they fell. It was a shattering blow to Brigadier Polwhele to give the order to fall in, but as disastrous as the battle had ultimately been, the retreat at least was splendid. Moving off as steadily as possible, the rebels were momentarily left with the impression the force was merely returning to the fort to replenish their ammunition without realising the Europeans had actually lost the battle. As such, they persisted in harassing the retreat – their artillery galloped ahead and, with what little ammunition they had left, persisted in firing into the retreating troops, while the Cavalry rode forward to within a mile of the Fort, firing on them from behind walls and village houses. Still, Polwhele’s force marched, halting only to return the rebel’s firing. White recalled that if the cavalry had decided to charge straight through them, it would have been impossible to form square to resist an attack.
The Neemuch Brigade, for their part gave up the attack as soon as Polwhele’s force disappeared into the Fort. They did not have the means to attack a citadel as mighty as Agra. Their work was, however, not done. Although no large body of mutineers ventured from their camp into the city itself, the cavalry continued to prowl around the outskirts and the Station setting fire to bungalows and the cantonments, giving, as it was, license to the villagers and city rabble who had been eagerly waiting for the outcome of the battle, to plunder the city. As the last of Polwehle’s force retreated into the fort, the “elegant” Normal School was set on fire, and the Sowars could be seen galopping wildly around it. As for Drummond’s “trustyworthy” police force, they had mutined the same morning, much to Drummond’s surprise. Inexplicably, he gave the whole force leave of absence and permitted them to carry away their guns and ammunition. To their credit, most of them did not plunder or riot; they simply shouldered their muskes, hung their small bundles from the barrels and walked away. Only a hundred or so remained to join the upcoming mayhem.
At Agra Central Jail, another scene of singular strangeness occurred on the same morning. The goal guard had been replaced by the 3rd Europeans, but these, needed for the battle, were replaced by Sikh prisoners who had been swiftly pardoned for the purpose. They were placed under the control of one of the Mohammedan officials, who, as soon as Polwhele marched out, reteated to the roof of the gaol with one of his subordinates. Hearing the sound of the cannons booming in the distance, they concluded the battle had commenced, at which they descended to the courtyard, assembed the guard and proceeded to release the prisoners, but not before helping themselves to the treasury chest. Many of the prisoners, still shackled, simply left – they headed to their homes and did not stay behind to loot Agra. As they proceeded through the city, their chains clanking ominously, the shopkeepers, realising the government was indeed overthrown, hastily moved their goods inside, shuttered their shops and hurried home.

While the wounded were carried into the Moti Masjid, which had been furnished as a hospital, the blame for the defeat and retreat was laid squarely on the shoulders of old Brigadier Polwhele. Again, no one could agree if he deserved the wigging he received – he had done what he could with 800 men against 8000 and had lost 49 killed and 91 wounded. Yet, the ammunition for the guns had been foolishly wasted in a vain attempt to save the 3rd Europeans any harship and loss, who, despite their reputation, were not a battle-hardened regiment. Throughout the battle, Polwhele was seen unflichingly astride his charger within range of the rebel guns, that nothing hit him, was a miracle. The battle had not been expected to be a success, that was obvious from the start, but an attempt to prevent the Neemuch Brigade from an outright attack on Agra, a goal which essentially succeeded. The blame for the burning of the station was not Polwhele’s fault. If anything, it was Drummonds’ for his stubborn faith in his police force, and Colvin’s for adhering to a policy which disallowed citizens from bringing in their belongings. The battle has gone down in history as a “retreat” and not a “defeat”, but in this case, the line is rather blurred. Polwhele’s force, to his credit at least, was not pulverised as they should have been. As orderly as the retreat had been, so more chaotic the battle – the want of cavalry was serious, but the errors committed were worse. The reserve ammunition had been packed but was never sent with or after the force; the infantry was left idle until the guns were useless, and when they finally attacked, there was no artillery to support them. The tragedy is a fine officer, in the form of Captain D’Oyly, paid for it with his life and the old soldier, Brigadier Polwhele, by the loss of his “professional character.”

In the fort, the gates were thronged with the wives and relations of those who went out to the battle – as the men began to arrive, the women rushed forward to ask after their husbands, sons and brothers. One woman rashly lifted the curtain of the dhoolie only to discover it contained the body of her dead husband – they had married on the 28th of June. When the force arrived within the fort, a general rush to the canteen ensued – men, hot in their heavy red coats, bloody, thirsty and covered in dust and smoke, clamoured for a drink. The ladies hastily poured out beer, wine, tea and water. Charles Raikes, who witnessed the scene recorded,
“Ah, my chummie, my townie!” said one whose comrade had been left dead on the battlefield. “Faith! and the Major (Thomas) when at ’em grand,” said another. The long string of litters passed through the Fort gates. The gallant D’Oyly was carried in to die. Young Williams was undergoing the amputation of a limb in the hospital. Richard Oldfield, Under- Secretary to Government, was brought faint and steeped in blood to his young wife…” Oldfield was one of the last men brought in – he was a relative of E.A.D.Reade who wrote, “…R.C.Oldfield, shot down at the same tine as Monsieur Jourdan. His brother, H.T. Oldfield and Lieutenant Lambe, with the Agra Militia Reserve, of their own accord marched up to the aid of the retreating European Regiment and formed up as a rear-guard. As they passed up, the wounded brother was carried by (and they were loving brothers). One look was given to the civilian brother, to all appearances dying, and the soldier brother resumed his place at the head of his detachment.”

As for the wounded, they were brought to the Moti Masjid, a makeshift hospital lacking in most necessities except surgeons. They kept up their bloody work on once-majestic dining tables that now served as scenes of amputation and examination. Outside the hall, the wives of the sufferers stood in small groups, sobbing – they were prohibited from entering the hospital; they refused to leave but could not be sent away, so there they stayed, their cries mixing with the groans inside.

Captain Eward Armstrong Currie D’Oyly was so badly wounded in the stomach that his uniform could not be removed from his body; part of it had lodged itself in his wound. He died, without any comfort, on a charpoy in the makeshift hospital, in agony. Lieutenant John Henderson Lambe eventually succumbed to the amputation, dying in the fort on the 24th of August.
Monsiuer Jean Charles Jourdan, the master of the wandering French circus, who had so valiantly given his life in the cavalry charge, would later be memorialised in a tomb in the Fort Cemetery.
William Christian Watson of the Bengal Civil Service never recovered from his exertions on the 5th of July and died of cholera on the 12th of July, his physique being, by nature, “weak.”
Major George Powell Thomas, though mortally wounded, would only die on 4 August.
Even little Edith Sharpley, the ten-year-old girl who had been carried from her schoolroom by her cousin, tried to lend a hand. She pressed her way through the women who were giving glasses of water to the soldiers and tried to help – but an officer, spying the girl, took her up in his arms and said, “You are far too small a girl to do this work. You will be trampled on.” He carried her off to where the water was kept and made her stand there instead, safely out of harm’s way.
As for Brigadier Polwhele, who many felt age had not only “dulled his capacities” but “blunted his sensibilities”, entered the fort, quite unconcerned. He repaired to his comfortable quarters, ate his dinner and at his usual hour, went to bed, satisfied he had done his duty.
The day after the battle, a party of volunteers went out, who, after burying the dead, brought back a dismounted gun that had been left behind.