The 1st Relief of Lucknow – Mutiny Reflections

By July, the British were still no closer to ending the mutiny and it had, as events have shown, become worse; in Bihar, Patna had been reeling under disturbances while Dinapore was the scene of a singular act of mismanagement, in the Punjab, the consequences of the Battle of Jhelum had made themselves felt in Sialkote; John Nicholson was still tramping around the Punjab quelling disturbances and in Central India, the troops had finally shown their true colours and Indore was, for the time, lost. Further afield, in Bombay, only the machinations of one Mr Forjett had prevented an uprising in the city itself, but in Kolhapur in the Southern Maharata Confederacy, a young officer named Kerr had felt quite bodily what it meant to fight with sepoys. Delhi had not been taken, and the troops on the Ridge had settled into what was now being called the Siege of Delhi, although who was doing the actual besieging was wondered at.

Enter Sir Henry Havelock

However, there was some hope. Troops had been arriving in India, mostly those who had been destined for the (now-postponed) China Campaign; others were marching up from Madras and in nearby Ceylon, practically all European troops and the Royal Artillery had been sent to India. The Persia Campaign had ended, and every man was quickly sent to Bombay from whence they were sent to Calcutta. Among them was Sir Henry Havelock.
If a man had ever strived to be a soldier and a saint, it was Henry Havelock. His was not the belief of a simple man, a prayer before battle, the quickly muttered hymn on Sunday or the pledged obeisance in the face of imminent danger; Havelock lived his faith, much to the irritation of his fellow officers. If the march was called at 5 a.m., Havelock rose at 3 a.m. to spend two hours with his Bible and his prayers; the regiment of which he had so long been a part, the 13th, had gained the title of Havelock’s Saints way back in the Burmese War when they had typically spent their evenings in prayers with their leader, distinguishing themselves as being the only men able to fall into line without falling over drunk. Havelock tolerated no alcohol in his ranks, and he actively sought ways to stamp out the scourge. If the army had anything to thank Havelock for, it would, in the future, be coffee shops for the men and abstinence circles. However, others took a dim view of Havelock’s religion. If he wanted to put his faith in the Lord or anything else, he should at least have the decency to keep it for himself. That his men were not wretched drunks was not a feat other officers found praiseworthy; it only served to embarrass them. When seeking a promotion, the same men wrote letters of complaint, insisting Havelock be held back. “The complaint,” said the Governor-General, “is that they are Baptists. I only wish that the whole regiment was Baptist.” When a Return was ordered of the offences committed by the men in the different companies, and the punishment inflicted on them, it was found that the men of Havelock’s company, and those who joined them in their religious exercises, were the most sober and the best behaved in the regiment.
While Havelock did receive the promotion, it was not with the blessings of the army he served. It was only because the Governor-General deemed he was the fittest man for the job. Slurs like these plagued Havelock – a man who walked through life and looked death in the face without flinching, satisfied he was in the Lord’s protection – was an enigma, and the army notoriously had little time for saints. Until they needed them. Those who knew Havelock learned that while he did put his creed ahead of himself, he neither proselytised nor forced it on others. Any man willing to learn of it was welcome, but he was not a man, like others in the army, who forced his beliefs on the Indian soldiers. He found fanatical preaching embarrassing and the thought of forcible conversion, shameful; besides, Havelock was far more concerned with the souls of the British. To the Indian sepoys, Havelock proved himself fair but stern. What he did not tolerate in himself, he would not accept in others. Rules were to be obeyed, and discipline was paramount. He expected no one to do a duty he himself would not perform, and he always led from the front. Havelock had studied the art of war and had made it part of his creed – an analyst of the finest calling, he never made decisions without weighing out the cause and consequences. The burden of command, so sought after, fell heavily on his shoulders. While he did not fear death for himself, he was not a man to throw away the lives of his men. What India needed in 1857 was a brave, courageous man, and Sir Henry Havelock, for all the shortcomings that had been flung at him, was just that.

When he arrived in Calcutta in June, it was in the company of Patrick Grant, the commander-in-chief of the Madras troops, hastily chosen to replace the Honourable Anson as Commander-in-Chief of India, who had died in May. Grant decided his place was not in the field and opted to remain in Calcutta – his man in the field would be Havelock. He would be given the further authority of commander of the field force; it was presumed, would take back Lucknow. This particular appointment would fall sour with Colonel Neill, who had simply presumed he would be given the position, but Havelock beat him to it simply by seniority. I was just as well that it was Havelock, for as we shall see, Neill had some curious ideas. So Havelock began his march, which he hoped would end with the glorious relief of the Lucknow garrison. Fate would have something very different in store for him, for as he would quickly find out, the road to Lucknow was very much out of his grasp.