Note 45 — Chapter III

The following account of the assault, by an officer of the 1st European Bengal Fusileers, will supply many particulars of interest:—

"At 2 o'clock a. m. we formed in front of our camp 250 strong, and marched down to Ludlow Castle, which we reached about daybreak. There we paused some time to receive our ladders, and advanced at sunrise to the assault. Every man felt this day would repay him for four months of hard knocks, and that we should give the murderous ruffians a wholesome lesson, and teach them that a hand-to-hand struggle with armed men was quite another affair to one with defenceless women and children. We cross the glacis, the fire is hot; descend and reascend the ditch, mount the berme and escalade. Hark! what noise is that? not the Sepoy's war-cry 'Bum, Bum ram, ram, Oh King' for which you are intently listening; but the wild, thrilling cheer of the British, which announces to friend and foe that the ramparts are won. We descend and meet in the Cashmere Bastion, and-are astonished at our rapid success. A general shaking of hands takes place. 'Oh, General, is that you?' 'Paddy, my boy, how are you?' these and such like greetings take place, whilst the different regiments form. We moved out rapidly and stormed the church and adjacent buildings, and killed a number of Sepoys as they retreated from the Water Bastion. After this, we proceeded round the ramparts to our right without very much opposition, and halted at the Cabul Gate for some time; again the word was forward, and in leading on the men, my glorious friend George Jacob was mortally wounded; he, poor fellow, was shot in the thigh, and died that night. As he lay writhing in his agony on the ground, unable to stand, two or three men went to take him to the rear, but a sense of duty was superior to bodily pain, and he refused their aid, desiring them to go on and take the guns. Twice did the enemy repulse us from this strong position, our third attempt was successful, but two guns hardly repaid us for our loss. 'Sergeant Jordan,' I said, 'spike that gun on the rampart.' 'I can't, sir, I've no spikes.' 'Then take a ramrod, break it in, and throw it down to me;' and I spiked the other gun in the same way. The enemy eventually retook this position, but found only useless guns. A little in advance, the enemy had a gun and bullet-proof breastwork, behind which they fired on us with impunity. This was on the rampart, and we were in a narrow lane about twelve feet below, where not more than four men could go abreast. In one charge, Nicholson, our best and bravest, was struck down. Speke, gentle everywhere but in the field, was mortally wounded, and I, in re-forming the regiment for a renewed attempt, was shot through the right shoulder, which will prevent my being bumptious for some time; out of our small party, seven officers and many, very many men had fallen. It was felt to be madness to continue the struggle where the enemy had all the advantage, and the troops were withdrawn to the Cabul Gate, but the British and Sikh soldiers had done their work, they had opened the road for our unrivalled artillery to bring in their guns, and in six days they cleared the city with very trifling loss on our side."