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Create new listThe Indian Mutiny medal to Captain John Moore, 32nd Light Infantry, the senior officer of his regiment massacred at Cawnpore
Indian Mutiny 1857-59, no clasp (Capt. J. Moore, 32nd L.I.) small edge bruise and a little polished, otherwise very fine £5000-6000
This lot was sold as part of a special collection, The Brian Ritchie Collection of H.E.I.C. and British India Medals.
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John Moore, ‘one of the finest field soldiers who ever served England’ and ‘one of the most disgracefully ignored by historians’, was commissioned Ensign in H.M’s 32nd Regiment on 1 November 1842, and left Ireland with his regiment for India in 1846. Promoted Lieutenant on 3 April of that year, he took part in the Second Sikh War, being present at the siege of Mooltan, the surrender of Cheniote, and the battle of Goojerat. In 1852 he served under Colin Campbell in the Swat Valley.
In 1854, the 32nd marched from Peshawar to Kasauli, near Simla, where it remained until October 1856, when it was ordered to Lucknow. Cawnpore was reached en route in December and a depot was established consisting of three officers’ families, those of Moore, Lieutenant F. Wainwright and Ensign Evelyn Hill; some eighty-five non-commissioned officers and men, about fifty women, and sixty children, about a third of whom were orphans. The main body of the regiment then proceeded forty miles up the road to Lucknow where it was destined to provide the backbone of the Residency’s defence a few months later. Thus the month of May 1857, found Moore commanding the regiment’s ‘invalids’ at Cawnpore, where Major-General Sir Hugh Wheeler faced the same dilemma as other garrison commanders in the North West Provinces - to show faith in the native troops or to prepare for the worst. The course he was eventually persuaded to take fell between stools. Fearing the consequences of removing the Sepoy guard from the fort, and stock it for defence, he prepared an entrenchment on a dusty plain to the east of the city, about a mile from the Ganges, surrounded by a parapet only four feet high of loose earth, and gathered inside meagre supplies for just twenty-five days, an act which indicated distrust but lacked safety. Amid considerable panic, some four hundred European women and children, Eurasian clerks and tradesmen and their families, together with the native Christians crowded into two barracks, one thatched and one with a pukka roof, within the entrenchment, where they were to come under the critical eye of Captain Fletcher Hayes (Ritchie 1-79). At night the military officers often with a sense of deep foreboding left the entrenchment and returned to their regiments .
On 5 June 1857, the 2nd Bengal Cavalry mutinied at Cawnpore. The garrison’s three native infantry regiments followed suit next day, and a deputation of mutineers rode out to the estate of Dhondu Pant, who was shortly to become infamous in Victorian Britain as the arch-fiend Nana Sahib. With amazing self-assurance, the British at Cawnpore, who politely referred to him as the Maharajah of Bithur (a title not recognised at Calcutta), believed that Nana Sahib would assist them in maintaining law and order. Nana Sahib however was a bitter and ambitious man. He was an adopted son of the last Peshwa of Bithur, Baji Rao II, and dreamt of enjoying the same elevated position in the world as his father. Quickly persuaded that he had nothing to gain by continuing to support the British, he was advised by Azimullah, his agent who had represented his interests in London, that he ought not to go to Delhi, the hub of the rebellion where he, a high born Brahmin, would be subordinate to the decrepit Mohammedan king. It would be far wiser to rally around him the Cawnpore regiments, quickly dispose of Wheeler and the other eight or nine hundred occupants of his pitiful entrenchment, and establish a new independent kingdom from which he might hold sway over vast tracts of India.
Thus, on 6 June Wheeler was informed that his entrenchment would soon be under attack by rebel forces fighting in the name of Nana Sahib. At first, however, the majority of mutineers of the Cawnpore Division seemed more interested in lording it about the city than striking a blow at their former masters. Nevertheless those who did take turns in the batteries and firing their muskets soon began to inflict fearful damage and terrible suffering on Wheeler’s people. It soon became apparent that Wheeler, who at over seventy and already in poor health, lacked the energy to visit the outposts, organize raiding parties and generally attend to day to day running of the defence. The decapitation of his favourite son, Lieutenant Godfrey Wheeler, by a roundshot and the physical effects of the searing heat further sapped the will of the old General and shortly the onerous burden of executive command devolved on John Moore.
The Victorian historian Sir George Trevelyan hailed this ‘tall, fair, blue-eyed man, glowing with animation and easy Irish intrepidity’, in grandiloquent style as the ‘Clearchus of Cawnpore’. ‘Wheresoever there was most pressing risk,’ he wrote, ‘and wheresoever there was direst wretchedness, his pleasant presence was seldom long wanting. Under the rampart; at the batteries: in some out-picket, where men were dropping like pheasants under a fearful cross-fire; in some corner of the hospital, to a brave heart more fearful still where lay the mangled forms of those young a delicate beings whom war should always spare: - ever and everywhere was heard his sprightly voice speaking words of encouragement, of exhortation, of sympathy, and even of courteous gallantry. Wherever Moore passed he left men something more courageous, and women something less unhappy. It is well when such leaders are at hand.’
Following the appearance of green standards in the enemy lines calling the Mohammedans to join their Hindu brethren in their great enterprise, the enemy launched their first general assault on the 11th, after five days of incessant bombardment. The 2nd Cavalry attacked dismounted ‘but after the loss of two of their number they concluded that enough had been done to sustain the credit of their branch of the service, and retired to console themselves for their repulse in the opium shops of the suburbs’. A native infantry regiment came on next supported by the ‘rabble of the bazaars’. Men and women inside the shattered barracks fell to their knees in prayer, some wrote their names on the walls, while outside officers and men ably supported by the gentlemen of the Railway Service and other civilian volunteers under Moore’s direction, punished the half-hearted attempt with sizeable loss. Nonetheless European casualties continued to mount on an hourly basis especially from the fire of Nana Sahib’s seemingly limitless supply of artillery plundered from the Cawnpore arsenal. A large part of the entrenchment was exposed to musket fire and the mere act of obtaining a drink of water by day from the well frequently proved fatal. W. J. Shepherd, a half-caste employed in the Commissariat Office, recalled one of Moore’s men, a dangerous looking Private of the 32nd, threatening to run through his sickly brother with a bayonet unless he assisted him in drawing water, which, after the brickwork frame and machinery had been shot away, meant hauling up the heavy bucket by hand from a depth of sixty feet.
On the 14th, the garrison suffered a serious setback when the roof of the thatched barrack was set on fire destroying the few medical supplies, as well as the jackets of the soldiers of the 32nd who could afterwards be seen poking through the ashes looking for lost medals. Moore immediately determined to ‘give the enemy an early and a convincing proof that the spirit of our people was not broken by this great calamity’. ‘At the dead of night ensuing he stole out from the intrenchment with fifty picked men at his heels in the direction of the chapel and the racket-court. Beginning from this point, the party hurried down the rebel lines under favour of the darkness, doing whatever rapid mischief was practible. They surprised in untimely slumber some native gunners, who never waked again; spiked and rolled over several twenty-four pounders; gratified their feelings by blowing up a piece which had given them special annoyance; and got back, carrying in their arms four of their number and leaving one behind.’ Unfortunately the sortie failed to interrupt the Nana’s artillery programme.
On 15 June, after nine harrowing days under siege, a native messenger risked his life to smuggle through the rebel lines an appeal from Wheeler to the ‘head of intelligence’ at Lucknow, Martin Gubbins (See Lot 77):
‘We have been besieged since the sixth by the Nana Sahib, joined by the whole native troops, who broke out on the morning of the fourth. The enemy have two 24-pounders, and several other guns we only have 9-pounders The whole Christian population is with us in a temporary intrenchment, and our defence has been noble and wonderful, our loss heavy and cruel. We want aid, aid, aid! Regards to Lawrence.’
The Chief Commissioner at Lucknow, Sir Henry Lawrence, felt there was little he could do to help especially since the enemy commanded the Ganges. ‘Pray do not think me selfish,’ Sir Henry replied, ‘I would run much risk could I see commensurate prospect of success. In the present I see none.’ Depressed by this response, Wheeler delegated the task of replying to Moore whose ‘brief and manly, cheerful and yet thoughtful’ reply was, to Trevelyan’s mind, ‘such a letter as an English officer should write on the eighteenth of June’ (Waterloo Day):
‘By desire of Sir Hugh Wheeler, I have the honour to acknowledge your letter of the 16th.
Sir Hugh regrets you cannot send him the 200 men, as he believes with their assistance we could drive the insurgents from Cawnpoor, and capture their guns.
Our troops, officers, and volunteers have acted most nobly; and on several occasions a handful of men have driven hundreds before them. Our loss has been chiefly from the sun, and their heavy guns. Our rations will last a fortnight, and we are still well supplied with ammunition. Our guns are serviceable. Report says that troops are advancing from Allahabad; and any assistance might save our garrison. We, of course, are prepared to hold out to the last. It is needless to mention the names of those who have been killed, or died. We trust in God; and if our exertions here assist your safety, it will be a consolation to know that our friends appreciate our devotion. Any news of relief will cheer us.’
At the start of the defence rations had been unwisely squandered. Private soldiers had been seen consuming champagne, jam, tins of herrings and salmon, and bottles of rum. The luxuries, placed in the food store principally by a regimental officer who had little faith in Sir Hugh as a caterer, ran out all too quickly, and the daily ration was soon limited to half a pint of split peas and flour cooked into a kind of porridge. Dog and horse flesh were keenly sought and when a sacred bull presented itself in front the entrenchment it was met with a storm of lead. ‘To shoot down this pampered monster, the fakeer of the animal world, was no considerable feat for the marksmen who could hit a black buck running at a distance of a hundred and fifty paces. The difficulty consisted in the retrieving of the game, which lay a full three hundred yards from our rampart, on a plain swept by the fire of the insurgents. Inside our place, however, courage was more plentiful than beef; eight or ten volunteers professed themselves ready to follow Captain Moore, who was first at any feast which partook of the nature of a fray. The party provided themselves with a rope which they fastened round the legs and horns of the beast, and dragged home their prize amidst a storm of cheers and bullets, alive but not unscathed.’
But generally morale was at a low ebb and in their despair some members of the garrison attempted suicide. The temperature never dropped below 120°. ‘Faces that had been beautiful,’ wrote Lieutenant Mowbray Thomson, ‘became chiselled with deep furrows. Some were slowly sinking into the settled vacancy of look which marked insanity.’ All now were in ‘tattered clothing, begrimed with dirt, emaciated in countenance’. Yet Moore, in whom ‘hope shone like a pillar of fire when it had gone out in all others’, continued to give encouragement to these sorry people, in addition to carrying out and his dangerous duties in the outposts, and attending to his responsibilities as a husband and father of two young children forced to endure ‘the horrors of a nightmare’. Moore’s wife was one of the several celebrated heroines of the siege. Malleson records how her ‘splendid courage and fortitude endeared her to every man, woman and child within the entrenchment’ and Trevelyan harps on ‘When the viscissitudes of battle called her husband to the outposts, Mrs Moore would step across with her work, and spend the day beneath a little hut of bamboos covered with canvas, which the garrison of Barrack Number Two had raised for her in their most sheltered corner. Seldom had fair lady a less appropriate bower.’
On the night of 22 June, the eve of the centenary of the battle of Plassey, the rebels occupying the half built barracks close the entrenchment seemed more numerous and restless than usual. All night long attacks were launched against the adjacent defences. At one critical point Lieutenant Thomson sent to Moore’s headquarters for reinforcement, ‘but Moore replied that he could spare nobody except himself and Lieutenant Delafosse. In the course of a few minutes the pair arrived, and at once sallied forth armed, one with a sword, and the other with an empty musket. Moore shouted out, “Number One to the front!” and the enemy, taking it for granted that the well-known word of command would bring upon them a full company of Sahibs with fixed bayonets and cocked revolvers, broke cover and ran like rabbits.’ As expected Nana Sahib mounted his biggest attack yet next day, and a large number of rebels succeeded in gaining posession of three of the empty barracks and attempted to dislodge Moore from the rest. But once again Moore proved equal to the occasion and ‘with twenty-five men he advanced, under cover of a discharge of grape, and after a desperate contest expelled the rebels from the barracks they had seized’.
As the siege dragged on into its third week it appears that even Moore became despondent. On 24 June, W. J. Shepherd volunteered to leave the entrenchment on a spying mission. ‘I made my wishes known to Captain Kempland,’ he afterwards wrote, ‘who at first tried to dissuade me from so perilous a task; but, on my showing him the advantage likely to accrue to us if I succeeded in bringing correct information of the enemy’s proceedings, and seeing me speak with much assurance, he agreed, and gave me a note to Captain Moore, recommending compliance with my request. I had much difficulty in finding the Captain, and had to go in search of him outside new barracks where our picquet was; a strange feeling came over me while I thus roamed in search of Captain Moore; I felt callous to every danger and only muttered to myself, “God’s will be done.” I at last found the officer in the north corner of the intrenchment and gave him the note. He read it, and directed me to another officer whose name I have forgotten, saying that he was sick and had only an hour ago given up the command of the batteries. The fact was, as I learnt from one of the soldiers, that Captain Moore was quite disgusted with the prolonged siege, and in compliance with repeated solicitations of our brave European soldiers to be permitted to make a bold sally at night and take possession of all the enemy’s guns, or die in the attempt, he had made a proposal to the General to that effect, which was not complied with as our force was not considered sufficiently strong to attempt so desperate an undertaking. The men were quite worn out and reduced to a company of spectres, so that they were not capable of standing their ground, though they themselves appeared quite resolute and willing; this refusal had displeased Captain Moore, and he therefore had given up his command that morning for a time.’
Shepherd eventually left the entrenchment, but having been given too much rum to steady his nerves, soon fell into the hands of the enemy. He was fortunate enough however to survive as a prisoner of the Nana. At about this time an enemy spy entered the entrenchment disguised as a water carrier. Shortly afterwards the spy reported to Nana Sahib that the British were low on food and much reduced in numbers, and therefore might be willing to surrender. A short letter, offering safe passage to Allahabad was duly drawn up by Azimullah and delivered to Wheeler by an Eurasian emissary. The decision to accept or reject the terms was laid before a council consisting of Wheeler, Moore and Captain Whiting of the Engineers. At first Wheeler reacted in the same way as many of the more vigorous members of the long suffering garrison and was all for rejecting the Nana’s terms, but Moore pointed out that the rains would soon be upon them and thereafter the position would be untenable. Ultimately, ‘the scruples of the old man at length yielded to the arguments produced by Moore and Whiting - and they were no drawing room soldiers; for the one throughout those three weeks had never left a corner on which converged the fire of two powerful batteries, and the other had so borne himself that it might well be doubted whether he knew what fear was. They represented that, if the garrison had consisted exclusively of fighting people, no one would ever dream of surrender as long as they had swords wherewith to cut their way through to Allahabad.’
Next morning, the 26th, Moore met Azimullah outside the entrenchment and agreed to hand over the position on condition that the defenders were allowed to march out under arms; that carriages were provided for the sick and wounded and the women and children; and that sufficient boats were found and provisioned for the journey downstream to Allahabad. The rebel leaders agreed to the conditions and soon afterwards a deputation of officers went down to Satichura Ghat to inspect the boats. The officers, having insisted on various improvements, returned to the entrenchment where the weary garrison was prematurely celebrating their deliverance. That evening Lieutenant Master of the 53rd N.I. scribbled a note to his father, the commanding officer of the 7th Light Cavalry, at Lucknow:
‘We have now held out for twenty-one days under a tremendous fire. The Rajah of Bithoor has offered to forward us in safety to Allahabad, and the General has accepted his terms. I am all right, though twice wounded. Charlotte Newnham and Bella Blair are dead. I’ll write from Allahabad. God bless you.’
Early on the 27th, Captain Moore passed between the ragged groups of survivors impressing upon them the necessity of getting directly into the boats and pushing off immediately they reached the Ghat. He evidently suspected a trap. Watched by swarms of natives who had come from the city to see the procession go by, Moore placed himself at the head of an advanced guard of the 32nd, and led out the bedraggled garrison. They left over two hundred of their friends and relatives buried in the entrenchment, together with the bodies of eleven more lying on quilts, ‘Some still breathing, though dying from severe gunshot wounds.’
As the Europeans attempted to climb aboard the boats beached at Satichura Ghat, the rebel leaders’ plan to destroy the survivors of the Cawnpore Garrison was put into effect. The native boatmen set fire to the thatch of the boats and fled. ‘Two guns that had been hidden were run out and opened on us immediately,’ reported Lieutenant Delafosse, one of the very few to survive, ‘whilst sepoys came from all directions and kept up a brisk fire’. All except three of the forty or so boats got clear of the shallows, the majority having been purposely grounded. The first boat drifted fatally towards the far bank which was lined with rebels. The second was hit below the waterline by a roundshot, but the third, commanded by Major Vibart, however, was able to come alongside and take off the survivors of the second. The native boatmen had taken care to remove the oars, and thus the only implements that could be found to propel the vessel were, as Mowbray Thomson recorded, ‘a spar or two and such pieces of wood as we could in safety tear from the sides. Grape and roundshot flew about us from either river bank, and shells burst constantly on the sandbanks.’ Trevelyan continues, ‘Whether fortuitously, or by the attraction of like to like it so befell that the flower of the defence was congregated between those bulwarks. They were Vibart; Whiting, good at need; and Ashe, bereaved of his beloved nine-pounder; and Delafosse of the burning gun; and Bolton, snatched once more from present destruction. There was Moore, with his arm slung in a handkerchief; and Bolenman, the bold spy; Glanville of Barrack Number Two; and Burney of the south-east battery. Fate seemed willing to defer the hour which should extinguish those noble lives.’ Overcrowded and with her rudder shot away the boat alternately drifted and stranded, reducing the rate of progress to half a mile an hour. The fire of the rebel gunners shadowing the stricken craft eventually ceased after the bullocks became stuck in the sand, but parties of Sepoys continued to keep up incessant volleys of musketry. Aboard the boat, the dead, entangled with the wounded, soon outnumbered the living and only with the greatest difficulty were the corpses thrown over the side to lighten the load.
Ultimately, Captain Moore was killed by a musket ball through the heart while trying to push the boat off one of the numerous sandbanks. Wheeler died at the Ghat, where his head was virtually severed from his body by a Sowar of the 2nd Cavalry. Thomson, Delafosse, Gunner Sullivan of the 1st Company, 6th Battalion, Bengal Artillery, and Private Murphy of H.M’s 84th Regiment, were the only male survivors from Vibart’s boat. They were sent ashore by Vibart after the boat grounded at Nazafgarh to fight off their pursuers, which they succeeded in doing, but on returning to the boat they found it had gone. It had been captured by the rebels and dragged back to Cawnpore where the sixty or so mainly wounded men still on board were shot. Thomson’s party was eventually offered sanctuary by a local Rajah, Dirigbijah Singh. Delafosse recovered from the ordeal to fight under Neville Chamberlain (See Lot 92) at Crag Picquet during the Umbeyla Campaign in 1863.
Moore’s wife and offspring were rounded up with about 122 others by Nana Sahib’s men after the massacre at Satichura Ghat and were taken to the rebel headquarters at the Savada House. Here they were joined by about twenty-five women and children from Vibart’s boat. They were then taken to a smaller house nearby originally built for a British officer’s mistress known as the Bibighar. On 10 July the prisoners were joined by a party of officers’ wives who had escaped from Fatehgarh and had been captured at Nawabgunge. In all, about two hundred women and children were crowded together in the small house in conditions of extreme misery and humiliation. Cholera, smallpox and dysentery carried off about twenty-five over the next few days, and, on learning that Havelock was fast approaching from Allahabad by forced marches, the rebel leaders decided it was time to expedite matters by ordering the execution of the rest. On 15 July, the Sepoys detailed to shoot them from the windows disobeyed and fired into the ceiling, whereupon two Hindu peasants, two Mohammedan butchers and a man wearing the uniform of Nana Sahib’s bodyguard were sent for. They entered the house with long knives and slaughtered the occupants. Next day the bodies of Mrs John Moore and her two children were dragged out by the hair with the rest, not all of them dead, and thrown down a well. Whether Nana Sahib was directly responsible for this vile crime remains a matter of debate, but what is certain is that it roused contemporary Englishmen to fury and blinded most to justice.
Refs: Historical Records of the 32nd Light Infantry; Cawnpore (Trevelyan); Cawnpore Massacre 1857 (Shepherd); The Story of Cawnpore (Thomson);The Great Mutiny (Hibbert).
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