The Battles of the Golden Dagon Pagoda
(Burmese War, 1824)
Diminished by sickness and death, brought on by hard service during an inclement season, by defective provisions, and by the ordinary casualties of war, Sir Archibald Campbell’s forces at Rangoon were greatly weakened. But the opportune arrival of the 89th British Regiment from Madras, and of parts of two detachments which had subdued the islands of Cheduba and Negrais, raised the effective strength just at the critical moment. By the end of June, 1824, the Burmese in this quarter appeared to have somewhat recovered from their defeats at our hands. Chiefs of the highest fame, who, until they came in contact with our troops, had always been victorious, were sent down the Irawaddi from Ava and from Prome, with orders to slay or torture and mutilate every Burmese soldier that did not fight to the utmost; and one of the brightest of golden umbrellas, Sykya Wongee, minister of state, was appointed commander-in-chief, with positive commands from the Golden Foot to attack and drive the British at once into the sea. Following this, on the first day of July, all the woods in Sir Archibald’s front exhibited bustle and commotion; 8,000 men had crossed to the Rangoon side of the river; the jungles around all seemed animated; clouds of rising smoke marked the encampments of the different corps of the Burmese army in the forest; and their noisy preparations for attack formed a striking contrast to the still and quiet of our readiness.
Golden Dagon Pagoda was the key of the British position. This splendid edifice, in itself a fortress, is a little over two miles from the town of Rangoon. In shape it resembles an inverted speaking-trumpet; it is 338 feet high, and is surmounted by a cap made of brass, 45 feet high; the whole is richly gilded. The base of this pagoda is a conical hill, flat at the top, and rising about 75 feet above the road.
In the neighbourhood of this gorgeous building Sir Archibald Campbell placed a whole battalion of British troops. The two roads running from the pagoda to the town were occupied by our forces, native and European. The minor pagodas, bronze houses, and pilgrims’ houses along these two roads afforded good shelter to the troops against the stormy weather, and some further shelter from the attack of an enemy whose artillery was somewhat light. Two detached posts completed our position—one at the village of Puzendown, about a mile below the town, where the Pegu and Rangoon rivers meet; the other at Kemmendine, about three miles above the town; this second post being chiefly intended to protect our shipping against the descent of the enemy’s fire-rafts.
On the morning of July 1st the enemy issued in dense masses from the jungle to the right and front of the Golden Dagon Pagoda. Detaching to their left a column, which succeeded in setting fire to part of the village of Puzendown, their main body came boldly up to within half a mile of Rangoon, and commenced a spirited attack upon part of our line. But two field-pieces, served with grape and shrapnel, presently checked their advance, and then a brilliant charge by the 43rd Madras Native Infantry put them all to flight. In a very few minutes not a man could be seen of the Burmese host, except the killed and wounded; nor could anything be heard of them except a wild screaming of baffled fury coming from the depths of the forest.
Their defeated commander was brought to book by the Golden Foot, and degraded. Then a still higher minister of state, named Soomba Wongee, who had arrived with reinforcements, took the command, and commenced stockading his army in the most difficult and intricate part of the forest, at Kummeroot, about five miles from the Great Pagoda, intending, chiefly under cover of night, to carry on such a system of desultory warfare as would harass, and ultimately destroy, our sickly, worn-out soldiers. He also fortified a commanding point on the river about Kemmendine, in communication with his stockaded camp, hoping by this means not only to obstruct the navigation of the river, but also to construct and employ numerous fire-rafts. But this new commander-in-chief had scarcely finished his works when he was driven from them with a terrible slaughter.
It was on July 8th that Sir Archibald Campbell embarked with one column for the attack of the position upon the river, and Brigadier-General MacBean, with a land column, marched upon the forest stockades at Kummeroot. The works on the river were found to be so formidable that it was judged necessary to employ breaching vessels; accordingly a brig and three Company’s cruisers, manned by seamen of his Majesty’s and the Company’s navy, under the superintendence of Captain Marryat, soon opened a heavy cannonade and silenced the enemy’s guns. Our troops then pushed across the river in boats, entered the practicable breach which the firing of our seamen had made, and carried all those works with comparatively trifling loss. The Burmese suffered severely in killed, and many of them were drowned in trying to escape across the river.
The operations of the land column, under MacBean, were equally successful. It was unprovided with artillery; but the storming parties, who escaladed stockade after stockade, consisted entirely of British troops. Here, again, the slaughter was dreadful. Soomba Wongee, and several chiefs of high rank, with 800 men, were killed within the stockades; and the neighbouring jungles were filled with the unhappy creatures who were wounded, and left to die from want of food and care. Some of these poor Burmese were found by the English soldiers, and brought into our hospitals; but, unfortunately, none of them recovered. The monsoon rains were now at their height. The adjacent country was almost wholly under water. Nothing was to be obtained from it. Again, disease spread so rapidly among our troops that the outlook was desperate.
Meanwhile an Expeditionary Force, consisting of his Majesty’s 89th Regiment and the 7th Madras Native Infantry, under the command of Colonel Miles, was detached from Rangoon, with a considerable naval force, to subdue the maritime possessions of his Burmese Majesty to the eastward, in the hope that their loss might induce him to sue for peace. The success of the expedition was complete: Tavoy surrendered. Mergui was taken by storm, and British protection was welcomed by the inhabitants of the entire coast of Tenasserim.
Some few weeks later Sir Archibald Campbell attempted to release such of the inhabitants of Rangoon as were desirous of returning to their houses; and, by means of the sudden, unexpected, and, to the natives, inexplicable movement of our steamboats, a few families who had been driven to the villages at the heads of the numerous creeks which branch off from the Rangoon river were released from their guard, and joyfully took the opportunity of returning to their city. It was to the report of these people of the kind treatment they met with that our army was afterwards indebted for the return of the great body of the men whose services and exertions contributed to the final success of the war.
Having, so far, failed in all his undertakings, the Lord of the White Elephant now sent his two brothers, the Prince of Tonghoo and the Prince of Sarrawaddy, with a whole host of astrologers and a corps of “Invulnerables,” to join the army and to direct the future operations of the war. The astrologers were to fix the lucky moment for attacking; the “Invulnerables” had some points of resemblance to the Turkish Delhis; they were the desperadoes, or madmen, of the army, and their madness was kept up by enormous doses of opium. The corps consisted of several thousand men, divided into classes; the most select band of all being called the “King’s Own Invulnerables.”
The Prince of Tonghoo established his headquarters at Pegu, and the Prince of Sarrawaddy took post at Donoopew, upon the great river, about sixty miles from Rangoon. In the beginning of August the Prince of Sarrawaddy sent down a force to occupy a strong post at the mouth of the Pegu River, a few miles below Rangoon, giving his people strict orders to block up the channel of the river in our rear, so that not one of the “wild foreigners” or “captive strangers” might escape the punishment that was about to fall upon them. Brigadier Smelt was at once sent, with a small corps, to dislodge Sarrawaddy’s force. Our land troops were brought to a standstill, when within musket-shot of the place, by a deep and impassable creek; but a party of sailors from his Majesty’s ship Larne, under Captain Marryat, threw a bridge over the creek; and, as soon as the column of attack pushed forward, the enemy began to fly, leaving eight guns and a quantity of ammunition in their stockade. A strong pagoda, with a numerous garrison, and with cannons pointing down every approach, was next carried with equal facility. Other posts on the rivers and creeks were then attacked and taken. Such of the enemy as had had any experience of our way of fighting seldom stopped to fight in their stockades; but a new set of people from the interior made a good stand in a succession of stockades on one of the rivers, and cost us the loss of a good many brave men.
All this time the astrologers were busy casting the lucky moment. Finally they told the Prince of Sarrawaddy that the moment had come for a decisive action; and, on the night of August 30th, a body of the “King’s Own Invulnerables” promised to attack and carry the Golden Dagon Pagoda, in order that the princes and the sages and pious men in their train might celebrate the usual annual festival in that sacred place—which was now crowded with English grenadiers. And, true so far to their promise, the “Invulnerables,” at the hour of midnight, rushed in a compact body from the jungle under the pagoda armed with swords and muskets. A small picquet, thrown out in our front, retired in slow and steady order, skirmishing with the “Invulnerables” until they reached the flight of steps leading from the road up to the pagoda. The moon had gone down, and the night was so dark that the enemy could be distinguished only by a few glimmering lanterns in their front; but their noise and clamour and the volume of their threats and imprecations launched upon the impious strangers if they did not immediately evacuate the sacred temple proved their number to be very great.
“In a dense column,” says the historian, “they rolled along the narrow pathway leading to the northern gate of the pagoda, wherein all seemed as silent as the grave. But hark! the muskets crash, the cannons roar along the ramparts of the British post, drowning the tumult of the advancing column; and see!—see by the flash of our guns, the column reels back, the ‘Invulnerables’ fall, mortally wounded, and the rest turn their backs on the holy place, and run with frantic speed for the covering of the jungle.”
Our grape-shot and our musketry broke the spell—those “Invulnerables” ventured no more near any of our posts. But a far more terrible enemy came within the lines; the dysentery broke out among our troops, killing many of them, and reducing more to a most emaciated and feeble state. Scarcely three thousand duty soldiers were left to guard the lines. Floating hospitals were established at the mouth of the river; and bread was now furnished in sufficient quantities, but nothing except change of season or of climate could restore the sufferers to health. Mergui and Tavoy, portions of our conquest on the sea-coast, were represented by the medical officers who visited them as admirable convalescent stations; and thither a number of our soldiers were sent, and with the most beneficial result. Men who had for months continued in a most debilitated state at Rangoon, rapidly recovered on arriving at Mergui, and were soon restored to their duty in full health.
The Lord of the White Elephant now determined to call down from the mountains of Arracan his prime favourite, and to carry off the Governor-General in golden chains. Bandula obeyed the call, and led his reinforced army from the mountains of Arracan to the Irawaddi river. He had begun his march about the end of August, at a season of the year when none but Burmese could have kept the field for a week, much less have attempted to pass the unhealthy jungles and the pestilential marshes of the country. The distance, by the shortest route, was more than 200 miles; but Bandula, gathering fresh forces in the latter part of his long march, reached Donoopew before Sir Archibald Campbell knew that he had left Arracan. Happily, our troops, though woefully reduced in numbers, were now fast recovering their health and strength; and two fresh British regiments, some battalions of native infantry, a regiment of cavalry, and a troop of horse artillery arrived from Calcutta and Madras, together with some admirable trotting cattle of the true Mysore breed. Five hundred native boatmen came round from Chittagong, and were busily employed in preparing boats for river service.
The rains had now ceased at Rangoon; and Sir Archibald Campbell, strongly reinforced, was completing his preparations for the ascent of the Irawaddi, and for an attack upon Prome, when he learned that Bandula had reached Donoopew with 60,000 fighting men, a considerable train of artillery, and a body of Cassay horse, the best cavalry in this part of Asia. Bandula’s musketeers were estimated at 35,000 men. Other numerous bodies were armed with gingals, which carried an iron ball of from six to twelve ounces, and were mounted on a light carriage easily dragged about by two men; and great numbers were attached to the guns which were transported on the backs of elephants. The rest of the host were armed with swords and spears, and scattered through the army were more of the “Invulnerables” who had not yet tasted the sour grape of English guns, and who were amply provided with charms, spells, opium, bhang, and betel-nuts. As Bandula proclaimed on all sides his intention of riding at the head of his invincible army, with horses and elephants and all manner of warlike stores, to capture and destroy the British at Rangoon, it was deemed proper to wait for him there with a view to a decisive battle.
The enemy came down to the neighbourhood of Rangoon in boats. Our posts, consisting of redoubts and fortified pagodas, were speedily constructed, connecting the great Golden Dagon Pagoda by two distinct lines with Rangoon and the river, and leaving a disposable force for moving to the support of any point that might require such support. The post at Kemmendine was also strongly occupied, and was supported on the river by his Majesty’s sloop Sophie, Captain Ryves, a Company’s cruiser, and a strong division of gunboats.
On November 30th Bandula’s great army assembled in and behind the dense forest; and his line, extending from the river above Kemmendine in a semicircular direction towards Puzendown, might be distinguished by a curved line of smoke rising above the trees. During the ensuing night the low, continuous murmur and hum of voices proceeding from the enemy’s encampment suddenly ceased, and were speedily succeeded by the distant but gradually approaching sounds of a multitude in slow and stealthy movement through the woods. Our troops soon became aware that the enemy’s masses had approached to the very edge of the jungle, within musket-shot of the pagoda, apparently in readiness to rush from their cover to the assault at the break of day.
The day had scarcely dawned on December 1st when hostilities commenced with a heavy fire of musketry and cannon at Kemmendine, the reduction of that place being a preliminary to any general attack upon our line. The firing continued long and brisk, and from their commanding situation at the Great Pagoda, though nearly two miles distant from the scene of action, our men could distinctly hear the yells and shouts of the infuriated assailants, occasionally returned by the hearty cheer of the British seamen as they poured in their heavy broadsides upon the resolute and persevering masses. The thick forest which separated us from the river shut out all sight of what was going forward; and, when the firing ceased, we remained. There was a short period of anxiety, though little doubt as to the result of the long and spirited assault. At length, however, the thick canopy of smoke which lowered over the fierce and sanguinary conflict gradually dissolved, and there could be seen the masts of the vessels lying at their old station off the fort—a convincing proof that all had ended well on that side.
Meanwhile the enemy had been seen on the west side of the river, marching across the plains of Dalla towards Rangoon. They were formed in five or six different divisions, and moved with great regularity, led by numerous chiefs on horse-back—their gilt umbrellas glittering in the rays of the sun—with a sufficiently formidable and imposing effect. Opposite Rangoon the leading column of five or six Burmese divisions began entrenching and throwing up batteries, while their main body was stockading in the jungle. In the course of the day several heavy columns issued from the forest, and successively took up their ground along a woody ridge, gently sloping towards Rangoon. Here they commenced operations with their entrenching tools, and with such activity and good will that in the course of a couple of hours their whole line was covered; their flags and banners, which had been flying in profusion, all disappeared, and nothing was seen but a parapet of fresh-turned earth, gradually increasing in height. The moving masses, which had so very lately attracted anxious attention, had sunk into the ground; and, by anyone who had not witnessed the whole scene, the existence of these subterranean legions would not have been credited. The occasional movement of a chief with his gilt umbrella from place to place, superintending the progress of their labour, was the only thing that now attracted notice. By a distant observer the hills, covered with mounds of earth, would have been taken for anything rather than the approaches of an attacking army. Even to those who had watched the whole strange proceeding, it seemed the work of magic or enchantment. But, thus working like moles in the earth, the Burmese could no more see than they could be seen; and, in the afternoon, Major Sale, with his Majesty’s 13th Regiment and a regiment of Madras Native Infantry, moving rapidly forward upon the busily employed and too confident enemy, fell upon them before they were well aware of the visit, and drove the whole line from their earthworks with considerable loss.
These Burmese trenches were found to be a succession of holes, capable of containing two men each, and excavated so as to afford shelter both from the weather and the fire of any enemy; even a shell lighting in the trench could at most kill but two men. As it was not the Burmese system to relieve their troops in making these approaches, each hole contained a sufficient supply of rice, water, and even fuel for its inmates; and under the excavated bank a bed of straw or brushwood was prepared, in which one man could sleep while his comrade watched. When one line of trench was completed, its occupiers, taking advantage of the night, would push forward to where the second line was to be opened, their places being immediately taken up by fresh troops from the rear, and so on, progressively. The Burmese understood this art of warfare, but our men—especially our Native Infantry—also understood that art, and the enemy’s weaknesses as well.
Attacks were made on Kemmendine that day and were all repulsed by our troops or by the seamen of our little flotilla. But it was not until night that the Burmese made their last desperate effort to open their way down the river, and so get possession of the port of Rangoon. The soldiers had lain down to rest, when suddenly the heavens and the whole surrounding country became brilliantly illuminated. The enemy had launched their fire-rafts into the stream with the first of the ebb-tide, and had now applied the match to those huge masses of combustible materials, in the hope of driving the Sophie and our other vessels from their stations off Kemmendine; and as these fire-rafts came down, it was seen by the light of their flames that they were followed by a vast fleet of war-boats, whose crew were ready to take advantage of the confusion which might ensue if any of our vessels should be set on fire. As the rafts floated rapidly down to Kemmendine with the ebbing tide, columns of attack moved once more by land against that well-defended post, with artillery, gingals, and musketry.
But the skill and intrepidity of British seamen proved more than a match for the numbers and devices of the Burmese; after gazing for a while at the red, blue, yellow and green flames of the mighty fireworks, our sailors leapt into their boats, pushed off to meet the flaming rafts, secured them with their grappling irons, and conducted them safely past our shipping or ran them ashore to finish their short but vivid life of fire and flame upon the river bank without injury to anyone. If these fire-rafts could have reached the harbour of Rangoon, which was now crowded with transports and vessels of all kinds, the effect might have been very tragic; but the British tars said that none should pass Kemmendine Point, and none did pass. Kemmendine, where the river makes a sudden turn, was the only point from which the rafts could have been launched with effect. Fully aware of this, Bandula ordered attack upon attack to be made, and for seven days no rest by night or by day was allowed to our troops or to our seamen there. But every effort of the enemy failed—even their land attack on Kemmendine.
On December 5th, when the stores of the Burmese left wing were brought forward from the jungle to their foremost entrenchment in front of Rangoon, and were fairly within our reach, Sir Archibald Campbell ordered a decisive attack to be made upon their army. Major Sale, with one column 800 strong, and a troop of British dragoons, who had only been landed the preceding day, was directed to fall upon their centre; and Major Walker, with 500 men, was sent to make a vigorous attack on their left wing. The operations of these two columns of troops were greatly facilitated by Captain Chads of the navy, who proceeded up the Creek to a point within gunshot of the rear of the enemy’s line, with the man-of-war boats and a part of the flotilla, and began a heavy cannonade which distracted the attention of the Burmese and prevented their strengthening their front. Our two columns broke through the entrenchments, and completely routed both the centre and the left with vigorous bayonet charges; but Major Walker and a good many of his gallant comrades fell. The loss of the Burmese was appalling; they were driven from every part of their works into the jungle, leaving the ground behind them covered with dead and wounded, with all their guns, entrenching tools, gilt umbrellas, and a great number of small arms. On December 6th, Bandula tried to rally his defeated troops, and with some success. On the 7th the Burmese made their last and grand attack on the Great Pagoda, but they were beaten, driven back to their entrenchments by the British bayonet, and finally into the depths of the jungle.
Our troops at that post, worn out by seven days and nights of incessant fighting and watching, could not pursue the flying enemy, who left in the trenches a great number of dead—nearly all stout, tall, athletic fellows, who might almost have measured with English grenadiers, and who had evidently belonged to the flower of Bandula’s army. During these seven busy and fiery days the Burmese, in addition to a prodigious loss of life, had lost every gun and their entire stores. The survivors fled towards Donoopew, but they were stopped in their flight by some great and terrible chiefs, who had been sent down with numerous reinforcements, and they rallied at Kokeen, about four miles beyond the Great Pagoda.
It is said that when Bandula counted his forces he found them reduced from more than 60,000 fighting men to less than 25,000. Nevertheless, this favourite of the Lord of the White Elephant was allowed to retain the chief command. His first move was to entrench and stockade himself at Kokeen, after which he employed incendiaries to burn the invaders out of Rangoon, and destroy all their stores and powder magazines. On the night of December 12th the cry of fire resounded through the town of Rangoon, and nearly the whole of that flimsy, bamboo-built place seemed to be immediately in a blaze. The incendiaries had placed their matches in various parts of the town, and had set fire to them all the same moment. One half of the town was burned; but the flames were prevented from reaching our depot of stores and ammunition. This attempt, which was very nearly successful, brought down a rapid attack upon Bandula’s new position, and defeat and ruin upon himself. On December 15th—three days after the midnight fire at Rangoon—1,500 British troops and sepoys, unaided by artillery, under the command of Brigadier-General Willoughby Cotton, drove Bandula and his mighty host from all their entrenchments and stockades at Kokeen, and strewed the position with his dead in thousands.
Bhurtpore
(1826)
If any fortress in India could have been with good reason called impregnable, that fortress was Bhurtpore. In the early years of the nineteenth century the chiefs and rajahs of Hindustan were wont to say, “Yes, you may bully us, but go and take Bhurtpore!” Their belief in its impregnability was well founded, for in 1805 Lord Lake had attacked it vigorously, but had failed to reduce its well-fortified works manned by staunch and numerous defenders. After suffering terrible losses he was compelled to withdraw, leaving this Jat fortress with a still stronger claim to impregnability than it had ever possessed before.
When it was once decided by the British Government that Bhurtpore must fall, the question immediately arose, where was the man to take it? The East India Company Directors interviewed the Duke of Wellington, asking him to find a man capable of taking this fortress. The Duke gave them an answer. He said, “You can’t do better than have Lord Combermere. He’s the man to take Bhurtpore.” “But,” replied the directors with great surprise, “we thought that your Grace had not a very high opinion of Lord Combermere, and did not consider him a man of genius.” “I don’t care a tuppenny damn” (that was the Iron Duke’s favourite par of exchange in hot words) “about his genius. I tell you he is the man to take Bhurtpore!” And the Duke was right.
There were 25,000 men in the Bhurtpore garrison, and they represented the most warlike races of India. When Lord Combermere set out with Bhurtpore as his objective, his army consisted of 30,000 men of very mixed quality. On reaching the fortress he began with heavy bombardment. Then for a week he carried forward his siege works, covered by Gurkha sharpshooters, whose eyes were so keen and whose aim so sure that no man of the enemy could show his head above the ramparts with impunity.
Point after point was won until, at last, a small breach was made by the artillery; and into this breach Lord Combermere flung a force in which were included 600 dismounted men from the various cavalry regiments—eighty from the 11th Light Dragoons, eighty from the 16th Lancers, 200 from Skinner’s Horse, and forty from each regiment of native cavalry.
Skinner’s Horse is one of the earliest formed of the many distinguished Native Irregular Cavalry Corps which have fought for Britain. They had been under Colonel Skinner for many years, and had served him in many wars; thus they had come to respect and love him as tribesmen do their chief. There is a touching story of their valour and faithfulness during the storming of Bhurtpore. A party was told off according to rota duty, for the whole regiment had volunteered for the dangerous service. Skinner placed at their head Shadull Khan, one of his oldest, most faithful, and trustworthy native officers. Then he spoke to them as follows: “This is the first time you are going into danger when I cannot accompany you; but such is my affection for you all that I cannot allow you to part from me without carrying with you something dear to me.” Then, taking his son by the hand—the lad had only lately entered the corps—he continued: “See, here is my son. Take him and gain for him such honour as you have won for his father.”
This shows clearly what Colonel Skinner thought of Skinner’s Horse, and also what he knew they thought of him. Old Shadull Khan stepped forward, and, taking young Skinner by the arm, cried out, “Farewell, our commander! Trust in God, who never deserts those faithful servants who do their duty and who, please God, will now do their utmost to maintain the honour of the corps.”
Although the assault on the breach had been planned, it was postponed for that day, as on further consideration Lord Combermere deemed it was not practicable. It took place later, after a great explosion of mines which the engineers had placed beneath the ramparts. On entering the widened breach our troops encountered fierce opposition. There was a hand-to-hand fight of the most desperate description, and it was not until after some hours of fierce fighting that the enemy surrendered.
The Iron Duke’s words were justified; Lord Combermere had taken Bhurtpore, and that successful assault on a fortress long regarded as impregnable was one which yields in brilliancy and courage to few in the British annals of war. Its beneficial effect on British rule and influence in India was as striking as its place among battles is dramatic.