Bancroft of the Bengal Horse Artillery

Gunners with Red horse-hair helmets

The author of this book set his heart on joining 'The Red Men'—the glamorous members of the Bengal Horse Artillery—during boyhood. He achieved his ambition and this book principally concerns his experiences with that famous regiment during the First Sikh War as the British Empire fought to curtail the power of the Sikhs of the Punjab in India. Bancroft was ever in the heart of the battle action and he has given his readers an intimate portrait of the mid-Victorian soldier on campaign during the six battles that could have cost the British India itself. Particularly interesting and enjoyable is his reporting of the speech of the soldiers themselves. It is full of colour and authenticity to the degree that is considered to be the inspiration for Kipling's famous Soldiers Three dialogue.

The A.-D.-C. who brought the order never returned to his chief. A second A.-D.-C. soon galloped up with orders to approach yet more closely to the enemy’s batteries ; this second A.-D.-C. met the same fate as the first, for both their horses were seen running wild about the field without their riders. It being found that our light six-pounder guns produced but slight effect on the enemy’s heavier metal, before carrying out the last order, our major, evidently with the object of ascertaining how close it would be necessary for him to advance, laid one of the guns himself, ordering it to be fired ; he stepped aside to note the result, which must have disappointed him, as he was observed to stamp his foot impatiently.<br>
He turned round in search of his horse, and not seeing it, he said—his last words, alas!—“Bancroft, where is my horse?”
Pointing to the direction in which the animal was standing, the writer answered: “There he is, Sir!” The words were scarcely uttered, when he saw the gallant major lying at a little distance from his horse—headless! The shot must have struck him full in the face, for there was no trace or vestige of his features to be seen. At the same moment the writer felt a dreadful shock on his right side, and his right arm involuntarily whirled round his head (it was the same cannon shot which killed our major.) He was at the time picking out a quid of tobacco from a comrade’s pouch to moisten his lips withal.<br>
Feeling that he was hit, he returned the pouch, with the left hand, remarking—“here, take your pouch, I have lost my arm!” The shot had passed between his body and right arm, carrying away his pouch and belt on the one side, and the soft parts of the arm itself on the other. Being disabled, he was told to dismount and make room for a better man. He dismounted and planted himself at the butt of a tree within the line of guns.<br>
The troop was now about to change its position, but as the writer did not see the force of being left on the field, he immediately betook himself to a seat on one of the limber-boxes, and beside him was placed the headless body of the poor major. The effect of the wound the writer had received now began to be felt; the loss of blood increased his thirst, but there was no water to be had, and the sight of the headless body certainly made his position anything but enviable, and he was compelled to relinquish his seat and look out for another. It was fortunate for him he did so; a second cannon shot severed the body he had just left in halves! Some of the gunners observing this, picked up the shattered remains, tied them up in a horse-blanket, and refastened them on the same box.<br>
It was now getting dusk; the troop was in a frightfully crippled state from the loss it had sustained in men and horses, there being only a young Lieutenant (W. A. Mackinnon) in charge. Still the troop advanced, and in the advance the writer took his seat on the trail of a wagon, and felt for a short time pretty comfortable. But only for a very short time: the gun on his right halted in consequence of its two pole-men being literally cut in two, the lower portions of their bodies still remaining in the saddle, the upper portion of the right pole-man’s body being on the ground, while that of the left was suspended by the head over the collar-bar. The sergeant-major brought up a spare man to take the place of the near pole-man, at the same time emptying the two saddles of their ghastly burdens. It must be said that the spare man hesitated to jump into the saddle—for one of the mangled bodies was that of his brother!<br>
The sergeant-major seeing there was no time to be lost, freed the collar-bar from the half body hanging over it, and threatened the spare gunner with his pistol if he did not jump into the saddle immediately, and he did so. The gun on the writer’s left had now halted; the off pole-man having been struck by a round shot in the face, which carried away the left half, the body still sitting erect in the saddle. Here another spare man ran up, tilted the body out of the saddle, and sprang up into his seat, which he had scarcely attained when a shot broke the off fore-leg of the horse he had just mounted.
The horse was sent adrift, but appeared loth to leave his mates on the advance of the battery, for he hobbled after it, and as ill-luck would have it, came blundering up to the wagon, on the beam of which the writer was seated, and poked himself between the wheels of the limber and wagon, putting an end to all progress for a time. Holding on with his left arm, the writer tried his utmost to keep the brute off with his feet; but a cannon ball soon solved the difficulty. It struck the horse on the hind quarter, causing him to bound forward, and knock the writer off his perch, placing him in imminent danger of being run over.