The Brian Ritchie Collection of H.E.I.C. and British India Medals

The North West Frontier campaign medal to Private Robert Waterfield, 32nd Light Infantry, whose account of his military service in India was published as The Memoirs of Private Waterfield

India General Service 1854-94, 1 clasp, North West Frontier (2295 Pte. Robt. Waterfield, 32nd Foot) toned, nearly extremely fine £600-800

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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Robert Waterfield, a Leicester man born into a poor but pious family in about 1821, enlisted in H.M’s 32nd Regiment in 1842. His now well known Memoirs, recording his Indian service 1846-59, reveal him as something of ‘a puritan’, though ‘like many puritans he was a good fighting man’. April 1842 found Waterfield at Portsmouth intending to join a merchant ship but a chance meeting with a childhood friend already enlisted in the 32nd brought about his acceptance of half a crown in the Queen’s name. In August he marched north with the regiment to put down Chartist disturbances; home service elsewhere in England and in Ireland followed prior to embarkation for India. ‘Some hundreds of the inhabitants of Cork,’ Waterfield recalled, ‘cheered us away from that land to which hundreds would never more return.’ Waterfield landed at Calcutta in mid September 1846 and moved into camp hard by: ‘We lay in Chinsura but a few weeks before our Regiment began to feel the effects of the climate. We lost a great number of the finest men in the Regiment ... Our medical men seem to take little heed of the sickness of the men of the Regiment. They are not yet aware how rapidly death strides on to grasp his prey in this fatal climate. There was scarce a day passed without a funeral, and it was disgusting to see the manner in which the dead were interred. Most of the graves were half full of water, and about four feet deep at most. There was a great deal of drinking amongst the men, for liquor was very cheap. I was often kept from sleep at night with the cry of jackals, hyenas, cheetahs, etc., which paid the barracks a nightly visit.’

In February 1848, the 32nd marched up country to Ambala and from there was ordered to Ferozepore where it arrived in May of the same year: ‘Late in June we received the Delhi Paper, containing an account of the battle [of Kineri] fought between the Sikh Rebels, and the gallant Lieutenant Edwardes and his troops on the anniversary of Waterloo. It was shortly after this that we heard that Multan was to be the place of our debut in eastern warfare.’ Before Mooltan, on 12 September 1848, Waterfield took part in the assault on a group of buildings outside the city which dominated the British trenches. ‘All was bustle and confusion. The troops engaged this morning were: One troop of Horse Artillery; a squadron from each of the Horse Regiments; the 11th Light, and 7th and 11th Irregular Cavalry; six Companies of the 10th and six Companies of the 32nd, and the 8th and 49th Native Infantry. The right column was commanded by Colonel Pattoun of our Regiment and the left by Colonel Franks of the 10th. Edwardes engaged the enemy on the left, by way of diversion. At half past 7 o’clock a.m. the two columns were drawn up in line; about 8 o’clock we received the word ‘forward’, and with a true British cheer, we advanced. When within fifty yards of the enemy’s entrenchment we lay down to receive the first volley, and scarce a man was wounded. We instantly rose, and with repeated cheers boldly dashed forward - till we came to a nullah some eight or nine feet deep. We soon crossed this but several of our men got winged, which stayed their further progress - and now commenced the sport in proper style! Colonel Pattoun shouted “Fetch them fellows out of the trees!” (The ground hereabouts was covered with large trees) and from these we dislodged the discomfited enemy in dozens. They found that they did not have time to build nests, so those who could reach as far fled to the second line of entrenchments. My company (or the Grenadiers) were led by Captain King, and our gallant Lieutenant Williams, as fine a bit of mettle as ever faced an enemy. We dashed on to a large ‘Sammee’, or Dhurum Dalluh, house (or as some called it, a picquet house). This building was entrenched and enclosed on all sides by loopholed walls some 10 or 12 feet high. From this place the enemy peppered us in grand style when advancing. We were not long in bursting open the doors of this refuge place, and the massacre which took place in it was frightful; our Grenadiers soon had the place covered with the dead and dying. In the interior of the building was a narrow staircase. The enemy rushed here followed by the Grenadiers, and in the gallery we had to close upon them, and the struggle for life and death was desperate. We hurled them over the bannisters where they were dashed to pieces on the marble floor beneath. Numbers had secreted themselves, but we left not a place unturned; they would fly to the entrenchments and not being able to scale walls, like a tiger at bay would turn and fight like maniacs. But we cleared the place at last, and our next point was a village where we had to use the scaling-ladders. Colonel Pattoun was the first to ascend, and jumping off the wall amongst the enemy, was cut up before anyone could say Jack Robinson; but his death was soon avenged ... a number of us now made a charge to the third line of the entrenchments, but Major Inglis (now in command of the right column by order of Brigadier Hervey sounded the retire, and we returned to the position we had just gained. The fortune of the day still seemed doubtful, for the enemy was seen advancing in numbers. Then a troop of cavalry under Captain Mackenzie, and van Cortlandt (See Lot 60) and Lieutenant Edwardes with their troops, advanced, repulsing the advancing foe, and in half an hour decided the fortune of the day in our favour.’


The death of Pattoun resulted in the appointment of the tyrannical Colonel Brooke (See Lot 53) to the command of the 32nd. General Whish meanwhile broke off the siege having decided that nothing further could be achieved until the arrival of reinforcements from Bombay with a siege train. On 7 November Waterfield fought at Soorajkhoond, a villlage to the east of Mooltan. ‘Each brigade formed up in open column of divisions, and marched off to the scene of action. Our artillery kept up a rapid fire on the enemy. We had to march through Lieutenant Edwardes’s camp, and the shot from the enemy’s guns dropt in and over his camp. We were flanked by a line of skirmishers; we were under the command of Brigadier Markham. When we got well in front of the enemy we wheeled into line, and halted for some time. Our skirmishers and the enemy’s kept up a fire. We began to advance in echelon of brigades until we came up to the line of the skirmishers. By this time the 1st brigade had engaged the enemy on the right, and were driving them to the front of the 2nd brigade, and we then got the word to “Charge!” Giving a hearty cheer we drove the enemy in front of us, for the cowardly scoundrels would not face the bayonet, they even deserted their guns, except for one grey headed veteran who fought to the death. The Native Cavalry now took up the charge, and drove the enemy into the city (they who could reach as far) ... The sepoys were so embittered against the enemy, that they tortured the poor wounded in all kinds and shapes of ways; heaping dry rubbish against them and setting it on fire; pricking them with the bayonets; and even killing many who might have recovered from their wounds.’

The Bombay troops arrived on 20 December and the siege was renewed with vigour. On 2 January 1849, the long awaited order was issued for the storming of the city. ‘The Bengal column under Brigadier F. Markham consisted of the 32nd, and 49th and 72nd Native Infantry. The Bombay column consisted of the 1st Fusiliers; 4th Rifles and 19th Foot. Their advance was covered by the 60th Rifles. We halted in the suburbs till 3 o’clock p.m. The storming party of our column consisted of the Grenadiers 1st and 2nd companies of our Regiment. There was not room to take us up in sections, so we formed four deep, and awaited the signal to advance, which was the firing of a salvo from our batteries at 3 p.m. I was in the front four, and we was headed by Captain J. D. C. Smyth of our company, and Mr McMahon, a volunteer. On the signal being given I waved my hand to my brother [Private Edward Waterfield]; when Captain Smyth waving his sword, gave us the word “Forward!”, when onward we dashed, giving a cheer that instantly drew from the enemy showers of musketry. Though the ground was broken and narrow, and descending to the city wall, we soon reached the wall and found what they called a breach to be a small hole in the wall, where a small man could hardly get through. The enemy now peppered us with every kind of missile. Our gallant leader Captain Smyth received a heavy blow on the back of the head; the blood gushed forth from the wound. I told him he was wounded, and he replied, “It’s of no consequence!” But I could tell by his looks he was suffering greatly, but finding any attempt to get in the city at this point quite useless, he gave us the order to retire, and enter the town by the Khoone Bhoorj (Bloody Bastion), the breach the Fusiliers had already entered. A whole company in line could enter this breach. Our Regiment took the right of the town, where we met with considerable opposition on the ramparts on the part of the enemy. We deprived them of two of their colours. Our brave Captain held out to the last; he fell in the street, having fainted from loss of blood.’

The battle of Goojerat was fought on 21 February: ‘Shortly after day break the whole of the army struck their tents, packed up all the baggage, which we left on the ground, and marched off in brigades to the scene of action. We marched four or five miles, chiefly through standing corn, three or four feet high, a heavy dew had fallen during the night. The corn wet us through, as bad as if we had forded a river with our clothes on. Our brigade was in reserve. As soon as we came within gun shot of the enemy our army deployed into line, the reserve being about 300 yards in rear of the front line. We halted, and the artillery was brought to the front, and simultaneously one hundred British guns opened their destructive fire on the enemy. This was about 9 a.m. The enemy opened their fire from fifty-seven or more guns, and thus we stood for three and a quarter hours, amidst the roar of one hundred and fifty-seven or more pieces of cannon - spectators of the fight between the contending artilleries. The cavalry supported our artillery, and a sharper connonading was never heard on the plains of India. At half past twelve the artillery ceased firing, and the line was ordered to advance; and a better line was never seen in Phoenix Park, Dublin.’

‘The left of the line was the first engaged, and they kept up a raking fire ... The firing ceased, and the dashing 9th Lancers, together with the Sind Horse, made a splendid charge, cheered by the infantry. They dashed on, cutting their way through the enemy, which fell on all sides. The enemy now tried to turn our right flank which caused an opening in the centre of our line, which was immediately filled up by our brigade. The whole of our army was now in one line. A large body of the enemy came within 200 yards of the front of our brigade, and we opened fire upon them. We was ordered to cease fire. The [horse] artillery came up to the front and gave them grape and cannister (cƒ. Lieutenant Henry Francis, Ritchie 2-37). The 31st Native Infantry who began to show their tails, left an opening that the enemy might easily have charged through, so our grenadiers turned and hooted them. This seemed to shame them a little, for they immediately returned to their places, charged the enemy in front, and took possession of two of their guns. Both flanks of our line was now seen to wheel inwards, and a general advance was made. The enemy began to fly in all directions, hotly pursued by the cavalry, and the light artillery with their field pieces. We now marched down on their camp which had been completely destroyed by our artillery. Our Regiment stayed for a time near to the enemy’s camp, for the purpose of collecting his guns. Our Grenadiers Light Company and No. 6 had to traverse the whole field of action, and collect whatever guns we might come across and thus was presented a good opportunity of seeing the state of the field after the action. In and about the village of Burra-Kalra ... was literally covered with the dead and dying of the enemy. This place was the key of the enemy’s position. It was carried in the most spirited style by the 2nd Europeans, 31st and 70th Regiments of Native Infantry which drove the enemy from their cover with great slaughter. I only saw one European amongst the dead at least a part of one. He was a sergeant of the 2nd Europeans; his cap, grog bottle, and his head was all we saw. There was a letter in the cap, but I could not make any of it out, for it was saturated with blood.’

After two years in various cantonments, Waterfield found himself at Jullundur, where on 7 November 1851, the Grenadier Company of the 32nd celebrated the anniversary of the battle of Soorjakhoond by giving a ball at which Herbert Edwardes was guest of honour. When stationed at Peshawar in May 1852 Waterfield took part in operations against refractory tribesmen in the Swat Valley under Sir Colin Campbell whom he believed to be ‘the hardest man I ever marched under’. He ‘was hated by us all’ and being ‘a Scotchman, we coudn’t expect him to put the honourable company to the expense of double batta.’

Four more years in cantonments followed, and in late 1856 Waterfield claimed his discharge. He landed at Gravesend in June 1857, whence he was quartered at St. Mary’s Barracks, Chatham. ‘I lay in this place until the morning of the 25th June 1857, when I, with many others, was marched down to Strood Station, where I received my discharge, after having served fifteen years two months and nineteen days. I arrived in my native town, Leicester, the same day, where I had the happiness of meeting my parents and sisters who had given up almost all thoughts of seeing me again ... VIVAT REGINA.’

Refs: WO 12/4765; WO 12/4768; WO 12/4769; The Memoirs of Private Waterfield (Eds. Swinson & Scott).