Colonel McLeod’s death and losses of his detachment—Captain Mackay honoured by Turkish Pasha—Return to Sicily—78th goes to England—Attack of ophthalmia

WE had soon another trial awaiting us. When we got to Etcho there was no appearance of Colonel McLeod or his detachment, nor any message from him. It was therefore at once determined to march back to El-Hamet, to ascertain his fate; and there we received information that Colonel McLeod had been attacked that morning by a large force of Turks in boats from Cairo, and the whole of his detachment destroyed, and he, that good and promising soldier, was amongst the first who fell. After a short council of war we again wheeled about and marched back to Etcho, where we camped for the night. Next day we continued our retreat to Alexandria, where we arrived without any further molestation.

Day by day several rumours reached us about our lost detachment and the gallant defence they made, but nothing positive or upon which we could rely, until the sudden appearance, six weeks afterwards, at Alexandria of Lieutenant Mathieson, who was one of the survivors, who now came to us in a Turkish dress with some proposals from the Turks at Cairo. From him we learnt that they were attacked most unexpectedly on the morning of the 21st April by a large Turkish force, who came down the Nile in boats from Cairo, on their way to Rosetta, and after gallantly resisting until more than two-thirds of their number were either killed or wounded, and the last rounds of ammunition expended, the remnant were overpowered and obliged to surrender. He also described their position at El-Hamet. Colonel McLeod and the main force were stationed on the top of a hill, and detachments of fifty, thirty, and twenty men were posted round the base, in the strongest possible places, with orders to fall back on the main body if attacked. While so posted and before daylight, the enemy landed from their boats, surrounded the hill, and at once commenced the attack. Our men fought desperately, for they expected no quarter, and numbers fell. Captain Colin Mackay with his grenadier company commanded one of the outposts, and, like all the others, fought heroically; but his two subalterns, McCrae and Christie, and nearly half his men were soon killed. He himself received a fearful sabre cut in the neck (from which, although he lived for many years, he never completely recovered) and also a severe musket wound in the thigh, both of which rendered him at once prostrate. But Mackay’s spirit was not gone, for he then ordered his few remaining men to leave him to die there, and to make the best of their retreat to the headquarters; but this they would not do, declaring to a man that they would sooner die with him, than leave him. Two of his remaining sergeants then got their captain on their shoulders and succeeded under a heavy fire in carrying him off in safety to the top of the hill, and there learnt that their Colonel was already amongst the slain.

The command then devolved upon a Major Vogalson (a German); he at once wished to surrender, fixing his white handkerchief on the top of his sword, as a sign of truce to the enemy. Colin Mackay lay under a gun bleeding and suffering severely from his wound, but he happily still retained his senses, and being told that Major Vogalson wished to surrender he cried out, “Soldiers, never, never while we have a round left!” upon which they cheered him again and again, and set Major Vogalson’s authority completely aside; thus they actually continued to fight until the very last round of their ammunition was gone. The enemy pressed in upon them, and after a desperate struggle they were overpowered and obliged to surrender. The Turkish Pasha who commanded, then rode up and inquired, “Where is the brave man who has so long and so ably resisted me?” Colin Mackay, the hero of the day, was pointed out to him lying still in agony under a gun, on which Ali Pasha dismounted and, creeping near Mackay, took the sword off his own neck and shoulders and placed it gracefully on Mackay, saying, “You are indeed a brave man, and you deserve to wear my sword.” From that time and long afterwards (although still a prisoner) he received the most marked attentions from the Pasha.

The few prisoners who survived were then secured, the dead were decapitated (and I fear many of the wounded also), and their living comrades were forced to carry their heads in sacks to the boats, and poor Colonel McLeod’s conspicuous amongst the number. Most of the enemy then embarked with their prisoners and their trophies and returned in triumph to Cairo. There the heads of the dead were exhibited on poles for some weeks round the principal palaces of the authorities. The survivors were committed to confinement, and the officers were allowed at large on their paroles and treated well, especially Captain Mackay, who continued to receive the most marked attentions from every one. In this state they remained nearly eight months, when, after a variety of negotiations, they were exchanged and sent back to join us at Alexandria.

In another month the whole of our force left Egypt and returned to Sicily, far from proud of the result of our unfortunate and badly managed expedition. The 78th went to Messina, and, without landing, were ordered to Gibraltar, and on arrival there were sent direct to England.

Here I must mention that during the last eight months of our inactive life in Egypt our troops suffered much from ophthalmia. I was for many months laid up from that fearful malady, from which I suffer to this day, as I have partially lost the sight of my right eye; many of our men lost one, some both eyes, and became totally blind. From that period until now I have been subject to occasional attacks of inflammation of the eyes, so bad in 1821 and 1822 that I was recommended by my medical attendants to apply for a pension. This I did through Lord Palmerston, then Secretary of War, on which I was ordered for treatment and report to Fort Pitt at Chatham, where for six weeks I was exposed to all kinds of pains and penalties. In consequence, I received a letter from Lord Palmerston saying that His Majesty was pleased to grant me the pension of an ensign, that being the rank I held when I received the injury to my sight. I wrote back to thank his lordship, but saying that, as the regulations for pensions had been changed, the amount now being allowed to increase with the rank of the individual so favoured, I still hoped, as I was now a captain, I should not be made a solitary exception to the rule. To this I received a reply ordering me again to Fort Pitt for treatment there. I remained under similar torture for another month. Soon after, I had a third reply, informing me that on the second report of the medical board His Majesty was pleased to grant me the pension of a lieutenant. I was then quartered in the Isle of Wight, so got leave of absence and went to London, determined in so good a cause to see Lord Palmerston in person. I was admitted, and then renewed my application and entreated his lordship to reconsider my case, adding that not only one eye was nearly gone but the other suffering much also. He was writing at the time and never took his pen from his paper, yet he was very kind and appeared to listen to me attentively; then, looking up, said, “I must put you on half-pay, sir, if you are so great a sufferer.” I said, “I hope not, my lord, while I am able to do my duty, as I have nothing else to depend upon but my commission.” He then smiled and said, “Well, write to me again, and I shall see what can be done.” I did so, and in due course had the satisfaction to receive a notification stating that under the circumstances of my case His Majesty was graciously pleased to grant me the pension of a captain.

But to return from this long digression to where I left my early history in the brave 78th, I proceed to say that after finally leaving Gibraltar we arrived safely in Portsmouth and marched for Canterbury, a few months after to Chichester, and then to the Isle of Wight, where we detached in companies to all parts of the island. I was sent even further with a small detachment to Selsea barracks in Sussex, to take charge of a large ophthalmic depot of that station.