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FORTY-ONE YEARS IN INDIA
FROM Subaltern to Commander-in-Chief
BY FIELD-MARSHAL LORD ROBERTS OF KANDAHAR
V.C., K.P., G.C.B., G.C.S.I., G.C.I.E.
[Illustration: Seal]
_FIRST EDITION IN ONE VOLUME_
WITH FORTY ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1898
[_All rights reserved_]
_A NEW EDITION, BEING THE TWENTY-NINTH_
_TO THE COUNTRY TO WHICH I AM SO PROUD OF BELONGING,
TO THE ARMY TO WHICH I AM SO DEEPLY INDEBTED,
AND TO MY WIFE,
WITHOUT WHOSE LOVING HELP
MY 'FORTY-ONE YEARS IN INDIA'
COULD NOT BE THE HAPPY RETROSPECT IT IS,
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK._
* * * * *
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
* * * * *
I would never have ventured to intrude upon the public with my
personal reminiscences had I not been urged to do so by friends who,
being interested themselves in what I was able to tell them of India
as my father knew it, and as I found it and left it, persuaded me that
my experiences of the many and various aspects under which I have
known the wonderful land of my adoption and its interesting peoples
would be useful to my countrymen. It was thought that I might thus
contribute towards a more intimate knowledge of the glorious heritage
our forefathers have bequeathed to us, than the greater number of them
possess, and towards helping them to understand the characteristics
and requirements of the numerous and widely different races by whom
India is inhabited.
It is difficult for people who know nothing of Natives to understand
and appreciate the value they set on cherished customs, peculiar
idiosyncrasies, and fixed prejudices, all of which must be carefully
studied by those who are placed in the position of their Rulers, if
the suzerain Power is to keep their respect and gain their gratitude
and affection.
The Natives of India are particularly observant of character, and
intelligent in gauging the capabilities of those who govern them; and
it is because the English Government is trusted that a mere handful
of Englishmen are able to direct the administration of a country with
nearly three hundred millions of inhabitants, differing in race,
religion, and manners of life. Throughout all the changes which India
has undergone, political and social, during the present century, this
feeling has been maintained, and it will last so long as the services
are filled by honourable men who sympathize with the Natives, respect
their prejudices, and do not interfere unnecessarily with their habits
and customs.
My father and I spent between us nearly ninety years in India. The
most wonderful of the many changes that took place during that time
may be said to date from the Mutiny. I have endeavoured in the
following pages to explain the causes which, I believe, brought
about that terrible event--an event which for a while produced a
much-to-be-regretted feeling of racial antagonism. Happily, this
feeling did not last long; even when things looked blackest for us, it
was softened by acts of kindness shown to Europeans in distress, and
by the knowledge that, but for the assistance afforded by the Natives
themselves, the restoration of order, and the suppression of a fierce
military insurrection, would have been a far more arduous task. Delhi
could not have been taken without Sikhs and Gurkhas; Lucknow could
not have been defended without the Hindustani soldiers who so nobly
responded to Sir Henry Lawrence's call; and nothing that Sir John
Lawrence might have done could have prevented our losing, for a time,
the whole of the country north of Calcutta, had not the men of the
Punjab and the Derajat[*] remained true to our cause.
[Note *: Tracts beyond the Indus.]
It has been suggested that all outward signs of the Mutiny should
be obliterated, that the monument on the Ridge at Delhi should be
levelled, and the picturesque Residency at Lucknow allowed to fall
into decay. This view does not commend itself to me. These relics of
that tremendous struggle are memorials of heroic services performed
by Her Majesty's soldiers, Native as well as British; and by the
civilians who shared the duties and dangers of the army. They are
valuable as reminders that we must never again allow ourselves to be
lulled into fancied security; and above all, they stand as warnings
that we should never do anything that can possibly be interpreted by
the Natives into disregard for their various forms of religion.
The Mutiny was not an unmitigated evil, for to it we owe the
consolidation of our power in India, as it hastened on the
construction of the roads, railways, and telegraphs, so wisely and
thoughtfully planned by the Marquis of Dalhousie, and which have
done more than anything to increase the prosperity of the people and
preserve order throughout the country. It was the Mutiny which brought
Lord Canning into closer communication with the Princes of India, and
paved the way for Lord Lytton's brilliant conception of the Imperial
Assemblage--a great political success which laid the foundation of
that feeling of confidence which now, happily, exists between the
Ruling Chiefs and the Queen-Empress. And it was the Mutiny which
compelled us to reorganize our Indian Army and make it the admirable
fighting machine it now is.
In the account I have given of our relations with Afghanistan and
the border tribes, I have endeavoured to bring before my readers
the change of our position in India that has been the inevitable
consequence of the propinquity upon our North-West Frontier of a
first-class European Power. The change has come about so gradually,
and has been so repeatedly pronounced to be chimerical by authorities
in whom the people of Great Britain had every reason to feel
confidence, that until recently it had attracted little public
attention, and even now a great majority of my countrymen may scarcely
have realized the probability of England and Russia ever being near
enough to each other in Asia to come into actual conflict. I impute no
blame to the Russians for their advance towards India. The force of
circumstances--the inevitable result of the contact of civilization
with barbarism--impelled them to cross the Jaxartes and extend their
territories to the Khanates of Turkestan and the banks of the Oxus,
just as the same uncontrollable force carried us across the Sutlej and
extended our territories to the valley of the Indus. The object I have
at heart is to make my fellow-subjects recognize that, under these
altered conditions, Great Britain now occupies in Asia the position of
a Continental Power, and that her interests in that part of the globe
must be protected by Continental means of defence.
The few who have carefully and steadily watched the course of events,
entertained no doubt from the first as to the soundness of these
views; and their aim has always been, as mine is now, not to sound an
alarm, but to give a warning, and to show the danger of shutting our
eyes to plain facts and their probable consequences.
Whatever may be the future course of events, I have no fear of the
result if we are only true to ourselves and to India. Thinking Natives
thoroughly understand the situation; they believe that the time must
come when the territories of Great Britain and Russia in their part of
Asia will be separated only by a common boundary line, and they would
consider that we were wanting in the most essential attributes of
Rulers if we did not take all possible precautions, and make every
possible preparation to meet such an eventuality.
I send out this book in the earnest hope that the friendly
anticipations of those who advised me to write it may not be seriously
disappointed; and that those who care to read a plain, unvarnished
tale of Indian life and adventure, will bear in mind that the writer
is a soldier, not a man of letters, and will therefore forgive all
faults of style or language.
ROBERTS.
_30th September_, 1896.
* * * * *
[Illustration: KASHMIR GATE AT DELHI.]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Voyage to India--Life in Calcutta--A destructive
cyclone--Home-sickness
CHAPTER II.
Bengal Horse Artillery--Incidents of the journey--New
Friends
CHAPTER III.
With my father at Peshawar--Peshawar in 1852--Excitements
of a frontier station--A flogging parade--Mackeson's
assassination--The Jowaki expedition--A strange dream--A
typical frontier fight
CHAPTER IV.
A trip to Khagan--The Vale of Kashmir--With the Horse
Artillery--My first visit to Simla--Life at Peshawar--A
staff appointment--The bump of locality
CHAPTER V.
Lord Dalhousie's Afghan policy
--Treaty with Dost Mahomed--War with Persia
--The advantage of the Amir's friendship
--John Nicholson
--'A pillar of strength on the frontier'
CHAPTER VI.
First tidings of the mutiny
--Prompt action at Peshawar--A bold policy
--The Movable Column--An annoying occurrence
--I leave Peshawar
CHAPTER VII.
First symptoms of disaffection
--Outbreak at Berhampur--Mangal Pandy
--Court-Martial at Meerut--Mutiny at Meerut
--The work of destruction--Want of energy
--Hugh Gough's experiences
--Nothing could arrest the mutiny
CHAPTER VIII.
General Anson--The news reaches Simla
--Anson loses no time--A long list of troubles
--John Lawrence--The Phulkian family
--Death of General Anson
CHAPTER IX.
John Lawrence's wise measures
--Disarmament at Peshawar
--Salutary effect in the valley
CHAPTER X.
Neville Chamberlain's presence of mind
--The command of the Column--Robert Montgomery
--Disarmament at Mian Mir
--A Drum-Head Court-Martial--Swift retribution
CHAPTER XI.
Ferozepore--Crawford Chamberlain at Multan
--Chamberlain's masterly conduct
--Nicholson succeeds Neville Chamberlain
--Irresolution at Jullundur--General Mehtab Sing
--Nicholson's soldierly instincts
--More disarmaments
CHAPTER XII.
George Ricketts at Ludhiana--Pushing on to Delhi
--In the camp before Delhi
CHAPTER XIII.
The first victory--Enthusiasm amongst the troops
--Barnard's success at Badli-ki-Serai
--The Flagstaff Tower--Position on the Ridge
--Quintin Battye--The gallant little Gurkhas
--Proposed assault--The besiegers besieged
--Hard fighting--The centenary of Plassy
CHAPTER XIV.
A new appointment
CHAPTER XV.
Reinforcements begin to arrive
--An assault again proposed--The attack on Alipur
--Death of General Barnard
--General Reed assumes command
--Two V.C.'s--Treachery in camp
--Fighting close up to the city walls
--Sufferings of the sick and wounded
--General Reed's health fails
CHAPTER XVI.
Archdale Wilson assumes command
--Enemy baffled in the Sabzi Mandi
--Efforts to exterminate the Feringhis
--A letter from General Havelock
--News of Henry Lawrence's death
--Arrival of the Movable Column
--The 61st Foot at Najafgarh
CHAPTER XVII.
Wilson's difficulties--Nicholson's resolve
--Arrangements for the assault
--Construction of breaching batteries
--Nicholson expresses his satisfaction
--Orders for the assault issued
--Composition of the attacking columns
CHAPTER XVIII.
Delhi stormed--The scene at the Kashmir Gate
--Bold front by Artillery and Cavalry
--Nicholson wounded--The last I saw of Nicholson
--Wilson wavers--Holding on to the walls of Delhi
CHAPTER XIX.
Capture of the Burn bastion
--The 60th Rifles storm the palace
--Hodson captures the King of Delhi
--Nicholson's death--Gallantry of the troops
--Praise from Lord Canning
CHAPTER XX.
Necessity for further action--Departure from Delhi
--Action at Bulandshahr--Lieutenant Home's death
--Knights-errant--Fight at Aligarh
--Appeals from Agra--Collapse of the administration
--Taken by surprise--The fight at Agra
--An exciting chase--The Taj Mahal
CHAPTER XXI.
Infatuation of the authorities at Agra
--A series of Mishaps
--Result of indecision and incapacity
CHAPTER XXII.
Advantage of being a good horseman--News from Lucknow
--Cawnpore--Heart-rending scenes--Start for Lucknow
--An exciting Adventure
--Arrival of Sir Colin Campbell
--Plans for the advance
CHAPTER XXIII.
Sir Colin's preparations--The Alambagh
--The Dilkusha and Martiniere--Mayne's death
--A tall-talk story--Ammunition required
--A night march--The advance on Lucknow
--Sir Colin wounded--The attack on the Sikandarbagh
--Heroic deeds--The 4th Punjab Infantry
CHAPTER XXIV.
Henry Norman--The Shah Najaf--The mess-house
--Planting the flag--A memorable meeting
--The Residency
CHAPTER XXV.
Sir Colin's wise decision--Robert Napier
--Impressions on visiting the Residency
--Henry Lawrence--Lawrence as Statesman and Ruler
--Lawrence's friendliness for Natives
--A hazardous duty
CHAPTER XXVI.
Death of General Havelock--Appeals from Cawnpore
--General Windham--The passage of the Ganges
CHAPTER XXVII.
The fight at Cawnpore--Unexpected visitors
--A long chase--Unjur Tiwari--Bithur
--Windham at Cawnpore
CHAPTER XXVIII.
The Fight at Khudaganj--A melee--Oudh or Rohilkand?
CHAPTER XXIX.
Mianganj--Curious effect of a mirage
--The Dilkusha revisited--Passage of the Gumti
--Capture of the Chakar Kothi
--Capture of the iron bridge--Hodson mortally wounded
--Outram's soldierly instinct--A lost opportunity
--Sam Browne--Start for England
--Death of Sir William Peel
CHAPTER XXX.
What brought about the Mutiny?
--Religious fears of the people--The land question
--The annexation of Oudh
--Fulfilment of Malcolm's prophecy
--The Delhi royal family--The Nana Sahib
--The Native army--Greased cartridges
--Limited number of British troops
--Objection to foreign service
--Excessive age of the British officers
CHAPTER XXXI.
Discontent of the Natives--Successful administrators
--Paternal despotism--Money-lenders and the Press
--Faddists--Cardinal points
CHAPTER XXXII.
Home again--Back in India--Allahabad and Cawnpore
--The Viceroy's camp--State entry into Lucknow
--The Talukdars of Oudh--Loyalty of the Talukdars
--Cawnpore and Fatehgarh--The Agra Durbar
CHAPTER XXXIII.
Delhi under a different aspect--Lord Clyde
--Umritsar and Lahore--The Lahore Durbar
--Simla--Life at Simla
CHAPTER XXXIV.
The Staff Corps--With the Viceroy's camp again
--The marble rocks--Lady Canning's death
--Pig-sticking at Jamu--Lord Canning
--Another cold-weather march--Gwalior and Jhansi
--Departmental promotion
CHAPTER XXXV.
The Umbeyla expedition--The Akhund of Swat
--The 'Eagle's Nest' and 'Crag piquet'
--The death of Lord Elgin
--Loyalty of our Pathan soldiers
--Bunerwals show signs of submission
--The conical hill--Umbeyla in flames
--Bunerwals agree to our terms--Malka destroyed
CHAPTER XXXVI.
A voyage round the Cape--Cholera camps
--The Abyssinian expedition--Landed at Zula
CHAPTER XXXVII.
Sir Robert Napier to command--Defective transport
--King Theodore commits suicide--First A.Q.M.G.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
Afzal Khan ousts Sher Ali
--Sher Ali regains the Amirship
--Foresight of Sir Henry Rawlinson
--The Umballa Durbar
CHAPTER XXXIX.
The Lushais--The Lushai expedition
--Defective transport again
--Practice _versus_ theory--A severe march
--Lushais foiled by Gurkhas
--A successful turning movement--Murder of Lord Mayo
CHAPTER XL.
Lord Napier's care for the soldier
--Negotiations with Sher Ali renewed
--Sher Ali's demands
CHAPTER XLI.
A trip in the Himalayas--The famine in Behar
--The Prince of Wales in India
--Farewell to Lord Napier
CHAPTER XLII.
Lord Lytton becomes Viceroy
--Difficulties with Sher Ali
--Imperial assemblage at Delhi
--Reception of the Ruling Chiefs
--Queen proclaimed Empress of India
--Political importance of the assemblage
--Sher Ali proclaims a 'Jahad'
--A journey under difficulties
CHAPTER XLIII.
Object of the first Afghan war
--Excitement caused by Russia's advances
CHAPTER XLIV.
Effect of the Berlin Treaty at Kabul
--Sher Ali decides against England
--A meeting of portentous moment
--Preparations for war--Letter from Sher Ali
CHAPTER XLV.
Shortcomings of my column
--Attitude of the Border tribes
CHAPTER XLVI.
The Kuram valley--Conflicting news of the enemy
--An apparently impregnable position
--Spingawi route decided on--Disposition of the force
--A night attack--Advantages of a night attack
--Devotion of my orderlies
--Threatening the enemy's rear--The Peiwar Kotal
CHAPTER XLVII.
Alikhel--Treachery of the tribesmen
--Transport difficulties
--Sher Ali looks to Russia for aid
--Khost--An attack on our camp
--An unsuccessful experiment
--An unpleasant incident--Punjab Chiefs' Contingent
CHAPTER XLVIII.
Sher Ali's death--Premature negotiations
--The treaty of Gandamak
--Making friends with the tribesmen
--Gloomy forebodings--Good-bye to Cavagnari
CHAPTER XLIX.
Massacre of the Embassy--The Kabul Field Force
--Lord Lytton's foresightedness--Start for Kabul
--Letter to the Amir
--Proclamation to the people of Kabul
--Yakub Khan's agents
--Reasons for remaining at Alikhel
CHAPTER L.
Hector Macdonald and Sher Mahomed--Yakub Khan
--A Proclamation and an Order
--The _maliks_ of Logar--Attack on the Shutargardan
--Reconnoitring roads leading to Kabul
CHAPTER LI.
The Afghan position--The fight at Charasia
--Highlanders, Gurkhas, and Punjabis
--Defeat of the Afghans--Kabul in sight
--Deh-i-Mazang gorge--The enemy give us the slip
CHAPTER LII.
Guiding instructions--Visit to the Bala Hissar
--Yakub Khan abdicates--The Proclamation
--Administrative measures
--Explosions in the Bala Hissar
CHAPTER LIII.
Afghans afraid to befriend us--Kabul Russianized
--Yakub Khan's abdication accepted
--State treasury taken over
CHAPTER LIV.
The amnesty Proclamation
--Strength of the Kabul Field Force
--Yakub Khan despatched to India
CHAPTER LV.
Political situation at Kabul
--Serious trouble ahead
--Macpherson attacks the Kohistanis
--Combined movements--The uncertainty of war
--The fight in the Chardeh valley--Forced to retire
--Padre Adams earns the V.C.
--Macpherson's column arrives
--The captured guns recovered--Melancholy reflections
CHAPTER LVI.
Attack on the Takht-i-Shah
--City people join the tribesmen
--Increasing numbers of the enemy
--Loss of the conical hill
--Captain Vousden's gallantry
--The retirement to Sherpur
CHAPTER LVII.
Sherpur--Defence of Sherpur--Arrest of Daud Shah
--Rumours of an assault--Attack and counter-attack
--Communication with India re-opened
--Sherpur made safe
CHAPTER LVIII.
Two important questions--A Ruler required
--News of Abdur Rahman Khan
--Abdur Rahman in Afghan-Turkestan
--Overtures made to Abdur Rahman
CHAPTER LIX.
Jenkins attacked near Charasia
--Sir Donald Stewart reaches Kabul
--Difficulties with Abdur Rahman
--Abdur Rahman proclaimed Amir
CHAPTER LX.
Affairs at Kandahar--The Maiwand disaster
--Relief from Kabul suggested
--A force ordered from Kabul
--Preparations for the march
--The Kabul-Kandahar Field Force
--Commissariat and Transport
CHAPTER LXI.
The order of marching--Ghazni and Kelat-i-Ghilzai
--Food required daily for the force
--A letter from General Phayre--Kandahar
--Reconnoitring the enemy's position
--A turning movement
CHAPTER LXII.
Commencement of the fight
--72nd Highlanders and 2nd Sikhs
--92nd Highlanders and 2nd Gurkhas
--Ayub Khan's camp--Difficulties about supplies
--Parting with the troops--A pleasing memory
CHAPTER LXIII.
Reception in England--A fruitless journey
--Andaman Isles and Burma--The Madras Army
--Measures for improving the Madras Army
--Memories of Madras--An allegory
CHAPTER LXIV.
Disturbing action of Russia--Abdur Rahman Khan
--The Rawal Pindi Durbar
--Unmistakable loyalty of the Natives
CHAPTER LXV.
The Burma expedition--The Camp of Exercise at Delhi
--Defence of the North-West Frontier
--Quetta and Peshawar
--Communications _versus_ fortifications
--Sir George Chesney
CHAPTER LXVI.
Nursing for the soldier
--Pacification of Burma considered
--Measures recommended
--The Buddhist priesthood
--The Regimental Institute
--The Army Temperance Association
CHAPTER LXVII.
Defence and Mobilization Committees
--The Transport Department
--Utilization of Native States' armies
--Marquis of Lansdowne becomes Viceroy
--Rajputana and Kashmir
--Musketry instruction
--Artillery and Cavalry training
CHAPTER LXVIII.
Extension of command
--Efficiency of the Native Army
--Concessions to the Native Army
--Officering of the Native Army
--The Hunza-Naga campaign
--Visit to Nepal--A Nepalese entertainment
--Proposed mission to the Amir
--A last tour--Farewell entertainments
--Last days in India
APPENDIX
INDEX
[Illustration: PEIWAR KOTAL.]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
I. PORTRAIT OF FIELD-MARSHAL LORD ROBERTS.
(_From a Photograph by Bourne and Shepherd,
Simla, engraved upon wood by W. Cheshire_) _Frontispiece_
II. THE KASHMIR GATE AT DELHI _Over List of Contents_
III. THE PEIWAR KOTAL _Over List of Illustrations_
IV. PORTRAIT OF GENERAL SIR ABRAHAM ROBERTS, G.C.B.
(_From a Photograph,
engraved upon wood by W. Cheshire_)
V. PORTRAIT OF BRIGADIER-GENERAL JOHN NICHOLSON, C.B.
(_From a Painting by J.R. Dicksee
in possession of the Rev. Canon Seymour,
engraved upon wood by George Pearson_)
VI. PORTRAIT OF MAJOR-GENERAL SIR HARRY TOMBS, V.C., G.C.B.
(_From a Photograph by Messrs. Grillet and Co.,
engraved upon wood by Swain_)
VII. PORTRAIT OF LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIR JAMES HILLS-JOHNES,
V.C., G.C.B.
(_From a Photograph by Messrs. Bourne and Shepherd,
engraved upon wood by George Pearson_)
VIII. PORTRAIT OF FIELD-MARSHAL SIR DONALD MARTIN STEWART,
BART., G.C.B., G.C.S.I., C.I.E.
(_From a Photograph by Messrs. Elliott and Fry,
engraved upon wood by George Pearson_)
IX. PLAN OF THE ENGAGEMENT AT NAJAFGARH.
(_From a Plan made by Lieutenant Geneste, by permission of
Messrs. Wm. Blackwood and Sons_)
X. PLAN TO ILLUSTRATE THE SIEGE AND ATTACK OF DELHI,
IN 1857
XI. PORTRAITS OF GENERAL SIR COLIN CAMPBELL (LORD CLYDE)
AND MAJOR-GENERAL SIR WILLIAM MANSFIELD (LORD
SANDHURST).
(_From a Photograph taken in India,
engraved upon wood by George Pearson_)
XII. PORTRAIT OF MAJOR-GENERAL SIR JAMES OUTRAM, G.C.B.
(_From a Painting by Thomas Brigstocke, R.A.,
engraved upon wood by George Pearson_)
XIII. PORTRAIT OF BRIGADIER-GENERAL SIR HENRY LAWRENCE,
K.C.B. (_From a Photograph taken at Lucknow,
engraved upon wood by Swain_)
XIV. PLAN TO ILLUSTRATE THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW,
IN 1857
XV. PLAN OF CAWNPORE
XVI. PLAN OF THE ENGAGEMENT AT KHUDAGANJ
XVII. PORTRAIT OF GENERAL SIR SAMUEL BROWNE, V.C., G.C.B.,
K.C.S.I.
(_From a Photograph by Messrs. Elliott and Fry,
engraved upon wood by George Pearson_)
XVIII. PLAN TO ILLUSTRATE THE SIEGE AND CAPTURE OF LUCKNOW,
IN 1858
XIX. PORTRAIT OF LADY ROBERTS (WIFE OF SIR ABRAHAM
ROBERTS).
(_From a Sketch by Carpenter,
engraved upon wood by W. Cheshire_)
XX. PORTRAIT OF HIS EXCELLENCY EARL CANNING, K.G., G.C.B.,
G.M.S.I., VICEROY AND GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF INDIA.
(_From a Photograph by Messrs. Mayall,
engraved upon wood by Swain_)
XXI. THE STORMING OF THE CONICAL HILL AT UMBEYLA BY THE
101ST FOOT (BENGAL FUSILIERS).
(_From a Sketch by General Sir John Adye, G.C.B., R.A.,
engraved upon wood by W. Cheshire_)
XXII. PORTRAIT OF FIELD-MARSHAL LORD NAPIER OF MAGDALA,
G.C.B., G.C.S.I.
(_From a Photograph by Messrs. Maull and Fox,
engraved upon wood by W. Cheshire_)
XXIII. PORTRAIT OF HIS EXCELLENCY THE EARL OF LYTTON,
G.C.B., G.M.S.I., G.M.I.E., VICEROY OF INDIA.
(_From a Photograph by Messrs. Maull and Fox,
engraved upon wood by George Pearson_)
XXIV. THE ATTACK ON THE PEIWAR KOTAL.
(_From a Painting by Vereker Hamilton,
engraved upon wood by George Pearson_)
XXV. GENERAL ROBERTS'S GURKHA ORDERLIES.
(_From a Water-colour Sketch
by Colonel Woodthorpe, C.B., R.E.,
engraved upon wood by W. Cheshire_)
XXVI. GENERAL ROBERTS'S SIKH ORDERLIES.
(_From a Water-colour Sketch
by Colonel Woodthorpe, C.B., R.E.,
engraved upon wood by W. Cheshire_)
XXVII. ONE OF GENERAL ROBERTS'S PATHAN ORDERLIES.
(_From a Water-colour Sketch
by Colonel Woodthorpe, C.B., R.E.,
engraved upon wood by W. Cheshire_)
XXVIII. ONE OF GENERAL ROBERTS'S PATHAN ORDERLIES.
(_From a Water-colour Sketch
by Colonel Woodthorpe, C.B., R.E.,
engraved upon wood by W. Cheshire_)
XXIX. THE ENTRANCE TO THE BALA HISSAR--THE LAHORE GATE
AT KABUL.
(_From a Photograph,
engraved upon wood by W. Cheshire_)
XXX. SKETCH SHOWING THE OPERATIONS IN THE CHARDEH
VALLEY ON DECEMBER 10TH AND 11TH, 1879
XXXI. PLAN TO ILLUSTRATE THE DEFENCES OF SHERPUR AND
THE OPERATIONS ROUND KABUL IN DECEMBER, 1879
XXXII. CROSSING THE ZAMBURAK KOTAL.
(_From a Painting by the Chevalier Desanges,
engraved upon wood by W. Cheshire_)
XXXIII. PLAN OF THE ROUTE TAKEN FROM KABUL TO KANDAHAR
XXXIV. SKETCH OF THE BATTLE-FIELD OF KANDAHAR
XXXV. PORTRAITS OF THE THREE COMMANDERS-IN-CHIEF IN INDIA
(SIR DONALD STEWART, SIR FREDERICK ROBERTS, AND
SIR ARTHUR HARDINGE).
(_From a Photograph,
engraved upon wood by Swain_)
XXXVI. PORTRAIT OF HIS EXCELLENCY THE MARQUIS OF
DUFFERIN AND AVA, K.P., G.C.B., G.C.M.G., G.M.S.I.,
G.M.I.E., F.R.S., VICEROY OF INDIA.
(_From an engraving by the Fine Art Society of a portrait
by the late Frank Holl, R.A., re-engraved
upon wood by George Pearson_)
XXXVII. PORTRAIT OF HIS HIGHNESS ABDUR RAHMAN, AMIR OF
AFGHANISTAN.
(_From a Photograph,
engraved upon wood by Swain_)
XXXVIII. MAP OF CENTRAL ASIA
XXXIX. PORTRAIT OF LADY ROBERTS OF KANDAHAR.
(_From a Photograph by Messrs. Johnson and Hoffmann,
engraved upon wood by George Pearson_)
XL. PORTRAIT OF HIS EXCELLENCY THE MARQUESS OF LANSDOWNE,
K.G., G.C.M.G., G.M.S.I., G.M.I.E., VICEROY
OF INDIA.
(_From a Photograph by Messrs. Cowell, Simla,
engraved upon wood by Swain_)
XLI. PORTRAIT OF FIELD-MARSHAL LORD ROBERTS ON HIS
ARAB CHARGER 'VONOLEL.'
(_From an Oil-painting by Charles Furse,
made from an Instantaneous Photograph, and
engraved upon wood by E. Whymper_)
* * * * *
FORTY-ONE YEARS IN INDIA.
CHAPTER I.
1852
Voyage to India--Life in Calcutta--A destructive cyclone
--Home-sickness
Forty years ago the departure of a cadet for India was a much more
serious affair than it is at present. Under the regulations then in
force, leave, except on medical certificate, could only be obtained
once during the whole of an officer's service, and ten years had to be
spent in India before that leave could be taken. Small wonder, then,
that I felt as if I were bidding England farewell for ever when, on
the 20th February, 1852, I set sail from Southampton with Calcutta for
my destination. Steamers in those days ran to and from India but once
a month, and the fleet employed was only capable of transporting some
2,400 passengers in the course of a year. This does not include the
Cape route; but even taking that into consideration, I should doubt
whether there were then as many travellers to India in a year as there
are now in a fortnight at the busy season.
My ship was the Peninsular and Oriental Company's steamer _Ripon_,
commanded by Captain Moresby, an ex-officer of the Indian Navy, in
which he had earned distinction by his survey of the Red Sea. A few
Addiscombe friends were on board, leaving England under the same
depressing circumstances as myself, and what with wind and weather,
and the thought that at the best we were bidding farewell to home and
relations for ten long years, we were anything but a cheerful party
for the first few days of the voyage. Youth and high spirits had,
however, re-asserted themselves long before Alexandria, which place
we reached without incident beyond the customary halts for coaling at
Gibraltar and Malta. At Alexandria we bade adieu to Captain Moresby,
who had been most kind and attentive, and whose graphic accounts
of the difficulties he had had to overcome whilst mastering the
navigation of the Red Sea served to while away many a tedious hour.
On landing at Alexandria, we were hurried on board a large mast-less
canal boat, shaped like a Nile dahabeah. In this we were towed up the
Mahmoudieh canal for ten hours, until we arrived at Atfieh, on the
Nile; thence we proceeded by steamer, reaching Cairo in about sixteen
hours. Here we put up at Shepherd's Hotel for a couple of days, which
were most enjoyable, especially to those of the party who, like
myself, saw an eastern city and its picturesque and curious bazaars
for the first time. From Cairo the route lay across the desert for
ninety miles, the road being merely a cutting in the sand, quite
undistinguishable at night. The journey was performed in a conveyance
closely resembling a bathing-machine, which accommodated six people,
and was drawn by four mules. My five fellow-travellers were all
cadets, only one of whom (Colonel John Stewart, of Ardvorlich,
Perthshire) is now alive. The transit took some eighteen hours, with
an occasional halt for refreshments. Our baggage was carried on
camels, as were the mails, cargo, and even the coal for the Red Sea
steamers.
On arrival at Suez we found awaiting us the _Oriental_, commanded by
Captain Powell. A number of people met us there who had left England
a month before we did; but their steamer having broken down, they had
now to be accommodated on board ours. We were thus very inconveniently
crowded until we arrived at Aden, where several of the passengers left
us for Bombay. We were not, however, much inclined to complain, as
some of our new associates proved themselves decided acquisitions.
Amongst them was Mr. (afterwards Sir Barnes) Peacock, an immense
favourite with all on board, and more particularly with us lads. He
was full of fun, and although then forty-seven years old, and on his
way to Calcutta to join the Governor-General's Council, he took part
in our amusements as if he were of the same age as ourselves. His
career in India was brilliant, and on the expiration of his term of
office as member of Council he was made Chief Justice of Bengal.
Another of the passengers was Colonel (afterwards Sir John Bloomfield)
Gough, who died not long ago in Ireland, and was then on his way to
take up his appointment as Quartermaster-General of Queen's troops. He
had served in the 3rd Light Dragoons and on the staff of his cousin,
Lord Gough, during the Sutlej and Punjab campaigns, and was naturally
an object of the deepest veneration to all the youngsters on board.
At Madras we stopped to land passengers, and I took this opportunity
of going on shore to see some old Addiscombe friends, most of whom
were greatly excited at the prospect of a war in Burma. The transports
were then actually lying in the Madras roads, and a few days later
this portion of the expedition started for Rangoon.
At last, on the 1st April, we reached Calcutta, and I had to say
good-bye to the friends I had made during the six weeks' voyage, most
of whom I was never to meet again.
On landing, I received a letter from my father, who commanded the
Lahore division, informing me that the proprietor of Spence's Hotel
had been instructed to receive me, and that I had better put up there
until I reported myself at the Head-Quarters of the Bengal Artillery
at Dum-Dum. This was chilling news, for I was the only one of our
party who had to go to a hotel on landing. The Infantry cadets had
either been taken charge of by the Town Major, who provided them with
quarters in Fort William, or had gone to stay with friends, and the
only other Artilleryman (Stewart) went direct to Dum-Dum, where he
had a brother, also a gunner, who, poor follow, was murdered with his
young wife five years later by the mutineers at Gwalior. I was still
more depressed later on by finding myself at dinner _tete-a-tete_
with a first-class specimen of the results of an Indian climate.
He belonged to my own regiment, and was going home on medical
certificate, but did not look as if he could ever reach England. He
gave me the not too pleasing news that by staying in that dreary
hotel, instead of proceeding direct to Dum-Dum, I had lost a day's
service and pay, so I took care to join early the following morning.
A few years before, Dum-Dum had been a large military station, but
the annexation of the Punjab, and the necessity for maintaining
a considerable force in northern India, had greatly reduced the
garrison. Even the small force that remained had embarked for Burma
before my arrival, so that, instead of a large, cheery mess party, to
which I had been looking forward, I sat down to dinner with only one
other subaltern.
No time was lost in appointing me to a Native Field Battery, and I
was put through the usual laboratory course as a commencement to my
duties. The life was dull in the extreme, the only variety being an
occasional week in Fort William, where my sole duty was to superintend
the firing of salutes. Nor was there much in my surroundings to
compensate for the prosaic nature of my work. Fort William was not
then what it has since become--one of the healthiest stations
in India. Quite the contrary. The men were crowded into small
badly-ventilated buildings, and the sanitary arrangements were as
deplorable as the state of the water supply. The only efficient
scavengers were the huge birds of prey called adjutants, and so
great was the dependence placed upon the exertions of these unclean
creatures, that the young cadets were warned that any injury done to
them would be treated as gross misconduct. The inevitable result of
this state of affairs was endemic sickness, and a death-rate of over
ten per cent. per annum.[1]
Calcutta outside the Fort was but a dreary place to fall back upon. It
was wretchedly lighted by smoky oil-lamps set at very rare intervals.
The slow and cumbrous palankin was the ordinary means of conveyance,
and, as far as I was concerned, the vaunted hospitality of the
Anglo-Indian was conspicuous by its absence.
I must confess I was disappointed at being left so completely to
myself, especially by the senior military officers, many of whom were
personally known to my father, who had, I was aware, written to some
of them on my behalf. Under these circumstances, I think it is hardly
to be wondered at that I became terribly home-sick, and convinced
that I could never be happy in India. Worst of all, the prospects of
promotion seemed absolutely hopeless; I was a supernumerary Second
Lieutenant, and nearly every officer in the list of the Bengal
Artillery had served over fifteen years as a subaltern. This
stagnation extended to every branch of the Indian Army.
There were singularly few incidents to enliven this unpromising stage
of my career. I do, however, remember one rather notable experience
which came to me at that time, in the form of a bad cyclone. I was
dining out on the night in question. Gradually the wind grew higher
and higher, and it became evident that we were in for a storm of no
ordinary kind. Consequently, I left my friend's house early. A Native
servant, carrying a lantern, accompanied me to light me on my way. At
an angle of the road a sudden gust of wind extinguished the light. The
servant, who, like most Natives, was quite at home in the dark, walked
on, believing that I was following in his wake. I shouted to him as
loudly as I could, but the uproar was so terrific that he could not
hear a word, and there was nothing for it but to try and make my own
way home. The darkness was profound. As I was walking carefully along,
I suddenly came in contact with an object, which a timely flash of
lightning showed me was a column, standing in exactly the opposite
direction from my own house. I could now locate myself correctly, and
the lightning becoming every moment more vivid, I was enabled to grope
my way by slow degrees to the mess, where I expected to find someone
to show me my way home, but the servants, who knew from experience the
probable effects of a cyclone, had already closed the outside Venetian
shutters and barred all the doors. I could just see them through the
cracks engaged in making everything fast. In vain I banged at the door
and called at the top of my voice--they heard nothing. Reluctantly I
became convinced that there was no alternative but to leave my shelter
and face the rapidly increasing storm once more. My bungalow was not
more than half a mile away, but it took me an age to accomplish this
short distance, as I was only able to move a few steps at a time
whenever the lightning showed me the way. It was necessary to be
careful, as the road was raised, with a deep ditch on either side;
several trees had already been blown down, and lay across it, and huge
branches were being driven through the air like thistle-down. I found
extreme difficulty in keeping my feet, especially at the cross-roads,
where I was more than once all but blown over. At last I reached my
house, but even then my struggles were not quite at an end. It was a
very long time before I could gain admittance. The servant who had
been carrying the lantern had arrived, and, missing me, imagined that
I must have returned to the house at which I had dined. The men with
whom I chummed, thinking it unlikely that I should make a second
attempt to return home, had carefully fastened all the doors,
momentarily expecting the roof of the house to be blown off. I had to
continue hammering and shouting for a long time before they heard and
admitted me, thankful to be comparatively safe inside a house.
By morning the worst of the storm was over, but not before great
damage had been done. The Native bazaar was completely wrecked,
looking as if it had suffered a furious bombardment, and great havoc
had been made amongst the European houses, not a single verandah or
outside shutter being left in the station. As I walked to the mess, I
found the road almost impassable from fallen trees; and dead birds,
chiefly crows and kites, were so numerous that they had to be carried
off in cartloads. How I had made my way to my bungalow without
accident the night before was difficult to imagine. Even the column
against which I had stumbled was levelled by the fury of the blast.
This column had been raised a few years before to the memory of
the officers and men of the 1st Troop, 1st Brigade, Bengal Horse
Artillery, who were killed in the disastrous retreat from Kabul in
1841. It was afterwards rebuilt.
Dum-Dum in ruins was even more dreary than before the cyclone, and I
felt as if I could not possibly continue to live there much longer.
Accordingly I wrote to my father, begging him to try and get me sent
to Burma; but he replied that he hoped soon to get command of the
Peshawar division, and that he would then like me to join him. Thus,
though my desire to quit Dum-Dum was not to be immediately gratified,
I was buoyed up by the hope that a definite limit had now been placed
to my service in that, to me, uninteresting part of India, and my
restlessness and discontent disappeared as if by magic.
In time of peace, as in war, or during a cholera epidemic, a soldier's
moral condition is infinitely more important than his physical
surroundings, and it is in this respect, I think, that the subaltern
of the present day has an advantage over the youngster of forty years
ago. The life of a young officer during his first few months of exile,
before he has fallen into the ways of his new life and made friends
for himself, can never be very happy; but in these days he is
encouraged by the feeling that, however distasteful, it need not
necessarily last very long; and he can look forward to a rapid and
easy return to England and friends at no very distant period. At the
time I am writing of he could not but feel completely cut off from all
that had hitherto formed his chief interests in life--his family
and his friends--for ten years is an eternity to the young, and the
feeling of loneliness and home-sickness was apt to become almost
insupportable.
The climate added its depressing influence; there was no going to the
hills then, and as the weary months dragged on, the young stranger
became more and more dispirited and hopeless. Such was my case. I had
only been four months in India, but it seemed like four years. My joy,
therefore, was unbounded when at last my marching orders arrived.
Indeed, the idea that I was about to proceed to that grand field of
soldierly activity, the North-West Frontier, and there join my father,
almost reconciled me to the disappointment of losing my chance of
field service in Burma. My arrangements were soon made, and early in
August I bade a glad good-bye to Dum-Dum.
[Footnote 1: In the fifty-seven years preceding the Mutiny the annual
rate of mortality amongst the European troops in India was sixty-nine
per thousand, and in some stations it was even more appalling. The
Royal Commission appointed in 1864 to inquire into the sanitary
condition of the army in India expressed the hope that, by taking
proper precautions, the mortality might be reduced to the rate of
twenty per thousand per annum. I am glad to say that this hope has
been more than realized, the annual death-rate since 1882 having never
risen to seventeen per thousand.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER II.
1852
Bengal Horse Artillery--Incidents of the journey--New Friends
When I went to India the mode of travelling was almost as primitive
as it had been a hundred, and probably five hundred, years before.
Private individuals for the most part used palankins, while officers,
regiments, and drafts were usually sent up country by the river route
as far as Cawnpore. It was necessarily a slow mode of progression--how
slow may be imagined from the fact that it took me nearly three months
to get from Dum-Dum to Peshawar, a distance now traversed with the
greatest ease and comfort in as many days. As far as Benares I
travelled in a barge towed by a steamer--a performance which took the
best part of a month to accomplish. From Benares to Allahabad it was a
pleasant change to get upon wheels, a horse-dak having been recently
established between these two places. At Allahabad I was most kindly
received by Mr. Lowther, the Commissioner, an old friend of my
father's, in whose house I experienced for the first time that profuse
hospitality for which Anglo-Indians are proverbial. I was much
surprised and amused by the circumstance of my host smoking a _hookah_
even at meals, for he was one of the few Englishmen who still indulged
in that luxury, as it was then considered. The sole duty of one
servant, called the _hookah-bardar_, was to prepare the pipe for his
master, and to have it ready at all times.
My next resting-place was Cawnpore, my birthplace, where I remained
a few days. The Cawnpore division was at that time commanded by an
officer of the name of Palmer, who had only recently attained the
rank of Brigadier-General, though he could not have been less than
sixty-eight years of age, being of the same standing as my father.
From Cawnpore I went to Meerut, and there came across, for the first
time, the far-famed Bengal Horse Artillery, and made the acquaintance
of a set of officers who more than realized my expectations regarding
the wearers of the much-coveted jacket, association with whom created
in me a fixed resolve to leave no stone unturned in the endeavour to
become a horse gunner. Like the Cavalry and Infantry of the East India
Company's service, the Artillery suffered somewhat from the employment
of many of its best officers on the staff and in civil appointments;
the officers selected were not seconded or replaced in their
regiments. This was the case in a less degree, no doubt, in the Horse
Artillery than in the other branches, for its _esprit_ was great, and
officers were proud to belong to this _corps d'elite_. It certainly
was a splendid service; the men were the pick of those recruited by
the East India Company, they were of magnificent physique, and their
uniform was singularly handsome. The jacket was much the same as that
now worn by the Royal Horse Artillery, but instead of the busby they
had a brass helmet covered in front with leopard skin, surmounted by
a long red plume which drooped over the back like that of a French
Cuirassier. This, with white buckskin breeches and long boots,
completed a uniform which was one of the most picturesque and
effective I have ever seen on a parade-ground.
The metalled highway ended at Meerut, and I had to perform the
remainder of my journey to Peshawar, a distance of 600 miles, in a
palankin, or doolie.
This manner of travelling was tedious in the extreme. Starting after
dinner, the victim was carried throughout the night by eight men,
divided into reliefs of four. The whole of the eight were changed at
stages averaging from ten to twelve miles apart. The baggage was
also conveyed by coolies, who kept up an incessant chatter, and the
procession was lighted on its way by a torch-bearer, whose torch
consisted of bits of rag tied round the end of a stick, upon which
he continually poured the most malodorous of oils. If the
palankin-bearers were very good, they shuffled along at the rate of
about three miles an hour, and if there were no delays, forty or
forty-five miles could be accomplished before it became necessary to
seek shelter from the sun in one of the dak-bungalows, or rest-houses,
erected by Government at convenient intervals along all the principal
routes. In these bungalows a bath could be obtained, and sorely it was
needed after a journey of thirteen or fourteen hours at a level of
only a few inches above an exceedingly dusty road. As to food, the
_khansamah_, like 'mine host' in the old country, declared himself
at the outset prepared to provide everything the heart of man could
desire; when, however, the traveller was safely cornered for the rest
of the day, the _menu_ invariably dwindled down to the elementary
and universal 'sudden death,' which meant a wretchedly thin chicken,
caught, decapitated, grilled, and served up within twenty minutes of
the meal being ordered. At dinner a variety was made by the chicken
being curried, accompanied by an unlimited supply of rice and chutney.
I was glad to be able to break the monotony of this long journey by
a visit to a half-sister of mine, who was then living at the
hill-station of Mussoorie. The change to the delightful freshness of a
Himalayan climate after the Turkish-bath-like atmosphere of the plains
in September was most grateful, and I thoroughly enjoyed the few days
I spent in the midst of the lovely mountain scenery.
My next station was Umballa. There I fell in with two other troops of
Horse Artillery, and became more than ever enamoured with the idea of
belonging to so splendid a service. From Umballa it was a two nights'
journey to Ludhiana, where I rested for the day, and there met a
cousin in the Survey Department, who had been suddenly ordered to
Lahore, so we agreed to travel together.
The next halting-place was Jullundur. To make a change, we hired a
buggy at this place, in which to drive the first stage, sending our
palankins on ahead; when we overtook them, we found, to our surprise,
that their number had increased to six. We were preparing for a start,
when it struck us that we ought to make some inquiries about the
additional four, which, from the luggage lying about, we assumed to
be occupied, but which appeared to be stranded for want of bearers to
carry them on. The doors were carefully closed, and it was some time
before we could get an answer to our offers of assistance. Eventually
a lady looked out, and told us that she and a friend, each accompanied
by two children and an _ayah_,[1] were on their way to Lahore; that
the bearers who had brought them so far had run away, and that they
were absolutely in despair as to how they were to proceed. It turned
out that the bearers, who had been engaged to carry the ladies on
the second stage towards Lahore, found it more amusing to attend the
ceremony of the installation of the Raja of Kaparthala, then going on,
than to fulfil their engagement. After discussing the situation, the
ladies were persuaded to get out of their palankins and into our
buggy. We divided the baggage and six doolies between our sixteen
bearers, and started off, my cousin, the _ayahs_, and I on foot. It
was then 10 p.m. We hoped relays of bearers for the whole party
would be forthcoming at the next stage, but we were doomed to
disappointment. Our reliefs were present, but none for the ladies.
We succeeded, however, in inducing our original bearers to come on a
further stage, thus arranging for the carriage of the _ayahs_, while
we two men trudged on beside the buggy for another ten or twelve
miles. It was a heavy, sandy road, and three stages were about as much
as the horse could manage.
Soon after daybreak next morning we reached the Bias river. Crossing
by a bridge of boats, we found on the other side a small one-roomed
house with a verandah running round it, built for the use of the
European overseer in charge of the road. On matters being explained,
this man agreed to turn out. The ladies and children were put inside,
and my cousin and I spent the day in the verandah; in the evening,
with the assistance of the overseer, we were able to get a sufficient
number of bearers to carry us all on to Mian Mir without further
adventure. In the course of conversation we found that one of the
ladies was the wife of Lieutenant Donald Stewart,[2] of the 9th Bengal
Infantry, and that she and her friend were returning to join their
respective husbands after spending the summer months at Simla. This
meeting was the beginning of a close friendship with Sir Donald and
Lady Stewart, which has lasted to the present day.
At Mian Mir (the military cantonment of Lahore) I stayed a few days
with another half-sister, and from there, as the weather was beginning
to get cooler, I travelled day and night. One evening about eight
o'clock I was disappointed at not having come across the usual
rest-house; lights could be seen, however, at no great distance, and
I proceeded towards them; they turned out to be the camp fires of a
Cavalry regiment which was halting there for the night. Being half
famished, and fearing that my craving for food was not likely to be
gratified unless someone in the camp would take pity upon my forlorn
condition, I boldly presented myself at the first tent I came across.
The occupant came out, and, on hearing the strait I was in, he with
kindly courtesy invited me to enter the tent, saying, 'You are just
in time to share our dinner.' My host turned out to be Major Crawford
Chamberlain,[3] commanding the 1st Irregular Cavalry, the famous
Skinner's Horse, then on its way to Peshawar. A lady was sitting at
the table--Mrs. Chamberlain--to whom I was introduced; I spent a very
pleasant evening, and in this way commenced another equally agreeable
and lasting friendship.
[Footnote 1: A Native woman-servant.]
[Footnote 2: Now Field Marshal Sir Donald Stewart, Bart., G.C.B.,
G.C.S.I.]
[Footnote 3: Now General Crawford Chamberlain, C.S.I., a brother of
General Sir Neville Chamberlain.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER III.
1852-1853
With my father at Peshawar--Peshawar in 1852--Excitements of a
frontier station--A flogging parade--Mackeson's assassination
--The Jowaki expedition--A strange dream--A typical frontier fight
Even the longest journey must come to an end at last, and early
in November I reached Peshawar. My father, who was then in his
sixty-ninth year, had just been appointed to command the division
with the temporary rank of Major-General. Old as this may appear at
a period when Colonels are superannuated at fifty-seven, and
Major-Generals must retire at sixty-two, my father did not consider
himself particularly unlucky. As for the authorities, they evidently
thought they were to be congratulated on having so young and active an
officer to place in a position of responsibility upon the North-West
Frontier, for amongst my father's papers I found letters from
the Adjutant-General and Quartermaster-General expressing high
satisfaction at his appointment to this difficult command.
It was a great advantage as well as a great pleasure to me to be with
my father at this time. I had left India an infant, and I had no
recollection of him until I was twelve years old, at which time he
came home on leave. Even then I saw very little of him, as I was at
school during the greater part of his sojourn in England, thus we met
at Peshawar almost as strangers. We did not, however, long remain so;
his affectionate greeting soon put an end to any feeling of shyness on
my part, and the genial and kindly spirit which enabled him to enter
into and sympathize with the feelings and aspirations of men younger
than himself, rendered the year I spent with him at Peshawar one
of the brightest and happiest of my early life. In one respect
particularly I benefited by the intercourse and confidence of the
year in question. My father spoke to me freely of his experiences in
Afghanistan, where he commanded during the Afghan war first a brigade,
and then Shah Shuja's contingent. The information I in this way
gathered regarding the characteristics of that peculiar country, and
the best means of dealing with its still more peculiar people, was
invaluable to me when I, in my turn, twenty-five years later, found
myself in command of an army in Afghanistan.
Eleven years only had elapsed since the first Afghan war, when my
father went to Peshawar and found himself again associated with
several Afghan friends; some had altogether settled in the Peshawar
district, for nearly all of those who had assisted us, or shown any
friendly feeling towards us, had been forced by Dost Mahomed Khan, on
his return as Amir to Kabul, to seek refuge in India. One of the chief
of these unfortunate refugees was Mahomed Usman Khan, Shah Shuja's
Wazir, or Prime Minister. He had been very intimate with my father, so
it was pleasant for them to meet again and talk over events in which
they had both played such prominent parts. Usman Khan died some years
ago; but visitors to India who travel as far as Peshawar may still
meet his sons, one of whom is the Commandant of the Khyber Rifles,
Lieutenant-Colonel Aslam Khan, C.I.E., a fine specimen of a Native
soldier and gentleman, who has proved his loyalty and done excellent
service to the State on many trying occasions.
[Illustration: GENERAL SIR ABRAHAM ROBERTS, G.C.B.
_From a photograph_.]
My father had also been on terms of intimacy with Dost Mahomed
himself and many other men of influence in Kabul, from whom, while at
Peshawar, he received most interesting letters, in which anxiety was
often expressed as to whether the English were amicably disposed
towards the Amir. To these communications my father was always careful
to send courteous and conciliatory replies. The correspondence which
took place confirmed him in his frequently expressed opinion that it
would be greatly to the advantage of the Government, and obviate
the necessity for keeping such large garrisons on the frontier, if
friendly relations could be established with the Amir, and with the
neighbouring tribes, who more or less looked to the Ruler of Kabul
as their Chief. My father accordingly addressed the Secretary to the
Government of India, and pointed out how successfully some of the most
experienced Anglo-Indian officials had managed barbarous tribes by
kindness and conciliation.
My father was prevented by ill-health from remaining long enough at
Peshawar to see the result of his proposals, but it was a source of
great satisfaction to him to learn before he left India[1] that they
were approved by Lord Dalhousie (the Governor-General), and that they
were already bearing fruit. That the Amir was himself ready to respond
to any overtures made to him was evident from a letter written by a
brother of the Dost's, which was discovered amongst the papers of
Colonel Mackeson (the Commissioner of Peshawar) after his death. It
was still more gratifying to my father to find that the views of
Mackeson's successor, Lieutenant-Colonel Herbert Edwardes, on this
subject entirely coincided with his own. This distinguished officer
and brilliant administrator zealously maintained this policy, and
succeeded in establishing such a good understanding with the Ruler
of Kabul that, when the Mutiny broke out, Afghanistan stood aloof,
instead of, as might have been the case, turning the scale against us.
The Peshawar division in 1852 was not only the most important, but
the largest, in India. It included besides Attock, Rawal Pindi, and
Jhelum, the hill-station of Murree, which had only been recently
occupied. The cantonment of Peshawar had been laid out by Sir Colin
Campbell (afterwards Lord Clyde), who commanded there when we first
occupied that place in 1849. He crowded the troops, European and
Native, into as small a space as possible in order that the station
might be the more easily protected from the raids of the Afridis
and other robber tribes, who had their homes in the neighbouring
mountains, and constantly descended into the valley for the sake of
plunder. To resist these marauders it was necessary to place guards
all round the cantonment. The smaller the enclosure, the fewer guards
would be required. From this point of view alone was Sir Colin's
action excusable; but the result of this overcrowding was what it
always is, especially in a tropical climate like that of India, and
for long years Peshawar was a name of terror to the English soldier
from its proverbial unhealthiness. The water-supply for the first
five-and-twenty years of our occupation was extremely bad, and
sanitary arrangements, particularly as regards Natives, were
apparently considered unnecessary.
In addition to the cordon of sentries round the cantonment, strong
piquets were posted on all the principal roads leading towards the
hills; and every house had to be guarded by a _chokidar_, or watchman,
belonging to one of the robber tribes. The maintaining this watchman
was a sort of blackmail, without consenting to which no one's horses
or other property were safe. The watchmen were armed with all sorts of
quaint old firearms, which, on an alarm being given, they discharged
in the most reckless manner, making it quite a work of danger to pass
along a Peshawar road after dark. No one was allowed to venture beyond
the line of sentries when the sun had set, and even in broad daylight
it was not safe to go any distance from the station.
In the autumn of 1851 an officer--Captain Frank Grantham, of the 98th
Foot--was riding with a young lady on the Michni road, not far from
the Artillery quarter-guard, when he was attacked by five hill-men.
Grantham was wounded so severely that he died in a few days, the
horses were carried off, but the girl was allowed to escape. She ran
as fast as she could to the nearest guard, and told her story; the
alarm was given, and the wounded man was brought in. The young lady
was called upon shortly afterwards to identify one of the supposed
murderers, but she could not recognize the man as being of the party
who made the attack; nevertheless, the murderer's friends were afraid
of what she might remember, and made an attempt one night to carry her
off. Fortunately, it was frustrated, but from that time, until she
left Peshawar, it was considered necessary to keep a guard over the
house in which she lived.
From all this my readers may probably think that Peshawar, as I first
knew it, was not a desirable place of residence; but I was very happy
there. There was a good deal of excitement and adventure; I made many
friends; and, above all, I had, to me, the novel pleasure of being
with my father.
It was the custom in those days for the General commanding one of the
larger divisions to have under him, and in charge of the Head-Quarter
station, a senior officer styled Brigadier. Soon after I went to
Peshawar, Sydney Cotton[2] held this appointment, and remained in
it for many years, making a great reputation for himself during the
Mutiny, and being eventually appointed to the command of the division.
The two senior officers on my father's staff were Lieutenant Norman[3]
and Lieutenant Lumsden,[4] the former Deputy Assistant-Adjutant-General
and the latter Deputy Assistant-Quartermaster-General. The high opinion
of them which my father had formed was subsequently justified by their
distinguished careers. Norman, with sixteen years' service, and at the
age of thirty-four, became Adjutant-General of the Army in India, and
a year or two later Secretary to Government in the Military Department.
He finished his Indian service as Military Member of Council. Lumsden
became Quartermaster-General, and afterwards Adjutant-General, the two
highest positions on the Indian staff.
There was a separate mess for all the staff officers, and I remember
a curious circumstance in connexion with that mess which, unless the
exception proves the rule, is strong evidence against the superstition
that thirteen is an unlucky number to sit down to dinner. On the 1st
January, 1853, thirteen of us dined together; eleven years after we
were all alive, nearly the whole of the party having taken part in the
suppression of the Mutiny, and five or six having been wounded.
From the time of my arrival until the autumn of 1853, nothing of
much importance occurred. I lived with my father, and acted as his
Aide-de-camp, while, at the same time, I did duty with the Artillery.
The 2nd Company, 2nd Battalion, to which I belonged, was composed of a
fine body of men, who had a grand reputation in the field, but, being
somewhat troublesome in quarters, had acquired the nickname of 'The
Devil's Own.' Because of the unusually good physique of the men, this
company was selected for conversion into a Mountain Battery, which it
was thought advisable to raise at that time. I was the only subaltern
with this battery for several months, and though my commanding officer
had no objection to my acting as A.D.C. to my father, he took good
care that I did my regimental duty strictly and regularly.
One very painful circumstance stamped itself on my memory. I was
obliged to be present at a flogging parade--the only one, I am glad to
say, I have ever had to attend, although the barbarous and degrading
custom of flogging in the army was not done away with until nearly
thirty years later.[5] A few years before I joined the service, the
number of lashes which might be given was limited to fifty, but even
under this restriction the sight was a horrible one to witness. The
parade to which I refer was ordered for the punishment of two men who
had been sentenced to fifty lashes each for selling their kits, and to
a certain term of imprisonment in addition. They were fine, handsome
young Horse Artillerymen, and it was hateful to see them thus treated.
Besides, one felt it was productive of harm rather than good, for it
tended to destroy the men's self-respect, and to make them completely
reckless. In this instance, no sooner had the two men been released
from prison than they committed the same offence again. They were a
second time tried by Court-Martial, and sentenced as before. How I
longed to have the power to remit the fifty lashes, for I felt that
selling their kits on this occasion was their way of showing their
resentment at the ignominious treatment they had been subjected to,
and of proving that flogging was powerless to prevent their repeating
the offence. A parade was ordered, as on the previous occasion. One
man was stripped to the waist, and tied to the wheel of a gun. The
finding and sentence of the Court-Martial were read out--a trumpeter
standing ready the while to inflict the punishment--when the
commanding officer, Major Robert Waller, instead of ordering him to
begin, to the intense relief of, I believe, every officer present,
addressed the prisoners, telling them of his distress at finding two
soldiers belonging to his troop brought up for corporal punishment
twice in a little more than six weeks, and adding that, however little
they deserved such leniency, if they would promise not to commit the
same offence again, and to behave better for the future, he would
remit the flogging part of the sentence. If the prisoners were not
happy, I was; but the clemency was evidently appreciated by them, for
they promised, and kept their words. I did not lose sight of these
two men for some years, and was always gratified to learn that their
conduct was uniformly satisfactory, and that they had become good,
steady soldiers.
The Commissioner, or chief civil authority, when I arrived at
Peshawar, was Colonel Mackeson, a well-known frontier officer who had
greatly distinguished himself during the first Afghan war by his work
among the Afridis and other border tribes, by whom he was liked and
respected as much as he was feared. During Shah Shuja's brief reign
at Kabul, Mackeson was continually employed on political duty in the
Khyber Pass and at Peshawar. On the breaking out of the insurrection
at Kabul, he was indefatigable in forwarding supplies and money to
Sir Robert Sale at Jalalabad, hastening up the reinforcements, and
maintaining British influence in the Khyber, a task of no small
magnitude when we remember that a religious war had been proclaimed,
and all true believers had been called upon to exterminate the
Feringhis. While at Peshawar, as Commissioner, his duties were arduous
and his responsibilities heavy--the more so as at that time the Afghan
inhabitants of the city were in a dangerous and excited state.
On the 10th September, 1853, we were horrified to learn that Mackeson
had been murdered by a religious fanatic. He was sitting in the
verandah of his house listening to appeals from the decisions of his
subordinates, when, towards evening, a man--who had been remarked
by many during the day earnestly engaged in his devotions, his
prayer-carpet being spread within sight of the house--came up and,
making a low salaam to Mackeson, presented him with a paper. The
Commissioner, supposing it to be a petition, stretched out his hand to
take it, when the man instantly plunged a dagger into his breast. The
noise consequent on the struggle attracted the attention of some of
the domestic servants and one of the Native officials. The latter
threw himself between Mackeson and the fanatic, and was himself
slightly wounded in his efforts to rescue his Chief.
Mackeson lingered until the 14th September. His death caused
considerable excitement in the city and along the border, increasing
to an alarming extent when it became known that the murderer had been
hanged and his body burnt. This mode of disposing of one of their dead
is considered by Mahomedans as the greatest insult that can be offered
to their religion, for in thus treating the corpse, as if it were that
of (by them) a hated and despised Hindu, the dead man is supposed to
be deprived of every chance of paradise. It was not without careful
and deliberate consideration that this course was decided upon, and it
was only adopted on account of the deterrent effect it would have upon
fanatical Mahomedans, who count it all gain to sacrifice their lives
by the murder of a heretic, and thereby secure, as they firmly
believe, eternal happiness, but loathe the idea of being burned, which
effectually prevents the murderer being raised to the dignity of a
martyr, and revered as a saint ever after.
It being rumoured that the Pathans intended to retaliate by
desecrating the late Commissioner's grave, it was arranged that he
should be buried within cantonment limits. A monument was raised to
his memory by public subscription, and his epitaph[6] was written by
the Governor-General himself.
Shortly before Mackeson's murder my father had found it necessary to
go to the hill-station of Murree; the hot weather had tried him very
much, and he required a change. He had scarcely arrived there, when
he was startled by the news of the tragedy which had occurred, and at
once determined to return, notwithstanding its being the most sickly
season of the year at Peshawar, for he felt that at a time of such
dangerous excitement it was his duty to be present. As a precautionary
measure, he ordered the 22nd Foot from Rawal Pindi to Peshawar. This
and other steps which he deemed prudent to take soon put an end to the
disturbances.
No sooner had matters quieted down at Peshawar than the Jowaki
Afridis, who inhabit the country immediately to the east of the Kohat
Pass, began to give trouble, and we went out into camp to select a
site for a post which would serve to cover the northern entrance to
the pass and keep the tribesmen under surveillance. The great change
of temperature, from the intense heat he had undergone in the summer
to the bitter cold of November nights in tents, was too severe a trial
for my father. He was then close on seventy, and though apparently
active as ever, he was far from well, consequently the doctors
strongly urged him not to risk another hot weather in India. It was
accordingly settled that he should return to England without delay.
Shortly before his departure, an incident occurred which I will relate
for the benefit of psychological students; they may, perhaps, be able
to explain it, I never could. My father had some time before issued
invitations for a dance which was to take place in two days' time--on
Monday, the 17th October, 1853. On the Saturday morning he appeared
disturbed and unhappy, and during breakfast he was silent and
despondent--very different from his usual bright and cheery self.
On my questioning him as to the cause, he told me he had had an
unpleasant dream--one which he had dreamt several times before, and
which had always been followed by the death of a near relation. As the
day advanced, in spite of my efforts to cheer him, he became more and
more depressed, and even said he should like to put off the dance. I
dissuaded him from taking this step for the time being; but that night
he had the same dream again, and the next morning he insisted on
the dance being postponed. It seemed to me rather absurd to have to
disappoint our friends because of a dream; there was, however, nothing
for it but to carry out my father's wishes, and intimation was
accordingly sent to the invited guests. The following morning the post
brought news of the sudden death of the half-sister at Lahore with
whom I had stayed on my way to Peshawar.
As my father was really very unwell, it was not thought advisable for
him to travel alone, so it was arranged that I should accompany him to
Rawal Pindi. We started from Peshawar on the 27th November, and drove
as far as Nowshera. The next day we went on to Attock. I found the
invalid had benefited so much by the change that it was quite safe for
him to continue the journey alone, and I consented the more readily to
leave him, as I was anxious to get back to my battery, which had been
ordered on service, and was then with the force assembled at Bazidkhel
for an expedition against the Bori villages of the Jowaki Afridis.
Having said farewell to my father, I started for Bazidkhel early on
the 29th November. At that time there was no direct road to that place
from Nowshera, nor was it considered safe to travel alone along the
slopes of the lower Afridi hills. I had, therefore, to go all the way
back to Peshawar to get to my destination. I rode as fast as relays of
horses could carry me, in the hope that I should reach Bazidkhel in
time for the fun; but soon after passing Nowshera I heard guns in the
direction of the Kohat Pass, and realized that I should be too late.
I was very disappointed at missing this, my first chance of active
service, and not accompanying the newly raised Mountain Train (as it
was then called) on the first occasion of its being employed in the
field.
The object of this expedition was to punish the Jowaki section of the
Afridis for their many delinquencies during the three previous years.
Numerous murders and raids on the Kohat and Peshawar districts,
the plunder of boats on the Indus, and the murder of a European
apothecary, were all traced to this tribe. They had been blockaded,
and their resort to the salt-mines near Bahadurkhel and to the markets
of Kohat and Peshawar had been interdicted, but these measures
produced no effect on the recalcitrant tribesmen. John (afterwards
Lord) Lawrence, who had come to Peshawar for the purpose of taking (sic)
over frontier affairs with Edwardes, the new Commissioner, held a
conference with the _maliks_[7] of the villages connected with the
Jowaki Pass, and being anxious to avoid hostilities, offered to
condone all past offences if the tribes would agree to certain
conditions, which, briefly, were that no further crimes should be
committed in British territory; that such criminals as had taken
refuge in their villages should be given up; and that for the future
criminals and outlaws flying from justice should not be afforded
an asylum in Jowaki lands. To the second condition the whole tribe
absolutely refused to agree. They stated, with truth, that from time
immemorial it was their custom to afford an asylum to anyone demanding
it, and that to surrender a man who had sought and found shelter with
them would be a disgrace which they could not endure.
Afridis have curious ideas as to the laws of hospitality; it is no
uncommon thing for them to murder their guests in cold blood, but it
is contrary to their code of honour to surrender a fugitive who has
claimed an asylum with them.
The sections of the tribe living nearest our territory agreed to the
first and third of our conditions, no doubt because they felt they
were in our power, and had suffered considerably from the blockade.
But the Bori Afridis would make no atonement for the past and give
no security for the future, although they admitted having robbed and
murdered our subjects. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to
send a force against them. This force consisted of rather more than
1,500 men, British and Native. The Afridis made no stand until we
reached their main position, when they offered a stout resistance,
which, however, proved of no avail against the gallantry of the Guides
and 66th (now 1st) Gurkhas. The Bori villages were then destroyed,
with a loss to us of eight men killed and thirty-one wounded.
Sufficient punishment having been inflicted, our force retired. The
rear-guard was hotly pressed, and it was late in the evening before
the troops got clear of the hills.
The tribesmen with whom we had just made friends sat in hundreds on
the ridges watching the progress of the fight. It was no doubt a great
temptation to them to attack the 'infidels' while they were at their
mercy, and considerable anxiety was felt by Lawrence and Edwardes
as to the part which our new allies would play; their relief was
proportionate when it was found they intended to maintain a neutral
attitude.
I shall not further describe the events of that day, more especially
as I was not fortunate enough to be in time to take part in the
proceedings. I have only referred to this expedition as being typical
of many little frontier fights, and because I remember being much
impressed at the time with the danger of trusting our communications
in a difficult mountainous country to people closely allied to those
against whom we were fighting. This over-confidence in the good faith
of our frontier neighbours caused us serious embarrassments a few
years later during the Umbeyla campaign.
The force remained in camp for some time for the protection of the men
employed in building the post, which was called Fort Mackeson, after
the murdered Commissioner. When it was completed we returned to
Peshawar.
[Footnote 1: Shortly before my father left Peshawar he received
the following letter from Colonel Outram, dated Calcutta, the 23rd
October, 1853: 'As I know that your views as to the policy that should
be pursued towards Dost Mahomed must be in accordance with those of
the Governor-General, I accordingly showed your letter to Grant,
Courtney, and Colonel Low, all of whom were glad to learn that you
entertained such sound views, opposed though they be with the general
clamour for war with the Kabulese which appears to be the cry of the
army. This, together with the wise forethought you displayed before
the Kabul insurrection (which, though at the time it found no favour
at Head-Quarters, was subsequently so mournfully established by the
Kabul massacre, which would have been prevented had your warnings
been attended to), shows how well you would combine the military and
political control of the country beyond the Indus.']
[Footnote 2: The late General Sir Sydney Cotton, G.C.B.]
[Footnote 3: Now General Sir Henry Norman, G.C.B., G.C.M.G., lately
Governor of Queensland.]
[Footnote 4: Now General Sir Peter Lumsden, G.C.B.]
[Footnote 5: 1881.]
[Footnote 6:
'HERE LIES THE BODY OF FREDERICK MACKESON,
LIEUTENANT-COLONEL IN THE BENGAL ARMY, COMPANION OF THE BATH, AND
COMMISSIONER OF PESHAWAR, WHO WAS BORN SEPTEMBER 2ND, 1807, AND DIED
SEPTEMBER 14TH, 1853, OF A WOUND INFLICTED BY A RELIGIOUS FANATIC.
He was the beau-ideal of a soldier--cool to conceive, brave to dare,
and strong to do. The Indian Army was proud of his noble presence in
its ranks--not without cause. On the dark page of the Afghan war the
name of "Mackeson" shines brightly out; the frontier was his post, and
the future his field. The defiles of the Khyber and the peaks of the
Black Mountain alike witness his exploits. Death still found him in
front. Unconquered enemies felt safer when he fell. His own Government
thus mourn the fall.
'The reputation of Lieutenant-Colonel Mackeson as a soldier is known
to and honoured by all. His value as a political servant of the State
is known to none better than to the Governor-General himself, who in a
difficult and eventful time had cause to mark his great ability, and
the admirable prudence, discretion, and temper, which added tenfold
value to the high soldierly qualities of his public character.
'The loss of Colonel Mackeson's life would have dimmed a victory; to
lose him thus, by the hand of a foul assassin, is a misfortune of
the heaviest gloom for the Government, which counted him amongst its
bravest and best.
'General orders of the Marquis Dalhousie, Governor-General of India,
3rd October, 1853.
'This monument was erected by his friends.']
[Footnote 7: Head men.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER IV.
1854-1856
A trip to Khagan--The Vale of Kashmir--With the Horse Artillery
--My first visit to Simla--Life at Peshawar--A staff appointment
--The bump of locality
I had had a great deal of fever during my eighteen months' residence
at Peshawar, and in April, 1854, I obtained six months' leave to
Kashmir. I travelled _via_ Murree to Abbottabad, along the route now
well known as the 'Gullies.' Here I was joined by Lieutenant George
Rodney Brown,[1] a subaltern of Horse Artillery, with whom I chummed
at Peshawar.
Abbottabad was a very small place in those days. It was named after
its first Deputy-Commissioner, James Abbott,[2] famous for his journey
_via_ Bokhara and Khiva to Russia in 1839, undertaken for the release
of Russian prisoners who were kept as slaves by the Turkomans. He had
just left, and had been succeeded as Deputy-Commissioner by a Captain
Becher, who, fortunately for us, was away in the district. I say
fortunately, because we were bent on visiting Khagan, and had obtained
permission from the Commissioner of Peshawar to do so. He had told
us to apply to Becher for assistance, but from what we heard of that
officer, it did not seem likely he would help us. Khagan was beyond
our border, and the inhabitants were said to be even more fanatical
than the rest of the frontier tribes. The Commissioner, however, had
given us leave, and as his Deputy appeared to be the kind of man
to create obstacles, we made up our minds to slip away before he
returned.
We started on the 21st May, and marched to Habibula-Ki-Ghari. Here the
road bifurcates, one branch leading to Kashmir, the other to Khagan.
We took the latter, and proceeded to Balakot, twelve miles further
on, which was then our frontier post. There we found a small guard of
Frontier Police, two of whom we induced to accompany us on our onward
journey for the purpose of assisting to look after the baggage and
collecting coolies. Three days' more marching brought us to Khagan.
The road almost the whole way from Balakot ran along a precipice
overhanging the Nainsukh river, at that time of year a rushing
torrent, owing to the melting of the snows on the higher ranges. The
track was rough, steep, and in some places very narrow. We crossed and
recrossed the river several times by means of snow-bridges, which,
spanning the limpid, jade-coloured water, had a very pretty effect. At
one point our _shikarris_[3] stopped, and proudly told us that on that
very spot their tribe had destroyed a Sikh army sent against them in
the time of Runjit Sing. It certainly was a place well chosen for a
stand, not more than fifty yards wide, with a perpendicular cliff on
one side and a roaring torrent on the other.
The people apparently did not object to our being in their country,
and treated us with much civility throughout our journey. We were
enjoying ourselves immensely, so when an official cover reached us
with the signature of the dreaded Deputy-Commissioner in the corner,
we agreed that it would be unwise to open it just then.
Khagan was almost buried in snow. The scenery was magnificent, and
became every moment more wonderful as we slowly climbed the steep
ascent in front of us; range after range of snow-capped mountains
disclosed themselves to our view, rising higher and higher into the
air, until at last, towering above all, Nanga Parbat[4] in all her
spotless beauty was revealed to our astonished and delighted gaze.
We could not get beyond Khagan. Our coolies refused to go further,
alleging as their reason the danger to be dreaded from avalanches
in that month; but I suspect that fear of hostility from the tribes
further north had more to do with their reluctance to proceed than
dread of falling avalanches. We remained at Khagan for two or
three days in the hope of being able to shoot an ibex, but we were
disappointed; we never even saw one.
We retraced our steps with considerable regret, and reached
Habibula-Ki-Ghari on the 31st May. Here we received a second official
document from Abbottabad. It contained, like the previous letter,
which we now looked at for the first time, orders for our immediate
return, and warnings that we were on no account to go to Khagan. Since
then Khagan has been more than once visited by British officers, and
now a road is in course of construction along the route we travelled,
as being a more direct line of communication with Gilghit than that
_via_ Kashmir.
We made no delay at Habibula-Ki-Ghari, but started at once for the
lovely Vale of Kashmir, where we spent the summer, amusing ourselves
by making excursions to all the places of interest and beauty we had
so often heard of, and occasionally shooting a bear. The place which
impressed me most was Martund,[5] where stand the picturesque ruins of
a once renowned Hindu temple. These noble ruins are the most striking
in size and position of all the existing remains of the past glories
of Kashmir.
From Martund we made our way to Vernag, the celebrated spring which
is supposed to be the source of the Jhelum river. The Moghul Emperor
Akbar built there a summer palace, and the arches, on which it is
said rested the private apartments of the lovely Nur Jehan, are still
visible.
We wandered over the beautiful and fertile Lolab valley, and pitched
our little camp in the midst of groves of chunar, walnut, apple,
cherry, and peach trees; and we marched up the Sind valley, and
crossed the Zojji La Pass leading into Thibet. The scenery all along
this route is extremely grand. On either side are lofty mountains,
their peaks wrapped in snow, their sides clothed with pine, and their
feet covered with forests, in which is to be found almost every kind
of deciduous tree. From time to time we returned for a few days to
Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir, to enjoy the pleasures of more
civilized society. Srinagar is so well known nowadays, and has been
so often described in poetry and prose, that it is needless for me to
dwell at length upon its delights, which, I am inclined to think, are
greater in imagination than in reality. It has been called the Venice
of the East, and in some respects it certainly does remind one of the
'Bride of the Sea,' both in its picturesqueness and (when one gets
into the small and tortuous canals) its unsavouriness. Even at the
time of which I am writing it was dilapidated, and the houses looked
exactly like those made by children out of a pack of cards, which a
puff of wind might be expected to destroy. Of late years the greater
part of the city has been injured by earthquakes, and Srinagar looks
more than ever like a card city. The great beauty of the place in
those days was the wooden bridges covered with creepers, and gay with
booths and shops of all descriptions, which spanned the Jhelum at
intervals for the three miles the river runs through the town--now,
alas! for the artistic traveller, no more. Booths and shops have been
swept away, and the creepers have disappeared--decidedly an advantage
from a sanitary point of view, but destructive of the quaint
picturesqueness of the town.
The floating gardens are a unique and very pretty characteristic of
Srinagar. The lake is nowhere deeper than ten or twelve feet, and in
some places much less. These gardens are made by driving stakes into
the bed of the lake, long enough to project three or four feet above
the surface of the water. These stakes are placed at intervals in an
oblong form, and are bound together by reeds and rushes twined in and
out and across, until a kind of stationary raft is made, on which
earth and turf are piled. In this soil seeds are sown, and the crops
of melons and other fruits raised in these fertile beds are extremely
fine and abundant.
The magnificent chunar-trees are another very beautiful feature of the
country. They grow to a great height and girth, and so luxuriant and
dense is their foliage that I have sat reading and writing for hours
during heavy rain under one of these trees and kept perfectly dry.
The immediate vicinity of Srinagar is very pretty, and the whole
valley of Kashmir is lovely beyond description: surrounded by
beautifully-wooded mountains, intersected with streams and lakes, and
gay with flowers of every description, for in Kashmir many of the
gorgeous eastern plants and the more simple but sweeter ones of
England meet on common ground. To it may appropriately be applied the
Persian couplet:
'Agar fardos baru-i zamin ast, hamin ast, hamin ast'
(If there be an Elysium on earth, it is this, it is this).
The soil is extremely productive; anything will grow in it. Put a
stick into the ground, and in an extraordinary short space of time it
becomes a tree and bears fruit. What were we about, to sell such a
country for three quarters of a million sterling? It would have made
the most perfect sanatorium for our troops, and furnished an admirable
field for British enterprise and colonization, its climate being as
near perfection as anything can be.
How sad it is that, in a country 'where every prospect pleases,
only man' should be 'vile'! And man, as he existed in Kashmir, was
vile--vile, because so miserable. The Mahomedan inhabitants were being
ground down by Hindu rulers, who seized all their earnings, leaving
them barely sufficient to keep body and soul together. What interest
could such people have in cultivating their land, or doing any work
beyond what was necessary to mere existence? However hard they might
labour, their efforts would benefit neither themselves nor their
children, and so their only thought was to get through life with
as little exertion as possible--in the summer sitting in the sun
absolutely idle the greater part of the day, and in the winter wrapped
up in their blankets, under which were concealed curious little
vessels called _kangris_, holding two or three bits of live charcoal.
Every Kashmiri still carries one of these _kangris_, as the most
economical way of keeping himself warm.
Early in September we said good-bye to the happy valley and returned
to Peshawar, where I rejoined the Mountain Battery.
In November, to my great delight, I was given my jacket. At first my
happiness was somewhat damped by the fact that the troop to which I
was posted was stationed at Umballa. I did not want to leave Peshawar,
and in the end I had not to do so, as a vacancy most opportunely
occurred in one of the troops of Horse Artillery at that station,
which was given to me.
Life on the frontier in those days had a great charm for most young
men; there was always something of interest going on; military
expeditions were constantly taking place, or being speculated upon,
and one lived in hope of being amongst those chosen for active
service. Peshawar, too, notwithstanding its unhealthiness, was a
favourite station with officers. To me it was particularly pleasant,
for it had the largest force of Artillery of any station in India
except Meerut; the mess was a good one, and was composed of as nice
a set of fellows as were to be found in the army. In addition to the
officers of the regiment, there were a certain number of honorary
members; all the staff and civilians belonged to the Artillery mess,
and on guest-nights we sat down as many as sixty to dinner. Another
attraction was the 'coffee shop,' an institution which has now almost
ceased to exist, at which we all congregated after morning parade and
freely discussed the home and local news.
The troop to which I was posted was composed of a magnificent body of
men, nearly all Irishmen, most of whom could have lifted me up
with one hand. They were fine riders, and needed to be so, for the
stud-horses used for Artillery purposes at that time were not the
quiet, well-broken animals of the present day. I used to try my
hand at riding them all in turn, and thus learnt to understand and
appreciate the amount of nerve, patience, and skill necessary to
the making of a good Horse Artillery 'driver,' with the additional
advantage that I was brought into constant contact with the men. It
also qualified me to ride in the officers' team for the regimental
brake. The brake, it must be understood, was drawn by six horses, each
ridden postilion fashion by an officer.
My troop was commanded by Captain Barr, a dear old fellow who had seen
a good deal of service and was much liked by officers and men, but
hardly the figure for a Horse Artilleryman, as he weighed about
seventeen stone. On a troop parade Barr took up his position well
in advance and made his own pace, but on brigade parades he had to
conform to the movements of the other arms, and on these occasions he
used to tell one of the subalterns as he galloped past him to come
'left about' at the right time without waiting for his order. This, of
course, we were always careful to do, and by the time we had come into
action Barr had caught us up and was at his post.
During the winter of 1854-55 I had several returns of Peshawar fever,
and by the beginning of the spring I was so reduced that I was given
eight months' leave on medical certificate, with orders to report
myself at Mian Mir at its expiration, in view to my going through the
riding course, there being no Riding-Master at Peshawar.
I decided to return to Kashmir in the first instance, and thence to
march across the Himalayas to Simla.
On my way into Kashmir I was fortunate enough to fall in with a very
agreeable travelling companion--Lieutenant John Watson.[6] He was then
Adjutant of the 1st Punjab Cavalry, and was looked upon as one of
the most promising officers of the Frontier Force. We spent a very
enjoyable time in Kashmir, and early in August I started for Simla
with two brother officers named Light and Mercer, whose acquaintance
I had only recently made, but who turned out to be very pleasant
fellow-travellers.
We marched _via_ Kishtwar, Chamba, and Dharmsala, a distance of about
400 miles, through most beautiful scenery. At the last-named place I
parted from my companions, who travelled onwards to Simla by the Kulu
valley, while I took the shorter route _via_ Bilaspur.
The Simla of those days was not the busy and important place it
has since become. The Governor-General seldom visited it, and the
Commander-in-Chief only spent a summer there occasionally. When I
arrived, Sir William Gomm, the Commander-in-Chief of that day, who had
been spending the hot weather months there, was about to give up his
command, and Colonel Grant,[7] who had been his Adjutant-General, had
left not long before.
The only thing of interest to myself which occurred during the month I
remained at Simla was that I lunched with Colonel Arthur Becher, the
Quartermaster-General. I think I hear my reader say, 'Not a very
remarkable event to chronicle.' But that lunch was a memorable one to
me; indeed, it was the turning-point in my career, for my host was
good enough to say he should like to have me in his department some
day, and this meant a great deal to me. Joining a department at that
time generally resulted in remaining in it for the greater part
of one's service. There was then no limit to the tenure of staff
appointments, and the object of every ambitious young officer was to
get into one department or another--political, civil, or the army
staff. My father had always impressed upon me that the political
department was _the_ one to aspire to, and failing that, the
Quartermaster-General's, as in the latter there was the best chance of
seeing service. I had cherished a sort of vague hope that I might some
day be lucky enough to become a Deputy Assistant-Quartermaster-General,
for although I fully recognized the advantages of a political career,
I preferred being more closely associated with the army, and I had seen
enough of staff work to satisfy myself that it would suit me; so the
few words spoken to me by Colonel Becher made me supremely happy.
It never entered into my head that I should get an early appointment;
the fact of the Quartermaster-General thinking of me as a possible
recruit was quite enough for me. I was in no hurry to leave the Horse
Artillery, to which I was proud of belonging, and in which I hoped to
see service while still on the frontier. I left Simla very pleased
with the result of my visit, and very grateful to Colonel Becher, who
proved a good friend to me ever after, and I made my way to Mian Mir,
where I went through the riding-school course, and then returned to
Peshawar.
(1856) The winter of 1855-56 passed much as the cold weather generally
does in the north of India. Our amusements consisted of an occasional
race-meeting or cricket match. Polo was unknown in those days, and
hunting the jackal, a sport which has been a source of so much
recreation to the Peshawar garrison for thirty odd years, had not then
been thought of. It was a pleasant change to visit the outposts, and
whenever I got the chance I rode over to Mardan, where the Corps
of Guides were stationed, commanded by that gallant soldier, Harry
Lumsden,[8] who had raised the corps in 1846 under the auspices of
Henry Lawrence. Many were the good gallops I enjoyed with his hawks,
hunting the _aubara_.[9] Of work there was plenty at Peshawar, for the
Brigadier, Sydney Cotton,[10] kept us alive with field days, carefully
instilling into us his idea that parade-grounds were simply useful for
drill and preliminary instruction, and that as soon as the rudiments
of a soldier's education had been learnt, the troops should leave
their nursery, and try as far as possible to practise in peace what
they would have to do in war. Sydney Cotton was never tired of
explaining that the machinery of war, like all other machinery, should
be kept, so to speak, oiled and ready for use.
My dream of a staff appointment was realized more quickly than I had
expected. In the early part of 1856 the Surveyor-General applied for
the services of two or three experienced officers to assist in the
survey of Kashmir. Lumsden, the D.A.Q.M.G., was one of those selected
for the duty, and I was appointed to officiate for him. So delighted
was I to get my foot on the lowest rung of the staff ladder, that I
cheerfully agreed to the condition my Captain insisted upon, that I
should perform my regimental duties in addition to the staff work.
Things went merrily with me for a short time, when most unexpectedly
my hopes of some day becoming Quartermaster-General of the Army in
India were dashed to the ground by the Governor-General refusing
to confirm my appointment, because I had not passed the prescribed
examination in Hindustani. A rule existed requiring a language test,
but it had seldom been enforced, certainly not in the case of 'acting
appointments,' so that this refusal came as a great blow to me. It
had, however, excellent results, for it made me determined to pass in
Hindustani. It was then May, and in July the half-yearly examination
was to be held. I forthwith engaged the best _munshi_[11] at Peshawar,
shut myself up, and studied Indian literature from morning till night,
until I felt pretty confident of success.
Just before the examination took place, the officer who had stepped
into my shoes when I was turned out (Lieutenant Mordaunt Fitz-Gerald,
of my own regiment) was offered an appointment in the Punjab Frontier
Force. He consulted me as to the advisability of accepting it, and
I told him I thought he ought not to do so. I considered this most
disinterested advice, for I had good reason to believe that I should
be re-appointed to the staff, should the appointment again become
vacant. Fortunately for me, Fitz-Gerald followed the usual procedure
of those who delight in consulting their friends. He listened to my
advice, and then decided not to follow it. Accordingly, he joined the
Punjab Frontier Force, whilst I, having passed the examination, went
back to the coveted appointment, and continued in the department, with
the exception of one or two short intervals, until 1878, when I left
it as Quartermaster-General.
The autumn of 1856 was a very sickly one at Peshawar; fever was rife
amongst the troops, and in the hope of shaking it off Brigadier Cotton
got permission to take a certain number into camp. It was September,
and the sun was still very hot, so that it was necessary to begin the
daily march long before dawn in order to reach the new camping ground
while it was still tolerably cool. We crossed the Kabul river at
Nowshera, which place was then being made into a station for troops,
and marched about the Yusafzai plain for three weeks. The chief
difficulty was the absence of water, and I had to prospect the country
every afternoon for a sufficient supply, and to determine, with regard
to this _sine qua non_, where the camp should be pitched the next day.
On one occasion the best place I could discover was between two and
three miles off the main road. There was no difficulty in reaching it
by day, but I was afraid of some mistake being made when we had to
leave it in the small hours of the morning, few things being more
bewildering than to find one's way in the dark from a camp pitched in
the open country when once the tents have been struck. It was my duty
to lead the column and see that it marched off in the right direction;
knowing how anxious the Brigadier was that the new ground should be
reached while it was cool, and the men be thus saved from exposure to
the sun, I was careful to note my position with regard to the stars,
and to explain to the officer who was in orders to command the advance
guard the direction he must take. When the time came to start, and the
Brigadier was about to order the bugler to sound the march, I saw that
the advance guard was drawn up at right angles to the way in which we
had to proceed. The officer commanding it was positive he was right,
and in this he was supported by Brigadier Cotton and some of the other
officers; I was equally positive that he was wrong, and that if we
marched as he proposed, we should find ourselves several miles out
of our course. The Brigadier settled the question by saying I was
responsible for the troops going in the right direction, and ordering
me to show the way. The country was perfectly bare, there was not
a tree or object of any kind to guide me, and the distance seemed
interminable. I heard opinions freely expressed that I was on the
wrong road, and at last, when the Brigadier himself came up to me and
said he thought I must have lost the way, I really began to waver in
my conviction that I was right. At that moment my horse stumbled into
a ditch, which proved to be the boundary of the main road. I was
immensely relieved, the Brigadier was delighted, and from that moment
I think he was satisfied that I had, what is so essential to a
Quartermaster-General in the field, the bump of locality.
In October the Artillery moved into the practice camp at Chamkanie,
about five miles from Peshawar. It was intended that we should remain
there for a couple of months, but before the end of that time I had
to join the General at Rawal Pindi, where he had gone on a tour of
inspection. Being anxious not to shirk my regimental duty, I did not
leave Chamkanie until the last moment, and had but one day in which
to reach Rawal Pindi, a distance of one hundred miles, which I
accomplished on horseback between 7 a.m. and 6 p.m., only stopping at
Attock a short time for refreshment.
This tour with General Reed ended my staff duties for a time, as
the survey in Kashmir had come to an end and Lumsden rejoined his
appointment before Christmas.
[Footnote 1: Now a retired Major-General.]
[Footnote 2: Now General Sir James Abbott, K.C.B.]
[Footnote 3: Men who carry the guns, and point out the most likely
places for game, etc.]
[Footnote 4: 26,000 feet above the sea-level.]
[Footnote 5: Three miles east of Islamabad.]
[Footnote 6: Now General Sir John Watson, V.C., K.C.B.]
[Footnote 7: The late Field-Marshal Sir Patrick Grant, G.C.B.,
G.C.S.I.]
[Footnote 8: The late General Sir Harry Lumsden, K.C.S.I., C.B.]
[Footnote 9: Bastard florican.]
[Footnote 10: This officer arrived in India as a Cornet in the 24th
Light Dragoons in the year 1810, and although, when he reached
Peshawar with his regiment--the 22nd Foot--in 1853, he had been
forty-three years in the army, and was sixty-one years of age, he had
not even succeeded to the command of a battalion. He was an officer
of unusual energy and activity, a fine rider, a pattern drill, and a
thorough soldier all round. He was not fortunate enough to see much
active service, but it must have been a source of consolation to him
to feel, when ending his days as Governor of the Royal Hospital at
Chelsea, that it was in a great measure owing to his foresight and
decision that there was no serious disturbance at Peshawar during the
eventful summer of 1857.]
[Footnote 11: Instructor in Oriental languages.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER V.
1856-1857
Lord Dalhousie's Afghan policy--Treaty with Dost Mahomed
--War with Persia--The advantage of the Amir's friendship
--John Nicholson--'A pillar of strength on the frontier'
Towards the close of the year 1856, a rumour reached us that the Amir,
Dost Mahomed Khan, was shortly expected to arrive at Peshawar to meet
the Chief Commissioner, Sir John Lawrence, who had recently been made
a K.C.B.
Before describing the Amir's visit and its results, it seems desirable
that I should briefly explain how and why the visit was brought about,
and then endeavour to show what an important bearing its results had
on the great crisis which occurred so unexpectedly a few months later.
It will be remembered that the murdered Mackeson was succeeded
as Commissioner of Peshawar by Herbert Edwardes, one of the most
remarkable men that the Indian army has ever produced, and who, as I
have already mentioned, entirely concurred in my father's expressed
opinion as to the great advantage it would be for the Government of
India to enter into more friendly relations with the Ruler of Kabul.
They both held that the constant troubles all along our frontier were
in a great measure due to the Amir's hostility, and that such troubles
would increase rather than diminish unless we could succeed in
establishing an _entente cordiale_ with Dost Mahomed.
In 1854 Edwardes had a correspondence with the Governor-General on the
subject, and on one occasion expressed himself as follows: 'My own
feeling is, that we have much injured Dost Mahomed, and may very well
afford to let by-gones be by-gones. It would contribute much to
the security of this frontier if open relations of goodwill were
established at Kabul. There is a sullenness in our present relations,
as if both parties were brooding over the past, and expecting an
opportunity in the future. This keeps up excitement and unrest, and
prevents our influence and institutions taking root. I should be very
glad to see a new account opened on the basis of an open treaty of
friendship and alliance.'
Lord Dalhousie was quite in accord with Edwardes. He thought it very
desirable to be on better terms with Kabul, but believed this to be
a result difficult to attain. 'I give you,' he said in a letter to
Edwardes, _carte blanche_, and if you can only bring about such a
result as you propose, it will be a new feather in your cap.'
Lord Dalhousie was supported by the British Government in his opinion
as to the desirability of coming to a better understanding with the
Amir. War with Russia was then imminent, and the strained condition of
European politics made it expedient that we should be on more amicable
terms with Afghanistan.
The Governor-General thus wrote to Edwardes:
'Prospects of a war between Russia and Turkey are watched with
interest by all.... In England they are fidgety regarding this border
beyond all reason, and most anxious for that declared amity and that
formal renewal of friendly relations which you advocate in your
letter.'
The balance of Indian opinion, however, was against our making
overtures to Dost Mahomed. John Lawrence, at that time the great power
in the Punjab, was altogether opposed to Edwardes's policy in this
matter. He admitted that it might be wise to renew intercourse
with the Kabul ruler if he first expressed his regret for previous
misunderstandings; but later he wrote to Edwardes:
'I dare say you are right; still, I cannot divest myself of the
idea that it is _a mistake_, and will end in mixing us up in
Afghan politics and affairs more than is desirable. The strength
which a treaty can give us seems to be a delusion. It will be like
the reed on which, if a man lean, it will break and pierce his
hand.'
John Nicholson, Outram, and James Abbott agreed with Lawrence.
They urged that any advance on our part would be looked upon as an
indication of conscious weakness; and the probability was that an
arrogant, irritated Mussulman ruler would regard an overture as a
proof of our necessity, and would make our necessity his opportunity.
But Lord Dalhousie, while anxious to avoid any communication being
made which could be liable to misconstruction, saw neither objection
nor risk in opening the door to reconciliation, provided no undue
anxiety was displayed on our part. The Governor-General practically
left the matter in the hands of Edwardes, who lost no time in trying
to attain the desired object. The greatest forbearance and diplomatic
skill were necessary to bring the negotiations to a satisfactory
termination, but they were concluded at last, most successfully, and
to Edwardes alone is due the credit. It is instructive to read the
full record[1] of this tedious and difficult piece of diplomacy,
for it serves as an interesting example of Oriental subtlety and
circumlocution, contrasted with the straightforward dealing of a
high-minded Englishman.
The Amir wrote a letter to the Governor-General couched in most
satisfactory terms, which he forwarded to Peshawar by the hand of his
confidential secretary, and which received, as it deserved, a very
friendly reply. This resulted in Dost Mahomed sending his son and
heir-apparent, Sardar Ghulam Haidar Khan, to Peshawar, and deputing
him to act as his Plenipotentiary in the negotiations. Ghulam Haidar
Khan reached Peshawar in March, 1855, where he was met by the Chief
Commissioner, and on the 30th of that month the treaty was concluded.
'It guaranteed that we should respect the Amir's possessions in
Afghanistan, and never interfere with them; while the Amir engaged
similarly to respect British territory, and to be the friend of our
friends and the enemy of our enemies.'
The Governor-General had at first resolved to entrust to Edwardes the
duty of meeting the expected Envoy from Kabul, and orders to that
effect were issued. But Edwardes, more anxious for the success of
the negotiations than for his own honour and glory, wrote to
Lord Dalhousie suggesting that the Government of India should be
represented by the Chief Commissioner of the Punjab, and promising to
afford Sir John Lawrence all the assistance in his power. Edwardes
believed that the importance of the treaty would be enhanced in the
eyes of the Afghans by the presence of the higher official; and in
this opinion the Governor-General concurred. On the conclusion of the
treaty, Lord Dalhousie wrote to Edwardes: 'I congratulate you and
myself and all else concerned on this successful issue of the
negotiations, which have now lasted just a year.'
This treaty of March, 1855, was only preliminary to that for the
ratification of which the Amir came in person to Peshawar the
following year.
Towards the end of 1855 Dost Mahomed found himaelf in considerable
difficulties, and appealed to us for assistance. A revolt had occurred
at Herat, and a Persian army was preparing to besiege that fortress;
the chiefs and people of Kandahar were disaffected; and the province
of Balkh was threatened with invasion both by the King of Bokhara and
by Turkoman hordes. The Amir looked upon Herat as an integral part of
the Afghan dominions, and was very desirous of re-establishing his
authority over that place and preventing its falling into the hands of
the Persians; but he felt himself too weak to have any hope of success
without help from us in men and money. It was, therefore, Dost
Mahomed's interest to convince the British Government that the Shah
had infringed the conditions of an engagement entered into with us in
1853, under which Persia abandoned all claim to Herat. The Amir thus
hoped to establish a quarrel between England and Persia for his own
benefit, and to secure our assistance against the latter power. To
further this design, Dost Mahomed offered to come to Peshawar and
consult with the British authorities. Edwardes was in favour of the
proposed visit. John Lawrence was opposed to it, saying he did not
think much good would result from such a meeting, because it could
hardly be anticipated that the views of the Amir and the British
Government would coincide, and if Dost Mahomed should fail to obtain
what he wanted, his dissatisfaction would be a positive evil. The
Governor-General admitted the force of these objections, but in the
end considered that they should be set aside if the Amir was in
earnest in desiring a consultation. 'A refusal or an evasion to comply
with his wish,' Lord Dalhousie thought, 'might be misunderstood, and
although a meeting might lead to disappointment and disagreement, it
would, at any rate, put the relations of the British Government with
the Amir, as regards Herat, upon a clear footing.'
While this discussion was going on, the advance of a Persian army for
the purpose of besieging Herat, coupled with the insults offered to
the British flag at Teheran, led to the declaration of war between
England and Persia. The Chief Commissioner was therefore directed to
tell the Amir that he would be paid a periodical subsidy to aid him
in carrying on hostile operations against Persia, subject to certain
conditions. On receiving these instructions, the Chief Commissioner
directed Edwardes to invite the Amir to an interview. Dost Mahomed
accepted the invitation, but before the auspicious meeting could take
place Lord Dalhousie had left India, and Lord Canning reigned in his
stead. Lord Dalhousie resigned on the 29th February, 1856, after
having filled the arduous and responsible position of Governor-General
for no less than eight years, adding year by year fresh lustre to his
splendid reputation.
The first day of 1857 witnessed the meeting between the Amir of Kabul
and the Chief Commissioner of the Punjab. The Amir's camp was pitched
at the mouth of the Khyber Pass, and that of the Chief Commissioner on
the plain near Jamrud. Barr's troop of Horse Artillery formed part of
the escort, so I was in the midst of it all. On the occasion of the
Amir's first visit to the English camp, there was a force present
of upwards of 7,000 soldiers, including three regiments of British
Infantry; the troops lined the road for more than a mile, and it was
evident that their strength and soldierly appearance inspired the
Amir and his followers with a very salutary feeling of awe and
admiration.[2]
The result of the conferences between these two great personages was
an agreement confirming the treaty of the year before. In addition,
the Amir bound himself to keep up a certain number of regular troops
for the defence of Afghanistan, so long as the war with Persia
continued, in consideration of a monthly subsidy of Rs. 100,000 and
a gift of 4,000 muskets. He also engaged to communicate to the
Government of India any overtures he might receive from Persia, and
he consented to allow British officers to visit certain parts of his
dominions, either for the purpose of assisting his subjects against
Persia, or to ascertain that the subsidy was properly applied.
I have dwelt at some length on this treaty with Afghanistan, first,
because the policy of which this was the outcome was, as I have
already shown, initiated by my father; and, secondly, because I do not
think it is generally understood how important to us were its results.
Not only did it heal the wounds left open from the first Afghan war,
but it relieved England of a great anxiety at a time when throughout
the length and breadth of India there was distress, revolt, bloodshed,
and bitter distrust of our Native troops. Dost Mahomed loyally held
to his engagements during the troublous days of the Mutiny which so
quickly followed this alliance, when, had he turned against us, we
should assuredly have lost the Punjab; Delhi could never have been
taken; in fact, I do not see how any part of the country north of
Bengal could have been saved. Dost Mahomed's own people could not
understand his attitude. They frequently came to him during the
Mutiny, throwing their turbans at his feet, and praying him as a
Mahomedan to seize that opportunity for destroying the 'infidels.'
'Hear the news from Delhi,' they urged; 'see the difficulties the
Feringhis are in. Why don't you lead us on to take advantage of their
weakness, and win back Peshawar?'[3]
But I am anticipating, and must return to my narrative.
The clause of the treaty which interested me personally was that
relating to British officers being allowed to visit Afghanistan,
to give effect to which a Mission was despatched to Kandahar. It
consisted of three officers, the brothers Harry and Peter Lumsden, and
Dr. Bellew, together with two of Edwardes's trusted Native Chiefs. The
selection of Peter Lumsden as a member of this Mission again left the
Deputy Assistant-Quartermaster-Generalship vacant, and I was a second
time appointed to officiate in his absence.
Shortly afterwards the General of the division (General Reed) started
on his tour of inspection, taking me with him as his staff officer.
Jhelum was the first place we visited. Whether the sepoys had then
any knowledge of what was so soon to happen is doubtful. If they had,
there was no evidence that such was the case. Nothing could have
been more proper or respectful than their behaviour; no crimes were
reported, no complaints were made. The British officers, certainly,
had not the slightest idea of the storm that was brewing, for they
spoke in the warmest terms of their men.
From Jhelum we went to Rawal Pindi. John Lawrence happened to be in
camp there at the time, and looked on at the General's inspection.
At the conclusion of the parade he sent his secretary to ask me if
I would like to be appointed to the Public Works Department. I
respectfully declined the offer, though very grateful for its having
been made. Some of my friends doubted the wisdom of my refusing
a permanent civil appointment; but it meant having to give up
soldiering, which I could not make up my mind to do, and though only
officiating, I was already in the department to which of all others I
wished to belong.
Nowshera was the last station we visited. It was the beginning of
April, and getting rather hot for parading troops. I there met for the
first time the present Commander-in-Chief in India, General Sir George
White, who was then a subaltern in the 27th (Inniskilling) Regiment.
I recollect the commanding officer of the 55th, the Native Infantry
corps at this station, who had served all his life with clean-looking,
closely-shaven Hindustanis, pointing with a look of contempt, not to
say disgust, to some Sikhs (a certain proportion of whom had been
under recent orders enlisted in regiments of Native Infantry), and
expressing his regret that he could not get them to shave their beards
and cut their hair. 'They quite spoil the look of my regiment,' he
said. In less than two months' time the Hindustanis, of whom the
Colonel was so proud, had broken into open mutiny; the despised Sikhs
were the only men of the regiment who remained faithful; and the
commanding officer, a devoted soldier who lived for his regiment, and
who implored that his men might not have their arms taken away, as he
had 'implicit confidence' in them, and would 'stake his life on their
fidelity,' had blown his brains out because he found that confidence
misplaced.
Towards the end of April I was ordered to report on the capabilities
of Cherat (now well known to all who have been stationed at Peshawar)
as a sanatorium for European soldiers. I spent two or three days
surveying the hill and searching for water in the neighbourhood. It
was not safe to remain on the top at night, so I used to return each
evening to the plain below, where my tent was pitched. On one occasion
I was surprised to find a camp had risen up during my absence quite
close to my tent. I discovered that it belonged to Lieutenant-Colonel
John Nicholson, the Deputy-Commissioner, who was on his tour of
inspection, and very soon I received an invitation to dine with him,
at which I was greatly pleased. John Nicholson was a name to conjure
with in the Punjab. I had heard it mentioned with an amount of
respect--indeed, awe--which no other name could excite, and I was all
curiosity to see the man whose influence on the frontier was so great
that his word was law to the refractory tribes amongst whom he lived.
He had only lately arrived in Peshawar, having been transferred from
Bannu, a difficult and troublesome district ruled by him as it had
never been ruled before, and where he made such a reputation for
himself that, while he was styled 'a pillar of strength on the
frontier' by Lord Dalhousie, he was looked up to as a god by the
Natives, who loved as much as they feared him. By some of them he was
actually worshipped as a saint; they formed themselves into a sect,
and called themselves 'Nicholseyns.' Nicholson impressed me more
profoundly than any man I had ever met before, or have ever met since.
I have never seen anyone like him. He was the beau-ideal of a soldier
and a gentleman. His appearance was distinguished and commanding, with
a sense of power about him which to my mind was the result of his
having passed so much of his life amongst the wild and lawless
tribesmen, with whom his authority was supreme. Intercourse with
this man amongst men made me more eager than ever to remain on the
frontier, and I was seized with ambition to follow in his footsteps.
Had I never seen Nicholson again, I might have thought that the
feelings with which he inspired me were to some extent the result of
my imagination, excited by the astonishing stories I had heard of his
power and influence; my admiration, however, for him was immeasurably
strengthened when, a few weeks later, I served as his staff officer,
and had opportunities of observing more closely his splendid soldierly
qualities and the workings of his grand, simple mind.
[Illustration: BRIGADIER-GENERAL JOHN NICHOLSON, C.B.
_From a painting by J.R. Dicksee, in the possession of the Reverend
Canon Seymour._]
It was the end of April when I returned to Peshawar from Cherat, and
rapidly getting hot. On the strength of being a D.A.Q.M.G., I had
moved into a better house than I had hitherto been able to afford,
which I shared with Lieutenant Hovenden of the Engineers. We were
just settling down and making ourselves comfortable for the long hot
weather, when all our plans were upset by the breaking out of the
Mutiny.
[Footnote 1: See 'Memorials of the Life and Letters of Major-General
Sir Herbert Edwardes.']
[Footnote 2: 'Memorials of Major-General Sir Herbert Edwardes.']
[Footnote 3: _Ibid._]
CHAPTER VI.
1857
First tidings of the mutiny--Prompt action at Peshawar
--A bold policy--The Movable Column--An annoying occurrence
--I leave Peshawar
The first threatenings of coming trouble were heard in the early part
of 1857. During the months of February, March, and April, rumours
reached us at Peshawar of mysterious _chupattis_ (unleavened cakes)
being sent about the country with the object, it was alleged, of
preparing the Natives for some forthcoming event. There was also an
evident feeling of unrest and dissatisfaction in the minds of the
sepoys. We heard that the 19th Native Infantry at Berhampur, a
military station about 100 miles from Calcutta, had broken open the
bells-of-arms,[1] and forcibly taken possession of their muskets and
ammunition; that a sepoy named Mangal Pandy,[2] belonging to the 34th
Native Infantry at Barrackpore, had attacked and severely wounded
the Adjutant and Sergeant-Major of his regiment; that it was found
necessary to disband the 19th on the 30th March, and the 34th on the
6th May; that bungalows had been burnt in several stations; and
that the sepoys at the Schools of Musketry had objected to use the
cartridges served out with the new rifles, because, it was asserted,
they were greased with a mixture of cow's fat and lard, the one being
as obnoxious to the prejudices of the Hindu as the other is to those
of the Mussulman.
It seems strange on looking back that these many warnings should have
passed almost unheeded, and that there should have been no suspicion
amongst the officers serving with Native regiments that discontent was
universal amongst the sepoys, and that a mutiny of the whole Bengal
Army was imminent. But at that time the reliance on the fidelity of
the Native troops was unbounded, and officers believed implicitly in
the contentment and loyalty of their men. Their faith in them was
extraordinary. Even after half the Native army had mutinied and many
officers had been murdered, those belonging to the remaining regiments
could not believe that their own particular men could be guilty of
treachery.
At Peshawar there was not the slightest suspicion of the extent to
which the evil had spread, and we were quite thunderstruck when, on
the evening of the 11th May, as we were sitting at mess, the telegraph
signaller rushed in breathless with excitement, a telegram in his
hand, which proved to be a message from Delhi 'to all stations in the
Punjab,' conveying the startling intelligence that a very serious
outbreak had occurred at Meerut the previous evening, that some of
the troopers from there had already reached Delhi, that the Native
soldiers at the latter place had joined the mutineers, and that many
officers and residents at both stations had been killed.
Lieutenant-Colonel Davidson, commanding the 16th Irregular Cavalry,
who happened to be dining at mess that evening, was the first to
recover from the state of consternation into which we were thrown
by the reading of this telegram. He told us it was of the utmost
importance that the Commissioner and the General should at once be put
in possession of this astounding news, and at the same time impressed
upon us the imperative necessity for keeping it secret.
Davidson then hurried off to the Commissioner, who with his deputy,
Nicholson, lived within a stone's-throw of the mess. Edwardes drove at
once to the General's house, while Nicholson came to our mess. He too
pointed out to us the importance of preventing the news from getting
about and of keeping it as long as possible from the Native soldiers.
We had at Peshawar three regiments of Native Cavalry and five of
Native Infantry, not less than 5,000 men, while the strength of the
two British regiments and the Artillery did not exceed 2,000. This
European force was more than sufficient to cope with the eight Native
corps, but in the event of any general disturbance amongst the Native
troops, we had to calculate on the probability of their being joined
by the 50,000 inhabitants of the city, and, indeed, by the entire
population of the Peshawar valley; not to speak of the tribes all
along the border, who were sure to rise.
It was an occasion for the gravest anxiety, and the delay of even a
few hours in the sepoys becoming aware of the disastrous occurrences
at Meerut and Delhi meant a great deal to us.
Fortunately for India, there were good men and true at Peshawar in
those days, when hesitation and irresolution would have been
fatal, and it is worthy of note that they were comparatively young
men--Edwardes was thirty-seven, Nicholson thirty-five; Neville
Chamberlain, the distinguished Commandant of the Punjab Frontier Force
(who was hastily summoned from Kohat, where he happened to be on his
tour of inspection), was thirty-seven; and the Brigadier, Sydney
Cotton, though much older, being sixty-five, was not only
exceptionally young for his years and full of energy and intelligence,
but actually much younger than the average of General officers
commanding stations in India.
At once, on hearing of the Mutiny, Edwardes, acting in unison with
Nicholson, sent to the post-office and laid hands on all Native
correspondence; the letters they thus secured showed but too plainly
how necessary was this precaution. The number of seditious papers
seized was alarmingly great; they were for the most part couched in
figurative and enigmatical language, but it was quite sufficiently
clear from them that every Native regiment in the garrison was more or
less implicated and prepared to join the rebel movement.
A strong interest attaches to these letters, for they brought to light
the true feeling of the Natives towards us at the time, and it was
evident from them that the sepoys had really been made to believe that
we intended to destroy their caste by various unholy devices, of
which the issue of contaminating cartridges was one. The seeds of
disaffection had been sown by agitators, who thought they saw an
opportunity for realizing their hope of overthrowing our rule,
maintained as it was by a mere handful of Europeans in the midst of a
vast population of Asiatics. This feeling of antagonism, only guessed
at before, was plainly revealed in these letters, never intended to
meet the European eye. Some corps did not appear to be quite so guilty
as others, but there could now be no doubt that all were tainted with
disloyalty, and that none of the Hindustani troops could any longer be
trusted.
In the afternoon of Tuesday, the 12th May, I received a note from the
General commanding the division directing me to present myself at his
house the following morning, which I accordingly did. Besides General
Reed I found there the Brigadier, Sydney Cotton; the Commissioner,
Herbert Edwardes; the Deputy Commissioner, John Nicholson;
Brigadier Neville Chamberlain, and Captain Wright, Deputy
Assistant-Adjutant-General, who, like myself, had been summoned to
record the decisions that might be arrived at.
This meeting was a most momentous one, and I remember being greatly
impressed with the calm and comprehensive view of the situation taken
by Edwardes and Nicholson. They had already been in communication with
the Chief Commissioner, and had, previous to the meeting, received a
telegram from him approving generally of the several proposals they
contemplated. John Lawrence also informed them that the authorities
at Lahore had decided on disarming the Native troops at Mian Mir that
very morning.
The problem to be solved was how the Punjab could best be made secure
with the small force of British troops available--all told not more
than 15,000, with 84 guns--against upwards of 65,000 Natives (of whom
42,000 were Hindustanis), with 62 guns.[3] In all stations Native
troops preponderated, and in some there were no European soldiers at
all.
Edwardes and Nicholson gave it as their opinion that the only chance
of keeping the Punjab and the frontier quiet lay in trusting the
Chiefs and people, and in endeavouring to induce them to side with us
against the Hindustanis. They undertook to communicate, regarding
the raising of levies and fresh troops, with their friends and
acquaintances along the border, who had proved such staunch allies in
1848-49, when we were fighting with the Sikhs. How nobly these loyal
men responded to the demand made upon them, and how splendidly the
frontier and Punjab soldiers whom they brought to our assistance
behaved, will be seen hereafter.
Amongst other matters of importance, it was proposed by those two able
soldier-civilians, Edwardes and Nicholson, that General Reed, as the
senior officer in the Punjab, should join the Chief Commissioner at
Rawal Pindi, leaving Brigadier Cotton in command at Peshawar; that a
Movable Column, composed of reliable troops, should be organized
at some convenient place in the Punjab,[4] prepared to move in any
direction where its services might be required; that the Hindustani
regiments should be scattered as much as possible, in order to prevent
dangerous combinations; that a detachment of Punjab Infantry from
Kohat should replace the Hindustani sepoys in the fort of Attock,
which was a very important position, as it contained a magazine, and
covered the passage of the Indus; and that a small guard of Pathan
levies, under a tried and trusty frontier Native officer, should be
placed in charge of the Attock ferry.
All these proposals were cordially and unanimously agreed to by the
military authorities present.
The question of the command of the Movable Column was then discussed.
It was considered essential that the officer selected should, in
addition to other necessary qualifications, have considerable
experience of the country, and an intimate knowledge of Native
soldiers. It was no ordinary command. On the action of the Movable
Column would depend, to a great extent, the maintenance of peace and
order throughout the Punjab, and it was felt that, at such a crisis,
the best man must be selected, irrespective of seniority. It was a
position for which Cotton and Nicholson would have given much, and for
which they were well qualified, but there was important work for them
to do at Peshawar. Neville Chamberlain was available, and there was
a general consensus of opinion that he should be appointed. It was
necessary, however, to refer the matter to the Chief Commissioner,
with a request that he would submit it for the orders of the
Commander-in-Chief. This course was adopted, and in a few hours a
reply was received from General Anson nominating Chamberlain to the
command. My anxiety as to the Commander-in-Chief's decision was very
considerable; for Brigadier Chamberlain, to my infinite delight and
astonishment, had offered, in the event of his being appointed, to
take me with him as his staff officer--the most wonderful piece of
good fortune that could have come to me; my readers must imagine
my feelings, for it is impossible for me to describe them. My most
sanguine hopes seemed about to be more than realized; for though the
serious aspect of affairs seemed to promise the chance of active
service, I little thought that I should be lucky enough to be employed
as the staff officer of such a distinguished soldier as Neville
Chamberlain.
When the meeting was over I was ordered to take the several messages,
which Wright and I had written out, to the telegraph office, and see
them despatched myself; as they disclosed more or less the measures
that had been decided upon, it was necessary to avoid any chance of
their falling into the hands of Native clerks. One of the messages[5]
contained a summary of the proceedings of the council, and was
addressed to the commanding officers of all stations in the Punjab,
with the view of imparting confidence, and letting them know what
steps were being taken for the protection of the British residents
throughout the province. This duty having been carried out, I returned
home in a not unpleasant frame of mind, for though the crisis was a
grave one, the outlook gloomy, and the end doubtful, the excitement
was great. There were stirring times in store for us, when every man's
powers would be tested, and the hopefulness of youth inclined me to
look only on the bright side of the situation.
My equanimity was somewhat disturbed later in the day by an occurrence
which caused me a good deal of annoyance at the time, though it
soon passed away. Nicholson came to my house and told me that the
proceedings at the meeting that morning had in some unaccountable
manner become known; and he added, much to my disgust, that it was
thought I might perhaps have been guilty of the indiscretion of
divulging them. I was very angry, for I had appreciated as much as
anyone the immense importance of keeping the decisions arrived at
perfectly secret; and I could not help showing something of the
indignation I felt at its having been thought possible that I could
betray the confidence reposed in me. I denied most positively having
done so; upon which Nicholson suggested that we should proceed
together to the telegraph office and see whether the information
could have leaked out from there. The signaller was a mere boy, and
Nicholson's imposing presence and austere manner were quite too much
for him; he was completely cowed, and, after a few hesitating denials,
he admitted having satisfied the curiosity of a friend who had
inquired of him how the authorities intended to deal with the
crisis. This was enough, and I was cleared. The result to me of this
unpleasant incident was a delightful increase of intimacy with the
man for whom above all others I had the greatest admiration and most
profound respect. As if to make up for his momentary injustice,
Nicholson was kinder to me than ever, and I felt I had gained in him a
firm and constant friend. So ended that eventful day.
At that time it was the custom for a staff officer, who had charge of
any Government property, to have a guard of Native soldiers in charge
of his house. That night it happened that my guard was furnished
by the 64th Native Infantry, a regiment with a particularly bad
reputation, and which had, in order to give effect to the measures
proposed at the morning's meeting, been ordered to leave Peshawar and
proceed to the outposts. The intercepted letters showed that this
regiment was on the point of mutinying, and I could not help feeling,
as I lay down on my bed, which, as usual in the hot weather, was
placed in the verandah for the sake of coolness, how completely I was
at the mercy of the sentry who walked up and down within a few feet of
me. Fortunately, he was not aware that his regiment was suspected, and
could not know the reason for the sudden order to march, or my career
might have been ended then and there.
Within a week from that time I had started for Rawal Pindi to be ready
to join the Movable Column, which was to be formed at Wazirabad as
soon as the troops could be got together. I took with me only just
enough kit for a hot-weather march, and left everything standing in my
house just as it was, little thinking that I should never return to it
or be quartered in Peshawar again.
[Footnote 1: Place where the arms and accoutrements of Native
regiments were kept.]
[Footnote 2: This name was the origin of the sepoys generally being
called Pandies.]
[Footnote 3: At Meerut, Delhi, and Rurki, and in the Punjab there
were:
_British Troops._
MEN. GUNS.
2 Regiments of Cavalry 1,410
12 Regiments of Infantry 12,624
9 Troops of Horse Artillery 1,017 54
5 Light Field Batteries 415 30
10 Companies of Foot Artillerymen 837
------ --
Total 16,303 84
_Native Troops._
MEN. GUNS.
7 Regiments of Light Cavalry 3,514
14 Regiments of Irregular Cavalry and
Guides Cavalry 8,519
31 Regiments of Regular Infantry }
15 Regiments of Irregular Infantry and } 50,188
Guides Infantry }
3 Troops of Horse Artillery 411 18
6 Light Field Batteries 930 30 (3 batteries had
only 4 guns each)
2 Mountain Batteries 192 14 (1 battery had 8,
the other 6 guns)
3 Companies of Foot Artillery 330
Head-Quarters and 12 Companies of
Sappers and Miners 1,394
------ --
Total 65,478 62
The above figures show the troops at full strength. There were
probably not more than 15,000 British soldiers in the Punjab available
for duty in May, 1857.]
[Footnote 4: The original proposal was that the Movable Column should
be formed at Jhelum, and composed of the 24th Foot from Rawal Pindi,
the 27th Foot from Nowshera, a troop of Horse Artillery from Peshawar,
a Native Field Battery from Jhelum, the Guides from Murdan, the 16th
Irregular Cavalry from Rawal Pindi, the Kumaon battalion from Murree,
the 1st Punjab Infantry from Bannu, and a wing of the 2nd Punjab
Cavalry from Kohat. But events developed so rapidly that before the
column was formed every one of these troops was otherwise employed. It
was thought unwise to unduly weaken the Peshawar valley; the troop of
Horse Artillery, therefore, stood fast, the 27th Foot was halted at
Attock, and the 24th Foot and Kumaon battalion were kept at their
stations ready to move towards the frontier. The Guides, 2nd Punjab
Cavalry, and 1st Punjab Infantry were ordered to Delhi, and the 16th
Irregular Cavalry and the Native Field Battery were not considered
sufficiently loyal to be employed on such a duty. Eventually, the
column was formed of one troop of Horse Artillery, one Field Battery,
and one Infantry regiment, all British and all from Sialkot.]
[Footnote 5: The full text of the message was as follows:
'To Sir John Lawrence, Rawal Pindi, the Commander-in-Chief, Simla,
and officers commanding all stations in the Punjab respectively;
to be forwarded by the assistant in charge of the telegraph
office, or post, as the case may be.
'The senior military officer in the Punjab, Major-General Reed,
having this morning received news of the disarming of the troops
at Mian Mir, a council of war was held, consisting of General
Reed, Brigadier Cotton, Brigadier Neville Chamberlain, Colonel
Edwardes, and Colonel Nicholson, and the following measures were
decided on, subject to the confirmation of the Commander-in-Chief.
General Reed assumes the chief military command in the Punjab;
his Head-Quarters will be the Head-Quarters of the Punjab Civil
Government, and a Movable Column will be formed at Jhelum at once,
consisting of [the troops were here detailed]. The necessary
orders for this column have been issued. The column will move on
every point in the Punjab where open mutiny requires to be put
down by force, and officers commanding at all stations in the
Punjab will co-operate with the column.']
* * * * *
CHAPTER VII.
1857
First symptoms of disaffection--Outbreak at Berhampur
--Mangal Pandy--Court-Martial at Meerut--Mutiny at Meerut
--The work of destruction--Want of energy
--Hugh Gough's experiences--Nothing could arrest the mutiny
Before proceeding with the account of my experiences with the Movable
Column, and the subsequent operations for the suppression of the
rebellion, in which I was fortunate enough to take part, it will,
I think, be advisable, for the better understanding of the whole
situation, to devote a little time to the consideration of the
progress of events from the first appearance of symptoms of
disaffection in Lower Bengal, to the crisis I have just been
describing, when Peshawar became involved in the general disturbance.
The substitution of a new rifle for the old musket with which the
sepoys had hitherto been armed entailed a different kind of drill;
and in order that this drill should be speedily learned by the
whole Native army, depots were formed at convenient places for the
instruction of selected men from every corps, who, on becoming
proficient, were to return and instruct their own regiments. One of
these depots was at Dum-Dum, and as early as the 24th January General
Hearsay, commanding the Presidency division, reported to Head-Quarters
that he perceived an 'unpleasant feeling' amongst the Native soldiers
learning the new drill, caused by a belief instilled into them 'by
designing persons, most likely Brahmins,' that they were to be forced
to embrace Christianity, and that for the furtherance of this object
the new ball-cartridges received from the arsenal at Fort William were
greased with the fat of pigs and cows, with the intention of violating
the religious prejudices and destroying the caste of those who would
have to bite them.
A little later various acts of incendiarism took place at other
stations in the command, and Hearsay became more than ever convinced
that there was grave dissatisfaction amongst the troops. He therefore
ordered a Court of Inquiry to be held to enable him to ascertain the
real cause of the ill-feeling which so evidently existed.
In the General's opinion, the statements recorded in the proceedings
of this Court clearly established the fact, that the Native officers
and sepoys were undoubtedly imbued with the belief that an unholy
mixture of cow's fat and lard had been used in the manufacture of the
new cartridge, and he recommended that the rifle ammunition should in
future be made up with the same description of paper that had always
been used for the musket-cartridge, which, he conceived, would put an
end to their suspicions and uneasiness.
The General, however, was told in reply that it was impossible to use
the old paper for the new cartridge, as the bore of the rifle being
much smaller than that of the musket, thinner paper was indispensable;
and he was directed to inform the sepoys that the new paper, though
tougher and less bulky, was made of exactly the same material as the
old. With respect to the lubricating mixture, he was to announce that
the Government had authorized the preparation of a grease, composed of
wax and oil, which was to be made up and applied to the cartridges
by the men themselves. These orders were carefully explained to the
Native troops, but without any good result. Their religious objection
to the new cartridge was not removed, and they frankly acknowledged
their fears.
On the 6th February an officer of the 34th Native Infantry at
Barrackpore was informed by a sepoy of his company that the four
Native regiments at that station, fearing that they would be forced
to destroy their caste and become Christians, had determined to rise
against their officers, and when they had plundered and burned their
bungalows, to proceed to Calcutta and try to seize Fort William,
or, if that proved beyond their powers, to take possession of the
treasury.
This circumstance was reported to Government by General Hearsay on the
11th February. In the same letter he said, 'We have at Barrackpore
been living upon a mine ready for explosion,' and he reported a story
which had reached him from Dum-Dum of a sepoy, on his way to cook
his food with his _lota_[1] full of water, meeting a low-caste man
belonging to the arsenal where the Enfield cartridges were being
manufactured. This man, it was said, asked the sepoy to allow him to
drink from his _lota_. The sepoy, a Brahmin, refused, saying: 'I have
scoured my _lota_; you will defile it by your touch.' The low-caste
man replied: 'You think much of your caste, but wait a little: the
_Sahib-logue_[2] will make you bite cartridges soaked in cow's fat,
and then where will your caste be?' The sepoy no doubt believed the
man, and told his comrades what was about to happen, and the report
rapidly spread to other stations.
Early in March several of the Hindu sepoys belonging to the Dum-Dum
School of Musketry expressed their unwillingness to bite the new
cartridge, and the Commandant proposed that the drill should be
altered so as to admit of the cartridge being torn instead of bitten.
Hearsay supported the proposal, remarking that the new mode of loading
need not be made to appear as a concession to agitation, but as part
of the drill for the new weapon. Events, however, moved so quickly
that, before sanction could be received to this suggestion, the troops
at Berhampur had broken into open mutiny. They refused to receive
their ammunition, on the ground of its being polluted, even after
it was explained to them that they were not being given the new
cartridges, but those which had been made up in the regiment a year
before. That night they broke open the bells-of-arms, and carried off
their muskets.
The Government then became aware that prompt action was necessary.
They decided that such open mutiny could not be excused on the grounds
of religious scruples, and ordered the regiment to be disbanded. As
Berhampur was somewhat isolated, and some distance from European
troops, it was arranged that the disbandment should take place at the
Head-Quarters of the Presidency division, and the 19th Native Infantry
was accordingly ordered to march to Barrackpore.
The revolt of this regiment brought forcibly before Lord Canning and
his advisers the perilous position of Lower Bengal, owing to the
paucity of European troops. Well may the authorities have been
startled, for between Calcutta and Meerut, a distance of 900 miles,
there were only four regiments of British infantry and a few scattered
Artillerymen, numbering in all less than 5,000, while the Native
troops amounted to upwards of 55,000. One of the four Infantry
regiments was at Fort William; but as only a portion of it could
be spared for the disbandment of the 19th, a special steamer was
despatched to Rangoon to bring over the 84th Foot. This regiment
reached Calcutta on the 20th March, and on the 31st the disbandment of
the mutinous Native Infantry regiment was carried out. The men were
paid up and escorted across the river Hughly, whence they were allowed
to proceed to their homes. They behaved in the most orderly manner on
the march from Berhampur and throughout the proceedings, and as they
left the parade-ground they cheered General Hearsay, and wished him a
long life, apparently well pleased at being let off so easily.
At Barrackpore itself an outbreak had occurred two days before in the
34th Native Infantry. As I have already related, the sepoy, Mangal
Pandy, shot at the sergeant-major.[3] The Adjutant, on hearing
what had happened, galloped to the parade-ground. As he neared the
quarter-guard he was fired at, and his horse shot by the mutineer, who
then badly wounded him with a sword as he was trying to disentangle
himself from the fallen animal. The General now appeared on the scene,
and, instantly grasping the position of affairs, rode straight at
Mangal Pandy, who stood at bay with his musket loaded, ready to
receive him. There was a shot, the whistle of a bullet, and a man fell
to the ground--but not the General; it was the fanatic sepoy himself,
who at the last moment had discharged the contents of his musket into
his own breast! The wretched man had been worked up to a pitch of
madness by the sepoys of his regiment, who stood by while he attacked
the Adjutant, and would have allowed him to kill their Commander, but
they were too great cowards to back him up openly. Mangal Pandy was
not dead. He was taken to the hospital, and eventually was tried by
a Court-Martial composed of Native officers, sentenced to death, and
hanged in the presence of all the troops at Barrackpore. The Native
officer in command of the quarter-guard met the same fate, and the
regiment was then disbanded.
The orders for the disbandment of the 19th and 34th Native Infantry
were directed to be read to every Native corps in the service, and
it was hoped that the quick retribution which had overtaken these
regiments would check the spirit of mutiny throughout the army. For
a time this hope appeared to be justified. Satisfactory reports were
received from different parts of Bengal, and anything like a serious
or general outbreak was certainly not contemplated by the authorities.
General Hearsay reported to Government that he had directed the
European troops, temporarily located at Barrackpore, to return to
their respective cantonments, as he did not think it probable that
he would require their presence again. About the same time Sir John
Lawrence, after visiting the Musketry School at Sialkot, wrote
hopefully to the Governor-General of the aspect of affairs in the
Punjab. Lord Canning and his advisers, owing to these favourable
reports, were on the point of sending the 84th Foot back to Burma,
when news reached them from Upper India of the calamitous occurrences
at Meerut and Delhi.
The Meerut division was commanded by Major-General Hewitt, an officer
of fifty years' service, and the station of Meerut by Brigadier
Archdale Wilson, Commandant of the Bengal Artillery. The garrison
consisted of the 6th Dragoon Guards, a troop of Horse Artillery, a
battery of Field Artillery, a company of Foot Artillery, the 1st
Battalion 60th Rifles, and three Native corps--the 3rd Light Cavalry,
and the 11th and 20th Native Infantry.
Towards the end of April incendiary fires began to take place, and
the Native soldiers evinced more or less disrespect in their manner
towards their officers. These signs of disaffection were followed
by the refusal of some of the troopers of the 3rd Light Cavalry to
receive their cartridges, although the commanding officer carefully
explained to them that they were not the new cartridges, but the very
same they had always used, and that according to the new drill they
were not required to bite them when loading their carbines.
A Court of Inquiry was held to investigate the matter, composed
entirely of Native officers, three of whom belonged to the offending
regiment. The verdict of the Court was that no adequate cause could be
assigned for the disobedience of orders in refusing to receive and use
the cartridges that were served out. 'The only conclusion the Court
can arrive at in regard to this point is that a report seems to have
got abroad which in some vague form attaches suspicion of impurity
to the materials used for making these cartridges, but the Court are
unanimously of opinion that there is nothing whatever objectionable in
the cartridges of the 3rd Regiment Light Cavalry, and that they may be
freely received and used as heretofore without in the slightest degree
affecting any religious scruple of either a Hindu or Mussulman, and if
any pretence contrary to that is urged, that it must be false.' This
opinion, it must be remembered, was the opinion of Natives, not
Europeans, and was given only sixteen days before the outbreak
occurred at Meerut.
After carefully reviewing the evidence brought before the Court, and
considering the opinion expressed by the Native officers who composed
it, the Commander-in-Chief decided to try the eighty-five men who had
refused to receive the cartridges by a General Court-Martial composed
entirely of their own countrymen. The Court was formed of six
Mahomedans and nine Hindus, six Native officers being brought over
from Delhi for the purpose.
The prisoners were tried on the 8th May, found guilty, and sentenced
to imprisonment with hard labour for ten years.
The following morning there was a parade of the whole of the Meerut
garrison, and the finding and sentence of the Court were read to the
men. The eighty-five troopers were then stripped of their uniform and
fetters were fastened on their ankles. As each culprit was marched
forward, he called on his comrades to rescue him, but no response came
from the ranks; and when the ceremony was finished the prisoners were
marched down the line and escorted to the gaol. In his report of the
parade to Army Head-Quarters, General Hewitt stated that 'the majority
of the prisoners seemed to feel acutely the degradation to which their
folly and insubordination had brought them. The remainder of the
troops are behaving steady and soldier-like.'
The action of the Meerut authorities in putting the prisoners in irons
on the parade-ground, in the presence of their regiment, before
being made over to the civil power, met with the disapproval of the
Commander-in-Chief and the Governor-General. The former expressed his
regret at the unusual procedure. The latter was more pronounced, and
thus expressed himself: 'The riveting of the men's fetters on parade,
occupying, as it did, several hours, in the presence of many who were
already ill-disposed and many who believed in the cartridge fable,
must have stung the brigade to the quick. The consigning the
eighty-five prisoners after such a ceremony to gaol with no other than
a Native guard over them was folly that is inconceivable.'
The procedure was no doubt unusual, and it certainly was most
imprudent, under the circumstances, to trust the gaol to a Native
guard. I think also, considering the number of the prisoners, and the
length of time necessary for riveting the fetters, that it was not
judicious to subject the troops to such a severe and protracted
trial of their nerves and patience; but, before acquiescing in Lord
Canning's sweeping condemnation, it should be considered that the
object of the punishment was to produce a deterrent effect on those
who were likely to follow the bad example that had been set them,
and as the offence of the troopers had been public and ostentatious,
General Hewitt no doubt thought it right to make the punishment as
marked and public as possible.
The next day was Sunday, and outwardly the cantonment of Meerut
had assumed its usual appearance of Sabbath calm; but there was an
undercurrent of unrest--there was considerable commotion in the Native
bazaars, which were unusually crowded, and had not the European
officers been blinded by over-confidence in their men, signs might
have been perceived amongst the Native soldiers of preparation for
some untoward event.
It was late in the day before the storm burst. The Chaplain of Meerut
tells us that he was about to start with his wife for evening service,
when the Native nurse warned them of coming danger, beseeching her
mistress to remain indoors, and, on being asked to explain, saying
there would be a fight with the sepoys. The idea seemed incredible,
and the Chaplain would have paid no attention to the warning had not
his wife been greatly alarmed. At her earnest request he took his two
children with them in the carriage, instead of leaving them in the
house with the _ayah_, as had been intended. It was soon apparent that
the _ayah_ had not spoken without reason, for before the church was
reached sounds of musketry were heard and columns of smoke were
seen rising above the quarter occupied by the Native troops. As the
Chaplain arrived at the church enclosure, the buglers of the 60th
Rifles, who were drawn up ready to enter the church, sounded the
'alarm' and the 'assembly.' The parade was dismissed, and as the
British soldiers rushed to the barracks for their arms and ammunition,
the congregation rapidly dispersed, some to their homes, others to
seek safety in the nearest quarter-guard.
It was the custom before the Mutiny for our soldiers to attend Divine
Service unarmed, save with their side-arms. The Native soldiers were
aware of this, and they no doubt calculated on the 60th Rifles being
safe and almost defenceless inside the church as soon as the bells
ceased tolling. What they were not aware of was the fact that, owing
to the lengthening days and the increasing heat, the evening church
parade had been ordered half an hour later than on the previous
Sunday. The mutineers therefore showed their hand half an hour too
soon, and as they galloped down the 60th Rifles lines they came upon
the men fully armed and rapidly falling in. Being thus disappointed in
their hope of surprising the white soldiers, the 3rd Cavalry proceeded
without a moment's delay to the gaol, broke into the cells, and
released their eighty-five comrades and all the other prisoners, about
1,200 in number.
While this was going on, the two Native Infantry regiments assembled
on their respective parade-grounds in wild excitement, discharging
their muskets at random, and setting fire to their own huts. The
British officers, hearing the tumult, hastened to their lines and did
their best to restore order, but in vain. The sepoys had gone too
far, and were absolutely deaf to threats and entreaties. They did not
attack their own officers, but warned them to get away, telling them
the Company's '_raj_'[4] was at an end. Their clemency, however, did
not extend to officers of other regiments.
Colonel Finnis, who had served forty years with the sepoys, and firmly
believed in their loyalty, was the first victim; he fell riddled with
bullets from a volley fired by the 20th, while exhorting the men of
his own regiment (the 11th) to be true to their salt. The work of
destruction then began in earnest, in which the population from the
bazaars and the neighbouring villages eagerly joined, for (as the
Commissioner reported) they were armed and ready for the onslaught
before the sepoys commenced the attack, plainly showing how perfectly
they were aware of what was about to happen. They poured forth in
thousands from every direction, and in a surprisingly short time
almost every bungalow belonging to a British officer serving with
Native troops was gutted and burnt. Besides Colonel Finnis, seven
officers, three officers' wives, two children, and every stray
European man, woman and child in the outskirts of the cantonments were
massacred.
It was now time for the sepoys to think of themselves. They had thrown
off all allegiance to the _Sarkar_;[5] they had been guilty of murder,
robbery, and incendiarism, and they knew that retribution must
speedily overtake them if they remained at Meerut; they therefore
lost no time in making their escape towards Delhi. They had had ample
opportunity for consultation with the Native officers from that
station, who had come to Meerut as members of the Court-Martial on the
men of the 3rd Light Cavalry, and they knew perfectly well that the
troops at Delhi were prepared to help them to seize the magazine and
resuscitate the old Moghul dynasty. 'To Delhi! To Delhi!' was their
cry, and off they went, leaving naught behind them in their lines
but the smouldering fires of their officers' houses and the lifeless
bodies of their English victims.
But it will be asked, Where were the British troops? Where indeed?
On the alarm being given, the British troops got under arms 'in an
incredibly short time,' but there was unaccountable delay in marching
them to the spot where their help was so greatly needed. The
Carabineers occupied barracks within a few hundred yards of the Native
Infantry lines, the 60th Rifles were only about a mile and a half
away, and the Artillery lay just beyond the 60th. The Brigadier
(Wilson) despatched one company of the Rifles to guard the treasury,
another he left to protect the barracks, and with the remainder,
accompanied by the Carabineers and Artillery, he leisurely proceeded
towards the Native Infantry lines. It was almost dark when he arrived,
but there was light enough to discern, from the ruined houses and the
dead bodies of the murdered officers lying about, in what a merciless
spirit the revolt had been perpetrated. A few shots were fired from
behind the burning huts, but not a single living being was visible,
except two or three Native troopers who were dimly perceptible in the
distance coming from the direction of the gaol, and it was evident
that the sepoys as a body had vanished. But whither? A lengthened
discussion took place as to what was the best course to pursue, which
only resulted in the troops being marched back to their own end of the
cantonment and bivouacking on the mall for the night. The General
and Brigadier, misled by the tumult in the city, which they could
distinctly hear, came to the conclusion that the sepoys had
congregated within its walls and might shortly be expected to attack
that part of the station where the European residents chiefly lived.
It was not discovered till the next morning that all three Native
regiments had made for Delhi.
It is easy to be wise after the event, but one cannot but feel that
there was unaccountable, if not culpable, want of energy displayed by
the Meerut authorities on this disastrous occasion. The officer
in command was afterwards severely censured for not acting with
sufficient promptitude on first hearing of the outbreak; for not
trying to find out where the mutineers had gone; and for not
endeavouring to overtake them before they reached Delhi. The
Government of India finally signified their disapproval by removing
General Hewitt from his command.
Wilson, the Brigadier, like everyone else at Meerut, appears to have
been completely taken by surprise. But why this should have been the
case, after the warning that had been given by the mutinous conduct
of the 3rd Cavalry, and why no steps should have been taken after the
exasperating parade on the 9th to guard against a possible, if not
probable, outbreak, is difficult to understand; and can only be
accounted for by that blind faith in the Native soldier, and disbelief
in his intention or ability to revolt, which led to such unfortunate
results all over India.
The following story will exemplify how completely the authorities at
Meerut were blinded by this misplaced confidence. On the afternoon of
the 9th the British officers of the 3rd Light Cavalry went to the gaol
to pay up the prisoners belonging to their regiment. When Lieutenant
Hugh Gough,[6] who was one of these officers, returned to his house,
a Hindu Native officer, belonging to the troop Gough was temporarily
commanding, told him that the men had determined to rescue their
comrades, and that the Native guard over the gaol had promised to help
them. Gough went at once to his commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colonel
Carmichael Smyth, and reported what he had heard, but the Colonel
pooh-poohed the idea as ridiculous, and told Gough he must not give
credence to anything so monstrous.
Later in the day Gough met Brigadier Wilson and told him of the
warning which had been given to him, without, however, producing any
impression; the information was received with the same contemptuous
disbelief displayed by Colonel Carmichael Smyth.
The following day (Sunday), late in the afternoon, the same Native
officer, attended by two troopers, galloped to Gough's house, shouting
to him that the _hala_[7] had begun, and that the Native Infantry were
firing on their officers. Gough mounted his horse, and, accompanied by
the three Cavalry soldiers, proceeded as quickly as possible to the
Infantry parade-ground, where he arrived just as the wild scene of
excitement and confusion I have before described was at its height.
The sepoys, some in uniform, some in their own Native clothes, were
rushing about in the maddest disorder, yelling, shouting, and dancing
as if possessed, while the flames from the burning huts shed a lurid
light on the demoniacal proceedings.
When Gough's party appeared in sight, the sepoys called to the three
troopers to get out of the way, as they wanted to shoot the _sahib_.
No notice being taken of this warning, they fired straight at the
whole party, but without hitting anyone. Gough, seeing things had gone
too far for him to do any good, rode off with his little escort to
his own lines, where he found the men busy saddling their horses, and
helping themselves to ammunition from the regimental magazine, which
they had broken open. He endeavoured in vain to allay the excitement;
one or two shots were fired at him by recruits, but no determined
attempt was made to take his life, and at last the Native officers
combined to force him away, saying they could no longer answer for his
safety.
It was then all but dark. Gough rode off towards the European lines,
still accompanied by his trusty Native escort, and on his way came
upon an enormous crowd of people from the bazaar, armed with swords,
sticks, and anything they could get hold of, who tried to stop him.
Through these he charged, closely followed by the Native officer and
two troopers, who did not leave him until he was within sight of
the Artillery mess. Then they pulled up, and said they could go no
further. Gough did all he could to persuade them to remain with
him, but to no purpose. They told him it was impossible for them to
separate themselves from their friends and relations, and making the
officer they had so carefully protected a respectful salaam, they rode
off to join their mutinous comrades. Gough never heard of them again,
though he tried hard to trace what had become of the men who proved
themselves such 'friends in need.'
However much the authorities at Meerut deserved to be censured for
their dilatoriness in dealing with the revolt in the first instance,
and their lack of energy in not trying to discover in what direction
the mutineers had gone, I doubt whether anything would have been
gained by following them up, or whether it would have been possible
to overtake them before they reached Delhi. Only a very few European
Cavalry were available for pursuit, for the Carabineers, having lately
arrived in India, were composed mainly of recruits still in the
riding-school, and their horses for the most part were quite unbroken.
These few, with the six Horse Artillery guns, might have been
despatched; but the mutineers had a considerable start, the Cavalry
could not have been overtaken, and as soon as the Infantry became
aware that they were being followed, they would have scattered
themselves over the country, the features of which were familiar to
them, and, favoured by the darkness, could have defied pursuit. Delhi
is forty miles from Meerut, and it would not have been possible for
the 60th Rifles, marching in the terrible heat of the month of May, to
have reached that place before the next evening (the 11th), and, as
was afterwards ascertained, the work of murder and devastation there
began on the morning of that day. The three Native Infantry regiments
and the battery of Artillery stationed at Delhi were prepared to
join the insurgent troopers from Meerut directly they arrived. The
magazine, with its vast stores of war material, was in the hands of
the King, and the 150,000 inhabitants of the city were ready to assist
in the massacre of the white men and women, and the destruction of
their property.
After careful consideration of all the circumstances of the revolt at
Meerut, I have come to the conclusion that it would have been futile
to have sent the small body of mounted troops available in pursuit of
the mutineers on the night of the 10th May, and that, considering
the state of feeling throughout the Native Army, no action, however
prompt, on the part of the Meerut authorities could have arrested the
Mutiny. The sepoys had determined to throw off their allegiance to the
British Government, and the when and the how were merely questions of
time and opportunity.
[Footnote 1: A metal drinking vessel, which the Hindu religiously
guards against defilement, and to which he clings as a cherished
possession when he has nothing else belonging to him in the world.]
[Footnote 2: European officers.]
[Footnote 3: Each Hindustani regiment had a European sergeant-major
and quartermaster-sergeant.]
[Footnote 4: Rule.]
[Footnote 5: British Government.]
[Footnote 6: Now Lieutenant-General Sir Hugh Gough, V.C., G.C.B.]
[Footnote 7: Tumult.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER VIII
1857
General Anson--The news reaches Simla--Anson loses no time
--A long list of troubles--John Lawrence--The Phulkian family
--Death of General Anson
While the events I have recounted were taking place, the
Commander-in-Chief and the Head-Quarters staff were on their way up
country inspecting the troops at the various stations _en route_ to
Simla, at which place it had been arranged that the summer of 1857 was
to be spent. The Commander-in-Chief in India at that time was General
the Hon. George Anson, an officer of forty-three years' service, but
without much Indian experience, having been only four years in the
country. He was an able, intelligent man, an excellent judge of
character, a great authority on whist and on horses, and he was well
known in London society, which was somewhat surprised when he accepted
an appointment in India--the command of the Meerut division. He did
not, however, remain long in that position, for he was soon given
the command of the Madras Army, and a year and a half later became
Commander-in-Chief in India. General Anson was present at Waterloo as
an Ensign, but had seen no service afterwards, and until he arrived in
India had held no high appointment.
When the Commander-in-Chief left Calcutta the previous autumn, all was
apparently quiet in the Native army. He visited the principal military
stations, amongst others Meerut and Delhi, and although reports of an
uneasy feeling amongst the Native troops in the Presidency division
had reached him from time to time, it was not until he arrived at
Umballa, about the middle of March, that these reports were confirmed
by personal communication with the sepoys attending the School of
Musketry which had been formed at that station.
On the occasion of the Commander-in-Chief's inspection of the School,
he learnt from the men of the various regiments under instruction how
strongly opposed they were to using a cartridge which they believed
to be injurious to their caste. Anson listened attentively to all the
sepoys had to say, and then explained to them in a manly, sensible
speech, that the old cartridge was not suited to the rifle about to be
introduced. A new cartridge had, therefore, to be made; but they must
not listen to any foolish rumour as to its being designed to destroy
their caste. He assured them, 'on the honour of a soldier like
themselves,' that it had never been, and never could be, the policy of
the British Government to coerce the religious feeling of either the
military or the civil population of India, or to interfere in any way
with their caste or customs. He told the Native officers to do all in
their power to allay the men's unfounded fears, and called upon them
to prove themselves worthy of the high character they had hitherto
maintained; he concluded by warning all ranks that the Government were
determined not to yield to insubordination, which would be visited
with the severest punishment.
The demeanour of the sepoys was most respectful, and when the parade
was over they expressed their high sense of the Commander-in-Chief's
goodness. They declared that he had removed their own objections,
but that the story was universally believed by their countrymen and
relations, and if they were to use the cartridge they must become
social outcasts.
General Anson, feeling that the doubts and anxieties of the men with
regard to the use of the new cartridges were by no means imaginary,
suspended their issue until a special report had been prepared as to
the composition of the paper in which they were wrapped.[1]
Having thus done all that he could at the time to allay any feeling of
uneasiness, and hoping that the news of the disbandment of the 19th
Native Infantry would check the spirit of insubordination, General
Anson continued his journey to Simla, that beautiful place in the
Himalayas, 7,000 feet above the sea, which has since become the seat
of the Government of India and Army Head-Quarters during the hot
weather months.
The Commander-in-Chief had been at Simla rather more than a month,
when, on the afternoon of Tuesday, the 12th May, an Aide-de-camp
galloped in from Umballa (the Head-Quarters station of the Sirhind
division), distant eighty miles, bringing with him a copy of the
telegraphic message which had been despatched from Delhi the previous
day to 'all stations in the Punjab,' and which had caused such
consternation at Peshawar on the evening of the 11th May.
Sir Henry Barnard, commanding the Sirhind division, desired the
Aide-de-camp (his own son) to inform the Commander-in-Chief that
the temper of the three Native regiments at Umballa was more than
doubtful, and that it seemed advisable that the three regiments of
British Infantry stationed in the hills near Simla should be ordered
at once to Umballa. So urgent did this seem to Barnard, that, in
anticipation of sanction from the Commander-in-Chief, he told his son
to warn the 75th Foot as he passed through Kasauli to be prepared for
an immediate move.
General Anson at once saw the necessity for taking prompt action. That
same afternoon he despatched an Aide-de-camp to Kasauli to order the
75th to proceed without delay to Umballa, and the 1st Bengal Fusiliers
at Dagshai to follow the 75th as soon as carriage could be collected;
also to warn the 2nd Bengal Fusiliers at Subathu to be ready to move.
Expresses were sent at the same [time] to Ferozepore and Jullundur
directing that a European guard should be placed in charge of the
magazine at the former place, and a detachment of European Infantry
thrown into the fort of Philour from the latter. The confidence
reposed in the Native army before the Mutiny was so great that these
two important magazines, like almost all the arsenals and magazines in
India, were guarded by Native soldiers, and subsequent events proved
that, but for General Anson's timely precautions, the mutineers
must have obtained possession of the magazines at Ferozepore and
Philour.[2]
Anson had not long to wait before he received confirmation of the
alarming news brought by General Barnard's son. The very next
afternoon a letter arrived from Meerut giving an account of the
outbreak on the 10th, and a few particulars of what had occurred at
Delhi. The Commander-in-Chief immediately decided on proceeding to
Umballa, to superintend personally the organization of the force
which, as he rightly judged, would have to be sent to Delhi. There
was no hesitation on General Anson's part, or delay in issuing the
necessary orders.[3] The 2nd Bengal Fusiliers were directed to march
to Umballa, and an Artillery officer was sent express to Philour with
instructions for a third-class siege-train to be got ready, and for
reserve Artillery and Infantry ammunition to be despatched to Umballa.
Orders were also issued for the Nasiri battalion, stationed at Jutog,
near Simla, and for the company of Native Artillery at Kangra and
Nurpur[4] to march with all expedition to Philour, for the purpose of
accompanying the siege-train; and for the Sirmur battalion of Gurkhas
at Dehra Dun, and the Sappers and Miners at Rurki, to proceed to
Meerut.
Having thus pressed forward the measures for the suppression of the
revolt which to him seemed most urgent, General Anson left Simla early
on the 14th May, within forty-eight hours of the receipt of the first
news of the outbreak, and reached Umballa the following morning. His
last act at Simla was to draft a circular which he hoped would have
the effect of allaying excitement in the Native army.
The report which Sir Henry Barnard had to make to the Chief on his
arrival at Umballa was not reassuring. The troops at that station
consisted of Her Majesty's 9th Lancers, two troops of Horse Artillery,
the 4th Bengal Light Cavalry, and two regiments of Native Infantry.
The 75th Foot and 1st Bengal Fusiliers had just marched in with only
thirty and seventy rounds of ammunition per man, respectively, and
(from want of carriage) without tents or baggage. The Commissariat and
Medical Departments were totally unprepared to meet the requirements
of a force suddenly ordered to take the field; there were no doolies
for the sick; supplies were difficult to collect, for the bazaars
were partially deserted; there was a scarcity of contractors, and no
ammunition was available nearer than Philour, eighty miles off.
At Delhi all the Europeans who had not escaped had been massacred, and
the city had been taken possession of by the Native garrison and the
mutinous troops from Meerut in the name of the old King.
At Meerut the European troops were entrenching themselves; the
surrounding district was in the most complete disorder, and the civil
courts powerless.
At Umballa and Jullundur, although the presence of European troops had
hitherto kept the Native regiments from open mutiny, it was evident
that they were not in the least to be depended upon.
At Ferozepore an aggravated revolt had occurred, and at Lahore it had
been found necessary to disarm all the Native troops.
From below Meerut there was no intelligence whatever, but it seemed
more than probable that the spirit of rebellion had broken out in many
stations, and later this was known to be the case.
To add to the Commander-in-Chief's anxieties, it was reported that the
Nasiri battalion at Jutog had got out of hand for a time and refused
to march to Philour, while a detachment of the same corps at Kasauli
plundered the treasury, rendering it necessary to send back 100 men
of the 75th Foot to reinforce the depot at that place, where a large
number of European soldiers' families were collected.
The behaviour of the Gurkhas gave rise to a panic at Simla,
which, however, did not last long. Lord William Hay,[5] who was
Deputy-Commissioner at the time, induced most of the ladies,
with their children, to seek a temporary asylum with the Raja of
Kiunthal.[6] Hay himself managed to keep Simla quiet, and the men
of the Nasiri battalion coming to their senses, order was restored
throughout the hills. The money taken from the Kasauli treasury was
nearly all voluntarily given up, and before the year was out the
battalion did us good service.
It was a long list of troubles that was placed before the
Commander-in-Chief. Disturbing as they all were, each requiring prompt
and special action, there was one amongst them which stood out in bold
relief--the situation at Delhi; and to wrest that stronghold from the
hands of the mutineers was, General Anson conceived, his most pressing
obligation. But could it be done with the means at his disposal?
He thought not; and in this opinion he was supported by the senior
officers at Umballa, with whom the question was anxiously discussed at
a conference held at Sir Henry Barnard's house on the 16th May.[7] It
was nevertheless determined to push on to Delhi, and General Hewitt
was asked what force he could spare from Meerut to co-operate with the
Umballa column. He was warned that time was an object, and that the
23rd May was the date on which his troops would probably be required
to start. All details were carefully considered. The first difficulty
to be overcome was the want of carriage. No organized system of
transport--one of the most essential requirements of an efficient
army--existed, and, owing to the restlessness and uncertainty which
prevailed throughout the country, the civil authorities were unable to
collect carts and camels with the usual rapidity.[8]
That afternoon General Anson received a letter from Sir John Lawrence
urging the importance of an immediate advance on Delhi, and giving an
outline of the measures he proposed to adopt in the Punjab. He asked
the Commander-in-Chief to give a general sanction to the arrangements,
and concluded with these words: "I consider this to be the greatest
crisis which has ever occurred in India. Our European force is so
small that, unless effectively handled in the outset, and brought to
bear, it will prove unequal to the emergency. But with vigour and
promptitude, under the blessing of God, it will prove irresistible."
Anson naturally hesitated to advance with an inefficient and only
partially equipped force against a strongly-fortified city with
an immense armed population, defended by many thousand desperate
mutineers, and in his reply (dated the 17th May) he put the case
plainly before Sir John Lawrence. He pointed out that the Europeans
were without tents; that there were no guns at Umballa or Meerut
heavier than six or nine pounders with which to batter down the walls
of Delhi; that the required amount of carriage could not be provided
in less than sixteen or twenty days; and that the three Native corps
at Umballa could not be depended upon. He asked Sir John whether he
considered 'it would be prudent to risk the small European force we
have here in an enterprise against Delhi,' and he wrote: 'My own view
of the state of things now is, by carefully collecting our resources,
having got rid of the bad materials which we cannot trust, and having
supplied their places with others of a better sort, it would not be
very long before we could proceed, without a chance of failure, in
whatever direction we might please.' Adding, 'this is now the opinion
of all here whom I have consulted--the Major-General and Brigadier,
the Adjutant-General, Quartermaster-General and Commissary-General.'
Anson concluded his letter with the following words: 'It would give me
great satisfaction to have your views upon the present crisis, for I
would trust to them more than to my experience.'
John Lawrence, who was straining every nerve to check the Mutiny and
prevent a general rising of the population, was impatient at the idea
of delay, and lost no time in giving Anson his opinion. He telegraphed
it briefly on the 20th, and the following day he wrote to the effect
that he knew Delhi well, having been stationed there for nearly
thirteen years, and it seemed incredible to him that mutineers could
hold and defend it; his belief was 'that, with good management on the
part of the civil officers, it would open its gates on the approach of
our troops.' He admitted that 'on military principles, in the present
state of affairs, it may not be expedient to advance on Delhi until
the Meerut force is prepared to act.' But he protested against
European soldiers being 'cooped up in their cantonments, tamely
awaiting the progress of events.' He went on to say: 'Pray only
reflect on the whole history of India. Where have we failed when
we acted vigorously? Where have we succeeded when guided by timid
counsels? Clive with 1,200 men fought at Plassy, in opposition to
the advice of his leading officers, beat 40,000 men, and conquered
Bengal.'
That Sir John Lawrence greatly under-estimated the difficulties which
Anson had to overcome we now know. Delhi did not open its gates on our
approach, but for more than three months defied all our efforts to
capture it. And in his eagerness to get the Commander-in-Chief
to think as he did, the resolute Chief Commissioner forgot that
Clive--not with 1,200 men, but with 3,000 disciplined troops--had to
deal in the open field with an enemy little better than a rabble;
whereas Anson had to attack a strong fortress, amply supplied with
stores and ammunition, possessing a powerful armament, and held
by soldiers who were not only well trained and equipped, but were
fighting for their lives, and animated by religious fanaticism.
Still, there can be no doubt that John Lawrence's views as to the
necessity for Delhi being taken at all hazards were correct. The
Governor-General held the same opinion, and strongly urged it upon
Anson, who loyally responded, and during the short time he remained at
Umballa strenuously exerted himself to equip the troops destined for
the arduous task.
While preparing for his advance on the Moghul capital, Anson did not
neglect to provide, as far as lay in his power, for the safety of
Umballa. The soldiers' wives and children were sent to Kasauli; a
place of refuge was made for the non-combatants at the church, round
which an entrenchment was thrown; a garrison, about 500 strong, was
formed of the sick and weakly men of the several European regiments,
assisted by some of the Patiala troops; and as an additional security
half the Native corps were sent into the district, and the other half
with the column to Delhi.
John Lawrence had strongly advocated the policy of trusting the
Maharaja of Patiala and the Rajas of Jhind and Nabha. The attitude of
these Chiefs was of extreme importance, for if they had not been well
disposed towards us, our communication with the Punjab would have been
imperilled. There was therefore much anxiety at Umballa as to the
course Patiala, Jhind, and Nabha (the three principal members of
the great Phulkian family) would elect to take. Douglas Forsyth,[9]
Deputy-Commissioner of Umballa, who was a personal friend of the
Maharaja of Patiala, at once sought an interview with him. He
was beginning to explain to the Maharaja the difficulties of the
situation, when he was interrupted by His Highness, who said he was
aware of all that had happened; on which Forsyth asked if it was
true that emissaries from the King of Delhi had come to Patiala. The
Maharaja pointed to some men seated at a little distance, saying,
'There they are.' Forsyth then asked for a word in private. As soon as
they were alone, he addressed the Maharaja thus: 'Maharaja _sahib_,
answer me one question: Are you for us, or against us?' The Maharaja's
reply was very hearty: 'As long as I live I am yours, but you know
I have enemies in my own country; some of my relations are against
me--my brother for one. What do you want done?' Forsyth then asked the
Maharaja to send some of his troops towards Kurnal to keep open the
Grand Trunk Road. The Maharaja agreed on the understanding that
Europeans should soon be sent to support them--a very necessary
condition, for he knew that his men could only be trusted so long as
there was no doubt of our ultimate success.
Patiala was true to his word, and throughout the Mutiny the Phulkian
Chiefs remained perfectly loyal, and performed the important service
of keeping open communication between Delhi and the Punjab.[10]
On the 19th May General Anson was cheered by hearing from John
Lawrence that the Corps of Guides and four trusty Punjab regiments
were proceeding by forced marches to join him. On the 21st he received
a message from the Governor-General informing him that European troops
were coming from Madras, Bombay, and Ceylon. He also heard of the
arrival of the siege-train at Umballa, and he had the satisfaction of
telegraphing to the Chief Commissioner that the first detachment of
the column destined for Delhi had started.
On the 23rd the Commander-in-Chief communicated his plan of operations
to General Hewitt. It was as follows: Two brigades were to advance
from Umballa, commanded by Brigadier Hallifax of the 75th Foot, and
Colonel Jones of the 60th Rifles; and one brigade from Meerut, under
the command of Brigadier Archdale Wilson. The two former were to be
concentrated at Kurnal by the 30th May, and were then to advance,
under General Anson, so as to arrive opposite Baghput on the 5th June,
at which place they were to be joined by the Meerut brigade, and the
united force was then to proceed to Delhi.
All his arrangements being now completed, Anson left Umballa on the
24th May, and reached Kurnal the following morning. On the 26th he was
struck down by cholera, and in a few hours succumbed to that fatal
disease. His last words expressed a hope that his country would do him
justice, and it is grievous to feel that, in estimating his work and
the difficulties he had to encounter, full justice has not been done
him. Anson has been undeservedly blamed for vacillation and want of
promptitude. He was told to 'make short work of Delhi,' but before
Delhi could be taken more men had perished than his whole force at
that time amounted to. The advice to march upon Delhi was sound, but
had it been rashly followed disaster would have been the inevitable
result. Had the Commander-in-Chief been goaded into advancing without
spare ammunition and siege Artillery, or with an insufficient force,
he must have been annihilated by the overwhelming masses of the
mutineers--those mutineers, who, we shall see later, stoutly opposed
Barnard's greatly augmented force at Badli-ki-Serai, would almost
certainly have repulsed, if not destroyed, a smaller body of troops.
On the death of General Anson the command of the Field Force devolved
on Major-General Sir Henry Barnard.
[Footnote 1: 'I am not so much surprised,' wrote General Anson to Lord
Canning on the 23rd March, 'at their objections to the cartridges,
having seen them. I had no idea they contained, or, rather, are
smeared with, such a quantity of grease, which looks exactly like fat.
After ramming down the ball, the muzzle of the musket is covered
with it. This, however, will, I imagine, not be the case with those
prepared according to the late instructions. But there are now
misgivings about the paper, and I think it so desirable that they
should be assured that no animal grease is used in its manufacture,
that I have ordered a special report to be made to me on that head
from Meerut, and until I receive an answer, and am satisfied that no
objectionable material is used, no firing at the depots by the sepoys
will take place. It would be easy to dismiss the detachments to their
regiments without any practice, on the ground that the hot weather is
so advanced, and that very little progress could be made, but I do not
think that would be admissible. The question, having been raised, must
be settled. It would only be deferred till another year, and I trust
that the measures taken by the Government when the objection was first
made, and the example of the punishment of the 19th Native Infantry
and of the other delinquents of the 70th, now being tried by a General
Court-Martial, will have the effect we desire.'--KAYE, vol. i., p.
558.]
[Footnote 2: Surely those whom God has a mind to destroy, He first
deprives of their senses; for not only were the magazines at Delhi and
Cawnpore allowed to fall into the enemy's hands, but the great arsenal
at Allahabad narrowly escaped the same fate. Up till May, 1857, this
fort was garrisoned only by Native soldiers. Early in that month sixty
worn-out European pensioners were brought to Allahabad from Chunar,
with whose assistance, and that of a few hastily raised Volunteers,
Lieutenants Russell and Tod Brown, of the Bengal Artillery, were able
to overawe and disarm the Native guard on the very night on which the
regiments to which they belonged mutinied in the adjoining cantonment.
These two gallant officers had taken the precaution to fill the
cellars below the armoury (which contained some 50,000 or 60,000
stands of arms) with barrels of powder, their intention being to blow
up the whole place in the event of the sepoys getting the upper hand.
This determination was known to all in the fort, and no doubt had
something to say to the guard submitting to be disarmed.]
[Footnote 3: He has been accused of dilatoriness and want of decision
after hearing the news.]
[Footnote 4: Places at the foot of the Himalayas.]
[Footnote 5: Now the Marquis of Tweeddale.]
[Footnote 6: A small hill state near Simla.]
[Footnote 7: It is a remarkable fact that the five senior officers at
this conference were all dead in less than seven weeks. General Anson,
Brigadier Hallifax, commanding the Umballa station, and Colonel
Mowatt, commanding the Artillery, died within ten days; Colonel
Chester, Adjutant-General of the Army, was killed at Badli-ki-Serai on
the 8th June, and Sir Henry Barnard died at Delhi on the 5th July.]
[Footnote 8: See Kaye's 'History of the Indian Mutiny,' vol. ii., p.
120.]
[Footnote 9: The late Sir Douglas Forsyth, K.C.S.I.]
[Footnote 10: See 'The Life of Sir Douglas Forsyth.']
* * * * *
CHAPTER IX.
1857
John Lawrence's wise measures--Disarmament at Peshawar
--Salutary effect in the valley
I will now continue my story from the time I left Peshawar to join the
Movable Column.
On the 18th May Brigadier Chamberlain and I arrived at Rawal Pindi,
where we joined the Chief Commissioner, who had got thus far on his
way to his summer residence in the Murree Hills when tidings of the
disaster reached him. One of Sir John Lawrence's first acts after
talking over matters with Chamberlain was to summon Edwardes from
Peshawar, for he wished to consult with him personally about the
question of raising levies and enlisting more frontier men, the only
one of Edwardes's and Nicholson's proposals regarding which the Chief
Commissioner had any doubt; it appeared to him a somewhat risky step
to take, and he desired to give the matter very careful consideration
before coming to any decision. I remember being greatly struck with
the weight given by Lawrence to Edwardes's opinion. He called him his
Councillor, he eagerly sought his advice, and he evidently placed the
utmost reliance on his judgment.
During the six days that we remained at Rawal Pindi waiting for the
Movable Column to be assembled, I spent the greater part of my time
in the Chief Commissioner's office, drafting or copying confidential
letters and telegrams. I thus learned everything that was happening in
the Punjab, and became aware of the magnitude of the crisis through
which we were passing. This enabled me to appreciate the tremendous
efforts required to cope with the danger, and to understand that the
fate of Delhi and the lives of our countrymen and countrywomen in
Upper India depended upon the action taken by the authorities in the
Punjab. I realized that Sir John Lawrence thought of every detail, and
how correct was his judgment as to which of his subordinates could, or
could not, be trusted. The many European women and children scattered
over the province caused him the greatest anxiety, and he wisely
determined to collect them as much as possible at hill stations and
the larger centres, where they would be under the protection of
British troops; for this reason he ordered the families of the
European soldiers at Sialkot (who were being withdrawn to join the
Movable Column) to be sent to Lahore. But, notwithstanding all that
had occurred, and was daily occurring, to demonstrate how universal
was the spirit of disaffection throughout the Native Army, Brigadier
Frederick Brind, who commanded at Sialkot, could not be brought to
believe that the regiments serving under his command would ever prove
disloyal, and he strongly objected to carry out an order which he
denounced as 'showing a want of confidence in the sepoys.' John
Lawrence, however, stood firm. Brind was ordered to despatch the
soldiers' families without delay, and advised to urge the civilians
and military officers to send away their families at the same time. A
few of the ladies and children were sent off, but some were allowed to
remain until the troops mutinied, when the Brigadier was one of the
first to pay the penalty of his misplaced confidence, being shot down
by one of his own orderlies.
We had not been long at Rawal Pindi before we heard that the
uneasiness at Peshawar was hourly increasing, and that the detachment
of the 55th Native Infantry[1] at Nowshera had mutinied and broken
open the magazine. The military force in the Peshawar valley had been
considerably weakened by the withdrawal of the 27th Foot and Corps of
Guides; it was evident that disaffection was rapidly spreading, and
what was still more alarming was the ominously restless feelings
amongst the principal tribes on the frontier. Nicholson encountered
considerable difficulty in raising local levies, and there was a
general unwillingness to enlist. Our disasters in Kabul in 1841-42
had not been forgotten; our cause was considered desperate, and even
Nicholson could not persuade men to join it. It was clear that this
state of affairs must not be allowed to continue, and that some
decisive measures must quickly be taken, or there would be a general
rising along the frontier.
Matters seemed to be drawing to a head, when it was wisely determined
to disarm the Native regiments at Peshawar without delay. This
conclusion was come to at midnight on the 21st May, when the news of
the unfortunate occurrences at Nowshera reached Edwardes, who had
returned that morning from Rawal Pindi. He and Nicholson felt that
no time was to be lost, for if the sepoys heard that the regiment at
Nowshera had mutinied, it would be too late to attempt to disarm them.
Going forthwith to the Brigadier's house, they communicated their
views to Sydney Cotton, who thoroughly appreciated the urgency of the
case, and, acting with the most praiseworthy decision, summoned the
commanding officers of all the Native regiments to be at his house at
daybreak.
When they were assembled, the Brigadier carefully explained to
the officers how matters stood. He pointed out to them that their
regiments were known to be on the verge of mutiny, and that they must
be disarmed forthwith, ending by expressing his great regret at having
to take so serious a step.
The officers were quite aghast. They were persistent and almost
insubordinate in expressing their conviction that the measure was
wholly uncalled-for, that the sepoys were thoroughly loyal, and that,
notwithstanding what had occurred in other places, they had perfect
confidence in their men.
The Brigadier, who knew the officers well, felt that every allowance
should be made for them, called upon as they were to disarm the men
with whom they had been so long associated, and in whom they
still implicitly believed. But although he regarded the officers'
remonstrances as natural and excusable, Cotton never wavered in his
decision, for he was experienced enough to see that the evil was
widespread and deep-seated, and that any display of confidence or
attempt at conciliation in dealing with the disaffected regiments
would be worse than useless.
The parade, which was ordered for 7 a.m., was conducted with great
judgment. The European troops were skilfully disposed so as to render
resistance useless, and four out of the five regular Native regiments
were called upon to lay down their arms. The fifth regiment--the 21st
Native Infantry[2]--was exempted from this indignity, partly because
it had shown no active symptoms of disaffection, was well commanded
and had good officers, and partly because it would have been extremely
difficult to carry on the military duties of the station without some
Native Infantry.
The two regiments of Irregular Cavalry were also spared the disgrace
of being disarmed. It was hoped that the stake the Native officers
and men had in the service (their horses and arms being their own
property) would prevent them from taking an active part in the Mutiny,
and it was believed that the British officers who served with them,
and who for the most part were carefully selected, had sufficient
influence over their men to keep them straight. This hope proved to be
not altogether without foundation, for of the eighteen regiments of
Irregular Cavalry which existed in May, 1857, eight are still borne on
the strength of the Bengal Army; while of the ten regiments of Regular
Cavalry and seventy-four of Infantry, none of the former, and only
eleven of the latter, now remain.
How immediate and salutary were the effects of the disarmament on
the inhabitants of the Peshawar valley will be seen by the following
account which Edwardes gave of it. 'As we rode down to the disarming a
very few Chiefs and yeomen of the country attended us; and I remember
judging from their faces that they came to see which way the tide
would turn. As we rode back friends were as thick as summer flies, and
levies began from that moment to come in.'
The Subadar-Major of the 51st--one of the four regiments disarmed--had
a few days before written to the men of the 64th, who were divided
amongst the outposts, calling upon them to return to Peshawar in time
to join in the revolt fixed for the 22nd May. The letter ran; 'In
whatever way you can manage it, come into Peshawar on the 21st
instant. Thoroughly understand that point! In fact, eat there and
drink here.' The rapidity with which the disarmament had been carried
through spoilt the Subadar-Major's little game; he had, however, gone
too far to draw back, and on the night of the 22nd he deserted, taking
with him 250 men of the regiment. His hopes were a second time doomed
to disappointment. However welcome 250 muskets might have been to the
Afridis, 250 unarmed sepoys were no prize; and as our neighbours in
the hills had evidently come to the conclusion that our _raj_ was not
in such a desperate state as they had imagined, and that their best
policy was to side with us, they caught the deserters, with the
assistance of the district police, and made them over to the
authorities. The men were all tried by Court-Martial, and the
Subadar-Major was hanged in the presence of the whole garrison.
On the 23rd May, the day after the disarmament, news was received at
Peshawar that the 55th Native Infantry had mutinied at Mardan, and
that the 10th Irregular Cavalry, which was divided between Nowshera
and Mardan, had turned against us. A force was at once despatched to
restore order, and Nicholson accompanied it as political officer. No
sooner did the mutineers, on the morning of the 25th, catch sight
of the approaching column than they broke out of the fort and fled
towards the Swat hills. Nicholson pursued with his levies and mounted
police, and before night 120 fugitives were killed and as many more
made prisoners. The remainder found no welcome among the hill tribes,
and eventually became wanderers over the country until they died or
were killed. Poor Spottiswoode, the Colonel, committed suicide shortly
before the Peshawar troops reached Mardan.
[Footnote 1: The Head-Quarters of this regiment had been sent to
Mardan in place of the Guides.]
[Footnote 2: Now the 1st Bengal Infantry.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER X.
1857
Neville Chamberlain's presence of mind
--The command of the Column--Robert Montgomery
--Disarmament at Mian Mir
--A Drum-Head Court-Martial--Swift retribution
While I was employed in the Chief Commissioner's office at Rawal Pindi
it became known that the Mutineers intended to make their stand at
Delhi, and immediately urgent demands came from the Head-Quarters of
the army for troops to be sent from the Punjab. Sir John Lawrence
exerted himself to the uttermost, even to the extent of denuding his
own province to a somewhat dangerous degree, and the Guides and 1st
Punjab Infantry, which had been told off for the Movable Column, were
ordered instead to proceed to Delhi.
The Guides, a corps second to none in Her Majesty's Indian Army, was
commanded by Captain Daly,[1] and consisted of three troops of Cavalry
and six companies of Infantry. The regiment had got as far as Attock,
when it received the order to proceed to Delhi, and pushed on at once
by double marches. The 4th Sikhs, under Captain Rothney, and the 1st
Punjab Infantry, under Major Coke,[2] followed in quick succession,
and later on the following troops belonging to the Punjab Frontier
Force were despatched towards Delhi: a squadron of the 1st Punjab
Cavalry, under Lieutenant John Watson (my companion in Kashmir);
a squadron of the 2nd Punjab Cavalry, under Lieutenant Charles
Nicholson[3] (John Nicholson's brother); a squadron of the 5th Punjab
Cavalry, under Lieutenant Younghusband; and the 2nd and 4th Punjab
Infantry, commanded respectively by Captains G. Green[4] and A.
Wilde.[5]
We (Brigadier Chamberlain and I) remained at Rawal Pindi until the
24th May to give our servants and horses time to reach Wazirabad, and
then started on a mail-cart for the latter place, which we reached
on the 27th. Lieutenant James Walker,[6] of the Bombay Engineers,
accompanied us as the Brigadier's orderly officer.
The Grand Trunk Road, which runs in a direct line from Calcutta to
Peshawar, was then in course of construction through the Punjab, and
in places was in rather an elementary condition. The drivers of the
mail-carts sent along their half-wild and entirely unbroken ponies at
racing speed, regardless alike of obstacles and consequences. With an
enterprising coachman the usual pace was about twelve miles an
hour, including stoppages. As we were recklessly flying along, the
Brigadier, who was sitting in front, perceived that one of the reins
had become unbuckled, and warned Walker and me to look out for an
upset. Had the coachman not discovered the state of his tackle all
might have been well, for the ponies needed no guiding along the
well-known road. Unfortunately, however, he became aware of what had
happened, lost his head, and pulled the reins; the animals dashed off
the road, there was a crash, and we found ourselves on the ground,
scattered in different directions. No great damage was done, and in a
few minutes we had righted the cart, re-harnessed the ponies, and were
rushing along as before.
In order that the authorities at Rawal Pindi might be able to
communicate with the Movable Column while on the march and away
from telegraph stations, which were few and far between in 1857, a
signaller accompanied us, and travelled with his instruments on a
second mail-cart, and wherever we halted for the day he attached his
wire to the main line. He had just completed the attachment on our
arrival at Wazirabad, when I observed that the instrument was working,
and on drawing the signaller's attention to it, he read off a message
which was at that moment being transmitted to the Chief Commissioner,
informing him of the death of the Commander-in-Chief at Kurnal the
previous day. This sad news did not directly affect the Movable
Column, as it had been organized by, and was under the orders of, the
Punjab Government, which for the time being had become responsible for
the military, as well as the civil, administration in the north of
India.
The column had marched into Wazirabad the day before we arrived.
It consisted of Major Dawes' troop of European Horse Artillery,
a European battery of Field Artillery, commanded by Captain
Bourchier,[7] and Her Majesty's 52nd Light Infantry, commanded by
Colonel George Campbell. In addition, and with a view to reducing the
Native garrison of Sialkot, a wing of the 9th Bengal Light Cavalry and
the 35th Native Infantry were attached to the column.
My first duty at Wazirabad was to call upon the senior officer,
Colonel Campbell, and inform him that Brigadier Chamberlain had come
to take over command of the Movable Column. I found the Colonel lying
on his bed trying to make himself as comfortable as it was possible
with the thermometer at 117 deg. Fahrenheit. We had not met before, and he
certainly received me in a very off-hand manner. He never moved from
his recumbent position, and on my delivering my message, he told me he
was not aware that the title of Brigadier carried military rank
with it; that he understood Brigadier Chamberlain was only a
Lieutenant-Colonel, whereas he held the rank of Colonel in Her
Majesty's army; and that, under these circumstances, he must decline
to acknowledge Brigadier Chamberlain as his senior officer. I replied
that I would give his message to the Brigadier, and took my leave.
When Chamberlain heard what had occurred, he desired me to return to
Campbell and explain that he had no wish to dispute the question of
relative seniority, and that in assuming command of the column he
was only carrying out the orders of the Commander-in-Chief in India.
Campbell, who technically speaking had the right on his side, was
not to be appeased, and requested me to inform the Brigadier of his
determination not to serve under an officer whom he considered to be
his junior.
This was not a pleasant beginning to our duties with the column, and
Chamberlain thought that we had better take our departure and leave
Campbell in command until the question could be settled by superior
authority. Campbell was accordingly asked to march the troops to
Lahore, to which place we continued our journey by mail-cart.
At the same time a reference was made to Sir John Lawrence and
General Reed, which resulted in the decision that, under the peculiar
circumstances of the case, it was essential that an officer of Indian
experience should be in command of the column, and that Campbell,
having only been a very short time in the country, did not fulfil this
condition; but Campbell was told that, if he objected to serve under
Chamberlain, he could remain at Lahore with the Head-Quarters of his
regiment. Campbell, who at heart was really a very nice fellow and an
excellent officer, would not be separated from the 52nd, and agreed
to serve under the Brigadier, reserving to himself the right of
protesting when the new Commander-in-Chief should arrive in India.
There was probably another reason for Campbell not wishing to serve
under Chamberlain besides that of being senior to him in the army, in
the fact that the Brigadier was a servant of 'John Company,' while
Campbell belonged to the 'Queen's Service.' From the time of the
establishment of a local army there had existed an absurd and
unfortunate jealousy between the officers of the Queen's and Company's
services, and one of the best results of the Mutiny was its gradual
disappearance. This ill-feeling influenced not only fellow-countrymen,
but relations, even brothers, if they belonged to the different
services, and was distinctly prejudicial to the interests of the
Government. It is difficult to understand how so puerile a sentiment
could have been so long indulged in by officers who no doubt
considered themselves sensible Englishmen.[8]
On the 31st May we arrived at Lahore, where we found everyone in a
state of considerable excitement. Lahore was and is the great centre
of the Punjab, and to it non-combatants and English ladies with their
children were hurrying from all the outlying districts. In the city
itself there was a mixed population of nearly 100,000, chiefly Sikhs
and Mahomedans, many of the former old soldiers who had served in the
Khalsa Army. The fort, which was within the walls of the city, was
garrisoned by half a regiment of sepoys, one company of European
Infantry, and a few European Artillerymen. Mian Mir, five miles
off, was the Head-Quarters of the Lahore division; it was a long,
straggling cantonment, laid out for a much larger force than it has
ever been found necessary to place there, with the European Infantry
at one end and the European Artillery at the other, separated by
Native troops. This arrangement (which existed in almost every station
in India) is another proof of the implicit confidence placed in the
Native army--a confidence in mercenary soldiers of alien races which
seems all the more surprising when we call to mind the warnings
that for nearly a hundred years had been repeatedly given of the
possibility of disaffection existing amongst Native troops.
There were four Native regiments at Mian Mir, one of Cavalry and three
of Infantry, while the European portion of the garrison consisted of
one weak Infantry regiment, two troops of Horse Artillery, and four
companies of Foot Artillery. This force was commanded by Brigadier
Corbett, of the Bengal Army; he had been nearly forty years in the
service, was mentally and physically vigorous, and had no fear of
responsibility. Robert Montgomery[9] was then chief civil officer at
Lahore. He was of a most gentle and benevolent nature, with a rubicund
countenance and a short, somewhat portly figure, which characteristics
led to his being irreverently called 'Pickwick,' and probably if he
had lived in less momentous times he would never have been credited
with the great qualities which the crisis in the Punjab proved him to
possess.
On receipt of the telegraphic news of the outbreaks at Meerut and
Delhi, Montgomery felt that immediate action was necessary. He at once
set to work to discover the temper of the Native troops at Mian Mir,
and soon ascertained that they were disaffected to the core, and were
only waiting to hear from their friends in the south to break into
open mutiny. He thoroughly understood the Native character, and
realized the danger to the whole province of there being anything in
the shape of a serious disturbance at its capital; so after consulting
his various officials, Montgomery decided to suggest to the Brigadier
the advisability of disarming the sepoys, or, if that were considered
too strong a measure, of taking their ammunition from them. Corbett
met him quite half-way; he also saw that the danger was imminent, and
that prompt action was necessary, but he not unnaturally shrank from
taking the extreme step of disarming men whose loyalty had never until
then been doubted--a step, moreover, which he knew would be keenly
resented by all the regimental officers--he therefore at first only
agreed to deprive the sepoys of their ammunition; later in the day,
however, after thinking the matter over, he came to the conclusion
that it would be better to adopt Montgomery's bolder proposal, and he
informed him accordingly that he would 'go the whole hog.'
I do not think that Corbett's action on this occasion has been
sufficiently appreciated. That he decided rightly there can be no
doubt, but very few officers holding commands in India at that time
would have accepted such responsibility. His knowledge as to what had
happened at Meerut and Delhi was based on one or two meagre telegrams,
and the information Montgomery gave him as to the treacherous
intentions of the sepoys at Mian Mir had been obtained by means of
a spy, who, it was quite possible, might have been actuated by
interested motives.
Having made up his mind what should be done, Corbett had the good
sense to understand that success depended on its being done quickly,
and on the Native troops being kept absolutely in the dark as to what
was about to take place. A general parade was ordered for the next
morning, the 13th May, and it was wisely determined not to put off a
ball which was being given that evening to the officers of the 81st
Foot. The secret was confided to very few, and the great majority of
those who were taking part in the entertainment were ignorant of the
reason for a parade having been ordered the following morning--an
unusual proceeding which caused a certain amount of grumbling.
When the sepoys were drawn up, it was explained to them in their own
language that they were about to be deprived of their arms, in order
to put temptation out of their reach, and save them from the disgrace
of being led away by the evil example of other corps. Whilst they were
being thus addressed, the Horse Artillery and 81st Foot took up a
second line immediately in rear of the Native regiments, the guns
being quietly loaded with grape during the manoeuvre. The regiments
were then directed to change front to the rear, when they found
themselves face to face with the British troops. The order was given
to the sepoys to 'pile arms'; one of the regiments hesitated, but only
for a moment; resistance was hopeless, and the word of command was
sullenly obeyed.
The same morning the fort of Lahore was secured. Three companies of
the 81st marched into it at daylight, relieved the sepoys of their
guards, and ordered them to lay down their arms. Another company
of the same regiment travelled through the night in carriages to
Umritsar, the holy city of the Sikhs, and occupied the fortress
of Govindgarh. Montgomery had been very anxious about these two
strongholds, and it was a great satisfaction to him to know that they
were at length safely guarded by British bayonets.
Although, as I have said, we found Lahore in a state of considerable
excitement, it was satisfactory to see how fully the situation had
been grasped, and how everything that was possible had been done
to maintain order, and show the people of the Punjab that we were
prepared to hold our own. Montgomery's foresight and decision, and
Corbett's hearty and willing co-operation, checked, if not altogether
stopped, what, under less energetic management, would assuredly have
resulted in very grievous trouble. Excitement was inevitable. There
was a general stir throughout the province. Lahore was crowded with
the families of European soldiers, and with ladies who had come there
from various parts of the Punjab, all in terrible anxiety as to what
might be the ultimate fate of their husbands and relatives; some of
whom were with Native regiments, whose loyalty was more than doubtful;
some with the Movable Column, the destination of which was uncertain;
while others were already on their way to join the army hurrying to
Delhi.
The difficulty with Campbell having been settled, Chamberlain assumed
the command of the Movable Column, the advent of which on the 2nd June
was hailed with delight by all the Europeans at Lahore. A regiment of
British Infantry and two batteries of Artillery afforded a much needed
support to the handful of British soldiers keeping guard over the
great capital of the Punjab, and gave confidence to the Sikhs and
others disposed to be loyal, but who were doubtful as to the wisdom of
siding with us.
The disturbing element was the Native troops which accompanied the
column. They had not shown openly that they contemplated mutiny, but
we knew that they were not to be trusted, and were only watching for
an opportunity to break out and escape to Delhi with their arms.
I was living with the Brigadier in a house only a few minutes' walk
from the garden where the Native regiments were encamped, and the
spies we were employing to watch them had orders to come to me
whenever anything suspicious should occur. During the night of the
8th June one of these men awoke me with the news that the 35th Native
Infantry intended to revolt at daybreak, and that some of them had
already loaded their muskets. I awoke the Brigadier, who directed me
to go at once to the British officers of the regiment, tell them what
we had heard, and that he would be with them shortly. As soon as the
Brigadier arrived the men were ordered to fall in, and on their arms
being examined two of them were found to have been loaded. The sepoys
to whom the muskets belonged were made prisoners, and I was ordered to
see them lodged in the police-station.
Chamberlain determined to lose no time in dealing with the case, and
although Drum-Head Courts-Martial were then supposed to be obsolete,
he decided to revive, for this occasion, that very useful means of
disposing, in time of war, of grave cases of crime.
The Brigadier thought it desirable that the Court-Martial should be
composed of Native, rather than British, officers, as being likely to
be looked upon by the prisoners as a more impartial tribunal, under
the peculiar circumstances in which we were placed. This was made
possible by the arrival of the 1st Punjab Infantry--Coke's Rifles--a
grand regiment under a grand Commander. Raised in 1849, composed
chiefly of Sikhs and Pathans, and possessing Native officers of
undoubted loyalty, the 1st Punjab Infantry had taken part in almost
every frontier expedition during the previous eight years. Its history
was a glorious record of faithful and devoted service, such as can
only be rendered by brave men led by officers in whom they believe and
trust.[10] The Subadar-Major of the corps was a man called Mir Jaffir,
a most gallant Afghan soldier, who entered the British service during
the first Afghan war, and distinguished himself greatly in all the
subsequent frontier fights. This Native officer was made president
of the Court-Martial. The prisoners were found guilty of mutiny, and
sentenced to death. Chamberlain decided that they should be blown away
from guns, in the presence of their own comrades, as being the most
awe-inspiring means of carrying the sentence into effect.[11] A parade
was at once ordered. The troops were drawn up so as to form three
sides of a square; on the fourth side were two guns. As the prisoners
were being brought to the parade, one of them asked me if they were
going to be blown from guns. I said, 'Yes.' He made no further remark,
and they both walked steadily on until they reached the guns, to which
they were bound, when one of them requested that some rupees he had on
his person might be saved for his relations. The Brigadier answered:
'It is too late!' The word of command was given; the guns went off
simultaneously, and the two mutineers were launched into eternity.
It was a terrible sight, and one likely to haunt the beholder for many
a long day; but that was what was intended. I carefully watched
the sepoys' faces to see how it affected them. They were evidently
startled at the swift retribution which had overtaken their guilty
comrades, but looked more crest-fallen than shocked or horrified, and
we soon learnt that their determination to mutiny, and make the best
of their way to Delhi, was in nowise changed by the scene they had
witnessed.
[Footnote 1: The late General Sir Henry Daly, G.C.B.]
[Footnote 2: Now General Sir John Coke, G.C.B.]
[Footnote 3: Afterwards commanded by Lieutenant, now General, Sir
Dighton Probyn, V.C., G.C.V.O., K.C.B.]
[Footnote 4: The late Major-General Sir George Green, K.C.B.]
[Footnote 5: The late Lieutenant-General Sir Alfred Wilde, K.C.B.,
K.C.S.I.]
[Footnote 6: The late General James Walker, C.B., sometime
Surveyor-General in India.]
[Footnote 7: Now General Sir George Bourchier, K.C.B.]
[Footnote 8: Now, except for one short interval, every officer who has
joined the Indian Army since 1861 must, in the first instance, have
belonged or been attached to one of Her Majesty's British regiments:
the great majority have been educated at Sandhurst or Woolwich, and
all feel that they are members of the same army.]
[Footnote 9: The late Sir Robert Montgomery, G.C.B.]
[Footnote 10: During the operations in the Kohat Pass in February,
1850, within twelve months of the corps being raised, several of the
men were killed and wounded. Among the latter was a Pathan named
Mahomed Gul. He was shot through the body in two places, and as Coke
sat by him while he was dying, he said, with a smile on his face:
'_Sahib_, I am happy; but promise me one thing--don't let my old
mother want. I leave her to your care.']
[Footnote 11: Awe-inspiring certainly, but probably the most humane,
as being a sure and instantaneous mode of execution.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER XI.
1857
Ferozepore--Crawford Chamberlain at Multan
--Chamberlain's masterly conduct
--Nicholson succeeds Neville Chamberlain--Irresolution at Jullundur
--General Mehtab Sing--Nicholson's soldierly instincts
--More disarmaments
For a few days after our arrival at Lahore nothing could be settled as
to the further movements of the column. It was wanted in all parts of
the Punjab: Ferozeporo, Multan, Jhelum, Sialkot, Umritsar, Jullundur,
Philour, Ludhiana--all these places were more or less disturbed, and
all were clamorous for help.
At Ferozepore the Native regiments[1] broke out on the 13th May, when
they made a daring, but unsuccessful effort to seize the arsenal,
situated inside the fort and the largest in Upper India. Had that
fallen into the hands of the rebels, Delhi could not have been
captured without very considerable delay, for the besieging force
depended mainly upon Ferozepore for the supply of munitions of war.
The fort had been allowed to fall into bad repair, and the mutineers
had no difficulty in forcing their way inside; there, fortunately,
they were checked by the wall which surrounded the arsenal, and this
obstacle, insignificant as it was, enabled the guard to hold its own.
Originally this guard consisted entirely of Native soldiers, but, as
I have already recorded, after the outbreak at Meerut, Europeans
had been told off for the charge of this important post; so strong,
however, here as elsewhere, was the belief in the loyalty of the
sepoys, and so great was the reluctance to do anything which might
hurt their feelings, that the Native guard was not withdrawn. This
same guard, when the attack took place, did its best to assist the
assailants, and even prepared scaling-ladders to enable the latter to
gain access to the magazine enclosure. The Europeans, however,
were equal to the emergency; they overpowered and disarmed their
treacherous companions, and then succeeded in beating off and
dispersing the attacking party.
Being foiled in this attempt, the mutineers returned to the
cantonment, set fire to the church and other buildings, and then
started for Delhi. Ferozepore had a large European garrison, a
regiment of Infantry, a battery of Field Artillery, and a company of
Foot Artillery, and was supposed to be able to look after itself,
although affairs had been greatly mismanaged.
Multan had next to be considered. Matters at that station were very
unsettled, and indeed were causing the authorities grave anxiety, but
Multan was more fortunate than many places, in being in the hands of
an unusually able, experienced officer, Major Crawford Chamberlain.
Consequently, the Commander-in-Chief and Chief Commissioner agreed,
while fully appreciating the great value of Multan, that the presence
of British troops was less urgently needed there than elsewhere,
and it was decided they could not be spared from the Punjab for its
protection.
The garrison at Multan consisted of a troop of Native Horse Artillery,
two regiments of Native Infantry, and the 1st Irregular Cavalry,
composed entirely of Hindustanis from the neighbourhood of Delhi;
while in the old Sikh fort there were about fifty European
Artillerymen, in charge of a small magazine. The station was nominally
commanded by an officer who had been thirty-four years in the army,
and had great experience amongst Natives; but he had fallen into such
a bad state of health, that he was quite unfit to deal with the
crisis which had now arrived. The command, therefore, was practically
exercised by Chamberlain. Next to Delhi and Lahore, Multan was the
most important place in Upper India, as our communication with the sea
and southern India depended on its preservation.
To Chamberlain's own personality and extraordinary influence over the
men of the 1st Irregular Cavalry must be attributed his success. His
relations with them were of a patriarchal nature, and perfect mutual
confidence existed. He knew his hold over them was strong, and
he determined to trust them. But in doing so he had really no
alternative--had they not remained faithful, Multan must have been
lost to us. One of his first acts was to call a meeting at his house
of the Native officers of the Artillery, Infantry, and his own
regiment, to discuss the situation. Taking for granted the absolute
loyalty of these officers, he suggested that a written bond should
be given, in which the seniors of each corps should guarantee the
fidelity of their men. The officers of his regiment rose _en
masse_, and placing their signet-rings on the table, said: '_Kabul
sir-o-chasm'_ ('Agreed to on our lives'). The Artillery Subadar
declared that his men had no scruples, and would fire in whichever
direction they were required; while the Infantry Native officers
pleaded that they had no power over their men, and could give no
guarantee. Thus, Chamberlain ascertained that the Cavalry were loyal,
the Artillery doubtful, and the Infantry were only biding their time
to mutiny.
Night after night sepoys, disguised beyond all recognition, attempted
to tamper with the Irregular Cavalry. The Wurdi-Major,[2] a
particularly fine, handsome _Ranagar_,[3] begged Chamberlain to
hide himself in his house, that he might hear for himself the open
proposals to mutiny, massacre, and rebellion that were made to him;
and the promises that, if they succeeded in their designs, he (the
Wurdi-Major) should be placed upon the _gaddi_[4] of Multan for his
reward. Chamberlain declined to put himself in such a position,
fearing he might not be able to restrain himself.
Matters now came to a climax. A Mahomedan Subadar of one of the Native
Infantry regiments laid a plot to murder Chamberlain and his family.
The plot was discovered and frustrated by Chamberlain's own men, but
it became apparent that the only remedy for the fast increasing evil
was to disarm the two Native Infantry regiments. How was this to be
accomplished with no Europeans save a few gunners anywhere near? Sir
John Lawrence was most pressing that the step should be taken at
once; he knew the danger of delay; at the same time, he thoroughly
appreciated the difficulty of the task which he was urging Chamberlain
to undertake, and he readily responded to the latter's request for a
regiment of Punjab Infantry to be sent to him. The 2nd Punjab Infantry
was, therefore, despatched from Dera Ghazi Khan, and at the same time
the 1st Punjab Cavalry arrived from Asni,[5] under Major Hughes,[6]
who, hearing of Chamberlain's troubles, had marched to Multan without
waiting for orders from superior authority. The evening of the day on
which these troops reached Multan, the British officers of the several
regiments were directed to assemble at the Deputy-Commissioner's
house, when Chamberlain told them of the communication he had received
from Sir John Lawrence, adding that, having reliable information that
the Native Infantry were about to mutiny, he had settled to disarm
them the next morning.
It was midnight before the meeting broke up. At 4 a.m. the Horse
Artillery troop and the two Native Infantry regiments were ordered to
march as if to an ordinary parade. When they had gone about a quarter
of a mile they were halted, and the Punjab troops moved quietly
between them and their lines, thus cutting them off from their spare
ammunition; at the same time the European Artillerymen took their
places with the guns of the Horse Artillery troop, and a carefully
selected body of Sikhs belonging to the 1st Punjab Cavalry, under
Lieutenant John Watson, was told off to advance on the troop and cut
down the gunners if they refused to assist the Europeans to work the
guns.
Chamberlain then rode up to the Native Infantry regiments, and after
explaining to them the reason for their being disarmed, he gave the
word of command, 'Pile arms!' Thereupon a sepoy of the 62nd shouted:
'Don't give up your arms; fight for them!' Lieutenant Thomson, the
Adjutant of the regiment, instantly seized him by the throat and threw
him to the ground. The order was repeated, and, wonderful to relate,
obeyed. The Native Infantry regiments were then marched back to their
lines, while the Punjab troops and Chamberlain's Irregulars remained
on the ground until the arms had been carted off to the fort.
It was a most critical time, and enough credit has never been given to
Chamberlain. Considering the honours which were bestowed on others
who took more or less conspicuous parts in the Mutiny, he was very
insufficiently rewarded for this timely act of heroism. Had he not
shown such undaunted courage and coolness, or had there been the
smallest hesitation, Multan would certainly have gone. Chamberlain
managed an extremely difficult business in a most masterly manner.
His personal influence insured his own regiment continuing loyal
throughout the Mutiny, and it has now the honour of being the 1st
Regiment of Bengal Cavalry, and the distinction of wearing a different
uniform from every other regiment in the service, being allowed to
retain the bright yellow which the troopers wore when they were first
raised by Colonel James Skinner, and in which they performed such
loyal service.[7]
At Jhelum and Sialkot it was decided that, as the Native troops had
been considerably reduced in numbers, the danger was not so great as
to require the presence of the Movable Column.
Umritsar had been made safe for the time, but it was a place the
importance of which could not be over-estimated, and it was thought
that keeping a strong column in its vicinity for a few days would
materially strengthen our position there. Moreover, Umritsar lay in
the direct route to Jullundur, where the military authorities had
proved themselves quite unfitted to deal with the emergency. It was
decided, therefore, that Umritsar should be our objective in the
first instance. We marched from Lahore on the 10th June, and reached
Umritsar the following morning.
News of a severe fight at Badli-ki-Serai had been received, which
increased our anxiety to push on to Delhi, for we feared the place
might be taken before we could get there. But to our mortification it
was decided that the column could not be spared just then even for
Delhi, as there was still work for it in the Punjab. To add to our
disappointment, we had to give up our trusted Commander; for a few
hours after our arrival at Umritsar a telegram came to Neville
Chamberlain offering him the Adjutant-Generalship of the Army in
succession to Colonel Chester, who had been killed at Badli-ki-Serai.
He accepted the offer, and I made certain I should go with him. My
chagrin, therefore, can easily be understood when he told me that I
must remain with the column, as it would be unfair to his successor to
take away the staff officer. We were now all anxiety to learn who
that successor should be, and it was a satisfaction to hear that John
Nicholson was the man.
Chamberlain left for Delhi on the 13th; but Nicholson could not join
for a few days, and as troops were much needed at Jullundur, it was
arranged that the column should move on to that place, under the
temporary command of Campbell, and there await the arrival of the new
Brigadier.
On my going to Campbell for orders, he informed me that he was no
longer the senior officer with the column, as a Colonel Denniss,
junior to him regimentally, but his senior in army rank, had just
rejoined the 52nd. Accordingly I reported myself to Denniss, who,
though an officer of many years' service, had never before held a
command, not even that of a regiment; and, poor man! was considerably
taken aback when he heard that he must be in charge of the column for
some days. He practically left everything to me--a somewhat trying
position for almost the youngest officer in the force. It was under
these circumstances I found what an able man Colonel Campbell really
was. He correctly gauged Denniss's fitness, or rather unfitness, for
the command, and appreciating the awkwardness of my position, advised
me so wisely that I had no difficulty in carrying on the work.
We reached Jullundur on the 20th, Nicholson taking over command the
same day. He had been given the rank of Brigadier-General, which
removed all grounds for objection on the part of Campbell, and the two
soon learnt to appreciate each other, and became fast friends.
Jullundur was in a state of the greatest confusion. The Native troops,
consisting of a regiment of Light Cavalry and two regiments of Native
Infantry, began to show signs of disaffection soon after the outbreak
at Meerut, and from that time until the 7th June, when they broke into
open mutiny, incendiary fires were almost of daily occurrence. The
want of resolution displayed in dealing with the crisis at Jullundur
was one of the regrettable episodes of the Mutiny. The European
garrison consisted of Her Majesty's 8th Foot and a troop of Horse
Artillery. The military authorities had almost a whole month's warning
of the mutinous intentions of the Native troops, but though they had
before them the example of the prompt and successful measures adopted
at Lahore and Peshawar, they failed to take any steps to prevent the
outbreak.
The Brigadier (Johnstone) was on leave at the commencement of the
Mutiny, and during his absence the treasure was placed in charge of
a European guard, in accordance with instructions from Sir John
Lawrence. This measure was reversed as soon as the Brigadier rejoined,
for fear of showing distrust of the sepoys, and another wise order
of the watchful Chief Commissioner--to disarm the Native troops--was
never carried out. The Commissioner, Major Edward Lake, one of Henry
Lawrence's most capable assistants, had also repeatedly urged upon
Johnstone the advisability of depriving the sepoys of their arms, but
his advice remained unheeded. When the inevitable revolt took place
European soldiers were allowed to be passive spectators while property
was being destroyed, and sepoys to disappear in the darkness of the
night carrying with them their muskets and all the treasure and
plunder they could lay their hands on.
A futile attempt at pursuit was made the following morning, but, as
will be seen, this was carried out in so half-hearted a manner, that
the mutineers were able to get safely across the Sutlej with their
loot, notwithstanding that the passage of this broad river had to be
made by means of a ferry, where only very few boats were available.
Having reached Philour, the British troops were ordered to push on to
Delhi, and as Jullundur was thus left without protection, Lake gladly
accepted the offer of the Raja of Kapurthala to garrison it with his
own troops.
There was no doubt as to the loyalty of the Raja himself, and his
sincere desire to help us; but the mismanagement of affairs at
Jullundur had done much to lower our prestige in the eyes of his
people, and there was no mistaking the offensive demeanour of his
troops. They evidently thought that British soldiers had gone never
to return, and they swaggered about in swash-buckler fashion, as only
Natives who think they have the upper hand can swagger.
It was clearly Lake's policy to keep on good terms with the Kapurthala
people. His position was much strengthened by the arrival of our
column; but we were birds of passage, and might be off at any moment,
so in order to pay a compliment to the officers and principal men with
the Kapurthala troops, Lake asked Nicholson to meet them at his house.
Nicholson consented, and a durbar was arranged. I was present on the
occasion, and was witness of rather a curious scene, illustrative
alike of Nicholson and Native character.
At the close of the ceremony Mehtab Sing, a general officer in the
Kapurthala Army, took his leave, and, as the senior in rank at the
durbar, was walking out of the room first, when I observed Nicholson
stalk to the door, put himself in front of Mehtab Sing and, waving him
back with an authoritative air, prevent him from leaving the room. The
rest of the company then passed out, and when they had gone, Nicholson
said to Lake: 'Do you see that General Mehtab Sing has his shoes
on?'[8] Lake replied that he had noticed the fact, but tried to excuse
it. Nicholson, however, speaking in Hindustani, said: 'There is no
possible excuse for such an act of gross impertinence. Mehtab Sing
knows perfectly well that he would not venture to step on his own
father's carpet save barefooted, and he has only committed this breach
of etiquette to-day because he thinks we are not in a position to
resent the insult, and that he can treat us as he would not have
dared to do a month ago.' Mehtab Sing looked extremely foolish, and
stammered some kind of apology; but Nicholson was not to be appeased,
and continued: 'If I were the last Englishman left in Jullundur, you'
(addressing Mehtab Sing) 'should not come into my room with your
shoes on;' then, politely turning to Lake, he added, 'I hope the
Commissioner will now allow me to order you to take your shoes off and
carry them out in your own hands, so that your followers may witness
your discomfiture.' Mehtab Sing, completely cowed, meekly did as he
was told.
Although in the kindness of his heart Lake had at first endeavoured to
smooth matters over, he knew Natives well, and he readily admitted
the wisdom of Nicholson's action. Indeed, Nicholson's uncompromising
bearing on this occasion proved a great help to Lake, for it had the
best possible effect upon the Kapurthala people; their manner at once
changed, all disrespect vanished, and there was no more swaggering
about as if they considered themselves masters of the situation.
Five or six years after this occurrence I was one of a pig-sticking
party at Kapurthala, given by the Raja in honour of the
Commander-in-Chief, Sir Hugh Rose.[9] When riding home in the evening
I found myself close to the elephant on which our host and the Chief
were sitting. The conversation happening to turn on the events of the
Mutiny, I asked what had become of General Mehtab Sing. The Raja,
pointing to an elephant a little distance off on which two Native
gentlemen were riding, said, 'There he is.' I recognized the General,
and making him a salaam, which he politely returned, I said to him, 'I
have not had the pleasure of meeting you since those hot days in June,
1857, when I was at Jullundur.' The Raja then asked me if I knew
Nicholson. On my telling him I had been his staff officer, and with
him at the durbar at Lake _Sahib's_ house, the Raja laughed heartily,
and said, 'Oh! then you saw Mehtab Sing made to walk out of the room
with his shoes in his hand? We often chaff him about that little
affair, and tell him that he richly deserved the treatment he received
from the great Nicholson _Sahib_.'
Sir Hugh Rose was greatly interested in the story, which he made me
repeat to him as soon as we got back to camp, and he was as much
struck as I was with this spontaneous testimony of a leading Native to
the wisdom of Nicholson's procedure.
On taking over command, Nicholson's first care was to establish an
effective system of intelligence, by means of which he was kept
informed of what was going on in the neighbouring districts; and,
fully recognizing the necessity for rapid movement in the event of any
sudden emergency, he organized a part of his force into a small
flying column, the infantry portion of which was to be carried in
_ekkas_.[10] I was greatly impressed by Nicholson's knowledge of
military affairs. He seemed always to know exactly what to do and the
best way to do it. This was the more remarkable because, though
a soldier by profession, his training had been chiefly that of a
civilian--a civilian of the frontier, however, where his soldierly
instincts had been fostered in his dealing with a lawless and unruly
people, and where he had received a training which was now to stand
him in good stead. Nicholson was a born Commander, and this was felt
by every officer and man with the column before he had been amongst
them many days.
The Native troops with the column had given no trouble since we left
Lahore. We were travelling in the direction they desired to go, which
accounted for their remaining quiet; but Nicholson, realizing the
danger of having them in our midst, and the probability of their
refusing to turn away from Delhi in the event of our having to retrace
our steps, resolved to disarm the 35th. The civil authorities in the
district urged that the same course should be adopted with the 33rd, a
Native Infantry regiment at Hoshiarpur, about twenty-seven miles from
Jullundur, which it had been decided should join the column. The
Native soldiers with the column already exceeded the Europeans in
number, and as the addition of another regiment would make the odds
against us very serious, it was arranged to disarm the 35th before the
33rd joined us.
We left Jullundur on the 24th June, and that afternoon, accompanied by
the Deputy-Commissioner of the district, I rode to Philour to choose a
place for the disarming parade. The next morning we started early, the
Europeans heading the column, and when they reached the ground we had
selected they took up a position on the right of the road, the two
batteries in the centre and the 52nd in wings on either flank. The
guns were unlimbered and prepared for action. On the left of the road
was a serai,[11] behind which the officer commanding the 35th was told
to take his regiment, and, as he cleared it, to wheel to the right,
thus bringing his men in column of companies facing the line of
Europeans. This manoeuvre being accomplished, I was ordered to tell
the commanding officer that the regiment was to be disarmed, and that
the men were to pile arms and take off their belts. The sepoys and
their British officers were equally taken aback; the latter had
received no information of what was going to happen, while the former
had cherished the hope that they would be able to cross the Sutlej,
and thence slip off with their arms to Delhi.
I thought I could discover relief in the British officers' faces,
certainly in that of Major Younghusband, the Commandant, and when I
gave him the General's order, he murmured, 'Thank God!' He had been
with the 35th for thirty-three years; he had served with it at the
siege of Bhurtpore, throughout the first Afghan war, and in Sale's
defence of Jalalabad; he had been proud of his old corps, but knowing
probably that his men could no longer be trusted, he rejoiced to feel
that they were not to be given the opportunity for further disgracing
themselves.[12] The sepoys obeyed the command without a word, and in a
few minutes their muskets and belts were all packed in carts and taken
off to the fort.
As the ceremony was completed, the 33rd arrived and was dealt with in
a similar manner; but the British officers of this regiment did not
take things so quietly--they still believed in their men, and the
Colonel, Sandeman, trusted them to any extent. He had been with the
regiment for more than two-and-thirty years, and had commanded it
throughout the Sutlej campaign. On hearing the General's order, he
exclaimed: 'What! disarm my regiment? I will answer with my life for
the loyalty of every man!' On my repeating the order the poor old
fellow burst into tears. His son, the late Sir Robert Sandeman, who
was an Ensign in the regiment at the time, told me afterwards how
terribly his father felt the disgrace inflicted upon the regiment of
which he was so proud.
It was known that the wing of the 9th Light Cavalry was in
communication with the mutineers at Delhi, and that the men were only
waiting their opportunity; so they would also certainly have been
disarmed at this time, but for the idea that such a measure might have
a bad effect on the other wing, which still remained at Sialkot. The
turn of this regiment, however, came a few days later.
Up till this time we all hoped that Delhi was our destination, but,
greatly to our surprise and disappointment, orders came that morning
directing the column to return to Umritsar; the state of the Punjab
was causing considerable anxiety, as there were several stations at
which Native corps still remained in possession of their arms.
The same afternoon I was in the Philour fort with Nicholson, when
the telegraph-signaller gave him a copy of a message from Sir Henry
Barnard to the authorities in the Punjab, begging that all Artillery
officers not doing regimental duty might be sent to Delhi, where their
services were urgently required. I at once felt that this message
applied to me. I had been longing to find myself at Delhi, and lived
in perpetual dread of its being captured before I could get there; now
at last my hopes seemed about to be realized in a legitimate
manner, but, on the other hand, I did not like the idea of leaving
Nicholson--the more closely I was associated with him the more I was
attracted by him--and I am always proud to remember that he did not
wish to part with me. He agreed, however, that my first duty was to my
regiment, and only stipulated that before leaving him I should find
someone to take my place, as he did not know a single officer with the
column. This I was able to arrange, and that evening Nicholson and I
dined _tete-a-tete_. At dawn the next morning I left by mail-cart for
Delhi, my only kit being a small bundle of bedding, saddle and bridle,
my servants having orders to follow with my horses, tents, and other
belongings.
[Footnote 1: One Cavalry and two Infantry.]
[Footnote 2: Native Adjutant.]
[Footnote 3: A name applied by the Hindus to any Rajput who has, or
whose ancestors have, been converted to Islam. There were several
_Rangars_ in the 1st Irregulars. One day in June, Shaidad Khan, a
Resaidar of this class, came to Chamberlain, and said: 'There was a
rumour that he (Chamberlain) had not as much confidence in _Rangars_
as in other classes of the regiment, and he came to be comforted'!
Chamberlain asked him to sit down, and sent to the banker of the
regiment for a very valuable sword which he had given him for safe
custody. It had belonged to one of the Amirs of Sindh, was taken in
battle, and given to Chamberlain by Major Fitzgerald, of the Sindh
Horse. On the sword being brought, Chamberlain handed it over to
Shaidad Khan and his sect for safety, to be returned when the Mutiny
was over. The tears rose to the Native officer's eyes, he touched
Chamberlain's knees, and swore that death alone would sever the bond
of fidelity of which the sword was the token. He took his leave,
thoroughly satisfied.]
[Footnote 4: Throne.]
[Footnote 5: A station since abandoned for Rajanpur.]
[Footnote 6: Now General Sir W. T. Hughes, K.C.B.]
[Footnote 7: The two disarmed regiments remained quietly at Multan for
more than a year, when, with unaccountable inconsistency, a sudden
spirit of revolt seized them, and in August, 1858, they broke out,
tried to get possession of the guns, murdered the Adjutant of the
Bombay Fusiliers, and then fled from the station. But order by that
time had been quite restored, our position in the Punjab was secure,
and nearly all the sepoys were killed or captured by the country
people.]
[Footnote 8: No Native, in Native dress, keeps his shoes on when he
enters a room, unless he intends disrespect.]
[Footnote 9: The late Field Marshal Lord Strathnairn, G.C.B.,
G.C.S.I.]
[Footnote 10: A kind of light cart.]
[Footnote 11: A four-walled enclosure for the accommodation of
travellers.]
[Footnote 12: It will be remembered that this was the regiment in
which two men had been found with loaded muskets, and blown away from
guns at Lahore.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER XII.
1857
George Ricketts at Ludhiana--Pushing on to Delhi
--In the camp before Delhi
The mail-cart rattled across the bridge of boats, and in less than an
hour I found myself at Ludhiana, at the house of George Ricketts,[1]
the Deputy Commissioner. Ricketts's bungalow was a resting-place for
everyone passing through _en route_ to Delhi. In one room I found
Lieutenant Williams of the 4th Sikhs, who had been dangerously wounded
three weeks before, while assisting Ricketts to prevent the Jullundur
mutineers from crossing the Sutlej.
While I was eating my breakfast, Ricketts sat down by my side and
recounted a stirring tale of all that had happened at Philour
and Ludhiana consequent on the rising of the Native regiments at
Jullundur. The mutineers had made, in the first instance, for Philour,
a small cantonment, but important from the fact of its containing a
fair-sized magazine, and from its situation, commanding the passage
of the Sutlej. It was garrisoned by the 3rd Native Infantry, which
furnished the sole guard over the magazine--a danger which, as I have
mentioned, had fortunately been recognized by the Commander-in-Chief
when he first heard of the outbreak at Meerut. The men of the 3rd
remained quiet, and even did good service in helping to drag the guns
of the siege-train across the river, and in guarding the treasury,
until the mutineers from Jullundur arrived on the 8th June. They then
gave their British officers warning to leave them, saying they did not
mean to injure them or their property, but they had determined they
would no longer serve the _Sirkar_. Twelve British officers (there
could not have been more), confronted by 3,000 sepoys, felt themselves
powerless, and retired to the fort.
Ricketts had with him at that time an assistant named Thornton,[2] who
had gone to Philour to lodge some money in the treasury. This officer
had started to ride back to Ludhiana, when he suddenly became aware of
what had happened, and how perilous was the position. Had he consulted
his own safety, he would have returned and taken refuge in the
fort, instead of which he galloped on, having to pass close by the
mutineers, until he reached the bridge of boats, which, with admirable
coolness and presence of mind, he cut behind him, then, hurrying on,
he informed Ricketts of what had taken place; and that the rebels
might shortly be expected to attempt the passage of the river.
Fortunately the 4th Sikhs from Abbottabad had that very morning
marched into Ludhiana, and Ricketts hoped, with their assistance, to
hold the sepoys in check until the arrival of the British troops,
which he believed must have been despatched from Jullundur in pursuit
of the mutineers.
The garrison of Ludhiana consisted of a detachment of the 3rd Native
Infantry, guarding the fort, in which was stored a large amount of
powder. The detachment was commanded by Lieutenant Yorke, who, on
hearing Thornton's story, went at once to the fort. He was much liked
by his men, who received him quite civilly, but told him they knew
that their regiment had joined the rebels from Jullundur, and that
they themselves could no longer obey his orders. Ricketts then
understood that he had but the 4th Sikhs and a small party of troops
belonging to the Raja of Nabha to depend upon. There were only
two officers with the 4th Sikhs--Captain Rothney, in command, and
Lieutenant Williams, the Adjutant. Taking three companies of the
regiment under Williams, and two guns of the Nabha Artillery, one
dragged by camels, the other by horses, Ricketts started off towards
the bridge of boats. Galloping on alone, he found that the gap in the
bridge made by Thornton had not been repaired, which proved that the
rebels had not crossed by that passage, at all events. He widened the
gap by cutting adrift some more boats, and then had himself ferried
across the river, in order to ascertain the exact state of affairs at
Philour. He learnt that no tidings had been received of any British
troops having been sent from Jullundur in pursuit of the mutineers,
who, having failed to get across the bridge, owing to Thornton's
timely action, had gone to a ferry reported to be three miles up the
river.
Ricketts recrossed the river as quickly as he could, and joined
Williams. It was then getting dark, but, hoping they might still be
in time to check the rebels, they pushed on in the direction of the
ferry, which proved to be nearer six than three miles away. The ground
was rough and broken, as is always the case on the banks of Indian
rivers, swollen as they often are by torrents from the hills, which
leave behind boulders and debris of all kinds. They made but little
way; one of the gun-camels fell lame, the guides disappeared, and they
began to despair of reaching the ferry in time, when suddenly there
was a challenge and they know they were too late. The sepoys had
succeeded in crossing the river and were bivouacking immediately in
front of them.
It was not a pleasant position, but it had to be made the best of; and
both the civilian and the soldier agreed that their only chance was
to fight. Williams opened fire with his Infantry, and Ricketts took
command of the guns. At the first discharge the horses bolted with the
limber, and never appeared again; almost at the same moment Williams
fell, shot through the body. Ricketts continued the fight until his
ammunition was completely expended, when he was reluctantly obliged to
retire to a village in the neighbourhood, but not until he had killed,
as he afterwards discovered, about fifty of the enemy.
Ricketts returned to Ludhiana early the next morning, and later in
the day the mutineers passed through the city. They released some 500
prisoners who were in the gaol, and helped themselves to what food
they wanted, but they did not enter the cantonment or the fort. The
gallant little attempt to close the passage of the Sutlej was entirely
frustrated, owing to the inconceivable want of energy displayed by the
so-called 'pursuing force'; had it pushed on, the rebels must have
been caught in the act of crossing the river, when Ricketts's small
party might have afforded considerable help. The Europeans from
Jullundur reached Philour before dark on the 8th; they heard the
firing of Ricketts's guns, but no attempt was made by the officer in
command to ascertain the cause, and they came leisurely on to Ludhiana
the following day.
Having listened with the greatest interest to Ricketts's story, and
refreshed the inner man, I resumed my journey, and reached Umballa
late in the afternoon of the 27th, not sorry to get under shelter, for
the monsoon, which had been threatening for some days past, burst with
great fury as I was leaving Ludhiana.
On driving to the dak-bungalow I found it crowded with officers, some
of whom had been waiting there for days for an opportunity to go on to
Delhi; they laughed at me when I expressed my intention of proceeding
at once, and told me that the seats on the mail-carts had to be
engaged several days in advance, and that I might make up my mind to
stay where I was for some time to come. I was not at all prepared for
this, and I determined to get on by hook or by crook; as a preliminary
measure, I made friends with the postmaster, from whose office the
mail-carts started. From him I learnt that my only chance was to
call upon the Deputy-Commissioner, by whose orders the seats were
distributed. I took the postmaster's advice, and thus became
acquainted with Douglas Forsyth, who in later years made a name for
himself by his energetic attempts to establish commercial relations
with Yarkand and Kashgar. Forsyth confirmed what I had already heard,
but told me that an extra cart was to be despatched that night, laden
with small-arm ammunition, on which I could, if I liked, get a seat,
adding: 'Your kit must be of the smallest, as there will be no room
for anything inside the cart.'
I returned to the dak-bungalow, overjoyed at my success, to find
myself quite an important personage, with everyone my friend, like the
boy at school who is the lucky recipient of a hamper from home. 'Take
me with you!' was the cry on all sides. Only two others besides the
driver and myself could possibly go, and then only by carrying our
kits in our laps. It was finally arranged that Captain Law and
Lieutenant Packe should be my companions. Packe was lamed for life
by a shot through his ankle before we had been forty-eight hours
at Delhi, and Law was killed on the 23rd July, having greatly
distinguished himself by his gallantry and coolness under fire during
the short time he served with the force.
We got to Kurnal soon after daybreak on the 28th. It was occupied by a
few of the Raja of Jhind's troops, a Commissariat officer, and one or
two civilians, who were trying to keep the country quiet and collect
supplies. Before noon we passed through Panipat, where there was a
strong force of Patiala and Jhind troops, and early in the afternoon
we reached Alipur. Here our driver pulled up, declaring he would go no
further. A few days before there had been a sharp fight on the road
between Alipur and Delhi, not far from Badli-ki-Serai, where the
battle of the 8th June had taken place, and as the enemy were
constantly on the road threatening the rear of the besieging force,
the driver did not consider it safe to go on. We could not, however,
stop at Alipur, so after some consultation we settled to take the
mail-cart ponies and ride on to camp. We could hear the boom of guns
at intervals, and as we neared Delhi we came across several dead
bodies of the enemy. It is a curious fact that most of these bodies
were exactly like mummies; there was nothing disagreeable about them.
Why this should have been the case I cannot say, but I often wished
during the remainder of the campaign that the atmospheric influences,
which, I presume, had produced this effect, could assert themselves
more frequently.
We stopped for a short time to look at the position occupied by the
enemy at Badli-ki-Serai; but none of us were in the mood to enjoy
sight-seeing. We had never been to Delhi before, and had but the
vaguest notion where the Ridge (the position our force was holding)
was, or how the city was situated with regard to our camp. The sound
of heavy firing became louder and louder, and we knew that fighting
must be going on. The driver had solemnly warned us of the risk we
were running in continuing our journey, and when we came to the point
where the Grand Trunk Road bifurcates, one branch going direct to the
city and the other through the cantonment, we halted for a few minutes
to discuss which we should take. Fortunately for us, we settled to
follow that which led to the cantonment, and, as it was then getting
dark, we pushed on as fast as our tired ponies could go. The relief
to us when we found ourselves safe inside our own piquets may be
imagined. My father's old staff-officer, Henry Norman, who was then
Assistant-Adjutant-General at Head-Quarters, kindly asked me to share
his tent until I could make other arrangements. He had no bed to offer
me, but I required none, as I was thoroughly tired out, and all I
wanted was a spot on which to throw myself down. A good night's rest
quite set me up. I awoke early, scarcely able to believe in my good
fortune. I was actually at Delhi, and the city was still in the
possession of the mutineers.
[Footnote 1: George Ricketts, Esq., C.B., afterwards a member of the
Board of Revenue of the North-West Provinces.]
[Footnote 2: Thomas Thornton, Esq., C.S.I., afterwards Secretary to
the Government of India in the Foreign Department.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER XIII.
1857
The first victory--Enthusiasm amongst the troops
--Barnard's success at Badli-ki-Serai--The Flagstaff Tower
--Position on the Ridge--Quintin Battye--The gallant little Gurkhas
--Proposed assault--The besiegers besieged--Hard fighting
--The centenary of Plassy
Before entering on the narrative of what came under my own observation
during the three months I was at Delhi, I will relate what took place
after Sir Henry Barnard succeeded General Anson in command on the 26th
May, and how the little British force maintained itself against almost
overwhelming odds during the first three weeks of that memorable
siege.
Barnard had served as Chief of the Staff in the Crimea, and had held
various staff appointments in England; but he was an utter stranger to
India, having only arrived in the country a few weeks before. He
fully realized the difficulties of the position to which he had so
unexpectedly succeeded, for he was aware how unjustly Anson was being
judged by those who, knowing nothing of war, imagined he could have
started to attack Delhi with scarcely more preparation than would have
been necessary for a morning's parade. The officers of the column were
complete strangers to him, and he to them, and he was ignorant of the
characteristics and capabilities of the Native portion of his troops.
It must, therefore, have been with an anxious heart that he took over
the command.
One of Barnard's first acts was to get rid of the unreliable element
which Anson had brought away from Umballa. The Infantry he sent to
Rohtuk, where it shortly afterwards mutinied, and the Cavalry to
Meerut. That these troops should have been allowed to retain their
weapons is one of the mysteries of the Mutiny. For more than two
months their insubordination had been apparent, incendiarism had
occurred which had been clearly traced to them, and they had even gone
so far as to fire at their officers; both John Lawrence and Robert
Montgomery had pressed upon the Commander-in-Chief the advisability
of disarming them; but General Anson, influenced by the regimental
officers, who could not believe in the disaffection of their men, had
not grasped the necessity for this precautionary measure. The European
soldiers with the column, however, did not conceal their mistrust of
these sepoys, and Barnard acted wisely in sending them away; but it
was extraordinary that they should have been allowed to keep their
arms.
On the 5th June Barnard reached Alipur, within ten miles of Delhi,
where he decided to await the arrival of the siege-train and the
troops from Meerut.
The Meerut brigade, under Brigadier Wilson, had started on the 27th
May. It consisted of two squadrons of the Carabineers, Tombs's[1]
troop of Horse Artillery, Scott's Field Battery and two 18-pounder
guns, a wing of the 1st Battalion 60th Rifles, a few Native Sappers
and Miners, and a detachment of Irregular Horse.
Early on the 30th the village of Ghazi-u-din-nagar (now known as
Ghaziabad) close to the Hindun river, and about eleven miles from
Delhi, was reached. Thence it was intended to make a reconnaissance
towards Delhi, but about four o'clock in the afternoon a vedette
reported that the enemy were approaching in strength. A very careless
look-out had been kept, for almost simultaneously with the report a
round shot came tumbling into camp. The troops fell in as quickly as
possible, and the Artillery came into action. The Rifles crossed the
Hindun suspension bridge, and, under cover of our guns, attacked the
enemy, who were strongly posted in a village. From this position they
were speedily dislodged, and the victory was complete. Seven hundred
British soldiers defeated seven times their number, capturing five
guns and a large quantity of ammunition and stores. Our loss was one
officer and ten men killed, and one officer and eighteen men wounded.
The following day (Sunday) the enemy reappeared about noon, but
after two hours' fighting they were again routed, and on our troops
occupying their position, they could be seen in full retreat towards
Delhi. The rebels succeeded in taking their guns with them, for our
men, prostrated by the intense heat and parched with thirst, were
quite unable to pursue. We had one officer and eleven men killed, and
two officers and ten men wounded. Among the latter was an ensign of
the 60th Rifles, a boy named Napier, a most gallant young fellow, full
of life and spirit, who had won the love as well as the admiration of
his men. He was hit in the leg, and the moment he was brought into
camp it had to be amputated. When the operation was over, Napier was
heard to murmur, 'I shall never lead the Rifles again! I shall never
lead the Rifles again!' His wound he thought little of. What grieved
him was the idea of having to give up his career as a soldier, and to
leave the regiment he was so proud of. Napier was taken to Meerut,
where he died a few days afterwards.[2]
On the 1st June Wilson's force was strengthened by the Sirmur
battalion of Gurkhas,[3] a regiment which later covered itself with
glory, and gained an undying name by its gallantry during the siege of
Delhi.
On the 7th June Wilson's brigade crossed the Jumna at Baghput, and
at Alipur it joined Barnard's force, the men of which loudly cheered
their Meerut comrades as they marched into camp with the captured
guns. The siege-train had arrived the previous day, and Barnard was
now ready for an advance. His force consisted of about 600 Cavalry and
2,400 Infantry, with 22 field-guns. There were besides 150 European
Artillerymen, chiefly recruits, with the siege-train, which comprised
eight 18-pounders, four 8-inch and twelve 5-1/2-inch mortars. The
guns, if not exactly obsolete, were quite unsuited for the work that
had to be done, but they were the best procurable. George Campbell, in
his 'Memoirs of my Indian Career,' thus describes the siege-train as
he saw it passing through Kurnal: 'I could not help thinking that it
looked a very trumpery affair with which to bombard and take a great
fortified city;' and he expressed his 'strong belief that Delhi would
never be taken by that battery.'
Barnard heard that the enemy intended to oppose his march to Delhi,
and in order to ascertain their exact position he sent Lieutenant
Hodson (who had previously done good service for the Commander-in-Chief
by opening communication with Meerut) to reconnoitre the road. Hodson
reported that the rebels were in force at Badli-ki-Serai a little more
than halfway between Alipur and Delhi. Orders were accordingly issued
for an advance at midnight on the 7th June.
When it became known that a battle was imminent, there was great
enthusiasm amongst the troops, who were burning to avenge the
massacres of Meerut and Delhi. The sick in hospital declared they
would remain there no longer, and many, quite unfit to walk, insisted
on accompanying the attacking column, imploring their comrades not to
mention that they were ill, for fear they should not be allowed to
take part in the fight.[4]
[Illustration: MAJOR-GENERAL SIR HARRY TOMBS, V.C., G.C.B.
_From a photograph by Messrs. Grillet and Co._]
The mutineers had selected an admirable position on both sides of the
main road. To their right was a serai and a walled village capable
of holding large numbers of Infantry, and protected by an impassable
swamp. To their left, on some rising ground, a sand-bag battery for
four heavy guns and an 8-inch mortar had been constructed. On both
sides the ground was swampy and intersected by water-cuts, and about
a mile to the enemy's left, and nearly parallel to the road, ran the
Western Jumna Canal.
At the hour named, Brigadier Hope Grant,[5] commanding the Cavalry,
started with ten Horse Artillery guns, three squadrons of the 9th
Lancers, and fifty Jhind horsemen under Lieutenant Hodson, with the
object of turning the enemy's left flank. Shortly afterwards the main
body marched along the road until the lights in the enemy's camp
became visible. Colonel Showers, who had succeeded Hallifax in the
command of the 1st Brigade,[6] moved off to the right of the road, and
Colonel Graves, who had taken Jones's place with the 2nd Brigade,[7]
to the left. The heavy guns remained on the road with a battery of
Field Artillery on either flank. Just as day broke our guns advanced,
but before they were in position the fight began by a cannonade from
the rebel Artillery, which caused us severe loss. To this destructive
fire no adequate reply could be made; our guns were too few and of too
small calibre. To add to our difficulties, the Native bullock-drivers
of our heavy guns went off with their cattle, and one of the waggons
blew up. At this critical moment Barnard ordered Showers to charge the
enemy's guns, a service which was performed with heroic gallantry by
Her Majesty's 75th Foot, who carried the position at the point of the
bayonet, with a loss of 19 officers and men killed and 43 wounded.
Then, supported by the 1st Fusiliers, the same regiment dashed across
the road and burst open the gates of the serai. A desperate fight
ensued, but the sepoys were no match for British bayonets, and
they now learnt that their misdeeds were not to be allowed to go
unpunished. Graves's brigade, having passed round the _jhil_,[8]
appeared on the enemy's right rear, while Grant with his Cavalry and
Horse Artillery threatened their left. The defeat was complete, and
the rebels retreated hastily towards Delhi, leaving their guns on the
ground.
Although the men were much exhausted, Barnard determined to push on,
for he feared that if he delayed the rebels might rally, and occupy
another strong position.
From the cross-roads just beyond Badli-ki-Serai could be seen the
Ridge on which the British force was to hold its own for more than
three months during the heat of an Indian summer, and under the rain
of an Indian monsoon. At this point two columns were formed, Barnard
taking command of the one, which proceeded to the left towards the
cantonment, and Wilson of the other, which moved along the city road.
Wilson's column fought its way through gardens and enclosures until it
reached the western extremity of the Ridge. Barnard, as he came under
the fire of the enemy's guns, made a flank movement to the left, and
then, wheeling to his right, swept along the Ridge from the Flagstaff
Tower to Hindu Rao's house, where the two columns united, the rebels
flying before them.
Barnard had achieved a great success and with comparatively small
loss, considering the formidable position occupied by the enemy, their
great strength in Artillery, and their superiority in numbers.
Our casualties were 51 killed and 131 wounded. Among the former was
Colonel Chester, the Adjutant-General of the Army. Of the troops
opposed to us it was reckoned that 1,000 never returned to Delhi;
thirteen guns were captured, two of them being 24-pounders.
I have frequently wandered over the Ridge since 1857, and thought how
wonderfully we were aided by finding a ready-made position--not only a
coign of vantage for attack, but a rampart of defence, as Forrest[9]
describes it. This Ridge, rising sixty feet above the city, covered
the main line of communication to the Punjab, upon the retention of
which our very existence as a force depended. Its left rested on the
Jumna, unfordable from the time the snow on the higher ranges begins
to melt until the rainy season is over, and of sufficient width to
prevent our being enfiladed by field-guns; although, on the immediate
right, bazaars, buildings, and garden-walls afforded cover to the
enemy, the enclosed nature of the ground was so far advantageous that
it embarrassed and impeded them in their attempts to organize an
attack in force upon our flank or rear; and a further protection was
afforded by the Najafgarh _jhil_, which during the rains submerges a
vast area of land.
The distance of the Ridge from the city walls varied considerably. On
our right, where the memorial monument now stands, it was about 1,200
yards, at the Flagstaff Tower about a mile and a half, and at the end
near the river nearly two miles and a half. This rendered our left
comparatively safe, and it was behind the Ridge in this direction that
the main part of our camp was pitched. The Flagstaff Tower in the
centre was the general rendezvous for the non-combatants, and for
those of the sick and wounded who were able to move about, as they
could assemble there and hear the news from the front without much
risk of injury from the enemy's fire.
The Flagstaff Tower is interesting from the fact that it was here the
residents from the cantonment of Delhi assembled to make a stand,
on hearing that the rebels from Meerut were murdering the British
officers on duty within the city, that the three Native regiments and
battery of Field Artillery had joined the mutineers, and that at any
moment they themselves might expect to be attacked. The tower was 150
feet high, with a low parapet running round the top, approached by a
narrow winding staircase. Here the men of the party proposed to await
the attack. The ladies, who behaved with the utmost coolness and
presence of mind, were, with the wives and children of the few
European non-commissioned officers, placed for their greater safety on
the stairs, where they were all but suffocated by the stifling heat in
such a confined space. The little party on the roof consisted of some
twenty British officers, the same number of half-caste buglers and
drummers, and half a dozen European soldiers. Not a drop of water, not
a particle of food, was to be had. No help appeared to be coming from
Meerut, in the direction of which place many a longing and expectant
glance had been cast during the anxious hours of that miserable 11th
May. Constant and heavy firing was heard from the city and suburbs,
and the Cavalry were reported to be advancing on the cantonment.
Before evening the weary watchers realized that their position was
untenable, and that their only possible chance of escaping the fate
which had befallen the officers within the city (whose dead bodies had
been inhumanly sent in a cart to the Tower) lay in flight. Shortly
before dark the move was made, the women and children were crowded
into the few vehicles available, and accompanied by the men, some on
foot and some on horseback, they got away by the road leading towards
Umballa. They were only just in time, for before the last of the party
were out of sight of the cantonment, crowds of Natives poured into it,
burning, plundering, and destroying everything they could find.
Amongst the fugitives from Delhi was Captain Tytler, of the 38th
Native Infantry, who, after a variety of vicissitudes, reached Umballa
safely with his wife and children. When Anson's force was being formed
for the advance on Delhi, Tytler was placed in charge of the military
treasure chest, and through some unaccountable negligence Mrs. Tytler
was allowed to accompany him. I believe that, when Mrs. Tytler's
presence became known to the authorities, she would have been sent
out of camp to some safe place, but at that time she was not in a fit
state to travel, and on the 21st June, a few days after the force took
up its position under a heavy cannonade, she gave birth to a son
in the waggon in which she was accommodated. The infant, who was
christened Stanley Delhi Force, seems to have been looked upon by the
soldiery with quite a superstitious feeling, for the father tells us
that soon after its birth he overheard a soldier say; 'Now we shall
get our reinforcements; this camp was formed to avenge the blood
of innocents, and the first reinforcement sent to us is a new-born
infant.' Reinforcements did actually arrive the next day.
It was on the afternoon of the 8th June that the British force was
placed in position on the Ridge. The main piquet was established at
Hindu Rao's house, a large stone building, in former days the country
residence of some Mahratta Chief. About one hundred and eighty yards
further to the left was the observatory, near which our heavy gun
battery was erected. Beyond the observatory was an old Pathan mosque,
in which was placed an Infantry piquet with two field-guns. Still
further to the left came the Flagstaff Tower, held by a party of
Infantry with two more field-guns. At the extreme right of the Ridge,
overlooking the trunk road, there was a strong piquet with a heavy
battery.
This was the weak point of our defence. To the right, and somewhat
to the rear, was the suburb of Sabzi Mandi (vegetable market), a
succession of houses and walled gardens, from which the rebels
constantly threatened our flank. To protect this part of the position
as much as possible, a battery of three 18-pounders and an Infantry
piquet was placed on what was known as the General's Mound, with a
Cavalry piquet and two Horse Artillery guns immediately below.
In front of the Ridge the ground was covered with old buildings,
enclosures, and clumps of trees, which afforded only too perfect
shelter to the enemy when making their sorties.
As described by the Commanding Engineer, 'the eastern face of Delhi
rests on the Jumna, and at the season of the year during which our
operations were carried on, the stream may be described as washing the
face of the walls. The river front was therefore inaccessible to
the besieging force, while at the same time the mutineers and the
inhabitants of the city could communicate freely across the river by
means of the bridge of boats and ferries. This rendered it impossible
for us to invest Delhi, even if there had been a sufficient number
of troops for the purpose. We were only able, indeed, to direct our
attack against a small portion of the city wall, while throughout the
siege the enemy could freely communicate with, and procure supplies
from, the surrounding country.
'On the river front the defences consisted of an irregular wall with
occasional bastions and towers, and about one half of the length of
this face was occupied by the palace of the King of Delhi and its
outwork, the old Moghul fort of Selimgarh.
'The remaining defences consisted of a succession of bastioned fronts,
the connecting curtains being very long, and the outworks limited
to one crown-work at the Ajmir gate, and Martello towers mounting a
single gun, at the points where additional flanking fire to that given
by the bastions themselves was required.'[10]
The above description will give some idea of the strength of the great
city which the British force had come to capture. For more than two
months, however, our energies were devoted not to capturing the city,
but to defending ourselves, having to be ever on the watch to guard
our communication with the Punjab, and to repel the enemy's almost
daily sorties.
The defences of Delhi, which remain almost unaltered up to the present
day, were modernized forms of the ancient works that existed when
the city fell before Lord Lake's army in 1803. These works had been
strengthened and improved some years before the Mutiny by Lieutenant
Robert Napier.[11] How thoroughly and effectually that talented and
distinguished Engineer performed the duty entrusted to him, we who had
to attack Delhi could testify to our cost.
Barnard was not left long in doubt as to the intentions of the rebels,
who, the very afternoon on which he occupied the Ridge, attacked Hindu
Rao's house, where the Sirmur battalion, two companies of the 60th
Rifles, and two of Scott's guns had been placed. The enemy were driven
off before dark. The following day they began to cannonade from the
city walls, and in the afternoon repeated their attack.
That same morning a welcome reinforcement reached camp, the famous
Corps of Guides having arrived as fresh as if they had returned from
an ordinary field day, instead of having come off a march of nearly
600 miles, accomplished in the incredibly short time of twenty-two
days, at the most trying season of the year. The General, having
inspected them, said a few words of encouragement to the men, who
begged their gallant Commandant to say how proud they were to belong
to the Delhi Force. Their usefulness was proved that same afternoon,
when, in support of the piquets, they engaged the enemy in a
hand-to-hand contest, and drove them back to the city.
It was close up to the walls that Quintin Battye, the dashing
Commander of the Guides Cavalry, received his mortal wound. He was the
brightest and cheeriest of companions, and although only a subaltern
of eight years' service, he was a great loss. I spent a few hours with
him on my way to Delhi, and I remember how his handsome face glowed
when he talked of the opportunities for distinguishing themselves in
store for the Guides. Proud of his regiment, and beloved by his men,
who, grand fellows themselves, were captivated by his many soldierly
qualities, he had every prospect before him of a splendid career, but
he was destined to fall in his first fight. He was curiously fond of
quotations, and the last words he uttered were '_Dulce et decorum est
pro patria mori_.'
While our Infantry and Field Artillery were busily engaged with the
enemy, the few heavy guns we had were put in position on the Ridge.
Great things were hoped from them, but it was soon found that they
were not powerful enough to silence the enemy's fire, and that our
small supply of ammunition was being rapidly expended.[12] The rebels'
guns were superior in number and some in calibre to ours, and were
well served by the Native Artillerymen whom we had been at such pains
to teach. Barnard discovered, too, that his deficiencies in men and
_materiel_ prevented regular approaches being made. There were only
150 Native Sappers and Miners with our force, and Infantry could not
be spared for working parties.
On the 10th June another determined attack was made on Hindu Rao's
house, which was repulsed by the Sirmur battalion of Gurkhas under its
distinguished Commandant, Major Reid.[13] The mutineers quite hoped
that the Gurkhas would join them, and as they were advancing they
called out: 'We are not firing; we want to speak to you; we want you
to join us.' The little Gurkhas replied, 'Oh yes; we are coming,' on
which they advanced to within twenty paces of the rebels, and, firing
a well-directed volley, killed nearly thirty of them.
The next day the insurgents made a third attack, and were again
repulsed with considerable loss. They knew that Hindu Rao's house was
the key of our position, and throughout the siege they made the most
desperate attempts to capture it. But Barnard had entrusted this
post of danger to the Gurkhas, and all efforts to dislodge them were
unavailing. At first Reid had at his command only his own battalion
and two companies of the 60th Rifles; but on the arrival of the Guides
their Infantry were also placed at his disposal, and whenever he
sounded the alarm he was reinforced by two more companies of the 60th.
Hindu Rao's house was within easy range of nearly all the enemy's
heavy guns, and was riddled through and through with shot and shell.
Reid never quitted the Ridge save to attack the enemy, and never once
visited the camp until carried into it severely wounded on the day of
the final assault. Hindu Rao's house was the little Gurkhas' hospital
as well as their barrack, for their sick and wounded begged to be left
with their comrades instead of being taken to camp.[14]
Failing in their attempts on the centre of the position, the mutineers
soon after daylight on the 12th, having concealed themselves in the
ravines adjoining Metcalfe House, attacked the Flagstaff Tower, the
piquet of which was composed of two Horse Artillery guns and two
companies of the 75th Foot, under the command of Captains Dunbar and
Knox. A heavy fog and thick mist rolling up from the low ground near
the Jumna completely enveloped the Ridge and the left front of our
position, hiding everything in the immediate vicinity. The piquet
was on the point of being relieved by a detachment of the 2nd
Bengal Fusiliers, when a large body of the enemy, who had crept up
unobserved, made a rush at the Flagstaff Tower, and as nearly as
possible captured the guns. The piquet was hardly pressed, Knox
and several men were killed, and but for the timely arrival of two
companies of the 60th, the rebels would have gained the day.
This engagement was scarcely over, when masses of insurgents advanced
from the Sabzi Mandi upon Hindu Rao's house, and into the gardens on
the right flank of the camp, threatening the Mound piquet. Reserves
were called up, these attacks, in their turn, were repulsed and the
rebels were pursued for some distance. It was most fortunate that
both attacks did not take place simultaneously, as was the obvious
intention of the enemy, for our strength would not have been
sufficient to repel them both at the same moment.
In order to prevent the mutineers from coming to such close quarters
again, a piquet was placed in Metcalfe's House, and the Mound to the
rear of the ridge facing the Sabzi Mandi was strengthened. These
precautions ought to, and would, have been taken before, but for the
want of men. Our soldiers were scarcely ever off duty, and this fresh
demand made it impossible at times to provide a daily relief for the
several piquets.
Our resources in siege guns and ammunition were so limited, daily
sorties, disease, and heat were making such ravages amongst our
small force, there was so little hope of receiving any considerable
reinforcements, and it appeared to be of such paramount importance to
capture Delhi without further delay, that Barnard agreed to a proposal
for taking it by a _coup de main_.
The particular details of the project and disposition of the troops
were worked out by three young officers of Engineers, under the direct
orders of the General, and were kept a profound secret; even the
Commanding Engineer was not made acquainted with them. Secrecy was, of
course, of vital importance, but that the officers who ought to have
been chiefly concerned were kept in ignorance of the scheme, shows
there was little of that confidence so essential to success existing
between the Commander and those who were in the position of his
principal advisers. Practically the whole force was to be engaged,
divided into three columns--one to enter by the Kashmir gate, the
second by the Lahore gate, and the third was to attempt an escalade.
The three columns, if they succeeded in effecting an entrance, were to
work their way to the centre of the city, and there unite.
It was intended that these columns should move off from camp so as to
arrive at the walls just before daybreak; accordingly, at one o'clock
on the morning of the 13th June the troops were suddenly paraded and
ammunition served out, and then for the first time the Commanders
of the three columns and the staff were made acquainted with the
General's intentions. It so happened that the 75th Foot, which had
followed the enemy into the grounds of Metcalfe House after the
repulse on the Flagstaff Tower the previous morning, had through some
oversight never been recalled; their absence was only discovered when
the order was given for the regiment to turn out, and a considerable
time was wasted in sending for it and bringing it back to camp. Day
was breaking when this regiment received its ammunition, and all hope
of an unperceived advance to the walls had to be given up. The
troops were therefore dismissed, and allowed to turn in, having been
uselessly disturbed from their much-needed rest.
The failure to give effect to the young Engineer officers' plan may be
looked upon as a merciful dispensation of Providence, which saved us
from what would almost certainly have been an irreparable disaster.
When we think of the hard fighting encountered when the assault did
take place under much more favourable circumstances, and how the
columns at the end of that day were only just able to get inside the
city, those who had practical knowledge of the siege can judge what
chance there would have been of these smaller columns accomplishing
their object, even if they had been able to take the enemy by
surprise.
The 13th and 14th passed in comparative quiet; but early on the 15th
a strong force advanced from Delhi against the Metcalfe House piquet,
with the object of turning our left flank, but it was driven back with
considerable loss.
On the 17th we were attacked from almost every direction--a manoeuvre
intended to prevent our observing a battery which was being
constructed close to an Idgah,[15] situated on a hill to our right,
from which to enfilade our position on the Ridge. As it was very
important to prevent the completion of this battery, Barnard ordered
it to be attacked by two small columns, one commanded by Tombs, of the
Bengal Horse Artillery, the other by Reid. Tombs, with 400 of the 60th
Rifles and 1st Bengal Fusiliers, 30 of the Guides Cavalry, 20 Sappers
and Miners, and his own troop of Horse Artillery, moved towards the
enemy's left, while Reid, with four companies of the 60th and some
of his own Gurkhas, advanced through Kishenganj against their right.
Tombs drove the rebels through a succession of gardens till they
reached the Idgah, where they made an obstinate but unavailing
resistance. The gates of the mosque were blown open, and thirty-nine
of its defenders were killed. Tombs himself was slightly wounded, and
had two horses killed, making five which had been shot under this
gallant soldier since the commencement of the campaign. Reid's attack
was equally successful. He completely destroyed the battery, and
inflicted heavy loss on the enemy.
The next day but one the rebels issued from the city in great force,
and threatened nearly every part of our position. The fighting was
severe throughout the afternoon, the piquets having again and again
to be reinforced. Towards evening, while nearly all the Infantry were
thus engaged, a large party of the insurgents, passing unperceived
through the suburbs and gardens on our right, reappeared about a mile
and a half to our rear. Very few troops were left in camp, and all
Hope Grant, who was in command at the time, could collect was four or
five squadrons of Cavalry and twelve guns. He found the enemy in a
strong position, against which his light guns could make but little
impression, while their Artillery and well-placed Infantry did us
considerable damage. Tombs's troop especially suffered, and at one
time his guns were in imminent danger of being captured. Just at
this moment some of the Guides Cavalry rode up. 'Daly, if you do not
charge,' called out Tombs, 'my guns are taken.' Daly spurred into the
bushes, followed by about a dozen of his gallant Guides. He returned
with a bullet through his shoulder, but the momentary diversion saved
the guns.[16]
As long as it was light the steady fire of the Artillery and the
dashing charges of the Cavalry kept the rebels in check; but in the
dusk of the evening their superior numbers told: they very nearly
succeeded in turning our flank, and for some time the guns were again
in great jeopardy; the 9th Lancers and Guides, bent on saving them at
all hazards, charged the enemy; but, with a ditch and houses on each
side, their action was paralyzed, and their loss severe. All was now
in confusion, the disorder increasing as night advanced, when a small
body of Infantry (about 300 of the 60th Rifles) came up, dashed
forward, and, cutting a lane through the rebels, rescued the guns.[17]
Our loss in this affair amounted to 3 officers and 17 men killed, and
7 officers and 70 men wounded. Among the latter was Hope Grant,
who had his horse shot under him in a charge, and was saved by the
devotion of two men of his own regiment (the 9th Lancers) and a
Mahomedan sowar of the 4th Irregular Cavalry.
It was nearly midnight before the troops returned to camp. The enemy
had been frustrated in their attempt to force our rear, but they had
not been driven back; we had, indeed, been only just able to hold our
own. The result of the day added considerably to the anxiety of the
Commander. He saw that the rebels had discovered our weak point,
and that if they managed to establish themselves in our rear, our
communication with the Punjab would be cut off, our small force would
be invested, and without supplies and reinforcements it would be
impossible to maintain our position against the daily increasing
strength of the insurgents. Great was the despondency in camp when
the result of the day's fighting was known; but the fine spirit which
animated the force throughout the siege soon asserted itself, and our
men cheerfully looked forward to the next encounter with the enemy.
At daybreak Grant was again upon the ground, but found it abandoned.
Many dead men and horses were lying about, and a 9-pounder gun, left
by the enemy, was brought into camp.
The troops had scarcely got back, hoping for a little rest, when the
enemy again resumed their attack on the rear, and opened fire at so
short a distance that their shot came right through the camp. But on
this occasion they made no stand, and retreated as soon as our troops
showed themselves.
In order to strengthen our position in rear a battery of two
18-pounders was constructed, supported by Cavalry and Infantry
piquets, and most of the bridges over the drain from the Najafgarh
_jhil_ were destroyed.
For two days after the events I have just described the hard-worked
little body of troops had comparative rest, but our spies informed us
that the enemy were being largely reinforced, and that we might expect
to be hotly attacked on the 23rd.
For some time an idea had been prevalent amongst the Natives that the
English _raj_ was not destined to survive its hundredth year, and that
the centenary of Clive's victory on the field of Plassy on the 23rd
June, 1757, would see its downfall. This idea was strengthened in
the Native mind by the fact that the 23rd June, 1857, was a date
propitious alike for Hindus and Mahomedans; the Jattsa, a Hindu
religious festival, was to take place on that day, and there was also
to be a new moon, which the Mahomedans looked upon as a lucky omen;
the astrologers, therefore, declared that the stars in their courses
would fight for the mutineers. If, however, prophecies and omens alike
appeared to favour the rebels, fortune was not altogether unkind to
us, for on the 22nd a reinforcement reached Rhai, twenty-two miles
from Delhi, consisting of six Horse Artillery guns, a small party
of British Infantry, a squadron of the 2nd Punjab Cavalry, and the
Head-Quarters of the 4th Sikhs, numbering in all about 850 men.
A staff officer was sent at once to Rhai to hurry on the force and
tell them how urgently their assistance was required in camp; this
appeal was responded to with the utmost alacrity, and early the next
evening the welcome reinforcement made its appearance.
It had scarcely arrived before the Artillery on the city walls opened
fire, while guns, which had been brought into the suburbs, enfiladed
our right and concentrated a heavy fire on Hindu Rao's house which the
few guns we had in position were quite unable to silence. The rebel
Infantry occupied Kishenganj and Sabzi Mandi in force, and threatened
to advance on the Mound battery, while a constant musketry fire was
maintained upon the Ridge. Reid reported that the mutineers made a
desperate attack at about twelve o'clock, and that no men could have
fought better; they charged the Rifles, the Guides, and the Gurkhas
again and again. The cannonade raged fast and furious, and at one
time it seemed as though the day must be lost. Thousands were brought
against a mere handful of men; but Reid knew the importance of
his position, and was determined at all hazards to hold it until
reinforcements arrived.[18]
The mutineers were checked, but not driven off. The first attempt from
the Mound battery failed to repulse them, and Colonel Welchman, who
was in command, was dangerously wounded. Every available man in camp
had been engaged, and as a last resource the 2nd Fusiliers and the 4th
Sikhs, who had just arrived from Rhai, were sent to the front. Showers
was placed in command, and shortly before the day closed he succeeded
in forcing the enemy to retire. So the anniversary of Plassy saw us,
though hardly pressed, undefeated, and the enemy's hopes unfulfilled.
They lost over 1,000 men. Our casualties were 1 officer and 38 men
killed, and 3 officers and 118 men wounded. The heat all the while was
terrific, and several of our men were knocked over by the sun.
The lesson taught us by this severe fighting was the importance
of occupying the Sabzi Mandi, and thus preventing the enemy from
approaching too close to the camp and enfilading the Ridge. This
entailed more constant duty upon our already overworked soldiers, but
Barnard felt that it would not do to run the risk of another such
struggle.
A piquet of 180 Europeans was accordingly placed in the Sabzi Mandi,
part in a serai on one side of the Grand Trunk Road, and the rest in
a Hindu temple on the opposite side. These posts were connected by a
line of breastworks with the Hindu Rao piquets, and added considerably
to the strength of our position.
After the 23rd there were real or threatened attacks daily; but we
were left fairly undisturbed until the 27th June, when the Metcalfe
and Sabzi Mandi piquets were assaulted, and also the batteries on the
Ridge. These attempts were defeated without any very great loss, only
13 of our men being killed, and 1 officer and 48 men wounded.
[Footnote 1: The late Major-General Sir Harry Tombs, V.C., K.C.B.]
[Footnote 2: The Chaplain's Narrative of the siege of Delhi.]
[Footnote 3: Now the 1st Battalion, 2nd Gurkhas.]
[Footnote 4: 'Siege of Delhi; by an Officer who served there.']
[Footnote 5: The late General Sir Hope Grant, G.C.B.]
[Footnote 6: 75th and 1st Bengal Fusiliers.]
[Footnote 7: 1st Battalion 60th Rifles, 2nd Bengal Fusiliers, and
Sirmur battalion.]
[Footnote 8: Swampy ground.]
[Footnote 9: 'The Indian Mutiny,' by George W. Forrest.]
[Footnote 10: The bastions were small, each mounting from ten to
fourteen pieces of Artillery; they were provided with masonry parapets
about 12 feet in thickness, and were about 16 feet high. The curtain
consisted of a simple masonry wall or rampart 16 feet in height, 11
feet thick at top, and 14 or 15 feet at bottom. This main wall carried
a parapet loopholed for musketry 8 feet in height and 3 feet in
thickness. The whole of the land front was covered by a faussebraye of
varying thickness, ranging from 16 to 30 feet, and having a vertical
scarp wall 8 feet high; exterior to this was a dry ditch about 25
feet in width. The counterscarp was simply an earthen slope, easy to
descend. The glacis was very narrow, extending only 50 or 60 yards
from the counterscarp, and covering barely one-half of the walls
from the besiegers' view. These walls were about seven miles in
circumference, and included an area of about three square miles (see
Colonel Baird-Smith's report, dated September 17, 1857).]
[Footnote 11: The late Field Marshal Lord Napier of Magdala, G.C.B.,
G.C.S.I.]
[Footnote 12: So badly off were we for ammunition for the heavy guns
at this time, that it was found necessary to use the shot fired at
us by the enemy, and a reward was offered for every 24-pounder shot
brought into the Artillery Park.]
[Footnote 13: Now General Sir Charles Reid, G.C.B.]
[Footnote 14: Forrest's 'Indian Mutiny' and Norman's 'Narrative of the
Siege of Delhi,' two interesting accounts from which I shall often
quote.]
[Footnote 15: A Mahomedan place of worship and sacrifice.]
[Footnote 16: 'Siege of Delhi; by an Officer who served there.']
[Footnote 17: Forrest's 'The Indian Mutiny.']
[Footnote 18: Reid's own report.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER XIV.
1857
A new appointment
I will now continue my story from the 29th June, the morning after my
arrival in camp, when I awoke full of excitement, and so eager to hear
all my old friend Norman could tell me, that I am afraid he must have
been considerably bored with my questions.
It is impossible for me to describe my pleasure at finding myself a
member of a force which had already gained imperishable fame. I longed
to meet and know the men whose names were in everyone's mouth. The
hero of the day was Harry Tombs, of the Bengal Horse Artillery, an
unusually handsome man and a thorough soldier. His gallantry in the
attack on the Idgah, and wherever he had been engaged, was the general
talk of the camp. I had always heard of Tombs as one of the best
officers in the regiment, and it was with feelings of respectful
admiration that I made his acquaintance a few days later.
Jemmy Hills,[1] one of the subalterns in Tombs's troop, was an old
Addiscombe friend of mine; he delighted in talking of his Commander,
in dilating on his merits as a soldier and his skill in handling
each arm of the service. As a cool, bold leader of men Tombs was
unsurpassed: no fire, however hot, and no crisis, however unexpected,
could take him by surprise; he grasped the situation in a moment,
and issued his orders without hesitation, inspiring all ranks with
confidence in his power and capacity. He was somewhat of a martinet,
and was more feared than liked by his men until they realized what a
grand leader he was, when they gave him their entire confidence, and
were ready to follow him anywhere and everywhere.
Another very distinguished officer of my regiment, whom I now met for
the first time, and for whom I ever afterwards entertained the warmest
regard, was Edwin Johnson,[2] Assistant-Adjutant-General of the Bengal
Artillery, in which capacity he had accompanied Brigadier Wilson from
Meerut. He had a peculiarly bright intellect--somewhat caustic,
but always clever and amusing. He was a delightful companion, and
invariably gained the confidence of those with whom he worked.
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIR JAMES HILLS-JOHNES, V.C., G.C.B.
_from a photograph by Messrs. Bourne and Shepherd._]
Johnson was the first person on whom I called to report my arrival and
to find out with which troop or battery I was to do duty. He told me
that the Quartermaster-General wished to keep me in his department.
So, after visiting General Chamberlain,[3] who I knew would be anxious
to hear all that had been going on in the Movable Column since his
departure, I made my way to Colonel Becher, whom I found suffering
from the severe wound he had received a few days before, and asked him
what was to be my fate. He replied that the question had been raised
of appointing an officer to help the Assistant-Adjutant-General of
the Delhi Field Force, who found it impossible to carry on the daily
increasing work single-handed, and that Chamberlain had thought of me
for this post. Had Chamberlain's wish been carried out my career might
have been quite changed, but while he was discussing the question with
Sir Henry Barnard, Donald Stewart unexpectedly arrived in camp.
I was waiting outside Sir Henry Barnard's tent, anxious to hear what
decision had been come to, when two men rode up, both looking greatly
fatigued and half starved; one of them being Stewart. He told me
they had had a most adventurous ride; but before waiting to hear his
story,[4] I asked Norman to suggest Stewart for the new appointment--a
case of one word for Stewart and two for myself, I am afraid, for
I had set my heart on returning to the Quartermaster-General's
department. And so it was settled, to our mutual satisfaction, Stewart
becoming the D.A.A.G. of the Delhi Field Force, and I the D.A.Q.M.G.
with the Artillery.
[Footnote 1: Now Lieutenant-General Sir James Hills-Johnes, V.C.,
G.C.B.]
[Footnote 2: The late General Sir Edwin Johnson, G.C.B.]
[Footnote 3: Chamberlain had been given the rank of Brigadier-General
on his arrival at Delhi.]
[Footnote 4: The account of this adventurous ride is given in the
Appendix. (Appendix I.)]
* * * * *
CHAPTER XV.
1857
Reinforcements begin to arrive--An assault again proposed
--The attack on Alipur--Death of General Barnard
--General Reed assumes command--Two V.C.'s--Treachery in camp
--Fighting close up to the city walls
--Sufferings of the sick and wounded--General Reed's health fails
That my readers may better understand our position at the time I
joined the Delhi Field Force, I might, I think, quote with advantage
from a letter[1] written the very day of my arrival by General Barnard
to Sir John Lawrence, in which he describes the difficulties of the
situation, hitherto met by the troops with the most determined courage
and endurance, but to which no end could be seen. When he took over
the command, he wrote, he was expected to be able to silence at once
the fire from the Mori and Kashmir bastions, and then to bring his
heavy guns into play on the walls and open a way into the city,
after which, it was supposed, all would be plain sailing. But this
programme, so plausible in theory, was absolutely impossible to put
into practice. In spite of every effort on our part, not a single one
of the enemy's guns was silenced; they had four to our one, while the
distance from the Ridge to the city walls was too great to allow of
our comparatively light guns making any impression on them. Under
these circumstances the only thing to be done was to construct
batteries nearer to the city, but before these could be begun,
entrenching tools, sandbags, and other necessary materials, of which
the Engineers were almost entirely destitute, had to be collected. The
troops were being worn out by constant sanguinary combats, and the
attacks to which they were exposed required every soul in camp to
repel them. It was never certain where the enemy intended to strike,
and it was only by the most constant vigilance that their intentions
could be ascertained, and the men were being incessantly withdrawn
during the scorching heat of the day from one place to another.
General Barnard concluded as follows: 'You may ask why we engage in
these constant combats. The reason simply is that when attacked we
must defend ourselves, and that to secure our camp, our hospitals, our
stores, etc., every living being has to be employed. The whole thing
is too gigantic for the force brought against it.'
Soon after Barnard wrote these lines reinforcements began to arrive,
and our position was gradually improved. By the 3rd July the following
troops had reached Delhi: four Horse Artillery guns (two British
and two Native), a detachment of European Foot Artillery, the
Head-Quarters of Her Majesty's 8th and 61st Foot, one squadron of the
5th Punjab Cavalry, the 1st Punjab Infantry, and some newly-raised
Sikh Sappers and Artillery. The strength of the force was thus
increased to nearly 6,600 men of all arms. The enemy's reinforcements,
however, were out of all proportion to ours--mutineers from Jullundur,
Nasirabad, Nimach, Kotah, Gwalior, Jhansi, and Rohilkand arrived about
this time. Those from Rohilkand crossed by the bridge of boats and
entered the city by the Calcutta gate; we could distinctly see them
from the Ridge, marching in perfect formation, with their bands
playing and colours flying. Indeed, throughout the siege the enemy's
numbers were constantly being increased, while they had a practically
unlimited number of guns, and the well-stocked magazine furnished them
with an inexhaustible supply of ammunition.
I found myself under fire for the first time on the 30th June, when an
attack was made on the Sabzi Mandi piquet and Hindu Rao's house. Eight
of our men were killed and thirty wounded; amongst the latter were
Yorke and Packe, both attached to the 4th Sikhs. It appeared certain
that these two officers were wounded by the Hindustanis of their own
regiment; Packe, who was shot through the ankle, being so close up to
the breastwork that it was scarcely possible for the bullet which hit
him to have come from the front. Consequently all the Hindustanis
in the 4th Sikhs were disarmed and turned out of camp, as it was
manifestly undesirable to have any but the most loyal soldiers in our
ranks.
[Illustration: FIELD-MARSHAL SIR DONALD MARTIN STEWART, BART., G.C.B.,
G.C.S.I., C.I.E.
_From a photograph by Messrs. Elliott and Fry._]
In the afternoon of the same day I was ordered to accompany a column
under Brigadier Showers, sent on reconnoitring duty towards the Idgah,
where we heard that the enemy were again constructing a battery. It
had not been commenced, but the intention to build one was evident,
for we found a number of entrenching tools, and a quantity of
sandbags.
The question of attempting to take the city by a _coup de main_ was
now again discussed. It was urged that our numbers, already small,
were being daily reduced by casualties and sickness; that the want of
proper equipment rendered it impossible to undertake regular siege
operations; and that a rising in the Punjab was imminent. The chances
of success were certainly more favourable than they were on the 13th
June. The force to be employed was stronger; all concerned--the staff,
commanders, and troops--were fully apprised of what was intended, and
of the part they would have to play; above all, the details of the
scheme, which was drawn up on much the same lines as the former one,
were carefully worked out by Lieutenant Alex. Taylor,[2] who had
recently come into camp, and was acting temporarily as Commanding
Engineer.
Of the supreme importance of regaining possession of Delhi there can
be no doubt whatever. But nevertheless the undertaking would, at that
time, have been a most desperate one, and only to be justified by
the critical position in which we were placed. In spite of the late
reinforcements, we were a mere handful compared with the thousands
within the walls. Success, therefore, depended on the completeness
of the surprise; and, as we could make no movement without its being
perceived by the enemy, surprise was impossible. Another strong reason
against assaulting at that time was the doubtful attitude of some
of the Hindustani Cavalry still with us; the whole of the effective
troops, too, would have to be employed, and the sick and wounded--a
large number--left to the mercy of the Native followers.
General Barnard carefully weighed all the arguments for and against
the proposal, and at last reluctantly consented to the attack being
made, but the discovery of a conspiracy amongst the Natives in camp
caused it to be countermanded--a great disappointment to many, and
there was much cavilling and discontent on the part of some, who could
not have sufficiently appreciated the difficulties and risks of the
undertaking, or the disastrous consequences of a repulse.
On the morning of the day on which it had been arranged that the
assault should be made, the staff at Delhi received a most valuable
addition in the person of Lieutenant-Colonel Baird-Smith, of the
Bengal Engineers. Summoned from Rurki to take the place of the Chief
Engineer, whose health had broken down, Baird-Smith was within sixty
miles of Delhi on the 2nd July, when news of the intended movement
reached him. He started at once, and arrived in camp early on the 3rd,
but only to find that the assault had been postponed.
On the afternoon of the 3rd July the enemy came out in force (5,000
or 6,000 strong with several guns), and occupied the suburbs to our
right. The troops were turned out, but instead of attacking us and
returning to the city as usual when it became dark, the rebels moved
off in the direction of Alipur, where we had an outpost, which was
held by Younghusband's squadron of the 5th Punjab Cavalry. They
reached Alipur about midnight, and had they attacked the serai at once
with Infantry, Younghusband and his men could hardly have escaped, but
fortunately they opened upon it with Artillery. This gave the sowars
time to mount and fall back on Rhai, the next post, ten miles to the
rear, which was garrisoned by the friendly troops of the Jhind Raja.
The sound of the guns being heard in camp, a column under the command
of Major Coke was got ready to pursue should the insurgents push up
the Trunk Road, or to cut them off should they try to make their way
back to the city. Besides his own corps (the 1st Punjab Infantry),
Coke was given a wing of the 61st Foot, six Horse and six Field
Artillery guns, one squadron of the Carabineers, one squadron of the
9th Lancers, and the Guides Cavalry; in all about 800 Infantry, 300
Cavalry, and 12 guns, and I was sent with him as staff officer.
It was generally believed that the enemy were on the look-out for
treasure coming from the Punjab, which was known to be under the
charge of a Native guard, and we quite expected to have a long chase
after them; we were, therefore, surprised to see them, as day broke,
crossing our front on their way back to Delhi.
The rebels were moving on fairly high ground, but between us and
them was a swamp rendered almost impassable by recent heavy rain. It
extended a considerable distance on either side, and as there was
no other way of getting at the rapidly retreating foe, it had to be
crossed. Our Artillery opened fire, and Coke advanced with the Cavalry
and Infantry. The swamp proved to be very difficult; in it men and
horses floundered hopelessly, and before we were clear the enemy had
got away with their guns; they were obliged, however, to leave behind
all the plunder taken from Alipur, and a considerable quantity
of ammunition. My share of the loot was a nice-looking, white,
country-bred pony, which I found tied to a tree. I promptly annexed
it, glad to save my own horse, and I congratulated myself on having
made a most useful addition to my small stud. It did not, however,
remain long in my possession, for a few days afterwards it was claimed
by its rightful owner, Lieutenant Younghusband.
The heat was great, and as the soldiers were much distressed, having
been under arms for ten hours, Coke halted the Infantry portion on the
banks of the Western Jumna Canal instead of returning direct to
camp. While we were enjoying a much-needed rest we were unexpectedly
attacked by some fresh troops (including about 800 Cavalry) which had
hurried out from the city. I was startled from a sound sleep by heavy
firing, and saw the enemy advancing within a few hundred yards of our
halting-place. Coke formed his Infantry along the bank of the canal,
and sent a mounted officer to recall the Cavalry and Artillery.
The enemy came on very boldly at first, but the steady fire of our
Infantry kept them at bay, and when the guns arrived we had no
difficulty in driving them off. They left 80 dead on the field; we had
on our side 3 killed and 23 wounded, besides losing several British
soldiers from sunstroke.
Major Coke was much grieved by the loss in this engagement of a Native
friend of his, a Chief of the Kohat border, by name Mir Mubarak Shah.
He was a grand specimen of a frontier Khan,[3] and on hearing that the
1st Punjab Infantry was ordered to Delhi expressed his determination
to accompany it. He got together a troop of eighty of his own
followers, and leaving Kohat on the 1st June, overtook Coke at Kurnal
on the 27th, a distance of nearly 600 miles. A day or two afterwards
Coke's men were approached by the Hindustanis of the 2nd Punjab
Cavalry, and some Native officers of the 9th Irregulars, who tried to
induce them to join in the rebellion. Advances were made in the first
instance to Mir Mubarak Shah and Mir Jaffir, the Subadar-Major of the
1st Punjab Infantry, who at once informed Coke of what was going on.
As soon as the regiment reached Delhi the matter was investigated, and
the Native officers who had endeavoured to tamper with the men were
identified, tried, and executed.
About noon on the 5th July we heard the woeful tidings that General
Barnard was seized with cholera. The army had never been free from
that terrible scourge since the Commander-in-Chief fell a victim to
it on the 26th May, and now it had attacked his successor, who was
carried off after a few hours' illness. The feeling of sadness amongst
the troops at the loss of their General was universal. Throughout the
six trying weeks he had been in command of the force he had never
spared himself. At work from morning till night in and about the
trenches, he personally attended to every detail, and had won the
respect and regard of all in camp.
Few Commanders were ever placed in a more difficult position than
Barnard. He arrived at Umballa when the Native troops, to whose
characteristics and peculiarities (as I have already remarked) he was
a complete stranger, were thoroughly disaffected, and within a week of
his taking over the command of the Sirhind division the Mutiny broke
out. Without any previous knowledge of Indian warfare, he found
himself in front of Delhi with a force altogether too weak to effect
the object for which it was intended and without any of the appliances
to ensure success; while those who did not realize the extreme risk
involved never ceased clamouring at a delay which was unavoidable, and
urging the General to undertake a task which was impossible.
Barnard has been blamed, and not unjustly, for mistrusting his own
judgment and for depending upon others for advice about matters on
which an experienced Commander ought to have been the best able to
decide. But every allowance must be made for the position he was
so unexpectedly called upon to fill and the peculiar nature of his
surroundings. Failing health, too, probably weakened the self-reliance
which a man who had satisfactorily performed the duties of Chief of
the Staff in the Crimea must at one time have possessed.
On the death of Sir Henry Barnard, General Reed assumed command. He
had joined the force on the morning of the action of Badli-ki-Serai,
but though senior to Barnard, he was too much knocked up by the
intense heat of the long journey from Peshawar to take part in the
action, and he had allowed Barnard to continue in command.
For the next few days we had a comparatively quiet time, of which
advantage was taken to render our position more secure towards the
rear. The secrecy and rapidity with which the enemy had made their way
to Alipur warned the authorities how easily our communication with the
Punjab might be cut off. Baird-Smith saw the necessity for remedying
this, and, acting on his advice, Reed had all the bridges over the
Western Jumna Canal destroyed for several miles, except one required
for our own use. The Phulchudder aqueduct, which carried the canal
water into the city, and along which horsemen could pass to the rear
of our camp, was blown up, as was also the Bussye bridge over the
drain from the Najafgarh _jhil_, about eight miles from camp.
We were not left long in peace, for on the morning of the 9th July the
enemy moved out of the city in great force, and for several hours kept
up an incessant cannonade on our front and right flank.
The piquet below the General's Mound happened to be held this day by
two guns of Tombs's troop, commanded by Second Lieutenant James Hills,
and by thirty men of the Carabineers under Lieutenant Stillman. A
little beyond, and to the right of this piquet, a Native officer's
party of the 9th Irregular Cavalry had been placed to watch the Trunk
Road. These men were still supposed to be loyal; the regiment to which
they belonged had a good reputation, and as Christie's Horse had
done excellent service in Afghanistan, where Neville and Crawford
Chamberlain had served with it as subalterns. It was, therefore,
believed at the Mound piquet that ample warning would be given of
any enemy coming from the direction of the Trunk Road, so that the
approach of some horsemen dressed like the men of the 9th Irregulars
attracted little notice.
Stillman and Hills were breakfasting together, when a sowar from the
Native officers' party rode up and reported that a body of the enemy's
Cavalry were in sight. Hills told the man to gallop to Head-Quarters
with the report, and to warn Tombs as he passed his tent. Hills and
Stillman then mounted their men, neither of them having the remotest
idea that the news of the enemy's advance had been purposely delayed
until there was not time to turn out the troops. They imagined that
the sowar was acting in good faith and had given them sufficient
notice, and while Hills moved his guns towards the position from which
he could command the Trunk Road, Stillman proceeded to the top of the
Mound in order to get a better view of the ground over which the enemy
were said to be advancing. The troop of the Carabineers was thus left
by itself to receive the first rush of the rebel Cavalry; it was
composed of young soldiers, some of them quite untrained, who turned
and broke.
The moment Hills saw the enemy he shouted, 'Action front!' and, in
the hope of giving his men time to load and fire a round of grape, he
gallantly charged the head of the column single-handed, cut down the
leading man, struck the second, and then was then ridden down himself.
It had been raining heavily, so Hills wore his cloak; which probably
saved his life, for it was cut through in many places, as were his
jacket and even his shirt.
As soon as the body of the enemy had passed on, Hills, extricating
himself from his horse, got up and searched for his sword, which he
had lost in the melee. He had just found it when he was attacked by
three men, two of whom were mounted; he fired at and wounded the first
man; then caught the lance of the second in his left hand, and ran him
through the body with his sword. The first assailant coming on again,
Hills cut him down, upon which he was attacked by the third man on
foot, who succeeded in wrenching his sword from him. Hills fell in
the struggle, and must have been killed, if Tombs, who had been duly
warned by the sowar, and had hurried out to the piquet, had not come
to the rescue and saved his plucky subaltern's life.[4]
Notwithstanding Hills's gallant attempt to stop the sowars, his men
had not time to fire a single round before they were upon them. Their
object, however, was not to capture these two guns, but to induce the
Native Horse Artillery to join them, and galloping past the piquet,
they made straight for the troop, and called upon the men to bring
away their guns. The Native Artillerymen behaved admirably: they not
only refused to respond to the call, but they begged the men of the
European troop, which was unlimbered close by, to fire through them on
the mutineers.
Knowing nothing of what was happening, I was standing by my tent,
watching my horses, which had just arrived from Philour, as they
crossed the bridge over the canal cut which ran at the rear of our
camp, when the enemy's Cavalry galloped over the bridge, and for a few
moments my animals seemed in considerable danger; the sowars, however,
having lost more than one-third of their number, and having failed in
their attempt to get hold of the Native Horse Artillery guns, were
bent upon securing their retreat rather than upon plunder. My
servants gave a wonderful account of the many perils they had
encountered--somewhat exaggerated, I dare say--but they had done me a
real good service, having marched 200 miles through a very disturbed
country, and arriving with animals and baggage in good order. Indeed,
throughout the Mutiny my servants behaved admirably. The _khidmatgar_
(table attendant) never failed to bring me my food under the hottest
fire, and the _saices_ (grooms) were always present with the horses
whenever they were required, apparently quite indifferent to the risks
they often ran. Moreover, they became imbued with such a warlike
spirit that, when I was invalided in April, 1858, four of them
enlisted in a regiment of Bengal Cavalry. The _khidmatgar_ died soon
after the Mutiny, but two of his brothers were afterwards in my
service; one, who was with me during the Lushai expedition and the
whole of the Afghan war, never left me for more than twenty years, and
we parted with mutual regret at Bombay on board the P. and O. steamer
in which I took my final departure from India in April, 1893.
Mine was not a solitary instance; not only the officers' servants,
but the followers belonging to European regiments, such as cook-boys,
_saices_ and _bhisties_ (water-carriers), as a rule, behaved in the
most praiseworthy manner, faithful and brave to a degree. So much was
this the case, that when the troopers of the 9th Lancers were called
upon to name the man they considered most worthy of the Victoria
Cross, an honour which Sir Colin Campbell purposed to confer upon the
regiment to mark his appreciation of the gallantry displayed by all
ranks during the campaign, they unanimously chose the head _bhistie_!
Considering the peculiar position we were in at the time, it is
somewhat remarkable that the conduct of the Native servants should
have been so generally satisfactory. It speaks as well, I think, for
the masters as the servants, and proves (what I have sometimes heard
denied) that Native servants are, as a rule, kindly and considerately
treated by their European masters.
To return to my story. The cannonade from within and without the city
continued unceasing, and the enemy had again to be driven out of the
near suburbs. This duty was entrusted to General Chamberlain, whom
I accompanied as one of his staff officers. His column consisted of
about 800 Infantry and six guns, a few more men joining us as we
passed the Ridge. This was the first occasion on which I had witnessed
fighting in gardens and walled enclosures, and I realized how
difficult it was to dislodge men who knew how to take advantage of the
cover thus afforded. Our soldiers, as usual, fought well against very
heavy odds, and before we were able to force the enemy back into the
city we had lost 1 officer and 40 men killed, and 8 officers and 163
men wounded, besides 11 poor fellows missing: every one of whom
must have been murdered. The enemy had nearly 500 men killed, and
considerably more than that number wounded.
The result of the day's experience was so far satisfactory that it
determined General Reed to get rid of all the Hindustani soldiers
still remaining in camp. It was clear that the Native officers' party
near the Mound piquet had been treacherous; none of them were ever
seen again, and it was generally believed that they had joined the
enemy in their dash through the camp. The other Native soldiers did
not hesitate to denounce their Hindustani comrades as traitors; the
latter were consequently all sent away, except a few men of the 4th
Irregular Cavalry who were deprived of their horses and employed
solely as orderlies. It was also thought advisable to take the guns
from the Native troop of Horse Artillery. A few of the younger men
belonging to it deserted, but the older soldiers continued faithful,
and did good work in the breaching batteries.
There was a short lull after our fight on the 9th--a sure sign that
the enemy's loss was heavier than they had calculated upon. When the
mutineers received reinforcements we were certain to be attacked
within a few hours, but if no fresh troops arrived on the scene we
could generally depend upon a day or two's respite.
Our next fight was on the 14th July. The rebels came out on that
morning in great numbers, attacking Hindu Rao's house and the Sabzi
Mandi piquets, and supported by a continuous fire of Artillery from
the walls. For some hours we remained on the defensive, but as the
enemy's numbers increased, and we were greatly harassed by their
fire, a column was formed to dislodge them. It was of about the usual
strength, viz., 800 Infantry and six Horse Artillery guns, with the
addition of a few of the Guides Cavalry and of Hodson's newly-raised
Horse. The command was given to Brigadier Showers, and I was sent as
his staff officer; Reid joined in at the foot of the Ridge with all
the men that could be spared, and Brigadier-General Chamberlain also
accompanied the column.
We moved on under a very heavy fire until we reached an enclosure the
wall of which was lined with the enemy. The troops stopped short, when
Chamberlain, seeing that they hesitated, called upon them to follow
him, and gave them a splendid example by jumping his horse over the
wall. The men did follow him, and Chamberlain got a ball in his
shoulder.
We had great difficulty in driving the enemy back; they contested
every inch of the ground, the many serais and walled gardens affording
them admirable cover; but our troops were not to be withstood;
position after position was carried until we found ourselves in sight
of the Lahore gate and close up to the walls of the city. In our
eagerness to drive the enemy back we had, however, come too far. It
was impossible to remain where we were. Musketry from the walls and
grape from the heavy guns mounted on the Mori and other bastions
committed terrible havoc. Men were falling on all sides, but the
getting back was hazardous to the last degree. Numerous as the enemy
were, they had not the courage to stand against us as long as we
advanced, but the first sign of retreat was the signal for them to
leave their shelter and press us the whole way to camp.
When the retirement commenced I was with the two advanced guns in
action on the Grand Trunk Road. The subaltern in charge was severely
wounded, and almost at the same moment one of his sergeants, a smart,
handsome fellow, fell, shot through the leg. Seeing some men carrying
him into a hut at the side of the road, I shouted: 'Don't put him
there; he will be left behind; get a doolie for him, or put him on the
limber.' But what with the incessant fire from the enemy's guns, the
bursting of shells, the crashing of shot through the branches of the
trees, and all the din and hubbub of battle, I could not have been
heard, for the poor fellow with another wounded man was left in the
hut, and both were murdered by the mutineers. So many of the men with
the two guns were _hors de combat_, and the horses were so unsteady
(several of them being wounded), that there was great difficulty in
limbering up, and I was helping the drivers to keep the horses quiet,
when I suddenly felt a tremendous blow on my back which made me faint
and sick, and I was afraid I should not be able to remain on my horse.
The powerless feeling, however, passed off, and I managed to stick
on until I got back to camp. I had been hit close to the spine by a
bullet, and the wound would probably have been fatal but for the fact
that a leather pouch for caps, which I usually wore in front near
my pistol, had somehow slipped round to the back; the bullet passed
through this before entering my body, and was thus prevented from
penetrating very deep.
The enemy followed us closely right up to our piquets, and but for the
steadiness of the retirement our casualties must have been even more
numerous than they were. As it was, they amounted to 15 men killed, 16
officers and 177 men wounded, and 2 men missing.
The enemy's loss was estimated at 1,000. For hours they were seen
carrying the dead in carts back to the city.
My wound, though comparatively slight, kept me on the sick-list for a
fortnight, and for more than a month I could not mount a horse or put
on a sword-belt. I was lucky in that my tent was pitched close to that
of John Campbell Brown, one of the medical officers attached to the
Artillery. He had served during the first Afghan war, with Sale's
force, at Jalalabad, and throughout both the campaigns in the Punjab,
and had made a great reputation for himself as an army surgeon. He
looked after me while I was laid up, and I could not have been in
better hands.
The Delhi Force was fortunate in its medical officers. Some of the
best in the army were attached to it, and all that was possible to be
done for the sick and wounded under the circumstances was done. But
the poor fellows had a bad time of it. A few of the worst cases were
accommodated in the two or three houses in the cantonment that had
escaped destruction, but the great majority had to put up with such
shelter from the burning heat and drenching rain as an ordinary
soldiers' tent could provide. Those who could bear the journey and
were not likely to be fit for duty for some time were sent away to
Meerut and Umballa; but even with the relief thus afforded, the
hospitals throughout the siege were terribly overcrowded. Anaesthetics
were freely used, but antiseptics were practically unknown,
consequently many of the severely wounded died, and few amputation
cases survived.
A great aggravation to the misery and discomfort in hospital was the
plague of flies. Delhi is at all times noted for having more than its
share of these drawbacks to life in the East, but during the siege
they were a perfect pest, and for the short time I was laid up I fully
realized the suffering which our sick and wounded soldiers had to
endure. At night the inside of my tent was black with flies. At the
first ray of light or the smallest shake to the ropes, they were all
astir, and for the rest of the day there was no peace; it was even
difficult to eat without swallowing one or more of the loathsome
insects. I had to brush them away with one hand while I put the food
into my mouth with the other, and more than once I had to rush from
the table, a fly having eluded all my efforts to prevent his going
down my throat.
As soon as I could get about a little, but before I was able to
perform my legitimate work, I was employed in helping to look after
the conservancy of the camp and its surroundings--an extremely
disagreeable but most important duty, for an Indian army must always
have a large following, for which sanitary arrangements are a
difficulty. Then, large convoys of camels and bullock-carts arrived
daily with supplies and stores, and a considerable number of transport
animals had to be kept in readiness to follow up the enemy with a
suitably sized force, whenever we could drive them out of the city.
Without any shelter, and often with insufficient food, deaths amongst
the animals were of constant occurrence, and, unless their carcases
could at once be removed, the stench became intolerable. Every
expedient was resorted to to get rid of this nuisance. Some of the
carcases were dragged to a distance from camp, some were buried, and
some were burnt, but, notwithstanding all our efforts, many remained
to be gradually devoured by the jackals which prowled about the camp,
and by the innumerable birds of prey which instinct had brought to
Delhi from the remotest parts of India.[5]
At a time when the powers of each individual were taxed to the
uttermost, the strain on the Commander of the force was terribly
severe. Mind and body were incessantly at work. Twice in the short
space of six weeks had the officer holding this responsible position
succumbed, and now a third was on the point of breaking down.
Major-General Reed's health, never very strong, completely failed, and
on the 17th July, only twelve days after succeeding Sir Henry Barnard,
he had to give up the command and leave the camp on sick certificate.
[Footnote 1: See Kaye's 'History of the Indian Mutiny.']
[Footnote 2: Now General Sir Alexander Taylor, G.C.B.]
[Footnote 3: Mahomedans of good family are so styled in northern
India.]
[Footnote 4: Tombs and Hills both received the Victoria Cross for
their gallantry.]
[Footnote 5: 'Adjutants,' never seen in ordinary times further north
than Bengal, appeared in hundreds, and were really useful scavengers.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER XVI.
1857
Archdale Wilson assumes command--Enemy baffled in the Sabzi Mandi
--Efforts to exterminate the Feringhis
--A letter from General Havelock--News of Henry Lawrence's death
--Arrival of the Movable Column--The 61st Foot at Najafgarh
General Reed was succeeded by Brigadier Archdale Wilson, the officer
who commanded the Meerut column at the beginning of the campaign, and
who was so successful in the fights on the Hindun. Though a soldier of
moderate capacity, Wilson was quite the best of the senior officers
present, three of whom were superseded by his selection. Two of these,
Congreve, Acting-Adjutant-General of Queen's troops, and Graves, who
had been Brigadier at Delhi when the Mutiny broke out, left the camp
on being passed over; the third, Longfield, took Wilson's place as
Brigadier.
Wilson's succession to the command gave great relief to the troops on
account of the systematic manner in which he arranged for the various
duties, and the order and method he introduced. The comparative rest
to the troops, as well as the sanitary improvements he effected, did a
good deal for the health of the force. Wilson also took advantage of
the reinforcements we had received to strengthen our position. As far
as possible he put a stop to the practice of following up the enemy
close to the city walls when they were driven off after an attack (a
practice which had cost us many valuable lives), contenting himself
with preventing the rebels from remaining in the immediate vicinity of
our advanced posts.
The day after Reed's departure another sharp and prolonged attack was
made upon the Ridge batteries and Sabzi Mandi piquets, and in the
afternoon a column was sent to drive the enemy away. It consisted
of four Horse Artillery guns, 750 Infantry, and the Guides Cavalry.
Lieutenant-Colonel Jones, of the 60th Rifles, commanded the column,
and, having gained experience from the lesson we had received on the
14th, he took care not to approach too near to the city walls, but
cleared the Sabzi Mandi, and took up a good position, where he
remained for some little time. This unusual procedure seemed to
disconcert the enemy, most of whom returned to the city, while those
who remained to fight did not come to such close quarters as on
previous occasions. Nevertheless, we had 1 officer and 12 men killed,
3 officers and 66 men wounded, and 2 men were missing.
The four following days passed without any serious attack being made,
but an unfortunate accident occurred about this time to a cousin of
mine, Captain Greensill, of the 24th Foot. He was attached to the
Engineer department, and was ordered to undertake some reconnoitring
duty after dark. On nearing the enemy's position he halted his escort,
in order not to attract attention, and proceeded alone to examine the
ground. The signal which he had arranged to give on his return was
apparently misunderstood, for as he approached the escort fired; he
was mortally wounded, and died in great agony the next morning.
The last severe contest took place in the Sabzi Mandi on the 18th,
for by this time the Engineers' incessant labour had resulted in the
clearing away of the old serais and walled gardens for some distance
round the posts held by our piquets in that suburb. The 'Sammy
House' piquet, to the right front of Hindu Rao's house, was greatly
strengthened, and cover was provided for the men occupying it--a very
necessary measure, exposed as the piquet was to the guns on the Burn
and Mori bastions, and within grape range of the latter, while the
enemy's Infantry were enabled to creep close up to it unperceived.
The improvements we had made in this part of our position were, no
doubt, carefully watched and noted by the rebels, who, finding
that all attempts to dislodge us on the right ended in their own
discomfiture, determined to try whether our left was not more
vulnerable than they had found it in the earlier days of the siege.
Accordingly early on the 23rd they sallied forth from the Kashmir
gate, and, occupying Ludlow Castle and its neighbourhood, shelled
Metcalfe House, the stable piquet, and the mosque piquet on the Ridge.
As all attempts to silence the enemy's guns with our Artillery proved
unavailing, and it was feared that if not dislodged they would
establish a battery at Ludlow Castle, a small column under Brigadier
Showers moved out by a cutting through the Ridge on our left, its
object being (in conjunction with the Metcalfe House piquets) to turn
the enemy's right and capture their guns.
The troops detailed for this duty consisted of six Horse Artillery
guns, 400 British Infantry, 360 of the 1st Punjab Infantry, and a
party of the Guides Cavalry, in addition to 250 men detached from the
Metcalfe House piquets. The advance of the column up the road leading
towards the Kashmir gate appeared to be unnoticed until it arrived
close to the enemy, who then opened with grape. Our troops pressed
on, and in their eagerness to capture the guns, which were being
withdrawn, got too near the city walls. Here Showers was wounded, and
the command devolved on Lieutenant-Colonel Jones, of the 60th, who
skilfully conducted the retirement. Our loss was 1 officer and 11 men
killed, 5 officers and 34 men wounded. Captain Law, one of my two
companions on the mail-cart from Umballa, was the officer killed.
The enemy were fairly quiet between the 23rd and 31st July, on which
date they moved out of the city in considerable strength, with the
intention of making a temporary bridge across the cut in the swampy
ground I have before described, and so threatening our rear. A column
under Coke was sent to the other side of the cut to intercept the
enemy should they succeed in getting across; this column was joined
at Alipur by the Kumaon battalion (composed of Gurkhas and hill-men),
about 400 strong, which had just arrived from the Punjab as escort
to a large store of ammunition. The services of these troops were,
however, not required, for the rain, which had been coming down in
torrents for some hours, had caused such a rush of water that the
bridge was carried away before it was completed. The enemy then
retired towards the city. On reaching the suburbs they were reinforced
by a large body of Infantry, and a most determined attack was made on
the right of our position. This occurred about sunset, and all night
the roar of musketry and artillery was kept up without a moment's
cessation.
The next day was the anniversary of a great Mahomedan festival, when
it was the custom for the King to pray and make sacrifice at the
Idgah, in commemoration of Abraham's intended offering up of
Ishmail.[1] On this particular occasion, however, the sacrifices were
to be dispensed with in deference to Hindu prejudices,[2] and in
their stead a tremendous united effort was to be made by Hindus and
Mussulmans to exterminate the Feringhis. All the morning of the
1st August mosques and Hindu temples were crowded with worshippers
offering up prayers for the success of the great attempt, and in the
afternoon the rebels, mad with excitement and fanaticism, issued
in countless numbers from the city gates, and, shouting the Moslem
battle-cry, advanced and threw themselves on our defences. They were
driven back by our deadly volleys, but only for a moment; they quickly
reformed and made a fresh attack, to be stopped again by our steady,
uncompromising fire. Time after time they rallied and hurled
themselves against our breastworks. All that night and well on into
the next day the fight continued, and it was past noon before the
devoted fanatics became convinced that their gods had deserted them,
that victory was not for them, and that no effort, however heroic on
their part, could drive us from the Ridge. The enemy's loss was heavy,
ours trifling, for our men were admirably steady, well protected by
breastworks, and never allowed to show themselves except when the
assailants came close up. We had only 1 officer and 9 men killed and
36 men wounded.
The officer was Lieutenant Eaton Travers, of the 1st Punjab Infantry.
He had been seven years with the regiment, and had been present
with it in nearly all the many frontier fights in which it had been
engaged. He was a bright, happy fellow, and a great friend of mine. As
Major Coke, his commanding officer, published in regimental orders:
'This gallant soldier and true-hearted gentleman was beloved and
respected by the officers and men of the regiment. His loss is an
irreparable one.'
The enemy were much depressed by the failure of the Bakhra Id attack,
from which they had expected great things. They began to despair of
being able to drive us from our position on the Ridge, which for seven
weeks had been so hotly contested. They heard that Nicholson with his
Movable Column was hastening to our assistance, and they felt that,
unless they could gain some signal victory before reinforcements
reached us, we should take our place as the besiegers, instead of
being, as hitherto, the besieged. Disaffection within the city walls
was on the increase; only the semblance of authority remained to the
old and well-nigh impotent King, while some of his sons, recognizing
their perilous position, endeavoured to open negotiations with us.
Many of the sepoys were reported to be going off to their homes, sick
and weary of a struggle the hopelessness of which they had begun to
realize.
Our work, however, was far from being finished. Notwithstanding losses
from death and desertion, the enemy still outnumbered us by about
eight or nine to one.
All this time our communication with the Punjab was maintained, and we
regularly received letters and newspapers from England by the northern
route; but for several weeks we had had no news from the south.
Rumours of disasters occasionally reached us, but it was not until the
second week in July that we heard of the fight at Agra, the retirement
of our troops, and the flight of all the residents into the fort.
These scraps of intelligence, for they were mere scraps, written often
in Greek character, some screwed into a quill, some sewn between the
double soles of a man's shoe, and some twisted up in the messenger's
hair, were eagerly looked for, and as eagerly deciphered when they
came. It was cheering to learn that Allahabad was safe, that Lucknow
was still holding out, that troops from Madras, Ceylon, and the
Mauritius had reached Calcutta, and that Lord Elgin, taking a
statesmanlike view of the situation, had diverted to India[3] the
force intended for the China expedition, and we fondly hoped that some
of the six British regiments reported by one messenger to have arrived
at Cawnpore would be sent to the assistance of the Delhi Force.
Strangely enough, we knew nothing of the death of Sir Henry Lawrence
or General Wheeler, and had not even heard for certain that Cawnpore
had fallen and that Lucknow was besieged, while there were constant
reports that Wheeler was marching up the Trunk Road. Being most
anxious to get some authentic intelligence, Norman[4] on the 15th July
wrote a letter in French addressed to General Wheeler at Cawnpore, or
whoever might be in command between that place and Delhi, giving an
account of our position at Delhi, and expressing a hope that troops
would soon march to our assistance. The letter was entrusted to two
sepoys of the Guides, who carried out their difficult task most
faithfully, and on the 3rd August returned with the following reply
from General Havelock, addressed to Major-General Reed:
'Cawnpore, left bank of the Ganges,
'_25th July, 1857._
'MY DEAR GENERAL,
'Yesterday I saw Captain Norman's letter of the 15th instant from
Delhi, addressed to Sir Hugh Wheeler. That gallant officer and the
whole of his force were destroyed on the 27th June by a base act
of treachery. Sir Henry Somerset is Commander-in-Chief in India
and Sir Patrick Grant in Bengal. Under the orders of the supreme
Government I have been sent to retrieve affairs here. I have
specific instructions from which I cannot depart. I have sent a
duplicate of your letter to Sir P. Grant. In truth, though most
anxious to march on Delhi, I have peremptory orders to relieve
Lucknow. I have, thank God, been very successful. I defeated the
enemy at Futtehpore on the 12th, and Pandu Naddi on the 15th, and
this place, which I recaptured on the 16th. On each occasion I
took all the guns. Immense reinforcements are coming from England
and China. Sir Patrick Grant will soon be in the field himself.
Lucknow holds out. Agra is free for the present. I am sorry to
hear you are not quite well. I beg that you will let me hear from
you continually.'
Two days afterwards another letter was received; this time from
Lieutenant-Colonel Fraser-Tytler, A.Q.M.G., with Havelock's force. It
was addressed to Captain Earle, A.Q.M.G., Meerut, and ran as follows:
'Cawnpore, _July 27th_.
'General Havelock has crossed the river to relieve Lucknow, which
will be effected four days hence. He has a strong force with him,
and he has already thrashed the Nana and completely dispersed his
force. We shall probably march to Delhi with four or five thousand
Europeans and a heavy Artillery, in number, not in weight. The
China force is in Calcutta, 5,000 men. More troops expected
immediately. We shall soon be with you.'
These sanguine expectations were never fulfilled! Instead of Lucknow
being relieved in four days, it was nearly four months before that
result was achieved, and instead of troops from Cawnpore coming to
help us at Delhi, the troops from Delhi formed the chief part of the
force which relieved Lucknow.
While we were rejoicing at the prospect of being reinforced by a large
number of British soldiers, a gloom was cast over the whole camp by
the rumour that Sir Henry Lawrence was dead. As the first British
Ruler of the Punjab, Henry Lawrence was known by reputation to, and
respected by, every man belonging to the Delhi Force, and all realized
what a serious loss his death would be to the beleaguered garrison of
Lucknow. Much time, however, was not given us for lamentation, for at
the end of the first week in August another attempt was made to drive
us from the Metcalfe House piquets. Guns were again brought out
through the Kashmir gate, and posted at Ludlow Castle and the
Kudsiabagh; at the same time a number of Infantry skirmishers kept up
an almost constant fire from the jungle in front of our position. The
losses at the piquets themselves were not heavy, good cover having
been provided; but the communications between the piquets and our main
position were much exposed and extremely hazardous for the reliefs. It
was felt that the enemy could not be allowed to remain in such close
proximity to our outposts, and Showers (who had recovered from his
slight wound) was again ordered to drive them off, for which purpose
he was given a strong body of Infantry, composed of Europeans, Sikhs,
and Gurkhas, a troop of Horse Artillery, a squadron of the 9th
Lancers, and the Guides Cavalry. The result was a very brilliant
little affair. The orders on this occasion were to 'move up silently
and take the guns at Ludlow Castle.' The small column proceeded in the
deepest silence, and the first sound heard at dawn on the 12th August
was the challenge of the enemy's sentry, '_Ho come dar?_' (Who comes
there?). A bullet in his body was the reply. A volley of musketry
followed, and effectually awoke the sleeping foe, who succeeded in
letting off two of their guns as our men rushed on the battery.
An Irish soldier, named Reegan, springing forward, prevented the
discharge of the third gun. He bayoneted the gunner in the act of
applying the port-fire, and was himself severely wounded. The rebel
Artillerymen stood to their guns splendidly, and fought till they were
all killed. The enemy's loss was severe; some 250 men were killed, and
four guns were captured. On our side 1 officer and 19 men were killed,
7 officers and 85 men wounded, and 5 men missing. Amongst the wounded
was the gallant Commander of the column, and that fine soldier, Major
John Coke, the Commandant of the 1st Punjab Infantry. The return to
camp was a stirring sight: the captured guns were brought home in
triumph, pushed along by the soldiers, all madly cheering, and the
horses ridden by men carrying their muskets with bayonets fixed.
The following morning the Punjab Movable Column arrived. Nicholson had
preceded it by a few days, and from him I heard all about his fight
with the Sialkot mutineers at Trimmu Ghat and the various marches and
counter-marches which he had made since I left him at Philour.
The column was a most welcome addition to our force. It now consisted
of the 52nd Light Infantry, a wing of the 61st Foot, a Field Battery,
a wing of the 1st Baluch Regiment, and the 2nd Punjab Infantry, beside
200 newly-raised Multani Cavalry and 400 military police. This brought
up our effective force to about 8,000 rank and file of all arms.[5] A
more powerful siege-train than we had hitherto possessed was on its
way from Ferozepore, and three companies of the 8th Foot, detachments
of Artillery and the 60th Rifles, the 4th Punjab Infantry, and about
100 recruits for the 4th Sikhs were also marching towards Delhi. In
addition, a small contingent from Kashmir and a few of the Jhind
Raja's troops were shortly expected, after the arrival of which
nothing in the shape of reinforcements could be looked for from the
north.
Nor could we hope for any help from the south, for no definite news
had been received from Havelock since his letter of the 25th of July,
and rumours had reached us that, finding it impossible to force his
way to Lucknow, he had been obliged to retire upon Cawnpore. It was
felt, therefore, that if Delhi were to be taken at all, it must be
taken quickly, before our augmented numbers should be again diminished
by sickness and casualties.
The enemy knew our position as well as we did, and appreciating the
great value the siege-train would be to us, they decided on making a
supreme effort to intercept it. A few days before they had been foiled
by Hodson in an attempt to cut off our communication with the Punjab,
and were determined to ensure success on this occasion by employing a
really formidable force. This force left Delhi on the 24th August, and
proceeded in the direction of the Najafgarh _jhil_.
At daybreak the following morning Nicholson started with sixteen Horse
Artillery guns, 1,600 Infantry and 450 Cavalry, his orders being to
overtake the enemy and bring them to action. I hoped to have been of
the party, but Nicholson's request to have me as his staff officer
was refused, as I had not been taken off the sick-list, though I
considered my wound was practically healed.
It proved a most difficult march. The rain fell in torrents, and the
roads were mere quagmires. In the first nine miles two swamps had to
be got through, on crossing which Nicholson heard that the insurgents
were at Najafgarh, twelve miles further off. He determined to push on,
and at 4 p.m. he found them occupying a strong position about a mile
and three-quarters in length. In front was an old serai which was held
in force with four guns, and on either side and in rear of the serai
was a village equally strongly held; while running round the enemy's
right and rear was a huge drainage cut, swollen by the heavy rain.
This cut, or nulla, was crossed by a bridge immediately behind the
rebels' position. Nicholson advanced from a side-road, which brought
him on their right with the nulla flowing between him and them. Even
at the ford the water was breast-high, and it was with much difficulty
and not without a good deal of delay that our troops crossed under a
heavy fire from the serai. It was getting late, and Nicholson had only
time to make a hasty reconnaissance. He decided to attack the serai,
drive out the mutineers, and then, changing front to the left, to
sweep down their line and get possession of the bridge.
As the Infantry were about to advance, Nicholson thus addressed
them: 'Men of the 61st, remember what Sir Colin Campbell said at
Chilianwala, and you have heard that he said the same to his gallant
Highland Brigade at the Alma. I have the same request to make of you
and the men of the 1st Bengal Fusiliers. Hold your fire until within
twenty or thirty yards, then fire and charge, and the serai is yours.'
Our brave soldiers followed these directions to the letter, and, under
cover of Artillery fire, carried the serai. Front was then changed to
the left as had been arranged, and the line swept along the enemy's
defences, the rebels flying before them over the bridge. They
confessed to a loss of more than 800 men, and they left in our hands
thirteen field-pieces and a large quantity of ammunition, besides all
their camp equipage, stores, camels, and horses. Our casualties were 2
officers and 23 men killed, and 3 officers and 68 men wounded--two of
the officers mortally, the third dangerously.
The enemy in the city, imagining from the size of the force sent with
Nicholson that we could not have many troops left in camp, attacked us
in great strength on the following morning (26th), but were beaten off
with a loss on our side of only 8 killed and 13 wounded.
[Footnote 1: According to the religion of Islam, Ishmail, not Isaac,
was to have been offered up by Abraham.]
[Footnote 2: Forrest's 'The Indian Mutiny.']
[Footnote 3: Since writing the above it has been brought to my notice
that the promptitude with which the troops were diverted to India
was due in a great measure to the foresight of Sir George Grey, the
Governor of the Cape, who, on hearing of the serious state of affairs
in India, immediately ordered all transports which touched at the Cape
on their way to take part in the China Expeditionary Force, to proceed
directly to Calcutta instead of to Singapore. He also despatched as
many of the Cape garrison as he could spare, with stores, etc., to
India. It is right, therefore, that he should share with Lord Elgin
the credit of having so quickly grasped the magnitude of the crisis
through which India was passing.]
[Footnote 4: Owing to Brigadier-General Chamberlain having been placed
_hors de combat_ by the severe wound he received the previous day,
Norman was carrying on the duties of Adjutant-General.]
[Footnote 5: There were besides in camp at this time 1,535 sick and
wounded, notwithstanding that several hundred men had been sent away.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER XVII.
1857
Wilson's difficulties--Nicholson's resolve
--Arrangements for the assault--Construction of breaching batteries
--Nicholson expresses his satisfaction--Orders for the assault issued
--Composition of the attacking columns
By the 6th September all the reinforcements that could be expected,
including the siege train (consisting of thirty-two pieces of ordnance
with ample ammunition) had arrived in camp, and the time had now come
when it was necessary for Wilson to determine whether Delhi was to be
assaulted, or whether the attempt must be given up. Long exposure to
sun and rain began to tell terribly on the troops; sickness increased
to an alarming extent, and on the 31st August there were 2,368 men in
hospital--a number which, six days later, had risen to 2,977.
Norman, on whose figures implicit reliance can be placed, states that
on this date the total number of effective rank and file of all arms,
Artillery, Engineers, Cavalry, and Infantry, including gun-Lascars,
Native drivers, newly-raised Sikh Pioneers, and recruits for the
Punjab regiments, was 8,748.
The strength of the British troops was 3,217, composed of 580
Artillery, 443 Cavalry, and 2,294 Infantry. The Infantry corps were
mere skeletons, the strongest being only 409 effective rank and file.
The 52nd, which had arrived three weeks before with 600 healthy men,
had already dwindled to 242 fit for duty.
The above numbers are exclusive of the Kashmir Contingent of 2,200
men and four guns, which had by this time reached Delhi; and several
hundred men of the Jhind troops (previously most usefully employed
in keeping open our communication with Kurnal) were, at the Raja's
particular request, brought in to share in the glory of the capture of
Delhi, the Raja himself accompanying them.
No one was more alive than the Commander of the Delhi Field Force to
the fact that no further aid could be expected, and no one realized
more keenly than he did that the strength of the little army at
his disposal was diminishing day by day. But Wilson had never been
sanguine as to the possibility of capturing Delhi without aid from the
south. In a letter to Baird-Smith dated the 20th August, he discussed
at length his reasons for not being in a position to 'hold out any
hope of being able to take the place until supported by the force from
below.' He now was aware that no troops could be expected from the
south, and Sir John Lawrence plainly told him that he had sent him the
last man he could spare from the Punjab. On the 29th August Lawrence
wrote to Wilson: 'There seem to be very strong reasons for assaulting
as soon as practicable. Every day's delay is fraught with danger.
Every day disaffection and mutiny spread. Every day adds to the danger
of the Native Princes taking part against us.' But Wilson did not find
it easy to make up his mind to assault. He was ill. Responsibility and
anxiety had told upon him. He had grown nervous and hesitating, and
the longer it was delayed the more difficult the task appeared to him.
[Illustration: SKETCH TO ILLUSTRATE THE ENGAGEMENT AT NAJAFGARH IN
AUGUST, 1857.]
Fortunately for the continuance of our rule in India, Wilson had about
him men who understood, as he was unable to do, the impossibility of
our remaining any longer as we were. They knew that Delhi must
either be taken or the army before it withdrawn. The man to whom
the Commander first looked for counsel under these conditions--
Baird-Smith, of the Bengal Engineers--proved himself worthy of the
high and responsible position in which he was placed. He too was ill.
Naturally of a delicate constitution, the climate and exposure had
told upon him severely, and the diseases from which he was suffering
were aggravated by a wound he had received soon after his arrival in
camp. He fully appreciated the tremendous risks which an assault
involved, but, in his opinion, they were less than were those of
delay. Whether convinced or not by his Chief Engineer's arguments,
Wilson accepted his advice and directed him to prepare a plan of
attack.
Baird-Smith was strongly supported by Nicholson, Chamberlain, Daly,
Norman, and Alex. Taylor. They were one and all in communication with
the authorities in the Punjab, and they knew that if 'Delhi were not
taken, and that speedily, there would be a struggle not only for
European dominion, but even for European existence within the Punjab
itself.'[1]
Our position in that province was, indeed, most critical. An
attempted conspiracy of Mahomedan tribes in the Murree Hills, and an
insurrection in the Gogaira district, had occurred. Both these affairs
were simply attempts to throw off the British yoke, made in the belief
that our last hour was come. The feeling that prompted them was not
confined to the Mahomedans; amongst all classes and races in the
Punjab a spirit of restlessness was on the increase; even the most
loyally disposed were speculating on the chances of our being able to
hold our own, and doubting the advisability of adhering to our cause.
On the part of the Sikhs of the Manjha[2] there was an unwillingness
to enlist, and no good recruits of this class could be obtained until
after Delhi had fallen.
It was under these critical circumstances that a council of war was
convened to decide definitely whether the assault should take place or
not.
Nicholson was not a man of many intimacies, but as his staff officer
I had been fortunate enough to gain his friendship. I was constantly
with him, and on this occasion I was sitting in his tent before he set
out to attend the council. He had been talking to me in confidential
terms of personal matters, and ended by telling me of his intention
to take a very unusual step should the council fail to arrive at any
fixed determination regarding the assault. 'Delhi must be taken,' he
said, 'and it is absolutely essential that this should be done at
once; and if Wilson hesitates longer, I intend to propose at to-day's
meeting that he should be superseded.' I was greatly startled, and
ventured to remark that, as Chamberlain was _hors de combat_ from his
wound, Wilson's removal would leave him, Nicholson, senior officer
with the force. He smiled as he answered: 'I have not overlooked that
fact. I shall make it perfectly clear that, under the circumstances, I
could not possibly accept the command myself, and I shall propose that
it be given to Campbell, of the 52nd; I am prepared to serve under him
for the time being, so no one can ever accuse me of being influenced
by personal motives.'
Happily, Nicholson was not called upon to take so unusual a step. I
walked with him to the Head-Quarters camp, waited in great excitement
until the council of war was over, and, when Nicholson issued from the
General's tent, learnt, to my intense relief, that Wilson had agreed
to the assault.
That Nicholson would have carried out his intention if the council had
come to a different conclusion I have not the slightest doubt, and
I quite believe that his masterful spirit would have effected its
purpose and borne down all opposition. Whether his action would have
been right or wrong is another question, and one on which there is
always sure to be great difference of opinion. At the time it seemed
to me that he was right. The circumstances were so exceptional--Wilson
would have proved himself so manifestly unfit to cope with them had
he decided on further delay--and the consequences of such delay would
have been so calamitous and far-reaching, that even now, after many
years have passed, and after having often thought over Nicholson's
intended action and discussed the subject with other men, I have not
changed my opinion.
In anticipation of an attack on Delhi, preparations had been commenced
early in September, one of the first of these being to form a trench
to the left of the 'Sammy House,' at the end of which a battery was
constructed for four 9-pounders and two 24-pounder howitzers. The
object of this battery was to prevent sorties from the Lahore or Kabul
gates passing round the city wall to annoy our breaching batteries,
and also to assist in keeping down the fire from the Mori bastion.[3]
This battery, moreover, led the enemy to believe that we should attack
them from our right, whereas it had been resolved to push the main
attack from our left, where we could approach nearer to the walls
under cover, and where our flank was completely protected by the
river. The Engineers had also employed themselves in getting ready
10,000 fascines, as many gabions, and 100,000 sand-bags, besides
field-magazines, scaling-ladders, and spare platforms.
On the 7th September Wilson issued an order informing the force that
arrangements for the assault would be commenced at once. He dwelt upon
the hardships and fatigue which had been cheerfully borne by officers
and men, and expressed his hope that they would be rewarded for their
past labours, 'and for a cheerful endurance of still greater fatigue
and exposure.' He reminded the troops of the reasons for the deadly
struggle in which they were engaged, and he called upon all ranks to
co-operate heart and soul in the arduous work now before them.
Ground was broken that evening. Unfortunately Baird-Smith was not able
to personally superintend the construction of the breaching batteries,
but he had in his second-in-command, Alex. Taylor, a thoroughly
practical Engineer, who not only knew how to work himself, but how to
get work out of others. Ever alert and cheerful, he was trusted and
looked up to by all his subordinates, and was of all others the very
man to be placed in charge of such a difficult and dangerous duty.
The first battery, known as No. 1, was traced out in two parts, about
700 yards from the Mori bastion, which the right half, with its five
18-pounders and one 8-inch howitzer, was intended to silence; while
the left half, with its four 24-pounders, was to hold the Kashmir
bastion in check.
All night the Engineers worked at the battery, but although before day
broke it was nearly finished and armed, it was not ready to open fire
until close on sunrise. The enemy did not fail to take advantage of
this chance. They poured in round after round of shot and grape,
causing many casualties. Their fire slackened as our guns were
gradually able to make themselves felt, and by the afternoon it was
silenced. Nothing remained of the Mori bastion but a heap of ruins.
No. 1 battery was commanded by Major James Brind,[4] the bravest of
the brave. It was said of him that he 'never slept'; and Reid (of
'Hindu Rao' fame) wrote of him: 'On all occasions the exertions of
this noble officer were indefatigable. He was always to be found where
his presence was most required; and the example he set to officers and
men was beyond all praise.'
No. 2 battery was next taken in hand. This was erected in front of
Ludlow Castle, and about 500 yards from the Kashmir gate. Like No. 1,
it was formed in two parts, the right half being intended for
seven heavy howitzers and two 18-pounders, and the left for nine
24-pounders, commanded respectively by Majors Kaye and Campbell. All
these guns were intended to breach the Kashmir bastion, where the main
assault was to be made.
Up till this time the enemy had imagined that the attack would be
delivered from our right, and they were quite taken by surprise when,
on the evening of the 8th September, we occupied Ludlow Castle.
Baird-Smith showed his grasp of the situation in attacking from
our left, notwithstanding the greater distance of this part of our
position from the city wall. No counter-attack could be made on that
flank, and the comparatively open ground between the Kashmir and Mori
bastions would assist us in protecting the assaulting columns.
As soon as the enemy discovered their mistake, they did their utmost
to prevent our batteries being constructed; but the Engineers were
not to be deterred. By the morning of the 11th No. 2 battery was
completed, armed, and unmasked, and No. 3 and No. 4 batteries were
marked out in the Kudsiabagh. No. 3, commanded by Major Scott, was
constructed for six 18-pounders, and twelve 5-1/2-inch mortars under
Captain Blunt. Norman in his narrative says: 'The establishment of
Major Scott's battery within 180 yards of the wall, to arm which
heavy guns had to be dragged from the rear under a constant fire of
musketry, was an operation that could rarely have been equalled in
war.' During the first night of its construction 89 men were killed
and wounded; but with rare courage the workmen continued their task.
They were merely unarmed pioneers; and with that passive bravery so
characteristic of Natives, as man after man was knocked over, they
would stop a moment, weep a little over a fallen friend, place his
body in a row along with the rest, and then work on as before.[5]
No. 4 battery, armed with ten heavy mortars, and commanded by Major
Tombs, was placed under the shelter of an old building, about half-way
between No. 2 and No. 3 batteries.[6]
I was posted to the left half of No. 2 battery, and had charge of the
two right guns. At eight o'clock on the morning of the 11th September
we opened fire on the Kashmir bastion and the adjoining curtain, and
as the shots told and the stones flew into the air and rattled down,
a loud cheer burst from the Artillerymen and some of the men of
the Carabineers and 9th Lancers who had volunteered to work in the
batteries. The enemy had got our range with wonderful accuracy, and
immediately on the screen in front of the right gun being removed, a
round shot came through the embrasure, knocking two or three of us
over. On regaining my feet, I found that the young Horse Artilleryman
who was serving the vent while I was laying the gun had had his right
arm taken off.
In the evening of the same day, when, wearied with hard work and
exhausted by the great heat, we were taking a short rest, trusting to
the shelter of the battery for protection, a shower of grape came into
us, severely wounding our commander, Campbell, whose place was taken
by Edwin Johnson. We never left the battery until the day of the
assault--the 14th--except to go by turns into Ludlow Castle for our
meals. Night and day the overwhelming fire was continued, and the
incessant boom and roar of guns and mortars, with the ceaseless
rain of shot and shell on the city, warned the mutineers that their
punishment was at hand. We were not, however, allowed to have it all
our own way. Unable to fire a gun from any of the three bastions we
were breaching, the enemy brought guns into the open and enfiladed
our batteries. They sent rockets from their martello towers, and they
maintained a perfect storm of musketry from their advanced trench and
from the city walls. No part of the attack was left unsearched by
their fire, and though three months' incessant practice had made our
men skilful in using any cover they had, our losses were numerous, 327
officers and men being killed and wounded between the 7th and 14th
September.
On the evening of the 13th September Nicholson came to see whether we
gunners had done our work thoroughly enough to warrant the assault
being made the next morning. He was evidently satisfied, for when he
entered our battery he said: 'I must shake hands with you fellows; you
have done your best to make my work easy to-morrow.'
Nicholson was accompanied by Taylor, who had to make certain that
the breaches were practicable, and for this purpose he detailed four
subaltern officers of Engineers to go to the walls as soon as it was
dark, and report upon the condition they were in. Greathed and Home
were told off for the Water bastion breach, and Medley and Lang[7] for
that of the Kashmir bastion. Lang asked to be allowed to go while it
was yet daylight; Taylor agreed, and with an escort of four men of the
60th Rifles he crept to the edge of the cover in the Kudsiabagh, and
then, running up the glacis, sat on top of the counterscarp for a few
seconds studying the ditch and the two breaches. On his return Lang
reported the breaches to be practicable; as, however, it was desirable
to ascertain whether ladders would be necessary, he was sent again
after dark, in company with Medley. They took a ladder and a
measuring-rod with them, and were escorted by an officer and
twenty-four riflemen, of whom all but six were left under cover in the
Kudsiabagh. Lang slipped into the ditch, which he found to be sixteen
feet deep. Medley handed him the ladder and rod, and followed him with
two riflemen, the other four remaining on the crest of the glacis to
cover their retreat. With the help of the ladder they ascended the
berm and measured the height of the wall. Two minutes more, and they
would have reached the top of the breach, but, quiet as they had been,
their movements had attracted attention, and several of the enemy
were heard running towards the breach. The whole party reascended as
rapidly as possible, and, throwing themselves on the grass, waited in
breathless silence, hoping the sepoys would go away, and that they
might be able to make another attempt to reach the top of the breach.
The rebels, however, gave no signs of retiring, and as all needful
information had been obtained, they determined to run for it. A volley
was fired at the party as they dashed across the open, but no one was
hit.
Greathed and Home had been equally successful, and by midnight
Baird-Smith was able to report to General Wilson that both breaches
were practicable.
Baird-Smith urged the importance of attacking without delay. He
pointed out the impossibility of continuing the high pressure at which
nearly every man[8] in the force had been working during the past few
days; that the tension was becoming too severe to last; and that every
hour that passed without assaulting was a loss to us and a gain to the
enemy.
Before Wilson and Baird-Smith separated, orders had been issued for
the attack to be made at daybreak the next morning, the 14th.
It was arranged that there were to be four assaulting columns and one
reserve column.
The first, second and third columns, which were to operate on our
left, were under the command of Brigadier-General Nicholson, who
personally led No. 1 column. It consisted of:
MEN.
Her Majesty's 75th Foot 300
1st Bengal Fusiliers 250
2nd Punjab Infantry 450
-----
Total 1,000
and was meant to storm the breach near the Kashmir bastion.
[Note: I am indebted to the kindness of Mrs. Barter, the widow of my
gallant friend and comrade. General Richard Barter, C.B., who served
throughout the Mutiny with the 75th Foot, first as Adjutant and
afterwards as Captain, for the above 'Daily State' and for the
following extract from that officer's diary:
'In the evening the order was published for the storming of Delhi a
little before daybreak the next morning, September 14, and we each
of us looked carefully to the reloading of our pistols, filling of
flasks, and getting as good protection as possible for our heads,
which would be exposed so much going up the ladders. I wound two
puggris or turbans round my old forage cap, with the last letter from
the hills [Mrs. Barter was then at Kasauli, in the Himalayas] in the
top, and committed myself to the care of Providence. There was not
much sleep that night in our camp. I dropped off now and then, but
never for long, and whenever I woke I could see that there was a light
in more than one of the officers' tents, and talking was going on in
a low tone amongst the men, the snapping of a lock or springing of a
ramrod sounding far in the still air, telling of preparation for
the coming strife. A little after midnight we fell in as quietly as
possible, and by the light of a lantern the orders for the assault
were then read to the men. They were to the following purport: Any
officer or man who might be wounded was to be left where he fell; no
one was to step from the ranks to help him, as there were no men to
spare. If the assault were successful he would be taken away in the
doolies, or litters, and carried to the rear, or wherever he could
best receive medical assistance. If we failed, wounded and sound
should be prepared to bear the worst. There was to be no plundering,
but all prize taken was to be put into a common stock for fair
division after all was over. No prisoners were to be made, as we
had no one to guard them, and care was to be taken that no women or
children were injured. To this the men answered at once, by "No fear,
sir." The officers now pledged their honours on their swords to abide
by these orders, and the men then promised to follow their example.
At this moment, just as the regiment was about to march off, Father
Bertrand came up in his vestments, and, addressing the Colonel, begged
for permission to bless the regiment, saying: "We may differ some
of us in matters of religion, but the blessing of an old man and a
clergyman can do nothing but good." The Colonel at once assented, and
Father Bertrand, lifting his hands to Heaven, blessed the regiment in
a most impressive manner, offering up at the same time a prayer for
our success and for mercy on the souls of those soon to die.']
No. 2 column, under Brigadier Jones, of Her Majesty's 61st Foot,
consisted of:
MEN.
Her Majesty's 8th Foot 250
2nd Bengal Fusiliers 250
4th Sikhs 350
---
Total 850
and was intended for the storming of the breach near the Water
bastion.
No. 3 column, under Colonel Campbell, of Her Majesty's 52nd Light
Infantry, consisted of:
MEN.
Her Majesty's 52nd Light Infantry 200
Kumaon Battalion 250
1st Punjab Infantry 500
---
Total 950
and was told off to enter the Kashmir gate after it had been blown in.
No. 4 column was to operate on our right. It was commanded by Major
Reid, of the Sirmur battalion, and was composed of that regiment, the
Guides Infantry, and such men from the piquets (European and Native)
as could be spared. Its strength was 860 men, besides 1,200 of the
Kashmir Contingent, and its orders were to attack the suburbs of
Kisenganj and Paharipur, and support the main attack by effecting an
entrance at the Kabul gate.
The Reserve column, under Brigadier Longfield, Her Majesty's 8th Foot,
was told to await the result of the attack, and afford assistance
wherever required. It consisted of:
MEN.
Her Majesty's 61st Foot 250
4th Punjab Infantry 450
Wing Baluch battalion 300
-----
Total 1,000
with 300 of the Jhind Contingent.
There were besides 200 of the 60th Rifles, who were to cover the
advance of Nicholson's columns, and join the reserve as soon as the
assaults had been carried out.
In order to provide these five columns, in all hardly 5,000 strong,
the services of every man who could bear arms had to be put into
requisition. Piquets were weakened to a dangerous extent, and many of
the sick and wounded who ought to have been in hospital were utilized
for the protection of the camp.
[Footnote 1: Punjab Administration Report, 1857-58.]
[Footnote 2: The tract of country between the Sutlej and Ravi rivers.]
[Footnote 3: Norman's narrative.]
[Footnote 4: The late General Sir James Brind, G.C.B.]
[Footnote 5: 'The Indian Mutiny,' by Forrest.]
[Footnote 6: When his Royal Highness the Prince of Wales was coming to
India in 1875, I obtained permission from Lord Napier of Magdala, who
was then Commander-in-Chief, to erect miniature embrasures to mark
the gun of direction of each of the breaching batteries; and on these
embrasures are recorded the number, armament, and object of the
batteries.]
[Footnote 7: Colonel Arthur Lang is the only one of the four now
alive.]
[Footnote 8: Nearly every man was on duty. The daily state of the
several corps must have been very similar to the following one of the
75th Foot.
DAILY STATE
OF
H.M.'S 75TH REGIMENT
Camp Delhi, 13th September, 1857.
+--------------------+--------------+------------+----------------+
| | Sergeants. | Drummers. | Rank and File. |
+--------------------+--------------+------------+----------------+
| Fit to turn out | 1 | 5 | 37 |
| On duty | 29 | 6 | 361 |
+--------------------+--------------+------------+----------------+
(Sd.) E. COURTENAY,
Sergt.-Major,
75th Regt.
True copy,
(Sd.) R. BARTER, Lieut.-Adj.,
75th Regiment.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER XVIII.
1857
Delhi stormed--The scene at the Kashmir Gate
--Bold front by Artillery and Cavalry--Nicholson wounded
--The last I saw of Nicholson--Wilson wavers--
Holding on to the walls of Delhi
It was intended, as I have before said, that the assault should be
delivered at break of day, but many of the men belonging to the
regiments of the storming force had been on piquet all night, and it
took some time for them to rejoin their respective corps. A further
delay was caused by our having to destroy the partial repairs to the
breaches which the enemy had succeeded in effecting during the night,
notwithstanding the steady fire we had kept up.
While we were thus engaged, the Infantry were ordered to lie down
under cover. Standing on the crenellated wall which separated Ludlow
Castle from the road, I saw Nicholson at the head of his column, and
wondered what was passing through his mind. Was he thinking of the
future, or of the wonderful part he had played during the past four
months? At Peshawar he had been Edwardes's right hand. At the head
of the Movable Column he had been mainly instrumental in keeping the
Punjab quiet, and at Delhi everyone felt that during the short time
he had been with us he was our guiding star, and that but for his
presence in the camp the assault which he was about to lead would
probably never have come off. He was truly 'a tower of strength.' Any
feeling of reluctance to serve under a Captain of the Company's army,
which had at first been felt by some, had been completely overcome by
his wonderful personality. Each man in the force, from the General in
command to the last-joined private soldier, recognized that the man
whom the wild people on the frontier had deified--the man of whom a
little time before Edwardes had said to Lord Canning, 'You may rely
upon this, that if ever there is a desperate deed to be done in India,
John Nicholson is the man to do it'--was one who had proved himself
beyond all doubt capable of grappling with the crisis through which we
were passing--one to follow to the death. Faith in the Commander who
had claimed and been given the post of honour was unbounded, and every
man was prepared 'to do or die' for him.
The sun had risen high in the heavens, when the breaching guns
suddenly ceased, and each soldier felt he had but a brief moment in
which to brace himself for the coming conflict. Nicholson gave the
signal. The 60th Rifles with a loud cheer dashed to the front in
skirmishing order, while at the same moment the heads of the first and
second columns appeared from the Kudsiabagh and moved steadily towards
the breaches.
No sooner were the front ranks seen by the rebels than a storm of
bullets met them from every side, and officers and men fell thick on
the crest of the glacis. Then, for a few seconds, amidst a blaze of
musketry, the soldiers stood at the edge of the ditch, for only one or
two of the ladders had come up, the rest having been dropped by their
killed or wounded carriers. Dark figures crowded on the breach,
hurling stones upon our men and daring them to come on. More ladders
were brought up, they were thrown into the ditch, and our men, leaping
into it, raised them against the escarp on the other side. Nicholson,
at the head of a part of his column, was the first to ascend the
breach in the curtain. The remainder of his troops diverged a little
to the right to escalade the breach in the Kashmir bastion. Here
Lieutenants Barter and Fitzgerald, of the 75th Foot, were the first to
mount, and here the latter fell mortally wounded. The breaches were
quickly filled with dead and dying, but the rebels were hurled back,
and the ramparts which had so long resisted us were our own.
The breach at the Water bastion was carried by No. 2 column. No sooner
was its head seen emerging from the cover of the old Custom-house than
it was met by a terrible discharge of musketry. Both the Engineer
officers (Greathed and Hovenden) who were leading it fell severely
wounded, and of the thirty-nine men who carried the ladders
twenty-nine were killed or wounded in as many seconds. The ladders
were immediately seized by their comrades, who, after one or two vain
attempts, succeeded in placing them against the escarp. Then, amidst
a shower of stones and bullets, the soldiers ascended, rushed the
breach, and, slaying all before them, drove the rebels from the walls.
No. 3 column had in the meanwhile advanced towards the Kashmir gate
and halted. Lieutenants Home and Salkeld, with eight Sappers and
Miners and a bugler of the 52nd Foot, went forward to blow the gate
open. The enemy were apparently so astounded at the audacity of
this proceeding that for a minute or two they offered but slight
resistance. They soon, however, discovered how small the party was and
the object for which it had come, and forthwith opened a deadly fire
upon the gallant little band from the top of the gateway, from the
city wall, and through the open wicket.
The bridge over the ditch in front of the gateway had been destroyed,
and it was with some difficulty that the single beam which remained
could be crossed. Home with the men carrying the powder-bags got
over first. As the bags were being attached to the gate, Sergeant
Carmichael was killed and Havildar Madhoo wounded; the rest then
slipped into the ditch to allow the firing party which had come up
under Salkeld to carry out its share of the duty.
While endeavouring to fire the charge, Salkeld, being shot through
the leg and arm, handed the slow-match to Corporal Burgess, who fell
mortally wounded, but not until he had successfully performed his
task.
As soon as the explosion had taken place, Bugler Hawthorne sounded
the regimental call of the 52nd. Meeting with no response, he sounded
twice again. The noise of firing and shouting was so great that
neither the sound of the bugle nor that of the explosion reached the
column, but Campbell, after allowing the firing party what he thought
was sufficient time, gave the order to advance. Captain Crosse, of the
52nd, was the first to reach the gate, followed closely by Corporal
Taylor of his own company, and Captain Synge of the same regiment, who
was Campbell's Brigade-Major. In single file along the narrow plank
they crossed the ditch in which lay the shattered remnant of the
gallant little band; they crept through the wicket, which was the only
part blown in, and found the interior of the gateway blocked by an
18-pounder gun, under which were lying the scorched bodies of two or
three sepoys, who had evidently been killed by the explosion. The rest
of the column followed as rapidly as the precarious crossing would
admit, and when Campbell got inside he found himself face to face with
both Nicholson's and Jones's columns, which, after mounting the three
breaches, poured in a mingled crowd into the open space between the
Kashmir gate and the church.
No. 4 column advanced from the Sabzi Mandi towards Kisenganj and
Paharipur. Reid, the commander, was unfortunately wounded early in the
day. Several other officers were either killed or wounded, and for
a little time a certain amount of confusion existed owing to some
misconception as to whether the command of the column should be
exercised by the senior officer with the regular troops, or by the
political officer with the Kashmir Contingent. The fighting was very
severe. The enemy were in great numbers, and strongly posted on
the banks of the canal--indeed, at one time there appeared to be a
likelihood of their breaking into our weakly-guarded camp or turning
the flank of our storming parties. The guns at Hindu Rao's house,
however, prevented such a catastrophe by pouring shrapnel into the
ranks of the rebels; and just at the critical moment Hope Grant
brought up the Cavalry brigade, which had been covering the assaulting
columns. The Horse Artillery dashed to the front and opened fire upon
the enemy. From the gardens and houses of Kisenganj, only two or three
hundred yards off, the mutineers poured a deadly fire of musketry on
our men, and from the bastion near the Lahore gate showers of grape
caused serious losses amongst them. Owing to the nature of the ground
the Cavalry could not charge. Had they retired the guns would have
been captured, and had the guns been withdrawn the position would have
been lost. For two hours the troopers drawn up in battle array sat
motionless, while their ranks were being cruelly raked. Not a man
wavered. Hope Grant and four of his staff had their horses killed
under them; two of them were wounded, and Hope Grant himself was hit
by a spent shot. In Tombs's troop of Horse Artillery alone, 25 men out
of 50 were wounded, and 17 horses either killed or wounded. The
9th Lancers had 38 casualties amongst the men, and lost 71 horses.
'Nothing daunted,' wrote Hope Grant, 'those gallant soldiers held
their trying position with patient endurance; and on my praising them
for their good behaviour, they declared their readiness to stand the
fire as long as I chose. The behaviour of the Native Cavalry,' he
added, 'was also admirable. Nothing could be steadier; nothing could
be more soldierlike than their bearing.'
The bold front shown by the Horse Artillery and Cavalry enabled No. 4
column to retire in an orderly manner behind Hindu Rao's house, and
also assisted the Kashmir Contingent in its retreat from the Idgah,
where it was defeated with the loss of four guns. The repulse of this
column added considerably to our difficulties by freeing many hundreds
to take part in the fight which was being fiercely carried on within
the city.
Meanwhile the three assaulting columns had made good their lodgment on
the walls. The guns in the Kashmir and Water bastions had been turned
so as to allow of their being used against the foe, and preparations
were made for the next move.
Nicholson's orders were to push his way to the Ajmir gate, by the road
running inside the city wall, and to clear the ramparts and bastions
as he went. Jones was to make for the Kabul gate, and Campbell for the
Jama Masjid.
These three columns reformed inside the Kashmir gate, from which
point the first and second practically became one. Nicholson, being
accidentally separated from his own column for a short time, pushed on
with Campbell's past the church, in the direction of the Jama Masjid,
while the amalgamated column under Jones's leadership took the rampart
route past the Kabul gate (on the top of which Jones had planted a
British flag), capturing as they advanced all the guns they found
on the ramparts, and receiving no check until the Burn bastion was
reached by some of the more adventurous spirits. Here the enemy,
taking heart at seeing but a small number of opponents, made a stand.
They brought up a gun, and, occupying all the buildings on the south
side of the rampart with Infantry, they poured forth such a heavy fire
that a retirement to the Kabul gate had to be effected.
It was at this point that Nicholson rejoined his own column. His
haughty spirit could not brook the idea of a retirement; however
slight the check might be, he knew that it would restore to the rebels
the confidence of which our hitherto successful advance had deprived
them, and, believing that there was nothing that brave men could not
achieve, he determined to make a fresh attempt to seize the Burn
bastion.
The lane which was again to be traversed was about 200 yards long,
with the city wall and rampart on the right, and on the left
flat-roofed houses with parapets, affording convenient shelter for the
enemy's sharp-shooters.
As the troops advanced up this lane the mutineers opened upon them a
heavy and destructive fire. Again and again they were checked, and
again and again they reformed and advanced. It was in this lane that
Major Jacob, the gallant Commander of the 1st Bengal Fusiliers, fell,
mortally wounded. His men wanted to carry him to the rear, but he
would not allow them to remain behind for him, and refused their help,
urging them to press forward against the foe. The officers, leading
far ahead of their men, were shot down one after the other, and the
men, seeing them fall, began to waver. Nicholson, on this, sprang
forward, and called upon the soldiers to follow him. He was instantly
shot through the chest.
A second retirement to the Kabul gate was now inevitable, and there
all that was left of the first and second columns remained for the
night.
Campbell's column, guided by Sir Theophilus Metcalfe, who from his
intimate acquaintance with the city as Magistrate and Collector of
Delhi was able to conduct it by the route least exposed to the enemy's
fire, forced its way to the vicinity of the Jama Masjid, where it
remained for half an hour, hoping that the other columns would come to
its assistance. They, however, as has been shown, had more than enough
to do elsewhere, and Campbell (who was wounded), seeing no chance of
being reinforced, and having no Artillery or powder-bags with which to
blow in the gates of the Jama Masjid, fell back leisurely and in order
on the church, where he touched what was left of the Reserve column,
which had gradually been broken up to meet the demands of the
assaulting force, until the 4th Punjab Infantry alone remained to
represent it.
While what I have just described was taking place, I myself was with
General Wilson. Edwin Johnson and I, being no longer required with the
breaching batteries, had been ordered to return to our staff duties,
and we accordingly joined the General at Ludlow Castle, where he
arrived shortly before the assaulting columns moved from the cover of
the Kudsiabagh.
Wilson watched the assault from the top of the house, and when he was
satisfied that it had proved successful, he rode through the Kashmir
gate to the church, where he remained for the rest of the day.
He was ill and tired out, and as the day wore on and he received
discouraging reports, he became more and more anxious and depressed.
He heard of Reid's failure, and of Reid himself having been severely
wounded; then came the disastrous news that Nicholson had fallen, and
a report (happily false) that Hope Grant and Tombs were both killed.
All this greatly agitated and distressed the General, until at last he
began seriously to consider the advisability of leaving the city and
falling back on the Ridge.
I was ordered to go and find out the truth of these reports, and to
ascertain exactly what had happened to No. 4 column and the Cavalry on
our right.
Just after starting on my errand, while riding through the Kashmir
gate, I observed by the side of the road a doolie, without bearers,
and with evidently a wounded man inside. I dismounted to see if I
could be of any use to the occupant, when I found, to my grief and
consternation, that it was John Nicholson, with death written on his
face. He told me that the bearers had put the doolie down and gone off
to plunder; that he was in great pain, and wished to be taken to the
hospital. He was lying on his back, no wound was visible, and but for
the pallor of his face, always colourless, there was no sign of the
agony he must have been enduring. On my expressing a hope that he was
not seriously wounded, he said: 'I am dying; there is no chance for
me.' The sight of that great man lying helpless and on the point of
death was almost more than I could bear. Other men had daily died
around me, friends and comrades had been killed beside me, but I never
felt as I felt then--to lose Nicholson seemed to me at that moment to
lose everything.
I searched about for the doolie-bearers, who, with other
camp-followers, were busy ransacking the houses and shops in the
neighbourhood, and carrying off everything of the slightest value they
could lay their hands on. Having with difficulty collected four men,
I put them in charge of a sergeant of the 61st Foot. Taking down his
name, I told him who the wounded officer was, and ordered him to go
direct to the field hospital.
That was the last I saw of Nicholson. I found time to ride several
times to the hospital to inquire after him, but I was never allowed to
see him again.
Continuing my ride, I soon came up with Hope Grant's brigade. It had
shortly before been relieved from its perilous and unpleasant position
as a target for the enemy by the timely arrival of the Guides Infantry
and a detachment of the Baluch battalion. I was rejoiced to find Tombs
alive and unhurt, and from him and other officers of my regiment I
learnt the tremendous peppering they had undergone. Hodson was also
there with his newly-raised regiment, some officers of the 9th
Lancers, and Dighton Probyn, Watson, and Younghusband, of the Punjab
Cavalry. Probyn was in great spirits, having fallen temporarily
into the command of his squadron, owing to Charles Nicholson (John
Nicholson's younger brother) having been selected to take Coke's place
with the 1st Punjab Infantry. Probyn retained his command throughout
the campaign, for Charles Nicholson was wounded that very morning
while gallantly leading his regiment. His right arm was being
amputated when his heroic brother was carried mortally wounded into
the same hospital, and laid on the bed next to him.
It seemed so important to acquaint the General without delay that Hope
Grant and Tombs were both alive, that the Cavalry had been relieved
from their exposed position, and that there was no need for further
anxiety about Reid's column, that I galloped back to the church as
quickly as possible.
The news I was able to give for the moment somewhat cheered the
General, but did not altogether dispel his gloomy forebodings; and the
failure of Campbell's column (which just at that juncture returned to
the church), the hopelessness of Nicholson's condition, and, above
all, the heavy list of casualties he received later, appeared to crush
all spirit and energy out of him. His dejection increased, and he
became more than ever convinced that his wisest course was to withdraw
from the city. He would, I think, have carried out this fatal measure,
notwithstanding that every officer on his staff was utterly opposed
to any retrograde movement, had it not been his good fortune to have
beside him a man sufficiently bold and resolute to stimulate his
flagging energies. Baird-Smith's indomitable courage and determined
perseverance were never more conspicuous than at that critical moment,
when, though suffering intense pain from his wound, and weakened by
a wasting disease, he refused to be put upon the sick-list; and on
Wilson appealing to him for advice as to whether he should or should
not hold on to the position we had gained, the short but decisive
answer, 'We _must_ hold on,' was given in such a determined and
uncompromising tone that it put an end to all discussion.
Neville Chamberlain gave similar advice. Although still suffering from
his wound, and only able to move about with difficulty, he had taken
up his position at Hindu Rao's house, from which he exercised, as
far as his physical condition would allow, a general supervision and
control over the events that took place on the right of the Ridge. He
was accompanied by Daly and a very distinguished Native officer of the
Guides, named Khan Sing Rosa, both of whom, like Chamberlain, were
incapacitated by wounds from active duty. From the top of Hindu Rao's
house Chamberlain observed the first successes of the columns, and
their subsequent checks and retirements, and it was while he was there
that he received two notes from General Wilson. In the first, written
after the failure of the attacks on the Jama Masjid and the Lahore
gate, the General asked for the return of the Baluch battalion, which,
at Chamberlain's request, had been sent to reinforce Reid's column,
and in it he expressed the hope that 'we shall be able to hold what
we have got.' In the second note, written at four o'clock in the
afternoon, the General asked whether Chamberlain 'could do anything
from Hindu Rao's house to assist,' adding, 'our numbers are
frightfully reduced, and we have lost so many senior officers that the
men are not under proper control; indeed, I doubt if they could be got
to do anything dashing. I want your advice. If the Hindu Rao's piquet
cannot be moved, I do not think we shall be strong enough to take the
city.' Chamberlain understood General Wilson's second note to imply
that he contemplated withdrawing the troops from the city, and he
framed his reply accordingly. In it he urged the necessity for holding
on to the last; he pointed out the advantages already gained, and the
demoralization thereby inflicted upon the enemy. The dying Nicholson
advocated the same course with almost his latest breath. So angry and
excited was he when he was told of the General's suggestion to retire,
that he exclaimed, 'Thank God I have strength yet to shoot him, if
necessary.' There was no resisting such a consensus of responsible and
reliable opinion, and Wilson gave up all idea of retreating.
During the afternoon of the 14th, Norman, Johnson, and I, at the
General's desire and for his information, visited every position
occupied by our troops within the city walls. In some places there
was great confusion--men without their officers, and officers without
their men--all without instructions, and not knowing what was going on
in their immediate neighbourhood, the inevitable result of the rapid
advance. We did what we could to remedy matters, and were able to
report to Wilson that our troops were holding the wall from the Water
bastion to the Kabul gate in sufficient strength. But this was all the
comfort we could give him. The fact is, too much had been attempted
on that eventful morning. We should have been satisfied with gaining
possession of the Kashmir and Water bastions, and getting a lodgment
within the city walls. This was as much as three such weak columns
should have tried, or been asked to accomplish. No one who was
present on that occasion, and experienced the difficulty, indeed
impossibility, of keeping soldiers in hand while engaged in fighting
along narrow streets and tortuous lanes, would ever again attempt what
was expected of the assaulting columns.
While engaged in this duty we (Norman, Johnson and I) were attacked by
a party of the enemy who had been hiding in considerable numbers in a
side-lane watching for a chance. A fight ensued; we had only a small
guard with us, but, fortunately, the firing was heard by the men of a
near piquet, some of whom came to our help. With their assistance we
drove off the sepoys, but in the scrimmage my poor mare was shot. She
was a very useful animal, and her death was a great loss to me at the
time.
At sunset on the 14th of September only a very small portion of the
walls of Delhi was in our possession. The densely-populated city
remained to be conquered. The magazine, the palace, and the Fort of
Selimgarh, all strongly fortified, were still in the hands of the
enemy. The narrow strip of ground we had gained had been won at severe
loss. Three out of the four officers who commanded the assaulting
columns had been disabled, and 66 officers and 1,104 men had been
killed and wounded.
The night of the 14th was spent by the General and staff in 'Skinner's
house,'[1] close to the church. Rest was badly needed, for almost
everyone in the force, officers and men alike, had been hard at work,
night and day, for a week. That night, luckily, we were allowed to be
at peace, for whether it was that the rebels were as tired as we were,
or that they were busy making preparations for further resistance,
they did not disturb us; and when day broke we were all refreshed and
ready to continue the struggle. At one time, indeed, early in the
evening, the enemy appeared from their movements to be preparing to
attack us, but just at that moment the band of the 4th Punjab Infantry
struck up 'Cheer, Boys, Cheer!' upon which the men of the regiment did
cheer, most lustily, and other regiments caught up and continued the
inspiriting hurrahs, which apparently had the effect of disconcerting
the mutineers and keeping them quiet.
[Footnote 1: The house belonged to the Skinner family, and was
originally built by James Skinner, a Eurasian, who served the Moghul
Emperor with great distinction towards the end of the last century.
When Lord Lake broke up that Mahomedan Prince's power, Skinner entered
the service of the East India Company and rose to the rank of Major.
He was also a C.B. He raised the famous Skinner's Horse, now the 1st
Bengal Cavalry. His father was an officer in one of His Majesty's
regiments of Foot, and after one of Lord Clive's battles married a
Rajput lady of good family, who with her father and mother had been
taken prisoners. Skinner himself married a Mahomedan, so that he had
an interest in the three religions, Christian, Hindu, and Mahomedan,
and on one occasion, when left on the ground severely wounded, he made
a vow that if his life were spared he would build three places of
worship--a church, a temple, and a mosque. He fulfilled his vow, and
a few years later he built the church at Delhi, and the temple and
mosque which are in close proximity to it.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER XIX.
1857
Capture of the Burn bastion--The 60th Rifles storm the palace
--Hodson captures the King of Delhi--Nicholson's death
--Gallantry of the troops--Praise from Lord Canning
On the morning of the 15th the situation was reviewed, and
preparations made for the conquest of the city. Order was restored
amongst the troops, who, as I have shown, had become somewhat
demoralized by the street fighting. Regiments and brigades were got
together; raids were made on all the store shops within reach, and
every bottle of beer and spirits was broken.[1] Some of the liquor
would doubtless have been of great use in the hospitals, but there was
no means of removing it, and the General wisely determined that it was
best to put temptation out of the men's way. Guns and mortars were
placed into position for shelling the city and palace, and a few
houses near, where the enemy's sharpshooters had established
themselves, were seized and occupied. We soon, however, gave up
attacking such positions, for we found that street fighting could not
be continued without the loss of more men than we had to spare, and
that the wisest plan would be to keep the soldiers under cover as much
as possible while we sapped from house to house. A battery commanding
Selimgarh and part of the palace was constructed in the college
gardens, and a breach was made in the wall of the magazine, which was
captured the next morning with but slight loss.
On the 16th, and again on the 18th, Chamberlain took command of the
troops inside the city while the General rested for a few hours. He
was, as he expressed himself in a note to Chamberlain, 'completely
done.'
The enemy now began to draw in their line. The suburbs were evacuated,
and riding through the Sabzi Mandi, Kisenganj and Paharipur, we gazed
with wonder at the size and strength of the works raised against us by
the mutineers, in attacking which we had experienced such heavy loss
during the early days of the siege, and from which No. 4 column had
been obliged to retire on the day of the assault.
The smaller the position that had to be defended, the greater became
the numbers concentrated in our immediate front, and every inch of our
way through the city was stoutly disputed; but the advance, though
slow, was steady, and considering the numbers of the insurgents, and
the use they made at close quarters of their Field Artillery, our
casualties were fewer than could have been expected.
I had been placed under the orders of Taylor, Baird-Smith's
indefatigable Lieutenant, who directed the advance towards the Lahore
gate. We worked through houses, courtyards, and lanes, until on the
afternoon of the 19th we found ourselves in rear of the Burn bastion,
the attempt to take which on the 14th had cost the life of the gallant
Nicholson and so many other brave men. We had with us fifty European
and fifty Native soldiers, the senior officer of the party being
Captain Gordon, of the 75th Foot. A single door separated us from the
lane which led to the Burn bastion. Lang, of the Engineers, burst this
door open, and out dashed the party. Rushing across the lane and up
the ramp, the guard was completely surprised, and the bastion was
seized without our losing a man.
Early the next day we were still sapping our way towards the Lahore
gate, when we suddenly found ourselves in a courtyard in which were
huddled together some forty or fifty _banias_,[2] who were evidently
as much in terror of the sepoys as they were of us. The men of our
party nearly made an end of these unfortunates before their officers
could interfere, for to the troops (Native and European alike) every
man inside the walls of Delhi was looked upon as a rebel, worthy of
death. These people, however, were unarmed, and it did not require
a very practised eye to see that they were inoffensive. We thought,
however, that a good fright would do them no harm, and might possibly
help us, so for a time we allowed them to believe that they were
looked upon as traitors, but eventually told them their lives would
be spared if they would take us in safety to some place from which
we might observe how the Lahore gate was guarded. After considerable
hesitation and consultation amongst themselves they agreed to two of
their party guiding Lang and me, while the rest remained as hostages,
with the understanding that, if we did not return within a given time,
they would be shot.
Our trembling guides conducted us through houses, across courtyards,
and along secluded alleys, without our meeting a living creature,
until we found ourselves in an upper room of a house looking out on
the Chandni Chauk,[3] and within fifty yards of the Lahore gate.
From the window of this room we could see beneath us the sepoys
lounging about, engaged in cleaning their muskets and other
occupations, while some, in a lazy sort of fashion, were acting as
sentries over the gateway and two guns, one of which pointed in the
direction of the Sabzi Mandi, the other down the lane behind the
ramparts leading to the Burn bastion and Kabul gate. I could see from
the number on their caps that these sepoys belonged to the 5th Native
Infantry.
Having satisfied ourselves of the feasibility of taking the Lahore
gate in rear, we retraced our steps.
The two _banias_ behaved well throughout, but were in such a terrible
fright of anything happening to us that they would not allow us to
leave the shelter of one house until they had carefully reconnoitred
the way to the next, and made sure that it was clear of the enemy.
This occasioned so much delay that our friends had almost given us up,
and were on the point of requiring the hostages to pay the penalty for
the supposed treachery of our guides, when we reappeared on the scene.
We then discussed our next move, and it was decided to repeat the
manoeuvre which had been so successful at the Burn bastion. The troops
were brought by the route we had just traversed, and drawn up behind a
gateway next to the house in which we had been concealed. The gate was
burst open, and rushing into the street, we captured the guns, and
killed or put to flight the sepoys whom we had watched from our upper
chamber a short time before, without losing a man ourselves.
This was a great achievement, for we were now in possession of the
main entrance to Delhi, and the street of the city leading direct from
the Lahore gate to the palace and Jama Masjid. We proceeded up this
street, at first cautiously, but on finding it absolutely empty, and
the houses on either side abandoned, we pushed on until we reached
the Delhi Bank. Here there was firing going on, and round shot flying
about from a couple of guns placed just outside the palace. But this
was evidently an expiring effort. The great Mahomedan mosque had just
been occupied by a column under the command of Major James Brind;
while Ensign McQueen,[4] of the 4th Punjab Infantry, with one of his
own men had pluckily reconnoitred up to the chief gateway of the
palace, and reported that there were but few men left in the Moghul
fort.
The honour of storming this last stronghold was appropriately reserved
for the 60th Rifles, the regiment which had been the first to engage
the enemy on the banks of the Hindun, nearly four months before, and
which throughout the siege had so greatly distinguished itself.
Home, of the Engineers, the hero of the Kashmir gate exploit, first
advanced with some Sappers and blew in the outer gate. At this, the
last struggle for the capture of Delhi, I wished to be present, so
attached myself for the occasion to a party of the 60th Rifles, under
the command of Ensign Alfred Heathcote. As soon as the smoke of
the explosion cleared away, the 60th, supported by the 4th Punjab
Infantry, sprang through the gateway; but we did not get far, for
there was a second door beyond, chained and barred, which was with
difficulty forced open, when the whole party rushed in. The recesses
in the long passage which led to the palace buildings were crowded
with wounded men, but there was very little opposition, for only a
few fanatics still held out. One of these--a Mahomedan sepoy in the
uniform of a Grenadier of the 37th Native Infantry--stood quietly
about thirty yards up the passage with his musket on his hip. As we
approached he slowly raised his weapon and fired, sending the bullet
through McQueen's helmet. The brave fellow then advanced at the
charge, and was, of course, shot down. So ended the 20th September, a
day I am never likely to forget.
At sunrise on the 21st a royal salute proclaimed that we were again
masters in Delhi, and that for the second time in the century the
great city had been captured by a British force.
Later in the day General Wilson established his Head-Quarters in the
Dewan-i-khas (the King's private hall of audience), and, as was in
accordance with the fitness of things, the 60th Rifles and the Sirmur
battalion of Gurkhas[5] were the first troops of Her Majesty's army
to garrison the palace of the Moghuls, in which the traitorous and
treacherous massacre of English men, women and children had been
perpetrated.
The importance of securing the principal members of the Royal Family
was pressed upon the General by Chamberlain and Hodson, who both
urged that the victory would be incomplete if the King and his male
relatives were allowed to remain at large. Wilson would not consent
to any force being sent after them, and it was with considerable
reluctance that he agreed to Hodson going on this hazardous duty with
some of his own men only. The last of the Moghul Emperors had taken
refuge in Humayun's tomb, about seven miles from Delhi, where, on the
afternoon of the 21st, he surrendered to Hodson on receiving a promise
from that officer that his own life and the lives of his favourite
wife and her son should be spared. Hodson brought them all into Delhi
and placed them under a European guard in a house in the Chandni
Chauk, thus adding one more to the many valuable services he had
rendered throughout the siege.
I went with many others the next day to see the King; the old man
looked most wretched, and as he evidently disliked intensely being
stared at by Europeans, I quickly took my departure. On my way back I
was rather startled to see the three lifeless bodies of the King's two
sons and grandson lying exposed on the stone platform in front of the
_Kotwali_. On enquiry I learnt that Hodson had gone a second time
to Humayun's tomb that morning with the object of capturing these
Princes, and on the way back to Delhi had shot them with his own
hand--an act which, whether necessary or not, has undoubtedly cast a
blot on his reputation. His own explanation of the circumstance was
that he feared they would be rescued by the mob, who could easily have
overpowered his small escort of 100 sowars, and it certainly would
have been a misfortune had these men escaped. At the time a thirst for
revenge on account of the atrocities committed within the walls of
Delhi was so great that the shooting of the Princes seemed to the
excited feelings of the army but an act of justice; and there were
some men, whose opinions were entitled to the greatest respect, who
considered the safety of the British force would have been endangered
by the escape of the representatives of the house of Taimur, and that
for this reason Hodson's act was justified.
My own feeling on the subject is one of sorrow that such a brilliant
soldier should have laid himself open to so much adverse criticism.
Moreover, I do not think that, under any circumstances, he should
have done the deed himself, or ordered it to be done in that summary
manner, unless there had been evident signs of an attempt at a rescue.
But it must be understood that there was no breach of faith on
Hodson's part, for he steadily refused to give any promise to
the Princes that their lives should be spared; he did, however,
undoubtedly by this act give colour to the accusations of
blood-thirstiness which his detractors were not slow to make.
The news that we had occupied the palace, and were in complete
possession of the city of Delhi, consoled Nicholson on his deathbed.
From the first there was little hope that this valuable life could
be saved. He was taken into hospital in a fainting condition from
internal hemorrhage, and he endured excruciating agony; but, wrote
General Chamberlain, 'throughout those nine days of suffering he bore
himself nobly; not a lament or sigh ever passed his lips.' His every
thought was given to his country, and to the last he materially aided
the military authorities by his clear-sighted, sound, and reliable
advice. His intellect remained unclouded to the end. With his latest
breath he sent messages of tender farewell to his mother, hoping she
would be patient under his loss, and to his oldest and dearest friend,
Herbert Edwardes. After his death some frontier Chiefs and Native
officers of the Multani Horse were permitted to see him, and I was
told that it was touching beyond expression to see these strong men
shed tears as they looked on all that was left of the leader they so
loved and honoured.
* * * * *
Thus ended the great siege of Delhi, and to no one could the tidings
of its fall have brought more intense relief and satisfaction than to
the Chief Commissioner of the Punjab. Although in the first instance
Sir John Lawrence certainly under-estimated the strength of the Delhi
defences and the difficulties with which General Anson had to contend,
he fully realized them later, and even at the risk of imperilling the
safety of his own province by denuding it of troops, he provided the
means for the capture of the rebel stronghold, and consequently the
army of Delhi felt they owed him a deep debt of gratitude.
Like Norman when writing his narrative of the siege, I feel I cannot
conclude my brief account of it without paying my small tribute of
praise and admiration to the troops who bore themselves so nobly from
the beginning to the end. Their behaviour throughout was beyond
all praise, their constancy was unwearied, their gallantry most
conspicuous; in thirty-two different fights they were victorious over
long odds, being often exposed to an enemy ten times their number,
who, moreover, had the advantage of ground and superior Artillery;
they fought and worked as if each one felt that on his individual
exertions alone depended the issue of the day; they willingly, nay,
cheerfully, endured such trials as few armies have ever been exposed
to for so long a time. For three months, day after day, and for the
greater part of the day, every man had to be constantly under arms,
exposed to a scorching Indian sun, which was almost as destructive as,
and much harder to bear than, the enemy's never-ceasing fire. They saw
their comrades struck down by cholera, sunstroke, and dysentery, more
dispiriting a thousand times than the daily casualties in action.
They beheld their enemies reinforced while their own numbers rapidly
decreased. Yet they never lost heart, and at last, when it became
evident that no hope of further reinforcements could be entertained,
and that if Delhi were to be taken at all it must be taken at once,
they advanced to the assault with as high a courage and as complete a
confidence in the result, as if they were attacking in the first flush
and exultation of troops at the commencement of a campaign, instead
of being the remnant of a force worn out, by twelve long weeks of
privation and suffering, by hope deferred (which truly 'maketh the
heart sick'), and by weary waiting for the help which never came.
Batteries were thrown up within easy range of the walls, than which
a more heroic piece of work was never performed; and finally, these
gallant few, of whom England should in very truth be everlastingly
proud, stormed in the face of day a strong fortress defended by 30,000
desperate men, provided with everything necessary to defy assault.
The list of killed and wounded bears witness to the gallantry of all
arms of the service. The effective force at Delhi never amounted
to 10,000 men. Of these 992 were killed and 2,845 wounded, besides
hundreds who died of disease and exposure. Where all behaved nobly, it
is difficult to particularize; but it will not, I hope, be considered
invidious if I specially draw my readers' attention to the four corps
most constantly engaged: the 60th Rifles, the Sirmur battalion of
Gurkhas, the Guides, and the 1st Punjab Infantry. Placed in the very
front of the position, they were incessantly under fire, and their
losses in action testify to the nature of the service they performed.
The 60th Rifles left Meerut with 440 of all ranks; a few days before
the assault they received a reinforcement of nearly 200, making a
total of 640; their casualties were 389. The Sirmur battalion began
with 450 men, and were joined by a draft of 90, making a total of 540;
their loss in killed and wounded amounted to 319. The strength of
the Guides when they joined was 550 Cavalry and Infantry, and their
casualties were 303. The 1st Punjab Infantry arrived in Delhi with
3 British officers and 664 Natives of all ranks. Two of the British
officers were killed, and the third severely wounded, and of the
Natives, 8 officers[6] and 200 men were killed and wounded; while out
of the British officers attached to the regiment during the siege 1
was killed and 4 wounded. Further, it is a great pleasure to me to
dwell on the splendid service done by the Artillery and Engineers. The
former, out of their small number, had 365 killed or disabled, and the
latter two-thirds of their officers and 293 of their men. I cannot
more appropriately conclude this chapter than by quoting the words of
Lord Canning, who, as Governor-General of India, wrote as follows in
giving publication to the Delhi despatches: 'In the name of outraged
humanity, in memory of innocent blood ruthlessly shed, and in
acknowledgment of the first signal vengeance inflicted on the foulest
treason, the Governor-General in Council records his gratitude to
Major-General Wilson and the brave army of Delhi. He does so in the
sure conviction that a like tribute awaits them, not in England only,
but wherever within the limits of civilization the news of their
well-earned triumph shall reach.'
[Footnote 1: A report was circulated that a large number of our men
had fallen into the trap laid for them by the Native shopkeepers, and
were disgracefully drunk. I heard that a few men, overcome by heat and
hard work, had given way to temptation, but I did not see a single
drunken man throughout the day of the assault, although, as I have
related, I visited every position held by our troops within the walls
of the city.]
[Footnote 2: Sellers of grain and lenders of money.]
[Footnote 3: 'Silver Bazaar,' the main street of Delhi, in which
were, and still are, situated all the principal jewellers' and
cloth-Merchants' shops.]
[Footnote 4: Now Lieutenant-General Sir John McQueen, K.C.B.]
[Footnote 5: The Gurkhas became such friends with the men of the 1st
Battalion 60th Rifles during the siege--the admiration of brave men
for brave men--that they made a special request to be allowed to wear
the same uniform as their 'brothers' in the Rifles. This was acceded
to, and the 2nd Gurkhas are very proud of the little red line on their
facings.]
[Footnote 6: Amongst the Native officers killed was Subadar Ruttun
Sing, who fell mortally wounded in the glacis. He was a Patiala Sikh,
and had been invalided from the service. As the 1st Punjab Infantry
neared Delhi, Major Coke saw the old man standing in the road with two
swords on. He begged to be taken back into the service, and when Coke
demurred he said: 'What! my old corps going to fight at Delhi without
me! I hope you will let me lead my old Sikh company into action again.
I will break these two swords in your cause.' Coke acceded to the old
man's wish, and throughout the siege of Delhi he displayed the most
splendid courage. At the great attack on the 'Sammy House' on the 1st
and 2nd August, when Lieutenant Travers of his regiment was killed,
Ruttun Sing, amidst a shower of bullets, jumped on to the parapet and
shouted to the enemy, who were storming the piquet: 'If any man wants
to fight, let him come here, and not stand firing like a coward! I
am Ruttun Sing, of Patiala.' He then sprang down among the enemy,
followed by the men of his company, and drove them off with heavy
loss.
On the morning of the assault the regiment had marched down to the
rendezvous at Ludlow Castle, 'left in front.' While waiting for the
Artillery to fire a few final rounds at the breaches, the men sat
down, and, falling in again, were doing so 'right in front.' Ruttun
Sing came up to Lieutenant Charles Nicholson, who was commanding the
regiment, and said: 'We ought to fall in "left in front," thereby
making his own company the leading one in the assault. In a few
minutes more Ruttun Sing was mortally wounded, and Dal Sing, the
Jemadar of his company, a man of as great courage as Ruttun Sing, but
not of the same excitable nature, was killed outright.]
* * * * *
CHAPTER XX.
1857
Necessity for further action--Departure from Delhi
--Action at Bulandshahr--Lieutenant Home's death--Knights-errant
--Fight at Aligarh--Appeals from Agra
--Collapse of the administration--Taken by surprise
--The fight at Agra--An exciting chase--The Taj Mahal
The fall of Delhi was loudly proclaimed, and the glad tidings spread
like wildfire throughout the length and breadth of India, bringing
intense relief to Europeans everywhere, but more especially to those
in the Punjab, who felt that far too great a strain was being put upon
the loyalty of the people, and that failure at Delhi would probably
mean a rising of the Sikhs and Punjabis. Salutes were fired in
honour of the victory at all the principal stations, but the Native
population of the Punjab could not at first be made to believe that
the Moghul capital, with its hordes of defenders, could have been
captured by the small English army they saw marching through their
province a few months before. Even at that time it seemed all too
small for the task before it, and since then they knew it had dwindled
down to less than half its numbers. It was not, indeed, until they had
ocular demonstration of our success, in the shape of the loot which
some of the Native followers belonging to the besieging force took
back to their homes, that they became convinced of the reality of our
victory.
[Illustration: PLAN TO ILLUSTRATE THE SIEGE OF DELHI, 1857]
Sir John Lawrence being painfully alive to the weakness of our
position in the Punjab, as compared to the great strength of the
Sikhs, on hearing the news of the capture of Delhi, begged General
Wilson to send back at once a British regiment as a practical proof
that our triumph was complete, and that he no longer needed so many
troops. But though the city was in our possession, a great deal
remained to be done before a single soldier could be spared. Above all
things, it was necessary to open up communication with Cawnpore and
Lucknow, in order to ascertain exactly the state of affairs in that
part of the country. We had heard of the failure of Havelock's
attempts to reach Lucknow, and of his having been obliged in the end
to retire to Cawnpore and wait for reinforcements, but we had not been
able to learn whether such reinforcements had reached him, or how long
the beleaguered garrison of Lucknow was likely to hold out.
No time was wasted at Delhi. On the 21st September, the very day
after the palace was occupied, it was decided to despatch a column
to Cawnpore; but, on account of the weakened condition of the whole
force, there was considerable difficulty in detailing the troops
for its composition. The total strength of the corps[1] eventually
selected amounted to 750 British and 1,900 Native soldiers, with
sixteen field-guns.
No officer of note or high rank being available, the command of the
column should have been given to the senior regimental officer serving
with it, viz., Colonel Hope Grant, of the 9th Lancers; but for some
unexplained motive Lieutenant-Colonel Greathed, of the 8th Foot, was
chosen by General Wilson. Captain Bannatyne, of the same regiment, was
appointed his Brigade-Major, and I was sent with the column as Deputy
Assistant-Quartermaster-General. On the fall of Delhi the whole of
the Head-Quarters staff returned to Simla, except Henry Norman, whose
soldierly instincts made him prefer accompanying the column, in order
that he might be ready to join Sir Colin Campbell, the newly-appointed
Commander-in-Chief, who had shortly before arrived in India.
Nicholson's funeral was taking place as we marched out of Delhi, at
daybreak on the morning of the 24th September. It was a matter of
regret to me that I was unable to pay a last tribute of respect to my
loved and honoured friend and Commander by following his body to the
grave, but I could not leave the column. That march through Delhi in
the early morning light was a gruesome proceeding. Our way from the
Lahore gate by the Chandni Chauk led through a veritable city of
the dead; not a sound was to be heard but the falling of our own
footsteps; not a living creature was to be seen. Dead bodies
were strewn about in all directions, in every attitude that the
death-struggle had caused them to assume, and in every stage of
decomposition. We marched in silence, or involuntarily spoke in
whispers, as though fearing to disturb those ghastly remains of
humanity. The sights we encountered were horrible and sickening to the
last degree. Here a dog gnawed at an uncovered limb; there a vulture,
disturbed by our approach from its loathsome meal, but too completely
gorged to fly, fluttered away to a safer distance. In many instances
the positions of the bodies were appallingly life-like. Some lay with
their arms uplifted as if beckoning, and, indeed, the whole scene was
weird and terrible beyond description. Our horses seemed to feel the
horror of it as much as we did, for they shook and snorted in evident
terror. The atmosphere was unimaginably disgusting, laden as it was
with the most noxious and sickening odours.
It is impossible to describe the joy of breathing the pure air of the
open country after such a horrible experience; but we had not escaped
untainted. That night we had several cases of cholera, one of the
victims being Captain Wilde, the Commandant of the 4th Punjab
Infantry. He was sent back to Delhi in a hopeless condition, it was
thought, but he recovered, and did excellent work at the head of his
fine regiment during the latter part of the campaign.
After a march of eleven miles we reached Ghazi-uddin nagar, to find
the place deserted. We halted the next day. The baggage animals were
out of condition after their long rest at Delhi; and it was necessary
to overhaul their loads and get rid of the superfluous kit and plunder
which the followers had brought away with them. We were accompanied
on our march by a few enterprising civilians, who had found their way
into Delhi the day after we took possession of the palace. Amongst
them was Alfred Lyall,[2] a schoolfellow of mine at Eton. He was
on his way to take up the appointment of Assistant-Magistrate at
Bulandshahr, where he was located when the Mutiny broke out. As
we rode along he gave me a most interesting little history of his
personal experiences during the early days of May, from the time when
the first symptoms of the coming storm were felt, until that when the
surrounding country rose _en masse_, and he and those with him had
to seek shelter at Meerut. I should like to repeat his story for the
benefit of my readers, but I refrain, as it would lose so much by my
telling; and I hope that some day Sir Alfred Lyall may be induced to
tell his own story in the picturesque and attractive language which is
so well known and so much appreciated by the reading public.
Early on the morning of the 28th, Norman, Lyall, and I, marching with
Watson's Cavalry, two or three miles in advance of the column, arrived
at cross-roads, one leading to Bulandshahr, the other to Malagarh, a
fort belonging to a Mahomedan of the name of Walidad Khan, who, when
the British rule was in abeyance, assumed authority over the district
in the name of the Emperor of Delhi. We halted, and, having put out
our piquets, lay down and waited for the dawn. From information
obtained by the civil officers with the column, we suspected that
large numbers of mutineers were collected in the neighbourhood.
We were not left long in doubt as to the correctness of our
surmisings, for we were soon rudely awakened by the rattle of shots
exchanged between our vedettes and those of the enemy. Information was
sent back at once to the advance guard and to our Commander, while we
set to work to ascertain the enemy's exact position; this proved to be
at Bulandshahr, and we were within a couple of miles of the main body.
As we advanced the rebel Cavalry fell back, and when we got under fire
of their guns, our Horse Artillery came into action; our Infantry
coming up, found the enemy occupying an extremely strong position, in
the gaol and a walled serai at the entrance to the town, their left
being covered by the enclosed gardens and ruined houses of the
deserted civil station, within which they were collected in
considerable force. From these points they were driven by the 75th
Foot, who, in a most dashing manner, captured two 9-pounder guns,
while a third was taken by the Cavalry. The rebels then began to
retreat, and were followed up by a small body of Cavalry, under
Drysdale,[3] of the 9th Lancers, with whom were Sarel, of the same
regiment, Augustus Anson of the 84th Foot, and myself. We soon became
entangled in narrow streets, but at last found ourselves in a gateway
leading out of the town, which was crowded with bullock-carts, flying
townspeople, and a number of the enemy, some on horseback, some on
foot. There we had hard fighting; Sarel was wounded in the act of
running a sepoy through the body, the forefinger of his right hand
being taken off by a bullet, which then passed through his left arm;
Anson was surrounded by mutineers, and performed prodigies of valour,
for which he was rewarded with the Victoria Cross. I was riding a
Waziri horse, which had belonged to John Nicholson, and as it had been
a great favourite of his, I had commissioned a friend to buy him for
me at the sale of Nicholson's effects. He was naturally impetuous,
and, being now greatly excited by the firing and confusion, plunged
about a good deal. He certainly was not a comfortable mount on that
day, but all the same he saved my life. In the midst of the melee I
observed a sepoy taking deliberate aim at me, and tried to get at him,
but the crowd between him and me prevented my reaching him. He fired;
my frightened animal reared, and received in his head the bullet which
was intended for me.[4]
The work fell chiefly on the Cavalry and Horse Artillery. Major Ouvry,
who commanded them, must have been a proud man that day, for they
behaved splendidly. Two of Blunt's guns also, under an old Addiscombe
friend of mine named Cracklow, did excellent service. The 9th Lancers,
under Drysdale, performed wonders; and the three squadrons of Punjab
Cavalry, under their gallant young leaders, Probyn, Watson, and
Younghusband, and the squadron of Hodson's Horse, under Hugh Gough,
showed of what good stuff they were made. Our casualties were 6 men
killed, 6 officers and 35 men wounded. The enemy's loss was 300.
A large quantity of ammunition and baggage fell into our hands,
including many articles plundered from European men and women.
After the fight was over, the column passed through the town, and our
camp was pitched about a mile beyond, on the banks of the Kali Naddi.
The same afternoon Malagarh was reconnoitred, but was found to be
deserted, a satisfactory result of the morning's action, for the fort,
if defended, would have given us some trouble to take. Walidad Khan
evidently hoped to become a power in the district, for he had begun to
make gun-carriages, and we found roughly-cast guns on the lathes ready
for boring out. It was decided that Malagarh Fort, which was full of
articles of every description taken from the English residents, should
be destroyed. Its demolition, however, took some time to effect, and
as we could not move till transport came from Meerut to convey our
wounded officers and men back to that place, the column halted at
Bulandshahr for four days.
On the afternoon of the 1st October the fort was blown up, and most
unfortunately, while superintending the operation, Lieutenant Home was
killed.[5] The mine had been laid and the slow-match lighted, but the
explosion not following as quickly as was expected, Home thought the
match must have gone out, and went forward again to relight it. At
that moment the mine blew up. His death was greatly felt in camp,
happening as it did when all the excitement of battle was over.
We left Bulandshahr, and said good-bye to Lyall on the 3rd October,
feeling that he was being placed in a position of considerable risk,
thrown as he was on his own resources, with general instructions to
re-establish the authority of the British Government. He was not,
however, molested, and after two or three days he was joined by a
small body of troops from Meerut. During the months that followed
he and his escort had several alarms and some smart skirmishes; for
Rohilkand, a large tract of country to the east of Bulandshahr, was
held by the rebels until the following spring, and Lyall's district
was constantly traversed by bodies of mutinous sepoys.
On the afternoon of the same day we reached Khurja, a fair-sized
Mahomedan town, from which some of our Cavalry soldiers were
recruited. The first thing that met our eyes on arrival at this place
was a skeleton, ostentatiously placed against the side of a bridge
leading to the encamping-ground; it was headless, and the bones were
hacked and broken. It was pronounced by more than one doctor to be the
skeleton of a European woman. This sight maddened the soldiery, who
demanded vengeance, and at one time it seemed that the town of Khurja
would have to pay the penalty for the supposed crime. The whole force
was greatly excited. At length calmer counsels prevailed. The people
of the town protested their innocence, and expressed their anxiety to
be our humble servants; they were, as a whole, given the benefit of
the doubt, but some soldiers found in the town, belonging to regiments
which had mutinied, were tried, and hanged or acquitted according to
the evidence given.
Some excitement was caused on reaching camp by the appearance of a
fakir seated under a tree close to where our tents were pitched. The
man was evidently under a vow of silence, which Hindu devotees often
make as a penance for sin, or to earn a title to more than a fair
share of happiness in a future life. On our addressing him, the fakir
pointed to a small wooden platter, making signs for us to examine it.
The platter had been quite recently used for mixing food in, and
at first there seemed to be nothing unusual about it. On closer
inspection, however, we discovered that a detachable square of wood
had been let in at the bottom, on removing which a hollow became
visible, and in it lay a small folded paper, that proved to be a note
from General Havelock, written in the Greek character, containing
the information that he was on his way to the relief of the Lucknow
garrison, and begging any Commander into whose hands the communication
might fall to push on as fast as possible to his assistance, as he
sorely needed reinforcements, having few men and no carriage to speak
of. This decided Greathed to proceed with as little delay as might be
to Cawnpore.
Just before we left Bulandshahr, a spy reported to me that an English
lady was a prisoner in a village some twenty miles off, and that she
was anxious to be rescued. As on cross-examination, however, the story
did not appear to me to be very reliable, I told the man he must bring
me some proof of the presence of the lady in the village. Accordingly,
on the arrival of the column at Khurja, he appeared with a piece of
paper on which was written 'Miss Martindale.' This necessitated the
matter being inquired into, and I obtained the Brigadier's permission
to make a detour to the village in question. I started off,
accompanied by Watson and Probyn, with their two squadrons of Cavalry.
We timed our march so as to reach our destination just before dawn;
the Cavalry surrounded the village, and with a small escort we three
proceeded up the little street to the house where the guide told us
the lady was confined. Not only was the house empty, but, with the
exception of a few sick and bedridden old people, there was not a
soul in the village. There had evidently been a hasty retreat, which
puzzled me greatly, as I had taken every precaution to ensure secrecy,
for I feared that if our intention to rescue the lady became known she
would be carried off. As day broke we searched the surrounding crops,
and found the villagers and some soldiers hidden amongst them. They
one and all denied that there was the slightest truth in the story,
and as it appeared a waste of time to further prosecute the fruitless
search, we were on the point of starting to rejoin our camp, when
there was a cry from our troopers of '_Mem sahib hai!_' (Here is the
lady), and presently an excessively dusky girl about sixteen years of
age appeared, clad in Native dress. We had some difficulty in getting
the young woman to tell us what had happened; but on assuring her that
no harm should be done to those with whom she was living, she told us
that she was the daughter of a clerk in the Commissioner's office at
Sitapur; that all her family had been killed when the rising took
place at that station, and that she had been carried off by a sowar to
his home. We asked her if she wished to come away with us. After some
hesitation she declined, saying the sowar had married her (after the
Mahomedan fashion), and was kind to her, and she had no friends and
relations to go to. On asking her why she had sent to let us know she
was there, she replied that she thought she would like to join the
British force, which she heard was in the neighbourhood, but on
further reflection she had come to the conclusion it was best for
her to remain where she was. After talking to her for some time, and
making quite sure she was not likely to change her mind, we rode
away, leaving her to her sowar, with whom she was apparently quite
content.[6] I need hardly say we got unmercifully chaffed on our
return to camp, when the result of our expedition leaked out.
At Somna, where we halted for the night, we heard that the Mahomedan
insurgents, the prisoners released from gaol, and the rebel Rajputs of
the neighbourhood, were prepared to resist our advance on Aligarh, and
that they expected to be aided by a large number of mutineers from
Delhi. We came in sight of Aligarh shortly before daybreak on the 5th
October. Our advance was stopped by a motley crowd drawn up before
the walls, shouting, blowing horns, beating drums, and abusing the
Feringhis in the choicest Hindustani; but, so far as we could see,
there were no sepoys amongst them. The Horse Artillery coming up,
these valiant defenders quickly fled inside the city and closed the
gates, leaving two guns in our possession. Thinking we should be sure
to attack and take the place, they rushed through it to the other
side, and made for the open country. But we had had enough of street
fighting at Delhi. Our Cavalry and Artillery were divided into two
parties, which moved round the walls, one to the right and the other
to the left, and united in pursuit of the fugitives at the further
side. We followed them for several miles. Some had concealed
themselves in the high crops, and were discovered by the Cavalry on
their return march to camp. Ouvry formed a long line, and one by one
the rebels, starting up as the troopers rode through the fields, were
killed, while our loss was trifling.
The inhabitants of Aligarh had apparently had a bad time of it under
the rebel rule, for they expressed much joy at the result of the
morning's work, and were eager in their proffers to bring in supplies
for our troops and to otherwise help us.
Ill as we could afford to weaken our column, it was so necessary
to keep the main line of communication open, and put a stop to the
disorder into which the country had fallen, that it was decided to
leave two companies of Punjabis at Aligarh, as a guard to the young
civilian who was placed in charge of the district.
Fourteen miles from Aligarh on the road to Cawnpore there lived two
Rajputs, twin brothers, who had taken such a prominent part in the
rebellion that a price had been put on their heads, and for the future
peace of the district it was considered necessary to capture them. In
order to surprise them the more completely, it was given out that the
column was to march towards Agra, from which place disquieting news
had been received, while secret orders were issued to proceed towards
Cawnpore. The Cavalry went on in advance, and while it was still dark,
succeeded in surrounding the village of Akrabad, where dwelt the
brothers. In attempting to escape they were both killed, and three
small guns were found in their house loaded and primed, but we had
arrived too suddenly to admit of their being used against us. We
discovered besides a quantity of articles which must have belonged
to European ladies--dresses, books, photographs, and knick-knacks
of every description--which made us feel that the twins had richly
deserved their fate.
We halted on the 7th, and on the 8th marched across country to
Bryjgarh (a prettily situated village under a fortified hill), our
object being to get nearer to Agra, the reports from which place had
been causing us anxiety, and likewise to put ourselves in a position
to intercept the Rohilkand mutineers, who we were told were on their
way to Lucknow.
No sooner had we got to Bryjgarh than we received information that the
detachment we had left behind at Aligarh was not likely to be left
undisturbed, and at the same time an urgent call for assistance came
from Agra, where a combined attack by insurgents from Gwalior, Mhow,
and Delhi was imminent. Fifty of Hodson's Horse, under a European
officer, and a sufficient number of Infantry to make the detachment we
had left there up to 200, were at once despatched to Aligarh. It was
clear, too, that the appeal from Agra must be responded to, for it
was an important place, the capital of the North-West Provinces; the
troops and residents had been shut up in the fort for more than
three months, and the letters, which followed each other in quick
succession, showed that the authorities were considerably alarmed. It
was felt, therefore, that it was imperative upon us to turn our steps
towards Agra, but it entailed our marching forty-eight miles out
of our way, and having to give up for the time any idea of aiding
Havelock in the relief of Lucknow.
The column marched at midnight on the 8th October, the Horse Artillery
and Cavalry, which I accompanied, pushing on as fast as possible. We
had done thirty-six miles, when we were advised from Agra that there
was no need for so much haste, as the enemy, having heard of our
approach, were retiring; we accordingly halted, nothing loath, till
the Infantry came up.
Early the next morning, the 10th October, we reached Agra. Crossing
the Jumna by a bridge of boats, we passed under the walls of the
picturesque old fort built by the Emperor Akbar nearly 300 years
before.
The European residents who had been prisoners within the walls of the
fort for so long streamed out to meet and welcome us, overjoyed at
being free at last. We presented, I am afraid, but a sorry appearance,
as compared to the neatly-dressed ladies and the spick-and-span troops
who greeted us, for one of the fair sex was overheard to remark, 'Was
ever such a dirty-looking lot seen?' Our clothes were, indeed, worn
and soiled, and our faces so bronzed that the white soldiers were
hardly to be distinguished from their Native comrades.
Our questions as to what had become of the enemy, who we had been
informed had disappeared with such unaccountable celerity on hearing
of the advance of the column, were answered by assurances that there
was no need to concern ourselves about them, as they had fled across
the Kari Naddi, a river thirteen miles away, and were in full retreat
towards Gwalior. It was a little difficult to believe in the complete
dispersion of the formidable rebel army, the mere rumoured approach
of which had created such consternation in the minds of the Agra
authorities, and had caused the many urgent messages imploring us to
push on.
Our doubts, however, were met with the smile of superior knowledge.
We were informed that the rebels had found it impossible to get
their guns across to the Agra side of the stream, and that, feeling
themselves powerless without them to resist our column, they had taken
themselves off with the least possible delay. We were asked with
some indignation, 'Had not the whole country round been scoured
by thoroughly trustworthy men without a trace of the enemy being
discovered?' And we were assured that we might take our much-needed
rest in perfect confidence that we were not likely to be disturbed.
We were further told by those who were responsible for the local
Intelligence Department, and who were repeatedly questioned, that they
had no doubt whatever their information was correct, and that there
was no need to follow up the enemy until our troops were rested and
refreshed.
We were then not aware of what soon became painfully apparent, that
neither the information nor the opinions of the heads of the civil
and military administration at Agra were to be relied upon. That
administration had, indeed, completely collapsed; there was no
controlling authority; the crisis had produced no one in any
responsible position who understood the nature of the convulsion
through which we were passing; and endless discussion had resulted (as
must always be the case) in fatal indecision and timidity.
We could hardly have been expected to know that the government of so
great a province was in the hands of men who were utterly unfit to
cope with the difficulties of an emergency such as had now arisen,
although in quieter times they had filled their positions with credit
to themselves and advantage to the State.
That this was the case can be proved beyond a doubt, but I do not give
it as an excuse for our being caught napping by the enemy, which
we certainly were. We ought, of course, to have reconnoitred the
surrounding country for ourselves, and posted our piquets as usual;
and we ought not to have been induced to neglect these essential
military precautions by the confident assertion of the Agra
authorities that the enemy were nowhere in our neighbourhood.
The Brigadier gave orders for our camp to be pitched as soon as the
tents should arrive, but he saw no necessity for po |
