Forty-one years in India: from subaltern to commander-in-chief
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Title: Forty-one years in India: from subaltern to commander-in-chief
Author: Earl Frederick Sleigh Roberts Roberts
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_PUBLISHED JANUARY 4, 1897._
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[Illustration: Frontispiece.]
* * * * *
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 Martinière--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 mêlée--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 _tête-à-tête_
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-dâk 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'élite_. 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 dâk-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 _viâ_ 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
_viâ_ 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
_viâ_ 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 _viâ_ 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 _viâ_ 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 quâ 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
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