WAR OF THE MUTINIES
1857-1859
The story has now arrived at the month of May, 1857, and its hero is
about “to take up arms against a sea of troubles.” It may be well, then,
to remember what his position was according to the Constitution of
British India.
Of all lands, British India is the land of discipline in the best sense
of the term, and its component parts, though full of self-help and
individuality, are blended into one whole by subordination to a supreme
authority. If in times of trouble or danger every proconsul or prefect
were to do what is best in his own eyes for his territory without due
regard to the central control, then the British Indian empire would soon
be as other Asiatic empires have been. A really great Anglo-Indian must
be able to command within the limits of his right, and to obey loyally
where obedience is due from him. But if he is to expect good
instructions from superior authority, then that authority must be well
informed. Therefore he must be apt in supplying not only facts, but also
suggestions as the issue of original and independent thought. He must
also be skilled in cooperating with those over whom he has no actual
authority, but whose assistance is nevertheless needed. In dangerous
emergency he must do his utmost if instructions from superior authority
cannot be had in time. But he must take the line which such authority,
if consulted, would probably approve; and he must not prolong his
separate action beyond the limit of real necessity. Often men, eminent
on the whole, have been found to fail in one or other of these respects,
and such failure has detracted from their greatness. John Lawrence was
good in all these cardinal points equally; he could command, obey,
suggest, co-operate, according to just requirements; therefore he was
great all round as an administrator,--
“Strong with the strength of the race
To command, to obey, to endure.”
When the Sepoy mutinies burst over Northern India, he was not the
Governor of the Punjab, for the Government of that province was
administered by the Governor-General in Council at Calcutta. Vast as was
his influence, still he was only Chief Commissioner or chief executive
authority in all departments, and Agent to the Governor-General. Subject
to the same control, he had under his general command and at his
disposal the Frontier Force described in the last chapter, an important
body indeed but limited in numbers. In the stations and cantonments of
the regular army, European and Native, he had the control of the
barracks, the buildings and all public works. But with the troops he had
nothing to do, and over their commanders he had no authority.
After the interruption of communication between the Punjab and Calcutta
on the outbreak of the Mutinies, his position was altered by the force
of events. Additional powers had not been delegated to him, indeed, by
the Governor-General, but he was obliged to assume them in the series of
emergencies which arose. He had to incur on his responsibility a vast
outlay of money, and even to raise loans financially on the credit of
the British Government, to enrol large bodies of Native soldiers, and
appoint European officers from the regular troops to command them; to
create, and allot salaries temporarily to, many new appointments--all
which things lawfully required the authority of the Governor-General in
Council, to whom, however, a reference was impossible during the
disturbance. Again, he was obliged to make suggestions to the commanders
of the regular troops at the various stations throughout the Province.
These suggestions were usually accepted by them, and so had full effect.
The commanders saw no alternative but to defer to him as he was the
chief provincial authority, and as they were unable to refer to the
Commander-in-Chief or to the Supreme Government. They also felt their
normal obligation always to afford aid to him as representing the civil
power in moments of need. Thus upon him was cast by rapid degrees the
direction of all the British resources, civil, military and political,
within the Punjab and its dependencies.
This explanation is necessary, in order to illustrate the arduous part
which he was compelled to take in the events about to be noticed. Thus
can we gauge his responsibility for that ultimate result, which might be
either the steadfast retention of a conquest won eight years
previously, or a desolating disaster. From such a far-inland position
the Europeans might, he knew, be driven towards their ships at the mouth
of the Indus, but how many would ever reach the haven must be terribly
doubtful. There he stood, then, at the head of affairs, like a tower
raised aloft in the Land of the Five Rivers, with its basis tried by
much concussion, but never shaken actually. He had, as shown in the last
chapter, resources unequalled in any province of India. There were
around him most, though not quite all, of the trusty coadjutors whom his
brother Henry had originally collected, or whom he himself had summoned.
His position during the crisis about to supervene, resembled that of the
Roman Senate after the battle of Cannæ, as set forth by the historian
with vivid imagery--“The single torrent joined by a hundred lesser
streams has swelled into a wide flood; and the object of our interest is
a rock, now islanded amid the waters, and against which they dash
furiously, as though they must needs sweep it away. But the rock stands
unshaken; the waters become feebler, the rock seems to rise higher and
higher; and the danger is passed away.”
In May, 1857, he had as usual retired to his Himalayan retreat at Murri
for the summer, anxious regarding the mutinous symptoms, which had
appeared at various stations of the Native army in other provinces, but
not in the Punjab proper. He knew his own province to be secure even
against a revolt of the Native troops; his anxiety referred to his
neighbours over whom he had no authority, and he hoped for the best
respecting them. He had in April been suffering from neuralgia, and had
even feared lest the distress and consequent weakness should drive him
to relinquish his charge for a time. He had however decided to remain
yet another year. His pain pursued him in the mountains. The paroxysm of
an acute attack had been subdued by the use of aconite, which relieving
the temples caused sharp anguish in the eyes,--when the fateful telegram
came from Delhi. He rose from a sick bed to read the message which a
telegraph clerk, with admirable presence of mind, despatched just before
the wires were broken by the mutineers and the mob. He thus learnt,
within a few hours of their occurrence, the striking and shocking events
which had occurred there, the outbreak of the native soldiery, the
murder of the Europeans, the momentary cessation of British rule, and in
its place the assumption of kingly authority by the titular Moslem
Emperor. Learning all this at least two days before the public of the
Punjab could hear of it, he was able to take all necessary precautions
civil, political, military, so that when the wondrous news should arrive
the well-wishers of the Government might be encouraged and the
evil-disposed abashed at finding that measures had actually been taken
or were in hand. The excitement of battling with emergency seemed for a
while to drive away the pain from his nerves, and to banish every
sensation save that of pugnacity.
After the lapse of a generation who can now describe the dismay which
for a moment chilled even such hearts as his, when the amazing news from
Delhi was flashed across the land! For weeks indeed a still voice had
been whispering in his ear that at the many stations held by Sepoys
alone a revolt, if attempted, must succeed. But he had a right to be
sure that wherever European troops were stationed, there no snake of
mutiny would dare to rear its head and hiss. Here, however, he saw that
the mutinous Sepoys had broken loose at Meerut, the very core of our
military power in Hindostan, and had, in their flight to Delhi, escaped
the pursuit of European cavalry, artillery and infantry. For them, too,
he knew what an inestimable prize was Delhi, a large city, walled round
with fortifications, and containing an arsenal-magazine full of
munitions. It is ever important politically that European life should be
held sacred by the Natives, and he was horror-stricken on learning that
this sacredness had been atrociously violated. If British power depended
partly on moral force, then here he felt a fatally adverse effect, for
the rebellion started with a figure-head in the Great Mogul, veritably a
name to conjure with in India. His feeling was momentarily like that of
sailors on the outbreak of fire at sea, or on the crash of a collision.
But if the good ship reeled under the shock, he steadied her helm and
his men stood to their places.
Within three days he received the reports from his headquarters at
Lahore, showing how Montgomery, as chief civil authority on the spot,
had with the utmost promptitude carried to the commander of the troops
there the telegraphic news from Delhi before the event could be known by
letters or couriers, and had urged the immediate disarming of the
Sepoys, how the commander had disarmed them with signal skill and
success, and how the capital of the province had thus been rendered
safe.
Murri being near the frontier, he was able to confer personally with
Herbert Edwardes, one of the greatest of his lieutenants, who was
Commissioner of Peshawur, the most important station in the province
next after Lahore itself. At Peshawur also he had John Nicholson, a
pillar of strength.
During May and June he received reports of disaster daily in most parts
of Northern India, and he knew that his own province, notwithstanding
outward calm, was stirred with conflicting emotions inwardly.
The events of 1857 were so full of epic grandeur, their results so vast,
their details so terrific, their incidents so complex, and the part
which he played in connection with them was so important, that it is
difficult to do justice to his achievements without entering upon a
historic summary for which space cannot be allowed here. By reason of
his conduct in the Punjab at this crisis, he has been hailed as the
deliverer and the preserver of India. In an account of his life it is
necessary at the very least to recapitulate, just thirty years after the
event, the several acts, measures or proceedings of his which gave him a
claim to this eminent title. All men probably know that he brought about
a result of the utmost value to his country. It is well to recount the
steps by which he reached this national goal.
From the recapitulation of things done under his direction and on his
responsibility, it is not to be inferred that he alone did them. On the
contrary, he had the suggestions, the counsel, the moral support, the
energetic obedience of his subordinates, and the hearty co-operation of
many military commanders who were not his subordinates. He always
acknowledged the aid he thus received, as having been essential to any
success that was attained. He had his share in the credit, and they had
theirs severally and collectively. In the first enthusiasm of success,
after the fall of Delhi in September, he wrote in a letter to Edwardes:
“Few men, in a similar position, have had so many true and good
supporters around him. But for them what could I have done?”
He was from the beginning of the crisis in May, 1857, left in his
province, unsupported by all other parts of India save Scinde,--_penitus
toto divisus orbe_. The temporary establishment of the rebel
headquarters at Delhi divided him and the Punjab from North-Western
India, cutting off all direct communication with Calcutta and the
Governor-General. He did not for many weeks receive any directions by
post or telegraph from Lord Canning. It was not till August that he
received one important message from the Governor-General by the
circuitous route of Bombay and Scinde, as will be seen hereafter. He was
thus thrown absolutely on his own resources, a circumstance which had
more advantages than drawbacks, as it enabled him to act with all his
originality and individuality.
Thus empowered by the force of events, his action spread over a wide
field, the complete survey of which would comprise many collateral
incidents relating to many eminent persons and to several careers of the
highest distinction. All that can be undertaken here is to state the
principal heads of his proceedings as concerning his conduct
individually, with the mention only of a few persons who were so bound
up with him that they must be noticed in order to elucidate his unique
position.
His first step was to confirm the prompt and decisive measures taken by
his lieutenants at Lahore (as already mentioned) under the spur of
emergency, whereby the capital of the Punjab was placed beyond the reach
of danger.
But he saw in an instant that the self-same danger of mutiny among the
native troops, from which Lahore had been saved, menaced equally all the
other military stations of the Punjab, namely Jullundur and Ferozepore,
both in the basin of the Sutlej river, Sealkote on the Himalayan border,
Mooltan commanding the approach to Scinde on the river-highway between
the Punjab and the sea, Rawul-Pindi and Peshawur in the region of the
Indus, Jhelum commanding the river of that name; at each of which
stations a body of Sepoys, possibly mutinous, was stationed. Therefore
he proposed that a movable column of European troops should be formed
and stationed in a central and commanding position, ready to proceed at
once to any station where mutiny might show itself among the Sepoys, to
assist in disarming them or in beating them down should they rise in
revolt, and to cut off their escape should they succeed in flying with
arms in their hands. He procured in concert with the local military
authorities the appointment of Neville Chamberlain to command this
movable column, and then of John Nicholson, when Chamberlain was
summoned to Delhi. There were many technical difficulties in completing
this arrangement which indeed was vitally needful, but they were
surmounted only by his masterful influence. Chamberlain was already well
known to him from service on the Trans-Indus frontier. Nicholson was his
nominee specially (having been originally brought forward by his brother
Henry) and will be prominently mentioned hereafter. He was indeed
instrumental in placing Nicholson in a position which proved of
momentous consequence to the country in a crisis of necessity.
But too soon it became evident that his worst apprehensions regarding
the Sepoys in the Punjab would be fulfilled. Then finding that no
proclamation to the Sepoys was being issued by the Commander-in-Chief
from Delhi, and that no message could possibly come from the
Governor-General, he determined after consulting the local military
authorities to issue a proclamation from himself as Chief Commissioner
to the Sepoys in the Punjab, and to have it posted up at every
cantonment or station. The most important sentences from it may be
quoted here.
“Sepoys! I warn and advise you to prove faithful to your salt;
faithful to the Government who have given your forefathers and you
service for the last hundred years; faithful to that Government
who, both in cantonments and in the field, have been careful of
your welfare and interests, and who, in your old age, have given
you the means of living comfortably in your homes. Those regiments
which now remain faithful will receive the rewards due to their
constancy; those soldiers who fall away now will lose their service
for ever! It will be too late to lament hereafter when the time has
passed by. Now is the opportunity of proving your loyalty and good
faith. The British Government will never want for native soldiers.
In a month it might raise 50,000 in the Punjab alone. You know well
enough that the British Government have never interfered with your
religion. The Hindoo temple and the Mahommedan mosque have both
been respected by the English Government. It was but the other day
that the Jumma mosque at Lahore, which the Sikhs had converted into
a magazine, was restored to the Mahommedans.”
Simultaneously under his directions, or with his sanction, several
important forts, arsenals, treasuries and strategic positions, which had
been more or less in the guardianship of the Sepoys, were swiftly
transferred to the care of European troops, before mutiny had time to
develope itself.
Soon it became necessary for him to urge, with as much secrecy as
possible, the disarming of the Sepoys at nearly every station in the
Punjab. This measure was successful at Peshawur, though with some
bloodshed and other distressful events; at Rawul Pindi it was carried
out under his own eye; at Mooltan a point of vital importance, it was
executed brilliantly under provident arrangements which he was specially
instrumental in suggesting. It was effected generally by the presence of
European troops; at Mooltan, however, he was proud to reflect that it
had been managed by Punjabi agency with the aid of some loyal
Hindostanis. But at Ferozepore its success was partial only, at
Jullundur the mutineers escaped through local incompetence, but the
effects were mitigated by his arrangements. At Sealkote he had advised
disarming before the European regiment was withdrawn to form the Movable
Column already mentioned; nevertheless the military commanders tried to
keep the Sepoys straight without disarming them, so when the mutiny did
occur it could not be suppressed. He felt keenly the ill effects of this
disaster brought about as it was by murderous treachery. But the
mutineers were cut off with heavy loss by the Movable Column which he
had organised. Space, indeed, forbids any attempt to describe the
disarming of the Sepoys which was executed at his instance, or with his
approval, throughout the Province. Once convinced that the Sepoys were
intending, if not actual, mutineers, he gave his _mot d’ordre_ to
disarm, disarm; and this was the primary step in the path of safety.
Even then, however, at nearly every large station there were bodies of
disarmed Sepoys, ripe for any mischief, who had to be guarded, and the
guarding of them was a grave addition to his toils and anxieties; it was
done however with success.
His anxiety for the future of Mooltan was acute, as that place commanded
the only line of communication that remained open between the Punjab and
India, and the only road of retreat in event of disaster. So help from
the Bombay side was entreated; and he felt inexpressibly thankful when
the Bombay European Fusiliers arrived at Mooltan speedily from Scinde,
and when a camel-train was organised for military transport to that
place from Kurrachi on the seaboard. He rendered heartfelt
acknowledgments to Bartle Frere, to whose energy the speedy arrival of
this much-needed reinforcement was due. Come what might, he would cling
to Mooltan even to the bitterest end, as events had caused this place to
be for a time the root of British power in the Punjab.
Almost his first care was to urge on the movement which was being made
by the Commander-in-Chief, General Anson, who, assembling the European
Regiments then stationed in the Himalayas near Simla and at Umballa,
proposed to march upon Delhi. His immediate counsel to the
Commander-in-Chief, from a political point of view--irrespective of the
military considerations of which the General must be the judge--was to
advance. If, he argued, success in stopping the rebellion depended on
moral as well as on physical force, then a forward movement would affect
the public mind favourably, while inactivity must produce a
corresponding depression; thus we could not possibly afford to stand
still, and an advancing policy would furnish our only chance. Rejoiced
to find that counsels of this character prevailed at the army
headquarters then established between Simla and Umballa, and that the
European force had its face turned straight towards Delhi, he set
himself to help in finding transport, supplies and escort. The line of
march lay along the high road from Umballa to Delhi about one hundred
miles, so he helped with his civil and political resources to clear and
pioneer the way. When the European force laid siege to Delhi, this road
became the line of communication with the rear, the chain of connection
between the combatants in camp on the Delhi ridge and the military base
at Umballa; this line, then, he must keep open. Fortunately the
adjoining districts belonged chiefly to Native princes, who had for many
years been protected by the British power and now proved themselves
thoroughly loyal; so he through his officers organised the troops and
the establishments of these Native States to help the British troops in
patrolling the road, provisioning the supply depôts, escorting the
stores and materials for the army in the front.
The Sepoys having mutinied or been disarmed throughout the Punjab, it
became instantly necessary to supply their place if possible by
trustworthy Native troops; to this task he applied himself with the
utmost skill and energy. He caused the flower of the Punjab Frontier
force, already mentioned in a preceding chapter, to be despatched with
extraordinary expedition to Delhi. He raised fresh levies, with very
suggestive aid from Edwardes at Peshawur, by selecting men from among
the Sikhs and Moslems of the Punjab. He had them rapidly organised for
service in every part of the country from Peshawur to Delhi. As these
new troops were thus promptly formed, he kept a prudent eye on their
total number. Finding this number was mounting to more than fifty
thousand men of all arms, he stopped short, considering this to be the
limit of safety, and he restrained the zeal of his lieutenants so as to
prevent any undue or excessive number being raised. He from the first
foresaw that the fresh Punjabi soldiery must not be too numerous, nor be
allowed to feel that the physical force was on their side.
The selection of trustworthy Native officers for the new troops required
much discrimination; but his personal knowledge of all eminent and
well-informed Punjabis enabled him either to make the choice himself, or
to obtain guidance in choosing.
It is hard to describe what a task he and his coadjutors had in order to
provide this considerable force within a very few weeks--to raise and
select trusty men from widely scattered districts, to drill, equip,
clothe, arm and officer them, to discipline and organise them in
marching order, to place them on garrison duty or despatch them for
service in the field. A large proportion of them, too, must be mounted,
and for these he had to collect horses.
Special care had to be taken by him for the watch and ward of the long
frontier adjoining Afghanistan for several hundred miles, which border
had been deprived of some of its best troops for service before Delhi.
This critical task, too, he accomplished with entire success.
Further, one notable step was taken by him in respect to the Sepoy
regiments. The Sepoys were for the most part Hindostanis, but in every
corps there were some Sikhs or Punjabis; he caused these latter to be
separated from their comrades and embodied in the newly-formed forces.
Thus he saved hundreds of good men from being involved in mutiny.
Anticipating the good which would be exerted on the public mind by the
sight of the forces of the Native States being employed under the
British standard before Delhi, he accepted the offers of assistance from
these loyal feudatories. Under his auspices, the Chiefs in the
Cis-Sutlej States were among the first to appear in arms on the British
side. Afterwards he arranged with the Maharaja of Jammu and Cashmere for
the despatch of a contingent from those Himalayan regions to join the
British camp at Delhi; and he deputed his brother Richard to accompany
this contingent as political agent.
It was providentially fortunate for him and his that no sympathy existed
between the Punjabis and the mutinous Sepoys, but on the contrary a
positive antipathy. The Sepoys of the Bengal army who were mutineers
nearly all belonged to Oude and Hindostan; the Punjabis regarded them as
foreigners, and detested them ever since the first Sikh war, even
disliking their presence in the Punjab; he was fully alive to this
feeling, and made the very most of it for the good of the British
cause. He knew too that they hated Delhi as the city where their
warrior-prophet Tegh Behadur had been barbarously put to death, and
where the limbs of the dead martyr had been exposed on the ramparts. In
the first instance the Punjabis regarded the mutinies as utter follies
sure to bring down retribution, and they were glad to be among his
instruments in dealing out punishment to the mutineers, and so “feeding
fat their grudge” against them. They told him that the bread which the
Sepoys had rejected would fall to the lot of the loyal Punjab. Thus he
seized this great advantage instantly, and drove the whole force of
Punjabi sentiment straight against the rebels, saying in effect as Henry
V. said to his soldiers,
“I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game’s afoot;
Follow your spirit and upon this charge
Cry, ‘God for Harry, England, and St. George.’”
As outbreak after outbreak occurred, he pressed for the signal and
condign punishment of the leaders, as a deterrent to those who might yet
be wavering between duty and revolt. But this object having been
secured, he instantly tried to temper offended justice with at least a
partial clemency, lest men should be tempted to rebellion by despair.
When batches of red-handed mutineers were taken prisoners, he would
intercede so that the most guilty only should be blown from guns, and
that the lives of the rest should be spared with a view to imprisonment.
In such moments, he would support his appeal by invoking his officers to
look into their consciences as before the Almighty. This solemn
invocation--rarely uttered by him, though its sense was ever on his
mind--attested the earnestness of his conviction.
By this time he and his were regarded as forming the military base of
the operations against Delhi. Thither had he sent off many of his best
troops and his ablest officers, besides stores and material. Prudential
considerations had been duly brought to his notice in reference to the
Punjab itself becoming denuded of its resources. But after weighing all
this carefully yet rapidly, he decided that the claims of the British
besiegers, encamped over against the rebellious Delhi, were paramount,
and he acted on that decision.
Fortunately the arsenals and magazines in his province were fully
supplied, and soon after the great outbreak in May a siege-train had
been despatched to Delhi. But he knew that the siege was laid on one
side only out of several sides, nothing like an investment being
practicable as the besieged had perfect communication with their base in
the rebellious Hindostan. So he prepared his province to supply the
countless necessaries for the conduct of such a siege, against a city
girdled with several miles of fortifications, possessing many internal
resources which were further fed from the outside, and defended by
disciplined rebels, who on rebelling had seized the treasure in the
vaults, the ordnance and warlike stores in the magazine of the place.
Thus for many weeks he sent convoy after convoy, even driblet after
driblet, of miscellaneous ordnance stores, saddlery, tents, sand-bags
and articles innumerable. For all this work a complete transport-train
was organised under his orders, to ply daily on the road leading to the
rear of the British forces before Delhi. The vehicles, the animals for
draught or for baggage, the bullocks, the camels, the elephants, were
hired or purchased by him in his province and its dependencies. The
drivers and riders were taken from the people in his jurisdiction, and
they behaved towards their trusted master with steadiness and fidelity.
He sorely needed the public moneys available in the Punjab for his own
operations there; still out of them he spared large sums to be sent to
Delhi, knowing that from nowhere else but the Punjab could a rupee be
obtained by the besiegers. If a few native troops of a special
character, such as sappers and pioneers, were required, he would select
old soldiers of the late Sikh armies and despatch them to the siege. As
the operations of the siege advanced, a second train of heavy guns was
needed, and this he sent in the nick of time by transport collected in
the Punjab. He was in constant correspondence with the commanders before
Delhi, and thus knew their needs, their perils, and their chances. They
sent him all their requisitions, and looked upon him as their military
base. It may be said that he never refused a requisition either for men,
money or means; and that he hardly ever failed to fulfil any request
with which compliance had been promised.
It is hard to paint the picture of his work in these days, because the
canvas has to be crowded with many diverse incidents and policies. At
one moment he cries in effect--disarm the rebel Sepoys, disarm them
quick, inflict exemplary punishment, stamp out mutiny, pursue, cut off
retreat--at another, spare, spare, temper judgment with discriminating
clemency--at another, advance, advance, raise levies, place men wherever
wanted--at another, hold fast, don’t do too much, by an excessive
number of new men a fresh risk is run--at another, seize such and such
strategic points, guard such and such river-passages--at another, break
up this or that pontoon bridge to prevent the enemy crossing--at
another, press forward the transport, push on the supplies--at all
moments, put a cheerful as well as a bold face even on the worst, for
the sake of moral effect. He unravelled the threads of countless
transactions, collated the thick-coming reports from all the districts,
and noted the storm-warnings at every point of his political compass.
His warfare with the rebels and mutineers was offensive as well as
defensive. His word always was, attack, attack, so that the people,
seeing this aggressive attitude, might not lose heart. His energy in
these days might be called resplendent, as it was all-pervading,
life-infusing, and ranged in all directions with the broadest sweep. But
he recked little of glory, for the crisis was awful.
It may possibly be asked what the Punjab and the empire would have done,
had he at this time fallen or been stricken down. Such questions,
however, imply scant justice to him and his system; and he would have
taken them as sorry compliments. He had ever so laboured that his work
might live after him. Around him were several leaders capable of
commanding events or directing affairs; and under him was an admirable
band of officers civil and military, trained under his eye, on whom his
spirit rested, and who were ready to follow his lieutenant or successor
even as they had followed him.
Then financial difficulty stared him in the face, in respect not only
of the normal but also of the abnormal expenses in the Punjab. It will
have been understood from a preceding chapter that his provincial
treasury, though sufficing for the expenses of the Province and for its
share in the military expenditure, was not full enough to meet the
entire cost of the army cantoned in the province for the defence of the
empire generally. Up to the end of April in this year, he had drawn
large supplies in cash regularly from the treasuries in Hindostan and
Bengal. But from May onwards these supplies were cut off, and he was
left to provide money not only for the old charges of the Province, but
also for the new charges on account of the extraordinary measures which
had been adopted. He therefore raised loans of money locally, and moral
pressure had to be applied to the Native capitalists. He observed that
these men, who are usually ready and loyal and are bound to us by many
ties, now hung back and showed closefistedness. This he regarded as an
index of their fears for the issue of the desperate struggle in which we
were engaged. He also invited subscriptions from the Native Princes and
Chiefs. Having raised large sums in this way, he was able to keep the
various treasuries open, and to avoid suspending payment anywhere. His
first care, after the restoration of peace and plenty, was to repay the
temporary creditors.
As the news from the British forces before Delhi grew more and more
unfavourable during June and July, he reflected, with characteristic
forethought, on the steps to be taken in the event of disaster in that
quarter. Among other things he apprehended that it might become
necessary to retire from Peshawur, so that the large European force
cantoned there might be concentrated for the defence of the Province.
This apprehension of his caused much discussion subsequently, and is
likely to be fraught with historic interest. He thus expressed himself
in a letter to Edwardes on June 9th.
“I think we must look ahead and consider what should be done in the
event of disaster at Delhi. My decided opinion is that, in that
case, we must concentrate. All our safety depends on this. If we
attempt to hold the whole country, we shall be cut up in detail.
The important points in the Punjab are Peshawur, Mooltan, and
Lahore, including Umritsur. But I do not think that we can hold
Peshawur and the other places also, in the event of disaster. We
could easily retire from Peshawur early in the day. But at the
eleventh hour, it would be difficult, perhaps impossible.”
On the following day, June 10th, he wrote in the same strain to Lord
Canning, but adding that he would not give up Peshawur so long as he saw
a chance of success. He asked that a telegram might be sent to him by
the circuitous route of Bombay (the only route then open) containing one
of two alternative replies--“Hold on to Peshawur to the last,”--or, “You
may act as may appear expedient in regard to Peshawur.” Very soon he
received Edwardes’s reply that, “With God’s help we can and will hold
Peshawur, let the worst come to the worst.” On June 18th after a
conversation with Nicholson, who was utterly opposed to retiring from
Peshawur, he wrote to Edwardes repeating that in the event of a great
disaster such retirement might be necessary. No reply being received
from Lord Canning, he prepared to act upon this view as the extremity of
the crisis seemed to loom nearer and nearer during June and July. He
reiterated his views in two despatches to the Governor-General, one at
the end of June, the other at the end of July. But by August 1st public
intelligence from India and England reached him, modifying favourably,
though it did not remove, the crisis. On the 7th of that month he
received Lord Canning’s reply, “Hold on to Peshawur to the last.” He
immediately writes to Edwardes: “The Governor-General bids me hold on to
the last at Peshawur. I do not, however, now think that we shall be
driven to any extremity. The tide is turning very decidedly against the
mutineers at Delhi.” This episode evinces his moral courage and
single-mindedness in all that concerned the public safety, for he must
have well known that proposals for retirement were invidious, and might
prove unpopular with many of his supporters.
When he spoke about the turning of the tide he alluded partly to the
news, which was slowly travelling to the Punjab from England, regarding
the despatch to India of mighty reinforcements of European troops. These
would not indeed reach him in time, but the knowledge nerved him to hold
out, as every day gained was a step towards victory.
On August 6th he heard at last the tidings of his brother’s death at
Lucknow, from a mortal wound while in bed from the bursting of a shell
which had penetrated the chamber. Immediately he telegraphed to
Edwardes, “My brother Henry was wounded on July 2nd, and died two days
afterwards.” The same day he wrote to Edwardes, “Henry died like a good
soldier in discharge of his duty; he has not left an abler or better
soldier behind him; his loss just now will be a national calamity.”
In the middle of July he left Murri and proceeded to Lahore, where he
remained at his headquarters till the end of the crisis. There he took
counsel daily with Montgomery and Macleod, the very men on whose
courageous alacrity he most relied for the despatch of public business.
For four weary months he sustained British authority in the Punjab on
the whole from end to end, notwithstanding the agitation caused by
several mutinous outbreaks of the Sepoys, and despite several desperate
attempts at insurrection in some districts. He kept down the disorder,
which was but too ready to upheave itself when the worst example was
being set in neighbouring provinces, and while stories of distant
disasters were flying about. He extinguished every flame that burst
forth. Having under him a matchless staff of officers, civil, political,
military, he set before them all by his own bearing and conduct an
example which they nobly followed. Thus throughout the crisis he
maintained, intact and uninterrupted, the executive power in the civil
administration, the collection of the revenue to the uttermost farthing,
the operations of the judicial courts, the action of the police. He saw,
not only the suppression of violent crime, but also the most peaceful
proceedings conducted, such as the dispensing of relief to the sick and
the attendance of children at school. He felt that during the suspense
of the public mind, a sedative is produced by the administrative
clock-work moving in seconds, minutes, hours of precious time won for
the British cause. He was ruling over the Native population, which was
indeed the most martial among all the races in India, but which also had
been beaten and conquered by British prowess within living memory. He
now took care that the British prestige should be preserved in their
minds, and that the British star should still before their eyes be in
the ascendant. Knowing them to have that generosity which always belongs
to brave races, he determined to trust them as the surest means of
ensuring their fidelity. Therefore he chose the best fighting men
amongst them to aid their late conquerors in the Punjab, and to
re-conquer the rebellious Hindostan. He knew that one way of keeping the
fiercer and more restless spirits out of mischief was to hurl them at
the common foe.
But the months wore on from May to September while Delhi remained
untaken, and he knew that week by week the respect of the Punjab people,
originally high, for the British Government, was being lowered by the
spectacle of unretrieved disaster. He felt also that the patience of the
evil-disposed, which had been happily protracted, must be approaching
nearer and nearer to the point of exhaustion. He saw that sickness was
creeping over the robust frame of the body politic, and that the
symptoms of distemper, which were day by day appearing in the limbs,
might ere long extend to the vital organs. He learned, from intercepted
correspondence, the sinister metaphors which were being applied to what
seemed to be the sinking state of the British cause--such as “many of
the finest trees in the garden have fallen,” or “white wheat is scarce
and country produce abundant,” or “hats are hardly to be seen while
turbans are countless.”
Yet it was evident to him that the force before Delhi in August would
not suffice to recapture the place, although he had sent all the
reinforcements which could properly be spared from the Punjab. But if
Delhi should remain untaken, the certainty of disturbance throughout the
Punjab presented itself to him. He must therefore make one supreme
effort to so strengthen the Delhi camp that an assault might be soon
delivered. This he could do by despatching thither the one last reserve
which the Punjab possessed, namely Nicholson’s movable column. This was
a perilous step to take, and his best officers, as in duty bound,
pointed out its perils; still he resolved to adopt it. If the column
should go, grave risk would indeed be incurred for the Punjab, but then
there was a chance of Delhi being taken, and of the Punjab being
preserved; if the column should not go, then Delhi would not be taken,
and in that case the Punjab must sooner or later be lost; and he had
finally to decide between these two alternatives. His intimate
acquaintance with the people taught him that if a general rising should
occur in consequence of the British failing to take Delhi, then the
presence of the movable column in the Punjab would not save the
Province. This was the crisis not only in his career, but also in the
fate of the Punjab and of Delhi with Hindostan. He decided in favour of
action, not only as the safer of two alternatives, but as the only
alternative which afforded any hope of safety. He was conscious that
this particular decision was fraught with present risk to the Punjab,
which had hardly force enough for self-preservation. But he held that
the other alternative must ultimately lead to destruction. His decision
thus formed had to be followed by rapid action, for sickness at the end
of summer and beginning of autumn was literally decimating the European
force before Delhi week by week; and even each day as it passed
appreciably lessened the fighting strength. So the column marched with
all speed for Delhi; and then he had sped his last bolt. In his own
words, he had poured out the cup of his resources to the last drop.
Thus denuded, his position was critical indeed. He had but four thousand
European soldiers remaining in the Punjab, and of these at least one
half were across the Indus near the Khyber Pass. Several strategic
points were held by detachments only of European troops, and he could
not but dread the sickly season then impending. He had eighteen thousand
Sepoys to watch, of whom twelve thousand had been disarmed and six
thousand still had their arms. Of his newly-raised Punjabis the better
part had been sent to Delhi; but a good part remained to do the
necessary duties in the Punjab; and what if they should come to think
that the physical force was at their disposal?
The sequel formed one of the bright pages in British annals, and amply
justified the responsibility which he had incurred. The column arrived
in time to enable the British force to storm and capture Delhi; and he
mourned, as a large-hearted man mourns, over the death of Nicholson in
the hour of triumph. He declared that Nicholson, then beyond the reach
of human praise, had done deeds of which the memory could never perish
so long as British rule should endure.
His relief was ineffable when tidings came that Delhi had been stormed,
the mutineers defeated and expelled, the so-called Emperor taken
prisoner, the fugitive rebels pursued, the city and the surrounding
districts restored to British rule. To his ear the knell of the great
rebellion had sounded. He could not but feel proud at the thought that
this result had been achieved without any reinforcement whatever from
England. But he was patriotically thankful to hear of the succour
despatched by England, through Palmerston her great Minister--some fifty
thousand men in sailing vessels by a long sea-route round the Cape of
Good Hope, full twelve thousand miles in a few months, by an effort
unparalleled in warlike annals.
While the peril was at its height, his preoccupation almost drowned
apprehension. But when the climax was over, he was awe-struck on looking
back on the narrowness of the escape. He recalled to mind the desperate
efforts which he and his men had put forth. But he was profoundly
conscious that, humanly speaking, no exertions of this nature were
adequate to cope with the frightful emergency which had lasted so long
as to strain his resources almost to breaking. The fatuity, which often
haunts criminals, had affected the mutineers and the rebel leaders;
error had dogged their steps, and their unaccountable oversights had, in
his opinion, contributed to the success of the British cause. He used to
say that their opportunity would, if reasonably used, have given them
the mastery; but that they with their unreason threw away its
advantages, and that in short had they pursued almost any other course
than that which they did pursue, the British flag must have succumbed.
Thus regarding with humility the efforts of which the issue had been
happy, he felt truly, and strove to inspire others with, a sentiment of
devout thankfulness to the God of battles and the Giver of all victory.
He believed that if Delhi had not fallen, and if the tension in the
Punjab had been prolonged for some more months, even for some more
weeks, the toils of inextricable misfortune would have closed round his
administration. The frontier tribes would, he thought, have marched upon
half-protected districts, and would have been joined by other tribes in
the interior of the province. One military station after another would
have been abandoned by the British, so that the available forces might
be concentrated at Lahore the capital; and finally there would have been
a retreat, with all the European families and a train of camp-followers,
from Lahore down the Indus valley towards the seaboard. Then, as he
declared, no Englishman would for a whole generation have been seen in
the Punjab, either as a conqueror or as a ruler.
As to his share in the recapture of Delhi, the testimony may be cited of
an absolutely competent witness, Lord Canning, a man of deliberate
reflection, who always measured his words, and who wrote some time after
the event when all facts and accounts had been collated, thus:
“Of what is due to Sir John Lawrence himself no man is ignorant.
Through him Delhi fell, and the Punjab, no longer a weakness,
becomes a source of strength. But for him, the hold of England over
Upper India would have had to be recovered at a cost of English
blood and treasure which defies calculation.”
Delhi had heretofore belonged not to the Punjab, but to the
North-Western Provinces; on being re-taken by the British in September,
it was, together with the surrounding territory, made over during
October to his care and jurisdiction. Having removed all traces of the
recent storm from the surface of the Punjab, he proceeded to Delhi in
order to superintend in person the restoration of law and order there.
Before starting, he helped the Commander-in-Chief (Sir Colin Campbell,
afterwards Lord Clyde) in arranging that the Punjabi troops, raised
during the summer, should be despatched southwards beyond Delhi for the
reconquest of Hindostan and Oude. He also wrote to the Secretary of
State entreating that his good officers might be remembered in respect
of rewards and honours. His wife’s health had failed, and he had seen
her start for a river voyage down the Indus on her way to England. He
was at this time very anxious on her account, and would say, what avail
would all worldly successes and advantages be to him if he should lose
her? So he started for Delhi sore at heart; but he received better
accounts of her, and his spirits rose with the approach of the winter
season, which in Upper India always serves as a restorative to the
European constitution.
Then crossing the Sutlej, he entered the friendly States of the
Protected Sikh Chiefs, who had been saved by the British from absorption
under Runjit Sing, the Lion of Lahore, and whose loyalty had shown like
white light during the darkest days of recent months. Having exchanged
with them all the heartiest congratulations, he passed on to Delhi and
to the scenes of his younger days. With what emotions must he have
revisited the imperial city--to all men associated with the majestic
march of historic events, but to him fraught with the recollections of
that period of life which to the eye of memory almost always seems
bright,--yet just emerging from a condition of tragic horror, the
darkness of which had been lighted up by the deeds of British prowess
and endurance. As he rode through the desolate bazaars, the
half-deserted alleys, the thoroughfares traversed by bodies of men under
arms but no longer crowded with bustling traffic--he must have grieved
over the fate which the rebellious city had brought on itself. His
penetrating insight taught him that in this case, as in nearly all
similar cases, the innocent suffer with the guilty, and the
peace-loving, kindly-disposed citizens are involved in the sanguinary
retribution which befalls the turbulent and the blood-seeking. He found
the fair suburbs razed, the fortifications partly dismantled, the famous
Muri bastion half-shattered by cannonading, the classic Cashmere Gate
riddled with gunshot, the frontage of houses disfigured by musketry, the
great Moslem place of worship temporarily turned into a barrack for
Hindoo troops. The noble palace of the Moguls alone remained intact, and
he passed under the gloomy portal where some of the first murders were
perpetrated on the morning of the great mutiny, and so entered the
courtyard where the Christian prisoners of both sexes had been put to
the sword. Then he proceeded to the inner sanctum of the palace to see
his imperial prisoner, the last of the Great Moguls. He could not but
eye with pity this man, the remnant of one of the most famous dynasties
in human annals, reduced to the dregs of misery and humiliation in the
extremity of old age. Yet he regarded with stern reserve a prisoner who,
though illustrious by antecedents and drawn irresistibly into the vortex
of rebellion, was accused of murder in ordering the execution of the
European captives. He was resolved that the ex-emperor should be
arraigned on a capital charge, and abide the verdict of a criminal
tribunal.
He knew, however, that by the speedy restoration of the civil authority,
the harried, plundered, partly devastated city would revive; for the
presence of troops in large bodies and their camp-followers created a
demand, which the peasants would supply if they could bring their goods
to market without fear of marauding on the way, and expose them for sale
without molestation. He thus saw the closed shops reopened, the
untenanted houses re-occupied, the empty marts beginning once more to be
crowded; though the city must wear the air of mourning for a long while
before the brilliancy and gaiety of past times should re-appear.
The re-establishment of police authority for current affairs, and of
civil justice between man and man, formed the easiest and pleasantest
portion of his task. A more grave and anxious part devolved upon him
respecting the treatment of persons who were already in confinement for,
or might yet be accused of, participation in the late rebellion. He
learned that the rebellion, in itself bad enough, had been aggravated,
indeed blackened, by countless acts of contumely, treachery and
atrocity; that the minds of the European officers, after the endurance
of such evils in the inclemency of a torrid climate, had become inflamed
and exasperated; that the retribution had not only been most severe on
those who were guilty in the first degree, but also on those who were
guilty only in the second or the third degree; and that, in the haste of
the time, those whose misconduct had been passive, and even those who
had been but slightly to blame, were mixed up with the active criminals
in indiscriminating condemnation. He would make every allowance for his
countrymen who had borne the burden and heat of an awful day, but he was
there to overlook and see that they were not hurried away by
excitability into proceedings which their after judgment could never
approve. Though rigid in striking down those who were _in flagrante
delicto_, and were actively engaged in murderous rebellion, yet he would
hold his hand as soon as the stroke had effected its legitimate purpose.
While the emergency lasted he would not hesitate in the most summary
measures of repression; it was the life of the assailed against the life
of their assailants. But as soon as the emergency had been overcome, he
was for showing mercy, for exercising discrimination, for putting an end
to summary procedure, and for substituting a criminal jurisdiction with
a view to calm and deliberate judgment. On his arrival at Delhi there
were the most pressing reasons for enforcing this principle, and
forthwith he enforced it with all his energy and promptitude. He
immediately organised special tribunals for the disposal of all cases
which were pending in respect of the late rebellion, or which might yet
be brought forward. He took care that no man thus charged should be
tried, executed, or otherwise punished summarily, but should be brought
to regular trial, without delay indeed, but on the other hand without
undue haste, and should not suffer without having had all fair chances
of exculpating himself. All this may appear a matter of course to us now
after the lapse of a generation, but it was hard indeed for him to
accomplish then, immediately after the subsidence of the political
storm; and it needed all his persistency and firmness.
It then devolved upon him to inquire officially into the circumstances
of the sudden outbreak in May, 1857, and of the subsequent events. His
inquiries showed that the Sepoys had been tampered with for some weeks
previously, but not for any long time; that they were tempted to join
the conspiracy by the fact of their being left without the control of
European troops, and in command of such a centre as Delhi, with such a
personality as the ex-emperor; all which lessons he took to heart as
warnings for the future. He found that the city had been plundered of
all the wealth which had been accumulated during half a century of
secure commerce and prosperity under British rule; but that the
plundering had been committed by the mob or by miscellaneous robbers,
and not by the victorious soldiery, Native or European. He was rejoiced
to ascertain that on the whole the European soldiery were free from any
imputation of plundering, intemperance, violence, or maltreatment of the
inhabitants, despite the temptations which beset them, the provocation
which they had received, and the hardships they had suffered.
Having assured himself that the stream of British rule at Delhi had
begun to flow peacefully in its pristine channel, he returned to Lahore
by daily marches in February, 1858. The weather was bright, the climate
invigorating, the aspect of affairs inspiriting; and his health was
fairly good. It was on this march that he caused a despatch to be
prepared, at the instance of Edwardes at Peshawar, regarding the
attitude of the British Government in India towards Christianity. The
fact of the mutinies beginning with a matter relating to caste and its
prejudices, had drawn the attention of the authorities to the practical
evils of the Hindoo system; the flames of rebellion had been fanned by
Moslem fanaticism; the minds of all Europeans had been drawn towards
their Almighty Preserver by the contemplation of deliverance from peril;
thus the thoughts of men were turned towards Christianity; and he was
specially disposed to follow this train of reflection. He little
anticipated the influence which this despatch was destined to exercise
on public opinion in England.
His carefulness in repaying the temporary loans, raised locally during
the crisis, has already been mentioned. But there was another debt of
honour to be discharged by him; for the Native states and chiefs, who
had stood by us under the fire of peril, were to be rewarded. This he
effected, with the sanction of the Governor-General, by allotting to
them the estates confiscated for murderous treason or overt rebellion.
He desired that the British Government should not benefit by these just
and necessary confiscations, but that the property, forfeited by the
disloyal, should be handed over to the loyal.
Thus he returned to Lahore, and thence went on to the Murri mountains in
May, 1858, where he might have hoped to enjoy rest after a year of
labour unprecedented even in his laborious life. But now a new danger
began to arrest his attention. During the year just passed, from May
1857 to the corresponding month of 1858, his policy had been to organise
Punjabi troops in place of the Sepoy force mutinous or disarmed, then to
employ them for helping the European army in re-conquering the
north-western provinces, and especially in re-capturing Lucknow. His
Punjabis indeed were almost the only troops, except the Ghoorkas,
employed with the European army in these important operations. Right
loyally had they done their work, and well did they deserve to share in
the honours of victory. They naturally were proud of the triumphs in
which they had participated. They had a right to be satisfied with their
own conduct. But they began to feel a sense of their own importance
also. They had done much for the British Government, and might be
required to do still more. Then they began to wonder whether the
Government could do without them. These thoughts, surging in their
minds, begat danger to the State. Information was received to the effect
that Sikh officers of influence, serving in Oude, were saying that they
had helped to restore British power, and why should they not now set up
a kingdom for themselves. These ideas were beginning to spread among the
Punjabi troops serving not only in Oude and the north-western provinces,
but also in the Punjab itself, even as far as the frontier of
Afghanistan. All this showed that the hearts even of brave, and on the
whole good, men may be evilly affected by pride and ambition or by a
sense of overgrown power. Thus the very lessons of the recent mutinies
were being taught again, and there was even a risk lest that terrible
history should repeat itself. The Punjabis in truth were becoming too
powerful for the safety of the State. So Lawrence had to exert all his
provident skill in checking the growth of this dangerous power, and in
so arranging that at no vital point or strategic situation should the
Punjabis have a position of mastery.
The situation in the Punjab, too, was aggravated by the presence of
considerable bodies of disarmed Sepoys still remaining at some of the
large stations, who had to be guarded, and who on two occasions rose and
broke out in a menacing manner.
While at Murri and on his way thither he caused a report to be drawn up
for the Supreme Government regarding the events of 1857 in the Punjab,
awarding praise, commendation, acknowledgment, to the civil and military
officers of all ranks and grades for their services, meting out
carefully to each man his due. He considered also the causes of this
wondrous outbreak, as concerning not only his province but other parts
of India, and as affecting the policy of the British Government in the
East. He did not pay much heed to the various causes which had been
ingeniously assigned in many well informed quarters. Some of these
causes might, he thought, prove fanciful; others might be real more or
less, but in so far as they were real they were only subsidiary. The
affair of the greased cartridges, which has become familiar to History,
was in his judgment really a provocative cause. It was, he said, the
spark that fell upon, and so ignited, a combustible mass; but the
question was, what made the mass combustible? There was, he felt, one
all-pervading cause, pregnant with instruction for our future guidance.
The Sepoy army, he declared, had become too powerful; they came to know
that the physical force of the country was with them; the magazines and
arsenals were largely, the fortresses partially, the treasuries wholly,
in their keeping. They thought that they could at will upset the
British Government and set up one of their own in its place; and this
thought of theirs might, as he would remark, have proved correct, had
not the Government obtained a mighty reinforcement from England, of
which they could not form any calculation or even any idea. It was the
sense of power, as he affirmed repeatedly, that induced the Sepoys to
revolt. In the presence of such a cause as this, it availed little with
him to examine subsidiary causes, the existence or the absence of which
would have made no appreciable difference in the result. Neither did he
undertake to discuss historically the gradual process whereby this
excessive power fell into the hands of the Sepoys. The thing had
happened, it ought not to have happened; that was practically enough for
him; it must never, he said, be allowed to happen again. He took care
that in his Province and its Dependencies, every strategic point,
stronghold, arsenal, vantage-ground, even every important treasury,
should be under the guardianship of European soldiers. He also provided
that at every large station or cantonment, and at every central city,
the physical force should be manifestly on the side of the Europeans.
Though he reposed a generous confidence in the Native soldiery up to a
certain point, and felt gratitude and even affection towards them for
all that they had done under his direction, still he would no longer
expose them to the fatal temptation caused by a consciousness of having
the upper hand.
In reference to the Mutinies, he thought that the system of promotion by
seniority to high military commands had been carried too far in the
Indian Army. There would always be difficulties in altering that
system, but he held that unless such obstacles could be surmounted, the
British Government in the East must be exposed to unexpected disasters
occasionally, like thunderbolts dropping from the sky. Despite the
warning from the Caubul losses of 1842, which arose mainly from the
fault of the Commander, he noticed that the Meerut disaster of 1857 at
this very time was owing again to failure on the local Commander’s part,
and a similar misfortune, though in a far lesser degree, occurred soon
afterwards in the Punjab itself at Jullundur from the same cause.
Incompetency in the Commander, he would say, neutralises the merits of
the subordinates: there had been vigorous and skilful officers at
Caubul, at Meerut, at Jullundur,--but all their efforts were in vain by
reason of weakness in the man at the helm.
Soon were honours and rewards accorded to him by his Sovereign and the
Government. He was promoted in the Order of the Bath from the rank of
Knight Commander to that of Grand Cross. He was created a Baronet and a
Privy Councillor. A special annuity of £2000 a year was granted him by
the East India Company from the date when he should retire from the
service. The emoluments, though not as yet the status, of a
Lieutenant-Governor were accorded to him. He also received the Freedom
of the City of London.
He marched from his Himalayan retreat at Murri during the autumn of
1858, with impaired health and an anxious mind. He trusted that the time
had come when he might with honour and safety resign his high office. He
knew that physically he ought to retire as soon as his services could be
spared. He had every reason to hope for a speedy and happy return to
his home in England. Yet he was not in really good spirits. Perhaps he
felt the reaction which often supervenes after mental tension too long
protracted. Partly from his insight into causes which might produce
trouble even in the Punjab, and even after the general pacification of
the disturbed regions, partly also from his natural solicitude that
nothing untoward should occur to detain him beyond the beginning of
1859--he was nervously vigilant. After leaving Murri he crossed the
Indus at Attok and revisited Peshawur. But neuralgia pursued him as he
marched. At this time the royal proclamation of the assumption by the
Queen of the direct government of India had arrived, and he wished to
read it on horseback to the troops at Peshawur; but he performed the
task with difficulty owing to the pain in his face. Once more from the
citadel height he watched the crowded marts, rode close to the gloomy
mouth of the Khyber Pass, and wondered at the classic stronghold of
Attok as it overhangs the swift-flowing Indus.
As he crossed the Indus for the last time, towards the end of 1858, and
rode along its left bank, that is on the Punjab side of the river, he
gazed on the deep and rapid current of the mighty stream. That he held
to be a real barrier which no enemy, advancing from the West upon India,
could pass in the face of a British force. He noticed the breezy uplands
overhanging the river on the east, and said that there the British
defenders ought to be stationed. His mind reverted to the question,
already raised by him in the summer of 1857, regarding the
relinquishment of Peshawur. And he proposed to make over that famous
valley to the Afghans, as its retention, in his view, was causing loss
and embarrassment instead of gain and advantage to the British
Government. The position was exposed to fierce antagonists and its
occupation was in consequence costly; in it was locked up a European
force which would be better employed elsewhere; that force had been
decimated by the fever prevailing every autumn in the valley; the
political and strategic advantages of the situation were purchased at
too heavy a price, too severe a sacrifice; those advantages were
possessed equally by Attok or any post on the Indus at a lesser cost.
These were some of the arguments uppermost in his mind. The seasons had
been even more insalubrious than usual, and he was grieved at the wear
and tear of European life, the drain of European strength, in the
valley. The transfer of a fertile and accessible territory to the Amir
of Caubul would, he thought, give us a real hold upon the Afghans. It
was not that he had any faith in the gratitude of the Afghans on the
cession of Peshawur, which indeed they regard as a jewel and an object
of the heart’s desire; but if after the cession they should ever
misbehave, then they could easily be punished by our re-occupation of
the valley, and the knowledge that such punishment would be possible
must, he conceived, bind them to our interests. Notwithstanding this
deliberate opinion, which he deemed it his duty to record, the
prevailing view among British authorities was then, and still is, in
favour of retaining Peshawur as a political and strategic post of
extraordinary value. Having submitted an opinion which was not accepted,
he refrained from raising the question any further. At this time on the
morrow, as it were, after the war of the Mutinies, he could hardly have
anticipated that within one generation, or thirty years, the railway at
more points than one would be advanced up to this Frontier, and that the
Indus, then deemed a mighty barrier, would be a barrier no longer, being
spanned by two bridges equally mighty, one at Attok in the Punjab, the
other at Sukkur in Scinde, and perhaps by a third at Kalabagh. To those
who can vividly recall the events of this time, the subsequent march of
affairs in India is wonderful.
By the end of 1858 he had received the kind remonstrances of the
Governor-General, Lord Canning, in regard to his leaving the Punjab. But
he replied that if the public safety admitted of his going, he was bound
from ill health to go. Indeed he needed relief, as the neuralgia
continued at intervals to plague him. He had always a toil-worn,
sometimes even a haggard, look. Despite occasional flashes of his
vivacity or scintillations of his wit, his manner often indicated
depression. He no longer walked or rode as much as formerly. As he had
been in his prime a good and fast rider, the riding would be a fair test
of his physical condition.
At this time the Punjab and its Dependencies, including the Delhi
territory, were at last formed into a Lieutenant-Governorship, and he
received the status and title of a position which he had long filled
with potent reality. This measure, which formerly would have been of
great use in sparing him trouble and labour, now came quite too late to
be any boon to him in this respect. In view of his departure at the
beginning of the coming year, 1859, he had secured the succession for
his old friend and comrade, Montgomery, who had for some months been
Chief-Commissioner of Oude.
Before leaving his post he was present at a ceremonial which marks an
epoch in the material development of his province; for he turned the
first sod of the first railway undertaken in the Punjab which was
destined to connect its capital Lahore with Mooltan, Scinde, and the
seaboard at Kurrachi.
Then he received a farewell address from his officers, civil and
military, who had been eye-witnesses of all his labours, cares, perils
and successes. The view taken by these most competent observers, most of
whom were present during the time of disturbance, was thus set forth,
and theirs is really evidence of the most direct and positive
description.
“Those among us who have served with the Punjabi troops know how,
for years, while the old force was on the frontier, you strove to
maintain that high standard of military organisation, discipline
and duty, of which the fruits were manifest when several regiments
were, on the occurrence of the Bengal mutinies, suddenly summoned
to serve as auxiliaries to the European forces, before Delhi, in
Oude, in Hindostan,--on all which occasions they showed themselves
worthy to be the comrades of Englishmen; how you, from the
commencement, aided in maintaining a military police, which, during
the crisis of 1857, proved itself to be the right arm of the civil
power. They know how largely you contributed to the raising and
forming of the new Punjabi force, which, during the recent
troubles, did so much to preserve the peace within the Punjab
itself, and which has rendered such gallant service in most parts
of the Bengal Presidency. All those among us who are military
officers, know how, when the Punjab was imperilled and agitated by
the disturbances in Hindostan, you, preserving a unison of accord
with the military authorities, maintained internal tranquillity,
and held your own with our allies and subjects, both within and
without the border; how, when the fate of Northern India depended
on the capture of Delhi, you, justly appreciating the paramount
importance of that object, and estimating the lowest amount of
European force with which the Punjab could be held, applied
yourself incessantly to despatching men, material, and treasure for
the succour of our brave countrymen engaged in the siege; how
indeed you created a large portion of the means for carrying on
that great operation, and devoted thereto all the available
resources of the Punjab to the utmost degree compatible with
safety.”
In his reply, two passages are so characteristic that they may be
quoted. He modestly recounts at least one among the mainsprings of his
success, thus:
“I have long felt that in India of all countries, the great object
of the Government should be to secure the services of able,
zealous, and high-principled officials. Almost any system of
administration, with such instruments, will work well. Without such
officers, the best laws and regulations soon degenerate into empty
forms. These being my convictions, I have striven, to the best of
my ability, and with all the power which my position and personal
influence could command, to bring forward such men. Of the many
officers who have served in the Punjab, and who owe their present
position, directly or indirectly, to my support, I can honestly
affirm that I know not one who has not been chosen as the fittest
person available for the post he occupies. In no one instance have
I been guided in my choice by personal considerations, or by the
claims of patronage. If my administration, then, of the Punjab is
deserving of encomium, it is mainly on this account, and assuredly,
in thus acting, I have reaped a rich reward. Lastly, it is with
pleasure that I acknowledge how much I have been indebted to the
military authorities in this Province for the cordiality and
consideration I have ever received at their hands.”
Further, he thus describes the conduct of the European soldiers under
the severe conditions of the time--
“I thank the officers and men of the British European regiments
serving in the Punjab, for the valour and endurance which they
evinced during the terrible struggle. The deeds, indeed, need no
words of mine to chronicle their imperishable fame. From the time
that the English regiments, cantoned in the Simla hills, marched
for Delhi in the burning month of May, 1857, exposure to the
climate, disease and death under every form in the field, were
their daily lot. Great as were the odds with which they had to
combat, the climate was a far more deadly enemy than the mutineers.
“In a very few weeks, hundreds of brave soldiers were stricken down
by fever, dysentery, and cholera. But their surviving comrades
never lost their spirits. To the last they faced disease and death
with the utmost fortitude. The corps which remained in the Punjab
to hold the country, evinced a like spirit and similar endurance.
Few in numbers, in a strange country, and in the presence of many
enemies who only lacked the opportunity to break out, these
soldiers maintained their discipline, constancy and patience.”
Immediately afterwards, that is in the beginning of February, 1859, he
started from Lahore, homeward bound, and steaming down the Indus arrived
at Kurrachi. There near the Indus mouth he delighted in this cool and
salubrious harbour, which, though not so capacious as some harbours,
might, he knew, prove of infinite value hereafter, in the event of
Britain having to stand in battle array on her Afghan frontier. There
also he exchanged the friendliest greetings with Bartle Frere, the only
external authority with whom he had been in communication throughout the
crisis, and from whom he had received most useful co-operation. Thence
he sailed for Bombay, which was still under the governorship of Lord
Elphinstone, who had rendered valuable aid to the Punjab during the war.
Bombay was then by no means the fair and noble capital that it now is;
still he admired its land-locked basin, one of the finest harbours in
the world, where fleets of war and of commerce may ride secure. He
avoided public receptions so far as possible, and shortly proceeded by
the mail steamer to England, where he arrived during the month of April.
It may be well here to note that he was then only forty-eight years of
age.
After the lapse of just one generation, time is already beginning to
throw its halo over his deeds in 1857; the details are fading while the
main features stand out in bolder and bolder relief. There is a monument
to him in the minds of men;
“And underneath is written,
In letters all of gold,
How valiantly he kept the Bridge
In the brave days of old.”
Doubtless this is not the last crisis which British India will have to
confront and surmount; other crises must needs come, and in them the men
of action will look back on his example. For the British of the future
in India the prophet of Britain may say what was said for Rome;
“And there, unquenched through ages
Like Vesta’s sacred fire,
Shall live the spirit of thy nurse,
The spirit of thy sire.”