THE GOVERNMENT OF INDIA
1864-1869
The work which John Lawrence had heretofore done in India is not of that
sort which should be measured statistically. Its material proportions
had been indeed considerable, but they were infinitely exceeded by its
moral effect. Still some few comparative facts may be noted to show what
his new sphere was compared with his old. The Punjab with its
dependencies contained, when he left it in 1859, one hundred and
forty-five thousand square miles, with twenty-two millions of
inhabitants, and paid an annual revenue of two and a half millions
sterling. It had been augmented, since its first formation as a British
province, by the addition of the Delhi territory. The Indian empire,
when he took charge of it in 1864, contained one million three hundred
thousand square miles with two hundred and thirty-five millions of
inhabitants, paid an annual revenue of fifty-three millions sterling,
was defended by an army of nearly two hundred thousand men, including
both European and Native troops, and was divided into eleven provincial
governments or administrations, under two Governors, three
Lieutenant-Governors, three Chief Commissioners, and three Residencies
or Governor-General’s Agencies.
In January, 1864, Lawrence arrived at Calcutta as Viceroy and
Governor-General. He looked much brightened and freshened by a sojourn
of four and a half years in England. His old vivacity sparkled again; he
had been softened as well as brightened by his sojourn in England. He
walked with a stride, and his seat in the saddle was almost as of yore.
His health had been temporarily restored, but had not, as the sequel
showed, been re-established.
Usually a new Viceroy and Governor-General is, on landing in India,
really new in every sense. The European officers, the Native Princes,
Chiefs and people, are strangers to him as he is personally unknown to
them. Yet he has great power and wide influence, not only over
individuals, but also over large classes and masses, and his personality
will for a term of years affect the conduct of the executive and the
course of legislation. Consequently when he comes, public expectation is
on the tiptoe, and the public gaze is strained to discover what manner
of man he may be. It is hard to describe adequately the anxious
uncertainty which prevails, and consequently the intensity of the
interest which is thus aroused in most instances. But in the instance of
Lawrence there was no such novelty. His name was already a household
word from one end of the empire to the other. To all men his character,
disposition and idiosyncrasy were known by fame, and to numerous
individuals, even to many classes, were familiar. Again, other
Governors-General arriving in India have been obliged to go to school
politically, and almost serve an apprenticeship; but he was already a
master workman, and could enter fully and at once upon his whole duty.
As Governor-General he had all the power entrusted to that high
functionary by the Acts of Parliament settling the Constitution of
British India. As Viceroy he represented the Sovereign on all occasions.
On his arrival at Calcutta he was greeted most cordially by all classes
of his countrymen, from the soldiers and sailors upwards. Loud was the
chorus of British voices, thick was the concourse of Natives, as the
stately vessel, bearing him as its freight, steamed up the broad reaches
of the tidal Hooghly, between banks crowned with groves of the
cocoa-nut, the palm and the bamboo, approached the forest of masts in
the harbour of the Indian capital, and anchored near the ramparts of
Fort William, close to the palace of the Governor-General.
Landing in Bengal, he met that section of the Indian population which
had but little direct concern in the War of the Mutinies, and was
therefore less cognisant of his deeds than the Natives of Northern
India; still the Bengalis in their way strove to do him honour. His
first levée was one of the most numerously attended levées ever held in
Calcutta. He was full of alacrity, and if ever in his life he wore a
smiling aspect it was then. Things had heretofore gone well with him in
the estimation of all men East and West. The farewell addresses on
leaving the Punjab, the addresses of welcome on reaching England, the
congratulations at home on his new appointment, the notes of gladness on
his return to India, were all present to his mind, and he was breathing
the _popularis aura_. Few men, climbing to estate so high as his, have
known so little of ungenerous objections or of actual misrepresentation,
as he had up to this time. He was hardly prepared, perhaps, for the
fitful moods of public opinion in such a country as India, for the
wearing anxieties, the lesser troubles, even the annoyances, to be
endured at intervals for some years before the moment when he should lay
down the supreme power, and again look back with some pride and
satisfaction upon another arduous stage accomplished in life’s journey.
He came by the overland route in December at the most favourable season
of the year and escaped sea-sickness. As sea life was never quite
suitable to his temperament, he did not read nor write much during the
voyage, but he must have had time to arrange his thoughts respecting the
imperial charge which had been committed to him. As a rule, he meant to
deal with matters as they should arise--knowing that these would be
numerous, and confident in his own power to dispose of them--rather than
to shape out any policy or policies in his mind, or to descry any
particular goal which he would strive to reach. Nevertheless he landed
in India with certain ideas which might, according to his hope, be
realised. As they are quite characteristic of him, some allusion may be
here made to them.
During his sojourn in England he had been much impressed with the
importance of sanitation or sanitary administration, as likely to become
the pressing question of the immediate future. The insanitary condition
of Indian cities had affected him in his younger days, and in later
years his letters contain allusions to the subject. But something more
than spasmodic effort was needed for that rectification which he would
now make an imperial concern. To stimulate his recollections he would
direct his morning rides to the unhealthiest parts of Calcutta, and one
of his first measures after assuming the general government was to
appoint a Sanitary Commission.
But the principle of sanitation had in his mind a special application.
He appears while in England to have been conferring with Florence
Nightingale regarding military hospitals and the health of the European
soldiery. Here, again, as a young man, he had grieved over the
intemperance existing among these troops, and partly attributable to
injudicious regulations which had been subsequently modified. The War of
the Mutinies had brought home to his mind, with greater force than ever,
the supreme value of these men to the Eastern empire. He then set
himself to observe their barracks, and especially their hospitals, which
he used to visit in times of epidemic sickness. He would now use all his
might as Governor-General to give them spacious and salubrious barracks,
suitable means for recreation, and other resources for the improvement
of their condition.
In former years he had witnessed the effects of drought upon districts
destitute of artificial irrigation; and it was notorious that drought is
the recurring plague not only of the continental climate of Mid-India,
as physical geographers term it, but also of the southern peninsula. He
had seen the inception of the Ganges canal, the queen of all canals ever
undertaken in any age or country; and he would now stimulate the
planning and executing of irrigation works great and small.
For this, however, capital was needed, so his financial instinct warned
him that the Government of India must cease constructing these necessary
works out of revenue--a tardy and precarious process--but must open a
capital account for the nation, whereby India might borrow money for
reproductive works, on the principle which prevails in all progressive
countries.
Lastly, he had while in England reconsidered the principle of what is
known as the Permanent Settlement of Bengal, which was much disapproved
by the administrative school of his earlier days. He had now come to
think that this Settlement possessed much political advantage, in
strengthening the basis of landed prosperity, and thus attaching all
landowners to the British Government; and so far he was actually
prepared to extend it to some other districts beyond Bengal. But he was
as keenly alive as ever to its imperfections, as it had neglected the
rights of subordinate occupiers. He looked back with thankfulness upon
the efforts which had been made in North-western India to preserve these
rights. Having some fear that they might in certain circumstances be
overridden, he resolved to champion them when necessary. This resolve
brought about some trying episodes in his subsequent career.
Thus there were at least five large matters of imperial policy arranged
in his mind from the very outset as he set foot once again on the Indian
shore. The public sanitation, the physical welfare of the European
soldiery, the prevention of famine by irrigation works, the capital
account of the national outlay for material improvement, the settlement
of agrarian affairs,--these were principles long fixed in his mind. But
his conception of them had been widened or elevated by his sojourn in
England, and by the fresh influences of political thought there.
From the beginning of January to the middle of April he worked, with
his Executive Council, at Government House in Calcutta. The Councillors
were five in number for the several departments, Foreign, Home,
Legislative, Public Works, Financial, Revenue, Military; and in addition
the Commander-in-Chief of the army. In ordinary matters the decision of
the Government was formed by a majority of votes; but in matters of
public safety he had power to act on his own authority alone. He was
able to maintain excellent relations with his colleagues in Council. The
Foreign Department was ordinarily kept in his own hands. He worked from
six o’clock in the morning till five in the evening daily, despatching
current business in all departments with amazing promptitude and
completeness withal. He issued the necessary orders on the speedy and
successful termination of the military operations on the Trans-Indus
Frontier, which have been already mentioned. He reviewed Volunteers,
founded a Sailors’ Home, inspected sanitation in the Native city, and
made the acquaintance of all important persons of every nationality in
the capital. His health stood the new test fairly well, but he suffered
at times from headache. In the middle of April he started for Simla,
taking his Council with him. On his way thither he revisited the Asylum
for the orphan children of European soldiers at the Himalayan station of
Kassowli, founded with much private munificence by his brother Henry. He
had not seen this beautiful Simla since he met Lord Dalhousie there in
1851. Though he said little, he pondered much on all that had happened
to him and his since then, the perils escaped, the victories won.
After his arrival at Simla having reviewed his own position and
prospects, he wrote to Sir Charles Wood, the Secretary of State in
London, on this subject. He said explicitly that he found himself unable
to work all the year round at Calcutta, and especially in the hot and
unhealthy season there; that if he were allowed to spend the summer
months in the Himalayas, he could retain his post; otherwise he wished
to resign in the spring of the following year and return to England. By
Sir Charles Wood’s reply he was requested to stay in office, with the
understanding that he might reside wherever he chose within the
Himalayas or other hill-regions of India. Regarding his Council the
reply was not quite so clear, but in the end it was virtually conceded
that he might exercise his own discretion in taking his colleagues with
him. At all events he determined to stay for four out of his five
allotted years in India, and arranged that his wife should join him at
Calcutta by the end of the year 1864.
He soon decided that during his tenure of office the Government of India
shall, barring unforeseen events, spend the summer months at Simla, that
is the Governor-General, the Executive Council, a part of the
Legislative Council, and the principal Secretaries. He would not
separate himself from them: he did not wish to have them acting at
headquarters in many cases without him; nor did he desire to act in some
cases alone without them. He thought it better that, with the growing
increase of business, they should be all together.
At that time it was the fashion to propose various situations in the
empire, one in the south another in the west and so on, for the
permanent capital and headquarters of the Government of India, involving
the abandonment of Calcutta for this purpose; but he objected to all
such schemes, considering them to be crude. In the first place, such a
move would be inordinately expensive; in the second, Calcutta was, he
thought, the best of all available positions. Though it is actually a
sea-port, yet its position is by nature rendered unassailable by an
attack from the sea; its trade places it in the first rank of mercantile
cities; the districts around it are wealthy, fertile, populous and
peaceful; these advantages he duly appreciated. During the disturbances
of 1857 he remembered that Lower Bengal around Calcutta was undisturbed,
and paid its tens of millions of rupees into the State Treasury, and
that while half the empire was convulsed, order was preserved at the
imperial centre. Thus he would hold fast to Calcutta and settle his
Government there, at least during the cool season of each year when
trade and industry are in their fullest activity.
But he would have his Government sojourn during the hot weather of each
year in the refreshing climate of the Himalayas. He had no hesitation in
choosing Simla for this purpose, as being the only mountain station that
could furnish house-accommodation for the influx of sojourners; as being
easily accessible by rail and road at all seasons; as having politically
a good position sufficiently near the North-western Frontier, yet not so
near as to be within reach of danger; and as being immediately
surrounded by a peaceful population. He was sensible of the natural
beauty, the varied charms, the salubrious climate of the place, and his
choice has been fully ratified by the Governors-General who have
succeeded him.
His Government, while sojourning at Simla, would transact all its
administrative business for the time, and proceed with some parts of its
legislation. But he would reserve for its residence at Calcutta all
those bills or projects of law which might be of general importance, and
wherein contact with public opinion might be specially desirable.
He was now by the autumn of 1864, fairly launched on his career as
Viceroy and Governor-General. His health had been slightly shaken by the
change from England to Calcutta, of which the climate agreed with him
less than that of any other place in India. But it soon revived in the
Himalayan air. He kept up his early riding in the morning while at
Calcutta, but was induced by the pressure of business to intermit it at
Simla. However he took exercise in the afternoon fully, and so during
this year and 1865 he remained fairly well; indeed during the summer of
1865 he was better than he had been for many years, that is since his
Trans-Sutlej days. But he was not so well in 1866, and in the summer of
1867 he intimated to the Secretary of State, who was then Sir Stafford
Northcote, that he might have to retire early in 1868 having completed
his four years. The Secretary of State, however, on public grounds
requested him to remain till the end of his five years if possible, that
is till the beginning of 1869. So he braced his determination to remain
his allotted term. He said in private that it would be a great
satisfaction to him to serve out his time, and to hand over the work to
his successor without any arrears. From 1867, however, he became weaker
physically by slow, perhaps by imperceptible degrees, and that general
condition naturally set up lesser ailments from time to time; while the
clear brain and the unconquerable will remained.
Apprehensions of ill health, however, were not the only reason why he
thought in 1867 of resigning office. He was indeed as good, efficient
and successful a Viceroy and Governor-General as India ever had; still
the course of affairs did not exactly suit his masterful genius. Grand
events would have afforded scope for the mighty capacity he was
conscious of possessing. The country was for the most part at peace,
nevertheless he was troubled even harassed by divers incidents which
affected the public interests. The empire was making steady progress
under his care and recovering its stability after a severe convulsion;
yet mishaps, reverses, plagues of all sorts, would occur through no
fault of his. But he would not relieve himself of responsibility for
what might be amiss or go wrong in any part of his vast charge, and
often he was tempted to exclaim,
“The time is out of joint, oh! cursed spite
That I was ever born to set it right!”
Hitherto the _popularis aura_ had been with him; he had not yet felt
that chilling blast of unpopularity which sooner or later never fails to
overtake public men of mark and vigour such as his. No man had known
less than he the carping, the cavilling, the captiousness of critics, or
the misrepresentation of opponents. He had never swam with the stream,
but rather had cut out a channel for the stream and made it flow with
him. Thus the wear and tear of his former life had arisen from notable
causes, but not from the friction of an adverse current. Now, however,
he was to taste of all these small adversities. He was indeed to rule an
empire thoroughly well in ordinary times, and to suffer the vexations
which ordinarily beset rulers and make their heads “lie uneasy.” He
strove manfully to hide his sensitiveness when attacked or impugned; for
all that, he was more sensitive to these attacks than he need have been,
in regard to their intrinsic deserts. The deference, the cordiality,
even the affection (as he himself gratefully described it) of the
reception which greeted him in England, and which was repeated on his
first landing in India, had scarcely prepared him for the provocations,
petty indeed but yet sharp, which awaited him in the subsequent years.
As a man of action he had been used to arguments of an acute even fierce
character, yet they were short and decisive either for or against him.
But now he had to work his government through an Executive Council of
some six members, in which the discussions were partly on paper daily,
and partly by word of mouth at weekly meetings. The paper-controversies
he could bear; if he had a majority on his side the decision would be
couched in a few of his pithy sentences and no more was heard of it. But
at times the weekly debates tried him sorely; he listened like patience
on a monument, but he sighed inwardly. India being unavoidably a land of
personal changes, the composition of his Council varied from year to
year with outgoing and incoming men. In the nature of things it was
inevitable that some of his colleagues should support him more and
others less, while some opposed. He rejoiced in the hearty aid afforded
by some, and grieved over the opposition, or as it appeared to him the
thwarting, counteracting conduct of others, which was different from
anything that he had previously endured. Again, he thankfully
acknowledged in the end the support he received from successive
Secretaries of State in England, and certainly the Government in England
sincerely desired to sustain his authority; but meanwhile cases occurred
wherein he considered himself insufficiently supported from home, and
one case where even his old friends in the Council of India in Whitehall
counteracted his wishes. Respecting the action of Secretaries of State
he hardly made sufficient allowance for Parliamentary difficulties,
which prevent the men who are nominally in power from being their own
masters. It has been acutely remarked of him that he was not versatile;
in truth versatility in the face of opposition was not among his
qualities. He hardly possessed that peculiar resourcefulness (for which,
for instance, the great Warren Hastings was distinguished) whereby one
expedient having failed or one way being stopped, another is found,
perhaps circuitously, the goal being all the while kept in view. Being
human he must needs have faults, though the proportion which these bore
to his virtues was small indeed; he certainly had a tendency to chafe
over-much, yet if this be a fault, then owing to his self-command, it
affected himself only but not others. He loved power, indeed, which he
habitually described in a favourite Persian phrase as _khûd-raftâri_,
which is an elegant synonym for having one’s own way. Such power was, in
his estimation, to be wielded not capriciously but under the constraint
of a well-informed conscience. He had scarcely thought out the fact,
however, that in few modern nations, and least of all in the British,
can there be such a thing strictly speaking as power, though there may
be powerful influence. For the jealously-watched and tightly-bound
“thing which is mocked by the name of power,” he had scant appreciation.
In short, his position presented much that was novel rather than
pleasant, though he encountered less of novelty than any
Governor-General who had preceded him. But it is well in passing to
sketch these lesser traits, for the portraiture of the real man in all
his greatness and goodness.
To give an account of his Government at large, would be to write the
history of an empire during five years, and space cannot here be
afforded for such a task. Again, to do justice to all the coadjutors who
helped him, would be to set forth at least parts of the careers of many
eminent men, and that, too, is beyond the limits of this work. All that
is possible, then, is to analyse or sum up briefly the main heads of his
policy and achievements, with the proviso that, what for the sake of
brevity is attributed to him nominally, is really attributable to him
with the Councils, both Executive and Legislative, the extensive
Secretariat, the Presidencies, and the provincial Governors or
Administrators. These heads may be arranged in the following order:--the
army, the works of material improvement, the sanitation, the finances,
the landed settlement, the legislation, the public service, the national
education, the state ceremonies, the foreign policy; and to each of
them, as respecting him particularly, a short notice will be afforded.
In the military branch, he had not much to do with the reorganisation of
the army for India. That had been done during the interval since his
departure from India in 1859. Some changes had been made, against which
he had protested from his place in Council at Whitehall, but now he had
loyally to accept the accomplished facts, and to make the changes work
well through good management. Keeping his eye ever fixed on the national
finance, he rejoiced to find the Native Army reduced in numbers, and the
overgrown levies (which had been raised during the War of the Mutinies)
now disbanded throughout the country or transferred to the
newly-organised Police. The strength of the European troops varied from
seventy to seventy-five thousand men: which was, in his judgment, the
minimum compatible with safety in time of peace. He never forgot what
his Native advisers used to drop into his ear during the Mutiny--namely
this, that in India the European soldier is the root of our power.
Knowing how hard it would be for the English Government to provide, and
for the Indian Government to bear, the cost of a larger number, he bent
himself to make the European soldiery as effective as possible by
improving their life and lot in the East. Everything that pertained to
their health, recreation, comfort, enlightenment, employment in leisure
time, and general welfare, moral or physical, he steadfastly supported.
At the basis of all these improvements lay the question of constructing
new barracks or re-constructing old buildings, on reformed principles
sanitary as well as architectural; and for this he was prepared to incur
an outlay of several millions sterling. Protracted discussions ensued in
his Executive Council in regard to the situations for the new barracks,
causing delay which distressed him. He insisted that the buildings
should be placed in those centres of population, and those strategic
points, where old experience had shown that the presence of European
soldiers was necessary. So after a while the work of barrack-building
went on to his satisfaction. Criticism, even objections, were soon
levelled against these operations, and the barracks were styled
“palatial,” under the notion that they were extravagantly good; but he
was not thereby at all turned from his purpose.
In active warfare operations were undertaken near the Trans-Indus
Frontier on two occasions; the first of these, which has already been
mentioned at the moment of his arrival in India, was known by the name
of Umbeyla, the second was remembered as that of the Black Mountain.
Otherwise he thankfully observed the pacification of that difficult
Frontier, which had successfully been effected by the policy of himself
and his brother from 1849 onwards, as set forth in a previous chapter.
One little war, indeed, he had which was from first to last hateful to
him, but which he turned to excellent account for British interests, as
the event has subsequently proved; this is known to history as the
Bhûtan campaign. On his arrival he found that a mission had been already
despatched to that semi-barbarous principality in the eastern Himalayas
over-looking Bengal, and that the British envoy had been insulted and
even maltreated. Redress was demanded, and this being refused, he had
resort to arms; and during the course of these operations in a wild,
wooded, malarious and mountainous country, a small British force in a
hill-fort was cut off from its water-supply by the enemy’s devices, and
had to beat a somewhat disastrous retreat. The disaster was soon
retrieved by the recapture of the place, and full preparations were made
for a decisive advance when the enemy sued for terms; whereon he laid
down the British conditions of peace. These being accepted, he was glad
to save the lives of a miserable foe from destruction, and the British
troops from inglorious warfare in an unhealthy country. The main point
in the conditions on which he concluded peace was the cession by Bhûtan
to the British of a rich sub-Himalayan tract called the Dûars, on his
agreeing to pay a certain sum annually to the Bhûtanese. He felt the
value of this tract to the British, as was indeed manifest then, and has
been proved by subsequent experience. He knew that the payment of this
small subsidy would just preserve the Bhûtanese from that pecuniary
desperation which leads to border incursions, and would give us a hold
on them, as it could be withheld in event of their misconduct in future;
and in fact they have behaved well ever since. But the terms were by the
European community at Calcutta deemed inadequate and derogatory after
all that had happened; and he was subjected to much severe criticism,
which however did not move, though it doubtless grieved, him at this
stage of his career.
He rejoiced in the opportunity afforded by the expedition to Abyssinia
for helping his old friend Napier to collect an effective force from
India, to be equipped for very active service and to be despatched from
the Presidency of Bombay.
In respect to material improvement, he pressed onwards the construction
of railways and canals. There had been by no means an entire, but only a
partial, suspension of these works during the War of the Mutinies, and
the period of disturbance which followed; but now as peace reigned
throughout the land, he prosecuted these beneficent operations with more
energy than ever, and at no previous time in Indian history had progress
been so systematised as now. This could only be done by establishing a
capital account for the State, according to the principle which, as
already mentioned, had been working in his mind when he recently landed
in India. The cost of these works having heretofore been defrayed from
current revenue, their progress had been precarious, but he would place
their finance on a sure basis by treating the expenditure as capital
outlay and raising loans for that purpose. The interest on these would
be defrayed from current revenue, as he would have no such thing as
paying interest out of capital. For the due calculation of the demand to
be made on the money-market for the loans, he caused a forecast to be
made of the canals and railways recommended for construction during a
cycle of years. He proposed that the future railways should be
constructed not by private companies with guarantee by the State of
interest on outlay, but by the State itself. With a view to lessening
the capital outlay in future, he leaned towards the introduction of a
narrower gauge than that heretofore in use. The introduction of the
capital account into Indian finance has not only stimulated, but also
regulated and ensured the material development of the empire; and this
is a prominent feature in his administration.
Besides the ordinary arguments for accelerating the construction of
railways, there was the necessity of perfecting our military
communications, in order to obtain a tighter grasp of the country than
heretofore. The lesson of 1857-8 had taught him how much this hold had
needed strengthening. Again, beyond the usual reasons for excavating
canals of irrigation for agriculture in a thirsty land, he felt the
obligation to protect the people from the consequences of drought. No
warning, indeed, was required by him in this behalf, otherwise it would
have been furnished by the experience of the Orissa famine in 1866-7. In
that somewhat inaccessible province the drought occurred one year and
the people bore it, but it continued during the second and even the
third year, reducing their straitened resources to starvation point;
then towards the end of the third year heavy downpours of rain caused
inundation to submerge the remnant of the crops; thus, in his own
expressive words, “that which the drought spared the floods drowned.” He
had been very uneasy about the prospect of the famine, but the province
was under the Government of Bengal subject to the control of the
Governor-General, and he was bound to consult the local authorities. He
accepted for the moment the assurance of the Lieutenant-Governor of
Bengal, who had proceeded to the spot to make personal inquiries, to the
effect that the precautions taken to prevent mortality from famine were
sufficient. Still he remained anxious till further tidings came, and
these were bad. Then he caused the most strenuous efforts to be put
forth but they were too late to save life, and their efficacy was
impaired by a still further misfortune, because contrary gales kept
grain-laden ships tossing about within sight of the shore and unable to
land their cargoes. Though he was not to blame in all the circumstances,
still this disaster cut him to the quick, and he fretted at the thought
of what might have been done to save life had he himself been wielding
the executive powers locally as in former days, instead of exercising
only a general control as Governor-General. The loss being irreparable,
all he could now do was to make the strictest inquisition regarding the
failure in foresight which delayed the relief in the first instance, to
take additional precautions by the light of this melancholy experience,
and so to prevent the possibility of its recurrence. Thus under him from
that time a new era of development, and especially of canal-making arose
happily for Orissa.
For sanitation, he acted on the view which had opened out before him on
his way from England for India. The Sanitary Commission appointed by him
made searching inquiries and followed these up with suggestions
professional or practical. He sanctioned expenditure by Government on
drainage, water-supply, open spaces, and the like, in the stations or
around the buildings which belonged to the State. In all the places
which were made under municipal institutions he encouraged the local
corporations to do the same. Through his precept or example a fresh
impulse was given to these beneficent works at every capital city,
industrial centre, or considerable town, throughout the Bengal
Presidency--more than half the empire--and a general quickening of
municipal life was the consequence. His influence could not under the
constitution of British India be equally direct in the Madras and Bombay
Presidencies but there also it was felt as a practical encouragement.
Thus though he may not be called the originator of Indian Sanitation,
yet he was the founder of it on a systematic basis, and he established
it as a department of the State administration.
The finances caused him trouble from the first even to the last day of
his incumbency. The scheme for housing and lodging the European army in
India, according to humane and civilised plans, was to cost ten millions
sterling (for, say, seventy-five thousand men), and out of that he
caused five millions to be spent during his five years of office. He was
most unwilling to borrow for this purpose, holding firmly that the
charge must be defrayed from current revenues, and so it was. But then
it caused some difficulty in the finances, and he had to devise
additional means for making the income balance the expenses. Always
having a heart for the poor, and believing that their resources were not
at all elastic, he was resolved to avoid taxing the masses of the
population any further. On the other hand he thought that the rich
escaped paying their full share. So he proposed to renew the income tax,
which had been introduced in 1860 by James Wilson (the economist and
financier sent out from England) and remitted in 1862. He was unable to
obtain, however, the necessary concurrence of his Council. Then he
reluctantly consented to a proposal of the Council that duties should be
imposed on certain articles of export which, in the economic
circumstances of the moment, were able to bear the impost. The ordinary
objection to export-duties was urged in England and even in Parliament,
so these were disallowed by the Secretary of State; and thus he suffered
a double annoyance. His own proposal had been refused by his Council,
and their proposal, to which he agreed as a choice of evils, had been
rejected by the Secretary of State. The following year he induced his
Council to accept a modified income-tax, under the name of a
License-Tax. This was, he knew, inferior to a scientific income-tax,
inasmuch as it failed in touching all the rich; still it did touch the
well-to-do middle class, heretofore almost exempt from taxation, and
that was something. This plan was passed into law by the Legislative
Council at Calcutta, but the passage met with embittered opposition from
outside in the European as well as in the Native Community; he stood
firm, however, and this time was supported both by his Council in India
and by the Secretary of State in England. But he knew that this measure,
though much better than nothing, was insufficient, and he ceased not
from urging the imposition of the income-tax proper. Indeed during his
fifth and last year he laid the foundation and prepared the way for that
tax, which was actually imposed after his departure, and which during
several succeeding years saved the finances from ultimate deficit.
During his five years, however, there were five and a quarter millions
sterling of deficit, and two and three quarter millions of surplus,
leaving a net deficit of two and a half millions. This deficit was,
indeed, more than accounted for by the expenses of five millions on the
barracks; but it would never have occurred, had he been properly
supported in the sound fiscal measures proposed by him. The financial
result in the end, though fully capable of explanation, did indeed fall
short of complete success; but this partial failure did not at all arise
from any fault of his. Indeed it occurred despite his well-directed
exertions. He left India with somewhat gloomy anticipations regarding
its financial future. He feared lest his countrymen should fail to
appreciate the standing difficulty of Indian finance. He knew that the
Natives may have more means relatively to their simple wants than the
corresponding classes in European countries, and in that sense may not
be poor. But he thought that their power of paying revenue down in cash
was very small according to a European standard, and that their fiscal
resources were singularly inelastic.
In connection with finance he was much troubled by the failure of the
Bank of Bombay. On his arrival in India the American Civil War, then at
its height, was causing a rapid rise in the value of cotton in Western
India, and an excessive speculation in consequence. On the cessation of
the war in 1865 he saw this speculation collapse, and became anxious for
the fate of the Bank of Bombay which was a State institution. He did his
utmost to guide and assist the Government of Bombay in preventing a
catastrophe. But despite his efforts the Bank fell, and its fall was
keenly discussed in England generally and in the House of Commons. Then
a commission of inquiry was appointed, which after complete
investigation remarked upon the steadiness and carefulness displayed by
him at least, while it distributed blame among several authorities.
Much was done in his time, more than ever before, for legislation. He
took a lively interest in the proceedings of the Legislative Council for
India; it consisted of some thirteen members, of whom six belonged to
the Executive Council, and seven, partly official and partly
non-official, were nominated by the Governor-General; and it was apart
from the local legislatures of Bengal, Madras, and Bombay. He
assiduously presided over its deliberations, which at that time embraced
such important matters as civil and criminal procedure, transfer of
property, contract, evidence, negotiable securities, and others. During
no period of Indian history has legislation of a fundamental, and, so to
speak, scientific character been more remarkably advanced than during
his incumbency of five years. He was throughout assisted by English
Jurists in England, and in India especially.
In one legislative measure he was able to take a strong part personally,
and that was the Punjab Tenancy Act. It appeared to him that in various
ways the rights secured (by the land settlement in that Province as
already mentioned) to certain classes of cultivators, as separate from
peasant proprietors, were being gravely threatened. So he procured the
passing of a law for the preservation of the rights and interests in
these numerous tenancies under legal definitions.
Cognate to this subject, a question arose in Oude regarding
tenant-right, in which he acted with decisive effect. While anxious that
the landed aristocracy (styled the Talukdars) in this Province should be
maintained in the position ultimately guaranteed to them by Lord Canning
in 1859, he was equally resolved that the subordinate rights of
occupants and cultivators should be protected. He, in common with
others, believed that their rights had been secured simultaneously with
those of the Talukdars. But during the subsequent five years this
security had, he found, been disturbed, and further measures were needed
for protection. He therefore caused these tenant-rights or occupancy
tenures to be protected by additional safeguards, which have since been
embodied in legislative enactments. These measures of his aroused keen
opposition in Northern and North-eastern India, and especially in
Calcutta, as the landlord interest in Bengal made common cause with the
Talukdars of Oude. Thus much invective was levelled at him by the
Anglo-Indian newspaper-press. Then the agitation began to spread from
India to England: the influential few could make their cry heard across
the seas, the voiceless million could not; that was all the greater
reason why he would take care of the million. He held that the question
was one of justice or injustice towards a deserving and industrious
class of British subjects. His mind, however, was exercised by this
controversy in India mainly because he apprehended that the ground of
argumentative battle might be shifted to England, and perhaps even to
the floor of the House of Commons. Though he fully hoped that the then
Secretary of State, Sir Charles Wood, and the Cabinet would support him,
yet he was prepared, indeed almost determined, to give up his high
office if his policy in Oude should fail to be sustained. He used to say
to his intimate friends at the time that he would stand or resign upon
his policy in Oude. This is borne out by a letter of his to Sir Charles
Wood which has since been published by his biographer, and from which a
characteristic passage may be quoted.
“What could make me take the course I have done in favour of the
Ryots of Oude, but a strong sense of duty? I understand the
question right well, as indeed must every man who has had anything
to do with settlement-work. I have no wish to harm the Talukdars.
On the contrary, I desire to see fair-play to their interests....
It would be a suicidal act for me to come forward and modify the
instructions given recently. The Home Government may do this.
Parliament may say what it thinks proper. But, of my own free will,
I will not move, knowing as I do, that I am right in the course
which has been adopted. Did ever any one hear of the Government of
India learning that a class of men were not having fair-play at the
time of settlement, and then failing to interfere or to issue such
orders as the case appeared to demand?”
In the sequel he was generously sustained by the Government in England,
and the retrospect of this episode was pleasant to him as he believed it
to be a victory for justice.
In respect to the public service in its several branches, it fell to his
lot to recommend, and obtain sanction from the Government in England
for, some beneficent measures. A revision of the rules regarding leave
in India and furlough to Europe, for the three great classes of
Government, namely, the Indian Army, the Covenanted Civil Service, and
the Uncovenanted Service, had been pending for some time before his
arrival. Knowing well the bearings of this many-sided question, he
resolved to settle it in a manner befitting the merits of the public
servants whose labours and efforts he had witnessed in so many fields of
action. He accordingly appointed the most competent persons in India to
frame suitable sets of rules, which he induced the Government in England
to sanction with but slight modifications. The simple record of this
great fact affords no idea of the attention he personally gave to the
multiform and often complex details which involved many conflicting
considerations. The rules were demanded by the requirements of the age,
and would sooner or later have been passed, at least in their
essentials, whoever had been Governor-General; but it is to his
sympathy, his trained intelligence, his knowledge and experience, that
these great branches of the public service owe the speedy concession, in
so acceptable a manner, of the boons which those rules bestow.
Respecting the national education, he allowed the Universities, which
had been already established at Calcutta, Madras, and Bombay, to work
out their own views. It was in regard to elementary education and
village schools that he chiefly interested himself, and with
considerable effect. He also helped the Bishop of Calcutta to establish
schools at Himalayan stations for European and East Indian children. The
progress of religious missions, belonging to all denominations of
Christians, afforded him the liveliest satisfaction. He foresaw the
possibility of converting large numbers among tribes that had not yet
fallen under any of the dominant religions of the East. The example set
by the lives of the missionaries produced, in his judgment, a good
effect politically by raising the national repute of British people in
the eyes of the Natives. Though he was guarded and discreet in his
public utterances and in his official conduct, yet his private
munificence was always flowing in this direction. When at Calcutta in
the winter, he would spend the later part of his afternoons in visiting
Christian schools and institutions. He gave a never-failing support to
the clergy and all ministers of religion in the discharge of their
sacred functions, and became a rallying point around which all
influences for good might gather.
A farewell address was voted to him at a conference of missionaries at
Calcutta, which comprised a remarkable list of measures attributed by
them to his influence. These measures of his, which these competent
observers selected for mention, were of a prosaic and unambitious
description. But thereby was evinced his insight into the wants of the
very humblest and least in the Native population, and his anxiety to
render British rule acceptable to his Indian fellow-subjects.
At the same time an address from the Bishop and clergy acknowledged his
efforts for the moral and spiritual advancement of the European
soldiery, and the effect of his example in promoting true religion among
our fellow-countrymen.
To the hospitalities and social ceremonies, becoming to the position of
Viceroy, he paid due attention, as was proper in a country where
external style is much considered. But he had no longer the buoyancy for
entering joyously into social intercourse on a large scale. Regarding
the ceremonies of the stateliest character, organised specially for the
Native princes and chiefs, he was very particular. These levées or
assemblages, called Durbars, signifying a concourse of eminent
personages from great distances and requiring long preparation, can only
be held on rare occasions, and under all Governors-General have been
historically memorable; he held three such during his incumbency, at
Lahore, at Agra, and at Lucknow.
The Durbar at Lahore was wondrous even among these occasions which have
all excited wonder. The princes, the chiefs, the feudatories of the
empire, from the Punjab, the Himalayas, the Trans-Indus frontier, and
even from Afghanistan, vied with each other in doing honour to the man
who in their eyes was the embodiment of British might, and had returned
as the Queen’s representative to the centre-point of his labours and the
scene of his former triumphs. This moment was the second of the two
proudest moments of his life, the first having been that at the
Guildhall in London. He found his bosom friend, Sir Robert Montgomery
(to whom he had made over charge of the Punjab when departing for
England in 1859), still in the position of Lieutenant-Governor. The
manner in which his services were remembered by his old associates, is
shown by the following passage from the Lieutenant-Governor’s speech,
which was applauded with rapture: “Then came 1857. The Punjab under his
grasp stood firm. Delhi must be regained or India lost. The Punjab was
cut off from all aid. It poured down at his bidding from its hills and
plains the flower of the native chivalry. The city was captured and we
were saved. We are here to welcome him this day, in a hall erected to
his memory by his Punjab friends.”
His Durbar was held in a beautiful plain lying between the castellated
city of Lahore and the river Ravi, which became for the nonce a tented
field. Moving to his place there, he looked around at the noble mosque
turned by the Sikhs into a magazine, but lately restored to the Moslems
by the British--at the palace of the Mogul emperors--at the tomb of
Runjeet Sing, the Lion-king of the Punjab--and further off across the
river, at the still nobler mausoleum of the emperor Jehangir. Amidst
these historic surroundings he addressed to the assembly a speech in the
vernacular of Hindostan, probably the first speech that had ever been
made by a Viceroy in this language. The whole of his well-considered
oration is worth reproduction; but the quoting of one passage only must
suffice.
“I recognise the sons of my old allies, the Maharaja of Cashmere
and Puttiala: the Sikh chiefs of Malwa and the Manjha; the Rajpût
chiefs of the hills: the Mahommedan Mulliks of Peshawur and Kohat;
the Sirdars of the Derajat, of Hazara, and of Delhi. All have
gathered together to do honour to their old ruler. My friends! Let
me tell you of the great interest which the illustrious Queen of
England takes in all matters connected with the welfare, comfort
and contentment of the people of India. Let me inform you, when I
returned to my native country, and had the honour of standing in
the presence of Her Majesty, how kindly she asked after the welfare
of her subjects in the East. Let me tell you, when that great Queen
appointed me her Viceroy of India, how warmly she enjoined on me
the duty of caring for your interests. Prince Albert, the Consort
of Her Majesty, the fame of whose greatness and goodness has spread
through the whole world, was well acquainted with all connected
with this country, and always evinced an ardent desire to see its
people happy and flourishing.”
His next Durbar was at Agra, again in a tented plain near the river
Jumna, almost within sight of the peerless Taj Mahal, with its gleaming
marble, the acknowledged gem of all the architecture in the world, and
not far from the red-stone fortress of Akbar the Great. Hither he had
summoned the princes and chiefs of two great divisions of the empire
which are still almost entirely under Native administration. He utilises
the pomp and magnificence with which he is surrounded, in order to give
weight and solemnity to his exhortation. Again he delivers to the
assembly a speech in the language of Hindostan, which really forms an
imperial lecture to Oriental rulers on the duty of ruling well, and is
probably the most noteworthy utterance of this description that ever
proceeded from British lips. Every sentence, almost every word, of his
oration was adapted to a Native audience. Without any vain compliments
he reminds them of their besetting faults, and declares to them, “that
peace and that security from outward violence which the British
Government confers on your territories, you must each of you extend to
your people.” He admonishes them, in tones bland and dignified but still
earnest and impressive, to improve their roads for traffic, their
schools for the young, their hospitals for the sick, their police for
repressing crime, their finances. He urges them to enlighten their minds
by travelling beyond their own dominions. Knowing their passion for
posthumous fame and their leaning towards flattery, he takes advantage
of these sentiments thus,
“It has often happened after a chief has passed away that he has
not been remembered as a good ruler. Great men while living often
receive praise for virtues which they do not possess; and it is
only after this life is ended that the real truth is told. The
names of conquerors are forgotten. But those of virtuous chiefs
live for ever.”
Then in order to add encouragement, after impressive advice, he proceeds
thus--in reference to their disputes among themselves regarding
precedence--
“The British Government will honour that chief most who excels in
the management of his people, and does most for the improvement of
his country. There are chiefs in this Durbar who have acquired a
reputation in this way--I may mention the Maharaja Scindia and the
Bêgum of Bhopal. The death of the late Nawab Ghour Khan of Jowrah
was a cause of grief to me, for I have heard that he was a wise and
beneficent ruler. The Raja of Sîtamow in Malwa is now ninety years
old, and yet it is said that he manages his country very well. The
Raja of Ketra in Jeyepore has been publicly honoured for the wise
arrangements he has made in his lands.”
His third and last Durbar was at Lucknow, after the controversy (already
mentioned) with the Talukdars had been happily settled. They found that
the compromise on which he insisted for the protection of their tenants,
was quite workable, that it left a suitable margin for the landlords,
and that with its acceptance the thorough support of the British
Government to their Talukdâri status would be secured. So they in their
turn emulated their brethren of other provinces in doing him honour.
Mounted on seven hundred elephants in a superb procession, they rode
with him into Lucknow past the ruins (carefully preserved) of the
hastily formed defences, and of the battered Residency where his brother
Henry had been mortally wounded. The city of Lucknow is artistically not
so fine as Lahore and Agra, the scenes of the two former Durbars; still
he is greeted by a fair spectacle, as the city stands with a long
perspective of cupolas, towers and minarets on the bank of the Goomti.
The aspect of Lucknow has never been better described than by the
greatest man who ever ruled there, his brother Henry, who wrote:
“The modern city of Lucknow is both curious and splendid. There is
a strange dash of European architecture among its Oriental
buildings. Travellers have compared the place to Moscow and
Constantinople, and we can easily fancy the resemblance: gilded
domes surmounted by the crescent; tall slender pillars and lofty
colonnades; houses that look as if they had been transplanted from
Regent Street; iron railings and balustrades; cages some containing
wild beasts, others filled with strange bright birds; gardens,
fountains, and litters, and English barouches.”
Again there comes the gorgeous assemblage in the tented field with the
speech in Hindostani from his dais as Viceroy, and the last of these
dramatic occasions is over. Believing this to be his final utterance in
public Durbar, he throws a parting solemnity into his language. After
acknowledging the address just presented by the Talukdars, whereby they
admit the considerateness towards them, as superior land-owners, with
which the rights of the subordinate proprietor and tenancy-holders had
been defined--he speaks to them thus: “Talukdars! Though we differ in
race, in religion, in habits of thought, we are all created by the same
God; we are all bound by the same general laws; and we shall all have to
give an account to Him at the last of the manner in which we have obeyed
His commandments. In this way there is a common bond of union among us
all, whether high or low, rich or poor, learned or ignorant.”
While at Lucknow he visited his brother Henry’s lowly tomb, the room
where the mortal wound from a bursting shell had been inflicted, and the
remains of the defences which had been hastily thrown up in that
emergency. He must at the moment have conjured up the thoughts to which
the poet has given expression:
“Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our lives;
Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade;
‘Never surrender, I charge you; but every man die at his post!’--
Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave.”
These ceremonial occasions can give no idea of the business-like
attention which he gave to the affairs of the numerous Native States of
the Indian Empire. He remembered thankfully the signal services which
they (with the fewest exceptions) had rendered during the disturbances
of 1857-58. In his judgment their existence was advantageous to British
interests in India, as forming a safety-valve to release discontent of
several kinds, which otherwise might be pent up till it burst forth
injuriously. He believed that they afford a field of employment to many
who cannot find any adequate scope in the British territories, and that
hereby a nucleus of influence is constituted in favour of a strong
imperial Paramount.
The only part of his policy remaining to be summarised is that relating
to foreign affairs, which mainly concern Afghanistan. It has been shown
in a previous chapter that originally he desired to avoid having
anything to do with Afghanistan, but that under the directions of two
Governors-General in those days, he had negotiated two treaties with the
Afghan Amir Dost Mahommed, involving the regular payment of pecuniary
subsidies. When he himself became Governor-General, he saw Afghanistan
torn by internecine and fratricidal contests after the death of Dost
Mahommed. He scrupulously stood aloof from these civil wars, espousing
neither party in any contest, willing to recognise the man who should
establish himself as _de facto_ ruler, but waiting till such
establishment should be complete before according formal recognition. At
length he was able to recognise officially Shir Ali, who had practically
fought his way to the status of Amir, on the understanding that the
periodical subsidy would follow as a consequence.
But having confirmed friendly relations with the Amir of the day by
substantial gifts and by moral support, he planted his foot, so to
speak, on this line as on a limit not to be passed. He considered that
the Amir when subsidised and otherwise well treated by us, ought to be
the friend of our friends and the enemy of our enemies. Otherwise he
would scrupulously respect the Amir’s independence as ruler of
Afghanistan. On the other hand, he would have on the British side no
offensive and defensive alliance with the Amir, lest the British
Government should be drawn into complications owing to errors on the
Afghan side. If this principle should seem one-sided, it was, he held,
unavoidable in the circumstances. But he would let the Amir, when in the
right, feel sure of British support, provided always that Britain were
not expected to send troops into Afghanistan. He set his face not only
against any interference in affairs within Afghanistan, but also against
the despatch of British officers to Caubul, Candahar or anywhere else.
He deemed that the presence of British officers in Afghanistan would
spoil everything, would kindle fanatical jealousy, and would end in
their own murder.
The Afghans, he was convinced, will be the enemies of those who
interfere, and the friends of those who protect them from such
interference. Therefore, as he would say in effect, let us leave Russia
(our natural opponent) to assume, if she dares, the part of
interference, and let the British adopt the attitude of protection; that
would be the only chance of obtaining an Afghan alliance in British
interests. In that case he hoped that the Afghans would offer a deadly
opposition to a Russian advance towards India through their inhospitable
country. Even then he hoped only, without feeling sure, for the conduct
of the Afghans cannot be foreseen. They might, he would often say, be
tempted to join the Russians on the promise of sharing in the plunder of
India; but such junction would not be probable: on the other hand, if
the British advance into Afghanistan to meet Russia, they ensure Afghan
enmity against themselves and cause the Afghans to favour Russian
interests. If Russia should send missions to, or set up agencies in,
Afghanistan adverse to British interests, he would waste no
remonstrances on the Afghans, believing them to be unwilling recipients
of Russian messages, and to be more sinned against than sinning. He
would remonstrate direct with Russia herself, and would let her see
diplomatically that behind these remonstrances were ironclads and
battalions. He was for telling her in time of peace, courteously but
firmly, that she would not be allowed to interfere in Afghanistan or in
any country contiguous to India. But if a general war were to break out,
and if Russia not having been stopped by British counter-operations in
Europe, were to advance towards India, then on no account would he meet
her in Afghanistan. That, he affirmed, would be wasting our resources in
men and money, and would be playing into the enemy’s hands. The Afghans
would, he supposed, be bitterly hostile to such advance, even though
cowed into momentary submission. In that case he would help them with
money and material, though not with men. Thus strengthened they might
hamper the movements or retard the advance of the Russians; but be that
as it might, he would have the British stand made on the British
frontier. If the God of battles should then steel the hearts of British
soldiers as of yore, the Russian invasion would, he trusted, be repelled
decisively; and then the Russian retreat through Afghanistan, with the
dreadful guerilla warfare of the Afghans, would be a spectacle to serve
as a warning to invaders for all time coming.
Such is the substance of the opinion which he held rightly or wrongly,
and for the vindication of which he exhausted every form of expression
in private letters, in official despatches, and in conversations
innumerable. His policy was once described by a friendly writer in the
_Edinburgh Review_ as “masterly inactivity,” which expression contained
both truth and error, and was regretted as being liable to
misconstruction by the British public.
His views respecting the Russo-Afghan question were finally stated
during the first days of January, 1869, in one of the last official
letters of importance that he, with his Council, ever addressed to the
Secretary of State in London.
“Should a foreign Power, such as Russia, ever seriously think of
invading India from without, or, what is more probable, of stirring
up the elements of disaffection or anarchy within it, our true
policy, our strongest security, would then, we conceive, be found
to lie in previous absence from entanglements at either Cabul,
Candahar, or any similar outpost; in full reliance on a compact,
highly equipped, and disciplined army stationed within our own
territories, or on our own border; in the contentment, if not in
the attachment, of the masses; in the sense of security of title
and possession, with which our whole policy is gradually imbuing
the minds of the principal chiefs and the native aristocracy; in
the construction of material works within British India, which
enhance the comfort of the people while they add to our political
and military strength; in husbanding our finances and consolidating
and multiplying our resources; in quiet preparation for all
contingencies which no honest Indian statesman should disregard.”
He repeated the same conclusion in his reply to the company at a
farewell banquet on the evening of his last day in office, a speech
which was his final utterance in India. Repelling the oft-repeated
charge of inactivity in Central Asia, and speaking in the presence of
many who knew all the details, he declared that he had watched most
carefully all that went on in those distant regions; that he had
abstained from interference there because such a course would lead to
wars of which no man could foresee the end, would involve India in vast
expenses which must lead to such an increase of taxation as would render
British rule unpopular. Our true policy, he declared, is to avoid such
complications, to consolidate our power in India, to give its people the
best government we can, to organise our administration in every
department by a combination of efficiency with economy. This he seemed
to regard as his political testament on leaving India.
To show how these principles remained fast in his mind to the very end
of life, two passages may be quoted from public letters which he
dictated within the last twelvemonth before his death, after he had been
literally half blinded by illness, when he was bowed down with infirmity
and no longer able to read or write; and yet they remind the reader of
his best manner.
Regarding the people of Afghanistan, he says:
“The Afghan is courageous, hardy, and independent; the country he
lives in is strong and sterile in a remarkable degree,
extraordinarily adapted for guerilla warfare; these people will
never cease to resist so long as they have a hope of success, and,
when beaten down, they have that kind of elasticity which will ever
lead them to renew the struggle whenever opportunity of so doing
may occur. If we enter Afghanistan, whether it be to punish the
people for the alleged faults of their chiefs or to rectify our
frontier, they will assuredly do all in their power to resist us.
We want them as friends and not as enemies. In the latter category,
they are extremely dangerous to us.”
In respect of our policy towards them he repeats:
“So far as diplomacy and diplomacy alone, is concerned, we should
do all in our power to induce the Afghans to side with us. We ought
not, in my mind, to make an offensive and defensive treaty with
them. This has been for many years their desire; but the argument
against it is that if we made such a treaty, we should be bound to
restrain them from any attacks on their neighbours, and to resent
such assaults on them, while it would be next to impossible for us
to ascertain the merits of such complaints. We should thus
constantly find ourselves in a position to please neither party,
and even bound to defend causes in which the Afghans were to
blame.”
Towards the end of 1868, having obtained the approval of the Government
in England, he arranged a personal conference with the Amir Shir Ali,
to be held at some place in British territory for settling the terms on
which a limited support by subsidies in arms and money might be accorded
to a friendly and independent Afghanistan. But he waited in vain for
Shir Ali, who, though anxious to come, was prevented from doing so by
some passing troubles near at home. This was in December, 1868, and his
stay in India was fast drawing to a close, as his successor, Lord Mayo,
was expected to arrive at Calcutta the following month, January, 1869.
So the plan, to which he had obtained the sanction of the British
Government, was unavoidably left to be carried out by his successor
after a personal meeting with Shir Ali at some early date; and this
actually took place at Umballa in the ensuing spring.
The night before the arrival of his successor, he attended the farewell
banquet given in his honour by some two hundred and fifty gentlemen
representing the European community of Calcutta. His public services
were reviewed by the chairman, Sir William Mansfield (afterwards Lord
Sandhurst), the Commander-in-Chief. His services respecting military
supplies and transport in 1846, and regarding reinforcements for the
army in 1857, were specially attested by Mansfield, a most competent
judge speaking from personal knowledge; and then his subsequent career
was reviewed in statesmanlike and eloquent terms. When he rose to reply
his voice was not resonant and his manner seemed hesitating, but the
hesitation arose from the varied emotions that were surging in his
breast, and the counter trains of thought that were coursing through his
mind, as “the hours to their last minute were mounting,” for his Indian
career. Doffing his armour after a long course of victory, and arriving
at that final end which entitles the victor to be called fortunate, he
might well have been cheerful; but, on the contrary, he was somewhat
melancholy--and his bearing then, compared to what it was when he landed
in Calcutta, shewed how heavily the last five years had told upon him.
His speech was characteristic as might have been expected. He reviewed
his own policy in a concise and comprehensive manner; he said a good
word for the inhabitants of North-western India, among whom his
laborious lot had long been cast, attributing much of his success to the
officers, his own countrymen, who had worked with him; and, as a
peroration, he commended the Natives of India to the kindly sympathies
of all whom his words might reach.
The next day he wore full dress for the reception of his successor, Lord
Mayo, according to usage. The gilded uniform and the glittering
decorations compared strangely with his wan look and toilworn frame. His
veteran aspect presented a complete contrast to that of his handsome and
gallant successor. He looked like a man whose conduct was as crystal and
whose resolution as granite. He was indeed prematurely aged, for being
only fifty-eight years old, he would, according to a British standard,
be within the cycle of activity. His faithful friends, and they were
legion, saw in him the representative of Anglo-Indian greatness. The
same could not be said of his predecessors: the greatness of Wellesley,
of Dalhousie, of Canning was not wholly of this character, but his
greatness was Anglo-Indian solely and absolutely. Like Warren Hastings,
the first in the illustrious line of Governors-General, he had been
appointed entirely for merit and service, without reference to
parliamentary considerations or political influences; and again, like
Warren Hastings, he had been instrumental in saving the empire from the
stress of peril.