1859–60--THE SIRONJ JUNGLES
The Rescue of Chemmun Singh--Justice in Native States--A Regimental
banker--Insubordinate Native Officers--Burmadeen Singh.
At the end of December I was sitting at dinner with the Adjutant and
the Doctor, when a letter was brought from Sindhara stating that a
band of Rebels was in the neighbourhood, and having translated it, I
invited the Adjutant to go out to the outposts. He demurred, saying he
had been out often with no result. Though he was evidently disinclined
to go, I pointed out there was always the hope of taking the enemy by
surprise, and that as I had been fortunate in seeing service, I should
like him to have a chance; then he said plainly that he would only go
on compulsion, and I dropped the conversation, telling my servant to
bring my horse round with sword and pistol in an hour’s time. When the
boy returned to say the horse was at the door, my messmates endeavoured
to dissuade me, saying it was impossible to find a small band in such
a vast track of jungle,[81] but bidding them “Good-night,” I started
for Bilko. The night was dark, and the bullock track, between two and
three feet wide, led through trees so dense that I was restricted
generally to a walk, and often could only guide the horse by looking
upwards towards the sky. I obtained no news at Bilko, and inspecting
the detachment I proceeded to Shamsabad without obtaining news, neither
post having any further information of the enemy.
I reached Sindhara at nightfall the 28th, meeting the detachments which
marched into the clearing on which the village stood, on the north
side, as I went in at the south. They had been out since early morning
on an unsuccessful search for the Rebels, who on the evening of the
27th had carried off an influential Landowner named Chemmun Singh. This
man had always been loyal to the British Government; he had accompanied
my predecessor in several expeditions after Rebels, and on one occasion
led a Native officer in command of a Squadron to the band’s bivouac.
There was, however, no fight, though the outlaws derided the Squadron,
calling out, “Where is the Sahib? Come on and fight us now without
him.” The Native officer did not accept the invitation.
The Rebels burning down Chemmun Singh’s village, which was 5 miles to
the north of Sindhara, tried to kill him, and from that time until the
27th he lived in Sindhara under the protection of the Outpost. He was
enticed out, however, and with a nephew carried off by a robber chief
named Madhoo Singh, who hesitating to hang him without instructions,
sent to the “Tontea,” a rebel of higher rank, in hiding west of the
Parbati River, who undertook to attend on the 29th and decide Chemmun
Singh’s fate, of which there was practically no doubt, and also the
amount of ransom of a goldsmith who had been captured.
We knew nearly all the villagers assisted the robber bands; we had good
reasons for suspecting that the Rajahs and minor Chiefs helped them
as far as they could without being found out; it was therefore very
important to save the life of the only landowner in the District who
had openly sided with the Government.
It was nearly dark as I reached the village, on the outskirts of which
sat all the women in a circle, uttering their lamentations, which took
the curious form of blubbering while slapping the mouth. Sitting down
amongst them, I made the acquaintance of Chemmun Singh’s wife, and
taking her aside, asked if she was really anxious her husband should
be rescued; and when she satisfied me she was, I explained to her she
had better stop crying and help me. When I got her to talk sensibly, I
elicited that there was a man in the village who had been in the band,
and I offered him £5 to guide me to their haunts. He was not covetous
of the £5, but very anxious to have in writing a pardon, which I gave
him with the reservation that it was not to condone the murder of white
men. With this he was content, as his infractions of the law had only
reference to people of his own colour, and he consented to guide me.
The Outpost consisted of a weak company, some 60 strong, of the Barélí
Levy (Police), which had been raised in the previous year, and 35 all
Ranks Beatson’s Horse. When I was ready the men were still cooking, and
as nearly everyone in camp except a small guard had been marching for
eight hours, the Native officer told me he did not think I should get
any good out of them, so I elected to take a Corporal and 9 men, and 4
Cavalry soldiers, who having been on guard had remained in camp, and
Burmadeen Singh, a sergeant, Beatson’s Horse, who volunteered to come
although he had but just returned to camp.
Our latest information of the band we were seeking put their numbers,
varying slightly from day to day, at from 20 to 25 men, and assuming
that we should surprise them, the Party that marched with me was,
I considered, sufficient. Starting at 9 p.m., we marched steadily
northwards. The night was very dark, so it was necessary to go slowly,
and my horse (“The Pig”), cautious as he was, slid down a nulla, which
he had not seen. At twelve o’clock, the guide, who had been taking
bhang[82] every time we halted, trembling violently, pointed to a
light, which he said was burning in one of the Rebels’ hiding-places.
The ground being rough we dismounted, and leaving our 6 horses with 3
soldiers, proceeded on foot. In spite of constant cautions, I could
not make the men careful enough to avoid breaking sticks and branches,
and as we learned later the Rebel sentry reported to the Chief, Madhoo
Singh, that he had heard footsteps. The Chief and another man getting
up listened, but thought that it was only the sound of passing deer,
and having shifted bivouac three times since the 27th, decided to lie
down. When we got to within a mile the guide absolutely refused to lead
any longer, but walked after me, I holding his hand to prevent his
taking bhang, as I feared he would fall insensible.
Between one and two o’clock on the morning of the 29th, I crawled up
to within ten yards of the hollow in and around which the band was
sleeping. I was then perturbed to find that the numbers were greatly
in excess of what I had anticipated, and the thought came into my mind
to retreat; for I reflected that failure might discredit the action of
Sir John Michel, who had been so kind in giving me the command, and
I pictured in my mind newspaper articles on “The folly of appointing
young English officers to command Natives, who overtax their powers.”
Fortunately my men could not see my face,--indeed, if I had not been in
front of them the night was too dark,--and after a moment’s hesitation
I thought of Chemmun Singh’s impending fate, and moreover realised
that my only safety lay in attacking; for although we had succeeded in
approaching the band unheard, once we attempted to retire we must have
been discovered and overwhelmed, so beckoning to the men, they came up
silently, and this time so noiselessly as not to attract the attention
of the sentry, who with the prisoners and another man were the only
persons awake, Chemmun Singh being tied up to a tree.
I stepped forward a little, and looked on the crowd of men, who to be
out of the wind were lying asleep in the dry pond, In the depression
forming the pond, the jungle was less thick than outside it, but there
were trees in it with branches 3 feet from the ground, against one
of which the sentry was leaning, when the click of the men’s hammers
as they cocked made him look up, and the firelight fell on my white
Bedford cords. He asked without raising his voice, “Who is that?” I
replied, “We are the Government,” and turning to my men, shouted “Fire,
charge.” Having given the word, I ran at the sentry, without perceiving
there were two men sleeping immediately under my feet, in the
cummerbund of one of whom my foot caught, and I went headlong into the
hollow. The ground was so rough that the Cavalry sergeant and private
also fell as they ran forward. The Rebels jumped up, scuttling away
unarmed, the sentry and four or five brave men covering their flight.
I rose as quickly as I could, with my left hand over my neck to save
it from the sentry’s sword, and attacked the nearest Rebel, a Brahman
wearing a Sepoy’s coat. We cut at each other three times in succession,
the boughs intercepting our swords, and as he drew his hand back the
fourth time, I going close to him with the point of my sword behind my
right foot, cut upwards, wounding him in the fleshy part of the thigh.
He staggered to my left, which brought him before Burmadeen Singh,
who twice cut in vain at him, his sword catching in the trees, when
I shouted, “Point, give the point.” Burmadeen Singh now disappeared,
and I ran after him, tumbling into a natural drain from the pond, on
top of my Sergeant and the rebel Brahman, whom he was killing, using
vituperation like that with which John Balfour of Burleigh addressed
Sergeant Bothwell;[83] scrambling up, I ran after the last fluttering
white clothing I could see, for I was apprehensive that if once they
stood, I might yet be beaten. Failing to overtake them, I turned back,
and found the prisoners had escaped, the Corporal and men of the Barélí
Levy were still on the edge of the pond, where they had stopped to
reload, and four or five rebels whom they had wounded when they fired
into the sleeping mass, had crawled away out of the firelight. The
Police compensated for their want of activity in charging, by the noise
they made, which was perhaps more effective, shouting “Bring up the
Horse Artillery, bring up the Cavalry,” until I commanded silence. The
private Cavalry soldier behaved well, until having wounded a rebel, he
saw blood flow, when he became idiotic at the sight, falling on the
guide, whom he mistook for one of the enemy. Eventually, to save the
guide, I had to knock the soldier down with my fist, by a blow under
the jaw.
I made every man of the party bring away one gun, and having broken
the remaining firelocks and swords, we started homewards. The Cavalry
soldier was half unconscious, and the Sergeant dragged him for two
miles by his waist-belt, while I took charge of the guide, who was
speechless and dreamy from opium. When we rejoined the horse-holders,
I left the Non-effectives to find their way back to Sindhara, which I
reached at daylight, the three prisoners, including the goldsmith held
for ransom, having got back a quarter of an hour sooner, of which fact
I was apprized by Chemmun Singh’s wife kissing my boots as I re-entered
the village. I rode into Bersia rapidly, suffering from face-ache. I
had ridden 86 miles since I had left the dinner-table on the 27th,
and Nature declined to answer any longer to the demands made on my
constitution.
When I met my messmates at breakfast, they observed, “I suppose you
have not done anything?” and I replied, “Yes, a good deal, but I am
too tired to talk, and you will have to copy the report presently.” I
did not realise I had earned the Victoria Cross, for in my official
narrative, apprehensive of being considered rash, I minimised the
affair, giving the enemy’s numbers as about 60 men. I do not think that
I should have received the Decoration, but for the report of Lieutenant
Bradford from Sironj with the actual number 83, which corresponded
nearly with Chemmun Singh’s statement of 80, made later.
On the 31st December we received a telegram calling for volunteers for
China. I went on parade and asked the men, and all the Regiment except
29 expressed their willingness to go. I telegraphed the fact to the
Adjutant-General of the Army, sending at the same time to the Staff
officer of my General a copy of my telegram, and apologising for having
sent it direct. He answered my official letter with the unconventional
remark written in the margin, “My dear Wood, no gammon,” but wrote at
the same time a sympathetic letter, saying he had not seen any Native
Cavalry he was anxious to take to China. In thanking him for his letter
I asked if he would get me sent to China, on any unpaid work; for
although I saw it was possible to choose a Squadron, or perhaps two, of
men with whom it would be a pleasure to serve, yet not anticipating I
should be allowed later a free hand in disposing of the 1st Regiment of
Beatson’s Horse, I was unwilling to remain in a Corps which I thought,
all danger of a rising in the south of India being over, was no longer
worth the Government money expended on it in monthly pay. The two
Regiments had cost about 5 lakhs to raise, or £50 per sabre; they had,
however, exercised some moral influence, and had been usefully employed
in checking Tantia Topi’s attempted raid in the Dekhan, but now the
rebellion was over I felt their state of efficiency did not justify
their cost.
It required perseverance to discipline the men, of which they had
acquired little in their eighteen months’ service. Guards habitually
undressed, the sentry only being clothed and armed. I cautioned three
sergeants in Orders, and dismissed the next three I caught undressed
while on guard in the first fortnight of December. The Native officers
gravely represented that no one could remain dressed for twenty-four
hours, so I referred them to Outpost reports, which showed that I had
just passed from post to post in a continuous ride of thirty-six hours,
covering 110 miles,[84] which was, however, less than Europeans had
done twelve months earlier, when chasing Tantia Topi.
I spent my days when not inspecting outposts as follows:--Getting up
before daylight, I exercised the Regiment by troops till 8.30 a.m.;
saw the Native officers at orderly-room at 10; and then tried to
disentangle and arrange the Regimental accounts till 5 p.m., when I
went to the Horse Lines, and there remained till 7 p.m. This probably
had an exhausting effect on my nervous system, and made me anxious to
get away from what I feared must under the existing conditions remain
an unsatisfactory Corps, inasmuch as it was financially unsound. When
not engaged in trying to unravel the Regimental accounts, disciplining
or drilling the men, I spent my time in patrolling the jungles to
the north of Bersia. On the 9th January I went to Sindhara in the
afternoon, and searched all night for a leader named Mulloob Khan, the
Tontea (one-armed). This man was very troublesome from his courage and
determination, and it was to him that the doom of Chemmun Singh (see p.
179) was remitted.
I perceived there were some men in the Regiment who might become good
soldiers, and having issued an Order that no one would be promoted
unless he could ride fairly, read and write his own language, it became
necessary to establish a school. I provided a hut at a cost of about
£5; the furniture consisted of the piece of praying-carpet which good
Mussulmen carried on the saddle, and a payment of 6d. monthly from the
voluntary pupils remunerated the master, who soon had bearded men of
forty years of age under instruction.
Early in February an incident occurred indicating clearly the
difficulties of keeping order in the numerous States and petty
Chiefships of Central India. A Lieutenant, fifty years of age,
appearing at orderly-room one morning, said, “The rebels are gone,
there remain only robbers: may I have leave?” “For how long?” “I cannot
say--my business may take six months, but I will return the moment
it is done.” “Six months is a long time, Lieutenant.” “Yes, but I
have always done my duty, and I must have leave, or resign.” “Why so
urgent?” Becoming excited, he doffed his turban, saying, “Look at my
head, unshaven for months, and which I have sworn shall not be touched
till I have satisfaction for my nephew’s death.” “But what happened to
him?” “He was the Head of our family, and travelling, at nightfall was
near a village owned by an hereditary enemy. My nephew sent to ask if
he would be received as a friend. Being assured of hospitality, he went
in, was well entertained, and in the morning seen out of the village
with due ceremony, but three miles out was attacked in a pass and
killed, with all his servants but two who escaped.” “Take your leave,
Lieutenant; come back when you can.” Five weeks later he reappeared
with a cheerful face. “I am glad to see you back, Lieutenant. Have you
done your business satisfactorily?” “Quite so, my master, and my head
is shaved.” I asked him no more questions, but one of his friends told
me he had fully avenged his nephew’s death.
I had some trouble with the banker, for instead of being grateful for
£400 I had assisted him to recover, he continued, in order to gain a
few shillings, to lend, on terms of usury, money to the Rank and File.
Three times I detected him, warned him in Orders, but without effect,
and a week later, proving he had lent two rupees to a trumpeter, I
turned him out of the Regiment. This did not do away entirely with
the evil, for the Senior Troop non-commissioned officers who kept the
pay accounts also lent on usury, but against them it was difficult to
prove a case. Many petitions sent direct to Lord Canning were referred
to me for report, but as from the day I assumed command every decision
affecting pay was published in Regimental Orders, I had no difficulty,
the Military Secretary to the Government accepting as satisfactory
replies a copy of the Order on the subject.
There were two officers[85] whose domestic life shocked even their
Mussulmen comrades’ indulgent opinions, and who, moreover, could not
ride at all, and of these I induced the resignation by ordering a
weekly Officers’ Ride without stirrups. A sergeant in the Regiment had
been employed in the Riding establishment of the Haidarábád Contingent,
and putting him in command as Drill Instructor, I led the ride, with
the result that those whom I wished to leave the Corps, after a
succession of falls, departed without giving me further trouble.
Some few officers and non-commissioned officers took great pleasure in
riding feats such as are now familiar to Londoners from the Military
Tournaments, and these I made a weekly institution. The Natives were
disappointed to find their horses bitted with spikes were invariably
beaten by my horses ridden in English bits with low ports, in all
feats which required the horses to gallop true and boldly, as in
tent-pegging, for on the spear striking an embedded peg the hand of
the rider, however firm his seat may be, involuntarily interferes to
some extent with the horse’s mouth. On the other hand, Burmadeen Singh
generally beat me at quarter-staff play, and in wrestling never failed
to throw me.
On the 18th March I visited the Bhilsa outpost, and met Bradford, the
Adjutant of Mayne’s Horse, with whom I conferred on a troublesome
subject. Having ascertained the practice in that Regiment, on my return
I issued an Order framed on it. All the riders in the 1st Regiment
of Beatson’s Horse had been enlisted on the personal security of the
horse-owners. When I took over the command there had been a succession
of robberies, the perpetrators of which were undoubtedly men in the
Regiment. It did not affect the European officers, who lived a quarter
of a mile away, but the succession of petty thefts in the Lines was
the more annoying that many of the Native officers did not assist in
the detection of the culprits. My order was based on the principle of
placing an actual though limited responsibility on the horse-owners
for their riders’ conduct. The Native officers and non-commissioned
officers in the Regiment did not so much resent this order as another
change I had been making in the Regiment, which affected the riders but
little, but touched their pockets, such as enforcing strictly payment
of the monthly instalments of their debt.
The Horse Insurance Fund, which was £500 in debt on the 1st December,
with a constantly increasing liability, had been put on a better
footing. Horse-owners who neglected their horses were penalised by the
removal of the horse from benefits of the Insurance, the subscription
ceasing at the same time, and the sum payable for the replacing of a
horse was reduced from £20 to £15. All these alterations, although
carried out with the concurrence of the Native officers assembled at
orderly-room, were undoubtedly distasteful to many; and, moreover, in
the course of three months I had reduced the debt to the Regimental
banker[86] from £550 to £150, by putting pressure on wealthy men who,
able to pay, yet, like most Natives, were unwilling to do so until
compelled.
The order was issued on the 22nd of March, and in the ordinary routine
the Native officers would have spoken to me on the following day if
they thought the order pressed unduly on them. They knew, however,
that I should be alone the day after, as the Medical officer was away
on leave, and the Adjutant had arranged to visit an Outpost on the
24th, and hoped, being alone, I should give way. On the 23rd the two
senior Native officers assembled all the officers unknown to me, and
wrote a “Round robin.” Next morning, instead of the Squadron Commanders
coming at ten o’clock, all 19 officers of the Regiment appeared. Seeing
them walking up, I called for my sword and pistol, which I placed on
the table, feeling that something unusual was intended. The Native
Adjutant, an inoffensive opium-eater, said he had a Petition to read,
but that as he had been a soldier for many years in the Haidarábád
Contingent he wished to dissociate himself from the Petition, which
he had not signed. When it was read, I ordered the Regimental clerk
to get a Persian Dictionary, saying that I thought three of the words
employed were actually mutinous. This proved to be so, and I spent half
an hour endeavouring to persuade the malcontents, some of whom I liked,
to rewrite the Petition in more respectful and guarded language. I
explained I realised how distasteful much of that which I had been
doing must be to many of them, and I understood their object was to
induce my removal from the temporary command of the Regiment, but I
pointed out that if the Governor-General wished to remove me he would
be more inclined to do so if the Native officers did not put themselves
in a false position.
I showed how the Petition might be worded so as to express exactly
the same meaning in soldier-like language; but after a prolonged
discussion, though feeling uncertain how the order would be accepted,
looking steadily at the Senior officer, who was the best fighting value
of the nineteen, I rose and ordered them all back to their quarters,
suspending them from duty, and ordering them to leave their swords at
the Native Adjutant’s quarters.
They filed out of the room and retired. I sent camel orderlies for the
Adjutant, the Doctor, and Sergeant Burmadeen Singh, who was still at
the Sindhara outpost, but it was obvious many hours must elapse before
they could arrive.
I worked all day in the orderly-room, and at five o’clock, with some
misgivings, went down to the Lines, where I remained till seven
o’clock. Nothing occurred except the unusual circumstance of there
being no officers present, and some of the men looked at me with an
expression I had not before noticed. After nightfall Burmadeen Singh
came to my hut, and I told him to find out the feeling of the Regiment
and return at ten o’clock. He did so, and reported that two of the
Senior officers were inciting the men to kill me, but many Muhammadans
were unwilling, and Burmadeen did not think there would be any
concerted attack on me. He never told me, but I learned later, that he
personally had taken care there should be no such attack.
As before stated,[87] he had great influence in the Hindoo troop,
and it happened that the guard on the magazine was furnished by
it. Burmadeen, forcing the guard, issued ammunition to the troop,
which remained under arms all night between the Lines and my hut,
disappearing before daylight. This decided indication of the feeling
of the Hindoos effectually damped any desire of an overt attack on me,
and at daylight Bradford and 20 of his men galloped in from Bhilsa, a
distance of 50 miles.
His first words were, “Now, won’t it be fun if they rise?” “There
are 500 here, have you more coming on?” “No, I’ve only these twenty,
but they are real good men.” Though the odds were great, Bradford’s
presence changed the situation. I had passed an unhappy night: putting
out my candles at eleven o’clock, I endeavoured to go to sleep, but
unsuccessfully, and after an hour, finding the strain on my nerves too
great, got up and worked till 3 a.m., when I fell asleep. The little
Poona groom, who had been with me since May 1858, remained up all
night with my favourite horse saddled. Next day the Political agent at
Bhopál offered to send a company of the 95th (now the 2nd Derbyshire)
to support me, but I declined, and next day released all the Native
officers except the two Seniors, who had been the ringleaders, whom I
placed in close arrest, sending the others back to their duty.
The excitement now quieted down, and Bradford left me three days
afterwards, when we were satisfied the trouble was over. I reported
fully to the Adjutant-General, for although the Regiment was serving
under the direct orders of the Viceroy, matters of discipline went
to the Commander-in-Chief, and eventually when the case was settled,
four months later, the two Native officers’ conduct was declared to be
“insolent, seditious, tending to mutiny.” They were “dismissed, with
the confiscation of their horses, arms, and equipment to Government,
losing the right of owning horses.”
At the end of March I rode up to Goona, 120 miles, to see Major H. O.
Mayne, under whose command I was to come somewhat later, as he wished
to talk to me as to his future plans. Leaving Bersia in the evening,
I got to Shamsabad at dark, and rested till two o’clock, when I rode
by Sironj to Goona, arriving at tea-time. Before dinner I saw twelve
men tested who wished to join Mayne’s Horse. They were provided with
stout strong single-sticks, with which they fought mounted, in single
combat, by pairs. One of them, who called out to his antagonist not to
hit hard, was rejected on the spot, on the ground that if he feared a
single-stick he would still more fear a sword. The others were sent in
succession at the gallop over a wide ditch, and a mud wall 3 feet high,
and although there were many falls, they all succeeded eventually in
crossing it.
At four o’clock next morning Major Mayne had the Regiment out, and
I was astonished at the silence and discipline maintained, so very
different from the men to whom I was accustomed.
After breakfast we had a long and fruitless hunt for tigers, but on our
way home found a bear, which fell riddled with seven bullets. I was
much impressed with the excitement of the hitherto placid elephant,
which trumpeting loudly knelt violently on the bear, crushing it
flat, and then tossed it between fore and hind feet, as if playing
catch-ball.
[Illustration: SINDHARA]