THE OUTBREAK AT BENARES.
At no place was the shock felt more severely than at Benares, where I
was residing with my family. In no place was the danger greater. We were
living in the suburbs of the most superstitious and fanatical city in
the land. Again and again during the eighty years of our rule there had
been riots in the city, professedly to avenge religious wrongs--riots so
formidable, that they were quelled by military force. A very few years
previous to 1857 the city was thrown into violent commotion, in
consequence of new messing regulations in the jail, by which it was
alleged, though without reason, the caste of the prisoners would be
affected. The rowdy element, composed of those emphatically called
_bud-mash_ "evil-doers," persons ready for every mischief, was very
strong. The Sepoys put in the forefront of their quarrel the plea that
they were fighting for their religion, and where could they expect so
much sympathy and help as in Kasee? Sir Henry Lawrence, writing some
time previously about the mistakes committed in the management of the
native army, named Benares as a place where fearful scenes would be
witnessed in the event of a Sepoy rising. Intensely Hindu, though
Benares be, it has, as we have already observed, a large Muhammadan
population, and in attacking us the Hindus could fully depend on their
help.
Our danger was greatly increased by the vast disproportion between the
native and European force--a disproportion so great, that apart from the
danger of our neighbourhood to a great city, from which we might expect
a host to pour out to attack us, it looked as if we were doomed to
destruction. We had in Benares a Native Infantry regiment, which was
believed to be tainted; a Sikh regiment, the temper of which was little
known; and, a few miles off, an Irregular Cavalry regiment, composed, it
was said, of a superior class of men, all, I believe, Muhammadans, but
whom few could trust in the event of a rising. Our European force
consisted of thirty artillery-men in charge of a battery of three guns.
At the fort of Chunar, sixteen miles distant, there was a number of
European soldier pensioners, of whom perhaps sixty or seventy might be
effective. So unbounded had been the confidence in the Sepoys, that the
artillery-men in Benares and the pensioners in Chunar were the only
European force in the entire province of Benares under the Benares
Commissioner, with a population of over ten millions; while in seven
stations in the province there were native soldiers, chiefly infantry,
but partly cavalry and artillery. Besides the English officers of the
native regiments, and some half-dozen English civil officials, the only
English people were missionaries of the Church, Baptist, and London
Societies, and a few traders, while a few indigo planters were scattered
in the country.
[Sidenote: PREPARATION FOR THE STORM.]
On the news of the Meerut mutiny reaching Benares, the civil and
military authorities lost no time in consulting what should be done. The
proposal that we should leave in a body for the Fort of Chunar was most
wisely rejected. It was impossible to disarm the distrusted Native
Infantry regiment in the absence of a European force. There was a large
building in cantonments, which had been erected for a mint for the
North-Western Provinces, and had been used for this purpose till the
provincial mints were removed to Calcutta. It always afterwards bore the
name of "The Mint." This building is in a wide enclosure, surrounded by
a high wall, and it was hinted all round that in the event of a rising
we should, if possible, make our way to this place. The Irregular
Cavalry regiment was called in to patrol the roads leading to the
station and city, and report the presence of suspicious persons. The
resolution was formed to maintain a bold front, and pursue our usual
course, as if we knew that succour was at hand. On every side the hope
was expressed that none would give way to panic. The men at the head of
affairs had the general confidence of the community.
Most happily for us and for many others there was a lull in the storm
after the mutiny at Meerut and the possession of Delhi by the mutineers.
There was alarm everywhere, here and there there was commotion, but
there were no extensive and concerted risings. If there had been we
could not have been saved. Our soldiers were returning from Persia,
regiments proceeding to China were stopped on the way and brought to
India, and an available force was thus placed at the disposal of the
authorities. English soldiers were hastened up from Calcutta. From day
to day we with joy saw them pass our gate in carriages on their way to
cantonments. Great though our danger was they were not detained. A small
number was kept for our defence, and the rest were sent on to relieve
our sorely-pressed people farther north. Some began to hope the dark
cloud over us was about to be dispersed, while others looked on our
position with dismay approaching despair. As our house was in a very
exposed position, a friend had at an early period invited us to take up
our abode with him; but we resolved to remain for the present in our own
home.
THE FOURTH OF JUNE, 1857, AT BENARES.
At length the storm burst over us. By attempts at incendiary fires and
in other ways the Native Infantry regiment had shown a mutinous spirit.
The necessity for disarming it was obvious to all except its own
officers, but the difficulty of the measure was great. On June 4th
Colonel Neil, one of those men whose high qualities were elicited by the
terrible struggle on which we had entered, arrived at Benares. On the
previous day a native regiment had mutinied at Azimghur, sixty miles
distant. A council was held, and as there were one hundred and twenty
English soldiers it was resolved to disarm the Native Infantry regiment
next morning. The question was asked, "Why not now? We may be all killed
before morning." Immediate disarmament was determined on. Well was it
for us this was the decision, as it was afterwards found that very night
had been fixed for the rising of the regiment, and the massacre of us
all. The whole military force of the place was called out, the English
soldiers being placed near the guns, and the Sepoys were ordered to pile
their arms. The order instead of being obeyed was met by our officers
and men being fired on, and the fight commenced.
[Sidenote: THE RISING AT BENARES.]
We had just finished dinner when our night watchman rushed into the
room with the startling words, _Pultun bigar guya_, and _lin men ag
luga!_--"The regiment has mutinied, and the cantonments are on fire."
Scarcely had he uttered the words, when we heard the sharp rattle of the
musketry and the crash of the guns. Our little conveyance was made
quickly ready, and, with all others in that part of the suburbs, we
drove as quickly as we could to the only place of temporary safety
available for us, on the banks of the Ganges at the northern end of the
city. The English were in different parts of the suburbs, and betook
themselves to the places nearest to them which promised immediate
shelter. Sir John Kaye, the historian of the Sepoy War, says that the
missionaries left the city for Chunar, with the exception of one he
names, Mr. Leupolt. In fact, only the Church missionaries went in that
direction, and they could go in no other.
As we were hastening to the Ganges we knew from the noise of the
musketry and cannon that the battle was going on, and from the cloud of
smoke rising from cantonments we feared that all the houses were on
fire. We went with others to the house of an English merchant whom we
knew well, and then as the natives were gathering around we betook
ourselves to boats on the river, and got out into the stream. In a short
time a messenger from cantonments reached us with the good news that our
men were victorious, and that the mutineers were in flight. We returned
to the house of our merchant friend with the intention of remaining
there for the night. With our party were a number of children, some of
them infants, and they, poor things, were put to rest in any corner
which could be found. Between eight and nine the Brigade-Major, who had
been slightly wounded, and had been saved from certain death by the
faithfulness of a trooper, rode into the compound accompanied by men of
the Irregular Cavalry regiment. We all ran out, and were told by him
that a number of English soldiers, who had just arrived from Calcutta,
were on the other side of the Ganges ready to be ferried over, and that
they would form our escort to the Mint, which was between three and four
miles distant. In the meantime we learned all that had occurred--how the
Native Infantry regiment had mutinied, how they had been joined by the
Sikhs, some said by panic, by others I believe more truly, from sympathy
with their Hindustanee brethren, as was shown by their after conduct;
and how all had been put to flight by our band of soldiers, aided by the
guns. On our side four were killed and nineteen wounded, of whom the
greater number afterwards died. How many of the Sepoys were killed was
not ascertained, as, with the exception of a few, the dead and wounded
were carried off by their comrades.
When all was ready we set out, a long cavalcade, with English soldiers
in front and behind, and native troopers on each side, our guardians
then, but before the morning dawned in flight to join the mutineers. It
was a calm, beautiful moonlight night, forming a strange contrast to the
turmoil of the preceding hours. The road took us by our house, and as we
passed the gate a servant, who had been watching for us, came out with
artificially cooled water, which was very welcome. We reached the Mint
about midnight, and there the whole European community was assembled. On
every side there was eager talk about our position and prospects, but
there was no appearance of panic or fright. The mothers soon succeeded
in finding spots in the spacious rooms of the Mint--which had not been
swept, and were covered with half an inch of mud--for their precious
charge, and there they remained to watch over them; while the men
sauntered about, or tried to sit where anything like sitting was
practicable. Stray shots were heard, and from the city went up rockets,
which were regarded as signals to the Sepoys outside. Most were awake as
if it were full day. Between three and four in the morning, as I was
sitting with two or three others on a native bedstead, a person came and
said, "Where is the magistrate? The city is up." It was a false alarm;
the city remained strangely quiet. As the morning broke we were all in
safety, and no enemy was to be seen. Many of the English soldiers were
so overcome by fatigue that they lay on the gravel fast asleep, with
their muskets by their side.
[Sidenote: LIFE AT THE MINT.]
In the Mint we all remained for more than a week in the greatest
possible discomfort, unable to change our clothes except by going to
some house outside, which some of us ventured to do. We once ventured to
our house for some very necessary articles, and daily visits were paid
to a barrack a short way off, where the sick and wounded were. During
the day, with the blazing sun above us, and the wind blowing through the
Mint with the heat of a furnace, we were obliged to confine ourselves to
its large crowded rooms. The exposure was trying, but was patiently
borne, and did no seeming injury to our health. At night we slept
outside, most of us on the flat roof of the Mint, on bedding which our
servants brought us. Our food was cooked at our homes, and brought to us
by our servants, and very thankful were we to get it, though we had
neither tables to sit at nor chairs to sit on. Had not our servants been
faithful we should have starved, as the authorities, to prevent panic
and to show a bold front, had laid in no provisions. This seems very
unwise, and yet there is no doubt the bold front did much under God to
effect our deliverance.
In the morning of the Sunday after the mutiny the Rev. C. B. Leupolt, of
the Church Mission, preached on the parade ground. In the afternoon I
was requested to preach. The soldiers, with their rifles in their hands,
and the European inhabitants were my audience. I took for my text words
which at once suggested themselves to my mind, "If God be for us, who
can be against us?" These words of the Apostle Paul, I was afterwards
told, came fraught with strength to the hearts of some present.
On Sunday evening it began to be whispered that mutiny had broken out at
Allahabad. On Monday we knew all. The 6th N. I. Regiment, after
professing in the afternoon their readiness to march to Delhi and fight
the rebels, in the evening rose, murdered sixteen officers, six of them
young lads who had just arrived, and all Europeans who came their way.
Happily families were in the Fort, to which they had betaken themselves
in opposition to the affectionate remonstrances of the native officers,
who said it was a slur on their fidelity! The Sepoys plundered the
Treasury; and it is said many of them were afterwards murdered by the
villagers on account of the money with which they were laden.
As the Sepoys entirely disappeared, and the city of Benares was quiet,
though the country around was much disturbed, most of us after a time
returned to our homes. In our own case we found that not one of our
servants had decamped, and not a pin's worth had been stolen. The very
night of the mutiny a servant picked up the few silver spoons we had
left on the table, and at considerable risk made his way to us to place
them in his mistress's hands. Indeed, all about us acted with a
faithfulness which elicited our warm gratitude.
[Sidenote: INCIDENT AT THE MINT.]
While we were at the Mint a little incident occurred, which suggested
how, in the excited state of affairs, a spark might have caused a great
conflagration. Seeing a crowd of natives, almost all servants, at the
gate, I went to it, and there the sentry, a little peppery Irishman, was
threatening to stab with his bayonet a native servant with a note in his
hand. I asked what was the matter. The sentry said, "That black fellow
is mocking me, and I'll send this through him." The servant appealed to
me. He said he had a note for a gentleman in the Mint, and entreated
that "gora," "white man," to let him in, but instead of doing so he
threatened to kill him. The mocking was, it turned out, the native
folding his hands in the attitude of supplication. I explained the
matter, and the man got in. The native servants were so roughly treated
by some of our people, especially by the newly-arrived soldiers, simply
because they were natives, that I was afraid they might leave us in a
body; and if they had done so we should have been in a sad plight. One
of my own servants, a native Christian, complained bitterly to me of the
treatment he had received.
The quiet of Benares during this period was remarkable--I might almost
say preternatural. When the fight of the 4th of June commenced, numbers
were seen with drawn swords rushing towards cantonments, but when they
saw Sepoys falling, and others running away, they shrank back into the
city. A great dread fell on the entire population. I was told by natives
the report had gone out that the English soldiers had been commanded to
enter the city, and slay every man, woman, and child they met; and that
in consequence, to adopt their exaggerated words, they sat trembling all
night, no one daring to sleep.
In the meantime the terrible work of retribution commenced. Martial law
was proclaimed, and many poor miserable creatures, charged with
plundering, were hanged. Some of the Sepoys caught were blown from guns.
I will not harrow my readers with details. I shunned as much as I could
these bloody scenes, but on several occasions I came suddenly on them.
To the present day I shudder as I think of what I saw.
THE PANIC OF JULY 6TH.
[Sidenote: OUR DAY OF PANIC.]
I must now come to our day of panic, July 6th. July 5th was a Sunday. We
had our usual services with the native Christians. Some two hours after
the evening service, a nephew of ours, then at Benares, drove into the
compound, and told us we must go at once to the Mint, as a large force
of Sepoys and country people were four miles off, prepared to attack the
jail. This was startling news, as our house lay in the direct line
between the jail and the city, and, in the event of the attack being
successful, we should be the first victims. Still, we were very
unwilling to stir, but our nephew was so urgent that we at last complied
with his entreaty. A refugee family was in our house, and with us all
crowded into a small conveyance we made our way to the rendezvous. What
a scene was there! Most had arrived before us. Rain was falling, and we
could not remain out. The rooms were so crowded that we could not get
into them, and we had to lie for the night as we could in a dirty
passage, with our back to the wall. The night passed off without an
alarm, and in the morning we returned to our home, somewhat annoyed at
having been taken from it, as we supposed, without sufficient reason.
On the morning of the 6th I had a strange duty to discharge for such a
time--the marriage of a couple. One of our native Christians had
arranged for his marriage taking place at that date. I told him that
this was no time for marrying; that we who were married must abide with
our families, but that those who were intending marriage should defer it
to a more propitious season. He said all was arranged, and he begged me
to officiate, which I did, I must say, with a bad grace. No sooner was
the marriage over than I went home. After breakfast and family worship,
we each betook ourselves, thoroughly worn out, to our rooms to obtain
some rest. Scarcely had I lain down on my couch, when our faithful
watchman came to my door and exclaimed, "If you do not go at once to the
Mint you will all be killed." I asked him what was the matter. He could
not tell me. He could only say, "Fly, fly." The refugee lady who, with
her family, was with us, hearing the watchman's words, exclaimed, "Oh,
Mr. Kennedy, do not leave us!" to which I replied, "Depend on it, I will
not. Rather than that, I myself will remain behind." Our conveyance was
speedily made ready, and off we started, with such a crowded coach as
has been seldom seen, I, as driver, urging the poor overladen horse to
his utmost speed. Natives as well as Europeans were seized with panic.
There was a stream, then in full flood, close to our house, and I saw
several natives throw themselves into it to swim across, at the imminent
risk of their lives. As we crossed one of the great roads leading to the
city, the natives were running as if pursued by demons. Right before us
we saw an English lady running towards the Mint, with her bare head in
the sun, which had now come out in its strength. A gentleman in a buggy
drove past us, pulled in reins, the lady leaped into it, and they dashed
on to the place of refuge. On reaching the Mint we found most of the
Europeans there before us. I accosted a friend and said, "What does this
mean?" He told us how the impression had gone out that the enemy were on
us, and how the panic might have been prevented if information of the
state of affairs had been given. There was danger. The host coming
against us had, with characteristic procrastination, put off the attack
till the morning. To prevent their approach to the city, every man and
gun that could be spared were sent out to meet them.
When we reached the Mint we heard the rumour that Cawnpore had fallen.
The report was not generally believed, but it was true. We were only two
hundred miles from Cawnpore, and yet nine days had passed before our
hearing of its fall, and we then heard of it only as a rumour.
The feeling of panic soon subsided, and as some in their haste had taken
something with them, it soon looked as if we were a large improvised
picnic party. For a few hours all was quiet; but in the afternoon the
rattle of the musketry and the boom of the cannon told us the battle had
commenced. Soon the news reached us that the rebels were in flight, and
that we were again safe. Till the news reached there was anxiety, but
there was little manifestation of it, except by the wives of some of the
soldiers, who were wringing their hands and weeping bitterly. The night
was spent by us in the greatest discomfort, huddled together, lying in
our day clothes on the floor, in an atmosphere so close that I wonder
we were not stifled. That 6th of July, 1857, at Benares can never be
obliterated from the memory of any one who was there. It makes us
understand, as nothing else could do, how much more dreadful a panic is
than the most furious combat.
[Sidenote: THE ADVENTURES OF A MARRIAGE DAY.]
I must recall my readers for a little to the couple whom I had married
on the morning of that memorable day. We had not been above a few
minutes in the Mint, when whom did I see rushing in at the gate, out of
breath, but my friends whom I had united in wedlock a few hours
previously, the bridegroom a few steps in advance of the bride, who was
doing her best, with little success, to save her bridal dress from being
soiled by the muddy road. Grave though our position was, I could not but
smile when I saw them. I went to meet them, and looking sternly at the
bridegroom I said, "Chhotkan, did I not tell you this was no time to
marry?" He looked at me sheepishly, and said, "Well, sir, it is now
over, and I cannot help it." I had better add that the marriage has been
a happy one. The husband has maintained a Christian character, and has
had a prosperous career, and they both survive to the present time.
THE DAYS SUCCEEDING THE DAY OF PANIC.
On the day after the panic we all returned to our respective homes. The
immediate danger was past, but the country around was in a very
disturbed state. The officer commanding the station sent round a
circular strongly recommending the immediate departure for Calcutta of
European families, and, indeed, of all Europeans who were not able and
willing to bear arms. Like many of my countrymen, I was thrown by this
circular into great perplexity. Our house was out of cantonments, in a
very exposed situation. We had four children with us at the time, the
eldest six years of age, and the youngest a little more than three
months. Their departure was indispensable. Was I to go with them, or
send them away and remain behind? Some advised me to go, but we soon saw
this was not the course which ought to be pursued. Officers were sending
away their families, and they themselves were remaining behind. For me
to desert my post at such a time, was seen by us both, would be to undo
the work of my life, and it was evident my duty was to remain. Armed
steamers were going up and down the Ganges, and I hoped to secure a
passage to Calcutta in one of them for my family. Hearing a steamer was
expected from Allahabad, we went down to Raj Ghat; and as soon as the
steamer came to anchor I went on board. It was full to overflowing of
refugees from the North-West. The captain told me he could not give my
family even a deck passage, so crowded was the vessel. There was nothing
for us but to go back to a friend's house, where we had been living for
a few days. Through the kindness of a friend at Allahabad, to whom I had
written, I succeeded in securing a small cabin for my family in the next
steamer, and in it they made their way to Calcutta, after a detention of
some days at Dinapore in great discomfort and danger, owing to the
mutiny having broken out there. At Calcutta they embarked, in September,
in a cargo ship for England, which they reached after a long and stormy
passage. During the whole of July and August the communication between
Bengal and the Upper Provinces was so interrupted, that sometimes for
weeks together no certain information was received of what was
transpiring. At Benares the only mails reaching were from places near
us. At Calcutta the rumour went out that Benares had fallen, and that
all the English people in it had been massacred, causing the deepest
distress to the many there who had left loved ones behind.
BENARES FROM JULY TO DECEMBER.
[Sidenote: EXPOSURE TO ATTACK.]
From July till October the position of the English at Benares was one of
great danger. We had no fighting, but we were continually threatened. We
had twice or thrice an alarm, the most serious being from an _emeute_ in
the jail, which was soon suppressed and the leaders executed. Delhi was
not taken till September, and till that was done, all who desired our
overthrow were sure it was about to be accomplished. Our great peril was
from Lucknow. Our small force there was besieged, it was reckoned, by
50,000 men. They were not relieved till towards the end of September.
While the siege was being carried on, information reached the
authorities of Benares that a plan had been formed to detach from the
besieging army five or six thousand men to attack us. The plan was most
feasible. The distance by the direct route was under two hundred miles.
The river Goomtee, which flows by Lucknow, enters the Ganges a few miles
from Benares. It was at that time in full flood, and a flotilla might be
easily gathered by which, in a few days, a large body of armed men with
the munitions of war could have reached us. Some of the Barons of Oude
sent offers of aid, but these offers were by many considered lures to
draw us into their net, that they might the more easily destroy us. Jung
Buhadur, the famous ruler of Nepal, proposed to come with his brave
Ghoorkas to defend us, but their presence was more feared than desired.
Then in the great city near us we knew there were many plotting our
destruction, and ready to rise at the first signal of an approaching
foe.
So great was the danger considered, that thousands were set to the
erection of a great earth fort close to the Ganges, on the site of an
old Muhammadan fortress. Owing to the disturbed state of the country the
commerce of the place was paralyzed; the stock of grain in the market
was very low, and food was selling at famine prices. The erection of the
fort gave most welcome employment to the poorer portion of the
community. So great was the danger, that, acting under the advice of
those best acquainted with the state of affairs, I sent to this fort
books, documents, and other things which I deemed it most important to
preserve. We were instructed how we were to act in the event of a sudden
outbreak, the rendezvous to which we should instantly resort, and from
which we might make our way together to the fort, which was being
erected. It often occurred to me that our position at that time was like
that of persons sitting on a barrel of gunpowder in a house on fire. So
alarming were the accounts received in the daytime, that I often lay
down at night uncertain what might occur before morning. Often I got up,
looked towards the cantonments, and listened. Thankful that all was
quiet, I returned to my bed.
[Sidenote: CONSTANCY OF THE NATIVE CHRISTIANS.]
During these anxious months I had abundant reason to be thankful for the
decision at which we had arrived, that I should remain behind when my
family left for England. In the discharge of the work devolving on me
from day to day, I felt I should have been recreant to duty, and missed
many opportunities of usefulness, had I gone away. Early in September,
to the great grief of us all, a much-loved member of the Mission, my
sister-in-law, the wife of my senior colleague, Mr. Buyers, was removed
by death. She had remained behind when other ladies, who had children,
left. Mr. Buyers was prostrated by the blow, and for a considerable time
was unable to resume work. The charge of the Mission thus came largely
into my hands. Before the end of July we re-opened our principal school
in the heart of the city, of which I was superintendent, and which I
visited constantly. At Benares a Depôt Hospital was opened, to which the
sick and wounded Europeans were brought from the surrounding country,
and there a part of every day was spent. My principal work, however, was
among the native Christians, with whom I met constantly to speak about
the state of affairs, to consult what should be done, to commit
ourselves to God, and ask from Him guidance and protection. The firmness
and courage of these Christians were worthy of the highest praise. As
natives, they could elude observation far more easily than Europeans;
but even where they were unknown, so entwined is idolatry with the whole
life of the people, they could not be any time among their countrymen
without being discovered if faithful to their Lord; and, as recreants
from their ancestral religion, they were sure to be cruelly treated.
They had only to declare themselves Muhammadans, and safety would be at
once secured. Not one of our native Christian community thought of
seeking safety by such means. They seemed resolved to brave every hazard
rather than deny their Lord. At length, by the capture of Delhi in the
first half of September, and the relief of the Lucknow garrison some
twelve days afterwards, the dark, threatening clouds over us began to
break.
From October onward the tension was loosened; but the danger was not
over. Though the garrison at Lucknow had been relieved, we were forced
to evacuate it, and for months afterwards the whole country of Oude
remained in the hands of those who had risen against us. Over a large
portion of the North-West, and in Central India, our government remained
prostrate. We had been so long in danger we had become blunted to the
sense of it, and remained unmoved in circumstances which at an early
period would have greatly excited us.
During the recent outbreak in Egypt, the position of Europeans in that
country in many respects resembled that of Europeans in Northern India
in 1857. Very similar was their danger, very similar their sufferings,
and very similar was the deliverance of the greater number. But for
providential interposition, not one would have in either case escaped.
When I look back and consider what our position was, I marvel that any
of us survived to tell what we endured; and our hearts are hard and cold
indeed if we are not fervently thankful for our preservation. While my
narrative shows that the residents at Benares in 1857 had to pass
through a season of severe trial and great danger, all acquainted with
the history of that period are aware that our countrymen in other places
had vastly more to suffer. In many places the rising was temporarily
successful. With us, the authorities all through kept the upper hand.
The result was that we were kept from the extremity of suffering to
which many were subjected. The entire loss of property was the least of
the trials they had to bear. Many, among whom were delicate women and
helpless children, were cruelly murdered. Others saw the objects of
their warmest love killed before their eyes, had to endure the most
fearful privations, and had to pass through untold horrors before
reaching a place of safety. Not a few sank into the grave, the victims
of toil, suffering, and sorrow. At no place was the danger greater than
at Benares, and at no place did the general community suffer so little.
VISIT TO ALLAHABAD.
[Sidenote: THE DESOLATION OF ALLAHABAD.]
Learning that there was no missionary at Allahabad, about seventy miles
north-west of Benares, which is now the seat of Government for the
North-West, I wrote in December to a native Christian there whom I knew,
proposing to visit him and his brethren, and in due course I got his
reply, expressing the pleasure my visit would give them. I accordingly
went, taking Mirzapore on my way, where I spent two or three days very
happily with the mission family. I found a tent erected for my
accommodation by the native Christian brethren close to the ruins of the
mission premises. What a scene of desolation the whole place presented!
The houses of the European residents had been set on fire, and there
they were as the mutineers had left them. There were no European
families. One large house had been put in order by the magistrate, and
in the wide surrounding enclosure what may be called a canvas town had
arisen. Civil and military officers were continually passing up and
down, and for their accommodation tents had been pitched. All took their
meals together in the restored mansion, and they kindly asked me to join
them during my stay. My tent was pitched close to the abode of the
native Christians. I had thus the opportunity, during the week I
remained, of holding constant intercourse with my own countrymen and
with native brethren. From the natives I heard much of what they had
seen and suffered. I was shown the scenes of the terrible events which
had occurred, and as retributive measures were still carried on, I saw,
in spite of myself, scenes which made me shudder. On the other side of
the Ganges there were frequent skirmishes between parties sent out and
bands there who were resisting our authority; the firing was distinctly
heard. On Sunday I preached twice to the native Christians. In the
forenoon the service was conducted in a small chapel, which had not been
burnt down, because it was so close to native houses that, if burnt, the
flames would have certainly spread to them. In the evening I re-opened
for worship the principal mission chapel. An attempt had been made to
set it on fire, but as it had not been at once successful, owing to its
being very strongly built, the insurgents satisfied themselves with
breaking the doors, windows, seats, pulpit, and everything which could
be easily destroyed. The wreck had been cleared away, and there I
preached to a goodly company, one of them a man whose arm had been cut
off because he was a Christian, and who had been left as dead. His
recovery was marvellous. That was a memorable Sunday to me and to those
to whom I ministered. My morning subject was, "In the day of adversity
consider" (Eccles. vii. 14); and in the evening, Christ stilling the
storm (Matt. viii. 23-28).