The battle of Kirkee was the turning-point in the last Mahratta war,
which sealed the fate of the Peishwa's dynasty and transferred the
Deccan to British rule, and is naturally, in that part of India, still
regarded, by all whose recollections go back to those days, as the one
great event of modern history.
When the collector of these tales was in India, the house temporarily
occupied by the Governor of Bombay overlooked the field of battle, and
among those who came to see the Governor on business or pleasure were
some--natives as well as Europeans--to whom the events of half a
century ago were matters of living memory.
Old soldiers would tell how the fidelity of the native Sepoys resisted
all the bribes and threats of Bajee Row Peishwa, the absolute Brahmin
ruler of Poona, and thus, while the Peishwa hoped to effect his
purpose by treachery, enabled Mr. Mountstuart Elphinstone to defer
open hostilities--a matter of vital importance to the operations of
Lord Hastings on the other side of India, in preparing for his great
campaign against the Pindarees.
The veterans would recount all the romantic incidents of the struggle
which followed--how the "old Toughs" (now H. M.'s 103d Regiment), the
only European corps within reach, when at last slipped from the leash
at Panwell, marched seventy-two miles straight up over the ghauts to
Poona, with only a single three-hours' halt en route; how they closed
up their ranks of travel-soiled warriors and entered the British lines
with band playing and colors flying; and how not a straggler dropped
behind, "for all knew that there must be a battle soon." Their arrival
was the signal for the Peishwa to throw off the mask, and, as the
British Residency was untenable, the English troops moved out to take
up a safer position at Kirkee, about three miles from the city of
Poona; and as they marched they saw all the houses of the Resident and
his suite fired by the enemy, who swarmed out of the city. As they
formed in line of battle, they anxiously watched the native regiments
coming up on their flank from Dapoorie, for that was the moment for
successful treachery if the native soldiers were untrue! Not a Sepoy,
however, in the British ranks wavered, though before the junction was
complete a cloud of Mahratta cavalry poured down upon them, dashed
through the opening left between the two lines, enveloped either flank
of the little army, and attacked the European regiment in the rear.
Then, as a last resource, the European regiment faced about their
second rank, and kept up such a steady rolling fire to front and rear
at the same time that but few of the eager horsemen ever came within
spear's length of the British bayonets.
One of the most touching recollections of those times attracted our
notice almost the last day we spent at Kirkee. An old chief, Jadowrow
of Malagaom, had come to take leave of the departing Governor. He was
head of one of the oldest Mahratta families, for his ancestors were
famous as a very ancient royal house before the Mohammedans invaded
the Deccan. The old man had borne arms as a youthful commander of
horse when the great Duke was at Poona in 1802, just before the battle
of Assaye, had been greatly distinguished for his gallantry in the
battle of Kirkee, so fatal to his race, and had followed the fortunes
of the Peishwa to the last. Disdaining to make separate terms for
himself with the English conqueror, he remained one of the few
thoroughly faithful to his sovereign--not from love, for he loved not
Bajee Row, but "because he had eaten his salt"--and only after the
Peishwa's surrender returned to his old castle near Poona. There for
many years he lived, hunting and hawking over his diminished acres,
and greatly respected as a model of a gallant and honorable old chief;
but he could never be persuaded to revisit the capital of the
Mahrattas after its occupation by the English. "He had no child," he
said, "and his race would die with him." At last, as years rolled on,
an only son was born to him; and then, touched by some unexpected act
of liberality on the part of the British government which would secure
his ancestral estate to this child of his old age, he resolved to go
to Poona, and visited the Governor, whose temporary residence happened
to overlook the battle-field of Kirkee. He gazed long and wistfully
from the drawing-room windows and said, "This place is much changed
since I was here last, fifty years ago. It was here the battle was
fought, and it was from near this very spot that we charged down that
slope on the English line as it formed beyond that brook. I never
thought to have seen this place again."
Almost every hill, fort, and every large village round Poona, has some
tradition, not only of the days of Alumgeer, Sivajee and of early
Mahratta history, but of the campaigns of Wellesley in 1802 and of the
last great struggle in 1817-18.