following his steps as a ruined fugitive. It is however worth while
to sum up the chances of the eventful day of Waterloo. Early in the
morning Napoleon's prospects were excellent: Wellington's army was
slightly inferior to his own in numbers, and the Belgian portion of
it was not trustworthy. In consequence of the rain no Prussians could
be on the field at all early. Doubtless the state of the ground would
also have delayed movements of attack on Wellington's line: but if
the battle had begun even at eight A.M. it is scarcely possible that
Wellington could have held on till four, when first the Prussians began
to be formidable. The delay in beginning threw away this advantage.
Secondly Napoleon, as we have seen, miscalculated utterly about the
Prussians: it was he who detached Grouchy with a force needlessly large
for its supposed purpose, and failed to see in time the necessity
of drawing Grouchy to his side. Thirdly the allied generals carried
out tactically the purpose of co-operation with which they had begun
the campaign, thus ultimately bringing almost double numbers to
bear. It was Wellington's part to hold his ground, it was Blucher's
to come to his assistance. How nobly the old Prussian redeemed his
promise has been shown. Of Wellington it is told that he was asked to
give instructions for the chance of his falling, a contingency the
probability of which may be estimated from the fact that only one
of his staff escaped untouched. "I have none to give," he said, "my
plan is simply to hold my ground here to the last man." Lastly it is
manifest that all might have failed but for the astonishing staunchness
of the English and German infantry in Wellington's army. Nothing, in
war or in peace, is so trying to the nerves as passively to await
deadly peril, making no effort to avert it. And never probably in war
was greater strain of this nature put upon troops than fell on Alten's
and Picton's divisions at Waterloo. The guards and Hanoverians who held
Hougomont had more prolonged and exciting conflict; the heavy cavalry
did magnificent service: to Maitland's brigade, and still more to the
52nd, belongs the conspicuous glory of having given the last crushing
blow. But after all the chief honour belongs to the English brigades of
Halkett, Kempt and Pack, and to the Germans who stood by their side.
CHAPTER XV
THE CRIMEA
Nearly forty years elapsed after Waterloo before another European war
broke out. Peace had been by no means undisturbed; the revolutions of
1848 in particular occasioned serious fighting, but there had been no
sustained war on a large scale. England had been entirely exempt; and
not a few persons in England had begun to dream that the age of peace
had begun, while many more thought that England might and should stand
aloof from all European entanglements, and follow the more profitable
pursuits of peace. There is some reason to think that the latter class
involuntarily helped to bring about war, that the Czar of Russia would
never have adhered to the policy which led to the Crimean War, unless
he had attached undue importance to their language, and believed that
England would not fight.
The period of peace had witnessed great discoveries which were destined
to revolutionise the art of war, as well as the conditions of peaceful
life. Railways had been developed, fully in England, to a greater or
less degree in the other nations of western and central Europe. Steam
navigation had spread widely, though the majority of trading vessels,
and an even larger proportion of men-of-war, still had sails only. The
telegraph had been invented, but was not very extensively in use. All
these new agencies played some part in the Crimean War, the telegraph
somewhat to the detriment of the military operations, though their
effect was trifling compared to the influence exerted in the war of
1870 by railways and the field telegraph. Except in one respect, there
had been no changes in the art of war: and this one exception, the
introduction of the rifle, was only beginning, though it involved
potentially the vast extension in the range and rapidity of fire which
has since revolutionised tactics. The fundamental principle of the
rifle, grooving the gun-barrel so as to produce a rotation of the
bullet, was known in the seventeenth century, if not sooner. The early
forms of rifle far surpassed the musket in accuracy of aim, and also
though in a less degree in range; but the difficulty of loading them
was great, so that they were not suited to be the ordinary weapon
of infantry, though picked men were armed with them. In 1836 a form
of bullet was invented which would expand on the rifle being fired,
and fill the grooves in the barrel. This conquered the difficulty of
loading, and the rifle was gradually substituted for the musket; the
English infantry sent to the Crimea in 1854 had nearly all received the
new weapon, and the French also, but among the Russians the rifle was
still only in the hands of a few picked men. The range was far less
than what all soldiers are now accustomed to, but the advantage over
the musket was very real. No corresponding advance had been made with
artillery; hence the conditions of a siege remained the same as during
the Peninsular War.
[Illustration:
_Map XVII._
_The Crimea._
_1854-5._]
The Eastern question was not a new one in 1853: it is not likely to
have disappeared from politics for many a year yet. In one sense it
dates from the first conquest by the Turks of territory in Europe: the
decline of a purely military power was inevitable whenever internal
decay wasted the sources of its strength. Mohammedan conquerors could
not possibly blend with their Christian subjects so as to form one
people, as the Normans for instance did in England. Moreover, as soon
as Russia became a powerful state, it was natural that she should seek
for an outlet to the Mediterranean: and Russian ambition has been
habitually unscrupulous. If Russia had succeeded in seating herself at
Constantinople, after expelling the Turks from Europe, the change might
or might not have been a gain to the Christian peoples of south-eastern
Europe, but it would have meant an augmentation of Russian power
extremely dangerous to the rest of Christendom. The other nations of
Europe might have looked on unmoved while any other changes passed
over the Balkan peninsula; they could not afford to let it fall into
the hands of Russia. In face of Russian aggression against Turkey,
they had no practical option: they must support, for the present at
least, the existing government of the Sultan, at the cost of prolonging
the domination of a Mohammedan power, intolerant, polygamous,
slave-holding, over Christian subjects whom its creed did not allow to
be treated with common justice.
In the year 1853 the general conditions of Europe were such as to
offer Russia an exceptional opportunity. Austria, the great power
most deeply interested, was under a heavy debt of gratitude to the
Czar, who had recently suppressed a Hungarian revolt which threatened
the very existence of the Austrian empire; and she had moreover an
unimportant quarrel with the Sultan. The king of Prussia, the power
least interested, was the Czar's brother-in-law, and greatly under his
influence. Napoleon III. had recently made himself master of France;
and the Czar seems to have assumed that he was not firm enough on the
throne to venture on war. He ought to have perceived that nothing would
so strengthen the new emperor's hold on France as a successful war;
moreover his uncle's fate and his own observations had made Napoleon
III. anxious for alliance with England: if the latter determined on
war with Russia, she was sure to have the co-operation of France.
Thus everything really depended on the temper of England, and the
Russian emperor persuaded himself that from this quarter he had
nothing to fear. A little while before he had tried to bribe England
to acquiescence in his designs, by suggesting that on the impending
decease of the "sick man," as he called Turkey, he should be very
willing to see England occupy Egypt, and thus secure her most obvious
interest, control of the route to India. English diplomacy however had
been, perhaps unfortunately, so reticent that the Czar believed England
to be under the domination of the so-called Manchester school, and no
longer capable of going to war to punish unprovoked disturbance of the
general peace of the world.
A quarrel with Turkey was easily raised over the Turkish treatment of
Christian pilgrims at Jerusalem, and the custody of the Holy Sepulchre
there. The Russian demands amounted to a claim for a full protectorate
over all Christian subjects of the Porte. For the Sultan to grant
this would have been equivalent to surrendering his independence:
he refused, and Russia occupied the Danubian principalities, which
have since become the kingdom of Roumania. In consequence of this
high-handed proceeding, England and France, an attempt at mediation
having failed, sent their fleets to the Bosphorus, and Turkey formally
declared war on Russia. In reply to this, the Russian fleet destroyed a
very inferior squadron of Turkish war-vessels in the harbour of Sinope.
This roused public feeling in England, and the western powers joined
in the war. Undecided fighting had been going on during the winter of
1853-4 along the lower Danube; and in the spring Russia mustered her
armies for decisive efforts. In May 1854 the Russian troops crossed
the Danube and invested Silistria, which resisted steadily. England
and France sent troops to the mouth of the Danube, which however were
not wanted, for the Czar, yielding to Austrian menaces, evacuated the
principalities. It might seem that nothing more need have been done:
but so long as Russia retained a powerful fleet in the Black Sea,
protected by the fortified harbour of Sebastopol, it was obvious that
she could at any moment strike at Constantinople. The western powers
accordingly resolved on an expedition to the Crimea, for the purpose of
destroying this formidable stronghold.
There is no other instance in history of an army composing over 60,000
men being landed on a hostile coast, in face of a hostile fleet. No
power but England has indeed ever successfully despatched a complete
army[85] by sea, at any rate since the time of the Crusades; and no
other power could have achieved the invasion of the Crimea. It is
true that the Russian fleet, knowing itself to be far inferior to the
combined English and French squadrons, did in fact remain sheltered
within the defences of Sebastopol: but it had to be reckoned with,
and by the English alone. The French resources being insufficient to
supply adequate transport, their men-of-war were laden with troops,
and therefore in no condition to fight. Hence the English squadron had
to escort the whole enormous fleet, which fortunately the Russians did
not attempt to disturb. Again, the military value of steam navigation
was plainly shown on this, the first occasion of its being employed,
even partially. Every English transport was either a steamer, or was
towed by one, though the French were less fully supplied. Consequently
the expedition was conducted across the Euxine with speed, and landed
exactly where its leaders chose, on the west shore of the Crimea, some
thirty miles north of Sebastopol. Considerable delay had been caused
by the collection of so vast a fleet of transports, greatly to the
detriment of the health of the armies, which had suffered from the
unwholesome climate of the lower Danube region in summer, and from an
outbreak of cholera, chiefly among the French. Thus it was not until
September 18, 1854, that the landing was completed. The English army
numbered 26,000 infantry, with 60 guns and about 1000 cavalry: the
French had 28,000 infantry and 68 guns, but had been unable to convey
a single squadron of cavalry: there were also 7000 Turkish infantry.
Considering the known strength of the Russians in cavalry, it seems
that the allies ought to have been better supplied with that arm,
even at the cost of leaving five times the number of infantry behind.
The Russian want of enterprise however prevented the deficiency being
seriously felt.
The allied governments had calculated correctly enough that the Crimea
would not contain large armies; and that its great distance from the
centre of the empire, with the badness of existing communications,
would render it very difficult for Russia to carry on war there
effectively. At the same time she could not allow Sebastopol to be
destroyed without making every effort to save it—to do so would be
to acknowledge defeat. The Russian commander, prince Menschikoff,
besides leaving a garrison in the city, was able to meet the allies
with an army very inferior in infantry (between half and two-thirds of
their number) and fully equal in artillery, but with the advantage of
possessing cavalry nearly four-fold the handful of the English light
brigade. With this force he took post across the main road leading to
Sebastopol, on the south bank of the little river Alma. The position
was very strong by nature, and might easily have been made stronger by
art. For fully two miles up the stream from its mouth cliffs rise on
the south bank, in many parts perpendicular, and allowing no access
to the plateau extending thence almost to Sebastopol, save by a slight
and difficult track close to the sea, and by a cleft three-quarters
of a mile up, through which a rough road ran. Further up the cliffs
cease, and the slopes become gradually more and more gentle, though
broken into buttresses. The main road crosses the Alma more than three
miles from its mouth, and ascends to the plateau between two of these
buttresses. The allies having full command of the sea, and having
men-of-war at hand, it is obvious that Menschikoff could not occupy
the plateau above the cliffs; but he could with very little labour
have destroyed the two steep and difficult routes, by which alone the
plateau could be scaled. This however he neglected to do, and when the
time came he was unable to oppose the French troops to whom it fell
to ascend them. Nearly all the Russian artillery was posted on the
landward side of the road, where advantageous ground was available for
it to sweep the slopes in front. A considerable body of infantry was
held in reserve, but the mass of it occupied the crest of the slopes
landward from where the cliffs cease, for about two miles, the cavalry
behind the right of the line.
The country being everywhere open and uncultivated, the allies were not
tied to the road, but advanced on a very wide front, in columns which
could quickly and easily be changed into line of battle. The French
having no cavalry were on the right, nearest the sea: the English on
the left, with the cavalry watching the front and flank. They had
no definite knowledge of the enemy's proceedings or even strength,
until on the morning of the second day, September 20, they came upon
Menschikoff's position behind the Alma. The order of march necessarily
implied that the French should scale the heights near the sea, while
the English attacked that part of the position which being more
accessible was strongly held. The task was a formidable one in face
of the Russian batteries, some of them of heavier metal than ordinary
field guns. The English general, Lord Raglan, waited for some time to
allow the French to gain the plateau and so turn the Russian left:
if he had only waited a while longer Menschikoff would probably have
been dislodged without fighting, but Lord Raglan yielded to a request
from the French general, and ordered his line to advance. The light
division was on the left, supported by the first division, consisting
of the guards and a brigade of Highland regiments; the second division
formed the right of the front line. Having given the word to attack,
Lord Raglan with his staff rode forwards, and under cover of a burning
village on the river-bank, reached a point of observation on the slopes
beyond, whence he could see something of the battle but could issue no
further orders: indeed the generals of division did not know what had
become of him. Under these circumstances the attack cost the English
some unnecessary loss. The first attack, up a slope raked by a powerful
artillery, could hardly have been made with success in any formation
but the familiar English line, though the space was too narrow to
allow the troops room to deploy fully. Naturally the light division,
which had to face the heaviest batteries, suffered severely; but they
reached the crest, driving back the Russians, who were formed in solid
columns of three or four times their strength, but who having only a
narrow front were overpowered by the English fire. The Russians hardly
fought with their usual stubbornness, the guns were withdrawn for fear
lest they should be captured, and the victory would have been gained
then and there if the battle had been properly managed; for the second
division was going through much the same process on the English right,
and the French were by this time making their way on to the plateau.
Unfortunately there was no central control: the light division had to
sustain unsupported a concentrated fire of infantry and artillery,
which drove them at last down the slope, just before the guards came
up behind them. The Russians soon gave way entirely, and the English
artillery, boldly and skilfully used, inflicted severe losses on them
in their retreat, which neither the cavalry nor the artillery made any
attempt to cover. Close pursuit was not possible without a large body
of cavalry; and the allies bivouacked on the plateau. The English loss
in killed and wounded amounted to just 2000 men: the French loss of
course was but slight: the Russians admitted a loss of nearly 6000.
Sir Edward Hamley condemns severely the generalship of all parties.
The Russian neither made the most of his position nor held it
tenaciously, nor did he make any use at all of his very superior
cavalry. The French had little to do, and did it somewhat slowly.
The English fought admirably, and exemplified once more the vast
superiority of line over column, if only troops are steady enough to
be trusted in line: but their attacks were ill combined and therefore
costly. All might have been saved, he argues, if the allies, ignoring
the Russian left above the cliffs, had formed line of battle across
their right. Menschikoff could not have made a counter attack on the
right of the allies, for the descent from the cliffs under fire from
the English ships would have been impossible. He must either have
retreated at once, or have fought in a position where defeat would
drive him into the sea. In fact the allies had much the same sort of
opportunity which Marlborough used with such overwhelming effect at
Ramillies. Neither of the generals however was a Marlborough; and
there was the natural want of unity in operations conducted by two
independent commanders acting together for the first time.
The harbour of Sebastopol is an inlet about four miles long, and from
half to three-quarters of a mile wide. The city with its docks and
arsenal is on the south side: and the ground rises steeply, broken by
narrow ravines, to a high plateau which forms the south-western corner
of the Crimea. On the south side of the peninsula, some eight miles
south-east from Sebastopol, is the small but tolerably good harbour of
Balaclava: and at the corner is the larger but less sheltered bay of
Kamiesch. North of the great harbour of Sebastopol the ground rises
high above the sea-level; and the highest point was crowned by a large
fort, while other fortifications on both sides of the entrance defended
the harbour against attack from the sea. Menschikoff immediately after
his defeat resolved on his course of action. Sinking some of the
men-of-war in the mouth of the harbour, so as to make it impossible for
the allied fleet to attempt an entrance, he left an adequate garrison
in Sebastopol, and prepared to march out with the rest of his army
into the open country. By this means he could keep open communication
with Russia, and could use any chance that might offer itself of
interfering from outside with the siege operations.
The allies might perhaps have taken the north side of Sebastopol, with
the aid of their fleet to engage the Russian ships, before the entrance
to the harbour was blocked; but such a step would have brought them
practically no nearer to the capture of the city and arsenal beyond
the harbour, and would have given them no base of operations. From
the nature of the case their base must be the sea, and therefore they
were compelled to adopt the plan, in all respects the most expedient
open to them, of marching past Sebastopol, seizing Balaclava which
became the English port, and Kamiesch for the French, and beginning a
regular siege of Sebastopol. The Russian communications from the city
northwards were never interrupted, hardly interfered with. Thus the
last great siege of what may be called the Vauban period of military
history, presents the unique spectacle of a fortress never invested and
yet reduced, of the resources of the defending power being poured into
it till they were exhausted before the superior strength of the enemy.
Two days after the battle of the Alma, the allies moved southwards.
Lord Raglan's resolution of "keeping his cavalry in a bandbox," so
long as they were so few, most praiseworthy on the battle-field, was
inexpedient on the march; and the Russian general habitually neglected
to use his cavalry. Hence Menschikoff's army quitting Sebastopol, and
the allies moving on Balaclava, narrowly missed a collision which might
have had very serious results. As it was, Menschikoff had advanced far
enough to get out into the open country unhindered, and the allies
occupied their intended position without a blow. The siege works were
promptly begun, the English, roughly speaking, taking care of the
east side of the city, and the French of the south. On October 17 a
bombardment took place, which it was hoped might open the way to a
decisive assault. The English fire inflicted enormous damage on the
works, but the magazine in the principal French battery was exploded
by a shell, and the Russians succeeded in silencing the other French
guns, while the ships inflicted far less injury on the seaward forts
than they sustained. No assault could be made, and the Russian engineer
Todleben gave the first evidence of his remarkable fertility of
resource, in the speed with which he repaired the damage done by the
English cannonade. The Russians naturally suffered greater loss in
men, being more crowded than the besiegers, and obliged to hold troops
in readiness to meet a possible assault. The well-stored arsenal of
Sebastopol saved them from any fear of being crippled by expenditure
of material. The bombardment was renewed more than once, with much the
same results: it gradually became clear that Sebastopol would not be
taken without a sustained siege.
Meanwhile the Russian field army had been gathering in the
neighbourhood of Balaclava, and on October 25, the anniversary of
Agincourt, made an attack on the allied position there, which led to
the most famous feat of arms of the whole war. From the harbour of
Balaclava the ground rises steeply on the west to the high plateau
which was entirely occupied by the allies. On the east the ground rises
equally steeply, and at the top a line of defence had been fortified,
which formed an adequate protection for Balaclava itself. Northwards
from the harbour a gorge opened up, past the hamlet of Kadikoi, into a
plain, or rather two strips of plain divided by a low ridge, virtually
surrounded on all sides by hills, which was the scene of the battle.
Along the line of the dividing ridge, close to the road leading
south-east from Sebastopol, a series of earthworks had been planned,
as an outer line of defence, but they had only been partially made
and were very slightly garrisoned. Lord Raglan had undertaken rather
more than his fair share of the siege operations, and could spare
very few men to hold Balaclava. In fact the garrison under Sir Colin
Campbell only comprised his own regiment, the 93rd Highlanders, and
three battalions of Turks. The English cavalry division had its camp
in the plain above spoken of, and formed some additional protection,
but they obviously could not man the works. Early in the morning
some 25,000 Russians appeared over the hills bounding the Balaclava
plain on the east, and attacked the nearest and largest of the small
redoubts forming the outer line of defence, which was occupied by a few
hundred Turks. No immediate support was possible: Campbell had not a
man to spare: the cavalry, drawn up at the western end of the plain,
were with reason ordered to await the support of infantry, which had
a long distance to march from before Sebastopol. The Turks fought
obstinately, losing a third of their number before they were driven
out: the Russians took two more of the line of works, and the Turks,
utterly disheartened at receiving no support, fled in confusion down
to Balaclava, carrying away the rest of their countrymen. Campbell
had only the 93rd to resist an attack which might well have been made
with twenty times his numbers. Kinglake tells how he rode down the
line saying, "Remember there is no retreat from here, men; you must
die where you stand!" and how the men shouted in reply, "Ay, ay, Sir
Colin, we'll do that!" Fortunately the Russians did not realise their
opportunity, and only made a desultory attack with a few squadrons
of cavalry. Sir Colin did not deign to form square, according to the
established tradition for infantry receiving a cavalry charge: he
simply awaited their onset in line, two deep, and when the horsemen
swerved to one side and threatened to get round his right flank,
contented himself with wheeling one company to the right, to form a
front in that direction. It was apparently nothing, but it marks the
greatest advance made in warfare since the invention of gunpowder, the
substitution of the rifle for the musket. The present generation is so
used to the later developments of breechloaders, magazines, machine
guns, which render cavalry useless against infantry unless by surprise,
that it requires an effort to realise the fact that it is only forty
years since Sir Colin Campbell's "thin red line" dared for the first
time to await charging squadrons in that formation.
Meanwhile the main body of Russian cavalry had slowly advanced up the
northern half of the plain, invisible to the English cavalry from the
nature of the ground. An order had just arrived for eight squadrons
of the heavy brigade to go forwards to Kadikoi and support Campbell.
General Scarlett, who commanded the brigade, was executing this order,
when a solid body of Russian cavalry, between two and three thousand
strong, appeared over the ridge to his left. Scarlett at the moment
was moving through his camp, where though the tents had been struck
the ground was cumbered by the picketing cords. The Russians, as they
slowly descended the slope, threw out squadrons in line on each flank.
Scarlett as soon as he had room charged with his leading squadrons,
the Scots Greys and half of the Inniskillings, straight into the solid
mass, which made no attempt to meet him with a counter-charge, though
they had the slope of the ground with them. For a moment the handful
of redcoats seemed to the spectators from the edge of the Sebastopol
plateau to be lost among the overwhelming numbers of the grey clad
enemy, but the second line came on in support, and the 4th dragoon
guards, arriving last, took the Russians in flank. The unwieldy mass
gave way, and was driven in confusion back across the ridge, and if
only the English light brigade had charged them, might have been
totally defeated. Unfortunately Lord Cardigan, who commanded the
latter, considered himself bound by his orders to remain strictly on
the defensive. Inexperienced in war, he had no idea that occasions may
arise when a subordinate general should act on his own responsibility,
and he let slip the opportunity.
Two English divisions were by this time approaching, but were not
yet within supporting distance of the cavalry. Lord Raglan, who was
watching everything from the edge of the plateau, saw that the Russians
were preparing to carry off the guns from the field-works they had
captured, and thought this portended a retreat of their whole force.
Accordingly he sent to Lord Lucan, commanding the cavalry division,
a written order to advance rapidly, and try to prevent the enemy
carrying away the guns. It was a rash idea at best, the object to
be attained being entirely incommensurate with the cost, and doubly
unfortunate, considering the character of the men on whom it would
devolve to execute it. Much heated controversy arose afterwards as to
the responsibility of those concerned, which it is unnecessary to enter
into.[86] The upshot was that Lord Lucan ordered the light brigade
to charge the Russian army, proposing to support them with the heavy
brigade, which had already done one piece of very hard work.
Hardly the great breach at Badajos, hardly the _herse_ of archers
against which the French knights staggered through the mud at
Agincourt, formed a more appalling death-trap than that into which
Cardigan's six hundred rode. On the central ridge to their right were
eight Russian guns, on the hills bounding the plain to the north were
fourteen: infantry were on both ridges, with riflemen pushed down into
the valley below. On each side squadrons of lancers were in readiness.
In front, more than half a mile off, were twelve guns, before the main
body of Russian cavalry, which had retreated so far after their defeat.
Through a storm of shells and rifle-bullets the light brigade advanced,
slowly at first, and quickening their pace as they went, and actually
drove the gunners away from the Russian batteries at the end of the
"vale of death." Lord Lucan advanced some way in support with the other
brigade, but his men fell fast: and when the light brigade disappeared
into the cloud of smoke that overhung the Russian guns in front, he
halted and drew back, saying, unless he is misreported, "They have
sacrificed the light brigade: they shall not the heavy if I can help
it." What effect his further advance might have produced it is hard to
say; the audacity of the light brigade had for the time half paralysed
the Russians, and there may have been just a chance of inflicting a
heavy blow, the more so as at the same time a brilliant charge of some
French cavalry along the line of high ground to the north drove the
Russians away from that quarter. Probably however nothing could have
been achieved to compensate for the ruin of all our cavalry: the moral
effect on the enemy could not have been intensified. Presently the
remnants of the light brigade were seen emerging from the smoke, and
forcing their way back again, assisted by the clearance of the northern
hills which the French had effected. Out of a total of 573 they had
lost 247 men and 475 horses: one regiment, the 13th light dragoons,
consisted of only ten mounted troopers at the first muster.
"C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre," is the famous comment
attributed to the French general: and no doubt the criticism was
valid. At the same time the capacity to perform actions which transcend
even the legitimate daring of war is a gift rarer, and within limits
far more valuable, than the soundest military judgment. "The ruin
of the light brigade," says Sir E. Hamley, "was primarily due to
Lord Raglan's strange purpose of using our cavalry alone, and beyond
support, for offence against Liprandi's strong force, strongly posted:
and it was the misinterpretation of the too indistinct orders, sent
with that very questionable intention, which produced the disaster. And
yet we may well hesitate to wish that this step so obviously false had
never been taken, for the desperate and unfaltering charge made that
deep impression on the imagination of our people which found expression
in Tennyson's verse, and has caused it to be long ago transfigured in a
light where all of error or misfortune is lost, and nothing is left but
what we are enduringly proud of."
The battle of Balaclava left the Russians in a position which commanded
the above-mentioned road leading from Sebastopol past Balaclava to
the south-east, and this cramped the communications of the English
between their port and the siege works. The allies abandoned, if they
had ever entertained, all thought of fighting a great battle in order
to regain the ground thus lost; but Balaclava was soon covered with a
strong and complete line of defence. Meanwhile the Russians had been
pouring reinforcements into the Crimea, being well aware that when
winter arrived it would be impossible to do so, and had formed a plan
for attacking the northern extremity of the allied position, where it
approached the upper end of the great harbour. Again the stress of the
conflict fell on the English: in fact the topographical conditions
were such that the English, taking Balaclava as their harbour, had
necessarily to encounter all attacks from the outside, while the
French, taking Kamiesch, were in contact with the city only.
The plateau surrounding Sebastopol is seamed with deep ravines running
more or less northwards down to the sea, some of them three or four
miles in length. By these ravines the various portions of the besieging
lines were separated from each other, more completely in proportion as
the works were brought nearer to the city. Thus some little time must
elapse before any one portion could be largely reinforced. The Russians
hoped, by bringing a very strong force to bear upon the English troops
occupying the bit of the plateau between the last of these ravines and
the valley of the Tchernaya, to overwhelm them before they could be
adequately supported, and so establish themselves on the plateau. If
they could do this, the allies must fight a general action with their
backs to the sea, that is to say with the certainty of destruction if
they were defeated. From this necessity the allies were saved by the
obstinate valour of the English infantry, who fought in what is known
as the battle of Inkerman.[87]
At the beginning of November Prince Menschikoff had at his disposal
more than 100,000 men, exceeding the forces of the allies in the
proportion of at least three to two. He thus had good reason for hoping
to turn the tables on his enemies; and had his combinations been made
with more skill, he might well have succeeded. His plan was that
nearly 20,000 infantry with a quantity of artillery should issue from
Sebastopol and assail Mount Inkerman, in conjunction with a somewhat
smaller force from outside, which should cross the Tchernaya by the
great bridge at its entrance into the harbour. At the same time the
remainder of the field army under Gortschakoff was to demonstrate
from the Tchernaya valley against the whole east side of the allied
position; and the ample garrison of Sebastopol was to be in readiness
to assault the siege works if they were denuded of troops. He forgot
that every movement of Gortschakoff down in the valley could be fully
seen from the plateau, and that therefore demonstrations were futile.
A real attack in all quarters at once might, with his very superior
numbers, have been made without risk: but he was not the man to depart
from conventional methods. Similarly in planning the actual attack,
he was swayed by the conventional, and usually sound, objection to
sending troops into action divided by an obstacle which prevents
all communication. Mount Inkerman was obviously to be assailed by
ascending both from the Tchernaya on the east and from the great ravine
on the west, known as the Careenage ravine. The forces detailed for
this purpose would have amply sufficed to attack simultaneously the
tongue of land west of the Careenage ravine also: but the Russian
general was afraid to divide his troops by this very steep ravine,
forgetting that Sebastopol with its large garrison lay behind, and
committed the far worse error of crowding all his men into the one
attack, where there was not room for half of them.
The tongue of land known as Mount Inkerman is by no means level. The
English second division was camped just behind a ridge crossing it
from east to west, which formed the position for the English artillery
during the action. In front of this little ridge the ground sinks,
ascending again to a hillock, known as Shell hill, three-quarters of
a mile off, which was the Russian artillery position. Between them
the tongue of land is narrowed considerably by a ravine on the east
side, the incline of which is gentle enough to allow of the road from
Sebastopol descending it to the Tchernaya. This road ascends to Mount
Inkerman from the Careenage ravine, which may for practical purposes
be deemed to terminate there, about three-quarters of a mile behind
the camp of the second division. About this point was the camp of
the guards' brigade: opposite it, on the other side of the Careenage
ravine was the camp of the light division. Other English troops were
from two to three miles off: and the nearest portion of Bosquet's
French corps, which was now charged with the duty of guarding the
east face of the plateau against possible attack from the Tchernaya,
was scarcely nearer. Thus the first stress of the battle fell on the
second division, about 3000 strong, commanded at the moment by General
Pennefather, during the absence through illness of Sir De Lacy Evans.
Before dawn on November 5, General Soimonoff, issuing from Sebastopol,
led 19,000 infantry and 38 guns up on to the northern end of Mount
Inkerman, and there formed in order of battle. His heavier guns were
posted on Shell hill, with two lines of infantry, about 10,000 in
all, in front for attack, and the remainder in reserve behind Shell
hill. As the maximum width of the tongue of land does not exceed
1400 yards, it may be imagined that the infantry were in very dense
formation, a fact which partly accounts for the enormous losses which
they sustained in the course of the battle. About seven o'clock the
Russians advanced, their guns opening fire over the heads of the
infantry: Pennefather very wisely pushed his men forwards into the
hollow to support his pickets, occupying the crest in front of his camp
with artillery. The English infantry, formed as usual in a thin line,
and with the advantage of superior weapons, drove back time after time
their far more numerous assailants. Most part of the light division
were naturally required to occupy their own tongue of land, but
General Buller with two regiments from it was the first to reinforce
Pennefather. One of these regiments rendered the important service
of routing a separate Russian column which was coming up to the head
of the Careenage ravine, and threatening to take the second division
in rear. Gradually other English troops arrived on the scene, but
the conflict long remained very unequal in point of numbers. The day
was not clear, though dense fog clung only to the bottoms: hence the
Russians, unable to see how little there was behind the thin red lines
which met them so firmly, imagined that they were encountering masses
at least equal to their own. The inequalities of the ground rendered
it practically impossible to retain regular formation, and this told
against the Russians, both as being much more crowded together, and
also as lacking the power of independent action which the habit of
fighting in line gives. It was reported at the time that the troops in
Sebastopol had been prepared for battle not only by appeals to their
religious enthusiasm, but also by copious rations of vodki, or, as the
current jest ran, were under the influence of stimulants both spiritual
and spirituous. If there was any truth in this, it would help to
account for the comparative ease with which the first Russian attacks
were routed: when the troops of General Pauloff, brought across the
Tchernaya and up the eastern slopes, came into action, the fighting was
much more obstinate.
As the English grew stronger on the field, General Cathcart with the
fourth division made a needless attempt to push forward along the
slope overhanging the Tchernaya, in which he was killed, and his men
suffered heavily. From the nature of the case, there was nothing
to be done except to hold the ground, and let the Russians exhaust
themselves, as they gradually did. During the latter part of the battle
French troops came up. General Bosquet had naturally been distracted
between his primary duty of watching the Russians below him in the
Tchernaya valley, and the duty of reinforcing his allies. Soon after
the action began he sent a couple of regiments towards Mount Inkerman,
but an English general, totally misinformed as to the strength of
the Russian attack, stopped them as not being needed. Later Bosquet
learned the true state of the case, and also saw that the movements
in the Tchernaya valley meant nothing, and he therefore despatched
heavy and welcome reinforcements to Mount Inkerman, the foremost of
which took an important share in the fighting. It is obvious that if
the large Russian force available for the purpose had attacked Bosquet
in earnest, he could not have spared a man to support the English,
who would have been very hardly pressed. When the Russians finally
abandoned the action despairing of success, though they had lost fully
12,000 men, they had still 9000 in reserve, besides their broken front
lines, while the English had on the field less than 5000 unwounded
men. But for the relief given by the French, who had been fighting
beside them for the last hour or two, and had borne the weight of the
action to an extent represented by a loss on their part of 900 men,
the English would manifestly have been fewer still. They had lost over
2300 men, or about a third of those actually engaged; they were in
no position to turn the tables on their opponents, even if prudence
had not dictated, as the French undoubtedly thought, the choice so
difficult in battle of leaving well alone.
Inkerman was not unappropriately christened "the soldiers' battle."
Under the conditions of weather no general could have efficiently
directed any elaborate scheme, and fortunately none was needed. The
shape of the ground and the relative numbers would have compelled
resort to the simple tactics which in fact were adopted, even if
the air had been perfectly clear. They were in accordance with the
habitual practice of the British soldier to form line, and in that
formation sustain the attack of columns, and drive them back in rout
when their front has been crushed by the wider fire of the line. Thus
regimental officers without superior command, even the men uncommanded
when their officers were struck down, were ready to sustain the fight
in the best way. "No other European troops," says Sir Edward Hamley,
"would at that time have formed in a front of such extent without very
substantial forces behind them." With an enormous weight of artillery
against them until near the close of the action, with odds of infantry
against them which began at three to one, and which must have been
heavier still for a while when General Pauloff came on the field,
they held their ground with an audacious obstinacy which it would be
difficult to parallel in European warfare.
The victory of Inkerman marked a decisive point in the campaign.
Foiled in this carefully prepared enterprise, the Russians henceforth
made no attempt to challenge battle in the open field. They limited
themselves to withstanding as far as possible the advance of the siege
operations, which were carried on under considerable difficulties,
arising both from the nature of the ground and from the skill displayed
by Todleben in making the utmost use of every opportunity. The
approach of winter was however destined to enforce, not a cessation
of hostilities, but the prosecution of them in a slow and uneventful
fashion. Reinforcements could no longer reach the Crimea, except at
a cost prohibitory even to the vast resources in men of the Russian
empire. And though the allies, having their communications by sea,
were not liable to the same exhaustion, yet a disaster befel them soon
after Inkerman which reduced them for the time practically to the
defensive. On November 14 a furious storm burst on the allied camps,
followed by much rain and snow. The tents were blown down, and the
whole country converted into a wilderness of mud. At the same time
many vessels laden with stores were wrecked. For many weeks after
this disaster, the sufferings of the English army were intense. The
fundamental cause was want of forage: without it the horses died,
and supplies could only be conveyed from Balaclava to the camp by
the soldiers, already as hard worked in the trenches as they could
bear. Food was never actually wanting, but hardly any fuel was to be
procured; the soldiers were never dry, and often ate their food raw.
Naturally under such conditions they sickened and died in thousands.
The French, having shorter distance between their harbour and camp,
and a tolerable transport service already organised, in which the
English were deficient, and having also a smaller part of the siege
works to maintain, suffered materially less. Things improved slowly,
but the siege was protracted indefinitely; in fact it became a contest
of endurance between the rival powers, in which the command of the sea
ensured ultimate victory to the allies.
Early in the new year the French, whose army had now been largely
reinforced, took in hand an additional portion of the siege works, thus
making for the first time a fairly equal partition of labour with the
English.[88] Instead however of taking over the left portion of the
English works, which adjoined his own, the French general preferred to
undertake the new operations which had long been intended against the
east face of the city. Here however the ever active Todleben seized and
fortified, just in the nick of time, a knoll some way in advance of the
Malakoff redoubt, the main defence of this side of Sebastopol. This new
fortification, known as the Mamelon, was so situated as to prevent the
English trenches at the south corner of the city being pushed forwards.
Consequently the main work of the siege concentrated itself on the new
French attack.
Political reasons operated to cause delay, which may be fairly said
to be one of the results of divided control. The death of the Czar
Nicholas made no difference, for his successor could not but continue
the defence. But the opinion of Napoleon III., that the capture of
Sebastopol was only feasible if it was completely invested, which
meant the detaching of a force to cope with the Russian field army, was
persistently pressed. The English government, like the generals on the
spot, thought differently; but the emperor must be held responsible
for at least part of the waste of time. Conflicts, equivalent in the
losses sustained to many pitched battles, occurred again and again.
A bombardment of ten days in April, which would have been followed
by an assault if the whole siege had been directed by a single
enterprising general, cost the Russians over 6000 men. The artillery
employed on both sides far exceeded, both in number of guns and in
weight of metal, anything that had ever before been seen in a siege.
The material progress during forty years of peace was visible in many
ways. Steamers brought the contents of the English and French arsenals:
the English made a railway from Balaclava up to the camps: a telegraph
cable put the Crimea into communication with the western countries,
which greatly accelerated the supply of whatever was wanted, though it
enabled Napoleon III. to worry the army incessantly with his military
ideas. Marshal Pelissier, however, who took Canrobert's place in the
spring, was equal to his position, and in concert with Lord Raglan
carried on the siege upon the principles already determined. On June
7, after another terrific bombardment, the French stormed the Mamelon,
though not without a serious struggle. On the 18th another attack
was made which ended in failure. The day had been chosen in the hope
that a victory won by English and French in common might supersede
the bitterness of Waterloo: but whatever chance of success existed
beforehand was wasted by Pelissier's suddenly determining to assault
without waiting for a preliminary cannonade. The result was that the
French were repulsed from the Malakoff with heavy loss, the English
from the Redan, the chief Russian work at the south-eastern corner of
the city, with at least equal loss relatively to the numbers engaged,
the only success being the capture of a small work in front of the
English left.
In spite of this failure, in spite of the death of Lord Raglan which
occurred a few days later, the siege went steadily on. The resources
of Russia were gradually becoming exhausted. Returns compiled about
the date of the Czar's death gave the total cost of the war to Russia
at 240,000 men: since that date more than 80,000 had fallen in the
Crimea. An ill-conceived attempt to raise the siege by attacking the
eastern side of the allies' position from the Tchernaya valley failed
disastrously in August. Prince Gortschakoff, now commanding in the
Crimea, felt that the end was approaching, and took measures to prepare
for the evacuation of Sebastopol, but changed his mind and awaited the
final assault. On September 8 the end came: the French trenches had
now been brought quite close up to the Malakoff tower, and Pelissier,
carefully noting the exact point and moment at which an assault could
best be delivered, stormed the great work. A simultaneous attack by
the English on the Redan was a necessary part of the plan: the soil
in front being solid rock, the assailants had to advance for some
distance over open ground, and suffered badly. The capture of the
Malakoff was however decisive. During the following night the Russians
abandoned Sebastopol, or rather its ruins: for they completed, in
blowing up their magazines and forts, the destruction wrought by the
bombardments. The siege of Sebastopol takes rank in history not as
the most momentous—in that respect it falls far below the Athenian
siege of Syracuse—or the most protracted, but as that in which the
greatest resources were employed on both sides. Success fell, as might
be expected, to the side which represented the greatest advance in
material civilisation.
The war nominally lasted for several months longer: the allied armies
occupied the Sebastopol peninsula during the winter, and small
operations were directed against other points of Russian territory.
Substantially however the fall of Sebastopol was decisive; the
destruction of the great arsenal and fortress was a heavy blow to
Russian power in the Black Sea, and the retention of it had been made
so definitely a point of honour by Russia that its capture was a
formal symbol of defeat. With the spring of 1856 terms of peace were
agreed on, which included the prohibiting any ships of war to sail
on the waters of the Black Sea. At one moment it seemed as if France
would have acceded to terms which required from Russia practically no
sacrifice; but Napoleon III. yielded to remonstrance from England,
coupled with the assurance that England was now able, and quite
prepared, to carry on the war alone.
The history of England is full of evidence that there is almost no
limit to the power which an industrial nation, having command of the
sea, can bring gradually to bear upon a warlike enterprise, always
assuming that she has the necessary resolution. And no more striking
evidence is to be found than from comparing the state of the English
army in the Crimea in December 1854 and in December 1855, especially
if we bear in mind the expenditure in men and material during the
year. Whether anything of the same kind could happen again, whether in
another war time would be available for utilising resources which must
in a sense be latent till war begins, whether other nations have gained
on England in the race of material progress, whether England would
again exhibit the national tenacity displayed in the Peninsula and in
the Crimea, are questions which every lover of peace will desire to see
remaining, as they are at present, matters of speculation.
INTERMEDIATE NOTE
INFERIOR RACES
It is more than probable that Wellington's Indian experience stood
him in good stead when in the Peninsula he had to face the task of
converting the untrained Portuguese into good troops. Discipline is
essentially the same, whatever the race or character of the men to be
subjected to it. They have to learn prompt obedience to orders, the
habit of relying implicitly on their officers for military guidance,
familiarity with the idea that duty must be done first and personal
safety left to take care of itself, coolness and presence of mind in
encountering danger, even unexpectedly. All this the Portuguese had
to learn, but in other respects they were like enough to his English
troops, already disciplined to his hand. They were Europeans and
Christians, that is to say they recognised more or less the same moral
code: they were patriotic, striving with foreign assistance to deliver
their homes from the foreign conqueror. They had motives for responding
to the call made on them which are intelligible, and cogent, to any
European. The native troops that Wellington had learned to employ in
India were like them in one important point, their being called on
to trust and follow a foreign leader; they were like them also, as
the event proved, in capacity to profit by training; but in ideas and
habits they were totally different.
The British conquest of India is one of the most astonishing, as well
as important, things in modern history: and the wonder of it consists
mainly in the fact that the English from the first were successful not
only in getting their subjects to fight for them, but in transforming
them, for military purposes, almost into Englishmen. Men of the most
varied types were from time to time brought under the spell. Hindoos
with a peculiar and very ancient civilisation of their own, the higher
castes regarding themselves as socially and morally the salt of the
earth, the lower castes accustomed to permanent and almost degrading
inferiority; Mahommedans who had once been conquerors and deemed
themselves the born superiors of their former slaves; fierce hill-men
very low down in the scale of civilisation; strangest of all, the
Sikhs with their national and religious enthusiasm still young,—all
alike became the zealous soldiers of their rulers from over the sea.
Nor was this all: the sepoys imbibed the military qualities of the men
who fought beside them, including the superb tenacity which makes the
British soldier always hard to beat.
The English battles in India were nearly all fought against odds,
occasionally enormous; and in every case, except in some of the battles
during the Mutiny, the bulk of the army consisted of native troops.
What is the explanation of this phenomenon, unique in history? One main
cause clearly was, to quote Colonel Malleson's[89] words: "the trusting
and faithful nature, the impressionable character, the passionate
appreciation of great qualities, which formed alike the strength and
the weakness of those races;" but this description hardly applies
to all the multifarious races of India, though doubtless it does to
many, and pre-eminently to the people of Bengal, where practically the
British dominion was founded. Half of the explanation must be looked
for on the other side. Unless the natives of India had been capable
of receiving the impression, obviously none could have been made: but
the Englishmen who laid the foundation of our Indian empire possessed
the requisite qualities for creating it. They made their followers
understand that when an Englishman said a thing he meant it, and this
in two senses. If he made a statement he believed it to be true; also,
and more important, if he gave a promise or declared a purpose, he
would fulfil it. Further they taught the natives to understand that
when a thing was undertaken, it must be done; difficulties must be
vanquished, odds, no matter how great, must be encountered, if such
things came into the day's work. The coolness with which they assumed
the certainty of success naturally went a great way towards achieving
it, and was all-powerful in convincing the natives, ignorant, but by no
means stupid, that the English possessed an inexhaustible reserve of
strength and resource. Then the English treated their native soldiers
well, looked after them more steadily and intelligently than any Indian
princes would have cared or known how to do, and taught them to feel
that they were invincible. The very strangeness of the Englishman's
motives and principles of action made them all the more impressive to
men who saw that they were successful. And the fact that the sepoys
were assumed by their officers to be capable of great things went far
to make them so. Never give in, never mind odds; these were the maxims
on which the men of whom Clive is but the most conspicuous, habitually
acted; and the results were that these became the accepted rules of
conduct for Englishmen in India, and that the native soldiers of
whatever race learned to rely implicitly on their officers.
Scores, hundreds of times in the last century and a half, in matters
great and small, English officers have acted on these principles as
a matter of course; and equally as a matter of course their native
soldiers have done under English leadership what they never would
have dreamed of doing if left to themselves. Courage, most of the
races which furnished sepoys possessed in abundance; and that courage
they placed at the disposal of the foreigners in whom they recognised
fertility of resource, power of combination, so far above their own
level, that they seemed to belong to a superior order of beings. Nor
can there be any doubt that the fact of their being so regarded helped
to raise the English above their natural level.[90] They must live
up to their position, both to the traditions of the service and to
the idea entertained of them. When they cease to do this, the hold of
England on India will be precarious. Whether they are tending to do so
may be judged from the history of any and every little war, such for
instance as the Kanjut expedition in 1891, the most notable feature of
which was the storming of Thol, and which is fully and picturesquely
described in Mr. E. F. Knight's book, _Where Three Empires Meet_. Even
more characteristic of the needs, and the achievements, of British rule
in India, is a narrative of an incident on a very small scale, done
in the way of everyday business, which is given in a tolerably recent
newspaper (the _Spectator_ of April 23, 1892) from a letter of the
chief actor.
"Lieutenant G. F. MacMunn, R.A., had been ordered to march with
fourteen men, of whom, fortunately for him, twelve were Goorkhas,
to convey some stores, principally rum, from Myitchina to Sadon, a
small fortified post in Burmah, a distance of about fifty miles. The
road was considered perfectly safe, and about twenty-five miles were
passed in tranquillity, when the young lieutenant—he cannot be above
twenty-two—received information which showed that some rebels of the
Kachyen tribe intended to bar his path. This meant that he must either
retreat, or force his way along a rough road, continually crossed
by streams, and lined with jungle on each side, through a hostile
force which might number hundreds, and did number sixty at least,
armed with muskets, and sufficiently instructed in the military art
to build stockades both of timber and stone. Lieutenant MacMunn, who
had probably never heard a gun fired in anger in his life, seems not
to have doubted for a moment about his duty. The people in Sadon,
he thought, would want the rum, and he pushed on, to find the enemy
holding a ford where the water was up to his shoulders. He plunged in
with three Goorkhas, and forded the eighty yards of water, 'getting
volleyed at awfully,' but was left unwounded, and 'rushed' one side
of the stockade, and then, bringing over the rest of his men, rushed
the remaining works. The Kachyens fled, but four miles in advance
towards Sadon halted again, constructed another stockade, and filled
the jungle on each side of the road with musketeers, who poured in,
as the Goorkhas advanced, a deadly fire. The Jemadar was shot through
the lungs, a Goorkha hit in the foot, and Lieutenant MacMunn wounded
in the wrist; but he went down into the jungle with two men only,
the remainder forming a rearguard, and carried the stockade, the
Kachyens firing futile volleys, and the Englishman and his comrades,
as he writes in school-boy slang, 'giving them beans.' Sadon was now
visible, and encouraged by the sight, Lieutenant MacMunn pressed on;
but the Kachyens were not tired of the fight, and had erected another
stockade, this time of stone, across the road, with a ditch five feet
deep by ten feet broad in front of it, a proof in itself of their
considerable numbers and skill. The lieutenant asked 'the boys' if
they would 'follow straight,' and they being Goorkhas, half-mad with
fighting, and understanding by this time quite clearly what manner of
lad was leading them, 'yelled' that they would, and did. Into and out
of the ditch, and up to the stockade, and again the Kachyens fled,
only to turn once more, and—but we must let Lieutenant MacMunn tell
the rest of his own story. 'It took us half-an-hour to repair the road
and pull down the stockade; and on and on, wondering where our friends
were.' (The garrison of Sadon knew nothing of the advancing party or
its danger.) 'One mile on they again fired at us from the jungle; but
the road was clear, and we hurried on down the hill, where we had to
cross a river bridged by our sappers. On the way down they banged away
at us, and near the river they had stuck in any amount of pointed
spikes in the road, and while we pulled these up they fired again and
again, and we volleyed in return. We then hurried down to the bridge;
to our dismay it was destroyed, so we had to cross the river by wading
lower down, and very deep it was. It was quite dark, and took us quite
half-an-hour to get every one across, and then the road was blocked
with spikes and trees, and the Kachins fired continually. At last we
got to Sadon village, half-a-mile below the fort which our fellows
had made. In the village from every house and corner they fired. My
horse was shot in the hind-leg, the bullet going through the muscle,
and a driver was hit too. The Goorkha ponies broke loose and galloped
about, the mules went in every direction, and the Goorkhas cursed and
blazed away, and still no sign from our friends, and I began to fear
the fort had been taken. I put the wounded driver on a pony, and we
hurried on, collecting what ponies and mules we could. In ten minutes
more we saw the fort in the darkness ahead, and I started off a ringing
cheer, followed by my men; bugles rang out, and they cheered in reply,
and in another minute we were inside. I was surrounded by men on all
sides, patting me on the back, holding me up, giving me water, asking
questions.'"
CHAPTER XVI
INDIA
PART I.—CONQUEST
The history of the foundation of the English empire in India is full
of paradoxes. The East India Company had no purpose beyond trade:
they had been allowed to form settlements at various places, and like
other landowners had a few armed men to protect them against possible
violence; but they did not dream even of asserting their independence
of the native princes. It was the French, not the English, who won the
first victory against great odds over a native army, and so disclosed
the _arcanum imperii_, the secret that European discipline would
prevail against almost any numbers, and that native soldiers, trained
in the European method and fighting alongside of European comrades,
could be made almost equally effective. The restless ambition of
Dupleix, striving to establish French dominion in southern India,
led him to attack the English of Madras, as hereditary enemies at
home as well as possible rivals in India. The English were driven to
war in self-defence, and they found in Clive a leader who was nearly
Dupleix's equal as a statesman, and was also, what Dupleix was not,
a born general. Down to 1751 it had been supposed in India that the
English could not fight: they had certainly shown no inclination for
war. Clive's defence at Arcot, followed by his victory in the field
over a very superior force commanded by a Frenchman, transferred to
his countrymen that moral and military preponderance which Dupleix
had gained for the French. No better illustration can be found of
the principle that the boldest course is generally the safest, than
Clive's victory at Cauveripak.[91]
[Illustration:
_Map XVIII_
_Outline Map of
INDIA_.]
The first step was thus gained involuntarily, as a consequence of
French aggression: the second and more important step was the result
of an unprovoked attack on Calcutta. In 1756 a spoilt boy became
Nawab of Bengal, and at once proceeded to make war on the English
settlements, which had virtually no means of resistance. On his capture
of Calcutta, followed by the well-known catastrophe of the Black Hole,
the Madras government sent all the force that could possibly be spared,
under the command of Clive, to attempt to regain what had been lost.
Clive's landing was followed by the easy recovery of Calcutta and by
other successes, which terrified the Nawab into restoring all that
the English had ever held in Bengal. Clive however had not forgotten
Dupleix. The Seven Years' War had just broken out; it was more than
probable that the French, whose influence was still paramount in the
Deccan, would ally themselves with the Nawab, and so enable him to
re-conquer Calcutta. Clive in fact was beginning to discern dimly, what
we after the event can see plainly enough, the end to which affairs in
India were tending. Given the political conditions, the Mogul empire
utterly weak, and its nominal subordinates fiercely hostile to each
other; given also the enormous preponderance conferred by European
discipline; the time was approaching when some European nation would
become supremely influential, the chief power in India, if not actually
dominant. Moreover the only possible candidates for supremacy in India
were France and England: and in view of the rivalry between them
in America as well as in Europe, no postponement of the inevitable
struggle in India was to be looked for. Neither side saw clearly the
greatness of the stake for which they were contending, but each felt
instinctively that there could be no security while the rival power
retained a real hold on any part of India. The game was won for England
on the field of Plassy by the political and military genius of Robert
Clive.
The miserable Surajah Dowlah was no match for Clive in the cabinet,
any more than in the field. Afraid of his neighbours, especially
of the Mahrattas, he was distracted between desire to conciliate
English support and dread of English power. The French settlement of
Chandernagore was, like Calcutta, under the nominal suzerainty of the
Nawab, and therefore though France and England were at war, Clive had
no right to attack it without the Nawab's permission. The refusal was
a grievance of which Clive made the most; he seized Chandernagore, and
defied the native army that was marching to protect it. Surajah Dowlah
had dreamed, in one of his vacillations towards a leaning on English
support, of crushing with their aid the great nobles whose power was a
danger to him. Hence some of them were ready to side with the English
against him, and Clive ultimately made a regular treaty with one of
them, Meer Jaffier, who was to be made Nawab, on payment of a large
sum, as soon as Surajah Dowlah had with his assistance been overthrown.
When Clive however found himself within reach of the Nawab's army, Meer
Jaffier was still on openly friendly terms with his master, and in
command of a division of the army. Clive had only general assurances
that Meer Jaffier meant to keep his engagement with the English, which
might or might not be sincere.
The circumstances of the case put any middle course really out of
the question. Though various expedients were suggested, he must
choose between retreat and attacking with 3000 men, of whom less than
one-third were English, the Nawab's army of 50,000 men, on the chance
of Meer Jaffier coming over to his side. While the choice was yet open,
while a river still separated the two armies, Clive called his officers
together. Councils of war proverbially do not fight, and this was no
exception. The majority, with whom Clive himself voted, advised against
immediate action. The minority, led by Eyre Coote, who afterwards won
the victory of Porto Novo that broke Hyder Ali's power, declared for
advancing. When the council was over, Clive, with whom as commander the
final decision necessarily rested, went apart under a clump of trees,
and there took the resolution on which the fate of India hung. Next
morning his little army crossed the river, and by nightfall was face
to face with the enemy; they bivouacked in a mango grove north of the
village of Plassy, with the river close to them on the west, and the
intrenchments which covered the Nawab's camp about a mile off to the
north.
Early next morning (June 23, 1757) the Nawab's army moved out and
took order for battle. On the right, half-a-mile north of the grove
which sheltered Clive, and close to the river, were posted some guns
manned by Frenchmen, behind which were massed the flower of the Nawab's
troops, commanded by his one thoroughly trustworthy general Meer
Mudin. The rest of the army extended thence in a long curve, formed
with horse, foot, and artillery closely massed together, so far that
its extremity almost surrounded Clive. The left portion, that nearest
to the English, was commanded by the traitor Meer Jaffier, who still
hesitated to take any decisive step. Clive formed his little army in
order of battle, north of the grove, his one English regiment, the
39th,[92] in the centre, with his few small guns and his sepoys on each
side. Cavalry he had none, while the enemy had some 15,000, besides
twelve times his number of infantry, and five times his number of guns,
mostly of heavier calibre. The enemy opened a cannonade, but did not
attempt to come to close quarters: they had no need to do so, for their
converging artillery fire would have sufficed to destroy the force
exposed to it. Clive was in a trap, he could not advance on the French
guns without ruinous loss, and exposing himself to being surrounded.
Retreat was out of the question: all he could do was to take shelter
in the mango grove, which was surrounded by banks, and await events,
resolving at any rate to attack the Nawab at night. Then occurred an
incident resembling that which preceded the battle of Crecy. A heavy
storm wetted the powder of the Nawab's artillery, and reduced its
fire to insignificance. Meer Mudin, thinking that the English guns
were in equally evil case, boldly advanced with his cavalry to assail
the position. But Clive's guns, which had been covered from the rain,
received him with a discharge of grape, which drove the cavalry back
in rout. Meer Mudin himself was killed, and with him died the Nawab's
chance of victory. Timid and incapable, surrounded by men who were
either traitors or cowards, the Nawab gave the order to withdraw within
the intrenchments, and soon fled from the field. Meer Jaffier so far
disobeyed orders, as not to withdraw within the lines; but to the last
he never mustered up courage to make his treason complete and side
openly with the English. Clive now saw that his opportunity was come;
advancing boldly, he drove back the artillery which was manned by
Frenchmen, in spite of their determined resistance. The enemy's army
was still intact, but they were practically without leaders, the Nawab
having fled, and some at least of the chief officers being desirous to
see Clive successful. In a disorderly fashion they issued once more
from their intrenched position, but Clive gave them no rest: pushing on
from point to point he drove them from their camp, winning one of the
most decisive and far-reaching victories recorded in history, at a cost
of less than a hundred killed and wounded.
The battle of Plassy virtually gave the East India Company Bengal,
Behar, and Orissa. Many other wars had to be waged, many battles won
by skill and daring which equalled, if they did not surpass, Clive's
exploits, before the English rule was so firmly established that it
could give peace and security to its subjects. But those victories were
facilitated by the profound impression produced on the native mind
by Plassy. It was no unmeaning instinct which interpreted the famous
prophecy about the Company's _raj_ lasting a hundred years only, to
mean that it would be overthrown when a century had elapsed since the
battle of Plassy.
Twenty years later Hyder Ali, a Mahommedan adventurer who had usurped
the throne of Mysore, made an attempt to oust the English from southern
India. It was not until after a long and doubtful struggle that he was
overcome: indeed he himself died before the conflict was over, and
the comparative incompetence of his son contributed greatly to the
triumph of the English. Decade by decade it became clearer that whether
the East India Company liked it or not, English power must extend
itself further and further, under penalty of perishing altogether.
The original strictly commercial basis of the Company had not been
forgotten, but new policy had been forced upon it, partly by the
necessity of its position, partly by the intervention of Parliament.
English officials in India no longer possessed the old opportunities
for enriching themselves, which some of them had used with shameless
rapacity, some with admirable disinterestedness. Good government,
peace, security, were at any rate the avowed objects of the Indian
administration, which had been more or less centralised ever since
1773 by the appointment of a governor-general. When in the first years
of the nineteenth century one more native power attempted to expel
the English, the supreme authority for this final conflict was in the
hands of perhaps the ablest and most far-sighted statesman, whose name
figures on the distinguished list of governors-general of India.
Colonel Meadows Taylor's remarkable tale _Tara_ is probably less
widely known than it deserves. Those who have read it, know what a
fascinating picture it presents of the condition of life in India, at
the epoch when the Mahratta power was founded. In the decline of the
Mogul empire, during the latter part of the seventeenth century, a new
Hindoo power was gradually built up, the original seat of which was
in the difficult mountain country of the western Ghauts. Sivaji the
founder appealed alike to the religious zeal and to the race feeling
of the Hindoos, as against their alien Mahommedan rulers, without
nominally repudiating allegiance to the emperor; the Mahratta power
grew and spread, till it became supreme all over central India. Even
in Bengal the raids of the Mahratta horsemen were a real danger: the
first fortification of Calcutta, some years before Plassy, bears the
name of the Mahratta Ditch. Late in the eighteenth century the Mahratta
confederacy had fallen into somewhat the same condition politically as
the Mogul empire. Their titular head, the Peishwa, was no more really
supreme over the other Mahratta princes than the emperor at Delhi
had been over the rulers of the Deccan and Bengal. About the time at
which Mysore was finally passing into English hands, the ablest of the
secondary Mahratta princes had gone near to making himself master of
all India, outside the British sphere. He dominated the puppet emperor
at Delhi; he had troops trained and officered by Europeans, besides
the splendid cavalry which had always been the main strength of the
Mahrattas. He was rapidly acquiring preponderant influence over the
Peishwa and the other Mahratta states, and dreaming of using his power
to expel foreigners from India, when his death broke up the whole
fabric.
The new Sindia[93] did not inherit his father's abilities, but he
pursued in a clumsy and hesitating way the same policy. The Peishwa
broke loose from his influence, fomented a quarrel between him and
Holkar, and then, frightened at the storm he had raised, appealed for
protection to the English. Lord Wellesley seized the opportunity: by
the treaty of Bassein the Peishwa put himself into leading-strings.
Sindia tried in vain to revive his father's schemes for a complete
union of the Mahratta states against the British power. The Peishwa
was bound, Holkar jealous; only the rajah of Berar could be induced
to join him in war. The two princes however commanded between them a
very large army, comprising some 10,000 infantry trained and largely
officered by Europeans, a large amount of excellent artillery, cavalry
estimated at fully 40,000, and a mass of irregular infantry besides.
Against this force Lord Wellesley could bring into the field, after
providing for other needs, nearly 17,000 men, including the cavalry of
his dependent allies the Peishwa and the rajah of Mysore. This army
was commanded by his brother Arthur Wellesley, but in view of the many
possibilities of the campaign, it was divided into two nearly equal
parts, General Stevenson commanding the smaller. Poona, the Peishwa's
capital, had to be guarded, the safety of provision trains ensured (for
the Mahrattas had wasted the country), and the enemy prevented from
entering the Deccan, it being known that they were trying to induce
the Nizam to join them. Wellesley's capture of Ahmednugur rendered
Poona safe, and he then moved towards Sindia, who on hearing the
news instantly set out towards the Deccan. With his enormous mass of
quick-moving cavalry, Sindia, having even a small start, could have
reached Hyderabad if he had dared; but he lost heart on finding that
Wellesley was marching after him, and turned north-eastwards, managing
to avoid fighting until he had concentrated the whole of his army.
Wellesley and Stevenson met and concerted a plan, by which they should
follow different routes, a proceeding apparently rendered necessary
by the narrowness of defiles to be traversed, and fall on the enemy
simultaneously on August 24.
Early however on the 23rd Wellesley, when he had just completed an
early morning march, was informed that the enemy was encamped within
a few miles, but was preparing to move off. As this would frustrate
the plan of attack concerted with Stevenson, Wellesley must either let
them escape or attack at once with his own force only. He had but 4500
trained troops, including two English infantry regiments, the 74th and
78th, and the 19th light dragoons, the rest being sepoys: there were
also nearly 5000 cavalry belonging to Mysore and to the Peishwa, but
he had good reason to believe that the latter at least would desert
him if trusted. On coming in sight of the enemy, Wellesley found them
drawn up on the opposite side of the river Kaitna, the infantry massed
on the left near the village of Assye, the cavalry on the right. He
saw at once that in the confined space they occupied (the river, with
a little tributary flowing into it, forms a sort of horse-shoe) the
enemy could not possibly bring their enormous superiority in cavalry
to bear. The point[94] where the Kaitna could be crossed, was on the
enemy's left flank, within gun-shot of Assye, so that the troops were
obliged to ford the river and form their line of battle under fire. The
Mahrattas meanwhile had had time to make something of a fresh formation
facing the British line, the left still resting on Assye, and a second
line, formed of troops for which there was no room between the rivers,
at an angle to the first. A competent enemy would have used some of
his enormous masses of cavalry to charge Wellesley's forces while
fording the river, but Sindia was not very competent, and his ally
proved himself a coward. Better men than either, both before and after
Assye, were apparently paralysed by the coolness with which the English
commanders did the most audacious things: it was as if they either
could not believe their eyes, or took for granted that there must be
some reserve out of sight to support such an advance. Wellesley's plan
was to move his right slowly forward on Assye, while his left pushed on
rapidly to force back the enemy's right; if this were done, the whole
of the enemy's army would be jammed together upon the little tributary
of the Kaitna, unable to fight effectively. The 74th however, on the
right, were too eager and advanced too fast; the overwhelming artillery
fire from Assye killed the cattle of the few guns that accompanied
them, and caused slaughter enough to check the infantry. Sindia ordered
forward his cavalry to charge the disordered line, but Wellesley was
too quick for him; bringing up the 19th light dragoons and the Madras
cavalry he ordered them to charge at full speed against the advancing
Mahrattas. Nothing could resist the shock: the Mahratta horsemen were
driven behind their infantry, and the 74th had time to rally. Meanwhile
Wellesley had been pushing forward his left, and by the time the
village of Assye was carried, his left had swept round, and the whole
of the enemy's masses were driven at the point of the bayonet back upon
the little tributary of the Kaitna, which however was fordable. As
the infantry showed signs of re-forming beyond the stream, Wellesley
followed them up with his cavalry, and effectually dispersed all but
the troops trained in European fashion, which however retreated without
attempting to renew the action. The Mahratta horse had still to be
dealt with: they had been sharply checked once, but their numbers had
suffered little. Wellesley's cavalry succeeded, though not without a
severe struggle, in driving them off the field. The victory was for the
time complete, though the loss was heavy in proportion to the numbers
engaged, the English regiments in particular suffering greatly.
It required a month's more campaigning, the capture of two or three
fortresses, and another battle at Argaum, to complete the subjugation
of the region south of the Vindhya hills. Simultaneously General Lake
had been engaged in a campaign far away to the northwards, overthrowing
Sindia's power in the basin of the Ganges. Having stormed the extremely
strong fortress of Aligurh, he had defeated near Delhi a Mahratta army
consisting largely of trained troops and commanded by a Frenchman, and
had restored the blind Mogul emperor, who had long been a prisoner of
Sindia, to his nominal throne. Two months after Assye, Lake destroyed
on the hard-fought field of Laswaree the last army with which Sindia
could keep the field. He and his ally practically submitted themselves
to the English. Holkar tried his fortune later, with the same
result.[95] If he had combined with Sindia in 1803 there might have
been a better chance for the Mahrattas. The victory of Assye, which
must on the whole be regarded as the decisive one of the Mahratta war,
made the East India Company virtual masters of India. The Mogul emperor
was their pensioner, the rulers of Oude, Mysore, the Deccan, their
willing dependents. The Mahrattas gave more trouble before they fully
submitted, and there was fighting in various other quarters at one time
or another during the generation which followed Assye; but these wars
were comparatively unimportant. Substantially it may be said that in
the Mahratta war of 1803 the political genius of Lord Wellesley, aided
by the military skill of his brother, completed the British conquest of
India as far as the Sutlej.
CHAPTER XVII
INDIA
PART II.—SUPREMACY
Three times, after the East India Company had become supreme in India,
its dominion was exposed to serious danger of overthrow. The Afghan
war, dictated by mistaken policy, and badly carried out, led to the
greatest disaster in Anglo-Indian history, though it was redeemed
by subsequent successes. The Sikh military power, built up by an
able ruler, and disciplined by European officers, went very near to
defeating British armies in pitched battles. The mutiny of the Bengal
sepoys turned against England the main instrument of her previous
conquests.
In the course of a long reign Runjeet Sing had become by far the
most powerful Indian prince since Hyder Ali. The Khalsa, as the Sikh
commonwealth was styled, was full of zeal for its creed, a reformed
Hindooism. The race was hardy and vigorous, and Runjeet Sing, taking
into his service many French and other adventurers, had given his army
a discipline and cohesion never before approached by any oriental
troops. He had conquered several provinces from the Afghans, though
not uniformly successful against them, and by carefully respecting
the prejudices of his people had won complete ascendancy at home.
Though naturally he looked with no favour on the growth of the British
power, he had the wisdom to discern its vast strength, and sedulously
cultivated friendly relations with it, which the Calcutta government
was very willing to maintain. One of the subsidiary purposes of the
ill-advised Afghan war was to assist Runjeet Sing in increasing his
dominions at the expense of the Afghan monarchy. The real determining
motive was however the same which led to the equally ill-judged Afghan
war of 1878-9, dread of the advance of Russia in central Asia.
In 1837 Persia, largely under Russian influence, tried to wrest Herat
from the Afghan monarch, Dost Mahommed, but the attempt failed,
chiefly through the energy of Eldred Pottinger. The Afghans, fanatical
Mahommedans, and bitterly hostile to foreigners, only asked to be
let alone. Their country is very mountainous, and difficult of
access, much of it barren, and the outlying parts occupied by lawless
predatory tribes. With a little assistance from India, they would have
afforded then, as later, a most effectual barrier against a Russian
advance. Dost Mahommed would have welcomed an English alliance,
chiefly to protect him against Persia. Lord Auckland however, the
governor-general, persuaded himself that Dost Mahommed was not to be
trusted, and determined to replace him by a pretender who had, as the
event showed, no partisans in Afghanistan. Armies were sent to invade
the country by more than one route, as from the nature of the case
was inevitable, and occupied it without serious resistance. Then the
difficulties began. Shah Sujah, the British puppet, had no capacity and
could establish no power. Almost every imaginable blunder was committed
by the English authorities at Cabul, both civil and military: the
envoys were murdered, the army was to all intents and purposes placed
in the hands of the revolted Afghans to destroy at their pleasure.
The government of India was slow to perceive the absolute necessity
of retrieving by vigorous measures our lost credit, and of avenging
those who had been treacherously slaughtered. Lord Ellenborough, who
succeeded Lord Auckland, was less incompetent to deal with the crisis,
though his policy was by no means faultless. In 1842 Afghanistan was
again occupied by armies, this time well and boldly led; and then the
puppet was withdrawn, and Dost Mahommed resumed his throne. The net
result of the whole war was to inspire in the Afghans a feeling of
active dislike towards the English, which had hardly existed before,
and to diminish the elements of order and civilisation, and therefore
the chances of resisting Russia in case of need, in a state always
barbarous and a prey to violence.
What might have happened if Runjeet Sing had lived to hear of the
disaster at Cabul, whether his fidelity to the English alliance would
have been proof against the temptation to strike for Sikh supremacy in
India, it is not pleasant to conjecture. He however died when the first
invasion of Afghanistan was progressing, and his death was followed by
virtual anarchy in the Punjab. Rulers and ministers in rapid succession
rose to power by violence or intrigue, and were deposed and murdered
by similar means. Every revolution made the Sikh army more and more
powerful in the state, more and more conscious of its own power.
The soldiers were admirably brave, and capable of enduring enormous
fatigue, nor had their discipline been impaired by their political
preponderance, with its consequent high pay and license of violence.
Man for man they were superior to any other natives of India, and
little, if at all, inferior to English soldiers. Strong in religious
zeal, they believed it to be their mission to expel the foreigners,
and establish, throughout northern India at least, a purified Hindoo
empire. The Sikhs were well provided with artillery, on which they
placed their main reliance, and trained in all the methods of European
warfare: though slow to attack, they defended intrenchments with
extraordinary determination. Altogether they were an enemy such as
the East India Company had never yet encountered. Fortunately for
England, they had no really skilful generals, and they were, at any
rate in the first war, led by men who were only anxious for their own
personal advantage: from the soldiery they had practically bought their
offices, and might be overthrown by them at any moment. At the best
these chiefs calculated that a war with the English, if unsuccessful,
would bring them under less exacting masters, if successful, might lead
to indefinite possibilities. Their conduct, on more than one occasion,
warrants the belief that they deliberately sought to destroy their own
men.
Sir H. Hardinge, who succeeded Lord Ellenborough as governor-general,
was an experienced and capable soldier: he saw that a Sikh war was
probably inevitable, and brought troops up within easy distance of
the frontier, while avoiding such a concentration as would provoke
immediate attack. On December 11, 1845, the Sikhs crossed the river
Sutlej, the virtual frontier: Sir John Littler, who commanded the
only British force in the immediate neighbourhood, boldly marched
out of Ferozepore and offered battle, though they had five times his
number. His confident attitude impressed the Sikhs; their nominal
commander-in-chief, who desired to commit them as deeply as possible,
represented to them that it would be much more glorious to encounter
and defeat the governor-general, and they followed the insidious
advice. In a few days the English commander-in-chief, with a portion
of the army that was concentrating, drew near. Misinformed as to his
numbers, and urged on by leaders who desired their destruction, the
Sikhs did not march with their whole force to meet him at Moodkee, but
sent a detachment of barely his strength, all arms included, and very
weak in the most important, infantry. Sir Hugh Gough showed on all
occasions impatience of everything but direct attack in front. Forming
his infantry in line he advanced, regardless of the Sikh artillery in
their centre: his cavalry by a brilliant charge broke the superior
Sikh horse which threatened his flank, and the Sikh infantry, greatly
outnumbered, were inevitably forced back with the loss of most of their
guns, though they never were routed. This experience of the quality
of his enemies ought to have taught Sir Hugh Gough wisdom: had it
done so, the unnecessary loss of several hundred men might not have
been too dear a price to pay. Three days later (December 21, 1845)
the available forces were concentrated, and moved to attack the Sikh
army, which had entrenched itself to await him. Their position was,
to use the words of Gough's own despatch, "a parallelogram of about a
mile in length and half a mile in breadth, including within its area
the strong village of Ferozeshah—the shorter sides looking towards
the Sutlej and Moodkee, and the longer towards Ferozepore and the open
country." The governor-general, who had joined the army, intimated his
readiness to serve under Gough. Whether the battle would have been less
rashly fought if he had commanded in chief, cannot be known; certainly
Gough, whose courage was magnificent, but who had no idea of using
skill to save resort to sheer force, brought the army to the verge of
overwhelming disaster.
The short December day was nearly over before the troops were ready
to begin the attack. The plan of the battle was of the simplest.
Littler, on the left, was to assail the west face of the Sikh position;
Wallace on his right, the south-west corner and part of the south face,
Gilbert on the right, the south-east. Between Gilbert and Wallace was
massed nearly all the artillery, of which Gough in his impatience made
very little use. Against Littler the Sikhs had, as it happened, their
heaviest artillery, as well as overwhelming infantry; and his attack
was decisively repulsed. Wallace carried the intrenchments opposite
him, but remained exposed to the fire of the enemy, who had only
been driven back. Gilbert succeeded to about the same extent, but as
darkness came on retired a few hundred yards, and there remained, ready
to renew the action with daylight. The reserves were brought up just
before dark; the 3rd dragoons charged a battery and silenced it, and
then swept through the Sikh camp, dealing destruction as they passed,
but suffering heavily. Sir Harry Smith's division of infantry forced
its way into the heart of the Sikh position, but being attacked in
the dead of night was obliged to retire some distance. So qualified a
success was practically a defeat; Gough was no doubt fully determined
to renew the struggle, but it is hard to see why further efforts
should have been decisively successful, if the Sikhs had been properly
commanded. They however had really no general: the nominal commander,
Tej Sing, was watching Ferozepore with 10,000 men. The chief minister,
who was with the main army, desired for his own sake the destruction
of the soldiery whom he could not control. Hence when day dawned, the
Sikhs had no coherence or definite purpose, and allowed themselves to
be driven from Ferozeshah almost without resistance. Tej Sing and his
division were by this time near enough to have restored the action, and
perhaps to have won it, for the English ammunition was exhausted. But
the traitor contented himself with a mere demonstration, and then fled,
leaving his troops to take care of themselves.
The moral effects of this battle were considerable: it showed that
the English were not invincible. Though they had been ultimately
victorious, it was because the Sikhs abandoned the contest, not
by their own prowess. The origin and growth of beliefs is always
difficult to trace, nowhere more so than in India; but it is at
least credible that the mutiny of 1857 may have been encouraged by
the discovery that the success of the white men was not inevitably
decreed by fate. Gough thought it necessary to wait for several weeks,
while heavy guns were brought up, before resuming active operations
in person. Meanwhile the Sikhs, feeling themselves more or less in
the ascendant, crossed the Sutlej with a considerable force, and Sir
Harry Smith was sent to protect Loodiana. At Aliwal (Jan. 28, 1846) he
completely routed his enemies and drove them back over the Sutlej. This
victory led Golab Sing, who was playing a very important part in Sikh
affairs, and was aiming at his own aggrandisement, whether in hostility
to the English power or by agreement with them, to open negotiations,
which elicited from the governor-general the intimation that if the
Sikh army were disbanded, he would leave the Sikh monarchy standing.
The army however was its own master, and bent on continuing the war for
the predominance of their faith.
When at length Gough's artillery arrived, the Sikhs were occupying
a position at Sobraon, analogous to that at Ferozeshah, but weaker
in that the intrenchments were in parts very badly constructed, and
disadvantageous in that the Sutlej flowed behind it, though adequately
bridged. On Feb. 10, 1846, Gough moved before daylight to the attack,
and by the help of a fog had his artillery in position and his
troops formed in front of the enemy before they were seen. Again his
impatience would not wait for the cannonade to do its work effectually:
the delay of seven weeks since Ferozeshah was rendered virtually
useless. The right being the weakest part of the enemy's intrenchments,
the plan was that the British left should deliver the real attack,
while feints were made by the centre and right. The Sikhs however
reinforced their right so strongly that the assailants could make
scarcely any impression. Gough seeing this, ordered the infantry of
his centre and right to attack in earnest. They suffered heavily, and
recoiled for a moment, but they had relieved the left, and gradually
the whole British line pressed the Sikhs back. Tej Sing again set the
example of flight, and in crossing the bridge broke the centre of it.
Whether this was a deliberate piece of treachery or not, it was fatal
to the Sikh army, which, fighting desperately to the last, was cut to
pieces or driven into the Sutlej. This victory was decisive: the Sikhs
submitted to terms which, while leaving the child Dhuleep Sing nominal
Maharajah, made the British resident virtual ruler of the Punjab, from
which moreover the eastern provinces were ceded to the East India
Company. Cashmere also, which was to be ceded in lieu of a large war
indemnity, was sold to Golab Sing, who paid the sum which the Sikh
government had promised—a transaction indefensible in principle, and
mistaken in policy.
Peace seemed to be so well assured in the Punjab that Sir Henry
Lawrence, the first resident at Lahore, went to England for his
health without misgivings. His successor, a man of less penetration,
was profoundly convinced that no trouble was to be apprehended; yet
all the time the Sikh army and nation were cherishing the purpose of
making another effort for independence, if not supremacy in India.
The mischief began at Mooltan, an important and well fortified town
in the extreme south of the Punjab, where in the spring of 1848 two
English officers were murdered by the soldiery. Whether Moolraj, the
governor of Mooltan, instigated the deed, is doubtful; but he cast in
his lot with the perpetrators. It is suggested that this rising was
part of a wide scheme, and intended to compel the English government to
undertake a difficult siege at the worst period of the year. The new
governor-general counted it the proper business of the Sikh government
to put down what was, formally at least, a rebellion against them. The
old commander-in-chief, Lord Gough, doubted the feasibility of reducing
Mooltan in summer. Their hand was however forced by Lieut. Edwardes,
political officer of a neighbouring district, who raised some native
levies, and marched on Mooltan. He was presently joined by a small
force under General Whish, and by another of Sikhs despatched from
Lahore. The latter presently went over to Moolraj, whereupon General
Whish perforce abandoned the siege till he could be reinforced, but
remained in the neighbourhood. Successive revolts and defections making
it plain that the Sikhs as a nation were resolved on war, Lord Gough
collected an army, and crossed the Sutlej in November. He was short
of numbers until Mooltan should fall, and was intended only to observe
the Sikh army and prevent its attempting any offensive movement. His
inveterate habit, however, of rushing at the enemy, regardless of every
consideration except the hope of inflicting an immediate blow, showed
itself immediately. The Sikh commander, who had no great skill, was of
his own accord quitting a strong position at Ramnugur. A reasonable
man, who was not completely master of the situation, would have been
glad to let him thus throw away an advantage. Gough must needs attack
him with infantry, and lost several hundred men in compelling the enemy
to do what he was already doing without compulsion. A month later, when
changing circumstances rendered it expedient that active operations
should be attempted without waiting any longer for Whish, he indulged
the same propensity in a most wanton manner.
The Sikh army were posted near Chillianwalla, on the river Jhelum,
their front covered by a thick belt of jungle. It was suggested to
Lord Gough that he should move so as to place his right obliquely
across the enemy's left flank; if this were done, the enemy's line
could be enfiladed by artillery, the left driven in on the centre, and
the whole army routed.[96] The jungle in front of the Sikhs, which
prevented them from making a forward movement, greatly facilitated this
manœuvre: if Gough had adhered to his plan, they could only have
escaped defeat by retreating. It was afternoon (Jan. 13, 1849) before
the English army came within reach of the Sikhs, and the intention
was to halt for the night, and engage next morning. The Sikh general,
however, either merely to do what mischief he could to the enemy, or,
as has been suggested, with the deliberate intention of provoking Gough
to attack, pushed forward some guns and opened fire, to which the
English artillery replied. Neither party could really see the other
for the intervening jungle, and the comparatively innocuous cannonade
might have been ignored. Lord Gough's fighting temper was roused, and
he did precisely what the enemy could have desired: he ordered his
infantry to make a direct attack. The dense jungle, in one part nearly
a mile in depth, naturally broke up the order of the troops. On the
left one brigade of Sir Colin Campbell's division reached the hostile
guns, but was overpowered and driven back. The other brigade, under
Campbell in person, found itself almost surrounded; for the Sikhs
being considerably superior in number, their right extended beyond the
British line, and part of it was able to close upon Campbell's flank
and rear, though the rest was kept in check by the cavalry on the
extreme British left: he however obstinately maintained his ground. The
infantry of the right wing under Gilbert was somewhat more successful,
thanks in some measure at least to the brilliant services rendered by
Dawes' troop of horse artillery. The cavalry however of the right wing
were badly defeated. Lord Gough ordered forward his last reserve to
fill the gap between Campbell and Gilbert: and after a severe struggle
the infantry line succeeded in forcing the Sikhs back, and establishing
themselves beyond the jungle. By this time the cavalry of the right
wing had re-formed and had been reinforced from the left; there was
daylight yet left for a charge, which, pushed home upon the Sikhs, who
were already giving way and disordered by hard fighting, might perhaps
have been decisive. Gough however did not see, or would not use, the
opportunity, and went forward in person to the infantry. They were in
a sense victorious, but the enemy was not routed, and might resume
the action. There was neither food nor water within reach. It was
deemed necessary to withdraw from the hard-won field to Chillianwalla,
abandoning the wounded and the captured guns, that could not be removed
in the dark. To do this was virtually to acknowledge defeat, though
fortunately the Sikhs had lost so severely that no evil consequences
followed. A braver soldier than Gough never lived; but few battles are
recorded in which the general showed himself more incompetent than at
Chillianwalla, none in which the blunders of the commander were better
redeemed by the courage of the soldiers.
More than a month of comparative inaction followed. The Sikh army was
largely reinforced, and used every effort to tempt Gough to another
battle before he could be joined by the troops now set free by the
fall of Mooltan. Gough however either had at length learned prudence,
or yielded to the counsels of others, and steadily refused to fight
until it suited him. On February 21 took place the final battle of
the campaign, in front of the town of Gujerat. The Sikhs occupied a
position of no strength, for the two streams on their right and left
were at that season easily passable anywhere. They might easily have
found a better position in the immediate neighbourhood: but nothing
could have saved them from defeat, unless Lord Gough had reverted to
his favourite tactics. The British army was very superior in artillery;
probably no army of anything like equal numbers had ever before been
so strong in this arm, whether for the weight of metal, the number of
guns, or the precision of fire. The Sikhs understood artillery well,
and trusted to it greatly; and they would be naturally all the more
impressed by finding the preponderance against them.[97] The plan of
attack was simply that after the Sikh artillery had been silenced, the
infantry should advance, and that Sir Colin Campbell on the left should
turn the right of the Sikhs, this being the flank by which their line
of retreat could be most effectually threatened. This programme was in
the main carried out, though Gough's impatience ordered the infantry
forward a little too soon. But for this hardly any of the infantry
need have been seriously engaged. The Sikhs resisted with their usual
bravery, but were ultimately forced to abandon the field; and their
retreat was converted into a rout by the English cavalry and horse
artillery. A few days later the remains of the army laid down their
arms, and the Sikh nation submitted. After due deliberation the British
government determined to annex the Punjab. The administration of the
new province was entrusted to the best men in India, headed first by
Henry and then by John Lawrence, with the result that eight years
later, in the terrible strain of the Mutiny, the Punjab was a main
source of strength. The Sikhs, who had been the most dangerous enemies
of British rule in India, won over by good government, and largely by
the personal influence of the Lawrences, became our most faithful and
valuable supporters.
The history of the Indian Mutiny must be written either at length,
or in the briefest possible way. In the whole region of the Ganges,
between lower Bengal and the Punjab, the sepoys with few exceptions
revolted, and murdered in most cases their English officers. The
English, isolated in small bodies, defended themselves as best they
could, with the obstinacy of their race, and the determination of men
who felt that surrender, while certainly disgraceful and injurious to
the general cause, gave no certainty of rescue for their own lives.
In most important places, as for instance in Lucknow, they held their
ground: in a few, as in Delhi, the rebels gained complete possession.
The people generally, alive to the advantages of British rule in
ensuring peace and good government, but unable to understand their
masters, and especially their holding the balance even between Hindoos
and Mahommedans, remained on the whole passive. The native princes,
whose territory, roughly speaking, bounded on the south the disturbed
region, remained generally faithful to England, notably the great
Mahratta princes, Holkar and Sindia, though the adopted son of the
last Peishwa, whose succession the British government had refused to
acknowledge, was naturally a bitter enemy. Had they all made common
cause with the insurgents it is hard to see how the empire could have
been saved, even though the Punjab needed no troops, and the Madras and
Bombay sepoys remained on the whole true to their colours. Gradually as
more and more British soldiers became available, the revolt was crushed
out, though not without great exertion and much time.
The point on which the largest amount of attention was concentrated
was Lucknow, the capital of Oude. The annexation, a measure rendered
absolutely necessary by the scandalous oppression of the king, had
been too recent for even Sir Henry Lawrence to have won over the
population, who furnished a very large proportion of the rebel
sepoys. Hence the difficulty of forcing the way to the capital was
exceptionally great, and it had to be done three times. The original
garrison was but small, the 32nd regiment and about 500 native soldiers
who remained faithful. There were many English women and children shut
up with them. They had no real defences, inadequate supplies, and
almost no servants, and it was the hottest season. After Sir Henry
Lawrence was killed, Colonel Inglis of the 32nd held the command, and
proved himself fully capable of making the most of his very meagre
resources. At the outset it was expected that they could hold out for
about a fortnight: it was eighty-seven days before Havelock was able
to force his way to Lucknow, and then it was only to reinforce, not to
rescue. The heroic endurance of those long weeks cannot be described
in sober prose: no English reader can wish to see it attempted, with
Tennyson's noble poem in his memory. Havelock had had long and severe
fighting in the neighbourhood of Cawnpore, before he could even
begin to advance towards Lucknow. At the last moment General Outram
was sent to supersede him, the government apparently thinking, most
unreasonably, that it was Havelock's fault that more had not been
achieved. But Outram, the 'Bayard of India,' would not rob Havelock of
the credit: in his first and only general order issued on joining the
little army, he announced that he waived his superior rank, and would
accompany the force in his civil capacity as the new chief commissioner
of Oude. Havelock and Outram forced their way into Lucknow on September
28, when Outram of course assumed the chief authority. His first idea
was to withdraw, but he found that transport could not be provided
for the women and children and the large number of sick and wounded.
He therefore resolved to await relief from Sir Colin Campbell, which
could not be very long in coming. Campbell however was hampered by
many difficulties before he could leave Cawnpore: and it was not till
November 17 that he fought his way into Lucknow. The storming of the
Secunderbagh, a fortified palace in the outskirts of the city, and
of the Shah Nujeef, a mosque near it, are among the most sensational
feats authentically recorded. They could not be better told than in
the admirable narrative of Mr. Forbes Mitchell, then a sergeant in
the 93rd Highlanders, which played a conspicuous part in the relief.
This time the garrison was withdrawn, for Campbell had not men enough,
if he occupied Lucknow in force, for the critical operations which
awaited him around Cawnpore: but the gallant Havelock died, worn out,
before the retreat began. Outram remained in a fortified position at
the Alumbagh not far from Lucknow: and after disposing of other duties
Campbell returned to make a final end of the Lucknow rebels. This time
the forces available were large, the operations could be conducted in
a methodical way without undue waste of life, and the work was done
effectually.
More important in its moral effect, more remarkable as an instance
both of political and military audacity, was the reconquest of Delhi.
The imperial city had but a small force of sepoys stationed in it,
when the mutiny broke out at Meerut, forty miles off. Many of the
mutineers hastened to Delhi, flying, it would seem, from the expected
vengeance of the English troops at Meerut, who however were detained
inactive by the hopeless incapacity of their general. The Delhi sepoys
rose at the news, and slaughtered all the English in the city: those
who lived outside fled as best they could. Lieutenant Willoughby, in
charge of the great magazine, defended it for some time, aided by
eight men only; and then blew it up, and a thousand rebels with it.
The ancient capital, with all its resources, was for the time lost:
and the mutineers proclaimed the restoration of the Mogul emperor,
who, old and blind, resided in the palace, though this did not mean
his assumption of any authority. The supreme importance of recovering
Delhi was obvious, but it was not till three weeks after the outbreak
that General Barnard, who had become commander-in-chief by the death
of General Anson, marched for Delhi, ordering all that could be spared
from Meerut to join him. Wilson with the Meerut force had to fight
his way, and after his junction with Barnard a considerable battle
had to be fought; but on June 8 the army established itself in the
old garrison cantonments, on a long ridge which looks down on the
city from the west and north-west. It was obviously far too small to
besiege Delhi in any real sense. It could furnish visible evidence
that England had not abandoned the idea of reconquest, but it could do
no more without reinforcements and a siege train, unless by a direct
and immediate assault. Some of the ardent spirits in the army strongly
urged General Barnard to hazard an assault; and if he had done so, he
might very possibly have succeeded; for the odds against him were not
much greater than when Delhi was taken three months later, and the
moral effect of prompt audacity is always great, especially in India.
He however thought the consequences of failure too disastrous to be
risked without a greater chance of success. Consequently Delhi became
more and more the focus of the mutiny, to which streamed all rebels
not already in organised bodies: and its fall was a greater material
blow to their cause. This however can hardly be set against the value
of an early proof that the British could and would re-establish their
power. It requires an extraordinary man to realise that the risk of
failure is no greater because the result of failure will be ruinous,
and to run the risk with a full determination not to fail. Had
Nicholson, or Havelock, or Edwardes, been in command before Delhi, the
risk would have been faced. Barnard however was not an extraordinary
man: the early opportunity once let slip, nothing could be done but
hold on. The rebels, daily gaining in number and possessing unlimited
stores of ammunition, made repeated attacks. The British army, though
invariably successful in their encounters, and slowly gaining more and
more ground, could not in any sense be said to besiege the city: they
were not far from being themselves beleaguered. Moreover no help could
come except from one quarter. The whole mass of the revolted territory
lay between Delhi and Calcutta. The means of conquering Delhi must be
furnished, if at all, from the Punjab.
England has never been better served than by the men who at the crisis
of the mutiny governed the Punjab and adjoining provinces. The country
was full of disaffected regiments, but they were nearly all disarmed
without mischief: where material force to compel obedience was lacking,
the calm assumption of irresistible authority answered nearly as well.
Nowhere did the mutineers obtain the superiority, though a certain
number made off towards the rebel ranks at Delhi. After a little
observation of the temper of the Sikh population, Sir John Lawrence
took the bold step of enlisting them by thousands, to take the place
of the Mahommedan and Hindoo mutineers. The Sikhs had found the new
government just: they saw its attitude of perfect confidence in its
own strength, and they served it as devotedly as they had followed
Runjeet Sing. Not only did Lawrence win the Sikhs to remain peaceful
themselves, and keep down the elements of disorder on the borders, thus
setting free the English regiments; he was able also to contribute
thousands of Sikh troops of all arms to the recovery of Delhi. The
delay increased his difficulties, for it weakened the belief in English
invincibility. Regiments mutinied that had hitherto remained quiet:
the wild tribes of the frontier, the non-Sikh parts of the population,
were in a ferment. Lawrence however held firmly to his conviction that
Delhi was the paramount consideration: he even despatched to Delhi the
"movable column" which had been organised in the first days of the
mutiny to meet emergencies. This force was commanded by John Nicholson,
possibly the greatest of the many heroes of Anglo-Indian story, and he
became the soul of the besieging army.
On the arrival of the siege train early in September all felt that the
crisis was come. Archdale Wilson, who had succeeded to the command on
Barnard's death, was still doubtful of success, but he yielded with
a good grace to bolder counsels. From the nature of the case nothing
could be done but to batter those portions of the walls which were
within reach from the English position, and then assault. After a
few days' bombardment breaches had been made in the northern walls,
one in the water-bastion close to the north-eastern angle, one near
the Cashmere gate, which were deemed sufficient. On September 14 the
attack was made in four columns; it was not supposed that the whole
of the great city, swarming with desperate men, could be conquered
at once, but if a firm footing were once gained within the walls,
the rest of the work might be done gradually. One column under Jones
was to storm the water-bastion, another under Nicholson, the breach
near the Cashmere gate: a third under Campbell was to blow in the
Cashmere gate, while Reid with the fourth was to take the suburbs on
the western side of the city, and make for the Lahore gate, in the
middle of the western face. The two first columns advanced first, and
both were successful in making good their footing within the walls.
While Nicholson was fighting his way house by house onwards, Jones
turning to the right made his way along the walls. It would seem as if
in the confusion all parties had lost their bearings, or else Jones
should apparently have taken the Cashmere gate in flank, and saved
the obvious risk of blowing it in. Ultimately, Jones found himself on
the west side of the city, near the Lahore gate, but did not attempt
to seize it, his rendezvous with Nicholson being at the Cabul gate
further north, to which he retired. This waste of a chance was not of
as much importance as it might otherwise have been, for Reid's attack
failed for want of guns, with which the enemy were well provided. He
himself was struck down, and all his men could do was to hold firmly
the extreme end of the previous position. When Nicholson at length was
able to force his way to the Cabul gate, and meet Jones, the enemy was
in great strength there, and it would perhaps have been better policy
to be content with what had been gained on that day. Nicholson however
pushed forward towards the Lahore gate, and was mortally wounded while
attempting the impossible. Meanwhile the Cashmere gate had been blown
in: two engineer officers, with three sergeants and a bugler, were told
off for this most difficult of military duties, for it requires not
merely courage to face almost certain death, but perfect coolness to
deal with the unexpected. Both the officers were badly wounded, two of
the sergeants were killed, the third barely escaped being crushed in
the explosion, but the powder was fired, and the gate blown to pieces.
Campbell had no difficulty in entering the city, but he also failed to
penetrate far. The day of the storm closed with no more success than
to have taken possession of the northern edge of the city, and this
at a cost of 1200 men, besides Nicholson, who was worth all the rest.
The first blow however was really decisive: the rest of the city had
to be conquered piecemeal, but the heart of the resistance was gone.
The old Mogul emperor, who had for three months been the puppet of
the mutineers, was taken prisoner. His sons were shot without trial
by Hodson, commander of a famous regiment of irregular cavalry, a
deed for which Hodson, who acted on his own responsibility, has been
very strongly condemned and as warmly defended. Terrible severity was
at first employed in punishing the rebels at Delhi, for which there
was the excuse that nowhere had helpless women and children been so
brutally murdered. There were some who even wished to destroy the
city, as an example. Thanks to Sir John Lawrence, however, humane
counsels prevailed, and the peaceful inhabitants of Delhi, who had been
grievously ill-treated by the mutineers, returned to their homes.
The effect of the fall of Delhi was not as great as it would have
been had Barnard stormed the place in June: but it put an end to the
strain in the Punjab, and followed as it soon was by the relief of
Lucknow, marked the definite turn of the tide. From that time onwards
it was visible to all India that the English rule would be restored.
The mutineers still fought on, but in fury and despair rather than
expecting success. Great as was the danger at the outset, narrow as
was the margin between the English in India and total destruction,
the mutiny ended in strengthening our hold in the country, besides
furnishing the most vivid testimony in all history to the maxim that
nothing is impossible, while life remains, to those who have courage
and coolness.
APPENDIX
BATTLES DESCRIBED
Agincourt October 25 1415
Albuera May 16 1811
Alma September 20 1854
Assye August 23 1803
Balaclava October 25 1854
Bannockburn June 24 1314
Barnet April 14 1471
Blenheim August 13 1704
Busaco September 27 1810
Chillianwalla January 13 1849
Crecy August 26 1346
Dunbar September 3 1650
Edgehill October 23 1642
Evesham August 4 1265
Falkirk July 22 1298
Ferozeshah December 21 1845
Flodden September 9 1513
Fontenoy May 11 1745
Gujerat February 21 1849
Hastings October 14 1066
Inkerman November 5 1854
Lewes May 14 1264
Marston Moor July 2 1644
Minden August 1 1759
Naseby June 14 1645
Oudenarde July 11 1708
Plassy June 23 1757
Poitiers September 19 1356
Quebec September 13 1759
Ramillies May 23 1706
Salamanca July 22 1812
Sobraon February 10 1846
Stamford Bridge September 25 1066
Talavera July 28 1809
Tewkesbury May 4 1471
Towton March 29 1461
Vittoria June 21 1813
Waterloo June 18 1815
BATTLES MENTIONED
Aliwal 1846
Almanza 1707
Argaum 1803
Aspern 1809
Atherton Moor 1643
Auberoche 1345
Cambuskenneth 1297
Cauveripak 1752
Cheriton 1644
Corunna 1809
Courtrai 1302
Crevant 1423
Culloden 1746
Dettingen 1743
Douro 1809
Falkirk 1746
Formigny 1451
Fuentes d'Onoro 1811
Fulford 1066
Halidon Hill 1333
Herrings 1429
Homildon 1402
Jena 1806
Landen 1693
Laswaree 1803
Leuctra B.C. 371
Ligny 1815
Maida 1806
Malplaquet 1709
Marengo 1800
Moodkee 1845
Mortimer's Cross 1461
Nevil's Cross 1346
Newbury 1643
Newbury 1644
Northampton 1460
Patay 1429
Porto Novo 1781
Preston Pans 1745
Quatre Bras 1815
Ramnugur 1848
St. Alban's 1461
Schellenberg 1704
Steinkirk 1692
Stow-on-the-Wold 1645
Thermopylae B.C. 480
Toulouse 1814
Turin 1706
Verneuil 1424
Vimiero 1808
Wakefield 1460
Worcester 1651
Wynendael 1708
SIEGES
Almeida 1810 and 1811
Badajos 1811 and 1812
Burgos 1812
Calais 1346-47
Ciudad Rodrigo 1812
Delhi 1857
Gloucester 1643
Harfleur 1415
Herat 1838
Lille 1708
Lucknow 1857
Mons 1709
Mooltan 1848
Orleans 1428-29
Oxford 1645
Quebec 1759
Sebastopol 1854-55
Stirling 1314
York 1644
FOOTNOTES:
[1] There was doubtless learning in Northumbria, but it was altogether
monastic, and limited to that one kingdom.