CHAPTER XV

THE ARMY IN INDIA--(_b_) THE FALL OF THE COMPANY AND

AFTERWARDS--1825-1858

While peace reigned in Europe, as far as our army was concerned, for

nearly forty years after Waterloo, our Eastern Empire had meanwhile

been growing by war and conquest.

Reference has already been made to the introduction of the percussion

musket, but the Afghan war of 1840 was the first campaign in which it

was used, the 13th and many other regiments still carrying the “Brown

Bess.”

It is curious to note, in referring to this period, what was the

opinion of distinguished officers, both as regards the education

necessary for an officer and what his expenses should be. Of course

these were “piping times of peace” everywhere save in India; and the

army, “kept in the background,” took little place in the general life

of the nation.

With regard to such education, Sir John Burgoyne considered that the

first four rules of arithmetic were sufficient for the young officer,

and that with regard to fractions, “it is going a little too far.” He

did not think one boy out of fifty could do either “simple equations or

a little French,” that not one “educated gentleman” out of fifty could

do “a sum of addition or subtraction by logarithms.” He was not of

opinion that a knowledge of the theoretical part of the profession was

necessary to make a very good subaltern officer, and thought it was not

even required “to make a very good commanding officer in the field.”

He saw no good in such training. He doubted “if the Duke of Wellington

had any very high theoretic knowledge; it is very likely that he could

not have solved a problem in Euclid, or even worked out a question in

simple equations or logarithms.” When the leaders of the army held

these views, it is not surprising that the educational standard of the

examination for admission to the army was not high. So we find General

Wetherall was not “a friend to an examination before an officer enters

the army.” He thought the Horse Guards’ principle in looking over the

papers of candidates for direct commissions very fair, when “if they

find that the questions which a boy cannot pass are not very material,

they allow the boy to pass.” But the same officer foreshadows the

system that afterwards obtained, for a time, in agreeing with Lord

Monck’s view that after the preliminary examination for the commission,

he should be sent “for a year or two to the senior department at

Sandhurst, before he was put to regimental duties.”

Such was the military domestic life of these years before the Mutiny;

and in such a question the change was so gradual that it is hard to

say when it really came. After 1858 there were many alterations in the

inner life of the army, doubtless; but before then, notwithstanding

the much-abused system of purchase, officers lived apparently less

extravagantly than they do now. Modern extravagance is due, no

doubt, to the general increase of luxury among all classes; but it

is curious to read, in an official blue-book of the early fifties,

Lieutenant-Colonel Adams’ evidence, in which he states: “Very many men

never had a farthing in the regiment which I first joined, when we

were quartered at Plymouth with a regiment of the Guards. There were

people of all ranks there; there were guardsmen and cavalrymen. Colonel

Stewart, the son of the famous philosopher Dugald Stewart, was a man

of property. And people not only lived there without a farthing beside

their pay, but our establishment was so good that frequently it has

been remarked to me by officers of the Guards, ‘All your people are

men of property.’ ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I wish they were, but most of them

get nothing beside their pay.’” It is strange to read opinions so much

at variance with those of the bulk of the officers to-day. He did not

think that the poorer men got into debt more readily than those with

good allowances, which “stimulated them to keep horses and get into

racing.” The whole style of living in the army must have been widely

different from what it is now. Sir Howard Douglas’s evidence was: “When

I first entered the service, the officers’ mess was very much what the

sergeants’ mess is now. Subalterns could live on their pay, and did

in every regiment live on their pay.” This statement, however, seems

to refer to the days of the Peninsular War, and not to the long peace

that followed it. With greater wealth in the country came also among

all classes greater luxury, though possibly by slow degrees. General

Wetherall, however, though he “knew a great many examples of men who

had passed, and had been many years in the army without a shilling

besides their pay, and who had saved money upon it,” considered a young

officer should have “a minimum of £60 and a maximum of £100 per annum

in addition to his pay.” Colonel Adams gave as his opinion: “You can

never get one person out of fifty to enter into any studies whatever

when once they have got their commission.” This was the general feeling

during the period from 1825 to 1858. There is no doubt that the Crimean

War first, and the Mutiny finally, altered much of this; but the change

was very gradual none the less.

Turn now to the military history of the time in which these men lived.

During the period under review, from 1825 to 1858 and afterwards, there

were hostilities in the Levant in 1840-41, at Beirouth, D’Jebaila,

Ornagacuan, Sidon, and Acre, under Sir Charles Napier, but these

were mainly naval operations, in which the Royal Marines only of the

army shared; and a second war occurred in Burmah in 1852, which will

be dealt with in a later chapter; as also will the wars with China

beginning in 1839, which resulted in the cession of the island of Hong

Kong to Great Britain. There were also disturbances at Aden, suppressed

by the 5th Foot and the Bombay European Regiment in 1840.

But before the Crimean War there were important campaigns fought in

the Indian Peninsula which had important results. These were the first

wars with the Afghans, that with the Ameers of Scinde, and the two

Sikh campaigns. The first of these, that with Afghanistan, was induced

by causes somewhat similar to those which caused a recrudescence of

hostilities many years later. What were called Russian intrigues were

at work, or supposed to be. At anyrate, a Russian agent appeared at

Cabul, and a demand was made for his dismissal. The fear, which has

not yet died out, that in Russia’s natural extension into Central

Asia, if only as a counterpoise to our own antagonistic influence at

Constantinople and in the Balkan Peninsula, where she wished her own

influence to be supreme, there was a danger to our rule in India, was

held then as now. It is clear, therefore, that in those days, as in

these, we, at the bottom of us, are not at all satisfied that our rule

has really linked these Eastern people to us. We rule only; we neither

absorb nor are absorbed. The Russians do the former, and therein lies

their strength. They are by origin Asiatics, and in going back to their

birthplace, they retain the power England can _never_ have. As barbaric

hordes they invaded Eastern Europe. Checked there by the higher

civilisation of the West, they have learned to impose on their natural

Asiatic savagery the Western veneer. “Scratch the Russian and you find

the Tartar, the Central Asian, beneath.” They are new to Europe, these

Russians. They, after the Turks, are the last of the invading Aryan

waves. Stopped by the Western peoples, they have turned, like a river,

backward to their source. Religious rancour is far less keen with

them anywhere West or East, but especially East. Ali Khan, the rebel

Samarcand nomad, settles down quite quietly with his fellows to become

the decorated “Colonel Alikhanoff” of the Russian army, who helped, in

some degree, to create the “Pendjeh incident.” Why not? They are both

from the same stock, and separated by but a small interval of time.

Russia would have absorbed India; we have only conquered it. Every

native officer is subordinate to the white soldier of the British

“Raj.” Russia would have made them her equals. We have won the Empire

by the sword, and must govern it thereby. We have colonised elsewhere,

and even intermarried. In India we do neither. All the professions of

native chieftains in India must be taken just for what every sensible

man takes them. To love conquerors? Never! We English would never do

so, however righteous the government of the alien power that held

the reins might be. Given the best foreign government that could be

devised over England, and there is not one man with the spirit of his

forefathers in him that would not rise, when the time came, in open and

avowed insurrection.

These points are worth considering before we deal at all with the wars

that have led to the extension of the Empire, preceded the Mutiny, of

which more hereafter, and have culminated in superficial peace. Bokhara

and Samarcand, other Central Asian khanates, are part and parcel of the

army and strength of the legions of the White Czar. Certainly; they

are, after all, as before remarked, of the same racial stock.

Indian rajahs and princelets, potentates and ryots, are still the

subject beings of the white who rules them, but does not mix with them.

Instinctively, it would seem, England recognised a danger from Russia,

but did not see what was at the bottom of it, nor her own helplessness

to prevent it. When the first Afghan war broke out, Russia proper and

India were _very_ far apart. Foolish politicians laughed when soldiers,

wiser men than they, men who are part of the story of the army, looked

and talked gravely. Unwise civilians jeered in the House of Commons

at the idea of the Russian frontier and ours ever being conterminous.

Soldiers can jeer now at these very stupid people. The frontiers that

never were to be, never could be, touching, _are_ touching, and between

the Russian Empire and our own Indian possessions is the buffer state

of Afghanistan, the prize of the highest bidder or of the strongest

power when the time comes.

The whole Eastern Question is grave, so long as we forget that we are

not liked and can only keep what our forefathers won by bravery, and

their grandchildren cannot hold by talk and whining; so long as we

forget that all the tall talk and all the missionary talk is only so

much wasted breath, so long must it be worth while, in studying the

story of the army, to view gravely the one most dangerous frontier in

all our vast possessions,--the strip of land which lies between Russia

the earnest and England the supine; to that one bit of _terra firma_

that, not careless politicians, but their guards and national police,

the soldiers, look on gravely and seriously. In Afghan territory the

ultimate danger lies.

So this dread of Russia was really the cause of the coercive expedition

despatched in 1839; but the ostensible cause was different, and is

characteristic of the methods which have led to our gradually obtaining

supreme power in Hindostan. A domestic quarrel had arisen as to the

succession to the Afghan throne which Dost Mahomed Khan, assumed to

incline towards Russia, had seized, and which Shah Sujah, a son of

the late monarch, also claimed. Thus primarily war was undertaken, to

nominally place on the throne a prince unpopular and bad, and whose

tenure of authority therefore only lasted just as long as he had

British bayonets at his back.

There was little serious opposition in the first phase of the campaign.

The advance was made by way of Quettah and the Bolan on Candahar. The

Khan of Khelat foresaw the difficulty that was to come. He knew that

Dost Mahomed was a man of ability and resource, and that his rival was

the reverse. “You have brought an army into the country” he remarked to

Burnes, “but how do you propose to take it back again?” The so-called

native army, which was supposed to accompany Sujah and which was paid

by us, did not contain a single Afghan, and was, though native, purely

alien. The hill tribes assailed the columns in the mountain defiles, as

might have been expected, and whenever they were taken, they were shot

or hanged, no quarter being given![57] This must be taken into serious

consideration when we blame the Afghans for the dreadful revenge,

later on, came. The losses in men and animals in crossing the mountain

barrier had been already heavy. The supplies were so insufficient that

the men were on half, the camp followers on quarter, rations. Still,

Candahar fell without resistance, Ghazni was stormed by the 13th Light

Infantry and Bengal Europeans, and an uninterrupted march to Cabul was

followed by the peaceful occupation of the city. But the capital of

the unfortunate Khan of Khelat was taken by the 2nd and 17th Foot, and

the Khan himself slain. Finally another column, under Wade, forced the

Khyber Pass, took Jellalabad, and the conquest of the country seemed

complete. But no European could venture far outside the camps or out of

the range of British guns. In 1841 the Khyber Pass was virtually closed

by the insurgent tribes. Sale, with the 13th and some Sepoy troops,

was sent to clear it, and was shut up in Jellalabad in October of that

year; and when the bitter winter came, and the garrison of Cabul, which

had been reinforced by the 44th Foot, attempted to return to India,

the whole force was either destroyed or made prisoners. Only one man,

Dr. Brydon, escaped alive to Jellalabad, to relate the awful tale. The

whole details of the termination of the first occupation of Cabul are

both dreadful and humiliating. All told, some twenty thousand human

beings actually perished in the retreat. Thus, with Sale shut up in

Jellalabad, Ghazni retaken by the Afghans and its garrison butchered,

and Nott in Candahar, the new year 1842 dawned.

To restore a prestige damaged as much by general incapacity as by

loss, the army of relief, or of “vengeance,” as some call it, though

it is difficult to see the fitness of the term, was formed at Peshawur

under Pollock. We had, for political reasons, invaded a territory

inhabited by barbarous tribes on the flimsiest of excuses. We had

begun the slaughtering “without quarter” the hill tribes who defended

their native passes; we had tried to force on an unwilling nation the

man they hated, and who was backed by what they hated even more, a

Christian army. But “what in the officer is but a choleric word, is,

in the soldier, rank blasphemy;” what is patriotism in one case is on

the part of others unjustifiable and unwarrantable rebellion. Even Lord

Ellenborough thought the war a folly which might even prove a crime.

But the great god “Prestige” had been invoked, and Pollock marched. He

had, as European troops, the 3rd Light Dragoons, with the 9th and 31st

Foot. With Nott were still the 40th and 41st. Pollock again forced the

Khyber and relieved Jellalabad, but had to halt there for some months

to organise his transport. Sale’s defence had been magnificent. For

five months he had defended a ruined fortress racked by earthquake. So

short of regimental officers for duty was the 13th Foot that sergeants

were generally employed, and hence arose the custom in the regiment of

the sergeants wearing the sash on the right shoulder, the same as the

officers.[58] Shah Sujah was assassinated. Nott defeated the investing

Afghan army outside Candahar, and marched on Cabul with 7000 men; while

Pollock and Sale, after some stiff fighting in the Jugdulluck and

Tezeen passes, also advanced, and the collected armies reoccupied Cabul.

Shortly after, when the prisoners taken in the retreat had been

released, the army returned to India, leaving Afghanistan just as they

had found it, but with a dreadful and increased legacy of hate behind.

The only thing of note we brought back were the sacred gates of

Somnath, which the Mahomedan invaders had taken back with them after a

successful foray some centuries previous; but the _coup_ fell flat, and

nobody was gratified!

Now arose the “tail of the Afghan storm.” The Ameers of Scinde had

openly favoured our enemies in the recent war. They were defiant, at

least, and covertly hostile. What better cause could there be for war?

Besides, they were undoubtedly tyrannical, and alien to the Hindus they

governed, or misgoverned. The Beloochees formed their army and were

ruthless. A Beloochee might slay with impunity either Hindu or Scindee;

there was no redress. Like Conqueror William, they had laid waste

vast areas to form hunting grounds; they did not favour commerce,

though they were quite ready to rob the merchant of his gains. In this

case, at least, it may be deemed that the end justified the means.

European methods of government and justice have converted what was a

poverty-stricken district into one of comparative plenty.

To Sir Charles Napier was entrusted the conduct of the war. There had

been a British Residency at Hyderabad, the capital, and here Outram,

the Resident, was attacked on the 15th February 1843, as soon as Napier

had crossed the Indus and interposed between the Northern and Southern

Ameers, and taken the fortress of Emaum Ghur. To meet the field army

the British force was a mere handful, and counted but 2600 men all

told, with 12 guns, and with but one European regiment, the 22nd, to

stiffen the rest. Against him, in position at Meanee, were 30,000

infantry, 5000 cavalry, and 15 guns, well posted behind the Fulaillee

river, and with the flanks resting on woods. But Napier knew the value

of the initiative, and trusted to drill and discipline against numbers,

and his confidence was fully justified. The enemy fought with the

utmost stubbornness. The battle opened by the British along the river

bank firing at 100 yards, and by the Beloochees with their matchlocks

at 15 yards! When the 22nd crowned the bank, “they staggered back in

amazement at the forest of swords waving in their front. Thick as

standing corn and gorgeous as a field of flowers stood the Beloochees

in their many-coloured garments and turbans; they filled the broad,

deep bed of the ravine, they clustered on both banks, and covered the

plain beyond. Guarding their heads with their large dark shields, they

shook their sharp swords, beaming in the sun, their shouts rolling like

a peal of thunder, as with frantic gestures they dashed forward, with

demoniac strength and ferocity, full against the front of the 22nd.

But with shouts as loud and shrieks as wild and fierce as theirs, and

hearts as big and arms as strong, the Irish soldiers met them with the

queen of weapons, the musket, and sent their foremost masses rolling

back in blood.”

Still the struggle continued, but not for long. Nearly all the European

officers were down, twenty were killed or wounded, and then the cavalry

were let go. The enemy had held his ground for three hours, and then

sullenly retired, beaten, but not subdued. “The victors followed

closely, pouring in volley after volley, until tired of slaughtering;

yet these stern, implacable warriors preserved their habitual swinging

stride, and would not quicken it to a run, though death was at their

heels.”[59]

One more fight at Dubba, and then the pacification of the province and

the dispersion of robber bands was left to Sir Charles Napier. Scinde

and Meerpore were added to the British dominions in India; and no finer

or more loyal regiments have we now in the Indian army than the Belooch

regiments, composed of the descendants of those men who fought us so

gallantly at Meanee.

But the fighting of the year 1843 was not finished. The usual domestic

disturbances as regards the succession, nearly as periodic in native

states in those days as “the rains,” broke out in the Mahratta State of

Gwalior. Of course, again we were “pledged” to somebody or something,

and marched an army there to carry out our “pledge.” It is somewhat

curious that, in thus assisting others, we always managed to get

something, usually the whole thing, out of it! Sir Hugh Gough was

despatched to pull this particular chestnut out of the Indian fire, and

he carried out his instructions with the customary completeness.

One opponent, “the usurper” of course, took up a position at

Maharajpore with 18,000 men, 3000 of which were cavalry, and 100 guns.

Against him Gough employed an army, in the glories of which shared the

3rd, 39th, 40th, and 50th Regiments of the line, with sundry regiments

of Sepoys, in all 14,000 men, with 40 guns. The 39th and 40th stormed

the entrenchments with the bayonet and took the guns also. Crosses were

made of their gun-metal afterwards, and were issued to the troops

engaged, in commemoration of this act of daring. The cost had been 7

officers killed and a total loss of about 800 men. On the same day,

General Grey similarly defeated 1200 Mahrattas at Punniar, a battle in

which the 3rd and 50th took part, and bear these names, therefore, on

the colours.

This terminated the war. For a brief space there was peace; but not for

very long. The endless repetition of the same causes that brought about

hostilities in the past history of British India is almost monotonous.

We were next to deal with the Sikhs in the Punjaub. Rungeet Singh,

by way of being on friendly terms with his dangerous neighbour, died

in 1839. Naturally, domestic disturbances followed, and in 1844

there was a child and a regency. There often was before these wars

of ours. Sir Henry Hardinge had meanwhile become Governor-General,

and with far-seeing wisdom introduced the railway, and promoted many

measures which both lessened the friction between the military and

civil departments of his rule, as well as introducing others which

ameliorated the condition of the native as well as of the European

soldier. He might have made his reign distinguished only by such useful

and peaceful measures, but in this case, the Sikhs took the offensive

and forced his hand. The child, Dhuleep Singh, the nominal head of the

Punjaub, was too young to reckon as an active factor in the coming, or

rather existing, complications at Lahore. His ambitious ministers or

chieftains saw this, and thought the time had come for a war of rapine.

This is what Hardinge had to face soon after he assumed the reins of

command.

The Sutlej separated the two States and the two armies, and the

Governor-General was reluctant to believe that the Sikhs would take

the offensive. But they did, and crossed the river in December 1845

with 60,000 men, and so invaded British territory. To this there could

be but one reply. Sir Hugh Gough, the Commander-in-Chief, hurried to

the front, and with him went Sir Henry Hardinge, who was the political

chief, but, by seniority, his military subordinate.

The opponents first met at Moodkee, on the 18th December 1845. Gough’s

force had marched twenty-two miles. Be it remembered, again, that

this was not when uniform was comfortable, and kit was carried, and

ammunition and weapons were both light. Such a march nowadays would

call for letters in the _Times_. Then it was different. The story of

the army in the past is widely different from that of the army in the

present, as far as marching, and in heavy marching order, is concerned.

The loss in the campaigns before 1870, too, was excessive; but nobody

dreamed of talking big about it. Now, a very small percentage of men

hit is magnified, and all the papers talk of it.

When this long march was finished, and the alarm sounded, the dinner

preparations were dropped, and the men of that time went to fight

before feeding. And bloody was the contest. There were on the British

side twelve battalions and some batteries. The Sikhs were so strong

that to all intents and purposes the British army formed but one line

to meet them. The infantry met them in front; the 3rd Light Dragoons,

with the Second Brigade of cavalry, turned their left and swept along

their line, while the rest of the cavalry threatened the right. Night

only saved the Sikhs from actual disaster, and when the firing ceased,

they fell back with a loss of 17 guns. On the attacking side 3850

Europeans and 8500 native troops, with 42 guns, had lost 84 officers

and 800 men, and among the dead was Sir Robert Sale of Jellalabad. It

was midnight when Gough returned to Moodkee camp, and the Sikhs to

Ferozeshah, where they entrenched with 120 guns. This was the first

phase of a long-continued struggle.

On the 19th, reinforcements reached the general, in the shape of more

heavy guns, the 29th, the 1st European Light Infantry, and some Sepoys.

Sir H. Hardinge then, waiving his official rank, elected to serve as

second in command to the commander-in-chief.

Sir John Littler pushed up from Ferozepore and joined the army.

The total force was even now but 5674 Europeans and 12,053 native

troops, with 65 guns, against 25,000 regulars, 10,000 irregular troops,

and 83 guns. Then began a more desperate fight than Moodkee, the battle

of Ferozeshah. It was to be a two days’ battle, and even lasted into

the intervening night. There were but two lines, the second being

formed of the small reserve under Sir Henry Smith and the cavalry. The

artillery opened fire and closed up to within 300 yards of the enemy’s

guns, and then the infantry charged and took them. Even then the Sikhs

did not fall back. The troops formed up 150 yards from the enemy’s

camp, and lay down in “contiguous quarter distance columns,” while the

reserve at 10 p.m. occupied the village in front. The 62nd had suffered

so severely that 17 officers out of 23 had been killed and wounded. The

3rd Dragoons charged in the dark and broke up the hostile camp, and

lost 10 officers and 120 men out of 400 in doing so; while during the

night the Sikh artillery opened fire, and the 80th charged and stopped

it, and spiked three guns. Well might the general say “Plucky dogs,

plucky dogs--we cannot fail to win with such men as these!” A more

wonderful battle never was. Here, within 150 yards of one another, were

8000 British troops against an unknown number of enemies yet unbroken.

All the Governor-General’s staff had been killed or wounded, but he

wrote cheerfully to his family and described how “I bivouacked with

the men, without food or covering, and our nights are bitter cold, a

burning camp in our front, our brave fellows lying down under a heavy

cannonade, mixed with the wild cries of the Sikhs, our British hurrah!

the tramp of men, and the groans of the dying.” But hearts quailed not,

and the wearied soldiers slept peacefully beside their arms and “wished

for day.” They deployed at daylight for the third, last, and crowning

incident.

And so the 20th December dawned. It sounds like the days of so-called

chivalry to read that, at that close range, the Commander-in-Chief and

the Governor-General of India placed themselves in front of the two

wings of the line, “to prevent the troops from firing” until they

closed! The left was attacked and turned; the enemy half, or more than

half, beaten, fled, and left 74 guns behind him; but meanwhile there

arrived to him a strong reinforcement under Tej Sing. He was threatened

by the already exhausted cavalry, and refused close battle. So the

field rested with the British, and on it lay 2415 men and 115 officers.

Of the survivors many had been without food or water for forty-eight

hours. These were the men who made the Empire; regiments like the 3rd

Light Dragoons, the 50th, 62nd, 29th, and 53rd made the history of

which their descendants reap the benefit.

The sympathy of Hardinge for his men is touching. He visited the

wounded and cheered them. To a man who had lost an arm he pointed

sympathetically to his own empty sleeve, and reminded him of Quatre

Bras; to him who had lost a leg he told the story of how his own son

had fought in that wondrous battle, and had done so without the foot he

had lost in former fight. But all archæologists will recognise in him a

confrère as the man who repaired and prevented from falling into decay

the Taj Mahal at Agra.

No one can read the story of the Sikh War without a feeling of pride

for the men who did their duty so patiently, so bravely, and under such

distresses. But they had still much to do with one of the bravest and

most stubborn foes the British have ever had to face in Hindostan. For

in January 1846 the Sikh Sirdars threatened Loodianah, and effected a

passage of the Sutlej near that place, as well as at a point near where

they had recrossed the river after their defeat at Ferozeshah. This

latter passage, near Sobraon, formed by a bridge of boats, they had

further covered by a well-constructed _tête du pont_.

Sir Harry Smith, a Peninsular veteran whose medal ribbon bore twelve

clasps, marched to arrest the danger that threatened Loodianah, and

thus eventually brought on the battle of Aliwal, as the Sobraon

position brought on the battle that bears that name. In both the

British were victorious, though with heavy loss.

The battle formation at Aliwal was typical, and is therefore worth

recording. The front was covered by the cavalry in “contiguous columns

of squadrons,” with two battalions of horse artillery between the

Brigades. The infantry followed in “contiguous columns of brigades at

deploying intervals,” with artillery in the spaces between brigades,

and two eight-inch howitzers in rear. The right flank, as far as a wet

nullah some distance off, was covered by the 4th Irregular Cavalry.

There seems, therefore, to have been but one line, and this was fully

capable of manœuvring. From the above line of columns it formed line

with bayonets fixed and colours flying, the artillery forming three

groups, one on either flank, the other in the centre. When the Sikhs

threatened to turn the right of this line, it “broke into columns to

take ground to the right and reform line with the precision of the most

correct field-day,”[60] and for a second time advanced.

The whole force was but 10,000 men against nearly 20,000 of the enemy,

with 68 guns, but the position was gloriously carried, and the 16th

Lancers and the 31st, 50th, and 53rd Regiments greatly distinguished

themselves, the Lancers losing 100 men and 8 officers, while the total

“bill” was 589 men; but the victory was most complete, and all the

enemy’s stores were captured.

A short delay occurred before the next battle, that of Sobraon, as Sir

Hugh Gough awaited his reinforcement by Sir Harry Smith, while Sir

Charles Napier was assembling a third, or reserve army at Sukkur. But

the brave Sikhs were still confident. The Sobraon entrenchments were

strong, with a frontage of 3500 yards, and held 34,000 men and 70 guns

on the left bank of the Sutlej, and on the other were some 20,000 more.

Sir Hugh did not hesitate, and advanced with 6533 Europeans and

9691 native troops, among which were the 10th, 29th, 53rd, and 88th

Regiments of the line, and the 3rd Dragoons. The ford of Hurrekee on

the left was watched by the 16th, and the division formed in three

lines, with a brigade in each, and marched against the works at 3 a.m.

on the 10th February, opening fire with a powerful force of artillery

as soon as the morning mists rose. When the fire told, the assault

was delivered, and with complete success. The European regiments had

advanced without firing a shot until they had penetrated the works, “a

forbearance much to be commended and most worthy of constant imitation,

to which may be attributed the success of their first effort and the

small loss they sustained,” and after two hours’ fighting the _tête

du pont_ was won, and the Sikhs, in recrossing the bridge of boats,

suffered terrible loss from the fire of our Horse Artillery. But the

victory had cost us dear. The 29th had lost 13 officers and 135 men;

the 31st, 7 officers and 147 men; the 50th, 12 officers and 227 men;

and the 10th, 3 officers and 130 men: while Sir Robert Dick, General

Cyril Taylor, and General M’Laren among the leaders were also among the

slain. On the other hand, the Sikhs had lost 14,000 men.

Sobraon was “the Waterloo of the Sikhs.” Their aims on our Indian

possessions were completely frustrated. But the field army was too weak

to do more than it had done, and though some of the enemy’s territory

was “occupied,” the reins of government were still permitted to remain

nominally in the youthful hands of Dhuleep Singh, until the time came

for the annexation of the whole district of the Punjaub.

The final opportunity came three years later, in 1849, when the Marquis

of Dalhousie was Governor-General.

Intestine troubles, in due course and as usual, arose in Mooltan. There

was the customary doubt as to the loyalty of some of the Sirdars of

Mooltan. The European assistant resident and some others were murdered

at Lahore; a sufficient cause for further war. Some insignificant

skirmishes preceded the final and more important collisions. Mooltan

was besieged by a force under General Whish, an operation shared

in by the 10th and 32nd European Regiments, but the siege had to

be abandoned. Lord Gough had meanwhile been assembling an army at

Ferozepore, and the enemy were first seriously met at Ramnuggur, and

fell back beaten; and then the siege of Mooltan was renewed. The heavy

guns were soon brought up to within eighty yards of the walls, and the

enemy’s principal magazine was blown up; but this did not affect the

courage of the Moulraj, the defending Sikh general; and on the receipt

of the letter demanding his surrender, “he coolly rammed it down his

longest gun,” and sent the reply back to us thus.[61] But his bravery

availed nothing, and the place fell. On the other hand, Attock, held by

an English garrison, was retaken.

The next battle was not judicious. Gough’s duty was to cover the siege

of Mooltan, then proceeding, and when that fell, to advance offensively

with all the force he could muster. As it was, weak in numbers and

with a river between them and the enemy, he, on the 12th January 1849,

reached the battlefield of Chillianwallah about dusk, with an army

wearied by a long march. He did not even seriously reconnoitre the ford

ways of the Chenab, but none the less despatched Thackwell with 8000

men, three horse and two field batteries, two eighteen-pounders, and

the 24th and 61st Regiments, to cross the Ranekan ford, but finding it

too difficult, he moved to that at Vizierabad by 6 p.m. Then he crossed

by boats, but some regiments bivouacked on a sandbank in mid-stream,

and all were wet, cold, and without food. Gough, meanwhile, was on the

opposite bank, some miles away, near Ramnuggur, with a difficult ford

in front of him, vigilantly watched by the Sikhs. But their leader

saw the opportunity and seized it; he left a weak force to watch that

ford, and marched against Thackwell. He hoped to beat the British in

detail, and might have done so but for want of energy. He met them at

Sadulapore, where an artillery skirmish followed, and finally Gough

joined him, and at two o’clock halted before the enemy’s position at

Chillianwallah, when the enemy’s advanced guns fired on him, and the

attack was ordered. On the right was Gilbert’s Division, in which were

the 29th and 30th, covered on the right by Pope’s Brigade with the

9th Lancers and 14th Light Dragoons. On the left was Campbell, with

the 24th and 61st, covered by White’s Brigade of cavalry with the 3rd

Dragoons and three horse batteries. Along the whole front was a dense

mass of jungle so high as to conceal even the colours to the top of

the staff. The battle was a scene of wild confusion, in which the

staff direction was impossible. The cavalry on the right broke, and

six guns were taken; five colours were left on the field, one being

that of the 24th, and when the firing ceased, some 89 officers and 2357

men had been lost, and the army fell back, as did, on their side, the

enemy too. The Sikhs had fought with their accustomed fierceness and

bravery: said one officer, “They fought like devils”; but it is curious

that the Sikhs alone did this, and, judging from another account,

their opponents “fought like heroes!” The 3rd, 9th, and 14th cavalry

regiments behaved well, as did the 10th, 29th, and 32nd Foot, with

the native Indian regiments, but into the “Story of the Army” that

of the army of the East India Company does not enter. It was another

instance of where “the dauntless valour of the infantry rectifies the

errors of its commanders, and carries them through what would otherwise

be inevitable defeat and disgrace. But it redeems their errors with

its blood; and seldom has there been more devotion, but, alas! more

carnage, than on the hard-fought field of Chillianwallah, a field

fairly won, though bravely contested by the Sikhs of all arms.”[62]

The loss of the latter, some 4000, with 49 of their guns spiked, had

been heavy too, and they had fought with all the bravery of, and in a

manner somewhat similar to, the Highlanders who drew sword and fought

for the “Pretender” when the “embers of the Civil War” died out. In the

hand-to-hand fighting, they had caught the bayonet with the left hand,

to cut at its holder with the right with the sword. They had received

lance-thrusts on their shields, to return the attack when the lance was

thrown aside or broken; they had laid themselves down when the cavalry

charged, to rise when the horsemen passed, and attack them shield

and sword in hand. Between the fighting of the Scots in 1745 and that

of the Sikhs in 1849 there was no real difference as far as pluck and

courage went. But the spirit of our gallant and stubborn adversaries

was not broken yet. Mooltan fell. They met us again at Gujerat, but the

previous encounters had created in them a feeling of despair. Hitherto

the Sikhs had been the attacking side when the battle was being formed.

Now it was otherwise. They fought on the defensive and were badly

beaten; the 9th, 3rd, and 14th British cavalry Regiments, and the 10th,

29th, 60th, and 61st line Regiments shared in the last fight against

the Sikhs, as did the European Regiments of the Bombay and Bengal

armies. Though said to be 34,000 men strong, with an Afghan detachment

of 1500 men and 59 guns, the Sikhs’ army, as such, ceased to be, and

its guns, camp equipage, and baggage became the spoil of the victors.

“God has given you the victory,” was the despairing cry of many a dying

Sikh.

The loss on the British side was small, 29 officers and 671 men; and

the final result was the unconditional surrender of the enemy, and the

annexation of the Punjaub to the Indian Empire of Great Britain.

Throughout, Gough had pressed his infantry into the fight before the

artillery had sufficiently “prepared” the position. He was so excitable

under fire, that the story is told that his staff, knowing his “passion

for employing infantry before the guns had done their work, induced

the gallant veteran to mount by means of a ladder--the only means of

access--to the top storey of an isolated building which commanded a

complete view of the battlefield. They then quietly removed the ladder,

and only replaced it when the artillery had done its work.”[63]

Nothing of grave military importance occurred in India after the defeat

of the Sikhs and the annexation of the Punjaub in 1849, for some years.

But shortly after the close of the Crimean campaign occurred a petty

war with Persia, which had inclinations towards a Russian friendship,

if not an alliance. A rebellion had broken out in Herat, and the

Persians laid siege to it; whereupon Dost Mahomed, who had become

Ameer of Afghanistan on the deposition of our own nominee Shah Sujah,

moved from Cabul to Candahar. Troubles had occurred with the Heratees

in 1837, when Persia was persuaded by Russia to make a very imaginary

claim to the possession of Afghanistan, and had, also with Russian

aid, besieged Herat; but the Governor-General of India despatched

Pottinger, a young officer of artillery, to aid in the defence, which

was successful. Russian influence here, and its supposed influence with

Dost Mahomed at Cabul, were among the causes which, as already pointed

out, brought on the first Afghan war.

In 1853 there had been a convention between the British minister and

the Shah as regards Herat, and this Persian siege was contrary to its

provisions. General Outram was despatched in command of an expedition

which contained two regiments of the British army in its composition,

the 64th and 78th; but the bulk of the force was necessarily made up of

native Indian troops of the Bombay army. Landing near Bushire, there

was an “affair” at Reshire on the 9th December 1856, and another at

Bushire the next day, where the entrenched Persians were defeated by a

brilliant bayonet charge. At Kooshab, in February 1857, the 3rd Bombay

Cavalry broke a Persian square; while at Barajzoom, Mohummerah, and

Ahwaz were other minor engagements, which speedily led to peace.

The names of Persia, Reshire, Kooshab, and Bushire are borne on the

colours of the 64th; and Persia, Kooshab, on those of the 78th for

their conduct in these somewhat uninteresting operations.

Now began to arise an ominous war-cloud, which for a time threatened

to burst with such violence as to sweep away altogether the British

rule in India. It might have been foreseen had people cared to take

the trouble. The attributed and immediate cause of rebellion was no

new thing. There had been a precedent already as far back as 1806, in

the history of the 69th Regiment of the line, two companies of which

were garrisoned at Vellore, with a battalion of Sepoys. Sir John

Craddock, who commanded in Madras, had, with the best intentions,

introduced a lighter headdress than the turban, but which had some

leather fittings to it which the natives assumed were “unclean”; while

a new “turn-screw” had a cross-top, which again might have been assumed

by ill-affected persons to represent the emblem of Christianity. There

were always, then as now, men who looked on a rebellion as a means of

getting plunder and advancement, and many of the adherents of Tippoo

Sahib were still living, and by no means loath to stir up discord.

In this case they succeeded, though fortunately the incipient mutiny

spread no farther than Vellore. But there the Sepoys attacked the

European cantonment, and shot or bayoneted 113 men. The remainder

made a desperate resistance, being even reduced to firing rupees for

bullets, and one escaped and reached Arcot, where was stationed the

19th Light Dragoons. The distance to Vellore was soon covered, and

ample vengeance taken. Of the mutineers, 500 were made prisoners, and

350 were slain. Similarly, in 1824, the Sepoys at Barrackpore refused

to embark for Burma, lest they should lose caste, but the mutiny was

crushed. Again, in 1844, there had been disturbances at Ferozepore, and

again in 1849 to 1850.

Notwithstanding these premonitory warnings, a false feeling of security

had long been growing up. As far back as 1832, a committee, examining

the condition of the native army, had been told that “The Indian army

when well commanded is indomitable; it is capable of subjugating all

the countries between the Black and Yellow Seas. The European officers

are all English, Irish, or Scotch gentlemen, whose honour and courage

have created in their troops such an intrepid spirit as to render India

secure against every evil from which an army can protect a country.”[64]

There was over-confidence and want of real discipline; for the Native

and European troops who had fought side by side and conquered the

varied races of the Peninsula, and between whom there had once been

sympathy, had drifted apart. In the past they had forgotten caste,

and in campaigns had lived as brother soldiers. The increase in the

European establishment of officers to native regiments had introduced

many with whom the native was not in touch. The whole essence of our

previous leadership was that the men respected their officers because

they knew them, or knew the tradition of their military past. But new

men meant new manners. The Sepoy’s past connection with his officer

had been personal, and based on warlike experience and respect for his

leader as a fighting man. “Piping times of peace” again had made the

officer no longer a fighting unit, but a pay agent. This matters little

in the West, but in the East it is far otherwise. The Asiatic reveres

personal courage, and believes in little else. Sir Samford Whittingham,

no mean judge, as far back as 1824 had seen the coming danger, and

writes: “The longer I stay in India, the more I am convinced of the

correct truth of all my former statements to you. The country hangs

upon a thread. The slightest reverse would set the whole in a flame,

and you have not the smallest hold upon any class of men in all your

vast Indian dominions except that which is immediately derived from the

opinion--or rather the conviction--that your bayonets and sabres are

superior to theirs. The Indian army must become, and that speedily, a

king’s army, the number of officers must be greatly increased, and the

broken spirit of both officers and men regenerated.”

He at least saw that the country won by the sword must be held by it;

that the Sepoy only respected us so long as we were militarily strong.

Generals and officials without number felt and said the same. The

abolition of flogging in the native army, while retained with the white

troops, only added to the increasing want of respect of the former for

the British soldier. There is nothing worse than virtue gone mad! There

is no greater vice with barbaric and ignorant people. But the Company

sat still, and, civilian-like, were content so long as the outer part

of the sepulchre remained whitened! The very efforts at introducing

the principles of Western civilisation in too abrupt a manner had

raised, long since, concealed antagonism. Immensely conservative as

all the East is, such changes should be made more than gradually. The

hostility of the people had been excited by measures, well meant, no

doubt, but which were antagonistic to their cherished beliefs, their

old-world and long-continued customs. That of the chiefs had been

aroused by our continued deposition or supersession of kings, rajahs,

and chieftains, who, with all their faults, were natives and not

aliens. The Mahomedans felt these changes most, but the Hindus were by

no means apathetic.

The very quietude of the nations under our rule is misleading, and

misleads those who now think that all the varied peoples and sects

of India love us, love one another, and are of the same race and

feeling. The natives of India are as different as those between John o’

Groat’s House and the South of Spain, only more so. Even Wellington,

whose experience of India was not vast, writes: “The natives are much

misrepresented. They are the most mischievous, deceitful race of

people I have ever seen or heard of. I have not yet met with a Hindu

who had one good quality, even for the state of society in his own

country, and the Mussulmans are worse than they are. Their meekness

and mildness do not exist. It is true that the feats which have been

performed by Europeans have made them objects of fear, but whenever the

disproportion of numbers is greater than usual, they uniformly destroy

them, if they can, and in their dealings and conduct among themselves

they are the most atrociously cruel people I ever heard of.”

The real cause of the Mutiny was hatred to the institutions we had

introduced, and growing contempt for our power; to which may be added,

if not as a cause, as a nominal standard round which the malcontents

assembled, the practical deposition of the Kings of Oudh and Delhi.

Military weakness or indifference, and political impotence, are with

Eastern peoples synonymous terms. The ostensible reason for the

outbreak was a cartridge, and this, though actually bees-waxed, was

said, by those who were fomenting the outbreak, to be lubricated with

cow and pig fat, which would make it abhorrent to the touch of either

Hindu or Mahomedan. There is little doubt that in the first pattern

there _was_ cow fat, as Captain Boxer seems to have admitted; and in

order to lessen the evil, the next pattern was made so that the end

might be torn off rather than bitten off. But the error was made, and

to remedy it was too late. Disaffection first appeared at Berhampore,

and the disbanding of the 19th Native Infantry followed; and next, the

34th Native Infantry at Barrackpore behaved mutinously, and was also

disbanded. Both measures tended rather to spread the disaffection than

stamp it out. In the last case blood was shed, two officers being badly

wounded, the culprit being a certain “Mangul Pandy,” whose second name

became the nickname of the Indian Sepoy, as “Tommy Atkins” was that of

his European comrade.

Next the 7th Native Infantry showed the same insubordinate spirit, but

they were easily cowed; and finally a more determined outbreak occurred

at Oude and Meerut, the officers being massacred, and the two native

regiments concerned marched to and occupied Delhi, which now became

the focus of the Mutiny. The time had been well chosen: the white

troops were much disseminated, and the hot weather was coming on; the

proportion of European officers in the native regiments was small, the

Company officers being always natives, and having little real authority

over their men. There was, moreover, a tradition that a hundred years

after Plassy the English power in India would be broken.

Hence Delhi fell into the hands of the rebels, and became the scene of

the most revolting barbarities, too foul to tell. Whatever even remote

idea of striking for freedom the leader may have held, is lost in the

awful savagery that accompanied the rising. But vengeance complete and

ample was preparing. Risings occurred everywhere--at Ferozepore, at

Meean Meer, at Murdaun, and so on; but in many cases prompt measures

were taken to disarm the men, who, when disarmed, fled to increase the

hostile force at Delhi.

The European troops seemed but oases in the vast desert of ruin.

The 32nd held Lucknow; the 60th and Carabiniers Meerut; the 61st at

Ferozepore; at Meean Meer the 81st; the 75th were at Umballah; the 9th

Lancers and the Bengal Fusiliers elsewhere. Here and there were native

regiments who were actively loyal and helpful, others were apathetic or

openly hostile.

From Burmah was recalled the 84th, from Ceylon the 37th, from Madras

the Madras Fusiliers (102nd). The 64th and 78th returned from Persia

just in time, and covered 126 miles in eight days. Sir Colin Campbell

arrived from England to take the chief command of the operations, while

regiments were hurried out from home, and the troops destined for China

were detained on the way.

No campaign or war is more difficult to describe briefly or follow than

that of the great Mutiny. It lasted for twelve months. It was fought

by mere detachments of Europeans, isolated from each other. When one

was victorious it joined another, and the two combined made at once

for the point of nearest danger, or where their aid was most required.

No connected plan was at first possible. The very insurrection itself

spread irregularly and spasmodically. It could not be said for long

that a general rising took place. The rebels had no real head, but

acted independently under isolated leaders. It was a war in which the

skill and personal courage of the European was to be measured against

the courage, great in many instances, but less determined than that of

their foes, of the native troops.

If there were real grievances in India as regards our rule, it must

have been common in all the Presidencies. But in Madras there was

only unrest, never real danger. In Bombay, save in one case, at

Kolapore, the same conditions obtained; but the whole region of the

Ganges between Lower Bengal and the Punjaub was the scene of general

revolt, general massacre in most instances of the European troops.

There were more than forty military stations where revolt occurred.

In many of them the European army speedily regained the ascendancy.

But three centres stand out among the dreadful details of the dismal

story--Cawnpore, Lucknow, and Delhi; and the last was, as far as there

was a centre at all, the focus of the whole Mutiny. The insurrection

was without plan, and was a complete surprise. Had it been otherwise,

had the mutineers made common cause, had less delay been given to the

British to concentrate their strength in India, from other neighbouring

colonies and from home, the end might have been more distant, the

struggle more prolonged, but the final result would have been none the

less assured.

Fortunately, the great semi-independent states remained either

quiescent, or offered active help; on the other hand, the method first

adopted of disbanding the mutinous regiments, and therefore instigating

them in one sense to reinforce the Delhi centre, where arms were

numerous, only strengthened the insurrection. Stronger men in the

beginning, like Napoleon’s “whiff of grape shot,” might have nipped the

whole thing in the bud. If the few mutineers had been shot down first,

and then told, as far as the rest went, to lay down their arms, “the

beginning of wisdom” might have grown somewhat more rapidly into the

souls of those who, influenced by example, hysteria, religious mania,

and drugs, also began to think of revolt. Nothing is more catching than

such epidemics. When, at one time, sundry British soldiers thought it

would be an out-of-the-common act to shoot their officers on parade,

the stupid, wicked idea spread, until the authorities were wise enough

to put the hysteria down by the summary method of speedy trial and

death.

Of the three most important places, that of Cawnpore is of chief

interest, from its sentimental side. The fugitive survivors of the

rising at Futtyghur fled down the Ganges as far as Cawnpore, where

they were confined in the Assembly Rooms, by the order of Nana Sahib

of Bithoor, who commanded the rebels there. The garrison of Cawnpore,

at no time strong in Europeans, had been denuded of some of the white

troops to reinforce Lucknow. There were but 150 European soldiers all

told, including detachments of the 32nd, 84th, and Madras Fusiliers,

when the storm burst. A rude entrenchment had been formed round the

hospital barracks and the soldiers’ church, and was defended by eight

guns. Opposed to this handful were at least three revolted battalions,

besides all the ruffians of the city, supported by a number of

24-pounders. In such a case the end could not be long coming, though it

delayed for twenty-two days.

Though the greatest bravery was shown, such as when Captain John Moore

of the 32nd, though severely wounded, made a sortie with twenty-five

men, and spiked some of the enemy’s guns, the buildings were soon so

riddled with shot as to afford little protection, and a portion of the

hospital had been fired by shells and burnt. So the capitulation was

made, on the solemn oath of Nana Sahib, that no life should be taken.

Needless to say, that promise was not kept. On reaching the river

bank, the massacre began, and culminated in the shooting or bayoneting

of the whole of the white men, and the temporary confinement of the

surviving women and children with their unfortunate fellow-sufferers

from Futtyghur in the Assembly Rooms at Cawnpore. Here they were all

massacred.

The army of relief was approaching, but it was too late to arrest

the awful conclusion to the defence of Cawnpore. Havelock advanced

from Allahabad with but 1300 men, including the 64th, 78th, and 1st

Madras Fusiliers, and after four severe skirmishes at Futtehpore and

elsewhere, during which the 64th and 78th carried a battery of guns,

and “went on with sloped arms like a wall till within a hundred yards

and not a shot was fired,” while, “At the word ‘Charge!’ they broke

like a pack of eager hounds, and the village was taken in an instant.”

When the column had reached Cawnpore, it had marched 126 miles in eight

days and captured 24 guns!

Ample vengeance was taken for the massacre. The sight alone of the

room where it had taken place inflamed the men beyond expression.

Old soldiers wept, others divided locks of the hair of their murdered

countrywomen and vowed revenge. There was little quarter given by

Havelock’s column from that time forward.

General Neill was left in charge of the station, and ruled with an

iron and a merciless hand.[65] His orders were: “Whenever a rebel is

caught, he is to be instantly tried, and unless he can prove a defence,

he is to be sentenced to be hanged at once; but the chief rebels or

ringleaders I make first clean up a certain portion of the pool of

blood, still two inches deep, in the street where the fearful murder

and mutilation of women took place. To touch blood is most abhorrent to

the high-caste natives; they think by doing so they doom their souls

to perdition. Let them think so! My object is to inflict a fearful

punishment for a revolting, cowardly, and barbarous deed, and to strike

_terror_ into these rebels. The first caught was a subadar, or native

officer, a high-caste Brahmin, who tried to resist my order to clean up

the very blood he had helped to shed. But I made the provost-marshal

do his duty, and a few lashes soon made the miscreant accomplish his

task. When done, he was taken out and immediately hanged, and buried in

a ditch at the roadside. No one who has witnessed the scenes of murder,

mutilation, and massacre can even listen to the word ‘mercy’ as applied

to these fiends.”

Havelock, meanwhile, was “pacifying” the neighbourhood with his handful

of men. He destroyed Nana’s palace at Bithoor, he beat the rebels

at Oonao, at Busserut Gunge, and Zaithpore, he attempted to relieve

Lucknow; and though there was some desperate fighting, in which the

British were locally successful, his force was too weak to reach the

besieged, and he fell back, still fighting, to Cawnpore, reduced to but

800 men. He moved out again four days later, 1300 strong, to defeat

the enemy at Bithoor again and return. But reinforcements were long

in coming, for at Dinapore the regiments had mutinied and impeded

communication with the south. Outram from Persia then assembled at

Allahabad a column of 1500 men, including the 5th and 90th, and joined

Havelock at Cawnpore. The most striking and noteworthy thing in all

these operations is the exceeding smallness of the insignificant armies

which were hastily assembled to crush the insurrection.

Cawnpore itself was now safe, and it was around Lucknow, therefore,

that the main interest centred till the suppression of the revolt. It

was the last important point in the war, for Delhi was taken before

Lucknow; and this is how Delhi fell.

There had been, at first, only a native garrison in the cantonments

near the capital of the Great Mogul. There was a contingent of European

residents and a few officers, but no white troops. Practically,

therefore, no resistance could be offered to the rising of the

mutineers and to their brutality and bloodshed. Willoughby, with six

other men, held the insurgents at bay long enough to blow up the great

magazine, and when he fled, not a white was left alive in Delhi.

Wilson, with the 60th and the Carbiniers from Meerut, commanded the

advanced guard, and first engaged the enemy about fifteen miles from

Delhi. The entire relieving force was under General Barnard, and

contained detachments of the 9th Lancers and Carbiniers, and the 60th,

75th, 1st and 2nd Bengal Fusiliers, and some Ghoorkas, besides guns.

Further resistance was experienced outside Delhi, and then Barnard

sat down before the town. He seems to have been too weak for the work

he had to do. Prolonged resistance only increased the morale of the

mutineers, and gave them confidence. It is possible, therefore, that

though the enemy fought throughout with the desperation of despair, an

assault might have been successful, and the moral effect of victory

at this juncture more than valuable. On the other hand, defeat would

have been disastrous, and in Delhi were collected the largest, best

organised, and most complete army the insurgents possessed. So the

attack partook of the nature of a siege, without a complete investment

of the fortress. The enemy were vigorous, and made frequent sorties,

once even making an attack on the rear of the camp by a wide detour.

On this day, the anniversary of Plassy, the fighting lasted for fifteen

hours. The heat was terrific; the men were exhausted by long marches,

little food, and incessant fighting. The generalship was of no high

order. Neither Barnard nor Reid, his second in command, were equal to

the occasion. In June the total force of Europeans numbered but 3000,

with three battalions of Sikhs, Guides, and Ghoorkas, comparatively new

levies.

Throughout all India, even those parts not then affected by the storm,

panic began to spread. Calcutta was in terror, though the 37th and 53rd

were there, and the Sepoys at Barrackpore had been disarmed. Elsewhere

risings were common, sometimes suppressed by the bravery of a few; in

other and more numerous cases, resulting in the death, with or without

torture, of the mass of the European residents.

Thus the siege of Delhi drew to a conclusion, and the illness of the

two leaders left General Wilson in charge of the operation. He was

reinforced by Nicholson with 1000 Europeans and 1500 Sikhs. Small still

as the army was, it was now able to take the offensive, and no more

dashing officer than John Nicholson could have been selected for the

duty. A force, some 7000 men strong, had left Delhi, to threaten the

rear and communications of the army, and against this he moved with

a mixed force, in which were the 9th, 61st, and 1st Fusiliers. The

enemy was dispersed by the gallantry of the European troops who formed

the first line, flanked by horse artillery batteries, and Nicholson

retraced his steps to Delhi. It was the last of the sorties. By this

time the siege train from Ferozepore had arrived, and with it a welcome

reinforcement of a wing of the 8th Foot, a Belooch battalion, and

detachments of the 9th and 60th, besides other native levies. By the

14th September two breaches had been made, and the assault was made in

four columns. Of these, the first, under Jones, was directed on the

Water Bastion, whence they were to move towards the Cashmere Gate, but

he missed his way at first, and hence caused delay, but eventually he

got in and pushed towards the Cabul Gate; the second, under Nicholson

himself, carried the breach near the Cashmere Gate, and its leader

fell mortally wounded near the Lahore Gate; the third, under Reid,

attempted the Lahore Gate, but was repulsed with heavy loss; the 4th,

under Campbell, had the difficult task of carrying the Cashmere Gate,

which was blown in by a party consisting of Lieutenants Home and

Salkeld, Sergeants Smith and Carmichael, and Corporal Burgess of the

Engineers, Bugler Hawthorne of the 52nd, and 24 native sappers, though

with severe loss. Through the gap charged the storming column of the

Oxford Light Infantry, and by night the whole outer fringe of the city,

from the Water Bastion to the Cabul Gate, was in the possession of the

assailants, though the rest of the city was still in rebel hands. But

not for long. The heart of the resistance was broken, and the 21st

September 1857 saw the capture of the puppet king, and the death of his

son and grandson, by the hands of Hodson of “Hodson’s Horse.”

Only Lucknow now remained in hostile hands. The fire was fast dying

out in all parts of the empire, and therefore the operations could be

conducted on a more consistent and deliberate plan. Lucknow had been

in severe straits. Early in June a large force of rebels had assembled

there and laid siege to the Residency, held by Lawrence with the 32nd,

commanded by Inglis, and some 500 loyal natives. The details of that

remarkable defence are such that it would be impossible in a brief

space to enumerate the acts of heroism that accompanied the defence

of Lucknow or the scientific skill with which the defenders, of whom

Napier of Magdala was one, conducted the desperate contest.

At first it was hoped that relief would come in a fortnight, but

eighty-seven weary days passed before the first help came. Then

Havelock attempted it alone, with some 1300 troops, as has been already

pointed out, but though unsuccessful, his advance had relieved the

pressure on the beleaguered garrison, and enabled them by a bold sortie

to reprovision the Residency, where provisions had run short.

His next effort was after Outram had been appointed to the chief

command; but the latter magnanimously refused to take the work off

Havelock’s hands, and offered to accompany him simply as “Chief

Commissioner of Oudh.” The army, 2500 strong, in two brigades, in

which served the 5th, 64th, 84th, and 1st Madras Fusiliers, the 78th

and 90th, starting from Cawnpore, crossed the Ganges by a pontoon

bridge, and so brought about the first real assistance to the garrison

of Lucknow. The march was opposed from the outset. There was severe

fighting at the Alumbagh, “the garden of the Lady Alum, or beauty of

the world,” four miles from the Residency; but the British attack

was irresistible, and five guns were taken. The next stand made was

at the Charbagh, or “Four gardens,” but Outram with the Fusiliers,

5th, 6th, and 84th, carried the line of palisaded guns with a cheer,

and Havelock, with the 78th and 90th, dashed into the town, carrying

everything before them, though every inch of ground was disputed.

Obstacles had been created on all sides, and the houses prepared for

defence and loopholed, were occupied. But the “petticoated devils,” as

the mutineers termed the Highlanders they met in battle for the first

time, drove everything before them until the Residency was reached. It

was only just in time, for the mutineers had driven mines beneath the

defending walls, and soon all would have been over. In the assault some

four hundred men had fallen, and among them the gallant General Neill.

But the “relief” was a reinforcement only. The combined garrison was

too weak to force its way through the still overwhelming masses of the

enemy, with so many non-combatants to guard. So Havelock and Outram

were, like Inglis, besieged in their turn for nearly fifty days.

During this time, Greathed, with the 84th, some of the 9th Lancers, and

the 3rd Bengal Infantry, afterwards the 107th Regiment of the line,

had cleared the country about Alighur and Agra; and Sir Hope Grant had

reached Cawnpore with a column, and moved to Alumbagh, defeating the

rebels at Canouj on the way. Here he was joined by Sir Colin Campbell,

and the final relief of Lucknow was begun with Peel’s Naval Brigade,

a strong force of artillery, and the 9th Lancers, 8th, 53rd, 75th, and

93rd Regiments of the line, which, with other troops, made a total of

about 3500 men, to which were soon added detachments of the 23rd, 82nd,

etc., and others of the 5th, 64th, and 78th.

The route chosen was by way of the Secunderabagh, “Alexander’s garden,”

where the first severe skirmish took place, and here some 2000 of

the enemy perished by the bayonet alone. Small wonder that with the

recent remembrance of “Cawnpore,” no quarter was asked or given. It was

too late for mercy. The fighting continued from building to building

and from garden to garden, till on the 17th, Outram and Havelock met

Sir Colin Campbell, who had begun his soldier’s career far back in

the Peninsular days, when he carried the colours of the 9th Foot at

Corunna, outside the battered walls so long and so gallantly held. The

cost to the relieving force had been 467 officers and men killed and

wounded. Even now it was impossible to remain and continue the contest.

Occupying the Alumbagh with a brigade under Outram, the Lucknow

garrison evacuated the blood-stained ruins of the Residency. There too

Havelock died.

“The retreat was admirably executed, and was a perfect lesson in such

combinations. Each exterior line came gradually retiring through its

supports, till at length nothing remained but the last line of infantry

and guns, with which I remained myself, to crush the enemy, had he

dared to follow up the pickets. The only line of retreat lay through

a long and tortuous lane, and all these precautions were absolutely

necessary to ensure the safety of the force.”

An instance of the fury which characterised the fighting at the

Secunderabagh is admirably told in Forbes Mitchell’s _Reminiscences of

the Great Mutiny_. The hero of the story, around whose private history

there was evidently more romance than usually falls to most men, bore

the name of Quaker Wallace, the final name being fictitious, the first

a nickname; and when the signal for the assault was given, he “went

into the Secunderabagh like one of the furies, plainly seeking death,

but not meeting it, and quoting the 116th Psalm, Scotch version, in

metre, beginning at the first verse--

‘I love the Lord, because my voice

And prayers He did hear.

I, while I live, will call on Him,

Who bow’d me to His ear.’

And thus he plunged into the Secunderabagh, quoting the next verse

at every shot fired from his rifle and at each thrust given by his

bayonet--

‘I’ll of salvation take the cup,

On God’s name will I call:

I’ll pay my vows now to the Lord

Before His people all.’

“It was generally reported in the company that Quaker Wallace,

single-handed, killed twenty men;” but be that as it may, the quaint

religious fervour of this gallant soldier of the 93rd is a quaint

survival of the same stern fanaticism of the Cameronians who fought and

suffered in many a skirmish besides Bothwell Brig.

Cawnpore had in the meantime been again attacked, and thither Sir

Colin, with the rest of the force, including the non-combatants, moved,

reaching their destination on the 28th November. His arrival was

most opportune. The Gwalior contingent had appeared before the town,

and Wyndham, who commanded, had led out against them some 2000 men

of the 64th, 82nd, 88th, and 34th Regiments. But the enemy were too

strong. The rebels, 14,000 strong, with 40 guns, were reinforced by

the relics of Nana Sahib’s army. Forcing back the weak British army,

they held the outskirts of the city, capturing the mess plate of four

regiments, together with the Arroyo des Molinos trophies of the 34th,

and the wearied soldiery, having suffered terrible losses, were in

sore straits. It was then that Campbell, cool and resolute, arrived;

and when on the 1st December reinforcements came from Allahabad, the

end was near. Cawnpore was bombarded for the last time, and the rebels

retreated by the Calpee road, pursued first by Sir Colin Campbell, and

then by Sir Hope Grant, with terrible effect. Guns and stores were

captured, and the broken remains of the Gwalior contingent fled to join

the mutineers who still held Lucknow, but who were watched and checked

by Outram in his strongly defended position at Alumbagh.

Much good work was done elsewhere, to which only brief reference can

be made--by Colonel Seaton about Pattialah, where he was afterwards

reinforced by Sir Colin Campbell, in which the 6th Dragoon Guards took

part; by Colonel Raines in Rajpootana, with the 95th; by Sir Hugh

Rae in Central India, with the 42nd, when Roohea was unsuccessfully

assaulted; and by General Roberts, also in Rajpootana, with the 8th

Hussars and 72nd, 83rd, and 95th line Regiments at the storming of

Kotah: but the Mutiny was practically crushed, and only the Lucknow

force remained as a serious organised body of the enemy to be dealt

with.

While the dying embers of the Mutiny were elsewhere, as already

referred to, being stamped out by daily increasing forces, and with

increasing determination and success, Outram still held at bay the

50,000 men who faced him at Alumbagh. That they did not do more than

they did is proof positive that they knew already that the game was

up, and that the rebellion had collapsed. Outram’s communications with

his chief at Cawnpore were never, as heretofore, seriously endangered.

Brigadier Franks had given one or two outside bands a lesson at Chanda

which was effective, before he joined the army headquarters before

Lucknow.

Sir Colin Campbell had marched from Cawnpore on the 28th February 1858,

and out of his army of 30,000 men nearly 20,000 were Europeans, with

100 guns, and this without Franks’ contingent, and the handy force of

Ghoorkas under Jung Bahadoor. England had played her usual careless

game. Surprised at first, the innate courage of her fighting men had

pulled her through her political and military difficulty. When the

national spirit was aroused, real armies were created, and the end was

certain.

In the final attack on the city, nothing is more curious than to note

the strong feeling of military camaraderie between the Sikhs and the

Highlanders. It is not enough to say that they showed a gallant feeling

of emulation. They fraternised. Both regiments advanced equally,

“stalking on in grim silence,” and without firing, till the bayonet

came into use. The Highlanders stormed a building at the Secunderabagh

by tearing the tiles off the roof, at Sir Colin’s own suggestion, and

dropping into the building that way.

So, stage by stage, Lucknow was taken. The rebels were utterly routed,

and never seriously afterwards did the rebellion raise head again. But

many valuable lives had been lost in doing their duty; and among them

was Major Hodson, who had had the courage, when Delhi was carried,

to kill, with his own hand, the last scions of the Mogul Empire.

Dreadful the deed, but dire the necessity. Whatever may be thought

of him, he lived the life of a gallant soldier, and like one fell.

Victoria Crosses were issued to eight officers for their bravery during

these campaigns, and there were very many others who were equally

deserving. No war, of which there is record, contains such numerous

and continuous instances of self-denying heroism as does the Mutiny.

Never were individual men more placed in the position of doing their

duty and displaying the most magnificent heroism. As far as the “Story

of the Army” goes, it may be recorded that the following regiments

bear war honours on their colours for the good work they did in saving

our Empire in India from utter destruction. “Lucknow” is borne on the

colours and appointments of the 7th Hussars and 9th Lancers, and of the

5th, 8th, 10th, 20th, 23rd, 26th, 32nd, 34th, 38th, 42nd, 53rd, 64th,

75th, 78th, 79th, 82nd, 84th, 90th, 93rd, 97th, 101st, 102nd, and the

Rifle Brigade. “Delhi” is carried by the 6th Dragoon Guards and 9th

Lancers, and by the 8th, 52nd, 60th, 61st, 75th, and 104th Regiments

of the line. The name “Central India” is worn by the 8th Hussars, 12th

Lancers, 14th Hussars, and 17th Lancers, with the 27th, 38th, 71st,

72nd, 86th, 88th, and 95th Regiments.

Lucknow was practically the closing scene of the great struggle. There

were still insurgent bands, no longer armies, to suppress; notorious

rebel leaders to seek for and oftentimes never find; disturbed

districts to settle down; all these things had to be done before peace

passed over the land. Peace that was problematical then, even after

the war of vengeance that was only righteous because of the hideous

cruelties which caused it; peace that must always be superficial and

doubtful. Youths yet unborn, if patriotic Indians, as were many of

their ancestors at this time, however misguided in the course of action

they adopted, may yet turn back to the burning history of the past, and

may rise to avenge past conquest, and what may seem then, as earlier,

present wrong.

The Romans governed England well, and raised it from savagery to

civilisation. They introduced the higher arts of peace, founded our

system of municipal government, created the first lighthouse on an

English coast. But they came as aliens and left as strangers yet.

Within but a few years, all traces of their holding of Magna Britannia

had ceased to be, save in ruined homes, wrecked villas, grass-grown,

unused roads, and abandoned towns. They conquered Britain by the sword

and held it by the sword, so long as their military hand was strong

enough to use and grasp the weapon. When their military power ceased,

other and stronger and possibly less scrupulous nations took the lead

in this our land. So it may be in India yet. Justice may be admired,

but is rarely loved, so long as it is administered by foreign hands.

Herein lies the strength and power and possibly the future hope of

Russia. The Anglo-Saxon colonises and replaces peoples, the Slav

absorbs. He has absorbed Central Asian khanates as we never have Indian

native states; and yet his rule anywhere will not compare in any one

degree with ours as regards justice, development, and care. None of

these things matter when the human _ego_ has to be taken into account.

That personal equation, the man himself, is left out of the question

with the dominant Saxon. The less dominant, because more receptive and

absorbing, Russian, whose blood runs in many a branch of the races

that go to make up India, acts otherwise, and his chance of ultimate

success, when the trouble of the future comes, is greater than that of

the Saxon, who now rules with every good intent in the place of Mogul

emperors and Hindu kings.

The Mutiny was one of those rare wars which were based on pure

political reasons, that is, reasons based on conditions other than

mere military considerations or those of conquest. It was unlike many

of our other struggles, in the past, and recently, which were begun

for reasons of policy. Policy and politics are not synonymous terms,

though they are spelt much the same way. This serious contest grew up

internally, from internal disagreement and disease which might have

been diagnosed. Many of our other campaigns were based on a desire for

conquest, a dread of the possible action of neighbouring powers which

it might be to our interest to forestall, or to that natural expansion

of empire which all colonising nations are subject to; and which means

the subjection or destruction, for purely colonial or commercial

reasons, of the races who stand in the way of what enterprising

colonial empires think their national right. Whether their antagonists

recognise it is “another story.”

One great result of the troubled time through which the nation passed

during 1858 was that it led to a further and considerable increase to

the army. In March of that year second battalions were added to the

twenty-four regiments of the line after the 1st Royals, whose second

battalion, created earlier, had remained in existence, and a fresh

regiment, the 100th, or “Royal Canadians,” was raised in Canada and

added to the _Army List_. The 5th Dragoons were restored as Lancers,

and the 18th Hussars were raised at Leeds; while, when the Indian

army was incorporated with the national forces, the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd

European Bengal Cavalry became the 19th, 20th, and 21st Hussars; and

the European fusilier battalions of the Bengal, Madras, and Bombay

armies were placed on the _Army List_ as the 101st, 102nd, 103rd,

104th, 105th, 106th, 107th, 108th, and 109th Regiments of the line,

dating their seniority from 1861. To this increase, a permanent one,

not one man raised an objection, a marked contrast to the times that

had been. The dread of the standing army was at last as “dead as Queen

Anne.”

The half-civil, half-military instruction of the army aspirant, the

Sandhurst cadet, began to partake more of the latter character than

the former; and was to be changed still more in another decade or

thereabout. The utter failure of the staff in the Crimea had pointed

out, what all foreign nations had already recognised, that a special

training for some, if not all, of the staff officers of the future was

advisable. So the Staff College came into being in 1858, and first

established, more fully than the old “Senior Department” of the Royal

Military College of Sandhurst, the principle that the work of the

staff in the future can only be learned by studying the mistakes and

successes of the past; that the art of war is by no means conjectural,

but that he who knows what has been done can learn from that teaching

how to do it again and do it better. The age of the “heaven-born

soldier,” a rarity even greater than the black swan, was a thing of

the past. To pitchfork unknown or untried men into the most difficult

of all duties, that of working the machinery that makes or mars an

army--its staff work--belonged to an earlier age than now.

But another great movement arose, the end of which no man can foresee,

save that it has saved the nation from the dire evils of conscription.

No really free nation ever has or ever will accept the fetters of

compulsory service unless it feels there is a real reason for it.

Nothing but actual invasion would ever make free Englishmen accept

conscription as a principle, though they accepted in the long war what

was almost worse. The pressgang, compulsory service in its worst, most

one-sided, and most cruel form, was endured, but hated. But when,

however, our late ally, France, irritated by the fact that our free

political institutions did not admit of our handing over to her tender

mercies men who, however ruffianly, had threatened the life of the

Emperor Napoleon on political grounds only, and when the colonels of

her army asked in the intensity of their sycophancy (for, as after

events proved, the third Napoleon had no great hold on the affections

of his people) to be led against “_la perfide Albion_,” the old spirit

rose.

The spirit of individual help towards the national defence had been

clearly shown as that of boyhood when the century was yet in its teens;

in 1853 it had its second stage of youth; and finally in our time was

to grow into first adolescence, and then vigorous manhood.

With all her pride, and its consequent self-sufficiency, with all

her natural self-respect and self-belief, there is no nation really

less military, at the heart of her, than Great Britain. Always a

fighting race, it may be that this is why she is reluctant to fight,

and is therefore always unready. She began the Crimean War with her

usual curious sort of half-reluctant enthusiasm, and with an army of

about the Peninsular type. She finished the war, the only nation then

prepared and anxious to fight on, and, stronger than before, to push

it to a successful termination when her allies were somewhat more than

half-exhausted. But this very reluctance makes her serious when roused.

And the uncalled for insult that she, of all nations in the world, was

open to invasion at the call of French colonels called out all that

curious innate fearlessness of battle which has helped British soldiers

in many a hard-fought field to victory. Never were the English people

more at peace, and more anxious to be. Never did they more willingly

throw that feeling to the winds than when a body of French colonels

insulted the whole English race.

So for a third time the civilian laid aside his mufti and clutched the

uniform and rifle. By the middle of 1859 there were six thousand men

armed and willing to fight. It is not necessary here to enter into

the controversy of the merits or demerits of this force. It began one

way, it has finished another. It began, helped by a fulsome praise

that can only be called hysteric; for the first idea it had was to

reduce or abolish the army for the sake of a force of _not_ soldiers,

but merely men in arms, and which was for a time the laughing-stock

of all Europe! Anything more ludicrous, and from a military point of

view contemptible, than the early days of these willing and patriotic

enthusiasts cannot be imagined. They played at soldiers in the most

absolute way, and though much improved, they are very far from perfect

now.

At first they were designed merely as local corps of varying strength,

and were to have merely a company organisation. A separate manual

even, the “Drill and Rifle Instruction for Corps of Rifle Volunteers,”

was compiled with the specific purpose of minimising the amount of

instructions to be given. This could, it was considered, be imparted

in six lessons, and Sir Charles Napier in his “Letter on the Defence

of England” strongly advises the new soldiery not to “let anyone

persuade you to learn _more_.” Of course all this has long changed, and

now the volunteer undergoes the same training as the soldier or the

militiaman, but without that continuity that alone can make it of first

value. Discipline and drill, if not synonymous terms, run hand in hand.

The former naturally follows on the latter if it be continuous and

sustained.