MY THREE YEARS IN MANIPUR
AND
Escape from the Recent Mutiny
THIRD EDITION
[Illustration: MRS. ST. CLAIR GRIMWOOD.
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY VANDYK.
LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, 1891]
MY
THREE YEARS IN MANIPUR
AND
Escape from the Recent Mutiny
BY
ETHEL ST. CLAIR GRIMWOOD
[Illustration]
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND PLAN_
LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1891
[_All rights reserved_]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PORTRAIT OF MRS. GRIMWOOD _frontispiece_
BEAR FROM NAGA HILLS _title-page_
DRAGON IN FRONT OF THE PALACE _to face page_ 1
VIEW OF THE RESIDENCY AT MANIPUR ” 30
TRIBESMEN OF MANIPUR ” 68
THE GARDENS OF THE RESIDENCY AT MANIPUR ” 118
NATIVES OF THE MANIPUR HILLS ” 186
SKETCH MAP OF MANIPUR ” 204
PORTRAIT OF MR. FRANK GRIMWOOD ” 217
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
My husband offered the post of Political Agent at
Manipur—Arrival there and first impressions—Adventures on the
journey—Coolies—Arrive at Cachar 1-10
CHAPTER II.
Cachar or Silchar—We are fêted there—The hill tribes: Kukis,
Tongkhuls, etc.—Their dress and habits—Rest-houses, and
difficulties therein—Manipuri Sepoys: camp on the Makru
River—Logtak Lake—Colonel Samoo Singh—The Senaputti 11-28
CHAPTER III.
Favourable impressions of our new home, the Residency—The
Maharajah—His brother the Jubraj—Polo with the Princes—The
Senaputti a fine sportsman—Visits us on Sunday
afternoons—Shell-firing—Prince Zillah Singh—We try to learn the
Manipuri language 29-43
CHAPTER IV.
Collect various animals around us—Habits of our pets—Our
beautiful grounds—The Nagas—Amusing incident—The liquor
Zu—Roast dog—Villages allotted to us for food, labour,
etc.—Women do the work—Children of the Maharajah—A
water-party—Every child dances in Manipur—The Manipuri women
not shut up 44-59
CHAPTER V.
Trips to the Logtak Lake—Beautiful scene on the lake—Tent
pitched on an island in it—The Pucca Senna accompanies
us—Crowds collect to see us—Old women dance—Natives laugh at my
riding-habit—Moombi—Steep ascent—Chief of the village threatens
us—Unpleasant quarters—Wet condition and hostile reception—My
husband teaches the Prince English 60-74
CHAPTER VI.
Society at Manipur—Band of the Ghoorkas—The bandmaster—His
peculiar attire—The regiment ordered away, to our
regret—Worse news—We are ordered to leave—Parting views—Mr.
Heath appointed—Son of the Tongal general—His good and bad
qualities—Magnificent scenery—The Ungamis—Their quarrelsome
character 75-92
CHAPTER VII.
Short stay at Jorehat—My husband appointed to Gauhati—Value
of the bearer in India—His notions and mine not always
in harmony—Arrive at Gauhati—Illness and death of Mr.
Heath—Presentiments—My husband returns to Manipur—I remain at
Shillong—Delicious climate 93-103
CHAPTER VIII.
A terrible experience—A Thoppa and a journey in one—Its
difficulties and dangers—The Lushais—Arrive at Sylhet—Find the
coolies have levanted—A pony journey ends disastrously—A night
walk—Accident to Mr. A⸺.—Arrive at a teahouse—Not a shadowy
dinner 104-117
CHAPTER IX.
Return to Manipur—Mr. Heath’s grave—Old Moonia—A quarrel and
fight between Moonia and the Chupprassie’s wife—Dignity of the
Chupprassies—The Senaputti gets up sports—Manipuri greetings
and sports 118-129
CHAPTER X.
Bad relations between the Pucca Senna and the Senaputti—Rival
lovers—Quarrels in the Royal Family—Prince Angao Senna—Pigeon
contests—The Manipuris’ fondness for gambling—Departure of the
Ghoorkas—Too much alone 130-138
CHAPTER XI.
The Princes quarrel—Attack on the Maharajah—His retreat—His
cowardice and accusations—The Pucca Senna departs also—Conduct
of the Jubraj 139-148
CHAPTER XII.
Vigour of the new reign—A magic-lantern performance—Conduct
of the bandmaster—First mention of Mr. Quinton—Visit
to Burmah—Beauty of the scenery—House ourselves in a
Pagoda—Burmese love of flowers, and of smoking—Visit
Tummu—Burmese love of chess—First meeting with Grant—He
helps us to make a cake—Search after orchids—Arrival of
visitors—Important telegram from Chief Commissioner—Coming
events commence to cast shadows 149-169
CHAPTER XIII.
Preparations for the Chief Commissioner’s visit—Despair
over the commissariat—Uncertainty of Mr. Quinton’s
intentions—Uneasiness of the Manipuris—They crowd into their
citadel—Decision of the Government of India and their policy
against the Jubraj—Death of our dinner and our goat—Arrival
of Mr. Quinton and Colonel Skene—Mr. Grimwood ordered to
arrest the Jubraj—The Regent and his brother appear at the
Residency—The Manipuris suspect hostility—The old Tongal—Last
evening of peace 170-187
CHAPTER XIV.
Up early on the eventful morning—The Jubraj does not attend
the Durbar—Visit of Mr. Grimwood to the Jubraj—Finds him in
high fever—Matters assume a serious aspect—Thoroughfares
deserted—Terrific thunderstorm—Our servants take French
leave—My ayah deserts—Melancholy thoughts—Lovely moonlight
night—A Manipuri arrives to spy out our doings—The night before
the outbreak—Attack on the Residency—Capture of the Jubraj’s
house—Anxiety about Lieutenant Brackenbury—Stray bullets find
their billet in the Residency—Attack gets hot, and big guns
play on the Residency—We have to take to the cellars—The Regent
invites Mr. Quinton to an interview 188-217
CHAPTER XV.
Mr. Brackenbury—Scenes in the little cellar—Destruction of our
home—Another moonlight night with a difference—Reopening of the
attack on the Residency—Death of Mr. Brackenbury—Preparations
to escape 218-230
CHAPTER XVI.
Escape of the servants—Mr. Gurdon comes for me—Away from
shelter, and one’s life in one’s hands—Over the hedge and
across the river—Lie in the ditch for shelter from shot—Fired
on at Burri Bazaar 231-238
CHAPTER XVII.
Burning of the Residency and of all our effects—Difficulties of
retreat—No food, wet clothes, burning sun—Pursued—Exhaustive
march—Kindness of a Naga boy—Fired on—Sleep after a march
of twenty miles—Have to march again—Capture a Manipuri
with rice—Enemy lurks around us—Come upon a stockade—Are
attacked—Goorkhas in sight 239-261
CHAPTER XVIII.
Saved—Captain Cowley pursues the enemy, and we fall on our
feet—Have to wear Sepoys’ boots—Halt at Leimatak—Transitions
of climate—Manipuris attack—Tables turned on them—Shortness
of food—The Nagas—Cross the Jhiri and regain the British
frontier 262-274
CHAPTER XIX.
Our ignorance as to Mr. Quinton’s proceedings—News at last
reach India and England—Take off my clothes for the first
time for ten days—March to Lahkipur—The ladies of Cachar send
clothes to me—Write home—Great kindness shown to me—My fears
for my husband—The telegram arrives with fatal news—Major
Grant’s narrative 275-315
CHAPTER XX.
Her Majesty gives me the Red Cross—I go to Windsor and see
her Majesty—The Princess of Wales expresses a wish to see
me—Conclusion 316-321
NOTE.
_The two letters written by Major Grant, and quoted on pp. 289 and 309,
appeared originally in the columns of the ‘Times’ newspaper._
[Illustration: DRAGON IN FRONT OF THE PALACE.]
THREE YEARS IN MANIPUR
CHAPTER I.
My husband offered the post of Political Agent at
Manipur—Arrival there and first impressions—Adventures on the
journey—Coolies—Arrive at Cachar.
Manipur! How well I remember the first time I ever heard the name—a name,
too, which was comparatively unknown three short years ago, owing to the
fact that it belongs to a remote little tract of country buried amongst
hills, and difficult of access, far away from civilized India, and out
of the beaten track. This is not a geographical treatise, and therefore
there is no necessity to dwell much on the exact whereabouts of a place
which has already been described more than once. I will therefore attempt
no lengthy description, simply stating that the valley of Manipur lies
between Cachar, the Kubo Valley, and Kohima, and is surrounded by six
ranges of hills which separate it from the tracts of country named. A
pretty place, more beautiful than many of the show-places of the world;
beautiful in its habitable parts, but more beautiful in those tracts
covered with forest jungle where the foot of man seldom treads, and the
stillness of which is only broken by the weird cry of the hooluck[1] or
the scream of a night-bird hunting its prey.
We had not been in India many months when my husband was offered the
post of political agent at Manipur. We were at the time in a very junior
position in Sylhet, a place which had not fascinated either of us in our
short stay there; but as a junior officer my husband could not complain.
When, therefore, we got a letter one morning offering him Manipur, we
were much elated. Visions of the glories heard of, but not seen, floated
in front of both our minds. I pictured to myself the dignity of being
the mistress of a Residency, of possessing servants in scarlet and gold,
with ‘V.R.’ on their buttons, and a guard-of-honour to walk out with me
whenever I chose. I saw visions of a large house and extensive grounds,
and I pictured the ensign of Old England dominating over all. Frank,
likewise, had dreams of polo ponies that played of their own accord every
day of the week, and visions of many tigers only waiting to be shot, and
snipe roosting in the veranda!
Perhaps some may wonder why such dreams should be ours, and why we built
such castles in the air. Once, many years before this time of which I
write, my husband had passed through Manipur on his way to England. He
had spent a couple of days there, and had seen the lake in the compound
covered with wild-duck, which were almost as tame as the familiar bird
associated, as a rule, in our minds with green peas and the spring. He
had played a never-to-be-forgotten game of polo with three royal princes
on a ground worthy of Hurlingham, and he had taken it out of the snipe
one morning. Small wonder that those two days remained in his memory, and
made him long for more like them, when it was his fate to be stationed
in an uncongenial spot, where polo comes like Christmas once a year, and
which even the snipe desert. And small wonder, too, was it that when the
letter came, offering him the coveted post, he jumped at it. How glad we
were, and how we hastened to pack up our belongings and depart to the
land of so much promise!
Nothing bothered us, not even when our kitchen was blown down bodily
in a gale of wind one night, and our new cooking-pans were damaged,
and, worst of all, our highly-valued and excellent cook gave notice to
quit immediately. The latter though, I am glad to say, reconsidered his
decision, and on my promising him extra pay and new cooking-pots, he
kindly condescended to link his fortunes with ours for a further period.
All’s well that ends well, and the extreme sunniness of my temper on that
occasion merited a little reward. A flying visit to Shillong, the hill
station of Assam and head-quarters of the Government of that province,
and a hasty return to Sylhet to bid good-bye to the few Europeans there
and to collect our possessions, occupied our time until the day arrived
which was to see us start on our long journey.
Here in England we consider a journey long that lasts perhaps a day
and a half, or even one whole day; but to anyone who has ever been in
the remote parts of India, and more especially of Assam, a two days’
journey would count as very little. Our journey to Manipur took sixteen
days, and hard travelling into the bargain. Up every morning and in our
saddles soon after six, with a fifteen-mile ride before us—hail, rain,
or sunshine. People in England cannot realize what real hard travelling
means. The whole of your baggage in Assam is carried by coolies. They are
wonderfully strong, and can take very heavy loads—when they please, that
is to say. But a disagreeable coolie can be very disagreeable indeed. We
encountered many such, and the first day on our travels it happened that
we had more than one unruly specimen.
We started in boats late one night after dinner, and slept on the river,
while the boatmen rowed us up stream to a place some twenty miles away,
where our horses were to meet us. It sounds rather pleasant travelling
by boat at night on a broad smooth river, with the moon shining overhead
as only an Indian moon can shine. But the situation loses much of its
romance when you know the style of boat that we travelled in. They are
small, awkwardly-built machines, rather of the Noah’s-ark type, with a
roofing made of bamboo coarsely woven into matting, and so low that it
necessitated crawling in on all fours when you wished to retire for the
night. Any idea of standing upright had to be abandoned. Once in, you had
to lie down and shuffle off your clothes, and tumble into your blankets,
which were spread upon the floor. Every time there was any steering
to do, the vibration caused by the movement of the rudder awoke you
from your slumbers; and, worst of all, the insects that swarmed in the
woodwork were most numerous and officious in their unceasing attentions
to the unhappy occupants of the boat.
Two of our crew had the misfortune to disagree upon some trivial matter
during the night, and as the space for settling their differences was
limited to about four square feet on the prow of the boat, the stronger
mariner ejected his weaker comrade into the river with much noise, wordy
and otherwise. Having ascertained the cause of the squabble, and insisted
on the immediate rescue of the fallen adversary from an untimely end, we
were allowed to sleep as peacefully as we could until daylight, when we
arrived rather cold and very hungry at our first halting-stage, where
chota hazri (early breakfast) and our horses awaited us. Then began
a struggle between our domestics and the shivering crowd of coolies
collected for the purpose of carrying our luggage. With one voice they
exclaimed that the Memsahib’s boxes were quite too enormous to be carried
at all—in fact, that there never had been boxes like them before or
since, and that we must pay for at least three coolies for every box. My
husband made a few observations to them in a somewhat peremptory form,
and the end of the matter was that two men were told off for each trunk,
and eventually, with many heart-rending groans, our luggage moved off.
Now, there is one point which I must touch upon before going on, and it
is a point which must strike anyone who has ever travelled in India,
and that is the extraordinary habit your rattletraps have of looking
disreputable as soon as they come to be mounted on the back of a coolie.
Whether it is that the undeniable presence of a large and unsightly
bundle of bedding has a demoralizing effect upon the whole, which is
not lessened by the accompanying basket of fowls and ducks destined to
be your breakfasts and dinners until you arrive at your destination, I
cannot say. But be your trunks the most respectable, neat, orderly trunks
on the face of this earth, they will look plebeian when they come to be
carried on the back of a half-clothed native, and you would scarcely
recognise them were it not that your own name betrays you, painted in
large white letters on them all, and your horses fail to shy at them in
consequence, if they are gifted with ordinary intelligence.
We started off about two hours after our things had left, but we had not
gone far when I saw a familiar object lying on the side of the road in
the shape of my largest bonnet-box. Further on we spied nearly all our
luggage, with the wretched cook doing ‘sentry go’ over it. On inquiring,
we found that all our coolies had run away—no one knew where, and it was
quite impossible to get them again. Eventually we raised a few more from
a police Thana, and had to drive them in front of us the whole way to
prevent them bolting too. Consequently we were many hours getting to our
destination, and did not get dinner till about nine at night. With few
exceptions, our march continued like this every day until we arrived at
Cachar, a small station on the Manipur frontier.