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.
Of course there were a great many preparations to be made in honour of
the Chief Commissioner’s visit. The question which occupied my attention
most was how to feed so many. The resources of the country in the way
of food were very limited. Beef was an impossibility, as no one was
allowed to kill a cow, and mutton was almost equally unprocurable. The
Jubraj kept a few sheep for their wool, and once in a way he killed
one or two of them to provide a dinner for all the Mussulman officers
and servants in the palace; but this occurred very seldom. We lived on
ducks and fowls all the year round, and managed fairly well; but having
to provide for sixteen people was a different matter altogether. My
husband made several valiant attempts to secure some sheep from Cachar,
and after much difficulty he got four, and we heard they had commenced
their march up to Manipur. But they never arrived alive. The drover was
a most conscientious person, and took the trouble to bring the four dead
carcases up to the Residency for our inspection, to assure us that the
poor animals had died natural deaths, which we thought very touching on
his part.
We were in despair over our commissariat, but at last that invaluable
domestic, the bearer, came to the rescue, and proposed that as we could
not get genuine mutton, we should invest in a goat. One often eats goat
in India, deluding one’s self with the idea that it is sheep, because it
has cost one as dear, and the native butcher swears that he is giving one
the best mutton in the district. But after you have kept house for a year
or two, and got to know the wily Oriental, you are able to distinguish
truly the sheep from the goats. Be that as it may, when one can’t get one
thing, one must content one’s self with the best substitute; and on this
occasion I was very grateful to the bearer for his timely suggestion,
and commissioned him to search the neighbourhood for the desired goat,
which after some days was discovered, and brought to the Residency for
inspection. We had a committee of four on it, and came to the conclusion
that it was a most estimable animal, and altogether worthy of providing
dinner for a Chief Commissioner. So we bought that goat, tethered him in
the kitchen-garden, and fed him every day and all day. He grew enormous,
and slept a great deal when he was not eating, which was his favourite
occupation.
Meanwhile the days went by, and at last only one week remained before the
Chief’s arrival, and by that time we knew that he was bringing an escort
of four hundred men with him and several officers; but we did not know
how long they were going to stay, or why so many were coming, or whether
they were going on to Burmah. A telegram had come some days previously,
telling my husband to get coolies ready to take the party to Tummu, and
he thought from that that it was Mr. Quinton’s intention to pay a visit
to that part of the valley; but everything seemed uncertain, and the
Manipuris were very curious to find out what it all meant.
About a week before the Chief arrived Mr. Gurdon was sent on to see my
husband, and talk over matters with him; but even then we were ignorant
of what was really intended, and it was only on the day before they all
arrived—Saturday, March 21—that my husband was told all by Mr. Quinton
himself, whom he had ridden out ten miles to meet. He started out in the
morning for Sengmai, the first halting-stage on the road to Kohima from
Manipur, and on his arrival he wired to me, telling me to expect eleven
to breakfast the next day, which, with ourselves, Mr. Melville, and Mr.
Simpson, made fifteen.
Mr. Simpson and I went for a ride that evening, and as we were returning
we both remarked the great number of Manipuri Sepoys we met, hurrying
into the citadel. They swarmed along the road, and on getting near the
big gate of the palace we had some difficulty in getting our horses
through the crowds which were streaming into the fort, and I was quite
glad when we got back safely into the Residency grounds again. My husband
returned about seven from Sengmai, very tired and very much worried
at all he had heard. I went into his little private office with him,
and there he told me of what was to take place on the morrow, making
me promise not to breathe a word of it to either Mr. Melville or Mr.
Simpson, as it was to be kept a dead secret. He wrote off at once to
the Regent, telling him that the Chief Commissioner would hold a durbar
on the following day at twelve, at which he hoped all the princes would
appear, and then we went away and had dinner. It was difficult to talk
of other things while our minds were full of the information my husband
had received, and I was very glad when the evening ended, and our two
visitors had gone to bed.
It had been decided to recognise the regent as Maharajah, but his
brother, the Jubraj, was to be arrested at the durbar the next day, taken
out of the country, and banished for several years. That was the news my
husband brought. It has been hinted of late by some that the friendship
which we had both entertained for the Jubraj was _infra dig._, and
contrary to the usual mode of procedure adopted by Anglo-Indian officials
in their intercourse with the rulers of native states. But when first we
went to Manipur, my husband was told that he must endeavour to establish
friendly feelings between the princes and himself, and that he was to
make a point of becoming acquainted with their language, in order to
acquire an influence for good over each member of the Maharajah’s family
and over the state itself.
I do not think there was ever any loss of dignity or unbecoming
familiarity in my husband’s friendship for the Jubraj. Full well that
prince, and all the other members of the durbar, knew that where things
went wrong they would not escape his notice and reproof, even as when
they went right he would give praise where praise was due; and if such
a friendship were distasteful and unusual in similar circumstances, why
was it never commented on by those in whose power it was to approve
or disapprove, and who knew that it existed? Small wonder was it that
we were both very sorry to hear of the fate which was in store for the
Jubraj. We remembered all the little acts of courtesy and kindness which
he had performed to help make our lonely existence brighter, isolated
as we were from any English friends, and we knew how much he would feel
being sent out of Manipur at so short a notice. However, we could do
nothing by talking it over, and so went to rest ourselves, resolving to
think no more about it until the next day.
The morning of the 22nd broke clear and beautiful over the valley. The
place had never looked more lovely. Clusters of yellow roses blossomed
on the walls of the house, and the scent of the heliotrope greeted me as
I went into the veranda to watch my husband start to meet Mr. Quinton.
There was a delightful sense of activity about the place, and one felt
that something of more than ordinary importance was about to take place;
white tents peeped out from amongst the trees surrounding the house, and
the camp prepared for the Sepoys stretched along under our wall at the
end of the lake. Mr. Simpson, and I strolled down the drive, out into the
road, to see the preparations in honour of Mr. Quinton’s coming. Chairs
were placed near the principal palace gate, and a carpet, and a table
with flowers on it; and there were a great many Manipuri Sepoys lining
the road by which he was expected to arrive.
I was called back to the house by the bearer with a piece of intelligence
which almost took my breath away—_the goat was dying_! I raced back to
the Residency, and rushed to the scene of action. There on the ground
lay the goat, breathing his last, and with his departing spirit went all
my dreams of legs of mutton, chops and cutlets. I sent to the house for
bottles of hot beer and quarts of brandy, and I poured gallons of liquid
down the creature’s throat; but all to no purpose, and after giving one
last heartrending groan, he expired at my feet. I could have wept. The
pains that had been taken with that goat to make it fat and well-favoured
for the delectation of my friends! and then that it should shuffle off
this mortal coil on the very day fixed for its execution was altogether
heartrending. I think I really should have found relief in tears, had not
my attention been aroused by the sound of the salute being fired from the
palace, which meant that the Chief and his party had appeared in sight.
So I turned away sadly, after giving orders to have the creature buried,
and proceeded to the house, where I met Mr. Simpson and Mr. Melville.
They both expressed much sympathy, but we could not help seeing the funny
side of the affair, and ended by laughing very heartily over the sad end
to my mutton scheme.
Twelve times did the gun boom from the palace, and by the time the
twelfth had sounded, Mr. Quinton, accompanied by Colonel Skene and
my husband, had arrived at the house, followed shortly by the other
officers, who had remained at the camp to see their men comfortably
housed and settled. We all went in to breakfast, but I noticed that my
husband seemed troubled about something, as he scarcely spoke at all, and
I wondered what fresh news he had heard. However, I had no opportunity
of speaking to him at all, and the conversation flowed merrily round the
table. I knew very few of the Chief Commissioner’s party, as all the
officers belonging to the 42nd Ghoorka Rifles were total strangers to me.
Of the rest, Mr. Brackenbury and I were perhaps the oldest friends. He
had been stationed at Manipur before, when we first came to the place,
and we had seen a great deal of him, so were glad that he had come on
this occasion.
As soon as breakfast was over, preparations were made for the durbar, and
the work of the day began. I had no opportunity of speaking to my husband
until he was dressing for the ceremony, and then I went and asked him
what was bothering him; and he told me that _he_ had been ordered to
arrest the Jubraj at the close of the durbar. It is not for me to give
an opinion on this point at all, and whether such a course of action
was honourable or not; but it was only natural that my husband should
feel sorry that he had been chosen to carry out such a proceeding. To be
obliged to arrest a man himself with whom he had been on friendly terms
for nearly three years, and see him treated like a common felon, without
being able to defend himself, was naturally a hard task, and my husband
felt it bitterly.
I summoned up courage to ask whether some other officer might not make
the arrest, as it had to be made; but was told that the Jubraj would
probably feel it less if my husband did it, as they were good friends.
Precautions were taken to prevent his escaping. The doors of the durbar
room were all locked with the exception of the one by which the princes
would enter, and guards were stationed in the adjoining rooms, as well
as all round the house and in the verandas. Most of the officers were
ignorant of what was intended, and they were joking with me, and trying
to find out whether I were in the secret or not, while we were waiting
for the Maharajah to arrive.
Meanwhile the written orders of the Government of India had to be
translated into Manipuri, and for this purpose two of the office clerks
and the Burmese interpreter were brought to the Residency and given the
papers to translate. The orders were lengthy, and the translation of
them took some time. Each of the clerks had a sentry placed over him,
and they all had to swear an oath that they would not divulge one word
to anyone of the contents of the papers given them to translate. Some
time before they were completed the regent and _all_ his brothers arrived
at the Residency gate. I have laid particular stress on the word _all_,
because it has been said that the Jubraj did not accompany his brother
on this occasion, though subsequent evidence has since appeared showing
that he was really present with the rest. Had there been no reason for
keeping the princes waiting at the gate, things might have ended very
differently. But that delay enabled some of the Manipuri Sepoys to gain
admission into the Residency grounds, from where they could take note
of all the proceedings. They made good use of their opportunities,
marked the distribution of our forces, saw the Ghoorkas lining the
entrance-steps, and the officers in uniform in attendance outside. Some
of them even strolled round to the back of the house, and there they saw
the same preparations—Sepoys on the steps, and guards about the grounds.
Of course the Manipuris did not keep this to themselves, but made their
way out again to the Jubraj, and told him of all they had seen; and
he took the opportunity to return to his house with his brother, the
Senaputti, giving out as an excuse that he felt too ill to remain waiting
about in the hot sun. He had not been well for some time before, but
whether he really felt as indisposed on this occasion as he affirmed
is open to doubt. He had already made the acquaintance of the Chief
Commissioner, and so had the Senaputti, as the latter had ridden out to
Sengmai on the Saturday to meet Mr. Quinton, and the Jubraj had also met
him seven miles out of Manipur on Sunday morning.
When, therefore, the regent was asked to come on to the Residency, he
came, accompanied by his youngest brother only, Prince Zillah Singh, the
Tongal General, and some other less important ministers. As soon as my
husband saw that his highness had arrived without the two elder brothers,
he informed Mr. Quinton, who sent out word to the regent that the durbar
could not be held without the attendance of the Jubraj and Senaputti.
My husband had a long conversation with the regent before his highness
came into the house, and the latter agreed to send for his brothers to
the palace, coming himself into the Residency to await their arrival. It
seemed a long time before the messenger returned from the palace. The old
Tongal was so seedy at the time that we wondered at his having been able
to put in an appearance at all. I went into the drawing-room, and found
the old man asleep on the floor, and got him to lie down on a sofa with a
pillow under his head, where he very soon slumbered peacefully. At last
the regent’s messenger returned with the reply from the Jubraj that he
was too ill to leave his house, and hoped Mr. Quinton would excuse his
appearing; so the durbar was postponed till the next morning, Monday,
March 23, at eight o’clock, and it was impressed upon his highness
that his two brothers _must_ attend. They then went away. There is
little doubt that, from this moment, some inkling of what was intended
penetrated the minds of the princes and their ministers, just as all the
officers guessed that it was the Jubraj who was ‘wanted.’
However, business being over for that day, we set to work to amuse
ourselves as best we could, strolling about the grounds, and into the
bazaar in the evening. We had already arranged to have a polo-match one
day during Mr. Quinton’s visit, in which the princes were to play; and
the regent had promised to have a review of his troops, which was always
a pretty sight. In addition to this, the band had been lent to us to
play every evening at dinner; and we were to have a Manipuri nautch on
the Monday, followed by a Naga dance the next evening, if the weather
permitted. This programme had been drawn up by my husband and myself two
or three weeks before Mr. Quinton’s arrival, but it has since come to
light that the Jubraj suspected us of treachery in asking him to arrange
and be present at these nautches.
[Illustration: NATIVES OF THE MANIPUR HILLS.]
We had never seen so many people in the Residency at once as there were
that Sunday night at dinner—fifteen in all. I felt rather forlorn, being
the only lady present, and wished that I had even one familiar spirit in
the shape of another woman to keep me company.
The band was very much appreciated, and everything seemed very bright and
cheery. No thought of evil troubled any of us, for little we knew that it
was the last evening we were to spend in peace there all together.
The next day Mr. Melville was to leave us. I had tried to persuade him to
stay longer, as he had only been two days with us before, and had seen
nothing of the place; but his time was precious, and he had his work to
do in a great many other places, so we could not get him to alter his
arrangements. He agreed to compromise matters by remaining until the
afternoon of the following day, the 23rd, and about eleven the party
broke up and retired to rest.