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.
It is now some time since the events took place which I am recording
here, and not one vestige of the past remains to help me in my work, not
a single scrap of writing or note of any kind; yet the smallest detail
of those few terrible days is engraved so indelibly upon my memory that
it seems but the occurrence of yesterday, and I need no reference to help
me in my description of a catastrophe which almost outrivals some of the
horrors of the Mutiny.
We were all up early on the morning of the 23rd. The durbar was fixed to
take place at eight, and the rooms had to be prepared for the ceremony.
But when eight o’clock came, it brought only a message from the palace,
saying that the Jubraj was too ill to leave his house, and therefore the
regent had not come; so the red cloth arranged for his reception was put
away, and a consultation took place between the Chief and my husband as
to what the next move should be.
It was decided to make one last attempt to get the princes to attend, and
then if that failed, other measures were to be resorted to. But twelve
o’clock brought no better results, and about four my husband was sent to
the palace to see the Jubraj, and convey to him personally the orders
of the Government, and use all his influence to persuade the prince to
give himself up quietly, telling him at the same time that the proposed
banishment was not to last for ever, but that it would depend chiefly
on his good behaviour, and eventually, at the death of his brother, the
regent, he (the Jubraj) would be allowed to return to Manipur, and ascend
the throne as Maharajah. It was a veritable hornets’ nest into which
my husband ventured that afternoon, accompanied only by his friend Mr.
Simpson. He would not take even a single orderly with him, knowing in
what an excited state the whole palace was at that time. It was crowded
with Sepoys, collected, the regent told him, for the review which we had
desired to witness. I got very anxious about them both when more than
an hour had passed and they had not returned, but when my husband did
come back I knew at a glance that his mission had failed. He said the
Jubraj was certainly very unwell. He had had some difficulty at first in
persuading the prince to come and see him at all, but after finding out
from his people that the two Sahibs had come quite alone, the Jubraj had
himself carried down to see them in a litter. The exertion caused him to
faint, and my husband said that there was no doubt as to his illness, and
that he found him in high fever.
Shortly before this visit to the palace took place, Mr. Melville started
off on the first stage of his journey to Kohima. He intended travelling
as far as Sengmai that day, a distance of ten miles. My husband tried to
make him reconsider his decision to go, and I added my persuasions to
his. We did not like the look of things at all, and how matters would end
was, to say the least, very uncertain.
I remember so well our all standing on the steps of the Residency that
afternoon, watching the coolies collecting Mr. Melville’s luggage,
and begging him to remain even one day longer with us, for fear of
anything going wrong; and I remember equally well his answer: ‘Thank you
very much, Mrs. Grimwood,’ he said, ‘but do not fear for me. I am not
important enough to be captured by these Manipuris. I shall get on all
right, never fear’; and in a few more minutes he had left us. But the
thoughts of his going away like that, alone, without any guard to protect
him, troubled me more than once that afternoon, and I could not get it
out of my head. Matters assumed a serious aspect indeed when my husband
returned about six o’clock from the palace with the news that he had been
unsuccessful with regard to the Jubraj. There was only one way, then,
out of the difficulty, and that was to place the affair in the hands
of the military, and apply force where persuasion had failed. It was a
council of war, indeed, and everything seemed to combine to fill me with
sensations of dread for what was going to happen. I could not feel the
excitement that took possession of the men when the chances of a probable
fight became known. Such an idea filled me with alarm and horror. The
place had a deserted look about it, and on the principal road, as a rule
crowded with people at that hour, not a soul was visible.
The clouds had been gathering up all the afternoon, and about seven
o’clock a terrific thunderstorm occurred, and darkness set in, which was
only lit up now and then by brilliant flashes of lightning. I busied
myself about the house, where I found a state of confusion reigning. A
number of the servants had taken French leave and departed, scenting
danger.
My old ayah was among the first to go. She had been with me four years,
and had followed me about faithfully till now; but at the first sign
of danger she packed up her belongings and went off. I wondered where
she had taken refuge, for she had a good many enemies, and was not a
native of Manipur, so had no home or relations in the place to whom she
could fly for protection. I felt her desertion very much. She was only a
native, but she was at any rate a woman, and better than no one in a case
like that. However, there was no good to be got out of thinking over her
departure, and I had as much as I could do as it was to keep the other
servants up to the mark, and get them to understand that dinner that
evening would have to be gone through the same as usual. Mr. Quinton and
three of the others amused themselves by playing whist until dinner-time,
as, of course, going out was an impossibility; and I went to the kitchen
to superintend the arrangements there, and to make preparations for the
next day, as I knew that if there were fighting going on, I should be
left without a single servant, and so resolved to get as much work out of
them while they were there as was possible. We made a quantity of soup
that night, as I thought it would be useful, and cooked some fowls to
provide us with something to eat the next day in case of accidents. And
then we had dinner.
No one seemed inclined to speak much that evening. With me conversation
was almost an impossibility, and the rest were too excited about the
morrow to be able to talk and laugh as they had done the day before. It
was a relief to me when dinner was over. I felt nervous and low-spirited,
and very lonely, quite out of place amongst those men whose profession it
was to fight, and who were longing for the next morning.
Thoughts of England and of all whom I loved there, flocked through my
mind, and I wondered what they would say if they could see us then, and
know the possible danger that threatened us and our home. My husband
was troubled at the thoughts of my being in the place at such a time,
and he blamed himself for having agreed to my staying, though I had
done so of my own free will. Even then we did not dream of any really
serious ending. We expected that the Jubraj would fight well—in fact, the
officers and Sepoys were hoping that the resistance would be strong, and
my husband was afraid that the house might get knocked about, and some
of our property destroyed; but serious alarm for our own safety never
entered our heads. This was the night of the 23rd, the date that we had
originally fixed for the Manipuri nautch to take place; but under the
circumstances we did not think it likely that the girls would come. Mr.
Brackenbury amused us by singing comic songs, accompanying himself on his
banjo after dinner, and all went to bed early, as everyone had to be up
at three the next morning.
It was a lovely moonlight night, and my husband and I walked up and down
in the garden for some time after our guests had gone. I felt restless
and unhappy, but he did his best to reassure me and make me believe that
we should all be perfectly safe. Just before we were preparing to go in,
the sentry challenged at the gate, and appeared a few minutes afterwards
with a Manipuri, who had been sent from the palace to inquire whether we
wished to have the nautch or not, saying at the same time that the girls
who were to dance were waiting outside in the road if we wanted them.
Of course we told him it was much too late to think of such a thing at
that time, and the man left the place. We believed that he had really
been sent to spy out the land, and find out what preparations, if any, we
had been making. If that were his mission, he must have been seriously
disappointed, for the whole place, and everyone in it, was wrapt in
slumber, with the exception of my husband and myself, and we very often
walked about the grounds late on moonlight nights, so there was nothing
unusual in our doing so on this occasion. There were a few extra
sentries on guard, but chiefly at the back of the house, and the presence
of the Chief Commissioner was quite sufficient cause for a larger guard
than usual.
At last we turned in too, one to sleep as unconcernedly as ever, knowing
not that it was his last night upon earth; the other to lie awake,
listening to the hours as they were struck out on the gong down at the
quarter-guard, and wonder what the ending of the next day would bring.
I never closed my eyes all through the watches of that night—the last I
was destined to spend in Manipur—and when three o’clock came I woke my
husband, and told him that the hour had come when we were all to get up,
and the work of day commenced.
It was a bitterly cold morning, and quite dark. I dressed quickly,
putting on a warm, tight-fitting winter dress. We had a sort of scratch
breakfast of eggs and bread-and-butter about 3.30 a.m.; but most of the
officers had theirs at the camp, and started from there, so that I did
not know when they actually left to commence the attack. My husband
accompanied Colonel Skene, much to my distress, as I thought he would
have stayed at the Residency, being a civilian; but he seemed just as
keen on going as the others, and I had to make the best of it. Mr.
Quinton, Mr. Cossins, and I all went off to the telegraph-office, which
was situated at the end of the drive, about three hundred yards from
the Residency. It was well built and fairly strong, the basement being
made of stone, and there was a similar building on the opposite side,
which my husband used as an office for himself, the lower half of which
contained the treasury. Here we took up our position, going up into the
telegraph-office first to send a message to the Government of India,
giving details of all that had occurred up to date. Mr. Cossins, who was
acting as secretary to the Chief Commissioner, brought the telegram down,
and while we were waiting and watching the Baboo[15] despatch it, we
heard the first shot fired in the palace, which was followed up quickly
by others, and we knew then that the fight had begun.
By this time the dawn was breaking, and streaks of daylight were
dispelling the darkness around. It seemed difficult to me to realize what
was really taking place. I had heard firing in the palace so often that
it seemed almost impossible to understand that a sterner game was being
played now, and one which was to cost both sides so dear. Only half the
telegram had been sent, when we were startled by the sudden advent of a
bullet through the office window at our elbows. It crashed through the
glass, breaking it to pieces, and went into the wall opposite. My heart
went to my mouth with fright, and I left the place with considerable
rapidity, taking up a more secure position below, where I was fairly
protected by the stone basement of the building. Mr. Cossins occupied
his time in taking several journeys up to the house, where he mounted
to the roof to discover whether he could see what was going on inside
the palace wall; but it was impossible, as the Jubraj’s house, which we
knew was being attacked, was some distance off, and hidden from us by
intervening buildings. It was situated near the outer wall of the palace,
and our men seemed to have taken a very short time in getting up to it.
The whole palace was fortified. Five walls surrounded the Maharajah’s
enclosure. The outer of these was much broken, and of no great height;
but the inner ones were very strong, built of brick and supplied with
bastions, and they surrounded the inner palace on all four sides. On
three sides of the outer wall was a canal, very deep and wide. It was
here that the great boat-races took place every year, and the water was
always kept weeded and clean for those events. The whole citadel was
built with a view of resisting attack in the time before Burmah was
annexed, when armies of raiders used to come down upon Manipur with
hostile intent; and it was a place which could easily be held against an
attacking force, provided big guns were not brought to bear upon it. The
Manipuris were well armed, and supplied with ammunition. The Maharajah
had four mountain guns which had been presented to his father by our
Government in return for services which he had rendered in times gone by.
The Jubraj understood perfectly how to work these guns. We had seen him
fire them himself for our amusement on an occasion already described, and
we knew he would be perfectly cognizant of their powers of destruction
when the opportunity occurred to bring them into play against us. Of
course we, who were left at the Residency, did not know what was going on
round the Jubraj’s house, where all the firing seemed to come from. From
time to time stray bullets came over our heads where we sat down at the
telegraph-office. I thought it was very exciting then, and the little
Ghoorkas, who had remained to keep guard over the place, were constantly
running out on to the road in front of our entrance-gate, to see whether
they could discover what was happening. They did not like being inactive
at all.
About half-past ten my husband returned, and came to the treasury to get
out some of the reserve ammunition which had been stored there. He only
stayed a few minutes, talking to me before rejoining Colonel Skene. He
told me that the Jubraj’s house had been captured after a good fight, and
that our men were in possession of it, and the principal gateway besides,
and had taken a good many prisoners. I asked if anyone had been hurt, and
he said there were grave rumours about Lieutenant Brackenbury. No one
seemed to be certain of his whereabouts, while some affirmed that he had
been wounded, and others that he had been killed. We were very anxious
about him, but my husband said that it was all uncertain, and he might be
perfectly safe all the time; and of course we hoped he was all right.
About twelve Mr. Quinton and I went up to the house, but long before
going he had made another attempt to get the telegram to the Government
of India despatched, and had found that the wires had been cut on all
sides, so all hope of communication from that source was abandoned. We
were rather hungry by twelve, as no one had eaten much at the hasty
repast at three in the morning, and we were very glad of some hot tea and
sandwiches now. I went on a voyage of discovery round the house. One or
two servants still remained, but they seemed very frightened, and were
saying many prayers to their gods for their safety. A stray bullet or so
had hit the walls of the house, knocking off some of the plaster, but
otherwise everything looked the same as usual.
[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF MANIPUR.]
We returned to the office in about an hour, after I had seen that all
the preparations for lunch were made. The cook had departed, but the
bearer and I between us managed to get things ready in a fashion. I
took a book to read with me, and busied myself in that manner until,
about one o’clock, Colonel Skene and some of his officers, with my
husband, returned from the scene of action. Our first inquiries were
for Mr. Brackenbury, and then it became evident that something serious
had happened to him, and all our fears were aroused. After that, things
seemed to assume quite a different aspect, for the officers were all
talking so gravely together, and did not seem quite satisfied with the
way things were going.
However, we went back to the Residency to get something to eat. All had
returned with the exception of Mr. Simpson and Captain Butcher, who were
still at the Jubraj’s house, and Mr. Brackenbury, whose exact whereabouts
were unknown. We had commenced lunch, when my husband asked me if I would
give orders that some food should be sent to the two officers who were
not able to leave their posts, and I went away to a little room adjoining
the dining-room and commenced cutting sandwiches for them, as the
servants had disappeared, and one had to get everything for one’s self or
go without.
I had been busily engaged for about ten minutes, when I heard a sound
which filled me with alarm, and a bullet crashed through the window above
my head. It frightened me more than the one at the telegraph-office had
done, and I dropped my knife, left the sandwiches as they were, and
rushed into the dining-room. All the officers meanwhile had gone out, and
had found that the Manipuris had crept round to the back of the Residency
and commenced an attack upon us, using as cover the Naga village which
lay between our grounds and the river. This was a clever move on their
part, and it was some time before the troops could drive them back, as
most of our men were engaged in holding the posts inside the palace
captured early in the morning, and this left only a small guard for the
Residency, treasury offices, and Sepoys’ camp. Eventually our party set
fire to the Naga village, and drove the Manipuris out. Bullets had made
their way through the window-panes and doors of the dining-room, and had
smashed some of the breakfast-things and the glass on the sideboard. It
was difficult to find out the most secure place in the house, as the
firing was hot in the front of the Residency by this time, and the walls,
being only lath and plaster, were little or no protection.
My husband suggested my descending to the cellars, which were under the
house and built of stone; but I did not like the idea, and remembered
how scornful I had been when we had talked over matters weeks before,
and he had joked about the snug corner he would make ready for me in
the basement of the house. So I made up my mind to remain above-board,
so to speak, until the worst came to the worst. It was heart-rending
to see the work of destruction which was proceeding in the different
rooms meanwhile. The windows were broken, and every now and then bullets
crashed into the rooms, smashing different things—first a picture, then a
vase, then a photograph. All my beloved household gods seemed coming to
grief under my very eyes, and I was powerless to save them. We did try
to collect some of the most valuable of our belongings together and put
them away in a heap in the durbar room, which at that time had escaped
with only one broken pane; but it was dangerous work going into the front
rooms to remove them, for as the afternoon went on the firing became
hotter, and bullets rained into the house at every second.
It must have been about half-past four that the big guns began to be
played against us. It had been found necessary to concentrate the whole
of our force on the Residency and out-buildings, such as the treasury and
offices, and this entailed abandoning all the positions captured in the
early part of the day inside the outer wall of the palace, and bringing
all the men together. The wounded had to be recovered from all directions
and conveyed to the hospital, which was some distance from the Residency.
Lieutenant Brackenbury had been discovered lying on the bank of the river
which flowed north of the palace, where he had fallen shortly after the
attack was made early in the morning. He had mistaken the direction,
having got the wrong side of the wall near the Jubraj’s house, from which
point he had been exposed to a heavy fire from the enemy. It was only
a marvel that he was still alive when eventually discovered, for he had
remained where he fell the whole of that day, and the Manipuris had never
ceased firing at him as he lay. When his exact whereabouts did become
known, it was a difficult and dangerous task to remove him. Efforts had
been made by some of the Sepoys to drag him away, and a native officer
had been mortally wounded in the attempt. At last, about four o’clock in
the afternoon, he was rescued and brought into the hospital, and it was
found that he had received terrible injuries, being wounded in several
places.
The sound of the first shell which whizzed over the Residency made me
speechless with terror. I had heard the boom of the guns in the morning,
and knew that they had been used to try and drive Captain Butcher’s party
out of the Jubraj’s house, which had been captured; but they had sounded
some distance off, and I had not realized how terrible they could be
until they were turned against our own house.
The cellars were by this time unavoidable. My husband told me that we
should have to make some sort of rough hospital in one of them, as the
Residency hospital, where the wounded had been taken, was built of
plaster and would not be bullet-proof; so we set to work to get blankets
and sheets down from the house, and everything we thought might be useful.
Meanwhile shells were doing dreadful damage over our heads, and we
were afraid they might set fire to the thatch and force us out of our
temporary shelter. Luckily most of them went over the house into the
garden at the back, where they could not do such serious damage; but the
noise the guns made, added to the other firing, which had never ceased,
was deafening.
There was not the slightest doubt by this time that our position was
about as bad as it could very well be. I seemed paralyzed with fear,
and it was only by forcing myself to do something, and never thinking or
imagining for one moment what the end of it all might be, that I kept
my senses sufficiently to be able to make an effort to help the rest. I
heard that the wounded were to be brought up to the house immediately, as
the hospital was getting too hot for them to remain in it. Poor fellows!
they had endured so much as it was in getting there, that it seemed very
hard to be obliged to move them again so soon, and take them up to the
Residency.
There were a good many of us in the cellar by this time—Mr. Quinton,
Colonel Skene, my husband and myself, Mr. Cossins, and Mr. Gurdon. It
was about seven o’clock, and a lovely evening. The sun was just setting,
and the red glow of the sky seemed to illuminate the landscape around
and the faces of the colonel and my husband as they stood in the doorway
talking together in low tones. It was no difficult matter to read what
was written on both their faces, and I did not dare ask what was going to
happen.
At last my husband came and told me that we were to leave the Residency,
and try and find our way to Cachar. It seemed worse to me to think of
going out of the house than to remain there; but whatever was to take
place had to be at once, and there was no time to spend in giving way to
the terrible fear which possessed me. However, a further consultation was
held, and it was decided to make a truce with the regent, and put an end
to hostilities by coming to some terms with him. A letter was written,
which the Chief Commissioner signed. It ran as follows:
‘_On what condition will you cease firing on us, and give
us time to communicate with the Viceroy, and repair the
telegraph?_’
While this letter was being written, the colonel had ordered our buglers
to sound the ‘cease fire,’ which they did at once; but it was some
time before the Manipuris followed suit. At last their guns ceased, and
all was quiet. Then my husband went out with the letter, and called a
Manipuri off the wall to take it to the Jubraj. The man went away with
it, and my husband returned to the Residency.
[Illustration: FRANK ST. CLAIR GRIMWOOD.
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH BY VANDYK.
LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, 1891]
Some minutes later a message came to say that the regent wished to see
Mr. Quinton and talk over matters with him; and this message was followed
by a letter written in Bengali, which contained an acknowledgment of the
Chief’s letter, and a proposal to the effect that we should surrender our
arms if the Manipuris agreed to cease firing. There was some discussion
about the translation of part of this letter, and Mr. Quinton proposed
that the Jubraj should be called upon to explain the meaning of the
passage in question, and asked whether it would be possible to see him.
Meanwhile the Chief Commissioner’s party, consisting of himself, Colonel
Skene, Mr. Cossins, Lieutenant Simpson, and my husband, had gone down
to the office at our entrance gate, and waited there while the regent’s
letter was being translated. Mr. Simpson had gone of his own accord, as
he wished to accompany my husband, and I had begged to be allowed to go
with him too; but he said I was safer where I was, and bade me good-bye,
telling me to keep a brave heart, that the firing was at an end, and
peace about to be restored; and he told me to try and get some rest, as I
looked so tired. I never saw him again.