Burning of the Residency and of all our effects—Difficulties of
retreat—No food, wet clothes, burning sun—Pursued—Exhaustive
march—Kindness of a Naza boy—Fired on—Sleep after a march
of twenty miles—Have to march again—Captured—A Manipuri
with rice—Enemy lurks around us—Come upon a stockade—Are
attacked—Goorkhas in sight.
It was about two in the morning that we left the Residency, and we
marched steadily on until daybreak. We had not gone four miles away from
the station, when I turned to look back, and found the whole sky for
miles round lit with a red glow, whilst from among the trees surrounding
our house flames were leaping up. Those only who have feelings of
affection for the places where they live, and which they call home, can
picture what that burning house meant for me.
All we possessed was there—all our wedding presents, and everything that
goes towards making a place homelike and comfortable; and these were
being destroyed under my very eyes, while I, like Lot’s wife of old, had
to turn my face in an opposite direction, utterly powerless to avert the
terrible destruction which was overtaking all I valued.
I thought of my husband, who I believed to be a prisoner in the palace,
surrounded by enemies, witnessing the demolition of the house, and not
knowing where I was, or what had become of me. He would see the flames,
and hear those terrible guns booming out at every second, and he would
know that I was either flying for my life or dead, but no more. And yet
I thought he was better off than we were. All hoped that Mr. Quinton and
his party would be quite safe, even though they were prisoners, safer
than we were; and I myself, knowing the Jubraj so well, thought that
he would be clever enough to see his own advantage in keeping them as
hostages, even if he were not influenced by feelings of friendship for my
husband. And with this reflection I had to quiet my own misgivings. But
it was hard to march on in silence without giving way, and it was only by
resolving not to look back at all that I managed to restrain my feelings.
I was glad when the dawn came. Every misfortune seems so much harder to
bear at night, and there is something in the daylight which gives us
strength. If we are ill, we always seem worse during the night; if in
sorrow, it is harder to bear in the dark when we are awake and the world
is sleeping. And so with myself at this time. The daylight seemed to
lessen the horror of the whole situation, and when the pink flush of the
dawn came, it mingled with the red glow caused by our burning home, until
all was merged into the full light of the rising sun. Then we halted,
and had a consultation as to what route we were to pursue. If we went
straight on for another six or seven miles, we knew we should have to
pass a large Thana strongly garrisoned. On the other hand, if we forsook
the main road and took to the hills, we stood the chance of losing our
way altogether.
Our great hope was to meet with Captain Cowley and his detachment of
two hundred men, who, we knew, were marching up from Cachar. They had
commenced their journey to Manipur some days before the rebellion had
taken place, and did not know anything of the sort was likely to occur.
We knew they were due at a place called Leimatak, some thirty miles from
the capital, on the 25th, so that if they had kept to their dates, they
could not be more than twenty miles away from us at that moment.
It was the early morning of the 25th when we found ourselves debating
over the road, twelve miles away from Manipur. It was decided at length
to cut across the fields, and make our way over the hills, hoping to
strike the Cachar road again at a higher point, and avoid the Bishenpur
Thana.
So we started off again. I was then very exhausted. We had had no food,
and the water we met with was very dirty. My feet were cut and sore from
the rough walking I had already had, and my clothes still damp and heavy.
By this time the sun was fairly high in the heavens, and beat down upon
my uncovered head, threatening me with a bad headache at the least, and
possibly sunstroke. It was quite evident that some sort of head-gear must
be provided, so after trying a turban, which I found insufferably hot
and heavy, one of the officers gave me his helmet, and wore the pugaree
himself. Our way lay for some distance across Dhan-fields.[18] Owing to
the heavy dew which had fallen during the night, these were very wet and
soppy, and we were glad when we reached the first hill and began the
ascent.
We had been unmolested for some hours now, but the boom of the guns and
the crack of the bullets hitting the walls of the house had left such
an impression on me that I fancied firing was still going on, and could
scarcely believe the others when they told me nothing of the kind was
taking place, for the noise in my ears was dreadful.
The first hill was very steep, but only a foretaste of what was to come
later on. It was covered with short straggling green grass, interspersed
with the rough stubble of last year, which had originally been several
feet high, but had been burned, according to the custom in those parts.
Here and there a long tough end that had escaped the fire hit one in the
face, covering one with smuts, and leaving a black mark where it had
touched one, so that after a very short time we all looked more or less
like sweeps.
The hill we were climbing had a small plateau about three-quarters of
the way up, and we steered for this, intending to have a really long
halt, and hoping to find water. It was a shady little spot, and when we
did reach it, we were all glad to lie down and rest after our terrible
exertions. We had a wide view of the plain and the road by which we had
travelled, so knew we should be able to note at once if the enemy were
pursuing us, and could afford to give ourselves a little breathing space.
Water had been found, as we expected, quite near, and as it was much
cleaner than what we had discovered in the fields below, everyone drank a
good deal, and the Sepoys filled up their bottles with it.
I do not know how long we remained here, as I went to sleep almost at
once on our arrival; but when I woke up at last, the others were moving
on up the hill, and I had to go too with them. Some distance behind we
noted a crowd of natives following us. It was difficult to distinguish
whether they were Manipuris or Nagas, but as they were armed with spears
and Daôs,[19] we concluded they must be the latter. Manipuris would have
had rifles.
They never came very close to us, for fear of being shot themselves;
but we could see them the whole time dancing behind us, shouting and
waving spears about. Once or twice they were fully within range, and we
could have shot some of them; but it was hardly worth while, and our
ammunition was none too plentiful. A terrible fate would have overtaken
any straggler who might have fallen behind without the means to defend
himself. His head would have been captured as a glorious trophy, carved
off while he was alive, for these tribes never trouble about killing
their victim first before taking his scalp unless he offers great
resistance.
We had reached by this time an elevation of about 4,000 feet above
sea-level, and knew that more than 2,000 feet at least still awaited us
to be climbed before the top of the ridge could be reached. The Leimatak
hill, towards which point we were travelling, was 6,700 feet high, and
was the topmost peak of the first range of hills lying between us and
Cachar.
We clambered on steadily, but very slowly. I was so tired that I could
hardly put one foot in front of the other, and felt much more inclined to
lie down in the jungle and go to sleep, than to march on. We were very
hungry, but I think I suffered less in that respect than the men did;
for though I should have eaten probably as heartily as the rest had we
possessed food, as there was none to be got, I never thought much about
it. Sleep seemed much more desirable.
It was two o’clock on the morning of the 25th that we left the Residency,
and it was now between three and four in the afternoon. Every fresh hill
seemed worse than its predecessor, and at last we began ascending one
which appeared almost impossible to climb. Its sides were very steep and
rocky, and there was only the merest apology for a path to direct us in
any way. It was a case of using hands and knees to perform the ascent,
and it seemed as though we should never reach the summit. When, after
wearily toiling on for some hours, we did arrive at the top, I felt that
I could not move another step.
We did halt for a short time here, and while we waited an incident
occurred which touched me very much. A young Naga, who had been a
Sais[20] in our service for several months at one time, found his way to
our camp at the risk of losing his life had he been discovered by the
enemy, and presented me with three eggs, expressing at the same time his
sorrow at not being able to do more for me. He stayed till sunset with
us, and then crept back under cover of the darkness to his village. I was
much touched at this simple act of kindness, and I have often remembered
it since, and wished it were in my power to do something for the brave
lad. But unfortunately I have forgotten his name, and that of the
village to which he belonged.
Three eggs are not many among eight hungry people, not to speak of the
Sepoys; but no one would share them with me, in spite of my begging them
to do so. I could not manage a raw egg, though I made several valiant
efforts to swallow one. Eventually they all came to a bad end, for the
two remaining ones were put into somebody’s pocket for safety, and were
smashed later on, so no one benefited much by the little Naga boy’s
well-meant offering.
While we were halting on the top of this hill, one of the officers took
a few men with him and went on to take stock of the surrounding country,
as our exact whereabouts seemed uncertain. He came to a Manipuri Thana
before he had proceeded far, and had a parley with the native officer in
command there, who called to him, telling him he had something to say. So
the party went up to within speaking distance, and the Manipuri called
out that he had orders to ‘pass the Memsahib and Sepoys,’ but that all
the officers must return to Manipur.
However, as soon as he was told that our party intended proceeding
undivided, he ordered his men to fire on us, which they immediately did,
and we had to begin marching again down the hill and up the other side of
the ravine. The firing continued on both sides the whole time, and it was
only when we eventually reached the summit of the opposite hill to that
upon which we had halted, and disappeared over the crest, that it ceased.
The sun had set, and night was beginning to close in and put an end to
the longest day I have ever known. It seemed months almost since our
departure from the Residency, and yet it was but twenty-four hours.
How I envied my husband and the others, who, as I then thought, were at
any rate in comparative safety, able to eat and sleep, even though they
were prisoners! Not that anxiety on my husband’s account did not trouble
me. I longed to know how he was being treated, and whether they would
tell him of my escape, and spare him the torture of not knowing my fate,
for I knew how he would fret over it if he did not know.
It seemed so terrible to be obliged to march away leaving them all
behind, and at times I longed to hurry back and see for myself what was
happening, while, again, I would have given anything to have reached
Cachar, and been able to send up help to those in captivity. We thought
that Mr. Melville had been made prisoner and brought back to Manipur,
as a rumour to that effect had reached us on the 24th, and in that case
we supposed he would be with the Chief and his party, a prisoner in the
palace.
Perhaps the utter weariness of body and mind which threatened to overcome
me at this time prevented my brooding too much on the possible fate of
those we had been forced to leave in the hands of their enemies, and it
may have been well that it was so.
All that terrible night we tramped on, I with bare feet, as my thin shoes
had given out long since. At length, about one o’clock in the morning, we
halted in a small grove of trees, lying in a hollow between two hills. We
had marched more than twenty miles, and rest was absolutely essential.
Here we lay down and slept. The officers gave me their great-coats and
bore the intense cold themselves, and I slept as I have seldom slept in a
comfortable bed at home, never waking once until someone aroused me about
half-past three in the morning, and told me the weary tale again—we were
to move on.
The first glimmer of dawn was appearing as we commenced marching
again—hungry, tired, and dispirited. No one knew the way, and we only had
rough paths here and there to guide us through the jungle; but the actual
walking was not so difficult, as we were travelling along the top of a
ridge of hills, and had no very steep ascent or descent.
Every now and then we were able to see the Leimatak peak, still some
distance off, which I had recognised and pointed out to the others, and I
knew that the road to Cachar passed right through a small grove of trees
on its summit, so we made it our landmark.
The chances of meeting Captain Cowley’s party seemed growing less every
hour. Had he been obliged to turn back? we wondered. Would he have gone
on towards Manipur, and have passed the place where we hoped to strike
the road? We knew nothing.
We were all utterly weary, and dispirited from want of food and rest. It
was now the morning of the 26th, and we had none of us tasted food since
the 24th. I was so tired that I wished I were dead more than once, and
everything seemed quite hopeless, when we came upon the road suddenly.
I think from this moment fate favoured us. We had entertained so little
hope of finding the road at all, that it seemed a piece of good fortune
when we came upon it suddenly, even though we had all our work still
before us and were without food.
The next thing that happened cheered our drooping spirits not a little.
We came round a corner and found three Manipuri Sepoys sitting by the
roadside, with their arms and accoutrements by them, cooking their
morning meal. They were taken by surprise at our sudden advent, and two
of them fled, leaving the third a prisoner in our hands. He was not so
active as the rest, and the Ghoorkas were too quick for him. They tied
him up with straps and anything they could find, and the poor creature
evidently thought that his last hour had come. He fell on his knees when
he saw me, calling me ‘Ranee, Ranee,’ and imploring of me to save him.
So I spoke to him as well as I could in Manipuri, telling him not to be
frightened; that we did not intend to hurt him.
Meanwhile, the rice they had cooked came in most acceptably, and perhaps,
had a disinterested onlooker been present, he might have been very much
amused at the eager way we all rushed at it to devour it. How good it
seemed, even though there were scarcely two mouthfuls for each one.
What there was was received most gratefully, and I felt very selfish
at discovering that, in their thoughtfulness for me, the officers had
managed to save a small basketful, which no one would touch, and which
they insisted on keeping for me. After the rice was disposed of, we
questioned the Manipuri we had captured to find out whether he knew
anything of Captain Cowley’s movements. He told us that he knew the Sahib
had arrived at Leimatak on the 25th, and that he had not yet passed along
the road towards Manipur. So we were cheered at the tidings, for we knew
now that, with any luck, we must meet with the detachment before very
long, and could not be more than eight miles away from Captain Cowley at
that moment.
The Manipuri went on to say that there were a number of the enemy lying
in wait for us about half a mile further on, and he advised us to take
to the jungle again, offering to show us a path that would lead us into
Captain Cowley’s camp. The idea of more fighting struck terror into
my heart, and had I been in command I should have been foolish enough
to take the man’s advice; but fortunately the others decided without
hesitation to go on, and said they did not believe the prisoner was
speaking the truth.
We had scarcely gone half a mile when we came suddenly upon a stockade,
and as soon as we appeared round the turn in the road which disclosed
it to our view, we were fired on from the hillside above us. I threw
myself down for protection against the sloping side of the road, but was
not allowed to remain there, as the stockade was about to be rushed,
and I had to get over it too, as best I could. Fortunately it had been
constructed to prevent Captain Cowley’s party from getting past that
point in the road, and was in consequence easier for us to clamber over,
as we had come from the opposite direction; but I knew that it was
useless for me to attempt climbing over it, as my dress would be certain
to catch on the sharp ends of the bamboos with which the stockade was
constructed, and there I should be suspended, an excellent mark for any
stray bullet. So I made a rush to the other side of the road, where I
lost my footing and fell, rolling down the Khud. But luckily it was
not as steep as it might have been, and I managed to scramble up and
get round the stockade, helped very considerably by my former friend
the Bunnia, before mentioned, who stretched out his leg from a secure
position, and I clambered up by it and lay down completely exhausted and
panting from my exertions down the hillside.
Meanwhile firing was going on overhead, which was returned by our men,
who killed one or two of the enemy. But the latter were so well screened
by the trees around them that it was difficult to get a shot at them at
all. I do not know how matters might have ended, but suddenly someone
called out that there were more men coming up the hill. No one knew who
they were, for they were a long way off, and could only be seen every now
and then as they appeared in and out of the trees. Sepoys they were we
knew, but were they friends or enemies?
I felt too exhausted to get up and look at them, as all the others
were doing, until there was an exclamation from someone that the new
arrivals were Ghoorkas. I had felt certain that they would turn out to
be Manipuris, who would put an end to us in a very short time. But when
opinion became divided as to their identity, the longing for life which
we all possess so strongly surged up into my brain, driving me nearly
crazy with excitement, and hope, that takes so much killing, rose again
within me.
Still we were doubtful. We could see as they came nearer that they wore
Kharkee, but the uniform worn by the Jubraj’s men was almost identical
with that of the Ghoorkas. We sounded our bugle, and it was answered by
the advancing party; but then we remembered the Manipuri bugle call was
the same as that of the 43rd Ghoorka Rifles, to which regiment Captain
Cowley belonged. We got out our only pocket-handkerchief, tied it to a
stick, and waved it about, but we could not see whether that signal was
returned or not. The time which had elapsed since they were first sighted
seemed hours; it was in reality only a few minutes.
Gradually they advanced nearer, running up the hill as fast as they
could, and then the majority cried out that they were the Ghoorkas from
Cachar. I shut my eyes, for I could not bear the strain of watching them
while their identity was uncertain. But at last a Sahib was descried
amongst them, and all doubt was over; they were the Ghoorkas, and we were
saved. I remember someone asking me if I would make one last effort and
run down the hill to meet them, as the firing was still going on, and
a stray bullet might even then find its billet; and I remember getting
up, with a mist in my eyes and a surging in my head, and running as I
have never run before or since down the hill, helped along by two of the
officers.
I remember putting my foot on a stone which rolled away from under it,
and gave my ankle a wrench which sprained it, and turned me sick and
giddy with pain; and I remember meeting Captain Cowley, and seeing his
men rushing past me up the hill, and then I remember nothing more for
some time. I did not faint, but I believe I sat down on the side of the
road and sobbed, for the strain had been more than I could bear after all
the horrors of the previous two days, and tears were a relief.