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.
During the eventful days which had elapsed between March 23 and April
1, nothing definite had been known by the authorities in India as to
Mr. Quinton’s proceedings and whereabouts. All that was certain was
that he had arrived at Manipur, and had been unable to carry out his
original plans for leaving again the day following his arrival, owing
to the refusal of the Jubraj to obey the orders of Government; but the
tidings of the fight which had followed had never been despatched to
head-quarters, owing to the telegraph-wire having been cut immediately
after the contest began.
That communication, in this manner, was interrupted was not as serious
an omen as might have been supposed. Cutting the telegraph-wire was
a favourite amusement of the Manipuris; and even during the small
revolution in September, 1890, they had demolished the line in two or
three directions.
But when several days went by, and still the wire remained broken, and no
information of any kind as to what was going on in Manipur reached the
authorities, people became alarmed.
Rumours came down through the natives that there was trouble up there;
and a few of the traders found their way into Kohima with the news that
all had been killed.
Then excitement rose high, and every day fresh rumours reached the
frontier, some of which said that I and one or two others had escaped,
but the rest were either killed or prisoners.
The first definite information came from our party. An officer was sent
on by double marches on the 31st with the despatches, civil and military;
and before another day had passed the whole of India knew the names of
those who had escaped, as well as of those who were prisoners, and in a
few hours the news had reached England.
To some, that news must have been snatched up with great relief; but
there were many who read it with terrible misgivings in their hearts for
the fate of those dear to them who were in captivity.
A person who does not know the sensation of never taking his or her
clothes off for ten days can scarcely realize what my feelings were when,
on arriving at the Jhiri rest-house, I found a bath and a furnished
room. Nothing could ever equal the pleasure which I derived from that,
my first tub for ten days. I felt as though I should like to remain in
it for hours; and even though I had to array myself again afterwards
in my travel-stained and ragged garments until I reached Lahkipur, the
sensation of feeling clean once more was truly delightful.
I was covered with leech-bites, and found one or two of those creatures
on me when I took off my clothes. They had been there three or four days,
for we had fallen in with a swarm of them at one of the places where we
had camped for the night during the march. It was near a river and very
damp, and the leeches came out in crowds and attacked everybody. But the
men were able to get rid of them better than I was, and I had to endure
their attentions as best I might until we got to the Jhiri, and I could
indulge in the luxury of taking off my clothes.
I slept on a bed that night, and was very loath to get up when the bugle
awoke us all at the first streak of dawn.
We marched ten miles into a place called Lahkipur, where we found a
number of troops already mustering to return to Manipur.
I found clothes and many other necessaries at Lahkipur, which had been
sent out for me by the ladies of Cachar; and I blessed them for their
thoughtfulness.
The luxury of getting into clean garments was enchanting; and though the
clothes did not fit me with that grace and elegance that we womenkind
as a rule aspire to, still, they seemed to me more beautiful than any
garments I had ever possessed. They were clean; that was the greatest
charm in my eyes.
Then came breakfast, such as we had not indulged in for a very long time,
and everything seemed delicious.
Immediately after breakfast we all sat down to write home. It was hard
work for me after all I had gone through, and with the keen anxiety I
was still feeling about those left behind, to put the account of the
terrible disaster into words; but I felt that if I did not write then, I
should not have the strength to do so later on, and I managed to send a
full account home by the next mail.
We halted at Lahkipur all that day, and we started to march our last
fourteen miles into Cachar on the night of April 2, or, rather, the early
morning of the 3rd. A number of the planters in the neighbourhood came
in to Lahkipur to see us before we left, and hear from our own lips the
narrative of our escape, and the news of it all got into Cachar long
before we ourselves arrived.
Everyone seemed anxious to show us all kindness; but the efforts that
were made to secure comforts for me in particular were innumerable as
they were generous. When I eventually did arrive at Cachar, I found
myself made quite a heroine of. There was not one who did not seem
honestly and heartily glad to see me there again safe, and I shall never
forget the kindness I received as long as I live.
But amongst them all, there were some old friends who received me into
their house, putting themselves out in every possible way to add to my
comfort, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude that I never can repay. It
would not perhaps be quite agreeable to them if I wrote their names
here; but when this record of my terrible adventure reaches them in
their far-off Indian home, they will know that I have not missed the
opportunity, which is given me in writing about it, of paying them a
tribute of gratitude and affection for all their goodness to me in a time
of great trouble.
It was delightful to have a woman to talk to again, although my
companions on the march had one and all shown me how unselfish and
kindhearted Englishmen can be when they are put to the test. They had
never let me feel that I was a burden on them, and though often I felt
very weak and cowardly, they quieted my misgivings, and praised me for
anything I did, so that it gave me courage to go on and help to endure
the horrors of that terrible retreat.
For a week I remained with my friends at Cachar, tormented by anxiety
concerning my husband. The general opinion seemed to be that he and
his companions would be perfectly safe, but I was full of terrible
misgivings. I remembered stories of the Mutiny in bygone days, and had
read how the prisoners then had often been murdered just at the moment
when rescue was at hand.
I feared that when the troops should go back, the Jubraj would refuse to
make terms with them, and would threaten to kill the prisoners if our
troops came into the place, and I wondered what they would do in that
case.
I sent two letters up by Manipuris to my husband, care of the regent,
telling him of my escape. I was only allowed to write on condition that
I said nothing of the preparations which were being made to rescue Mr.
Quinton and his party. But it was a relief to me to be able to write a
few lines, for my one idea was to spare my husband the awful anxiety
which he would endure until he should hear of my safety.
I had been a week in Cachar when the news came which put an end alike to
all hope and all fear. Troops had been hurrying back to Manipur, and the
station was alive with Sepoys of all regiments. All the officers and men
who had come down with me from Manipur had gone some way on the road back
there. The wounded had been placed in the Cachar hospital, where I went
to see them two or three times. Poor little fellows! they all seemed so
glad to see me.
At last one evening, exactly a week after our arrival, a telegram
arrived from Shillong to say that authentic news had come from the regent
at Manipur to the effect that all the prisoners had been murdered. I saw
the telegram arrive. I was in the deputy commissioner’s bungalow when
it was handed to him, and made the remark that I disliked bright yellow
telegrams, as they always meant bad news.
In India a very urgent message is always enclosed in a brilliant yellow
envelope. But the officer said that he did not think anything of them,
as he was receiving so many of them at all hours of the day, and for the
time I thought no more about it.
Shortly afterwards I noticed that he had left the table. Then I went out
too, and met my friend outside, who seemed rather upset about something,
and told me she was going home at once. So we went together.
But as soon as we had got into the house she broke to me, as gently and
mercifully as she could, the news that my husband had been killed. It
was a hard task for her, and the tears stood in her eyes almost before
she had summoned up the courage to tell me the worst. And when she had
told me I could not understand. The blow was too heavy, and I felt
stunned and wholly unable to realize what it all meant. I could not
believe, either, that the news was true, for it seemed to me impossible
that any authentic intelligence could have been received.
But after a night of misery, made almost heavier to bear by reason of
the glimmer of hope which still remained that the news might be false,
the morning brought particulars confirming the first message, and giving
details which put an end to any uncertainty. The regent had sent a letter
saying that the prisoners had been killed. I believe he stated they had
fallen in the fight at first, but afterwards contradicted himself, and
said they had been murdered by his brother, the Jubraj, without his
knowledge or consent.
I cannot dwell on this part of the story. It is all too recent and
painful as yet, and too vivid in my recollection. There are no words
that can describe a tragedy such as this. Besides, the fate of those
captives is no unknown story. All know that through treachery they found
themselves suddenly surrounded by their enemies, with all hope of help
gone, and without the means to defend themselves.
And the ending—how they were led out one by one in the moonlight to
suffer execution, after having been obliged to endure the indignity of
being fettered! How, of that small band, one had already fallen dead,
speared by a man in the crowd; and one was so badly wounded that he had
fallen, too, by the side of his dead friend, and had to be supported by
his enemies when he went out, as the others had to go, to meet his fate.
And yet in all that terrible story there is one ray of comfort for me in
the fact that my husband was spared the fate of the rest. I am glad to
think that he did not suffer. He never heard those terrible guns booming
out, proclaiming the work of destruction which was being wrought on the
home he had loved. He did not see the cruel flames which reduced our
pretty house to a heap of smoking ruins, and he did not know that I was
flying for my life, enduring privations of every kind, lonely, wretched,
and weary at the outset.
He was spared all this, and I am thankful that it was so. For before the
guns commenced shelling us again on that dreadful night, the tragedy
described had already taken place within the palace enclosure.
Well for me was it that I was ignorant of my husband’s fate. Had I known,
when we left the Residency that night, that he and I were never to meet
again on God’s earth, I could never have faced that march. It had been
hard enough as it was to go and leave him behind me; but thinking that he
was safe helped me in the endeavour to preserve my own life for his sake.
It is time to end this narrative of my own experiences, for all was
changed for me from the day that brought the terrible news; but the
account of the incidents of March, 1891, would scarcely be complete
without my touching on some other events which were occurring in a
different quarter in connection with the Manipur rebellion.
I allude to the noble part taken by Mr. Grant (whom I have referred
to earlier in this volume) in the affair as soon as tidings of the
disturbance reached him. To describe his share in my own words would
scarcely be a satisfactory proceeding, so I have thought it better to add
his letter, giving all the details of what occurred, to my own narrative.
The news first reached him on the morning of March 27, and in his letters
home he describes the subsequent events as follows:
MAJOR GRANT’S NARRATIVE.
‘On March 27, morning, thirty-five men of 43rd Ghoorka Light Infantry
came into Tummu, reporting there had been a great fight at Manipur on
25th. Chief Commissioner Grimwood, the Resident, same who came to see
me with wife, Colonel Skene, and many others, killed, and five hundred
Ghoorkas killed, prisoners, or fled to Assam; the thirty-five men of
43rd Light Infantry had been left at the station Langthabal, four miles
south of Manipur, and after the others broke they retreated to Tummu in
forty-eight hours, only halting four hours or so, fighting all the way
and losing several killed. I wired all over Burmah, and asked for leave
to go up and help Mrs. Grimwood and rest to escape, and got orders at
eleven p.m. on 27th.
‘At five a.m., 28th, I started with fifty of my men, one hundred and
sixty rounds each, thirty Ghoorkas, Martini rifles, sixty rounds, and
three elephants; marched till five p.m., then slept till one a.m., 29th,
marched till two p.m., slept till eleven p.m., marched and fought all the
way till we reached Palel at seven a.m., 30th, having driven one hundred
and fifty men out of a hill entrenchment and two hundred out of Palel, at
the foot of the hills, without loss. Elephants could only go one mile or
so an hour over these hills, 6,000 feet high, between this and Tummu, but
road very good. Prisoners taken at Palel said that all the Sahibs killed
or escaped; Mrs. Grimwood escaped to Assam. Poor Melville, who had stayed
a week before with me at Tummu (telegraph superintendent), killed on
march.
‘I marched at eleven p.m., 30th, and neared Thobal at seven a.m., meeting
slight resistance till within 300 yards of river, three feet to six feet
deep, and fifty yards broad; there seeing a burning bridge, I galloped up
on poor “Clinker” (the old steeplechasing Burman tal I had just bought on
selling my Australian mare “Lady Alice”), and was greeted by a hot fire
from mud-walled compounds on left of bridge and trenches on the right in
open all across the river. I saw the wooden bridge was burnt through,
and made record-time back to my men, emptying my revolver into the enemy
behind the walls.
‘My men were in fighting formation. Ten my men 2nd Burmah Battalion of
Punjaub Infantry (new name), and ten Ghoorkas in firing line at six paces
interval between each man, and twenty my men in support 100 yards rear
of flanks in single rank, and twenty my men and twenty Ghoorkas reserve,
baggage guard 300 yards in rear with elephants, and thirty followers
of the Ghoorkas (Khasias, from Shillong Hills). We opened volleys by
sections (ten men) and then advanced, one section firing a volley while
the other rushed forward thirty paces, threw themselves down on ground,
and fired a volley, on which the other section did likewise. Thus we
reached 100 yards from the enemy, where we lay for about five minutes,
firing at the only thing we could see, puffs of smoke from the enemy’s
loopholes, and covered with the dust of their bullets. I had seen one man
clean killed at my side, and had felt a sharp flick under arm, and began
to think we were in for about as much as we could manage; but the men
were behaving splendidly, firing carefully and well directed. I signalled
the supports to come up wide on each flank; they came with a splendid
rush and never stopped on joining the firing line, but went clean on
to the bank of the river, within sixty yards of the enemy, lying down
and firing at their heads, which could now be seen as they raised them
to fire; then the former firing line jumped up and we rushed into the
water. I was first in, but not first out, as I got in up to my neck and
had to be helped out and got across nearer to the bridge, the men fixing
bayonets in the water.
‘The enemy now gave way and ran away all along, but we bayoneted eight
in the trenches on the right, found six shot through the head behind the
compound wall. At the second line of walls they tried to rally, but our
men on the right soon changed their minds, and on they went and never
stopped till they got behind the hills on the top of the map; our advance
and their retreat was just as if you rolled one ruler after another up
the page on which the map is.
‘When I got to (A) I halted in sheer amazement; the enemy’s line was
over a mile long. I estimated them at eight hundred, the subadar at
one thousand two hundred; afterwards heard they were eight hundred men
besides officers. They were dressed mostly in white jackets with white
turbans and dhoties, armed with Tower-muskets, Enfield and Snider rifles,
and about two hundred in red jackets and white turbans, armed with
Martinis, a rifle that will shoot over twice as far as our Sniders. I
simply dared not pursue beyond (A), as my baggage was behind, and beyond
them I had seen two or three hundred soldiers half a mile away on my
right rear.
‘At eight a.m. I was in the three lines of compounds, each compound
containing a good house about thirty by twenty feet (one room), and
three or five sheds and a paddy-house. We carried over our baggage on
our heads, leaving a strong party at (A), and set to work to prepare our
position for defence. I had used eighty of our one hundred and sixty
rounds per man; only one man was killed. I found I was slightly grazed,
no damage, and three of my six days’ rations; and I could not hope to
reach Manipur, therefore I must sit tight till reinforced from Burmah, or
joined by any of the defeated Ghoorka Light Infantry troops from Cachar.
‘We filled the paddy-house with paddy, about a ton, and collected much
goor (sugar-cane juice) and a little rice and green dhal and peas from
the adjoining houses. Then I cleared my field of fire—_i.e._, by cutting
down the hedges near and burning the surrounding houses and grass; my
walls were from two feet to four feet high, and one to three feet thick,
and, I thought, enough. Put men on half ata and dhal; shot a mallard
(wild duck on river), and spent a quiet night with strong pickets.
‘On April 1, at six a.m., my patrols reported enemy advancing in full
force from their new position. I went to (A), where picket was, and took
a single shot with a Ghoorka’s Martini into a group of ten or twelve
at 700 yards. The group bolted behind the walls at (B), and the little
Ghoorkas screamed with delight at a white heap left on the road, which
got up and fell down again once or twice, none of the others venturing
out to help the poor wretch.
‘Then a group assembled on the hill, 1,000 or 1,100 yards off, and the
Ghoorka Jemadar fired, and one went rolling down the hill; I fired
again, but no visible effect. The enemy then retired under cover; but at
three p.m. they advanced in full force. I lined wall (A) with fifty men,
holding rest in reserve in the fort.
‘The enemy advanced to 600 yards, when we opened volleys, and after
firing at us wildly for half an hour, they again retired to 800 yards,
and suddenly from the hill a great “boom,” a scream through the air;
then, fifty feet over our heads, a large white cloud of smoke, a loud
report, and fragments of a 9-lb. or 10-lb. elongated common shell from a
rifle cannon fell between us and our fort; a second followed from another
gun, and burst on our right; then another struck the ground and burst on
impact to our front, firing a patch of grass; they went on with shrapnel.
‘I confess I was in a horrid funk, for although I knew that artillery
has little or no effect on extended troops behind a little cover, I
dreaded the moral effect on my recruits, who must have had an enormously
exaggerated idea of the powers of guns; but they behaved splendidly, and
soon I had the exact range of the guns, by the smoke and report trick,
900 or 970 yards; and after half an hour, during which their fire got
wilder and wilder, both guns disappeared, and only one turned up on the
further hill, 1,500 yards from (A), from which they made poor practice,
as the Ghoorkas’ bullets still reached them, and they only ran the gun up
to fire, and feared to lay it carefully. All this time the enemy kept up
their rifle fire, from 600 to 800 yards, but I only replied to it when
they tried to advance nearer.
‘By this time it grew dark, and when we could no longer see the enemy we
concentrated in the fort, as the enemy had been seen working round to our
left. I sent the men back one by one along the hedges, telling each man
when and where to go; none of them doubled.
‘It was quite dark when I got back, and posted them round our walls,
which seemed so strong in the morning, but were like paper against
well-laid field-guns; I felt very, very bitter.
‘I was proud of the result of my personal musketry-training of my
butchas (children), all eight months’ recruits, except ten or fifteen
old soldiers, who set a splendid example, and talked of what skunks the
Manipuris were, compared to the men they had fought in Afghanistan and
the North-West Frontier; but they all said they had never seen such odds
against them before. Our total day’s loss—a pony killed, and one man
slightly wounded.
‘All night the enemy kept up a long-range fire without result, which was
not replied to. I tied white rags round our foresights for night-firing.
I slept for about two hours in my east corner, and at three a.m. turned
out to strengthen the walls in four places against shell-fire, made
a covered way to the water, and dug places for cover for followers.
Luckily much of the compound was fresh ploughed, so we only had to fill
the huge rice-baskets with the clods, and the ration-sacks, pails, my
pillow-case, and a post-bag I had recovered, everything with earth, and
soon I had five parapets in front and flanks, each giving cover for eight
or ten men. The enemy had retired behind the hill.
‘At three p.m. a patrol reported a man flag-signalling. I went out
with white flag, and met a Ghoorka of 44th, a prisoner in Manipuris’
hands, who brought a letter signed by six or eight Babu prisoners,
clerks, writers, post and telegraph men, saying there were fifty Ghoorka
prisoners and fifty-eight civil prisoners, and imploring me to retire. If
I advanced they would kill the prisoners; if I retired the durbar would
release them, and send them to Cachar. I said those prisoners who wished
could go to Cachar, and I would retire to Tammu with those who wished to
come with me.
‘I also wrote to the Maharajah, and also on 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th
messages passed from me to Maharajah and his two brothers, Jubraj and
Senaputti, the heir and the commander-in-chief.
‘Maharajah wrote saying he was not responsible for the outbreak; and
Senaputti told the messengers he had 3,000 men in front of me, and would
cut us all up.
‘I wrote refusing to move without the Ghoorka prisoners at least, and
said “I didn’t care for 5,000 Manipuri Babus.”[23]
‘At last Jubraj said the prisoners had been sent away to Assam, and sent
me 500 pounds ata and 50 pounds each dhal and ghee to retire with. I sent
back the rations, and refused to move without a member of the durbar as a
hostage, to remain at Tammu till prisoners arrived at Cachar and Kohima.
They offered me a subadar. I said he was no one. I had signed all my
letters as Col. A. Howlett, Com. 2nd B. Regt., to impress them with my
strength and importance, and put on the subadar’s badges of rank in
addition to my own.
‘The next morning (6th) they attacked again at dawn, and as I had only
seventy rounds per man for Sniders and thirty for Martinis, I closed into
the fort. At first, after forty minutes’ shelling, they made determined
efforts to cross the walls 100 to 200 yards in front of my front and
left; but nearly every man was hit as he mounted the wall, and then they
remained firing from behind the walls.
‘At eight a.m. a good lot had collected behind the wall 200 yards from my
left. I crept out with ten or twelve Ghoorkas, who held my rear and right
under the hedge, and drove them with loss by an attack on their right
flank, and we bolted back to fort without loss.
‘Then at eleven a.m. there was firing from behind the hedges to our
front with a weapon that rang out louder than their rifles. I crept out
with a havildar and six Ghoorkas close in the ditch under the hedge,
out to our front from our right, up to within ten yards of the nearest
of them. They opened a wild fire, and bolted as we attacked their left
flank; but then we found ourselves in a bit of a hole, for thirty or
forty were in a corner behind a wall, six feet high, over which they were
firing at us. I had my D. B. sixteen-bore shot-gun, and six buckshot and
six ball cartridges, and as they showed their heads over the wall they
got buckshot in their faces at twenty yards.
‘When my twelve rounds were fired, and the Ghoorkas also doing
considerable damage, we rushed the wall, and I dropped one through the
head with my revolver, and hit some more as they bolted.
‘When we cleared them out we returned to the fort along the ditch, having
had the hottest three minutes on record, and only got the Ghoorka
havildar shot through the hand and some of our clothes shot through; we
had killed at least ten.
‘Next day I visited the corner, and found blood, thirty Snider and
fifteen Martini cartridges, and one four-inch long Express cartridge,
·500, which accounted for the unaccountable sounds I had heard.
‘Next day I heard I had killed the “Bhudda” (old) Senaputti, or the
commander-in-chief of the old Maharaj, father of the present lot of
scoundrels, and also two generals; but that is not yet confirmed.
‘Well, as I said, we bolted back into the fort, and I had thirty minutes’
leisure to go all round my fort, and found I had only fifty rounds per
man, enough for one hour’s hard fighting, and only twenty-five for
Martinis; so I ordered all the men to lie down behind the walls, and one
man in six kept half an hour’s watch on their movements. The men had
orders not to fire a shot till the enemy were half-way across the open
adjoining compounds; but the enemy declined to cross the open, and the
men did not fire a shot all day. I picked off a few who showed their
heads from the east corner, where I spent the rest of the day, the men
smoking and chatting, and at last took no notice of the bullets cutting
the trees a foot or six inches over their heads.
‘Thus the day passed, the enemy retiring at dark, and we counted our
loss—two men and one follower wounded, one by shell; one pony killed, two
wounded; two elephants wounded, one severely; and my breakfast spoilt by
a shell, which did not frighten my boy, who brought me the head of the
shrapnel which did the mischief—I will send it home to be made into an
inkpot, with inscription—and half my house knocked down.
‘Next day, 7th, quiet, improved post and pounded dhan to make rice.
‘Saturday, 8th, ditto. Large bodies of Manipuris seen moving to my right
rear long way off.
‘At five, 7th, two Burmans came with letters from Maharajah to Viceroy,
and a letter from “civil” to poor killed chief commissioner. I opened and
found that large army comes up from Burmah “at once.” A small party three
or four days before would have been more use. Maharajah’s letter a tissue
of miserable lies and stupid excuses.
‘At noon, 8th, white flag appeared, and a man stuck a letter on road
and went back. Went and found it contained a letter from Presgrave,
with orders from Burmah for me to retire on first opportunity, and he
was not to reinforce me, but to help me to retire. I was sick, but the
orders were most peremptorily worded. So at 7.30 p.m., on a pitch-dark,
rainy night, we started back—a splendid night for a retreat, but such a
ghastly, awful job!
‘We had two wounded elephants with us, and made just a mile an hour,
only seeing our hands before our faces by the lightning-flashes. I had
to hold on to a Sepoy’s coat, as I could see absolutely nothing; but
they see better in the dark than we do. We were drenched to the skin, and
were halting, taking ten paces forward when the lightning flashed, and
then halting the column half an hour at times; but the feeble Manipuri,
of course, would not be out such a night, and we passed through three or
four villages full of troops without a man showing.
‘At two a.m., 9th, a man said sleepily, “The party has come”—that was
all—and the next moment Presgrave had my hand. He had heard that I was
captured, and all my men killed or taken at two different places; had
returned nearly to Tummu, but the two Burmans with Maharajah’s letter
told him where I was, and he marched thirty-six hours without kit or
rations, only halting for eight hours, and was coming on to Tummu. He
went back to meet some rations, and then, after passing the night in a
Naga village, returned to Palel and here, with a hundred and eighty men
and eleven boxes of ammunition—forty of them our mounted infantry.
‘At Palel we found three or four hundred Manipuri soldiers who did not
expect us; they saw us half a mile off, and bolted after firing a few
shots. I went on with the mounted infantry, and after trotting till
within 300 yards of the retreating army, we formed line on the open and
went in.
‘I rode for a palki and umbrella I saw, and shooting one or two on my way
got close up; but a hundred or so had made for the hills on our right
and made a short stand, and suddenly down went poor Clinker on his head,
hurling me off. Jumped up—I was covered with blood from a bullet-wound
in the poor beast’s foreleg, just below the shoulder. Two men came up.
I twisted my handkerchief round with a cleaning-rod above the wound,
stopping the blood from the severed main artery, and, refilling my
revolver, ran on.
‘By this time the men had jumped off and were fighting with the enemy
on the hill; the palki was down, and I fear the inmate of it escaped. We
killed forty of them without loss, excepting poor Clinker and another
pony. After pursuing three miles we stopped, and returned to the
infantry, which were rather out of it, though they doubled two miles.
Found poor Clinker’s large bone broken, and had to shoot him at once.
‘We collected the spoil and returned to camp, where we had a quiet night,
and were joined by the Hon. Major Charles Leslie and four hundred of his
2nd-4th[24] Ghoorkas, and two mountain guns; Cox of ours. Total now,
eight British officers; all very nice and jolly; but to our disgust we
have to halt here for rest of ours, rest of Ghoorkas, two more guns, and
General Graham.
‘Cox brought me telegrams of congratulations from Sir Frederick Roberts,
General Stewart, commanding Burmah, and Chief Commissioner, saying
everything kind and nice they could. I sent in my despatches next day,
and so the first act of the Manipur campaign closes.
‘My men have behaved splendidly, both in attack, siege, and retreat,
and I have recommended all for the Order of Merit. My luck all through
has been most marvellous; everything turned up all right, and there
was hardly a hitch anywhere. Poor Clinker! He was 300 yards from eight
hundred rifles for twenty minutes and never touched, and a shot killed
him at full gallop. Now “bus” (enough) about myself in the longest letter
I have ever written.’
‘Manipur Fort, _April 28_.
‘We arrived here yesterday, and found it empty. We gave them such an
awful slating on the 25th that they resisted no more either at my place,
Thobal, or here. On the 25th I went out from Palel with fifty my men,
Sikhs, fifty our Mounted Infantry under Cox, and fifty 2nd-4th Ghoorkas,
the whole under Drury, of 2nd-4th Ghoorkas. We had orders only to
reconnoitre enemy’s position, not to attack, as remainder were to arrive
that morning.
‘The road ran along the plain due north towards Manipur, with open plain
on left and hills right. Saw the enemy on the hills and in a strong mud
fort 1,000 yards from hills in the open. I worked along the hills and
drove the enemy out of them, as we found them unexpectedly, and had to
fight in spite of orders. Then Drury sent on to the general to say we
had them in trap, and would he come out with guns and more men and slate
them. Then he sent the Mounted Infantry to the left to the north-west of
the enemy, and we worked behind the hills to the north-east, thus cutting
them off from Manipur. We went behind a hill and waited.
‘At 11.30 we saw from the top of our hill the column from Palel, two
mountain guns, and one hundred 2nd-4th Ghoorkas. The guns went to a hill
1,000 yards to the east of the enemy’s fort, and we watched the fun. The
first shell went plump into the fort; soon they started shrapnel and made
lovely practice, the enemy replying with two small guns and rifles. Then
we got impatient and advanced, and worked round to their west flank. The
guns went on sending common shell and shrapnel into the fort till we
masked their fire. The Ghoorkas, also under Carnegy, advanced from south
from Palel. We did not fire a shot till within 100 yards, fearful of
hitting own men. Then our party charged, but were brought up by a deep
ditch under their walls; down and up we scrambled, and when a lot of
our men had collected within ten paces of their walls, firing at every
head that showed, the enemy put up a white flag, and I at once stopped
the fire. Then they sprang up and fired at us. I felt a tremendous blow
on the neck, and staggered and fell, luckily on the edge of the ditch,
rather under cover; but feeling the wound with my finger, and being able
to speak, and feeling no violent flow of blood, I discovered I wasn’t
dead just yet. So I reloaded my revolver and got up.
‘Meanwhile my Sikhs were swarming over the wall. I ran in, and found the
enemy bolting at last from the east, and running away towards Manipur. My
men were in first, well ahead of both parties of Ghoorkas.
‘After I had seen all the Manipuris near the fort polished off, I sent
for a dresser and lay down in one of the huts in the fort. Soon had my
clothes off, and found the bullet had gone through the root of my neck,
just above the shoulder, and carried some of the cloth of my collar and
shirt right through the wound, leaving it quite clean. I was soon bound
up, and men shampooed me and kept away cramp. It was only a very violent
shock, and I felt much better in the evening.
‘As soon as the enemy got clear of the fort the shrapnel from the hills
opened fire on them, and when they got beyond, then Cox cut in with his
mounted infantry, and only five or six escaped; but poor Cox got badly
shot by one of them through the shoulder, but is doing well.
‘Carnegy and Grant, of the 2nd-4th, found twenty or thirty of the enemy
in a deep hole in the corner of the fort, where they had escaped our men,
and in settling them Carnegy got shot through the thigh, and Drury got
his hand broke by the butt of a gun. Two of my men were wounded, and two
of the 2nd-4th killed, and five or six wounded, I think because they were
in much closer order than my men, who were at ten paces interval.
‘We gathered seventy-five bodies in the fort and fifty-six near it, and
the shrapnel and mounted infantry killed over one hundred. The Manipuris
here say we killed over four hundred. So we paid off part of our score
against their treachery. We spent the night there.
‘They were tremendously astonished and disgusted when they heard in Palel
we had had such a fight. The fact is we left them no bolt-hole, and
they thought, after their treacherous murder of the five Englishmen at
Manipur, that we would give them no quarter, and so every man fought till
he was killed.
‘Next morning we advanced to my fort at Thobal, and found it deserted;
and the royal family and army fled from Manipur as soon as they heard
of the action of the 25th. So yesterday, the 27th, we marched in here,
my Thobal party, by order of the general, being the first to enter the
palace on our side, the Cachar and the Kohima columns arriving from the
west and north just before them.
‘I, alas! in my dholi, did not get up till two hours after, as it poured
all the march, and the mud was awful; but I slept A1 last night, and
to-day am feeling fit and well.
‘General Collett, commanding the army, came to-day to see me, and said
all sorts of nice things to me, and his A.-G. asked me when I would be a
captain, and said I would not be one long, meaning I would get a brevet
majority. But all these people are very excited now, and talk of my
getting brevet rank, and V.C. and D.S.O.; but when all is settled, if I
get anything at all I will be content, and it will be about as much as I
deserve. I have asked leave if I might stick to my men, as they had stuck
so well to me at Thobal. I have had such luck, the men in this regiment
will do anything for me, and I hate the idea of changing regiments again,
so I may remain if a vacancy occurs.
‘I went out for a “walk” in my dholi this evening, and went round the
palace—a very poor place.’