Hastings had courted the judges; he had found them useful instruments.
But he was not disposed to make them his own masters, or the masters of
India. His mind was large; his knowledge of the native character most
accurate. He saw that the system pursued by the Supreme Court was
degrading to the government and ruinous to the people; and he resolved
to oppose it manfully. The consequence was, that the friendship, if that
be the proper word for such a connection, which had existed between him
and Impey, was for a time completely dissolved. The government placed
itself firmly between the tyrannical tribunal and the people. The Chief
Justice proceeded to the wildest excesses. The Governor-General and all
the members of Council were served with writs, calling on them to appear
before the King's justices, and to answer for their public acts. This
was too much. Hastings, with just scorn, refused to obey the call, set
at liberty the persons wrongfully detained by the Court, and took
measures for resisting the outrageous proceedings of the sheriffs'
officers, if necessary, by the sword. But he had in view another device
which might prevent the necessity of an appeal to arms. He was seldom at
a loss for an expedient; and he knew Impey well. The expedient, in this
case, was a very simple one, neither more nor less than a bribe. Impey
was, by act of Parliament, a judge, independent of the government of
Bengal, and entitled to a salary of eight thousand a year. Hastings
proposed to make him also a judge in the Company's service, removable at
the pleasure of the government of Bengal; and to give him, in that
capacity, about eight thousand a year more. It was understood that, in
consideration of this new salary, Impey would desist from urging the
high pretensions of his court. If he did urge these pretensions, the
government could, at a moment's notice, eject him from the new place
which had been created for him. The bargain was struck; Bengal was
saved; an appeal to force was averted; and the Chief Justice was rich,
quiet, and infamous.
Of Impey's conduct it is unnecessary to speak. It was of a piece with
almost every part of his conduct that comes under the notice of history.
No other such judge has dishonored the English ermine, since Jeffreys
drank himself to death in the Tower. But we cannot agree with those who
have blamed Hastings for this transaction. The case stood thus. The
negligent manner in which the Regulating Act had been framed put it in
the power of the Chief Justice to throw a great country into the most
dreadful confusion. He was determined to use his power to the utmost,
unless he was paid to be still; and Hastings consented to pay him. The
necessity was to be deplored. It is also to be deplored that pirates
should be able to exact ransom by threatening to make their captives
walk the plank. But to ransom a captive from pirates has always been
held a humane and Christian act; and it would be absurd to charge the
payer of the ransom with corrupting the virtue of the corsair. This, we
seriously think, is a not unfair illustration of the relative position
of Impey, Hastings, and the people of India. Whether it was right in
Impey to demand or to accept a price for powers which, if they really
belonged to him, he could not abdicate, which, if they did not belong to
him, he ought never to have usurped, and which in neither case he could
honestly sell, is one question. It is quite another question, whether
Hastings was not right to give any sum, however large, to any man,
however worthless, rather than either surrender millions of human beings
to pillage, or rescue them by civil war.
Francis strongly opposed this arrangement. It may, indeed, be suspected
that personal aversion to Impey was as strong a motive with Francis as
regard for the welfare of the province. To a mind burning with
resentment, it might seem better to leave Bengal to the oppressors than
to redeem it by enriching them. It is not improbable, on the other hand,
that Hastings may have been the more willing to resort to an expedient
agreeable to the Chief Justice, because that high functionary had
already been so serviceable, and might, when existing dissensions were
composed, be serviceable again.
But it was not on this point alone that Francis was now opposed to
Hastings. The peace between them proved to be only a short and hollow
truce, during which their mutual aversion was constantly becoming
stronger. At length an explosion took place. Hastings publicly charged
Francis with having deceived him, and with having induced Barwell to
quit the service by insincere promises. Then came a dispute, such as
frequently arises even between honorable men, when they may make
important agreements by mere verbal communication. An impartial
historian will probably be of opinion that they had misunderstood each
other; but their minds were so much embittered that they imputed to each
other nothing less than deliberate villainy. "I do not," said Hastings,
in a minute recorded on the Consultations of the Government, "I do not
trust to Mr. Francis's promises of candor, convinced that he is
incapable of it. I judge of his public conduct by his private, which I
have found to be void of truth and honor." After the Council had risen,
Francis put a challenge into the Governor-General's hand. It was
instantly accepted. They met, and fired. Francis was shot through the
body. He was carried to a neighboring house, where it appeared that the
wound, though severe, was not mortal. Hastings inquired repeatedly after
his enemy's health, and proposed to call on him; but Francis coldly
declined the visit. He had a proper sense, he said, of the
Governor-General's politeness, but could not consent to any private
interview. They could meet only at the council board.
In a very short time it was made signally manifest to how great a danger
the Governor-General had, on this occasion, exposed his country. A
crisis arrived with which he, and he alone, was competent to deal. It is
not too much to say that, if he had been taken from the head of affairs,
the years 1780 and 1781 would have been as fatal to our power in Asia as
to our power in America.
The Mahrattas had been the chief objects of apprehension to Hastings.
The measures which he had adopted for the purpose of breaking their
power had at first been frustrated by the errors of those whom he was
compelled to employ; but his perseverance and ability seemed likely to
be crowned with success, when a far more formidable danger showed itself
in a distant quarter.
About thirty years before this time, a Mahommedan soldier had begun to
distinguish himself in the wars of Southern India. His education had
been neglected; his extraction was humble. His father had been a petty
officer of revenue; his grandfather a wandering dervise. But though thus
meanly descended, though ignorant even of the alphabet, the adventurer
had no sooner been placed at the head of a body of troops than he
approved himself a man born for conquest and command. Among the crowd of
chiefs who were struggling for a share of India, none could compare with
him in the qualities of the captain and the statesman. He became a
general; he became a sovereign. Out of the fragments of old
principalities, which had gone to pieces in the general wreck, he formed
for himself a great, compact, and vigorous empire. That empire he ruled
with the ability, severity, and vigilance of Louis the Eleventh.
Licentious in his pleasures, implacable in his revenge, he had yet
enlargement of mind enough to perceive how much the prosperity of
subjects adds to the strength of governments. He was an oppressor; but
he had at least the merit of protecting his people against all
oppression except his own. He was now in extreme old age; but his
intellect was as clear, and his spirit as high, as in the prime of
manhood. Such was the great Hyder Ali, the founder of the Mahommedan
kingdom of Mysore, and the most formidable enemy with whom the English
conquerors of India have ever had to contend.
Had Hastings been governor of Madras, Hyder would have been either made
a friend, or vigorously encountered as an enemy. Unhappily the English
authorities in the south provoked their powerful neighbor's hostility,
without being prepared to repel it. On a sudden, an army of ninety
thousand men, far superior in discipline and efficiency to any other
native force that could be found in India, came pouring through those
wild passes which, worn by mountain torrents, and dark with jungle, lead
down from the table-land of Mysore to the plains of the Carnatic. This
great army was accompanied by a hundred pieces of cannon; and its
movements were guided by many French officers, trained in the best
military schools of Europe.
Hyder was everywhere triumphant. The sepoys in many British garrisons
flung down their arms. Some forts were surrendered by treachery, and
some by despair. In a few days the whole open country north of the
Coleroon had submitted. The English inhabitants of Madras could already
see by night, from the top of Mount St. Thomas, the eastern sky reddened
by a vast semicircle of blazing villages. The white villas, to which our
countrymen retire after the daily labors of government and of trade,
when the cool evening breeze springs up from the bay, were now left
without inhabitants; for bands of the fierce horsemen of Mysore had
already been seen prowling among the tulip trees, and near the gay
verandas. Even the town was not thought secure, and the British
merchants and public functionaries made haste to crowd themselves behind
the cannon of Fort St. George.
There were the means indeed of assembling an army which might have
defended the presidency, and even driven the invader back to his
mountains. Sir Hector Munro was at the head of one considerable force;
Baillie was advancing with another. United, they might have presented a
formidable front even to such an enemy as Hyder. But the English
commanders, neglecting those fundamental rules of the military art of
which the propriety is obvious even to men who had never received a
military education, deferred their junction, and were separately
attacked. Baillie's detachment was destroyed. Munro was forced to
abandon his baggage, to fling his guns into the tanks, and to save
himself by a retreat which might be called a flight. In three weeks from
the commencement of the war, the British empire in Southern India had
been brought to the verge of ruin. Only a few fortified places remained
to us. The glory of our arms had departed. It was known that a great
French expedition might soon be expected on the coast of Coromandel.
England, beset by enemies on every side, was in no condition to protect
such remote dependencies.
Then it was that the fertile genius and serene courage of Hastings
achieved their most signal triumph. A swift ship, flying before the
southwest monsoon, brought the evil tidings in a few days to Calcutta.
In twenty-four hours the Governor-General had framed a complete plan of
policy adapted to the altered state of affairs. The struggle with Hyder
was a struggle, for life and death. All minor objects must be sacrificed
to the preservation of the Carnatic. The disputes with the Mahrattas
must be accommodated. A large military force and a supply of money must
be instantly sent to Madras. But even these measures would be
insufficient, unless the war, hitherto so grossly mismanaged, were
placed under the direction of a vigorous mind. It was no time for
trifling. Hastings determined to resort to an extreme exercise of power,
to suspend the incapable governor of Fort St. George, to send Sir Eyre
Coote to oppose Hyder, and to entrust that distinguished general with
the whole administration of the war.
In spite of the sullen opposition of Francis, who had now recovered from
his wound, and had returned to the Council, the Governor-General's wise
and firm policy was approved by the majority of the board. The
reinforcements were sent off with great expedition, and reached Madras
before the French armament arrived in the Indian seas. Coote, broken by
age and disease, was no longer the Coote of Wandewash; but he was still
a resolute and skilful commander. The progress of Hyder was arrested;
and in a few months the great victory of Porto Novo retrieved the honor
of the English arms.
In the meantime Francis had returned to England, and Hastings was now
left perfectly unfettered. Wheler had gradually been relaxing in his
opposition, and, after the departure of his vehement and implacable
colleague, cooperated heartily with the Governor-General, whose
influence over the British in India, always great, had, by the vigor and
success of his recent measures, been considerably increased.
But, though the difficulties arising from factions within the Council
were at an end, another class of difficulties had become more pressing
than ever. The financial embarrassment was extreme. Hastings had to find
the means, not only of carrying on the government of Bengal, but of
maintaining a most costly war against both Indian and European enemies
in the Carnatic, and of making remittances to England. A few years
before this time he had obtained relief by plundering the Mogul and
enslaving the Rohillas; nor were the resources of his fruitful mind by
any means exhausted.
His first design was on Benares, a city which in wealth, population,
dignity, and sanctity, was among the foremost of Asia. It was commonly
believed that half a million of human beings was crowded into that
labyrinth of lofty alleys, rich with shrines, and minarets, and
balconies, and carved oriels, to which the sacred apes clung by
hundreds. The traveller could scarcely make his way through the press of
holy mendicants and not less holy bulls. The broad and stately flights
of steps which descended from these swarming haunts to the
bathing-places along the Ganges were worn every day by the footsteps of
an innumerable multitude of worshippers. The schools and temples drew
crowds of pious Hindoos from every province where the Brahminical faith
was known. Hundreds of devotees came thither every month to die: for it
was believed that a peculiarly happy fate awaited the man who should
pass from the sacred city into the sacred river. Nor was superstition
the only motive which allured strangers to that great metropolis.
Commerce had as many pilgrims as religion. All along the shores of the
venerable stream lay great fleets of vessels laden with rich
merchandise. From the looms of Benares went forth the most delicate
silks that adorned the balls of St. James's and of Versailles; and, in
the bazaars, the muslins of Bengal and the sabres of Oude were mingled
with the jewels of Golconda and the shawls of Cashmere. This rich
capital, and the surrounding tract, had long been under the immediate
rule of a Hindoo Prince, who rendered homage to the Mogul emperors.
During the great anarchy of India, the lords of Benares became
independent of the court of Delhi, but were compelled to submit to the
authority of the Nabob of Oude. Oppressed by this formidable neighbor,
they invoked the protection of the English. The English protection was
given; and at length the Nabob Vizier, by a solemn treaty, ceded all his
rights over Benares to the Company. From that time the Rajah was the
vassal of the government of Bengal, acknowledged its supremacy, and
engaged to send an annual tribute to Fort William. This tribute Cheyte
Sing, the reigning prince, had paid with strict punctuality.
About the precise nature of the legal relation between the Company and
the Rajah of Benares there has been much warm and acute controversy. On
the one side, it has been maintained that Cheyte Sing was merely a great
subject on whom the superior power had a right to call for aid in the
necessities of the empire. On the other side, it has been contended that
he was an independent prince, that the only claim which the Company had
upon him was for a fixed tribute, and that while the fixed tribute was
regularly paid, as it assuredly was, the English had no more right to
exact any further contribution from him than to demand subsidies from
Holland or Denmark. Nothing is easier than to find precedents and
analogies in favor of either view.
Our own impression is that neither view is correct. It was too much the
habit of English politicians to take it for granted that there was in
India a known and definite constitution by which questions of this kind
were to be decided. The truth is that, during the interval which elapsed
between the fall of the house of Tamerlane and the establishment of the
British ascendency, there was no such constitution. The old order of
things had passed away; the new order of things was not yet formed. All
was transition, confusion, obscurity. Everybody kept his head as he best
might, and scrambled for whatever he could get. There have been similar
seasons in Europe. The time of the dissolution of the Carlovingian
empire is an instance. Who would think of seriously discussing the
question, What extent of pecuniary aid and of obedience Hugh Capet had a
constitutional right to demand from the Duke of Brittany or the Duke of
Normandy? The words "constitutional right" had, in that state of
society, no meaning. If Hugh Capet laid hands on all the possessions of
the Duke of Normandy, this might be unjust and immoral; but it would not
be illegal, in the sense in which the ordinances of Charles the Tenth
were illegal. If, on the other hand, the Duke of Normandy made war on
Hugh Capet, this might be unjust and immoral; but it would not be
illegal, in the sense in which the expedition of Prince Louis Bonaparte
was illegal.
Very similar to this was the state of India sixty years ago. Of the
existing governments not a single one could lay claim to legitimacy, or
could plead any other title than recent occupation. There was scarcely a
province in which the real sovereignty and the nominal sovereignty were
not disjoined. Titles and forms were still retained which implied that
the heir of Tamerlane was an absolute ruler, and that the Nabobs of the
provinces were his lieutenants. In reality, he was a captive. The Nabobs
were in some places independent princes. In other places, as in Bengal
and the Carnatic, they had, like their master, become mere phantoms, and
the Company was supreme. Among the Mahrattas, again, the heir of Sevajee
still kept the title of Rajah; but he was a prisoner, and his prime
minister, the Peshwa, had become the hereditary chief of the state. The
Peshwa, in his turn, was fast sinking into the same degraded situation
to which he had reduced the Rajah. It was, we believe, impossible to
find, from the Himalayas to Mysore, a single government which was at
once a government _de facto_ and a government _de jure_, which possessed
the physical means of making itself feared by its neighbors and
subjects, and which had at the same time the authority derived from law
and long prescription.
Hastings clearly discerned, what was hidden from most of his
contemporaries, that such a state of things gave immense advantages to a
ruler of great talents and few scruples. In every international question
that could arise, he had his option between the _de facto_ ground and
the _de jure_ ground; and the probability was that one of those grounds
would sustain any claim that it might be convenient for him to make, and
enable him to resist any claim made by others. In every controversy,
accordingly, he resorted to the plea which suited his immediate
purpose, without troubling himself in the least about consistency; and
thus he scarcely ever failed to find what, to persons of short memories
and scanty information, seemed to be a justification for what he wanted
to do. Sometimes the Nabob of Bengal is a shadow, sometimes a monarch.
Sometimes the Vizier is a mere deputy, sometimes an independent
potentate. If it is expedient for the Company to show some legal title
to the revenues of Bengal, the grant under the seal of the Mogul is
brought forward as an instrument of the highest authority. When the
Mogul asks for the rents which were reserved to him by that very grant,
he is told that he is a mere pageant, that the English power rests on a
very different foundation from a charter given by him, that he is
welcome to play at royalty as long as he likes, but that he must expect
no tribute from the real masters of India.
It is true that it was in the power of others, as well as of Hastings,
to practise this legerdemain; but in the controversies of governments,
sophistry is of little use unless it be backed by power. There is a
principle which Hastings was fond of asserting in the strongest terms,
and on which he acted with undeviating steadiness. It is a principle
which, we must own, though it may be grossly abused, can hardly be
disputed in the present state of public law. It is this, that where an
ambiguous question arises between two governments, there is, if they
cannot agree, no appeal except to force, and that the opinion of the
stronger must prevail. Almost every question was ambiguous in India. The
English government was the strongest in India. The consequences are
obvious. The English government might do exactly what it chose.
The English government now chose to wring money out of Cheyte Sing. It
had formerly been convenient to treat him as a sovereign prince; it was
now convenient to treat him as a subject. Dexterity inferior to that of
Hastings could easily find, in the general chaos of laws and customs,
arguments for either course. Hastings wanted a great supply. It was
known that Cheyte Sing had a large revenue, and it was suspected that he
had accumulated a treasure. Nor was he a favorite at Calcutta. He had,
when the Governor-General was in great difficulties, courted the favor
of Francis and Clavering. Hastings, who, less, perhaps, from evil
passions than from policy, seldom left an injury unpunished, was not
sorry that the fate of Cheyte Sing should teach neighboring princes the
same lesson which the fate of Nuncomar had already impressed on the
inhabitants of Bengal.
In 1778, on the first breaking out of the war with France, Cheyte Sing
was called upon to pay, in addition to his fixed tribute, an
extraordinary contribution of fifty thousand pounds. In 1779 an equal
sum was exacted. In 1780 the demand was renewed. Cheyte Sing, in the
hope of obtaining some indulgence, secretly offered the Governor-General
a bribe of twenty thousand pounds. Hastings took the money, and his
enemies have maintained that he took it intending to keep it. He
certainly concealed the transaction, for a time, both from the Council
in Bengal and from the Directors at home; nor did he ever give any
satisfactory reason for the concealment. Public spirit, or the fear of
detection, at last, determined him to withstand the temptation. He paid
over the bribe to the Company's treasury, and insisted that the Rajah
should instantly comply with the demands of the English government. The
Rajah, after the fashion of his countrymen, shuffled, solicited, and
pleaded poverty. The grasp of Hastings was not to be so eluded. He added
to the requisition another ten thousand pounds as a fine for delay, and
sent troops to exact the money.
The money was paid. But this was not enough. The late events in the
south of India had increased the financial embarrassments of the
Company. Hastings was determined to plunder Cheyte Sing, and, for that
end, to fasten a quarrel on him. Accordingly, the Rajah was now required
to keep a body of cavalry for the service of the British government. He
objected and evaded. This was exactly what the Governor-General wanted.
He had now a pretext for treating the wealthiest of his vassals as a
criminal. "I resolved"--these are the words of Hastings himself--"to
draw from his guilt the means of relief of the Company's distresses, to
make him pay largely for his pardon, or to exact a severe vengeance for
past delinquency." The plan was simply this, to demand larger and larger
contributions till the Rajah should be driven to remonstrate, then to
call his remonstrance a crime, and to punish him by confiscating all his
possessions.
Cheyte Sing was in the greatest dismay. He offered two hundred thousand
pounds to propitiate the British government. But Hastings replied that
nothing less than half a million would be accepted. Nay, he began to
think of selling Benares to Oude, as he had formerly sold Allahabad and
Rohilcund. The matter was one which could not be well managed at a
distance; and Hastings resolved to visit Benares.
Cheyte Sing received his liege lord with every mark of reverence, came
near sixty miles, with his guards, to meet and escort the illustrious
visitor, and expressed his deep concern at the displeasure of the
English. He even took off his turban, and laid it in the lap of
Hastings, a gesture which in India marks the most profound submission
and devotion. Hastings behaved with cold and repulsive severity. Having
arrived at Benares, he sent to the Rajah a paper containing the demands
of the government of Bengal. The Rajah, in reply, attempted to clear
himself from the accusations brought against him. Hastings, who wanted
money and not excuses, was not to be put off by the ordinary artifices
of Eastern negotiation. He instantly ordered the Rajah to be arrested
and placed under the custody of two companies of sepoys.