THE OUTBREAK
The almost complete conquest of India had been chiefly carried out
through troops raised among its own natives, drilled and led by
European officers. Here and there, in the course of a century, their
commanders had been forced to repress attempts at mutiny, such as might
take place in any army; but on the whole this Sepoy force had proved
remarkably faithful to the Company in whose service haughty Rajpoot and
warlike Moslem were proud to enlist, and counted for wealth its hire
of a few pence a day. So great was the trust put in our native army,
and so unexpected the outbreak of 1857, that we had then no more than
about forty thousand English soldiers scattered over India, among six
times their number of troops, who looked upon us chiefly as formidable
masters.
Strict officers of the old school judged that the beginning of the
mischief lay in making too much of our native soldiery. They had come
to understand how far England's power in India depended upon them,
while they were unable to form an adequate idea of its resources at
the other side of the world. Changes in organization are accused of
lessening the Sepoys' respect for their regimental officers, the best
of whom, also, were commonly taken away from their military duties to
fill coveted posts in the civil service. Flattery and indulgence had
slackened their discipline at the same time that it came to be tried
by unfamiliar causes of irritation. The main difficulty in managing
these troops lay in the superstitious customs and prejudices which
make so large part of a Hindoo's life. Our rule has been to respect
their ideas of religion; but this was not possible in all the claims
of military service. Sepoys believed their caste in danger, when
called upon to cross the sea to make war in Burma or Persia. Marched
into the cold heights of Afghanistan, they had to be forbidden the
ceremonial daily bathings in which they would have devoutly persisted
at the risk of their lives; and they fancied themselves defiled by the
sheepskin-jackets given them there as protection against the climate.
Through such novel experiences, suspicion began to spring up among them
that the English designed to change their religion by force.
This suspicion grew to a height when, after the Crimean War, a wave of
unrest and expectation passed over our Eastern possessions. In every
bazaar, the discontented spoke ignorantly of the power of Russia as a
match for their conqueror. Our disasters in Afghanistan had already
shown us to be not invincible. An old story spread that the British
rule was fated to come to an end one hundred years after the battle of
Plassey, A.D. 1757. Now, the century having elapsed, secret messengers
were found going from village to village bearing mysterious tokens
in the shape of _chupatties_, flat cakes of unleavened bread, which
everywhere stirred the people as a sacrament of disaffection. For once,
Moslem and Hindoo seemed united in a vague hope that the time was
at hand when they should be able to shake off the yoke of a race so
repellent to both in faith, habits, and manners.
The centre of the agitation was in the north-western provinces of
Bengal, where the recent annexation of Oudh, though meant as a
real boon to the ill-governed people of that fertile country, had
not been carried out without mistakes, wrongs and heart-burnings.
Here also appeared a _Moulvie_, or prophet, like the Mahdi of the
Soudan, preaching a holy war against the infidels, to excite the
ever-smouldering embers of Mohamedan fanaticism, a revival of which has
in our century spread all over the East. The Bengal army was mainly
recruited from this region; and when the civil population were in such
an unquiet state, we need not be surprised to find the Sepoys ripe
for disorder, many of whom, deeply in debt to native usurers, had the
natural desire of "new things," that, before and since the days of
Cataline, has so often inspired conspiracies.
What brought their seditious mood to a head was the famous incident of
the greased cartridges, often given as the main cause of the Mutiny,
though it seems more justly compared to a spark falling upon an
invisible train of explosive material. The Enfield rifle having been
introduced into the native army, it was whispered from regiment to
regiment that the new cartridges were to be greased with the fat of
cows or of swine. Now, a chief point of Oriental religious sentiment is
an exaggerated respect for animal life, carried so far that one sect
of strict devotees may, in certain Indian cities, be seen wearing a
cloth over their mouths, lest by accident they should swallow a fly;
were they familiar with the discoveries of the microscope, they could
only be consistent by abstaining from every drop of water. The cow is a
special object of reverence among Hindoos, who are shocked by nothing
so much as our apparent impiety in eating beef. The pig is held in
detestation by Mussulmen. A majority of the Bengal army were high-caste
Brahmins or Rajpoots, with an admixture of Mohamedans drawn from that
part of India where their creed had taken firmest root. Both alike were
horrified to think that they might be called on not only to handle but
to touch with their lips such pollution as they imagined in animal fat.
It was in vain the Government proclaimed that no unclean matters should
be used in the cartridges issued to them; that they might grease their
cartridges for themselves; that they would be allowed to tear off the
ends instead of biting them, as was the way in those muzzle-loading
days. The suspicion had taken so strong a hold that in more than
one case the new ammunition was mutinously rejected. Religious and
political agitators eagerly seized this chance of fomenting their own
designs. A fable spread among the Sepoys that the English, determined
to destroy their caste as a preliminary to forced conversion, had
ground up cows' bones to mix with the flour supplied to them. At
Lucknow, the simple incident of a regimental surgeon tasting a bottle
of medicine had been enough to raise a tumult among men who were
convinced that he thus designed to pollute the faith of their sick
comrades. Our officers, hardly able to treat such tales seriously, were
forced to pay heed to the spirit underlying them, which through the
early months of 1857 displayed itself ominously in frequent incendiary
fires at the various stations, the stealthy Oriental's first symptom
of lawlessness. Still, few Englishmen estimated aright the gravity
of the situation; and the Government failed in the prompt severity
judged needful only after the event. Two mutineers were hanged;[1] two
insubordinate regiments had been disbanded, to spread their seditious
murmurs all over Bengal; but the danger was not fully realized till,
like a thunderbolt, came news of the open outbreak at Meerut, forty
miles from Delhi.
The scenes of the Mutiny can ill be conceived without some description
of an Indian "station." Usually the Cantonments lie two or three miles
out of the native city, forming a town in themselves, the buildings
widespread by the dusty _maidan_ that serves as a parade-ground. On
one side will be the barracks of the European troops, the scattered
bungalows of officers and civilians, each in its roomy "compound,"
the church, the treasury, and other public places. On the other lie
the "lines," long rows of huts in which the Sepoys live after their
own fashion with their wives and families, overlooked only by their
staff of native officers, who bear fine titles and perform important
duties, but with whom the youngest English subaltern scorns familiar
comradeship. Between are a maze of bazaars, forming an always open
market, and the crowded abodes of the camp-followers who swarm about an
Indian army.
At Meerut, one of the largest military stations in India, the native
lines stretched for over three miles, and stood too far apart from
the European quarters. Here were stationed more than a thousand
English troops of all arms, and three Sepoy regiments, among whom
the 3rd Light Cavalry had in April shown insubordination over the
new cartridges. Of ninety men, all but five flatly refused to touch
them when ordered. The eighty-five recalcitrants were arrested, tried
by court-martial of their native officers, and sentenced to ten
years' imprisonment. On Saturday, May 9th, at a general parade, these
_sowars_, or Sepoy troopers, were put in irons and marched off to jail.
To all appearance, the mutinous feeling had been cowed by this example.
But beneath the smooth surface, where English eyes had too little skill
to read the native heart, were boiling fierce passions soon to take
shape in reckless acts. Next evening, while our people were making
ready for church, a disorderly band of sowars galloped to the jail, and
released their comrades, along with many hundreds of other prisoners.
Here was a ready-made mob of scoundrels, who at once began to plunder
among the bungalows. The excitement quickly spread to the 11th and 20th
native infantry regiments. Several of their officers hastened among
them, trying to calm the tumult. But a cry arose that the European
soldiers were upon them, and this drove the men of the 20th into a
panic of fury. They stormed the "bells of arms," small dome-like
buildings used as magazines, and got hold of their muskets. Colonel
Finnis, commander of the 11th, had more success in quieting his men,
but was shot down by the other regiment.
A murderous uproar broke loose through the Cantonments. The 11th are
said to have refused to fire on their officers, and to have escorted
white women and children out of danger; but their good dispositions
were soon swept away in the torrent of disorder. The Sepoys of the 20th
and 3rd Cavalry fell to shooting and hacking every defenceless European
they met with. A crowd of _budmashes_, "roughs," as we should call
them, poured out of the city to share the congenial work of robbery
and bloodshed, in which they took the foremost part. The thatched
roofs of bungalows were easily set on fire, that the inmates might be
driven out to slaughter. In an hour all was wild riot; and the sun set
upon a fearful scene of blazing houses, shrieking victims and frenzied
butchers, strange horrors of that Sabbath evening, too often to be
renewed within the next few weeks.
The English troops, already assembled for Church-parade, should at once
have been marched to crush this sudden rising. But the General in
command showed himself incompetent. There were delays and mistakes; and
not till darkness had fallen was a force brought up, too late to be of
any use beyond scaring the plunderers. By this time most of the Sepoys
had hurried off towards Delhi, leaving the gleaning of murder and
pillage to the rabble. Our soldiers fell back to their own quarters,
where were gathered for defence the whole Christian community, many of
whom, bereaved and destitute, after barely escaping with their lives,
saw the sky glowing from the conflagration of their ruined houses, and
might be thankful if they had not to shudder for the unknown fate of
husband or child. Eager officers vainly begged the General to spare
them some small force with which the mob of mutineers could have been
pursued and dispersed; at least to let them gallop through the night to
Delhi, and give warning there of what was at hand. The man unluckily
charged with such responsibility did nothing of what might well have
been done--a neglect which was nearly to cost us our Indian Empire.
To both sides, the securing of Delhi was of the highest importance.
This magnificent city, in native eyes, still enjoyed the prestige of
a capital. Its ancient renown and famous monuments made it specially
sacred for the Mussulmen, whose rule had once flourished here. In its
vast palace still lived the descendant of the Great Moguls, a feeble
old man, who, under the shadowy title of king, was allowed, among
thousands of poverty-stricken kinsmen and retainers, to retain in
part the pomp, if not the power, of his haughty ancestors. To keep
up the show of his sovereignty, the English refrained from occupying
the city with their troops, who lay quartered outside, beyond a ridge
overlooking it from the north; and even here there were no English
soldiers. Such was the prize about to fall easily into the hands of the
rebels.
Their secret messengers had already let the discontented within the
city know what might be expected, while the only hint our officers had
was in the breaking of the telegraph wire from Meerut. Still, uneasy
vigilance being the order of the day, the authorities were on Monday
morning startled by the report of a number of horsemen hurrying along
the Meerut road. The magistrate, Mr. Hutchinson, at once galloped out
to the Cantonments to warn the Brigadier in command, then returned
to the city, where the chief civil officials had hastened to their
posts, though hardly yet aware what danger was at hand. But, before
anything could be done to stop them, the van of the mutineers had
crossed the bridge of boats and seized the Calcutta Gate, the guard
of native police offering no resistance; and the way was thus clear
for the main body following not far behind. A second band of troopers
forded the Jumna, and entered the city at another point.
[Illustration: Delhi, from the Outer Court of the Jumma Musjid. Page
34.]
Some of these forerunners made straight for the palace, which should
rather be described as a fortified citadel, forced their way into the
presence of the doting old king, and, with or without his consent,
proclaimed him leader of the movement. A swarm of his fanatical
retainers eagerly joined them; they soon began to wreak their fury
by massacring several Englishmen and ladies who had quarters here.
Others broke open the prison and released its inmates, to swell the
bloodthirsty mob gathering like vultures to a carcase. The main body of
the mutineers, as soon as it arrived, split up into small bodies that
spread themselves over the city for pillage, destruction and murder.
In one quarter, there was a terrible slaughter of the poorer class of
Europeans and of Eurasian Christians, who, in unusual numbers, lived
within the walls of Delhi, not as elsewhere, under protection of the
Cantonments outside. Women and children were ruthlessly butchered.
Clerks, school-masters, printers, were killed at their work; doctors,
missionaries, converts, none might be spared who bore the hated name.
Some, flying or hiding for their lives, only prolonged their agony
for hours or days. A few succeeded finally in making their escape.
About fifty were confined miserably in an underground apartment of the
palace, to be led out and massacred after a few days.
A regiment of Sepoys had been marched from the Cantonments to repress
the disorder. But, as soon as they entered the city, they let their
officers be shot down by the mutineers, and themselves dispersed in
excited confusion. A detachment on guard at the Cashmere Gate held firm
for a time, but evidently could not be depended on. Later in the day,
they too turned upon their English officers. More than one officer was
simply driven away by his men without injury; others were fired upon;
others made their escape by leaping or letting themselves down into the
ditch, as did several ladies who had taken refuge here with the main
guard. These survivors fled to the Cantonments, where for hours their
countrymen had been gathering together in almost helpless anxiety.
No sure news came back from the city; but they could guess what was
going on within from the uproar, the firing, the rising flames--at
length from a sudden cloud of smoke and dust, followed by a terrible
explosion, that marked the first heroic deed of the Indian Mutiny.
The magazine within the walls, on the site of the present post-office,
was garrisoned by only nine Europeans under a young artillery
lieutenant, named Willoughby. Set on his guard betimes, he took
all possible measures for defence, calmly preparing to blow up the
magazine, if it came to the worst. The native gunners soon deserted;
the reinforcement urgently demanded did not appear; he found himself
cut off in a city full of foes raging round his important charge,
which presently, in the name of the King of Delhi, he was summoned to
surrender. For a time this little band stood in trying suspense, while
the insurgents worked up their courage for an attack. It appears that
they expected the English troops to be upon them, hour by hour, and
awaited the return of a messenger who could report the road from Meerut
clear. Then on they came in crowds, storming at the gates, scaling the
walls, to be again and again swept back by the fire of cannon in the
hands of nine desperate men.
Three hours these nine held their post amid a rain of bullets, till
Willoughby saw that he must be overwhelmed beneath numbers. One last
look he took towards the Meerut road, in vain hope to see a cloud of
dust marking the advance of the English troops that still lay idly
there. Then he gave the word. In an instant the building was hurled
into the air, with hundreds of its assailants, and it is said that
five hundred people were killed in the streets by the far-reaching
explosion. The man who had fired the train and two others fell
victims of their courage; six managed to escape over the ruins in
the confusion, poor Willoughby to be obscurely murdered two or three
days later. The rest received the Victoria Cross, so often won, and
still more often earned, in those stirring days. A son of one of these
heroes is author of the well-known novel _Eight Days_, which, under a
transparent veil of fiction, gives a minutely faithful description of
what went on in and about Delhi at that terrible time.
Meanwhile, at the Cantonments, the officers' families and other
fugitives had gathered in the Flagstaff Tower, a small circular
building on the ridge, where, huddled stiflingly together, they
suffered torments almost equal to those of the Black Hole of Calcutta.
Their only sure guard consisted of the drummer boys, who, in Sepoy
regiments, are usually half-caste Christians. These, armed for the
nonce, were posted close round the tower; before it stood two guns
served by native artillerymen to command the road from the city; and
part of two regiments were still kept to a show of duty, but hourly
their demeanour grew more threatening, till, when called upon to
move forward, they at length flatly refused. Two or three gentlemen,
stationed on the roof of the tower, in the scorching sun, held
themselves ready to fire upon the first of their more than doubtful
auxiliaries who should break into open mutiny. The Sepoys, for their
part, under the eyes of the Sahibs, remained for a time in hesitation,
uncertain how to act; and some of them allowed themselves to be
deprived of their bayonets, which were stored away in the tower.
One messenger had ridden out towards Meerut to demand succour, but only
to be shot down by the Sepoys. Another, disguised as a native, made
the same attempt to no purpose. Brigadier Graves, still hoping for
the arrival of European troops from Meerut, would not for a time hear
of retreat. But when it became evident that the handful of band-boys
and civilians were all he could trust to defend the tower packed with
scared women and crying children; when fugitives from the city brought
news that all there was lost; when the Sepoys here began to fire at
their officers, whose orders were hardly listened to; when it became
plain that the guns would not be used against the mutineers, he saw
nothing for it but flight before darkness came on. Towards sunset, the
refugees of the tower went off in disorder, on foot, on horseback,
in their carriages, each as he could, many of the men hampered with
helpless families. The Sepoys did not stop them; some even urged their
officers to save themselves; but the guard of a large powder magazine
refused to allow it to be blown up; and it proved impossible to carry
off the guns.
Through the rapidly falling night, these poor English people scattered
in search of safety, some making for Meerut, some northwards for
Kurnaul, some wandering lost among the roused villages. Yesterday
they had been the haughty lords of an obsequious race; now they were
to find how little love had often been beneath the fear of English
power. In many cases, indeed, the country-folk proved kind and helpful
to bewildered fugitives; not a few owed their lives to the devotion
of attached servants, or to the prudence if not the loyalty of native
chiefs, who still thought best to stand so far on our side. But others,
the news of their calamity spreading before them, fell into the hands
of cruel and insolent foes, to be mocked, tortured and murdered.
Dr. Batson's adventures may be referred to, as one example of many.
It was he, surgeon of a Sepoy regiment, who had volunteered, as above
mentioned, to carry a message to Meerut in the disguise of a fakir, or
religious beggar. Taking leave of his wife and daughters, he stained
his face, hands, and feet to look like a native, and dressed himself in
the costume which perhaps he had already used for some light-hearted
masquerade. Thus arrayed, he made through the city without detection,
but found the bridge of boats broken, houses burning everywhere, and
country people rushing up to plunder the deserted bungalows. Turning
back towards the Cantonments to reach a ferry in that direction, he
excited the suspicion of some Sepoys, who fired at him; then he ran
away to fall into the hands of villagers, who stripped him stark
naked. In this plight, he had nothing for it but to hurry on after
the fugitives making for Kurnaul. Before he had gone a mile, two
sowars rode up to kill him. Luckily, Dr. Batson was familiar with the
Mohamedan religion, as well as with their language; and while they
ferociously cut at him with their swords, he threw himself on the
ground in a supplicating attitude, praising the Prophet, and in his
name begging for mercy, which was granted him as not seeming to be much
of a Christian, or because they could not get at him without taking
the trouble to dismount. Another mile he struggled on, then became
surrounded by a mob, who tied the "Kaffir's" arms behind his back and
were calling out for a sword to cut off his head, when some alarm
scattered them, and he could once more take flight. His next encounter
was with a party of Hindoo smiths employed at the Delhi Magazine. They
stopped him, with very different intentions, for they invited the naked
Sahib to their village, and gave him food, clothes, and a bed, on which
he could not sleep after the strain of such a day.
For several days he remained in this village, the people taking a
kindly interest in him on account of his acquaintance with their
language and customs; and the fact of his being a doctor also told in
his favour. But then came a rumour that all the Englishmen in India
had been killed, and that the King of Delhi had proclaimed it death to
conceal a Christian. On this, his native friends hid him in a mango
grove, feeding him by night on bread and water. Nine days of anxious
solitude he spent here, burned by the sun, scared at night by prowling
jackals, but hardly thought himself better off when a new place of
concealment was found in a stifling house out of which he dared not
stir. It being reported that horsemen were hunting the villages for
English refugees, his protectors thought well to get rid of him under
charge of a real fakir, who carefully dressed and schooled him for the
part. Through several villages they took their pilgrimage, and the
disguised doctor passed off as a Cashmeeree fakir with such success
that he got his share of what alms were going, and seems to have been
only once suspected, through his blue eyes, by a brother holy man, who,
however, winked at the deception. After wandering for twenty-five days,
he had the fortune to fall in with a party of English troops.
Dr. Batson, we see, owed his escape to an intimate knowledge of the
people, such as few Englishmen had to help them. His experience was
that the Mohamedans were much more fierce against us than the mild
Hindoo. But both religions had their proportion of covetous and cruel
spirits, who at such a time would be sure to come to the front.
Like wolves scenting prey, gangs of robbers sprang up along the roads
upon which the unfortunate travellers were struggling on, often under
painful difficulties; and many fell victims whose fate was never
rightly known. Others, wounded or exhausted, lay down to die by the
way. Those who contrived to reach a haven of safety, had almost
all moving tales to tell of adventure, of suffering, of perilous
escape--tales such as, in the course of the next months, would be too
common all over Northern India, and would not lose in the telling.
Many as these atrocities were, they might have been multiplied tenfold
had the rebels acted with more prudence and less passion. So little did
we know of the minds of our native soldiers, that it is still a matter
of debate how far the Mutiny had been the work of deliberate design.
But, at the time, it was widely believed by men too excited to be calm
judges, that the outbreak at Meerut came a mercy in disguise, as it
brought about the premature and incomplete explosion of a deep-laid
plot for the whole Bengal army to rise on the same day, when thousands
of Europeans, taken without warning and defence at a hundred different
points, might have perished in a general massacre.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Mungul Pandy was the first open mutineer executed at
Barrackpore in April, from whose name, a common one among this class,
the Sepoys came to be called "Pandies" throughout the war, a sobriquet
like the "Tommy Atkins" of our soldiers.]