CHAPTER II.

SYMPTOMS:—CHUPATTIES AND CARTRIDGES.

Little did the British authorities in India suspect, in the early weeks

of 1857, that a mighty CENTENARY was about to be observed—a movement

intended to mark the completion of one hundred years of British rule in

the East; and to mark it, not by festivities and congratulations, but by

rebellion and slaughter.

The officers in India remembered and noted the date well; but they did

not know how well the Mohammedans and Hindoos, the former especially,

had stored it up in their traditions. The name of Robert Clive, the

‘Daring in War,’ was so intimately associated with the date 1757, that

the year 1857 naturally brought it into thought, as a time when

Christian rule began to overawe Moslem rule in that vast country. True,

the East India Company had been connected with India during a period

exceeding two hundred years; but it was only at the commencement of the

second half of the last century that this connection became politically

important. It was remembered that—1756 having been marked by the

atrocities of the Black Hole at Calcutta, and by the utter extinction

for a time of the East India Company’s power in Bengal—the year 1757

became a year of retribution. It was remembered, as a matter of history

among the British, and of tradition among the natives, how wonderful a

part the young officer Clive performed in that exciting drama. It was

remembered that he arrived at Calcutta, at that time wholly denuded of

Englishmen, on the 2d of January in the last-named year, bringing with

him a small body of troops from Madras; that on the 4th of February,

with two thousand men, he defeated an army ten times as large, belonging

to Suraj-u-Dowlah, Nawab of Bengal—the same who had caused the

atrocities at the Black Hole, when a hundred and thirty persons died

from suffocation in a room only fitted to contain a fourth of the

number. It was further remembered how that, on the 9th of February,

Clive obtained great concessions from the nawab by treaty; that Suraj

broke the treaty, and commenced a course of treachery, in which Clive

was not slow to imitate him; that on the 13th of June, Clive, having

matured a plan equally bold and crafty, declared renewed hostilities

against the nawab; that on the 23d he gained the brilliant battle of

PLASSEY, conquering sixty thousand men with a force of only three

thousand; that within a week, Suraj-u-Dowlah, a miserable fugitive,

ended his existence; and that from that day British power had ever been

supreme in Bengal. This was a series of achievements not likely to be

forgotten by Englishmen. Ere yet the news of mutiny and murder reached

Europe, steps had been taken to render homage to Clive on the hundredth

anniversary of the battle of Plassey; the East India Company had

subscribed largely towards a statue of the hero; and a meeting in London

had decided that the chief town in Clive’s native county of Shropshire

should be selected as the spot wherein the statue should be set up.

Judging from the experience afforded by recent events, it is now clear

that the Mohammedans in India had thought much of these things, and

that the year 1857 had been marked out by them as a centenary to be

observed in a special way—by no less an achievement, indeed, than the

expulsion of the British, and the revival of Moslem power. In the

spring of the year it was ascertained that a paper was in circulation

among the natives, purporting to be a prophecy made by a Punjaub

fakeer seven hundred years ago—to the effect that, after various

dynasties of Mohammedans had ruled for some centuries, the _Nazarenes_

or Christians should hold power in India for one hundred years; that

the Christians would then be expelled; and that various events

foretold in the Koran would then come to pass, connected with the

triumph of Islamism. That this mysterious prediction was widely

credited, is probable—notwithstanding that the paper itself, if really

circulated, must manifestly have been an imposture of recent date; for

the English nation was not known even by name to the natives of India

seven hundred years ago. Setting aside, at present, all inquiries

concerning the first authors of the plot, the degree to which the

Company’s annexations had provoked it, the existence of any grievances

justifiably to be resisted, the reasons which induced Hindoos to join

the Mohammedans against the British, or the extent to which the

general population shared the views of the native military—laying

aside these inquiries for the present, there is evidence that a great

movement was planned for the middle of the year 1857. Of this plan the

British government knew nothing, and suspected little.

But although no vast plot was suspected, several trifling symptoms had

given cause for uneasiness and the English public learned, when too

late, that many Indian officers had long predicted the imminency of some

outbreak. Insubordination and mutiny, it was found, are not faults of

recent growth among the native troops of India. Now that the startling

events of 1857 are vividly presented to the public mind, men begin to

read again the old story of the outbreak at Vellore, and seek to draw

instruction therefrom. A little more than half a century ago—namely, on

the 10th of July 1806—the European barracks at Vellore were thrown into

a state of great excitement. This town is in the Carnatic, a few miles

west of Madras, and in the presidency of the same name. At two o’clock

in the morning, the barracks, containing four companies of the 69th

regiment, were surrounded by two battalions of sepoys in the Company’s

service, who poured in a heavy fire of musketry, at every door and

window, upon the soldiers. At the same time the European sentries, the

soldiers at the mainguard, and the sick in the hospital, were put to

death. The officers’ houses were ransacked, and everybody found in them

murdered. Upon the arrival of the 19th Light Dragoons, under Colonel

Gillespie, the sepoys were immediately attacked; six hundred were cut

down upon the spot, and two hundred taken from their hiding-places to be

shot. There perished of the four European companies, a hundred and

sixty-four, besides officers; and many British officers of the native

troops were also murdered. Nothing ever came to light concerning the

probable cause of the outrage, but this—that an attempt had been made by

the military men at Madras to _change the shape of the sepoy turban_

into something resembling the helmet of the light infantry of Europe,

which would prevent the native troops from wearing on their foreheads

the marks characteristic of their several castes. The sons of Tippoo

Saib, the deposed ruler of Mysore, together with many distinguished

Mohammedans deprived of office, were at that time in Vellore; and the

supposition is, that these men contributed very materially to excite or

inflame the suspicions of the Hindoos, concerning an endeavour to tamper

with their religious usages. There was another mutiny some time

afterwards at Nundeydroog, in the same presidency; and it was found

indispensable to disarm four hundred and fifty Mohammedan sepoys, who

had planned a massacre. At Bangalore and other places a similar spirit

was exhibited. The governor of Madras deemed it necessary, in very

earnest terms, to disclaim any intention of tampering with the native

religion. In a proclamation issued on the 3d of December, he said: ‘The

right honourable the governor in council having observed that, in some

late instances, an extraordinary degree of agitation has prevailed among

several corps of the native army of this coast, it has been his

lordship’s particular endeavour to ascertain the motives which may have

led to conduct so different from that which formerly distinguished the

native army. From this inquiry, it has appeared that many persons of

evil intention have endeavoured, for malicious purposes, to impress upon

the native troops a belief that it is the wish of the British government

to convert them by forcible means to Christianity; and his lordship in

council has observed with concern that such malicious reports have been

believed by many of the native troops. The right honourable the governor

in council, therefore, deems it proper, in this public manner, to repeat

to the native troops his assurance, that the same respect which has been

invariably shewn by the British government for their religion and their

customs, will be always continued; and that no interruption will be

given to any native, whether Hindoo or Mussulman, in the practice of his

religious ceremonies.’ Notwithstanding the distinctness of this

assurance, and notwithstanding the extensive promulgation of the

proclamation in the Tamul, Telinga, and Hindustani languages—the ferment

continued a considerable time. Even in March 1807, when some months had

elapsed, so universal was the dread of a general revolt among the native

troops, that the British officers attached to the Madras army constantly

slept with loaded pistols under their pillows.

In the interval between 1806 and 1857, nothing so murderous occurred;

but, among the Bengal troops, many proofs of insubordination were

afforded; for it repeatedly occurred that grievances, real or pretended,

led to combinations among the men of different regiments. In 1835, Lord

William Bentinck, acting on a principle which had often been advocated

in England, abolished flogging in the Indian army; this appears to have

raised the self-pride rather than conciliated the good-will of the

troops: insubordination ensued, and several regiments had to be

disbanded. Again, in 1844, when several Bengal regiments were ordered to

march to Sinde, the 34th native infantry refused; whereupon Lord

Ellenborough, at that time governor-general, ignominiously disbanded the

regiment in presence of the rest of the army. Again, in 1849, Sir Colin

Campbell, serving under Sir Charles Napier, reported that the 22d Bengal

regiment had mutinied on a question of pay, in which they were clearly

in the wrong; but as the Punjaub was at that time in a critical state,

Sir Charles did that which was very opposite to his general character—he

yielded to an unjust demand, as a measure of prudence. It may have been

that the sepoys counted on this probability when they mutinied. No less

than forty-two regiments were ascertained to be in secret correspondence

on this matter, under Brahminical influence—one of whom went so far as

to threaten the commanding officer that they could stop enlistment if

they chose. In 1850, Napier was compelled to disband the 66th regiment,

for mutiny at Peshawur. In 1852, the 38th regiment was ordered to

proceed to Burmah; the men objected to the sea-voyage, and refused to

depart; and the authorities in this case gave way.

Like as, in the ordinary affairs of life, men compare notes after a

disaster, to ascertain whether any misgiving had silently occupied their

minds concerning causes and symptoms; so did many military officers,

observing that the troubles were all or mostly in Bengal, or where

Bengal troops operated, come forward to state that they had long been

cognizant of a marked difference between the Bengal army on the one

hand, and the Bombay and Madras armies on the other. Lord Melville, who,

as General Dundas, had held a command during the Punjaub campaign,

expressed himself very strongly in the House of Lords shortly after news

of the mutiny arrived. He stated that, in the Bengal army, the native

officers were in nearly all cases selected by seniority, and not from

merit; that they could not rise from the ranks till old age was creeping

on them; and that a sort of hopelessness of advancement cankered in the

minds of many sepoys in the middle time of life. In the Bombay and

Madras armies, on the contrary, the havildars or sergeants were selected

for their intelligence and activity, and were recommended for promotion

by the commanding officers of the regiments. It might possibly be a

theory unsusceptible of proof, that this difference made the one army

mutinous and the other two loyal; but Lord Melville proceeded to assert

that the Bengal troops were notoriously less fully organised and

disciplined, more prone to insubordination, than the troops of the other

two presidencies. He stated as an instance, that when he commanded the

Bombay army in the Punjaub frontier in 1849, the Bengal regiments were

mutinous; while the Bombay troops remained in soldierly subordination.

Indeed these latter, which he commanded in person, were credited by his

lordship with having exhibited the highest qualities of brave and

faithful troops. He detailed an incident which had occurred at the siege

of Moultan. A covering-party having been ordered into the trenches, some

disturbance soon afterwards arose; and an English officer found that

many soldiers of the Bengal army had been endeavouring to prevent the

men belonging to one of the Bombay regiments from digging in the

trenches in discharge of their duty, on the ground that the sepoys’ duty

_was to fight and not to work_. Again: after the assault of Moultan, an

officer in command of one of the pickets was requested to post a

sergeant and twelve men at one of the gates of the town; this was done;

but not long afterwards, three native officers of the Bengal engineers

were detected in an endeavour to pass the gate with stores which they

were about to plunder or appropriate. Although the views of Lord

Melville were combated by a few other officers, there was a pretty

general concurrence of opinion that the Bengal native army, through some

circumstances known or unknown, had long been less obedient and orderly

than those of the other two presidencies.

As it is the purpose of the present chapter to treat rather of the facts

that preceded the horrors of Meerut and Cawnpore, than of the numerous

theories for explaining them, we shall not dwell long in this place on

the affairs of Oude, in connection with the Revolt; but so general is

the opinion that the annexation of that kingdom was one of the

predisposing causes of the late calamities, that it may be right to

glance slightly at the subject.

Oude—once a nawabship under the great Mogul, then a kingdom, and the

last remaining independent Mohammedan state in Northern India—was

annexed in the early part of 1856; and although the governor-general

sought to give a favourable account, both in its reasons and its

results, of that momentous measure, there are not wanting grounds for

believing that it made a deep impression on the minds of the natives,

unfavourable to the English—among the military, if not among the people

at large. The deposed king, with his family and his prime-minister, came

to live at Calcutta in April 1856; and in the following month his

mother, his brother, and one of his sons, proceeded in great state to

England, to protest before Queen Victoria against the conduct of the

governor-general and of the East India Company, in having deprived them

of their regal position: prepared to prove, as they everywhere

announced, that no justifiable grounds had existed for so harsh a step.

Whether they sincerely believed this, or whether it was a blind to hide

ulterior objects, could not at that time be determined. It is one among

many opinions on the subject, that the courtiers around the deposed king

gradually organised a plot against the British power; that the Queen of

Oude’s visit to England was merely intended to mask the proceedings

arising out of this plot; that the conspirators brought over to their

views the Mogul of Delhi, the shadowy representative of a once mighty

despot; that they then sought to win over the Hindoos to side with them;

and that, in this proceeding, they adduced any and all facts that had

come to their knowledge, in which the British had unwittingly insulted

the religious prejudices of the worshippers of Brahma—craftily

insinuating that the insult was premeditated. The wisdom or justice of

the annexation policy we do not discuss in this place; there is a

multiplicity of interpretations concerning it—from that of absolute

necessity to that of glaring spoliation; but the point to be borne in

mind is, that a new grievance was thereby added to others, real or

pretended, already existing. It is especially worthy of note, that any

distrust of England, arising out of annexation policy, was likely to be

more intense in Oude than anywhere else; for three-fourths of the

infantry in the Bengal army had been recruited from the inhabitants of

that state; they were energetic men, strongly attached to their native

country; and when the change of masters took place, they lost certain of

the privileges they had before enjoyed. The Bengalees proper, the

natives of the thickly populated region around the lower course of the

Ganges, have little to do with the Bengal army; they are feeble,

indolent, and cowardly, glad by any excuses to escape from fighting.

Let us now—having said a few words concerning the centenary of British

rule, and the state of feeling in Oude—attend to the strange episode of

the _chupatties_, as a premonitory symptom of something wrong in the

state of public feeling in India.

The chupatties—small cakes of unleavened bread, about two inches in

diameter, made of Indian corn-meal, and forming part of the sepoys’

regular diet—were regarded in England, as soon as the circumstances of

the Revolt became known, as signs or symptoms which the various officers

of the Company in India ought sedulously to have searched into. Ever

since the middle of 1856—ever since, indeed, the final arrangements for

the annexation of Oude—these chupatties were known to have been passing

from hand to hand. A messenger would come to a village, seek out the

headman or village elder, give him six chupatties, and say: ‘These six

cakes are sent to you; you will make six others, and send them on to the

next village.’ The headman accepted the six cakes, and punctually sent

forward other six as he had been directed. It was a mystery of which the

early stages were beyond our ken; for no one could say, or no one would

say, which was the _first_ village whence the cakes were sent. During

many months this process continued: village after village being brought

into the chain as successive links, and relays of chupatties being

forwarded from place to place. Mr Disraeli, attacking on one occasion in

the House of Commons the policy of the Indian government, adverted

sarcastically to this chupatty mystery: ‘Suppose the Emperor of Russia,

whose territory, in extent and character, has more resemblance to our

Eastern possessions than the territory of any other power—suppose the

Emperor of Russia were told—“Sire, there is a very remarkable

circumstance going on in your territory; from village to village, men

are passing who leave the tail of an ermine or a pot of caviare, with a

message to some one to perform the same ceremony. Strange to say, this

has been going on in some ten thousand villages, and we cannot make head

or tail of it.” I think the Emperor of Russia would say: “I do not know

whether you can make head or tail of it, but I am quite certain there is

something wrong, and that we must take some precautions; because, where

the people are not usually indiscreet and troublesome, they do not make

a secret communication unless it is opposed to the government. This is a

secret communication, and therefore a communication dangerous to the

government.”’ The opposition leader did not assert that the government

could have penetrated the mystery, but that the mystery ought to have

been regarded as significant of something dangerous, worthy of close

scrutiny and grave consideration.

The chupatties first appeared in the Northwest Provinces, around Delhi;

and subsequent events offered a temptation for rebuking the

governor-general and the commander-in-chief, in having failed to

strengthen the posts with English troops after the indications of some

secret conspiracy had thus been made. In some places it was ascertained

that the cakes were to be kept _till called for_ by the messengers,

other cakes being sent on instead of them; but what was the meaning of

this arrangement, the English officials could not, or at least did not

find out. In Scotland, in the clannish days, war-signals were sent from

hut to hut and from clan to clan with extraordinary rapidity; and,

however little an unleavened cake might appear like a war-signal,

military men and politicians ought certainly to have been alive to such

strange manifestations as this chupatty movement. From the Sutlej to

Patna, throughout a vast range of thickly populated country, was the

secret correspondence carried on. One thing at any rate may safely be

asserted, that the military stations required close watching at such a

time; something was fermenting in the minds of the natives which the

English could not understand; but that very fact would have

justified—nay, rendered almost imperative—the guarding of the chief

posts from sudden surprise. Little or nothing of this precautionary

action seems to have been attempted. Throughout nearly the whole of the

great trunk-road from Calcutta to the Punjaub, the military stations

were left as before, almost wholly in the hands of the sepoys. At

Benares there was only a single company of European foot-artillery; the

rest of the troops consisting of two regiments of native infantry, and

one of the Cis-Sutlej Sikh regiments. At Allahabad, the great supply

magazine of the province was left almost wholly to the guard of the

sepoys. Lucknow had only one European regiment and one company of

artillery; notwithstanding that, as the capital of Oude, it was in the

midst of a warlike and excited population; while the native army of the

province, capable of soon assembling at the city, comprised no less than

fourteen regiments of infantry, six of cavalry, and six companies of

artillery. Cawnpore, a very important station with a large medical

depôt, contained three regiments of native infantry, one of native

cavalry, and two companies of native artillery with twelve guns; while

the English force was only a company of infantry, and about sixty

artillerymen with six guns. The large magazine of Delhi, the great

storehouse of ammunition for the military stations all around it, was

left to be guarded entirely by sepoys. The late General Anson, at that

time commander-in-chief, was among the hills at Simla, relaxing from his

duties; and neither at Simla nor at Calcutta did it seem to be felt

that, with existing symptoms, more European troops were necessary in the

Bengal and Northwest Provinces.

The chupatty was not the only symbol of some mystery: the _lotus_ was

another. It was a common occurrence for a man to come to a cantonment

with a lotus-flower, and give it to the chief native officer of a

regiment; the flower was circulated from hand to hand in the regiment;

each man took it, looked at it, and passed it on, saying nothing. When

the lotus came to the last man in the regiment, he disappeared for a

time, and took it to the next military station. This strange process

occurred throughout nearly all the military stations where regiments of

the Bengal native army were cantoned.

Chupatties and lotus-flowers, together with the incendiarism and the

cartridge grievances presently to be noticed, unquestionably indicated

some widely spread discontent among the natives—military if not general.

‘It is clear,’ in the words of an observant officer, writing from one of

the Cis-Sutlej stations, ‘that a certain ferment had been allowed

gradually to arise throughout the mass of the Bengal army. In some it

was panic, in some excitement, in some a mere general apprehension or

expectation, and in some it was no doubt disaffection, or even

conspiracy. Governing an alien people and a vast army, we had divested

ourselves of all the instruments of foreign domination so familiar to

Austria and all other continental powers. We had no political police, no

European strongholds, no system of intelligence or espionage,

comparatively little real military discipline; and even our own

post-office was the channel of free, constant, and unchecked intercourse

between all the different regiments. Not a letter even was opened; that

would have been too abhorrent to English principles. The sepoy mind had

probably become prepared to distrust us, as we had begun to distrust

them. There were strange new legislative acts, and new post-office

rules, and new foreign service enlistments, and new employment of armed

races in our army, and other things disagreeable and alarming to the

true old sepoy caste. And then it came about that from a small and

trifling beginning, one of those ferments to which the native mind is

somewhat prone, took possession of the sepoy army.’

One of the strange facts connected with the chupatty movement was, that

the cakes were transmitted to the heads of villages who have not been

concerned in the mutiny, while many sepoys who broke out in revolt had

received no cakes. They appear to have been distributed mostly to the

villagers; whereas the lotus passed from hand to hand among the

military.

The chupatties and the lotus-flowers, however indicative they may have

been of the existence of intrigue and conspiracy, were quiet

indications; but there were not wanting other proofs of a mutinous

spirit, in acts of violence and insubordination—apart from the

incendiarisms and the cartridge difficulties. On one evening, early in

the year, information was given by a sepoy of the intention of the men

to rise against their officers and seize on Fort William, at Calcutta.

On another occasion, a fanatic moulvie, a high Mohammedan priest at

Oude, was detected preaching war against the infidels; and on his person

was found a proclamation exciting the people to rebellion. On a third

day, two sepoys were detected in an attempt to sap the fidelity of the

guard at the Calcutta mint. An English surgeon in an hospital at

Lucknow, by the bedside of a sepoy, put his lips to a bottle of medicine

before giving it to his patient; this being regarded as a pollution, a

pundit was sent for to break the bottle and exorcise the evil: on that

night the doctor’s bungalow was burned down by incendiaries who could

not be discovered. A refusal to accept a furlough or leave of absence

might not usually be regarded as a symptom of a mutinous spirit; yet in

India it conveyed a meaning that could not safely be disregarded. On the

6th of March, the commander-in-chief, with the sanction of the

governor-general, notified that the native army would receive, as usual,

the annual indulgence of furlough from the 1st of April to a certain

subsequent date. When this order was read or issued, about fourteen men

of the 63d native infantry, stationed at Soorie, and under orders to

proceed to Berhampore, evinced a disinclination to avail themselves of

the indulgence, on the plea that none of the regiments at Barrackpore

intended to take theirs. It certainly appears to have been a

circumstance worthy of a searching inquiry by the military authorities,

_why_ the troops should have declined to take their furlough at that

particular time.

We must now pass on to that series of events which, so far as outward

manifestations are concerned, was more especially the immediate

forerunner of the Revolt—namely, the disturbances connected with the

_greased cartridges_. Let not the reader for a moment regard this as a

trivial matter, merely because it would be trivial in England: the

sepoys may have been duped, and indeed were unquestionably duped, by

designing men; but the subject of suspicion was a serious one to them.

The fat of cows and of pigs is regarded in a peculiar light in the East.

The pig is as much held in abhorrence by the Mohammedans as the cow is

venerated by the Hindoos; to touch the former with the lips, is a

defilement to the one religion; to touch the latter, is a sacrilege to

the other. The religious feelings are different, but the results in this

case are the same. So sacred, indeed, are cattle regarded by the

Hindoos, that the Company’s officers have been accustomed to observe

much caution in relation to any supply of beef for their own tables; the

slaughter of a cow in a Hindoo village would in itself have been a

sufficient cause for revolt; in large towns where Europeans are

stationed, a high-walled paddock or compound is set apart for the

reception of bullocks intended for food; and scrupulous care is taken

that the natives shall know as little as possible of the proceedings

connected with the slaughtering. The use of cow’s fat in ammunition

would therefore be repulsive to the Hindoo sepoy. Many experienced men

trace the mutiny to a false report concerning the cartridges, acting on

the minds of natives who had already become distrustful by the

machinations of agitators and emissaries. ‘It is a marvel and a mystery

that so many years should have passed away without an explosion. At last

a firebrand was applied to what a single spark might have ignited; and

in the course of a few weeks there was a general conflagration; but a

conflagration which still bears more marks of accident than of

deliberate conspiracy and incendiarism. In a most unhappy hour—in an

hour laden with a concurrence of adverse circumstances—the incident of

the greased cartridges occurred. It found the Bengal army in a season of

profound peace, and in a state of relaxed discipline. It found the

sepoys pondering over the predictions and the fables which had been so

assiduously circulated in their lines and their bazaars; it found them

with imaginations inflamed and fears excited by strange stories of the

designs of their English masters; it found them, as they fancied, with

their purity of caste threatened, and their religious distinctions

invaded, by the proselytising and annexing Englishmen. Still, there was

no palpable evidence of this. Everything was vague, intangible, obscure.

Credulous and simple-minded as they were, many might have retained a

lingering confidence in the good faith and the good intentions of the

British government: had it not been suddenly announced to them, just as

they were halting between two opinions, that, in prosecution of his

long-cherished design to break down the religion both of Mohammedan and

Hindoo, the Feringhee had determined to render their military service

the means of their degradation, by compelling them to apply their lips

to a cartridge saturated with animal grease—the fat of the swine being

used for the pollution of the one, and the fat of the cow for the

degradation of the other. If the most astute emissaries of evil who

could be employed for the corruption of the Bengal sepoy had addressed

themselves to the task of inventing a lie for the confirmation and

support of all his fears and superstitions, they could have found

nothing more cunningly devised for their purpose.’[6]

It was on the 7th of February 1857 that the governor-general

communicated to the home government the first account of anything

mysterious or unpleasant in relation to the greased cartridges. He had

to announce that a dissatisfaction had exhibited itself among the native

troops attached to the musketry-depôt at Dumdum. There are two Dumdums,

two Dumdumas, one Dumdumma, and one Dumdumineah in India; but the place

indicated is in Bengal, a few miles out of Calcutta, and about half-way

between that city and Barrackpore. It was formerly the head-quarters of

artillery for the presidency of Bengal; and near it is an excellent

cannon-foundry, with casting-rooms, boring-rooms, and all the appliances

for making brass guns. It is a sort of Woolwich on a humble scale,

connected with ordnance and firearms.

The sepoys at Dumdum had heard rumours which induced them to believe

that the grease used for preparing the cartridges for the recently

introduced Enfield rifles was composed of the fat of pigs and

cows—substances which their religion teaches them to regard in a light

altogether strange to Europeans. It was not the first time by three or

four years that the cartridge-question had excited attention in India,

although in England the public knew absolutely nothing concerning it.

From documents brought to light during the earlier months of the mutiny,

it appears that in 1853 the commander-in-chief of the forces in India

directed the adjutant-general of the Bengal army to call the attention

of the governor-general to the subject of cartridges as connected with

the prejudices of the natives. For what reason grease of any kind is

employed on or with cartridges, may be soon explained. A cartridge, as

most persons are aware, is a contrivance for quickly loading firearms.

Instead of inserting the powder and bullet separately into the musket,

rifle, or pistol, as was the earlier wont, the soldier is provided with

a supply of small cartridge-paper tubes, each containing a bullet and

the proper proportion of powder; and by the employment of these

cartridges much time and attention are saved under circumstances where

both are especially valuable. The missiles are called _ball_ or _blank_

cartridges, according as they do or do not each contain a bullet. Now

the Enfield rifle, an English improvement on the celebrated Minié rifle

invented and used by the French, was largely manufactured by machinery

in a government establishment at Enfield, for use in the British and

Indian armies; and in firing from this or other rifles it was necessary

that the ball-end of the cartridge should have an external application

of some greasy substance, to facilitate its movement through the barrel.

In the year above named, the East India Company informed the Calcutta

government, that a supply of new-greased cartridges had been sent, which

the Board of Ordnance wished should be subjected to the test of climate.

It was concerning these cartridges that the commander-in-chief

recommended caution; on the ground that ‘unless it be known that the

grease employed in these cartridges is not of a nature to offend or

interfere with the prejudices of caste, it will be expedient not to

issue them for test to native corps, but to Europeans only, to be

carried in pouch.’ It was not until June 1854 that the cartridges were

received in India; and during the next twelve months they were subjected

to various tests, at Calcutta, at Cawnpore, and at Rangoon. The

cartridges had been greased in four ways—with common grease, with

laboratory grease, with Belgian grease, and with Hoffman’s grease, in

each case with an admixture of creosote and tobacco; one set was tested

by being placed in the ordnance magazines, a second by being kept in

wagons, and a third by being tied up in pouch-bundles. The result of

these tests was communicated to the directors in the autumn of 1855; and

as a consequence, a modification was effected in the cartridges

afterwards sent from England for service with the Enfield rifles in

India.

To return now to the affair at Dumdum. When the complaints and

suspicions of the sepoys were made known, inquiries were sent to England

for exact particulars relating to the obnoxious missiles. It was

ascertained that the new cartridges were made at the Royal Laboratory at

Woolwich; and that Captain Boxer, the superintendent of that department,

was accustomed to use for lubrication a composition formed of five parts

tallow, five parts stearine, and one part wax—containing, therefore, ox

or cow’s fat, but none from pigs. He had no prejudices in the matter to

contend against in England, and used therefore just such a composition

as appeared to him most suitable for the purpose. The cartridges were

not sent out to India ready greased for use; as, in a hot country, the

grease would soon be absorbed by the paper: there was, therefore, a part

of the process left to be accomplished when the cartridges reached their

destination.

It appears to have been in the latter part of January that the first

open manifestation was made at Dumdum of a disinclination to use the

cartridges; and immediately a correspondence among the authorities

commenced concerning it. When the complaint had been made, the men were

seemingly appeased on being assured that the matter would be duly

represented; and as a means of conciliation, cartridges without grease

were issued, the men being allowed to apply any lubricating substance

they chose. It was further determined that no more ready-made cartridges

should be obtained from England, but that bullets and paper should be

sent separately, to be put together in India; that experiments should be

made at Woolwich, to produce some lubricating substance free from any of

the obnoxious ingredients; and that other experiments should meanwhile

be made by the 60th Rifles—at that time stationed at Meerut—having the

same object in view.

During the inquiry into the manifestation and alleged motives of this

insubordination, one fact was elicited, which, if correct, seems to

point to a date when the conspirators—whoever they may have been—began

to act upon the dupes. On the 22d of January, a low-caste Hindoo asked a

sepoy of the 2d Bengal Grenadiers to give him a little water from his

lota or bottle; the other, being a Brahmin, refused, on the ground that

the applicant would defile the vessel by his touch—a magnificence of

class-superiority to which only the Hindoo theory could afford place.

This refusal was met by a retort, that the Brahmin need not pride

himself on his caste, for he would soon lose it, as he would ere long be

required to bite off the ends of cartridges covered with the fat of pigs

and cows. The Brahmin, alarmed, spread the report; and the native

troops, as is alleged, were afraid that when they went home their

friends would refuse to eat with them. When this became known to the

English officers, the native troops were drawn up on parade, and

encouraged to state the grounds of their dissatisfaction. All the native

sergeants and corporals, and two-thirds of all the privates, at once

stepped forward, expressed their abhorrence of having to touch anything

containing the fat of cows or pigs, and suggested the employment of wax

or oil for lubricating the cartridges. It was then that the conciliatory

measures, noticed above, were adopted.

Still were there troubles and suspicious circumstances; but the scene is

now transferred from Dumdum to Barrackpore. This town, sixteen miles

from Calcutta, is worthy of note chiefly for its connection with the

supreme government of India. The governor-general has a sort of suburban

residence there, handsome, commodious, and situated in the midst of a

very beautiful park. There are numerous bungalows or villas inhabited by

European families, drawn to the spot by the salubrity of the air, by the

beauty of the Hoogly branch of the Ganges, at this place three-quarters

of a mile in width, and by the garden and promenade attached to the

governor-general’s villa. In military matters, before the Revolt, there

was a ‘presidency division of the army,’ of which some of the troops

were in Calcutta, some at Barrackpore, and a small force of artillery at

Dumdum, nearly midway between the two places; the whole commanded by a

general officer at Barrackpore, under whom was a brigadier to command

that station only. The station is convenient for military operations in

the eastern part of Bengal, and for any sudden emergencies at Calcutta.

Six regiments of native infantry were usually cantoned at Barrackpore,

with a full complement of officers: the men hutted in commodious lines,

and the officers accommodated in bungalows or lodges.

It was at this place that the discontent next shewed itself, much to the

vexation of the government, who had hoped that the Dumdum affair had

been satisfactorily settled, and who had explained to the native

regiments at Barrackpore what had been done to remove the alleged cause

of complaint. The sepoys at this place, however, made an objection to

bite off the ends of the cartridges—a necessary preliminary to the

loading of a rifle—on account of the animal fat contained, or supposed

to be contained, in the grease with which the paper was lubricated: such

fat not being permitted to touch the lips or tongues of the men, under

peril of defilement. Some of the authorities strongly suspected that

this renewed discontent was the work of secret agitators rather than a

spontaneous expression of the men’s real feeling. There was at the time

a religious Hindoo society or party at Calcutta, called the Dhurma

Sobha, suspected of having spread rumours that the British government

intended to compel the Hindoos to become Christians. Contemporaneously,

too, with this movement, three incendiary fires took place at

Barrackpore within four days; and a native sergeant’s bungalow was burnt

down at Raneegunge, another military station in Lower Bengal. It was

natural, therefore, that General Hearsey, the responsible officer at

Barrackpore, should wish to ascertain what connection, if any, existed

between these incendiarisms, intrigues, complainings, and greased

cartridges. This was the more imperative, on account of the relative

paucity of English troops in that part of India. There were four native

regiments quartered at that time at Barrackpore—namely, the 2d

Grenadiers, the 34th and 70th Native Infantry, and the 43d Native Light

Infantry; whereas, in the four hundred miles between Calcutta and

Dinapoor there was only one European regiment, the Queen’s 53d foot, of

which one half was at Calcutta and the other half at Dumdum. The general

held a special court of inquiry at Barrackpore on the 6th of February,

and selected a portion of the 2d native Grenadier regiment to come

forward and explain the cause of their continued objection to the paper

of which the new rifle-cartridges were composed. One of the sepoys,

Byjonath Pandy, stated that he felt a suspicion that the paper might

affect his caste. On being asked his reason for this suspicion, he

answered that the paper was a new kind which he had not seen before; and

there was a ‘bazaar report’ that the paper contained animal fat. On

being requested to examine the paper carefully in the light, and to

explain to the court what he saw objectionable in it, he replied that

his suspicion proceeded from the paper being stiff and cloth-like, and

from its tearing differently from the paper formerly in use. Another

sepoy, Chaud Khan, was then examined. He objected to the paper because

it was tough, and burned as if it contained grease. He stated that much

dismay had been occasioned in the regiment by the fact that ‘on the 4th

of February a piece of the cartridge-paper was dipped in water, and then

burned; when burning, it made a fizzing noise, and smelt as if there

were grease in it.’ Thereupon a piece of the paper was burned in open

court; Chaud Khan confessed that he could not smell or see grease in it;

but he repeated his objection to the use of the paper, on the plea that

‘everybody is dissatisfied with it on account of its being glazed,

shining like waxed cloth.’ Another witness, Khadu Buksh, filling the

rank of subadar or native captain, on being examined, frankly stated

that he had no objection to the cartridge itself, but that there was a

general report in the cantonment that the paper was made up with fat. A

jemadar or lieutenant, named Golal Khan, said very positively: ‘There is

grease in it, I feel assured; as it differs from the paper which has

heretofore been always used for cartridges.’ As shewing the well-known

power of what in England would be called ‘public opinion,’ the answer of

one of the sepoys is worthy of notice; he candidly confessed that he

himself had no objection to use the cartridges, but he could not do so,

as his companions would object to it. While these occurrences were under

scrutiny, a jemadar of the 34th regiment came forward to narrate what he

knew on the matter, as affording proof of conspiracy. On the 5th, when

the fear of detection had begun to work among them, two or three of the

sepoys came to him, and asked him to accompany them to the

parade-ground. He did so, and there found a great crowd assembled,

composed of men of the different regiments at the station; they had

their heads tied up in handkerchiefs or cloths, so that only a small

part of the face was exposed. They told him they were determined to die

for their religion; and that if they could concert a plan that evening,

they would on the next night plunder the station and kill all the

Europeans, and then depart whither they pleased. The number he stated to

be about three hundred. It was not at the time known to the authorities,

but was rendered probable by circumstances afterwards brought to light,

that letters and emissaries were being despatched, at the beginning of

February, from the native troops at Barrackpore to those at other

stations, inviting them to rise in revolt against the British.

Under any other circumstances, a discussion concerning such petty

matters as bits of cartridge-paper and items of grease would be simply

ridiculous; but at that time and place the ruling authorities, although

ignorant of the real extent of the danger, saw clearly that they could

not afford to regard such matters as otherwise than serious. There was

either a sincere prejudice to be conciliated, or a wide-spread

conspiracy to be met; and it was at once determined to test again the

sincerity of the sepoys, by yielding to their (apparently) religious

feelings on a matter which did not affect the efficiency of the service.

A trial was made, therefore, of a mode of loading the rifle without

biting the cartridge, by tearing off the end with the left hand. The

commander-in-chief, finding on inquiry that this method was sufficiently

efficacious, and willing to get rid of mere formalism in the matter,

consented that the plan should be adopted both for percussion-muskets

and for rifles. This done, the governor-general, by virtue of his

supreme command, ordered the adoption of the same system throughout

India.

The scene now again changes: we have to attend to certain proceedings at

Berhampore, following on those at Barrackpore. Of Berhampore as a town,

little need be said here; and that little is called for principally to

determine _which_ Berhampore is meant. Under the forms Berhampore,

Berhampoor, or Burhampore, there are no less than four towns in

India—one in the native state of Nepaul, sixty miles from Khatmandoo;

another in the Nagpoor territory, sixty miles from the city of the same

name; another in the Madras presidency, near Orissa; and a fourth in the

district of Moorshedabad, Lower Bengal. It is this last-named Berhampore

to which attention is here directed. The town is on the left bank of the

river Bhagruttee, a great offset of the Ganges, and on the high road

from Calcutta to Moorshedabad—distant about a hundred and twenty miles

from the first-named city by land, and a hundred and sixty by water. It

is in a moist, unhealthy spot, very fatal to Europeans, and in

consequence disliked by them as a station in past times; but sanitary

measures, draining, and planting have greatly improved it within the

last few years. As a town, it is cheerful and attractive in appearance,

adorned by stately houses in the neighbourhood, to accommodate permanent

British residents. The military cantonments are large and striking; the

grand square, the excellent parade-ground, the quarters of the European

officers—all are handsome. Before the Revolt, Berhampore was included

within the presidency division in military matters, and was usually

occupied by a body of infantry and another of artillery. There is

painful evidence of the former insalubrity of the station met with in a

large open space filled with tombstones, contrasting mournfully with the

majestic cantonments of the military. Berhampore has, or had a few years

ago, a manufactory of the silk bandana handkerchiefs once so popular in

England.

The troubles in this town were first made manifest in the following way.

On or about the 24th of February, a portion of the 34th regiment of

Bengal infantry changed its station from Barrackpore to Berhampore,

where it was greeted and feasted by the men of the 19th native infantry,

stationed there at that time. During their feasting, the new-comers

narrated all the news from Dumdum and Barrackpore concerning the greased

cartridges; and the effects of this gossip were very soon made visible.

To understand what occurred, the mode of piling or storing arms in India

must be attended to; in the Bombay army, and in the Queen’s regiments,

the men were wont to keep their arms with them in their huts; but in the

Bengal army, it was a custom to deposit them in circular brick buildings

called bells, which were kept locked under native guard, each in front

of a particular company’s lines. The men of the 19th regiment, then,

excited by the rumours and stories, the fears and suspicions of their

companions in arms elsewhere, but not knowing or not believing—or

perhaps not caring for—the promises of change made by the military

authorities, broke out into insubordination. On the 26th of February,

being ordered to parade for exercise with blank cartridges, they refused

to receive the percussion-caps, as a means of rendering their firing

impossible—alleging that the cartridge-paper supplied for the charge was

of two kinds; that they doubted the qualities of one or both; and that

they believed in the presence of the fat of cows or pigs in the grease

employed. That the men were either dupes or intriguers is evident; for

it so happened that the cartridges offered to them were the very same in

kind as they had used during many years, and had been made up before a

single Enfield rifle had reached India. This resistance was a serious

affair; it was something more than a complaint or petition, and needed

to be encountered with a strong hand. It is a matter of opinion, judged

differently even by military men accustomed to India and its natives,

whether the proper course was on that occasion taken. The commanding

officer, Lieutenant-colonel Mitchell, ordered a detachment of native

cavalry and a battery of native artillery—the only troops at Barrackpore

besides those already named—to be on parade on the following morning.

Between ten and eleven o’clock at night, however, the men of the 19th

regiment broke open the armouries or bells, took possession of their

muskets and ammunition, and carried them to their lines. The next day,

the guns were got ready, and the officers proceeded to the

parade-ground, where they found the men in undress, but armed, formed in

line, and shouting. The officers were threatened if they came on.

Mitchell then expostulated with them; he pointed out the absurdity of

their suspicions, and the unworthiness of their present conduct, and

commanded them to give up their arms and return peaceably to their

lines; whereupon the native officers said the men would refuse so to do

unless the cavalry and artillery were withdrawn. The lieutenant-colonel

withdrew them, and then the infantry yielded. It was a difficult

position for an officer to be placed in; if he had struggled, it would

have been with natives against natives; and, doubtful of the result of

such a contest, he assented to the men’s conditional surrender.

The affair could not be allowed to end here. The Calcutta authorities,

receiving news on the 4th of March of this serious disaffection, but

deeming it unsafe to punish while so few European troops were at hand,

sent quietly to Rangoon in Pegu, with orders that Her Majesty’s 84th

foot should steam up to Calcutta as quickly as possible. On the 20th,

this regiment arrived; and then the governor-general, acting in harmony

with Major-general Hearsey, resolved on the disbandment of the native

regiment which had disregarded the orders of its superiors. Accordingly,

on the 31st of March, the 19th regiment was marched from Berhampore to

Barrackpore, the head-quarters of the military division; the men were

disarmed, paid off, marched out of the cantonments as far as Palta

Ghaut, and conveyed across the river in steamers placed for the purpose.

In short, the regiment, in a military sense, was destroyed, without

personal punishment to any of the men composing it. But though not

punished, in the ordinary sense, the infliction was a great one; for the

men at once became penniless, unoccupied, objectless. The

governor-general, in describing these proceedings for the information of

the home government, added: ‘We trust that the severe measures which we

have been forced to adopt will have the effect of convincing the native

troops that they will only bring ruin on themselves by failing in their

duty to the state and in obedience to their officers.’

[Illustration:

VISCOUNT CANNING.

]

On the occasion just adverted to, General Hearsey addressed the men very

energetically, while an official paper from the governor-general, read

to the troops, asserted in distinct terms that the rumour was wholly

groundless which imputed to the government an intention to interfere

with the religion of the people. It was a charge soon afterwards brought

in England against the governor-general, that, having subscribed to

certain missionary societies in India, he did not like to abjure all

attempts at the conversion of the natives; and that, being thus balanced

between his public duty and his private religious feeling, he had issued

the general order to the whole army, but had not shewn any solicitude to

convey that positive declaration to all the natives in all the

cantonments or military stations. This, however, was said when Viscount

Canning was not present to defend himself; reasonable men soon saw that

the truth was not to be obtained by such charges, unless supported by

good evidence. It is, however, certain, that much delay and routine

formality occurred throughout all these proceedings. As early as the

11th of February, General Hearsey wrote from Barrackpore the expressive

words: ‘We are on a mine ready to explode’—in allusion to the uneasy

state of feeling or opinion among the sepoys that their religious usages

were about to be tampered with; and yet it was not until the 27th of

March that the Supreme Council at Calcutta agreed to the issue of a

general order declaring it to be the invariable rule of the government

to treat the religious tendencies of all its servants with respect; nor

until the 31st that this general order was read to the troops at

Barrackpore. Considering the mournful effects of dilatoriness and rigid

formalism during the Crimean war, the English public had indulged a hope

that a healthy reform would be introduced into the epistolary mechanism

of the government departments; and this was certainly to some extent

realised in England; but unfortunately the reform had not yet reached

India. During these early months of the mutiny, an absurd waste of time

occurred in the writing and despatching of an enormous number of

letters, where a personal interview, or a verbal message by a trusty

servant, might have sufficed. Eight letters were written, and four days

consumed, before the Calcutta authorities knew what was passing at

Dumdum, eight miles distant. A certain order given by the colonel of a

regiment at Calcutta being considered injudicious by the general, an

inquiry was made as to the grounds for the order; eight days and nine

letters were required for this inquiry and the response to it, and yet

the two officers were within an hour’s distance of each other during the

whole time. Although the affair at Barrackpore on the 6th of February

was assuredly of serious import, it was not known to the government at

Calcutta until the evening of the 10th, notwithstanding that a horseman

might easily have ridden the sixteen miles in two hours. General

Hearsey’s reply to a question as to the cause of the delay is truly

instructive, as exemplifying the slowness of official progress in India:

‘I have no means of communicating anything to the government; I have no

mounted orderly, no express camels; I must always write by the post; and

that leaves Barrackpore at the most inconvenient hour of three o’clock

in the afternoon.’ These facts, trivial in themselves, are worthy of

being borne in mind, as indicative of defects in the mechanism of

government likely to be disastrous in times of excitement and

insubordination.

Barrackpore was destined to be a further source of vexation and

embarrassment to the government. It will be remembered that a part of

the 34th native infantry went from that town to Berhampore in the last

week in February; but the bulk of the regiment remained at Barrackpore.

Inquiries, afterwards instituted, brought to light the fact that the

European commander of that regiment had been accustomed to distribute

religious tracts among his men; and it was surmised that the scruples

and prejudices of the natives, especially the Brahmins, had been

unfavourably affected by this proceeding. But whether the cause had or

had not been rightly guessed, it is certain that the 34th displayed more

mutinous symptoms at that time than any other regiment. When the news of

the disturbance at Berhampore reached them, they became greatly excited:

they attended to their duties, but with sullen doggedness; and they held

nightly meetings, at which speeches were made sympathetic with the

Berhampore mutineers. The authorities, not wholly ignorant of these

meetings, nevertheless remained quiet until a European regiment could

arrive to aid them. When the Queen’s 84th arrived at Calcutta, the 34th

were more excited than ever, believing that something hostile was

intended against them; their whispers became murmurs, and they openly

expressed their sympathy. When, in accordance with the plan noticed in

the last paragraph, the 19th were marched off from Berhampore to be

disbanded at Barrackpore, the 34th displayed still greater audacity. The

19th having rested for a time at Barraset, eight miles from Barrackpore,

a deputation from the 34th met them, and made a proposal that they

should that very night kill all their officers, march to Barrackpore,

join the 2d and 34th, fire the bungalows, surprise and overwhelm the

Europeans, seize the guns, and then march to threaten Calcutta. Had the

19th been as wild and daring, as irritated and vengeful, as the 34th,

there is no knowing what calamities might have followed; but they

exhibited rather a repentant and regretful tone, and submitted

obediently to all the details of their disbandment at Barrackpore.

It will therefore be seen that the seeds of further disaffection had

been already sown. As the 34th native infantry had been instrumental in

inciting the 19th to mutiny, ending in disbandment, so did it now bring

a similar punishment on itself. On the 29th of March, one Mungal Pandy,

a sepoy in the 34th, roused to a state of excitement by the use of

intoxicating drugs, armed himself with a sword and a loaded musket,

traversed the lines, called upon his comrades to rise, and declared he

would shoot the first European he met. Lieutenant Baugh, adjutant of the

corps, hearing of this man’s conduct, and of the excited state of the

regiment generally, rode hastily to the lines. Mungal Pandy fired,

missed the officer, but struck his horse. The lieutenant, in

self-defence, fired his pistol, but missed aim; whereupon the sepoy

attacked him with his sword, wounded him in the hand, brought him to the

ground, and tried to entice the other soldiers to join in the attack.

The sergeant-major of the corps, who went to the lieutenant’s

assistance, was also wounded by Mungal Pandy. The dark feature in this

transaction was that many hundred men in the regiment looked on quietly

without offering to protect the lieutenant from his assailant; one of

them, a jemadar, refused to take Mungal into custody, and forbade his

men to render any assistance to the lieutenant, who narrowly escaped

with his life. Major-general Hearsey, on being informed of the

occurrence, proceeded to the parade-ground, where, to his astonishment,

he saw the man walking to and fro, with a blood-smeared sword in one

hand, and a loaded musket in the other. He advanced with some officers

and men to secure the sepoy, which was accomplished with much

difficulty; and it was only by the most resolute bearing of the

major-general that the rest of the men could be induced to return

quietly to their lines. A court-martial was held on Mungal Pandy, and on

the rebellious jemadar, both of whom were forthwith found guilty, and

executed on the 8th of April. No assignable cause appeared for the

conduct of this man: it may have been a mere drunken frenzy; yet there

is more probability that a mutinous spirit, concealed within his breast

during sober moments, made its appearance unchecked when under the

influence of drugs. There was another sepoy, however, who acted

faithfully on the occasion; this man, Shiek Paltoo, was accompanying

Lieutenant Baugh as orderly officer at the time of the attack; and by

his prompt assistance the lieutenant was saved from further injury than

a slight wound. Shiek Paltoo was raised to the rank of supernumerary

havildar for his brave and loyal conduct.

[Illustration:

Calcutta.

]

The outrage, however, could not be allowed to terminate without further

punishment. For a time, the government at Calcutta believed that the

execution of the two principal offenders would suffice, and that the

sepoys would quietly return to their obedience; but certain ominous

occurrences at Lucknow and elsewhere, about the end of April, shewed the

necessity for a stern line of conduct, especially as the 34th still

displayed a kind of sullen doggedness, as if determined on further

insubordination. After mature consideration the whole of the disposable

troops in and around Calcutta were, on the 5th of May, marched off to

Barrackpore, to effect the disarming and disbanding of such sepoys among

the 34th as were present in the lines when Lieutenant Baugh was wounded.

The force comprised the Queen’s 64th regiment, a wing of the 53d, the

2d, 43d, and 70th native infantry, two squadrons of cavalry, and a light

field-battery with six guns. When these troops had been drawn up in two

sides of a square, on the morning of the 6th, about four hundred sepoys

of the 34th were halted in front of the guns. The order for disbandment

was read out by the interpreter, Lieutenant Chamier; and after a few

energetic remarks upon the enormity of their offence, General Hearsey

commanded them to pile their arms, and strip off the uniform which they

had disgraced. When this was done, the work of paying up their arrears

was commenced. They were then dismissed with their families and baggage,

to Chinsura, a town a few miles higher up the Hoogly. The grenadiers of

the 84th, and a portion of the cavalry, accompanied them to see that

they went to and settled at Chinsura, and did not cross the river to

Chittagong, where three other companies of the same regiment were

stationed. Four of the disbanded sepoys were officers; one of whom, a

subadar, sobbed bitterly at his loss and degradation, although it was

strongly suspected that he had been one of the leaders in the

insubordination. In the general order which the governor-general ordered

to be read to every regiment in the service, concerning this

disbandment, words occur which shew that the old delusion was still

working in the breasts of the natives. ‘The sepoy who was the chief

actor in the disgraceful scene of the 29th of March called upon his

comrades to come to his support, for the reason that their religion was

in danger, and that they were about to be compelled to employ

cartridges, the use of which would do injury to their caste; and from

the words in which he addressed the sepoys, it is to be inferred that

many of them shared this opinion with him. The governor-general in

council has recently had occasion to remind the army of Bengal that the

government of India has never interfered to constrain its soldiers in

matters affecting their religious faith. He has declared that the

government of India never will do so; and he has a right to expect that

this declaration shall give confidence to all who have been deceived and

led astray. But, whatever may be the deceptions or evil counsels to

which others have been exposed, the native officers and men of the 34th

regiment native infantry have no excuse for misapprehension on this

subject. Not many weeks previously to the 29th of March, it had been

explained to that regiment—first by their own commanding officer, and

subsequently by the major-general commanding the division—that their

fears for religion were groundless. It was carefully and clearly shewn

to them that the cartridges which they would be called upon to use

contained nothing which could do violence to their religious scruples.

If, after receiving these assurances, the sepoys of the 34th regiment,

or of any other regiment, still refuse to place trust in their officers

and in the government, and still allow suspicions to take root in their

minds, and to grow into disaffection, insubordination, and mutiny, the

fault is their own, and their punishment will be upon their own heads.’

Five weeks elapsed between the offence of the 19th native infantry and

its punishment by disbandment; five weeks similarly elapsed between the

offence and the disbandment of the 34th; and many observant officers

were of opinion that these delays worked mischief, by instilling into

the minds of the sepoys a belief that the authorities were afraid to

punish them. Whether the punishment of disbanding was, after all,

sufficiently severe, is a question on which military men are by no means

agreed.

At a later date than the events narrated in this chapter, but closely

connected with them in subject, was the circulation of a report

manifestly intended to rouse the religious prejudices of the Hindoos by

a false assertion concerning the designs of the ruling powers. In some

of the towns of Southern India, far away from Bengal, unknown emissaries

circulated a paper, or at least a story, of which the following was the

substance: That the padres, probably Christian missionaries, had sent a

petition to the Queen of England, complaining of the slowness with which

Hindoos were made to become Christians; they adduced the conduct of some

of the Mohammedan potentates of India in past times, such as Tippoo

Saib, who had compelled the Hindoos to embrace Islamism; and they

suggested a similar authoritative policy. The story made the padres give

this advice: to mix up bullocks’ fat and pigs’ fat with the grease

employed on the cartridges; in order that, by touching these substances

with their teeth or lips, the sepoys might lose caste, and thus induce

them to embrace Christianity as their only resource. The climax of the

story was reached by making the Queen express her joy at the plan, and

her resolve that it should be put in operation. The success of such a

lying rumour must, of course, have mainly depended on the ignorance and

credulity of the natives.

A far-distant region now calls for notice. At a time when the Upper and

Lower Bengal provinces were, as the authorities hoped and believed,

recovering from the wild excitement of the cartridge question, the

commissioner of the Cis-Sutlej territory had ample means for knowing

that the minds of the natives in that region were mischievously agitated

by some cause or other. It is necessary here to understand what is meant

by this geographical designation. If we consult a map in which an

attempt is made, by distinct colouring, to define British territory from

semi-independent states, we shall find the region between Delhi and

Lahore cut up in a most extraordinary way. The red British patches are

seen to meander among the scraps of native territory with great

intricacy: so much so, indeed, that a map on a very large scale could

alone mark the multitudinous lines of boundary; and even such a map

would soon become obsolete, for the red, like a devouring element, has

been year by year absorbing bits of territory formerly painted green or

yellow. The peculiar tribe of the Sikhs, besides occupying the Punjaub,

inhabit a wide region on the east or left bank of the river Sutlej,

generally included under the name of Sirhind. For fifty years the

British in India have had to deal, or have made a pretext for dealing,

with the petty Sikh chieftains of this Sirhind region: at one time

‘protecting’ those on the east of the Sutlej from the aggression of the

great Sikh leader, Runjeet Singh, on the west of that river; then

‘annexing’ the small territories of some of these chieftains on failure

of male heirs; then seizing others as a punishment for non-neutrality or

non-assistance during war-time. Thus it arose that—before the annexation

of the Punjaub itself in 1849—much of the Sikh country in Sirhind had

become British, and was divided into four districts marked by the towns

of Ferozpore, Umballa or Umballah, Loodianah, and Kythul; leaving

Putialah, Jeend, and Furreedkote as the three principal protected or

semi-independent Sikh states of that country. Meanwhile a region

somewhat to the east or northeast of Sirhind was subject to just the

same process. Being hilly, it is called the Hill Country; and being

ruled by a number of petty chieftains, the separate bits of territory

are called the Hill States. During about forty years the process of

absorption has been going on—arising primarily out of the fact that the

British aided the Hill chieftains against the Nepaulese, and then paid

themselves in their wonted manner. Part of Gurhwal was annexed; then

Sundock, Malowa, and a number of other places not easily found in the

maps; and afterwards Ramgurh was given back in exchange for Simla, to

form a healthy holiday-place among the hills, a sort of Balmoral for

sick governors and commanders. As a final result, much of the Hill

Country became British, and the rest was left in the hands of about

twenty petty chieftains.

Now, when the Cis-Sutlej territory is mentioned, it must be interpreted

as including all the region taken by the British from the minor Sikh

chieftains in Sirhind; together with such of the Hill States of Gurhwal

and its vicinity as have become British. The whole together have been

made a sub-government, under a commissioner responsible to the

governor-general; or, more strictly, the commissioner rules the Sirhind

region, while the Hills are included among the non-regulation districts

of the Agra government. The four towns and districts of Ferozpore,

Loodianah, Umballa, and Kythul, east of the Sutlej, will suffice for our

purpose to indicate the Cis-Sutlej territory—so named in a Calcutta

point of view, as being on the _cis_ or _hither_ side of the Sutlej, in

reference to that city.

It was at Umballa, one of the towns in the Cis-Sutlej territory, that

the commissioner, Mr Barnes, reported acts of incendiarism that much

perplexed him. On the 26th of March, Hurbunsee Singh, a subadar or

native captain in the 36th regiment native infantry, attached to the

musketry depôt at that place, became an object of attack to the other

men of the regiment; they endeavoured to burn his hut and his property.

It was just at the time when reports reached Umballa relative to the

cartridges, the using of which was said by the sepoys to be an

innovation derogatory to their caste and religion. Hurbunsee Singh had

at once come forward, and publicly stated his willingness to fire with

such cartridges, as being, in his opinion, free from objection. The

incendiarism took place on the day named; and the commissioner directly

inferred that there must be something wrong in the thoughts of men who

would thus seek to injure one of their own native officers on such

grounds. Nothing further occurred, however, until the 13th of April,

when another fire broke out. This was followed by a third on the 15th,

in some outhouses belonging to the 60th native infantry; by two fires on

the 16th, when government property was burned to the value of thirty

thousand rupees; by the burning on the 17th of an empty bungalow in the

5th regiment native infantry lines, of a stable belonging to an English

officer of the 60th, and of another building. On the 20th, attempts were

made on the houses of the jemadar and havildar of the 5th regiment, two

native officers favourable to the new cartridges; and under the bed of

the jemadar were found gunpowder and brimstone, as if to destroy the man

as well as his property. Some of the buildings are believed to have been

set on fire by dropping burning brimstone through holes in the roof; and

on one occasion, when the attempt at incendiarism had failed, a paper

containing powder and brimstone was found. On the 21st and two following

days, similar fires occurred. On the 25th, the house of the band-master

of Her Majesty’s 9th Lancers was fired and burned; and two or three

similar attempts were shortly afterwards made, but frustrated. At all

these fires, the engines of the cantonment were set to work; but it was

observed that many of the sepoys worked listlessly and indifferently, as

if their thoughts were bent rather upon fire-raising than

fire-quenching.

That such occurrences produced uneasiness among the English authorities

at Umballa may well be supposed. Captain Howard, magistrate of the

cantonment, wrote thus to the Calcutta government: ‘The emanating cause

of the arson at this cantonment, I conceive, originated with regard to

the newly introduced cartridges, to which the native sepoy shews his

decided objection: it being obnoxious to him from a false idea—which,

now that it has entered the mind of the sepoy, is difficult to

eradicate—that the innovation of this cartridge is derogatory both to

his caste and his religion.... That this has led to the fires at this

cantonment, in my own private mind I am perfectly convinced. Were it the

act of only one or two, or even a few persons, the well-disposed sepoys

would at once have come forward and forthwith informed; but that there

is an organised leagued conspiracy existing, I feel confident. Though

all and every individual composing a regiment may not form part of the

combination, still I am of opinion that such a league in each corps is

known to exist; and such being upheld by the majority, or rather

connived at, therefore it is that no single man dared to come forward

and expose it.’ Although proof could not be obtained of the culpability

of any one sepoy, the incendiarism was at once attributed to them rather

than to the peasantry. The existence of some oath or bond of secrecy was

further supposed from the fact that a reward of one thousand rupees

failed to bring forward a single witness or accuser. After about twenty

attempts at burning buildings, more or less successful, the system was

checked—by the establishment of mounted and foot patrols and pickets; by

the expulsion of all fakeers and idle persons not belonging to the

cantonment; by the refusal of a passage through it to sepoys on furlough

or discharged; and by the arrest of such sepoys in the Umballa regiments

as, having furloughs, still remained in the cantonment—influenced,

apparently, by some mischievous designs.

Every one coincided in opinion with Captain Howard that there had been

an organised plan among the sepoys; but some of the officers in the

Company’s service, civil as well as military, differed from him in

attributing it solely to the cartridge affair—they thought this a blind

or pretence to hide some deeper scheme. The commissioner of the

Cis-Sutlej states, however, agreed with the magistrate, and expressed an

opinion that nothing would restore quiet but a concession to the natives

in the matter of greased cartridges; and he recommended to the

government at Calcutta the adoption of that line of policy. Writing on

the 7th of May, he said: ‘Fires, for the present, have ceased; but I do

not think that this is any indication that the uneasy feeling among the

sepoys is on the wane.’ Considering the position of Umballa, it is no

wonder that those in authority at that spot should feel anxiety

concerning the safety of their position. Umballa is more than a thousand

miles from Calcutta, separated from it by the whole of the important

states in which the cities of Delhi, Meerut, Agra, Cawnpore, Lucknow,

Allahabad, and Benares are situated, and deprived of assistance from

thence in the event of the intermediate regions being disturbed. Umballa

is a somewhat important town, too, in itself, with more than twenty

thousand inhabitants; it is large, and surrounded with a wall, well

supplied with water, bounded by a highly fertile district, and capable

of furnishing abundant supplies to rebels, if held by them.

The authorities, awakened by these events in so many parts of India,

sought to inquire whether the native newspaper press of India had

fermented the anarchy. It seemed at first ridiculous to suppose that

those miserable little sheets, badly written and worse printed, and

having a small circulation, could have contributed much to the creation

of the evil. Yet many facts tended to the support of this view. It was a

frequent custom in those papers to disguise the writer’s real sentiments

under the flimsy mask of a dialogue, in which one side was uniformly

made victor. When the government was not actually abused and vilified,

it was treated with ridicule, and its motives distorted. There were not

many copies of these papers printed and sold; but a kind of ubiquity was

afforded to them by the practice of news-mongers or tale-bearers, who

went from hut to hut, retailing the various items of news or of comment

that had been picked up.

Indeed, the tendency of the people to listen to attacks against the

government is now known to have been very marked among the Hindoos.

Predictions of the downfall of rulers were a favourite subject with

them. Of course, such predictions would not be openly hazarded in

newspapers; but they not less surely reached the ears of the natives.

Thirty years ago, Sir John Malcolm spoke on this subject in the

following way: ‘My attention has been, during the last twenty-five

years, particularly directed to this dangerous species of secret war

against our authority, which is always carrying on by numerous though

unseen hands. The spirit is kept up by letters, by exaggerated reports,

and by pretended prophecies. When the time appears favourable, from the

occurrence of misfortune to our arms, from rebellion in our provinces,

or from mutiny in our troops, circular-letters and proclamations are

dispersed over the country with a celerity almost incredible. Such

documents are read with avidity. The contents in most cases are the

same. The English are depicted as usurpers of low caste, and as tyrants

who have sought India with no other view but that of degrading the

inhabitants and of robbing them of their wealth, while they seek to

subvert their usages and their religion. The native soldiery are always

appealed to, and the advice to them is, in all instances I have met

with, the same—“_Your European tyrants are few in number_: kill them!”’

This testimony of Malcolm is especially valuable, as illustrating, and

illustrated by, recent events.

The native press of India will come again under notice in a future

chapter, connected with the precautionary measures adopted by the

governor-general to lessen the power of those news-writers, whether

English or native, who shewed a disposition to encourage rebellion by

their writings. News and rumours always work most actively among

credulous people—an important fact, knowing what we now know of India

and its Hindoo inhabitants.

When General Anson, commander-in-chief of the forces in India, found

that the small events at Dumdum, Berhampore, and Barrackpore had grown

into great importance, and that the cartridge grievance still appeared

to press on the consciences or influence the conduct of the sepoys, he

deemed it right to make an effort that should pacify the whole of the

native troops. Being at Umballa on the 19th of May, to which place he

had hastened from his sojourn at Simla, he issued a general order to the

native army, informing the troops that it had never been the intention

of the government to force them to use any cartridges which could be

objected to, and that they never would be required to do so. He

announced his object in publishing the order to be to allay the

excitement which had been raised in their minds, at the same time

expressing his conviction that there was no cause for this excitement.

He had been informed, he said, that some of the sepoys who entertained

the strongest attachment and loyalty to the government, and who were

ready at any moment to obey its orders, were nevertheless under an

impression that their families would believe them to be in some way

contaminated by the use of the cartridges used with the Enfield rifles

recently introduced in India. He expressed regret that the positive

assertions of the government officers, as to the non-existence of the

objectionable substances in the grease of the cartridges, had not been

credited by the sepoys. He solemnly assured the army, that no

interference with their caste-principles or their religion was ever

contemplated; and as solemnly pledged his word and honour that no such

interference should ever be attempted. He announced, therefore, that

whatever might be the opinions of the government concerning the

cartridges, new or old, he had determined that the new rifle-cartridge,

and every other of new form, should be discontinued: balled ammunition

being made up by each regiment for its own use, by a proper

establishment maintained for the purpose. Finally, he declared his full

confidence, ‘that all in the native army will now perform their duty,

free from anxiety or care, and be prepared to stand and shed the last

drop of their blood, as they had formerly done, by the side of the

British troops, and in defence of their country.’ The central government

at Calcutta, on receipt of the news of this order having been

promulgated, hastily sent to state that, in implying that new cartridges

_had_ been issued, the commander-in-chief had overstepped the actual

facts of the case; nothing new in that way had been introduced

throughout the year, except to the troops at the Depôt of Musketry

Instruction at Dumdum. From this fact it appears certain that the

credulity of the sepoys at the more distant stations had been imposed

upon, either by their fellow-Hindoos engaged in a conspiracy, or by

Mohammedans.

[Illustration:

Council-house at Calcutta.

]

In this chapter have been discussed several subjects which, though

strange, exhibit nothing terrible or cruel. The suspicions connected

with the Oude princes, the mystery of the chupatties, the prophecies of

British downfall, the objections to the greased cartridges, the

insubordination arising out of those objections, the incendiarism, the

inflammatory tendency of the native newspaper press—all were important

rather as symptoms, than for their immediate effects. But the month of

May, and the towns of Meerut and Delhi, will now introduce us to fearful

proceedings—the beginning of a series of tragedies.

-----

Footnote 6:

_Edinburgh Review_, No. 216.

[Illustration:

King’s Palace, Delhi.

]