centuries ago, was kept closely a prisoner in his splendour at Agra,
while his ambitious son, Aurungzebe, was seizing the throne at Delhi;
and now another race is dominant in both of those cities. Shahjehan’s
audience-chamber has had its arcades walled up, and is converted into an
arsenal for and by the British; and near it are now an armoury, a
medical depôt, and a district collectorate treasury. Nearly all the
once-imperial buildings are within the fort, a large place nearly a mile
in circuit; it contained a hundred and sixty guns when Lord Lake
captured it in 1803. Adjacent to the city, on the west, is the
government-house, the official residence of the lieutenant-governor of
the Northwestern Provinces; and in various places are numerous buildings
belonging to the Company, for revenue, magisterial, and judicial
establishments. The military lines are outside the city-wall. Before the
Revolt, this station was within the Meerut military division, and was
usually occupied by a considerable body of European and native troops.
It was a fact of small importance in peaceful times, but of some moment
when rebellion arose, that the civilians and writers in the public
offices were accustomed to live three or four miles from the cantonment
containing the military, quite on the opposite suburb of Agra. None
would live in the city itself, unless compelled, owing to the intense
heat. It will be well to bear in mind that the fort at Agra was, as just
noticed, not merely a post or stronghold, indicated by its name, but a
vast enclosure containing most of the palatial as well as the defensive
buildings, and ample enough to contain all the Europeans usually
residing in the city and its vicinity—large enough in dimensions, strong
enough in defences, provided a sufficient supply of food were stored
within its walls. Here, as at Delhi, Lucknow, Allahabad, and other
places, the due understanding of the mutinous proceedings requires an
appreciation of this fact—that the _city_, the _fort_, and the
_cantonment_ were all distinct.
Agra, being the seat of government for the Northwest Provinces, was
naturally the city to which the Calcutta authorities looked for
information touching the Revolt; and Mr Colvin, the lieutenant-governor,
was assiduously engaged in collecting details, so far as telegraphs and
dâks permitted. On the night of the 10th of May he received sinister
news from the postmaster at Meerut, telling of deeds of violence being
at that moment committed. Next he heard that a young sepoy, mounted on a
travelling troop-horse, was stopped at Bolundshuhur, on suspicion of
being _en route_ to excite other sepoy regiments to rebellion. On the
13th, it was ascertained that a few sepoys were on their way from Meerut
through Allygurh to Agra, bent on mischief; and that others were
supposed to be advancing from Delhi. So little, however, did Mr Colvin
apprehend serious results, that when Scindiah, the maharajah of Gwalior,
came forward to offer his body-guard of three hundred men, and a battery
of artillery, as an aid to the Company, the governor accepted the offer
as ‘a personal compliment for a short time;’ but in the same message
saying, ‘though we really do not require more troops.’ This was
obviously said on the supposition that the native troops in and near
Agra would not be affected by the rebellious epidemic prevailing further
northward; a supposition destined to be sadly overturned. Nevertheless
the government made arrangements for placing at the disposal of Mr
Colvin two regiments of irregular horse from regions further west. Day
after day did evidence arrive shewing that the various districts around
were gradually becoming disturbed. On the 15th, the governor reviewed
the native regiments in Agra, and, finding them deeply impressed with a
conviction that the government intended in some way to degrade their
caste, gave them the most positive assurance that they had been grossly
deceived by such reports. He believed his explanation to have given
satisfaction.
Towards the close of the month a step was taken by Mr Colvin which
brought him into collision with his superiors in power. As
lieutenant-governor of the Northwest Provinces, surrounded on every side
by a teeming population, he wished to believe that the native troops as
a body would still remain faithful, and that an indulgent tone towards
them would effect more than severity to bring the erring back to a sense
of their duty. It was not a thoughtless proceeding: if wrong, the
mistake arose from the estimate formed of the native character, and of
the effect which indulgence would produce. ‘Hope,’ he said, in a letter
to the governor-general, ‘I am firmly convinced, should be held out to
all those who were not ringleaders or actually concerned in murder and
violence. Many are in the rebels’ ranks because they could not get away;
many certainly thought we were tricking them out of their caste; and
this opinion is held, however unwisely, by the mass of the population,
and even by some of the more intelligent classes.’ When he found some of
the troopers of the Gwalior Contingent, on whose fidelity much reliance
had been placed, become mutinous on the 24th of May, he resolved on
issuing a proclamation, based on the supposition that ‘this mutiny was
not one to be put down by indiscriminating high-horsed authority.’ The
pith of his proclamation was contained in these words: ‘Soldiers,
engaged in the late disturbances, who are desirous of going to their own
homes, and who give up their arms at the nearest government civil or
military post, and retire quietly, shall be permitted to do so
unmolested.’’ To this another sentence was added, in a less prominent
form: ‘Every evil-minded instigator in the disturbances, and those
guilty of heinous crimes against private persons, shall be punished.’ Mr
Colvin earnestly solicited the assent of the Calcutta government to this
proclamation; but the assent was as earnestly withheld. Viscount Canning
telegraphed orders back to Agra to recall the proclamation as quickly as
possible, and to substitute another sent for that purpose. ‘Use every
possible means to stop the circulation of the proclamation ... do
everything to stop its operation.’ Mr Colvin was obliged to announce the
abrogation of his own proclamation by a second which contained these
words: ‘Every soldier of a regiment which, although it has deserted its
post, has not committed outrages, will receive free pardon if he
immediately deliver up his arms to the civil or military authority, and
if no heinous crimes be shewn to have been perpetrated by himself
personally. This offer of free and unconditional pardon _cannot be
extended to those regiments which have killed or wounded their officers
or other persons, or which have been concerned in the commission of
cruel outrages_.’ Mr Colvin wished to pardon all who would give up their
arms, except a few ringleaders, and persons individually engaged in
outrage; while Viscount Canning wished to exempt from this pardon such
regiments as had been engaged in the murderous atrocities at Meerut,
Delhi, and elsewhere. General Anson, the commander-in-chief, died before
his opinion could be sought; but the Calcutta government, and (at a
later date) the British government and the British public, agreed with
the governor-general. Mr Colvin was placed in a most perplexing
position; for he was called upon to overturn his own proceedings,
thereby departing from a plan which he believed adequate for the purpose
in view, and weakening his authority in the eyes of the natives. Canning
telegraphed to Colvin: ‘The embarrassment in which your proclamation
will place the government and the commander-in-chief is very great;’
while Colvin telegraphed to Canning: ‘Openly to undo my public act,
where really no substantial change is made, would fatally shake my power
for good.’ Brigadier Sibbald, commanding the Rohilcund division, with
Bareilly for his head-quarters, joined Mr Colvin in opinion on this
matter; he said: ‘Were the men under my command fully convinced that
_the past should be forgotten_, I feel assured their loyalty and good
conduct may be relied upon.’ The general tendency of opinion has been
that stern measures were necessary at that crisis; but it was
unquestionably infelicitous that these contradictory views should have
been held at such a time in high quarters.
Mr Colvin, perpetually harassed with the accounts daily received from
the various important towns included in his government, was nevertheless
secure at Agra itself until towards the close of the month of May. Then,
however, he found stern measures necessary. Having two regiments of
native infantry with him, the 44th and the 67th, he sent two companies,
one of each regiment, to Muttra (on the Delhi road), to bring down
treasure to Agra. On the road, they mutinied, murdered some of their
officers, and hastened to join the insurgents at Delhi. Mr Colvin at
once resolved to disarm the remaining companies of those regiments: this
he was enabled to do by the presence of the 3d Europeans and Captain
D’Oyley’s European field-battery; and the disarming was quietly effected
on the 1st of June. Shortly afterwards, a corps of volunteer horse was
raised among the Europeans at Agra, and placed under the command of
Lieutenant Greathed—one of three brothers at that time actively engaged
in the Company’s service. This corps rendered good service by putting
down rebellious petty chieftains in the neighbourhood. Mr Colvin felt
the full weight of his position; the governor-general was far from him
in one direction, Sir John Lawrence far in another; while Sir Henry
Lawrence had no troops to spare, and the commander-in-chief could
scarcely be heard of.
The great Mahratta stronghold, Gwalior, did not become a scene of mutiny
until June; we therefore need not notice the city or its chief,
Scindiah, in this place; but by following the fortunes of a portion of
the Gwalior Contingent, a regiment of irregular horse, we shall learn
much concerning the state of the country round Agra, and of the active
services required from the English officers. Mr Colvin having accepted
the proffered services of the contingent from the maharajah, Lieutenant
Cockburn received orders to head half the regiment, together with a
battery of guns. He started on the 13th of May from Gwalior, and
accomplished the distance of ninety miles to Agra by the 15th, without
knocking up man or horse. On the 18th, news arrived that troubles had
broken out at Allygurh, fifty-five miles north of Agra, and that the
services of the contingent were necessary for the protection of the
ladies and the civilians. Cockburn with his troopers marched thirty-four
miles to Hattrass on that day, and the remaining twenty-one miles on the
19th—seeking shelter from the tremendous mid-day heat in any dilapidated
building that might offer; and each officer keeping in store his only
clean shirt ‘to meet the fugitive ladies from Allygurh.’ What he saw,
and what he had yet to see, at Allygurh, was serious enough. This town
was destined to affect the operations of the British, not so much by its
intrinsic importance, as by its position on one of the great lines of
route between the eastern and western provinces of India. Allygurh
commands the road from Agra to Meerut; and thus, in hostile hands, it
would necessarily add to the difficulties attending the temporary loss
of Delhi; seeing that the road both to Simla and to Lahore would thus be
interrupted. The town is so surrounded by marshes and shallow pools, as
to be almost unassailable in the rainy season. The fort consists of a
regular polygon, with a broad and very deep ditch outside; it was of
simple construction at the time of its capture by the British in 1803,
but has since been much strengthened and improved. The military
cantonment, the civil establishments, and the bazaar, are situated
towards Coel, a little southward of the fort. At the beginning of the
troubles in May, Allygurh was under the care of Mr Watson, as magistrate
and collector. There were in the place, at the time, the head-quarters
and three or four companies of the 9th regiment B. N. I.: the remainder
of the regiment being in detachments at Minpooree, Etawah, and
Bolundshuhur, towns further to the southeast. The troops at Allygurh
behaved well and steadily during the first half of the month; but
gradually a change supervened. A spy was one day caught endeavouring to
excite the men. Lieutenant Cockburn, in a private letter, thus narrates
the manner—quite melodramatic in its way—in which this villain was
foiled: ‘An influential Brahmin of this neighbourhood having been seen
lurking about the lines for the past day or two, a native
non-commissioned officer concealed a number of sepoys, and induced the
Brahmin to accompany him to where the men lay hidden; under pretence of
its being a secluded spot where they might safely concert matters. The
Brahmin then made overtures to the soldier, and told him that if he
would persuade the men of the regiment to mutiny, he would furnish two
thousand men to assist in murdering the Europeans and plundering the
treasury. At a preconcerted signal, the sepoys jumped up and secured the
ruffian.’ He was hanged the same day. The troops at Bolundshuhur, really
or affectedly expressing horror at the hanging of a Brahmin, marched to
Allygurh, and, on the 20th, succeeded in inducing their companions to
mutiny. This result was so wholly unforeseen, the 9th had hitherto
behaved so well, and had displayed such alacrity in capturing the
treacherous Brahmin, that neither the civilians nor the English officers
were prepared to resist it. Cockburn at first intended to dash at them
with his troopers; but the approaching darkness, and other
considerations—possibly a doubt concerning the troopers themselves—led
to a change of plan. ‘One holy duty remained to be performed—to save the
ladies and children. This we accomplished; and whilst they were being
put into carriages, we shewed a front to the mutineers, and hindered
their advance. An occasional bullet whistled by our heads, but it was
too dark for taking aim. One man was shot through the wrist, and five
are missing. We then heard that the inhabitants were rising, so we
determined on retreating. The ladies were sent on direct to Agra, and we
went on to Hattrass. We had not gone far, when the bright light behind
us told too plainly that the cantonment was in flames.’ The civilians
and the officers of the 9th lost all except their horses and the clothes
on their backs. Allygurh remained for a considerable time in the hands
of the insurgents: almost cutting off communication between the
southeast and the northwest.
While the refugees remained in safety at Hattrass, the troopers scoured
the country to put down marauders and murderers—for it was a saturnalia
of lawlessness. On the 21st, many of the ruffians were captured, and
speedily hanged. On the 22d, two headmen of neighbouring villages joined
the marauders in an attack on some English refugees, but were
frustrated. On the 23d, Cockburn and his troop galloped off from
Hattrass to Sarsnee, and rescued eighteen refugees from Allygurh. ‘Poor
people! They have sad tales to tell. One indigo planter, Mr ——, has had
one son murdered; another son, his wife, and himself, are wounded. His
house and all he possessed have been destroyed. The very clothes were
torn from their backs; and even the poor women, naked and bleeding,
insulted and abused, had to walk many miles. At length they received
shelter from a kind-hearted native banker in the village where I found
them; but even there the house in which they were sheltered was twice
attacked.’ The good Samaritan—for there were some good and kind amid all
the villainies that surrounded them—gave two or three sheets to the poor
sufferers, to cover their nakedness, and to enable them to proceed to
Hattrass.
The 24th of May shewed how little the Gwalior troopers could be depended
upon. Of two hundred and thirty that had been intrusted to Lieutenant
Cockburn, a hundred and twenty suddenly mutinied, and galloped off to
join the insurgents at Delhi. As the villagers began to shew symptoms of
attacking him in his weakness, and as a hundred and ten troopers still
stuck by their colours, he marched off that night nineteen miles from
Hattrass to Kundowlie. On the road, the troopers told the lieutenant of
many little grievances that had affected them at Gwalior, and that had
partly led to the mutiny of the rest of their body; and he felt grateful
that some at least of the number had remained true. During the remainder
of the month, and in the early part of June, this diminished body of
troopers was incessantly engaged in skirmishing, attacking, or resisting
attacks; the country around being in such a frightful state, that a
dozen villages were sometimes seen in flames at once—the work of
desperadoes, who took advantage of a time of anarchy. On one occasion,
Cockburn baffled a horde of scoundrels by a capital stratagem. They had
collected to the number of about five hundred, and were plundering every
one on the road in a shameful manner. The lieutenant went after them
with fifty troopers. He sent four of his men in a bullock-cart, a
curtained vehicle such as women usually ride in. When the marauders saw
this, they made a rush for plunder, and perhaps something worse,
believing the cart to contain defenceless women; they approached, but
the four men jumped up, fired their muskets, and by that signal brought
Cockburn and his party forward. An exciting chase ensued, which ended in
the death of fifty of the marauders, and the capture of many others.
The 9th native regiment, it will be remembered, was quartered in four
detachments at Allygurh, Minpooree, Etawah, and Bolundshuhur. At all
four places the troops mutinied. At Etawah and Bolundshuhur, the course
of events was not so exciting as at Allygurh, although amply sufficient
to try the tact and courage of the few officers and civilians stationed
at those places. Minpooree, on the road from Agra to Furruckabad, was,
however, the scene of so smart an affair, that the governor-general,
amid all his harassing employments, made it a matter of special comment.
The officer chiefly concerned was Lieutenant de Kantzow; the date was
May the 23d, when three companies of the 9th broke out into revolt. On
the night of the 22d, news arrived that the chief portion of the
regiment had mutinied at Allygurh, and it thence became at once doubtful
whether the three companies at Minpooree could be depended upon. The
magistrate and the collector of the district, acting with Lieutenant
Crawford, resolved on removing all the English women and children for
safety to Agra: this was done, promptly and successfully. A plan was
agreed on, relating to the three companies of native troops on the
morrow; but the sepoys anticipated this plan by mutinying at four in the
morning, and endeavouring to shoot down their officers. They loaded
themselves with a great store of ammunition, and tried—first to bring
down their officers, and then to plunder the treasury and the bungalows.
Lieutenant de Kantzow, second in command under Crawford, confronted them
undauntedly, reasoned with them, and endeavoured to stop them in their
mad career. Some of the men, attached to the chivalrous officer, dashed
down several muskets levelled at him, and saved his life. But a terrible
scene occurred at the treasury. De Kantzow, with a mere handful of
ill-armed jail-guards and jail-officials, maintained a three hours’
struggle against three companies of fully armed troops. The commandant
had gone off; the collector also had made a hasty escape, deeming the
magistrate’s conduct ‘romantic’ in remaining behind; and thus De Kantzow
was left to do the best he could at the treasury, the magistrate
elsewhere. De Kantzow sent a hasty message, requesting the magistrate
_not_ to come to the treasury, as it would make one European the more
for the sepoys to yell at and attack. How long the unequal struggle
would have been maintained, cannot be said; but the magistrate found an
influential native, Ras Bhowanee Singh, willing and able to visit the
excited sepoys, and induce them to desist from further violence. They
did so: they decamped with a good deal of property, but _without_ three
lacs of rupees deposited in the treasury, and without taking one English
life. Right indeed was it that De Kantzow should receive the thanks of
the government;[14] for if he had flinched, Minpooree with its twenty
thousand inhabitants would have been at the mercy of three hundred
brutal armed men, ready to plunder natives as well as Feringhees.
It was about one week after this event that Captain Carey, of the 17th
B. N. I., rode into Minpooree, the only remaining one of four English
officers who had been endeavouring to render useful service in the
neighbourhood. They were at the head of a small body of native cavalry.
The sowars suddenly turned upon them in an open road. Major Hayes,
military secretary to Sir Henry Lawrence—a great oriental scholar and
most able officer, whom General Wheeler had just before solicited Sir
Henry to send him, to open the communications with Agra—was instantly
cut down with a sword, his head frightfully hacked, his right hand cut
off, his left mutilated. Another, Lieutenant Fayers, had his head nearly
severed from his body by a dastardly villain, while the unfortunate
young officer was drinking at a well. An old Sikh rushed forward to
prevent the atrocity, but was repelled with the words: ‘What! are you
with these Kaffirs? Look to yourself!’ Lieutenant Barber, adjutant of
the 2d irregular cavalry, made an attempt to escape, but was shot down,
cut to pieces, robbed, and left dead. The fourth, Captain Carey, trusted
to the heels of his good horse; on he galloped over fields and roads,
followed by a troop of blood-thirsty miscreants, yelling and firing as
they rode. Happily, just as his steed was about to sink through
exhaustion, his pursuers gave up the chase. He reached Minpooree in
safety; and on the 1st of June, followed the mangled remains of his
three poor companions to the grave.
Another exploit connected with Minpooree shall be given in the words of
Lieutenant de Kantzow, affording as it does one among many examples of
the extraordinary risks to which the officers were exposed at that
turbulent period, and of the rattling, quick-witted, fearless,
persevering way in which such dangers were met, and afterwards described
in the letters written to friends at home—letters that admit the reader
behind the scenes in a way not possible in official dispatches: ‘I was
returning from reconnoitring, when information was brought me that five
troopers of the 7th light cavalry (native) were coming along the road.
An immediate pursuit was of course ordered by me, and my thirty-nine
troopers tore away at full speed after them. I was just coming up to
them, and had already let drive among the murdering villains; when, lo!
I came upon two hundred of their comrades, all armed with swords, and
some with carbines. A smart fire was kept up at a distance of not more
than twenty-five yards. What could thirty-nine do against two hundred
regular troopers, well horsed and armed—particularly when walked into by
the bullets of a hundred of the infantry! I ordered a retreat, but my
cavalry could not get away from troopers mounted upon good stud-bred
horses; so we were soon overtaken, and then commenced the shindy in
earnest. Twelve troopers surrounded me: the first, a Mohammedan priest,
I shot through the breast just as he was cutting me down. This was my
only pistol, so I was helpless as regards weapons, save my sword; this
guarded off a swingeing cut given me by number two, as also another by
number three; but the fun could not last. I bitterly mourned not having
a couple of revolvers, for I could have shot every man. My sword was cut
down, and I got a slash on the head that blinded me; another on the arm
that glanced and only took a slice off; the third caught me on the side,
but also glanced and hit me sideways. I know not how I escaped: God only
knows, as twelve against one were fearful odds, especially as I was
mounted on a pony bare back. Escape, however, I did.’ Twenty-four out of
his thirty-nine troopers were killed, wounded, or missing.
The region lately noticed, including the towns of Allygurh, Hattrass,
Etawah, Minpooree, &c., was formerly included in Rohilcund, or the land
of the Rohillas; but according to the territorial or political division
adopted by the Company, it is now partly in the Meerut division, and
partly in that of Agra; while the present Rohilcund division is wholly
on the left bank of the Ganges. These technical distinctions are,
however, a matter of very little importance in connection with the
progress of the Revolt; for the insubordinate sepoys tempted and
imitated each other wholly in disregard of mere conventional boundaries.
We must now follow the stream of insurrection across the Ganges, and
shew how deplorable was the anarchy, how sad the sufferings, that began
there towards the close of May.
The districts of Rohilcund in its modern or limited sense are Bareilly,
Boodayoun or Budaon, Shahjehanpoor, Mooradabad, and Bijnour, each named
after a chief town; and not only were the whole of these towns more or
less disturbed, but throughout the intervening country the military
cantonments were set into a flame—figuratively and often literally. In
some instances the civil servants of the Company, chiefly magistrates
and revenue collectors, made their escape with their wives and children,
leaving the mutineers to occupy the stations and pillage the treasuries;
in others the civil servants, led by one of their number possessing tact
and resolution, held the marauders at bay until assistance could be
procured; while in many cases the English officers of native regiments,
as well as the civilians, yielded—by flight or by death—only after a
determined resistance.
Two of the towns above named, Bareilly and Boodayoun, will suffice at
present to illustrate the state of affairs in Rohilcund. Sunday, as we
have often had occasion to observe, was a favourite day for the native
outbreaks; and it was on Sunday the 31st of May that the miseries at
Bareilly began. The 18th and 68th regiments N. I. were cantoned there.
The bungalow of Colonel Troup was suddenly surrounded by two companies
of his own regiment, the 68th: and it was only by a hasty exit through a
side-door that he escaped death. During many previous days and nights
the troops had been in a rebellious state; the English, civilians and
military, had slept in their clothes, with pistols ready loaded, and
horses kept ready saddled. The ladies had all been sent up for safety to
Nynee Tal; and thus, when the struggle arose, the officers had only
themselves to protect. This word ‘ladies,’ however, is to be interpreted
in its conventional sense; for many women in a humbler grade of life,
together with their children, remained in the town; and among these some
deplorable scenes occurred. The members of one family were brought
before a ruthless fellow who assumed some kind of authority; and in a
very few minutes their heads were severed from their bodies. At the same
time, Mr Robertson the judge, two medical men, the professors of the
college, and others, were subjected to a mock trial and publicly hanged.
The mutinous sepoys took aim in the most deliberate way at their
officers, while the latter were fleeing; Mr Alexander, commissioner of
Bareilly, though ill at the time, was forced to mount his horse and
gallop off as the only means of saving his life, amid a shower of
bullets and grape-shot—for the treacherous villains not only used
muskets and rifles, but fired grape from the cannon. Many of the
gentlemen rode off in haste without any head-coverings, the rays of an
Indian sun pouring down upon them in full force. When the English were
driven out, the Mohammedans and Hindoos began to fight fiercely against
each other for possession of the treasure—one among many indications
that plunder was at least as strong a desire as revenge in impelling the
natives to deeds of violence.
The name of Nynee Tal is mentioned in the above paragraph; and it may be
well to understand on what ground that town was so often named with
earnest solicitude by officers engaged in arduous struggles in various
parts of the north of India. Nynee Tal is a healthy spot on the banks of
a beautiful lake, a few miles from Almora in Kumaon, and not far from
the Nepaulese border: indeed it belonged to the Goorkhas of Nepaul until
recent times, when it was conquered from them by the British; since
which occurrences the late owners have been friendly neighbours within
their own territory of Nepaul. Nynee Tal became a second Simla during
the disturbances. Women and children, if their lives were spared at the
scenes of tumult, were hurried off to the places just named, and to one
or two other towns among the hills—there to remain till days of peace
returned, or till means of safe conveyance to Calcutta or Bombay could
be procured. When the troubles in Rohilcund commenced; when Bareilly and
Boodayoun, Mooradabad and Shahjehanpoor, fell into the hands of the
rebels—all fled to Nynee Tal who could. Captain Ramsey, commanding at
that town, at once made arrangements for protecting the poor fugitives;
he formed the gentlemen of the station into a militia, who took it in
turn to fulfil the duties of an armed patrol, to keep in order the
dacoits and other ruffians in the neighbourhood; he laid in a store of
three months’ provisions for all the mouths in the place; and he armed
the station and the roads with companies of a Goorkha regiment. These
Goorkhas, it may be well here to explain, are of Mongol origin, but
smaller and darker than the real Chinese. They belong to Nepaul, and
first became familiar to the British by their resolute soldierly
qualities during the Nepaulese war. Although Hindoos by religion, they
have little or nothing of caste prejudice, and sympathise but slightly
with the Hindoos of the plains. Being natives of a somewhat poor
country, they have shewn a readiness in recent years to accept Company’s
pay as auxiliary troops; and it was a very important fact to those
concerned in quelling the revolt, that the Goorkhas manifested a
disposition rather to remain faithful to their British paymasters, than
to join the standard of rapine and murder.
Bareilly, we have just seen, was one of the towns from which fugitive
ladies were sent for safety to Nynee Tal; and now the town of Boodayoun,
on the road from Agra to Bareilly, comes for notice under similar
conditions. Considering that the course of public events often receives
illustration of a remarkable kind from the experience of single
individuals, we shall treat the affairs of Boodayoun in connection with
the strange adventures of one of the Company’s civil servants—adventures
not so deeply distressing as those of the fugitives from Delhi, but
continued during a much longer period, and bringing to light a much
larger number of facts connected with the feelings and position of the
natives in the disturbed districts. The wanderer, Mr Edwards, collector
of the Boodayoun district, was more than _three months_ in reaching
Cawnpore from Boodayoun—a distance scarcely over a hundred miles by
road. About the middle of May, the districts on both sides of the Ganges
becoming very disturbed, Mr Edwards sent his wife and child for refuge
to Nynee Tal. He was the sole European officer in charge of the
Boodayoun district, and felt his anxieties deepen as rumours reached him
of disturbances in other quarters. At the end of the month, news of the
revolt at Bareilly added to his difficulties; for the mutineers and a
band of liberated prisoners were on their way from that place to
Boodayoun. Mr Edwards expresses his opinion that the mutiny was
aggravated by the laws, or the course adopted by the civil courts,
concerning landed property. Landed rights and interests were sold by
order of the courts for petty debts; they were bought by strangers, who
had no particular sympathy with the people; and the old landowners,
regarded with something like affection by the peasantry, were thrown
into a discontented state. Evidence was soon afforded that these
dispossessed landowners joined the mutineers, not from a political
motive, but to seize hold of their old estates during a time of turmoil
and violence. ‘The danger now is, that they can never wish to see the
same government restored to power; fearing, as they naturally must, that
they will have again to give up possession of their estates.’ This
subject, of landed tenure in India, will call for further illustration
in future pages, in relation to the condition of the people.
[Illustration:
Nynee Tal—a refuge for European fugitives.
]
Narrowly escaping peril himself, Mr Edwards, on the 1st of June, saw
that flight was his only chance. There were two English indigo-planters
in the neighbourhood, together with another European, who determined to
accompany him wherever he went, thinking their safety would be thereby
increased. This embarrassed him, for friendly natives who might shelter
one person, would probably hesitate to receive four; and so it proved,
on several occasions. He started off on horseback, accompanied by the
other three, and by a faithful Sikh servant, Wuzeer Singh, who never
deserted him through all his trials. The worldly wealth of Mr Edwards at
this moment consisted of the clothes on his back, a revolver, a watch, a
purse, and a New Testament. During the first few days they galloped from
village to village, just as they found the natives favourable or
hostile; often forced to flee when most in need of food and rest. They
crossed the Ganges two or three times, tracing out a strange zigzag in
the hope of avoiding dangers. The wanderers then made an attempt to
reach Futteghur. They suffered much, and one life was lost, in this
attempt; the rest, after many days, reached Futteghur, where Mr Probyn
was the Company’s collector. Native troops were mutinying, or consulting
whether to mutiny; Europeans were departing; and it soon became evident
that Futteghur would no longer be a place of safety either for Probyn or
for Edwards. Flight again became necessary, and under more anxious
circumstances, for a lady and four children were to be protected; but
how to flee, and whither, became anxious questions. Day after day
passed, before a friendly native could safely plan an escape for them by
boat; enemies and marauders were on every side; and at last the danger
became so imminent that it was resolved to cross the Ganges, and seek an
asylum in a very desolate spot, out of the way of the mutineers. Here
was presented a curious exemplification of ‘lucky’ and ‘unlucky’ days as
viewed by the natives. ‘A lucky day having been found for our start,’
says Mr Edwards, ‘we were to go when the moon rose; but this moon-rise
was not till three o’clock on the morning after that fixed for the
start. This the Thakoors were not at first aware of. I was wakened about
eleven o’clock by one of them, who said that the fact had just come to
his knowledge, and that it was necessary that something belonging to us
should start at once, as this would equally secure the lucky influence
of the day, even though we ourselves should not start till next morning.
A _table-fork_ was accordingly given him, with which he went off quite
satisfied, and which was sent by a bearer towards the village we were to
proceed to.’ Under the happy influence of this table-fork, the wanderers
set forth by night, Mrs Probyn and her children riding on an elephant,
and the men walking on roads almost impassable with mud. They reached
the stream; they crossed in a boat; they walked some distance amid
torrents of rain, Mr Edwards ‘carrying poor baby;’ and then they reached
the village, Runjpoonah, destined for their temporary home. What a home
it was! ‘The place intended for the Probyns was a wretched hovel
occupied by buffaloes, and filthy beyond expression, the smell stifling,
and the mud and dirt over our ankles. My heart sank within me as I laid
down my little charge on a charpoy.’ By the exercise of ingenuity, an
extemporaneous chamber was fitted up in the roof. During a long sojourn
here in the rainy season, Mr Edwards wrote a letter to his wife at Nynee
Tal, under the following odd circumstances: ‘I had but a small scrap of
paper on which to write my two notes, and just the stump of a
lead-pencil: we had neither pens nor ink. In the middle of my writing,
the pencil-point broke; and when I commenced repointing it, the whole
fell out, there being just a speck of lead left. I was in despair; but
was fortunately able to refix the atom, and to finish two short
notes—about an inch square each: it was all the man could conceal about
him. I then steeped the notes in a little milk, and put them out to dry
in the sun. At once a crow pounced on one and carried it off, and I of
course thought it was lost for ever. Wuzeer Singh, however, saw and
followed the creature, and recovered the note after a long chase.’
Several weeks passed; ‘poor baby’ died; then an elder child—both sinking
under the privations they had had to endure: their anxious mother, with
all her tender solicitude, being unable further to preserve them. Mr
Edwards, who was one of those that thought the annexation of Oude an
unwise measure, said, in relation to a rumour that Oude had been
restored to its king: ‘I would rejoice at such an equitable measure at
another time; but now it would be, if true, a sign of a falling cause
and of great weakness, which is I fear our real case.’ On another
occasion, he heard ‘more rumours that the governor-general and the King
of Oude had arrived at Cawnpore; and that Oude is then formally to be
made over to the king.’ Whether Oudians or not, everywhere he found the
Mohammedans more hostile to the British than the Hindoos; and in some
places the two bodies of religionists fought with each other. After many
more weeks of delays and disappointments, the fugitives were started off
down the Ganges to Cawnpore. In effecting this start, the ‘lucky-day’
principle was again acted on. ‘The astrologer had fixed an hour for
starting. As it was not possible for us to go at the fortunate moment
and secure the advantage, a shirt of mine and some garments of those who
were to accompany me, were forwarded to a village some way on the road,
which is considered equivalent to ourselves starting.’ Half-a-dozen
times on their voyage were they in danger of being shot by hostile
natives on shore; but the fidelity and tact of the natives who had
befriended them carried them through all their perils. At length they
reached Cawnpore on the 1st of September, just three calendar months
after Mr Edwards took his hasty departure from Boodayoun.
This interesting train of adventures we have followed to its close, as
illustrating so many points connected with the state of India at the
time; but now attention must be brought back to the month of May.
West of the Rohilcund district, and northwest of Allygurh and its
neighbouring cluster of towns, lie Meerut and Delhi, the two places at
which the atrocities were first manifested. Meerut, after the departure
of the three mutinous regiments on the night of the 10th of May, and the
revolt of the Sappers and Miners a few days afterwards, remained
unmolested. Major-general Hewett was too strong in European troops to be
attacked, although his force took part in many operations against the
rebels elsewhere. Several prisoners, proved to have been engaged in the
murderous work of the 10th, were hanged. On the other hand, many sowars
of the 3d native cavalry, instead of going to Delhi, spread terror among
the villagers near Meerut. One of the last military dispatches of the
commander-in-chief was to Hewett, announcing his intention to send most
of his available troops from Kurnaul by Bhagput and Paniput, to Delhi,
and requesting Hewett to despatch from Meerut an auxiliary force. This
force he directed should consist of two squadrons of carabiniers, a wing
of the 60th Rifles, a light field-battery, a troop of horse-artillery, a
corps of artillerymen to work the siege-train, and as many sappers as he
could depend upon. General Anson calculated that if he left Umballa on
the 1st of June, and if Hewett sent his force from Meerut on the 2d,
they might meet at Bhagput on the 5th, when a united advance might be
made upon Delhi; but, as we shall presently see, the hand of death
struck down the commander-in-chief ere this plan could be carried out;
and the force from Meerut was placed at the disposal of another
commander, under circumstances that will come under notice in their
proper place.
Delhi, like Cawnpore, must be treated apart from other towns. The
military proceedings connected with its recapture were so interesting,
and carried on over so long a period; it developed resources so
startlingly large among the mutineers, besieging forces so lamentably
small on the part of the British—that the whole will conveniently form a
subject complete in itself, to be treated when collateral events have
been brought up to the proper level. Suffice it at present to say, that
the mutineers over the whole of the north of India looked to the
retention of Delhi as their great stronghold, their rock of defence;
while the British saw with equal clearness that the recapture of that
celebrated city was an indispensable preliminary to the restoration of
their prestige and power in India. All the mutineers from other towns
either hastened to Delhi, or calculated on its support to their cause,
whatever that cause may have been; all the available British regiments,
on the other hand, few indeed as they were, either hastened to Delhi, or
bore it in memory during their other plans and proceedings.
Just at the time when the services of a military commander were most
needed in the regions of which Agra is the centre, and when it was
necessary to be in constant communication with the governor-general and
authorities, General Anson could not be heard of; he was supposed at
Calcutta to be somewhere between Simla and Delhi; but dâks and
telegraphs had been interfered with, and all remained in mystery as to
his movements. Lawrence at Lucknow, Ponsonby at Benares, Wheeler at
Cawnpore, Colvin at Agra, Hewett at Meerut, other commanders at
Allahabad, Dinapoor, and elsewhere—all said in effect: ‘We can hold our
own for a time, but not unless Delhi be speedily recaptured. Where is
the commander-in-chief?’ Viscount Canning sent messages in rapid
succession, during the second half of the month of May, entreating
General Anson to bring all his power to bear on Delhi as quickly as
possible. Duplicate telegrams were sent by different routes, in hopes
that one at least might reach its destination safely; and every telegram
told the same story—that British India was in peril so long as Delhi was
not in British hands, safe from murderers and marauders. Major-general
Sir Henry Barnard, military commander of the Umballa district, received
telegraphic news on the 11th of May of the outrages at Meerut and Delhi;
and immediately sent an aid-de-camp to gallop off with the information
to General Anson at Simla, seventy or eighty miles distant. The
commander-in-chief at once hastened from his retirement among the hills.
Simla, as was noticed in a former page, is one of the sanataria for the
English in India, spots where pure air and moderate temperature restore
to the jaded body some of the strength, and to the equally jaded spirits
some of the elasticity, which are so readily lost in the burning plains
further south. The poorer class among the Europeans cannot afford the
indulgence, for the cost is too great; but the principal servants of the
Company often take advantage of this health-restoring and invigorating
climate—where the average temperature of the year is not above 55° F.
The question has been frequently discussed, and is not without cogency,
whether the commander-in-chief acted rightly in remaining at that remote
spot during the first twenty weeks in the year, when so many suspicious
symptoms were observable among the native troops at Calcutta, Dumdum,
Barrackpore, Berhampore, Lucknow, Meerut, and Umballa. He could know
nothing of the occurrences at those places but what the telegraphic
wires and the postal dâks told him; nevertheless, if they told him the
truth, and _all_ the truth, it seems difficult to understand, unless
illness paralysed his efforts, why he, the chief of the army, remained
quiescent at a spot more than a thousand miles from Calcutta.
Startled by the news, the commander-in-chief quitted Simla, and hastened
to Umballa, the nearest military station on the great Indian highway. It
then became sensibly felt, both by Anson and Barnard, how insufficient
were the appliances at their disposal. The magazines at Umballa were
nearly empty of stores and ammunition; the reserve artillery-wagons were
at Phillour, eighty miles away; the native infantry were in a very
disaffected state; the European troops were at various distances from
Umballa; the commissariat officers declared it to be almost impossible
to move any body of troops, in the absence of necessary supplies for a
column in the field; and the medical officers dwelt on the danger of
marching troops in the hot season, and on the want of conveyance for
sick and wounded. In short, almost everything was wanting, necessary for
the operations of an army. The generals set to work, however; they
ordered the 2d European Fusiliers to hasten from Subathoo to Umballa;
the Nusseree Battalion to escort a siege-train and ammunition from
Phillour to Umballa; six companies of the Sappers and Miners to proceed
from Roorkee to Meerut; and the 4th Irregular Cavalry to hold themselves
in readiness at Hansi. Anson at the same time issued the general order,
already adverted to, inviting the native regiments to remain true to
their allegiance, explaining the real facts concerning the cartridges,
and reiterating the assurances of non-intervention with the religious
and caste scruples of the men. On the 17th there were more than seven
regiments of troops at Umballa—namely, the Queen’s 9th Lancers, the 4th
Light Cavalry Lancers, the Queen’s 75th foot, the 1st and 2d European
Fusiliers, the 5th and 60th native infantry, and two troops of European
horse-artillery; but the European regiments were all far short of their
full strength. Symptoms soon appeared that the 5th and 60th native
infantry were not to be relied upon for fidelity; and General Anson
thereupon strengthened his force at Umballa with such European regiments
as were obtainable. He was nevertheless in great perplexity how to shape
his course; for so many wires had been cut and so many dâks stopped,
that he knew little of the progress of events around Delhi and Agra.
Being new to India and Indian warfare, also, and having received his
appointment to that high command rather through political connections
than in reference to any experience derived from Asiatic campaigning, he
was dependent on those around him for suggestions concerning the best
mode of grappling with the difficulties that were presented. These
suggestions, in all probability, were not quite harmonious; for it has
long been known that, in circumstances of emergency, the civil and
military officers of the Company, viewing occurrences under different
aspects or from different points of view, often arrived at different
estimates as to the malady to be remedied, and at different suggestions
as to the remedy to be applied. At the critical time in question,
however, all the officers, civil as well as military, assented to the
conclusion that Delhi must be taken at any cost; and on the 21st of May,
the first division of a small but well-composed force set out from
Umballa on the road to Delhi. General Anson left on the 25th, and
arrived on the 26th at Kurnaul, to be nearer the scene of active
operations; but there death carried him off. He died of cholera on the
next day, the 27th of May.
With a governor-general a thousand miles away, the chief officers at and
near Kurnaul settled among themselves as best they could, according to
the rules of the service, the distribution of duties, until official
appointments could be made from Calcutta. Major-general Sir Henry
Barnard became temporary commander, and Major-general Reid second under
him. When the governor-general received this news, he sent for Sir
Patrick Grant, a former experienced adjutant-general of the Bengal army,
from Madras, to assume the office of commander-in-chief; but the
officers at that time westward of Delhi—Barnard, Reid, Wilson, and
others—had still the responsibility of battling with the rebels. Sir
Henry Barnard, as temporary chief, took charge of the expedition to
Delhi—with what results will be shewn in the proper place.
The regions lying west, northwest, and southwest of Delhi have this
peculiarity, that they are of easier access from Bombay or from Kurachee
than from Calcutta. Out of this rose an important circumstance in
connection with the Revolt—namely, the practicability of the employment
of the Bombay native army to confront the mutinous regiments belonging
to that of Bengal. It is difficult to overrate the value of the
difference between the two armies. Had they been formed of like
materials, organised on a like system, and officered in a like ratio,
the probability is that the mutiny would have been greatly increased in
extent—the same motives, be they reasonable or unreasonable, being alike
applicable to both armies. Of the degree to which the Bombay regiments
shewed fidelity, while those of Bengal unfurled the banner of rebellion,
there will be frequent occasions to speak in future pages. The subject
is only mentioned here to explain why the western parts of India are not
treated in the present chapter. There were, it is true, disturbances at
Neemuch and Nuseerabad, and at various places in Rajpootana, the
Punjaub, and Sinde; but these will better be treated in later pages, in
connection rather with Bombay than with Calcutta as head-quarters.
Enough has been said to shew over how wide an area the taint of
disaffection spread during the month of May—to break out into something
much more terrible in the next following month.
Notes.
_Indian Railways._—An interesting question presents itself, in
connection with the subject of the present chapter—Whether the
Revolt would have been _possible_ had the railways been completed?
The rebels, it is true, might have forced up or dislocated the
rails, or might have tampered with the locomotives. They might, on
the other hand, if powerfully concentrated, have used the railways
for their own purposes, and thus made them am auxiliary to
rebellion. Nevertheless, the balance of probability is in favour of
the government—that is, the government would have derived more
advantage than the insurgents from the existence of railways between
the great towns of India. The difficulties, so great as to be almost
insuperable, in transporting troops from one place to another, have
been amply illustrated in this and the preceding chapters; we have
seen how dâk and palanquin bearers, bullocks and elephants, ekahs
and wagons, Ganges steamers and native boats, were brought into
requisition, and how painfully slow was the progress made. The 121
miles of railway from Calcutta to Raneegunge were found so useful,
in enabling the English soldiers to pass swiftly over the first part
of their journey, that there can hardly be a doubt of the important
results which would have followed an extension of the system. Even
if a less favourable view be taken in relation to Bengal and the
Northwest Provinces, the advantages would unquestionably have been
on the side of the government in the Bombay and Madras presidencies,
where disaffection was shewn only in a very slight degree; a few
days would have sufficed to send troops from the south of India by
rail, _viâ_ Bombay and Jubbulpoor to Mirzapore, in the immediate
vicinity of the regions where their services were most needed.
Although the Raneegunge branch of the East Indian Railway was the
only portion open in the north of India, there was a section of the
main line between Allahabad and Cawnpore nearly finished at the time
of the outbreak. This main line will nearly follow the course of the
Ganges, from Calcutta up to Allahabad; it will then pass through the
Doab, between the Ganges and the Jumna, to Agra; it will follow the
Jumna from Agra up to Delhi; and will then strike off northwestward
to Lahore—to be continued at some future time through the Punjaub to
Peshawur. During the summer of 1857, the East India Company
prepared, at the request of parliament, an exact enumeration of the
various railways for which engineering plans had been adopted, and
for the share-capital of which a minimum rate of interest had been
guaranteed by the government. The document gives the particulars of
about 3700 miles of railway in India; estimated to cost £30,231,000;
and for which a dividend is guaranteed to the extent of £20,314,000,
at a rate varying from 4½ to 5 per cent. The government also gives
the land, estimated to be worth about a million sterling. All the
works of construction are planned on a principle of solidity, not
cheapness; for it is expected they will all be remunerative.
Arrangements are everywhere made for a double line of rails—a single
line being alone laid down until the traffic is developed. The gauge
is nine inches wider than the ‘narrow gauge’ of English railways.
The estimated average cost is under £9000 per mile, about one-fourth
of the English average.
Leaving out of view, as an element impossible to be correctly
calculated, the amount of delay arising from the Revolt, the
government named the periods at which the several sections of
railway would probably be finished. Instead of shewing the
particular portions belonging respectively to the five railway
companies—the East Indian, the Great Indian Peninsula, the Bombay
and Central India, the Sinde, and the Madras—we shall simply arrange
the railways into two groups, north and south, and throw a few of
the particulars into a tabulated form.
NORTHERN INDIA.
_Railways._ _Lengths._ _Probable Time of Opening._
Miles.
Calcutta to 121 Opened in 1855.
Raneegunge,
Burdwan to 130 December 1859.
Rajmahal,
Rajmahal to 440 1860.
Allahabad,
Allahabad to 126 December 1857.
Cawnpore,
Cawnpore to Delhi, 260 October 1858 (excepting bridge at Agra
over the Jumna).
Mirzapore to 300 No date specified.
Jubbulpoor,
Jubbulpoor to 314 End of 1861.
Bhosawal,
Bhosawal to 125 December 1860.
Oomrawuttee,
Oomrawuttee to 138 March 1861.
Nagpoor,
Bhosawal to 241 October 1859.
Callian,
Callian to Bombay, 33 Opened in 1854.
Surat to 160 1858 and 1859.
Ahmedabad,
Kurachee to 120 October 1859.
Hydrabad,
SOUTHERN INDIA.
Bombay to Poonah, 124 February 1858.
Poonah to 165 1860.
Sholapore,
Sholapore to 101 End of 1861.
Kistnah,
Kistnah to Madras, 310 1861 and 1862.
Madras to Arcot, 65 Opened in 1856.
Arcot to 60 January 1858.
Variembaddy,
Madras to Beypore, 430 March 1859.
The plans for an Oude railway were drawn up, comprising three or
four lines radiating from Lucknow; but the project had not, at that
time, assumed a definite form.
* * * * *
_’Headman’ of a Village._—It frequently happened, in connection with
the events recorded in the present chapter, that the _headman_ of a
village either joined the mutineers against the British, or assisted
the latter in quelling the disturbances; according to the bias of
his inclination, or the view he took of his own interests. The
general nature of the village-system in India requires to be
understood before the significancy of the headman’s position can be
appreciated. Before the British entered India, private property in
land was unknown; the whole was considered to belong to the
sovereign. The country was divided, by the Mohammedan rulers, into
small holdings, cultivated each by a village community under a
headman; for which a rent was paid. For convenience of collecting
this rent or revenue, _zemindars_ were appointed, who either farmed
the revenues, or acted simply as agents for the ruling power. When
the Marquis of Cornwallis, as governor-general, made great changes
in the government of British India half a century ago, he modified,
among other matters, the zemindary; but the collection of revenue
remained.
Whether, as some think, villages were thus formed by the early
conquerors; or whether they were natural combinations of men for
mutual advantage—certain it is that the village-system in the plains
of Northern India was made dependent in a large degree on the
peculiar institution of caste. ‘To each man in a Hindoo village were
appointed particular duties which were exclusively his, and which
were in general transmitted to his descendants. The whole community
became one family, which lived together and prospered on their
public lands; whilst the private advantage of each particular member
was scarcely determinable. It became, then, the fairest as well as
the least troublesome method of collecting the revenue to assess the
whole village at a certain sum, agreed upon by the _tehsildar_
(native revenue collector) and the headman. This was exacted from
the latter, who, seated on the chabootra, in conjunction with the
chief men of the village, managed its affairs, and decided upon the
quota of each individual member. By this means, the exclusive
character of each village was further increased, until they have
become throughout nearly the whole of the Indian peninsula, little
republics; supplied, owing to the regulations of caste, with
artisans of nearly every craft, and almost independent of any
foreign relations.’[15]
Not only is the headman’s position and duties defined; but the whole
village may be said to be socially organised and parcelled out by
the singular operation of the caste principle. Each village manages
its internal affairs; taxes itself to provide funds for internal
expenses, as well as the revenue due to the state; decides disputes
in the first instance; and punishes minor offences. Officers are
selected for all these duties; and there is thus a local government
within the greater government of the paramount state. One man is the
scribe of the village; another, the constable or policeman; a third,
the schoolmaster; a fourth, the doctor; a fifth, the astrologer and
exorciser; and so of the musician, the carpenter, the smith, the
worker in gold or jewels, the tailor, the worker in leather, the
potter, the washerman—each considers that he has a prescriptive
right to the work in his branch done within the village, and to the
payment for that work; and each member of his family participates in
this prescriptive right. This village-system is so interwoven with
the habits and customs of the Hindoos, that it outlives all changes
going on around. Sir T. Metcalfe, who knew India well, said:
‘Dynasty after dynasty tumbles down; revolution succeeds to
revolution; Hindoo, Patan, Mogul, Mahratta, Sikh, English, are all
masters in turn; but the village community remains the same. In
times of trouble they arm and fortify themselves. If a hostile army
passes through the country, the village communities collect their
cattle within their walls, and let the enemy pass unprovoked. If
plunder and devastation be directed against themselves, and the
force employed be irresistible, they flee to friendly villages at a
distance; but when the storm has passed over, they return and resume
their occupations. If a country remain for a series of years the
scene of continued pillage and massacre, so that the village cannot
be inhabited, the scattered villages nevertheless return whenever
the power of peaceable possession revives. A generation may pass
away, but the succeeding generation will return. The sons will take
the places of their fathers; the same site for their village, the
same positions for the houses, the same lands will be reoccupied by
the descendants of those who were driven out when the village was
depopulated; and it is not a trifling matter that will drive them
out, for they will often maintain their post through times of
disturbance and convulsion, and acquire strength sufficient to
resist pillage and oppression with success. This union of the
village communities, each one forming a separate little state in
itself, has, I conceive, contributed more than any other cause to
the preservation of the people of India through all the revolutions
and changes which they have suffered.’[16]
It is easily comprehensible how, in village communities thus
compactly organised, the course of proceeding adopted by the headman
in any public exigency becomes of much importance; since it may be a
sort of official manifestation of the tendencies of the villagers
generally.
[Illustration:
Palanquin.
]
-----
Footnote 13:
The initials N. I., B. N. I., M. N. I., &c., are frequently used in
official documents as abbreviations of ‘Native Infantry,’ ‘Bengal
Native Infantry,’ ‘Madras Native Infantry,’ &c.
Footnote 14:
Viscount Canning, in a letter written on the 7th of June to Lieutenant
do Kantzow, said: ‘I have read the account of your conduct with an
admiration and respect I cannot adequately describe. Young in years,
and at the outset of your career, you have given to your
brother-soldiers a noble example of courage, patience, good judgment,
and temper, from which many may profit. I beg you to believe that it
will never be forgotten by me. I write this at once, that there may be
no delay in making known to you that your conduct has not been
overlooked. You will, of course, receive a more formal acknowledgment,
through the military department of the government, of your admirable
service.’
Footnote 15:
Irving: _Theory and Practice of Caste_.
[Illustration:
Parade-ground, Cawnpore.
]