CHAPTER XI.

CENTRAL REGIONS OF INDIA: JUNE.

In the political and territorial arrangements of the East India Company,

the name of Central India is somewhat vaguely employed to designate a

portion of the region lying between the Jumna and Bundelcund on the

northeast, and the Nizam’s territory and Gujerat on the southwest; a

designation convenient for general reading, without possessing any very

precise acceptation. In the present chapter, we shall change the

expression and enlarge the meaning so as to designate a belt of country

that really forms Central India in a geographical sense, extending from

Lower Bengal to Rajpootana, and separating Northern India from the

southern or peninsular portion of the empire. This will carry the

narrative into regions very little mentioned in former chapters—such as

Nagpoor, the Saugor and Nerbudda territories, Bundelcund and Rewah, the

Mahratta states and the Rajpoot states—regions that will be briefly

described, so far as to render the proceedings of the native troops

intelligible.

We begin with Nagpoor, a country now belonging to the British

government, and considerably larger than England and Wales.

This province was acquired, not so much by conquest, as by one of those

intricate arrangements concerning dynasty which have brought so many

native states under British rule. It is in general an elevated country,

containing many offshoots from the Vindhya range of mountains. Some

parts of it, towards the southeast, have never been explored by

Europeans, but are believed to be hilly, wooded, and full of jungles,

inhabited by the semi-barbarous tribe of Ghonds. The remainder is better

known and better cultivated; and being on the high road from Calcutta to

Bombay, possesses much political importance. The population exceeds four

millions and a half. Early in the last century, one of the Mahratta

chieftains conquered Nagpoor from the rajahs who had before governed it;

and he and his descendants, or other ambitious members of the Mahratta

family, continued to hold it as Rajahs of Nagpoor or Berar. Although

constantly fighting one with another, these Mahrattas were on fair terms

with the East India Company until 1803, when, unluckily for the

continuance of his rule, the native rajah joined Scindia in the war

against the British. As a consequence, when peace was restored in 1804,

he was forced to yield Cuttack and other provinces to the conquerors. In

1817, another Rajah of Nagpoor joined the Peishwa of the Mahrattas in

hostilities against the British—a course which led to his expulsion from

the raj, and to a further increase of British influence. Then followed a

period during which one rajah was imbecile, another under age, and many

unscrupulous chieftains sought to gain an ascendency one over another.

This was precisely the state of things which rendered the British

resident more and more powerful, setting up and putting down rajahs, and

allowing the competitors to weaken the whole native rule by weakening

each other. The history of British India may be almost told in such

words as these. At length, in 1853, the last rajah, Ragojee, died—not

only without heirs, but without any male relations who could support a

legitimate claim to the raj. Thereupon, the governor-general quietly

annexed this large country to the Company’s dominions. It will be

remembered (p. 4) that the Marquis of Dalhousie, in his minute,

despatched this subject in a very few lines; not asserting that the

British had actually any right to the country; but ‘wisely incorporated

it,’ as no one else could put in a legitimate claim for it, and as it

would have been imprudent ‘to bestow the territory in free gift upon a

stranger.’ The Nagpoor territory was placed under the management of a

commissioner, who was immediately subordinate to the governor-general in

council; seeing that the Bengal Presidency was already too large to have

this considerable country attached to it for governmental purposes.

At and soon after the time of the outbreak, there were the 1st regiment

irregular infantry, the Kamptee irregulars, an irregular horse-battery,

and a body of European gunners, stationed in the city of Nagpoor, or in

Kamptee, eleven miles distant; the 2d infantry and a detachment of the

1st were at Chandah; a detachment of the 1st at Bhandara; the chief

portion of the 3d at Rajpoor; and the remainder of the same regiment at

Bilaspoor. The arsenal, containing guns, arms, ammunition, and military

stores of every description; and the treasury of the province, with a

large amount of Company’s funds—were close to the city. Mr Plowden

filled the office of commissioner at that period. With a mere handful of

Europeans in the midst of a very extensive territory, he often trembled

in thought for the safety of his position, and of British interests

generally, in the region placed under his keeping. He had numerous

native troops with him, and a large city under his control; if anything

sinister should arise, he was far away from any extraneous aid—being

nearly six hundred miles distant from Madras, and still further from

Calcutta. But, whatever were his anxieties (and they were many), he put

on a calm bearing towards the natives of Nagpoor. This city, the capital

of the territory bearing the same name, is a dirty, irregular,

straggling place, nearly seven miles in circumference. Most of the

houses are mud-built; and even the palace of the late rajah is little

more than a clumsy pile of unfinished masonry. The city has become

rather famous for its banking business, and for its manufactures of

cottons, chintzes, turbans, silks, brocades, woollens, blankets,

tent-cloths, and other textile goods. The population exceeds a hundred

thousand. There is nothing of a military appearance about the city; but

whoever commands the Seetabuldee, commands Nagpoor itself. This

Seetabuldee is a hilly ridge close to the city on the west, having two

summits, the northern the higher, the southern the larger, but every

part overlooking the city, and fortified. Such being the topographical

position of his seat of government, Mr Plowden proceeded to disarm such

of his troops as excited disquietude in his mind, and to strengthen the

Seetabuldee. A corps of irregular cavalry shewed symptoms of disloyalty;

and indeed rumours were afloat that on a particular day the ascent of a

balloon was to be a signal for the revolt of the troops. Under these

circumstances, Mr Plowden arranged with Colonel Cumberlege, the

commandant, to disarm them on the morning of the 23d of June—the colonel

having the 4th regiment of Madras cavalry, on whom he fully relied, to

enforce the order for disbanding. The irregulars were paraded, mounted

and fully armed, to shew that the authorities were not afraid of them.

Mr Plowden having addressed them, they quietly gave up their arms and

their saddles, which were taken in carts to the arsenal; and thus six

hundred and fifty troopers were left with nothing but their bare horses,

and ropes to picket them. Some of the men and of the native officers

were arrested, and put on their trial for an attempt to excite mutiny.

The roll was called over every four hours, and every native soldier

absent, or found outside the lines without a pass, was treated as a

deserter. The 1st regiment irregular infantry assisted in the disarming

of the troopers. Following up the measures thus promptly taken, the

commissioner strengthened the defences on the Seetabuldee hill, as a

last refuge for the Europeans at Nagpoor in the event of any actual

mutiny at that place. The Residency became a barrack at night for all

the civil and military officers; and a watchful eye was kept on the

natives generally. At present, all was safe in Nagpoor.

Another province, and another commissioner in charge of it, now come for

notice. This province, bearing the rather lengthened name of the Saugor

and Nerbudda Territories, is about half the size of England, and is

bounded by the various provinces or regions of Nagpoor, Mirzapore,

Allahabad, Banda, Bundelcund, Gwalior, Bhopal, and the Nizam’s state of

Hyderabad. It corresponds more nearly with the exact centre of India

than any other portion of territory. One half of its name is derived

from the town of Saugor, the other half from the river Nerbudda. To

describe the scraps and patches of which it consists, and the means by

which they were acquired, would be neither easy nor necessary. Within

its limits is the small independent state of Rewah, the rajah of which

was bound to the British government by a treaty of alliance. Four other

petty states—Kotee, Myhir, Oocheyra, and Sohawul—were in the hands of

native chieftains, mere feudatories of the Company, under whose grants

they held their possessions; allowed to govern their small

sovereignties, but subject at any moment to the supervision and

interference of the paramount power. The larger portion, now entirely

British, is marked by the towns and districts of Saugor, Jubbulpoor,

Hosungabad, Seuni, Nursingpore, Baitool, Sohagpoor, and others of less

importance. There are still many aboriginal Ghonds in the province, as

in Nagpoor, lurking in the gloomiest recesses of dense forests, and

subsisting for the most part on wild roots and fruits. There are other

half-savage tribes of Koles, Palis, and Panwars; while the more

civilised population comprises a singular mixture of Brahmins, Bundelas,

Rajpoots, Mahrattas, and Patans. The Mahrattas at one time claimed this

region, on the same plea as those east and west of it—the right of

conquest; and the British obtained it from the Mahrattas, about forty

years ago, by cession after a course of hostilities.

Major Erskine was commissioner of the Saugor and Nerbudda territories

during the early weeks of the mutiny; responsible, not immediately to

the governor-general at Calcutta, but to the lieutenant-governor of the

Northwest Provinces at Agra. Like Mr Plowden at Nagpoor, he felt how

imperiled he and his fellow-Europeans would be if the native troops were

to rebel. At Jhansi and at Nuseerabad, as we shall presently see, revolt

and massacre marked the first week in June; and Major Erskine sought

earnestly for means to prevent his own Saugor troops from being tempted

to a similar course. He was with the 52d native infantry at Jubbulpoor.

He wrote on the 9th of June to Brigadier Prior at Kamptee, praying

him—while keeping that station and Seuni intact—to prevent, if possible,

all news of the mutineers from passing to Jubbulpoor by that route; he

feared lest his 52d should yield to the influence of pernicious example.

Seuni was a small civil station, nearly midway between Jubbulpoor and

Nagpoor, and about eighty miles distant from each; while Kamptee was a

cantonment of Madras regulars, eleven miles north of Nagpoor. The four

places named, in fact, stand nearly in a line north and south, and

interpose between the Mahratta states and Lower Bengal. Mr Plowden at

Nagpoor, Major Erskine at Jubbulpoor, and Brigadier Prior at Kamptee,

thereupon concerted measures for preserving, so far as they could, that

region of India from disturbance; they all three agreed that

‘tranquillity will be most effectually secured by crushing disaffection

before it approaches too near to agitate men’s minds dangerously.’ One

consequence of this arrangement was, that a force was sent on the 13th

to Seuni, under Major Baker; consisting of the 32d native infantry, a

squadron of the 4th light cavalry, a squadron of irregular cavalry, and

three field-guns.

The Europeans at Jubbulpoor were not allowed to pass through the month

of June without many doubts and anxieties. The native troops, though not

actually in mutiny, were seized with a mingled feeling of fear and

exasperation when European troops were mentioned; they were in perpetual

apprehension, from the countless rumours at that time circulating

throughout India, that Europeans were about to approach and disarm them,

as degraded and distrusted men. Jubbulpoor is a large thriving town,

which at the time of the mutiny contained a small cantonment for native

troops, and a political agency subsidiary to that at Saugor. On one

occasion, this report of the approach of European troops seized so

forcibly on the minds of the sepoys, that the subadar-major, a trusted

and influential man, lost all control over them; and they were not

satisfied until their English colonel allowed two or three from each

company to go out and scour the country, to satisfy themselves and the

rest whether the rumour were true or false. On another occasion, one of

the sepoys rose with a shout of ‘Death to the Feringhees,’ and

endeavoured to bayonet the adjutant; but his companions did not aid him;

and the authorities deemed it prudent to treat him as a madman, to be

confined and not shot. When troops were marched from Kamptee to Seuni,

in accordance with the arrangements mentioned in the last paragraph, the

sepoys at Jubbulpoor were at once told of it, lest their excited minds

should be again aroused on the subject of Europeans. Some of the English

officers felt the humiliation involved in this kind of petting and

pampering; but danger was around them, and they were obliged to

temporise. A few ladies had been sent to Kamptee; all else remained with

their husbands, seldom taking off their clothes at night, and holding

themselves ready to flee at an hour’s warning. Such a state of affairs,

though less perilous, was almost as mentally distressing as actual

mutiny. As the month drew to a close, and the perpetual anxiety and

expectation were becoming wearisome to all, the Europeans resolved to

fortify the Residency. This they did, and moreover stored it with six

months’ provision for about sixty persons, including thirty ladies and

children; and for several civilians, who had also to be provided for.

Saugor was placed in some such predicament as Jubbulpoor; its European

officers had much to plan, much to execute, to enable them to pass

safely through the perils of the month of June. This town, the capital

of the province in political matters, possessed a military cantonment on

the borders of a lake on which the town stands; a large fort, which had

been converted into an ordnance depôt; and a population of fifty

thousand souls, chiefly Mahrattas. At the time of the outbreak,

Brigadier Sage commanded the Saugor district force, and had under him

the 31st and 42d native infantry regiments, a regiment of native

cavalry, and about seventy European gunners. The fort, the magazine, and

the battering-train were at one end of the cantonment; an eminence,

called the Artillery Hill, was at the other end, three miles off; and

the brigadier felt that if mutiny should occur, he would hardly be able

to hold both positions. During many minor transactions in the district,

requiring the presence of small detachments from Saugor, the temper of

the troops was made sufficiently manifest; sometimes the 31st shewed bad

symptoms, sometimes the 42d; two or three men were detected in plans for

murdering their officers; and petty rajahs in the district offered the

sepoys higher pay if they would change their allegiance. The European

inhabitants of Saugor becoming very uneasy, the brigadier cleared out

the fort, converted it into a place of refuge for women and children,

supplied it with useful furniture and other articles, and succeeded in

supplanting sepoys by Europeans in guard of the fort, the magazine, and

the treasury. The fort being provisioned for six months, and the guns

secured, Brigadier Sage felt himself in a position to adopt a resolute

tone towards the native troops, without compromising the safety of the

numerous persons congregated within it—comprising a hundred and thirty

officers and civilians, and a hundred and sixty women and children, all

the Europeans of the place. Thus ended June. It may simply be added

here, that during the early part of the following month, the 31st and

42d regiments had a desperate fight, the former willing to be faithful,

and the latter to mutiny. The brigadier, not feeling quite sure even of

the 31st, would not place either his officers or his guns at their

mercy, but he sent out of the fort a few men to aid them. The irregular

cavalry joined the 42d; but both corps were ultimately beaten off by the

31st—to carry wild disorder into other towns and districts.[26]

Without dwelling on minor mutinies at Dumoh and other places in the

Saugor province, we will transfer our attention northward to Bundelcund;

where Jhansi was the scene of a terrible catastrophe, and where riot and

plunder were in the ascendant throughout the month of June. Bundelcund,

the country of the Bundelas, affords a curious example of the mode in

which a region became in past times cut up into a number of petty

states, and then fell in great part into British hands. It is a strip of

country, about half the size of Scotland, lying south or southwest of

the Jumna, and separated by that river from the Doab. The country was in

the hands of the Rajpoots until the close of the fourteenth century;

when another tribe, the Bundelas, began a system of predatory incursions

which led to their ultimate possession of the whole tract. Early in the

last century there was a chief of Western Bundelcund tributary to the

Great Mogul, and another in Eastern Bundelcund supported by the

Mahrattas against that sovereign. How one chief rose against another,

and how each obtained a patch of territory for himself, need not be

told; it was only an exemplification of a process to which Asiatics have

been accustomed from the earliest ages. About the close of the century,

the East India Company began to obtain possession here, by conquest or

by treaty; and in 1817, after a war with the Mahrattas, a large increase

was made in this ownership. These are matters needful to be borne in

mind here; for, though the country is but small, it now contains five or

six districts belonging to the British, and nine native princedoms or

rajahships; besides numerous petty jaghires or domains that may in some

sense be compared to the smallest states of the Germanic confederation.

At the time of the mutiny, the British districts were managed under the

lieutenant-governor of the Northwest Provinces; while the ‘political

superintendence,’ as it was called, of the native states was in the

hands of an agent appointed by, and directly responsible to, the

governor-general. With the principal native states, of which Jhansi was

one, the British government had engagements, varying on minor points

according to circumstances, but all recognising its supremacy, and

binding the dependent state to the relinquishment of all political

relations except with the superior power. Some were tributary; some

exempt from that obligation. The chief towns in the portion of

Bundelcund belonging to the British are Jhansi, Banda, and Jaloun.

Bundelcund, we have said, was the scene of much outrage, especially at

Jhansi. This town, lying on the main route from Agra to Saugor, was much

frequented in the last century by caravans of merchants who traded

between the Doab and the Deccan; and it is still a prosperous commercial

place, rendered conspicuous by the castellated residence of the former

rajahs. The Jhansi mutiny was not followed by so many adventures and

wanderings as that at other places—for a very mournful reason; nearly

all the Europeans were at once put to death. A fort in the town had been

previously supplied with food and ammunition, and had been agreed on as

a place of refuge in time of danger. Major Skene and Captain Gordon,

civil officers of the Company, received information which tended to shew

that a petty chieftain near Jhansi was tampering with the troops; and

Captain Dunlop, in command there, made what defensive preparations he

could. Besides the fort in the town, there was one called the Star Fort

in the cantonment, containing the guns and the treasure. The native

troops—portions of the 12th infantry and of the 14th irregular cavalry,

and a few artillery—rose on the afternoon of the 4th of June, seized the

Star Fort, and shot at all the officers in the cantonment; many were

killed, and the rest ran to the Town Fort, which they barricaded as well

as they were able. The little garrison of Europeans then prepared for a

siege; but it could be only of short duration, as the place was too weak

to contend against the rebel besiegers. Musketry and sword-cuts (for the

garrison often met their assailants hand to hand at the gates) brought

down many; and some of the civilians, who tried to escape disguised as

natives, were caught by the insurgents and killed. At last, when

Captains Dunlop and Gordon, and many other officers had fallen, and when

the remaining Europeans had become disheartened, by the scarcity of

ammunition and of food, Major Skene accepted terms offered to him, on

oath—that the whole of the garrison should be spared if he opened the

gate and surrendered. The blood-thirsty villains soon shewed the value

of the oath they had taken. They seized all—men, women, and children—and

bound them in two rows to ropes, the men in one row and the women and

children in the other. The whole were then deliberately put to death;

the poor ladies stood with their infants in their arms, and their elder

children clinging to their gowns; and when the husbands and fathers had

been slaughtered, then came the other half of the tragedy. It is even

said that the innocent children were cut in halves before their mothers’

eyes. One relief, and one only, marked the scene; there was not, so far

as is known, torture and violation of women as precursors of death. The

death-list was a sad one. Skene, Dunlop, Gordon, Ryves, Taylor,

Campbell, Burgess, Turnbull—all were military officers in the Company’s

service, employed either on military or civil duties; and all were

killed. Twenty-four civil servants and non-commissioned officers

likewise met with their death; and most painful of all, nineteen ladies

and twenty-three children were butchered by the treacherous miscreants.

Mr Thornton, the collector for a district between Jhansi and Cawnpore,

was afterwards in a position to inform the government that the mutinous

troops intended to have left Jhansi after they had captured the

treasure; that a Bundelcund chieftainess, the Ranee of Jhansi, wishing

to regain power in the district, bribed them with large presents to take

the fort and put all the Europeans to death before they finally departed

for Delhi; and that it was thus to a _woman_ that was due the inhuman

slaughtering of more than forty European ladies and children. One

account, that reached the ears of officers at other stations, was to the

effect that when Major Skene became aware of the miscreant treachery, he

kissed his wife, shot her, and then shot himself, to avert apprehended

atrocities worse than death; while another narrative or rumour

represented the murderers as having chopped off the heads of the

victims, instead of merely shooting them; but, in truth, the destruction

was so complete that scarcely one was left to tell the tale except

natives, who contradicted each other in some of the particulars.

Jhansi of course soon became a prey to lawless marauders; while the

mutineers marched off to Delhi or elsewhere. Lieutenant Osborne, at

Rewah, was placed in a difficult position at that time. Rewah is a small

Rajpoot state, ruled by a native rajah, who is bound by treaties with

the British government, and who has a British agent as resident at his

court. Rewah was nearly surrounded by mutinous districts, such as

Benares, Allahabad, Futtehpoor, Jhansi, Saugor, and Jubbulpoor; and it

became a difficult problem for Lieutenant Osborne, the British agent,

how to keep wild disorder away from that place. On the 8th of June, by

an energetic use of his influence, he was able to announce that the

Maharajah of Rewah had placed his troops at the disposal of the

government; that the offer had been accepted; and that eight hundred of

those troops, with two guns, had been sent off to Ummapatan, a place

which commanded the roads to Jubbulpoor, Nagode, and Saugor—ready to

oppose insurgents from any of those towns, and to intercept

communication with other mutinous towns on the Jumna. He also sent

eleven hundred of the Maharajah’s troops, with five guns, to Kuttra

Pass: a spot whence a rapid advance could be made to Benares, Chunar, or

Mirzapore, according as military exigencies might render desirable. A

week later, he obtained permission from the Maharajah to send seven

hundred troops to Banda; and at the same time to issue a proclamation,

promising rewards to any of his soldiers who should distinguish

themselves by their gallantry and fidelity. With no higher military rank

than that of lieutenant did this active officer thus lay plans, not only

for the peace of the Rewah territory itself, but also in aid of the

Company’s officers all around him. His position at a later date was very

perilous.

If the destruction of life was less at Nowgong than at Jhansi, the

proceedings of mutinous troops were followed by much more adventure and

varied interest. Nowgong or Nowgaon is situated about a hundred miles

southeast of the last-named town, but, like it, in the Bundelcund

territory. At the beginning of June there were stationed at that place

about four hundred men of the 12th native infantry, and rather over two

hundred of the 14th irregular cavalry—wings of the same two regiments as

at Jhansi; together with a company of the 9th battalion of artillery,

and a light field bullock-battery. Major Kirke, commanding the station,

had in earlier weeks often discussed the cartridge question with his

men, and believed he had removed from their minds all misgivings on that

unfortunate subject. Nevertheless, as June approached, the major deemed

the appearance of affairs so suspicious, that he made such precautionary

arrangements as were practicable to resist an outbreak. Bungalows were

now and then discovered to be in flames, without any means of detecting

the incendiaries. When the atrocities at Meerut and elsewhere became

known, the troops stationed at Nowgong made ardent demonstrations of

loyalty—so ardent, that Kirke almost upbraided himself for his momentary

distrust of them; the infantry embraced their colours, the artillery

embraced their guns, and all asserted their burning desire to chastise

the rebels who had proved faithless to the Company Bahadoor. So late as

the 6th of June, even while whisperings and ominous signs were passing

between them, these unreliable men sent in a grandiloquent petition, in

which they said: ‘As it is necessary to avenge the government on those

cowardly rascals who now, in Delhi and other places, are exciting

rebellion, and for which purpose many European regiments are being

despatched; we, hearing of this, are exceedingly desirous that we be

sent as volunteers to chastise these scoundrels. And that we may shew

from our hearts our faithfulness, we are ready to go wherever sent’—and

more to the same purpose. This petition or address was presented to

Major Kirke by the wing of the 12th regiment. On that same day news

arrived that the other wing of the same regiment had mutinied at Jhansi;

and the Neemuch men, either with childish indecision or with profound

duplicity, sent off a letter to them, reproving them for their

insubordination! On the 10th, a petition was presented by the commandant

of the artillery (4th company, 9th battalion), couched in similar

language; demanding that the artillery might be sent against the rebels;

‘in order,’ as the petition averred, ‘that we may fulfil the wish of our

hearts by shewing our bravery and loyalty.’

Never were words uttered more hollow and treacherous. By nightfall on

that same 10th of June, the native troops at Nowgong were nearly all

rebels, and the Europeans nearly all fugitives. A few hours sufficed to

shew the English officers that they were powerless to contend against

their opponents. Flight commenced. The officers and civilians, with

their families, and Europeans of humbler station, all took their

departure from Nowgong—some in buggies, some on horseback, and some on

foot; but all equally reft of their worldly property. Were it not that

this Chronicle has already contained examples, mournfully numerous, of

similar wanderings over the scorching roads and through the thick jungle

of India, the fate of the Nowgong party might afford materials for a

very exciting narrative; but with the reader’s experience on this

matter, a few lines of description will suffice. The party was a large

one. It comprised Major Kirke, Captain Scot, Lieutenants Townshend,

Jackson, Remington, Ewart, Franks, and Barber, about forty other

Europeans of both sexes and all ages, and about ninety sepoys of the

mutinous infantry, who had not joined their brethren. The fugitives

lessened in number every day; some or other of them sank under the heat

and fatigue; while the sepoys deserted when they approached towns where

insurgents were in the ascendant. Either collectively or separately the

wanderers found themselves on different days at Chutterpore, at

Logassee, at Churkaree, at Mahoba, at Callingurh, at Kabrai, at

Banda—places mostly belonging to petty rajahs of Bundelcund. The

principal survivors of the party were about ten or twelve days on the

roads and fields, before they reached friendly quarters at Banda. On one

occasion they were attacked by a band of marauders, and had to buy

security with rupees; on another, their sepoys were seized with a panic,

and ran off in large numbers; on a third, a body of matchlockmen

suddenly confronted them, and shot down Lieutenant Townshend. On one

part of the journey, Captain Scot found himself in the midst of a

distressing group of women and children: having poor Townshend’s horse

with him, he loaded both horses with as many as he could carry; but it

made him heart-sick to see the others fall away one by one, utterly

broken down by fatigue, and with insufficient men to help them along—for

the flight appears to have been wanting in every semblance of

organisation. A bandsman’s wife dropped dead through a sun-stroke; then

an artillery sergeant, worn out, went into a hut to die. Captain Scot

came up with a lady and her child, reeling along the road as if

delirious; he readjusted his horse-load, took up the fugitives, and the

lady very speedily died in his arms. Shortly after this a fine hale

sergeant-major sank, to rise no more; Major Kirke died through a

sun-stroke; and others dropped off in a similar way. Dr Mawe died from

illness and fatigue; and then his wife, while laving her blistered feet

in a pool, was set upon by ruffians and robbed of the little she had

about her. Captain Scot, after many changes in his horse-load, took up

Dr Mawe’s child; and ‘little Lotty,’ of two years’ old, seemed to him a

blessing rather than a burden; for on the few occasions when he met

friendly natives, their friendship was generally gained for him by the

sight of the little girl, whose head he endeavoured to shield from the

burning sun by a portion of his shirt—the only resource for one who had

lost both hat and coat, and whose own head was nearly driven wild by the

intense solar heat. It is pleasant to know that the captain and ‘little

Lotty’ were among the few who reached a place of safety.

Banda was another of the stations affected; but the details of its

troubles need not be traced here. Suffice it to say that, on the 14th of

June, there was a mutiny of a detachment of native infantry, and a few

troops belonging to the Nawab of Banda—a titular prince, possessing no

political power, but enjoying a pension from the Company, and having a

sort of honorary body-guard of native troops. The officers and their

families were at first in great peril; but the nawab aided them in

making a safe retreat to Nagode. On the 16th of June, Major Ellis had to

announce to the government that his station at Nagode was beginning to

be filled with anxious fugitives from Banda, Futtehpoor, Humeerpoor, and

Ameerpoor; comprising military officers, magistrates, salt-agents,

revenue servants, railway officials, and private persons. Twenty-eight

of these fugitives arrived on one day. He sent to many petty chieftains

of Bundelcund, who were pensioners under the Company or had treaties

with it, to exert themselves to the utmost in recovering all property

seized during the events of the preceding two or three days in the Banda

district. Major Ellis at Nagode, and Mr Mayne at Banda, applied

earnestly to Calcutta for military assistance; but they were told

plainly that none could be sent to them, every European soldier being

needed in the Ganges and Jumna regions.

It now becomes necessary, on removing the scene further to the west, to

know something concerning the Mahrattas, their relations to the two

great families of Scindia and Holkar, the conventions existing between

those two families and the British government, and the military

arrangements of the Mahratta territories at the time of the outbreak.

These matters can be rendered intelligible without any very lengthened

historical narrative.

After the death of the Emperor Aurungzebe, a century and a half ago,

India was distracted and impoverished by the contentions of his sons and

descendants; each of whom, in claiming the throne, secured the

partisanship of powerful nobles, and the military aid of fighting-men in

the pay of those nobles. A civil war of terrible kind was the natural

result; and equally natural was it that other chieftains, in nowise

related to the imperial family, should take advantage of the anarchy to

found dynasties for themselves. One such chieftain was Sevajee, a

Mahratta in the service of the King of Bejapore, in the southern part of

India. The Mahrattas were (and are) a peculiar tribe of Hindoos, more

fierce and predatory than most of their fellow-countrymen. Long before

Europeans settled in India, the Mahrattas were the chief tribe in the

region north, south, and east of the present city of Bombay. After many

struggles against the competitors for the throne of Delhi, the Mahrattas

were left in possession of a sovereign state, of which Satara and Poonah

were the chief cities. From 1707 till 1818, the nominal sovereign or

rajah of the Mahrattas had no real power; he was a sort of state or

honorary prisoner, confined in the hill-fortress of Satara; while the

government was administered by the Peishwa or prime minister, whose

office became hereditary in a particular family, and whose seat of

government was at Poonah. After many Peishwas had held this singular

kind of sovereignty at the one city—the nominal rajah being all the time

powerless at the other—circumstances occurred which led to an

intermeddling of the East India Company with Mahratta politics, followed

by the usual results. Narrain Rao Peishwa was murdered in 1773; many

relations of the murdered man competed for the succession; and as the

Company greatly desired to possess the island of Salsette and the town

of Bassein, at that time belonging to the Mahrattas, it was soon seen

that this wish might be gratified by aiding one competitor against

another. Battles and intrigues followed, ending in the possession of the

two coveted places by the British, and in the appointment of a British

resident at the Peishwa’s court at Poonah. Thus matters remained until

1817, when the Peishwa engaged in intrigues with other Mahratta chiefs

against the British; a course that led to his total overthrow after a

few fierce contests in the field. The Mahratta sovereignty at Poonah was

entirely put an end to, except a small principality assigned to the

Rajah of Satara, the almost forgotten representative of the founder of

the Mahratta rule. The British took all the remaining territory,

pensioning off the Peishwa; and as to Satara, after several rajahs had

reigned, under the close control of the British resident at that city,

the principality ‘lapsed’ in 1848, in default of legitimate male heirs—a

lapse that led to the preparation of many ponderous blue books

concerning the grievances and complaints of a certain adopted son of the

last rajah.

Thus much for the south Mahratta country, having Poonah and Satara for

its chief cities; but the British have had fully as much to do with the

northern portion of the Mahratta region, represented by the two cities

of Gwalior and Indore, and held by the two great Mahratta families of

Scindia and Holkar. As the Peishwas in past years cared little for the

nominal head of the Mahrattas at Satara, so did the Scindias and Holkars

care little for the Peishwas. Each chieftain endeavoured to become an

independent sovereign. The Scindia family is traceable up to the year

1720, when Ranojee Scindia was one of the dependents of the Peishwa.

From that year, by predatory expeditions and by intrigues, the

successive heads of the Scindia family became more and more

powerful—contending in turn against the Mogul, the Rajpoots, the

Peishwa, and the British; until at length, in 1784, Madhajee Scindia was

recognised as an independent sovereign prince, with the hill-fortress of

Gwalior as his stronghold and seat of government. In 1794, when Madhajee

died, the Scindia dominions extended from beyond Delhi on the north to

near Bombay on the south, and from the Ganges to Gujerat—a vast region,

held and acquired by means as atrocious as any recorded in the history

of India. Early in the present century, the power of the Scindia family

received a severe check. Hostilities having broken out with the British,

Sir Arthur Wellesley (afterwards Duke of Wellington) defeated Dowlut Rao

Scindia at Assaye in 1803, while Lord Lake drove the Mahrattas from the

whole of the Doab. Many desperate wars occurred in later years, ending,

in 1844, by a treaty which left Bajerut Rao Scindia king or rajah of a

state barely equalling England in area, with Gwalior as his capital. A

contingent or body of troops was to be supplied by him for the service

of the British, beyond which he was permitted to have an independent

army of nine thousand men; and there were numerous minor details which

gave much influence to the British resident at Gwalior.

Of the family of Holkar, almost the same account may be given as of that

of Scindia; inasmuch as it has sprung from a Mahratta leader who

acquired power a century and a half ago. The city of Indore has always

been the centre of dominion belonging to this family—a dominion

extending over a very wide region at some periods, but greatly

contracted in recent times. The ruler of the Indore territory at the

time of the mutiny was one Mulkerjee Holkar, who had been appointed by

the Calcutta government at a time of disputed succession, in such a way

as to imply that the territory might pass into British hands whenever

the Company chose. Holkar’s territory is now much smaller than

Scindia’s, scarcely exceeding Wales in area.

It will suffice, then, to bear in mind that the southern Mahratta power,

that of the courts of Poonah and Satara, had wholly fallen into British

hands before the time of the mutiny; and that the northern power, held

by the courts of Gwalior and Indore, extended over a country no larger

than England and Wales united. Nevertheless, considering that that

portion of central India is bounded by Bundelcund, the Doab, Rajpootana,

Gujerat, the Nizam’s dominions, and the Saugor and Nerbudda territories,

it was of much importance to the British that Scindia and Holkar should

remain faithful to their alliances at a critical period.

Although Nuseerabad is properly in Rajpootana, of which a few words of

description will be given shortly, the mutiny at that place may

conveniently be treated here; because it was a link in a chain which

successively affected Neemuch, Indore, Mhow, and Gwalior.

Nuseerabad is near Ajmeer, the chief town of a British district

surrounded by the dominions of independent or semi-independent rajahs.

Ajmeer, though far smaller than most of the principal cities in India,

is an ancient and important place, about two hundred and sixty miles

southwest of Delhi; at the time of the mutiny, it was the seat of a

British political agency; and in a ruined palace of the Emperor Akbar,

converted into an arsenal, was a powder-magazine. Nuseerabad, fifteen

miles from Ajmeer, may be regarded as the military station for that

city, and for the neighbouring British districts; it had an extensive

and well-laid-out cantonment, and was the head-quarters of the corps

known as the Rajpootana Field-force. Nuseerabad had been nearly drained

of troops early in the year, on account of the Persian expedition; but

this gap was afterwards partially filled up. In the month of May there

were at the station the 1st regiment Bombay lancers, the 15th and 30th

Bengal native infantry, and the 2d company of the 7th battalion of

Bengal native artillery. An instructive fact was made manifest; the

Bombay troops remained faithful, while those of the Bengal army became

first restless, then mutinous, then murderous. Unfortunately, the good

were not strong enough to coerce the bad; the Bombay lancers numbered

only two hundred and fifty sabres. The month of May had not closed when

the disturbances at Nuseerabad began. The officers had been nightly in

the habit of sleeping with revolvers and swords near at hand; while the

Bombay lancers patrolled the cantonment—so suspicious were the symptoms

observed. On the evening of the 28th a servant rushed into the bungalow

of one of the lieutenants of the 15th infantry, announcing that the

regiment had risen. The officers hastened to the lines, and there found

the regiment drawn up in companies—the martial array being maintained in

mutiny as it had been in regular drill. The men looked sternly at their

officers; and soon worse news arrived. The native artillerymen who

worked the six guns joined the revolters—not actually firing on the

officers, but ready to do so. The Englishmen connected with the two

regiments were a mere handful; they were powerless, for none of the

sepoys would aid them against the rest. Colonel Penny, in command of the

Bombay lancers, instantly hastened down, armed and mounted his troopers,

and drew them up into position. Galloping to the artillery lines, and

finding the guns pointed against him, he immediately ordered a charge

for capturing them, each troop charging in succession. Captain

Spottiswoode began, and soon fell mortally wounded; other officers led

subsequent charges, but the guns could not be taken. Penny then felt

obliged to relinquish this attempt, and to hold himself in readiness to

check the mutineers in other ways; but as the two regiments of native

infantry refused to listen to their officers, nothing was left but

flight. Cornet Newberry, as well as Captain Spottiswoode, fell while

charging; Colonel Penny became suddenly ill and died in a few hours;

while two or three other officers were wounded. How perilous were those

cavalry-charges against the six guns may be judged from a letter written

by one of the officers: ‘I galloped towards the guns, and must have been

eighty or a hundred yards from them when I began to experience the

unpleasant sensation of bullets whizzing past my head, and saw a lot of

sepoys taking shots at me as I came along. I immediately turned my

pony’s head, and endeavoured to retreat under cover of a wall which ran

in front of the artillery lines. Here I saw more men running up with the

kind intention of having a crack at me; so I had to keep along the

parade-ground right in the line of fire, and had one or two men popping

at me from over the wall on my right. My tât (pony) went as fast as ever

he could go, and, thanks be to God, carried me back in perfect

safety.... Off we started towards the cavalry lines amid showers of

bullets. I dodged round the first bell of arms; and as I passed the

bells, saw three or four men behind each, who deliberately shot at us as

we passed.’ The ladies had been sent off from the station just in time.

The surviving officers joined them beyond the cantonment about

nightfall, and then all hastened away. They rode forty miles during the

night, on roads and fields and rocky hills, and reached a place of

safety, Beaur or Beawur, towards noon—hungry, tired, and reft of

everything but the clothes on their backs.

As this small body of Bombay native cavalry remained stanch when the

Bengal troops were faithless all around them, it was deemed right to

make some public acknowledgment of the fact. Lord Elphinstone, as

president or governor of Bombay, issued a general order on the subject,

thanking the troopers, and passing lightly over the fact that a few of

them afterwards disgraced themselves.[27] The commander-in-chief

afterwards ordered the report of the transaction by Captain Hardy, who

took the control of the lancers when Colonel Penny died, to be

translated into the Hindustani and Mahratta languages, and read to all

the regiments of the Bombay native army, as an encouragement to them in

the path of duty. After the English officers and their families had

escaped to Beaur, the mutinous troops made off towards Delhi. Nuseerabad

being considered an important station in regard to the control of the

surrounding districts, a force was sent to reoccupy it towards the end

of June; comprising a detachment of H.M. 83d foot, another of the 20th

Bombay native infantry, another of the Jhodpore legion, and a squadron

of the 2d Bombay cavalry—Nuseerabad being sufficiently near Bombay to

derive advantages not possessed by stations further east.

The usual consequences of the revolt of native regiments followed.

Nuseerabad furnished a bad example to Neemuch. As a village, Neemuch is

of small consequence; as a military station, its importance is

considerable. During some of the negotiations with Scindia in past

years, it was agreed that the British should have a cantonment at this

spot, which is on the confines of Malwah and Mewar, about three hundred

miles southwest of Agra; a force in British pay was to be stationed

there, by virtue of certain terms in a treaty, and a small district,

with the village in the centre, was made over to the Company for this

purpose. The cantonment thereupon built was two or three miles long by a

mile in width, and comprised the usual native infantry lines, cavalry

lines, artillery lines, head-quarters, offices, bungalows, bazaar,

parade-ground, &c. There was also a small fort or fortified square

built, as a place of refuge for the families of the military when called

to a distance on duty.

In the early part of June, the troops stationed at Neemuch comprised the

72d Bengal N. I., the 7th regiment of Gwalior infantry, two troops of

the 1st Bengal light cavalry, and a troop of horse-artillery. Every

effort had been made in the early weeks of the mutiny to insure the

confidence of these troops, and prevent them from joining the standard

of rebellion. Colonel Abbott, and most of the officers of the 72d, as

well even as some of their families, slept within the sepoy lines, to

win the good-will of the men by a generous confidence. One wing (three

companies) of the Gwalior troops held the fortified square and treasury;

while the other wing (five companies), now quartered in a vacant

hospital, about a quarter of a mile distant, was encamped just outside

the walls; Captain Macdonald, the chief officer, residing with the

first-named wing. Colonel Abbott, who commanded the station generally,

as well as the 72d regiment in particular, became convinced, on the

morning of the 2d of June, that all the hopeful expectations of himself

and brother-officers were likely to be dashed; for the troops at Neemuch

had heard of the mutiny at Nuseerabad, and could be restrained no

longer. While the superintendent, Captain Lloyd, hastened to secure some

of the Company’s records and accounts, and to open a line of retreat for

fugitives along the Odeypore road, Colonel Abbott made such military

arrangements as were practicable on the spur of the moment. The colonel

brought his native officers together, and talked to them so earnestly,

that he induced them to swear, ‘on the Koran and on Ganges water,’ that

they would be true to their salt; while he, at their request, swore to

his confidence in their faithful intentions. This singular compact, in

which Mohammedans, Hindoos, and a Christian swore according to the

things most solemn to them respectively, remained unbroken for

twenty-four hours; who broke it, after that interval, will at once be

guessed. During many preceding days, a panic had prevailed in the Sudder

Bazaar; incendiary fires occurred at night; great numbers of persons had

removed with their property; the wildest reports were set afloat by

designing knaves to increase the distrust; and the commonest occurrences

were distorted into phantoms of evil intended against the troops. At

last, on the night of the 3d, the troops threw off their oath and their

allegiance at once. The artillery, disregarding Lieutenant Walker’s

entreaties and expostulations, fired off two guns; the cavalry, on

hearing this signal, rushed out to join them; and the 72d broke from

their lines immediately afterwards. Captain Macdonald instantly ordered

into the fort the one wing of the Gwalior regiment which had been

encamped outside, under Lieutenants Rose and Gurdon; and then prepared

for defence. A bold and singular expedient had just before been adopted

by the civil superintendent; he authorised Macdonald to promise to the

Gwalior troops, if they faithfully defended the fort during any mutiny

outside, a reward of a hundred rupees to each sepoy or private, three

hundred to each naik or corporal, five hundred to each havildar or

sergeant, higher sums to the jemadars and subadars, and five thousand

rupees to the senior native officer, or to the one who should most

distinguish himself in preserving the loyalty of the regiment. These are

large sums to the natives of India; and the superintendent must have

considered long and fully before he promised the Company’s money in such

a manner. All was, however, in vain. The Gwalior troops remained

faithful under the temptation of this promise for a short time; but at

length, headed by a subadar named Heera Singh, they demanded that the

gates of the fort should be opened, and requested that the officers

would make arrangements for their own safety. Macdonald, Rose, Gurdon,

and other officers of the Gwalior regiment, expostulated with their men;

but entreaty was now of no avail; the troops forcibly opened the gates,

and the officers took their departure when the last vestige of hope had

been destroyed.

Of the flight, little need be said; it was such a flight as almost every

province in Northern India exhibited in those sad days. Some of the

ladies and children had been sent off a few hours earlier, hurried away

with no preparations for their comfort or even their sustenance; while

others waited to accompany their husbands or fathers. Very few had

either horses or vehicles; they laboured on footsore to Baree, to Chota

Sadree, to Burra Sadree, to Doogla—straggling parties meeting and

separating according as their strength remained or failed, and all

dependent on the villagers for food. At Doogla, where they arrived on

the third night, the officers strengthened a sort of mud-fort about

forty yards square, within which forty persons were huddled. After being

much straitened, they were relieved by Brigadier Showers on the 9th. The

fugitive party now broke up; some returned to Neemuch, which the

mutineers had abandoned; but the greater number went to Odeypore, the

rana of which place gave them a hospitable reception; some of them

afterwards went further west to Mount Aboo or Aboo Gurh—a celebrated

place of Hindoo pilgrimage to a sacred temple, and a sanatarium for the

Europeans stationed at the cantonment of Deesa, about forty miles

distant. Those of the party who returned to Neemuch, found everything

devastated, the bungalows and offices burnt, and the villagers stripped

of their stores by the mutineers, who had afterwards started off for

Agra. The officers and their families were literally beggars; they had

lost their all. No Europeans were killed save the wife and three

children of a sergeant, who could not leave Neemuch in time.

[Illustration:

Fort of Mhow.

]

Thus were lost to the British about fourteen hundred men and six guns at

Nuseerabad, and sixteen hundred men and six guns at Neemuch, all of

which went to swell the insurgent forces inside Delhi or outside Agra.

The stations of Indore and Mhow must now engage a little of our

attention—situated nearly south of Neemuch, and about four hundred miles

from Agra. Indore, as has already been stated, is the capital of

Holkar’s Mahratta dominions. It is an ill-built place, standing on the

small river Kutki, and is less than a century old: the original Indore,

or Jemnah, being on the opposite side of the river. Holkar’s palace is a

building possessing few attractions; and the like may be said of the

other native structures. The relation existing at that time between

Indore and Mhow was this—that Indore was the residence of the British

political agent at the court of Holkar; whereas Mhow, thirteen miles

distant, was the military station or cantonment. The house of the

British agent, and those of the other Europeans, were on the eastern

side of the town. The agent, at the time of the mutiny, had an escort of

cavalry and infantry at his disposal; but it was simply an escort, not a

regular military force. The agent, in addition to his duties connected

with Holkar’s court, was the immediate representative of the British

government in relation to various petty states under its protection, but

in other points differing greatly in their circumstances.

The Indore agent in May and June was Colonel Durand. All was peaceful at

that place, although much agitation was visible, until the 1st of July;

on which day mutiny occurred. Holkar’s troops rose against the English,

without, as it afterwards appeared, the privity or the wish of the

Maharajah himself. Two companies, set apart for the protection of the

Residency in the bazaar square, brought two guns to bear upon the

building; and the Europeans were horror-stricken at finding themselves

suddenly exposed to cannon and musketry. Fortunately a few men of the

Bhopal Contingent under Colonel Travers, were on duty at the Residency;

and a few of these remained faithful long enough to allow the colonel

and the other European officers, with their families, to escape. Not so

the civilians, however; many of the civil servants, and of the clerks in

the telegraph department, with their wives and children, were butchered

in cold blood. As soon as Holkar heard of the outbreak, he ordered some

of his own Mahratta troops to hasten to the Residency and aid Colonel

Durand; but they told him it was a matter of _deen_ (religion), and that

they could not act against their brethren. During the next three days

Holkar was almost a prisoner in his own palace; his troops rose in

revolt, and were speedily joined by those from Mhow, presently to be

mentioned; they plundered the treasury, the Residency, and many parts of

the town; but as he would not countenance their proceedings, they at

length marched off towards Gwalior. This affair at Indore led to the

flight of many European families, amid great misery. They collected

hastily a few ammunition-wagons, two or three bullock-carts, an

elephant, and some horses, and started off towards Sehore and

Hosungabad; escorted by a portion of the Bhopal Contingent from several

small stations in that part of India.

An important question arose—how was Mhow affected by the mutinous

proceedings? As the news of the Nuseerabad mutiny had thrown the troops

at Neemuch into agitation, so did the subsequent events at Neemuch

immediately affect the sowars and sepoys at Mhow.[28] Mhow contained a

squadron of the same cavalry regiment, the 1st B. N. C., two troops of

which had mutinied at Neemuch; and in addition to these was the 23d

regiment native infantry, and a company of European artillery. Mhow

presented much the appearance of an English town; having a steepled

church on an eminence, a spacious lecture-room, a well-furnished

library, and a theatre; the cantonment was large and well appointed; and

a force was maintained there in virtue of one of the treaties made with

Holkar. This relates to the station or British part of the town; the

small native town of Mhow is a mile and a half distant. The excitement

caused at this station by the news from Neemuch was visible in the

conduct of the troops throughout the whole of the month of June. Colonel

Platt and the other officers, however, kept a vigilant watch on them,

and by combined firmness and kindness hoped to surmount the difficulty.

Captain Hungerford afterwards stated that such had been the excessive

confidence of some of the officers in their respective regiments, that

he could not induce them to strengthen the fort or fortified square, by

occupying it with their artillery, until almost the last hour before the

Revolt. The fortified square had for some time, however, been a

rendezvous for all the ladies and children, who slept within it; the

officers remaining in the lines. Thus matters passed until the 1st of

July, when Colonel Platt received a pencil-note from Colonel Durand,

announcing that the Residency at Indore had been attacked by Holkar’s

soldiers, and that aid was urgently needed. A troop of cavalry and a few

guns were immediately despatched from Mhow; but when they had reached

within four miles of Indore, news arrived that the Europeans yet living

at that station were about to effect a retreat; upon which the small

force returned to Mhow. This duty the troops performed, but it was the

last they rendered. The colonel, fearing the arrival of mutinous sepoys

from Indore, but not suspecting his own men, made such arrangements as

seemed to him befitting, bringing a European battery of artillery into

the fort. Soon did the crisis arrive. At eleven o’clock on that same

night the plans and hopes were cruelly disappointed; that terrible yell

was heard which so often struck dismay into the hearts of the Europeans

at the various military stations: the yell of native troops rising in

mutiny. Lieutenant Martin, adjutant of the cavalry, while quietly

conversing with one of the troopers, became the victim of that dastardly

fellow; the war-cry arose, and the trooper turned round and shot the

unfortunate officer without a moment’s warning. The other officers,

hearing the report, but not suspecting the real truth, thought that

Holkar’s Mahrattas had arrived; they rushed forward to head their

respective companies and troops, but sepoys and sowars alike opened fire

on them. The officers, now rendered painfully aware of their critical

position, ran swiftly across the parade towards the fort, having no time

to mount their horses; and it is a marvel that only one of the number,

Major Harris, commandant of the cavalry, was shot by the heavy fire

poured on them during this run. Colonel Platt, who was in the fort, was

almost incredulous when the breathless officers rushed in; he could with

difficulty believe the truth now presented to his notice—so fully had he

relied on the fidelity of the men. Colonel Platt and Captain Fagan rode

down to the lines of the 23d, to which regiment they both belonged, to

ascertain the real facts and to exhort the men; but they were never seen

alive again by their brethren in arms; they fell, riddled with bullets

and gashed with sword-cuts. Captain Hungerford, of the artillery,

brought two guns to bear on the mutineers, which gradually drove them

from the lines, but not before they had fired the regimental mess-house

and several bungalows; and during the darkness of night, plunderers

carried off everything that was valuable. Hungerford would have followed

the mutineers with his guns; but the roads were too dark for the

pursuit, and the Europeans too unprotected to be left. The remaining

English officers, having now no troops to command, acted as a cavalry

guard in support of the European battery in the fortified square, under

Captain Hungerford. As all the civilians, women, and children were in

this place; as the square itself was quite unfitted for a long defence;

and as only five native soldiers out of the whole number remained with

the officers—the prospect was precarious enough: nevertheless all did

their best; Hungerford collected in a few days a large store of

provisions, and routed many of the insurgents in neighbouring villages.

The impulses that guided the actions of the sepoys were strangely

inconsistent; for two of the men saved the life of Lieutenant Simpson,

who had been on outpost-duty on the fatal night, and brought him safely

into the fort; and yet, though offered promotion for their fidelity,

they absconded on the following morning to join their mutinous

companions. The Europeans, about eighty in number, maintained their

position at Mhow, until a force from Bombay arrived to reoccupy all that

region. The ladies, there as everywhere, strove to lessen rather than

increase the anxieties of their male companions. One of the officers

thus shut up in the extemporised stronghold said in a letter:

‘Throughout all this I cannot express the admiration I feel at the way

the ladies have behaved—cheerful, and assisting in every way in their

power. Poor things, without servants or quarters, huddled together; they

have had to do everything for themselves, and employ all their time in

sewing bags for powder for the guns, well knowing the awful fate that

awaits them if the place is taken. There has not been a sign of fear;

they bring us tea or any little thing they can, and would even like to

keep watch on the bastions if we would let them.... You should see the

state we are in—men making up canister, ladies sewing powder-bags,

people bringing plunder recovered, artillery mounting guns; all of us

dirty and tired with night-watching; we mount sentry-duty to take the

weight of it off the artillerymen, and snatch sleep and food as we can.’

Many other stations in that part of India were disturbed in June and

July by the mutinies of wings and detachments of regiments too small in

amount to need notice here. At one place, Asseerghur, Colonel Le

Mesurier warded off mutiny by a prompt and dexterous manœuvre, for which

he received the marked thanks of the government.

Gwalior now comes under notice, in relation to a mutiny of troops at

that place, and to the conduct of Scindia, the most important of the

Mahratta chieftains. Considered as a city or town (about sixty-five

miles south of Agra), Gwalior is not very important or interesting,

being irregularly built and deplorably dirty, and possessing few public

buildings of any note. It is for its hill-fortress that Gwalior is so

famed. The rock on which the fortress stands is an elongated mass, a

mile and a half long by a quarter of a mile in width, and reaching in

some places to a height of about three hundred and fifty feet. It is

entirely isolated from other hills; and—partly from the natural

stratification of the sandstone, partly from artificial construction—is

in many parts quite perpendicular. A rampart runs round the upper edge,

conforming to the outline of the summit. The entrance to the enclosure

within the rampart is near the north end of the east side; in the lower

part by a steep road, and in the upper part by steps cut in the rock,

wide enough to permit elephants to make the ascent. A high and massive

stone-wall protects the outer side of this huge staircase; seven

gateways are placed at intervals along its ascent; and guns at the top

command the whole of it. Within the enclosure of the rampart is a

citadel of striking appearance, an antique palace surmounted by kiosks,

six lofty round towers or bastions, curtains or walls of great thickness

to connect those towers, and several spacious tanks. It is considered

that fifteen thousand men would be required to garrison this fortress

completely. So striking is this rock, so tempting to a chieftain who

desires a stronghold, that Gwalior is believed to have been a fortress

during more than a thousand years. It has been captured and recaptured

nearly a dozen times, by contending Hindoos and Mohammedans, in the

course of centuries. The last celebrated contest there was in 1779, when

the Company’s forces captured it through a clever and unexpected use of

ladders and ropes during a dark night. In the next sixty-five years it

was possessed successively by the British, the Jâts, the Mahrattas, the

British again, the Mahrattas again, and finally by the British,

according to the intricacies of treaties and exchanges. Since 1844,

Gwalior has been the head-quarters of a corps called the Gwalior

Contingent, commanded by British officers; and thus the hill-fortress

has virtually been placed within the power of the British government.

Besides this famous stronghold, there is at Gwalior a place called the

Lashkar. This, in former times, was the stationary camp of the Maharajah

Scindia—a dirty collection of rude buildings, extending to a great

distance from the southwest foot of the rock; but the great reduction in

the number of troops allowed to be held independently by Scindia has

materially lessened the importance of the Lashkar.

The loyalty of Scindia became a question of very anxious importance at

the time of the mutinies. Holkar was possessor of a much smaller

territory than Scindia; and yet, when a rumour spread that the rising at

Indore on the 1st of July had the sanction of the first-named sovereign,

numerous petty chieftains in that part of India rose against the

British, and prepared to cut off all retreat for Europeans. It was not

until Holkar had given undoubted evidence of his hostility to the

mutineers, that these movements were checked. Much more was this

rendered manifest in Scindia’s dominions. If Scindia had failed us, the

mutineers from Neemuch, Nuseerabad, and Jhansi, by concentrating at

Gwalior, might have rendered that hill-fortress a second Delhi to the

British. Scindia and Holkar both remained steady; it was the Contingents

that failed. These contingents were bodies of native troops, paid by the

native princes of the states or countries whose name they bore, but

organised and officered by the British, in the same way as the ordinary

battalions of the sepoy army. If the native princes, for whose defence

ostensibly, and at whose expense really, these contingents were

maintained, wished and were permitted to have any independent military

force of their own, that could only be done additionally to the

contingent which they were bound to furnish. As a consequence of this

curious system, a distinction must be drawn between the contingent

troops and the prince’s troops. At Indore, Holkar’s little army as well

as Holkar’s contingent proved hostile to the British. Scindia was in

like manner paymaster for a double force; and the British often

anxiously pondered whether one or both of these might prove faithless at

Gwalior, with or without the consent of Scindia himself. The Gwalior

Contingent, though connected with a Mahratta state, consisted chiefly of

Hindustanis, like the sepoys of the Bengal army; the Mahrattas formed

quite a minority of the number. The contingent consisted of all three

arms of the service—infantry, cavalry, and artillery—and formed a

compact army.

The disasters at Gwalior began on Sunday the 14th of June—as usual, on

Sunday. It will be remembered (p. 112) that Scindia, three or four weeks

earlier, had offered the aid of his own body-guard, which had been

accepted by Mr Colvin at Agra; that a portion of the Gwalior Contingent

(cavalry) was also sent; that this contingent, under Lieutenant

Cockburn, was actively engaged against the insurgents in the region

between Agra and Allygurh; and that about one-half of the troopers

composing it revolted on the 28th of May, placing that gallant officer

in a very embarrassing position. They were portions of the same

contingent that mutinied at Neemuch and one or two other places; and on

this account the European inhabitants at Gwalior were subject to much

anxiety—knowing that that station was the head-quarters; and that,

although the contingent was paid for by the Maharajah, the troops had

been raised mostly in Oude, and, being disciplined and officered by the

British, were likely to share the same sentiments as the Oudians and

other Hindustanis of the Bengal army elsewhere. The Maharajah had little

or no influence over them; for neither were they his countrymen, nor had

he any control over their discipline or movements. During fourteen

years, as boy, youth, and man, he had been in great measure a pupil

under the British resident at Gwalior; and if he remained an obedient

pupil, this was nearly all that could be expected from him—shorn, as the

Mahratta court was, of so much of its former influence. Dr Winlow Kirk,

superintending surgeon of the contingent, placed upon record, ten days

before the bloody deed which deprived him of life, a few facts relating

to the position of the Europeans at Gwalior in the latter part of May

and the beginning of June. The resident received information which led

him to believe that the contingent—seven regiments of infantry, two of

cavalry, and four batteries of artillery—was thoroughly disaffected,

both the main body at Gwalior and the detachments elsewhere. The

brigadier commandant shared this opinion with the resident; and, as a

precautionary measure, all the ladies were sent from the station to the

Residency, a distance of six miles, on the 28th of May. Dr Kirk, and

most of the military officers, dissented from this opinion; they thought

the troops were behaving in a respectful manner, and they offered to

sleep among the men’s lines to shew their confidence in them. On the

29th and 30th, the ladies returned to cantonment, much to the apparent

delight of the sepoys at the generous reliance thus placed in them.

Bitter was the disappointment and grief in store for those who had

trusted these miscreants.

It was on the 14th of June, we have said, that the uprising at Gwalior

began. The Europeans had long wished for the presence of a few English

troops; but as none were to be had, they watched each day’s proceedings

rather anxiously. At nine o’clock in the evening of the disastrous

Sunday, the alarm was given at the cantonment; all rushed out of their

respective bungalows, and each family found others in a similar state of

alarm. Shots were heard; officers were galloping or running past; horses

were wildly rushing with empty saddles; and no one could give a precise

account of the details of the outbreak. Then occurred the sudden and

mournful disruption of family ties; husbands became separated from their

wives; ladies and children sought to hide in gardens and grass, on

house-tops and in huts. Then arose flames from the burning bungalows;

and then came bands of reckless sepoys, hunting out the poor homeless

English who were in hiding. On the morning of that day, Dr Kirk,

although he had not shared the resident’s alarm seventeen days before,

nevertheless thought with some anxiety of the ladies and children, and

asked what arrangements had been made for their safety in the event of

an outbreak; but the officers of the regiments, most of whom relied

fully on their men, would not admit that there was any serious need for

precautionary measures. Two of these unfortunate officers, Major Blake

and Major Hawkins, were especially trustful; and these were two among

the number who fell by the hands of their own men that very night.

Captain Stewart, with his wife and child, were killed, as also Major

Sheriff. Brigadier Ramsey, and several others, whose bungalows were on

the banks of a small river, escaped by fording. Dr Kirk was one of those

who, less fortunate, were furthest from the river. With Mrs Kirk and his

child, he hid in the garden all night; in the morning they were

discovered; Mrs Kirk was robbed without being otherwise ill treated; but

her husband was shot dead before her eyes. Thus fell an amiable and

skilful man, who for nearly twenty years had been a medical officer of

the Company—first with the Bundelcund legion in Sinde; then as a medical

adviser to Sir Charles Napier on matters connected with the health of

troops in that sandy region; then with the Bengal troops at Bareilly;

then with the European artillery at Ferozpore; and lastly, as

superintending surgeon to the troops of the Gwalior Contingent, who

shewed their gratitude for his medical aid by putting him to death.

After this miserable sight, Mrs Kirk begged the murderers to put an end

to her also; but they replied: ‘No, we have killed you already’—pointing

to the dead body of her husband.

The rest of this story need not be told in detail. Agra was the place of

refuge sought by those who had now to flee; and it is some small

alleviation of the crimes of the mutineers that they allowed the ladies

and children to depart—with their lives, but with little else. How the

poor things suffered during five days of weary journeying, they could

themselves hardly have told; hunger, thirst, heat, illness, fatigue, and

anxiety of mind accumulated on them. Many arrived at Agra without shoes

or stockings; and all were beggared of their worldly possessions when

they reached that city. When, shortly afterwards, Lieutenant Cockburn

wrote to private friends of this event, he had to tell, not only of his

own mortification as the officer of a disloyal corps, but of the wreck

suffered by the British station at Gwalior. ‘I fear there is no chance

of my ever recovering any of your portraits; for the ruffians invariably

destroy all they cannot convert into silver or gold. All our beautiful

garden at Gwalior, on which I spent a good deal of money and care, has

been dug up; our houses have been turned into cattle-sheds; there is not

a pane of glass in the station; our beautiful church has been gutted,

the monuments destroyed, the organ broken up, the stained-glass windows

smashed, and the lovely floor of encaustic tiles torn up. The

desecration of the tombs is still more horrible; in many places the

remains of our countrymen have been torn from the earth, and consigned

to the flames!’

The position of Scindia was sufficiently embarrassing at that time. As

soon as the troops of the contingent had murdered or driven away their

officers, they went to him, placed their services at his disposal, and

demanded that he would lead them against the British at Agra. There were

eight or ten thousand men in the contingent altogether, and his own

Mahratta army was little less numerous; it was therefore a matter of

critical importance to the English that he remained steady and faithful.

He not only refused to sanction the proceedings of the mutineers, but

endeavoured to prevent them from marching towards Agra. In this he

succeeded until an advanced period of the autumn; for the troops that

troubled Agra at the end of June and the beginning of July were those

from Mhow and Neemuch, not the larger body from Gwalior. These mutineers

proceeded towards Agra by way of Futtehpore or Futhepore Sikri—a town

famed for the vast expanse of ruined buildings, erected by Akbar and

destroyed by the Mahrattas; for the great mosque, with its noble gateway

and flight of steps; and for the sumptuous white marble tomb,

constructed by Akbar in memory of a renowned Mussulman ascetic, Sheik

Selim Cheestee.[29] The battle that ensued, and the considerations that

induced Mr Colvin to shut up himself and all the British in the fort at

Agra, will be better treated in a later page.

Many of the events treated in this chapter occurred in, or on the

frontiers of, the region known as Rajpootana or Rajasthan—concerning

which a few words may be desirable. The name denotes the land of the

Rajpoots. These Hindoos are a widely spread sept of the Kshetrigas or

military caste; but when or where they obtained a separate name and

character is not now known. Some of the legends point to Mount Aboo as

the original home of the Rajpoots. They were in their greatest power

seven hundred years ago, when Rajpoot princes ruled in Delhi, in Ajmeer,

in Gujerat, and in other provinces; but the Mohammedan conquerors drove

them out of those places; and during many centuries the region mainly

belonging to the Rajpoots has been nearly identical with that exhibited

at the present time. This region, situated between Central India and

Sinde, is about twice as large as England and Wales. Warlike as the

Rajpoots have ever been, and possessing many strongholds and numerous

forces, they were no match for the Mahrattas in the last century; indeed

it was this inequality that led to the interference of the British, who

began to be the ‘protector’ of the Rajpoot princes early in the present

century. This protection, insured by various treaties, seems to have

been beneficial to the Rajpoots, whose country has advanced in industry

and prosperity during a long continuance of peace. The chief Rajpoot

states at present are Odeypore or Mewar, Jeypoor, Jhodpore or Joudpore,

Jhallawar, Kotah, Boondee, Alwur, Bikaneer, Jeysulmeer, Kishengurh,

Banswarra, Pertabghur, Dongurpore, Kerowlee, and Sirohi. The treaties

with these several states, at the time of the mutiny, were curiously

complicated and diverse: Odeypore paid tribute, and shared with the

Company the expense of maintaining a Bheel corps; Jeypoor, though under

a rajah, was virtually governed by a British resident; Jhodpore, under a

sort of feudal rule, paid tribute, and maintained a Jhodpore legion

besides a force belonging to the feudatories; Kotah bore the expense of

a corps called the Kotah Contingent, organised and officered by the

British; Jeysulmeer gave allegiance in return for protection, and so did

Kishengurh and many other of the states included in the above list. Most

of the Rajpoot states had a feudal organisation for internal affairs;

and most of them maintained small native corps, in addition to the

contingents furnished by three or four under arrangements with the

British. For the whole of the Rajpoot states collectively an agent was

appointed by the governor-general to represent British interests, under

whom were the civil officers at various towns and stations; while the

military formed a Rajpootana Field-force, with head-quarters at

Nuseerabad.

At the extreme north of Rajpootana is a small British district named

Hurrianah, of which the chief towns are Hansi and Hissar. A military

corps, called the Hurrianah Light Infantry Battalion, mutinied a few

weeks after the Meerut outbreak, killing Lieutenant Barwell and other

Europeans; the men acted in conjunction with a part of the 4th regiment

irregular cavalry, and, after a scene of murder and pillage, marched off

towards Delhi. At Bhurtpore, on the northeast frontier of Rajpootana, a

similar scene was exhibited on a smaller scale; a corps called the

Bhurtpore Levies revolted against Captain Nixon and other officers,

compelling them to flee for their lives: the mutineers, as in so many

other instances, marching off at once towards Delhi. There were other

mutinies of small detachments of native troops, at minor stations in the

Mahratta and Rajpoot countries, which need not be traced in detail.

* * * * *

The vast region in the centre of India has thus passed rapidly under

review. We have seen Hindustanis, Bundelas, Jâts, Mahrattas, Bheels,

Rajpoots, and other tribes of India revolting against English authority;

we have seen native princes and chiefs perplexed how to act between the

suzerain power on the one hand, and the turbulent soldiery on the other;

we have seen that soldiery, and the attendant rabble of marauders,

influenced quite as much by love of plunder as by hate of the Company’s

raj; we have seen British officers sorely wounded at heart by finding

those men to be traitors whom they had trusted almost to the last hour;

we have seen ladies and children driven from their bungalows, and hunted

like wild beasts from road to river, from jungle to forest; and lastly,

in this vast region, we have tracked over considerably more than a

thousand miles of country in length without meeting with a single

regiment of British troops. The centre of India was defended from

natives by natives; and the result shewed itself in deplorable colours.

[Illustration:

Girls at the Ganges.

]

-----

Footnote 26:

A curious example was afforded, in relation to the affairs of Saugor,

of the circuitous manner in which public affairs were conducted in

India, when different officials were residing in different parts of

that vast empire. The brigadier commanding the Saugor district adopted

a certain course, in a time of peril, concerning the management of the

troops under his command. He sent information of these proceedings to

Neill at Allahabad (300 miles). Neill forwarded the information to

Calcutta (500 miles). The military secretary to the government at

Calcutta sent a dispatch to the adjutant-general of the army outside

Delhi (900 miles), requesting him to ‘move’ the commander-in-chief to

send a military message to Saugor (400 miles), calling upon the

officer of that station to explain the motives for his conduct in the

matter at issue. The explanation, so given, was to be sent 400 miles

to Delhi, and then 900 miles to Calcutta; and lastly, if the conduct

were not approved, a message to that effect would be sent, by any

route that happened to be open for dâk, from Calcutta to Saugor.

Footnote 27:

‘To mark the approbation with which he has received this report, the

Right Honourable the Governor in Council will direct the immediate

promotion to higher grades of such of the native officers and men as

his Excellency the Commander-in-chief may be pleased to name as having

most distinguished themselves on this occasion, and thereby earned

this special reward; and the Governor will take care that liberal

compensation is awarded for the loss of property abandoned in the

cantonment and subsequently destroyed, when the Lancers, in obedience

to orders, marched out to protect the families of the European

officers, leaving their own unguarded in cantonment.

‘By a later report the Governor in Council has learned with regret

that eleven men of the Lancers basely deserted their comrades and

their standards, and joined the mutineers; but the Governor in Council

will not suffer the disgrace of these unworthy members of the corps to

sully the display of loyalty, discipline, and gallantry which the

conduct of this fine regiment has eminently exhibited.’

Footnote 28:

It is well to observe, for the aid of those consulting maps, that

there are five or six towns and villages of this name in India. The

Mhow here indicated is nearly in lat. 22½°, long. 76°.

Footnote 29:

See page 175.

[Illustration:

Akali of the Sikhs.

]