THE VICEROY RETIRES
Change of Government and What it Meant--Why it Took Place
at Simla--The Ceremony--An Anxious Moment--A General
Stampede--Retirement of Lord Lytton--Work of Which Viceroy?--Lord
William’s Services Valued--A Bet Between Him and the Author--Lord
William’s 10 to 1
In the spring of 1880 there was the change of Government at home
already alluded to, brought about mostly by the dissatisfaction of
the country over Lord Lytton’s Afghan policy and the war in South
Africa with its disasters and awkward situations, Mr. Gladstone
succeeding Lord Beaconsfield as Prime Minister. He at once took steps
to reverse Lord Lytton’s policy. Therefore His Excellency resigned,
Lord Ripon taking his place in June, if I remember correctly.
The change in Viceroys usually took place in the cold weather at
Calcutta, but on this occasion the Afghan War was still going on, and
the new Liberal Government could not wait until the monsoon, which
was due in a few weeks, had cooled the air, so Lord Ripon had to take
the reins from Lord Lytton at Simla.
In those days the railway was left at Umballa, on the main line of
the Indian North-Western, after which the rest of the journey was
done with horses in vehicles of some sort, the usual mode being
by “tonga,” a sort of phaeton hung very low and drawn by a pair of
ponies harnessed curricle fashion, the ponies being changed about
every four miles, this part of the journey taking about eight hours.
The first forty miles over the plains to Kalka, the roads are good,
and the travelling over them is very pleasant. After that they become
mountainous for fifty-eight miles, climbing and winding up the spurs
of the outer Himalayas to the deodar and rhododendron clad ridge of
Simla, six or seven thousand feet high.
Government House, or the Viceregal Lodge at Simla at the time of the
Ripons’ arrival was called “Peterhoff,” and it would be difficult to
imagine an abode less viceregal. It was simply a rather glorified
bungalow, situated on the edge of a young precipice, the house
cramped and inconvenient, with very little ground about it, but
it has long since been superseded by the much more commodious and
impressive new viceregal lodgings on the summit of what was then
known as Observation Hill. The lawn in front of Peterhoff was no
bigger than many of those often seen in front of suburban villas.
This Peterhoff lawn was, however, historic, for it was there that
Lord Lawrence thrashed a chuprasse (messenger) _with his great-coat_
for some unusually flagrant act of carelessness or disobedience.
Small as this historic lawn was, it had to take part in the
ceremonies attendant on the change of Viceroys. Lord William was not
responsible for what occurred there on this memorable day, but as an
acting A.D.C. necessarily took part in it, and I think if he had
then been Military Secretary the arrangements might have been better.
When the change of Rulers took place at Calcutta there was plenty
of space and room for the crowd of dignitaries, British and native,
presenting an impressive show as they lined the stately portico and
ample stairway. The numerous uniforms, picturesque dresses of the
native chiefs and notables, together with the scarlet uniforms and
tall lances of the bodyguard combined to make the scene gay, and even
splendid.
Not so at Simla, where on this occasion the whole officialdom from
the Commander-in-Chief and members of Council downwards, were packed
into a big shamiana (tent with a flat roof) somewhere about twenty
feet square. Most noticeable amongst the assembly were the two Sikh
Chiefs, of Jhind and Nabha, their states not being far from Simla;
both were elderly men, tall, handsome and strikingly alike, though I
believe no relation. With their snowy garments, jewelled necklaces,
aigrettes and gold-hilted swords, they looked what they were, warrior
princes of the best Oriental type.
There was nothing remarkable about the rest of the crowd. Everybody
of course had to be in uniform, and as no one was allowed to remain
outside the shamiana it was soon packed and most uncomfortably hot.
One side of the tent was open, and a strip of red cloth led from it
to the porch of Peterhoff.
Everybody was awaiting the arrival of the new Viceroy, Lord Ripon,
who had slept the night before at the foot of the hills at Kalka, and
was expected every moment to arrive with his personal staff in a
train of tongas.
Sir Robert Egerton, the Lieut.-Governor of the Punjab, had gone to
meet Lord Ripon at the first rest-house, some six or eight miles
down the road, where the new Viceroy was to refresh his inner man
and change his travelling garments. Everybody in the tent was very
hot and wishing the show over, but they had some time still to wait.
The appointed hour had come and gone, but still no Viceroy. Lord
Lytton walked up and down between the house and the shamiana smoking
a cigar, while everybody else held their breath waiting anxiously for
release before being quite stifled.
At last the signal was given, the great man was approaching, there
was a general buzz and hum as in a hive of bees when the queen thinks
of moving. Lord Lytton hurried out of the house: three or four
aides-de-camp, Lord William being one, endeavoured with difficulty
to clear a space in the shamiana, which feat presented somewhat of
a conundrum, the area being about the size of an ordinary healthy
hearthrug.
Sir Robert Egerton’s little pony carriage could be heard driving up,
and in a minute or two Sir Robert came striding down the red cloth, a
very imposing figure, tall and portly, with a good deal of presence,
dressed in his diplomatic uniform as a Lieut.-Governor with cocked
hat and sword. Lord Ripon followed, neither tall nor majestic in
appearance, his London clothes looking as though they had been used
as a pillow in the tonga on the way up, or hastily pulled out of a
much-packed Gladstone bag, which was no doubt precisely the case,
and how loyal of him! having been sent out by the bag’s namesake.
Well! now the show began. The A.D.C.’s pressed everybody back until
they had to hold in their breath for fear of taking up too much room.
Lord Lytton, whose manner was always polished and charming, came
forward and shook hands, with some ordinary words of welcome. Lord
Ripon, who felt the awkwardness of the situation, being sent out to
replace Lord Lytton, nothing abashed at the numerous eyes fixed on
him at close quarters, plunged at once “in medias res.”
_Lord Ripon_: “Didn’t want to come out at all really, my dear Lytton,
not in the least you know, but a man must obey orders----”
_Lord Lytton_ (much embarrassed) interrupting: “Yes, my dear
Marquis, quite so. Let me introduce you to His Excellency the
Commander-in-Chief.” Sir Paul Haines, standing on the fringe of the
crowd, was presented, Lord Ripon hastily shook hands, keeping an
anxious eye on Lord Lytton, then returning to the charge.
_Lord Ripon_: “Yes! As I was saying, my dear Lytton, I didn’t want
to.”
_Lord Lytton_ (more embarrassed): “Yes, quite so, exactly. Let me
present you to Mr. ----, a member of your Council.”
Lord William dived into the crowd, assisted by other A.D.C.’s, who
trampled on everybody until the high official was produced, and the
presentation effected.
_Lord Ripon_ (again returned to the matter weighing heavily on his
mind): “Oh, yes! I was saying I’ve been Secretary of State, you know,
and I didn’t----”
_Lord Lytton_ (now desperate): “Yes, my dear Marquis. Let me present
you to Mr. ----, another member of your Council.”
Once more a dive into the crowd, Lord William returning breathless
with his high official, when a hasty presentation took place.
The crowd now began to enter into the spirit of the thing, and, being
tired of having their toes trodden on and their waistcoat pressed
out of their proper positions in life, propelled all the big-wigs
wanted by Lord Lytton to the front, almost into Lord Ripon’s arms,
this expedited matters, and there was no longer any time for personal
explanations, so Lord Ripon kept them for another time and everything
went on famously.
So far, all had been comedy, but it now nearly approached tragedy,
for Lord Lytton’s eyes fell on the Rajah of Jhind, one of the Sikh
chiefs already mentioned, and he was asked to come forward, arriving
in the tiny space kept open by Lord William. He bent himself from
the waist and touched the feet of the new ruler of India, direct
representative of his Sovereign Lady the great Queen, for whom he
had fought most gallantly, and for whom he would right willingly
have fought again. Only Orientals can perform so deep an obeisance
with dignity; to receive it equally becomingly is not so easy, and
poor Lord Ripon, who had been hurried out of England and hurried
up country with hardly time to think, and with little knowledge of
Oriental etiquette, was taken completely by surprise, and jumped
back as far as the crowd would let him, not knowing quite what was
happening, and then bowed violently, the two heads only missing
contact by an inch--awful moment! for had the chief’s turban been
knocked off, or even set awry, he would have felt himself deeply
disgraced, for Orientals do not look at things as we do. To deeply
wound the feelings, however unintentionally, of a chief who, when the
mutiny broke out, was the first to draw his sword on our side, would
have stirred the whole Punjab, and we might have lost in respect and
loyalty what no elective council or other political bodies could
ever have restored. So differently does the East and West judge, and
reflect on both trivial and important matters.
Shortly after this the ceremonial came to an end, and Lord Ripon was
conducted into the house to take the Viceroy’s oath in presence of
his Council and other almighties who cared to attend.
The rest of the crowd were then at liberty to go home, but the
morning’s entertainment was not yet over, for groups of people
were riding homewards along the main road or Mall when bang went
a gun, let off close above their heads, the first gun of the new
Viceroy’s salute. What a transformation scene took place, the crowd
of gold-laced and uniformed big-wigs with cocked hats and flowing
plumes, who a moment before had been looking tired and bored,
were now a struggling mass of men and horses, all presenting the
appearance of circus riders doing tricks. One portly General, who
danced beautifully, was struggling manfully with his long-tailed
Yarkundi pony, which seemed to consider the only safe place on earth
was over the railings off the Mall and down the precipice the other
side. Two other folk of some importance had cannoned into each other
violently, while one had bitten the dust. Various people were seen
disappearing in the distance on madly galloping steeds, heaven only
knowing where they would stop; other horses following in their wake,
prancing amongst the cocked hats and sun helmets strewing the ground.
One unfortunate individual, when his horse unshipped him during its
attempts to climb a tree, had a really nasty fall. He seemed from
all accounts to have been ricocheting a bit, and was laid up for
some time. Needless to state none of those happy people who were in
a position to choose what they would do, waited for the remaining
twenty guns, and there was a general stampede. The roads in hill
stations do not lend themselves to runaway horses or circus tricks.
Most of those concerned were glad when that day was over, and most
assuredly both Lord Lytton and his successor must have breathed sighs
of relief.
Lord William had a keen sense of humour, and nothing escaped his
notice. During experiences of this sort, however, he always behaved
with great calm and dignity, which showed his powers of self-control,
for he was often consumed with mirth. He was all the time, thanks
to his powers of observation and wonderful memory, combined with
the interest he took in the etiquette, superstitions and mystic
rites of the Eastern people, laying the foundation for the brilliant
performance of the most difficult and many-sided office he was a
little later called upon to fill.
The new Viceroy being installed and having appointed Lord William as
one of his A.D.C.’s, it now became part of his duties to accompany
the Lyttons a certain distance on their way home, travelling with
them and seeing to their comfort as far as Saharanpur, en route for
Bombay.
With much regret on the part of all the Lytton household they bid
adieu to the A.D.C. To quote Lady Lytton’s own words: “We felt indeed
sorry to lose his cheery and constant pleasant companionship. His
kindness to all our children had never ceased from the first day to
the last.”
And what were the feelings of Lord William when he said farewell to
the friends who had always shown him the greatest consideration and
kindness?
[Illustration: LORD LYTTON, FAMILY AND STAFF, 1877
_Left to right._ _Standing_: Col. Colley, Mil. Sec. (later Sir George
Colley); Lord William Beresford, Capt. Rose, 10th Hussars; Col.
Villiers, Dr. Barnett, Capt. Liddell, Miss ---- (author forgets),
Lord Downe, Lady Downe, Capt. Jackson
_Seated_: Mrs. Burne, Sir John Strachey, Lord Lytton, Lady Lytton,
Lady Strachey, Col. Owen Burne, Private Secretary; Lord Kilmaine,
brother of Mrs. Burne
_Children, left to right_: Bina Lytton, Connie Lytton, Fanny Strachey]
To many A.D.C.’s it would only be a case of “Le Roi est mort, vive
le Roi,” but their late “aide” was much attached to them, and being
of an affectionate and loyal nature must have felt rather as though
he had been torn up by the roots. That Lord William lived to see
the good results of some of the seeds sown by Lord Lytton’s policy
and earnest work there can be no doubt, for he surely laid the
foundations of some of our latter-day benefits in India. Amongst
the measures that must always be associated with Lord Lytton were
the Famine reports and Insurance, the equalisation and reduction of
the salt duty, the system of Indian Finance profoundly modified by
decentralisation, and reconstruction of Provincial responsibility. In
recognition of his services when returning from India an earldom
was conferred upon him.
To an impartial observer looking back over the lives and works of the
different rulers in India, it appears to matter not what the views
and policy of each may be, they cannot get away from the fact that
they must, and do, reap the benefit to some extent of the work of
their predecessors. This must be a consoling thought to the retiring
Viceroy, who may feel on leaving India that he will be a thing of
the past, but that at any rate his work will live after him, and,
maybe, he will be spared to see it grow. Even those who know nothing
of India may therefore readily grasp what a difficult thing it is to
know the actual share each Viceroy has taken in the measures proposed
and carried out during his time. Each Viceroy is of course actually
responsible, though his part of the transactions of the Government
of India is sometimes confined to a careful perusal of the papers
and an affirmatory nod or two at the Council table. That Viceroys
work hard and conscientiously there is little doubt, but cannot take
real interest in, or have a thorough knowledge of, half the big
questions they have to deal with. In some cases the very weight of
their responsibility and possible far-reaching personal influence,
makes them shy of exerting that influence, preferring to leave many
questions to be virtually decided by those who have, or ought to
have, first-hand knowledge.
It is only really in matters of foreign policy that a Viceroy is
almost compelled to form his own decisions. Then again there is
the constant pressure exercised by the Secretary of State. Every
mail the Viceroy writes a long letter to the Secretary of State at
home, and every mail he receives a letter containing the views and
decisions of the latter. Also long cypher telegrams are continually
passing between the two, so that the policy or decision and acts
of a Viceroy are very often not his own, but have been dictated
to him by the Secretary of State. It is well, however, to bear in
mind that if things go wrong, it is the Viceroy who is abused by
the British public, the Press, and quite possibly by the Secretary
of State as well. It does not as a rule take a Viceroy very long
to find out Secretaries of State are not infallible, and that it
is a risky business to go against the opinions of his members of
Council, each of whom have the key to the whole situation, and is on
the spot, while the Secretary of State is not, and has to judge by
documentary evidence, not always at first hand, and naturally robbed
of the atmosphere surrounding the matter requiring decision. All who
have any knowledge of diplomatic situations and work, know what an
important part this plays, and how misleading a written temperature
may be to those not present and therefore unable to keep their finger
on the pulse of the moment.
This may sound as if it had nothing to do with the subject of these
memories, but as a matter of fact it has. It was because Lord William
so thoroughly appreciated the worries and difficulties surrounding
the life of those he was serving, and because he was always ready to
help in any way possible outside his own particular calling, that he
became so valued by them all. He could be relied upon to carry out,
and see through, any tiresome social problem, could be depended on to
remember and produce almost verbatim established precedents of the
time he had been in India and some time before, as he had closely
studied Indian history on his arrival in the country. How clearly
he had mastered detail was proved to me several times later in his
career.
Once in London, I think in June, 1885, if I remember rightly, when
speaking to him of the different castes and their faiths, I was much
interested and surprised at the feeling way he spoke of and in a
measure appreciated their feelings, of the Parsees, whom he described
as the Jews of India, with their great wealth and expenditure,
endowing schools, building hospitals, and taking part in many great
financial undertakings, so full of soul and feeling, that they will
not allow their dead to pollute the earth, yet do not hesitate to
offer up the human bodies of those they loved as plunder and food to
the disgusting, flesh-eating vultures, who sit watching the white
road leading from the City of Bombay to the “Tower of Silence.” It is
revolting to hear the cry of those almost featherless, horrid-looking
birds, as they see another pathetic procession winding its way up the
hill. Of the Hindus, who while considering it wicked and cruel to
kill, and against their religion, still will work their cattle until
unable to stand any longer, and then leave them to die of thirst and
misery, rather than put them out of their pain. Animals in India are
supposed to possess souls, and are worshipped, that being the case
one wonders they dare so ill-treat them.
The life of the Hindu is one perpetual ceremony from the time of
birth to the day when he is burnt by the side of the Holy Ganges.
Lord William and I agreed that their religion must be a most
absorbing and real thing in their lives, otherwise the perpetual
observance, and ritual, from morn to eve would become most irksome,
yet some of it appeals to us as rather beautiful. The first thing
in the morning on awaking the Hindu turns to the East and prays to
his Sun-god, then to the river to cleanse himself and perform his
ablutions, asking his god to keep him from all temptation, all sin in
taste, touch, word, thought or deed. From the river to the barber to
be shaved, a most important part of the curriculum, for only a tiny
tuft of hair is allowed to any Hindu, and even that must be hidden by
his head-dress.
The different caste marks of the natives worn on the forehead are
distinctly interesting, and once when we were boasting how much we
knew about all these things, I asked Lord William if he could tell
them straight off from memory. He bet me a sovereign he could. I felt
I might easily lose my sovereign, so beat him down to five shillings,
which I told him was as much as I could afford to lose. I could see
from the merry twinkle in his eye he thought he had me on toast,
so just as he was beginning I said: “If we are not agreed what is
going to happen, who shall be the judge?” In a moment he named a
mutual friend we were likely to meet at Hurlingham on the following
Saturday. This being settled, he asked: “Where shall I begin?”
_Author_: “With the Hindus.”
_Lord William_: “A triangle encircling a dot.”
_Author_: “Right.”
_Lord William_: “The Brahmans, one single spot on the middle of the
forehead.”
_Author_: “Right.”
_Lord William_: “Shiva, a triangle, crescent, a dot and two curved
lines” (he hesitated a moment, continuing) “and a U-shaped mark with
a dot in the middle.”
_Author_: “Wrong!” (in a triumphant voice).
_Lord William_: “No, no, I am right, by my vig and viskers I’m right!”
We both talked at once while laughing, gesticulating and explaining,
he enquired where I considered he had gone wrong. I explained
the U-mark with a dot in the middle was part of the Vishnu caste
mark, and what he had forgotten of the Shiva was in reality three
horizontal curved lines.
The argument became so fierce the rest of the caste marks remained
unrelated, but on the following Saturday I received my five
shillings, he having found out his mistake meanwhile, and to my
horror, having no pocket in my best bib and tucker of any useful
proportions, I was presented with five shillings in threepenny pieces
out of pure mischief, but he did not score much, as I insisted on his
carrying them for me all the afternoon.
It will be rather sad in many ways when the much-boasted civilisation
of the West has robbed India of the value and dignity of her
traditions and heritages.
The Indians are really descendants I believe of the great Aryan
race, whose language our Lord spoke in. There is so much of interest
attached to the lives, faiths, and rituals of the people of the
East, but this is not the place to write it, and we must go back
to Simla, where we left Lord Ripon, the new Viceroy. He was a Roman
Catholic, the first of that faith to be a ruler of India; also the
first who had been Secretary of State for India, not that either fact
troubled the natives much.
One of the features of the Simla season, is the social gathering
on Saturdays to witness sports and gymkhanas held on the course or
ground I have already described in a previous chapter.
Lord William was the moving spirit; he got up the races, competed in
them, and was always ready with a fresh programme every week. He won
so many races himself that it became monotonous, so he invented all
sorts of weird and sporting combinations.
The racecourse, if so we may name it, was rather dangerous, as at one
time there was only an apology of a stone wall consisting of loosely
piled-up stones to prevent an impetuous pony from falling down the
side of the hill, or what in India we call the khud, in English a
dangerous mountain-side.
I remember seeing Lord William get some shocking falls, and once
when he was driving nine ponies and riding one over the jumps, when
it came to turning the awkward corner already mentioned, one of the
leaders, he drove three abreast, took it into its head the stone wall
was there to be jumped, and while it was hanging suspended over the
awful drop at the other side of the wall, which would probably have
meant a broken back, Lord William and the rest of what he called his
“10 to 1” were hopelessly mixed up on the safer side, looking as
if they had all jumped on each other. His lordship was extricated
with nothing worse than a dislocated shoulder and thumb. He laughed
immoderately, though he was ashy white. He insisted on having his
shoulder put right at once. A chair was brought and placed on the
course upon which he sat while his shoulder was jumped and bumped
into its place again, also his thumb attended to and tied up. It was
with some difficulty he was prevented from trying again, only being
stopped by a brother A.D.C. swearing he had sent some of the ponies
home, as they had apparently had enough even if Lord William had not.