Chapter VIII · (continued 2)

These little Ghoorkas are the inhabitants of the Nepaul Hills, and just at present they are worth their weight in gold to us. I should think, from what I have read and heard of them, that there are no better soldiers in the world, if well led; and the Sikhs that gave us so much trouble in 1845-6 and 1848-9, are not far behind them. We have a regiment of the latter here with us; they are fine-looking men, not at all to be despised. I went, by permission, through the Mutineers’ camp a few days ago. I was astonished to find that a number of them could speak English—mind, they are all of them disarmed. We found some of them very talkative, asking all sorts of questions about the Russians, when they found we had been fighting them. I asked one venerable looking officer, with his breast covered with honours, what he thought about the Mutiny. His answer was that it was brought about by bad, wicked men who had eaten the Government salt; that there were good and bad in every regiment, and that the bad men had roused them all. I asked him if he, as an old officer, thought our Government would have given in if we had been beaten at Delhi? “No, never” was his reply. He stated that he had served us faithfully for upwards of 40 years, that he had fought many a hard-fought field against the Sikhs, and would never forsake us; they might kill him if they liked, but he would be faithful to the end. This old veteran could say no more, and with the big tears rolling down his furrowed cheeks, he left us with a “Salam, salam, sahibs.” We found others looked at us with contempt, but they were silent. The 16th Grenadiers are one of the disarmed regiments here. I think I never looked upon such a body of men; they may well be called Grenadiers. I am not a waster, and I had to look up into the face of every man I came near. Some rose to salute us, while others sat contemptuously looking at us. I find they have the reputation of being the best fighting regiment in the East India Company. Some of them cursed the cavalry and said it was all their fault they were disgraced as they were; and that they would go to Lucknow and fight to the death for us, if the Lord Sahib would let them. But I must bring this to a close, or I could keep it up for a week. You ask me if you may publish my letters. Please yourself; I state nothing but facts. I hope this will find you all as it leaves me, in the enjoyment of the best of blessings, good health, and believe me, as ever,

P.S.—A long letter costs no more to send than a short one, and one feels a pleasure in writing to those we love, but cannot see. Keep up your spirits, mother.

T. G.

Meean-Meer, 26th May, 1858.

My Dear Parents,

Well, dear parents, as I have but little to do during the heat of the day, I will try and amuse myself by giving you a little more news. It is extremely hot here at present; in fact, enough to roast one during the day, with a hot wind blowing a perfect hurricane: and, talk about dust and sand, it’s enough to blind one. We have been treated of late to several sand-storms, as they are called out here, and I think they have given them their right name. It’s awful to stand and see them coming on: the whole heavens become black, all is still, not a breath of air: all at once we are enveloped in sand, the wind blowing enough to sweep all before it. All doors and windows must be well secured, and even then it is impossible to see across the room. If one is caught outside, the safest thing to do is to lie down at once: if not, you stand a good chance of being blown clean off your feet and coming to mother earth rather clumsily. Well, this rebellion has received its death-blow at Lucknow, although the enemy will give us a lot of trouble in Oude and Rawalcund; but they will not face our men if there is a back door left open to escape by. As far as I can see, the Fusiliers are doomed to disappointment; we must obey orders. Our commander got a nasty rap from Sir Colin Campbell for requesting to be allowed to go into Lucknow with us: “Stay where you are; when we require your services we will send for you.” But it’s as well to keep a good look-out upon the Punjaub, for should the Sikhs break out we shall be in a hornet’s nest, as we are right in the midst of a most warlike race of people, and not very far from the Afghan frontier; in fact, the Punjaub extends right up to the mouth of the Khyber Pass. Some of the most distinguished regiments in our army are in the Punjaub at present; fine, stalwart men, that might die, but would never yield! The Faugh-a-Ballagh[23] boys—the 87th Royal Irish Fusiliers—are here with us, backed up by the 27th Inniskillings,[24] both of which noble regiments have taught the French some very awkward lessons. They call the 87th the “Aigle” catchers: they captured an eagle from the French on the field of Barrosa, and routed a whole French division with a headlong bayonet charge. They call the 27th the Waterloo lambs, and nice lambs they are at present. Should our turn come, I have not the slightest doubt they will find the Royal Fusiliers still, as at the Alma and Inkermann, true Britons. As it is, we have a good handful in front of us, for they are a cut-throat looking crew; but they stand in awe of us. I was talking only yesterday (through an interpreter) to a venerable looking, intelligent Sikh, who had fought against us in a number of fields. He informed me that after the fields of Ferozeshah and Sobraon, his men (he was an old general) said they would not face us any more, as we were not men at all, but devils in the form of men, that nothing could resist. As for this war, it would soon be all over, and it would be a good job for the Punjaubees; they would fill up our ranks, and fight to the death by the side of such dare-devils. He further stated that he had four sons already with Campbell Sahib, and if he had four more, they should all go. It’s all very well to talk like that now. An Asiatic generally carries two faces under his turban, and, mark me, our Government has a long purse, with plenty of that which makes the wheel turn smoothly. Again, we have been victorious all along the line, and so long as that is the case, we shall have plenty to jump into the mutineers’ boats; but with the vast population around us, it would not do to lose a single battle. Nothing must be left to chance; and our Government, I think, knows well what it is about. Rebellion must be crushed at any cost; then the people may be treated kindly, giving them the right hand of fellowship, with justice: protecting the weak from the oppressor, and shielding the law-abiding subject from the lawless. Under the old system this was unknown; for a chief rajah ruled with despotic monarchy, and might, not right, carried sway in every state. Accordingly, if the Maharajah (native king) was in any way opposed by one of his subjects, he must die: or if he was left alive, he was horribly mutilated and all his goods confiscated.

Thus, hundreds of thousands are only too happy to be under our flag, although I find the East India Company wink at lots of things they do not want to see or know of. I am sorry to say we are losing a number of men here through fever. They tell us we shall have rain next month, then it will be more pleasant. I am happy to say that I have my health remarkably well. I am at it by 3 a. m. daily, drilling first disorderly men; then recruits, then with the regiment, then at the recruits again; so I have a lively time of it, shouting and bawling about six hours every day, except Sunday. I am diving into the “History of India” (Thornton’s). The amount of fighting our people have had out here is marvellous. Our men have had to hold on by the skin of their teeth; but the tables have been completely turned, and it would not do for us to lose what our forefathers fought so desperately for. Thus far, our men have proved that they are worthy descendants of the conquerors of Plassey, and that the prestige of our glorious old flag is safe in our keeping. We still keep on with the executing parades. The rope is used pretty freely. Mr. Calcraft is never complained of for being clumsy. I for one am always glad to get away from such scenes. I sometimes think there ought to be a little more time given; the sentence is passed, and often carried out within less than six hours. But, again, you must remember we are playing for heavy stakes, and they say all is fair in love and war. But I must bring this to a close; it has been my fourth attempt. I am writing this without a shirt on, nothing but a pair of thin drawers, but the sweat is rolling off me like rain; so you see we do not require much coal nor yet many blankets to keep us warm. Good-bye, dear Parents.

Meean-Meer, October 15th, 1858.

My Dear, Dear Parents,

Well, dear parents, a number of eventful things have taken place since my last. A wing, that is, half the regiment, have gone into the field, with half the 7th Dragoons, so the two sevens are together after the enemy; the one to lather and the other to shave them. A battery of artillery and a regiment of Ghoorkas are with them. Our wing was near 800 strong. We have had a very near squeak with our nice beauties in front of us. They meant mischief, but we have not been caught napping; traitors often have two faces under one hat. It had been brought to the notice of our commander, General Wyndham, C.B., that these fellows were armed to the teeth, smuggled into their camp, and that as only a slender guard was over them, they would rise and murder all they could lay their hands upon; and, making their way to Lucknow, throw in their lot with their comrades who were fighting the detested Feringhees. All was kept quiet. One of their number had divulged the whole plan. One morning, a short time ago, the cavalry, artillery, and the Sikhs marched upon our parade-ground. We did not know what was up; every man had been ordered for parade. Our recruits were served out with arms. We were ordered to loosen ten rounds of ammunition before we left our bungalows. All sorts of questions were being asked as to who were going to get it. As soon as we fell in, we were ordered to load with ball; but still all was kept quiet. The general rode up to us, and we saluted him. The hero of the Redan called out, “Good morning, Fusiliers; I have a little job for you this morning.” Then turning to Col. Aldsworth, he said, “I think we shall get over it without much trouble.” We then marched off and formed line, with the Sikhs on our left. The cavalry were formed up so that they could act at once if required. The artillery, part with us, loaded with port fires lit and part with the Sikhs. The mutineers were ordered to fall in. The general and his staff rode up to them, and ordered them to remain there, on pain of instant death. Two troops of the Dragoons—about 120 men—dashed in between them and their camp and faced them. A number of carts, with about 100 natives with them, with picks and shovels, were close behind us; but still we did not know what was to be the next move, until the general returned to us. He then informed us with a loud voice, that in every tent in yonder camp there were arms concealed under the soil. A number of sergeants were ordered to go to the left company, I being one of them. That company were at once ordered to advance. The whole camp was struck; that is, all the tents were thrown down as quickly as possible by the natives; the picks and shovels brought into play. And true enough, arms of all descriptions were found, wrapped in paper or cloth, just under the soil. We found pistols, swords, guns, spears, and daggers by wholesale. They were thrown into the carts. Some of our men got a good haul in the shape of rupees and gold mohurs worth about thirty-two rupees each, (£3 4s.); but they did not go into the cart. We found daggers in their bedclothing in many cases. A nice youth from the Green Isle, a stalwart Grenadier belonging to us, found a good shillagh, with lead let into the end of it. He had the whole lot of us laughing enough to break our sides, at his expressions and antics. He flourished his stick over his head, and declared that he would “bate” a squadron of yonder traitors with that bit of a “carbine.” The general was with us, and laughed heartily at him, handing him his flask, when he drank to ould England and ould Ireland, as, one handing the flask back to the general, with a salute, he said he hoped that “his ’oner’s cow would niver run dry.” These weapons had been smuggled in from Wozerabad, the Birmingham of India, about forty miles from here. The disarmed regiment at Mooltan, we found by wire, had bolted, and were coming on to join these gents; but what a surprise it must have been to them when they, many of them, found a strong rope around their necks before the sun set that day, while others were sent flying from the cannon’s mouth. You remember me telling you about a venerable old native officer that had served us for forty years, and was so talkative about his loyalty: that he had fought and would again, as long as he could stand, for the British, and that he would be faithful to death, and got so excited that he even mustered tears. Well, that very old hypocrite has turned out to be the ringleader. His own letter to his friends at Mooltan, with the whole plan, have condemned the old villain and others to a traitor’s death, and he, with nineteen others, were blown to atoms a few days ago. It would have been all up with some of us long ago, but a merciful God has been watching over us.

I have not the slightest doubt that we should have destroyed them to a man, but we must have lost a number of valuable lives. My company’s bungalow is the nearest to their camp, about 500 yards distant; so poor No. 7 would have been in as warm a corner as we had on the 18th June, 1855. But, thank God, it has been ordered otherwise. The Mooltan people, (I mean the runaway mutineers), are being brought in daily; one pound, or ten rupees, is offered by our people for every one, dead or alive. The Sikhs are making a harvest. The mutineers are tried by court-martial, condemned, and executed at once. I think you will say that is sharp work. My dear parents, 400,000 men with arms in their hands are not to be played with; mind, it’s death or victory with us. If our Government were to dilly-dally with them we should have the Sikhs against us, as the following, I think, will prove: “It’s time for Britons to strike home; our men are, so to speak, fighting with halters around their necks. This is a war of extermination. Some three or four regiments of Sikhs are stationed at Dera Ishmal Khan, about 280 miles from here. These gents have struck for the same pay the British soldier gets, and are determined to fight for it, if required. These are the nice allies that our wing, the Dragoons, artillery, and Ghoorkas are gone against: and news by wire has just come in that they have got a little more than they asked for. They were confronted by our people, and ordered to give up their arms; but would not without a fight: so they got it quick and sharp—grape, shot, shell, and musketry, with the cavalry riding through and through them. It has struck terror into the Sikhs all over the country.” So you see that sharp diseases require sharp remedies. It has reminded their brethren all over the country that we are still the conquering race. The regiment of Sikhs here call them at Dera mad fools; but the tables, you must remember, have been turned. I see by the papers it has had the effect of making our friends, the Sikhs, remarkably civil in all parts of the country. Grape is the best dose that could be administered to traitors; those that escape remember it as long as they live, and will hand it down to their children’s children.

Our motto out here must be: “We will surrender India only with our lives.” “Nought shall make us rue, if Britons to themselves will act but true.” Shoulder to shoulder we may die; but so long as India is held in the hands of true Britons, they will never yield. I trust this will find you all quite well. But before I close I have a secret to tell you: before this reaches you I shall most likely have taken a rib to share my joys and sorrows. It will be like all the remainder, “for better for worse.” I feel confident that her sweet temper will cheer me in prosperity, and soothe me in adversity, and that her tender, loving heart will lighten the burden of life. I always look on the bright side, as I think you know. I never go half way to meet troubles; I have learnt by a little rough experience that the best way to surmount difficulties is to face them manfully. This is a world of ups and downs, and I feel I want a helpmate.... I have often thought of your advice to me as a very young man, before I took the Queen’s shilling: “Never to think of taking a wife until I could support one comfortably.” I can now see my way clear before me, although it’s not all gold that glitters. Mine has been love at first sight—our courtship has been short—so we will tie the knot first, and court afterwards. But I must bring this to a close. You may inform Miss H—— that she has played with the mouse until she has lost it. Please tend my kind regards to all old friends,

My Dear, Dear Parents,

Once more a line in health, trusting this will find you the same. This is a changeable world we live in. It will not, I expect, be news to you to inform you that one of the strongest Companies this world has ever seen—that started with but small prospects of success, but gradually rose to be Rulers of a vast population and a mighty empire, much larger than the whole of Europe in area and population—has passed away. The great East India Company is now a thing of the past, and we are no longer under their control. By proclamation, Her Most Gracious Majesty, Queen Victoria, is now the supreme Ruler of India. There has been a lot of pomp and show all through the country. The Natives seem to be delighted at the change. They appear to have confidence that they will have justice under the “Buna Ranee.”[25] One portion of the proclamation must have its effect upon the poor deluded wretches that are still holding out under the Napaul Hills and Central India. The Royal clemency is extended to all offenders, except those who have been guilty of murdering poor defenceless women and children. In accordance with the laws of God and civilized nations, justice demands their lives—“a murderer shall die.” The Natives cannot understand how it is possible that we can forgive men that have rebelled against and fought us, time after time. Their wonder is that when we were but few, we destroyed all that came in our way, and now that the whole country is bristling with British bayonets, and the enemy at our feet, we forgive. This is a little beyond their comprehension. The Mohammedans, they say, would not do that. They do not understand mercy to a fallen foe. Hundreds of thousands of them have yet to learn that, as Christians, we are taught to be merciful to our enemies. I find by the papers that hundreds, yea, thousands of these poor deluded wretches are coming to the various camps and stations and laying their arms at our feet. We may rejoice that this terrible war is now nearly over. As a soldier, I think I have already had enough of war to know the value of peace, and I have no desire to show a bellicose spirit. The man that’s fond of war is a lunatic. I know well that at times it is a necessary evil, and duty—stern duty—must be performed. A statesman who hurls his country into war without straining every nerve to avert it, is, to say the least of it, an unwise man, so we hail Her Majesty’s proclamation with joy. It will be the means of saving thousands of precious lives. I find that in one province alone (Oude) 350,000 arms of various kinds have been given up already; the Mutineers have been pardoned and have gone to their homes. As far as I can see by the papers from home, they have put a lot of colouring upon the state of things out here, and made them appear to the public much worse than they really are; that’s needless, but truth will stand sifting. An honest account will go best when plainly told. I could fill sheet after sheet with what, out here, is called bazaar talk, but only about two per cent. of it is reliable, and sometimes not that; but it often finds its way into the country papers, and home papers copy, and most of it is swallowed as gospel. It’s now getting very pleasant mornings and evenings. I still keep on with my drilling, and am happy to inform you I have got another step up the ladder of promotion—colour-sergeant and pay-sergeant of a company. It gives me a lot of extra work; but I do not mind that at all, so long as I can give satisfaction to my commanders. It gives me near two shillings per diem more. I wanted to resign my drill-sergeantship, but the Colonel would not listen to me; so I am often at work with my pen when others are enjoying themselves, or asleep. I have much pleasure in forwarding you a small draft to get you a little nourishment. Please to accept it in the same spirit in which it is sent; and if you do not require it, bank it against a rainy day. I must now bring this to a close, and believe me,

My Dear, Dear Parents,

Once more a line in health. This is one of the most lovely, yea, delightful places I have ever clapped eyes upon. The climate is quite refreshing when compared with the burning plains of Meean-Meer. We are just at the foot of what are called the Murry Hills, or Himalaya Mountains. They rise majestically all along our front, and we get a beautiful refreshing breeze morning and evening. I should not mind completing my time here. I am afraid it is too good to last long. Well, in reference to our march from Meean-Meer. We started on the morning of the 5th April. Nothing particular to note until we came to Wozerabad, the Birmingham of India. As far as I can see, a Native will do anything with a pattern. I was astonished, on going through their bazaars, to see the number of arms for sale. I bought a large dagger, and a knife with all sorts of blades in it. I find our Government have bought up the greater portion of the fire-arms. They are a most war-like race of people about this part of the country, but their teeth have been drawn. They are on our side, and so long as they can see that we are still the conquering race, they will go with us against all comers. On arriving at the Jelumn, we found it a rushing, mighty torrent, very wide. We crossed it on a bridge of boats on the northern bank. We found a very pretty station, but empty until our arrival. Our other wing rejoined us here. The Head-quarters remained at Jelumn, and five companies were ordered on here. I was appointed Acting Sergeant-Major of the wing. After the first day’s march we bade good-bye to all roads and bridges. We struck into a hilly country full of little streams; some about 30, others near 200 yards wide. We had to land on the other side the best way we could—many of them very dangerous places to get over in the dark—with a line of Natives with torches to mark the fords. We had as many as sixteen of these nice places to go through, in as many miles. We found the Natives all the way up country remarkably civil; they knew well it would not do to be otherwise. Although the Mutiny is now nearly all over, the country is still under martial law, and our Government are determined to stamp rebellion out with a strong hand, well rewarding all those that remain faithful. The Sikhs, Afridis, Ghoorkas, and Beloochees have stood by us well; and they will now reap their reward in the shape of good pensions.

Some of them have had little or nothing to do, but they have completed their portion of the contract with our Government. Sir John Laurence may well be called the saviour of India, for he is the man that saved India. Yes, it was a daring master-stroke on his part. He had spent all his life out here. No man breathing knew the Native character better than Sir John. When the mutiny broke out, Sir John was Governor of the Punjaub. It had only been conquered eight years. Thousands of Sikhs all over the Punjaub, then as now, carried the wounds received from the dreaded Feringhees. But Sir John, knowing that we were playing for heavy stakes, at once called upon the chiefs of the Sikhs to rally round the British standard. He requested them to furnish him with 100,000 men; they did so, and arms were at once put into their hands. In the name of our Government, Sir John promised them, if they would serve our Government faithfully for two years, or until the revolt was crushed, a pension for life, according to rank; while for all those who fell in action, or died of wounds or disease, their nearest relatives should reap the reward. All animosity was thrown on one side, the temptation of the sacking of Delhi and other towns that had revolted being ever before their eyes. Now that it is all over, our Government are faithfully discharging Sir John’s promise, and thousands of these stalwart men are returning to their native towns and villages—all loud in their praises of the Big Lord Sahib, as they call our Government. In many cases their sons are off, only too happy to take their fathers’ places. I find that all Natives are now enlisted to serve us in any part of the world we may require their services. There are no better men in the world than the Ghoorkas, Sikhs, Afridis, and Beloochees. If we required 400,000 or 800,000, we could have them in less than one month, and officer them by some of the wildest boys of our much-beloved Isle. They will go anywhere, particularly if they are mixed up with some of our battalions. Should ever the Russians make an attempt on India, they will find a handful. As far as I can find out, the Mutiny was not brought about by anything that has as yet been laid before the public. There has been a system of bribery all through the service, and the whole scheme of the East India Company was rotten to the core. Such a system of bribery from the highest, one would think, had been handed down from Clive and Hastings. As far as I can see, all the Native of India wants is justice; and under their old masters, the much-lauded East India Company, they had a lot of law. But justice was scantily eked out, unless the unfortunate client could stump up well that which makes the world go smooth, and covers a multitude of sins. From such cases as the following, now beginning to leak out, you may form some judgment of the laws of the East India Company, there being one law for the Native and another for the Lord Sahib, both of whom, remember, being under our much-respected flag of liberty. A European, in chastising one of his servants, killed him. Of course his counsellor (that is, if it was brought to light at all) would represent to the court in most eloquent language that his client had been grossly insulted; or if there was no other loop-hole to escape from—his client, a most peace-loving, fatherly Christian, in the heat of passion, knocked the deceased down with his fist or stick, not thinking for one moment of doing him an injury, but just to teach him better manners. But he died, it must be acknowledged, from the treatment of this peace-loving fatherly Christian. He gets off, or escapes the law by a fine of from 500 to 1000 rupees—£50 or £100.

Now just note how justice was doled out to the Native, viz., if he is a poor man. His Sahib hit him, and he returns the compliment, and being a powerful man, he gives his old master a good pounding. Well, the Native is duly handed over to the law, and if he gets off with ten years’ transportation, with heavy irons, he’s a fortunate man. As for the Native army rising, I am not at all astonished at it. They have been treated worse than the brute beasts of the field by those they had to look up to, or to whom, according to military law, they were compelled to show respect. The whole system of treatment to which they have been subjected for years was tyrannical; and the Bengal Army, to say the least of it, has been worried into insubordination and, depending upon their strength, broke out into open mutiny. The upshot of it has been the smashing up of the strongest Company that has ever existed under the old Jack or any other flag. Already we begin to find the country gradually settling down, and I do not think we shall have much more trouble with the mutineers. I find by the papers our Government are determined to root out all evil-doers, and all law-abiding subjects shall be protected from the lawless and have justice; that the same laws that govern the European shall in future guide, govern, and protect the Native. And a strong Government has announced that tyranny and bribery shall be stamped out with the strong arm of the law; and that all, from the highest to the lowest in India, shall enjoy liberty of conscience, shall worship God according to the dictates of their hearts, at their own shrines or places of worship, and none shall interfere or make them afraid. This order or decree has been translated into all the different languages spoken in India. We already see the effect for good upon the Natives, and I dare prophecy that it will bind the teeming millions in love to our glorious old flag. We have a regiment of Mutineers here, and they are permitted to go where they like about the station. As far as I am concerned, I have a handful—as much as I can get through, with the extra duty of Acting Sergeant-Major, looking after the canteen, “not at all a bad job” I can tell you, and then my Company’s work. But I must say I have some of the sweets, and say nothing about the canteen. A good-tempered, pretty girl to call my own; and, as far as I can see, change of air or new bread is affecting her wonderfully; but all’s well that ends well. I must bring this note to a close; I have had two or three goes at it. Trusting this will find you all enjoying the best of blessings. My wife joins with me in love,

P.S.—Do not publish this, but keep it. I have hit out a little too plainly; but facts are stubborn things, and stronger than fiction.

T. G.

Peshawur, 25th November, 1859.

My Dear Parents,

Once more, a line or two in answer to your kind letter, just to hand. As for the small amounts I have sent you from time to time, do not mention it, but rather thank Him who is the great disposer of all. I feel it a pleasure and a duty to contribute a little of what this world mostly prizes towards your comfort: and my fine bouncing rib encourages me. And kindly tell me what a man will not do for a warm-hearted pretty girl, with her arm around his neck, and her sweet lips close to his: “O do send poor mother a little this time; we can spare it.” Please send your photos, with the next letter, in cabinet size. We will send ours by the next mail, as I find there is a good photographer in this station. Our No. 1 is a whopper—a strong healthy child; I hope he will make a man in the world some day. This is a lovely looking station, but it has a cruel name for thieves and murderers, fever and ague. It is much colder here than in any place in which we have been. The Himalayas are on our right, left, and front. We are all served out with an extra warm coat, padded with wadding; and we require them nights and mornings. Now for a little news about our march up here. We marched out of Rawul Pindee on the 20th October with a regiment of Native cavalry—a portion of Hodson’s Horse—that have fought so desperately for us all over the country. I find they are fine-looking men, with a lot of go in them. They have some wild spirits as officers to lead them. We had likewise a regiment of Native Infantry, and a battery of Horse Artillery with us. We escorted up here more money than I ever saw in my life before. We had some 600 camels and a great number of elephants, carrying bags of rupees, 1,000 in each bag.[26] A camel can carry four bags. The elephants were used to carry tents and other heavy baggage. It was all a job to load up the money; we had thirty lacs to load and unload every morning. The string of camels and elephants made a great show; for we had close upon 300 of them with us. Then came all kinds of vehicles, country carts, &c., many of the wheels of which were octagonal, or any shape you like but round; some hundreds of tattoos (small ponies), shaggy looking, but strong, most of them belonging to the grass cutters, for the cavalry and artillery. Then came all the rag-tail of the native bazaars, native women riding on poor puny donkeys; these poor creatures are not much larger than a good-sized Newfoundland dog. Goats by wholesale: and as for monkeys and parrots, these were perched upon the top of the baggage in swarms. The whole of this medley goes swinging along beside the road or track; as for dust, we were not short of that. We found but few bridges all the way up, and as we came to the streams, which were very numerous—some of them ugly places to get over—we had to land on the other side the best way we could; and a nice lot of beauties we looked, but as all were alike, we could not laugh much at each other, except in a few cases where the men had had a roll in the water, or got into a hole of about seven or eight feet, and had to be pulled out. I managed to pop into one of these nice holes one morning, quite over my head; they pulled me out, and of course, had a good laugh at me. But laughing is sometimes catching. At some of the streams there were a number of villagers who offered their services to carry anyone over for about two annas—threepence. Then came the sport. Many of these Natives were tripped up, and both Native and European would have a roll or flounder for it; all would be taken in good part. As for game of all kinds, they will hardly get out of your way, and one with a fouling-piece can soon have a good bag. There is a very strong force kept at this place. It is close upon the borders of Afghanistan, and our people are not going to be taken short with them; for they are a treacherous lot and know no law, but might is right with them. We found one of our sentinels this morning lying dead at his post: his rifle and accoutrements were gone, and he, poor fellow, had been stabbed in the heart. I will be bound our fellows will pay them out for that yet—it’s only lent. We must keep a sharp look-out. I never attempt to go out here at night without my loaded revolver. I am happy to say we are both of us keeping our health well. I think I told you in my last, a commission was offered me in a Native regiment, but I declined it. I shall stop with the old Fusiliers. Trusting this will find you all quite well,

P.S.—Wife sends her love to all. Will drop a line next mail.

T. G.

Peshawur, April 14th 1860.

My Dear Dear Parents,

Once more, a line in health from this sickly station. This is, I think, about the worst place we have on all the plains of India—they may well call it the Valley of Death. There is a kind of fever here that brings the stoutest down to the brink of the grave in a very short time. Thank God, I have escaped it thus far. And again, unless we are well on the alert, we do not know when we may get up and find our throats cut, for no other crime than that we are “Feringhee sowars”—English pigs. We are surrounded by the scum of the earth—cringing cowards. They will not face our men, but as far as I can see, they take delight in murdering with the dagger, in the dark, any they can pounce upon; but a number of them have already met a traitor’s death. I find, by your last, that you are mistaken about Santa Topee. He was not a brother, or in any way related to that fiend of a Nana Sahib, but his right-hand man. He was a black-hearted monster of the deepest dye, but he has met a traitor’s death. Hanging was too good for him. To recount his bloodthirsty deeds to poor defenceless women and children, would make your blood run cold. If our laws would have permitted it, he ought to have been tried by a judge and jury of women, and I do not think he would have died in two minutes, for he was a wholesale murderer.

As for that blood-thirsty monster, Nana Sahib, he has thus far escaped the sword of justice. One million of money has been offered for him, dead or alive, by our Government; and as large as India is, if he is alive, he will have to keep very quiet. But the general opinion is that his form no longer disgraces this earth—that he has destroyed himself, or was killed in some of the encounters with our troops on the Nepaul frontier. He knew well that his doom was almost instant death, had he fallen into our hands. The Afghans have become wonderfully civil of late. They have found out that the “Feringhee ray”—English reign—is not all over out here, and that civility is much cheaper than shot, shell, cold steel, or a rope. As for a Native army, we must keep up one, or send out at least 50,000 more men, to hold this vast country. The old Bengal Native Army has been almost destroyed. There are a few regiments that have remained loyal, and the places of the others are filled up with Punjaubees and Afridis—inhabitants of the lower range of the Himalaya Mountains. One would almost pity some of the old mutineers that escaped the ravages of war. We have a number of them here. They tell us all sorts of tales as to what brought about the Mutiny. But, so far as I can find out, they were badly treated—buffeted and knocked about by their officers—and it was no use complaining. The fact is this, with at least thousands of them, it had been prophesied that we should hold the country for one hundred years, starting from Plassey (1757); that none could stand against us; then we should have to bow to them and eat the dust. But they have found the sons of Albion, side by side the heroic boys of Ireland, bad hands at eating humble-pie—that we are still the conquering race, and determined to hold what has been handed down to us. I find the country generally is settling down under the sceptre of Her Most Gracious Majesty. All those that have been faithful to us are now reaping their reward; and that will have a wonderful effect upon the Native mind. All through those dark, troublesome days, with treachery all around, there has been a silver line running. Some have proved faithful until death, although of the same creed and caste with the others; and while in the midst of the ranks of these blood-thirsty villains, have come out boldly, ranged themselves by our side, and fought desparately for us. These men are now reaping their reward. I have much pleasure in forwarding herewith our photos. You will find a corner for them in the album, I think. Hope you will like them. It’s not a good one of my better half, as her attention was upon the child. Must bring this to a close,

P.S.—I enclose a letter from my rib; and from her long stocking she has desired me to forward you a nice little present of £——. This is the first from her, but if we are spared it will not be the last.

T. G.

Peshawur, October 26th, 1860.

My Dear, Dear Parents,

I think I told you that Rawul Pindee was a perfect paradise upon earth, contrasted with this infernal hole. For if ever there was a hell upon earth, or a hell-doomed place, this is the spot. We are infested with the scum of the earth—thieves and murderers all around us. It’s no use trying to tame them or to take them prisoners; they will not be taken alive if they can help it, and the only way to stop their little game is to shoot them. There is nothing too hot or too heavy for them to walk off with. They will creep on hands and knees right into the men’s barrack-rooms, and steal their rifles and accoutrements, ammunition, etc. They are in a state of nudity, greased all over, and armed with a large dagger. Should anyone try to stop or take them, look out for the dagger. We have already had several men killed by them. I think I have encountered the enemies of our country as often as most men of my age. It’s far better to have an open enemy to deal with, than such brutes as we are infested with. They come around the barracks during the day, under the pretence of selling all sorts of articles; at the same time they are taking stock of what they will return for at night, under a different garb. I think I told you before, that there are no walls around the barracks out here—at least, we have not met any yet. An order has been issued to challenge and fire at once, if not answered; but that has been found ineffectual—several men having lost their lives simply by challenging them. So our men have reversed the order,—fire first, then shout out, “Who comes there?” You will say, “that is murder well out.” Well, it has been brought in day after day as justifiable homicide; for in every case, that deadly weapon, the dagger, has been found by the side of the would-be murderer. We have had nearly twelve months’ training with these gents, and the Fusiliers, the 93rd Highlanders, the 98th and 19th Hussars or “dumpypice,” (as we have called them on account of their diminutive stature), have pretty well thinned them out, one would think. Mind this has been going on since we took possession in 1849. The Afghans then were supposed to be our allies, but in fighting the Sikhs, on the field of Goojerat (21.1.1849), thousands of these nice allies were found in the ranks of our enemies. The Sikh boundary on their north-west was the river Attock, and as a punishment to the Afghanistan Ruler, our people annexed to our dominion the whole slice from the Attock to the mouth of the Khyber Pass, Peshawur becoming our frontier station. Well, since then, hundreds of them have been shot; but still they are as daring as ever. It is not safe to lie down to sleep without a loaded revolver under your head. In the summer-time, it is so hot that the doors must be left open to admit air. One of our sergeants caught a fellow very cleverly a short time ago. He had a large hole dug in front of his door, put a slab over it, had it well secured during the daytime, so that it would not tilt, and at night set his trap. We often laughed at his contrivance. He has a very natty little housewife, and his front room always looked the picture of comfort. He had his rifle and sword so placed, that anyone coming up to the door, during the daytime, could see them. He had not very long to wait before he got his reward, in the shape of a wild-looking savage monster, armed with two murderous-looking daggers. This hole or well was about ten feet deep, with a sort of man-trap at the bottom. The sergeant’s quarters were not far from mine. I heard the row, and of course I must go to see the fun. His batman or servant is an Irishman. The first salute I heard was: “You murdering villain, an’ how the d——l did you git in thir? Arrah! sergeant, dear, the d——l take me if it is not the same identical blackguard that was selling Afghan cats here yesterday!” We managed to get him out with ropes, but he struck out left and right with his daggers, and before we could disarm him, he got a tap on the head with the butt-end of the rifle, and a taste of the bayonet he was looking after (from the owner). This fellow was transported for life. I have bought one of the daggers for 20 rupees. The sergeant got 200 rupees from the Judge for his ingenious trap, and I think he had the laugh at us. So you see we are in the midst of a nice lot. The noted Khyber Pass is just in front of us, about five miles from the barracks—and this is where most of these gents hail from.

About a month ago, my master-cook came running to me early one morning to report that the whole of the Company’s cooking utensils had been stolen during the night; and as they are all made of copper, they are worth a trifle. It is a pity they did not send a note to inform us where they had taken them; so that we might have sent them something to cook, if it was only coffee, for it’s beginning to get cold on the hills now. By the bye, we can see snow here all the year round, although it’s enough to roast one in the valley. It is the unhealthiest place we have in all India. We have now upwards of 200 men down with fever and ague. Last summer, many of our men looked more dead than alive, and were walking about for spite, to save funeral expenses. We have just mustered number two. We shall call him Arthur Henry, after his uncle. Mother and child are doing well. We have had a slice of luck latterly, and I enclose you a little present in the shape of an order for £——. Please to accept it from your wild boy as a mark of love. Before I close this, I must tell you the latest daring attempt at robbery. An officer of the 98th had been robbed of all he had in his room. He had suspicion that some of his native servants were implicated in the robbery, and was determined, if possible, to find it out. He accordingly furnished afresh; and, next evening, allowed himself to be carried home, apparently drunk. He was laid upon his bed, his native servants attending to undress him. There he lay, to all appearance helplessly drunk. As soon as he was by himself he jumped up, took his revolver (loaded), and lay down again. About twelve o’clock (midnight), a man crawled into the room, and stood over him with a large dagger, ready to plunge it into his heart had he moved, whilst others cleared all out of the room, in the shape of arms, carpets, &c. As soon as they had got all that they could carry, the signal was given to the would-be murderer to follow. But no sooner was he off his guard, than out came the revolver, and the would-be assassin fell dead. Our cool, resolute officer at once pounced on the others, killing one, and wounding two others—one of them his own servant. But I must bring this to a close. We expect to remove shortly from this “lovely spot” to Nowshira—18 miles from here. They tell us that we shall be jumping out of the frying-pan into the fire—so far as thieves and sand-storms are concerned. This is the third attempt I have had at this letter. Since writing the above, I am sorry to have to inform you that I have been robbed of every farthing I had in the house—both public and private monies. They have made a clean sweep. But I do not believe that it’s a native of India that has robbed me; for in that case all would have gone, including clothing, jewellery, arms, &c.; whereas nothing but cash, and some rum I had bottled for the christening, have been taken. It was done whilst I was on a visit to my sick wife and child in hospital. I was only away from home about an hour and a-half—from 7 to 8.30 p.m. My servant was found drunk, and, about 10 p.m., we found some rum in bottles, but no cash has turned up. I cannot at present send what I had promised. I have lost in all about £60 (600 rupees), including Company’s money. My captain is but a poor man. We were sergeants together at Inkermann, and he shall not suffer by my neglect; for in my absence I ought to have put one of our police at my door, knowing there was so much money in my box. Whoever has got it, it will not do them much good, and I shall get over it in a few months. But I shall keep my eyes open, and if possible, will bring the thief to justice. We have plenty of “black ones” to look after. I shall discharge my servant at once, and take that good-hearted Irishman who saved my life at the Redan. He is a rough diamond, I know; but as true as steel, and one that I have a right to respect for his noble conduct to me, when death was all around.

No more at present, must conclude, and believe me, as ever,

Meean-Meer, 26th May, 1862.

My Dear Parents,

In answer to your kind letter of 18th February, just to hand, I am happy to inform you that we are quite well, and doing well. The heat during the day is very trying at present. As for the trifle we sent you last, do not mention it. We both of us are only too happy to be able to contribute a little towards your comfort in your declining days. Send nothing in return but your photos, and as long as it pleases God to give us health and strength, we will keep on repeating the dose as you require it. At your time of life, you want a little nourishment: and it is only a debt of gratitude that I am discharging, and all we ask (for we both pull together in the same boat) is for you to accept it as a mark of love and gratefulness. It will, I hope, help to bind up some of the wounds that the writer, as a thoughtless boy, gave your poor hearts. It’s an old saying that a wild colt makes a good horse. I am thankful to say that I have a partner that is worth her weight in diamonds, and I must tell you we are going on very nicely. We have not yet been married four years, and now we muster five little ones. She has just made me a present of two—a boy and a girl. My Captain told me a few days ago he thought I had an eye to business; as I think I told you we get 5s. per month out here, from Government, for every child until they are sixteen years of age. I have the canteen here for my detachment of three companies. They had to leave us here, as the barracks at Ferozepore would not hold us. We are so strong (near 1,600 bayonets). This detachment is near 500 strong. We are about two miles from the barracks we occupied in 1858. I am heading them every toss. As far as I can see, I prosper in everything I put my hand to. We have some very rich officers, and as drill-sergeant and acting sergeant-major, I have the training of all young officers. I have a lot of trouble with them, and am often hard at work when others are taking it easy. I often get handsome presents from them. I have remarkably good health, and I do not abuse it. We have been out here nearly five years, and I do not know the taste of any drink stronger than tea or coffee. My Colonel has very kindly offered me a commission, but I felt almost compelled to decline it, looking at my little big family and a strong, healthy wife, not yet twenty-five. I thanked the Colonel for his kindness; but on account of my family, requested him to kindly allow me to remain as I was. Had I been single, I would have jumped at the Colonel’s kind offer. But I am satisfied: as I have made my bed, so I will lie on it. It is not all pleasure to be an officer, with a smart coat and almost an empty pocket. I am sorry to have to inform you that cholera has made its appearance here. The Artillery and the 19th Regiment are losing a number of men daily. Thus far, we have only had one fatal case—a sergeant of my company, cut off in three-and-a-half hours with it. Our Commander has left all to me. I have got up all kinds of sports for the men, mornings and evenings—anything but drink, to keep up their spirits. Our General called upon me this morning for a copy of the programme of the sports. He is not a teetotaller, and enquired if I had plenty of rum on hand. He went with me and inspected the canteen, ordering an extra tot of grog for all hands at once, which they had. The men turned out as fast as their legs could carry them when I sounded the grog bugle, and cheered the General heartily. My wife has gone up to the hills with our little ones, so I am at present a grass widower. I am glad they are off the burning plains. The climate up there is lovely. I hope to start shortly with our eldest boy for the school at Kussoulie; but I shall not leave until all danger is over as regards the cholera. I find a lot of alteration in this place since 1858. The old native huts or barracks have all been thrown down, and beautifully laid-out gardens have taken their places. Yes, it is true I was robbed a second time in Peshawur; but I did not like to upset you by telling you. But since you have got hold of it, I may as well tell you that the second time it was a Khybereen. I lost upwards of 1,400 rupees—public and private—my watch (a good English lever), and gold Albert; my wife’s gold watch and long chain, and a lot of other trinkets and clothing belonging to myself, wife and children. The fellow was traced to the mouth of the Khyber Pass. The whole of the troops in garrison were on parade at the time; so I think I have cause to remember that lovely spot. Since then, I have made it a point not to keep much money in the house; but I was not the only victim of our regiment up there. They walked off with our Sergeant-Major’s large box; it took at least two to carry it. There were over 3,000 rupees in it, most of it public money. There was a man on sentry close by at the time, but they managed to attract his attention in another direction, and then walked or crept in and slipped out at the back with it. Next morning it was found broken up: the books and papers were left, but the cash had gone. Now that I am writing upon the tricks of these nice gents, I will give you a few more. The 93rd, whilst on parade, had on one occasion nearly all their medals stolen, and were never heard of more. The Artillery had a small guard of three men and a corporal, on their canteen: they walked off with all their carbines, swords, and long boots, including the sentry’s (for he was drunk), and then had the cheek to try and take away a six-pounder horse artillery gun; but they had to drop that. It turned out that they were chased, and could not run with it. We had a native policeman to watch our targets. One morning our Instructor of Musketry found the poor fellow’s head stuck upon one of the targets; he had evidently stood in their way. They said we should find them more daring at Nowshera, and true enough, we did.

One of our pay-sergeants, on getting up one morning, found two large stones, larger than his head, by the side of his bed: his three arm-chests, with about twenty stand of arms and accoutrements, gone. The chests were found about a mile from the barracks, but empty. Just as our left wing were leaving Nowshera, the camp being pitched ready for the men to go into, but not occupied—it was almost square—a heavy sand-storm came on during the night, and in the midst of the storm, they walked off with one of the large tents, although there were six sentries with loaded rifles all around the camp. With reference to the sergeant, he was made a prisoner for neglecting to chain his chests to the wall, according to order. He was a good-hearted, witty fellow. He was brought before our Colonel on a charge of neglect; the Colonel, who knew well what an honourable, straightforward man he was, said that he was astonished to see the prisoner before him on such a charge. In defence, the old veteran said that he generally slept with one eye at a time, but these fellows had, he must acknowledge, caught him napping. The Colonel let him go. But before I close this I must tell you that our Government do not lose much by them for all that’s stolen: a heavy indemnity is laid on all the surrounding villages. As one victim who never got a farthing back, I was only too glad to get out of the Peshawur valley. There were only about fifty men in the whole regiment that escaped the fever and ague, and I am one of them. But I must bring this short note to a close,

P.S.—The following is too good to be kept back: at Peshawur, one of our staff-officers had a beautiful charger, a very valuable horse. Some of his friends told him he would lose it some night. He laughed at them; he had three men told off specially as a guard for his stables. One morning last winter there were all sorts of rumours going about that the General’s horses had been stolen. It turned out that an old man had set himself down to have a smoke with his hubbybub;[27] two of the guard joined him, and the third at last thought he would have a pull. Almost as quick as thought, the three men became unconscious. The old man at once gave the signal, when in came the men, stole this beautiful horse, with three others, saddled them, and mounting with all the guards’ arms, and ammunition, were away quickly. It was found that the guard had been dosed.

T. G.

Meean-Meer, 20th September, 1862.

My Dear, Dear Parents,

Once more a line, in the best of health, trusting this will find you enjoying the same blessing. I told you in my last that I felt lonely. I have given Corporal Woods a little of my mind. What is the use of upsetting your minds for nothing. It is true I got a touch of the cholera in June last—the doctors only called it a touch—but if that’s only a touch, I pray that it may never touch me again. Another wrote to my wife, informing her of it. She, poor thing, was almost distracted: and the only thing that appeased her mind was frequent telegrams informing her that I was alive and had got over the worst of it. It gave me a good shaking, but not being in the habit of drinking spirits, brandy cured me. The doctors informed me that had I been a rum drinker, the brandy would not have had the effect. I have no objection to Wood writing to his friends; but, as I told him, he might have waited to see the result before sending the news 15,000 miles away, almost amounting to one’s death. Well, thank God, I have got over it, but I have had another fight for life since then. I think it will somewhat amuse you, so I will tell you all. I have put Johnny into the school at Kussoulie, in the Himalaya Mountains: it is about 350 miles from here. We travelled by bullock cart (Government), changing bullocks every ten miles, travelling night and day. We found it very hot and sultry in July, but still we pushed on. All went well until we came to the banks of the Sutlej, a broad and rapid river which, owing to the melting of the snow on the hills, had overflowed its banks. The point at which we had to cross was over six miles wide, the current running from ten to twelve miles per hour. I obtained a good supply of food, lemonade, and other refreshments from the 81st, stationed in a large fort on the banks of the river. Cart, bullocks, and all, were put into a large Government boat, and off we started.

It was tedious work, crossing such a current. We had four Natives to man the boat. As far as I could see, they understood their business. I watched them for some time, and then got into my cart to have a nap. I was informed we should be four hours, at least, crossing. Whilst I was asleep, Master Johnny amused himself by throwing all the food we had overboard, to feed the fishes. On arriving safely on terra firma once more, I asked my generous son to hand me a biscuit and a bottle of lemonade. I got the latter, but Johnny said he could not see any biscuits in the box. I told him to look again. The answer I got was: “I cannot see any biscuits, dada.” I was rather annoyed, but I found the child was right. We had then about 140 miles to go, without food, and no sign of habitation—a nice look out. We travelled all that night, and until about 5 p.m. next day. As I was walking behind the cart, I noticed the child crying; I inquired what was the matter, when he, poor boy, burst out the louder, saying he was hungry. I could not stand that, so, mounting on the top of the cart, I espied a native village about a mile from the road. We drew the cart up under some trees, and telling the driver to take his bullocks out, and stop there to take care of the child until I returned, promising to reward him, I armed myself with a brace of revolvers, loaded, took some empty bottles to hold milk, and with a good strong stick, off I went across the paddy fields, up to my ankles, and sometimes knees, in mud and water, until I struck upon a good path. As I approached the village a number of dogs came at me. I kept them at bay with stones and my stick as long as I could—shooting the most troublesome one, when the remainder were called off. On turning a corner I came upon a number of native women (almost in a state of nudity), milking cows—the very thing I wanted. I walked up to them and saluted them with, “Salam:” then mustering my best Hindustanee I told them that I required milk. (Now, mind, don’t you laugh). “Hum-dood, Manta-hi”—that I would pay them for it. “Hum piea dada hi.” They all looked at me with contempt, exclaiming, yea, screaming, “Jow thome Feringhee sour”—“Go away, you English pig.” I could not stand much of that; I tried once more to make peace with them by telling them I was no thief, that I wanted milk for my hungry child and myself, and that I would pay them what they asked. The following is as near as I can come at it: “Decco thunb hum loot wallah nay hi Hum-dood Manta-hi, hommoea babba both bokha hi,” and, to my astonishment, they with one voice screamed out, and sent me to the lower regions—a very hot place for an English pig—“Jahanham jow tomb Feringhee sour.” Flesh and blood could not stand that: I was not to be done by a lot of fanatic women. So I at once walked up to one of them, and taking the vessel that she was milking into, drank heartily, throwing down four annas (sixpence) for it. Hereupon they all at once jumped up and ran into the village, shouting as though I had killed or kissed some of them. They had not been gone long when they returned with seven men, armed with “lathies”—long sticks with lead let into the end, and brass-headed nails all around from the top, extending about two feet. The women were behind the men, shouting like mad, pitiless creatures, for the men to “Maro, Maro, Ko Feringhee”—“Kill, kill the Englishman.” It was no use my trying to run, but I must face the lot. Now for the “tug of war.” On they came: the first man rushed at me, delivering a terrible blow at my head; being a fair swordsman, I warded it off, and delivered the six-cut right across his face, when down he went: he had had enough. Another came at me; I warded off his blow, and delivered a point from the hip right into his stomach, which doubled him up and made him pull all sorts of wry faces, and down he went. Others rushed at me. Only one hit me, but I warmed him for that, right and left. In less time than it takes me to tell you, I had them all rolling on the ground: they had each of them received some heavy blows; it was life or death with me. When the women found that the “English pig” was too many for them, they, with one exception, ran back into the village, screaming again. I at once broke all their sticks and threw them into a pond close by, and by way of refreshment, took another good drink of milk, and filled my bottles. I was just about to walk off, when I noticed some men coming after me, with a number of women and dogs, encouraging them to kill me.

I knew well it would be no use me trying to get away, so I made up my mind at once to die hard. My chief thought was about my poor little boy. Rushing to a good-sized tree I stood on the defensive, with my back to the tree, men, women, and dogs pursuing. The first man who came at me was a powerful-looking fellow, a sort of champion or bully. I believe they thought he would be more than a match for me; right manfully did he come at me, but I punished him so severely about the head and legs, that he lay groaning on the ground, rubbing his head and legs, whilst the blood flowed freely from the side of his head. Others then came on to the attack, but were met with terrible blows, right and left. At last my stick broke: I dashed the pieces I had in my hand into the face of the fellow nearest me. When the women saw I had no stick, they commenced to shout again: “Maro, Maro, Ko Feringhee.” Now for life or death, I thought. Out came the two revolvers. A brute of a dog that had given me a lot of trouble got the first shot right between his eyes, when down he went without a groan. I then fired through one of their huge turbans. It had the desired effect. I did not wish to take life, and told them so, but if they did not let me alone I would kill the whole of them. I then rolled over another dog, one of their pet dogs. This last shot appeared to decide them. The women called their husbands away, begging me, on bended knees, not to kill them. A Native has an utter dread of a revolver. They say that it is “jaddowed” (bewitched), and that it will fire as often as you like. I still found the dogs very troublesome, and had to shoot another. I made the villagers drop their sticks or send them home, and then made peace with them. I got all the milk I required, and “chupatties” (thin cakes of unleavened bread). Two men went to the road with me, carrying the milk and cakes. I told them I should report them; they begged me not to do it, or they would be heavily punished. I found the child crying bitterly for his dada. The milk and cakes, however, soon put him right, and off we went jogging along again. I found it exceedingly pleasant at Kussoulie, up about 8,000 feet. We have a large depôt up here, and the men look remarkably healthy. I took Master Johnny straight to the school, situated on another hill, and duly handing him over, left him for two days. My wife and little ones were up here, so I spent two days very pleasantly with them, and then went and bade the boy good-bye. The school, so far as I could see, is kept very clean, and the children are well cared for. I found him making himself quite at home with the other children. I think I shall send Master Arthur there as soon as I can: it will do him the world of good to get off the burning plains. If ever you see Johnny you will, perhaps, remember the narrow squeak I had while taking him to school. It was the determined front I showed that struck them with awe; they could see I meant mischief. It will not do to stop to count Indians, but go at them determined to conquer or die. I expect to join headquarters at Ferozepore next month. This is my third attempt at this letter. Please excuse all imperfections.

Camp Nowshera, 24th March, 1864.

My ever Dear Parents,

Once more, a line from this troublesome part of Her Majesty’s dominions. You will have learnt from my wife’s pen that I have, thank God, escaped the ravages of war once more without a scratch.

I did not like to write you when things looked so ugly. The war cloud has passed. I have passed through it: and now I will tell you a little. The Afghans, without any warning (i.e., declaration of war—just as the Sikhs did in 1845) invaded our territory, carrying death and destruction into all our frontier villages. All that they could lay their hands upon were destroyed, old and young, male and female, rich and poor, and the cattle walked off with, for no other crime than that they were British subjects. You may be sure our Government would not stand that, so a small army was at once sent against them, to punish them and to teach them better manners. The Fusiliers were in camp at Meean-Meer, awaiting the Governor-General. We, as a feather in our cap, had been selected by the Commander-in-Chief, Sir H. Rose, K.C.B., to escort his lordship all through India. Our women and children were left behind, with all delicate men. Our Colonel’s lady accompanied us, and took Mrs. G. as her lady’s maid. We sent two companies from Ferozepore to escort his lordship from Simla here, but his lordship took another route. He died, and was buried in the hills. We expected then to have returned to our station, Ferozepore, but, instead of that, were ordered into the field. The small force our Government (penny-wise and pound foolish) had sent against the Afghans were overwhelmed. It is bad policy to despise your enemies. Our little force could hardly hold their own: in fact, were hemmed in on all sides by an overwhelming, brave race of men—rather a humiliating position for the conquering race. News in transit out here (bad in particular) will lose nothing. Meean-Meer is near 600 miles from the seat of war, and the news was flying through the Native bazaars that our army in Afghanistan had been utterly destroyed. It was represented to be as bad as the disaster in the Bolan Pass, in 1840—not a man had escaped, and that the conquering Afghans were marching on Rawul Pindee. We were ordered off at once, with a number of other regiments, both horse, foot, artillery, Natives and Europeans, and to force-march, we often covered thirty-two miles in twenty-four hours; so it was no child’s play, with a heavy load of ammunition to carry in a climate like this in the month of September. But, dear parents, the honour of our glorious old flag was at stake, and it is then when the true Briton comes out in his true colours. A brave man can die but once, but a cowardly sneak all his life long: and I do believe that Pat has a jealous eye for the honour of that flag he loves so well. We were off to measure our strength with the Afghans. All went swinging along as merry as wedding bells. We had a lively time of it; singing faces were in requisition. I feel I must give a sample of one song we had; but you must not laugh. The man was called upon to sing by our much-respected Colonel. He said he would sing if the good lady would ride on out of the way. The Colonel gave his lady a hint, and she galloped on ahead. We all thought we were going to hear something nice. We were requested not to laugh, but to come in in chorus. I hardly need say this youth was from the Green Isle. The song:—

And so this youth kept it up, with about 1,200 men joining in. The Natives all along the line of march had heard the bad news: they must have thought we were a jolly lot. This is just a sample of how we got over our long marches. I had the honour, as acting sergeant-major, of leading. We had not a man fall out the whole way. I had promised this youth my go of rum when we got in, if he would sing a good song. As soon as it was all over, our Colonel turned in his saddle and called out, “You must not forget your promise, Sergeant-Major.” The man called out in good mellow Irish, “By my soul, then, I shall not forgit it, Colonel dear.” Mind, I was in charge of the canteen, so he was likely to have a good tot. Although it was heavy work to be marching night and day, the excitement kept us well on the move, for bad news kept coming in. As we approached Nowshera we began to meet traces of hand-to-hand encounters—wounded officers and men with sword cuts. The wounded informed us that the enemy were very numerous, and as brave as lions, many of them quite fanatics, despising death so long as they could close with you. We had our old friends the 93rd Highlanders with us. It is a splendid regiment, and I had not the slightest doubt about the result. With the reinforcements that were going up, one could see our Government meant to make short work of the enemy. We turned off to the right at Nowshera, and bid good-bye to all roads and bridges; but nothing could stop our fellows. We had several regiments of Ghoorkas with us, and we soon found that they had plenty of fight in them. We had a lot of rough marching after we left the plains of India; but still, on and on, up and up, we went. Some of the hills took the singing out of us. In many places we had nothing but a goat’s path to get up, and could only go one at a time, but still, on we went. We found our people strongly entrenched, with the enemy nearly all around them. The Swatties are a brave race of people, big, raw-boned, stalwart men, and we found a number of the very worst of the Mutineers mixed up with them. They had nothing to look forward to but death. They knew well that if taken they would be shot, and they fought with desperation. Some of the encounters we had with the foe involved desperate fighting, hand to hand, foot to foot, knee to knee—no quarter asked or given; and but for the superior weapons, with the heavy odds against us, it would have been uphill work with us. Our artillery (and we had nearly eighty guns with us) simply mowed the huge masses of the enemy down by wholesale. We repeatedly found them as brave as lions; they frequently stood to be mowed down, or came on to certain destruction. Then they would get volley after volley of musketry or be hurled or pitchforked from the field with the bayonet. But to go into all the fights would be impossible. We found the little Ghoorkas perfect devils in the fights, but some of our crack Sikh regiments trembled before the foe, while we and the Ghoorkas brought them up and made them face the foe or us. They chose the enemy, and were nearly annihilated. In one of the fights, our Ghoorkas, we found, had killed all they met—both women and children lay all around, dead. Our gallant old General, Sir J. Garveck, K.C.B., would not stand that. As soon as the fight was over and the enemy routed, we formed up and faced the Ghoorkas. A strong force of artillery, with cavalry, were with us, the 71st, 93rd, and 101st. The General at once demanded the men to be given up who had murdered the poor women and children—or instant death. Resistance was out of the question.

Fifteen men were given up by their comrades. They were tried by court-martial, and five of them shot on the spot; the others were transported for life. The General said he would not command murderers: we were fighting a fair stand-up fight against men. This stopped it. At last, after other heavy fights, the enemy threw up the sponge, and begged for mercy they were strangers to—for all who had fallen into their hands, whether Europeans or Asiatics, had had to die. Our chief demanded all the Mutineers to be given up. We found they had got into an old mud fort, but in a very strong position. The arms were given back to a portion of the foe, and they were made to storm the fort and destroy every man. Some five regiments of infantry and about twenty-four guns went with them, with two regiments of Native cavalry, to see the order carried out. Remember, these men were all murderers from the Mutiny, so I think we can say that we put the finishing touch upon the Mutineers, as the Highlanders did on the Russians at the Alma. Well, thank God, it is all over: we have struck terror into thousands, yea, hundreds of thousands of lawless Afghans. As soon as the last shot was fired and the enemy was at our feet, I wrote the following short note (in blood, for we had no ink) to my poor wife: “The fight all over; enemy beaten at all points. I am, thank God, safe and sound.—T. G.” We marched into the plains of India 24th December last. We had a very long march to finish off with. They said it was thirty-four miles; but we had no mile-posts, and if measured it would have been found a good forty and a wee bit. Now for a bit of a spree before I close this long letter. It is a bit of red tape trampled upon. On marching into Permula, at the foot of the mountains, our Colonel sent for me, inquiring as to whether the canteen had come in. I informed him it had not, and from what I had heard, did not expect it for some time to come. Our Colonel is a very feeling man—just the sort that the Fusiliers would follow through thick and thin. “Well, Sergeant-Major,” said he, “something must be done.” As quick as thought I sat me down on the stones, took a leaf out of my pocket-book, and made out (in pencil) an urgent requisition on the commissariat for fifty gallons proof rum. The Colonel read it and signed it at once. I then called out for ten men of my own company to follow me. I had been told to look alive; so off I started with my men to the commissariat stores close by, armed with the requisition. On inquiring for the conductor, I was informed by a Native policeman that the Sahib was taking his dinner and could not be disturbed. His tent being pointed out to me, I went at once to it, and inquired through the chick of the tent if the conductor was in. A voice from within answered me in the affirmative. “And what the d——l do you want?” and “Go to h——l out of this.” I said I had just completed one long march, quite enough for one day; and that if he did not know what common civility was, I would teach him. And then, without any more talk, I walked into his tent and handed to him my requisition. After looking at it for about a minute, he said, with all the authority of a lord high admiral: “Sergeant, I shall not issue anything upon that dirty bit of paper.” I could hardly keep myself within bounds. My knuckles began to itch, as the Yankees say. I called him some nice name—not a gentleman. I found he was closely related to that notable firm, Day & Martin. I gave him to understand, in plain English, that if he did not give me the rum, I should take it. He got into a violent temper, rushed out of the tent, called or whistled up a large, ugly-looking dog, and five or six Native policemen. I found my gallant friend a perfect swell—patent leather shoes, white ducks, black cloth vest, with red neck-tie, kid gloves, white linen shirt, and a black face. And one would think, by his conduct, that his heart was the same as his face towards us. But I was not to be easily done. One of my men came up and informed me that they had found the rum. I again asked if I was to have the rum in accordance with the requisition. Throwing the paper at me, he told me to go to the d——l. I could stand no more of that, so I landed my bunch of fives right between his eyes, and followed it up with one, two, three more. His dog and the police came to the rescue; but the dog was the only one that showed fight, the police thinking discretion the better part of valour. I then proceeded to take what I wanted—a barrel of proof rum. I found our Colonel had got out of patience, and we met him and the General coming to see what was keeping me. When I explained all, and how that I had had to fight for it, the Colonel and General laughed heartily. The Fusiliers were not to be stopped quite so easily. Ha! ha! I was reported for striking the conductor, but got over it with flying colours; the General saying I ought to have given him a little more, and that he hoped the lesson the conductor had had in the art of self-defence would teach him to keep a civil tongue with Britons.

So I think you will say the Afghans had not taken all the fight out of me. But I am getting tired, and must bring this to a close. We shall, all being well, be at, or close to our station, Ferozepore, about the time this reaches you. Please to accept the enclosed £—, as a further mark of love from as both.

P.S.—Mrs. G. is here with me, and we are as happy as the day is long.

T. G.

Ferozepore, 28th September, 1864.

My Dear Parents,

Once more, a line from this dusty station, in the best of health. We are coming close up to the end of a very hot summer. I have had another trip up to the hills with Master Arthur; it will do him the world of good. This is a very pretty station. There are large gardens, beautifully laid out. The River Sutlej is about one mile from barracks. There is a large fort on the banks of it. We keep about 150 men in it. Our men still look very brown from the last outing we had. The Fusiliers got a lot of soft soap in general orders for their conduct in the late Afghan campaign. We are to get a medal, and I do not know how many bars, for it some day. I must give in: there is a sand-storm coming up. The doctors say they are very healthy; they may be, but they are very unpleasant—enough to blind one. Well, it’s all over; it lasted about an hour: we are almost smothered with sand. About a month ago, we had a flight of locusts; they played “old Harry” with everything green about the place, stripped every bush and tree. There must have been millions of them. The whole heavens were black with them. Our men turned out to kill or frighten them. The Natives caught as many as they could. I have some of them in a bottle. I find the Natives make curry of them. Well, we have plenty of fun here. Our Colonel has given the men permission to keep horses, tats, ponies, &c. It is very amusing to see our men out by hundreds, practising to ride. They look very smart. Most of them have flannel trousers, in all the colours of the rainbow. I expect they will soon be calling us the 7th Flying Horse, the 7th Dragoons, or the 7th Flannel-bellies. It’s enough to make a pig laugh, to see some of them trying to hold on to the saddle, the mane, the tail, or anything they can, belonging to or fastened to their quadrupeds. It is as good a thing as they could have; it keeps their mind employed and gives them good healthy exercise, and they all look healthy and well. Please to accept the enclosed as a further mark of love, and pass no compliments about it—this is from my rib. Well, dear parents, I hope you will not blame me for the step I have taken. I thought of coming home. I know well you would have liked to have seen me and mine; but you must remember my cap does not cover my head. We muster six little ones; and I do believe there will be an increase before this reaches you. Whether the number will be brought up to eight, I do not know; and there is something else about it—so long as I have my health and can keep them comfortably, I do not care. Well, you will say, “What have you done?” I have re-engaged to complete twenty-one years. Had I come home, I should have thrown eleven years away for nothing; and I think I have had ten years of it pretty rough, so I made up my mind to go in for a pension. You see, our house is getting rapidly filled; whether it is the change of air, I must leave you to surmise. At all events, the bargain was made in ’58 for no grumbling, and we pull along pretty well. If I find my old chum wrong-side out, or her temper or monkey up, I just light my pipe and walk over to our mess. In an hour I am back again, and the storm is all over. The old Book is right: “A soft answer turneth away wrath.” I think we could claim the flitch of bacon: we are near six years married, and have not had one cross word. You ask me about the price of food, clothing, &c. Well, good flour is 3d. per stone. I will give you the prices in English money, you will understand me better. Potatoes almost for nothing, 1d. per stone; eggs (large) sixty for 1s.; fowl (large) fit for the table, 4d.; beef, 1½d. per pound (prime); mutton, 2d. per pound (prime); rabbits, in the season, 2d. each; all kinds of fresh fish for a song; fresh pork, 3d. per pound. Anything from home is very dear, such as Cheshire cheese, 3s. 6d. per pound; hams, from 2s. 6d. to 4s. per pound, and they will not cut them. The cheeses are in tins of from four to twelve pounds. Beer, for the non-commissioned officers and privates, 6d. per quart; but if an officer requires ale, he must drink Bass’s or Allsopp’s, at 2s. 6d. per bottle. Brandy, from 8s. to 12s. per bottle; gin, whisky, port and sherry, from 6s. to 10s. per bottle. Clothing for ladies and children is very dear, more than double the price at home, so I hope that you will attend to the order my rib sent you: Snowdon, or Chamberlain’s people would only be too happy to comply; get a sample of what they will send. Again, as regards drink. Country drink is very cheap. They call it Darro; it is as strong as our brandy, and is sold in the bazaars at 2d. per bottle. This is the stuff that kills our men. After drinking it for a time, they become quite stupid, and go off like the snuff of a candle, or are sent home invalided, fit for nothing. I have never tasted it yet, and will not, whilst I am in my right mind. I am sorry to have to inform you that cholera, in its worst form, has broken out, and is raging in Cawnpore, Lucknow, Allahabad, Delhi, and Umballa. I hope it will keep from us; we have been very fortunate since ’62. I will send the photos next mail. My kind regards to all old friends,