Chapter VIII · (continued 3)

P.S.—Wife will drop a line next mail. Keep up your spirits, mother. All is well that ends well.

T. G.

P.S. 2.—Before I send this off, I feel that I must give you a little tit-bit, a relic of the Mutiny. Just after I had laid my pen down, a respectable looking Native came to my door and handed to me a paper to read (he did not speak). I read the document. It stated that he had been a Sepoy, an unfortunate man; that he had through bad advice, thrown in his lot against us, and fought us at Lucknow: that he was wounded there in a remarkable way by a musket ball: that the shot went in at his mouth, carried away his tongue, and passed out at the back of his head; and that, if you wished, he would take a plug out, open his mouth, and you could see right through his head. I looked at the man, and said “coolo” (open). He did so, and, true enough, I could see right through. I gave the fellow a rupee. His petition further stated that the man had belonged to a regiment that had not hurt their officers, women, or children; but went over to the enemy and fought for heavy stakes and lost all.

T. G.

Saugor (Central India), 25th September, 1869.

My Dear Father and Mother,—

This is a world of troubles and sorrows; my heart is almost too full to say much. Since my last from this place, it has pleased an All-wise God and Father again to lay the hand of death upon our once happy circle. I told you in my last that cholera, in its worst type, had broken out among us and the Artillery, and that we were burying the poor fellows without coffins—sewed up in blankets, twenty and twenty-five a-day. As you know, this is not my first experience of that fearful scourge. But, dear parents, the heavy blow that I have received is enough to give one a stroke of apoplexy. My poor heart is near bursting with grief. The stroke has been so sudden that I can hardly realise it. But it is the stroke of One who is “Too wise to err; too good to be unkind.” So we, poor short-sighted mortals, must bow to His all-wise decree. Six of my dear children have been called away to the bright realms above, all in a few hours. On the morning of the 15th inst., they were all well. Eight dear little ones, wife, and self sat down to breakfast, all hearty and well. Before the breakfast was over, little Freddy complained of a pain in his body. I took him on my knee, but that did not cure him. One of our doctors was passing at the time; I called him in. He ordered the child off to the cholera hospital at once. Mother went with him. But, dear parents, I cannot dwell upon it. Before four o’clock, six of my fine boys and girls had passed away into the arms of Him who does all things well. We shall never hear their sweet prattling tongues any more: all is silent in the tomb. Before six o’clock p.m. on the 15th, they were all laid in one common grave, wrapped in sheets, without coffins. Three of them the same morning, about five o’clock, were singing the following hymn in bed:—

Their mother and myself stood at their bedroom door, listening to their sweet voices. We little thought that they would so soon be numbered with the clods of the valley. But further, I am sorry to have to inform you that my poor dear wife was pronounced dead by one of our doctors, and carried to the dead-house, or mortuary, about 2.30 p.m. on that fatal 15th. Thank God, however, life was found in her: she was carried back to hospital, and is still alive. She, poor thing, does not yet know how she has been bereaved; the doctors having given strict orders that she must not know it for some time to come. I am thankful to say that she is rapidly improving. But I sometimes feel that I cannot live: all, all are gone that we loved so well. Out of our heavy family we have lost eight dear little ones, snatched from us in this, to all appearance, paradise (?) on earth. A dear old friend said to me this morning, when I told him the blows were more than I could bear; “My boy, your partner is left to you; it might have been worse.” Then, grasping my hand, he said, “Look to your father’s God for strength, look to the strong for strength.” My dear parents, I feel it is there I must look. My officers, from the Colonel downwards, are very kind to me. The Colonel and his lady called this morning to sympathise with me in my sore trials. I cannot say more at present. Will write again in a short time if I am spared. Good-bye, and may God bless you all.

P.S.—Please to accept the enclosed; use it if you require it, or put it in the bank.

T. G.

Saugor (Central India), 20th October, 1869.

My Dear Parents,

Once more, a line in health, in accordance with promise. Thanks for your kind letters and Christian advice. I know well that you are ripe for the Master, and that in a few short years at most, we shall all be where time shall be no more. But I am truly happy to learn that your health and that of poor mother is still good. You must remember, dear father, that you have passed the allotted time of man by ten years, and mother by seven years. I know that you must be drawing on for your diamond wedding, as you married much younger than I did. I hope the Lord will spare you to celebrate it, and me and mine with you to cheer you up. I am exceedingly happy to inform you that my dear partner has been spared to me; she, poor thing, has been terribly shaken, and does not look the same woman. Our colonel’s lady kindly undertook, with other ladies, to break the sad news of the loss of our dear children to her. She bore it with a Christian fortitude beyond what I had expected; and thanked God fervently that I had been spared to comfort her, and that we had yet four left to us. I am bringing my boys from the school. They will help to fill up the void, or empty chairs, and cheer us up a little. But bad as our case was, there was one in the regiment worse. A whole family, of father, mother, and eight fine boys and girls, all in a few days. The mother and children died on the 16th September, and after they had been interred three days, the poor distracted father bribed the Native in charge of the cemetery, obtained a pick and a shovel, and digged down to his poor wife to have a kiss. But it was a fatal kiss for him, and in less than two short hours he was laid beside those he loved so well. Our men have subscribed and put a nice stone over him, with a suitable epitaph. I have put up a monument over my dear little ones. I am happy to inform you that cholera has now entirely left us. Some of our poor fellows who got over it are nothing but wrecks of humanity, and will all have to be invalided home. Now that it is all over, I will tell you a little. My poor wife hardly ever left the side of the poor women and children that were dying of it, but stuck to them like a true Briton until she, poor thing, caught the terrible malady from our little Freddy. And, further, I never left the men, but did all that lay in my power for them. I pitched the sergeant-major’s coat on one side, tucked up my shirt sleeves, and rubbed the poor fellows as long as there was a chance of life. Poor Corporal Woods died in my arms. I promised him that I would write to his widowed mother in Norwich. I have his watch; he wished me to send it to his mother. I will do so by this post. Go and console the poor widow. Mind, this is the same man who wrote home about me in 1862. The cholera lasted only fourteen days with us, and in that short time we lost 149 men, 11 women, and 27 children, out of a total strength of about 340. We have strong detachments out at Nowgong, Putchmuny, and Jhansie. We had no parades nor drills. What was to be done? Our doctor asked the colonel to leave me to him. I found it all through as I have frequently found it before—in Turkey, the Crimea, in Meean-Meer (in 1862), and here—that it is almost impossible to keep the men’s spirits up. They get it into their heads that they are going to die, and die they will. Others fought against it manfully. Some said they would sooner face the foe, twenty to one; they might have a chance to sell their lives dearly or to die hard. But here there was an unseen enemy, with no chance to combat it. Well, thank God, it is all over, and I am still in the land of the living, whole and hearty.

My wife joins with me in love; she will drop you a line as soon as she gets a little stronger. Please to accept the enclosed from the old girl’s long stocking, that has never seen daylight for years, so far as I know.

Fort Allahabad, 15th July, 1872.

My Dear Mother,

In answer to your kind letter, just to hand, with the sad news of the death of poor dear father. Truly, as you say, he was beloved by all who knew him. I do believe his enemies could be put into a very small room, whilst his friends were numbered by tens of thousands. I know, mother dear, that you will feel his loss more than tongue can tell; but do try and console yourself with this fact that he is not lost, but gone before; that he is now in the midst of that blood-bought throng that no man can number; that he is now with Him whose name he tried to extol for fifty-six years; that he is now with untold millions singing, “Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God,” thus helping to swell the anthem of the skies,

We can mourn the loss of a good, loving earthly father. You, dear mother, will miss his sweet counsel, his noble, loving, manly heart. But we cannot mourn him as one whose work was not done. He has gone to his grave full of years (nearly 83[28]). And you have another consolation, that he died at his post, like a good soldier—faithful unto death. He tried to live as he would wish to die, that he might be able to sing in death—“Looking unto Jesus.” What an end! He can now shout, “Victory, victory through the blood of the Lamb.” There will be no sorrow there, no more pain, no more tears, but one continual song of praise unto Him who has done all things well. Again, remember, dear mother, in your bereavement, what a family of us have gone before, leaving behind them the record that they were on the Lord’s side: Grandfathers on both sides, grandmothers on both sides, uncles on both sides, aunts on both sides, my eight little ones; and now our beloved father has gone to tune his harp, and to sing for ever of redeeming love. Do not fret, dear mother; we shall meet again, and be able to sing when time shall be no more. Keep up your spirits. Again, do not be uneasy about money; we are not short of a few pounds, and as long as I live you shall never want for anything that will help to make the remainder of your days comfortable, so please rest contented on that score. I enclose a draft on Gurney’s Bank, that will, I think, put all straight, set the doctors smiling, and leave a good shot in the locker to make all things comfortable. I should like to have some of poor father’s books; do not sell one. I should advise you to go and live with Sarah; she could look after your comfort until I return. If I am spared we will then take you, and do all we can for your comfort. As for the furniture, sell it, but do not let the broker rob you. Give it to the poor rather than be imposed upon; and take the best of the things, including the books, to S——h. My wife will write you next mail. I want her to go home, take the children with her, and look after you. But, no; she likes mother very much, but the loadstone is at this end. Now, my dear mother, try and keep your spirits up; looking to the Strong for strength and guidance through this dark hour of trouble. Give my kind regards to all kind friends.

Fort Allahabad, 5th April, 1876.

My Dear, Dear Mother,

In answer to yours, just to hand, I drop a line. This, I hope, will be the last letter from the land of pestilence, blacks, and bugs. I have had quite enough of it, and so has my partner. I have found the last three or four summers very oppressive. Remember, I have had eighteen summers on these burning plains; quite enough, one would think, to get used to the excessive heat, or to get acclimatized, as people call it. But I begin to find that the climate is playing old hack with me, and the sooner I have a change the better. Although I have kept to my post throughout, I have continued for many summers to send my best half up to the hills with ladies, or at my own expense. Remember, dear mother, I have served the State for upwards of twenty-two years. I have more than completed my portion of the contract, and have tried to do my duty on many a hard-fought field, both in the Crimea and out here; and if spared a few months more, we will see what the Government will give me. They must give me the pension of my rank, viz., the large sum of 2s. 6d. per diem. I see by the papers there is some talk of increasing the rate of pensions for all ranks. I hope to be home some time next month, all being well. The doctor’s words have come true about my poor wife—that she would never be the same woman again after the attack of cholera. I almost long to come home. It will be nearly nineteen years since I left England; and what an eventful time of it I have had—death all around me, from water, famine, pestilence, shot, shell, grape, sword, musketry, and the assassin’s dagger; yet I have passed through it all. Truly I have much to be thankful for. My life of forty-two years (to-day) has been, I must acknowledge, watched over by an all-wise God, who can see from the beginning to the end. Mother dear, that is nothing more than I expected. Some of my letters out here have been little newspapers. It is no new thing: there is a class of people in this world that like to pry into other people’s business. I am sorry that you have lost some of my letters, but do not let that trouble you. I thought they might come in handy for some of my children, just to let them see a little what their father had gone through. There are many things that I have omitted in my diary; and again, I have neglected it of late years.

And, dear mother, in order to have something nice when we arrive, please to accept the enclosed cheque for £—. Will drop a line from Bombay, if possible, and another as soon as we land. And, as I have escaped thus far, I hope the same powerful hand and watchful eye that has attended me and mine, will guide us safe to the land of liberty; and then, dear mother, we will sing—

I am only bringing home two of my children—Arthur and Amy. Keep up your spirits, dear mother. We will meet again, all being well. Till then,

The following will, I hope, be of much interest to my readers. They will be able to see at a glance the dates and principal places at which our unfortunate countrywomen and children were massacred; and the table shows moreover the distances our men had to march from Bombay and Calcutta respectively:—

Names of Places. Dists. from Dates of Massacres. Some of the Principal Events.

BOM. CAL.

Agra + 848 839 44th and 67th N.I. disarmed and bundled out of fort, and N.W. provinces placed under martial-law, May 18th, 1857.

Allahabad + 977 948 June 5, 1857. 6th N.I. murdered all their officers, but Colonel Neill paid some of them off for it; the remainder bolted.

Arrah 1108 406 A handful of Sikhs here defended themselves successfully, commanded by Mr. Boyle, C.E., until relieved by the 5th Fusiliers.

Barrackpore 1285 16 First shot fired by Mungul Pandy, March 29th, 1857; 19th N.I. disbanded, March 31st, 1857; but the 34th were the ringleaders. They were shortly after, disbanded. The Native officers of this unfortunate regiment corrupted nearly the whole of the Bengal Army.

Bareilly 1036 910 May 31, 1857. Murdered all they could lay their hands upon, then marched off to join their comrades at Delhi.

Benares + 950 428 June 4, 1857. Colonel Neill with his Fusiliers turned the tables upon then; the 10th slipped into them right gallantly, and they found out very quickly that they were playing a losing game.

Bithoor 948 712 June 1, 27; It was at this place that the monster, Nana Sahib, had a magnificent palace, which was utterly destroyed by Havelock.

July 2, 16, 1857.

Cawnpore + 939 700 May 11, 1875. It was at this place that some of the foulest deeds that ever disgraced this earth were perpetrated. Relieved by Havelock.

Delhi + 880 976 Invested June 8th. Assaulted September 14th. City finally taken, September 20th, 1857, by General Sir A. Wilson.

Dinapore 1114 411 Three fine regiments broke loose here on the morning of the 25th July, 1857, and quietly marched away with their arms, although our 10th, and two Companies of the 37th were in the station. We wanted a Neill here, then not a man would have escaped.

Ferozepore+ 1143 1181 On the 13th of May some 3000 would-be murderers were confronted by our 61st, and almost destroyed to a man.

Futteghur 1006 703 June 7, 1857. It was at this place that the 10th and 41st N.I. pitched into each other over the spoils and then bolted.

Fyzabad 1040 576 June 7, 1857. The 22nd N.I. and 6th Oude Irregular Infantry murdered all they could lay their hands upon, and then marched to Delhi.

Gwalior + 680 772 June 14, 1857. All that came in their way, except women and children, were murdered; they then marched marched away.

Indore 377 1030 July 1, 1857. All were destroyed, male and female, young and old, that they could lay hold of.

Jhansie + 602 725 June 7, 1857. All perished. The atrocious deeds of the murderers were equal to Cawnpore; and a woman, or a fiend in form of a woman, was at the head of it.

Kurrachee 572 1360 All Native troops disarmed, and made to do duty with the ramrod; but were soon confronted with stern justice. It was at this place that the Fusiliers landed, the writer being then (in 1857) a sergeant.

Lahore 1192 1356 All Natives disarmed by a part of the 81st and two batteries of Artillery, in a masterly style. style. It was do or die. The odds were about 12 to 1, but our determination was too much much for the arch-fiends.

Lucknow + 923 629 May 31, 1857. Invested by an overwhelming force, but gallantly held out from the beginning of June until relieved by Sir H. Havelock, September 25th, 1857; and then again until relieved second time by Sir Colin Campbell in November, 1857.

Meerut 918 1008 May 10, 1857. It was at this station that the ball was fairly opened; but through the incapacity of one of one man we lost thousands, for, had the 6th Carabineers, 60th Rifles, and Artillery been let loose, not a rebel would have told the tale.

Mhow + 360 1018 July 9, 1857. Destroyed all that came in their way, but stern justice quickly followed.

Neemuch 865 850 June 3, 1857. Destroyed all that came in their way, then marched in a body to Delhi.

Peshawur + 1525 1616 All Native regiments disarmed, and forty of the would-be murderers blown from guns, June 11th, 1857.

Sealkote + 1465 1391 July 9, 1857. Here grim justice soon overtook them. Colonel Nicholson, with the 52nd destroyed them all, all, except a score or two that got the rope.

Umballah 1020 1108 This station was safe. It was held with an iron grasp by the 9th Lancers, the 75th, 101st, 101st, 102nd being close at hand.

Note.—The fighting at some of the stations, where a handful confronted a host, was desperate, but in every case our men proved the victors. It was a pity they were not let let loose at Meerut; it would have terrified the Gentlemen at Delhi; the news would have been all over Bengal in a few days, and thousands of precious lives might have been spared.

These nice gents were handled very roughly at stations marked.+

N.I. Native Infantry. C.E. Civil Engineer.