Chapter VIII

The Task before Sir Colin Campbell—Disaster at Arrah—Relief by Major Eyre—Attempted Surprise at Agra—Short, sharp work—The Mutiny in Oude—Relief of Lucknow by Sir Colin Campbell—The Fighting—Withdrawal of the Garrison—Return to Cawnpore—General Windham in difficulties—Nana Sahib defeated—Lucknow again invested, and again Relieved—Sikhs and Ghoorkas fighting on our side—Death of Captain Hodson—Flying Columns Formed—Our Loss in following the Mutineers—The Proclamation of Pardon—Disarming the Native Troops—The Mutineers at Meean-Meer—Jack Ketch and his Victims—The Outbreak on the Frontier in 1858—The 7th Royal Fusiliers at Peshawur—Native Thieves—A Forced March—Encounter with the Enemy—A Truce—Hostilities Resumed—Bravery of the Ghoorkas—The Fusiliers return to Ferozepore—March to Saugor (Central India)—Ravages of Cholera—Personal Opinion as to the Natives of India—The Ways, Manners, and Customs of the People—Taking the Census—The Steps taken to prevent another Mutiny.—Letters from India.

By the fall of Delhi, and the capture of the great Mogul King and his black-hearted murdering villains of sons, the Mutiny received its death blow. Still there were thousands and tens of thousands of the Mutineers who had not as yet been confronted by stern justice. The rebels had been routed from their stronghold, and, if they had not been so divided in their counsels, would have caused us much more trouble than they did; all they wanted was some one with power to organize them. It has been estimated that some 25,000,000 of Natives were thrown into a state of agitation between Calcutta and Allahabad, so the task before Sir Colin Campbell was no light one. After the fall of Delhi, movable columns were formed and sent in pursuit of the enemy, and no end of little battles or skirmishes were fought. Knowing well that they were fighting with halters round their necks, so to speak, the Mutineers fought as only madmen will fight, but to little purpose, for the steady determined rush of the thin red line was too much for them. Our people made good use of the rifles the rebels had so much despised, and all that stood in the way were made short work of; the remainder would bolt, as our cousins across the Atlantic say, “like a well-greased flash of lightning,” and it was no use poking about in the dark after them.

We had, however, one very disagreeable lesson at Arrah towards the end of July, 1857. A mixed force of about 450 Europeans and Sikhs was sent to relieve that place, and, making a forced march in the dark, fell into an ambuscade, and lost 290 men in a very short time. The news flew fast, and our loss was magnified fifty-fold, but their boasting lies did not live long. Major Eyre was soon upon their track, and, routing them, relieved the little garrison of Sikhs that had held out so nobly. The enemy now began to lose all heart, and, but for the inroads that cholera, dysentery, fever, sunstroke, and apoplexy were making in our ranks, the Mutiny would have been crushed before a single Crimean regiment got up country; for our men were worked up to a state of frenzy, and burned to avenge the blood of our outraged countrywomen. Not a day passed but news of more butcheries kept reaching their ears. The enemy attempted a surprise at Agra. Our troops had just come in from a long fatiguing march, when they had the audacity to attack our camp, but got such a mauling from our mud-crushers and Artillery that they soon bolted. Our Cavalry got at them; and the 9th Lancers and Horse Artillery chased them for miles, regardless of the terrible heat, destroying some 600 of them. It had a wonderful effect upon the “budmashes” (bad men, low characters) of Agra, who kept very quiet; for a Native had not to open his mouth very wide in 1857-8 before he had a ball put into it, or was strung up to the nearest tree, and then tried afterwards. Had we stood upon ceremony, India was gone. As it was, we hovered between life and death, and consequently sharp remedies were required.

THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.

Thus far the enemy had been settled; and Sir Colin Campbell, who was now Commander-in-Chief of the army in India, was determined not to give them breathing time. Troops were pushed up country as fast as they landed. Lucknow had been relieved to a certain extent by that Christian hero, Havelock, but it was still hemmed-in by overwhelming numbers of the enemy. The whole of Oude had joined the Mutineers, and the Delhi gentlemen were making their way thither as fast as their legs could carry them. But Major-General Sir James Outram had quite sufficient men with him to make the enemy keep at a respectful distance from him. Sir Colin was determined to make Lucknow a hot corner, and to relieve it if possible. Accordingly, a compact little force was collected at Cawnpore in November, 1857, consisting of the following regiments: 8th, 42nd, 53rd, 75th, 93rd, 2nd and 4th Punjaub Infantry, 9th Lancers, 1st, 2nd, and 5th Punjaub Cavalry; Naval Brigade under Captain Peel, and Artillery, Horse and Field Batteries. The total force, including those already there, amounted to about 18,500—all ranks. The enemy, confident in their strength, were determined to face us. A strong force was sent on ahead to the Alum Bagh, with provisions for Sir J. Outram’s people. Our men had to fight their way to the Residency; but the Enfield rifle, that had been so much despised by the rebels, mowed them down by wholesale. They then took refuge behind stone walls; between 2,000 and 3,000 of them got into a place called the Secunder-Bagh (King’s Garden). This place was surrounded by high and very thick walls, and a heavy fire was kept up upon our people from it. The Artillery were brought up, but the light field guns could make no impression—the shot re-bounded from the walls as if they had been of india rubber. Sir Colin could not stand this. The heavy 68-pounders were then brought up, manned by sailors, under command of that noble Crimean hero, Captain Peel, R.N. They brought their guns into action as though they had been laying their frigate, ‘The Shannon,’ alongside an enemy. The massive walls soon crumbled beneath their ponderous fire, and a breach was made. Sir Colin said a few words to the 93rd Highlanders that were to storm it, and then they were ordered forward. It was a race between the 4th Sikhs and the Highlanders. The gallant Sikhs got the start, but Scotia proved a little too nimble for them. The first man who entered the breach was the Sergeant-Major of the 93rd. This brave fellow bounded through like a deer, and met a soldier’s death before he had touched the ground; but hundreds were close behind him. The fighting inside was desperate, but the Mutineers were cringeing cowards. Some of them threw down their weapons, and on bended knees, with hands upraised in supplication, begged for mercy; but the only answer they got was “Cawnpore” hissed in their faces, followed by about twelve or fifteen inches of cold steel! Retribution had overtaken them, and death held fearful sway in that beautiful garden; for the slain lay in heaps in terrible confusion, mixed with roses and other sweet-smelling flowers as if in derision. Upwards of 2,000 of the rebels were counted next morning, nearly all of whom had died by the bayonet. We, too, had suffered heavily, for some of the Mutineers fought like madmen, when they found there was no back door open.

The enemy defended the “Shah-Nujeef” (a large tomb) with desperation. But again the 93rd Highlanders and Sikhs were let loose, and with a wild shout it was carried by the queen of weapons. There again the enemy lay in ghastly piles in and around that charnel-house. They made another determined stand at a place called the Mess House—a large Native building in the shape of a castle, with a deep ditch around it. After bombarding it for several hours, our people went at it, the Highlanders again leading, side by side with the 53rd and our friends the Sikhs, who would not be second to any.

The Residency was now close at hand; our men having cut their way through a host to relieve their unfortunate countrymen and countrywomen. The commanders met and arranged their plans; and, under a terrible fire of shot, shell, and rockets, which Sir Colin opened upon the enemy to attract their attention in an opposite direction, withdrew the noble little garrison that had fought so well, night and day, for near five long months. Sir Colin laid his plans so well, and they were carried out so accurately, that not a hair of one of the unfortunate women or children was touched. They were, so to speak, taken from the jaws of the tiger without his knowing it, and conveyed to a place of safety. In delivering the imprisoned half-starved garrison, we had lost 45 officers and near 500 men. Our men, as I have often said, are at all times ready to enter upon the most hazardous enterprizes to uphold the honour of our flag. In this case ladies’ and children’s lives were in jeopardy; and what won’t a brave man do or dare to rescue those who are dear to him? Sir Colin was determined to leave Lucknow for a time, and Sir James Outram was selected to remain behind in a strong position with 3,500 troops, and plenty of food for several months.

GENERAL WINDHAM OVERMATCHED.

We now shaped our way back to Cawnpore; but before our force could reach it, news came that the hero of the Redan, General Windham, was more than overmatched by strong bodies of the enemy. He had with him a little over 2,000 upon whom he could rely; whilst a force of upwards of 25,000 of the Gwalior contingent, and others who had thrown in their lot with the rebels, came down upon him. It is not for me to criticize this brave soldier’s actions or generalship. He had on former fields proved his metal, and was acknowledged to be the bravest of the brave; for no man could have led a storming party with greater coolness or more dash, than General Windham led the stormers at the Great Redan, on the 8th September, 1855. The enemy at Cawnpore gained a partial victory; but the “hero of a hundred fights”—Sir Colin Campbell—was close at hand, with men who never stop to count numbers. After placing the women and children in safety, Sir Colin’s eagle eye soon detected the enemy’s weak point and at them he went. The fiend Nana Sahib commanded the enemy, who, although flushed with victory, were driven in headlong confusion from the field. They were completely routed, leaving all their guns (between thirty and forty) in our hands. For months (December, 1857, January, February, and part of March, 1858), small columns, from 2,500 to 6,000 strong, were hunting the enemy down all over Bengal. Grim justice was staring the rebels in the face. Our people did not trouble to seek for a suitable gallows, so long as there was a tree close by. To have shown the rebels any kindness would have been looked upon as weakness, but when once it was found that we had crushed the movement, then we could, and did, show mercy to thousands of these poor deluded wretches.

LUCKNOW AGAIN INVESTED

Meanwhile the rebels had been collecting in great numbers in and around Lucknow, and Sir James Outram had all he could do to hold his own against the repeated attacks of their overwhelming hordes. Lucknow contained at this time (March, 1858), a vast host in arms against us. Its population exceeded 300,000, thousands of whom were in arms, and determined to fight it out to the bitter end. The Insurgents had collected in numbers—computed at from 35,000 to 60,000 men; and some 50,000 or 60,000 of the Oude people had joined them; while every corner had been extensively fortified, there being upwards of 100 guns in position, beside field guns. Thus Sir Colin Campbell had no light task before him. But this gallant old hero knew well how to play his cards. After rolling up the enemy in all parts of the country with movable columns, he suddenly collected at Cawnpore and its vicinity some of the best regiments in our service—men who had been well proved on many a field—and with these forces he was determined to rout the boasting enemy out of their stronghold. The following regiments composed his army:—The 2nd Dragoon Guards or Bays; 7th Hussars, 9th Lancers, Hodson’s Horse, Sikh Cavalry, some fifty guns, and the 8th, 10th, 20th, 23rd, 34th, 38th, 42nd, 53rd, 75th, 79th, 82nd, 84th, 93rd, 97th, 101st, and 102nd regiments, two battalions of the Rifle Brigade, a good strong brigade of the Blue Jackets, and some 25,000 Natives, including Ghoorkas—men who were loyal to the backbone, and had often vied with our people for the post of honour. The forces in front of Sir Colin, under Sir James Outram at the Alum-Bagh, consisted of the 5th Fusiliers, 64th, 78th, 90th, and a number of loyal Natives, and all helped to co-operate in the final attack. The enemy fought with desperation from behind their stone walls; but Jack’s 68-pounders soon brought the bricks, stones, and mortar, about their ears, and they were then pitched or ejected out of the forts and batteries with the queen of weapons; whilst our nimble little friends, the Ghoorkas, did not forget to use their favourite deadly weapon—the knife.

For days the rebels clung with the tenacity of despair to every post until it was made completely untenable. Meanwhile our Cavalry were not idle, for as fast as the Mutineers came out of their hiding places they fell beneath swords wielded by English arms, or succumbed to the deadly thrusts of our troopers’ spears or lances. But before they entirely evacuated the city, the principal places where they had taken refuge had to be stormed. In some large buildings which had been converted into forts, the enemy had made up their minds to die, and here they fought as only fanatics or madmen will fight or die. Jung Bahador’s Ghoorkas taught the Mutineers, the murderers of defenceless women and children, some very salutary lessons, which, however, they never lived to talk about; and the Sikhs vied with them in destroying all that came in their way. There were no prisoners or wounded; this was a war of retribution, and all who opposed us—whether Mutineers or those who sided with them—met a traitor’s death.

One of the noblest soldiers that ever fought under our flag (Captain Hodson) fell in the taking of the Kaiser Bagh. This officer was he who captured the King of Delhi and his sons. He had been in at least fifty different fights—all through the Punjaub campaign—and the Sutlej campaign against the Sikhs At the breaking out of the Mutiny, he obtained permission from the Government to raise a strong regiment of Afghans, with whom he marched down to Delhi, and there did good service, for those men would go anywhere with their beloved chief, and when he fell they cried like children who had lost a fond father.

The rebels were at last dislodged from their strongholds, but a small body of them still held the Moosa Bagh, about four miles from Lucknow, whence Sir Colin was determined to oust or destroy them. Accordingly two strong Infantry brigades, with about 1500 Cavalry, and some 30 guns went at them, and they were dislodged in masterly style. It was at this place that a strong body of the enemy, dressed in clean white robes and armed with shields and sharp swords, sallied forth, headed by their Doroger, (priest or head man), an enormous fellow. They had all received a blessing, and were prepared to die. They had plenty of bhang (country liquor) poured down their throats to give them courage, and they fought with an utter contempt of death, cutting down our gunners at the guns. The 7th Hussars were at once brought up and sent at them, but a number were unhorsed and killed. The Highlanders then went at them, and destroyed them to a man. The enemy now broke up and dispersed. Some 20,000 of them made their way to Fyzabad, and other places.

FORMATION OF FLYING COLUMNS.

Columns were next formed under various officers, namely Hope Grant, Brigadiers Russell, Horsford, Kelley, Harcourt, Rawcroft, and others. But to go into details of the different fights that took place throughout Central India, with these columns and those under Sir R. Napier (now Lord Napier), Sir H. Rose (now Lord Strathearn), Colonel Whitelock, and others, would require a larger book than I intend to write. Our loss in following up the enemy from sunstrokes and apoplexy was fearful, although as much marching was done at night as possible. There was the enemy, and our commanders would admit of no excuse or delay; they must be got at, and the command was continually—“Forward! Men, the honour of our flag is at stake.” Our guns would sometimes stick so fast in mud, that they could not be extricated by horses. At times as many as twenty horses would be attached to one gun, and the longer it remained the deeper it sank. Then that massive animal, the elephant, would be brought into requisition, while the horses all stood on one side. One of these noble creatures of the forest would put his head and trunk to the gun, whilst another would pull at the traces, and walk off with it without any apparent exertion. We must have left a number of our heavy guns behind had it not been for these sagacious animals.

THE END OF THE REBELLION.

The enemy’s heart for fighting had been broken, or, in other words, the conceit about fighting had been all thrashed out of them by the end of 1858; and in marching after them we lost far more men from the effects of the sun than from actual conflict. They could run well, but fighting was out of the question, and consequently we had to run them down. They were intercepted at all points, and in trying to escape one column, they were almost sure to fall in with another. As soon as the proclamation of pardon was issued to all who had not been guilty of murdering defenceless women and children, men came in by hundreds, yea, thousands, and laid down their arms at our feet, supplicating for mercy, which was not refused. One rupee (or two shillings) was given to each, with passes to their respective homes, together with the caution that if they were found in arms against us any more they should die. Our faithful adherence to the proclamation had a wonderful effect upon the native mind. It was painful to behold some of these poor deluded wretches; they could not understand how it was we could forgive them. They said that when we were weak in numbers we destroyed all that came in our way; but now, when the whole of Bengal was bristling with European bayonets, the Sahibs were merciful. Many poor fellows were really to be pitied; for several of the regiments had not hurt one of their officers, but had protected them and their wives and children from danger. Yet they had gone over to the enemy—they said it was fate. They now found out that it was the will of a strong Government whom they had defied, that they should lose their pensions, which hundreds had been entitled to; for plenty of them had seen some of the roughest fighting against the Sikhs that ever India had witnessed. Master Pandy had played a doubtful game for heavy stakes, and had lost all.

A great proportion of the troops, both horse and foot, that went out to India in 1857-8, never fired a shot, though they were on the spot had their services been required. A large force had been sent on to the Punjaub, to strike its warlike inhabitants with awe. Nothing was left to chance. The Native troops were confronted at all points, and the poor deluded Sepoys could not make out where all the men were coming from. They had been given to understand, as I have already stated, that the whole of the British army had been destroyed in front of Sebastopol, and when we landed, with so many medals on our breasts, they began to inquire where we had been fighting. Being informed that we had just fought the Russians, they looked with amazement, for their priests had told them that we were all killed. All the Native troops in Bengal, and in a part of the Bombay and Madras presidencies, were disarmed; and there was not much ceremony about it. We marched up to them; an order was read; the European officers and Natives were then ordered to fall out; and the remainder commanded to pile arms and to take off their accoutrements. Thus their teeth were drawn to prevent mischief, and they were then made to do duty, with a ramrod only as a weapon.

WITH THE ROYAL FUSILIERS IN THE PUNJAUB AND ELSEWHERE.

The 7th Royal Fusiliers soon marched up country (leaving all their women and children behind), right up into the Punjaub, and pleased enough the 81st at Meean-Meer were to see us. From Mooltan we pushed on rapidly in bullock carts, covering 50 miles a day. A strong force of the enemy were at Meean-Meer (four regiments of Infantry and one of Cavalry), and we were directed to take charge of them. A gallows was erected just in front of our lines and hardly a day passed but it claimed its victims—sometimes four or five, morning and evening. The murderers, or would-be murderers, were quickly launched into eternity; they had not a nine feet drop, and the hangman was never complained of for being clumsy. Some of them abused us as long as they could speak. When Mr. Jack Ketch had all ready, he would jump off a long form, about two feet high, and knock down the odd leg (for it was a three legged one). Their comrades were compelled to witness the execution, while a company of our troops were under arms to see that the law was carried out.

One night during the summer of 1858, our people were performing in the play house or theatre, when in rushed an officer, covered with dust, and placed a despatch in the hands of General Windham who was in command. The General opened and read it; there was a little whispering going on between the General and our then Colonel Alsworth. The performance was permitted to go on until the Act was over, when the Adjutant (Mr. Malon), called out in a loud voice: “All men of the right wing go home and prepare for active or field service.” The shout that followed shook the house. The old Fusiliers were ready to face any number of men whether black or white. The Russians had quailed before them, and woe be to the Mutineers who should attempt to oppose them. They were off long before daylight with the band in front playing “For England’s Home and Glory,” and had a long hot march before them. The wing was about 800 strong, for we stood near 1,600 bayonets at the time. A wing of the 7th Dragoon Guards, a battery of Horse Artillery, and a regiment of Ghoorkas accompanied us. A strong force of Natives had shown disaffection at a place called Dera Ishmal Khan; but the force that General Windham sent struck terror into them, and they begged for mercy. All the ringleaders were tried, and shot or hanged; the remainder were at once dismissed, so that there was no further bloodshed. This column lost a number of men on the march from heat, from apoplexy and cholera, but still they pressed on.

The Mutineers were in camp opposite our barracks. Heavy guns loaded with grape almost up to the muzzle were pointed at them. All was ready at a moment’s notice; for some of our men, trained as gunners, were always at, or close to the guns, and any attempt at an outbreak could be checked at once. Thus, the reader will observe, one wing of the Fusiliers had to keep five regiments in subjection. The other wing of the 7th Dragoons, and also two batteries of Artillery, were about a mile from us. One night, about tattoo, an alarm was given. Shots were fired into the enemy’s camp, and we all stood to arms and faced them. The Cavalry and Artillery came to our assistance at a break-neck pace; but after remaining under arms for some time, it turned out that some of our recruits acting as sentries, had noticed some of the Mutineers moving about their camp, and had at once fired at and wounded some of them. They were not allowed out of their tents after tattoo, and it had just sounded. It was well that the heavy guns did not go off, as they would have rushed out of their camp in order to escape, and would have been all cut or shot down. At the end of 1858 we were still at Meean-Meer. It is one of the hottest and most unhealthy places in India, and we there lost a number of non-commissioned officers and men from apoplexy and fever. In the beginning of 1859 we marched up country on to Jhelum and Rawul Pindee. The neck of the Mutiny was now broken, and the country began to settle down. Rawul Pindee is one of the loveliest places that I had as yet seen; it is just at the foot of the snow-capped Himalayas, which rise majestically in the distance. We remained there for one summer, and were then sent off to Peshawur, then the extreme frontier station. Here we had a rough lot to deal with, for we found ourselves in the midst of thieves and murderers. These gents go about at night, armed with daggers, almost in a state of nudity, with their bodies well greased from head to foot, so that if anyone got hold of them they would slip out of his grasp like an eel, and he might look out for the dagger, for he was bound to have it. Our people, therefore, often fired first, and then challenged “Who comes there?” I must say these fellows proved themselves the most expert thieves I have ever met, for nothing was too hot or too heavy for them. If they could creep up to a sentinel, it was all over with him; he would be stabbed to the heart, and then the assassin would walk off with his rifle and accoutrements. At other times they would creep or crawl into the barracks, and walk off with rifles, accoutrements, men’s clothing, or anything that they could lay their hands upon, such as the company’s copper-cooking utensils, &c., and if anyone stood in the way, he was at once murdered. Some hundreds of medals were, in 1860, stolen off the coats of the 93rd Highlanders, whilst they were on parade in undress uniform. The only way to catch these gents was to shoot them; and our people, the Highlanders, and Rifles, pretty well thinned them.

Peshawur is one of the prettiest stations we have on the plains, but it is also one of the most deadly; it is excessively hot in summer, and very cold in winter. It is almost surrounded with snow-capped hills; and one can there see snow all the year round, yet, in the summer, the heat is enough to roast one. Regiments were sometimes brought so low with continual fever that companies 120 strong could not furnish three men for duty—all being down with the fever and ague. We were right glad to get out of it.

In 1862 we marched to Ferozepore, on the banks of the Sutlej. We found this place very hot, and often experienced what it is noted for—“sand-storms.” Reader, if ever you witness a good sand-storm, you will be ready to think it’s all up with you. It comes rolling along like huge mountains, the wind blowing a perfect hurricane, until you are completely enveloped; a few drops of rain will often follow, succeeded by a perfect calm.

THE AFGHAN CAMPAIGN OF 1863.

I am now coming to the Umballah campaign. We (the 7th) had been selected by Sir H. Rose, then Commander-in-Chief, as one of the smartest regiments in India; and, as a feather in our cap, had been directed to escort the Governor-General, Lord Elgin, in his tour through India. Two companies were sent off to escort his Lordship to the plains, and the remaining eight companies (except sick, lame, and lazy, that were left behind at Ferozepore) marched on to Meean-Meer. But the news soon arrived that our two companies had buried his Lordship. We then expected to march back, but to our surprise we were ordered into the field, and to move by forced marches. When our men heard the news from the lips of our much-respected Colonel R. Y. Shipley (now Lieutenant-General R. Y. Shipley, C.B.), the shout that they gave startled our Native servants. As soon as the cheering had subsided, our Colonel’s voice could be distinctly heard: “Fusiliers, I want you to use your legs. I will lead you against black or white, I care not who.” And during that long march of between 400 and 500 miles, we found we had to use our legs. For the information of my non-military readers, I will just describe camp life in India, and the marching from camp to camp. About retreat, or sun down, all camels that are intended to carry men’s kits, tents, &c., are brought and placed against the tents. The non-commissioned officer satisfies himself that all is right, and that each camel is provided with a good rope. If elephants are to be used, the head Mahout is told how many to send to each company at the rouse sounding. Tattoo is generally pretty early—say about seven o’clock p.m. After that, all is quiet throughout the camp—nothing to be heard but the sentinel’s measured tread, and the gurgling sound from the queen of the desert (camel). Even the drivers are quiet, and silence reigns until reveillé sounds between one and three a.m., according to the length of the march. All hands at once jump up, strike a light, dress as quick as possible, pack up and clear the tent, down with the sides or Kornorths, and set to to load the camels; but not a tent comes down until the bugle sounds, “Strike tents,” then one short blast, and down they all come, as if they were all pulled with one rope; they are at once rolled up, and loaded on the camels or elephants. The quarter-bugle sounds, the men on with their accoutrements in the dark, and at once move to the appointed place to fall in. Coffee is provided for them, if they require it, at the rate of about one halfpenny per half pint; the companies are inspected by their respective captains, reports are collected, then away they go, with the band in front playing some lively air, and swinging along at the rate of four miles an hour. The dust is enough to choke one; often one cannot see the man in front, but all keep jogging along, chaffing and joking. Men who have got “singing faces” are often in requisition. Thus all goes on as merry as a cuckoo until eight miles are covered, when the halt sounds, companies pile arms, and a cup of good coffee is issued to each man with a biscuit, if he requires it, provided by Native cooks who are sent on over night. In half-an-hour the coffee is drank, biscuits are put out of sight, and the pipe is brought to the front; and a nice lot of beauties the men look, covered with dust and sweat. Fall in again, and off for, perhaps, another eight or nine miles; the baggage and tents keep well up with us, for the camels can swing along at a good pace, although they appear to hang over the ground. The new camp ground is duly reached, all marked out by the Quartermaster and his establishment. One would be astonished to see how quickly a canvas city springs into existence; the tents are all up in an incredibly short space of time. The poor Bheasty (water-carrier) has enough of it. In about an hour the men have had a good wash and brush down, when in come the cooks with breakfast—either beef steaks or mutton chops. Breakfast over, some of the men who are tired lie down for a little rest. Some get a book, while others play all sorts of games in the tents. Those who do not feel tired get permission to go off shooting. Game of all kinds is very plentiful in most parts of the country, and it does not take long to find a good hare or a brace of pheasants, and there are no game laws in India. When they come back what they have shot is handed over to the cooks. In forced marching not many go out shooting, for the men are pretty well tired out. From twenty-five to thirty miles per diem, with rifle and accoutrements to carry, in a climate like India, is no joke. But it has been proved that our men can beat the Natives hollow, and march quite away from them. A camel is soon knocked up if you over-work him; and if you attempt to over-task an elephant, he is liable to turn crusty. Moreover, he wants plenty of room, and he’ll quietly shake his load off, and put all hands at defiance.

As acting Sergeant-Major, I led the Fusiliers through the whole of this march, both to and from the field. On arrival at Nowshera, we soon found that something serious was going on not very far distant, for wounded men from the front were being sent in. We did not stay here long, but left behind all we did not absolutely require, and off we went at a rapid pace. Bidding farewell to all roads and bridges, we had now nothing but a wild tract to traverse, and as we came up to the nullahs or water-courses, in we had to go, land on the other side the best way we could, and on again until we came to another. Sometimes we would have six or seven of these nice places to cross, some being about a foot deep, others nearly up to our necks. As we approached the foot of the mountains, we could distinctly hear the Artillery in front at it, and in the stillness of the night the roll of musketry. Other regiments, both European and Native, kept arriving, and we had our old friends, the 93rd Sutherland Highlanders, with us. After resting for a day or two, off we went again, with nothing but what we had on our backs. For the first five or six miles we had to push through thick low shrubbery; then we commenced ascending the front of a very high hill, up which we could only go in single file, for it was nothing but a goats’ path. As we topped the first hill, we had a splendid view. The red coats were winding up the steeps like a long red serpent, the head of the column having rested for a time in order to allow the rear to come up. We could now plainly hear the rattle of musketry; and some of our young hands, who had never seen a shot fired, began to ask all sorts of questions. Still on and on, up and up, we kept going. Some now began to fall out to rest a little, for it is very trying with a load such as we had to carry, to be continually climbing. Each man had to carry 100 rounds of ammunition, his overcoat, a blanket, shirt, socks, boots, towel, brushes, two days’ rations, and a number of little nick-nacks. I carried a good revolver and plenty of ammunition, for it now began to get a little exciting. About 3 p.m. we could distinctly hear the shrill whistle of the musket balls passing over our heads, which told us that the enemy were not far distant. We had a nice little force with us as a reinforcement—some seven or eight Native regiments, and two batteries of mountain guns. We (the 7th) were about 1,100 strong, and the 93rd about 1,200. On arrival we were sent straight to the post of honour. We had no tents, so we made the best of it for the night. The enemy appeared on our right, left, and front, and, but for the reinforcements, our small force would soon have been cut off from all communications. Shots were whistling and hissing about us all night. Next morning, we and the 93rd, and two or three regiments of Sikhs, with two of Ghoorkas, let the enemy know that we required a little more breathing room; so in about an hour we cleared them out of their hiding-places on our left flank and front; but we soon found out that they were not to be despised, for they would creep up under the shrubbery, and from rock to rock, and pepper us until they were shot down. We had a number of strong picquets out, and hardly a night passed but the enemy would attack some of them, coming right up to the muzzles of our men’s rifles and fighting with desperation; and, but for the superior weapons that our men had, numbers must have prevailed at times. It was with difficulty that we could get some of our Native regiments to face them. One regiment (the 27th Native Infantry) bolted, but we managed to bring them up; they had either to face us or the enemy, and they chose the enemy, and were nearly cut to pieces. Most of the European officers were cut down, for it was close fighting. We found a number of Mutineers mixed up with the Afghans. They knew well that they had no mercy to expect from us, and side by side with the dauntless Afghans they fought with such determination that some of our crack Sikh regiments trembled before them. But, no position that they could occupy did they hold, when once our men and those noble little fellows the Ghoorkas went at them. The Ghoorkas repeatedly proved during that short campaign, as they had often done before, that they were second to none. The honour of Old England had been entrusted to them, and they were never once beaten; but could hold their own by the side of the bravest sons of Britain. And if ever the much-vaunted Imperial Guards of Russia should come across their path, they will remember them, as much as they have had cause to remember us, for in a close fight, with their peculiarly shaped Native Knives, they are very devils.

As regards the strength of the enemy, they were very numerous; while fresh tribes kept joining them, and it really appeared as if the more we destroyed the stronger they seemed to get. But during the early part of December they were taught some very awkward lessons, and, with all the craft of Asiatics, their chiefs pretended that they wanted to treat for peace. Negociations were carried on for some days, their chiefs coming daily into our camp, blind-folded, until they entered the commissioners’ marquee, when it was found out that they were playing a treacherous game. All they wanted was to gain time, for some thousands of other tribes to join them, in order to exterminate the white-livered Feringhees and the dreaded Ghoorkas. But our people had had more than one hundred years’ experience with such crafty gentlemen, and were not to be caught with chaff. So the terms that our Government demanded were laid before them, and twenty-four hours given them to decide. They decided to renew the fighting; and as soon as it suited the time and plans of General Sir T. Garvick and Sir R. Chamberlain, they got quite enough of what they had asked for, but we did not wait for the hordes of reinforcements that were coming from all parts of Afghanistan. We had three days continuous fighting; and it was of such a nature that it considerably damped their ardour for the fray, and thrashed all the wild fanaticism out of them. They threw up the sponge when they found that they could not make any impression upon us, throwing away their arms and begging for mercy. The “cease fire” sounded all along our line, and they at once found out that we were not half so bad as we had been painted by their chiefs and priests, for they immediately received mercy at our hands, which they could not understand.

We were now right in the Swat Valley, surrounded by the loveliest scenery that the eye could wish to gaze upon; and a number of fine-looking men came into our bivouac with all kinds of presents, which they placed at our feet. The fields for miles around us were covered with their dead or wounded comrades. Poor fellows, they seemed overcome with joy, to think and to see for themselves, that we would not hurt their wounded, but assist them in every way we could. I may here state that the Swattees are a noble set of people, and we now have a great number of them in our Irregular Cavalry regiments; and the Egyptians have lately seen that they are not to be despised. The campaign ended on the 21st of December, as far as the fighting was concerned, and on the 24th we commenced our march towards the plains of India, right glad to get down from those cold mountains, for snow was all around us. On debouching into the plains, at a place called Pumuailah, at the foot of the mountains, we found our camp already pitched for us, where we could lay our heads down and rest, free from the shrill music of musket balls whizzing past us, or the frantic shrieks of some thousands of native warriors coming upon us in the dark.

DESCRIPTION OF AFGHAN WARFARE.

As I have said, the Afghans really seemed to despise death, so long as they could reach us. They have been known to lay hold of the rifle, with the bayonet right through them, and kill their opponent, so that both fell together. On one occasion an entire company of the 101st Fusiliers was cut to pieces, and died to a man; but it was found that a number of these noble fellows had first driven their bayonets through their Afghan opponents and both lay locked in death. On another occasion two companies of the Ghoorkas were sent at (as far as we could see) about 150 fanatic Afghans. These brave little fellows threw in one volley, then dashed at the enemy with their favourite weapon; but instead of 150, some 800 or 900 Afghans rushed out of their hiding-places, and, in less time than it takes me to write it, exterminated the two companies, but not before they had laid low more than double their number of Afghans. No mercy was shown by these infuriated Hill tribes. The remainder of the Ghoorkas regiments obtained permission to go and avenge their comrades; and at them they went, this time backed up by the 101st Fusiliers, who assisted them by throwing in one volley, and that deadly weapon, the knife, did the rest. In marching over the field, about an hour afterwards, the sights that met one’s eyes in all directions were sickening. There lay the ghastly fruits of “war to the knife.” No wounded; but men of both nations lying clasped in each other’s arms, sleeping the sleep of death.

I would suggest that those who are so anxious for war should lead the way at an affair such as I have just described; they would then think well before they set men at each other in deadly conflict; or, in other words, let those that make the quarrels march in the forefront of the battle.

But we taught the lawless Afghans how to respect our flag. This had been a short, but a sharp lesson to them, for unprovoked wholesale murder. I must here explain that these neighbours of ours had come down from their hills to the plains, and destroyed whole villages, walking off with the cattle, and all that they could lay their hands upon. Not a man, woman, or child, did they leave alive to tell the tale. The whole country for miles was laid in utter ruin, for no other crime than that the people were British subjects. So, as the reader will admit, we were almost compelled to draw the sword in this instance; for parleying with such lawless gentlemen would have been looked upon as weakness, and would have had no more effect upon them than water upon a duck’s back. But, as usual, the force that was at first sent against the enemy was far too small. It consisted of two regiments of European Infantry (the 71st Highlanders and 101st Fusiliers), seven or eight Native Infantry regiments, and one of Cavalry, with three batteries of Artillery. It was here proved that it is bad policy to despise your enemies, for this little force could barely hold their own. It could hardly be said that they were masters of the ground they slept upon. They had, as it were, to “hold on by the skin of their teeth,” in the midst of a host, until reinforcements reached them. Hence our hurried march to their assistance. In this instance again we proved that the bayonet is the queen of weapons, for not all the countless hordes of fanatics could withstand a determined rush of some 10,000 men, backed up by others; for we had ultimately a force of some 25,000 men, with whom we struck terror into at least 150,000 of these sons of the Himalayas.

THE END OF THE WAR.

Well, it was now all over; they had paid the penalty for unprovoked murder, and were submissive at our feet. Although the sword—the victorious British sword—had been uplifted, our people remembered mercy, and that had more effect upon these hardy mountaineers than the mere sight of piles of their dead comrades all around them had produced. We remained for a few days, and then marched on to our frontiers. The Natives all around suddenly became wonderfully civil, and all kinds of supplies were brought into our camp; for they had found out that the Sahib Logs were indeed lords and masters, and that civility was cheaper than rope. This short but sharp lesson had such an effect upon them, that one regiment of old women could have kept them in check for years afterwards. We remained for two months on the frontiers, until all was quiet, then broke up camp, and marched to our respective stations. The Fusiliers remained at Ferozepore until the end of 1866, when we marched on to Saugor (central India). It looked a beautiful place, but, alas! many a fine fellow who marched into that lovely vale, in all the pride of manhood, never marched out of it again.

REFLECTIONS.

All went on well until the summer of 1869, when we were attacked by cholera, and our poor fellows died like rotten sheep. In fourteen days we lost 149 men, 11 women, and 27 children. I here lost six dear little ones, and my wife was pronounced dead by one of the doctors; but, thank God, even doctors make wonderful mistakes sometimes. It proved so in her case, for she is with me yet, and has made me more than one “nice little present” since. During that trying ordeal we proved the faithfulness of the natives, for, although death was raging amongst us, they stood by us manfully; and a number of them clung so close to our poor fellows, in rubbing them, that they caught the terrible malady, and died rather than forsake their masters. I say now, after nineteen years in the midst of the burning plains of India, treat the native with kindness, be firm with him, but let him see that you are determined to give him justice, and I’ll be bound that you will find him a good, kind, loving, obedient creature, and a loyal subject. Thousands, yea tens of thousands, of the natives can speak our language as well as we can, and see plainly that they have justice, that the rich cannot oppress the poor, and that under our flag they are safe from all oppression. The highest positions are attainable by all, if they will only qualify themselves for them. Our equal laws have bound them to us in love, and if our Government required 500,000 more men we could have them in less than a month. They will tell you plainly if you will lead they will follow. There are no better troops in the world than the Ghoorkas, Sikhs, and Beloochees; all they require is leaders. But give me old England, with a crust, in preference to India, with all its luxuries, although I had my health remarkably well all the time I was there. I had, however, a very strong objection to the hot winds, the sand-storms, the flying bugs (and those that could not fly), the mosquitoes, and to a slow bake, for in summer the thermometer would often show 125° Fah., and the air would be so sultry that one could hardly breathe without being fanned. But I must be honest. A number of our men wreck their constitutions with heavy drinking and then complain of the climate, which certainly is very trying. After all, give me “home, sweet home.”

MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF THE PEOPLE.

Before I leave the subject I feel I ought to say something about the manners and customs of the people of India. A high-caste Brahmin, be he rich or poor, is venerated by all other castes of Hindoos. The country was ruled by them until we took possession of it; and, although our proud old flag now waves from Calcutta to Afghanistan, we do not interfere in any way with their religious observances, so long as they obey our laws and respect life and property. One of the most important events in civilised society is the selection of suitable partners in life; in happy England it is seldom a third party has any participation in the matter, but throughout India it is quite a different affair. A native, whether Hindoo or Mussulman, rich or poor, old or young, is allowed to have as many wives as he thinks fit or can support. The mode of selecting their wives and the marriage ceremony are very curious. Mr. Kalo, we will say, is a merchant or poor man (Ryot). He has a son (say ten years old). His neighbour’s or friend’s pet wife of the same caste is in an interesting condition, and the two fathers privately arrange for the children’s marriage. The priest or priests of the same caste are sent for, and the boy, decked with jewellery, is betrothed to the forthcoming progeny, provided it should turn out to be of the opposite sex. A grand supper of currie and rice is then given to all friends and relatives, washed down with any amount of bhang. The boy is seated by the side of the happy (?) mother-in-law elect, the priests being masters of the ceremonies. Months roll on, and the happy day approaches. The little stranger is ushered into this world of trouble. Should it prove to be a girl, the priests are again sent for, and the betrothal is repeated, in presence of friends and relatives, a grand supper of course being given, and the portion falling to the lot of the innocent babe is then set apart. At seven years of age, providing both are alive, another ceremony takes place, when they are legally married, and, if of the upper class, the bride is decked with as much jewellery as she can fairly stand under; if of the middle or lower class, the ornaments are generally of silver, beautifully wrought; but the happy pair continue to reside with their respective parents until the bride is from ten to twelve years of age. In the meantime the boy may have been married a dozen times to young ladies whose betrothed husbands had died, and who would be regarded by Hindoo or Mussulman law as widows. The happy day, however, at last approaches. The young bride and bridegroom again meet, but this time at their mutual shrine or musjid. The young couple are here united by the priests. A banquet is then given, at which they are well sprinkled with rice, bhang being freely distributed. The bride is then driven off to the bridegroom’s mansion (or hut, as the case may be), and next morning is ushered into the harem, decked with jewellery and precious stones, and from this time is looked upon as its head. She now bids farewell to the outer world, being considered the husband’s pet wife, and is withdrawn from the gaze even of her own relatives. We in happy England on meeting with friends or relatives are accustomed, after our first greetings, to inquire after the wives and children; but in India it is the greatest insult you can offer a man, whatever his station, to mention his wife. The furthest you may go, according to Indian etiquette, is to ask whether the family is well. Many in the upper classes have some hundreds of wives, to all of whom they are legally married; and in both the upper and lower classes, in many instances, the husband does not know the names of some of his wives, as they continue to retain their own after marriage.

TAKING THE CENSUS.

During the taking of the census in India, in 1871, I was Garrison Sergeant-Major of Allahabad, and had some eight or ten Native male servants, all of whom were married, but I had never troubled myself about the number of wives or children they had, so long as they performed their duties in my service. Schedules were issued to all officers and non-commissioned officers detached (employed on the staff). I gave directions to my head Sirdar-bearer to parade the whole of my Native establishment, male or female, old or young, at a certain time in the verandah, opposite my door. The time arrived. All the men and children were duly paraded, but not a woman put in her appearance. I enquired where the wives were, and was told that they were in the house. I informed them that I must see them. They all looked at each other in blank despair. I gave them to understand that it was a Government order and that it must be obeyed. One man stated that I might kill him if I liked, but I should not see his wives. I had to be very firm with them, assuring them that I would not lay a finger on them, but that there was the order and it must and should be obeyed, even if I had to force my way into their harems. My wife came to my assistance, and, with a little coaxing from her, we succeeded in unearthing some forty “dear creatures” encased in chudders (or sheets) perforated about the face. They all sat down in families. I then commenced to take from the husbands their names and ages. On inquiring of the men the names and ages of their respective wives, I found they knew neither the one nor the other in many cases, and had to enquire of their spouses. Some of the dark ladies seemed to enjoy the joke, which they expressed in titters of laughter, but were only too glad when they were told they might go to their homes.

SERVANTS AND CASTE.

A gentleman in India is compelled to keep at least eight or ten servants, their salaries ranging from four rupees (8/-) to ten rupees (£1) per month; for the man who cooks your food will not put it on the table for you, or look after the table in any way; the man who brings you clean water won’t take away the dirty; the one who sweeps your house will not clean your dog; the one that grooms your horse will not drive you; and the one that looks after your clothing and cash will do nothing else. The gardener will look after the garden, but should he come across anything dead, he will not touch it. The female servants will attend to the mistress and children in dressing them or walking out with them, but will not wash them or do any manual work. The dhoby (washerman) will wash and get up your clothing, but will do nothing else. Such is caste.

THE STEPS TAKEN TO PREVENT ANOTHER MUTINY.

Some of my readers would perhaps like to know what steps our Government has taken to guard against another revolt, as it is necessary that we must have a Native army. Previous to the outbreak, implicit confidence was placed in our Sepoys. Nearly all our forts were held by them. All treasure was in their keeping. They held large tracts of country, without a single company of Europeans near them. They were brigaded together, both horse, foot, and artillery, and not a troop, nor a single gun, manned by Europeans, was near to “contaminate” these much-pampered gents. Our vast magazines were in their custody. Things had come to such a state, that they would only do just as they liked. They had no one to overlook them, and consequently could hatch up just whatever they liked. They commenced to look upon themselves as lords and masters. Now just mark the difference in their relative position:—

1. All forts are manned by Europeans; not a Native company lives in any fort of any note.

2. All treasures, and military stores of all descriptions, are kept under the watchful eyes of European soldiers.

3. Not a station of any importance, from Calcutta to Peshawur, but there are Native troops, with a full proportion of Europeans to see fair play.

4. There is not a gun on the whole plain of India manned by Natives—all are manned by Europeans. The only Native gunners we have are those who man the mountain train batteries—small guns carried on mules.

5. All ammunition for Infantry is kept in charge of Europeans. The Natives are allowed three rounds per man.

6. No Native, high or low, rich or poor, is allowed to carry arms except he holds a license—not even a stick with a piece of iron attached to it.

7. All Native Regiments, both Horse and Foot, have Native Christians serving in their ranks; most of the band and drummers are Native Christians, and a watchful eye is kept upon them, although perhaps many of them do not think so. The native officers are now a very intelligent body of men. They are promoted by merit, and some of them are very clever fellows; whilst the old school were a lot of doting old men—it would break their caste to look at them.

Again, the eurasions (half-castes) are now in such numbers all over the country that it would be a matter almost of impossibility for a conspiracy to be got up without their knowing it. The pure native hates them. Some of them are almost as black as one’s boot, and yet they ape the European. A native would spit in their faces but for the strong arm of the law. They will tell you that “God made black man, and God made white man, but,”—with a contemptible sneer—“Sahib, who made them?”

So, if ever we have another outbreak, we shall know it is coming, and then, too, we must remember it will not now take our troops five months to reach the shores of India. We have a native army at this time, all told, of nearly 500,000 men, that would go to any part of the globe with us; and some of these fine mornings I dare prophecy Mr. Russia will find out to his cost that we have a really loyal native army, and led by some of the best blood this silver-coasted isle of ours can produce. We have nothing to fear, even from crafty Russia, although she boasts of two million bayonets. I say again our resources of good loyal resolute men even in the Punjaub alone, are inexhaustible, for our equal laws since the Mutiny have gained the high esteem of countless millions, that would, if we required it, follow us to any part of the globe. I do not wish to foster a bellicose spirit, but Russia must not come one yard further or she will have to confront in deadly conflict millions of a free, happy, and contented empire, determined to uphold at all costs our glorious old standard.

Before we close our notes upon India, we will just glance at the final transfer of the great East India Company of merchant adventurers trading in the East Indies. They had but small beginnings: they were nothing but a trading company; but gradually they kept advancing, grasping here a slice and there a slice, until 1757. The terrible tragedy of the Black Hole at Calcutta aroused to the highest pitch all the energies of the sons of Britain; and a Clive, with but a handful of men, dashed at their vast hordes on the plains of Plassey, scattered them in all directions, captured all their guns, dictated his own terms of peace, and laid the foundation of the British Empire in the East. This gigantic Company had extended our rule from Cape Comorin to the Himalayas, and from Bramapootra to the Bay of Combay; but by mismanagement this vast appendage had been shaken to its foundations: oceans of blood had been spilt, and India had had enough of slaughter. At length the happy day arrived (1st November, 1858) when the important announcement was made that the East India Company had ceased to exist, and that some two hundred and fifty millions of people were in future to be governed by Her Most Gracious Majesty Queen Victoria. This was truly a happy day throughout the length and breadth of this vast dependency. The Proclamation by the Queen in Council to the princes, chiefs and peoples of India was announced simultaneously at Calcutta, Bombay, Madras, Allahabad, Lahore, and throughout all the stations of India. Amidst the roar of cannon and triumphal martial music, our gracious Queen was proclaimed actual and supreme ruler of India. At the same time and places it was announced in her name that the claims of retributive justice had ceased, and the hand of mercy, with a Christian spirit, was held out for all crimes short of absolute and merciless murders of defenceless men, women and children, in accordance with the laws of God and man, that murderers shall die; but to all others forgiveness was freely offered. Thousands were frantic with joy, and called aloud for God to bless the Queen. We would here note a remarkable instance of the mutability of human grandeur. At Cawnpore (1st November, 1858), while the proclamation was being read, the ex-King of Delhi was brought into that station on his way to Calcutta, under a strong guard. The thunder of the guns, the triumphant strains of the bands, with the glitter and display all around—such a scene at such a station as Cawnpore was emphatically suggestive of the word “retribution.” The following is a fair sample of the spirit that pervaded nearly all classes throughout India. The papers were full of speeches from educated native gentlemen. One ran as follows:—“Gentlemen, I see around me many of higher rank, and better able to express the sentiments of our countrymen than I am; but as you have done me the honour to call upon me on this important occasion, I have much pleasure in stating that my intercourse in life has been much with Englishmen, and I know so much of the vast resources, the great power and the great goodness of the English people, that I do not think myself altogether incompetent to offer an opinion. If I had power and influence I would proclaim throughout the length and breadth of the land that never were the natives more grievously mistaken than they have been in adopting the notion palmed upon them by designing and wicked men, that their religion was at stake. That notion has been at the root of the late rebellion. The mass of the people do not understand the English character: they do not understand the generosity, the benevolence of the governing power, the even-handed justice with which that power is willing and anxious always to do that which is right between man and man, without a reference whatever as to whether the man belongs to the governing or to the governed class. If all this were known, where would be rebellion in the land? Certainly there never would have been such an outbreak as that which recently shook the foundations of this empire. The only remedy is education. Nothing has distressed me more, among the acts of the late Government, than the positive prohibition against incurring any expense on the score of education. Lord William Bentinck—a name which must ever be remembered with reverence—once said in this city: That for all the evils, all the oppressions, all the grievances under which India labours, the first remedy was education, the second remedy was education, and the third remedy was education. But, gentlemen, to come to the point, I have read the proclamation of Her Majesty with great pleasure, with awakened feelings, with tears of joy when I came to the last paragraph.[21] A nobler production it has never been my lot to have met with. The most just, the broadest principles are therein set forth: humanity, mercy, justice, breathe through every line, and we ought all to welcome it with the highest hope and the liveliest gratitude. Depend upon it, when our Sovereign tells us, ‘In your prosperity is our strength, in your contentment our security, and in your gratitude our best reward,’ the future of India is full of encouragement and hope for her children. What could have been nobler or more beautiful, what could have better dignified even the tongue of a queen than language such as that? Let us kneel down before her with every feeling of loyalty: let us welcome the new reign with the warmest sentiment of gratitude and the deepest feeling of devotion. ‘God bless our Queen.’” Since then, millions of money have been spent to improve this vast country, on roads, bridges, irrigation, canals, railroads; and last, but not least, education has not been forgotten. Every village has its school, but the creeds are respected, and in a few short years almost every tongue will call upon God to bless the British. They have now equality of laws: the same firm hand of justice that guides the European, guides, guards, and protects the poor, the widow and the fatherless. The teeming millions are governed in a Christian spirit, and are united to us in love and gratitude. “Unity is strength.” We are not of those who wish to foster a bellicose spirit, but to live in peace with all mankind. But we would point out to our readers that British India is quite capable of defending herself against all comers, having an inexhaustible supply of men, and requiring only arms and good leaders, both of which are at our command. Our vast magazines throughout the country are well supplied with arms; and as for leaders, we have thousands who would not turn their backs upon the proudest and haughtiest sons of Adam’s race, standing sentry, as it were, upon the gates of India.[22] We have nothing to fear, even from the craftiest of our enemies. Within three months, our Government could, if required, put three hundred thousand, four hundred thousand, or a million of men into the field, as well drilled as most of our crack regiments. The Indian Government have, for years past, had a splendid system of putting men or passing men into the Reserves: and each one of the Native regiments could, say within seven days, be brought up to a strength of ten thousand men, well drilled and well armed. The Reserves are being continually drilled at least one month per annum; they have all a life pension to look forward to: it is small, ’tis true—two annas (threepence) per diem; but that amount will keep a native and his family from starving. It is more to him than one shilling is here. Then you must remember he is not an old man: he has not reached the mature age of thirty years. Again, in accordance with the proclamation issued in 1858, we do not interfere in any way by force with their creed or caste, every man being permitted to worship God after the dictates of his own conscience. We have not the slightest hesitation in affirming that if the Lion in India was aroused, we could, within three months, put into the field such an army as would astonish the civilized world—most of them well drilled men, thousands of them not at all to be despised: Ghoorkas, Sikhs, Beloochees, and Afridis, with good leaders that would face Old Nick himself: they would die to a man, but never yield. We conquered them after a lot of hard fighting, as they had no unity. Now they all, united heart and hand, acknowledge one flag and one Empress. It cannot be denied, although crafty Russia holds out the olive branch of peace, that she means to have the whole of India if we will only allow her. Mark it well, reader: the advances of Russia, like those of a tiger, have ever been wary, crouching, and cowardly, until the moment arrives for pouncing upon her prey. They often disarm all apprehension of evil by pretensions to peace and friendliness; but so sure as she attacks India, she will find a “Tartar” in the Briton, backed up by tens, yea, hundreds of thousands of men that are second to none. She will find an united India, with its teeming millions, ready to uphold that flag which proclaims liberty to the slave, the conscience, the press: that protects with a strong arm all law-abiding subjects, whether of European or Asiatic origin. We have not the slightest hesitation in saying, that no European Power could withstand us in India. They must come by land or confront our fleet. A small army, say one hundred thousand, would be rolled up in no time: and a huge army, say of the strength that Napoleon invaded Russia with in 1812, would melt away from the ray of an Indian sun, faster than Napoleon’s vast host did from frost. Rest content, reader, we have nothing to fear. India is able to defend herself so long as her sons are guided by the sons of Albion. Imbecile or traitorous must be that Government which slumbers while Russia is approaching its borders: while that grasping Power is approaching close to its frontiers, and with which, ere long, it will have to measure its strength and grapple with its huge battalions. But we see no fear, knowing the stamp, the indomitable pluck of hundreds of thousands of those who will stand by our old flag. In the end, the old Bear will have to retire from the Lion’s grasp. But we must not be caught napping: our motto must be, “Fear God and keep your powder dry,” and as true Britons we need fear no one else. No one from the Viceroy downwards dare to interfere with the natives. So long as they obey the laws, the strong arm of the law will protect them; the rich cannot oppress them, whilst the poor have the gospel preached to them. They have an open Bible in their own language; they can sit under their own vine and fig-tree, and none dare make them afraid. This is what our forefathers fought so desperately for, and handed down to us. There are now thousands throughout the vast plain and hills of peaceful India that know the joyful sound. Hundreds, yea, thousands whose forefathers worshipped the sun, the moon, the stars, the cow, the bull, the monkey, the peacock, and hundreds of other gods, now worship the only true and living God, through the Great Mediator, the Man Christ Jesus. Again, my readers must remember that thousands of Natives from Calcutta to Peshawur are well educated, fit to go into any society: they know as much about this densely populated God-defended isle as we do, and as much about Russia and its despotic laws, with Siberia and the knout, as we do. They have made the laws of different European nations their study: they know well our vast strength, that we are an undefeated race; that India is but a portion of the great empire that acknowledges London as its capital, and our beloved Queen as their Empress. They know well that the highest positions in the State are attainable by all that will qualify themselves, and yet retain, if they wish, their own religious beliefs. We have now Native judges sitting on our benches to administer justice, to all that seek its protection or that break the law. I hope my readers will be able to see that India is content, is happy and is safe. She will in the future stand or advance, shoulder to shoulder, with the sons of Albion, and side by side with the wild boys of the Green Isle; and any that should try to wrench it from us, will find a hard nut to crack in a hornet’s nest.

LETTERS FROM INDIA.

The following are a few of my letters from India from 1857 to 1876. I trust that they will prove of more than passing interest. Some of them will be found amusing, whilst others will be found heart-rending, and will sink deep into more than one parent’s heart, and set them thinking, “Where is my boy to-night?” Many of them were written under great difficulty, not with the thermometer below freezing point, but in the midst of heat that was almost enough to give one a slow bake, with the thermometer indicating in the sun 140° of heat, and in the shade 120°, with the sweat rolling off one like rain: in some stations with the hot winds, 30° can be added. But I felt it my duty and a privilege to write as often as I could to those that are near and dear to me. The following are all that can be found:—

Kurrachee, 28th Nov., 1857.

My Dear Parents,

Thank God, we have landed safe and sound once more on terra firma, after a long and tedious sail across the ocean. We had what is called a splendid voyage until we got near the Cape of Good Hope, when a storm that threatened our entire destruction overtook us. It was truly awful, with the appalling claps of thunder (the loudest I have ever heard), and the flashes of lightning were dreadful; while a heavy sea broke completely over us, carrying all before it. I was on watch on deck. It was about three o’clock a.m. on the 19th of October. Half the watch were ordered below and the hatches fastened down, when, with a crash, down came the foremast. The shrieks of the women and children below were piteous, while the cries of the poor fellows gone overboard with the fallen mast were dreadful. The watch, I am happy to say, were calm and did all they could to help the sailors; but alas! the poor fellows that had gone overboard, we could not save. The sea was rolling mountains high, and no boat could live one minute in it. It was as dark as the grave, save when the flashes of lightning revealed our misery. Then another terrible sea caught us, dashed us on our beam-ends, swept away all our boats, with the bulwarks on the port side, and the two remaining masts were snapped asunder as if they had been twigs. To all human appearance the Head-quarters of the Royal Fusiliers (about 350 strong) were doomed to a watery grave, when the good ship (the “Owen Glandore”) righted herself. We looked in a terrible plight. A portion of the mainmast was left, with the mainsail all in ribbons. Seventeen poor fellows were washed overboard to meet a watery grave. Ropes were thrown to them, but it was all in vain. The captain was an old salt veteran of some fifty years; and with his trumpet gave his orders as calmly as possible. All was right with such a man, in life or in death. The sea was now breaking completely over us, and we had to hold on the best way we could. About five a.m. she gave a terrible dive, as we thought; it was a huge wave passing completely over us. The timbers of the noble ship cracked, and she shook from stem to stern; the captain, lashed to the poop, still calm. I think I see that manly face uplifted, as he exclaimed with a loud voice: “Thank God! she still floats.” He then shouted to our Colonel Aldsworth, “If the mainsail goes, all is lost; you are in greater danger now than ever you were in front of Sebastopol.” We (the watch) could but look at that calm face, but not a word was uttered. Death was all around us, but as true Britons it was no use murmuring; all was quiet, all were calm. We were truly, dear parents, looking death in the face, for there were no back-doors. But just then, when skill had done its best, and when to all human appearance we were about to be launched into eternity, to meet a watery grave, a still inaudible voice said: “Peace be still.” The wind ceased, and the storm was all over; but the sea was still rolling heavily, and we were but a helpless tub in the midst of the raging billows of the fathomless ocean. Gradually, however, the ocean became a heavy swell, and in a few hours as calm as a fish-pond. We had had a most miraculous escape, and our brave old captain requested the colonel to have prayers at once, and thank Him fervently who said to the raging billows: “Peace be still.” All hands were at once set to work, and all who could use a needle were set to sail-making. Jurymasts were brought up out of the hold, and in a few days, without putting into port, we began to look quite smart again, and went on our way rejoicing, to help to revenge our murdered countrymen, women and children. The captain complimented our colonel upon having such a cool body of men. We find this country in a terrible state, but I see no fear but what we shall be a match for them before it is over. I have not time to say more at present; will drop a few lines, if possible, next mail, and give you all the news I can. I am happy to say I am quite well, and we must make the best of a bad job. It will not do to give in at trifles. We are to have an execution parade this afternoon; there are twelve of these beauties to be blown from the mouth of the cannon. We have had one such parade before. ’Tis a horrible sight—legs, arms, and all parts of the body flying about, and coming to mother earth with a thud. The sight is so sickening that I do not care to dwell upon it. Give my respects to all old friends, and

Kurrachee, East India, 4th Dec., 1857.

My Dear Dear Parents,

Once more, a line from what some people call a glorious land, but to give it its proper name just now, it is a hell upon earth. The fiend-like deeds that are being perpetrated daily out here are beyond description, and should these brutes get the better of our troops, every European here will have to die a terrible death, and we shall have to commence with another “Plassy.” But I see no fear. Mark me, we shall beat these murderers of women and children, but it will not do to stop to count them. Thousands of men who fought and conquered at the Alma, Balaclava, Inkermann, and twice stormed the bloody parapets of the Redan, are not men to be easily subdued. I see our Government has put the right man into the right place as our commander and leader. Sir Colin Campbell is not a man likely to be “taken short,” but is a regular go-ahead, fire-eating old cock. He is, moreover, no novice, has been trained in a rough school under Wellington, Gough, and Napier. It was he that put the finishing touch on the Russians at the Alma and commanded the thin red line at Balaclava, thus nobly sustaining the prestige of the flag that has waved triumphant out here since Plassey (1757), and which may now with safety be entrusted to his keeping. We had no idea when we left Portsmouth that we were bound for such a hell-hole as this, or I do not think we should have brought our women and children with us. I find we are to move up country shortly; we are waiting for reinforcements; the women and children and all extra baggage to be left behind. That looks like business. Our Government is not going to play with these gents; and, as true Britons, if we are to die, we shall meet death sword in hand. Our men are roused to a pitch almost of frantic madness to get at the cowardly brutes. Cawnpore and Jensie will be wiped out with a terrible retribution. Britons have the feelings of humanity, but one’s blood runs cold to read and to hear daily of the dastard base deeds (of the rebels), to poor defenceless women and children, for no other crime than that they have white faces. I dare prophecy that the enemy will find out we are the true offspring of their conquerors at Plassey, Seringapatam, Ferozeshah, Moodkee, Sobraon, Goojerat, and scores of other fields where they have had to bow in humble submission to our all-conquering thin red line. As for myself, I see no fear. I shall not die till my time comes, and the same powerful Hand that has protected me thus far, is able to do it out here. Our line—the ever-memorable thin victorious line—is already advancing, and it will not halt until our proud old flag is again waved in supremacy over all the fortresses, cities, and fertile plains of India, and these cringing brutes begging for mercy (what they are now strangers to). I will, if I am spared, take notes, and write as often as I can. You must try and keep your spirits up. I am as happy as a bug in a rug. I never go half-way to meet troubles, and I believe the best way to get over all difficulties in this world is to face them. I have a few pounds that I have no use for; please accept them as a mark of love from your wild boy. Poor mother will find a use for them. I enclose a draft on Gurney’s Bank. We have a number of Norwich men in the Fusiliers, most of them fine-looking men; they joined us as volunteers from other regiments just before we left home.

It is now the depth of winter, but we find it quite warm enough during the day. I intend to adhere strictly to temperance, hot or cold. I could stand the cold in the Crimea without drink stronger than coffee; and as we crossed the equator twice on our voyage out here, I think I know a little already of what excessive heat is, and I did without it then. Our doctors all agree that the temperate man out here has the best of it. He is more prepared to resist the different diseases that prevail among Europeans, such as fevers, rheumatism, disorder of the liver, and even cholera; that I can testily from my experience in Turkey and the Crimea. I find the inhabitants out here are a mixed up lot, but if one can once master the Hindoostanee language, he can make himself understood all over the vast plains, from Calcutta to Peshawur. As soon as things are a little bit quiet, I shall go in for Hindoostanee. Tell poor mother to keep her pecker up. I do not believe this “row” out here will last long, as troops are landing in all directions; and if they could not subdue a handful of men that were in the country when it started last May, what may they expect now that the Crimean veterans are thrown into the scale against them. It will be a war of extermination. I do not think our men will wait to quarter the foe; if we can only close with them, it will be one deadly thrust with that never-failing weapon, the bayonet, and all debts will be paid: retribution must eventually overtake such bloodthirsty wretches. But I must bring this to a close. Give my kind regards to all old friends, trusting this will find you as it leaves me, in the enjoyment of that priceless blessing, good health.

P.S.—I find our old friends of the Light Division the 2nd Rifles, the 23rd Fusiliers, the 88th Connaught Rangers, the 90th and 97th have already had a “shy” at the foe, and thus helped to revenge poor defenceless creatures. Our turn will come yet; it will then be “the d——l take the hindermost.” Please address as above; it will follow me if I am above the soil. Keep your spirits up, mother dear.

T. G.

My Dear and ever Dear Parents,

From my former letters from Kurrachee and Mooltan, and by the newspapers, you will see how near the verge of ruin this large appendage to our empire has been brought; in fact, it has been shaken to its foundations, by (what shall I say), mismanagement. And these much puffed-up Sepoys (native soldiers) have been spoilt; and, depending upon their strength and our weakness (for kindness has evidently been looked upon as weakness), they have risen up to crush us. The determined stands that our handful of men have made on the heights around Delhi and other places where the honour of our glorious old flag has been at stake, has been sublime, and rendered them worthy to rank beside the heroes of Albuera, Salamanca, Vittoria, Waterloo, Alma, Inkermann, the Nile, and Trafalgar; and whilst Old England, side by side the brave sons of Ireland, can produce such men to stand beside and guard her flag, she has nothing to fear; and the Sepoys out here will find, I dare prophecy, before twelve months have rolled over, that we are the true descendants of these conquerors. If they could not subdue a mere handful of men, what may they expect now that the veterans of Alma and Inkermann are thrown into the scale against them. A terrible day of vengeance has dawned; the sword of justice will be plunged into the hearts of the murderers of defenceless women and children. The lion in the Briton is roused, the blood of the innocent cry for vengeance. But remember, it’s only the native army that has risen against us; the inhabitants generally are on the side of law and order. And, I will be bound, our troops will take tea with the traitors before we have done with them, and bring them on their knees begging for mercy (to which they are strangers). Now for a little news. In my letter from Kurrachee I told you that we expected to re-embark and go round to Calcutta; but instead of that, our Government, with the reinforcements that were arriving almost daily, were determined to grapple with the mutineers, North, East, West, and South, at the same time; so strong reinforcements have been pushed on into the Punjaub to strike its war-like inhabitants with awe. And the Royal Fusiliers—second to none—about 1300 bayonets; the 94th, 1200 strong; the 7th Dragoon Guards (or Black Horse), about 800 sabres, and three batteries of Horse and Field Artillery, with 24 guns, moved up country. The natives received us in every camp with joy and gladness. It was very pleasant when we left Kurrachee in December last; we had a march of about 120 miles to the banks of the river Indus—it’s a noble stream. We found the road or track very sandy—we sank near to our ankles in sand at every stride—which made it hard work to get along. But the honour of our flag was at stake, and I think I may say, without egotism, that it was safe in our hands. We had native guides to take us across the desert, as in many places there was no trace of road. The inhabitants brought all sorts of eatables in the way of fish, vegetables, eggs, fowls, and fruit into our camp. The accounts that appear in the country papers daily are enough to make one’s blood boil. The murdering, bloodthirsty villains will all meet their doom yet. I told you a little of how we treated them in Kurrachee and Mooltan, and should we ever cross the path of these murdering traitors, I will be bound to say that our fellows will give it them right and left.

We found flat-bottom boats awaiting us on the Indus, and at once marched on board. Each steamer had a flat-bottomed boat to tow up; with each pair they could stow away about 400 men, with kits and arms. As soon as all were on board, off we started. Our destination, as far as we then knew, was Mooltan. We found we had to face a very strong current, with a native at the head of the boat constantly sounding. It was very amusing to hear him shouting continually, from morning till night: “No bottom, no bottom.” “Stop her; back her.” “Teen put” (3 feet). “Chay put” (6 feet). “No bottom.” “Sanadoo put” (2½ feet). “Stop her!” Often we would stick fast on a sand-bank, when all the crew, and perhaps some 50 of our men, would jump into the water and shove her back. At other times we would have to land half our men at a time, with long ropes to pull the steamer and flat along, or we should have lost ground. Sometimes it was rough work, with so many creeks to cross up to our middles, and sometimes our necks, in mud and water. The first to cross would be a native boatman to make the rope fast; then it did not matter much how deep it was. You would be astonished how quickly our men got over. We have a very witty Irishman in my Company, and he often kept us all alive. One morning, as we were about to get over one of these nice creeks, he shouted out: “Here go, boys, for ould Ireland’s home and glory,” as he dashed into it. As you know, I do not drink, and so our witty friend often gets my go of rum. We found the river abounded with gigantic amphibious reptiles—crocodiles. We had a little sport daily, shooting them; also huge snakes in abundance. So it was not safe even in the creeks to have a bathe. We lost one man overboard; the poor fellow was snapped up by a crocodile before a boat could reach him. We lost another man by the bite of a snake; both these men had gone through the whole of the Crimean campaign. In due course we arrived safely at Mooltan—1300 miles from Kurrachee. Here we remained for a few days and had a good look at the citadel from whence the valuable Koh-i-noor—worth about £2,000,000 sterling—was taken by Lord Gough, and presented to Her Most Gracious Majesty in 1848. We then pushed on here by bullock carts through a vast desert, the road all the way being strewn with straw. We had to take turns at riding, one company being sent on daily until we had all left Mooltan. We had five days of this sort of travelling.

On the evening of the fifth day our first company—about 130 strong—marched in here. The 81st were delighted to see us. They were very weak, having suffered heavily last year with cholera. They had been holding on by the skin of their teeth, for there are about 4000 mutineers here, and the 81st were only about 300 strong at headquarters, having two strong detachments out. Those of our men who were with the leading companies, came out to meet us with all sorts of news. We all landed here safely by the end of February, except sick, lame, and lazy, and women and children who were left behind at Kurrachee, as we expected to take the field. Our men were almost mad with rage when the order came in for us to remain at Meean Meer; the old Fusiliers wanted to measure their strength with these bloodthirsty wretches at Lucknow. But we found, after sending out two or three strong detachments, that we had a handful here, prisoners being brought in daily from the surrounding country, tried, and executed at once. The execution parades are ghastly sights to witness, but the horrible, fiend-like deeds that they have perpetrated leave but little room in our hearts for pity. We execute, more or less, every day. The blowing away from the mouth of the cannon is a sickening sight, and I do not care to dwell upon it. Since we came here I have been appointed drill-sergeant of the regiment. It carries one shilling per diem extra; but I am at it from 4 a.m. until 7 p.m., but rest during the day time. You, I think, will notice the date of this. I know poor mother will remember it. I am just 24 years in this troublesome world. I enclose a small draft for poor mother’s acceptance; it is the first three months’ extra pay, and a little with it to make it up to a “fiver.” Mind, this is for mother’s use, and no one else is to interfere with it. If we are ordered into the field I will drop a line if possible, but not a little newspaper. I see no fear; I shall not die till my time comes; I do not believe the man is born yet that is to shoot me, or surely I never should have escaped so often as I did in the Crimea. When I look back to the fields of the Alma, the two Inkermanns, the night of the 22nd of March, the 7th and 18th of June (1855), the dash at the rifle pits, and no end of other combats, including the storming of Sebastopol, I cannot but think that I am being spared by an All-wise God for some special purpose; that, to all appearance, He has built a hedge around about me, and has permitted the deadly weapons to go thus far and no farther, to show me in days to come the finger of His love. Again, dear parents, look over my letter wherein I describe that terrible 19th of October, off the Cape of Good Hope, when to all human appearance the ship “Owen Glandore” was lost, and all on board consigned to a watery grave. You note that we lost all our boats, masts and sail, and were nothing but a helpless tub floating with a freight of 390 human beings, expecting every moment to be launched into eternity. But just as our gallant captain said all was lost, an inaudible voice said: “Peace be still,” when the wind ceased, and all, except 17 men that had been washed overboard, were saved. I find by the country papers that summary punishment is being fast dealt out to these wretches all over the country, and that they will not face our men, the dreaded “Feringhees,” as they call us, unless behind strong positions, and that they are receiving daily some very awkward lessons and have already found that our reign in India is not all over.