The Memoirs of Admiral Lord Beresford

Of the other members of the Prince's suite I retain the most pleasant recollections. Among them I especially recall Major-General Probyn (afterwards General the Right Hon. Sir Dighton Macnaghten Probyn, V.C., etc. etc.); Major-General Sam Browne, V.C. (afterwards General Sir Samuel James Browne, V.C., K.C.S.I., etc.); Major Bradford (afterwards Sir Edward Ridley Colborne Bradford, Bart., K.C.S.I., G.C.V.O.); Surgeon-General Fayrer (afterwards Sir Joseph Fayrer, Bart.); and Dr. Russell (afterwards Sir William Howard Russell, C.V.O., LL.D.).

Major-General Probyn, of magnificent presence, black-bearded, hawk-eyed, a hero of the Mutiny, was universally respected and beloved by the native population, over whom he owned a great influence. He was one of the finest soldiers and most delightful companions it has been my fortune to know. In 1876, he already had twenty-five years' service, including the Trans-Indus frontier affair of 1852-57, the Mutiny (in which his name was a terror), in China in 1860, in the Umbeyla campaign of 1863. He was Colonel of Probyn's Horse, 11th King Edward's Own Lancers; afterwards Keeper of the Privy Purse, Comptroller and Treasurer of the Household of the present King when he was Prince of Wales; and since 1901, extra Equerry to the King.

Probyn and I assisted at a surgical operation. A mahout had his hand smashed; and we held him while the surgeon amputated his finger and thumb.

Major-General Sam Browne, V.C., had served in the second Sikh war with distinction, and during the Mutiny led the surprise attack upon the rebels at Sirpura, at dawn upon 31st August, 1858. Almost single-handed, he charged the guns, receiving the wound resulting in the loss of his arm. For this service, he was awarded the V.C. During the Prince's tour he represented the Indian Army; nor could a finer or more efficient representative have been selected.

Major Bradford had performed gallant and distinguished service in the Mutiny. He had lost an arm, under circumstances which may be worth repetition. Together with a brother officer, Captain Curtis, and a trooper, Bradford was tiger-shooting. Seated in a mechan (tree-shelter), he wounded a tiger, breaking its back; his second barrel missed fire; and Bradford fell from the mechan on the top of the tiger, which seized him. Bradford thrust his fist down the beast's throat; and while Curtis was trying to get another shot, the tiger mangled Bradford's arm up to the shoulder. Curtis eventually killed the animal. The party had a long and painful distance to traverse before they reached help. Bradford's arm was amputated without chloroform. In 1890, Bradford was appointed commissioner of police in the Metropolis, at a time when there was a good deal of discontent in the Force, and speedily proved the worth of his unrivalled experience and ability.

Surgeon-General Fayrer, I remember, had a remarkable way with snakes. He kept a selection of the most deadly reptiles in a wheelbarrow, nestled in straw. With his naked hands he would uncover them, and, deftly catching them by the neck, force them to exhibit their fangs.

Someone composed a set of irreverent verses dedicated to the surgeon-general:

    "Little Joe Fayrer    Sent for his bearerAnd asked for his Christmas pie.    e put in his thumb,    And pulled out a plum,And found it a K.C.S.I."

Dr. W. H. Russell, the famous war correspondent, who in his letters to The Times during the Crimean war did so much good service, was a most delightful companion. He is remembered by all who knew him, both for his talents and for his sympathetic and affectionate disposition and his unfailing sense of humour. He was one of my greatest friends. During the voyage, he occupied the cabin next to mine.

The Prince having requested him to provide himself with a uniform, Dr. Russell designed a kind of Ambassadorial dress of great splendour, with so generous a gold stripe to his kersey breeches, that we told him he had gold trousers with a white stripe inside. These effulgent garments unfortunately carried away when the doctor was climbing upon an elephant, on his way to a Durbar. I executed temporary repairs upon his person with safety pins; and implored him not to stoop. But when it came to his turn to bow, bow he must; the jury rig parted, and a festoon of white linen, of extraordinary length, waved behind him. Fortunately, the assembled Indian Princes thought it was part of his uniform.

At Mian Mir, during the ceremony of a great review of troops, Dr. Russell, who was riding among the suite mounted on a half-broken Arab, was suddenly heard to shout, "Whoa, you villainous brute!" At the same moment, several of the suite were knocked endways. The Arab then got the bit in his teeth, and tore away past the Prince down the whole line. Dr. Russell's helmet was jerked to the back of his head, his puggaree unfurled in a long train floating behind him, he vanished into the distance and we did not see him again until dinner-time. He passed so close to the Prince, that had the doctor another thickness of gold on his gold trousers, there would have been an accident to his Royal Highness.

The Duke of Sutherland, during the Prince's journeys overland in India, took an intense delight in driving the engine, from which it was hard to tear him away. We had halted at a station where the customary ceremonial had been arranged, and had changed into uniform, all save the Duke, who was nowhere to be seen.

"Where can he be?" said the Prince.

I submitted that he might be on the engine, and went to see. Sure enough, the Duke was sitting on the rail, his red shirt flung open, his sun-helmet on the back of his head. In either black fist he grasped a handful of cotton waste, with which he was mopping up the perspiration of honest toil. He hurried to his carriage to change into uniform; and presently appeared, buttoning his tunic with one hand. In the other he still grasped a skein of cotton waste. The Prince looked at him.

"Can nothing be done?" said the Prince sadly.

The great elephant hunt in Nepal took place on the 25th February, 1876, under the auspices of Sir Jung Bahadur (afterwards the Maharaja Sir Jung Bahadur, G.C.B., G.C.S.I.). A herd of wild elephants, captained by a male of gigantic size and valour, who had already vanquished Sir Jung's most formidable righting elephants, had been tracked down in the forest. Sir Jung determined that, come what would, he should be captured. Sir Jung led the Prince and several of his suite, all well mounted on horses, into the forest, to the rendezvous, to which the wild herd was to be driven. But in the meantime, the big elephant had given the hunters the slip.

I was of the hunting party, and I had the stiffest run of my life, and at the end of it there were left besides myself only my companion – I think he was Mr. Greenwood – and six Indian notables. Mounted on swift pad elephants, we pursued that tremendous beast at top speed from four o'clock in the morning till six in the evening, bursting through the jungle, splashing through rivers, climbing the rocky steeps of hills upon which there appeared to be no foothold except for monkeys, and down which the elephants slid upon their bellies. So we rode hour after hour, hanging on the ropes secured to the guddee, lying flat upon the steed's back to avoid being scraped off his back by branches, until the quarry, escaping us ran straight into Sir Jung Bahadur's party of horsemen.

There, in an open space set with sword-like reeds, stood the elephant, his flanks heaving, his head and trunk moving from side to side. He had one huge tusk and the stump of the other.

It was the business of the horsemen in front to keep him employed in the open while the champion fighting elephants, Jung Pershaud and Bijli Pershaud, were being brought up. Again and again he charged, the riders eluding his rushes, the Prince among them. A stumble or a fall – and nothing could have saved the rider. Presently the elephant, wearying of these profitless tactics, wheeled and took refuge in a swamp, where the reeds and rushes hid him. But there was nothing to do but await the arrival of the fighting elephants. The fugitive employed his respite in cooling himself by pouring water over his heated person. In the meantime, Jung Pershaud, the terrible rogue elephant, somewhat fatigued like his quarry, was drawing near. Jung Pershaud, in order to give warning of his very dangerous presence, was hung about the neck with a large bell, like a railway-station bell. When he was not in action he was secured with ropes.

Presently, from out the jungle, there sounded the uneven, minatory clangour of the bell. Everyone shouted that Jung Pershaud was coming. The hunted elephant paused in his ablutions, turned about, and, pushing the foliage aside with his trunk, gazed in the direction of the warning note. Then emerged into view the vast head of Jung Pershaud, painted scarlet. He moved steadily and directly upon his quarry, who lowered his head, presenting his long sharp tusk. The tusks of Jung Pershaud were four to five feet long and ringed with brass.

Jung swung his trunk and dealt the hunted elephant a blow on the head, then charged him in the flank with a resounding impact, drew back and charged the reeling beast from behind. The hunted elephant took to flight, pursued by Jung Pershaud, heading straight for the place where I was watching the combat among the pads and smaller fighting elephants. These turned and fled in terror.

The hunted elephant plunged into the wood, ploughing his way through the undergrowth, leaving Jung Pershaud behind him. Sir Jung Bahadur, following with the Prince and the rest of the party, adjured us to keep out of the way of the fleeing beast while keeping him in sight. The quarry checked at an opening in the forest and remained in the shelter of the trees, while the Prince, with Sir Jung Bahadur and Dr. Russell, rode across a stream into the open space. Sir Jung Bahadur sat on his horse and cursed the elephant; who, after hearkening attentively for a few minutes, suddenly charged the horsemen.

At the same instant, the second fighting elephant, Bijli Pershaud, burst out of the jungle, and the two animals met forehead to forehead with a crash. Bijli Pershaud drew off and charged again, striking the hunted elephant on the shoulder, and running beside him, charged him heavily again and again, until the poor driven beast dropped his trunk and uttered a pitiable cry. He was beaten at last.

As we came up, it was discovered that the elephant was blind of one eye; everyone commiserated the defeated gladiator; and Sir Jung Bahadur offered to let him go free should the Prince so desire.

The Prince having accepted the suggestion, the elephant was led captive away and was secured with thick ropes to a tree. He bent his vast strength to a last effort to escape, so that the tree creaked and shook under the strain. He cried aloud in despair, and then stood silent, refusing all food.

They set him free upon the following day, having sawn off his great tusk; which was presented by Sir Jung Bahadur to the Prince.

A few days before the great hunt took place in Nepal, Sir Jung Bahadur's regiment of elephants paraded before the Prince. They numbered more than 700, and were drilled to manoeuvre in companies to the sound of the bugle. After the hunt, the Prince reviewed Sir Jung's army: a corps which, as the message from the Queen delivered by the Prince recalled in gracious terms, had tendered valuable help to the British arms upon an important occasion. The total strength of the army was 114,000 infantry and 420 guns. The infantry, in addition to rifle and bayonet, carried the kukri, or curved knife, the national weapon. We witnessed an exhibition of its use by the soldiers, who vied with one another in cutting, with a single action, slices of soft wood from a baulk, the cut making a diagonal section. More by good luck than by merit, I succeeded in cutting the widest section; and perceiving it to be extremely improbable that I could repeat the performance, I refused the invitation to try again. Sir Jung Bahadur presented me with the kukri I had used. I have the weapon now.

With this weapon, I slew a boa-constrictor. Riding an elephant after tiger, on which occasion shooting at any other game was forbidden, I saw a boa-constrictor, and dismounted. The great snake was lying asleep, coiled in a hole in the ground and half hidden in foliage. Selecting a narrowing coil, I cut nearly through it. The snake darted at me, and I finished it with a stick. Although it was dead, its body continued to writhe until sunset. For a long time I kept the skin, but unfortunately it decomposed.

My brother Lord William and I were out pig-sticking, and were riding after a boar. I got first spear, when the boar knocked both me and my horse clean over. The boar went on, then turned, and as I was in the act of getting up, came right at me. Remembering what an old pig-sticker, Archie Hill, had told me a man should do if he were bowled over and a boar attacked him, I rolled over on my face, presenting my least vital aspect to the enemy. But my brother, cleverly turning his horse, killed the boar within a few feet of me. The beast's head is preserved at Curraghmore.

During the whole time of the Prince's stay in India, one of his suite, the members of which took it in turns to discharge the duty, remained on guard over his person at night. I have in my possession the pair of pistols with which the gentleman on watch was armed.

On 10th January, 1876, the Prince visited the Cawnpore Memorial. "There was deep silence," writes Dr. Russell, "as the Prince read in a low voice the touching words, 'To the memory of a great company of Christian people, principally women and children, who were cruelly slaughtered here' – the name of the great criminal and the date of the massacre are cut round the base of the statue. No two persons agree as to the expression of Marochetti's Angel which stands over the Well. Is it pain? – pity? – resignation? – vengeance? – or triumph?" Perhaps my aunt, Lady Waterford, could have enlightened the learned doctor; for she it was who designed the monument, which was carried into execution by Marochetti.

A certain officer in high command was extremely agitated concerning the exact degree of precedence due to him – or rather, to the Service to which he belonged; a matter not easy to settle amid the throng of British dignitaries and Indian potentates. The officer chafed sorely at the delay; nor was he soothed by the injurious remarks of a junior member of the suite, who dealt with his dignity in a spirit of deplorable frivolity. At last, however, the junior member approached him with the aspect of sympathetic gravity proper to the occasion.

"I congratulate you, sir. That matter of your order of precedence has been settled at last."

"I am glad to hear it – very glad to hear it," said the officer. "The delay has been simply scandalous. What is to be my position?"

The junior member appeared to reflect.

"Oh, of course," he said, at length. "Now I remember. Your place, sir, is between the Ram of (something) and the Jam of (something else)!"

The distinguished officer: "…!!!"

On 30th November, 1875, while the Serapis was on her way from Bombay to Colombo, the Prince kindly presided at a dinner given in honour of my promotion to the rank of commander. In a letter written to me by his Royal Highness some years afterwards, he recalls that festivity, with a note of regret that those jolly days were gone. Three years afterwards, upon the occasion of my marriage, the suite presented me with a most beautiful silver bowl, which remains one of my most highly prized possessions.

There were many Babu poems composed to celebrate the Prince's prowess as a hunter. Among them, I remember the following: —

"Beautifully he will shoot    Many a royal tiger brute;Laying on their backs they die,    Shot in the apple of the eye."

Seven years afterwards, I visited India again. It seemed to me that in the interval the relations between the Indian and the Englishman had changed for the better; in that the natives were less afraid of the white man, and that a better feeling had grown up between East and West. The principle upon which India is governed is the principle of establishing justice and humanity. India is governed by the sword; but the sword is sheathed.

CHAPTER XVIII

THE EGYPTIAN WAR

I. THE BEGINNING OF TROUBLENOTE

The story of the Egyptian war may conveniently begin with an account of the affair of the 9th September, 1881, when Tewfik, Khedive of Egypt, met Arabi Pasha face to face in the Square of Abdin at Cairo, and failed to take advantage of the greatest opportunity of his life. Had he acted there and then upon the counsel of Mr. (afterwards Sir) Auckland Colvin, British Controller, it is possible that the Egyptian war might have been avoided.

The beginning of the trouble was the jealousy existing between the native Egyptian and the Turkish, or Circassian, elements of the army. Rightly or wrongly, the Egyptian, or fellah, officers believed themselves to be slighted. The Turkish, or Circassian, officers, being of the same race as the ruling family, regarded themselves as the dominant caste. In the time of Ismail Pasha, the predecessor of Tewfik, the Minister of War, Osman Pasha Rifki, a Circassian, perceived that his dignity was compromised by his being obliged to receive orders from the Khedive through Ali Fehmi, captain of the Guards at the Palace, a fellah. In the East, such a situation does not continue. Ali Fehmi mysteriously fell into disgrace. Naturally, he had a grievance; and he joined himself to two other officers of his race, who also had grievances. These were Abdel-el-Al and Ahmed Arabi, who was to become better known as Arabi Pasha. They were called the "Three Colonels," and to them came Mahmoud Sami Pasha, an exceedingly astute politician.

Arabi's particular injury was that he had been punished by Ismail for creating a disturbance under the Palace windows, when he was one of the officers of the guard. Ismail had bluntly remarked that Arabi was more noisy but less useful than the big drum. Arabi joined a secret society of discontented officers, and shortly afterwards again fell into trouble under a charge of corruption while he was in command of transports during the war between Egypt and Abyssinia. Subsequently, Ismail allowed Arabi to join a regiment, whereupon he became chief of the secret society. One of its members divulged the secret to the Khedive, who adopted the Oriental method of buying the allegiance of the disaffected officers by promoting in one day seventy of them to be lieutenant-colonels. He also presented one of his slaves to Arabi to wife.

So much for Ismail Pasha. When, by order of the Sultan, he was superseded by Tewfik, Arabi made haste to do obeisance to the new Khedive, who made him a full colonel. But when Tewfik reduced the army, the Three Colonels presented a petition to the Khedive, demanding, among other matters, that an Egyptian should be made Minister of War in place of Osman Rifki. The Three Colonels were thereupon arrested. Mahmoud Sami Pasha, a member of the Cabinet, secretly arranged that when they were brought before the Court-martial, the soldiers should rescue them. On the 1st February, 1881, accordingly, the soldiers burst into the court, turned it inside out, and carried the Three Colonels to the Palace. The Khedive, confronted with physical force to which he had nothing to oppose, consented to supersede his War Minister in favour of the crafty Mahmoud Sami, to increase the army by 18,000 men, and to abolish favouritism.

The Khedive very soon discovered that Mahmoud Sami was by no means a desirable Minister of War, and also that the Three Colonels and their friends continued to stir up trouble. He therefore dismissed Mahmoud Sami and appointed in his stead the Khedive's brother-in-law, Daoud Pasha, a Circassian, and ordered the disaffected regiments to leave Cairo. At the same time it was rumoured that the Khedive had obtained a secret decree from the Sultan condemning Arabi and his friends to death. When the order to remove his regiment from Cairo was received by Arabi, that leader of revolt informed the Minister of War on 9th September, 1881, that the troops in Cairo would proceed the same afternoon to the Palace of Abdin, there to demand of the Khedive the dismissal of the Ministry, the convocation of the National Assembly, and the increase of the army. Then came Tewfik's opportunity, which, as already observed, he let slip.

When the Khedive entered the Square, accompanied by Mr. Colvin, British Controller, and a few native and European officers, he was confronted with some 4000 soldiers and thirty guns. The following account of the critical moment is given by the Hon. Charles Royle, in his excellent history of The Egyptian Campaigns (London, 1900).

"The Khedive advanced firmly towards a little group of officers and men (some of whom were mounted) in the centre. Colvin said to him, 'When Arabi presents himself, tell him to give up his sword and follow you. Then go the round of the regiments, address each separately, and give them the "order to disperse."' The soldiers all this time were standing in easy attitudes, chatting, laughing, rolling up cigarettes, and eating pistachio nuts, looking, in fact, as little like desperate mutineers as could well be imagined. They apparently were there in obedience only to orders, and, without being either loyal or disloyal, might almost be regarded as disinterested spectators.

"Arabi approached on horseback: the Khedive called out to him to dismount. He did so, and came forward on foot with several others, and a guard with fixed bayonets, and saluted. As he advanced, Colvin said to the Khedive, 'Now is the moment, give the word.' He replied, 'We are between four fires. We shall be killed.' Colvin said, 'Have courage.' Tewfik again wavered, he turned for counsel to a native officer at his side, and repeated, 'What can I do? We are between four fires.' He then told Arabi to sheathe his sword. Arabi did so at once, his hand trembling so with nervousness that he could scarcely get the weapon back into its scabbard. The moment was lost. Instead of following Colvin's advice, and arresting Arabi on the spot, a step which would have at once put an end to the whole disturbance, the Khedive walked towards him and commenced to parley."

The Khedive subsequently agreed to dismiss the Ministry at Arabi's request; and Arabi thus advanced another step towards obtaining military control of the country. For a time he prevented Cherif Pasha from forming a Ministry, and summoned to Cairo the Chamber of Notables. The members of the Chamber, however, whose office was purely advisory, supported Cherif Pasha. By means of a skilful intrigue, Mahmoud Sami contrived to obtain the appointment of Minister of War. Arabi then effected a temporary retreat with his regiment to El Ouady, in the Delta, and waited upon events. It was then October. The Khedive had convoked an assembly of the Chamber of Notables at the end of December, and in the meantime the elections were proceeding.

It should here be observed that Arabi did not merely represent discontent in the army. He had behind him a genuine and largely just popular agitation, the result of many evils suffered by the natives. "Ismail's merciless exactions, and the pressure of foreign moneylenders, had given rise to a desire to limit the power of the Khedive, and, above all, to abolish the Anglo-French control, which was considered as ruling the country simply for the benefit of the foreign bondholders. The control was further hated by the large landholders, because the law of liquidation (with which the Controllers in the minds of the people were associated) had in a measure sacrificed their claims for compensation in respect of the cancelling of a forced loan known as the 'Moukabaleh,' and it was still more detested by the Pashas and native officials, because it interfered with the reckless squandering of public money, and the many opportunities for corruption by which they had so long been benefited. In addition to this, there was a great deal of irritation at the increasing number of highly paid European officials which the reformed administration inaugurated in the latter days of Ismail involved. The people began to suspect that what was occurring was only part of a plan for handing the country over to Europeans. The examples lately set by England with regard to Cyprus, and by France in Tunis, were, it must be owned, but little calculated to inspire confidence in the political morality of either of these two Powers" (Royle, The Egyptian Campaigns).