The History of the Indian Revolt and of the Expeditions to Persia, China and Japan 1856-7-8

The chief body of rebels, as has just been stated, succeeded in escaping from Nawabgunge after the battle. They fled chiefly to Ramnuggur and Mahadeo on the banks of the Gogra, and to Bhitowlie at the junction of that river with the Chowka – with the apparent and probable intention of throwing up earthworks for the defence of those positions.

Just about the time when Sir Hope Grant defeated these Nawabgunge rebels – supposed to have been headed by the Begum of Oude and her paramour Mummoo Khan – the career of the energetic Moulvie was suddenly cut short at another. This remarkable man, Moulvie Ahmedullah Shah, died as he had long lived, struggling against the Feringhees and all who supported them. On the 15th of June, after having been driven from place to place by the various British columns and detachments, he arrived from Mohumdee at Powayne, a town about sixteen miles northeast of Shahjehanpoor. He had with him a considerable body of horse, and some guns. The Rajah of Powayne, named Juggernath Singh, having incurred the displeasure of the Moulvie by sheltering two native servants of the Company, was attacked by him. Juggernath Singh, and his two brothers Buldeo Singh and Komul Singh, went out to confront the Moulvie as best they could. A skirmish ensued, which lasted three hours. The most notable result was the death of the Moulvie; he received a shot, and fell; his head was at once severed; and the Rajah sent the head and trunk to Shahjehanpoor, to be delivered to Mr Gilbert Money, the commissioner. Glad as the British may have been to get rid of a formidable enemy, it is doubtful whether Mr Money received the bleeding gift with much gratification. The Rajah of Powayne, however, had long been an object of suspicion, on account of his unfeeling conduct towards some of the poor fugitives in the early days of the Revolt; and as the British cause was now obviously the winning cause, he was anxious, by his alacrity in dealing with the dead body of the Moulvie, to win favour with the authorities. A very large reward had been offered by the government to whoever could capture the Moulvie; and although some doubt was expressed whether this was intended to apply as well to the bleeding corpse as to the living man, the reward was paid to the Powayne chieftain.

It was unquestionably a great gain to the British to know that the Moulvie was really removed from the field of strife. As to the Begum, she still remained unsubdued, moving from place to place according as she could gather a large body of adherents around her. It was about the second week in June, so far as is rendered apparent by the correspondence, that she received Jung Bahadoor’s very decisive rejection of the appeal made by her for his alliance, lately adverted to; and as she lost nearly at the same time her able coadjutor the Moulvie, her prospects became more gloomy. Of Nena Sahib, little more could be said than that he was true to his character – a coward in all things. Where he was at any particular time, the British seldom certainly knew: he had not the courage of the Moulvie, or the Begum, or the Ranee.

In connection rather with the province of Goruckpore than with that of Oude, though nearly on the boundary-line between the two, must be mentioned two encounters in which the naval brigade honourably distinguished itself. The Shannon’s seamen, it will be remembered, supplied a naval brigade under the lamented Captain Sir William Peel, for service in Oude; but there was also another brigade furnished by the Pearl, of which Captain Sotheby was commander. During May and June, this brigade was associated with certain troops and marines in the maintenance of order on the Goruckpore frontier of Oude. While on detached service, Major Cox and Lieutenant Turnour came in contact with the enemy on the 9th of June. The lieutenant had under him two 12-pounder howitzers, a 24-pounder rocket-tube, and about fifty seamen of the Pearl’s crew; Lieutenant Pym had the control of about twenty marines from the same ship; while Major Cox, who commanded the whole detachment, had under him a small military force comprising two hundred men of the 13th light infantry, two troops of Madras cavalry, two troops of Bengal cavalry, and twenty Sikhs. It was altogether a singular medley of combatants. Having heard that Mahomed Hussein was occupying the neighbouring village of Amorha or Amorah in great force, Major Cox resolved to attack him. He divided his detachment into two parts, one headed by himself, and the other by Major Richardson. The seamen and marines were attached to Richardson’s party. Starting at two o’clock in the morning, they marched along the road leading through the village. When within a mile of Amorah, they received a heavy fire from the rebel skirmishers; these were immediately attacked and driven in by Pym and the marines; while the guns threw shot and shell on the main body. Attempting to retreat on the other flank, Cox met and frustrated them; and the result of the skirmish was a decisive abandonment of the village by the rebels. Nine days afterwards another force, similar in constitution but larger in numbers, comprising in its naval element about a hundred and ten seamen, set out from Captangunje to make another attack on Mahomed Hussein, who was posted with four thousand rebels at Hurreah, about eight miles off. On approaching near Hurreah, the enemy’s skirmishers were descried thrown across the river Gogra, screened in thick bamboo jungles, villages, topes of trees, and a dry nullah. British skirmishers were quickly sent on ahead, drove in the enemy, and waded the river after them up to their waists; the guns followed, and the enemy were driven from tope to tope, and from every place of concealment, and chased for four miles. The heat was tremendous; insomuch that seven hours’ marching, fighting, and pursuing nearly knocked up officers and men. Mahomed Hussein, however, was severely defeated, and this was deemed a sufficient reward for all the fatigues and privations. The Pearl’s naval brigade counted this as the tenth time in which it had been in action in nine months.

It may be here mentioned that an endeavour was made, towards the end of June, to estimate the number of thalookdars and other petty chieftains who were in arms against the British in the province of Oude; together with the amount of force at their disposal. The estimate was not wholly reliable, for the means of obtaining correct information were very deficient. The list published in some of the Bombay newspapers, professing to be the nearest attainable approach to the truth, included the names of about thirty-five ‘thalookdars,’ ‘rajahs,’ and ‘chuckladars,’ holding among them about twenty-five mud-forts, with nearly a hundred guns, and forty thousand armed retainers. The chief items in this curious list were – ‘The three chuckladars Mahomed Hussein, Mehndee Hussein, and Shaik Padil Imam, have twenty-three guns and ten thousand men massed about Sultanpore; some occupying Saloun, ten kos from Roy Bareilly’ – ‘At Nain, within nine kos of Roy Bareilly, four thalookdars, named Juggernath Buksh, Bugwan Buksh, Bussunth Singh, and Juggernath (?), have collected eight guns and six thousand men’ – ‘Banie Madhao, thalookdar; at Sukerpore, a strong fort surrounded by jungle, a few kos from Roy Bareilly; nineteen guns and eight thousand men’ – ‘Rajah Ali Buksh Khan, at Moham, a small fort twenty-five kos east of Lucknow; five guns and fifteen hundred men.’ Most of the rebel gatherings here adverted to were in the region around Roy Bareilly, southeast of Lucknow.

But notwithstanding these high-sounding names and formidable numbers, the cause of regular government in Oude was gradually advancing. The rebels could no longer endanger; they could only annoy. Mr Montgomery, at Lucknow, intrusted with large powers by the governor-general, was gradually feeling his way. While Crommelin took charge of the immediate defence of that city, and Hope Grant was grappling with the rebels in the open field, Montgomery was employed in re-establishing the network of judicial and revenue organisation, as favourable opportunities arose. The Rajah of Kapoorthully, lately adverted to, undertook the defence of the region between the Bunnee and Cawnpore; while Hope Grant kept a vigilant eye on the centre of Oude. The astute and double-dealing Maun Singh was placed in a singular position. He was distrusted by both parties, because he would not openly side with one against the other. As the chieftain of Shahgunje, on the river Gogra, very near the eastern frontier of Oude, he would be formidable either as a friend or a foe. He had a fort, guns, and men at his command. There could be no question that for thirteen months he had been watching the progress of events, to determine in which balance to throw his sword; and it was equally evident that he was gradually recognising more and more the value of English friendship – as a consequence, he was bitterly disliked by the rebel leaders. Taking a view of the state of Oude generally during June, it is necessary to make a distinction between the earlier and the later days of the month. The former was much less favourable than the latter. It could not truthfully be said that the pacification proceeded rapidly. Injury was wrought by the party-tactics concerning the famous proclamation penned by Viscount Canning and condemned by the Earl of Ellenborough. The violent discussions arising out of that collision of opinion could not be wholly concealed from the natives of India. It cannot be doubted that many of the reckless and unscrupulous speeches made in the British parliament became known to, and cherished by, the insurgent chieftains. When a halo of suffering virtue was thrown around the Oudian royal family, and when the Queen of England’s viceroy in India was spoken of almost as a murderer and robber, the power of the government became necessarily shaken, and the difficulties of pacification increased. The proclamation was modified; nay, Mr Montgomery received discretionary powers to determine whether, and when, and where there should be a proclamation at all – the governor-general wisely leaving it to his sagacity to be guided by the circumstance of time and place. At the beginning of June little had been effected towards winning the submission of the malcontent thalookdars and chuckladars; the hopes of successful rebellion had not been sufficiently damped. Nevertheless, as the month advanced, and when the Moulvie was dead and the Gwalior rebels beaten, the Oudian landowners, by ones and twos, began to look out for a compromise, which might enable them safely to abandon a losing cause. One of the most embarrassing difficulties perhaps was this – that the rebel leaders made instant war against any thalookdars or chuckladars who gave in their submission to the British government under the modified proclamation – thereby deterring the more timid landowners from the adoption of this course. Maun Singh himself was besieged by an insurgent force; but his means of resistance were considerable.

One of the evidences afforded that the pacification of Oude was considered to be gradually approaching, was the disbandment of the corps of Volunteer Cavalry, which was composed almost wholly of officers and gentlemen, and which had rendered such eminent services at a time when European troops were doubly precious from their extreme rarity. In a notification issued at Calcutta, Viscount Canning, after mentioning some of the arrangements connected with the disbanding, thus spoke of the services of the corps: ‘The Volunteer Cavalry took a prominent part in all the successes which marked the advance of the late Major-general Sir Henry Havelock from Allahabad to Lucknow; and on every occasion of its employment against the rebels – whether on the advance to Lucknow, or as part of the force with which Major-general Sir James Outram held Alum Bagh – this corps has greatly distinguished itself by its gallantry in action, and by its fortitude and endurance under great exposure and fatigue. The governor-general offers to Major Barrow, who ably commanded the Volunteer Cavalry, and boldly led them in all the operations in which they were engaged, his most cordial acknowledgments for his very valuable services: and to Captain Lynch, and all the officers and men who composed this corps, his lordship tenders his best thanks for the eminent good conduct and exemplary courage which they displayed during the whole time that the corps was embodied.’ The farewell of Sir James Outram was more hearty, because less official.170

Directing our attention next to the Doab and Rohilcund, it becomes at once apparent that organisation and systematic government made great advances during the month of June. The Doab no longer contained any large body of armed rebels. There were numerous smaller bands, but these bands chiefly made use of the Doab as a route of passage. The hopes of the rebel leaders were directed mainly towards two regions – Oude, on the north of the Ganges; and Central India, on the south of the Jumna. According as the fortunes of war (or rather depredation) tended in the one direction or the other, so did groups of armed insurgents cross, or attempt to cross, those rivers by means of the ghâts or ferries. If the chances for rebel success appeared stronger at Lucknow or Fyzabad, Bareilly or Shahjehanpoor, this current tended northward, or rather northeastward: if Calpee or Jhansi, Gwalior or Jeypoor, excited the hopes of the insurgents, the current took an opposite direction. The Doab, in either case, was regarded rather as a line of transit than as a field of contest. Sir Colin Campbell, well acquainted with this fact, devoted a portion of his attention to the ghâts on the two great rivers. It became very important to check if possible the marching and countermarching of the rebels across the Doab; and several columns and detachments of troops were engaged in this duty during the month now under notice. The success of the few actual encounters depended very much on the course of events in Scindia’s dominions, narrated in the last chapter. When Gwalior fell into the hands of Tanteea Topee and his associates, all the turbulent chieftains in the surrounding districts displayed an audacity and hopefulness which they had not exhibited during the preceding month; but when Sir Hugh Rose reconquered that city, and replaced Scindia on his throne, timidity succeeded to audacity, misgiving to hopefulness.

The commander-in-chief, after his participation in the reconquest and pacification of Rohilcund, returned to his former quarters at Futteghur, where he remained until the second week in June. Throughout the month he was personally engaged in no hostilities; he was occupied either in studying how to give his heat-worn soldiers repose, or how best to employ those whose services in the field were still indispensable. The governor-general much desired his presence at Allahabad, to confer with him personally on the military arrangements necessary during the summer and autumn. It afforded a significant proof of the scattered position of the British forces, that during the first week in June there were no soldiers that could be spared to escort Sir Colin from Futteghur to Allahabad. Quiet as the Doab was, compared with its condition earlier in the year, there were still rebel bands occasionally crossing and recrossing it, and these bands would have hazarded much to capture a prize so important as the commander-in-chief of the Anglo-Indian army. He could not safely move without an escort, and he had to delay his journey until a few troops came in from Shahjehanpoor and other stations. While at Futteghur he caused a search to be made in the bazaars of that place and Furruckabad for sulphur, in order that any stores of that substance might be seized by and for the government. The rebels of the various provinces still possessed many guns; the chieftains and landowners still owned more weapons of various kinds than they chose to acknowledge to the government; there was iron for the making of cannon-balls; there were charcoal and saltpetre towards the making of gunpowder; but there was one ingredient, sulphur, without which all the firearms of the insurgents would be useless; and as sulphur was an imported article in India, the government made attempts to obtain possession of any stores of that substance that might be in doubtful hands. Percussion-caps, too, were becoming scarce among the rebels; and, the materials and machinery for making more being wanting, they were perforce superseded by the less effective matchlock.

The state of the Doab at that time is well told in connection with a journey made by Mr Russell. After the Rohilcund campaign was over, this active journalist looked about him to determine what was best worth seeing and describing, in reference to his special duties. If he went with or after Sir Colin to Allahabad, he would get to the head-quarters of politics, where very few stirring military operations were to be witnessed; if he went northeast into Oude, or southwest into Central India, he might, after much danger and difficulty, become involved in the movements of some flying column, ill assorting with the necessities of a lame man – for he still suffered from an injury by a kick from a horse. Mr Russell therefore resolved upon a journey through the Upper Doab from Futteghur to Delhi, and thence by Umballa to the healthy hill-station of Simla. He travelled by Bhowgong, Eytah, Gosaigunje, and Allygurh, meeting with ample evidence on the way of the ruin resulting from thirteen months of anarchy. Of the dâk bungalows or stations he says: ‘Let no one understand by this a pleasant roadside hostelry with large out-offices, spacious court-yard, teams of horses, and hissing ostlers; rather let him see a mud-hovel by the way, standing out, the only elevation in the dead level of baked earth, a few trees under which are tethered some wretched horses, and a group of men’ – whose dress consisted of little beyond a turban. From Bhowgong to Eytah the country looked like a desert; and by the roadside, at intervals of ten miles or less, were thannahs or police-stations – small one-storied houses, bearing traces of the destructiveness of the rebel leader which had so often swept the district. He crossed the Kallee Nuddee at a point where the Company had never yet introduced the civilised agency of a regular bridge. The gharry was pushed and dragged down a shelving bank of loose sand, and then over a rickety creaky bridge of boats – the native attendants making much use of the primitive distended bladders and earthen jars as floating supporters. Arrived at Eytah, he found the place little other than a heap of blackened ruins, with enclosures broken down and trees lopped off at the stem. Yet here were three Englishmen, civil servants of the Company, engaged in re-establishing the machinery of regular government. Mr Russell, like every one else, tried all the varieties of language to express adequately the tremendous heat of an Indian June. He left Eytah at two in the afternoon. ‘The gharry was like an oven; the metal-work burning so that it could not be borne in contact with the hand for an instant. The wind reminded me of the deadly blast which swept over us on the march to Futteghur that dreadful morning when we left Rohilcund. Not a tree to shade the road; on each side a parched, dull, dun-coloured plain, with the waving heat-lines dancing up and down over its blighted surface; and whirling dust-storms or “devils,” as they are called, careering to and fro as if in demoniac glee in their own infernal region. On such a day as this Lake’s men (half a century earlier) fell file after file on their dreadful journey. Could I have found shelter, I would gladly have stopped, for even the natives suffered, and the horses were quite done up; but in India, in peace and war, one’s motto must be “No backward step!” – so on we went.’ After passing through many small towns and poor villages, in which half the houses were either ruined or shut up, he reached Allygurh, where, ‘being late, there was nothing ready at the bungalow but mosquitoes.’ Pursuing his journey, he at length reached Delhi.

The imperial city was now wholly and safely under British control. Sentries guarded the bridge of boats over the Jumna, allowing no native to pass without scrutiny; the fort of the Selimgurh was garrisoned by a small but trusty detachment. The plan, once contemplated, of destroying the defences, had not been adopted; the majestic wall, though shattered and ball-pierced in parts, remained in other respects entire. The defences were, altogether, calculated to strike a stranger with surprise, at the height and solidity of the wall, the formidable nature of the bastions, the depth and width of the dry ditch, the completeness of the glacis, and the security of such of the gates as had not been battered down or blown in. Some of the streets of the city had escaped the havoc of war; but others exhibited the effects of bombardment and assault in a terrible degree, although nine months of peaceful occupation had intervened; houses pitted with marks of shot and bullet, public buildings shattered and half in ruins, trees by the wayside split and rent, doors and windows splintered, gables torn out of houses, jagged holes completely through the walls. Half the houses in the city were shut; and the other half had not yet regained their regular steady inhabitants. The mighty palace of the Moguls was nearly as grand as ever on the outside; but all within displayed a wreck of oriental splendour. The exquisite Dewani Khas, when Mr Russell was there, instead of being filled with turbaned and bejewelled rajahs, Mogul guards, and oriental magnificence, as in the olden days, was occupied by British infantry – infantry, too, engaged in the humblest of barrack domestic duties. ‘From pillar to pillar and column to column extended the graceful arches of the clothes-line, with shirts and socks and drawers flaunting in the air in lieu of silken banners. Long lines of charpoys or bedsteads stretched from one end of the hall to the other – arms were piled against the columns – pouches, belts, and bayonets depended from the walls; and in the place where once blazed the fabulous glories of the peacock’s throne, reclined a private of her Majesty’s 61st, of a very Milesian type of countenance.’

The old king still remained a prisoner at Delhi. The drivelling, sensual descendant of Tamerlane, shorn of everything that could impart dignity, occupied some of the smaller apartments of the palace, with a few of his wives, children, and grandchildren, near him. All were fretful and discontented, as they well might be: for they had nothing to see, nowhere to go, no honours to receive, no magnificence to luxuriate in. When interrogated by visitors concerning the early days of the Revolt, he was peevish, and wished to change the subject; and when his youngest begum, and his son Jumma Bukht, were induced to converse, the absence of family unity – if such a thing is possible in an oriental palace – was apparent enough.

Considered politically, Delhi had the great advantage, during the spring months, of being placed under Sir John Lawrence. The province which contained the once imperial city was detached from the ‘northwestern’ group, and made – with Sirhind, the Punjaub, and the Peshawur Valley – one compact and extensive government, under the control of one who, morally speaking, was perhaps the greatest man in India. It was necessary to reconstruct a government; but much careful consideration was needed before the principle of construction could be settled. If the peaceful industrious population would return to their homes and occupations, their presence would doubtless be welcome; but the neighbouring villages still swarmed with desperate characters, whose residence in Delhi would be productive of evil. Many of the better class of natives feared that the imperial city would never recover; that the injury which its buildings had received during the siege, the disturbance of trade by the hurried exit of the regular inhabitants, the enormous losses by plunder and forfeiture, and the break-up of the imperial establishment in the palace, had combined to inflict a blow which would be fatal to the once great Mogul capital. Delhi, nevertheless, had outlived many terrible storms; and these prognostications might be destined to fail.

One consequence of the steady occupation of Delhi during the winter and spring was the gradual departure of troops to other districts where they were more needed. Among these was one of the native regiments. The ‘gallant little Goorkhas,’ as the British troops were accustomed to designate the soldiers of the Sirmoor and Kumaon battalions, held their high reputation to the very last. The Sirmoor battalion had marched down to Delhi at the very beginning of the disturbances, and during more than twelve months had been on continuous duty in and near that region. The time had now come when a respite could be given to their labours. They took their departure to the healthy hill-station of Deyrah Dhoon. As they marched out of Delhi, headed by their commandant, Colonel Reid, they were escorted over the bridge by the 2d Bengal Europeans, who cheered them lustily, and inspirited them with a melody, the meaning of which they had perchance by this time learned – ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot.’ An officer, well familiar with these ‘jolly little Goorkhas,’ remarked on this occasion: ‘There is not in military history a brighter or purer page than the record of the services and faithful conduct of the Sirmoor Goorkha battalion during the past year. First in the field, always in front, prominent, and incessantly fighting throughout the entire campaign and siege-operations before Delhi, the regiment has covered itself with honour and glory. In our darkest days, there was never a whisper, a suspicion, the shadow of a doubt of the honest loyalty and fidelity of these brave, simple-minded, and devoted soldiers. When others turned traitors, robbers, assassins, these rushed without a moment’s hesitation to our side, fought the good fight, bled, and died, faithful to their salt, honourable and true to the last.’