THE REIGN OF VICTORIA (continued).

Condition of India—The Bengal Army—Its Want of Discipline—Effects of Caste—System of Promotion-Independent Spirit of the Sepoys—Position of the Regiments—The Greased Cartridges—The Prudence of Hearsey—The Chupatties—At Berhampore—Mangul Pandy—Disarming of the 19th—Inactivity of Anson—The Sepoys at Lucknow—A Scene at Barrackpore—At Meerut—The Rebellion begins—The Rush on Delhi—The City is sacked—The Powder Magazine—It is exploded—The Fall of Delhi—Sir Henry Lawrence—The Telegraph saves the Punjab—Energetic Measures at Lahore—Philour and Jallandhar—Mutiny at Ferozepore—Kangra and Mooltan—Peshawur is saved—Anson at Simla—Action of the Civil Authorities—The Siege Train—Death of Anson—John Lawrence in the Punjab—Cotton disarms the Sepoys—Noushera and Hotee Murdan—The Trans-Indus Region is secure—Mutiny supreme elsewhere—Progress of the Rising—Lucknow—Oude ripe for Revolt—The first Outbreak suppressed—Shahjehanpore and Bareilly—Seetapore—The Ranee of Jhansi—The Five Divisions of Oude—The Province is free from British Control.

THE stipulations of the Treaty of Paris had not been fully carried out by the high contracting parties ere Britain found herself involved in war with Persia on the west, and China on the east of her Indian Empire. The Persian war had been caused by the Shah's temporary occupation of Herat on the pretext of suppressing disorder, followed by certain insults to Mr. Murray, the British representative at Teheran, events in which Lord Palmerston saw "the first opening of the trenches against India by Russia." After a mission to Constantinople had failed to effect an arrangement of the dispute, an army was sent into the country under Outram. A few months of active hostilities brought the Shah to reason, and happily released the troops employed and enabled them to return to India; while the regiments sent out from England to quell the Cantonese arrived in the Indian Ocean just in time to lend material aid in suppressing the mutiny of the Sepoy army in Bengal; and the rebellion of the people of several native States. It was the spring time of 1857. Lord Canning had been one year Governor-General of India. The King of Oude had just been deposed, and his kingdom annexed to the British dominion by Lord Dalhousie, on the ground that he was utterly unfit to rule. This act was productive of the gravest consequences, and is technically indefensible; nevertheless it was justified by its later results, and apparently excited but little notice at the time. On the surface all was peace at the opening of the year. In a few weeks there was a sputter of mutiny; in a few months an army was in revolt from Calcutta to Peshawur; the British were lying dead, or flying for their lives, or fronting and conquering the mutineers, or shut up in forts; and the last of the Great Moguls was ruler in the famous city of Delhi. There was first a struggle for existence, then a fierce and determined effort to regain ascendency; finally, well-planned and successful measures to secure what had been won back literally from the jaws of death. The mutiny of the Bengal Sepoys is an event unique in modern history. It furnishes a story of confidence abused, treachery punished, and heroism rewarded. It vindicates the moral superiority of the European over the Asiatic. But if it has illustrated our strength, it has also illustrated our weakness and folly, for from them it sprang.

The Bengal native army was upwards of a hundred thousand strong. It consisted of troops of all arms. There were seventy-four regiments of regular and twenty of irregular infantry; there were ten regiments of regular and eighteen of irregular cavalry; and besides these there was a due proportion of artillery brigades. The distinction between regular and irregular regiments consisted mainly in this: that the regular had the usual number of European officers, while the irregular had only three or four. There was no substantial difference in drill and discipline. In addition to this fixed native establishment, there were five corps d'armÉe furnished by native States, and called contingents. They were drawn from Gwalior, Bhopal, Kotah, Malwa, and Joudpore. These were small armies complete in themselves: the Gwalior contingent, supplied by the Maharajah Scindia, was the most formidable of these forces, being strong in numbers of all arms, and admirably drilled. Like the regular and irregular regiments of the Bengal army, those of the contingents were officered by Europeans. In one short year the whole of this force, except five irregular cavalry regiments and three regular infantry regiments, and the whole of the contingents, had either mutinied or been disarmed.

In order to form any reasonable idea of the causes of the mutiny which we are about to describe, it is necessary to explain the nature of the instrument which broke in the hands of the rulers of India. In outward form it was splendid. From the drill-sergeant's point of view, few things in this world could be more perfect. The infantry were tall, shapely, handsome. They moved with precision and regularity. They made a brave show at parades. The cavalry were also well-made men, being excellent horsemen, with a dashing bearing. The artillery were famous for the neatness and accuracy of their movements, and their ability to serve and point their guns. Such was the appearance of these troops. Their officers were proud of them, and years of unquestioned fidelity and obedience had made these officers confident that their men would follow them anywhere. But, as Colonel Jacob wrote in 1851, "the thing was rotten throughout, and discipline there was none." The wonder to this observant soldier was, even then, that "the outward semblance of an army had still been maintained." For the officers of this army, from various causes, had ceased to possess a hold on the confidence and regard of the men. They were no longer accessible as of old. They lived apart. "Young men," writes Mr. Gubbins, "were no longer taught to take a pride in their regimental duty." They were taught to look out for staff employment, that is, employment in either civil or military tasks away from their regiments. It was not that there were few officers left behind to do the ordinary duty that caused the evil; it was "the want of interest felt in their work by the officers present with the corps." Nor was this the fault of the officers. It arose from a vicious system, gradually introduced, which deprived the commanding officer of his due share of power. "The commanding officer of a regiment in Bengal," to quote Colonel Jacob again, "is almost powerless for good. He is allowed to do nothing; his men are taught to despise him; and in many instances of late years the Sepoys have been allowed and encouraged to forward written complaints (secretly) against their commanders direct to headquarters. What can be worse than this? It is utterly destructive of military discipline and soldierlike pride."

Then there was the grave evil arising out of caste. The Bengal army was composed mainly of high-caste men from Oude and Behar and Rohilcund. A very large part came from the same districts and were relatives. The army was, in fact, a sort of military club, and caste, as in other clubs, determined admission or exclusion. But what were the consequences? The army became subject to the control of Brahmins and Fakirs. A man was not chosen on account of his fitness to be a soldier, but because he was tall and handsome and of high caste. "Whatever be his other qualifications," writes Colonel Jacob in 1851, as we must repeat, "if a man think that a stone with a patch of red paint on it is not to be worshipped as the Creator—still more, if he have been a shoemaker, etc.—he is not to be admitted into the ranks of the Bengal army, for fear of offending the lazy and insolent Brahmins. The consequences are ruinous to discipline. By reason of this, a native soldier in Bengal is far more afraid of an offence against caste than of an offence against the Articles of War, and by this means a degree of power rests with the private soldier which is entirely incompatible with all healthy rule. Treachery, mutiny, villainy of all kinds, may be carried on among the private soldiers unknown to their officers, to any extent, where the men are of one caste of Hindoos, and where the rules of caste are more regarded than those of military discipline." By this subservience to caste all real power rested in the hands of the private soldier. Thus the Bengal Sepoy would not form what is called a "working party," and it was thought a perfect wonder that in Afghanistan, when fighting for life, a Sepoy regiment handled the spade. A native cavalry regiment would not unsaddle, picket, feed, and groom its horses—a host of inferiors, grooms and grass cutters, were kept for those purposes. To such an extent was this system carried that men were kept to strike the gongs at the guard-houses; the high-caste Sepoy would not do it. And all this time—while the troops of all arms in Bengal were petted and ruined in this way, on the ground that no rule of caste must be infringed lest it should lead to mutiny—in Bombay, Sepoys from the same villages in Bengal, relatives of the pampered gentlemen we have described, did all that their officers required of them, and drilled, lived, and slept side by side with men of many inferior castes. The army wherein caste was the first thing thought of, and discipline and a soldier's duties the second, mutinied from end to end. The army wherein caste was not considered remained faithful, and did good service against the mutineers. Nor was this all. Colonel Jacob's splendid regiment of Scinde Irregular Horse was composed to a very great extent of exactly the same material as that of the Bengal army. It was disciplined on sound principles, in accordance, as we may say, with the laws of Nature. Consequently it did anything and went anywhere at the orders of its officers.

But there were other evils in this unhappy Bengal army. The bad system of promotion was, in the opinion of Colonel Jacob, the worst of all. "In the Bengal army," he says, "the promotion of natives is made to depend on seniority only, so that if a man keeps clear of actual crime, and lives long enough, he must become a commissioned officer, however unfit for the office. Under this system, the private soldier feels himself entirely independent of his officers; he knows that they neither hasten nor retard his advance in the service. He has nothing to do but to live and get through his duties with listless stupidity, and with the least possible trouble to himself. No exertion on his part can help him—neither talent, courage, fidelity, nor good conduct is of any avail. Confidence and pride in each other between men and officers cannot exist. There is no real co-operation; for the one being powerless to aid, the other becomes careless of offending. This is the effect on the private soldier. The system is equally if not more baneful as respects the native officers, commissioned and non-commissioned. The whole of the native commissioned officers are entirely useless; the amount of their pay is a dead loss to the State; every one of them is unfit for service by reason of imbecility, produced by old age, or where, in rare instances, the man may not be altogether in his second childhood, he is entirely useless from having been educated in a bad school."

With an army managed as this was, the really surprising thing is not that it mutinied in 1857, but that it did not mutiny years before; indeed, partial revolts were of fairly frequent occurrence, especially when the Sepoys were called upon to serve out of India. Except in the mere outward show, it was not an army at all, and all that was required to destroy it was opportunity. The fact that there were good officers in the Bengal army, beloved and trusted by their men, does not invalidate the opinion we have set forth. These officers had triumphed over the system in so far as the system tended to make the Sepoy despise his officers; but they could not triumph over the system in so far as it affected the men. That bad influence went on with unfaltering steadiness. Day by day the Sepoys felt that they became more and more the masters of India. Day by day a sense of their own importance grew and flourished in their breasts. They were able to conspire with safety under the very noses of the Europeans; and the gulf which separated them from their officers enabled intriguers to sow the seeds of mutiny unchecked and unseen. Thus the native army of Bengal became combustible, ready to take fire and flame up if a spark fell on it. This combustible state was not produced in a year or ten years; it had been growing for a quarter of a century. In short, it grew as the vicious system of depriving commanders of power was developed; as the Sepoys, on plea of caste, shirked more and more the duties of soldiers, and as the senile system of promotion by seniority produced its inevitable effects. The recent annexation of Oude, the late Russian war, the spread of British dominion beyond the Indus, the scanty garrison of Europeans actually in India in 1857—these were only the collateral influences, and only to a limited extent causes. They were, indeed, rather occasions than causes; the root of the whole colossal evil being the absence of discipline in the Bengal army.

Let the reader figure to himself this army scattered about the country in military posts, from the eastern provinces on the Irrawaddy to spurs of the mountains beyond the Indus on the north-western boundary. Here they are gathered in brigades of two or three regiments of all arms; there stands a solitary regiment of infantry or cavalry; in another place a squadron or a company. From Fort William in Calcutta, up the valley of the Ganges, and beyond it across the Punjab to Peshawur, ran a chain of military stations; throwing out detachments to the right and left, on one side towards the Himalayas and Nepaul, on the other over the jungles of Central India and Rajpootana, until the outposts touched those of Madras in Nagpore and the Deccan, and those of Bombay in the valley of the Nerbudda. In each of the stations there are the native lines with open parades in front, and the detached quarters of the European community; long rows of thatched dwellings, and cottages standing in gardens or "compounds." In some there are no European troops; indeed, so few are the Europeans in this vast region, that their presence is the exception and not the rule. For instance, the great fort and magazine of Allahabad, at the junction of the Ganges and Jumna, is in the hands of native troops. The fortified city of Delhi, with its two magazines, is entirely occupied by native infantry. In the whole of Oude there is only one European regiment, the 32nd, at Lucknow. At Cawnpore, a very important station, there are no Europeans. Mooltan, the key of the valley of the Indus, is, in like manner, almost destitute of Europeans. In other stations there are one or two European regiments or parts of regiments. Thus, at the great station of Dinapore there was the 10th Foot; at Agra, the 3rd Bengal Fusiliers; at Meerut, a whole European brigade of all arms, 6th Dragoon Guards, 60th Rifles, and artillery; at Lahore, the 81st Foot and some artillery; and at or near Peshawur the 27th, 70th, and 87th Foot. In the hill stations of the North-West and in the Punjab the European element was stronger than elsewhere, for there were fourteen regiments, including two of horse, scattered about in that quarter. There were thus about 12,000 Europeans north and west of Delhi, but there were upwards of 40,000 Hindostanees, and beside these several thousand Sikhs and Punjabees. Between the Jumna and the Nerbudda there was not a single European regiment. British India altogether was six regiments short of her complement of European troops; but four of these were in Persia making war on the Shah, and with them were Generals Outram and Havelock. Such was the state of affairs at the end of 1856, when India stood on the threshold of an awful calamity and knew it not. The country seemed to be profoundly tranquil, but there were 5,000 fewer British soldiers than was usual to secure or defend the sway of their race.

Government had determined to arm the Sepoys with the MiniÉ rifle. It followed, as a matter of course, that Schools for Instruction in Musketry were established. With the old musket instruction was of little avail, for Brown Bess could not be relied on to shoot straight for a distance of a hundred and fifty yards. Therefore, at various points men from several regiments of the native army met to be taught how to load and fire the new rifle. This weapon was loaded with a greased cartridge. It was usual in those days to bite the cartridge, in order to pour out the powder. At Dumdum, near Calcutta, there was an arsenal, and here these cartridges were made up, chiefly by native servants. Early in January one of these men asked a Sepoy of the 2nd Grenadiers for a draught of water from his lotah, or brass drinking-pot. The high-caste native was astonished at the insolence of the man, for he was low caste; and if the lips of the latter touched the pot, it would be defiled. He refused with disdain. The low-caste man was one of those who made up the cartridges, and he retorted with a sneer that the Sepoy need not be so particular about his caste; for the new cartridges were greased with bullock's fat, and every Sepoy would lose caste when he bit off the end. The Sepoy spread the tale abroad among his comrades. The Hindoos were told that the grease was the grease of the sacred cow, and the Moslem soldiers were informed that it was the fat of the unclean swine; and finally, to meet the case of both, the story ran that the grease was a compound of the fat of pigs and cows. This story has been received as authentic. Whether it be true or not in detail, it illustrates the feeling that the new cartridges, with their unctuous ends and ill odour, had aroused in the native mind. Here, then, was a plot to deprive the whole army of its caste, striking high and low alike, and with its caste of its religion! The fatal story flew on the wings of the wind from cantonment to cantonment from station to station. In a few weeks the native army was ready to rise and slay.

At first, indeed, the men at Dumdum appeared to be perfectly reasonable. Called on at parade to state complaints, they objected to the cartridge, and suggested the use of wax and oil. The Government ordered an investigation, and in the meantime changed the drill, so that in future the end of a cartridge was to be torn not bitten off. General Hearsey, an experienced soldier, well known to all the Sepoys, harangued his division at Barrackpore, showing them how impossible it was that they could be made Christians by the mere biting of cartridges. But all was of no avail. A native lieutenant informed the authorities that the Barrackpore brigade was preparing to mutiny. General Hearsey wrote to Calcutta, saying, "We have at Barrackpore been dwelling upon a mine ready for explosion." He admitted that the native officers were of no use, being afraid of their men, and he suggested that a European regiment should be sent up to the station.

At this time, the middle of February, another singular sign was observed. A native policeman entered a village of Oude, carrying two chupatties, or cakes. He ordered his fellow official there to make ten more, and give two to each of the five nearest village policemen, with the same instructions. In a few hours the whole country was astir with watchmen flying about with these cakes. This proceeding was and remains a mystery. One officer who saw a watchman run in with his cakes, asked what it meant. He was told that when the malik, or chief, required a service from his people, he sent round these cakes to prepare them for the execution of his orders. "And what is the order now?" inquired the officer. And the answer, with a smile, was, "We don't know yet." Whatever may have been the reason for this flight of cakes, there it stands in the forefront of calamity, and is regarded as one of its signs. "How little was it thought," writes Mr. Cave Browne, "that therein was really hidden an Eastern symbol of portentous meaning! Five centuries before (1368), the Chinese had, by a somewhat similar plan, organised and carried out a conspiracy by means of which their dynasty of Mongol invaders was overthrown." This is a far-fetched illustration. No doubt, the chupatty mystery had a meaning, though it may never have been clearly ascertained.

From Barrackpore a detachment of the 34th Native Infantry went to Berhampore, once a great and important station, 120 miles north of Calcutta. Here were quartered the 19th Native Infantry, the 11th Irregulars, and two guns. The 19th feasted their comrades, and these in return told the story of the cartridges with great additions. John Company had sent Lord Canning to convert India to Christianity, and he had been ordered to begin by destroying the caste of the whole army! The men of the 19th heard, and forthwith believed. They made no inquiries of the English officers. What were the "stranger gentlemen" to them? How could their words in such a matter affect what their brethren had told them? On the day after the detachment had come in, Colonel Mitchell, commanding at the station, ordered a parade for the following morning. The men were to meet for exercise with blank cartridge, and it was served out. These cartridges were not new, and had inadvertently been made of two kinds of paper, whereupon the Sepoys imagined that one sort must be the greased cartridges fatal to their caste. So the men refused to take them. Not ripe at the moment for mutiny, they yielded when threatened with a court-martial. But the same night their passions got the better of them, and they rose and seized their arms. Aroused by the noise and confusion, Colonel Mitchell ordered out the cavalry and the guns. But the night was dark. Torches were necessary. The ground was broken. Neither guns nor horsemen, it is said, could be used. Colonel Mitchell doubted whether he could depend on his native troopers and native gunners. He therefore harangued the mutineers, explained the groundlessness of their fears, and begged them to give up their arms. The Sepoys, still unready for revolt, made a counter-proposition. They would give up their arms if the Colonel would withdraw his cavalry and guns. He complied, and with this transaction the tumult ended. Here, then, was decided mutiny. It broke out with a running accompaniment of fires in different places, the work of wilful men bent on spreading the contagion of alarm and treason.

On learning what had happened at Berhampore, the Government in Calcutta called up the 84th Queen's Regiment from Burmah, and ordered the 19th Native Infantry to march to Barrackpore to be disbanded. As they were marching down, an emissary from the 34th met them with a proposal that, when within a march of the station, the 19th should murder their officers, while the 34th did the same; but the 19th refused, and marched quietly into the cantonment. Here they found the 84th, a wing of the 53rd Foot, two troops of horse artillery, and the Governor-General's body-guard of picked Sepoy troopers. Two days before they were disbanded, a Sepoy of the 34th, Mangul Pandy by name, endeavoured to rouse his regiment. In the presence of the guard, who stood by, he wounded Adjutant Baugh. While those were in deadly strife, the British sergeant-major dashed in; but he was cut down, and the native lieutenant and guard took part in the fray, striking the Europeans. A Mahometan, however, was faithful, and, with the assistance of General Hearsey and other officers Baugh was rescued and Mangul Pandy seized. Riding up to the mutinous guard, with a loaded pistol in one hand, and ordering them back, Hearsey threatened to shoot the first man who disobeyed him, and on this they returned to their posts. Mangul Pandy and the native lieutenant were hanged in due course, and the Mahometan and sergeant-major were rewarded; but for these acts, such was the style of management that prevailed in Bengal, General Hearsey was reprimanded! Otherwise the regiment was unpunished. On the 31st of March—a long delay caused by the fact that there was absolutely no regiment that could be trusted with the disarmament until the return of the 84th Foot from Burmah—the 19th were deprived of their arms, paid up all their arrears, solemnly lectured in the presence of the whole force at the station, European and native, disbanded, marched out of the station, and sent to their homes. The 19th were really not so much in fault as appeared, for they offered, if pardoned, to serve in China or anywhere; but Government held it necessary to make an example. For now the fires in cantonments were more rife than ever all up the valley of the Ganges, the midnight meetings of the Sepoys more numerous, and the excitement of the whole army was fast rising to a climax.

These symptoms of mutiny were manifest in Oude and in the North-West. General Anson, the Commander-in-Chief, was on his way to comfortable quarters in the hills. He was altogether unfitted for the deadly conflict impending. He did not understand its gravity, and if he had caught a glimpse of the facts, he would have been unable to deal with them. In the middle of March, with the 36th Native Infantry for escort, he went to Umballa. Two non-commissioned officers of this regiment were at the rifle school. They went out to meet their comrades, and were by them repulsed as outcasts—men who had touched greased cartridges and were defiled. In fact, these natives had not touched greased cartridges, for there were none in the school. But that made no difference to the infatuated 36th. The Sepoys pretended that the rifle with its cartridge was "a Government missionary to convert the whole army to Christianity." By this time the whole army had become aware of its strength, and was in communication from Calcutta to Peshawur. General Anson inspected the depÔt, and suspended the musketry practice of the Sepoys until further orders. He ordered an inquiry, and when all the symptoms were disclosed to him, he actually censured the Sepoys who had made known the fact that they had been repulsed and treated as outcasts by their corps! He next forced the Sepoys, not yet ripe for revolt, to use the cartridge. They did so, but at night they burnt a number of Government buildings. A Sikh now reported the existence of a conspiracy which was to break out in the beginning of May, either at Delhi, Umballa, or Meerut. But General Anson would not believe the information. He was already nestled snugly in the hills, playing whist. And so the month passed away, lighted at its close by blazing cantonments, and marked by the most flagrant signs of universal military disaffection. In addition to this the agents of the King of Delhi and the Shah of Persia and the Moslem priests were at work, preaching a religious war by stealth, while the Hindoo pundits openly prophesied that the reign of the English had lasted its appointed time, and that it was now coming to an end.

The month of May came. It was the height of the hot season. There is little doubt that the Sepoys, who had seen that their European masters feared the sun, had calculated on its enervating effects. The storm was gathering to a head. The strife was going on sullenly at Meerut as well as at Umballa. At Lucknow, also, it was in progress. On the first days of May the 7th Oude Irregular Infantry refused to touch cartridges, which, they admitted, were in every respect such as they had been accustomed to. The men were in absolute, but passive mutiny. On the 3rd of May, threatening to kill the European officers, they seized their arms and the magazine; but a force of cavalry and artillery arriving, the mutineers were panic-stricken and gave up their arms. It was then discovered that the 7th Oude and the 48th Native Infantry were actually conspiring. Thus face to face with danger, Sir Henry Lawrence, Commissioner in Oude, began to make preparations that enabled him to cope effectually with the crisis. He had already struck down promptly the first mutinous regiment. He was destined to save the power of Britain in Oude, and to sacrifice his life in so doing.

This scene at Lucknow aroused the Government at Calcutta. But mild measures were the order of the day. A native lieutenant at Barrackpore had been caught in the lines of the 70th, urging his men to revolt. He was tried by a native court-martial and sentenced to dismissal. The effect on the Sepoys is indescribable. "This," they said, "the only punishment for mutiny! They are afraid of us; we can do as we like." But, alarmed by the mutiny at Lucknow, Lord Canning determined to disband another regiment. The corrupted 34th was to be so punished this time. Directing the 84th Queen's, a wing of the 53rd, and two batteries of artillery upon Barrackpore, he ordered the officer commanding at the station to disband the mutinous regiment. It was done, but the punishment was felt to be no punishment and the men went off exulting with their pay. In the order of the Governor-General, disaffected soldiers were told that mutiny would draw down upon them sharp and certain punishment like that inflicted on the 34th. But the Bengal Sepoys had been long hardened to radical insubordination, and the sharp and certain punishment of disbandment for mutiny had no effect on them. This scene occurred at Barrackpore on the 6th of May. It was the second instance of paltering with mutineers. The Government seem to have thought that they had destroyed the mutiny, root and branch. In five days from that time Meerut was sacked, and the streets of Delhi were running with European blood.

The town and station of Meerut lies about forty-five miles north of Delhi, in the upper part of the Doab of the Jumna and Ganges. As no European troops could be stationed in Delhi, without violating the arrangements made when the Great Mogul was dispossessed of his territories, Meerut was fixed on as a station for European troops, and here were the 6th Dragoon Guards, or Carabineers, the 1st Battalion of the 60th Rifles, and two troops of Horse Artillery. There were also the 11th and 20th Native Infantry and the 3rd Native Cavalry. The commander of the station was General Hewitt, a worn-out old officer, of whom it had once been reported officially that he was totally unfit for any command. As the disaffection of the Sepoys was manifest, Colonel Carmichael Smith, of the 3rd Cavalry, determined to bear it no longer. He paraded a part of the regiment, ninety men, and ordered them to take the cartridges, showing them, at the same time, that the end was to be torn not bitten off. Only five obeyed. The rest were deaf to exhortations and warnings. They stood still, in passive mutiny. This fact was reported to Brigadier Archdale Wilson, and by his order the whole of the mutineers were arrested. They were tried, as usual, by a native court-martial and sentenced to long terms of imprisonment. On the 9th of May, by order of General Hewitt, the whole of the force in the cantonment, European and native, was paraded. As soon as they were drawn up, the Europeans were directed to load. Then the mutineers were marched in, and so placed that any resistance would be followed by their destruction. Their uniforms were stripped off and they were placed in irons. The only sign of emotion was one deep sigh which burst at once from all the battalions. The disgraced troopers actually reproached their comrades for permitting the execution of the sentence; and we may well believe that nothing but the loaded guns in front, and the grim men of the Rifles and Carabineers, prevented the armed Sepoys from attempting a rescue. The shackled troopers were marched off to the gaol and placed under a guard of native policemen; and the Sepoys returned to their lines to plot treason and communicate their intentions to the regiments at Delhi. The sun went down on that Saturday, May the 9th, and darkness covered up the meetings of swarthy soldiers planning a general revolt for the next day.

About five o'clock next day the quiet of the evening was broken. A rocket flew upwards in the Sepoy lines. The 3rd Cavalry rushed forth, seized their arms, and slew at once four of their officers. A party of them gallop away to the gaol, whirling their sabres over their heads. There is only a native guard at the gaol; the doors are thrown open with shouts; they set their imprisoned comrades free. Fourteen hundred convicts are at the same time let loose, who rush eagerly away to reap the harvest of plunder and violence. A party of the Sowars, with the 20th, went to the lines of the 11th, to turn the tide of disaffection in its ranks, for it was not yet entirely gained over. Colonel Finnis was there, endeavouring to address the men and keep them to their duty. They instantly fired at the unfortunate gentleman, whose death decided the wavering regiment. The Sepoys of the 11th now joined with the rest, but protected the officers and ladies. It was the plan of the mutineers to set upon and massacre the Europeans assembled in church. Fortunately, the signal was given too early. The Sepoys fall upon and kill everybody they meet; joined with the rabble of the bazaars, they run to plunder the long line of beautiful cottages in which the European families resided. They push their muskets into the thatch, and fire; in a few minutes they are all in a blaze. Ladies and children are seized with exultation and tormented to death. The Europeans who get clear fly away to the English barracks. All the bungalows in the native lines are burned and sacked. For two hours the work of hell goes on—tumult, murder, pillage, conflagration. They fight for the spoil and kill one another. And what are our soldiers doing? They are all armed and ready, panting with fury, eager to rescue their dying countrywomen, eager for blood and vengeance. To them thus ready for the fray General Hewitt's order comes. What is it? "Defend your lines!"

Such was the fatal order. Instead of attacking the mutineers with horse, foot, and artillery, he stood on the defensive. At length he was prevailed on to move; but when he did, the mischief had been completed and the mutineers were speeding southward to Delhi. Moving in the gloom, the angry Europeans came up within sight of some of their foes, and the guns poured a shower of grape into the darkness as the Sepoys vanished. There was no pursuit. Captain Rosser offered to ride after them with horsemen and guns, and follow them to Delhi; but General Hewitt would not hear of it, and returned to his lines!

In Delhi all was peace. There were no signs of mutiny in the city or cantonments. There had been a sign of Mahometan disaffection, for a placard had been posted on the walls of the Jumma Musjid, declaring that the Shah of Persia was coming to drive the Europeans from India. The old King of Delhi and his sons and grandsons could not be expected to love us or be loyal to us. They lived a life of conspiracy in those stormy times; they were all sensual, cruel, and idle; but they dared not act openly against the Company. There were three native regiments in the city and cantonments, the 38th, 54th, and 74th, and a native battery. Brigadier Graves commanded the brigade, and he and all the officers had the most complete confidence in the loyalty of their men. It was nine o'clock; from the magazine, which also looked on to the river, a sharp eye saw a body of troopers coming down the Meerut road. The news spread to the Europeans; one after the other they heard of these galloping horsemen. The brigadier, warned by Mr. Hutchinson, at once ordered the 54th, under Colonel Ripley, and two guns, to march. Sir Thomas Metcalfe warned Lieutenant Willoughby at the magazine, and wished that two guns might be planted to sweep the bridge. Fraser and Captain Douglas went into the palace to rouse and induce the king to exert his influence. In the meantime the troopers had ridden up to the bridge, had cut down the sergeant in charge, had crossed over, and were in the palace and the city.

They were prompt men, these troopers. So long as there was one white face left, they felt that they were not masters. So when Mr. Fraser expostulated with them, they shot at him, wounded Mr. Hutchinson, and killed a European clerk. Mr. Fraser seized a gun and shot a trooper; but there were none to aid him, and he had to fly. Sir Thomas Metcalfe tried the police; they stood unmoved. Sir Thomas drove away. As yet there were only troopers in the city; but they had been looked for by the native troops, and though few, they were sufficient, since there were none to oppose them. Fraser, Hutchinson, and Douglas had gone into the palace. There were the troopers, a mob from the city, and convicts delivered from gaol. The British gentlemen still faced the mutineers, reasoning, reproaching, exhorting. Suddenly one of the king's servants cut down Fraser, and then a body rushed up the stairs and there slew Hutchinson, Douglas, the Rev. Mr. Jennings, Miss Jennings, and Miss Clifford. The ladies were killed outright on the spot and suffered no dishonour. Then the troopers rushed forth to complete the massacre of the white men and the native Christians. They scoured through the European quarters, with reeking blades—the centre of a horde of ruffians steeped in cruelty, crying, "Deen! Deen!" and sparing none. Some gallantly resisted; some were smitten at their desks and employments. Mr. Beresford, at the bank, fought stoutly, but was slain, and all who belonged to his household. The dwellers in the College shared the same fate; the whole force of the Delhi Mission fell. In the midst of their fury they were not likely to forget the telegraph. The chief clerk was slain, but the rebels were not quick enough in getting to the office to prevent his assistant from sending his message to Lahore, ere the troopers cut him down "The Sepoys have come in from Meerut, and are burning everything. Mr. Todd is dead, and, we hear, several Europeans. We must shut up." They died; like good men and true, they fell at their posts, but they had saved the Punjab.

Brigadier Graves had not been idle. He first sent word that all Europeans in the city should muster at the Flagstaff Tower, a stone building, with battlements, standing on the centre of the ridge; but his orders were too late, or rather the troopers and felons were too speedy for the orders to be of service. Then, as we have stated, he sent the 54th, followed by two guns, to quell any tumult. But the 54th had no sooner entered the Cashmere Gate than some troopers rode up and shot Colonel Ripley and all his officers, except three who got away. Major Patterson now entered with the guns, and at sight of these the troopers rode off. But the 54th immediately broke up and joined the mutineers. Brigadier Graves sent down three companies of the 74th and two more guns. These only provided fresh mutineers, for not a man would obey orders. The guns were ordered back; but on their road a party of mutineers met them, wounded the horse of the officer in charge and carried the guns back to Delhi. All the Sepoys now became active mutineers.

There were two magazines in the station: a large one, containing above a thousand barrels of powder, placed two miles outside the city walls, and at anybody's mercy, and a smaller one within the walls, not far from the palace, containing not more than fifty barrels. It is of the latter we have to write. Sir Charles Napier had condemned this building. Its gates were so weak, he said, a mob could push them in. On the 11th of May there were nine officers and men to defend this magazine. They were Lieutenant George Willoughby in command, Lieutenants Forrest and Raynor; Conductors Buckley, Shaw, and Scully; Sub-Conductor Crow, and Sergeants Edwards and Stewart. Their memories are worthy of all honour. In the forenoon they were beset by a crowd, raging, tumultuous, demanding admission. Seeing this, Willoughby prepared for defence. He closed and barricaded the gates, and a train was laid by Conductors Buckley, Scully, and Sergeant Stewart, ready to be fired at a preconcerted signal, which was that of Conductor Buckley raising his hat from his head, on the order being given by Lieutenant Willoughby.

The mob had been balked at the outset. They had been reinforced by a body of the king's soldiers, but still they were kept at bay. But when the old king and his counsellors found that the troops in cantonments were in revolt, that the spies he sent out returned reporting that no British were coming from Meerut, and that the Native Infantry from Meerut had entered Delhi, then fresh troops poured down upon the magazine. The whole of the besieging crowd were eager for powder and arms. The king's soldiers summoned the Europeans to surrender. They were defied. Then the crowd swarmed to the attack and opened fire. At the first round the natives in the magazine fled. But the nine Englishmen remained. Scaling-ladders were brought; Sepoys mounted the tombs in the burial-ground overlooking the enclosure, and fired on the little garrison. These plied their foes with grape, but as fast as the iron sleet swept away one body, another followed. For five hours the gallant nine maintained the unequal contest. Scully stood by the trunk of a tree, ready to fire the mine. Every moment the attack grew hotter and the defence weaker: for Edwards and Crow were killed; Forrest and Buckley were wounded. All hope was gone. Willoughby passed the word to Buckley to raise his hat, the signal for firing the train, and Scully coolly and with deliberate care applied the match. In a moment the whole building was rent by the explosion, and hundreds of the enemy, crowding on, were buried in the ruins. Forrest, Raynor, Willoughby, Buckley, and Scully made their way out, scorched and bruised, but alive. A trooper cut down the brave Scully, and Willoughby was killed by marauders in a village on the road to Meerut; but Forrest, Raynor, Stewart, and Buckley succeeded in reaching that place alive, and each received the Victoria Cross as a reward.

The explosion of the magazine may be regarded as the last act in defence of Delhi. The fugitives who had reached the Flagstaff Tower were now crowded within it, uncertain of their fate. The Sepoys who surrounded the two guns were watched by armed Europeans from the roof of the tower; but it would have been destruction to fire. The ladies were loosening cartridges, and the men were resolving on defence when defence was hopeless. One by one the fugitives had come in. Major Abbott had brought up a cartload of dead and wounded officers. The Sepoys were growing defiant. When the magazine blew up they became excited; they had long refused to obey orders; they now told the officers they had better be gone, "this was no longer a place for them." The words were true. All who could got carriages or horses, and those who could get neither, set out on foot. The Sepoys did not oppose them. The brave Brigadier Graves, Captain Nicholl, and Dr. Stewart lingered to the last; but at length these went also, and Delhi was in the power of the king and the Sepoys. An attempt had been made to blow up the great magazine, but the Sepoys frustrated it, and so ended the scene. One Sepoy only followed the officers in their flight. The fugitives bent their steps towards Kurnaul, and only some arrived. They were beset by the village marauders, who robbed and wounded, or murdered, all parties alike. Some were nearly naked, their clothes having been torn from them; some were severely wounded; some lay down to die from fatigue and grief. It was a dreadful night; and in Delhi there were still forty-three persons, chiefly women and children. They had taken refuge in the palace; on the 18th of May the poor creatures were given up to the mutineers, and massacred in a body by them and the king's brutal sons.

Sir Henry Lawrence, ever vigilant and prompt, saved Lucknow for a time, by disarming the 7th Oude Irregulars, on the 3rd of May. On the 12th Sir Henry held a durbar, and rewarded, with solemn forms, a subahdar, a havildar, and two Sepoys, who had been instrumental directly in arresting emissaries who were preaching sedition. Sir Henry made a noble speech to the soldiers representing all the native forces in the cantonment, praised, warned, exhorted them, and so he gained a month to prepare for a doom that was inevitable; a month to prepare and provision a fortified post in the heart of Lucknow, where a handful of Europeans and a few faithful natives were destined, with endless honour, to uplift and keep flying the British standard in one of the centres of rebellion.

The electric telegraph saved the Punjab. We have already told how from the office in Delhi went a message along the wire to Lahore. It was read at Umballa, en route; it was read at Lahore; it was shot north-westward to Sir John Lawrence at Rawul Pindee, and to Herbert Edwardes, John Nicholson, and Sydney Cotton at Peshawur. They had it by noon in Lahore: a messenger coming in from Meerut confirmed it. By eventide Sir John Lawrence had read the momentous words at Rawul Pindee; by midnight they were scanned at Peshawur. They fell into the hands of men prompt to face and to overcome danger; keen of sight and swift of action. There was to be no paltering with mutiny in the Punjab. The Britons were resolved to be masters in that land. The morning of the 12th of May brought fresh and fuller tidings, and out of them grew a fixed resolve. The Europeans had kept the secret imparted by the magic dial, and determined to be first in the field.

There were at Mean Meer, six miles from Lahore, three regiments of native infantry and one of cavalry. These Brigadier Corbett and Mr. Montgomery and others, after brief deliberation, resolved to disarm. The means at hand were slight, but sufficient for brave men. They were the 81st Queen's, and two troops of horse, and four companies of foot artillery. A ball had been appointed for the night of the 12th, and it was agreed that this festivity should be held, and that the troops should parade on the morning of the 13th. The 12th brought fresh news. A Sikh discovered and revealed a plot to seize the fort in Lahore, and massacre every white man. The authorities kept their discovery to themselves, and prepared by a bold stroke to anticipate the conspirators. The ball was held. The revel was kept up till nearly dawn, when the officers stole away to attend a parade which was to determine the fate of British rule in the country of the five rivers. During that night a company of the 81st were driving along in carts to Govindghur, three companies were held in readiness to relieve the conspirators of the 26th in Lahore Fort, and six companies were left in cantonments to perform a principal part on the parade ground. The pretence for the parade was to read a general order touching the disarmament of the 34th, at Barrackpore. When the regiments were in line, an order was read aloud to the Sepoys, explaining to them that they were about to be deprived of their arms to prevent them from disgracing themselves and their colours by yielding to the temptations of bad men, and rising in mutiny. At the conclusion of the reading, the order went forth to "pile arms." By this time the 81st had moved to the rear of the guns. There were twelve, each loaded with grape, and by each gun stood an artilleryman port-fire in hand. Colonel Renny of the 81st also gave the order to load, and the ring of the steel ramrods told the Sepoys there was no hope for them. The infantry piled arms, the cavalry took off their sabres and pouches; a company of the 81st swept them up; the crisis was past, and Lahore was saved on the third morning after the outbreak at Meerut. On that memorable morning, too, three companies of the 81st marched into the fort of Lahore. The 26th, astonished and surprised, laid down their arms without a murmur.

On the same day there were other deeds performed between the Ravee and Sutlej. On the right bank of the latter river, and commanding the Great Road from Delhi to Lahore, stands the fort of Philour. To the south-east, over the river, is the cloth-working town of Loodiana, also on the Great Road, and to the north-west the cantonment of Jallandhar. Philour was wholly in the hands of the Sepoy guard, and a native regiment, the 3rd, was encamped under its walls. There were only eight Europeans in the fort, one of whom, Mr. Brown, had arrived on the 12th of May with telegraphic apparatus to open communication with Jallandhar. For when the officer commanding at the latter station heard of the mutiny, his first thought was for the safety of Philour. He sent Mr. Brown and his apparatus in a light cart, and he marched out 150 men of the 8th Queen's at night to garrison the fort. The gallant eight had one gun. They closed the fort, and loaded the piece with grape; and kept watch over the Sepoys within and the Sepoys without. It was an anxious night, and the gun was not quitted for one moment. Before day had dawned, up came the men of the 8th, with the welcome addition, picked up on the road, of two horse-artillery guns and some Punjabee troopers, under the chivalrous Probyn. The Sepoys in the fort were surprised and dismayed when they were relieved, and marched out of the fort. They, too, were to have risen on the 15th, and Philour was to have been the rendezvous of all the mutineers in the Punjab.

At Jallandhar itself very vigorous measures had been taken. We have seen how Philour was saved. Mr. Ricketts, at Loodiana, was also warned to look sharply after the bridge of boats which carries the traffic of the Great Road over the Sutlej. The troops at Jallandhar were, the 6th Cavalry, the 36th Native Infantry, and the 61st Native Infantry, the 8th Queen's, and one troop of Horse Artillery. Brigadier Hartley would have disarmed the natives, but he feared for the out-stations; so he contented himself with taking ample precautions, by an able disposition of his guns and his European infantry. The civil chief of the station appealed for aid to the Rajah of Kuppoorthulla, a Sikh chief, whose territories lie between the Beas and the Sutlej, and the Rajah responded with promptitude, bringing up at once a body of troops and guns. This was the first evidence of the goodwill of the Sikh chieftains in this district. They were destined to render the most valuable services in the trying days at hand. Thus was mutiny for a time parried at Jallandhar.

Far different had been the incidents of the crisis at Ferozepore. This town stands on the left bank of the Sutlej, nearly due south of Lahore, and below Loodiana; it contained the largest arsenal in Upper India and its importance was immense. The brigade at the station consisted of the 10th Cavalry, the 45th and 57th Native Infantry, the 61st Queen's, and three batteries; the whole under Brigadier Innes, who had just arrived from Mooltan. Strong symptoms of disaffection had appeared among the 57th but not in the 45th, or the 10th Cavalry. When on the 13th decisive news arrived, the brigadier held a council of war; but here, as in all other stations, his avowed suspicions of the native troops were sharply combated by their own officers. He adopted a half measure: he resolved to divide the two native regiments, placing them so that the Europeans and the guns would be between them, and he intended to disarm them the next day. On the evening of the 13th he held a parade, at the same time threw a hundred men of the 61st into the magazine, and selected the best positions for his artillery. From the parade he directed the 57th to march in one direction, and the 45th in another. The former obeyed, and encamped quietly in their new quarters; but the 45th took a route that brought them in sight of the magazine, which they made an unsuccessful attempt to rush. In the meantime the 61st had to guard the barracks, where the women and children had sought shelter, as well as the magazine, and thus were compelled to look on while the mutineers and the mob burnt the cantonments. The 57th took no part in the mischief, and the next day gave up their arms and colours. The 45th were still bent on wrong doing, and as a precaution, the brigadier blew up the regimental magazines. Then the 45th, except a few, broke into open mutiny, and set out for Delhi, pursued by the Europeans and the 10th. Very few escaped, for the 10th caught some, and the villagers brought in others. Brigadier Innes had now leisure to secure all the powder and stores. Of the native force, the 10th alone retained their arms and received General Anson's thanks for their loyalty. In a few weeks they too were mutineers.

There were three other points of moment: one of supreme importance in the Punjab-Peshawur. The others were Kangra and Mooltan. Kangra was to the Rajpoots of the hills what Umritsir was to the Sikhs of the plains—a place invested with a moral prestige. Major Lake, getting one of Mr. Montgomery's notes from Lahore, marched a body of Punjab police into Kangra and it was secured. We have already seen the men of the 8th enter Philour at dawn. Mooltan, standing on the left bank of the Chenab, a few miles above its junction with the Indus, was the key of the whole country around the point where the five rivers become one. It commanded the navigation; it was the connecting link between the Punjab and Scinde and the Punjab and South Afghanistan. There were only sixty Europeans there, and 3,500 natives. Of these the most dreaded were the 62nd and 69th Native Infantry; their officers alone were full of trust in them. Major Crawford Chamberlain could rely only on his sixty Europeans and some 250 Punjabees; he had hopes of a regiment of irregular cavalry, his own regiment, known all over India as Skinner's Horse. His policy was to temporise and prepare; and most ably he did both. It was pluck and skill which saved Mooltan.

Peshawur was, after all, the critical point in the Punjab. Five infantry regiments of the Bengal army were there, the 21st, 24th, 27th, 51st, and 64th; three cavalry regiments, the 5th Regulars, and the 17th and 18th Irregulars. In three adjacent forts were detachments of a Hindoo regiment, called the Khelat-i-Gilzies. The British force consisted of the 70th and 87th, and four batteries; in all about 2,000 men. At Noushera, the station at the east end of the Peshawur Valley, and more than twenty miles off, were the 27th Queen's, the 55th Native Infantry, the 10th Irregulars, and a battery. At Hotee Murdan, a mountain station, sixteen miles north of Noushera, were the Guides, natives, but true as steel, because raised, officered, and disciplined on sound principles. These were the forces, native and British, north of the Indus. The Europeans were outnumbered by three to one.

The telegram from Lahore was received here and kept secret. The men who had to deal with probable mutiny were Brigadier Sydney Cotton, Colonels Edwardes, Nicholson, and Neville Chamberlain, for General Reid, the Commander-in-Chief, was not one of the prime moving spirits. On the morning of the 12th a council was held, and swift were its decisions. The bold spirit of John Nicholson suggested at once that the British should take the initiative and form a movable column, so that aid might be rendered where it was required, and visible tangible power shown to all. To form this column, the 55th Native Infantry were ordered to occupy Hotee Murdan; so that the Guides might join the 27th Queen's at Noushera, and that these two should form the kernel of the column. At the same time the 64th Native Infantry were split up into three parts, and sent to the forts near Peshawur. The next morning, the 13th, the council heard the news of the disarming at Lahore, and proceeded with the work. Sir John Lawrence, though at Rawul Pindee, talked with his coadjutors by telegraph, and at his suggestion General Reid joined him, and thus the heads of the two public services were united. The measures taken extended over a wider field. The Punjabee infantry and the Sikh regiments, the remains of the old Khalsa army, were called in from all quarters to join the movable column. Not only was the station made safe, and the passage of the Indus at Attock secured, but Edwardes and Nicholson took advantage of their popularity on the frontier to call for aid from the very tribes whom it had been their business to rule, and to rule with no unsteady hand. For the moment these men, by boldness, promptitude, and sagacity, held down the raging element of mutiny on both banks of the Indus, and finally drew its teeth with little loss.

But for the present we must leave them with these armed traitors all around, to show what General Anson was doing in the first week after the outbreak at Meerut.

We have already caught a glimpse of General Anson, whose distinction among men it was to be the greatest whist-player in either hemisphere. We have seen him at Umballa, misunderstanding the mutiny, and snubbing Sepoys and Sepoy officers for telling tales. He was on the road to Simla, and to Simla he went. Below him were spread out the Cis-Sutlej States, governed chiefly by native Sikh chiefs who owned allegiance to the Company. It was among these that we had sought and found our earliest allies. We have seen how the Rajah of Kuppoorthulla cast his lot at once with ours. There were others ready to follow his example. The whole country below had been for three days in the ferment of mutiny; the troops at Lahore had been disarmed; the movable column had been formed, an outbreak of the 5th and 60th Native Infantry at Umballa on the 10th of May had been frustrated by a mere accident; and blood had been shed at Ferozepore, before General Anson heard that there was any serious mutiny in the army. When the famous message from Delhi reached Umballa, General Barnard sent off Captain Barnard, his aide-de-camp, to inform the Commander-in-Chief. As he passed through Kussowlie, he warned the 75th Foot to be ready to march at a moment's notice. On the 12th he astonished the Commander-in-Chief by presenting the Delhi telegram! It was fortunate for General Anson that he had with him at that moment men like Colonel Chester and Major Norman. Whatever indecision there may have been in the mind of the chief, there was none in that of his subordinates, and when he could not decide, they decided for him. Orders were sent that very night for the march of the 75th and for the 2nd Fusiliers to be ready for marching, and the 1st Bengal Fusiliers at once to Umballa; But General Anson did not stir. Fresh news came in on the 13th, as precise as it was horrible. The 2nd Fusiliers were ordered to march. On the 14th the general and his staff quitted Simla, and the next day they were at Umballa. The 1st Fusiliers arrived the same day; having marched in two nights sixty miles. The 75th had come in, and these, with the 9th Lancers, under Colonel Hope Grant, and two troops of horse artillery, formed a weak but respectable brigade. On the 17th they were joined by the 2nd Fusiliers.

Pending the arrival of General Anson the civil authorities had not been idle. Acting under the inspiration and on the orders of Sir John Lawrence, whose comprehensive mind embraced the whole state of affairs north of Delhi, Mr. Barnes and Mr. Forsyth had called upon the Maharajah of Putteeala, and the Rajahs of Jheend and Nabha, for the aid of troops, provisions, carriage, and it was instantly granted. Detachments of their forces were sent to guard fords and places of importance in the country, to Loodiana, and on the road to Kurnaul. The military commissaries could not meet the immense demand for transport; it was met by the civilians. These were days of vast activity. For the first time European soldiers mounted sentry, and European officers rode and walked in the burning sun. With the aid of the native princes the civilians took firm hold on the country between the Jumna and the Sutlej, and thus secured the road from Delhi to the Punjab, whence troops and ammunition and spirited counsels alone could come.

One of the first acts of General Anson, or rather of his able staff officers, was to organise a siege train at Philour. The order, however, did not reach that fort until the 17th, and four days elapsed before it could be prepared. In the meantime, a Ghoorka battalion near Simla, which nobody doubted was badly managed, broke into mutiny, creating a disgraceful panic at Simla. The siege train had to be entrusted to the escort of the 3rd Native Infantry, encamped at Philour. Part of this regiment, and of the 4th Cavalry, had already been sent to guard a small supply of ammunition for the Europeans. It was said the 3rd had sworn the siege-train should never reach Delhi, and it is not an improbable story; nevertheless, when, hearing that the Ghoorkas were in revolt, they volunteered to act as escort, the offer was accepted. The train crossed the Sutlej, and two hours afterwards the bridge was carried away. Perplexed and harassed by the responsibility thrown upon him, General Anson reached Kurnaul on the 25th; on the 26th he was attacked by cholera, and on the 27th of May he died. It may be said he died of a consciousness of his own incapacity to contend with the gigantic difficulties around him. It was not his fault that he was neither a Lawrence nor a Montgomery, neither a Havelock nor a Campbell; but it was the fault of the British Government that they selected a man of such moderate abilities and no force of character to command the Indian army. On the 26th the Delhi Field Force under Sir Henry Barnard reached Kurnaul, and Sir Henry assumed command. It was now nearly the end of May, twenty days since the mutiny began; and here were the troops from Umballa and the brigade from Meerut converging on a point, to effect a junction and lay siege to Delhi.

By this time the Punjab had been the theatre of more decision and vigour. Sir John Lawrence, Mr. Montgomery, and their able coadjutors had shown how mutiny should be dealt with. No half measures were adopted. They went upon the time-honoured principle that he who is not for us is against us. "Treason and sedition," writes one of the Punjab men, "were dogged into the very privacy of the harem, and up to the sacred sanctuaries of the mosques and shrines." Mr. Montgomery banished red tape. All letters were intercepted; all important ferries, fords, and roads were watched. Rewards were offered for fugitive mutineers, dead or alive. It was soon found that the population were on our side, and the villagers ready to stop mutineers, or to report their movements. The Hindostanee soldiers had boasted throughout the Punjab that they had conquered it, and now it was the turn of the Sikh and the Punjabee. The Sikhs were burning to march on Delhi. More than a century and a half before, Aurungzebe, the Great Mogul, had beheaded a prophet of the Sikhs in his palace at Delhi, and there was a prophecy current that the Sikhs, in conjunction with the British, should sack Delhi, and avenge the death of their martyr Gooroo. This made the work of the British leaders less difficult; but it was, in the middle of May, still a problem whether we should stand or fall.

SIR JOHN LAWRENCE (AFTERWARDS LORD LAWRENCE).