HISTORICAL SKETCH.

Before proceeding to relate my experiences during nineteen years’ service in India, and in doing so to recall some of the incidents of the terrible Mutiny of 1857-1858, I desire to say a few words respecting that great country and its people.

India is so enormous a country that our glorious little island—of which Englishmen are so justly proud—might be put in one corner and be scarcely noticed. In length, from the north of Cashmere to Cape Comorin, it is about 2,000 miles; and in breadth, from the western border of Scinde to the extremity of Assam, it is about 1850 miles; while through this vast extent there are but two small states (Nepaul and Bhutan) independent of British or European rule, and even they are subjected, more or less, to our sway. This appendage of the crown of Britain is divided into three presidencies, viz.: Bengal, Bombay, and Madras, the former being much the largest and most thickly populated. The area of our Indian Empire contains 1,687,803 square miles, with a population speaking no fewer than twenty languages, and by far exceeding that of the whole of Europe, numbering no less than 240,938,000. From the most remote period the inhabitants of India have been a divided people, split up into sections or castes; and frequently the more warlike tribes from the north and north-west made inroads into the country, carrying death and destruction all over its extensive plains. Alexander the Great invaded India 327 years before the Christian era, with an army of 135,000 men, horse and foot, and conquered it, battle after battle being fought in that part of the country now known as the Punjaub. The last tremendous conflict took place just outside the present City of Lahore, and the determined resistance the conqueror here met with so enraged him that the City was ordered to be levelled to the ground, and the brave foe distributed as slaves among the victors. The next invasion occurred in 664 A.D., when the Arabs overran many provinces, and in 1024 Sultan Mahmoud, extended the Mahommedan conquests from the Oxus to the Indian Ocean, and from Bagdad to the Ganges. But, in addition to the Arabs, the Afghans often came down from the mountains and carried all before them, the whole country being given up to pillage. Nothing could escape the fury of the conquerors—neither age nor sex—all had to fall beneath the merciless fury of these enraged Barbarians; thus frequently the fertile plains and beautiful cities of India ran with innocent blood.

The British Empire in the East had but a small beginning; but the ability, indomitable perseverance, and resistless valor, which have ever been British characteristics, resulted in securing as the appendage of the English Crown, a territory the wealth and glory of which have excited the envy and cupidity of more than one other European State. During the reign of Henry VIII., some of our forefathers watched the Portuguese intercourse with India with a jealous eye, and petitioned the King for permission to fit out two ships for discovery and traffic. That permission was granted, and the King, having an eye to business, sent two on his own account to accompany them. These sailed from London in 1527, but one of the King’s ships was lost, and the other returned without effecting anything. But that did not damp or daunt our forefathers’ spirits. Money was forthcoming, and other attempts were made shortly after, in the reigns of Edward VI., Mary, and Elizabeth; but all ended in disappointment, until in 1591, one vessel out of a small squadron despatched from London, succeeded in reaching the Island of Sumatra, although the voyage was profitless. Again, in 1596, another squadron was despatched with little result. But our merchants were not disheartened by their repeated failures, and in September, 1599, another Company was formed to carry on trade with India. The capital amounted to £30,000, divided into shares. There was some difficulty in raising these shares from the belief that it would be money thrown away; but shortly after, another Company started, this time with funds amounting to nearly £90,000, with which capital five ships were fitted out, a fifteen years’ charter having been obtained. These were placed under command of Capt. J. Lancaster, and sailed from Torbay, on the 22nd of April, 1601. This little fleet, after some fourteen months’ tossing about, reached the Isle of Sumatra in 1602. The Sovereign gave the strangers a cordial reception, with permission to build storehouses, and to establish a factory. This was the first actual possession of Great Britain in the East Indies. The ships all returned in safety, and the profits ran so high (138 per cent.) that little difficulty was experienced in raising another Company. Accordingly, in 1609, another was started, and obtained a royal charter from James I., with exclusive power of trading in the East Indies. They now commenced to build more storehouses at Surat. This was the first factory on the mainland of Hindostan. Shortly after, James I. sent out an ambassador (Sir Thomas Roe) to the great Mogul Emperor. About this time the Company was considerably augmented, and its capital amounted to the sum of £1,629,000. The Dutch and Portuguese showed hostility to this venture, and united to massacre all the English they could lay their hands upon. The French also joined with them in the attempt to exterminate the sons of Albion, but, notwithstanding all, our forefathers were prosperous. In 1634, permission was granted to trade with the whole of Bengal; and shortly after, a small tract of land, five miles long and one mile broad, was granted, with permission to built a fort thereon. Accordingly, a snug little fort soon sprung up, named Fort St. George. This was the cradle of the present magnificent City of Madras. Soon after this, another settlement was made, on the Hooghly, close to where Calcutta—the city of palaces—now stands. A fort was built to protect our interests, and named Fort William. The government of the Company was now transferred to Calcutta. Bombay became an independent settlement in 1687, and the first Governor of Bombay was Sir John Child. As yet no British troops had been sent out. The Company had a few men to act as police, assisted by natives in our pay; but it was nothing more nor less than a Trading Company. The instructions to the Governors were to look after the returns of calicoes and muslins, and to remember not to trouble themselves about territory. In 1654, the Madras Army was reduced by an order from home to ten soldiers; but it gradually increased in numbers, to keep in check not only the Natives, but the French, Dutch, and Portuguese, which countries kept up strong forces, under pretence of watching their interests, until in 1744, Louis XV. of France, declared war against us, which aroused all the energies of the sons of Albion. Hostilities continued, we may say, almost until 1815 (a period of 71 years), and ended in the glorious triumph of British arms over all their antagonists, not only in India, but in all parts of the globe. This terrible war between France and England caused a lavish expenditure of both life and treasure; for it was a death struggle. Spain threw in her lot against us. The American States claimed their independence, and both sea and land was red with blood. All parts of the globe witnessed this terrible strife.

As far as India was concerned, all our enemies were subdued, and our proud old flag was carried triumphant across land and sea. Our army in India alone was raised to the enormous number of 395,000 men, exclusive of Europeans, which numbered about 50,000 more. During this long struggle, some of the noblest men that ever served their country sprang forward to defend the honour of the flag. A Clive laid his pen on one side, and carved out an empire for us. Victory followed victory, triumph followed triumph, and on the plains of Plassey he routed 75,000 men with 4,000. He was called by the Natives “the daring in war,” and was looked upon as a sort of demi-devil that no power could withstand. Following in his wake, a Hastings (another clerk) pushed himself to the front, and fastened victory after victory to our standard. He was a wonderful man, endowed with a large mind, an iron will, but a cold heart, and the eye of an eagle. In a short time he scattered Hyder Ali’s vast armies; though this prince brought into the field 70,000 Cavalry, and Infantry without number. But Warren Hastings dashed at them, and scattered their wild horsemen in all directions. They were terrified, and driven in disorderly flight from field after field. Hyder Ali died in 1782, leaving his hatred to his son, Tippoo Sahib, who fought us until he lost all, life and kingdom into the bargain, at Seringapatam. We were then brought face to face with another powerful chief of warlike habits. There was no such thing as retiring, 200,000 horsemen being in the field. These fierce tribes had to be confronted. Wellesley—the future hero of Waterloo—was sent against them; and on the fields of Assaye and Arganon, with a force of 8,000 men, those vast hordes, backed up by upwards of 100 cannon, were completely routed, leaving nearly all their guns in the hands of the victor, who had still brighter laurels to win from more worthy foes.

In tracing the crimsoned records and mighty triumphs of our arms, we find that a terrible battle was fought by Lord Lake, just outside the city of Delhi, on the 11th of September, 1803. The enemy was commanded by French officers, and fought with desperation, but to no purpose; all had to yield to our conquering arms, and the ancient city and capital of Hindostan lay at the conqueror’s feet. Our victorious General gave the enemy no breathing time, but followed them up, taking fortress after fortress. Ally Ghur was stormed, Agra fell, and the ever-victorious “thin red line” carried the sphere of British rule still further forward. The military genius of Lake and Wellesley baffled the haughty Mahratta chief, who was compelled to sue for peace, which was granted at the expense of an enormous slice of territory ceded to the Company for ever. The Company’s frontier now extended to the borders of the Punjaub, a broad and rapid river (the Sutlej) separating us from the Sikhs, a fierce and warlike nation, who were struck with awe at our victorious march, and remained very civil neighbours for years.

The Company’s officers had now time to turn their thoughts to the better government of the territories which their triumphant sword had conquered. The natives soon found that their conquerors, although redoubtable in the field, were merciful, and ruled them with justice, which, under Native chiefs, they had never known. A restraint was at once put upon the cruel and soul-destroying rites of “Suttee,” by which poor women, irrespective of age or position, were burnt on the funeral pile of their deceased husbands. This was abolished by the strong arm of the law. Some of the high caste gentlemen did not like our interference, but a strong rope soon taught them that our Government meant to be masters, and that our laws must be obeyed. Restraint was also put upon all kinds of tortures to which fanaticism had annually condemned thousands. The sacrifices at their festivals to the idol Juggernaut were strictly prohibited. This was a huge idol, weighing some twenty tons, dragged about by elephants; and their fanatic priests made thousands of poor wretches believe that if they wanted to reach Paradise quickly, they must throw themselves in front of the wheels of the carriage of this god, and posterity would regard them as saints. The strong arm of the law put an end to that. Again, the unnatural practice of infanticide had to be grappled with. This was the practice of destroying female children. Our people gave them to understand that it was murder, and that a murderer should die, whether Native or European. The law being vigorously carried out, quickly stopped this. Again, the horrible practice of “Thuggee” was attacked, but it took years to stamp that out. Whilst this was tolerated no traveller was safe for a moment, for he never knew at what corner he might have a rope thrown over his head and be strangled, for no other crime than that of appearing respectable. The poor Natives found out that under our flag the rich could not oppress them; and, again, the rich and haughty found that money could not save them if they broke the law—all must obey or take the consequences. Accordingly, the country gradually settled down, and the people became good law-abiding subjects. Although we had conquered some of the strongest princes on the plains of India, yet there was more work for us to do, and we had to be continually on the watch.

In 1826, the Rajah of Bhurtpore threw down the gauntlet at our feet, depending upon his impregnable fortress. But a Combermere was close at hand. He had routed the French Imperial Guards from the field of Waterloo, and, under his Lordship’s guidance, Bhurtpore was stormed and taken, and the whole of the proud Rajah’s territories were confiscated. Our arms, however, received a check from the brave little Ghoorkas in the Nepaul Hills. Our people fought them for years, but they have never been subjugated; yet to this day many of them are our friends and Allies. We have thousands of them in our army, and noble fellows they are.

We did not gain much by our first Afghan Campaign, in 1839-40-41, though the Afghans were eventually subdued. From 1841 to 1849, our army, or armies, were continually in the field. Scinde was conquered by Sir Charles Napier, and added to the Company’s territory. The Rajah of Gwalior began to show his teeth, but the battles of Maharajpore and Punniar, both fought on the 29th December, 1843, brought him to the conqueror’s feet. The Mahratta Chief likewise lost his strong fortress, Gwalior, which stands upon a rocky eminence, the sides of which are almost perpendicular and appear impregnable. The disastrous Afghan Campaign had brought discredit upon our arms, but our officers and men made the enemy respect them. The fault rested with the head of that army. Through favouritism, a feeble old man who could not walk, and scarcely ride, was placed in command. He was an honourable gentleman, kind-hearted, and his courage never could be questioned. He had once been a good soldier, but was now completely broken down and crippled with gout. This was the man that our red-tape gentlemen sent to command our field forces in Afghanistan, and then they complained because one disaster followed another! However, another army was soon formed, called “the avenging army,” to cut out the survivors that were holding on for bare life at Jellalabad. A part of our army, by permission, marched through the Punjaub. The Sikhs, a brave and warlike race of people, had heard of the disorganized state of that army, and a disaster will not lose anything in transit through India. Our mishap in the Bolan Pass was magnified into the destruction of the whole of the Feringhee army. But the Sikhs remained quiet until the end of 1845, when they crossed the Sutlej and invaded our dominions, without any warning or declaration of war. An army was got together as quickly as possible to confront them, commanded by the hero of Barrosa, Sir Hugh Gough, K.C.B., &c., (afterwards Lord Gough). The Governor-General at the time was the hero of Albuera, Lord Hardinge. With two such men as these the honour of the British Empire in the East was safe. The enemy was first confronted on the field of Moodkee, December 18th, 1845. The Sikhs fought well, but came off second best, with the loss of seventeen guns. They retired in good order, and took up a formidable position at the village of Ferozeshah, and there set the conquerors of India at defiance. On the 21st December, 1845, Sir Hugh Gough’s army attacked them in their strong position. The resistance that our people met with was unexpected, for guns were dismounted, ammunition waggons blown into the air, our matchless Cavalry were checked in full charge, and battalion after battalion of Infantry were hurled back, with their ranks shattered, the enemy still holding their ground when darkness obscured the scene. Our people were thrown into sad confusion by the bloody repulses they had received—men of all regiments and arms being mixed together, officers and men groping about in the dark trying to find their regiments. A portion of the enemy’s position had been captured, but their line was still unbroken. Our men lay down that night cold, weary, and supperless, and hardly masters of the ground they slept upon. Our Commanders anxiously awaited the morning light, the undaunted heroes of Barrosa and Albuera moving from regiment to regiment, saying a few kind words to each, to encourage and animate the men to the performance of desperate deeds. The supremacy of our power was in the keeping of the 9th (Norfolk) regiment, 29th, 31st, 50th, 62nd, 80th, 101st, and a number of Native regiments. But, reader, it was safe. Lord Hardinge, with the eye of an eagle, could see that it would be “do or die” with these gallant men. He voluntarily placed his sword at the disposal of the Commander-in-Chief, and served in a subordinate position under the flag he loved so well. The morning of the 22nd arrived. Our men arose from their cold bed, breakfastless, with nothing to comfort them, their foes still frowning upon them. Sir Hugh Gough placed himself in front of the right wing, and Lord Hardinge in front of the left. The whole army was then ordered to advance; the queen of weapons was brought out, and then, with a ringing cheer, and a headlong bayonet charge, the struggle was brought to an end. Thus the enemy were routed, leaving all their guns in the hands of the victors.

At the battle of Aliwal (28th January, 1846), the enemy were again defeated in a masterly style by General Sir Harry Smith. But yet another terrible battle had to be fought before the enemy were driven from our side the river. They took up a strong entrenched position at Sobraon, on the banks of the Sutlej. Our heavy siege guns opened upon their entrenchments on the morning of the 10th of February, 1846, and for hours they kept it up. The Sikhs stood to their guns unappalled, and returned flash for flash, and shot for shot, nothing daunted. Our matchless Infantry were then formed up and advanced to the attack, the Norfolk regiment (9th, or Holy Boys) leading the way. The Sikhs fought with determination, but recoiled in confusion from the desperate bayonet charge. The enemy’s supports and reserves coming up, they fought fiercely, but to no purpose, for some thousands of them were charged into the river, and drowned in its wide and rapid current. Our victorious army now crossed the Sutlej, and marched on to Lahore, and under its walls dictated terms of peace to the enemy. But the peace was of short duration, for in 1848 these warlike tribes again defied us and murdered our political agents. This war commenced with the siege of Mooltan, which was taken after some hard fighting. It was here that the valuable Koh-i-noor was captured and presented to Her Majesty. Sir Hugh Gough then fought the doubtful field of Chillianwallah, December 2nd, 1848. We had but a handful of men on the field, and it was “touch and go” with us; but the enemy retired next day, and we claimed the victory. It was on this field that the 61st immortalised themselves. They were led by Brigadier-General Sir Colin Campbell, afterwards Lord Clyde. Reinforcements were poured into the Punjaub, and the crowning battle of Goojerat was fought on the 21st of January, 1849. This was principally an Artillery and Cavalry fight. Some of the batteries had exhausted all their ammunition, and charged the enemy with their guns. They brought the right wheels of the guns to bear upon the front faces of the enemy’s squares, thereby smashing them and letting the Cavalry in, when the whole army was routed. All their guns—160 in number—fell into our hands, and their army at once laid down their arms at the feet of the conquerors. The whole of the Punjaub was now annexed to the British dominions. A good slice was likewise taken from the Afghans, as a punishment for treachery, for they pretended to be our friends, yet thousands of them had been found fighting against us in the late battles; so, from the river Attock to the mouth of the Khyber Pass was added to British India, Peshawur being our frontier station.

In 1852 the Burmese broke their treaty with us. A strong force was, therefore, at once despatched to punish them, and it did not take long to satisfy them, or knock the conceit of fighting out of the head of the “King of Two Worlds,” while another nice little slice was added to our already overgrown dominions.

In all the fights—from Plassey (June 23rd, 1757) to 1852—the Sepoys had fought well by the side of our troops, and had frequently shown a gallant spirit. At the storming of Bhurtpore our regiments were driven back with frightful slaughter, when these noble fellows boldly stepped forward to lead another assault, and actually walked over their own comrades’ dead bodies into the place! They were brave enough for anything, and would go anywhere and do anything when led by British officers; but they were afterwards (as the following pages will prove) spoilt by injudicious though well-meant kindness, and their minds were poisoned against us by fanatics.

OUTBREAK OF THE MUTINY.

This India—the brightest gem in Her Most Gracious Majesty’s crown, was shaken to its foundation in 1857. It was held by a few desperate Britons, who could well lay claim to the motto of Napoleon’s old guard: “They might die, but not surrender.”

The Mutiny had been predicted by a far-seeing man—Sir Charles Napier—years before the Bengal army showed their teeth, for Sir Charles wrote to the Government of India when he was Commander-in-Chief, telling them that some of these mornings the much-pampered Sepoys would find out their strength, and that they would upset the King, the King would upset the magazine, and the magazine would be ignited, and blow up both King and country. Sir Charles was not liked by the directors of the East India Company, and was sent home, but his every word came true. He told them how to avoid it, but they laughed at him. Had that grand old soldier’s advice been taken, England would not have had to mourn over the horrible tragedies of 1857-58-59, when her supremacy hung in the balance, and for a time it was doubtful whether we should not have to reconquer the whole of India.

I will now try and trace the Mutiny from its commencement, and describe some of the most revolting scenes as far as it is prudent to mention them; but there were many sights that no pen can or would dare to describe. The blood runs cold to think of poor helpless creatures—delicately nurtured ladies and children—in the hands of such bloodthirsty fiends; but stern vengeance was inflicted before we had done with them.

Our Commanders were now called upon to undertake a most trying military operation, viz., to wage war against a fanatic enemy, formidable in numbers and resources, with an inadequate force at their disposal. The following table will show the strength of our several armies in India, at the commencement of the Mutiny:—

India therefore contained, in January, 1857, in the Company’s service:--

It was the Bengal Native army that had been trained by us with so much care, that now put their masters at defiance, and carried torture and death throughout the land. It was just 100 years since the first regiment of the Bengal army was raised by Lord Clive in 1757, and from that date it had been gradually increasing until, in May, 1857, it numbered no fewer than 350,000[15] well-armed and well-drilled men, officered by some of the best blood of Britain. Some of the foremost of our generals had fought in its ranks—Clive, Lake, Beard, Wellington, Hastings, Hardinge, Gough, Evans, Brown, Campbell, Havelock, Outram, Hudson, and others, had frequently led that deluded army on to victory. With such men the Bengal army had carved out a name for themselves and an empire for old England, but in 1857, through mismanagement, this army was, with a few bright exceptions, in a state of insubordination or open mutiny. From beginning to end the officers had had unbounded confidence in their men. In many cases they doubted the faithfulness of other regiments, but looked upon their own as thoroughly reliable, and blindly kept with them until they were shot down by the very men whom they had for years commanded or patted on the back and treated as children. The fact is, our people had played with the cat until she found out she could use her claws.

But the Government was determined to grapple with the Mutineers; and, during the fifteen months ending April, 1858, 47,000 men from England were landed in India to uphold the supremacy of our rule. All that was wanted was a few men with clear heads, honest, upright, and fearless. And we had them. The right man was soon put into the right place—Sir Colin Campbell, afterwards Lord Clyde. This grand old hero quickly collected around him men with heads as clear and hearts as fearless as his own, to lead the troops on from victory to victory, until the last spark of rebellion was well stamped out, and the murderers and would-be murderers were cringing at our feet.

Many of the Natives were under the impression that nearly the whole of the British army had been destroyed by the Russians in front of Sebastopol, and that we had no more to send out. But they were speedily undeceived, for, as I have said, no fewer than 47,000 British troops were landed in India within little more than a year after the first evidence of the outbreak.

THE FIRST MUTINEER.

The spirit of insubordination first showed itself in the 34th Native Regiment, at Barrackpore, and the first victim was the Sergeant-Major “Hewson.” The Adjutant went at once to the rescue of his Sergeant-Major, but his horse was shot, and before he could get disengaged from his charger he was cut down; the wounded Sergeant-Major rushed to the assistance of his officer, but was felled to the earth like a bullock with the butt end of a rifle. A strong guard was looking on all the time, but would not interfere. A Sepoy, named Mungul Pandy, was the first mutineer. He was hung.

In the early part of January, 1857, placards were posted in various places, calling upon all the faithful and true believers to rise against the English infidels, and drive them from India, or destroy them root and branch, and proclaiming a holy war against us (all those who fell in such a war would be venerated as martyrs). The 34th Native Regiment, as I before remarked, appear to have been the ringleaders in this bloody revolt. The 19th Natives were en route to Barrackpore, which is about sixteen miles from Calcutta, and had arrived within eight miles, when a deputation from the 34th met them, with the proposition that they should unite, set fire to all the bungalows, surprise and massacre all Europeans, old and young, rich and poor, secure the guns, and then march into, sack, and destroy Calcutta. The 19th were hardly ripe enough for that, but they kept all knowledge of the proposal to themselves. The Government could not believe that the army would rise, but thought the disturbance only began and ended in the plot of a few bad characters; they were, however, suddenly awakened to a sense of danger.

On the 10th of May, 1857, the Mutiny burst forth in all its fury at Meerut. It was Sunday, and the cowardly brutes waited until the European troops were in church before moving. There were two splendid regiments there, besides Artillery, and if they had only been let loose, not a man of the three regiments that started the Mutiny would have lived to tell the tale. The troops in the cantonment consisted of the following:—6th Dragoon Guards, 60th Rifles, and two batteries of Bengal Artillery (all Europeans); Natives, 11th and 20th Infantry, and 3rd Cavalry. Every man, woman, and child (Europeans) that fell in their way was murdered. And, as an eye-witness of some of these scenes, I can say that every horror, making war hideous, attended this dreadful outbreak. The cry of murder from poor defenceless women and children echoed throughout the land. Death in all modes was rampant—from the sword, bayonet, water, flames, and starvation. The barbarity of these fiends has never been equalled. The number who perished during that unparalleled revolt will never be known.

The reader will ask, “What were our men doing?” Their hands were tied. They had an “old woman” in command, and he was fearful that if he let the Cavalry and Artillery loose some of the “bungalows” might get burnt. There was the whole station in a blaze, and yet not a sword was drawn to save a single life until the mutineers had thought fit to move off to Delhi! One of the officer’s wives might well exclaim, “Oh, agony! what a night! Every house in sight was blazing; shots were fired at me; some of our men at last dashed into our compound (garden). I saw the Cavalry uniform. ‘Come, come,’ I shouted, ‘and save me;’ ‘Fear nothing,’ shouted the first man, ‘No one shall injure you.’ Oh how I thanked them. If our Artillery and Dragoons had been let loose, the Mutineers would never have reached Delhi.” The three regiments of rebels at once marched off to Delhi—37 miles, and the Cavalry reached it next day at 8 a.m. The three regiments of Native Infantry at Delhi—38th, 54th, and 74th—received the 3rd Cavalry with open arms, and allowed their officers to be cut or shot down by them without attempting to defend them.

THE SCENES AT DELHI.

In describing the revolting scenes at Delhi, I will quote the words of those who had the misfortune to be there. The officers of all the regiments, viz., 38th, 54th, and 74th, and the Artillery, had the greatest confidence in their men, and at once marched them to attack the Mutineers just arrived from Meerut. But, poor deluded men, they were soon let into the terrible secret; their own men turned their arms upon them and at once shot them, or allowed the Meerut contingent to ride up to them and cut them down, exclaiming, “Feringhee! Ko! Maro, Maro!”—kill the Englishmen; kill, kill. Then the carnage commenced. What a scene! The Mutineers united to exterminate all that they could lay their hands upon, without distinction of age or sex—all that those bloody-thirsty wretches could reach were launched into eternity, for no other crime than that they had a white face. No pen can describe the awful deeds of these cowardly villains. Poor defenceless creatures were cut and hacked to pieces, after being stripped and subjected to brutality ten times worse than death. Poor women were hunted up by these fiends, and, when found, were dragged from their hiding-places and tortured. I will just give a few instances to show how they were treated. After some of these poor creatures had been subjected to worse than death, they were tied to trees in a state of nudity, old and young, their children were then tortured before them, by being cut limb from limb, one joint at a time, and the flesh was crammed down the parents’ throats; wives, and in many cases young maidens, were ravished before the eyes of husbands and fathers; they were then mutilated in a manner too horrible to relate, and burnt to death in one common pile. Others, pretty, very pretty girls, were seized, stripped naked, tied to a cart, and taken into the midst of these brutes to be violated; while many died under the brutal treatment they received. Can the reader wonder, after reading these details—which give only a very faint idea of the horrors that attended this mutiny—that our men retaliated? They would not have been human had they not, at the bare recital of such deeds, been wrought up to a state bordering on madness. British soldiers could not stand this. They crossed their bayonets and swore to give no quarter, but that they would have a life for every hair that had been dishonoured by these scoundrels! And they kept their word.

The public will never know a hundredth part of the sufferings of our poor fellow-countrywomen in that hellish Mutiny of 1857-8. The narratives of those who escaped the fiendish rage and brutality and lust that characterised the proceedings of the Mutineers during that black month of May, 1857, are enough to make one’s blood curdle in the veins—

On horror’s head horrors accumulate.

I am most happy, however, to be able to record that there were a few Natives who, in the midst of those scenes of blood, proved to the world that they still retained feelings of humanity, and who nobly stood forward to defend the defenceless (although of the same creed and caste as the bloodthirsty villains by whom those horrors were perpetrated), and some of them proved faithful to the last, even unto death. The escape of many of the fugitives was miraculous, and one can trace the hand of Providence working through it all. In some few instances they managed to cut their way through their would-be murderers with a good sword and a strong arm. In one case, a gentleman, when he found that all was lost, and that there was no mercy to be expected from the hands of those whom he had previously commanded, compelled his syce (groom), with a revolver at his head, to put his horses into his carriage, in which he immediately placed his wife and family. Armed to the teeth, he drove off along the road to Kurnaul. He had not gone far when he was summoned by a small party of the Mutineers to stop, but, handing the reins to his poor wife, he shot three of them dead and pushed on. Finding, however, that he was pursued, he at once placed his children at the bottom of the carriage, and prepared to sell his life, and the lives of those near and dear to him, dearly. Being well armed, as fast as his would-be murderers came near him he shot them dead. His wife was wounded by a shot from one of the villains, but he still kept on his way—it was life or death. One of his boys kept loading for his father, and thus this gentleman managed to bring down upwards of fifteen of his pursuers in about 12 minutes. He then thought that, as they had dropped to the rear, all might go well; so he easied his horses a little and stopped to look at his poor wife, when to his horror he found that she had been shot dead, with her babe at her breast—one ball had launched them both into eternity. In twenty miles he was six times stopped after that, but on each occasion he responded to the call by rolling his assailants over. He lived to help to storm Delhi, and there revenge his poor wife and child.

A SURVIVOR’S NARRATIVE.

But, reader, the scenes that were enacted in the interior of that guilty city would baffle the imagination. I will try and describe a few of them, though language would utterly fail me were I to attempt to pourtray them in adequate terms. A number of gentlemen employed at the various banks and public offices, the greater portion of whom lived in the city, being burdened with large families, were unable to procure means of escape. It was reported to Mr. —— by one of his servants that there was an uproar in the city, that the Cavalry from Meerut were murdering all the Europeans they could lay their hands upon, and that the Budmashes of the city (rogues or villains) had joined them. He did not know what to do, and waited for a time to see what would turn up. “In the mean time,” he says, “we held a prayer meeting, and committed ourselves into His keeping, whose arm I knew was not shortened. I then took a walk down the street and found it empty. I was armed with a good stick, and at a distance I could see a large crowd of men, all armed with lattees (sticks shod with iron) or talwars (swords). I offered a silent prayer for protection. I had promised my poor wife that I would not be gone long. I at once turned back, for I could distinctly hear them shouting and shrieking like madmen, ‘Maro Feringhee!’—kill the English. I had not got far when I found that there was another party in front of me, so I did not know what to do, as they had got between me and my house. I at once bolted down a narrow lane, and they after me, shouting—‘Maro, Maro Feringhee!’ One man tried to stop me. He had a talwar in his hand, but I managed to knock him down with my stick, while I received a wound in my shoulder, and passed on. I continued to dodge them, but could not get home, being hidden all day in a faithful Hindoo’s house. In the afternoon I succeeded in getting close up to my own house, and called one of my servants, but could not make any one hear. At last I made up my mind to go home at all hazards. I had not gone many yards when I met some Natives whom I knew well, and they told me to save myself. I got home as quickly as possible. I heard some one crying in one of my outhouses, and soon found out that it was a faithful servant of mine—an old man who had been in our service for upwards of twenty years. I called him by name, and when he saw me he, poor old man, burst out crying the louder, saying, ‘Oh, Sahib, they have killed them all, they have killed them all,’ wringing his hands in agony. I felt very faint, and requested him to give me a little water. It is impossible for me to describe my feelings. I sat down and asked the dear old creature to tell me all about it and how it happened. He again burst out crying, but after a time collected himself. I repeated ‘Now do tell me.’ ‘Oh, Sahib,’ he said, ‘when you had gone, Mem Sahib (lady) and all the children sat together, Mem Sahib was very frightened; we could hear a great noise, and the guns firing, and another Sahib next door loaded his gun, and shortly after a crowd came and went into the Sahib’s house. They were all armed with talwars and spears, and all went into the Sahib’s. The Sahib asked them what they wanted, when they commenced to abuse him, and told him that all Feringhees had to die. The servants all ran away—I only remained behind, and they told me if I did not go they would kill me. The Sahib told them to take what they liked, but not to kill us, or they would be hung. They abused him very much, and went up to his Mem Sahib and began to pinch her. She called upon the Sahib to protect her. The Sahib called out in a terrible voice, ‘Thome sawur’ (you pig), and shot the would-be murderer dead, and with another barrel shot another who had just killed one of his children, and then laid about them with the butt-end of his rifle, and with two revolvers he soon had a heap of dead all around him. But at last he was overpowered and killed, and they then set to and murdered all in the house; and they hit me, and told me again if I did not go they would kill me. I then ran to my Mem Sahib to try and protect her, but they threw me out of the house, and some of them said ‘Kill him,’ others said ‘He is an old man, let him go.’ They then killed all, and took away what they liked. I could listen to no more, but requested him to come into the house with me. I first went into my neighbour’s house, for I felt so bad that I could not face my own. Oh, horror of horrors! the first sight that I caught was that of a fine little fellow crucified to the wall; this cruel death the poor mother had been compelled to witness. They had then killed all the other children, and next stripped the poor mother naked and dishonoured her (she, poor thing, being far advanced in pregnancy), while her husband was lying dead beside her. What an end to come to! I sat down, for I thought my heart would burst. I sat for some time, and then went to my own door. I rapped at the door, but could not enter. I thought my brain would have turned. I was determined, however, to see all, if possible; but language fails to describe that horrible sight. All that was near and dear to me in this world lay mutilated on the ground. Oh, the intense agony I was in! I was now completely exhausted; how long I remained there I could not say. At last a feeling of revenge seemed to take hold of me. I jumped up, and went and found my revolvers (for I had two good ones). I loaded them, and then sat down by the side of my poor wife. I had not been there more than half-an-hour, when two men came in and called out in a commanding voice ‘Khon hy’ (who are you?) I remained quiet, and they came up to me and shouted, ‘Feringhee, Feringhee; Maro Feringhee Ko.’ I at once brought my revolver into play, and shot the fellow dead; he fell upon my poor wife, and before the other had time to move one yard I had the pleasure of dropping him, and finishing him off with his own sword, which, by the bye, was a good English blade. They were hardly down when three others came rushing in. It was then getting dusk, and they got a light; but I had my revenge, and shot the whole of them—two of them dead on the spot, and the third wounded; he tried to get away, but I caught him before he reached the door, and put a ball through his head. I knew it would not do for me to stop there, so I mustered all the strength I could, kissed my poor wife and five children—all cold in death. I found another good revolver that one of my would-be murderers had dropped, and some ball and powder. My good old servant dressed me up, and I passed out of the city as a Native. I started for Meerut next morning. I was joined by another fugitive who had escaped with bare life. I armed him with a revolver and sword, and we determined to sell our lives as dearly as possible. My poor comrade’s rashness nearly cost us our lives. A villain called us Feringhees, and urged one that was with him to ‘Mar Feringhee Ko!’ My comrade at once shot them both, and we took across the fields for it then!”

The following is a list of people killed at Delhi, on that terrible 11th of May, 1857:—Mr. S. Fraser, C.S., resident and governor-general’s agent; Capt. Douglas, 32nd native infantry, assistant and commandant of palace guards; the Rev. M. A. Jennings, chaplain, and Miss Jennings; Miss Clifford, Mr. Berresford, secretary, Delhi bank, Mrs. Berresford, and five children; Mr. R. Nixon, assistant to resident, Mr. and Mrs. Collins, and six children, Mrs. Fuller, Mr. and Mrs. Skinner and child, Colonel Ripley, 54th native infantry, Captains Burrowes and Smith, 54th native infantry, Dr. Dopping, Lieutenant Edwardes, Captain Gordon, 74th, Lieutenant Hyslop, 74th, Lieutenant Reveley, 74th, Mrs. Staines and family, and a large number of government and bank clerks, press employes, sergeants, conductors, &c., with their wives and families; also Mr. J. P. Macwhirter, C.S., of Kurnaul (on a visit), Mr. Hutchinson, C.S., magistrate and collector Mr. A. Galloway, C.S., assistant to ditto, Mrs. Colonel Forster, Mr. F. Taylor, principal Delhi college, Mr. S. G. T. Heatly, editor of the Delhi Gazette, Mrs. Heatly, mother and child, the Rev. Hubbard, missionary, the Rev. Sandes, ditto, Lieut. Raynor, commissary of ordnance, and family. The following escaped, though many of them were subsequently killed or wounded:—Brigadier H. M. Graves, Capt. Nicoll (major of brigade), Mr. C. T. Le Bas, C.S., C. and S. Judge, Sir T. J. Metcalfe, joint magistrate and deputy collector, Mrs. Fraser, Mrs. Tronson, Dr. Balfour, Miss Smith, Mr. and Mrs. Wagentreiber, and infant, Miss Haldane, Lieut. Forrest, Mrs. Forrest and two Miss Forrests, Dr. Stewart, garrison surgeon, Dr. Batson, 74th native infantry, Mrs. Batson and Miss Batson, Mrs. Major Abbott (74th) and family, Major Abbott, Major Paterson, 54th, Colonel Knyvett, 38th, Capt. Tytler, 38th, Lieuts. Holland and Gambier, 38th, Dr. Wood, 38th, Mrs. Wood, Lieut. Peile, 38th, Mrs. Peile, Lieuts. Taylor, Grant, Mew, and Drummond, 74th, Mr. L. Berkeley, principal Sudder Ameen, Mrs. Berkeley and Infant, Capt. De Tessier, artillery, Mrs. De Tessier, and Lieutenant Willoughby. In addition to the above, a very great number fell under the murderous swords and rifles of the Mutineers, on that terrible 11th of May, whose names were never known. The above list was published in the Delhi Gazette. Five officers only escaped that massacre. The scenes in that bloodthirsty city were beyond all conception. Innocent babes were thrown up and caught on the bayonets of these villains. Some of the poor defenceless women were spared for a few days in order to be tortured, and then hacked to pieces, while their dear babes were dashed on the pavement before them; and others were tied to trees and shot. The Natives themselves stood a very poor chance, with this lawless band of murderers around them; whatever they thought they wanted they took, and if a shopkeeper said one word he was shot, under pretence that he was favouring the Europeans.

The rebels were now in full possession of Delhi, and they commenced strengthening the place, for they knew well that the dreaded Feringhees would soon be after them; for the Government was now busy collecting all the available troops that could be relied upon; and it was only upon the Europeans troops that they could rely, for the whole of the Bengal army was either in open arms against us, or were doubtful friends; and it is far better to have an open enemy, then one knows how to deal with him. So at all stations where there were Europeans, the Natives had their teeth drawn (i.e. they were disarmed and dismissed).

THE GREASED CARTRIDGES.

I will now leave the rebels at Delhi for a time, and proceed to Umballah to notice the steps taken by the Commander-in-Chief. It was here that the much-talked-of “cartridge difficulty” came to a head, but it is not my province to enter into any lengthened explanation as to the origin of the allegation as to greased cartridges having been issued—the matter having been much discussed at the time both at home and in India. However, the dissatisfaction of the Native troops now exhibited symptoms of increasing strength, so that at length the European officers suggested the expediency of discontinuing the issue of cartridges. With this view the Commander-in-Chief coincided, and he issued a general order withdrawing the cartridges, and ordering ammunition to be made up by each regiment for its own use. But though many of the Natives professed to be satisfied by this step, it soon became evident that the excitement was by no means allayed. Incendiary fires broke out in all directions, and a vast amount of government and native property was destroyed. About the middle of May (the date of the outbreak at Meerut) many of the Native troops seized their arms, as if expecting a simultaneous movement on the part of their comrades elsewhere, and an outbreak appeared imminent, but the judicious interference and counsel of some of the Native officers availed to calm them, though the conduct of the Native troops was still far from satisfactory to the Europeans near. The Commander-in-Chief had gone to Simla for the season, and as soon as the news reached there of the deeds of the Mutineers at Delhi, all the available troops were ordered to march at once on Umballah. It was now, as I have said, about the middle of May, and the heat was something fearful. But the supremacy of Old England hung in the balance, and heat or no heat these noble regiments marched forward to measure their strength against bloodthirsty villains, and they went from victory to victory. The cowardly brutes could murder poor defenceless women and innocent children, but they soon found out, to their cost, that our arm was not shortened, and before four months were over the cringing fiends had paid with their lives for the unspeakably atrocious murders perpetrated. The horrible scenes enacted were enough to make one’s blood run cold, and I dare not attempt to recount them.

THE AVENGING ARMY.

But the avenging army was now on the track, and although it was only a small one, every man composing it was worth his weight in gold to the Government. The head of the Mutiny must be crushed before it had time to collect its forces. The 60th Rifles, 6th Carabineers, and Major Tombs’ battery of Horse Artillery from Meerut, had the honour of first opening the ball. The old 60th gave it them in right good style; and the gentlemen from Delhi got a taste of the Carabineers, but, not having an appetite for any more of such treatment, bolted into the city, leaving all their guns behind them. This force was afterwards joined by one from Umballah, and then marched upon the doomed city, which they were not strong enough to attack, so they pitched their camp on the parade ground, telling the Mutineers plainly that a day of retribution was at hand, that every English bayonet was destined to exact revenge—yea, a fearful revenge—for their murdered countrymen and countrywomen, and the poor helpless children.

AT BENARES AND ALLAHABAD.

A YOUTHFUL HERO.

The whole country was now up in arms, and that vast empire that had taken us 100 years to build up, was shaken to its foundations. But it was held with a tenacious grasp by men whose heads had been screwed on right, backed by those who had been worked up to a state of madness or desperation by the fiend-like deeds of the brutes whom previously we had drilled, fought side by side with, and pampered, while they had looked upon our kindness as a sign of weakness. The revolt was spreading with rapidity. Cantonments all over the country were in flames. Benares, the holy city, was in a blaze. But the Mutineers had a very short life of it there. That noble, brave man, Colonel Neill, dropped in upon them with a portion of his Madras Fusiliers—the present 103rd Fusiliers—and at once put them to flight. The troops in Benares were the 37th N. Infantry, a Sikh regiment, and the 13th Irregular Cavalry. The odds were heavy against our men—1500 against 500—and they had just come in from a long march. But the dreaded “Gorahs” (English soldiers) were too many for them. Troops were now being fast pushed up the country. Although the heat was something terrible—it was over 100 degrees in the shade—the excitement kept our men up. The following regiments were moving up country by road and water as fast as they could: 64th, 78th Highlanders, and 84th—all shaping for Allahabad. But none of them arrived in time to save the unfortunate officers of the 6th N. Infantry. The Mutineers had been playing a double game, and had deceived all their officers, whom they butchered without the slightest show of mercy. It was a bloodthirsty act. All, or nearly all, the officers of that unfortunate regiment were assembled at their mess-house on the 5th June, 1857, when they were shot or bayoneted by the very men whom they had so lately commanded. These officers had put implicit confidence in their men, they having only a few days previously presented a petition to the Government requesting that they might be led against the Mutineers at Delhi; but they and the 3rd Oude Irregular Cavalry murdered all they could lay their hands upon, and pillaged the city, shooting or cutting down all who stood in their way. A noble young hero—a boy—here stood forth in brightest colours. I will give the account as it appeared in the native papers, as it is too good to be abridged. When the wretched 6th N. Infantry and 3rd Oude Irregular Cavalry mutinied at Allahabad and murdered their officers, an ensign only 16 years of age—a Mr. Arthur M. H. Chuk—was left for dead amongst the rest. He escaped in the darkness to a ravine, and, although desperately wounded, contrived to get up into a tree; but on the fifth day he was discovered, and dragged by the brutal sepoys before one of their leaders, to have what little life there was left in him extinguished. There he found a Native Christian, being tormented and tortured in order to induce him to renounce the Christian faith. The firmness of the poor Native was giving way, under the tortures that he, poor thing, was undergoing. The young officer, after anxiously watching him for a short time, cried out with a loud voice, “Oh, my friend, come what may, do not deny the Lord Jesus.” Just at that moment the gallant Colonel Neill, with his Madras Fusiliers, dashed in among them, and thus saved the Native Christian. But the young martyr had passed beyond the reach of human cruelty. He had entered into rest—that rest that is prepared for all those who are faithful to the end. Reader, what a glorious end for one so young!

Colonel Neill had come just in time to save the Fort of Allahabad, as the only Europeans there were a few invalid Artillerymen. All the non-military were at once armed, and formed up as militia, determined to fight desperately for their lives. The gallant Colonel was resolved to give the enemy no rest, and, with 200 of his Fusiliers and a few guns, he made Allahabad a little too hot for them. Reinforcements were now coming up the country as fast as possible. A column was quickly formed to be pushed on to Cawnpore. In the meantime, horrible accounts kept coming in from all parts of Bengal. Jhansie was lost; the men, women, and children, had all been massacred. They made a noble stand in a little fort, as long as they had any food; but at last had to give in for the want of provisions. They evacuated the fort under a faithful promise that their lives should be spared; but as soon as the rebels had got their arms from them, they set to and tied them to trees, subjecting both male and female, old and young, to treatment too horrible to mention—deeds such as have no equal except at Cawnpore. I am sorry to have to record that the “Ranee,” Queen of Jhansie, was at the head of this rising, and this fiend in the form of woman is believed to have stood by and given the order to slaughter our poor defenceless women and children, after they had suffered worse than death itself. Nowgong and Saugor were gone, and all that could not escape were shot down. Some of the officers managed to escape with their lives by riding night and day to Agra.

NANA SAHIB AT CAWNPORE.

All eyes were now directed to Cawnpore and Lucknow. Sir H. Wheeler was at the former place with the 1st Light Cavalry, 53rd and 56th, two batteries of Artillery, some Oude Irregular Cavalry, and some 500 or 600 of Nana Sahib’s troops—this gentleman being supposed, up to the present, to be loyal to our Government. All the reliable forces that Gen. Sir H. Wheeler had consisted of a number of officers who had made their way as Fugitives from other stations and the officers of the above-named regiments, together with detachments from the following regiments that had been pushed up country: a few of the Madras Fusiliers, about 60 men of the 84th, and a company of the 32nd from Lucknow. His whole force consisted of about 250 fighting men, including officers, with whom he had to protect no fewer than 520 defenceless women and children. Had it not been for these poor creatures he would have cut his way through to Allahabad. Being compelled to retire to his intrenchments, he defended himself against a host, although cut off from all communications. The rebels first thought of marching off to Delhi, to join with those who were trying to exterminate the Feringhees. But the wily Nana Sahib persuaded them to return to Cawnpore first, and to destroy all the English in that place—old and young, rich and poor, all had to die. In order to induce them to do so, he promised double pay if they would only fight for him. They at once marched back and summoned the General to surrender or die. The Nana at once attacked the intrenchments, but was driven back with terrible slaughter. They then brought up heavy guns and opened a destructive fire upon them. Numbers of the poor women and children were killed, but our men peppered them pretty well. They came on repeatedly to try and take the works, but the rifle, so much despised by them, threw death and destruction in their ranks. The heat was something fearful, and as our poor women had no shelter from the scorching rays of the sun, a number of them were stricken down by it to rise no more. They were the most fortunate of the whole. Many were cut to pieces with shot and shell. One poor woman sat nursing her twin boys, but a few months’ old, when a round shot from the enemy took off both her arms, and killed her two dear little ones. The agony of that poor mother, no pen can describe. At times the air was full of shells bursting in all directions, but still this noble little garrison held out, and repeatedly drove their assailants back. Our people did not forget the bayonet, and all those rebels who were more daring than the rest got it with a vengeance; they soon began to get tired of it, and wanted to be off to Delhi.

All who fell into Nana Sahib’s hands met with a horrible death. He was told by more than one lady that their countrymen would avenge all this useless slaughter, for none ever before were known to kill women and children. But this brute was beneath all feeling. On the 12th of June, some 126 fugitives from Futteghur—men, women, and children—were dragged before this monster, and were ordered to be cruelly murdered in cold blood. Day after day rolled on, and Gen. Wheeler nobly held out, although the host around him was being daily augmented, and all were panting for the blood of the Feringhees. Almost every day poor fugitives from other stations, not knowing that Cawnpore was in the hands of the rebels, came rushing into the very jaws of death; the men were at once shot down, while the poor women were reserved for a fate worse than death at the hands of a mob, who were now in a state of madness on account of the noble stand that a mere handful of men were making. Some of the poor defenceless women begged hard for the lives of their little ones; but the order had gone forth that every man, woman, and child of European blood had to die, and every device that could be thought of to work upon the poor deluded natives to deceive and animate them to the most fiend-like deeds, was carried out. The following is a copy of one of the false proclamations that this arch-fiend—Nana Sahib—had posted up all over the city of Cawnpore:—

But this treacherous murderer of women and children soon began to find out his mistake. He had a mere handful of men in front of him, but even these he could not subdue. He moved about Cawnpore in great pomp, having now under his command a strong force of disloyal troops that had been well drilled by us, and often led on to victory.[16] And these poor deluded creatures believed that our ray (or reign) in India was over, and all that they had to do was to destroy us, root and branch, and “all the yellow-faced, narrow-minded people would be sent to hell.” But the heroic defence that Gen. Wheeler was making in an old open intrenchment, exposed to a burning sun in June, nearly drove this black-hearted coward mad. This little band of heroes held out until the 26th of June, repulsing with great slaughter all attempts to defeat them by force of arms, when, having nothing to eat or drink, Gen. Wheeler accepted the Nana’s terms of peace, and laid down his arms, having received a faithful promise that not a hair of their heads should be touched, but that the General and his officers, all his men, the women and children, should be sent on to Allahabad in boats, and they were all taken down to the boats, but here a crime was committed that stands unparalleled in the annals of Indian history. The party arrived at the water’s edge, and embarked in large country boats, each sufficient to carry forty or fifty people. Then a wholesale butchery commenced. As they put off, masked guns opened upon them with grape, canister, shot and shell, together with volley after volley of musketry. Some of the boats took fire, and many of the women jumped into the water, in order to avoid being burnt to death; then the Sowars (Cavalry soldiers) waded in and cut the poor things down! There were fifteen boat loads, consisting mostly of helpless wounded men, women, and children. About 115 women and children escaped this massacre, to be tortured for a few days more, and then to receive treatment worse than death.

THE MASSACRES.

The few men who escaped, including General Wheeler, were dragged ashore and thrown into prison Some of the women could not, and would not, be separated from their husbands, exclaiming “If my husband is to die, I will die with him.” That fiend Nana ordered his soldiers to separate them, but it could not be done except by killing them. The minister or chaplain requested permission of Nana to pray with them. It was granted; his bonds were partially loosened, and, as soon as he had ended, the whole were shot down, those who gave signs of any life remaining being cut and hacked to pieces with swords. After this the women and children were taken to Nana Sahib’s house, which was afterwards the scene of a fearful massacre. They were kept here until the defeat of Nana Sahib’s troops by the army under Sir Henry Havelock, and subsequent investigation revealed the horrible fact that, immediately upon the result of the action becoming known to Nana Sahib, the whole of the women and children detained by him, with such other Europeans as could be found secreted within the city, and several Bengalese residents who had become obnoxious to the Mohammedans by their connection with the Europeans, were put to death under circumstances of revolting barbarity. The courtyard of the building in which the women and children had been confined appeared to have been the principal scene of slaughter; and, when entered by our men, it was covered, to the height of two inches, with blood, and with the tattered remains of female apparel. The walls, too, were covered with splashes of blood, and on one of the pillars the victims of the fell deed had written in letters of blood—“Avenge us, fellow-countrymen.” But there was no need for this exhortation. Our men were already fully aroused, and were determined to exact the utmost vengeance. Of upwards of 200 innocent and helpless women and children that had been confined in the Subada Kothee, not one remained alive at the close of that day!

The following description of the scene which met the horrified gaze of our soldiers, when they entered the city, I take the liberty of transcribing:—“Accustomed as those stern men had been to scenes of blood and the devastating ravages of war, the sack of towns, and the carnage of the battle-field, the spectacle that now met their gaze unmanned the strongest in the ranks. Before them lay a paved court, strewn with the wrecks of women’s clothing and children’s dresses, torn and cut into ragged and bloody fragments, as if hacked from the persons of the living wearers! Gory and dishevelled tresses of human hair lay trampled among the blood that had yet scarcely congealed upon the pavement! Exclamations of horror subsided into deathlike stillness, as the men rushed across that slippery court into the building before them. Traces of brutal violence, of savage and ferocious murder, told in each apartment the fearful history of the preceding night; but not one living being was there to disclose the awful secret yet to be revealed, or indicate the spot in which the survivors (if any there were) of an evident massacre had taken refuge. At length the fearful truth was realised; a huge well in the rear of the building had been used by the murderers as a fitting receptacle in which to hide their martyred victims from human eyes; and here, yet reeking with blood, stripped of clothing, dishonoured, mutilated, and massacred, lay the bodies of 208 females and children of all ages—the dying and the dead festering together in that hideous well! There lay the hapless mother and her innocent babe; the young wife and the aged matron; girlhood in its teens, and infancy in its helplessness—all—all had fallen beneath the dishonoured tulwars of the Mahratta destroyer, and his fierce and cowardly accomplices in crime. Upon the walls and pillars of the rooms in which this astounding act of pitiless barbarity had been perpetrated were the marks of bullets, and of cuts made by sword-strokes—not high up as if men had fought with men, but low down, and about the corners, where the poor crouching victims had been cut to pieces! On those walls, in some places nearly obliterated by the blood that yet clung congealed in all directions, were discovered short scraps of pencil-writing, and scratches upon the plaster. In one apartment was a row of women’s shoes and boots, with bleeding amputated feet in them! On the opposite side of the room, the devilish ingenuity of the mocking fiends was shown in a row of children’s shoes, filled in a similar way!”

One deed of heroism that has been recorded deserves mention here. A daughter of General Wheeler’s was taken off by a sowar and put into his house along with his wife, near the church. This girl remained till nightfall; and when he came home drunk and fell asleep, she took a sword and cut off his head, his mother’s head, two children’s heads, and his wife’s head, and then walked out into the air; and when she saw other sowars, she said, ‘Go inside and see how nicely I have rubbed the rissaldar’s feet.’ They went inside, and found them all dead. She then jumped into a well and was killed.

THE RE-CAPTURE OF DELHI.

A noble band, in spite of the terrible heat, had marched down from the hills, where they had been located to screen them from the intenser sun of the burning plains, and Mr. Pandy soon found out his mistake. This little force—but a mere handful of men—confronted them twice just outside the city of Delhi, and gave them such a thrashing as they little expected, which caused them to bolt into the city to get behind its ramparts. At this time (May, 1857), the population of Delhi (without the mutineers, who flocked there in thousands) amounted to 200,000. The British Empire trembled on that ridge in front of Delhi in the early part of June, 1857. The supremacy of Britain was held in the hands of 3,000 grim-faced men, who had made up their minds that if India was to be torn from our grasp, they would not live to tell the tale. All honour to them! Night after night, day after day, week after week, and month after month, they fought to uphold the honour of Old England; yea, I say, they fought, as it were, with their shrouds around them, against a host of murderers who were thirsting for their blood. It is but right that this small force of heroes should be enumerated, for they were the first to grapple with the enemy, so confident of victory and exulting in their strength. They consisted of the 6th Dragoons or Carabineers, two squadrons of the 9th Lancers, six companies of the 60th Rifles (the 75th), 1st Bengal Fusiliers (the present 101st Fusiliers), six companies of the 2nd Bombay Fusiliers (the present 102nd Fusiliers), the Sirmoor Battalion Ghoorkas—noble little fellows; and about 30 guns of various batteries of Bengal Artillery. This little band was afterwards augmented by the 8th, 52nd, 61st, and 104th Fusiliers, and a number of loyal Native troops from the Punjaub.

THE DELHI FIELD FORCE.

The last man and gun had been sent by Sir John Lawrence from the Punjaub. Not a sword or bayonet had as yet reached them from England, although thousands were on the way. It was not the first time, however, that our highest martial interests had been safely left in the hands of a Norfolk man. Britons will for ages to come be justly proud of the name of Wilson—the name of a respected Norfolk family. The whole force that Sir Archdale Wilson had now under his command amounted to 8748. It was do or die. If Delhi was not taken, and that at once, the whole of India would have to be re-conquered. The Punjaub was tottering; and, unless we could prove to Sikhs, Ghoorkas, Punjaubees, and Afghans, that we were the descendants of their conquerors, they would turn their arms against us. Thus it was time for Britons to “strike home.” The enemy was gaining strength and confidence every day, whilst our ranks were being rapidly thinned by cholera, sunstroke, and the continual attacks of the Mutineers. But on the morning of the 14th September, 1857, the storming columns of attack were formed up, and our batteries thundered forth the summons to the murderers of defenceless women, whilst the sword of justice was just about to plunge itself into their cowardly hearts. After a short address from their noble leader the columns dashed forward—all being left to the bayonet, as it had often been before—and in our men went, shoulder to shoulder. The enemy was ready, and fought like demons, for they knew well that they were fighting with halters around their necks. But the bloodthirsty brutes could not withstand British pluck. In some cases, when they found that they had to confront our men, they fought with desperation; in other cases they threw down their arms, and had the audacity to beg for mercy! A thrust of the bayonet was the immediate and only answer. But as a rule the enemy fought with desperation from house to house, and had to be hunted out of their hiding-places with cold steel. For seven days and nights this unequal contest lasted—a handful of men against a host,—but on the 20th our proud old flag was once more floating over the whole of Delhi—this guilty city was again in our hands. But what a scene presented itself! We had lost some of the best blood of Britain. Poor Nicholson was no more, and out of our small force we had lost, from the 14th to the 20th, 64 officers and 1680 non-commissioned officers and men.

The following return will be of interest. It shows the strength, with the number of the killed and wounded of the Delhi field force up to the final capture of the city by Sir Archdale Wilson, Bart., K.C.B. 20th September, 1857:—