About this time I heard one morning that a man had been convicted in concert with a woman of committing a grave offence, and that the woman had, according to custom, been sentenced to be exposed in every bazaar in the country, in the way already described. The man had been sentenced to death, and ordered to Shoogoonoo for execution. As the offence was not one which our courts would punish with death, I sent a friendly remonstrance to the Maharajah, and requested that he might be produced before me, that I might satisfy myself that he was uninjured. The Maharajah at once consented, and in a few days the man was brought before me safe and sound, and after having been exposed as a criminal in several bazaars, he was sentenced with my approval to a fitting term of imprisonment. I also asked the minister in future, to let me know for certain when a sentence of death was passed, that I might advise them, without appearing to the outer world to interfere, in case they inadvertently condemned a man to capital punishment, for a crime which our laws would not approve of being visited so severely. Realising that my object was to save them from discredit, they at once consented, and I hinted that I would never sanction the penalty of death for cow-killing.

As I have stated, it had been almost always the custom to refer death sentences to me. Often and often when I made a remonstrance to the ministers about any contemplated action of which I disapproved, I was told that I misapprehended the state of things, and that nothing of the kind was intended. Of course, I let them down easily, and appeared satisfied with their assurances. However, neither party was deceived, they accepted my strong hint in a friendly spirit, and knew well that I took their denial as a mere matter of form. The result was what I cared for, and it was generally achieved without friction.

One of the most unpleasant parts of my duty was the perpetual necessity of saying “No” to the ministers. My great object was to be continually building up our prestige. Colonel McCulloch had said to me, “Never make any concession to the Manipuris without an equivalent,” and it is inconceivable how many times in our daily intercourse I had to refuse little apparently insignificant, but really insidious requests. The struggle on behalf of native British subjects was long kept up, but in the end I gained my point, and their rights and privileges were fully recognised.

Early in June, some men of the Merema clan of Konoma who were fugitives in a very wild part of the hills of Manipur bordering on the Naga Hills, came to me, making a piteous appeal for mercy, saying they would have nothing to do with the Naga Hills officials, but came to me as their old friend and master in the days when I was at Samagudting. As they came in trusting to my honour, I would not have them arrested, but sent them away, telling them that nothing but good and loyal conduct on their part could win my esteem, and that they must make their submission and deliver up Mr. Damant’s murderers to the Political Officer in the Naga Hills, before I consented to deal with them. I also gave orders to the Manipuri troops on the frontier, to act with the utmost vigour against all Konoma men found within the territory of Manipur.

Soon after some Lushais visited me, and we settled up a long-standing dispute between them and Manipur.

The Konoma men continued to give much trouble, and to keep some check on them, I refused at last to allow any to enter Manipur, except by the Mao Tannah, and furnished with a pass from the Political Officer, Colonel Michell. I also arrested one of the supposed murderers, but the evidence against him was not considered quite satisfactory.

On the morning of June 30th, at 4.45, when we were at Kang-joop-kool there was a violent earthquake, the oscillations continuing with great force from north to south, and apparently in a less degree from east to west for some minutes. Plaster was shaken from the walls, and crockery and bottles thrown down, and furniture upset. Locked doors were flung open and the whole house, built of wood and bamboo, shaken as by a giant hand. Two Naga girls sleeping in my children’s room next to the one my wife and I occupied, sprang up and ran outside, my two boys, not realising what was up, seemed to think it a good joke. We all got up and hurried on our things to be ready for an emergency, but I soon saw that all present danger was over. At 8.50 A.M., there was another sharp shock, and again about 2 P.M., besides several slighter ones.

In the valley, and especially at the capital, the shocks were of the utmost violence and the earthquake said to be the worst known with the exception of the terrible one of January 1869. Many houses built of wood and bamboo were levelled with the ground, the ruins at Langthabal greatly injured, and a peepul tree growing over a picturesque old temple torn off. The old Residency was greatly injured, part being thrown down, and the fireplace and chimney shaken into fragments, but still, strange to say, standing. Some houses in the Residency compound were rendered useless. The great brick bridge on the Cachar road was cracked and much damage done. The earth opened in several places. The new Residency, which was nearly finished, and was built in the old English half-timbered style, was intact.

During the next few days several more shocks occurred, causing much alarm among the people, who predicted something still worse. The earthquake was followed by the severest outbreak of cholera that I had witnessed since a dreadful epidemic in Assam in 1860. There were many deaths in the palace, and public business was at a standstill. I was unable to lay any question before the Durbar, as half the officials were performing the funeral ceremonies of relations. The great bazaar was closed at sunset, and even then many of the sellers went home to find their children dead or dying. Everywhere on the banks of the rivers, and streams, people might be seen performing the funeral obsequies of relations and lamenting the dead. Amid this trouble, the attitude of all classes was such as to excite admiration, there were no cases of sick being deserted and every one appeared calm and collected.

Later on, the cholera attacked my village of Kang-joop-kool, and ten per cent. of the population died.

Early in the autumn, the Maharajah was taken ill with an abscess behind the ear, and great apprehensions were entertained for his life. The whole capital was for weeks in a state of alarm, fearing a struggle for the throne in case of his death. The four eldest sons, and also some members of the family of the late Rajah Nur Singh, had their followers armed so as to be ready to assert their several claims immediately the Maharajah died, the former were constantly in attendance on their father night and day. The Maharajah was himself very anxious about the conduct of his younger sons. As suffocation might any moment have terminated the invalid’s life, I made all necessary plans, with a view to acting promptly, if required, and, in conjunction with Thangal Major, arranged so as to secure the guns and bring them over to the Residency the moment that he died. I also desired the Jubraj (heir apparent) to come over to me at once, in the event of the death of his father, that I might instantly proclaim him and give him my support. I had a most grateful message from the Maharajah in reply, as also from the Jubraj, who promised to abide entirely by my instructions. However, the abscess burst, and the Maharajah recovered, and though a shot imprudently fired one evening led to a panic when the bazaar was deserted, things soon settled down again.

As soon as the Maharajah was again able to transact business, he begged me to write to the Government of India and request that the Jubraj should be acknowledged by them as his successor. I did so, at the same time strongly urging that the guarantee should be extended to the Jubraj’s children, so as to preclude the possibility of a disputed succession on his death. The Jubraj earnestly supported this request, but the Maharajah preferred adhering to the old Manipuri custom, which really seemed made to encourage strife. If, for instance, a man had ten sons, they all succeeded one after the other, passing over the children of the elder ones, but when the last one died, then his children succeeded as children of the last Rajah, to the exclusion of all the elder brothers’ children. All the same, if these could make good their claim by force of arms, they were cheerfully accepted by the people who were ready to take any scion of Royalty.

The consequence had always been in former days that to prevent troublesome claims, a man, on ascending the throne, immediately made every effort to murder all possible competitors. It is obvious that such a cumbersome system was undesirable, and I held that having once interfered we ought to set things on a proper and sensible basis, and that there was no middle course between this and leaving the people to themselves. Thangal Major, who always greatly dreaded the violent and unscrupulous disposition of Kotwal Koireng (afterwards Senaputtee), agreed with me. The Maharajah, however, with a father’s tenderness for his sons, would not advocate my proposal, but still, would have gladly accepted it. The Government of India judged differently, and only sanctioned my proposal so far as to allow me to say that they would guarantee the Jubraj’s succession, and maintain him on his throne. This decision gave great satisfaction.

This year was unpleasantly distinguished by a great deficiency of rain in the valley, and a corresponding superfluity, though at irregular intervals, in the hills. For a long time there were apprehensions of scarcity, while in the hills the rainfall was so heavy that the Laimetak bridge was washed away and the river rose six feet above its banks. On one side, a large portion of its pebbly bed was hollowed out, and much widened, and 80 feet width of solid boulders carried away. The Eerung rose about 40 feet, and portions of the hill road were cut away, but the want of steady rain was felt.

By the end of September, the Maharajah was able to transact business, though, as he was not well enough to visit me, I visited him, that I might congratulate him on his recovery, and present him with Her Majesty’s warrant, appointing him a Knight Commander of the Star of India. The papers bearing the Queen’s signature were received with a salute of thirty-one guns, and the Maharajah rose to take it from my hand, and at once placed it on his forehead, making an obeisance. I then made a speech to all assembled, expressing my satisfaction at the Maharajah’s recovery, and the gratification it gave me to be the means of conveying the warrant to him.

Nothing of great importance now occurred, but I was constantly occupied by the troubled state of the eastern frontier of Manipur where Sumjok (Thoungdoot) continued to intrigue with the Chussad and Choomyang Kukis, who were a ceaseless trouble to the Tankhool Nagas, about Chattik. These intrigues were conducted with a view to gaining over the latter as subjects. The chief difficulty of Manipur was, that the boundary had never been properly defined, so neither party had a good case against the other. Manipur was in possession, but otherwise everything was unsatisfactory, our failure to settle the Kongal case having encouraged the Burmese authorities to resistance.