Happily for the Delhi army, and more especially for the English name, the counsels of the General in command were overruled by the chief officers in the force, and even the gallant Nicholson from his death-bed denounced, in language which those who heard it will never forget, the step contemplated by his superior officer.
Towards the evening of the 15th the enemy, becoming emboldened by our inactivity, attacked the advanced posts along our whole line, and kept up a sharp musketry fire, more especially on the College compound, while the heavy guns at Selimgarh and some at the magazine shelled those gardens and houses adjacent—even as far as the Kashmir Gate—occupied by our troops. At 5 p. m. a battery of heavy guns played on the defences of the magazine, soon crumbling the wall to pieces, and opening out a large breach for assault.
September 16.—My regiment, the 4th Punjab Rifles, and a wing of the Belooch battalion were detailed as a storming party, and mustering at an early hour on the morning of the 16th, we marched to the attack on the magazine.[4] This enclosure—a large walled area close to the Palace—was surrounded by a high curtained wall with towers, the interior space being occupied by buildings and containing a park of artillery and munitions of war. We met with no resistance on our way, and on approaching the breach saw only a few defenders on the ramparts, who opened a fire, which, however, caused little damage. A rush was at once made, the men gaining the top of the bridge without difficulty, and bayoneting some sepoys and firing on the remainder, who fled through the enclosure and were driven out at the gates on the opposite side. We had only about a dozen men killed and wounded, but of the enemy more than 100 lost their lives, being dragged out of the buildings where they had taken refuge and quickly put to death. Two hundred and thirty-two guns fell into our hands, besides piles of shot and shell; in fact, so vast was the amount that, although the enemy had been firing from their batteries for more than three months, making a lavish use of the stores at their command, scarcely any impression seemed to have been made on it.
That day and the following night our position in the captured magazine was anything but pleasant. The rebels continually harassed us with shells fired from the Chandni Chauk and near the Palace. Some, more venturesome than the rest, climbed on ladders to the top of the walls, plying us with musketry and hand-grenades, while others during the night mounted the high trees overhanging the enclosure, and with long lighted bamboos tried to set fire to the thatched buildings and blow up a small magazine. These attempts kept us constantly on the alert; and it was with great difficulty that we prevented damage being done.
Fighting continued during the day among the other portions of the force, and Nos. 1 and 2 Columns made further advances among the streets, the guns and mortars from the bastions throwing shot and shell far into the crowded parts of the city. Houses in commanding situations were taken and made secure from assault by defences of sand-bags. Great judgment was shown in these operations, and the losses in consequence were comparatively few; but the enemy as yet gave no signs of retreating from Delhi, and our leaders felt that great exertions would still be necessary before the city fell entirely into our hands.
September 17.—During the 17th and 18th a constant fire of shells from upwards of twenty mortars was directed from the magazine and College grounds on the Selimgarh Fort and the Palace, those from the bastions still firing into a large portion of the city. Skirmishing went on at the advanced posts, and a regular unbroken line of communication was established from one end of our pickets to the other.
September 18.—On the 18th my regiment moved from the magazine and took up its quarters in the Protestant Church, close to the main guard and Kashmir Gate, and at no great distance from the northern walls of the city. This church had been built by the gallant and philanthropic Colonel Alexander Skinner, C.B., an Eurasian and an Irregular cavalry commander of some eminence during the wars in the beginning of the century. He also erected at his own expense a Hindoo temple and a Mohammedan mosque, giving as his reason that all religions were alike, and that, in his opinion, each one was entitled to as much consideration as the other.
This church in which we were now quartered had been sadly desecrated by the rebels and fanatics of the city. They had, in their religious zeal, torn down the pulpit and reading-desk, defaced emblems, broken up the pews and the benches, and shattered all the panes of glass, while here and there inside the building were remains of their cooking-places, with broken fragments of utensils. The walls, too, had suffered much from the effects of our bombardment from September 11 to 14, the church being in the line of fire directed on the bastions. Many, no doubt, would consider it a sacrilege to quarter English troops in this sacred edifice, but the exigencies of war required its use for this purpose, and of all the buildings occupied by us during our stay in Delhi, the church was found to be cleanest and best ventilated, free from the noisome smells and close atmosphere of the native houses.
The close of the 18th saw our outposts extended hard by the Chandni Chauk—the main street of the city—the bank, Major Abbott's and Khan Mohammed's houses having first been seized by our men, who suffered severely from the field-guns and musketry of the rebels. There was also another unsuccessful attack made on the Burn bastion and Lahore Gate by the right column, in which the 75th lost one officer and many men killed. The arrangements for attack seemed to have been bad and ill-advised; the soldiers felt the want of the guiding genius of Nicholson, and, during an advance through a narrow lane were literally mown down by grape from the enemy's field-guns.
The weather, which since the 14th had been fine, broke up on the night of the 18th, and was succeeded by a terrific storm of rain, which fell in torrents like a deluge. That night it was reported that the rebels in great numbers were evacuating the city by the south side, the Bareilly and Neemuch brigades making off in the direction of Gwalior. Certain it is that from this period signs of waning strength appeared among the enemy, and fewer attempts at assault were made on our outposts, those on the left near the Palace, which were well protected by breastworks, being only exposed to a very desultory fire of musketry.
During the forenoon of the 18th there was, I think, a partial eclipse of the sun, which lasted three hours. The unusual darkness which prevailed astonished us beyond measure (our minds being taken up with events more startling than astronomical phenomena) till reference to an almanac explained the mystery. The eclipse had, we were told, an alarming effect on the mutineers, who attributed the phenomenon to some supernatural agency. The darkness no doubt worked on their superstitious fears, and hastened their flight from the city on which the wrath of the Almighty had descended.
September 19.—On the 19th operations in front of the Palace Gate were continued, a heavy fire being kept up against that place, while the 60th Rifles and others, perched on the tops of houses, took unerring aim at the rebels clustered in the open space. The same evening, also, the exertions of the right column were rewarded by the capture of the Burn bastion, with little loss on our side.
It was now quite evident that the baffled insurgents were retiring from Delhi in great numbers, mostly by the south side, few crossing the bridge of boats by day owing to it being commanded by our guns. But on the night of the 19th, when sitting in the church compound watching the shells exploding over the Palace and Selimgarh, we heard distinctly, through the intervals of firing, a distant, confused hum of voices, like the murmur of a great multitude. The sound came from the direction of the river, and was caused by multitudes of human beings, who, escaping by the bridge of boats to the opposite side, were deserting the city which was so soon to fall into our hands.
September 20.—After some sharp fighting, and early on the morning of September 20, the Lahore Gate and Garstin bastion, which during former assaults had cost us the lives of so many men, were taken, the column pushing on along the walls to the Ajmir Gate, which also fell into our hands. There were few defenders at these places, the mass of sepoys having evidently fled into the country; and the troops marched through the streets almost without opposition.
There now remained but the Palace, Selimgarh, and the Jama Masjid, and these were all occupied by our troops on that day. The former seemed almost deserted, an occasional shot from the high walls directed on our defences in the Chandni Chauk being the only signs of animation in that quarter. Powder-bags were brought up and attached, to the great gate, which was quickly blown in; and the 60th Rifles, with some Goorkhas, rushed into the enclosure. A score or two of armed fanatics offered some resistance, but they were soon shot down or bayoneted, and a few wounded sepoys found in the buildings were put to death. Passing through the Palace, Selimgarh was entered, and this, the last fortified position belonging to the enemy, was taken possession of without a struggle.
Meanwhile, a force of cavalry under Hodson moved round outside the city walls, and found a large camp of the enemy near the Delhi Gate. This was deserted, save by some sick and wounded sepoys, who were put to the sword; and the horsemen, riding through the gate, made their way into the heart of the city and took possession of the Jama Masjid without striking a blow.
Delhi had at length fallen into our hands, and the toils and dangers of more than three months were at an end. The principal buildings were occupied by our troops, and guards were placed at each gate with orders to prevent the ingress or egress of any suspicious-looking characters, while parties of armed men patrolled the streets of the city from end to end.
That night we moved back to our old quarters at Ahmed Ali Khan's house, the 52nd taking our place at the church. The first-named building was a vast structure, belonging to a rich native, and had been furnished in a style of Oriental magnificence; but now nothing but the bare walls and floors were to be seen, the place having been ransacked of its treasures and completely gutted since our last occupancy.
From September 15 to 20, when Delhi fell, the force lost in killed and wounded about 200 officers and men, making the total casualties 1,400, including those of the day of assault.
From May 30 to September 13 inclusive 2,490 officers and men were killed and wounded, the grand total being close on 4,000. Add to these fully 1,200 who perished by cholera and other diseases, and it will be seen at what a fearful cost of life to the small force engaged the victory was won.
Truly the capture of Delhi was a feat of arms without a parallel in our Indian annals. The bravery of the men, their indomitable pluck and resolution, the siege carried on with dogged pertinacity and without a murmur, proclaimed to the world that British soldiers, in those stormy times when the fate of an Empire was at issue, had fully maintained the reputation of their ancestors and earned the gratitude of their country.
To me, after the long interval of years, the incidents of the siege, with its continual strife and ever-recurring dangers, come back to me as in a dream. Often in fancy has my mind wandered back to those days of turmoil and excitement, when men's hearts were agitated to their profoundest depths, and our cause appeared wellnigh hopeless. Then it was that a small body of men in a far-away part of North-West India, entirely separated from the rest of the world, a few thousands amongst millions of an alien race, rallied round their country's banners and despaired not, though mutiny and rebellion ranged through the land. With steadfast purpose and with hearts that knew no fear, the Delhi army held its own for months against an overwhelming force of cruel and remorseless rebels. Imperfectly equipped, and with little knowledge of the dangers to be surmounted and the difficulties arising on every side, each man of that force felt himself a host, and devoted his energies—nay, his very life—to meet the crisis. None but those who were there can for one moment realize through what suffering and hardship the troops passed during the three months the Siege of Delhi lasted. Day after day, under a burning sun or through the deadly time of the rainy season, with pestilence in their midst, distressing accounts from all parts of the country, and no hope of relief save through their own unaided exertions, the soldiers of the army before Delhi fought with a courage and constancy which no difficulties could daunt and no trials, however severe, could overcome. In the end these men, worn out by exposure and diminished in numbers, stormed a strong fortified city defended by a vastly superior force, and for six days carried on a constant fight in the streets, till the enemy were driven out of their stronghold and Delhi was won. It must also be remembered that the feat was accomplished without the help of a single soldier from home; reinforcements had arrived in the country, but they were hundreds of miles distant when the news reached them of the capture of Delhi: and it is not too much to say that the success which followed the subsequent operations down-country was due mainly to the fact that all danger from the north-west had virtually ceased, and the mutiny had already received a crushing blow from the capture of the great city of rebellion.
[Footnote 1: Lieutenant Boileau, 61st Regiment, served in the batteries till the end of the siege.]
[Footnote 2: Are not the names of the Engineers Home and Salkeld and of
Bugler Hawthorne (H.M. 52nd Regiment) household words?]
[Footnote 3: Captain Deacon and Lieutenants Moore and Young were wounded in this engagement.]
[Footnote 4: Colonel Deacon, Her Majesty's 61st Regiment, commanded on this occasion.]
CHAPTER V
OCCUPATION OF THE CITY
The renown won by our troops in 1857 is now wellnigh forgotten, and, in fact, their deeds in that distant quarter of our Empire faded into oblivion within a very short period subsequent to the capture of Delhi. When the regiments engaged at that place came home to England after a long course of service in India, scarcely any notice was taken of their arrival. There were no marchings past before Her Majesty at Windsor or elsewhere, no public distribution of medals and rewards, no banquets given to the leading officers of the force, and no record published of the arduous duties in which they had been engaged. Those times are changed, and the country has now rushed into the opposite extreme of fulsome adulation, making a laughing-stock of the army and covering with glory the conquerors in a ten days' war waged against the wretched fellaheen soldiers of Egypt.
Five years passed away after 1857 (and how many poor fellows had died in the meantime!) before a mean and niggardly Government distributed to the remnant of the Delhi army the first instalment of prize-money, and three years more elapsed before the second was paid.
In September, 1861, exactly four years after the storm of Delhi, my regiment paraded at the Plymouth citadel to receive medals for the campaign of 1857. The distribution took place in the quietest manner possible, none but the officers and men of the regiment being present. Borne on a large tray into the midst of a square, the medals were handed by a sergeant to each one entitled to the long-withheld decoration, the Adjutant meanwhile reading out the names of the recipients. There was no fuss or ceremony, but I recollect that those present could not help contrasting the scene with the grand parade and the presence of the Queen when some of the Crimean officers and men received the numerous decorations so lavishly bestowed for that campaign.[1]
The city was entirely in our possession by noon of September 20, and shortly after that hour I proceeded on horseback, with orders from the Colonel, to withdraw all the advanced pickets of my regiment to headquarters at Ahmed Ali Khan's house. These were stationed in different parts of the city, and it was with no small difficulty that I threaded my way through the streets and interminable narrow lanes, which were all blocked up with heaps of broken furniture and rubbish that had been thrown out of the houses by our troops, and formed in places an almost impassable barrier. Not a soul was to be seen; all was still as death, save now and then the sound of a musket-shot in the far-off quarters of the town.
My duty accomplished, I started in the afternoon with two of our officers to view a portion of the city. We made our way first in the direction of the Palace, passing down the Chandni Chauk (Silver Street) and entering the Great Gate of the former imperial residence of the Mogul Emperors. Here a guard of the 60th Rifles kept watch and ward with some of the jovial little Goorkhas of the Kumaon battalion. From the first we learnt particulars of the easy capture of the Palace that morning, and were shown the bodies of the fanatics who had disputed the entrance and had been killed in the enclosure. None of them were sepoys, but belonged to that class of men called "ghazi," or champions of the faith, men generally intoxicated with bhang, who are to be found in every Mohammedan army—fierce madmen, devotees to death in the cause of religion. Passing on, we wandered through the courts, wondering at the vast size of this castellated palace with its towering, embattled walls, till we came to the Dewan-i-Khas, and further on to the Dewan-i-Aum, or Hall of Audience. This last, a large building of white marble on the battlements overhanging the River Jumna, was now the headquarters of the General and his staff, and where formerly the descendants of the great warrior Tamerlane held their court, British officers had taken up their abode; and infidels desecrated those halls, where only "true believers" had assembled for hundreds of years.
Passing thence through a gateway and over a swinging bridge, we entered the old fort of Selimgarh, built, like the Palace, on the banks of the river, its battlements, as well as those of the latter place on its eastern side, being washed by the waters of the Jumna. Several heavy guns and mortars were mounted on the walls of the fort, and we noticed one old cannon of immense size for throwing stone balls, but which was cracked at the muzzle, and evidently had not been used for centuries. The fort was full of large and commodious buildings, used afterwards for hospitals by our troops, the place itself, from its commanding situation open and separate from the rest of the city, being the healthiest place that could be found. There was a lovely view of the country on the left bank of the Jumna, while to the north and south we followed the windings of the broad river till lost to view in the far distance.
Descending from Selimgarh, we took our stand on the bridge of boats now deserted in its whole length, but over which, during the days of the siege, thousands of mutineers had marched to swell the rebel forces in Delhi. Thence we skirted along the banks of the river outside the walls, viewing on our way the houses of the European residents, built in charming situations close to the water's edge. These had been all entirely destroyed, gutted, and burnt; nothing but the bare walls were left standing, and the interiors filled with heaps of ashes. We thought of the wretched fate of the former inmates of these houses, most of whom had been mercilessly killed by the city rabble, urged on in their fiendish work by the native soldiers, of the regular army.
The mutineers of the 3rd Light Cavalry from Meerut had entered Delhi on May 11, crossing the Jumna by the bridge of boats, and, being joined by the city scoundrels, first wreaked their vengeance on the European residents who lived close by, and who, without any previous warning of the terrible fate in store for them, fell easy victims to the murderers. It made our blood run cold, when visiting the ruins of these houses, to think of the dastardly crimes which had been committed in and around the spots on which we were standing. Defenceless and unarmed, helpless in the hands of these human tigers, our unfortunate men, women, and children were immolated without mercy. Turning back, we entered the city by the Calcutta Gate, and walked along the ramparts by the riverside, past the walls of the magazine, till we reached the Water bastion. Here the destructive effect of our batteries during the bombardment was most apparent. Fired at the distance of only 180 yards, the guns had smashed the walls and ramparts to pieces, huge fragments had rolled down into the ditch, and the cannon in the battery were completely dismounted from the carriages, lying in confusion one on top of the other.
At the Kashmir Gate there was a heap of goods (consisting principally of clothes and rubbish) many feet high, which had been looted from the houses around. The guard at the gate had orders to allow no one to pass out with a bundle of any kind; and the consequence was an accumulation of material, chiefly worthless, which covered many square yards of ground. I have omitted all record of the plundering which up to this time, and for long afterwards, took place all over the city where our troops had penetrated. This account I have reserved for the last chapter, where full details of the loot of Delhi and the amount of prize-money accruing to the force will be found. September 21.—During the 21st I, in company with other officers, wandered over the heart of the city, continuing our perambulations south of the Chandni Chauk and penetrating into streets beyond, where the six days' fighting had taken place. The night before we had heard occasional shots fired at no great distance, and these were continued during the day and for some time afterwards.
Looting was going on to a great extent, both European and native soldiers engaging in the work; and though strict orders had been issued to prevent such licence, it was found impossible to check the evil. The shots emanated from these men, who, of course, went about well armed, and brooked no interference when in the act of securing booty. Altercations of a serious nature had taken place between the Europeans and Sikh soldiers, ending sometimes in blows, and often in bloodshed, when the two parties met in a house or were busy employed in dividing the spoil. However, in time, when most of the native troops had left Delhi, and the European regiments were quartered in walled enclosures with a guard at the gates to prevent egress, the looting on the part of the private soldiers ceased, and the prize agents were enabled to gather in the enormous wealth of the city without any trouble.
The portions of the town we passed through on that day had been pillaged to the fullest extent. Not content with ransacking the interior of each house, the soldiers had broken up every article of furniture, and with wanton destruction had thrown everything portable out of the windows. Each street was filled with a mass of debris consisting of household effects of every kind, all lying in inextricable confusion one on top of the other, forming barricades—from end to end of a street—many feet high. We entered several of the large houses belonging to the wealthier class of natives, and found every one in the same condition, turned inside out, their ornaments torn to pieces, costly articles, too heavy to remove, battered into fragments, and a general air of desolation pervading each building. Much of this wholesale destruction was, no doubt, attributable to the action of the sepoys and rabble of the city, who during the siege, and in the state of anarchy which prevailed during that period, had looted to their hearts' content, levying blackmail on the richer inhabitants and pursuing their evil course without let or hindrance. Still, that which had escaped the plundering and devastating hands of the sepoys was most effectually ruined by our men. Not a single house or building remained intact, and the damage done must have amounted to thousands of pounds.
We were quite alone in most streets; deserted and silent, they resembled a city of the dead on which some awful catastrophe had fallen. It was difficult to realize that we were passing through what had been, only a few days before, the abode of thousands of people. What had become of them, and by what magic influence had all disappeared? Not till days afterwards was the mystery solved.
The tai-khanas, or underground rooms of houses, scattered all over the city, were found to be filled with human beings—those who, by age or infirmity, had been unable to join in the general exodus which had taken place during the last days of the siege. Hundreds of old men, women and children, were found huddled together, half starved, in these places, the most wretched-looking objects I ever saw. There was no means of feeding them in the city, where their presence also would have raised a plague and many would have died; so, by the orders of the General, they were turned out of the gates of Delhi and escorted into the country. It was a melancholy sight, seeing them trooping out of the town, hundreds passing through the Lahore Gate every day for a whole week. We were told that provisions had been collected for their use at a place some miles distant, and it is to be hoped the poor creatures were saved from starvation; but we had our doubts on the subject, and, knowing how callous with regard to human suffering the authorities had become, I fear that many perished from want and exposure.
There were other objects also which raised feelings of pity in our minds. During our walks through the streets we caught sight of dozens of cats and tame monkeys on the roofs of the houses, looking at us with most woe-begone countenances, the latter chattering with fear. These, as well as birds of every description left behind in cages by their owners on their flight, literally starved to death in the houses and streets of the city. There was no food for such as these, and it is lamentable to think of the torture and suffering the poor pet creatures endured till death put an end to their misery.
Dead bodies of sepoys and city inhabitants lay scattered in every direction, poisoning the air for many days, and raising a stench which was unbearable. These in time were almost all cleared away by the native scavengers, but in some distant streets corpses lay rotting in the sun for weeks, and during my rides on duty, when stationed at the Ajmir Gate, I often came across a dead body which had escaped search.
On the afternoon of the 21st a most important capture was effected by Hodson. Shah Bahadoor Shah, the old King of Delhi, was taken by that officer near the city while endeavouring to escape down-country.
Hodson, with his accustomed daring, and accompanied by 100 only of his own troopers, seized the person of the King from amongst thousands of armed dependents and rabble, who, awed by his stern demeanour, did not raise a hand in resisting the capture. The King was brought to Delhi the same day, and lodged as a prisoner in the house formerly the residence of the notorious Begum Sumroo. He was guarded by fifty men of my regiment, under command of a Lieutenant; and on the 22nd I went to see him, accompanied by our Adjutant.
Sitting cross-legged on a cushion placed on a common native charpoy, or bed, in the verandah of a courtyard, was the last representative of the Great Mogul dynasty. There was nothing imposing in his appearance, save a long white beard which reached to his girdle. About middle height, and upwards of seventy years old, he was dressed in white, with a conical-shaped turban of the same colour and material, while at his back two attendants stood, waving over his head large fans of peacocks' feathers, the emblem of sovereignty—a pitiable farce in the case of one who was already shorn of his regal attributes, a prisoner in the hands of his enemies. Not a word came from his lips; in silence he sat day and night, with his eyes cast on the ground, and as though utterly oblivious of the condition in which he was placed. On another bed, three feet from the King, sat the officer on guard, while two stalwart European sentries, with fixed bayonets, stood on either side. The orders given were that on any attempt at a rescue the officer was immediately to shoot the King with his own hand.
[Illustration: KING OF DELHI AS A PRISONER IN 1857.]
[From a photograph taken from a pencil sketch by Captain Robles, who was placed on guard over him.]
The old King was brought to trial shortly afterwards at the palace, and found guilty of complicity in the murders of our country men and women, and was transported beyond the seas, dying in British Burmah before he could be removed to the Andaman Islands, where, in accordance with his sentence, he was to have remained in imprisonment for the term of his natural life. The vicissitudes of fortune, numberless as are the instances among men of royal birth, can scarcely show anything more suggestive of the transitoriness of earthly pomp and grandeur than the case of the last King of Delhi. Sprung from the line of the great conqueror Tamerlane, the lineal descendant of the magnanimous Akbar and of Shah Jehan the magnificent, he ended his days as a common felon, far from the country of his ancestors, unwept for and unhonoured.
September 22.—Lieutenant Hodson, also on the 22nd, took prisoner, at a place some miles from Delhi, the two eldest sons and the grandson of the King. These men, more especially the eldest, who was Commander-in-Chief of the rebel army, had been deeply implicated in the murders of May 11, had urged on the sepoys and populace in their cruel deeds, and were present at the terrible massacre of our people which took place in the Chandni Chauk on that day.
Hodson's orders were precise as to the fate of these blood-thirsty ruffians, and though his name has been vilified and his reputation tarnished by so-called humanitarians for the course he adopted in ridding the world of the miscreants, he was upheld in the deed by the whole Delhi army, men in every respect better qualified to form a judgment in this particular than the sentimental beings at home who denounced with horror this perfectly justifiable act of speedy and condign punishment.
The three Princes were placed in a gharee, or native carriage, and, guarded by Hodson's native troopers, were conducted towards the city. Before they entered, the carriage was stopped, and Hodson spoke to his men of the crimes committed by the prisoners. Then, dismounting from his horse and opening the door of the gharee, he fired two shots from a Colt's revolver into each of their hearts. After being driven to the Kotwali, or chief magistrate's house, in the centre of the Chandni Chauk, on the very spot where our country men and women had suffered death, the three bodies were stripped save a rag around the loins, and laid naked on the stone slabs outside the building.
Here I saw them that same afternoon; nor can it be said that I or the others who viewed the lifeless remains felt any pity in our hearts for the wretches on whom had fallen a most righteous retribution for their crimes. The eldest was a strong, well-knit man in the prime of life, the next somewhat younger, while the third was quite a youth not more than twenty years of age. Each of the Princes had two small bullet-holes over the region of the heart, the flesh singed by gunpowder, as the shots were fired close; a cloth covered part of the loins, but they were otherwise quite naked. There was a guard, I think, of Coke's Rifles stationed at the Kotwali, and there the bodies remained exposed for three days, and were then buried in dishonoured graves.
On the 22nd the regiment, or what was left of it, comprising about 180 effective rank and file, moved from Ahmed Ali Khan's house to the Ajmir Gate at the extreme south-western side of the city, a distance of a mile and a half from our former residence. Here we put up in a large serai, with open courtyards in the centre, shaded by high trees, the small rooms on each side of the building being turned into quarters for the men, the officers taking up their abode in a mosque at the far end. The change was far from agreeable; flies and mosquitoes swarmed around us, the ditch outside the walls was filled with pools of stagnant water, and a horrible stench impregnated the air, increasing the sickness among the already enfeebled soldiers, and still further reducing our scanty number.
September 23.—The next day I started with D——, of my regiment, to view the Jama Masjid, or Great Mosque. Nothing can exceed the rich, though chaste, beauty of this glorious structure. The building stands in a large walled enclosure, high broad steps leading up to the mosque, with its three domes of pure white marble and floor of the same material, all inlaid with figures. We ascended one of the minarets, about 120 feet high, obtaining a grand view of the imperial city and the surrounding country. To the south extended the ruins of Ferozebad, or ancient Delhi; to the east lay the River Jumna; and to the west and north stretched a forest of trees and gardens, among which were seen the suburbs of the city, the now historic ridge in the far distance hiding the whole camp from our view. From our elevated position a just estimate could be formed of the great size of Delhi: the city lay spread out below with its vast area of streets, its palaces, mosques, and temples, all silent and deserted, in striking contrast to the din and turmoil of a few days back.
Major Coke's corps of Punjab Rifles were quartered in the Masjid—a luxurious place of residence—but there were no worshippers to be found in the sacred building, and only armed men of an infidel creed were to be seen. A report spread at this time that it had been decided to blow up the mosque. I cannot vouch for the truth of this statement, and can only attribute the rumour to a belief that a large ransom would be paid by the Mohammedan population of India for the preservation of their temple had the authorities really intended to carry out the project. Its destruction would have been an act of vandalism quite at variance with the character of the British nation, and one which would have brought down on us the wrath and contempt of the whole civilized world.
From the Jama Masjid we wandered through narrow lanes and back-slums—the former resort of the worst characters in the city—to the Delhi and Turkoman Gates, the streets, as in other parts, being strewed with property from the wrecked houses, and wellnigh impassable. We saw parties of Europeans and native soldiers, all eager in the pursuit of plunder, going from house to house, or diving down courts and alleys when they saw us approaching. Interference or remonstrance with these men would have been useless, if not dangerous; in their excited state they were no respecters of persons, and we deemed it the better judgment to take no notice of their actions. Dead bodies lay in almost every street, rotting in the burning sun, and the effluvium was sickening, so that we were glad to make our way back to the Ajmir Gate to a less poisonous atmosphere.
A movable column of 2,500 men of all arms started on the morning of the 23rd in pursuit of the rebels, taking the direction to Cawnpore. My regiment had been detailed for this service; and, though numerically weak, and suffering from sickness, the officers and men hailed with pleasure the approaching departure from Delhi. But, unfortunately for us, the Colonel in command reported us sick and unfit to march. We were all to a man furious at this; everyone fit for duty was willing, heart and soul, to be sent wherever the exigencies of the war required, and more especially looked forward with delight to the prospect of serving under Sir Colin Campbell, in whose brigade the regiment had fought in the Punjab campaign of 1848-49. Still, the decision of the responsible officer was not to be disputed, and so the regiment was kept at Delhi.
On the 25th I mounted guard with fifty men at the Lahore Gate. The orders were "on no account to allow soldiers, either European or native, nor camp-followers without passes, to enter or leave the city." My post was constantly at the gate, where I examined passes; and while thus occupied some thirty troopers of the Mooltani Horse—wild, truculent-looking fellows, armed to the teeth—rode up demanding entrance. I explained to them what my orders were, and refused admission. Whereupon they commenced talking among themselves, and presently had the audacity to move towards the sentries with the intention of forcing their way. I was exasperated beyond measure, and turned out the guard, at the same time telling the Mooltanis that, if they did not at once retire, I would fire upon them without more ado. They then at once changed their threatening attitude, contented themselves with swearing at the Gore log,[2] and rode away, saying that now Nicholson was dead no one cared for them, and they would return to their homes. These men had been newly raised, were scarcely under proper discipline, and were certainly horrible-looking bandits and cut-throats—very different from the Sikh and Punjabi Horsemen, who were in manner and discipline all that could be desired. I knew that the Mooltanis only desired entrance into the city to participate in the looting which was still going on; and had they been allowed to indulge in a work for which by their evil countenances they seemed well adapted, collisions would have taken place between them and the English soldiers and others, and bloodshed would have been the result.
Shortly after the Mooltani Horsemen rode away I saw a party of Goorkhas coming towards the gate. They were strolling along quite unconcernedly, laughing and chatting together, with their hands in their pockets and quite unarmed, not even carrying their favourite kukri. Coming to where I was standing just outside the gate, they laughingly asked me to allow them to take a stroll down the Chandni Chauk and through a part of the city for a short time. My orders were imperative, and I told them so; whereat they said they belonged to the Sirmoor battalion—the gallant regiment which, in conjunction with the 60th Rifles, had defended the right of our position throughout the siege. The corps was still stationed at their old quarters at Hindoo Rao's house, and not one of them up to this time had entered Delhi. Naturally, they said they wished to see the city, promised most faithfully that they would refrain from looting, and return to the Lahore Gate in an hour's time. I found I could not resist the importunities of these brave little fellows, and, trusting to their honour, at last consented, though contrary to orders, to grant them admission. We watched them walking along the Chandni Chauk, staring in wonder at all they saw, till lost in the distance. Punctual to the time mentioned the Goorkhas returned, and, thanking me for my courtesy, made their way to their old quarters on the ridge.
During my tour on duty on this occasion at the Lahore Gate upwards of 500 of the Delhi populace were turned out of the city. They extended in a long string up the Chandni Chauk, decrepit old men and women with groups of young children. It was a pitiable sight, drawing forth exclamations of sympathy even from the rough soldiers on guard.
It had been brought to the notice of the General that some of the former inhabitants of Delhi, including sepoys, were in the habit of entering the city for the purpose of carrying away valuables, being drawn up by ropes held by confederates on the walls, and that many had also escaped in the darkness by the same means. Several captures had already been made, a strict watch was ordered to be kept at the several gates, and patrolling parties to march at intervals outside the walls. The day I was on guard at the Lahore Gate Hodson rode up to me from the outside, and said he had seen some natives on the walls close by, evidently attempting to escape into the country. I immediately sent round a corporal and four soldiers in the direction indicated, who presently returned with six natives—carrying bundles—whom they had made prisoners. All men thus captured were sent to the Governor of the city at the Kotwalli, who disposed of them as he thought fit, having the power of life and death in these matters. The Governor had the repute of being over-indulgent with regard to the disposal of the captives, being considered too merciful in his treatment of men who, for aught he knew, had forfeited their lives in joining the armed rebellion against our authority.
A striking instance of the feeling which animated officers and men in the troublous times took place some time afterwards at Delhi. An officer of my regiment was on guard at the Ajmir Gate, and on one occasion sent to the Governor some men whom he had captured while they were in the act of escaping from the city. These men were released; but on a second occasion three men were taken, and the officer, deeming it useless to forward them for punishment to the usual authority, called out a file of his soldiers, placed the prisoners in the ditch outside the Ajmir Gate, shot them, and then, digging a hole, buried them at the place of execution.
For a long period after the capture of Delhi executions by hanging were of common occurrence in the city, and the hands of the old provost-sergeant were full. Disguised sepoys and inhabitants taken with arms in their possession had short shrift, and were at once consigned to the gallows, a batch of ten one day suffering death opposite the Kotwali.
In the beginning of October two more reputed sons of the old King were shot by sentence of court-martial. They had commanded regiments of the rebel army, and were foremost in the revolt, even joining in the massacre of our people. The 60th Rifles and some Goorkhas formed the firing party, and took, strange to say, such bad aim that the provost-sergeant had to finish the work by shooting each culprit with a pistol. Nothing could have been more ill-favoured and dirty than the wretched victims; but they met their fate in silence and with the most dogged composure.
September 28.—Accompanied by our Adjutant and some other officers, I rode out to Taliwarra and Kishenganj on September 28. These suburbs were a mass of ruins, but enough was left intact to show the immense strength of the enemy's position at the former place. Batteries had been erected at every available spot, strongly fortified and entrenched, and one in particular which had raked the right of our position was perfect in every detail, and was guarded by a ditch, or rather nallah, forty feet deep.
We passed through the large caravanserai, the scene of the conflict during the memorable sortie of July 9, and when in the course of our inspection in the enclosure a ludicrous event occurred. An officer who had been shot through the leg on that day, recognizing the place where he had received his wound, dismounted from his horse, and stood on the very spot. He was in the act of explaining events, and describing his sensations when shot, when suddenly he made a jump in the air, uttering a cry of pain, and commenced rubbing his legs, first one and then the other. We burst into laughter at the antics of our friend, who, we imagined, had been seized with a fit of madness quite at variance with his usual quiet demeanour, and jokingly asked him what was the matter. Still writhing with pain, and engaged in his involuntary saltatory exercise, he pointed to a swarm of wasps which, roused from their nest, on which he had been standing, covered his lower extremities, and had made their way inside his pantaloons, stinging him on both legs, and crawling up his body. The pain must have been intense, and fully accounted for his gymnastics and frantic efforts to crush the insects. It was some days before he recovered from the wounds he had received, far more painful—as he averred—than the enemy's bullet, I intimated at the time to my friend that the wasps probably were the ghosts of the sepoys who had been killed in the serai, their bodies, by the transmigration of souls, having taken the shape of these malignant insects in order to wreak vengeance on their destroyers. He, however, did not seem to relish my interpretation of this very singular event, and, in fact, was inclined to resent what he called my ill-timed jesting; but the story spread, and our poor friend became for some time afterwards the butt and laughing-stock of the regiment.
From Kishenganj we rode through the Sabzi Mandi Gardens, visiting our old pickets there and at the Crow's Nest, and then proceeded up the slope of the ridge to Hindoo Rao's house. This was still garrisoned by the Sirmoor battalion of Goorkhas, some of whom escorted us round the place, pointing out the different positions they had so gallantly defended. The house was knocked to pieces, the walls showing evidence of the enemy's fire, and revealing to us the truth of the saying in camp that these hardy little fellows, with the 60th Rifles, during more than three months, had been constantly exposed night and day to shot and shell, there not being a single part of their quarters where complete shelter could be found.
The Observatory, close to Hindoo Rao's house, had also felt the effect of the enemy's shot, while midway between the Observatory and the Flagstaff Tower, the Mosque—the only other building on the ridge—was also in ruins. Our batteries, nine in number, lay in a comparatively small compass, extending about three-quarters of a mile from the Crow's Nest in the right rear to Wilson's battery opposite the Observatory. The rest of the ridge was unprotected by guns in position, it being at so great a distance from the city and also free from the enemy's attacks; the only danger and annoyance arose from occasional shells, which reached the camp and exploded amongst the tents, from round-shot and from rocket fire.
Passing by the Flagstaff Tower, we rode through the old camp, now desolate and silent, visiting the graves of our poor fellows at the cemetery, and then, retracing our steps, entered Delhi by the Kashmir Gate, and returned to our quarters.
Cholera still continued its ravages among the small number of troops left in Delhi. The reaction from a life of strife and excitement to the dull existence we were now leading had its effects on the men, and we each day lamented more and more that we had not gone with the Movable Column, leaving the noisome smells, the increasing sickness, and the monotony of Delhi behind. Two thousand sick and wounded had been moved into the Fort of Selimgarh, where the pure air and open situation of the place soon made a marked change in the number of invalids: but disease was rife among the regiments quartered in the city, and convalescents from Selimgarh were soon replaced by men suffering from cholera and fever ague.
In the beginning of October, to our intense delight, we moved from the Ajmir Gate, that sink of corruption, and took up our quarters in the magazine. The officers here occupied a fine roomy building of two stories, while the men were housed in comfortable sheds round the enclosure. We still furnished guards at the Ajmir and Lahore Gates, the term of duty, through paucity of men for relief, extending over three days. The officer on guard at the former gate visited detachments and sentries at the "Delhi" and "Turkoman" Gates, a distance of a mile and a half through streets in which dead bodies in the last stage of decomposition were still lying. While one day engaged on this duty, I passed a carcass on which some pariah dogs were making a meal. Disgusted at the sight, and weak in stomach from the putrid air, I returned to my tent at the Ajmir Gate at the time when my servant arrived with my dinner from the magazine. I asked him what he had brought me, and was answered, "Liver and bacon." The nauseating sight I had just witnessed recurred to my memory, visions of diseased and putrid livers rose before my view, and, unable to control myself, I was seized with a fit of sickness which prostrated me for some time after.
Nothing of importance occurred during the month of October. We settled into a very quiet life at the magazine, varied by eternal guard-mounting at the different gates of the city and regimental drill. My health had been failing for some time, and, now that there seemed no immediate prospect of employment on active service, I gladly acquiesced in the doctor's advice that I should proceed to Umballah on sick leave.
November 8.—Accordingly I left Delhi on November 8, my destination being Umballah, a station in the Cis-Sutlej provinces. A palki ghari, or Indian carriage, drawn by two horses, awaited me that evening at Selimgarh, and, bidding adieu to our good doctor, who had nursed me with unremitting attention during my sickness, I entered the carriage. Just before starting, an officer of my regiment handed me two double-barrelled pistols—revolvers were at a premium in those days—saying they might possibly come in useful during my journey, and I little thought at the time that their services would be brought into requisition.
The country around Delhi swarmed with goojars, the generic name for professional thieves, who inhabited the numerous villages and levied blackmail on travellers, though seldom interfering with Europeans. My baggage, consisting of two petarahs (native leather trunks) containing uniform and clothing, was deposited on the roof of the vehicle under charge of my bearer, but the loot I had acquired, I had safely stowed in a despatch-box, which was placed under my pillow in the interior of the carriage. A bed, comfortably arranged, occupied the seats, and on this I lay down, closing the doors of the ghari when night came on.
Some two stages from Delhi, after changing horses and proceeding on the journey along the pucka road, I fell into a doze, and at last into a sound sleep. From this I was rudely awakened by shouts of "Chor! chor!" (Thief! thief!) from my bearer and the native coachman. Starting up, I seized the pistols, and opening the doors of the ghari, saw, as I fancied, some forms disappearing in the darkness at the side of the road. I fired two barrels in the direction and pursued for some distance, but finding that my shots had not taken effect, and fearful of losing my way—for the night was pitch-dark—I returned to the carriage. My bearer then told me that some robbers had climbed up the back of the ghari, taken the two petarahs between which he was lying, and made off into the country. We had been driving at the usual pace, about six miles an hour, and it proves the practised skill and agility of the goojars, who, with such ease, had abstracted the boxes from under the very nose of my servant. There was nothing for it but to continue my journey regretting the loss of my personal effects, but still fortunate in one respect—that the loot was safe under my pillow.
November 9.—At the next stage I questioned the horse-keeper, acquainting him with the robbery, and learned that a village inhabited by goojars lay off the road not far from the place where the robbery had been perpetrated. In the morning I arrived at the civil station of Karnal, and drove to the residence of the Commissioner, to whom I reported my loss, giving the name of the village where it had occurred. He told me to make out a valuation of the things stolen and to send it to him on the first opportunity. This I did on reaching Umballah, fixing the value of the different articles in the boxes at 250 rupees. A month afterwards, when the affair had almost faded from my memory, I received a letter from the Commissioner stating that he had visited the village near the spot where the robbery had taken place. The headman had been summoned to his presence, and warned that, unless the thieves were given up and the boxes returned with their contents intact, he would confiscate a certain number of cattle, and sell the same to indemnify me for the losses I had sustained. These orders being unfulfilled, the cattle were sold, and an order for 250 rupees was enclosed to me in the letter. The boxes, quite empty, with the exception of my journals, were found afterwards at the bottom of a well and were forwarded to Umballah. The ink had run in the journals from immersion in the water, but the writing was little defaced, and these papers—to me the most precious part of my luggage—I was glad to recover.
The change to Umballah was at first beneficial, but later on I suffered a relapse; and after appearing before a medical board, was granted a year's leave to England.
From Umballah I journeyed to Ferozepore, where I met several of my brother-officers and others who, like myself, had been invalided home.
January 10, 1858.—After a short stay there—the time being principally taken up with chartering boats and providing necessaries for the passage down the river—we all, to the number of about fifty persons, occupying twenty-two boats, which had to be specially fitted up with straw-built houses with sloping roofs, set off on January 10, 1858, under the protection of a guard of Sikhs, and, after what may on the whole be regarded as a pleasant trip, reached Tattah on February 11. Thence I went on to Karachi and Bombay and Marseilles, and, after a pleasant tour on the Continent of Europe, arrived in the Old Country in May, 1858, after an absence of rather more than six years.
[Illustration: "HOMEWARD," NEAR JERRICK, ON THE INDUS]
[Footnote 1: Since the above was written, especial honour has been shown to those who participated in the hardships and glories of the campaign by His Majesty King Edward VII., who received the surviving officers at a levee at St. James's Palace on June 3, 1907.
A public dinner was also given by the proprietors of the Daily Telegraph in the Albert Hall on December 23 of the same year to all the surviving veterans who had taken part in the suppression of the Mutiny in 1857.]
[Footnote 2: White people.]
CHAPTER VI
THE RICHES OF DELHI
The riches of the city of Delhi and the opulence of its Princes and merchants had been celebrated in Hindostan from time immemorial. For ages it had been the capital of an empire extending from the snows of the Himalayas to Cape Comorin; and to Delhi, as to a centre, gravitated the wealth of the richest country in the world. Fabulous reports had reached us of the booty carried away to distant regions by the numerous warriors who burst like a torrent over Hindostan, making that city the goal of their conquests and the scene of their predatory forays. During the nineteenth century Delhi, since its capture by Lord Lake in 1803, had remained in the hands of the British, the city owing a nominal allegiance to the King, who, to all intents and purposes a State prisoner, was a pensioner of our Government up to 1857, holding a Court (consisting for the most part of wretched dependents and ragamuffins) in the Palace of the Great Mogul.
The quiet which reigned during that period had a salutary effect on the prosperity of Delhi; its merchants and storekeepers, trading with the inhabitants of the richly-cultivated Dooab and with more distant countries, became rich and prosperous, accumulating vast treasures, while the people, with the instinct of a penurious race, converted their ready-money into jewels and gold and silver ornaments, and safely stowed them away in hidden receptacles within their houses.
The numerous races of India—and notably the Sikhs—burning for an opportunity to plunder the imperial city, cast longing eyes towards these hidden treasures, the fame of which had spread far and wide; and to this desire may be attributed, as much as any other reason, the willingness of that warlike people to help us during the Mutiny.
While the siege was progressing, even at a time when clouded with anxiety as to the future, men's minds were full of the uncertain issue of the fight; the thoughts of all in camp turned involuntarily to the rich harvest awaiting the army should Delhi fall into our hands. To all of us (putting aside the morality of the question), the loot of the city was to be a fitting recompense for the toils and privations we had undergone; nor did the questionable character of the transaction weigh for one moment with us against the recognized military law—"that a city taken by assault belonged as prize to the conquerors." During the actual bombardment, when the end seemed at hand, this subject of prize was the topic of conversation among both officers and men; and soon we learnt with satisfaction that the General in command, after consulting with others in authority, had settled on the course to be pursued.
On September 7 a notice appeared in "orders" in which General Wilson thanked the army for the courage and devotion displayed during the long months of the siege. He recapitulated the dangers through which the force had passed, and looked forward hopefully to the future when, Providence favouring us, a few short days would see the enemy's stronghold pass into our hands. Instructions the most peremptory were laid down as to the absolute necessity for the troops keeping well together on the day of assault, and not dispersing in scattered bands or alone through the streets of the city in pursuit of plunder. Great danger and possible annihilation of the small army would result were these precautions overlooked, rendering the force liable to be cut up in detail by the large bodies of rebels then occupying the streets and houses of Delhi. Lastly, as a reward and incentive to all engaged, the General gave his word, promising that all property captured in the city would be placed in one common fund, to be distributed as prize according to the rules of war in such cases. The commanding officer, as well as all in the army, knew that it would be impossible to prevent looting altogether, but it was hoped that the above order would have a good effect by urging on the soldiers, for their welfare and advantage, the necessity of obeying the instructions therein laid down.
This order, as I have said, appeared on September 7; nor, from the promises given, had any of us the slightest doubt but that its provisions with regard to prize-money would be carried into effect in due course. Delhi was taken, but as time passed by, and months elapsed without any notification on the subject being received from the Supreme Government, the army began to feel anxious, and murmurs arose as to the non-fulfilment of the pledge given by General Wilson. At length, at the end of the year, the Governor-General, with the advice of his Executive Council, promulgated his decision that there was an objection to the troops receiving the Delhi prize-money, and in lieu thereof granted as a recompense for their arduous labours and patient endurance in the field the "magnificent" sum of six months' batta.
Lord Canning, his Council and law advisers, all civilians sitting quietly at Calcutta, living in ease and comfort far from the dangers of war, thought, forsooth, that the Delhi army, struggling for existence for months, fighting to uphold British rule in India—nay, for the very lives and safety of these civilian judges—and at last victorious in the contest, would rest content with their decision.
It is needless to say that this roused a storm of indignation not only amongst the Delhi force, but throughout the British army in India—a burst of resentment which, reaching the Governor-General, made him pause and reconsider his ill-timed and unjust decision. Suffice it to say that the order was rescinded, and that the prize-money, in addition to six months' batta, was granted to all engaged.
The day that the news of the first decision of the Government arrived at Delhi, when all at that place were full of the wrong done to the army, a private soldier of the 60th Rifles, inspired by the most exquisite sense of humour as well as of bitter satire, wrote upon the walls of the palace where his regiment was quartered the following appropriate sentence: "Delhi taken and India saved for 36 rupees 10 annas." It is said that the Governor-General demanded the name of this waggish soldier, with the intention that he might receive punishment for his daring effrontery; but it is needless to say that the author of the joke remained unknown save to a few of his comrades; and the great ruler of Hindostan was forced to rest content and ponder over the hidden sarcasm and bitter irony addressed to one in his exalted position.
The army was further promised by the Government 5 per cent, on the whole amount of the prize-money till the amount should be paid. This, during the many years which elapsed before the money was distributed, would have reached a large sum; but faith was broken and the sum repudiated—another instance of want of gratitude to soldiers who, looked to maintain their country's honour in time of war, are in peace, and when danger is at an end, soon forgotten. So prolonged, also, was the delay in payment of the prize-money that, I recollect, the Times, in reference to this subject about 1860 or 1861, had a leading article in its columns recommending the Delhi army to bring an action against the Government for the payment of the prize. Such action, of course, would have been without precedent, but it showed the feeling of many in the country when the leading journal thought right to draw attention to the subject with a view to the adjustment of the army's rightful claim.
To return to General Wilson's order of September 7. Notices were circulated throughout the camp in every brigade and regiment, calling on the troops to elect prize agents for gathering and receiving prize after the capture of the city. These prize agents, therefore, were selected by the army, one for the general and field officers, the second for the Queen's service of all ranks below that of Major, and the third for the company's army. The officers appointed, including Captain Fagan, and after his death Doctor Innes, Sir Edward Campbell, of the 60th Rifles, and Captain Wriford, of the 1st Bengal Fusiliers, were all most popular men, and considered in every way fit for the very important duties they had to perform.
On September 14, the day of assault, till the 20th, when Delhi was completely in our possession, much looting took place in the city. Our troops, both European and native, and especially the Sikhs, entered houses during those days and managed to secrete about their persons articles of value. To my certain knowledge, also, many soldiers of the English regiments got possession of jewellery and gold ornaments taken from the bodies of the slain sepoys and city inhabitants, and I was shown by men of my regiment strings of pearls and gold mohurs which had fallen into their hands.
On the day of assault we were much amused, during a slight cessation of the conflict, by one of our men rushing up to a group of officers in a state of great excitement, with the news that there was a buggy with two horses standing at the corner of a street close by. He offered the prize to anyone who would give him a bottle of rum; but in the then state of affairs no one felt inclined to burden himself with such a luxury, and the poor fellow went away much disappointed. Whether he succeeded in disposing of the prize I don't know; but when things quieted down, and the regiment was stationed in comfortable quarters, one of our officers, noted for his constant impecuniosity, appeared one day driving a buggy and two horses, the acquisition of which always remained a secret; nor would he, on being questioned, throw any light on the matter.
That many of the private soldiers of my regiment succeeded in acquiring a great quantity of valuable plunder was fully demonstrated soon after our arrival in England. An unusual number of non-commissioned officers and men bought their discharge, having during three years kept possession of the plunder acquired at Delhi awaiting a favourable opportunity for the sale of the articles. Many jewellers' shops in the town in which we were quartered exposed for sale in the windows ornaments and trinkets of unmistakable Eastern workmanship, which, on inquiry, we were told had been bought from the men.
It would have been contrary to human nature, and utterly at variance with the predatory instinct, had the soldiers failed to take advantage of the facilities for plunder which surrounded them on every side; nor could it be expected that a man, after possessing himself of valuables, would at once, or on the first favourable opportunity, deliver up his booty to the properly-constituted authorities. This much may be conceded, and it will therefore not be a subject of wonder that all ranks of the Delhi Force, with but few exceptions, availed themselves of the prize within their reach, and appropriated to their own use much treasure which ought to have gone towards swelling the general fund.
One officer in command of a native regiment quartered his corps in a house which formerly belonged to one of the richest Princes in the city of Delhi. The place was full of riches of every kind, and it was the popular belief at the time throughout the army that the officer in question succeeded in obtaining two lakhs of rupees. Rumour also said that a court of inquiry would be held to investigate the truth or otherwise of this report, but, if such had been contemplated, it fell to the ground; nor was any attempt made to induce the officer to disgorge his plunder. I paid a visit to this mansion some time afterwards, and can vouch for the thorough ransacking the place had received. Every room in the house had been pillaged, excavations had been made in the floors, and empty boxes lay in every direction.
Other cases similar to that just mentioned were known to us at the time, in which sums of money were appropriated only a little smaller in amount, while of those which reached the value of £100 their name is legion. Many men also there were who, at first swayed by moral scruples, as well as feeling reluctant to disobey the order which had been issued, refrained from looting on their own account; but when they saw that officers, even of the higher ranks, took possession of plunder, these scruples were cast to the winds—it was "every man for himself, and the d—- l take the hindmost," and a general desire was evinced for each to enrich himself with the prize lying at his feet.
Often, when wandering through the city in pursuit of plunder, I, in company with others, came across officers engaged in the same quest as ourselves. These rencontres were most amusing, giving rise to mutual interrogations and many jokes, each party affirming that looting was not the object of their perambulations, but that they were only inspecting the houses out of a feeling of curiosity. Up to this time I had not succeeded in finding any articles of value, nor had I the remotest idea that my acquaintance with a certain officer in the employ of the prize agents would put me in the way of acquiring a fair amount of the loot of Delhi. A few silver ornaments and a small bag of sicca rupees were all that I had so far obtained, and I naturally felt desirous of increasing my store, more especially when it was well known that many officers, more fortunate and less scrupulous, had already made themselves masters of large quantities of valuable plunder.
The accumulation of prize by the agents began shortly after Delhi was taken. At first the articles obtained were of little worth, comprising chiefly wearing apparel of every description and household goods. Soon, however, more costly effects were found by the searchers, and in a very short time the rooms of the prize agents were filled with treasures of every kind—jewellery and precious stones, diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls without number, from those as large as hen's eggs to the small species used for necklaces; gold ornaments, chains of the most beautiful workmanship, bracelets and bangles all of solid metal. There were heaps, also, of the small, thick, native coin known as gold mohurs, thousands of which were accumulated by the prize agents and helped most materially to swell the amount. I visited one room, the long table in which literally groaned with the riches of "Ormuz and of Ind"—a dazzling sight to the eye, and one calculated to raise the spirit of greed in my breast to possess myself of some of the treasures so temptingly exposed to view. When quiet returned, and the inhabitants of the city began to flock back to their former homes, whole streets, in which no doubt treasure had been concealed and had escaped the search of the prize agents, were sold to the people for sums ranging from 5,000 to 50,000 rupees. All this helped to increase the prize to a sum which was variously estimated at from half to three-quarters of a million sterling; and even then it was asserted that only a portion of the vast wealth of Delhi had been found.
As far as I know, the Government, when distributing the prize-money in two installments—in 1862 and again in 1865—gave no account of the total amount which had been collected. The private soldier's share was reckoned as the unit, value about £17, increasing according to the pay of the different ranks—the Ensign five shares, Lieutenant six and a half, Captain eleven and a half, and so in proportion among the higher grade of officers, while that of the Commander-in-Chief amounted to one-sixteenth of the whole—an immense sum. There were, of course, many exaggerations as to how much each rank would receive as its share, and there were many heart-burnings also when the true amount became known. The sum had dwindled down to less than one-third of what we expected, and not a few expressed openly their conviction that some tampering had taken place with regard to the distribution. This can hardly be believed, though it has always been a notorious fact that the Government are inclined to treat the claims of those who fight their battles with neglect, and in one particular at least, by repudiating the 5 per cent, promised till the Delhi prize-money was paid, they acted up to their usual unjust policy, and gave occasions for the complaints which were raised at the time.
I will now proceed to give an account of my experience when acting as an assistant to an officer who was accredited by the prize agents with a permit to search for plunder. This officer, an old friend of mine, asked me to accompany him on his expeditions, saying also that he had no objection to my helping myself in moderation to part of the loot which we might happen to find. Carrying with us the necessary tools, such as hammers, spades, and pickaxes, we each day started—accompanied by two coolies—on our plundering excursions. For some days we were very unsuccessful, and for nearly a week only managed to gather together and transmit to the agents articles of little value. But, soon gaining experience from continued practice, and taking note of the different houses in which there was a likelihood of finding prize, we settled down to a systematic course of search, which in the end proved highly remunerative. Scarcely anything of value was found lying about the different rooms; these had been already gutted and the contents destroyed by the soldiers, both European and native, who, since the day of assault, had roamed about the city. At the time we began our search all was comparatively quiet, and during our operations, such was the vast extent of the city and so numerous the buildings, that only on two or three occasions were we interrupted by parties engaged in the same quest as ourselves.
My companion was a good Hindustani scholar, and taking advantage of his proficiency in the language, he made a point of interviewing several natives of the city, who, in the capacity of workmen in different trades, were allowed in Delhi, and were employed in their several occupations. From one of these, a mason and builder, N—received information that a large quantity of treasure was concealed in the house of a former rich resident. This man had helped to secrete the hoard, and on the promise of a small reward was willing to help us in unearthing the booty.
One morning in the beginning of October, attended by the mason, and carrying the necessary implements, we were taken to the house in question. This was a large building with a courtyard in the centre, the rooms of which showed the remains of luxury and wealth, but, as usual, had been despoiled by the plunderers of our army. Every article was scattered about in dire confusion; there were piles of clothing and bedding; rich and ornamental stuffs were torn to pieces, and the household furniture, broken up, was strewn about the courtyard. Our guide took us to a small room, about 80 feet square—in fact, it was the closet of the establishment—the walls of which were whitewashed, the floor being covered with a hard cement. Here, we were told, the treasure was concealed under the flooring of the room, and we lost no time in commencing operations, the mason assisting us. Picking through the cement, we came on a large flagstone, which we lifted out of the cavity. Then we dug a hole about 3 feet square, and the same depth in the loose earth, disclosing the mouth of a large earthenware gharra, or jar. Loosening the soil all around, we attempted to raise the jar out of the ground, but all our efforts were unavailing—its great weight preventing us from lifting it one inch out of the bed. Then, trembling with excitement, for we felt sure that a rich display would greet our eyes, we began slowly to remove each article from the gharra, and place it on the floor of the room. A heavy bag lying at the mouth of the jar was first taken out, and on opening it, and afterwards counting its contents, we found that it contained 700 native gold mohurs, worth nearly £1,200. Then came dozens of gold bangles, or anklets, of pure metal, such as those worn by dancing-girls. We were fairly bewildered at the sight, our hands trembling and our eyes ablaze with excitement, for such an amount of pure gold as that already discovered we had never seen before. But the treasure was not yet half exhausted. The jar seemed a perfect mine of wealth—gold chains, plain and of filigree workmanship, each worth from £10 to £30; ornaments of the same metal of every sort of design, and executed in a style for which the Delhi jewellers are celebrated all over India. Then came small silver caskets filled with pearls, together to the number of more than 200, each worth from £3 to £4, pierced for stringing. Others, containing small diamonds, rubies, and emeralds, and the greatest prize of all—reclining in a casket by itself—a large diamond, which was sold afterwards by the prize agents for £1,000. There were many other articles of value besides those I have mentioned—gold rings and tiaras inlaid with precious stones, nose-rings of the kind worn by women through the nostrils, earrings, bracelets, and necklaces of small pearls without number.