After a day’s rest I paid a visit to the Maharajah, having first stipulated as to my proper reception. I was received by the Jubraj (heir apparent) at the entrance to the private part of the palace, and by the Maharajah a few paces from the entrance to the Durbar room (hall of reception), and conducted by him to a seat opposite to his own, with a table between us, his sons and officials being seated on either side. I read the Viceroy’s letter, informing the Maharajah of my appointment, and, after a short conversation, during which my age was asked (a question invariably put to European officers by Manipuris of rank), I took my leave, and was escorted back to the place where I was met on my arrival. I was favourably impressed by what I saw, but I at once realised that I was on no bed of roses, and that I would have to make a good fight to obtain and maintain my just influence with the Durbar. The Maharajah had undoubtedly grievances against us, and I felt that it was folly and injustice not to acknowledge these. At the same time, he and his ministers had on some occasions taken advantage of this state of affairs to behave in an unseemly way, and for this a sharp rebuke had to be administered. The natural sense of injustice is strong in mankind, and I saw that chafing under slights they had received, and often magnifying them, it was necessary for me first to acknowledge these, and try as far as possible to make amends, and then to come down on them very sharply for having forgotten their position.

The Maharajah returned my visit, and we had one or two interviews when we discussed affairs. I pointed out the extreme gravity of resisting the British Government in any way, and we soon became very friendly. Colonel McCulloch’s introduction had been a great advantage to me, and every one was inclined to give me credit for good intentions, at the same time that every effort was made to restrict my authority and influence.

The Maharajah was a rather thick-set man of about five feet five inches in height and forty-five years of age. In India he would have been called fair. He had the features of the Indo-Chinese race, and the impassive face that generally goes with them, but which is often not so marked in the Manipuris. He was far the ablest man in his dominions, and a strong and capable ruler. He had a great taste for mechanical arts of all kinds, and a vast fund of information which he had acquired by questioning, for he questioned every one he met. English scientific works were explained to him, and his researches extended even to the anatomy of the human body, of which he had a very fair knowledge. He had a taste for European articles, and owned a large assortment. He had glass manufactured in his workshops, and once sent me a petroleum lamp, every portion of which was made by his own artificers. His rule, for such a strong man, was mild as compared with that of his predecessors, and he thoroughly realised that his prosperity depended on his loyalty to the British Government. At the same time, he was most tenacious of his rights, and earnestly desired to preserve his country intact, and to give us no excuse for annexing it.

The fear of tempting us to annex was so great that, once when I thought of growing a little tea for my own consumption, he was much agitated. I, as a matter of courtesy, first sent to ask him if he had any objection to my growing a little, and, in reply, he sent an official to beg me not to think of it. This man said, “The Maharajah will supply you with all the tea you want free of cost, but begs you not to think of growing it.” The officer went on to explain, that it was feared that, if I successfully demonstrated that tea could be grown in Manipur tea planters would come up, and there would be a cry for annexation! Certainly our annexation of the Muttuk country in 1840 justified the suspicion, and we cannot blame people for having long memories.

The Jubraj, or heir apparent, was an amiable young man of twenty-six or twenty-seven, with a pleasant smile which was wanting in his father. He was of a weak character, although possessing some ability. Like his father, he could speak Hindoostani, but both were ignorant of English. Backed up and influenced by an honest and capable Political Agent, he would probably have made an excellent ruler, and, had we done our duty by him, he might now be at the head of a flourishing little state, instead of having died an exile in Calcutta.

The next son, Wankai Rakpar, afterwards known as the “Regent” during the recent troubles, was an ignorant, uncouth boor, who knew no language but his own, and was quite unfitted for any responsible work; he took little part in public affairs. The third known as Samoo Henjaba (Master of the Elephants), was a clever, pleasant, sensible young man, said by Thangal Major, no mean judge of character, to be the ablest of the ten sons of the Maharajah. He died during my tenure of office.

The fourth son, Kotwal Koireng, who afterwards acquired an infamous reputation as the “Senaputtee,” was always a bad character, cruel, coarse, and low minded. From early childhood he was given to foul language, and was absolutely dangerous when he grew up. His mother had been unfaithful to the Maharajah, who used to say that the son was worthy of her. Colonel McCulloch had always disliked him as a boy.

None of the other six sons of the Maharajah were in my time mixed up in public affairs, so I need not describe them, except that Pucca Senna was the champion polo player, though not otherwise worthy of notice. The practical ministers were Bularam Singh, or Sawai Jamba Major, and Thangal Major. They were both faithful adherents of the Maharajah, although the first who had once had much influence had married the daughter of the former Rajah Nur Sing. He was nominally the first in rank, but Thangal Major was rapidly gaining ground, and viewed with increasing favour by the Maharajah.

I quote the following description of the Government of Manipur from an article I wrote for The Nineteenth Century, by kind permission of the editor. “The government of Manipur has always been a pure despotism tempered by assassination and revolution. While he occupies the throne the rajah is perfectly absolute. A minister may be all powerful, and all the princes and people may tremble before him; for years he may practically rule the rajah; but he is after all a cipher before his sovereign, a single word from whom may send him into exile, make him an outcast, or reduce him to the lowest rank. Yet with all this power an obscure man may suddenly spring up, as if from the ground, to assert himself to be of the blood royal, and gathering a large party round him place himself on the throne. All this happened not unfrequently in days gone by, when many were the rajahs murdered or deposed. History tells us of rajahs being deposed, re-elected, and deposed again.”

There can be no doubt that in old days the people benefited by the system of constant revolutions, as a rajah was obliged to keep in touch with his subjects if he wished to occupy the throne for any length of time, and many concessions were made to gain a strong following. The average intelligence of the Manipuris being higher than that found among the cultivators of many other native states, the people knew what reforms to ask for, and often insisted on their being granted.

Nothing can be harder on the people of a native state, than for the paramount power to hold a ruler on the throne with a firm grasp, and protect him against internal revolution, and at the same time to refrain from insisting on needful reform.

Chandra Kirtee Singh’s long reign and strong government, were in many ways a great benefit to the people, because he was a man of sound sense, and though selfish and unscrupulous, naturally of a kindly disposition, a fact proved by the few executions that took place in his reign. In his earlier years he had the benefit of Colonel McCulloch’s good advice, enforced by his great influence. All the same there can be no doubt that a little more interference judiciously applied, would have vastly improved the state of affairs during the time he occupied the throne. Of course an individual Political Agent might bring about improvements in the administration, but these all rested on his personal influence and lasted only while he remained. Had the Government of India stepped in and exerted its authority they would have been permanent.

Bularam Singh was a typical Manipuri in face and had good manners, but he had no force of character, and gradually yielded to his more able colleague. He was generally known as the Toolee-Hel major, i.e., the major or commander of the Hel regiment.

Thangal Major was a remarkable character, and had a chequered history. His uncle had saved the life of Rajah Ghumbeer Singh (Chandra Kirtee Singh’s father), then a child, when his older brother Marjeet attempted the murder of all his relations. Thangal Major was one of the props of the throne when Ghumbeer Singh ascended it. He had been introduced at Court at an early age, and accompanied the Rajah in an expedition against the village of Thangal inhabited by a tribe of Nagas. He was given the name Thangal in memory of the event. He accompanied the old Ranee with her infant son Chandra Kirtee Singh into exile, when she fled after attempting the Regent Nursing’s life while he was engaged in worship in the temple of Govindjee in 1844; had stayed with him and carefully watched over his childhood and youth. When in 1850 the young Rajah came to Manipur to assert his rights, Thangal accompanied him and greatly contributed to his success. This naturally made him a favourite, and his bold, active, energetic character always brought him to the front when hard or dangerous work had to be done. For a time he fell into disfavour, but Colonel McCulloch, recognising his strong and useful qualities, and the fact that he was an exceedingly able man, interceded for him with the Maharajah, and he again came to the front. In person he was short and thickset, darker than the average of Manipuris, with piercing eyes and rather a prominent nose, a pleasant and straightforward but abrupt manner, and, though a very devoted and patriotic Manipuri, was extremely partial to Europeans. He knew our ways well, and soon took a man’s measure. He was acquainted with every part of Manipur, and, though ignorant of English, could point out any village in the state, on an English map. In fact, he had studied geography in every branch to enable him to defend the cause of Manipur against the survey officers who were suspected by the Manipuris of wishing to include all they could within British territory. He knew all our technical terms such as “watershed” in English, and had gained much credit for enabling the survey to carry on their work in 1872, when the patriotic but ill-judged zeal of an older officer, Rooma Singh, nearly brought about a rupture. Thangal Major’s knowledge of us and our customs, as well as of our moral code, was astonishing. He realised the power of the British Government, and though he would resist us to the utmost in the interests of Manipur, nothing would have induced him to join in any plot against our rule in India. When I say that he was unscrupulous and capable of anything, I only say that he was what circumstances and education had made him, and would make any man under similar conditions. He had not the polish of a native of Western India, and had not had the advantage of English training that many ministers in other states have. The internal administration of Manipur had never been interfered with by us, and Thangal Major was the strong able man of the old type. A strong and capable political agent might do well with him, but a weak one would soon go to the wall. He commanded the Toolee Nehah, and was often called by that title, but was better known as Thangal Major.

One of my predecessors had quarrelled with Thangal Major, and this had led to recrimination, and very unseemly conduct on the part of the Durbar. This conduct I had rebuked as directed, but it was a question as to how Thangal Major was to be dealt with. I was authorised to demand his dismissal from office, and for some time he had not been received by my two immediate predecessors. I made careful inquiries, and feeling convinced that there was a good deal to be said on Thangal’s side, and that by careful management I should be able to keep him well in hand, I sent for him. The old man, he was then sixty, having been born in 1817, came in a quiet unostentatious way, and after a severe rebuke, and receiving an ample apology from him, I forgave him, and restored him to the position of minister in attendance upon me; and thenceforth I saw him daily, generally for an hour or two.

In addition to the Minister, two Subadars, Lowremba and Moirang, were placed in attendance on me, but as time went on, and I and the Durbar became friends, we transacted business in a friendly way, through any one.

Manipur consists of about 8000 square miles, chiefly hills surrounding a valley 650 square miles in extent. This valley from north to south is about 35 miles, and from east to west 25. The capital Imphal, as it formerly existed, was a large mass of villages looking like a forest from the neighbouring heights, and covering about 15 square miles. Every house was in the centre of its own well-planted garden, and every garden contained a few forest trees. The census of 1881 gave the population of the capital as 60,000, that of the rest of the valley an equal number, while the hills were estimated to have 100,000. It was only in the capital that pure Manipuris lived, except the soldiers in the military posts which were scattered all over the country.

The valley itself is 2600 feet above the sea, and the hills rise on an average to an equal height above it, though here and there some of the distant peaks are 10,000 to 12,000 feet in height. Thus Manipur contains within its borders a variety of climate from almost tropical, to a greater cold than that of England. The heat is never very excessive in the valley, and for eight months in the year it is most enjoyable. Foreigners suffer much from bronchial affections, doubtless owing to the waterlogged soil, but these complaints are not more prevalent among the native population than elsewhere, and if sanitary laws were properly observed, the valley might be a most healthy place and the population would rapidly overflow.

The capital is almost intersected by the 25th parallel north latitude, and 95° east longitude, and is 132 miles by road from Silchar, the capital of Cachar, and 70 from Tamu in the Kubo valley. The valley of Manipur forms the centre of a chain of valleys, viz., Cachar, Manipur, and Kubo, connecting Bengal with Burmah proper. The sides of the hills facing the valley of Manipur are generally covered with grass or scant jungle which rapidly dries up as the cold season advances, but when once the crest is passed, a fine forest is reached; except where the hill-tribes have destroyed it, to raise one crop and then let it relapse into grass and scrub. Alas, I have seen noble oak forests laid low and burned for this purpose. It is an abominable custom, and nothing can justify our permitting it where we hold sway. That it is not necessary is shown by the Angamis and some of the Tankhool tribes, who though they do occasionally indulge in this wasteful cultivation are quite independent of it, as they terrace their hillsides and cultivate the same tract for generations. The forests of Manipur are plentifully supplied with fine timber trees; several varieties of oak and chestnut exist, and many others unknown in England such as Woo-Ningtho, an excellent timber said to resist the ravages of white ants; wang, which can be worked in its green state as it never warps; teak, etc. Fir trees are found in abundance to the south, east, and north-east of the valley, and bamboos of many kinds, including the giant, are plentiful.

Rhododendrons and wild azaleas of several kinds, as well as many species of brilliant orchids, add greatly to the beauty of the forests, and in some parts tree ferns are abundant. I know nothing more lovely in the world, than some of the forest scenery of Manipur with its solemn stillness.

The early history of Manipur is lost in obscurity, but there can be no doubt that it has existed as an independent kingdom from a very early period. In the days when the Indian branch of the Aryan race was still in its progressive and colonising stage, this district was repeatedly passed over by one wave after another of invaders, intent on penetrating into the remotest parts of Burmah. We have no means of ascertaining what government it had before the year 700 A.D., but it is believed that a monarchy prevailed at that era. About the year 1250 A.D., a large Chinese force invaded the country, and was signally defeated; all who were not killed being made prisoners. These taught the Manipuris silk culture, and a number of them were settled at Susa Rameng in the valley, where they have still descendants. The Chinese also taught the art of brick-making, and erected two solid blocks of masonry in the palace, between which the road to the Lion Gate passed. These blocks were levelled with the ground by the Burmese invaders, but rebuilt on the old foundations by Ghumbeer Singh.

Manipur in old days possessed a famous breed of ponies, larger and better bred than the so-called Burmese ponies that come from the Shan states. On these ponies were mounted the formidable cavalry that in the last century made Manipur feared throughout Upper Burmah, and enabled her rulers on more than one occasion, to carry their victorious arms within sight of Ava, where their Rajah Pamheiba erected a stone pillar to commemorate the event. The cavalry used the regular Manipuri saddle protecting the legs, and were armed with spears and two quivers of darts. These darts in a retreat were grasped by a loop and swung round in a peculiar way, when the shaft formed of peacock feathers with an iron head suddenly became detached, and flying with great force inflicted a fatal wound wherever it struck. A skilful man could throw them with great precision.

The territories of Manipur varied according to the mettle of its rulers. Sometimes they held a considerable territory east of the Chindwin river in subjection, at other times only the Kubo valley, a strip of territory, inhabited, not by Burmese, but by Shans, and lying between Manipur proper and the Chindwin. Again they were driven back into Manipur proper. For the greater part of the last century, the Kubo valley unquestionably belonged to Manipur, and it was never in any sense a Burmese province, being, when not under Manipur, a feudatory of the great Shan kingdom of Pong.

In the middle of the last century one of those extraordinary men who appear from time to time in the East, destined to shine like a blazing meteor, imparting exceeding brilliancy to their country, and then as suddenly vanishing, so that it returns to its original obscurity, appeared in Burmah. His name, Along Pra, has been corrupted by us into Alompra, by which he is always known. He speedily raised Burmah to a commanding position. The kingdom of Pong was overthrown and its territories mostly annexed, Pegu was conquered, our district of Chittagong threatened, and Siam forced to relinquish several coveted possessions. The war fever did not die with Alompra, and in 1817 and 1819 Assam and Manipur were respectively invaded, internal dissensions having bred traitors, who, in both countries, made the path of the invaders easy. But the master spirit was gone, and when we appeared upon the scene, they could make no efficient stand. Had we then marched to Ava, the Burmese Empire would have collapsed like a house of cards, and the events of 1885 been anticipated by sixty years. As it was, we did not realise our strength and the Burmese weakness, and contented ourselves with annexing Assam and Cachar and protecting Manipur.

It is not very evident what the religion of Manipur was in early days, but we see no trace of Buddhism. Probably, whatever the belief in early years when the people may have been affected by the intermittent stream of Aryans passing through, for many centuries no religious rites were used before the recent rise of Hindooism, further than to appease evil spirits, as is the custom of the surrounding tribes. There can be little doubt that some time or other the Naga tribes to the north made one of their chiefs Rajah of Manipur, and that his family, while, like the Manchus in China and other conquerors, adopting the civilisation of the country, retained some of their old customs. This is shown in the curious practice at the installation of a Rajah, when he and the Ranee appear in Naga costume; also that he always has in his palace a house built like a Naga’s, and wherever he goes he is attended by two or three Manipuris with Naga arms and accoutrements. I once told a Manipuri what I thought on the subject, and he was greatly struck by it, and admitted the force of what I said.

Towards the middle of the last century, for some reason or other, a great Hindoo revival took place in the East of India. Assam was once Hindoo but had long become Buddhist under its Ahom kings, and now became converted to Hindooism, by Brahmins from Bengal. All difficulties were smoothed over, and converts were made by tens of thousands. It is to be regretted that it was so, as these “converts” quickly deteriorated. The easy conquest of Hindooised Assam by the Burmese, when Buddhist Assam had successfully resisted a powerful army sent by Arungzebe from India and composed largely of recruits from Central Asia, seems proof of it, if all other evidence were wanting.

The process of conversion in Manipur began a generation later than in Assam, and proceeded on somewhat different lines, but it was not less effective, and was still going on at a late date. It had not the same deteriorating effect, for the Rajahs assumed to themselves a position greater than that of High Pontiff, and could at any time by their simple fiat have changed the religion of the country and degraded all the Brahmins, in fact all admissions to the Hindoo pale from the outer world of unorthodoxy were made by the Rajah himself. Sometimes the inhabitants of a village were elevated en masse from the level of outcasts, to that of Hindoos of pure caste, but more often single individuals were “converted.” A man belonging to a hill-tribe, for instance, could, if the Rajah chose, at any time receive the sacred thread of the twice-born castes, and on payment of a small sum of money be admitted as a Hindoo and was thenceforth called a Khetree.1 This privilege was not accorded to Mussulmans. I once asked a Manipuri why they received hill-men and not Mussulmans, both being Mlechas,2 according to Hindoo theory. He said it was because the hill people had sinned in ignorance, whereas Mussulmans knew the evil of their ways.

Of course, every one who knows anything of Hindooism is aware that theoretically a man must be born a Hindoo, and that proselytism is not admitted. Practically, however, this rule is ignored on the eastern frontier, and all along it from Sudya down to Chittagong, where conversions are daily taking place. I remember villages in Assam where caste was unknown thirty-five years ago, but where now the people live in the odour of sanctity as highly orthodox and bigoted Hindoos. Strange to say, the pure Hindoos of the North-West Provinces acknowledge the pretensions of these spurious converts sufficiently so as to allow of their drinking water brought by them. It is probably easier to take the people at their own valuation than to carry water one’s self from a distance when tired. By the religious law of the Hindoos, it is forbidden to eat or drink anything touched by one of another tribe.

Our first relations with Manipur date from 1762, when Governor Verelst of the Bengal Presidency—with that splendid self-reliance and large-mindedness characteristic of the makers of the British Indian Empire, men who acted instead of talking, and were always ready to extend our responsibilities when advisable—entered into a treaty with the Rajah of Manipur. As this treaty came to nothing, practically our connection with the little state really dates from 1823. It had been invaded by the Burmese in 1819, and its people driven out or carried off into slavery in Burmah. The royal family were fugitives.

At that time Sylhet was our frontier station, and our relations with the Burmese, who were at the highest pitch of their power, were daily becoming more strained. On our side of the frontier we were ably represented by Mr. David Scott, agent to the Governor-General, and preparations were being made for the inevitable struggle. One day a young Manipuri prince waited on Mr. Scott and asked leave to raise a Manipuri force to fight on our side. He was short and slight, and of indomitable courage and energy, and the agent to the Governor-General recognising his ability, allowed him to raise 500 men. These were soon increased to 2000, cavalry, infantry and artillery. Two English officers, Captain F. Grant and Lieutenant R. B. Pemberton, were attached to the force, thenceforth called the Manipur Levy, to drill and discipline it.

In 1825 a general advance was made all along our line, Cachar was invaded and subdued, and we essayed to pursue the enemy into Manipur and thence into Burmah, but our transport arrangements failed. Hitherto we had been accustomed to wars in the arid plains of India, and our military authorities did not realise the necessities of an expedition into the eastern jungles. Hence, camels and bullocks were sent to dislocate their limbs in the tenacious mud and swamps of Cachar, and when the advance into Manipur was desired, our regular troops were powerless. At this crisis the Manipur Levy showed its immense value. The men could move lightly equipped without the paraphernalia of a regular army, and advance they did, and with such effect that in a short time not only was Manipur cleared, but the enemy driven out of the Kubo valley. Later on, Ghumbeer Singh was recognised as Rajah of Manipur, and the Kubo valley was included within his territories.

Manipur at this time contained only 2000 inhabitants, the miserable remnants of a thriving population of at least 400,000, possibly 600,000, that existed before the invasion. Ghumbeer Singh’s task was to encourage exiles to return, and to attempt to rebuild the prosperity of his little kingdom. He was a wise and strong though severe ruler, and though he owed his throne greatly to his own efforts, he to the last retained the deepest feelings of loyalty and gratitude to the British Government, promptly obeying all its orders and doing his utmost to impress the same feeling on all his officers.

As is always the case, though we had carried all before us in the war, we began to display great weakness afterwards. We had an agent, Colonel Burney, at Ava, and the Burmese who were not disposed to be at all friendly, constantly tried to impress on him the fact that all difficulties and disputes would be at an end if we ceded the Kubo valley to them, that territory belonging to our ally Ghumbeer Singh of Manipur. Of course the proposal ought to have been rejected with scorn, and a severe snub given to the Burmese officials. The advisers of the Government of India, however, being generally officers brought up in the Secretariat, and with little practical knowledge of Asiatics, the manly course was not followed. It was not realised that a display of self-confidence and strength is the best diplomacy with people like the Burmese, and with a view to winning their good-will we basely consented to deprive our gallant and loyal ally of part of his territories. An attempt was made to negotiate with him, but Major Grant said, “It is no use bargaining with Ghumbeer Singh,” and refused to take any part in it. He was asked what compensation should be given, and he said 6000 sicca rupees per annum.

When Ghumbeer Singh heard the final decision he quietly accepted it, saying, “You gave it me and you can take it away. I accept your decree.” The proposed transfer was very distasteful to many of the inhabitants, including the Sumjok (Thoungdoot) Tsawbwa,3 but they were not consulted. The Kubo valley was handed over to the Burmese on the 9th of January, 1834, and on that day Ghumbeer Singh died in Manipur of cholera. Perhaps he was happy in the hour of his death, as he felt the treatment of our Government most severely.

Ghumbeer Singh did much for Manipur during his comparatively short reign. He made all the roads in his territory safe, and subdued the different hill-tribes who had asserted their independence during the troubles with Burmah. Imphal, the old capital, had not been re-occupied, though the sacred spot where the temple of Govindjee stood was cared for; but a new palace had been built at Langthabal at a distance of three and a half miles from Imphal where several fine masonry buildings were erected, and a canal dug for the annual boat races. Langthabal1 was deserted in 1844 and the old site re-occupied, and in my time, the buildings at Langthabal were picturesque ruins, having been greatly injured by time and the earthquakes of 1869 and 1880. Ghumbeer Singh left an infant son, Chandra Kirtee Singh who was two years of age at his father’s death and a distant cousin, Nur Singh, was appointed Regent. Contrary to all precedent, the Regent was loyal to his charge and governed well and ably for the infant prince, in spite of constant attempts to overthrow his government. In 1844, the Queen-Mother wishing to govern herself, attempted to procure Nur Singh’s murder as he was at prayers in the temple. She failed and fled with her son the young Rajah Chandra Kirtee Singh to British territory. The Regent then proclaimed himself Rajah with the consent of all the people. The Manipur Levy had been maintained up till 1835 when the Government of India withdrew their connection from it, and ceased to pay the men. Major Grant left Manipur, and Captain Gordon, who had been adjutant since 1827, was made Political Agent of Manipur. Captain Pemberton had long since been on special survey duty.

Captain Gordon died in December 1844. He was much liked and long remembered by the people whom he had greatly benefited, among other ways by introducing English vegetables, and fruits. He was succeeded by Lieutenant (afterwards Colonel) McCulloch.

Rajah Nur Singh died in 1850, and was succeeded by his brother Debindro, a weak man, quite unfit for the position. In 1850, young Chandra Kirtee Singh invaded the valley with a body of followers, Debindro fled, and he mounted the throne without opposition. Up to this time the Government of India had always acknowledged the de facto Rajah of Manipur, and revolutions with much accompanying bloodshed were common. Now, however, McCulloch strongly urged the advisability of supporting Chandra Kirtee Singh, and he received authority to “make a public avowal of the determination of the British Government to uphold the present Rajah and to resist and punish any parties attempting hereafter to dispossess him.” The Court of Directors of the East India Company, in a despatch dated May 5th, 1852, confirmed the order of the Government of India and commented thus: “The position you have assumed of pledged protector of the Rajah, imposes on you as a necessary consequence the obligation of attempting to guide him, by your advice, but if needful of protecting his subjects against oppression on his part; otherwise our guarantee of his rule may be the cause of inflicting on them a continuance of reckless tyranny.”

These words of justice and wisdom were steadily ignored by successive governments. On no occasion did the Government of India ever seriously remonstrate with the Rajah, or make a sustained effort to improve his system of administration. The East India Company’s order became a dead letter, but the resolution to uphold Chandra Kirtee Singh bore good fruit, and during his long reign of thirty-five years no successful attempt against his authority was ever made, and he on his part displayed unswerving fidelity to the British Government.

I have already mentioned the great work that Colonel McCulloch accomplished with regard to the Kukis. This added to his long experience, gave him great influence in the State, and when he retired from the service in 1861, it was amidst the regrets of the whole people. Able, high-minded, respected, and having accomplished a task few could even have attempted, he left without honour or reward from his Government. How many men of inferior capacity, and quite without his old-fashioned single-minded devotion to duty, are nowadays covered with stars! When he left he made every effort to hand over his vast power and influence intact to his successor, and to smooth his way as much as possible. Had the Government of India exercised the slightest tact and discretion in the selection of its agent, he might have carried on the good work so ably commenced, and brought Manipur by rapid strides into the path of progress. As it was it would have been difficult to find an officer more unfitted to succeed Colonel McCulloch than the one selected; he was soon involved in difficulties, and after a troubled period was ordered by Government to leave at three days’ notice. For a time the agency remained vacant, but the Rajah applied for another officer, and Colonel McCulloch was requested by the Government to quit his retirement, and again assume charge. He did so, and was received with acclamations by Rajah and people, the whole State turning out to meet him. His first effort was to restore the confidence forfeited by the late political agent, and everything went on as smoothly as ever; but, towards the end of 1867, he finally retired, staying on a few days after his successor’s arrival to post him up in his work. This time it would have been thought that some judgment would be shown in the selection of an officer for the post; but the next political agent was eminently unfitted and for some years before his death in 1876, was on very indifferent terms with the Durbar.

During the brief period that elapsed between the last event and my taking charge, two different officers held the post.

My Government establishment consisted of a head clerk, a most excellent man, Baboo Rusni Lall Coondoo; a native doctor, Lachman Parshad; native secretary and Manipuri interpreter; Burmese interpreter; Naga interpreter; Kuki interpreter; and latterly six chuprassies, i.e., orderlies or lictors. As for private servants we had three Naga girls, a Mugh cook and assistant, who could turn out a dinner equal to any of the London clubs for one hundred people at a couple of days’ notice, and under him I had four young Nagas learning their work, as I was determined to do more for my successors than my predecessors had done for me, viz., teach and train up a staff of servants so as to save the necessity of importing the scum of Calcutta. I had an excellent bearer, Horna, as I have already stated, and under him were two or three Nagas; washermen, syces, gardeners, water-carriers, etc., made up the number. All my interpreters, chuprassies, and servants, I clothed in scarlet livery which made a great impression, and gradually the air of squalor which prevailed when I arrived began to disappear. I had charge of a Government Treasury from which I used to pay myself and the Government establishment. The currency of the country was a small bell-metal coin called “Sel,” of which 400 to 480 went to the rupee, also current, but copper pice were not used, and all Manipuri accounts were kept in “Sel.”

At this time the Naga Hills were still under a political officer whose actual jurisdiction was limited to the villages which had paid tribute to me, as already described. He was supposed to exercise a certain influence over many of the large villages, but the influence was lessened by the feeling entertained by the Nagas that our stay in the hills was uncertain, and that for all practical purposes the Manipuris were the power most to be reckoned with, and from our point of view it was very desirable that our headquarter station should be removed to Kohima. A dispute with Mozuma, due chiefly to our vacillating conduct, was now going on, but its chiefs would not accept our terms, and an expedition to coerce them was in preparation in which I was to take part. Mr. Carnegy was political officer, a man of ability and determination, and very pleasant to deal with. During the dispute with Mozuma, the other villages held aloof, thinking Mozuma was able to hold its own, and waiting to see which side gained the day.

Burmah was still under its native rulers. There were constant frontier disputes going on between it and Manipur, but that state of things was chronic.

To the south of Manipur, the Chin and Lushai tribes were quiet.

There was a long standing boundary dispute between Manipur and the Naga Hills. The boundary had been most arbitrarily settled by us when the survey was carried out, so far as a certain point, beyond that it was vague. Manipur claimed territory which we certainly did not possess, and which she had visited from time to time, but did not actually hold in subjection. Other portions, as I afterwards proved, were occupied by her, though the fact had not been ascertained. Over and over again efforts had been made to bring the Durbar to terms, but without success. I determined to grapple with the question at once. I took a map and drew a line including all that I thought Manipur entitled to, in the neighbourhood of the Naga Hills, and advised the Maharajah to accept the arrangement on the understanding that when I visited the country claimed further eastward, I would recommend the Government of India to allow him to retain all that he actually held in his possession. This was agreed to by him and confirmed by Government, and I believe that substantial justice was done to both parties.

I should like to have seen Manipur get more, as a set-off against our unjust treatment in former years, but as we were sure eventually, to occupy all the Naga Hills, it was necessary to make such an adjustment as would not injure British interests in the future.

The first few weeks in Manipur were taken up in making acquaintance with the place and people, and doing all that was possible to disarm the fears of the Durbar. Never was there one so suspicious. At first all my movements were watched, and wherever I went spies, open or secret, followed; however, I encouraged it to the utmost, and told the officials to inquire into everything I did, and they very soon saw that there was no necessity for special espionage, though all my acts were still noted and reported. Several little difficulties cropped up regarding British subjects, and required some care in dealing with them. In one case, a man had taken upon himself to intrigue with some of the Nagas under Manipur, and urged them to declare themselves British subjects, and in another, a man had robbed the Maharajah. In both instances the Durbar had acted foolishly and precipitately, though under much provocation. However, I turned both men out of the country, with orders never to return.

The question of British subjects and their rights was one that gave me much trouble for years. Judging by a decision of the High Court of Calcutta that all the descendants of European British subjects were European British subjects, I insisted on all descendants of British subjects being considered as such, and subject to my jurisdiction. After a long struggle I carried my point, and it very greatly strengthened my position.

A few more words about the capital and the Manipuris may not be amiss. Imphal, as has been said,1 covered a space of fifteen square miles. On the north side it touches on some low hills, called Ching-mai-roong, and running westward is bounded by a shallow lake, which is partly enclosed by a continuation of the hills, here called Langol, on which grows a celebrated cane used for polo sticks. Then, running south, it is intersected by several roads, notably the road to Silchar, which enters the capital at a place called Kooak-Kaithel (i.e. crow bazaar). Here it is bounded by rice cultivation. Going farther south, and sweeping round in an easterly direction, it is bounded by the Plain of Lang-thabal, at one extremity of which lies the old capital; here two rivers intersect it. And going farther east, it is bounded by the lower slopes of a hill rising 2500 feet above the valley. Then turning to the northward and crossing two rivers, we come again to the place from which we started. The want of the town was a good water-supply; there were one or two fair-sized tanks, or ponds, as they would be called in England, and the afore-mentioned rivers, of which the water is not improved by receiving the ashes of the dead burned on their banks. Beyond this, all the water obtainable was derived from small ponds, one or more of which was to be found in every garden enclosure. The ground on which the capital stands must at one time have been very low, probably a marsh, and it has been artificially raised from time to time by digging these tanks; every raised road, too, meant a deep stagnant ditch on either side. The people are not sanitary in their habits, and when heavy rain falls the gardens are flooded, and a fair share of the accumulated filth is washed into the drinking-tanks, the result being frequent epidemics of cholera.

The Manipuris themselves are a fine stalwart race descended from an Indo-Chinese stock, with some admixture of Aryan blood, derived from the successive waves of Aryan invaders that have passed through the valley in prehistoric days. It may be this, or from an admixture of Chinese blood, but certainly the Manipuris have stable and industrious qualities which the Burmese and Shans do not possess. Since then the race has been constantly fed by additions from the various hill-tribes surrounding the valley. The result is a fairly homogeneous people of great activity and energy, with much of the Japanese aptitude for acquiring new arts. The men seem capable of learning anything, and the women are famous as weavers, and in many cases have completely killed out the manufacture of cloths formerly peculiar to certain of the hill-tribes, over whom the Manipuris have obtained mastery by superior intellect. They are always cheerful, even on a long and trying march, and are good-humoured under any difficulties and never apparently conscious of fatigue. They are very abstemious, and live chiefly on rice and fish, which is often rotten from preference. Though rigid Hindoos outwardly, they have a curious custom by which a man of low caste, marrying a high-caste woman, can be adopted into her tribe, the exact reverse of what prevails in India, where a woman of high caste marrying a low-caste man is hopelessly degraded and her children outcasts.

It is impossible for those who have marched much in the hills with Manipuris to avoid liking them. Their caste prejudices, though rigid, give no trouble to others. Hungry or not, they are always ready to march, and march all day and all night, if necessary. Still, the Indo-Chinese races exceed even the ordinary Asiatic in reserve and sphinx-like characteristics, and the Manipuris are an inscrutable set. I had many intimate friends among them, yet, on the whole, prefer the pure Hindoo.

What is now the valley of Manipur was evidently once a series of valleys and ranges of hills, between the higher ranges which now border it and converge to the south. The rivers now flowing through the valley then flowed through it like the Barak, Eerung, and others, at a much lower level. One of the great earthquakes, to which these regions are so subject, closed the outlet and raised a permanent barrier; thus a lake was formed, and in the course of ages the alluvium brought down by the streams filled it up to its present level leaving the Logtak Lake in its lowest part, a lake which has constantly lessened and is still lessening in size. The crests of the sunken ranges are still to be seen running down the valley, and mostly parallel to the bordering ranges, such are Langol, Langthabal, Phoiching, Lokching, and others. Sometimes a river, as at a place called “Eeroce Semba,” runs at the base of a hill, and cuts away the alluvium, showing the solid rock. This alluvium forms one of the deepest and richest soils in the world.

I have referred to the proposed expedition to the Naga Hills, to aid the troops there in the operations against the powerful village of Mozuma. In order to take part in this expedition I had brought up one hundred men of the 35th Native Infantry, from Cachar, and I started from Manipur on December 3rd, 1877, having sent on the 35th and a Manipuri force of over three hundred men under the Minister Bularam Singh. I rode out the first day to Mayang Khang, a distance of forty miles, where I caught up my men. I passed Sengmai at a distance of thirteen miles on the border of the valley, and up to which the road is flat, and soon entered a broken country, first grass, then scrub, then forest. The road lay over a succession of spurs of the Kowpree Hills which run down into a very narrow valley, and was as bad as can be imagined—very steep ascents and descents. At last we reached Kaithemabee, the second stage, and fourteen miles from Sengmai. It is exceedingly picturesquely situated, having a splendid view of the Kowpree range, here rising to over 8000 feet. The outpost is situated on a high bank overlooking a stream, and beyond it a splendid rolling slope of grass extending for miles.

All this part of the country is covered with beehive-shaped cairns, built of well-selected stones. They are said to have been made by the Köereng Nagas, formerly a very powerful race, whose miserable remnants now inhabit the neighbouring hills. Farther on the bee-hives end suddenly, and a region of monoliths is entered. Probably both monoliths and bee-hives were erected to commemorate great events in the lives of the builders, the death of a chief, the birth of a son, the giving of a great feast when a bison, or possibly many, were killed. Monoliths are common, and exist all over the Naga Hills and among the Kolarian and Dravidian tribes, as well as all over Europe. Cairns also are common, but the beehive-shaped cairns are, I believe, unique, and found only in Manipur and in this neighbourhood.

I reached Mayung Khang at 4 P.M., having an hour before crossed the watershed, all the streams south of it falling into the tributaries of the Chindwin Irrawaddy, all to the north running into the tributaries of the Ganges and Burrhampooter.

Mayung Khang is a highly undulating grassy slope, the Kowpree rising to nearly nine thousand feet in the west, while after crossing a small stream a lower range closes it in on the east. We halted there for the night close to a monolith, and the next day marched to Mythephum.

Mythephum or Muphum (lit. Manipuri settlement) was a small military post, and we encamped below in a wide valley among recently cut rice fields, with a river rushing by us. The place is so named from having been a Manipuri settlement, in the old days before the Burmese invasion. High hills rose above us on all sides, the valley running in and out among them and following the course of the stream. To our north, and at a distance of a mile or two, was the once powerful village of Muram, still populous but submissive. I had a small but most comfortable straw-built hut, and well remember how delightful the early morning was next day, when I had breakfast at sunrise and saw my thermometer at thirty-two degrees. Only those accustomed to great heat realise the delights of a low thermometer. Mythephum is over 4000 feet above the sea, and being a low valley is often extremely cold. Sometimes in winter the stream is for a day quite choked by blocks of ice, and I have seen the thermometer at twenty-six degrees, 150 feet above the valley, which probably meant eighteen degrees at the lowest level on the grass.

It was my intention to march on Mozuma by a track which would avoid the powerful villages of Viswema, Kohima, Jotsuma and Konoma, and enable me to attack the enemy in the rear. Half-way I was delayed by receiving no letter from Mr. Carnegy, with whom I had to act in concert, and this prevented me from reaching the scene of operations, as I received the startling news that the Manipuri outpost of Kongal Tannah on the borders of the Kubo valley had been attacked on December 14th by a party of men sent by the Rajah of Sumjok or Thoungdoot, and eight men killed. This threw the whole population of Manipur into a state of commotion, and the Maharajah begged me to return at once, and I felt it my duty to do so, as my chief work was to protect Manipur and its interests. I therefore returned to Manipur on December 17th, leaving my party on the frontier, where they remained some time longer, the Nagas being unwilling to submit; and making overtures instead to the Maharajah Chandra Kirtee Singh. He sternly declined their offers, and threatened that if they did not speedily yield to the British authorities, he would send a large force to our aid.

The Naga Hills Campaign of that year had no further interest for Manipur, and it had a sad ending for us, as Mr. Carnegy was accidently shot by a sentry.

The “Kongal outrage,” as it was thenceforth called, was so serious and so evidently premeditated, that a most thorough inquiry was needed. It took some time to collect evidence as wounded men had to be brought in, and it was the end of the month before I was able to proceed to the spot. At last I started and crossed the Yoma range of hills for the first time. What a lovely march it was and what an anxious one, as I left my wife not at all well, and no one but an ignorant and not very sweet-tempered English nurse to look after her. However, duty must come first, and off I started, posting relays of ponies on the way to enable me to return quickly when the work was done. Thangal Major accompanied me.

The first part of our march lay across the valley, and we began the ascent of the hills at a place called Ingorok. After a wearisome ascent of 3500 feet and a more gradual one along the crest, we made a rapid descent of 4000 feet to the Turet river, where we encamped. The river runs at the bottom of an exceedingly narrow valley, and the ascent on both sides is one of the most wearisome I have ever made. On a dark night lights on the hillside above, appear as stars from the bed of the stream. The scenery was majestic, and the vegetation very fine. The next day we commenced with a steep ascent of 2500 feet, and ended with a descent of 3000 feet to the Maghung river. From the Maghung next morning we started for Kongal Tannah, which we reached in good time.

I carefully examined the place and saw the charred remains of the murdered men, and many bullets still sticking in the stockade. The evidence being complete, I turned homewards, and by travelling incessantly reached Manipur next morning to find that my wife had presented me with another son, the first pure European child born in Manipur. It had been an anxious time for me, and I was thankful to find both her and the baby well. We named the baby Arthur.

I sent a full report of the Kongal case to the Government of India, and a demand for reparation was made at the Court of Mandalay, but it was not backed up with sufficient vigour. The outrage was unprovoked, and nothing less than the execution of the ringleaders, who were well known, would have satisfied Manipur, and, indeed, the claims of justice, but though the case dragged on for years, no redress was ever given. I predicted at the time that failure to do justice would eventually lead to underhand reprisals on the part of Manipur, as the Durbar could not understand our Government tolerating an attack of this kind on a protected state, and naturally ascribed our forbearance to weakness. I shall have to refer to the case farther on.