I have briefly described the old Residency which was rented from the Heir Apparent. Money had been sanctioned for a new Residency, to belong to the British Government, but there had been squabbles for a long time between my predecessors and the Durbar regarding a suitable site. Also such a building as was required could only be built with the help of the Durbar whom it was advisable to conciliate.

One of my predecessors wished to build on a small hill called “Chinga,” about a mile from the palace. It was an admirable site, and had the position of the Political Agent been similar to that in other Indian States, it could not have been better. But in Manipur, the representative of the Government of India was regarded by the Maharajah as a powerful prop and support in case of his throne being attacked, as was constantly the case in former years. On this ground the Durbar objected that it was too far off; also that the place was reported to be the residence of an evil spirit inimical to the Royal family, so that it was not a convenient spot for the Maharajah to visit. So, after many acrimonious disputes, the negotiation fell through.

Another Political Agent chose a site called Ching-mai-roong, which in many ways was very satisfactory, and the Durbar reluctantly consented to give it, but it was a mile and a half from the palace, and therefore much out of the way. The question was still in abeyance when I arrived. As soon as I had time, I discussed the matter with the Durbar, and found the Maharajah much averse to my removal from the old site. He said “Where you are now, I can call to you; but if you go to a distance, I shall be cut off entirely.”

I quite saw the advisability of being on the spot, also in what I may call the fashionable quarter of the town; and, as from a sanitary point of view, the position was as good as any other, I agreed to stay, on condition that all the squalid houses and slums in the neighbourhood were cleared away, dirty tanks filled, and others deepened, and a fine large space cleared and handed over to me. I further insisted that I should have all the assistance necessary in building a suitable Residency. My terms were agreed to, and the work put in hand. I determined to have a building worthy of the representative of the British Government, and sacrificed everything to suitable rooms, and sound construction, so that it was not till the end of 1880 that it was finished.

I was greatly indebted to my head clerk, Baboo Rusni Lall Coondoo, who acted as clerk of the works. The result was a charming residence. It was in the half-timber style of old English houses, modified to suit the climate, all on one floor, but raised on a solid brick foundation, which gave a lower storey seven feet in height, thus keeping us high and dry, the house being approached on four sides by flights of solid masonry steps. The lower storey was built so as to be shot proof, as I designed it as a place of retreat from stray shot for non-combatants, in the event of the Residency being again, as it had been before, subjected to a cross-fire from contending parties during one of the many revolutions so common to Manipur. Little did I dream that folly, and incompetency would ever lead to our being directly attacked!

The large compound, about sixteen acres in extent, was surrounded by a mud breastwork and ditch, quite capable of being defended, if necessary, and there were four entrances which I named respectively, the Great Gate, the Milking Gate, my cows’-shed being close to it, the Water Gate and the Kang-joop-kool Gate. I made a riding road all round to exercise ponies, and besides making a splendid kitchen garden, adding considerably to Colonel McCulloch’s, we laid out flower beds, and had cool shady spots for the heat of the day. Deodars and other exotic trees were imported by me and throve wonderfully. One large sheet of water with an island in the centre was cleared, deepened, and the banks repaired, and as I never allowed a bird to be killed, it was covered in winter with water-fowls to the number of four hundred and fifty or five hundred of every kind, from wild geese downwards, and rare birds took refuge in the trees. In the north-east corner of the compound were the lines for my escort, with a tank of the purest drinking water, where formerly squalor and filth had held sway. Finally I covered most of the large trees with beautiful orchids, so that in the season we had a blaze of colour. I spared no expense on the garden, and we were rewarded. Altogether the Residency and its grounds formed a beautiful and comfortable resting-place.

The new building was also commodious and contained a handsome Durbar-room for receptions 24 feet square, fine dining and drawing-rooms, very airy and comfortable bedrooms, etc., with an office for myself. The pantry was so arranged that cold draughts of air, so great a drawback in Indian houses in cold weather, were avoided when dinner was being brought in. The bedrooms had fireplaces, and the sitting-rooms excellent stoves which in winter were very necessary. The shot-proof rooms in the basement were not used, except one for a storeroom, and the one under the verandah of the Durbar-room, used as a sleeping place by the men of my guard.

The Great Gate was a picturesque half-timber structure, with rooms on either side, one of which I built specially as a pneumonia hospital, so it was designed with a view to maintaining an equable temperature, pneumonia being a great scourge among newly arrived Hindoostani sepoys. Not long after I left, it was diverted to other purposes, being considered too good for a hospital!

“With the exception of the Residency, no house when I left Manipur, was built of brick, partly from fear of earthquakes, partly on account of expense. The ordinary houses of the people are huts with wattle and daub or mud walls, those of greater folks the same, but on a larger scale. Every house has a verandah in front with the main entrance leading from it, and a little side door on the north side close to the west end, the houses invariably facing east. The roofs are all of thatch, with the exception of the Rajah’s, which was of corrugated iron. There were several temples built of brick stuccoed over. One in the palace had an iron roof, another a gilded one. I sent some models of these temples and several other buildings to the Indian and Colonial Exhibition of 1886, every beam and rafter being represented and made according to scale. The larger of the temples had bells of a fine deep tone. Some of the approaches to the Rajah’s dwelling-house were made of brick. Formerly the palace enclosure was entered from the front by a quaint and picturesque old gateway, not beautiful, but characteristic of Manipur; the old Rajah Chandra Kirtee Singh substituted for it a tawdry and fantastic structure with a corrugated iron roof, a structure without any merit, and quite out of keeping with its surroundings. I remonstrated in vain; shoddy and vulgar tastes had penetrated even to Manipur, and the picturesque old building that spoke of bygone ages was doomed; but we who have destroyed so many fine buildings, have little right to criticise.

“Close to the gateway is the place where the grand stand is erected, from which the Rajah and his relations view the boat races on the palace moat. I say ‘view,’ as in old age, a Rajah sits there all the time; but in the prime of life he takes part in these races, steering one of the boats himself. These boat races generally take place in September when the moat is full, and are the great event of the year. Every one turns out to see them, the Ranees and other female relations being on the opposite side of the moat, for in Manipur there is no concealment of women, while the side next to the road is thronged with spectators. The boatmen have a handsome dress peculiar to the occasion, and the whole scene is highly interesting. The boats are canoes hewn out of single trees of great size, and are decorated with colour and carving.”1

The valley of Manipur is hot and steamy in the rainy season, and Colonel McCulloch built a small hut at a place called Kang-joop-kool, situated on a spur of the Kowpree range, to the west of the valley at a height of 5170 feet above the sea. The distance from the capital was fourteen miles, and four from the foot of the hills, and he lived there for the whole of the rainy season, except for a few visits to the capital. His successors till my time did not stay there much, but I bought a small hut from my immediate predecessor, and pulled it down, and built a new one far more commodious. I enclosed the land, and laid out a small garden, and planted a wood of Khasia pines, the land being quite bare, and in time it became a most charming place. It was pleasant to leave the ceremonial life at the capital, where I never walked out without a train of followers clad in scarlet liveries, and settle down quietly at Kang-joop-kool where we could roam about the hills as if we had been in England.

I spent little or no time in sporting, my eyes were never very good, and before I came to Manipur had become so deficient in what oculists call power of “accommodation,” that, though formerly a fairly good shot, I was then a bad one. In one way this was an advantage, as all my interests were concentrated on my work, and nothing of greater interest could have been found. Somehow or other, there was subject for conversation with State officials and non-officials, to last me from early morning till night, and fill up every spare moment. My door was always open, and the guard at the great gate had orders to let every one pass. All the minor gates were unguarded.

No attempt was made by the Durbar, as in other native states, to bribe the Residency servants, except in one notable case that happened before my time. All negotiations were carried on with the Political Agent direct, and the penurious Manipuris would have thought it waste of money to bribe his servants. This was a very satisfactory state of things, and probably saved many unpleasant complications.

In my dealings with the Durbar, I always tried to bear in mind that I was the representative of the strong dealing with the weak, and so to ignore little silly acts of self-assertion, such as a native court loves to indulge in, and childish ebullitions, as unworthy of notice. Whenever it became necessary for me to interfere, I did so with great firmness, but always tried to carry the Maharajah and his ministers with me, and make any desired reform appear to emanate from him. Except on one occasion, I never experienced any rudeness from an official.

At the same time when any attempt was made to infringe on the rights of the British Government or its subjects, I spoke in very unmistakable language. I think the Durbar gave me credit for good intentions and appreciated my desire to work with them; of course they tried to get all they could out of me, and it was a daily, but, on the whole, friendly struggle between us. I knew perfectly well that to exalt themselves, the Court party spoke of me behind my back in disparaging terms, and boasted of what they could do, and of their independence of the British Government, but I was quite satisfied that they did not believe what they said, and that in all important matters they deferred to me on every point, and were always coming to me to help them out of difficulties. I kept in mind Colonel McCulloch’s wise saying to the Rajah: “I don’t care what you say of me, so long as you do as I tell you.”

An incident occurred which might have caused some trouble, while it served to show the violent disposition of Kotwal Koireng, later known as the Senaputtee. One evening my Naga interpreter reported to me that an Angami Naga of Kohima had been cruelly assaulted by that prince, while he was passing along the road to the east of the palace enclosure. Soon after the man was brought in to me, and an examination by my native doctor proved that he was suffering from a severe contusion above the right eye, which might or might not prove fatal. Now, strictly speaking, the man was not a British subject, but some day or other he was sure to be one, and we had assumed an indefinite control over his people. This made me feel that passing over the offence as one not concerning us, would be to lose prestige with Manipur, as well as with the Naga tribes, who ought, I felt, to be assured of my sympathy. I therefore at once sent a strong remonstrance to the Durbar, claiming the man as a British subject, and demanding prompt recognition of, and reparation for the outrage. On further investigation it appeared, that the man was with some of his friends carrying a large joint of beef on his shoulder just as Kotwal Koireng was passing, and a few drops of blood fell on the ground; this enraged the Prince so much that he at once attacked the man with a thick stick which he carried, and beat him till he was almost senseless. There was no real provocation, as eating the flesh of cows that had died a natural death was always allowed, and any dead cow was at once handed over to the Nagas and other hill-tribes; it was simply an outburst of temper. The result was, that until the man’s recovery was assured, Kotwal was held in a species of arrest; then he was released and sent with the Jubraj to make an apology to me; the man received a sum of money, and the affair ended amicably. I did not often come across the princes, though sometimes I met them out riding, and then we were very friendly. Once when I was walking out, I met one of the younger ones riding in state on an elephant, he forgot to make the usual salutation. This was reported to the Maharajah, who sent him with Thangal Major to apologize.

The Manipuris paid very little revenue in money, and none in direct taxes. The land all belonged to the Rajah, and every holding paid a small quantity of rice each year. The chief payment was in personal service. This system known by the name of “Lalloop,” and by us often miscalled “forced labour,” was much the same as formerly existed in Assam under its Ahom Rajahs. According to it, each man in the country was bound to render ten days’ service out of every forty, to the Rajah, and it extended to every class in the community. Women were naturally exempt, but, among men, the blacksmith, goldsmith, carpenters, etc., pursued their different crafts in the Rajah’s workshops for the stated time, while the bulk of the population, the field workers, served as soldiers, and made roads or dug canals, in fact executed great public works for the benefit of the state.

The system was a good one, and when not carried to excess, pressed heavily on nobody. It was especially adapted to a poor state sparsely populated. In such a state, under ordinary circumstances, where the amount of revenue is small, and the rate of wages often comparatively high, it is next door to impossible to carry out many much-needed public works by payment. On the other hand, every man in India who lives by cultivation, has much spare time on his hands, and the “Lalloop” system very profitably utilises this, and for the benefit of the community at large. I never heard of it being complained of as a hardship. The system in Assam led to the completion of many useful and magnificent public works. High embanked roads were made throughout the country, and large tanks, lakes, appropriately termed “seas,” were excavated under this arrangement. Many of the great works of former ages in other parts of India are due to something of the same kind.

It was a sad mistake giving up the system in Assam, without retaining the right of the state to a certain number of days’ labour on the roads every year, as is the custom to this day, I believe, in Canada, Ceylon, and other countries.

Unfortunately, our so-called statesmen are carried away by false ideas of humanitarianism, and a desire to pose in every way as the exponents of civilisation, that is the last fad that is uppermost, and the experience of ages and the real good of primitive people are often sacrificed to this ignis fatuus. I hear that “Lalloop” has been abolished in Manipur since we took the state in charge. We may live to regret it; the unfortunate puppet Rajah certainly will. Why cannot we leave well alone, and attack the real evils of India that remain still unredressed, evils that to hear of them, would make the hair of any decent thinking man stand on end? We have still to learn that the native system has much good in it, much to recommend it, and that it is in many cases the natural outgrowth of the requirements of the people.

Manipur in old days required very little to make it a model native state of a unique type, and its people the happiest of the happy. All it required was a better administration of justice, and a few smaller reforms, also more enlightened fiscal regulations such as many European states have not yet attained. Given these, no one would have wished for more. No one asked for high pay; enough to live on, and the system of rewards already in force from time immemorial, satisfied all aspirations. The people were contented and happy, and it should have been our aim and object to keep them and leave them so. Shall we have accomplished this desirable object when we hand over the state to its future ruler, that is if it ever does again come under a Native Government?

One of the standing grievances of the Government of India against Manipur, was the levying of customs duties on all articles imported into the state, and on some articles exported to British territory. These duties supplied almost the only money revenue the Maharajah had, and also to some extent protected Manipuri industries. During my tenure of office I did something towards regulating the system, and in the case of articles not produced in Manipur, induced the Durbar to lower the rates. In the case of cloths, however, I strongly advocated the duties being kept up, where, as in the case of coarse cloths the imports entered into competition with the excellent manufactures of Manipur, which I wished to see preserved in all their integrity.

Our system of free trade has done much to injure useful trades in India, and none more than those in cotton goods. Among an ignorant people the incentives of cheapness and outward appearance are so great, that the sudden importation of cheap and inferior foreign goods may kill out an ancient art, and the people only discover when too late what they have lost, and then lament having abandoned the really good for the attractive flimsy article. Thus, in many parts of India, the beautiful chintzes which were common thirty-five years ago, are now nowhere to be had, and every year sees the decay of some branch of manufacture. This was very noticeable in Assam, and the arts there lost were only kept up in Manipur, owing to its having a Native Court where tradition and taste encouraged them. Soon after I went to Manipur, I found that the valley had almost been drained of ponies by their exportation to Cachar. The ministers consulted me about it, and I gave my consent to the trade being stopped, and this was done for years until the numbers had again increased.

On the whole the duties on almost every article were lowered during my term of office, and the imports largely increased. Indeed, but for the cumbersome system of levying the custom charges, they would have been no grievance at all; and as it was they hardly added anything to the cost of the articles when sold in Manipur, many of which could be bought for little more than the price paid in Cachar, plus the charge for carriage.

Slavery of a mild form existed in Manipur, the slaves being hereditary ones, or people, and the descendants of people who had sold themselves for debt, their services being pledged as interest for the debt. For instance a Naga (a very common case), marries a girl of another Naga village, thereby incurring a debt of forty rupees to the father, that being the price of a Naga bride. The man not being able to pay, his father-in-law says, “Sell yourself, and pay me.” This is done, and the man pays the forty rupees and has to work for his master till he can pay the debt, something being sometimes allowed for subsistence, or they agree upon a monthly payment, which if not paid is added to the principal. The wife probably works and supports the family, and, if the creditor is a fairly good fellow, things go smoothly, and the debtor never attempts to fulfil his obligations more than he can help. The law allows a man to transfer his services to any one who will take up the debt. Here and there great abuses crop up, and the master takes advantage of the corrupt courts to bind the slave more and more securely in the chains of debt, and then every effort is made to escape. I often paid the debts of slaves who came to me for help and let them work off the money. Once a little girl named Nowbee came to me. Her mother had sold her to pay her father’s funeral expenses. She stayed with us, working in the nursery for years, and when I left I forgave her the remainder of her debt which was unpaid, as, of course, I did with all the others. I once offered to redeem the mother, who, in turn, had sold herself, but the old woman declined, as some one told her that we should take her to England, and she was afraid to go. Sometimes cases of very cruel ill-treatment came before me, or cases where people had been made slaves contrary to the laws, and then I made a strong remonstrance to the Durbar, and insisted on justice. Once or twice I took the complainants under my protection immediately, and insisted on keeping them. One day a young man and a small boy came to me for protection: the case was a bad one, and I at once took them into my service as the best way of settling the difficulty, the young man as a gardener and the boy to work in the kitchen and wait at table; both were named “Chowba,” i.e. big; a name as common out there as John in England. We gave little Chowba clothes, and he stood behind my wife’s chair at dinner, the first evening crying bitterly from fear. However, he learned his work, and became an excellent servant. When I went on leave in 1882, I offered to place him with my locum tenens, but the boy said, “No, sahib, you have been kind to me; I have broken your things and you have threatened to beat me, but have never done so; you have threatened to cut my pay, but have never done so; I will never serve any one but you!” The poor boy kept his word; he preferred hard toil, cutting wood and such-like work; but unfortunately died before I returned.

Another bad case I remember, in which a woman complained to me that her child had been stolen from her house while she was away. I ordered the child to be brought to me; the poor little thing was only four years old, and could hardly stand from having been made to walk a great distance by the man who had stolen her, and whose only excuse was, that her father, who was dead, owed him nine rupees. I gave her to her mother, and insisted on the Durbar punishing him. The story was a sad one. The father of the child, a debtor slave, had been told by his master to leave his home and go with him, and the man in desperation attempted to kill his wife and little girl, and then committed suicide.

While in Manipur I did all I could to afford relief in individual cases. It was a great abuse, but slavery in Manipur must not be put in the same rank as slavery in Brazil, the West Indies, or Turkey and Arabia. A thorough reform of the judicial system of Manipur would have entirely taken the sting out of it. All the same, I wish I could have abolished it.

My wife’s nurse very speedily left us, and we were left to natives and did much better with them. We always had three or four Naga girls who did their work well in a rough-and-ready way. Chowbee, Nembee, and Nowbee, just mentioned, were the best. Chowbee was the wife of a Naga bearer named Lintoo, and Nembee afterwards married our head bearer Horna. We engaged a tailor named Suleiman, brother of Sooltan, one of our chuprassies, as a permanent servant, to do the ordinary household sewing and mending. My two boys, Dick and Edward, became very friendly with all the people, and were drilled daily by a naick (corporal of my escort), and the good-natured sepoys used to allow themselves to be drilled by the boys. One afternoon, I met these two walking up the lines with my orderly. I asked what they were going for, and they replied that the sepoys had not done their drill well that day, and they were going to give them some more. Whenever a new detachment came, the boys were formally introduced to the new native officers and men. As they grew older they learned to ride, and rode out morning and evening when I went for a walk.

As the Burmese difficulty did not show signs of decreasing, I went out in February to Kongjang on the Yoma range, to reconnoitre and select a place for a new stockade, if necessary. At three and a half miles on my way, I passed Langthabal, the old capital of Ghumbeer Singh, a pretty place where the cantonment of the Manipur Levy used to be, and where Captain Gordon was buried under a tree. The ruined palace lies nestling under a hill, on a spur of which is a magnificent fir tree; behind the palace a garden run to waste and wood, with a few ponds, formed an admirable cover for ducks, which I saw in abundance. After leaving Langthabal, we passed a place called Leelong, the place of execution for members of the Royal family, who are sewn up in sacks and drowned in the river. Farther on is a great fishing weir, where a small lake discharges itself into a river. At last, after a march of thirty miles, I halted at Pullel, a village of low caste Manipuris. Next morning we ascended the Yoma range, reaching Aimole, a village picturesquely situated and inhabited by a tribe of that name. The head of the village was an intelligent old man, who remembered Captain Gordon and talked a good deal about him. I gave him a coat, and the girls and boys of the village got up a dance for my benefit, the most graceful and modest that I ever saw among a wild people.

I reached Kongjang in the afternoon, a place very picturesquely situated, with a fine view of the valley of the Lokchao and the hills beyond, and of a portion of the Kubo valley. I selected a spot for a stockade, and, after reconnoitring in the neighbourhood, marched back next day to Pullel, and thence to Manipur, again passing Langthabal. I never saw Langthabal without regretting its abandonment, there is something very charming about the situation, and it is nearer to Bissenpore on the Cachar road than Imphal; also a few miles nearer the Kubo valley. It has always had the reputation of being very healthy, which is not invariably the case with Imphal, and is, if anything, a little cooler. Before leaving in 1886, I strongly recommended it as the site for a cantonment, in the event of troops being stationed in the valley. My recommendation was adopted.

We had not been dull in the Naga Hills, still less in Manipur, for I was always interested in native life. Something to vary one’s work was constantly occurring.

One day some men in Shan costume came and asked me for a pass to enter Burmah. I inquired who they were, and one said he was the Chowmengti Gohain. I remembered him fourteen years before, at Sudya, in Assam, when he was but a boy. He was the son of a Khampti chief, long since dead. I asked him if he remembered me, and after a minute or two, he did. I managed to keep up a conversation in Singpho, though I had not spoken it for many years, and have never done so since. He was going to Mandalay to marry a daughter to the king.

Time went on fairly smoothly. I was occupied all day long, and used to talk for hours to the ministers and others who came to see me, while my wife looked after the house and children, and taught the Naga girls to knit and sew, and other useful things. When the weather grew too hot, we migrated to Kang-joop-kool, and enjoyed the change. About this time much dissatisfaction was caused by speculators in the capital hoarding “sel,” the coin of the country. The usual rate at which they were exchanged for the rupee was 480 = 1 rupee, but there were occasional fluctuations; large sums were paid in rupees, but the amount was always reckoned in sel. Consequently, when the latter were hoarded, a man having only rupees in his possession found their purchasing power greatly diminished. On this occasion, almost all the “sel” in circulation were collected in a few hands and a panic was the result; the bazaar was in an uproar, and business ceased. I spoke to the Maharajah on the subject, and represented the very great injury to the country that would inevitably result if immediate steps were not taken to rectify the mischief done, and urged him to issue a large quantity of sel. This he did, and the exchange which had gone down to 240, at once rose to 400, and at this rate he fixed it, and so it remained all the time I was in Manipur.

Our Naga boys, though intelligent and willing to learn, were careless and often worse, as in playing and fighting with each other, they broke much crockery, and the loss was serious, as it took months to replace it. I threatened in vain, as I could not bear to make the poor lads pay. At last, in desperation, I hit upon a remedy; I said that the next time anything was broken, the breaker should pound it up to a fine powder with a pestle and mortar, and mix it with water and drink it. This threat had some effect, but at last one day the old cook brought up Murumboo, our musalchee (i.e. dishwasher) with a vegetable dish in pieces, broken, as usual, in play. I said very severely, “Very well, grind it to powder in a pestle and mortar, and then you shall mix it with water and drink it.” So Murumboo sat for hours in the sun, pounding away. At last it was reduced to a fine powder, and I told him to mix it with water and drink it in my presence. Of course, what I had foreseen, happened, all the other servants headed by the old cook, Horna and Sultan, came up and humbly begged that he might be forgiven this time, a request which I graciously acceded to, and Murumboo went away very penitent. The result was excellent, as for the future I hardly lost any crockery. Poor Murumboo; he served me well, and became an excellent cook and got a good place when I finally left.

The summer and autumn passed quietly, except for a rumour that human sacrifices had been offered up, though no actual complaint was made. I believe the report to have been true. I had seen enough of countries where within a few years they had been undoubtedly offered, to know that such things did occasionally happen among ignorant people, where appeasing evil spirits is a common custom. I took such precautions as effectually prevented any recurrence of this horrible practice.

One reform carried out was in our postal arrangements. When I first arrived, the post, which came in every other day, frequently took eight days to reach us from Cachar, a distance of 132 miles. By altering the system, I reduced it to a maximum of four days, though it often came more quickly, and by constantly hammering at all concerned, I achieved the triumph of a daily post delivered in less than two days from Cachar before I left.

Once when riding between Manipur and Kang-joop-kool, I saw, in passing a small bazaar, a woman selling apricots. I made inquiries about them, and was told that they had existed from time immemorial, but that they would give me a violent internal pain if I ate them. I did try them, raw and cooked, but the statement was quite true, nothing made them agreeable, and I did suffer pain. They were probably introduced from China in early days, and having been neglected had degenerated. They blossom in January. I tried Himalayan apricots, and the trees throve wonderfully, but could never, while I was in Manipur, learn to blossom at the right time. They blossomed as they were accustomed to do in their native country, that is three months too late, and the fruit was destroyed by the early rains. Perhaps they have by this time adapted themselves to the climate. I introduced Kabulee mulberries and they did well, but those in the valley grew long like the Indian variety, while those at Kang-joop-kool were shaped like the common European mulberry, and very good to eat.

Another time when out riding in the evening, I witnessed a strange sight. I was near Kooak Kaithel when I saw a large number of sparrows assembled on the road in front, and perched on a clump of bamboos near; others were constantly joining them, and numbers were flying to the spot from all sides. They first joined the assemblage on the road, and then flew up to and around the bamboos, which were already covered with the first-comers. I asked one of my mounted orderlies what it all meant. He said that a snake was concealed among the bamboos, and that the birds were come to see him and try and drive him out. Whatever be the explanation, it was a very interesting sight, and I never at any time saw such a large number of small birds together. Once when riding along this same road, but farther on, in company with Thangal Major, I happened to see a deep hole freshly dug in the side of a hill, apparently without any object. I asked him what it was dug for, and he replied that it was probably some refugee returned to the land of his ancestors, who had dug it, in search for treasure buried during the Burmese invasion by a relation, who had left an exact description of the spot as a guide to any of his descendants who might return. He said that there were many cases of this kind. I used to hear the same story many years ago in Assam where the truth was never questioned, and many were the tumuli that bore the marks of having been opened by searchers “for buried gold.” I never knew of an authentic case of the kind in Manipur, but doubtless old Thangal could tell of many such; possibly he had shared in the proceeds.

I have just related a story of birds attacking a snake, and I may as well tell another story in which one of his tribe was the aggressor. When returning from my cottage at Kang-joop-kool, after a day spent there in October, I saw an enormous python poised up on the high embanked road with its head erect, and body and tail in coils on the slope, ready to spring on some young buffaloes grazing near; it must have been at the lowest estimate thirty feet long and of proportionate thickness. I was too near, and riding too fast, to stop my pony, so gave a loud shout, and urged him to speed, and the snake turned itself back and fell with a crash into a morass by the road side, and I saw no more of it. I spoke to Thangal Major about it, and he told me that pythons were known to exist about the place where I saw this. I once shot a young one on the Diphoo Panee river, near Sudya, which measured nine feet, and a sepoy of my old regiment shot one near Borpathar fifteen feet in length.

Several very deadly snakes abound in Manipur, notably the “Tanglei” and the “Ophiophagus,” a terrible looking creature, eight to twelve feet in length. No house is safe from snakes, and in the old Residency one fell from the roof once in my bedroom, from where a few minutes previously the baby’s bassinette had hung, so the child had a narrow escape. I never dare let the children play alone in the garden for fear of their being bitten.

The extreme loneliness of Manipur, and the necessity of leaving my wife and children quite alone sometimes, made me very anxious to get some trustworthy English nurse for her, but we quite failed in doing so. In this emergency, one of her sisters volunteered to come out, which was a great help and relief. As I had to go to Calcutta to see the Viceroy in December, we asked her to meet us there. We left Manipur on November 27th, 1878, and returned on January 23rd, bringing her with us. Kohima was occupied by the Political Agent of the Naga Hills (Mr. Damant), in November, and before leaving for Calcutta I had some correspondence with him, and, at his request, sent my escort—then consisting of Cachar Frontier Police; men, for service qualities in the hills, far superior to the Native Infantry I had—to his assistance.

In Calcutta, I met Sir Steuart Bayley, who had been lately appointed Chief Commissioner of Assam, and had interviews with the Viceroy, Lord Lytton, and the Foreign Secretary, Mr. (now Sir Alfred) Lyall.

Early in 1879, there was some discontent on account of the dearness of rice, owing to a deficient crop, but there was no real anxiety, as the stock of rice in hand was sufficient. I remember that during that time I was rather scandalised at hearing that the old Ranee had gone off to Moirang on the Logtak lake for change of air, accompanied by a retinue of over one thousand persons. Many people had been employed for weeks past in building a little temporary town for their accommodation, and all for five days’ stay. I remonstrated with Thangal Major at this useless waste of resources at a time when food was scarce, and told him that he ought to prevent such thoughtlessness. He told me, and I believe sincerely, that he greatly regretted it, and promised to use his influence to amend matters, but said what was perfectly true, that if he gave good advice, there were plenty of people quite ready to offer the reverse, and contradict his statements. I often thought what an advantage it would have been, if we had insisted on all authority being in the hands of one powerful minister responsible to us. Under a strong man like Chandra Kirtee Singh there would have been some difficulty in arranging it, but under his weak, though amiable and intelligent successor, Soor Chandra, it would have been easy, and would have saved us one of the most painful and disgraceful episodes in our history.

Almost every day brought some exciting news from the frontier. One day, an incursion by Chussad Kukies on the Kubo side; another, an outrage committed by Sookti Kukies. Then a little later a report that the Muram Nagas were restless. All these reports came to me at once, and I had to decide what was to be done. Occasionally an expedition was the result, regarding the conduct of which I gave general instructions. Sometimes late at night a minister came to me in a high state of excitement at some outrage on the Burmese frontier, in which, of course, every one, from the Court of Mandalay downwards, was said to be implicated. Anything against Burmah was readily believed, and not without reason, perhaps, judging from past history, and I had, on the spur of the moment, to decide on the policy to be adopted, and calm down and convince my impulsive visitor.

Manipur is a great place for athletics, and some fine wrestling is to be seen there. Athletic sports are regularly held at stated periods, sometimes for Manipuris, at other times for Nagas. At the last there are races run by men, carrying heavy weights on their backs. At the conclusion of these exhibitions of strength and skill, four Manipuris, dressed in Naga costume, executed a Naga war dance. This I always thought the most interesting part of the performance, showing as in many other cases, the tacit acknowledgment of a connection with the hill-tribes surrounding them. It always reminded me of the same connection between the Rajahs in the hill tracts of Orissa, Sumbulpore and Chota Nagpore, and their aboriginal subjects. I am rather inclined to believe that in the case of Manipur some of the customs point distinctly to the Rajahs being descended from, or having been originally installed by, the hill-tribes, as was notably the case in Keonjhur one of the Cuttack Tributary Mehals. To this subject, however, I have already referred.

During each cold season, I insisted on the Manipuri troops being put through musketry practice with ball cartridge, and often attended for hours together, with the Maharajah, to see how the men acquitted themselves. Sometimes the firing went on all day, the targets being erected at one end of the private polo ground in the palace, with a mountain of rice straw in their rear to catch stray bullets. Sometimes the bullets went through everything, and one evening, as my wife and myself with the children, were taking our evening walk, we had ocular demonstration of this, as a shot passed close to my second boy’s (Edward) head. I spoke to Thangal Major about it, suggesting that the pile of straw should be made thicker, but only elicited the reply, “Of course, if you go in the line of fire, you must expect to be shot.” This reminded me of my early days in Assam, when my old regimental friend Ross shot another friend out snipe shooting. The latter complained, but all the satisfaction he got from Ross was, “Well, you must have been in the way.”

The spring in Manipur is a charming time, the nights are still cool, though the days are hot, and abundance of flowering trees come into blossom; among them one that attains a considerable size, called in Manipuri “Chinghow.” It has two kinds, one with pink and the other white and pink flowers, Out in the hills are wild pears and azaleas in abundance, and rhododendrons, while here and there are beautiful orchids. The oak forests too are splendid with the fresh young leaves, and every hill village has peach trees in flower, so that it is a delightful season for marching, and one can be out from morning till night. I took advantage of the fine weather, and early in April again visited the Yoma range, and went along the road to Jangapokee Tannah, as far as a place called Kombang, 4600 feet above the sea. On my way there and back I halted at Haitoo-pokpee, 2600 feet above the sea, where the thermometer at sunrise stood at 55 and 56 degrees respectively; but the day between, when I was at Kombang, it was 67 degrees at sunrise, the additional elevation raising the thermometer. I noticed the phenomenon over and over again in Manipur, and in the cold weather generally found the sunrise temperature lower in the valley than in the hills. Upland valleys were sometimes colder than that of Manipur, and now and then to the north I found very great cold prevailing on high land, as at Mythephum. The day temperature in the hills was invariably lower than that in the valley, in short, it was more equable. The road to Kombang was pretty, but the place not particularly so. The night I was there I heard the loud crackling of a burning oak forest set on fire to clear the ground for one crop. It is difficult to speak with patience of this abominable system, which is gradually clearing the hills in Eastern India, and destroying valuable timber, while it encourages nomadic habits in the tribes.

Whenever I went on an expedition into the hills, besides the usual Manipuri Guard in attendance, four or five officers or non-commissioned officers were told off to accompany me. Jemadars Thamur Singh, Sowpa, Sundha, Thŭt-tôt, and Thûrûng were those generally sent, excellent men who never left me from morning till night, on the hardest march. Many was the adventure we had together, and any one of them could march fifty miles on end. They were well known throughout the hill territory of Manipur. A bugler always formed one of my party, and it was his duty to sound a lively quick march as we approached our camp in the evening. Of course, he always got a special reward from me on my return to headquarters.

One day the Maharajah invited me to attend a review of his regiment of guards called the “Soor Pultun.” I went, and he asked me whether he should put them through their manœuvres himself, or let one of his officers do it. Not wishing him, as I thought, to expose his ignorance, I suggested the last; but, to my surprise, he conducted the parade himself very creditably, giving the word of command in English with great clearness. The men’s marching was poor, and the step not free enough, but otherwise they did well. They were fairly well up in the Light Infantry exercises of ten years back, and their drill generally was a slight modification of that of 1859. On this, as on most occasions, when an invitation was sent by the Maharajah, it was conveyed by two or three officers of not lower rank than that of subadar or captain, and generally by word of mouth. If I was away in camp all communications were by letter, sometimes accompanied by a verbal message.

On February 28th, 1879, we were gladdened by the birth of a little daughter. Being a girl, her arrival did not cause as much excitement as Arthur’s, but when she was old enough to be carried out in a small litter, all the population turned out to see her, and passers-by would sometimes offer her a flower. How interesting our daily walks were. Turning to the left, after leaving our gate by the guard-house, we passed along by the wide moat surrounding the palace, and in which as has been said the great annual boat races were held. There, might be seen women washing their babies by the waterside in wooden tubs, cut out of a single block bought for the purpose. At every step, if in the evening, we passed or were passed by gaily clad women carrying baskets of goods to sell in the great bazaar, “Sena Kaithel,” i.e., Golden Bazaar, assembled opposite the great gate of the palace, the picturesque structure already alluded to. In this bazaar the women sat in long rows on raised banks of earth, without any other covering in the rainy weather than large umbrellas. Here could be bought cloth of all kinds, ornaments, rice, etc., fowls and vegetables. Dogs were also sold for food. As a rule, articles of food other than fowls, were more plentiful in the morning bazaar. Blind people and other beggars would post themselves in different parts of the market, and women as they passed would give them a handful of rice, or any other article of food they possessed. Women are the great traders, and many would walk miles in the morning, and buy things in the more distant bazaars to sell again in the capital in the evening. It was not considered etiquette for men too often to frequent the bazaars, and few Manipuris did so, but crowds of hill-men were constantly to be seen there, and it presented a very gay and animated scene, the contrast between the snow-white garments of Manipuri men, the parti-coloured petticoats of the women, and the many-coloured clothes of the hill-men being very picturesque. Opposite the great gateway on the right-hand side, Royal proclamations were posted up. There, too, in presence of all the bazaar, offenders were flogged, generally with the utmost severity. This was, I am sorry to say, rather an attractive spectacle to foreigners. Going through the bazaar along a fine broad road, the only masonry bridge in the country was seen crossing the river, and on the opposite bank the road turned sharp to the left, and went off to Cachar. Before crossing it, and to the left was a piece of waste ground with a rather ill-looking tree in it, under which men were executed. Opposite, and to the right of the road, was the sight of the morning bazaar. Here I have seen boat-loads of pine-apples landed, fruit that would have done credit to Covent Garden.

Between the Residency grounds, the “Sena Kaithel” and the great road, was the famous polo ground, where the best play in the world might be seen. There was a grand stand for the Royal family on the western side, and one for myself on the north. Sunday evening was the favourite day, and then the princes appeared, and in earlier days the Maharajah. In my time one of the Maharajah’s sons, Pucca Sena, and the artillery major, were the champion players. In Manipur, every man who can muster a pony plays, and every boy who cannot, plays on foot.

But to continue our walk. Passing the bazaar, we still skirt the palace, meeting fresh groups and turning sharp round at one of the angles of the moat, here covered with water lilies, come upon an exceedingly picturesque temple once shaded with a peepul tree (Ficus religiosa); this tree was torn off by the great earthquake of June 30th, 1880. Afterwards taking two turns to the right, and one to the left, and crossing a most dangerous-looking bamboo bridge, we came upon a piece of woodland on the opposite bank of the stream. This is the “Mah Wathee,” a bit of forest left as it originally was for the wood spirits. It is now filled with monkeys, which are great favourites with my children who have brought rice for them which causes great excitement. But it is soon bedtime for the young monkeys, and the river being deep, they spring on to the backs of their mothers who swim across with them in the most human fashion. Saying good-night to the monkeys, we go homewards, passing Moirang Khung, a tumulus said to be the site of a battle between the Mungang and Moirang tribes; to this day a Moirang avoids it. We pass a couple of boys riding jauntily on one pony, determined to get as much pleasure out of life as they can. Finally, we reach home in time for a game with the children, and dinner.

I have alluded to the high esteem in which the game of polo was held in this, its native home, and of the splendid play that could be seen on Sundays. I never played myself, much as I should have enjoyed it. Had I been a highly experienced player, able to contend with the best in Manipur, I might have done so; but I did not think I was justified, holding the important position I did, in running the risk of being hustled and jostled by any one with whom I played: men whom I was bound to keep at arm’s length. Had I done so I should have lost influence. I could not be hail-fellow-well-met, and though talking freely with all, I at once checked all disposition to familiarity, and people rarely attempted it.

Colonel McCulloch, it is true played, but he began life in Manipur as an Assistant Political Agent, and also did not succeed to office as I did, when our prestige had dwindled down to nothing.

In September 1879, hearing that Sir Steuart Bayley, Chief Commissioner and Acting Lieut.-Governor of Bengal, was about to visit Cachar, I went there to see him, performing the double journey including a night there, in less than seven days. It was the first time I had made the march in the rainy season, and I was greatly struck by the extreme beauty of the scenery which was much enhanced by the number of waterfalls, that a month later would have been dry. The masses of clouds and the clearness of the air when rain was not falling, added greatly to the effect, and I enjoyed the journey till I got to the low-lying land. There the mud, slush, and great heat were unpleasant. It was very satisfactory to be able to discuss the affairs of Manipur with the Chief Commissioner, as though I was not then directly under him, I was from my position very dependent on him, and was anxious to hear his views on many subjects.