The Project Gutenberg eBook of Twelve Years of a Soldier's Life in India, by Major W. S. R. Hodson, edited by The Rev. George H. Hodson.

"May 17th.—Yesterday, I was sent for by the Commander-in-Chief, and appointed Assistant Quartermaster-General on his personal staff, to be under the immediate orders of his Excellency, and with command to raise one hundred horse and fifty foot, for service in the Intelligence Department, and as personal escort. All this was done, moreover, in a most complimentary way, and it is quite in my line."

We can see clearly enough, from our own point of view, what has been at work for a lieutenant lately under a cloud. The plot thickens apace.

But who, at this juncture, will open the road to Meerut, from the general in command of which place we want papers and intelligence? The following extract from the letter of an officer stationed at that place will, perhaps, explain:—

"When the mutiny broke out, our communications were completely cut off. One night, on outlying picket at Meerut, this subject being discussed, I said, 'Hodson is at Umbala, I know; and I'll bet he will force his way through, and open communications with the Commander-in-Chief and ourselves.' At about three that night I heard my advanced sentries firing. I rode off to see what was the matter, and they told me that a party of the enemy's cavalry had approached their post. When day broke, in galloped Hodson. He had left Kurnâl (seventy-six miles off) at nine the night before, with one led horse and an escort of Sikh cavalry, and, as I had anticipated, here he was with despatches for Wilson. How I quizzed him for approaching an armed post at night without knowing the parole. Hodson rode straight to Wilson, had his interview, a bath, breakfast, and two hours' sleep, and then rode back the seventy-six miles, and had to fight his way for about thirty miles of the distance."

The pace pleased the general, Hodson supposes, for "he ordered me to raise a corps of Irregular Horse, and appointed me Commandant," but "still no tidings from the hills," (where his wife is;) "this is a terrible additional pull upon one's nerves at a time like this, and is a phase of war I never calculated on."

On the 27th of May the march towards Delhi begins, and Hodson accompanies, acting as Assistant Quartermaster-General attached to the Commander-in-Chief, "with free access to him at any time, and to other people in authority, which gives me power for good. The Intelligence Department is mine exclusively, and I have for this line Sir Henry's old friend, the one-eyed Moulvie, Rujub Alee, so I shall get the best news in the country." He starts, too, happy about his wife from whom he has heard; the hill stations all safe, and likely to remain so.

General Anson dies of cholera, and General Barnard succeeds; still, oddly enough, no change takes place in our lieutenant's appointments. And so the little army marches, all too slowly, as the lieutenant thinks and remonstrates, upon Delhi. Other men are answering to the pressure of the times:—

"Colonel T. Seaton and the other officers have gone to Rohtuck with the 60th Native Infantry, who, I have no doubt, will desert to a man as soon as they get there. It is very plucky of him and the other officers to go; and very hard of the authorities to send them; a half-hearted measure, and very discreditable, in my opinion, to all concerned; affording a painful contrast to Sir John Lawrence's bold and decided conduct in this crisis. This regiment (1st Fusileers) is a credit to any army, and the fellows are in as high spirits and heart, and as plucky and free from croaking as possible, and really do good to the whole force.

"Alfred Light doing his work manfully and well.... Montgomery has come out very, very strong indeed; but many are beginning to knock up already, and this is but the beginning of this work, I fear; and before this business ends, we who are, thank God, still young and strong, shall alone be left in camp; all the elderly gentlemen will sink under the fatigue and exposure."

June 5th.—Head-quarters arrive at Aleepore, nearly at the end of our march, in fact one may say at the end, for on that day I rode right up to the Delhi parade-ground to reconnoitre, and the few sowars whom I met galloped away like mad at the sight of one white face. "Had I had a hundred Guides with me I would have gone up to the very walls;" and on June the 8th we occupy our position before Delhi, having driven the enemy out of their position; not without loss, for Colonel Chester is killed, Alfred Light (who won the admiration of all) wounded.... No one else of the staff party killed or wounded; but our general returns will, I fear, tell a sad tale. I am mercifully unhurt, and write this line in pencil on the top of a drum to assure you thereof.

We must break the narrative here for a moment, now that we have got the combatants face to face, in the place of decision, to submit to our readers our own conviction that this same siege of Delhi, beginning on June 9th and ending triumphantly on September 22d, 1857, is the feat of arms of which England has most cause to be proud. From Cressy to Sebastopol it has never been equalled. A mere handful of Englishmen, for half the time numbering less than three thousand, sat down in the open field, in the worst days of an Indian summer, without regular communications, (for the daks were only got carried by bribery, stage by stage,) without proper artillery, and last and worst of all, without able leading, before and took a city larger than Glasgow, garrisoned by an army trained by Englishmen, and numbering at first 20,000, in another ten days 37,000, and at last 75,000 men, supplied with all but exhaustless munitions of war, and in the midst of a nation in arms. "I venture to aver," writes Hodson, "that no other nation in the world would have remained here, or have avoided defeat, had they attempted to do so." We agree with him; and we do trust that the nation will come to look at the siege of Delhi in the right light, and properly to acknowledge and reward the few who remain of that band of heroes who saved British India.

Our readers must also remember that we are not giving the story of the siege, but the story of Hodson's part therein, and must therefore not think we are unduly putting him forward to the depreciation of other as glorious names. We would that we had the same means of following the life day by day of Nicholson and Chamberlain, Tombs and Light, Welchman, Showers, Home, Salkeld, or a hundred others equally gallant. But what we have is Hodson's life compiled from his daily letters to his wife. No doubt the work of the regulars was as important, perhaps even more trying, than that of the Captain of Irregular Cavalry, Assistant Quartermaster-General, and head of the Intelligence Department; but these were his duties, and not the others', and we shall now see how he fulfilled them.

"It would have done your heart good to see the welcome they gave me—cheering and shouting and crowding round me like frantic creatures. They seized my bridle, dress, hands, and feet, and literally threw themselves down before the horse with the tears streaming down their faces. Many officers who were present hardly knew what to make of it, and thought the creatures were mobbing me; and so they were—but for joy, not for mischief."

"Burrah Serai-wallah," they shouted, ("great in battle" in the vulgar tongue,) making the staff and others open their eyes, who do not much believe, for their part, in the power of any Englishman really to attach to himself any native rascals.

Next day, June 10th, the ball opens. The mutineers march out in force and attack our position:

"I had command of all the troops on our right, the gallant Guides among the rest. They followed me, with a cheer for their old commander, and behaved with their usual pluck, and finally we drove the enemy in with loss.... Indeed, I did not expose myself unnecessarily; for having to direct the movements of three or four regiments, I could not be in the front as much as I wished."

But wives will be anxious, my lieutenant, and making all just allowances, it must be confessed that you give her fair cause:

"The warmth of the reception again given me by the Guides was quite affecting, and has produced a great sensation in camp, and had a good effect on our native troops, insomuch that they are more willing to obey their European officers when they see their own countrymen's enthusiasm.

"My position is Assistant Quartermaster-General on the Commander-in-Chief's personal staff. I am responsible for the Intelligence Department, and in the field, or when anything is going on for directing the movements of the troops in action, under the immediate orders of the general."

"A sharp fight for four hours, ending as usual. They have never yet been so punished as to-day. The Guides behaved admirably, so did the Fusileers as usual. I am vexed much at the Lahore Chronicle butter, and wish people would leave me alone in the newspapers. The best butter I get is the deference and respect I meet with from all whose respect I care for, and the affectionate enthusiasm of the Guides, which increases instead of lessening."

But this daily repulsing attacks cannot be allowed to go on: cannot we have something to say to attacking them? So the general thinks, and sets Greathed, assisted by me and two more engineers, to submit a plan for taking Delhi.

"We drew up our scheme and gave it to the general, who highly approved, and will, I trust, carry it out; but how times must be changed, when four subalterns are called upon to suggest a means of carrying out so vitally important an enterprise as this, one on which the safety of the empire depends!"

Simple but "perfectly feasible" plan of four subalterns: blow open gates with powder, and go in with bayonet, and that there may be no mistake about it, I volunteer to lead the assault (wholly unmindful of that assurance given to a loving heart in the hills that I am not exposing myself) and fix on a small building in front of the gate as the rendezvous, which is now called "Hodson's Mosque."

General approves, and orders assault for the morning of June 13th. Alas for our "perfectly feasible" plan!

"We were to have taken Delhi by assault last night, but a 'mistake of orders' (?) as to the right time of bringing the troops to the rendezvous prevented its execution. I am much annoyed and disappointed at our plan not having been carried out, because I am confident it would have been successful. The rebels were cowed, and perfectly ignorant of any intention of so bold a stroke on our part as an assault; the surprise would have done everything."

Next day there is another fight. A council of war. Our plan is still approved, but put off from day to day. Abandoned at last, we are to wait for reinforcements. Poor "feasible plan!"

"It was frustrated the first night by the fears and absolute disobedience of orders of ——, the man who first lost Delhi, and has now by folly prevented its being recaptured. The general has twice since wished and even ordered it, but has always been thwarted by some one or other; latterly by that old woman ——, who has come here for nothing apparently but as an obstacle; —— is also a crying evil to us. The general knows this and wants to get rid of him, but has not the nerve to supersede him. The whole state of affairs here is bad to a degree."

And here I am (June 19th), with fights going on every day, knocked down with bronchitis and inflammation of the chest, "really very ill for some hours." "The general nurses me as if I were his son. I woke in the night and found the kind old man by my bedside covering me carefully up from the draught." But on June 20th (bronchitis notwithstanding) I am up and at work again, for the Sepoys have attacked our rear to-day, and though beaten as usual, Colonel Becher (Quartermaster-General) is shot through right arm, and Daly (commanding Guides) hit through the shoulder. So the whole work of the Quartermaster-General's office is on me, and the general begs me as a personal favor to take command of Guides in addition. I at first refused, but the general was most urgent, putting it on the ground that the service was at stake, and none was so fit, &c. &c. I do feel that we are bound to do our best just now to put things on a proper footing; and after consulting Seaton and Norman, I accepted the command. How —— will gnash his teeth to see me leading my dear old Guides again in the field.

And so we fight on, literally day by day, for now "our artillery officers themselves say they are outmatched by these rascals in accuracy and rapidity of fire; and as they have unlimited supplies of guns, &c., they are quite beyond us in many respects. We are, in point of fact, reduced to merely holding our own ground till we get more men." Still we don't feel at all like giving in.

"The wounded generally are doing well, poor fellows, considering the heat, dirt, and want of any bed but the dry ground. Their pluck is wonderful, and it is not in the field alone that you see what an English soldier is made of. One poor fellow who was smoking his pipe and laughing with the comrade by his side, was asked, what was the matter with him, and he answered in a lively voice, 'Oh, not much, Sir, only a little knock on the back; I shall be up and at the rascals again in a day or two.' He had been shot in the spine, and all his lower limbs were paralyzed. He died next day. Colonel Welchman is about again; too soon, I fear, but there is no keeping the brave old man quiet. Poor Peter Brown is very badly wounded, but he is cheerful, and bears up bravely. Jacob has 'come out' wonderfully. He is cool, active, and bold, keeps his wits about him under fire, and does altogether well. We are fortunate in having him with the force. Good field-officers are very scarce indeed; I do not wonder at people at a distance bewailing the delay in the taking of Delhi. No one not on the spot can appreciate the difficulties in the way, or the painful truth, that those difficulties increase upon us."

I am rather out of sorts still myself, also. It is a burden to me to stand or walk, and the excessive heat makes it difficult for me to recover from that sharp attack of illness. "The doctors urge me to go away for a little, to get strength—as if I could leave just now, or as if I would if I could." ... So I am in the saddle all day, (June 24th,) though obliged occasionally to rest a bit where I can find shelter, and one halt is by Alfred Light.

"It does me good to see the 'Light of the ball-room' working away at his guns, begrimed with dust and heat, ever cheery and cool, though dead beat from fatigue and exposure. How our men fought to-day; liquid fire was no name for the fervent heat; but nothing less than a knock-down blow from sun, sword, or bullet, stops a British soldier."

My glorious old regiment! how they have suffered in this short three weeks; Colonel Welchman badly hit in the arm, Greville down with fever, Wriford with dysentery, Dennis with sunstroke, Brown with wounds.

"Jacob and the 'boys' have all the work to themselves, and well indeed do the boys behave—with a courage and coolness which would not disgrace veterans. Little Tommy Butler, Owen, Warner, all behave like heroes, albeit with sadly diminishing numbers to lead. Neville Chamberlain is come in, who ought to be worth a thousand men to us."

Those rascals actually came out to-day (June 25th), in their red coats and medals!

"We are not very well off, quant à la cuisine. I never had so much trouble in getting anything fit to eat, except when I dine with the general. Colonel Seaton lives in my tent, and is a great companion; his joyous disposition is a perpetual rebuke to the croakers."

And so too was your own, my Lieutenant, for we have fortunately a letter from a distinguished officer, in which he says,—

"Affairs at times looked very queer, from the frightful expenditure of life. Hodson's face was then like sunshine breaking through the dark clouds of despondency and gloom that would settle down occasionally on all but a few brave hearts, England's worthiest sons, who were determined to conquer."

But this siege does set one really thinking in earnest about several things, and this is the conclusion at which our Lieutenant arrives:—

"There is but one rule of action for a soldier in the field, as for a man at all times, to do that which is best for the public good; to make that your sole aim, resting assured that the result will in the end be best for individual interest also. I am quite indifferent not to see my name appear in newspaper paragraphs and despatches; only content if I can perform my duty truly and honestly, and too thankful to the Almighty if I am daily spared for future labors or future repose."

"There has been an outcry throughout the camp at ——'s having fled from Bhagput, the bridge which caused me so much hard riding and hard work to get, some time ago."

He has actually bolted, on a report of mutineers coming, leaving boats, bridge, and all. By this conduct he has lost our communication with Meerut, and that too when our reinforcements were actually in sight. The consequence is that I have to go down to Bhagput to recover boats, bridge, &c., and reopen communication, which is done at once and satisfactorily; and by July 2d we are quite comfortable, for I have set myself up with plates, &c., for one rupee, and Colonel Seaton's traps and servants will be here to-day ... except that we are somewhat vexed in our spirits, for

"—— has been shelved and allowed to get sick, to save him from supersession. I do not like euphuisms. In these days men and things should be called by their right names, that we might know how far either should be trusted.

"July 5th.—General Barnard dies of cholera after a few hours' illness. Personally I am much grieved, for no kinder or more considerate or gentlemanly man ever lived. I am so sorry for his son, a fine brave fellow, whose attention to his father won the love of us all. It was quite beautiful to see them together."

And so we plunge on day after day, the rain nearly flooding us out of camp. Will the ladies in the hills make us some flannel shirts?

"The soldiers bear up like men, but the constant state of wet is no small addition to what they have to endure from heat, hard work, and fighting. I know by experience what a comfort a dry flannel shirt is.

"July 12th.—Three hundred of my new regiment arrive; very fine-looking fellows, most of them. I am getting quite a little army under me, what with the Guides and my own men. Would to Heaven they would give us something more to do than this desultory warfare, which destroys our best men, and brings us no whit nearer Delhi, and removes the end of the campaign to an indefinite period."

Another fight this 14th July, one of the sharpest we have yet had, and we who have to lead were obliged to expose ourselves, but really not more than we could help; and how the papers can have got hold of this wound story I can't think, for I didn't tell it even to you. The facts are thus:—

"A rascally Pandy made a thrust at my horse, which I parried, when he seized his 'tulwar' in both hands, bringing it down like a sledge-hammer; it caught on the iron of my antigropelos legging, which it broke into the skin, cut through the stirrup-leather, and took a slice off my boot and stocking; and yet, wonderful to say, the sword did not penetrate the skin. Both my horse and myself were staggered by the force of the blow, but I recovered myself quickly, and I don't think that Pandy will ever raise his 'tulwar' again."

But, to show you that I did no more than was necessary, I must tell you what Chamberlain had to do, who led in another part.

"Seeing a hesitation among the troops he led, who did not like the look of a wall lined with Pandies, and stopped short, instead of going up to it, he leaped his horse clean over the wall into the midst of them, and dared the men to follow, which they did, but he got a ball in the shoulder."

I must positively give up the Quartermaster-General's work; head-quarters' staff seems breaking down altogether. General Reed goes to the hills to-night; Congreve and Curzon have been sent off, too; Chamberlain and Becher on their backs with wounds.

"Colonel Young, Norman, and myself, are therefore the only representatives of the head-quarters' staff, except the doctors and commissaries. I am wonderfully well, thank God! and able to get through as much work as any man; but commanding two regiments, and being eyes and ears to the whole army, too, is really too much."

Again, to-day (July 19) a sharp fight; Pandies in great force—driven pellmell up to the walls; but how about getting back.

"We were commanded by a fine old gentleman, who might sit for a portrait of Falstaff, so fat and jolly is he, Colonel Jones, of 60th Rifles."

Jolly old Briton, with the clearest possible notion of going on, but as for retiring, little enough idea of that sort of work in Colonel Jones.

"The instant we began to draw off, they followed us, their immense numbers giving them a great power of annoyance at very slight cost to themselves. The brave old colonel was going to retire 'all of a heap,' infantry, guns, and all in a helpless mass, and we should have suffered cruel loss in those narrow roads, with walls and buildings on both sides. I rode up to him and pointed this out, and in reply received carte blanche to act as I saw best. This was soon done, with the assistance of Henry Vicars (Adjutant 61st) and Coghill (Adjutant 2d Bengal European Fusileers), both cool soldiers under fire, though so young, and we got off in good order and with trifling loss, drawing the men back slowly, and in regular order, covered by Dixon's and Money's guns."

This colonel, too, with no notion of retreating, is a candid man; goes straight to the general on his return, and begs to thank our Lieutenant, and to say he hopes for no better aid whenever he has to lead; unlike some persons under whom we have served.

"The general has begged me to give up the Guides, and not the quartermaster-general's office. You, at least, will rejoice that it greatly diminishes the risk to life and limb, which, I confess, lately has been excessive in my case."

News of Wheeler's surrender—of the massacre four days later (July 26), and our blood is running fire. "There will be a day of reckoning for these things, and a fierce one, or I have been a soldier in vain." Another fight on the 24th, and Seaton down with chest-wound, but doing well; "he is patient and gentle in suffering as a woman, and this helps his recovery wonderfully." ... Thanks for the flannel waistcoats; but as for you and Mrs. —— coming to camp as nurses, no.

"Unless any unforeseen emergency should arise, I would strongly dissuade any lady from coming to camp. They would all very speedily become patients in the very hospitals which they came to serve, and would so willingly support. The flannel garments are invaluable, and this is all that can be done for us by female hands at present.... You say there is a great difference between doing one's duty and running unnecessary risks, and you say truly; the only question, what is one's duty. Now, I might, as I have more than once, see things going wrong at a time and place when I might be merely a spectator, and not 'on duty,' or ordered to be there, and I might feel that by exposing myself to danger for a time I might rectify matters, and I might therefore think it right to incur that danger; and yet, if I were to get hit, it would be said 'he had no business there;' nor should I, as far as the rules of the service go, though, in my own mind, I should have been satisfied that I was right. These are times when every man should do his best, his utmost, and not say, 'No; though I see I can do good there, yet, as I have not been ordered and am not on duty, I will not do it.' This is not my idea of a soldier's duty, and hitherto the results have proved me right."

August 3d.—Rumor that Sir Henry is dead at Lucknow. The news has quite unnerved me. 5th.—Nana Sahib, the murderer (you remember the man at the artillery review, a "swell" looking native gentleman, who spoke French, and was talking a good deal to Alfred Light), has been beaten by Havelock, they say has drowned himself.

"I hope it is not true; for it is one of my aims to have the catching of the said Nana myself. The hanging him would be a positive pleasure to me.... Nicholson has come on ahead of our reinforcements from the Punjaub; a host in himself, if he does not go and get knocked over as Chamberlain did.

"General Wilson has been down for some days, but is now better, but nervous and over-anxious about trifles.... These men are, personally, as brave as lions, but they have not big hearts or heads enough for circumstances of serious responsibility....

"August 11th.—Talking of jealousies, one day, under a heavy fire, Captain —— came up to me, and begged me to forget and forgive what had passed, and only to remember that we were soldiers fighting together in a common cause. As I was the injured party, I could afford to do this. The time and place, as well as his manner, appealed to my better feelings, so I held out my hand at once. Nowadays, we must stand by and help each other, forget all injuries, and rise superior to them, or God help us! we should be in terrible plight."

August 12th.—A brilliant affair under Showers; four guns taken. Brave young Owen wounded, "riding astride one gun, and a soldier with musket and fixed bayonet riding each horse, the rest cheering like mad things. I was in the thick of it, by accident."

By this time, Pandy, having been beaten severely in twenty-three fights, has had nearly enough of it, and is very chary of doing more than firing long shots, so there is no longer so much need of our Lieutenant in camp. He may surely be useful in clearing the neighborhood and restoring British rule and order; so we find him starting for Rohtuck, on 17th August, with three hundred men and five officers,—all his own men, and first-rate,—and Macdowell, two Goughs, Ward, and Wise. On the 18th the inhabitants send supplies and fair words, but there is a body of a thousand infantry and three hundred horse close by, who must be handled. Accordingly, they are drawn into the open by a feigned retreat, and come on firing and yelling in crowds.

"Threes about and at them;" five parties, each headed by an officer, are upon them. "Never was such a scatter; they fled as if not the Guides and Hodson's Horse, but death and the devil, were at their heels." Only eight of my men touched. This will encourage my new hands, utterly untrained.

"In three days we have frightened away and demoralized a force of artillery, cavalry, and infantry, some two thousand strong, beat those who stood or returned to fight us, twice, in spite of numbers, and got fed and furnished forth by the rascally town itself. Moreover, we have thoroughly cowed the whole neighborhood, and given them a taste of what more they will get unless they keep quiet in future.... This is a terribly egotistical detail, and I am thoroughly ashamed of saying so much of myself; but you insisted on having a full, true, and particular account, so do not think me vainglorious."

Next come orders, but sadly indefinite ones, to look out for and destroy the 10th Light Cavalry, who are out in the Jheend district:—

"He must either say distinctly 'do this or that,' and I will do it; or he must give me carte blanche to do what he wants in the most practicable way, of which I, knowing the country, can best judge. I am not going to fag my men and horses to death, and then be told I have exceeded my instructions. He gives me immense credit for what I have done, but 'almost wishes I had not ventured so far.' The old gentleman means well, but does not understand either the country or the position I was in, nor does he appreciate a tenth part of the effects which our bold stroke at Rohtuck, forty-five miles from camp, has produced. 'N'importe,' they will find it out sooner or later. I hear both Chamberlain and Nicholson took my view of the case, and supported me warmly.... I foresee that I shall remain a subaltern, and the easy-going majors of brigade, aides-de-camp, and staff-officers will all get brevets."

"The Victoria Cross, I confess, is the highest object of my ambition, and had I been one of Fortune's favorites, I should have had it ere now."

"But, whether a lieutenant or lieutenant-general, I trust I shall continue to do my duty to the best of my judgment and ability, as long as strength and sense are vouchsafed to me."

We trust, and are on the whole by this time prepared to hazard a prophecy, that you will so continue, whether lieutenant or general.

August 26th.—A glorious victory at Nujjufghur, by Nicholson. I was not there. Ill in camp; worse luck.... Scouring the country again till August 30th, when I have to receive an emissary from Delhi to treat.

Sir Colin Campbell is, they say, at Calcutta, and Mansfield, as chief of the staff; so now we may get some leading.

We are in Delhi at last (September 15th), but with grievous loss. My dear old regiment (1st Fusileers) suffered out of all proportion.

"Of the officers engaged only Wriford, Wallace, and I are untouched. My preservation (I don't like the word escape) was miraculous." ...

Nicholson dangerously hit; ten out of seventeen engineer officers killed or wounded.

... "'You may count our real officers on your fingers now.'

"Sept. 16th.—I grieve much for poor Jacob; we buried him and three sergeants of the regiment, last night; he was a noble soldier. His death has made me captain, the long wished-for goal; but I would rather have served on as a subaltern than gained promotion thus.

"Sept. 19th.— We are making slow progress in the city. The fact is, the troops are utterly demoralized by hard work and hard drink, I grieve to say. For the first time in my life, I have had to see English soldiers refuse, repeatedly, to follow their officers. Greville, Jacob, Nicholson, and Speke were all sacrificed to this.

"Sept. 22d.—In the Royal Palace, Delhi.—I was quite unable to write yesterday, having had a hard day's work. I was fortunate enough to capture the King and his favorite wife. To-day, more fortunate still, I have seized and destroyed the King's two sons and a grandson (the famous, or rather infamous, Abu Bukt), the villains who ordered the massacre of our women and children, and stood by and witnessed the foul barbarity; their bodies are now lying on the spot where those of the unfortunate ladies were exposed. I am very tired, but very much satisfied with my day's work, and so seem all hands."

This is Hodson's account of the two most remarkable exploits in even his career. We have no space to give his own full narrative, which he writes later, upon being pressed to do so; or the graphic account of Macdowell, his lieutenant, which will be found in the book, and it would be literary murder to mutilate such gems. As to defending the shooting of the two princes, let those do it who feel that a defence is needed, for we believe that no Englishman, worth convincing, now doubts as to the righteousness and policy of the act, and probably the old Radical general-officer and M. P., who thought it his duty to call Hodson hard names at the time, has reconsidered his opinion. Whether he has or not, however, matters little. He who did the deed, and is gone, cared not for hasty or false tongues,—why should we?

"Strange," he says, "that some of those who are loudest against me for sparing the King, are also crying out at my destroying his sons. 'Quousque tandem?' I may well exclaim. But, in point of fact, I am quite indifferent to clamor either way. I made up my mind, at the time, to be abused. I was convinced I was right, and when I prepared to run the great physical risk of the attempt, I was equally game for the moral risk of praise or blame. These have not been, and are not times when a man who would serve his country dare hesitate, as to the personal consequences to himself, of what he thinks his duty."

"By Jove, Hodson, they ought to make you Commander-in-Chief for this," shouts the enthusiast to whom the prisoners were handed over. "Well, I'm glad you have got him, but I never expected to see either him or you again," says the Commander-in-Chief, and sits down and writes the following despatch:—

"The King, who accompanied the troops for some short distance last night, gave himself up to a party of Irregular Cavalry, whom I sent out in the direction of the fugitives, and he is now a prisoner under a guard of European soldiers."

"With the single exception of my ever revered friend, Sir Henry Lawrence, and Colonel Mackeson, I have never met his equal in field or council; he was preëminently our best and bravest, and his loss is not to be atoned for in these days.

"The troops have behaved with singular moderation towards women and children, considering their provocation. I do not believe, and I have some means of knowing, that a single woman or child has been purposely injured by our troops, and the story on which your righteous indignation is grounded is quite false; the troops have been demoralized by drink, but nothing more."

In November he gets a few weeks' leave, and is off to Umbala to meet his wife for the last time, safe after all, and no longer a lieutenant under a cloud. What a meeting must that have been.

With the taking of Delhi our narrative, already too long, must close, though a grand five months of heroic action still remained. Nothing in the book exceeds in interest the ride of ninety-four miles from Seaton's column, with young Macdowell, to carry a despatch to Sir Colin, on December 30th. The tale of the early morning summons, the rumors of enemies on the road, the suspense as to the Chief's whereabouts, the leaving all escort behind, their flattering and cordial reception by Sir Colin, (who gets them "chops and ale in a quiet friendly way,") the fifty-four miles' ride home, the midnight alarm and escape, and the safe run in, take away our breath. And the finish is inimitable.

"All Hodson said," writes Macdowell, "when we were at Bewar, and safe, was 'By George! Mac, I'd give a good deal for a cup of tea,' and immediately went to sleep. He is the coolest hand I have ever yet met. We rode ninety-four miles. Hodson rode seventy-two on one horse, the little dun, and I rode Alma seventy-two miles also."

One more anecdote, however, we cannot resist. On the 6th of January, 1858, Seaton's column joins the Commander-in-Chief; on the 27th, at Shumshabad, poor young Macdowell (whose letters make one love him) is killed, and Hodson badly wounded. They were in advance, as usual, with guns, and had to charge a superior body of cavalry:—

"But there was nothing for it but fighting, as, had we not attacked them, they would have got in amongst our guns. We were only three officers, and about one hundred and eighty horsemen,—my poor friend and second in command, Macdowell, having received a mortal wound a few minutes before we charged. It was a terrible mêlée for some time, and we were most wonderfully preserved. However, we gave them a very proper thrashing, and killed their leaders. Two out of the three of us were wounded, and five of my men killed and eleven wounded, besides eleven horses. My horse had three sabre-cuts, and I got two, which I consider a rather unfair share. The Commander-in-Chief is very well satisfied, I hear, with the day's work, and is profusely civil and kind to me."

"They were very superior in number, and individually so as horsemen and swordsmen, but we managed to 'whop' them all the same, and drive them clean off the field; not, however, until they had made two very pretty dashes at us, which cost us some trouble and very hard fighting. It was the hardest thing of the kind in which I ever was engaged in point of regular 'in fighting,' as they say in the P. R.; only Bell's Life could describe it properly. I got a cut, which laid my thumb open, from a fellow after my sword was through him, and about half an hour later this caused me to get a second severe cut, which divided the muscles of the right arm, and put me hors de combat; for my grip on the sword-handle was weakened, and a demon on foot succeeded in striking down my guard, or rather his tulwar glanced off my guard on to my arm. My horse, also, got three cuts. I have got well most rapidly, despite an attack of erysipelas, which looked very nasty for three days, and some slight fever; and I have every reason to be thankful."

He is able, notwithstanding wounds, to accompany the forces, Colonel Burn kindly driving him in his dog-cart. Nothing could exceed Sir Colin's kind attentions. Here is a chief, at last, who can appreciate a certain captain, late lieutenant under a cloud. The old chief drinks his health as colonel, and, on Hodson's doubting, says:—

"I will see that it is all arranged; just make a memorandum of your services during the Punjaub war, and I venture to prophesy that it will not be long before I shake hands with you as Lieutenant-Colonel Hodson, C.B., with a Victoria Cross to boot."

By the end of February he is well, and in command of his regiment again, and in his last fight saves the life of his adjutant, Lieut. Gough, by cutting down a rebel trooper in the very act of spearing him.

And now comes the end. For a week the siege had gone on, and work after work of the enemy had fallen. On the 11th of March the Begum's Palace was to be assaulted. Hodson had orders to move his regiment nearer to the walls, and while choosing a spot for his camp heard firing, rode on, and found his friend Brigadier Napier directing the assault. He joined him, saying, "I am come to take care of you; you have no business to go to work without me to look after you." They entered the breach together, were separated in the mêlée, and in a few minutes Hodson was shot through the chest. The next morning the wound was declared to be mortal, and he sent for Napier to give his last instructions.

"He lay on his bed of mortal agony," says this friend, "and met death with the same calm composure which so much distinguished him on the field of battle. He was quite conscious and peaceful, occasionally uttering a sentence, 'My poor wife,' 'My poor sisters.' 'I should have liked to have seen the end of the campaign and gone home to the dear ones once more, but it was so ordered.' 'It is hard to leave the world just now, when success is so near, but God's will be done.' 'Bear witness for me that I have tried to do my duty to man. May God forgive my sins, for Christ's sake.' 'I go to my Father.' 'My love to my wife,—tell her my last thoughts were of her.' 'Lord receive my soul.' These were his last words, and without a sigh or struggle his pure and noble spirit took its flight."

"It was so ordered." They were his own words; and now that the first anguish of his loss is over, will not even those nearest and dearest to him acknowledge "it was ordered for the best?" For is there not something painful to us in calculating the petty rewards which we can bestow upon a man who has done any work of deliverance for his country? Do we not almost dread—eagerly as we may desire his return—to hear the vulgar, formal phrases which are all we can devise to commemorate the toils and sufferings that we think of with most gratitude and affection? There is somewhat calming and soothing in the sadness which follows a brave man to his grave in the very place where his work was done, just when it was done. Alas, but it is a bitter lesson to learn, even to us his old schoolfellows, who have never seen him since we parted at his "leaving breakfast." May God make us all braver and truer workers at our own small tasks, and worthy to join him, the hard fighter, the glorious Christian soldier and Englishman, when our time shall come.

On the next day, March 13th, he was carried to a soldier's grave, in the presence of the head-quarters, staff, and of Sir Colin, his last chief, who writes thus to his widow:—

"I followed your noble husband to the grave myself, in order to mark, in the most public manner, my regret and esteem for the most brilliant soldier under my command, and one whom I was proud to call my friend."

What living Englishman can add one iota to such praise from such lips? The man of whom the greatest of English soldiers could thus speak, needs no mark of official approbation, though it is a burning disgrace to the authorities that none such has been given. But the family which mourns its noblest son may be content with the rewards which his gallant life and glorious death have won for him and them,—we believe that he himself would desire no others. For his brothers-in-arms are erecting a monument to him in Lichfield Cathedral; his schoolfellows are putting up a window to him, and the other Rugbæans who have fallen with him, in Rugby Chapel; and the three regiments of Hodson's Horse will hand down his name on the scene of his work and of his death as long as Englishmen bear rule in India. And long after that rule has ceased, while England can honor brave deeds and be grateful to brave men, the heroes of the Indian mutiny will never be forgotten, and the hearts of our children's children will leap up at the names of Lawrence, Havelock, and Hodson.

They were lovely and pleasant in their lives,
And in their deaths they were not divided.

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.

I have now been able to complete the series of extracts from my brother's letters, down to the morning of the fatal 11th March. The greater portion of the Fourth Chapter of Part II. will be found to have been added since the first edition.

I have to apologize for an inaccuracy in the quotation which I gave from Sir Colin Campbell's letter on the occasion of my brother's death. A correct copy of the letter in full will be found at page 431. I have not found it necessary to make any other corrections of importance. Cases have been pointed out to me, in which officers who took part in different operations described, and did good service, are not mentioned by name; but I felt that I could not supply any such omissions, without taking upon myself a responsibility which I have disclaimed.

It was very natural that my brother, in writing to his wife, should make especial mention of those in whom she was interested. It is probable, too, that in some cases, subsequent information would have modified views expressed at the moment, but I have adhered to the principle of giving his letters as they were written day by day.

The favorable reception given to the former editions of this work, has quite satisfied me that I was not wrong in supposing that my brother's character only required to be known, in order to be estimated as it deserved, by Englishmen of every class and profession.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

It can scarcely be needful to make any apology for offering to the public this record of one who has attracted to himself so large a measure of attention and admiration. Many, both in this country and in India, have expressed, and I doubt not many others have felt, a desire to know more of the commander of Hodson's Horse, and captor of the King of Delhi and his sons.

My original intention was to have compiled from my brother's letters merely an account of the part he bore in the late unhappy war. I very soon, however, determined to extend the work, so as to embrace the whole of his life in India.

I felt that the public would naturally inquire by what previous process of training he had acquired, not merely his consummate skill in the great game of war, but his experience of Asiatics and marvellous influence over their minds.

The earlier portions of this book will serve to answer such inquiries; they will show the gradual development of my brother's character and powers, and that those exploits which astonished the world by their skill and daring, were but the natural results of the high idea of the soldier's profession which he proposed to himself, honestly and consistently worked out during ten years of training, in perhaps the finest school that ever existed for soldiers and administrators. They will explain how it was that, in the midst of a struggle for the very existence of our empire, he was able to call into being and bring into the field around Delhi an "invincible and all but ubiquitous" body of cavalry.

The dragon's teeth which came up armed men, had been sown by him long before in his earlier career in the Punjaub. There, by many a deed of daring and activity, by many a successful stratagem and midnight surprise, by many a desperate contest, he had taught the Sikhs, first to dread him as an enemy, and then to idolize him as a leader. Already in 1849 the Governor-General had had "frequent occasions of noticing not only his personal gallantry, but the activity, energy, and intelligence with which he discharged whatever duties were intrusted to him." Even then the name of Hodson, although unknown in England, except to the few who watched his course with the eyes of affection, was a sound of terror to the Sikhs, and a bugbear to their children. In 1852 he earned this high praise from one best qualified to judge: "Lieutenant Hodson, marvellously attaching the Guides to himself by the ties of mutual honor, mutual daring, and mutual devotion, has on every opportunity proved that the discipline of a public school and subsequent University training are no disqualification for hazardous warfare, or for the difficult task of keeping wild tribes in check."

The title given to this book will sufficiently indicate the principle on which, particularly in the first part, I have made selections from my brother's letters. My object has been to show what a soldier's life in India may be, and what in his case it was; how wide and varied is the field which it opens for the exercise of the highest and noblest qualities, intellectual and moral, of our nature; and how magnificently he realized and grasped the conception.

His letters, written in all the freedom of unreserved intercourse, will give a truer notion of his character than the most labored description; they exhibit the undercurrent of deep feelings that ran through even his most playful moods, the yearning after home that mingled with the dreams of ambition and the thirst for the excitement of war, the almost womanly tenderness that coexisted with the stern determination of the soldier. They show that though his lot was cast in camps, he was not a mere soldier; though a hanger-on on the outskirts of civilization amidst wild tribes, he had a keen appreciation of the refinement and elegancies of civilized life; that though in India, he remembered that he was an Englishman; that though living amongst the heathen, he did not forget that he was a Christian.

I have not attempted to write a biography, but have allowed my brother to speak for himself, merely supplying such connecting links as seemed absolutely necessary.

Indeed, I could do no otherwise; for unhappily, during the twelve years of his soldier's life,—those years in which his character received its mature development,—I knew him only by his letters, or by the reports of others; when we parted on board the ship that carried him from England, in 1845, we parted to meet no more in this world. My recollections of him, vivid as they are, are not of the leader of men in council and the battle-field, but of the bright and joyous boy, the life of the home circle, the tender and affectionate son, the loving brother, the valued friend, the popular companion.

Of what he became afterwards my readers will have the same means of judging as myself. He seems to me to have been one of whom not only his family, but his country may well be proud,—a worthy representative of the English name and nation amongst the tribes of India, an impersonation of manly straightforwardness, and unhesitating daring, and irresistible power.

Many too, I believe, will agree with me in thinking that these pages prove that the poetry and romance of war are not yet extinct, that even the Enfield rifle has not reduced all men to a dead level, but that there is still a place to be found for individual prowess, for the lion heart, and the eagle eye, and the iron will. One seems transported back from the prosaic nineteenth century to the ages of romance and chivalry, and to catch a glimpse, now of a Paladin of old, now of a knightly hero sans peur et sans reproche; now, of a northern chieftain, "riding on border foray," now of a captain of free-lances; yet all dissolving into a Christian soldier of our own day.

Most striking of all, it has appeared to me, is the resemblance to the romantic career of that hero of the Spanish ballads, who, by his many deeds of heroic daring, gained for himself the distinguished title of "El de las Hazanas,"—"He of the exploits." Those who are acquainted with the chronicles of the Conquest of Granada, will almost fancy in reading these pages that they are hearing again the story of Fernando Perez del Pulgar; how at one time by a bold dash he rode with a handful of followers across a country swarming with the enemy, and managed to force his way into a beleaguered fortress; how at another he galloped alone up the streets of Granada, then in possession of the enemy, to the gates of the principal mosque, and nailed a paper to the door with his dagger; how again he turned the tide of battle by the mere charm of his eagle eye and thrilling voice, inspiring the most timid with a courage equal to his own; how he made the enemy lay down their arms at his word of command; how the Moorish mothers frightened their children with the sound of his name; how he was not only the harebrained adventurer, delighting in peril and thirsting for the excitement of the fight, but also the courteous gentleman, the accomplished scholar; as profound and sagacious in the council as he was reckless in the field, and frequently selected by the wily Ferdinand to conduct affairs requiring the greatest prudence and judgment.[1]

It may be, however, that affection has biassed my judgment, and that I shall be thought to have formed an exaggerated estimate of the grandeur and nobleness of the subject of this memoir. Even if this be so, I shall not take much to heart the charge of having loved such a brother too well, and I shall console myself with the thought that I have endeavored to do something to perpetuate his memory.

If, however, any young soldier be induced, by reading these pages, to take a higher view of his profession, to think of it as one of the noblest fields in which he can serve his God and his country, and enter on it in a spirit of self-sacrifice, with "duty" as his guiding principle, and a determination never to forget that he is a Christian soldier and an Englishman, I shall be abundantly rewarded; my main object will be attained.

PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.