CHAPTER III
HOW BAHADUR SHAH PROCLAIMED HIS EMPIRE
On the morning of the 11th, the sun that laid bare the horrors of Meerutshone brightly on the placid splendor of Delhi. This great city, theRome of Asia, was also the Metz of Upper India, its old-fashioned thoughstrong defenses having been modernized by the genius of a Napier.Resting on the Jumna, it might best be described as of half-moon shape,with the straight edge running north and south along the right bank ofthe river.
In the center of the river line stood the imposing red sandstone palaceof Bahadur Shah, last of the Moguls. North of this citadel were themagazine, the Church, some European houses, and the cutcherry, or groupof minor law courts, while the main thoroughfare leading in thatdirection passed through the Kashmir Gate. Southward from the fortstretched the European residential suburb known as Darya Gunj (or, as itwould be called in England, the "Riverside District") out of which theDelhi Gate gave access to the open country and the road to Humayun'sTomb. Another gate, the Raj Ghat, opened toward the river between thepalace and Darya Gunj. Thus, the walls of city and palace ran almoststraight for two miles from the Kashmir Gate on the north to the DelhiGate on the south, while the main road connecting the two passed thefort on the landward side.
The Lahore Gate of the palace, a magnificent structure, commanded thebazaar and its chief street, the superb Chandni Chowk, which extendeddue west for nearly two miles to the Lahore Gate of the city itself.Near the palace, in a very large garden, stood the spacious premises ofthe Delhi Bank. A little farther on, but on the opposite side of theChowk, was the Kotwallee, or police station, and still farther,practically in the center of the dense bazaar, two stone elephantsmarked the entrance to the beautiful park now known as the Queen'sGardens.
The remainder of the space within the walls was packed with the housesand shops of well-to-do traders, and the lofty tenements or mud hovelsin which dwelt a population of artisans noted not only for theirartistic skill but for a spirit of lawlessness, a turbulent fanaticism,that had led to many scenes of violence in the city's earlier history.
The whole of Delhi, as well as the palace--which had its own separatefortifications--was surrounded by a wall seven miles long, twenty-fourfeet in height, well supplied with bastions, and containing ten hugegates, each a small fort in itself. The wall was protected by a dryfosse, or ditch, twenty-five feet wide and about twenty feet deep; this,in turn, was guarded by a counterscarp and glacis.
On the northwest side of Delhi, and about a mile distant from the river,an irregular, rock-strewn spine of land, called the Ridge, rose abovethe general level of the plain, and afforded a panoramic view of thecity and palace. The rising ground began about half a mile from the MoriGate--which was situated on what may be termed the landward side of theKashmir Gate. It followed a course parallel with the river for twomiles, and at its northerly extremity were situated the principalEuropean bungalows and the military cantonment.
Delhi was the center of Mohammedan hopes; its palace held the linealdescendant of Aurangzebe, with his children and grandchildren; itwas stored to repletion with munitions of war; yet, such was theinconceivable folly of the rulers of India at that time, the nearestBritish regiments were stationed in Meerut, while the place swarmedwith native troops, horse, foot and artillery!
A May morning in the Punjab must not be confused with its prototypein Britain. Undimmed by cloud, unchecked by cooling breeze, the sunscorches the earth from the moment his glowing rays first peep over thehorizon. Thus men who value their health and have work to be done riseat an hour when London's streets are emptiest. Merchants were busy inthe bazaar, soldiers were on parade, judges were sitting in the courtsof the cutcherry, and the European housewives of the station were makingtheir morning purchases of food for breakfast and dinner, when some ofthe loungers on the river-side wall saw groups of horsemen raising thedust on the Meerut road beyond the bridge of boats which spanned theJumna.
The word went round that something unusual had happened. Already theidlers had noted the arrival of a dust-laden royal carriage, whichcrossed the pontoons at breakneck speed and entered by the CalcuttaGate. That incident, trivial in itself, became important when thosehard-riding horsemen came in sight. The political air was charged withelectricity. None knew whether it would end in summer lightning or in atornado, so there was much running to and fro, and gesticulations, andexcited whisperings among those watchers on the walls.
Vague murmurs of doubt and surprise reached the ears of two of theBritish magistrates. They hurriedly adjourned the cases they were tryingand sent for their horses. One rode hard to the cantonment and toldBrigadier Graves what he had seen and heard; the other, knowing theimmense importance of the chief magazine, went there to warn LieutenantWilloughby, the officer in charge.
Here, then, in Delhi, were men of prompt decision, but the troops onwhom they could have depended were forty miles away in Meerut, in thatnever-to-be-forgotten bivouac. Meanwhile, the vanguard of the Meerutrebels had arrived. Mostly troopers of Malcolm's regiment, with some fewsepoys who had stolen ponies on the way, they crossed the Jumna, somegoing straight to the palace by way of the bridge of boats, while othersforded the river to the south and made for the gaol, where, as usual,they released the prisoners. This trick of emptying the penitentiarieswas more adroit than it seems at first sight. Not only were themutineers sure of obtaining hearty assistance in their campaign ofrobbery and murder, but every gaol-bird headed direct for his nativetown as soon as he was gorged with plunder. There was no better means ofdisseminating the belief that the British power had crumbled to atoms.The convicts boasted that they had been set free by the rebels; theyparaded their ill-gotten gains and incited ignorant villagers to emulatethe example of the towns. Thus a skilful and damaging blow was struck atBritish prestige. Neither Mohammedan moullah nor Hindu fakir carriedsuch conviction to ill-informed minds as the appearance of some knownmalefactor decked out in the jewels and trinkets of murderedEnglishwomen.
The foremost of the mutineers reined in their weary horses beneath abalcony on which Bahadur Shah, a decrepit old man of eighty, awaitedthem.
By his side stood his youngest daughter, the Roshinara Begum. Her eyeswere blazing with triumph, yet her lips curved with contempt at theattitude of her trembling father.
"You see!" she cried. "Have I not spoken truly? These are the men whosacked Meerut. Scarce a Feringhi lives there save those whom I havesaved to good purpose. Admit your troops! Proclaim yourself their ruler.A moment's firmness will win back your empire."
The aged monarch, now that the hour was at hand that astrologers hadpredicted and his courtiers had promised for many a year, faltered hisdread lest they were not all committing a great mistake.
"This is no woman's work," he protested. "Where are my sons? Where isthe Shahzada, Mirza Mogul?"
She knew. The heir apparent and his brothers were cowering in fear,afraid to strike, yet hoping that others would strike for them. Shealmost dragged her father to the front of the balcony. The troopersrecognized him with a fierce shout. A hundred sabers were wavedfrantically.
"Help us, O King!" they cried. "We pray your help in our fight for thefaith!"
Captain Douglas, commandant of the palace guards, hearing the uproar ranto the King. He did not notice the girl Roshinara, who stood there likea caged tigress.
"How dare you intrude on the King's privacy?" he cried, striving tooverawe the rebels by his cool demeanor. "You must lay down your arms ifyou wish His Majesty's clemency. He is here in person and that is hiscommand."
A yell of defiance greeted his bold words. The Begum made a signal withher hand which was promptly understood. Away clattered the trooperstowards the Raj Ghat Gate. There they were admitted without parley. Thecity hell hounds sprang to meet them and the slaughter of inoffensiveEuropeans began in Darya Gunj.
It was soon in full swing. The vile deeds of the night at Meerut werere-enacted in the vivid sunlight at Delhi. Leaving their willing alliesto carry sword and torch through t
he small community in that quarter thesowars rode to the Lahore Gate of the palace. It was thrown open by theKing's guards and dependents. Captain Douglas, and the Commissioner,Mr. Fraser, made vain appeals to men whose knees would have trembledat their frown a few minutes earlier. Thinking to escape and summonassistance from the cantonment, Douglas mounted the wall and leaped intothe moat. He broke one, if not both, of his legs. Some scared coolieslifted him and carried him back to the interior of the palace. Frasertried to protect him while he was being taken to his apartments over theLahore Gate, but a jeweler from the bazaar stabbed the Commissioner andhe was killed by the guards. Then the mob rushed up-stairs and massacredthe collector, the chaplain, the chaplain's daughter, a lady who wastheir guest, and the injured Douglas.
Another dreadful scene was enacted in the Delhi Bank. The manager andhis brave wife, assisted by a few friends who happened to be in thebuilding at the moment, made a stubborn resistance, but they were allcut down. The masters in the Government colleges were surprised andmurdered in their class-rooms. The missionaries, whether European ornative, were slaughtered in their houses and schools. The editorialstaff and compositors of the _Delhi Gazette_, having just produced aspecial edition of the paper announcing the crisis, were all stabbed orbludgeoned to death. In the telegraph office a young signaler wassending a thrilling message to Umballa, Lahore and the north.
"The sepoys have come in from Meerut," he announced with the slow tickof the earliest form of apparatus. "They are burning everything. Mr.Todd is dead, and, we hear, several Europeans. We must shut up."
That was his requiem. The startled operators at Umballa could obtain nofurther intelligence and the boy was slain at his post.[3]
[Footnote 3: This statement is made on the authority of Holmes's"History of the Indian Mutiny," Cave-Browne's "The Punjab & Delhi," and"The Punjab Mutiny Report," though it is claimed that William Brendish,who is still living, was on duty at the Delhi Telegraph Officethroughout the night of May 10th.]
The magistrate who galloped to the cantonment found no laggards there.Brigadier Graves sent Colonel Ripley with part of the 54th NativeInfantry to occupy the Kashmir Gate. The remainder of the 54th escortedtwo guns under Captain de Teissier.
Ripley reached the main guard, just within the gate, when some troopersof the 3d rode up. The Colonel ordered his men to fire at them. Thesepoys refused to obey, and the sowars, drawing their pistols, shot deador severely wounded six British officers. Then the 54th bayoneted theirColonel, but, hearing the rumble of de Teissier's guns, fled into thecity. The guard of the gate, composed of men of the 38th, went withthem, but their officer, Captain Wallace, had ridden, fortunately forhimself, to hurry the guns. He was sent on to the cantonment to ask forre-enforcements. Not a man of the 38th would follow him, but the 74thcommanded by Major Abbott, proclaimed their loyalty and asked to be ledagainst the mutineers.
Perforce their commander trusted them. He brought them to the KashmirGate with two more guns, while the Brigadier and his staff, wonderingwhy they heard nothing of the pursuing British from Meerut, thought itadvisable to gather the women and children and other helpless persons,both European and native, in the Flagstaff Tower, a small buildingsituated on the northern extremity of the Ridge.
There for some hours a great company of frightened people endured allthe discomforts of terrific heat, hunger, and thirst, while wives andmothers, striving to soothe their wailing little ones, were themselvesconsumed with anxiety as to the fate of husbands and sons.
At the main guard there was a deadlock. Major Abbott and his brotherofficers, trying to keep their men loyal, stood fast and listened to thedistant turmoil in the city. Like the soldiers in Meerut, they neverguessed a tithe of the horrors enacted there. They were sure that thewhite troops in Meerut would soon arrive and put an end to the prevalentanarchy. Yet the day sped and help came not.
Suddenly the sound of a tremendous explosion rent the air and a densecloud of white smoke, succeeded by a pall of dust, rose between thegate and the palace. Willoughby had blown up the magazine! Why? Twoartillery subalterns who had fought their way through a mob strickenwith panic for the moment, soon arrived. Their story fills one of thegreat pages of history.
Lieutenant Willoughby, a boyish-looking subaltern of artillery, whoseshy, refined manners hid a heroic soul, lost no time in making hisdispositions for the defense of the magazine when he knew that a mutinywas imminent. He had with him eight Englishmen, Lieutenants Forrest andRaynor, Conductors Buckley, Shaw and Scully, Sub-Conductor Crow, andSergeants Edwards and Stewart. The nine barricaded the outer gates andplaced in the best positions guns loaded with grape. They laid a trainfrom the powder store to a tree in the yard. Scully stood there. Hepromised to fire the powder when his young commander gave the signal.
Then they waited. A stormy episode was taking place inside the fort.Bahadur Shah held out against the vehement urging of his daughter aidednow by the counsel of her brothers. Ever and anon he went to the riverbalcony which afforded a view of the Meerut road. At last he sentmounted men across the river. When these scouts returned and he wasquite certain that none but rebel sepoys were streaming towards Delhifrom Meerut, he yielded.
The surrender of the magazine was demanded in his name. His adherentstried to rush the gate and walls, and were shot down in scores. Theattack grew more furious and sustained. The white men served theirsmoking cannon with a wild energy that, for a time, made the gallantnine equal to a thousand. Of course such a struggle could have only oneend. Willoughby, in his turn, ran to the river bastion. Like the king,he looked towards Meerut. Like the king, he saw none but mutineers.Then, when the enemy were clambering over the walls and rushing intothe little fort from all directions, he raised his sword and looked atConductor Buckley. Buckley lifted his hat, the agreed signal, and Scullyfired the train. Hundreds of rebels were blown to pieces, as theywere already inside the magazine. Scully was killed where he stood.Willoughby leaped from the walls, crossed the river, and met hisdeath while striving to reach Meerut. Lieutenants Forrest and Raynor,Conductors Buckley and Shaw, and Sergeant Stewart escaped, and weregiven the Victoria Cross.
Yet, so curiously constituted is the native mind, the blowing-up of themagazine was the final tocsin of revolt. It seemed to place beyond doubtthat which all men were saying. The king was fighting the English. Islamwas in the field against the Nazarene. The Mogul Empire was born againand the iron grip of British rule was relaxed. At once the sepoys at theKashmir Gate fired a volley at the nearest officers, of whom three felldead.
Two survivors rushed up the bastion and jumped into the ditch. Others,hearing the shrieks of some women in the guard room, poor creatures whohad escaped from the city, ran through a hail of bullets and got themout. Fastening belts and handkerchiefs together, the men lowered thewomen into the fosse and, with extraordinary exertions, lifted them upthe opposite side.
At the Flagstaff Tower the 74th and the remainder of the 38th suddenlytold their officers that they would obey them no longer. When this lastshred of hope was gone, the Brigadier reluctantly gave the order toretreat. The women and children were placed in carriages and a mournfulprocession began to straggle through the deserted cantonment along theAlipur Road.
Soon the fugitives saw their bungalows on fire. "Then," says thataccurate and impartial historian of the Mutiny, Mr. T. R. E. Holmes,"began that piteous flight, the first of many such incidents whichhardened the hearts of the British to inflict a terrible revenge....Driven to hide in jungles or morasses from despicable vagrants--robbed,and scourged, and mocked by villagers who had entrapped them withpromises of help--scorched by the blazing sun, blistered by burningwinds, half-drowned in rivers which they had to ford or swim across,naked, weary and starving, they wandered on; while some fell dead by thewayside, and others, unable to move farther, were abandoned by theirsorrowing friends to die on the road."
In such wise did the British leave Imperial Delhi. They came back,later, but many things had to happen meanwhile.
The volcan
ic outburst in the Delhi district might have been paralleledfarther north were not the Punjab fortunate in its rulers. Sir JohnLawrence was Chief Commissioner at Lahore. When that fateful telegramfrom Delhi was received in the capital of the Punjab he was on his wayto Murree, a charming and secluded hill station, for the benefit of hishealth. But, like most great men, Lawrence had the faculty ofsurrounding himself with able lieutenants.
His deputy, Robert Montgomery, whose singularly benevolent aspectconcealed an iron will, saw at once that if the Punjab followed the leadof Meerut and Delhi, India would be lost. Lahore had a mixed populationof a hundred thousand Sikhs and Mohammedans, born soldiers every man,and ready to take any side that promised to settle disputes by coldsteel rather than legal codes. If these hot heads, with their millionsof co-religionists in the land of the Five Rivers, were allowed to gainthe upper hand, they would sweep through the country from the mountainsto the sea.
The troops, British and native, were stationed in the cantonment ofMian-mir, some five miles from Lahore. There were one native cavalryregiment and three native infantry battalions whose loyalty mightbe measured by minutes as soon as they learnt that the standard ofBahadur Shah was floating over the palace at Delhi. To quell them theauthorities had the 81st Foot and two batteries of horse artillery, or,proportionately, far less a force than that at Meerut, the Britons beingoutnumbered eight times by the natives.
Montgomery coolly drove to Mian-mir on the morning of the 12th, tookcounsel with the Brigadier, Stuart Corbett, and made his plans. A ballwas fixed for that night. All society attended it, and men who knew thatthe morrow's sun might set on a scene of bloodshed and desolation dancedgaily with the ladies of Lahore. Surely those few who were in the secretof the scheme arranged by Montgomery and Corbett must have thought of amore famous ball at Brussels on a June night in 1815.
Next morning the garrison fell in for a general parade of all arms. Theartillery and 81st were on the right of the line, the native infantry inthe center, and the sowars on the left. A proclamation by Governmentannouncing the disbandment of the 34th at Barrackpore was read, and mayhave given some inkling of coming events to the more thoughtful amongthe sepoys. But they had no time for secret murmurings. Maneuvers beganinstantly. In a few minutes the native troops found themselvesconfronted by the 81st and the two batteries of artillery.
Riding between the opposing lines, the Brigadier told the would-bemutineers that he meant to save them from temptation by disarming them.
"Pile arms!" came the resolute command.
They hesitated. The intervening space was small. By sheer weight ofnumbers they could have borne down the British.
"Eighty-first--load!" rang out the ominous order.
As the ears of the startled men caught the ring of the ramrods in theEnfield rifles, their eyes saw the lighted port fires of the gunners.They were trapped, and they knew it. They threw down their weapons withsullen obedience and the first great step towards the re-conquest ofIndia was taken.
Inspired by Montgomery the district officers at Umritsar, Mooltan,Phillour, and many another European center in the midst of warlike andimpetuous races, followed his example and precept. Brigadier Innes atFerozpore hesitated. He tried half measures. He separated his two nativeregiments and thought to disarm them on the morrow. That night one ofthem endeavored to storm the magazine, burnt and plundered the station,and marched off towards Delhi. But Innes then made amends. He pursuedand dispersed them. Only scattered remnants of the corps reached theMogul capital.
Thus Robert Montgomery, the even-tempered, suave, smooth-spoken DeputyCommissioner of Lahore! In the far north, at Peshawur, four other menof action gathered in conclave. The gay, imaginative, earnest-mindedHerbert Edwardes, the hard-headed veteran, Sydney Cotton, the dashingsoldier, Neville Chamberlain, and the lustrous-eyed, black-bearded,impetuous giant, John Nicholson--that genius who at thirty-five hadalready been deified by a brotherhood of Indian fakirs and placed byMohammedans among the legendary heroes of their faith--these four satin council and asked, "How best shall we serve England?"
They answered that question with their swords.