Sir Colin Campbell, after much deliberation, finally left Fatehgarh. His intention to delay the retaking of Lucknow for the winter months was thwarted by Lord Canning. It was now a matter of setting an example, and wresting Lucknow from rebel hands would prove the British were once again holding the upper hand. Sir Colin Campbell, however, was reluctant to return to Lucknow. His force, although numerically strong and soon to be reinforced by Jung Bahadur of Nepal, was certainly capable of meeting the rebels of Lucknow. The problem was that he had waited long in Fatehgarh, and the hot season was upon him. The city, as he well knew, presented a whole host of pitfalls, and there was no point in believing the rebels would not be ready to give him a warm welcome. His return, then, for it to succeed, would need to be contrived in a way the rebels would not expect. For their part, they were secure in their defences and had ensured that any advance through the city, either by the route taken by Havelock or the one taken by Campbell on his first foray, would be met with force. They had, however, completely neglected the other side of the river.
The advance to Lucknow was being bolstered by other forces, which were keeping the rebels too busy to launch any untoward attacks on Oudh. Sir Hugh Rose had started his Central India Campaign in January 1858; Kotah would be retaken by the Rajputana Field Force, the Sarun Field Force under Brigadier Rowcroft was operating in the outer districts of Oudh, while the Nepal Contingent had already been active for some months, and the retaking of Lucknow was still being debated. The Jaunpore Field Force would eventually form a juncture with Jung Bahadur and form the last reinforcements for the final capture of Lucknow. Sir Colin Campbell had ensured that his road to Lucknow was safer than it had been previously – Cawnpore was in the able hands of Brigadier Inglis, and Sir James Outram was still holding the Alambagh as was expected of him, since November 1857.
By now, Sir Colin Campbell had been given a few unkind monikers on account of his near inaction in 1858, and one of them, “Sir Crawling Camel”, would certainly not be without merit. His campaign for the recapture of Lucknow was slow in the making and would not begin until the end of February. He would then proceed with much caution to Lucknow and take the city in stages over a period of two weeks.
Leaving Fatehgarh, Sir Colin Campbell has an Army and the Rebels Have Plans.
With the Dilkusha secure, he would split his forces for a second stage, one part under Sir James Outram would cross the Gumti and approach Lucknow from the other side of the river, something the rebels were not expecting, while the other would push its way forward towards the Kaiserbagh.
Of course, the final capture of Lucknow would not be without recipients of the Victoria Cross – a further twelve men would be added to the already impressive list of Lucknow VCs.
The capture of Lucknow would now open the floodgates for a whole host of other battles and campaigns, but it would take the very deliberate actions of Lord Canning to add fuel to an already roaring fire.
The taking of Kotah by Roberts would be of manifest importance as it re-established British prestige in Rajputana and enabled Sir Hugh Rose to continue his advance towards Kalpi. As no garrison would be left in Kotah, the Rajputana Field Force was now redistributed: Roberts returned to Nasirabad, and a portion of his force was sent to garrison Neemuch. He further detached Brigadier Smith to Sir Hugh Rose, with a column consisting of the 83rd Foot, a wing of the 72nd Highlanders, wings of the 12th and 13th Bombay Native Infantry, two squadrons of the 8th Hussars, two of the 1st Bombay Lancers and a siege train of six pieces. Kotah was left in the hands of the Maharao, and Sir Hugh Rose will enter the final stages of the campaign as he continues to Kalpi. However, the march would prove to be one of the worst his men would have to face. The summer months are fast approaching, and in the plains, the scorching sun and blistering winds will take a dreadful toll.
With the Central India Force disbanded on the orders of Sir Colin Campbell, it would appear that the campaign was over. With the taking of Kalpi, Sir Hugh had met his objectives. Brigadier Robert Napier was dispatched from Lucknow to take control of the continuation of operations in Central India and see to it that Tope was finally run to the ground. As such, Sir Hugh Rose was ready to make his exit. However, no one had reckoned with Scindia of Gwalior. His sudden defeat in an ill-conceived show of force that went terribly wrong would leave Gwalior without a leader and Sir Hugh Rose with no choice but to take up the reins, recall the Central India Force and march again. This time, he was taking on the mighty fortress of Gwalior.
So it ends, one of the hardest campaigns of the Indian mutiny is over. However, the battles are hardly done as the mutiny enters other fields. While Sir Hugh Rose was fighting his way through Central India, Sir Colin Campbell had retaken Lucknow; in Bihar, a force had been sent to deal with that brilliant landlord, Kunwar Singh. Meanwhile, the Maulvi of Fyzabad and Firoz Shah put in their appearance once again as they set their sights on Rohilkhand.
Sir Hugh Rose had now achieved his goal and reached Jhansi, the abode of the Rani. Tempers are running high in his force as the murders perpetrated in June 1857 have not been forgotten. There is a sense of anger in the air, and the force is eager to take not just the fort, but if they have their way, raze Jhansi to the ground. The rebels, for their part, have a surprise in store for Sir Hugh and will now attempt to force him to divide his force and fight on two fronts. It is April 1858, and the scene is the Betwa River. The outcome will have repercussions for the Rani and change the campaign.
The taking of Kotah by Roberts was of manifest importance as it re-established British prestige in Rajputana and enabled Sir Hugh Rose to continue his advance towards Kalpi. As no garrison would be left in Kotah, the Rajputana Field Force was now redistributed: Roberts returned to Nasirabad, and a portion of his force was sent to garrison Neemuch. He further detached Brigadier Smith to Sir Hugh Rose, with a column consisting of the 83rd Foot, a wing of the 72nd Highlanders, wings of the 12th and 13th Bombay Native Infantry, two squadrons of the 8th Hussars, two of the 1st Bombay Lancers and a siege train of six pieces. Kotah was left in the hands of the Maharao, and Sir Hugh Rose will enter the final stages of the campaign as he continues to Kalpi. However, there will be more fighting to be done.
The Field Forces
First Brigade
Brigadier C.S. Stuart, Bombay Army, commanding:
One squadron, 14th Light Dragoons One troop, 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry HM’s 86th Regiment of Foot, two companies 25th Regiment, Bombay Native Infantry Three light field batteries, one belonging to the Royal Artillery, one to Bombay, and the third to Hyderabad. Sappers
14th Light Dragoons, headquarters 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry, headquarters 3rd Bombay European 24th Regiment, Bombay Native Infantry One battery, Bombay Horse Artillery One Light Field Battery One Battery, Bhopal Artillery One Company, Madras Sappers
Hyderabad Contingent Field Force, under Major Orr, consisting of three regiments of cavalry, two of infantry and one artillery field battery.
The plan for the campaign in Central India had been contrived in Calcutta by Sir Colin Campbell before he left for Oudh with Robert Hamilton, Political Agent to the Court of Indore. Hamilton had made the following plan: one column, with its base of operations at Mhow, was to sweep up the country between that place and Kalpi on the Jamuna, relieve Sagar and retake Jhansi; the other, coming from Madras, would make its base at Jabalpur, clear the line of communication with Allahabad and Mirzapore, then cross the Bundelkhand to Banda. A third force, under Major-General Roberts, would start operations in Rajputana. If all things went to plan, by May 1858, both Rose and Whitlock should have reached their objectives. Sir Robert Hamilton then proceeded to Indore to free it from the wily machinations of Henry Marion Durand; he resumed his appointment as Governor-General’s Agent for Central India and all political functions regarding the chiefs in the Sagar and Narbada Territories. Almost simultaneously with the appointment of Sir Hugh Rose to command the Central India Field Force, Brigadier General Whitlock of the Madras Army was appointed to command a division for service in the Nagpur, Sagar and Narbada Territories. His force would act in parallel with Sir Hugh Rose in Central India. Whitlock took up his command in November 1857; in January 1858, Roberts would take command of the Rajputana Field Force.
When the Central India Campaign began in January 1858, little did the men know that it would turn into one of history’s most gruelling. Over the next five months, the Central India Field Force would march 1’085 miles (1’764 km), battling not just the heat, but rain and traversing rugged terrain from the confines of Western India to the waters of the Jamuna River. They would fight 16 actions, capture 20 forts and take not only Jhansi but the mighty fortress of Gwalior. They would not lose a single battle. One of the finest military campaigns in mutiny history was fought by a man who had no experience in India and had never commanded Indian troops or their officers. His force was a colourful mixture of men from Bombay, Madras and Hyderabad; he had irregular infantry in the form of Bhils and a smattering of irregular cavalry. Their numbers were few, but under his leadership, the Central India Force would become one of the most cohesive military units ever seen. On the rebel front, the Rani of Jhansi and Tantya Tope would be just two among the many recalcitrant rajas, stubborn zamindars, hardy sepoys, local levies and the very population of Central India itself, who were all up in arms and ready for a fight. Unlike in Oudh, there was no support for the British in Central India, and Sir Hugh Rose was very much on his own.
The campaign shall be followed in three stages, beginning with the march from Mhow to:
The campaign was over with victory at Kalpi. Sir Hugh Rose met his objectives, but no one reckoned the Scindia would embarrass himself. So it was back into the saddle to bring the campaign to its final close at Gwalior.
The Malwa Campaign, with the offshoot of the siege of Neemuch, and the Central India Campaign would be resplendent with Victoria Crosses, with 18 men being thus rewarded for their valour:
James Blair – 2nd Bombay Light Cavalry
Harry Pendergast – Madras Engineers
Richard Keatinge – Bombay Artillery
James Leith – 14th Light Dragoons
Hugh Cochrane – 86th Regiment of Foot
James Byrne – 86th Regiment of Foot
Henry Jerome – 86th Regiment of Foot
James Pearson – 86th Regiment of Foot
Michael Sleavon – Corps of Royal Engineers
Joseph Brennan – Royal Regiment of Artillery
Frederick Whirlpool – 3rd Bombay European Regiment
The 66th (Goorkha Regiment) Bengal Native Infantry
David Ochterlony and the political agent William Fraser swiftly acknowledged the capabilities of Nepalese soldiers serving the British. During the Anglo-Nepalese War, the British were eager to recruit defectors from the Nepalese army to utilise them as irregular forces. Ochterlony’s faith in their allegiance was so strong that in April 1815, he suggested the formation of a battalion under Lieutenant Ross, which was named the First Nasiri Battalion (in 1850, they were renamed the 66th or Goorkha Regiment of Native Infantry). This regiment later evolved in 1937 to become the 1st King George V’s Own Gurkha Rifles (The Malaun Regiment). In addition to Ochterlony’s Gorkhali battalions, William Fraser and Lieutenant Frederick Young established the Sirmoor Battalion, which eventually became the 2nd King Edward VII’s Own Gurkha Rifles. Furthermore, an additional unit, the Kumaon Battalion, was formed, which later became the 3rd Queen Alexandra’s Own Gurkha Rifles. These corps were provided with clothing, arms, equipment, and ammunition at the State’s expense, following the same regulations that applied to Line Troops, with the exception that their belts and accoutrements were black rather than buff. They were also furnished with camp equipment and supplies as needed, adhering to similar directives. The uniform and discipline were consistent, with the stipulation that the personnel must procure their own Half Mounting. Consequently, Commandants were expressly forbidden from imposing any deductions, except in instances of confirmed negligence or failure to maintain cleanliness and adhere to the Standing Orders. In instances where any of the men who had defected from the enemy during the years 1814-1815, or those who were subsequently enlisted, became unfit for more active service due to age or disability, they were assigned to a garrison company. This company was exclusively tasked with garrison duties at the forts and outposts established during the conquests in Nepal, which had previously been occupied by their respective corps and were deemed stationary. Should the number of such individuals necessitate it, the Commander-in-Chief was authorised to temporarily establish a second or even a third garrison company. Additionally, the Battalion’s status concerning pensions was determined by General Government Order No. 9, dated 2nd May 1823. Gurkhas participated as soldiers of the Company during the Pindaree War in 1817, as well as in the conflicts at Bharatpur and Nepal in 1826, and the First and Second Sikh Wars in 1846 and 1848. The first Battle Honour would be for the Siege of Bhurtpore, where the 1st Nasiri and the Sirmoor Battalion both contributed a detachment of roughly 200 men to Lord Combermere’s army. The honour, however, would not be bestowed on them until forty-eight years later, in 1874.
It is not known what exactly Sir Colin Campbell said to Windham when he met him at the entrenchment that night. Witnesses say it was not a pleasant interview; after all, Windham had very nearly lost Cawnpore. Had the worst come to pass, Campbell would have been stuck across the river with a very long train of civilians in tow, unable to retreat and with only a limited possibility of defending himself on an open plain. It would prove to him that men with no experience of Indian warfare had indeed no business being left in command. Windham would continue to fight under Sir Colin Campbell, but the responsibility of Cawnpore would be given over to Brigadier John Inglis. Inglis had seen just about all he wanted to of India, but a man of duty to the last, he would not disobey orders. Cawnpore was his to run and to garrison; however, his wife and their three children were not allowed to remain. Unlike Harriet Tytler at Delhi, there would be no ladies in Cawnpore. Sir Colin Campbell insisted the only way he could fight a war for his government was if he was allowed to do it his way, and that meant all impedimenta, including the wounded, would have to leave. Unhindered, he would then be at liberty to fix Windham’s mess and plan his next steps.
1857 had seen some tremendous events throughout India. Now, at the end of the year, the actual uprisings were over, but nothing had been decided. Everywhere, indecision still held sway. For some, the year would end in Cawnpore, for others, it would be on the road, and there was still much work to do.
For Colonel Seaton, whom we last met many months ago, he had received new orders. Having remained behind in Delhi, his new command was not of a brigade or a moveable column. It was a far more onerous duty, that of escorting a supply train, as he believed, to Cawnpore.
On 16 November 1857, the force of Sir Colin Campbell left their camps at the Dilkusha and the Martiniere and began their advance towards the Residency, in a direction the rebels were quite unprepared for. Having expected Sir Colin to use the same route as Havelock had, they had put together a serious and very impressive blockade for his welcome only to discover, he was in fact taking them in the rear instead, by advancing towards the Sikandar Bagh.
When they realised what he was up to they quickly stepped up to the plate and would give him a day to remember – by the end of the 16th, while Sir Colin had indeed met his objectives, he was still not in the Residency. On the 17th, the advance continued until a juncture could be formed between the Residency and Sir Colin’s force on the grounds of the Moti Mahal. The rebels, however, still held the immense palace of the Kaiser Bagh and now, quite aware of what he was up to, were determined to give Sir Colin a hard time.
The immense courage shown by Sir Colin’s men over the days it took him to capture not just those crucial positions at the Sikandar Bagh, the Shah Najaf and the 32nd Mess House to consolidate his retreat, and the days during the retreat itself, would remain unmatched in the annals of 1857.
As soon as Sir Colin had reached the Residency, it became horrifyingly clear to the garrison that the position they had so valiantly fought over would now be evacuated. His reasoning was sound – the Residency, after all, was a trap. Unless he wanted to continue the blockade, his best option was to abandon Lucknow for now and retreat to Cawnpore.
If he felt a sense of urgency to relieve the Residency, Sir Colin Campbell was certainly not showing it. As far as he could see, holding Lucknow was not on the cards; his intention was to rescue the garrison and retreat. As such, he made his advance towards the city with this in mind. With the Alambagh secure, he would advance over two days; on the first, he would take the Dilkusha and the Martiniere College, both of which would serve as valuable positions for his baggage, his wounded and for his line of retreat. Then, he would advance on the Residency itself, but instead of taking the direct route that Havelock and Outram had taken, and having been warned to “give the city a wide berth”, Campbell would then move methodically through the outskirts before turning towards the Residency. His objective was to take several buildings into his possession on the line of march, thus securing, once again, his line of retreat.
“Soldiers of the Forty-Second, Seventy-Ninth, and Ninety-Third! – old Highland Brigade with whom I passed the early and perilous part of this war, I have now to take leave of you. In a few hours, I shall be on board ship, never to see you again in body. A long farewell! I am now old and shall not be called to serve any more, and nothing will remain to me but the memory of my campaigns, and the memory too, of the enduring, hardy, generous soldiers with whom I have been associated, and whose name and glory will be kept alive in the hearts of our countrymen…Though I shall be gone, the thought of you will go with me wherever I may be, and cheer my old age with a glorious recollection of dangers confronted and hardships endured. The bagpipes will never sound near me without carrying me back to those bright days when I was at your head and wore the bonnet you gained for me, and the honourable decorations on my breast, many of which I owe to your conduct. Brave soldiers, kind comrades, farewell!
And thus, Sir Colin Campbell left Crimea, his last war fought, the glory and honour won – it was 1856, and the old soldier was ready to go home, after nearly 48 years of almost continuous service.
Not so. The events of 1857 had discomfited the plans of more than one old veteran, and Sir Colin would now join the ranks of Sir Henry Havelock and Sir James Outram in this final fight. It is little wonder a few critical minds wondered what on earth the government, both in England and in India, was doing by dusting off men whom they facetiously referred to as “old fossils.” This was perhaps a little unfair against Sir James, the youngest of the trio, at 54, a full 11 years younger than Sir Colin and 8 years junior to Sir Henry. While Sir James could still be considered as being contemporarily born in the same century, Sir Colin and Sir Henry appeared to many as relics of a bygone era. However, it was exactly this experience that was needed – men who had fought their way through continents and eras, those who had veritably seen it all.
Havelock and Outram had been on active duty when the mutiny broke out, both fighting their way through the rather short Persian Campaign; however, Sir Colin was more or less retired. Following his stirring speech to the Highland regiments in Crimea, he fully expected he was done with soldiering, per se. In the summer of 1856, he took up the position of Inspector General of Infantry and effectively acted as an errand runner as a representative of the queen. There is no doubt these were prestigious positions and completely suited for a man of his age and stature – but anyone who knew Sir Colin also understood him to be a man who would neither disobey an order nor run from a fight. On the 11th of July 1857, when the War Office finally received the news that their Commander-in-Chief in India, the Honourable George Anson, was dead and buried since May, Lord Panmure called the same day for Sir Colin Campbell and offered him Anson’s woefully empty post. This was not essentially true – Patrick Grant, commander-in-chief of the Madras Army and the most senior commander in India following Anson’s death, had been nominated acting Commander-in-Chief of India by Lord Canning. Ever since May, Grant was conducting operations against the rebels safely from Calcutta and, for reasons best left to himself, had not taken to the field – he led by the advice of others and then allowed them to get on with the work. Although Lord Canning tried unsuccessfully to have Grant confirmed in his role, when Campbell arrived in India, Grant was not terribly sorry to hand over the reins and return to Madras. The government could hardly have done better than nominate Sir Colin for India. Neither age nor faux retirement had dulled his senses; when asked how soon he could leave England, Sir Colin replied he could be ready the same evening. His only stipulation was that the nomination of Colonel Mansfield, a personal friend and then serving as Consul-General at Warsaw, be offered the appointment of chief of staff with the rank of major-general. This affair settled, Campbell packed his portmanteau and prepared to depart the next morning. It was a summons from Queen Victoria that delayed Sir Colin’s London departure by several hours as she desired he wait upon her, and the whole process of leave-taking would finally take place when Sir Colin boarded the continental night train. He briefly broke up his journey to breakfast with an old friend from Crimea in Paris before rushing off to Marseille on the morning of the 14th of July to catch a steamer bound for India on the same day. On the 13th of August 1857, Sir Colin Campbell set foot in Calcutta.
The one month onboard the steamer had been spent coming up with a plan for the forces in India. Essentially, Sir Colin wanted the united forces of the Bombay and Madras armies to advance on Central India, thus engaging the rebels on a different field, relieving the pressure off of Scindia in Gwalior and more essentially ensuring the main lines of communication through India remained open. Then, with Central India pacified and confidence thus restored in the Punjab and Bengal by reducing the rebel influences in the intervening areas, he could then take on Oudh. Although his plan would be implemented, it was not exactly in the order Sir Colin had envisioned. When he arrived in Calcutta, the true scale of the mutiny was laid bare, and it must have been with some surprise he discovered on just how many fronts the government of Calcutta was actually fighting. In August 1857, Sir John Lawrence was still holding the Punjab and pushing forward as much of his force as he could to the succour of Delhi, which was still a month away from being taken. The garrison at Agra was isolated and cut off from all communication, and Lucknow was hemmed in on all sides by mutineers. Sir Henry Havelock, with less than 2000 men, was consolidating his position in Cawnpore, numerically too weak to move on Lucknow and facing the ever-increasing threat of the formidable Gwalior Contingent, who by August still had not decided for sure where and when they would take the field. Bombay had faced a small mutiny in July, and it was not considered prudent to push any troops forward from that presidency. Since early August, there were smaller rumblings in Madras. As we shall see, there was much for Sir Colin Campbell to consider, and while he would take to the field himself, it would not be until October.
At the same time that Sir Colin Campbell was putting the finishing touches on his advance, the force under Brigadier Greathed had been making waves of their own: after leaving Delhi, they fought at Bulandshahr and continued onwards towards Agra. The Battle of Agra would prove that their experiences at Delhi had certainly taught them to be quick on their feet, and although numerically weaker, they defeated the mutineers. In all, the force would garner seven Victoria Crosses for Bulandshahr alone.
Sir Colin Campbell would not wait long in Cawnpore – many of the forces, like that of William Peel, were advancing independently – they would finally meet before the Alamabagh, and the first advance to Lucknow would commence.
The Relief of Lucknow would begin with the evacuation of the Residency garrison. Sir Colin Campbell was adamant that there would be no continuation of the blockade; Lucknow itself would be abandoned, to be taken for good on another day. The garrison, utterly unprepared for his decision, would now scramble into action. There was packing to do, but orders on how they were to carry their belongings were jumbled, set in stone and then just swiftly retracted. While the women gathered together their possessions, the Residency itself would be left in as much disorder as possible, as the engineers and the artillery decided what guns were useful and which would need to be spiked and abandoned. Outside the Residency, the engineers were busy constructing shields to hide the passage of the garrison through the line of posts in British hands. The evacuation would begin in all earnestness on the 18th of November and continue until midnight on the 22nd, when the last men would leave the Residency. Although the rebels were aware that Sir Colin was up to, they had been kept just busy enough that their eyes were momentarily averted from the Residency itself – it would not be until the next day that they would realise Sir Colin Campbell had thwarted them in a very masterly fashion. The retreat to Cawnpore would begin with sad tidings for Sir Henry Havelock, as he was now titled; he would not manage the retreat past the Dilkusha. His sad funeral at the Alambagh would bring back to everyone just how much he and the others had sacrificed for Lucknow. There was, however, no time for grief – Sir Colin Campbell was eager to return to Cawnpore, for he had an inkling something was very wrong. His misgivings would prove correct. Lumbered with a long train of “impedimenta” as he called the Lucknow women and children, he would be met with the astonishing news that Brigadier Windham had, contrary to orders, fought a battle and very nearly lost.
With hopes of an evacuation firmly off the cards for the time being, Sir James Outram, who had taken command the moment he set foot into the Residency, would now begin the onerous task of whipping the Lucknow garrison into shape and consolidating his position. The land held by the British had now been extended, during the advance, to include buildings outside the Residency grounds and the rebels had been pushed back from the main walls. What Outram needed to do now was hold it all until the final relief would arrive, but that would not be for another two months. In the meantime, there was work to be done. There was, however, one pivotal point – the Alambagh. Covering the road to Cawnpore was the Alambagh. Although wildly undermanned, the force that remained behind would prove to be the Residency’s lifeline to the outside world.
The force marched from Cawnpore and made their way first to the Alambagh – after a swift flight, the position was secured and a route of advance to Lucknow was decided upon. However, without sufficient intelligence on the ground and with the misguided idea that the Residency garrison was starving to death, a sense of urgency enveloped the entire affair, leading to one of the most frantic battles of the Indian Mutiny – the fight for Lucknow.
When Havelock finally arrived at the Residency, however, it would become abundantly clear that this would hardly be a relief but more of a reinforcement instead. What ensued was a blockade that would last two months, and it would take another army to relieve not just Havelock but the Lucknow Residency.
By October, it was clear to Sir James Outram that there would indeed be no relief of Lucknow at this juncture. Instead, with some disappointment, the relief force would now become part of the besieged garrison and settle into a blockade.
By July, the British were still no closer to ending the mutiny and it had, as events have shown, become worse; in Bihar, Patna had been reeling under disturbances while Dinapore was the scene of a singular act of mismanagement, in the Punjab, the consequences of the Battle of Jhelum had made themselves felt in Sialkote; John Nicholson was still tramping around the Punjab quelling disturbances and in Central India, the troops had finally shown their true colours and Indore was, for the time, lost. Further afield, in Bombay, only the machinations of one Mr Forjett had prevented an uprising in the city itself, but in Kolhapur in the Southern Maharata Confederacy, a young officer named Kerr had felt quite bodily what it meant to fight with sepoys. Delhi had not been taken, and the troops on the Ridge had settled into what was now being called the Siege of Delhi, although who was doing the actual besieging was wondered at.
Enter Sir Henry Havelock
However, there was some hope. Troops had been arriving in India, mostly those who had been destined for the (now-postponed) China Campaign; others were marching up from Madras and in nearby Ceylon, practically all European troops and the Royal Artillery had been sent to India. The Persia Campaign had ended, and every man was quickly sent to Bombay from whence they were sent to Calcutta. Among them was Sir Henry Havelock. If a man had ever strived to be a soldier and a saint, it was Henry Havelock. His was not the belief of a simple man, a prayer before battle, the quickly muttered hymn on Sunday or the pledged obeisance in the face of imminent danger; Havelock lived his faith, much to the irritation of his fellow officers. If the march was called at 5 a.m., Havelock rose at 3 a.m. to spend two hours with his Bible and his prayers; the regiment of which he had so long been a part, the 13th, had gained the title of Havelock’s Saints way back in the Burmese War when they had typically spent their evenings in prayers with their leader, distinguishing themselves as being the only men able to fall into line without falling over drunk. Havelock tolerated no alcohol in his ranks, and he actively sought ways to stamp out the scourge. If the army had anything to thank Havelock for, it would, in the future, be coffee shops for the men and abstinence circles. However, others took a dim view of Havelock’s religion. If he wanted to put his faith in the Lord or anything else, he should at least have the decency to keep it for himself. That his men were not wretched drunks was not a feat other officers found praiseworthy; it only served to embarrass them. When seeking a promotion, the same men wrote letters of complaint, insisting Havelock be held back. “The complaint,” said the Governor-General, “is that they are Baptists. I only wish that the whole regiment was Baptist.” When a Return was ordered of the offences committed by the men in the different companies, and the punishment inflicted on them, it was found that the men of Havelock’s company, and those who joined them in their religious exercises, were the most sober and the best behaved in the regiment. While Havelock did receive the promotion, it was not with the blessings of the army he served. It was only because the Governor-General deemed he was the fittest man for the job. Slurs like these plagued Havelock – a man who walked through life and looked death in the face without flinching, satisfied he was in the Lord’s protection – was an enigma, and the army notoriously had little time for saints. Until they needed them. Those who knew Havelock learned that while he did put his creed ahead of himself, he neither proselytised nor forced it on others. Any man willing to learn of it was welcome, but he was not a man, like others in the army, who forced his beliefs on the Indian soldiers. He found fanatical preaching embarrassing and the thought of forcible conversion, shameful; besides, Havelock was far more concerned with the souls of the British. To the Indian sepoys, Havelock proved himself fair but stern. What he did not tolerate in himself, he would not accept in others. Rules were to be obeyed, and discipline was paramount. He expected no one to do a duty he himself would not perform, and he always led from the front. Havelock had studied the art of war and had made it part of his creed – an analyst of the finest calling, he never made decisions without weighing out the cause and consequences. The burden of command, so sought after, fell heavily on his shoulders. While he did not fear death for himself, he was not a man to throw away the lives of his men. What India needed in 1857 was a brave, courageous man, and Sir Henry Havelock, for all the shortcomings that had been flung at him, was just that.
When he arrived in Calcutta in June, it was in the company of Patrick Grant, the commander-in-chief of the Madras troops, hastily chosen to replace the Honourable Anson as Commander-in-Chief of India, who had died in May. Grant decided his place was not in the field and opted to remain in Calcutta – his man in the field would be Havelock. He would be given the further authority of commander of the field force; it was presumed, would take back Lucknow. This particular appointment would fall sour with Colonel Neill, who had simply presumed he would be given the position, but Havelock beat him to it simply by seniority. I was just as well that it was Havelock, for as we shall see, Neill had some curious ideas. So Havelock began his march, which he hoped would end with the glorious relief of the Lucknow garrison. Fate would have something very different in store for him, for as he would quickly find out, the road to Lucknow was very much out of his grasp.
On the 30th of June, the inhabitants within the Residency numbered 2’994 persons, of which 1720 were officers, British and Indian troops, and civilian volunteers. 237 women, 260 children, 50 boys from La Martiniere College, 27 non-combatant Europeans and 700 Indian civilians made up the rest. Of the original garrison, on the 17th of November, not more than 930 were left. The following are lists pertaining to the original garrison and do not mention the men who arrived with the relief of Sir Henry Havelock in September.
In the preceding lists, I have compiled the names of the people present during the siege of Lucknow. They have been compiled using the following books:
A Personal Journal of Siege of Lucknow. Capt. R.P. Anderson, 1858. A Widow’s Reminiscence of the Siege of Lucknow. Katherine Bartrum, 1858. Day by Day at Lucknow, a Journal of the Siege of Lucknow. Adelaide Case, 1858. Recollections of My Life. Surgeon-General Sir Joseph Fayrer, Bart. 1900. An Account of Mutinies in Oude and the Siege of Lucknow. Martin Richard Gubbins, 1858. The Siege of Lucknow, a Diary. The Honourable Lady Inglis. 1892. How I Won the Victoria Cross. T. Henry Kavanagh, Esq. 1860. A Memoir, Letters and Diary of the Rev.Henry S. Polehampton, MA. 2nd Edition, 1858. Recollections of a Lucknow Veteran. Major General J. Ruggles, 1902. A Personal Narrative of the Siege of Lucknow. L.E. Ruutz Rees, 1858. The Defence of Lucknow. By a Staff Officer (Wilson), 1858.
Compiling such a list is, at best, somewhat rule of thumb. I have tried to be as accurate as possible regarding the spelling of names and included, in some cases, children who were not otherwise mentioned elsewhere. When possible, I have added Christian names, a date of death and any other details available. “Faces of the Mutiny” are longer articles with available pictures of those who were at the Residency. “A Civilian in the Mutiny” recounts that intrepid man, Lucknow Kavanagh and his overriding desire to win glory.
As an added bonus, there are two old films which might be of interest.
The position chosen by Sir Henry Lawrence as his defence proved to have both its advantages and pitfalls. Situated on a slight elevation, which also happens to be the highest hill in Lucknow, it encompassed an area of some 33 acres and had, besides ample outbuildings, 28 main buildings, all of which would serve as accommodation for all those who sought refuge here. The compound also boasted of an ample water supply, with each post having its own well, and the drainage system, when maintained, was efficient. Next to the church, there was also enough empty ground to establish a cemetery that was well enough away from the main buildings to remain somewhat inoffensive.
However, none of the buildings was intended for defence as they were intended, above all, as accommodation. Some were indeed very large and could accommodate a fairly large population, but would prove fairly useless as protection against cannonballs. As such, the damage to the walls was so extensive that in no time at all, the engineers were forced to declare not only the main Residency building but Innes’ House and the church as uninhabitable. Saunders’ Post, Germon’s Post and Anderson’s Post would not be recognisable as houses by the end of the siege; Captain Anderson himself would state he was defending a pile of bricks. However, we are getting ahead of ourselves, and the history of the Residency predates the Siege by some years.
In 1774, the third nawab of Oudh, Asaf-Ud-Daula, allowed for a permanent British Resident (a high commissioner, we would say today, but controller would serve as a better definition) to be stationed in Oudh. A year later, he moved his capital from Fyzabad to Lucknow, taking the Resident with him. The site of the Residency at the time belonged to the Shiekhzadas and to General Claude Martin, a Frenchman of considerable influence who served in the Oudh court. Considering it to be an ideal site for a Residency, the Nawab ordered the construction of the first building in 1780 on the northern slope of the plot. The compound itself spanned an impressive 33 acres, bounded to the north by the Gomti River, to the south and west by the main city and to the east by the Bailey Guard (as the compound was initially known). Over the next 20 years, with the church being the last building completed in 1810, a further 18 buildings would be built, and eventually, not just the Resident but his staff would have their houses in the same compound. The mosque, imambara, and the Begum Kothi (Ladies House) predate Residency itself.
The site itself is quite straightforward, but we must imagine that before Sir Henry Lawrence began making the necessary changes to make it a defensible position, it was just a collection of houses, each set in its own compound, surrounded by a low wall. Within the walls would have been pretty gardens, wells and magnificent trees. As it was, none of the occupants thought it necessary, even as late as May to start fortifying their houses; only Martin Gubbins thought differently, and he was subsequently laughed at by his colleagues for being a worrier. However, Sir Henry Lawrence shared Gubbins’ opinion for he believed quite earnestly that there was no chance Lucknow would escape the mutiny, it could be, perhaps, delayed but inevitably, it would come.
For Sir Henry, this of course presented a problem. Like Sir Hugh, he did not want to alarm the troops but on the other hand, he was experienced enough to know that no matter what he did could be construed as alarming. Initially, he wanted to keep three defensible positions in Lucknow – the Martiniere College, the Macchi Bawan (the Magazine) and the Residency. However, he was quick to realise he hardly had the manpower to fortify and defend all three; the Martiniere was abandoned for being too far away, and the magazine for simply being too old, too close to the city, leaving him with only the Residency as the final option. Here, the problems were quite clear. The buildings would not withstand any heavy bombardment, and the compound was too sprawling. Its walls were also bordered by several high-roofed houses, which Sir Henry steadfastly refused to blow up, firstly for the untold loss it would be to the occupants, but this would have shown the sepoys he was not only afraid, but undoubtedly up to something. Only a few were eventually cleared away, much to the distress of the garrison.
“About the middle of June, the fortifications of the Residency began in earnest; defences capable of resisting the assault of Artillery were now being rapidly thrown up. At the time when the blockade was commenced, only two of our Batteries were completed; parts of the defences were yet in an unfinished condition; and the buildings in the immediate vicinity, which gave cover to the enemy, were only very partially cleared away. The greatest annoyance we received was from the native buildings which, in close proximity, surrounded us on all sides, and which, as soon as the siege began, were filled with the enemy’s sharpshooters, from whose ceaseless fire the Garrison suffered more than from any other cause.” (Hilton)
The gunpowder that was brought from the magazine to the Residency was initially buried in the lower Residency grounds, and although it would eventually be moved, a rumour was started that these low grounds were in fact mined and anyone venturing there would undoubtedly be blown to high heaven. This was not the case at all, but as it was, the lower grounds were considered an uneasy sort of no-man’s- land during the siege.
As the Siege of Lucknow is a monumental event and covered in several books contemporary to the times, I have chosen to confine my writings to a description of each post as it served its purpose during the siege.
For reference, we shall be relying on “Lucknow and Oudh in the Mutiny- a Narrative and a Study” – Lieutenant-General McLeod Innes, R.E., V.C. (London: A.D. Innes & Co., 1895). All other works shall be separately cited. For the names of those who were at the Residency, these can be found in
Of course, things have changed considerably at the Residency since 1857. The site is open to visitors; however, it remains woefully underappreciated by the history-loving public. Instead, the ruins are now the scene of many an assignation between young couples searching for privacy. I have been visiting Lucknow and the Residency for just over 25 years – my tenth visit was in 2023; the very first time was puzzling as I had expected to find a museum and instead found a pile of ruins, weeds and above all wasps. Getting to the cemetery was nearly impossible, and finding the posts, such as Germon’s or Anderson was impossible due to the lack of signage. Considering the jungle-like environment I was faced with, it is not surprising I half tumbled over the ruins, which were conveniently hidden in bushes and behind trees. Since then, I have seen many changes, and sadly, not all have been for the better. However, the Residency will remain on my “must visit” list, if only see what has happened in the intervening years.
Although it can be said that the men for the crisis had mastered the initial stages of the mutiny in the Punjab, it was hardly the end of the insurrection. The measures taken had certainly been draconian regarding disarmament and punishment, but there would still be regiments that would slip through the hands of Sir John Lawrence.
The first such was in Rawalpindi and Jhelum, in July. While at Rawalpindi, the disarming would go more or less to plan; at Jhelum, the opinions of the 14th BNI differed vastly from those of their officers. In the battle that followed, Gunner William Connolly would find himself as a recipient of a Victoria Cross.
The next station to face mutiny in the Punjab would be Sialkote, a direct consequence of the events at Jhelum. Instead of attacking their officers during the day, the mutiny broke out at 4 in the morning. In the confusion and mess that followed, Sialkote would be destroyed, and the mutineers would make good their escape. However, luck would not be on their side, and they would be thwarted from convincing others to join their ranks by quick-thinking civilians such as Major Reynell Taylor. Things would then go from bad to worse for the Sialkote Brigade as they were now fashioned, who would meet their end at a final battle at Trimmu Ghat, where they would learn what John Nicholson meant when he said, “The Punishment for Mutiny is Death.”
While it is debatable if Nicholson’s actions at Trimmu Ghat were justifiable, it can at least be said that the Sialkote Brigade went out fighting. Not so the 26th BNI, whose greatest misfortune was to meet a man named Frederick Cooper, a man who should never have been unleashed in the Punjab, much less anywhere else in the world. His barbarity made even the EICo blush and caused outrage in the House of Parliament.
John Lawrence had recognised a problem in the Punjab that officers in other districts had chosen to ignore: there were 60’000 troops in the Punjab but only 10’000 of them were Europeans – 36’000 were Bengal regiments and 14’000 Punjabi Irregulars.
The Punjab itself had only recently been annexed, and he could not take any chances. However, unlike other areas in India which had been annexed, the Punjab was not a hotbed of sedition. Wherever he could, Lawrence ordered European garrisons to take over all important forts – besides Lahore, they were soon stationed in Amritsar, Multan and Phillor. Following the mutiny in Ferozepore and unrest in Peshawar, one of his first measures was to split up the Bengal regiments into numerous detachments and quickly deploy them to the Afghan frontier, where they were less likely to rebel and kept more than busy with the hostile tribes. Following the suggestion of John Nicholson, Lawrence ordered the organisation of the Moveable Column under the command of Brigadier-General Neville Chamberlain. Lightly equipped and manned by both European and Punjabi troops, the column moved swiftly through the Punjab, quelling any signs of disaffection they found. While thus engaged, Lawrence never ceased for a moment to harangue General Anson to march as quickly as possible to Delhi. Lawrence believed everyday delay was more of a blow to the company’s prestige, and prestige was, at times of mutiny, the most valued of currency.
RajaRaghbir Singh of JhindRaja Randhir Singh of Karputhala StateNarinder Singh of PatialaRaja Bharpur Singh of Nabha State
Calling in what favours he had, John Lawrence approached the Sikh chiefs with requests upon their honour: they had been dealt with leniently during the annexation of the Punjab, and a little gratitude was now in order. Those who did respond did so in more than just words. The chiefs of Patiala, Jhind, Nabha and Kapurthala not only professed their loyalty, but they also offered Lawrence troops and money to fight the mutiny. Lawrence had thus also ensured that the lines of communication between Delhi and Lahore remained unhindered. Later, the Nawab of Karnal lent his support to the British.
As for the Sikhs themselves, they had fought two wars against the British, in 1845-46 and then again in 1848-1849. After the first war, they had lost valuable territory to the EICo, including Kashmir, and the second war saw them annexed completely by the Company. Although it would serve to reason that they would be the first to rise up against their occupiers, and there were isolated cases of mutiny, a full-scale uprising did not happen in the Punjab. In fact, the Sikhs became very strong supporters of the British. Their position was unique – they bore a significant grudge against the sepoys of Bengal who had fought against them in the Sikh wars – and on the whole, the Sikhs could not give their loyalty to men who had willingly participated in the annexation of their kingdom. It was this long-standing animosity that John Lawrence and his compatriots were counting on. On the whole, the mutiny that raged in India in 1857 did not carry much weight with the Sikhs at large. They were not attracted to a cause that was ultimately not theirs. Their history with the sepoys was not one based on any kind of trust or confidence, and they were not inspired by their leaders. In other words, this was not their fight.
“The people of the Punjab were the worst and the most recent sufferers at their hands. In addition to the Poorbia sepoys who fought against them under the British in 1845-46 and 1848-49, it was the Poorbia soldiers of fortune, Tej Singh and Lal Singh, the Commander-in-Chief and Prime Minister of the Punjab, who had entered into secret agreements with the British and had betrayed the Sikhs in the first Anglo-Sikh War. Again, it was mostly with the help of the Poorbia regiments and Poorbia civilian subordinate officials that the Punjab was being held under British subjection in 1857 when the mutiny took place. As such, the people of the Punjab, particularly the Sikhs, could not have looked upon them as worthy of their support in a cause which threatened them with the re-establishment of Mughal tyranny of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries…””The Sikhs could not volunteer to help these erstwhile enemies of the Punjab, nor could they, for obvious reasons, espouse the cause of the Mughal Emperor, Bahadur Shah II, whom the mutineers had raised to the throne. For over two centuries, the Sikhs had fought against the Mughal tyranny, and they could not now be persuaded to support an alliance which might have resulted in its re-establishment. Moreover, as the mutiny later turned out to be, there appeared to be nothing national or patriotic in it to appeal to the noble sentiments of the Sikhs to attract them to the side of the mutineers.”“The Indian Mutiny Of 1857 And The Sikhs – Dr. Ganda Singh”
It must also be mentioned that although one Sikh regiment did mutiny, it was not exclusively made up of Sikhs. The 3rd Sikh Infantry, stationed at Dera Ismail Khan, of which 50% were Punjabi Muslims, Pathans from across the Indus, Dogras from the Shivaliks and the rest were Hindus from the “other side of the Jamuna,” and it was later found that the plot to murder their officers was hatched by the Hindus. The EICo’s efforts to recruit Sikhs into the Bengal Army had been less than successful, and this was because the sepoys themselves opposed it. However, those who did participate in the revolt were all stationed outside the Punjab at the time – the Ludhiana Regiment of the Sikhs revolted in Benares in June, and some of them went to Delhi to assist the rebel army. 90 Sikhs of the 23rd Regiment revolted in Mhow, and those stationed in Allahabad were held in check by their officers after being collected together and surrounded by gunpowder trains. “Lieutenant Brayser…appealed to their feelings and swore by their gods and then threatened if they did not obey, they would be killed by the explosion of the magazine. These soldiers, being few in numbers and away from their homes, obeyed Brayser…”
Although it is fashionable in modern sentiment to blame the failure of the 1857 uprising on the Sikhs, it must be mentioned that this is not only unfair, but it is also inaccurate. It wasn’t just the Sikhs who kept themselves out of the Mutiny. Bengal, Madras, Maharashtra, Gujarat, Sindh, Rajasthan, Jammu and Kashmir and the North-Western Frontier Province did not join in on the mutiny – the pockets of rebellion in Rajasthan, for example, were caused by mutineers from the Bengal Native Army and by internal strife within the Jodhpur Legion; the rajas of Rajputana held no open sympathy for the rebels. The Jats, Dogras and Garhwalis kept themselves aloof. It must also be pointed out that the educated communities in both Bengal and Madras were very vocal in their condemnation of the mutiny, denouncing not just it but the mutineers themselves.
With this said, Sir John Lawrence was aware that if the crisis in the Bengal Presidency was not swiftly contained, there would be repercussions and while he was confident that for now, he could hold the Punjab, the longer the mutiny raged, the more difficult his position would become. He could not contend with an uprising in the Punjab; to contain the province, Delhi had to fall.
The history of Holkar and the State of Indore, where nothing is quite as it seems. We will now meet for the first time, but not the last, Henry Marion Durand. We will follow him on his flight from Indore, take in the events at Mhow and stop in at Bhopal. In “Not One Will Stand,” Major James Travers will be awarded the Victoria Cross.
Central India was, as it is today, a vast area, comprising mostly of the tableland of Malwa, a highly cultivated area, broken up by small flat-topped hills and low ridges. A multitude of rivers flow through the area, including the Chambal, Sindh, Banas and Betwa, all draining into the Jamuna on the north, with the Narbada and its tributaries on the south. Much of the country was, in 1857, densely forested, especially in the hill regions, and these at the time were but sparsely cultivated. The inhabitants of Central India are as varied as the landscape – Pathans, Mahrattas and Rajputs, and the forest and hill-dwelling aboriginal Bhils and Gonds. With such a variety of castes, creeds and languages, Central India could be seen as a country of its own – the Marathas certainly thought so.
Many of the regions in Central India where the rebellion took place had been the scene of operations during the Anglo-Maratha War of 1817, which had led to the end of the Maratha Confederacy, the nation founded by Shivaji, broken up, and the territories of the last Peshwa annexed. Included in the theatre of operations in 1857, south of the Cawnpore-Agra line, included Central India -Gwalior, Western Malwa, Indore, and Bundelkhand with Jhansi, a portion of the Central Provinces then called Sagar and Narbada Territories and parts of Rajputana (today called Rajasthan)
As we have already seen, Peshwa Baji Rao II, overthrown in 1817, was still not quite the distant memory the EICo would have wished him to be. His successor was his very disgruntled adopted son, Nana Sahib, whose understandable fury at Dalhousie and the Doctrine of Lapse aside, had aspirations not just to overthrow the English but to reinstate the Maratha Empire. Although not everyone wanted Nana Sahib in particular as their leader, there was certainly little opposition to his actual plans, and it took but “little encouragement to kindle into a blaze…the whole country from the Jumna to the Krishna and Tunabhdra…” It was not only a revolt of the army in Central India but of a nation. The Nana Sahib had been busy for months, possibly years, before the uprising of 1857, sowing seeds of dissension throughout the lands he thought by right were his; his childhood friend, the Rani of Jhansi, had her own grievances against the EICo, and she would finally follow the Nana’s call. The Nana had spent much of early 1857 travelling, even as far as Kalpi on the banks of the Jamuna, and had sent his agents far and wide throughout the former Maratha country. He was hoping it would seem for a clear and decisive uprising, all of Central India falling in behind his flag. With Gwalior and its mighty contingent 70 miles from Agra, it was no wonder the Nana was particularly keen to have Scindia as an ally, yet had already seen that things did not go exactly to plan. He also had Holkar at Indore to contend with. We shall look into Holkar’s history later and in some more detail than presented here.
On the eve of rebellion, Central India stood, it can be said, on the threshold of change. The EICo, as in many of their territories, had to a greater extent taken their strategies of so-called development to extremes, encouraging capital gain, promoting trade and removing without much care the traditional institutions of farmers and their landlords. What they continued to forget, as bad as a leader might be in the eyes of the EICo, he was the man the people of the land understood and would follow. A foreign government, no matter what their intentions were, would remain what they were – invaders. Although the British were able to prove that, in some cases, their rule was profitable for the people, it always came at a loss for the same people who were, in essence, robbed of their identity. In Central India, one of the main problems was debt. The British viewed the situation with some disgust: “…many of the chiefs own very large estates, either rent free or from which they pay a quit rent to government, and nearly all of which are neglected or grievously mismanaged. The chiefs are illiterate, some of the debauched…and are so deeply involved in debt that many of them cannot honestly maintain themselves, families and numerous other adherents, nor satisfy their creditors, or their followers, and the latter…greatly plunder their neighbours…”
It was, to some extent, a rule of lawlessness and the British were determined to put an end to it. They treated the indebted chiefs with severity and, in 1856, called into life direct management.
“…owing to their being exempt from the operations of the ordinary Civil Courts, shall be called on for a schedule of their liabilities, and to make immediate arrangements for the settlement of their debts, if they fail in doing so, the creditors shall also be called on to come forward and register their claims…The Chiefs…shall be invited to place their estates under the management of the District Officer…Should the Chief not agree…the same shall be reported to the Commissioner, who will either direct the estate be taken in trust, or place the Chief, at once, under the ordinary Civil Courts. When an estate is taken in trust, the chief’s management shall cease. The District Officer will then nominate a paid manager…The District Officer shall, after paying the Government Demand, put aside a fair sum for the maintenance of the Chief and his followers. If the Chief should become again involved…he will be at once declared liable to the Ordinary Civil Courts…The District Officer may lease out the villages of an estate as he sees fit.” (W.C. Erskine to W.C. Western, 11 July 1856)
Despite this, many estates continued to wither away under massive financial problems. There was nothing noble in the EICo’s intentions. They were not as concerned with the welfare of the chiefs but more so with the loss of revenue a failing estate meant for the company. To maximise their profit, the government continued to investigate cases of maufi land – land which had been granted revenue-free in return for services to the state – and quite deliberately encroached on traditional lands. There was, of course, much confusion in this regard, and the EICo simply added to it by trying to figure out to whom the land had belonged initially and returning it to the “rightful” owners in the settlement drive that plagued District officers throughout their territories for years. Gubbins and many others spoke out against this since there really was no way to ensure it was fair; someone would always lose out. In 1855, they attempted to crawl out of this rather large hole they were digging by detailing officers to deal with the larger estates and leaving settlement officers to handle the smaller cases. Although this hurried the process along for smaller plots, it did not really help much with larger ones. In 1856, the government declared “that incumbents at cession were to hold for life, but their heirs would hold for the term of the settlement progress. Otherwise, the state was to resume all maufi grants” (David Baker, Modern Asian Studies, 1991)
Though this might have cleared up one point, it did not deal completely with the larger estates. The EICo still saw these as hindering rural progress, and they had begun investigating tenured rights as far back as 1834, but the problem was more far-reaching than that. The breakup of a large estate meant the inevitable loss of status for its current owner, so the government took up a policy of investigating these when the owner died, taking into consideration the rights of the incoming heir. Settlements were often changed, revised, opposed and granted in cases which could take years, during which time, the progress the EICo so craved was hampered, and the problems of bad management and debt were not actually solved. A combination of “high assessments, coercion and failing seasons” had forced many a landowner even deeper into debt, thus alienating them further from the government, which saw them as sinners, one and all. Not everyone on EICo pay was happy with this situation. Sleeman often complained loudly and very vocally that the government assessments were too high, they had failed to consider the actual effects of drought, and that much of the debt incurred was not just due to their “debauched” ways but due to nature herself. It was a very complex problem without any easy solutions. It started with the chiefs and went all the way down to the tenants, who were more often than not in debt with moneylenders simply to pay off the exorbitant rates demanded from the landowners, leaving them poor and starving. Amid this mess, the EICo still had time to consider how it was going to turn a profit. They instituted forestry departments to manage more effectively the vast tracts of jungle, from which valuable teak and other hardwoods could be extracted. Sleeman forbade the indiscriminate cutting of trees without a permit because the land belonged not to the people but to the government. By 1852, the first official conservators of woods and forests were appointed for all forest that was not part of a settlement case and in 1854, it was proclaimed that “the Government reserves to itself the rights to all large forests, where valuable timber exists….Where large tracts of lands either forests or cultivated exists, the Government also reserves the right to dispose of such as it may think proper.” Officials in forested districts were instructed to stop issuing permits for cutting and to hand over the teak and other forests to the appointed officers. In the same year, the provincial government of the Northwestern Provinces, under which Central India fell at the time, prepared to demarcate and reserve entire forests simply to utilise them for their own profit. While they portioned and parcelled off forests, the indigenous people, namely the Bhils and Gonds in Central India, who lived in the forests and hills, were being trampled on.
The government, in its drive for development, determined who could do what. They slated much of the fertile land in Central India to grow wheat as it was the most profitable crop for them, regardless of whether the peasant population could do anything with the surplus, without taking into consideration the traditional crops of the region. Wheat eventually won the war, becoming the prime export of Central India by 1853. They also implemented projects to move goods more quickly and efficiently out of the area – roads, bridges and railways. The intention on the outside was “development”, but in essence, it was simply a way to shift profits more quickly from one end of the country to the other. Besides wheat and wood, there was much to be made of the iron and other metals which naturally occurred in the area. On the upside, this led to an improvement in the economy of Central India. With goods shifted out, others were brought in and traded. Salt, sugar, spices, brass and copper utensils from the north and rice from the south were the principal imports. Iron, cloth, leather and timber flowed in ample quantities out of Central India. A substantial merchant community sprang up that quickly took control of the import and export trade, and as communication improved and the demand for agricultural produce increased, prices, too, started to go up and stabilise.
Where the Central India Agency stood in 1857 was described quite fittingly as such: “In short, every aspect of agriculture and agricultural life was either in the process of change or at the point of incipient change…far more rapidly in the lowlands than in the hills, and in the Cotton and Wheat Zones than in the Rice Zone.” This foreign government had essentially turned Central India on its head. The local chief, depending on their debt, had either had to relinquish their holdings altogether to outside management or had had to see their estates decreased or settled with losses. It cannot have been much of a surprise when these chiefs rose in rebellion. The main opposition the British faced was from a multitude of disgruntled Bundlea chiefs, many of the same mindset that had made Scot’s escape from Nowgong such a misery. In other parts of Central India, they would meet marked resistance from the Gonds, a tribal people who had been ruthlessly trampled on by the EICo’s forestry claims, leaving many barred from their traditional homes. They were further exploited by the settlement of farmers into their lands, and in all, their demands had been largely ignored by the EICo. Many Gond thalukdars and thakurs openly joined the rebellion. In other areas, Lodhi Rajas and thakurs participated in the revolt, notably, in Damoh, Mandla and Narsimhapur, with additional outbreaks in Sagar, Jabalpur and Seoni. Everywhere, they joined the Gonds and Bundelas in defying the EICo. Their intention was to reverse the efforts of the government to change the very structure of their homeland. The rebellion in Bundelkhand started in Jhansi and quickly escalated, swallowing Nowgong and the little station of Lalitpur in the Jhansi District. There was not exactly a mutiny in Lalitpur -the officers, suitably terrified of the local Bundelkhand chiefs, took the decision to leave before anyone got the idea to cut their throats. However, by abandoning their post so prematurely, they left an open door for rebels to march practically unhindered and put themselves in all sorts of trouble.
Jhansi
Mutiny reared its head at Jhansi on the 1st of June with the tell-tale sign of incendiary fires with some officers’ bungalows being burnt to the ground; this was considered a mishap caused by the dry, hot weather and prevalent winds; however, four days later, Captain Dunlop and two other officers of the 12th BNI (one wing, the other was at Nowgong) were shot dead by their men, who promptly joined their comrades in the one squadron of the 14th Cavalry. Only now did Captain Skene perceive any danger and ordered the Europeans into the fort. It was a small and sadly pathetic force, made up of 55 people, including many women and children: only four of the men were soldiers or had had any military experience at all. They had nothing but ill luck in abundance. On the 8th of June, even this ran out, and the terrible conclusion to the siege was a massacre. At the nearby station of Nowgong, things were only marginally better, and there would be escapes. However, the escape would turn, first, into a chase and then an all-out hunt for the fugitives, who would now have to face the horror of the heat and the anger of the peasantry as they vainly try to make it to safety.
These complicated and often overlooked events of the Indian Mutiny play out well away from the epicentres of Delhi and Lucknow. There are mutinies, escapes, reluctant rajas, moody rajas and shouty officers, all set in a nearly inhospitable landscape, hundreds of miles away from assistance of any kind, and the story of the Central India Agency continues in
Lalitupur & Sagar
Damoh & Jabalpur
Nagpur – the mutiny, or not, and the birth of the Nagpur Moveable Column
In the final chapter, we explore the demands made by the various officials on the Nagpur Moveable Column and the demise of the 62nd BNI.
The Indian Mutiny to the Fall of Delhi – compiled by A Former Editor of the Delhi Gazette (1857) Central India During the Rebellion of 1857 and 1858 – Thomas Lowe M.R.S.C.E., L.A.C. (1860) Kaye’s and Malleson’s History of the Indian Mutiny of 1857-58, edited by Colonel Malleson, C.S.I, Vol V. (1907) The Revolt in Central India 1857-58, compiled in the Intelligence Branch (1908) Baker, David. “Colonial Beginnings and the Indian Response: The Revolt of 1857-58 in Madhya Pradesh.” Modern Asian Studies, vol. 25, no. 3, 1991, pp. 511–43. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/312615. Accessed 20 Aug. 2022.
In May 1857, a singular calm prevailed in Calcutta. The Cartridge Affair and the subsequent disbandings, the brief uprising, and trials at Barrackpore were over. While Carmichael-Smyth would throw a spanner in the works with this singularly stupid behaviour at Meerut, until the actual mutiny broke out and Delhi fell, Calcutta remained in its summer stupor.
However, calm can be deceiving, and Calcutta would suddenly, for no conceivable reason, panic.
The history of Cawnpore in 1857 is, above all, infinitely disturbing. It is history at its most punishing, where hopelessness uncomfortably rubs shoulders with human fortitude. Ill-fated from the start, the siege of Cawnpore would last three weeks, a remarkable feat in itself, but the final outcome would not be a glorious one; instead, the pages would run in blood.
We can, in hindsight, blame Sir Hugh Wheeler for a monumental lack of imagination. He could have settled himself in the Magazine, where his population of nearly 1200 would have had ample shelter, and his men would have had enough munitions with which to keep up their defence. Had he considered the situation more carefully, he could have stocked the Magazine with enough provisions and, with some firmness, could have sent off the women and children, despite the protests of their husbands and the ladies themselves, while there was still time. When the mutiny broke out in Cawnpore, on 5-6 June, the events were still unfolding. Allahabad and Lucknow were still safe, and with a decent escort, the ladies could have been sent to either station. On the very day of the mutiny, the river boats were still plying their trade. Some civilians managed to leave Cawnpore before the first shots were fired. The Magazine was defended on one side by high walls that fell down towards the river; had he needed to flee, he would have had an option. However, as we have seen in Fatehgarh, this was easier said than done, and there is no reason to believe anyone contemplating a flight by boat would have been better off, but at least, there may have been a fighting chance. However, in the early days of the mutiny, officers, Wheeler included, felt it imperative to show they trusted their men implicitly, and this meant desisting from any actions that might be perceived as insulting. This included, in the case of Cawnpore, changing the guard at the Magazine from an Indian to a European one, and as such, Wheeler felt it would have caused a mutiny had he even attempted to gain control of the Magazine. Where his imagination certainly failed him was in his absolute trust that someone was coming to save him. One of his other reasons for not taking the Magazine as his entrenchment was the fact that it lay off the main road – any army coming to Cawnpore to his aid would be forced to traverse Cawnpore itself, and he, most kindly, wanted to save any relief force the hassle of prolonged street fighting. On the map below is the position of the Magazine, in yellow and that of the Entrenchment, in blue. As a relief force would likely have take the route over the river, they would have come directly to the entrenchment, whereas the Magazine, when seen like this, would have entailed going through all of Cawnpore.
Unfortunately, Wheeler also believed a relief force was coming. As such, he sent men a portion of his fighting force to Lucknow but did not think to send the women and children as well. A small reinforcement had indeed made it to Cawnpore, but they would be the last men to arrive for months. The first man to attempt it would be Sir Henry Havelock, in July, nearly a month after Wheeler’s Entrenchment was dust.
So, Wheeler chose the site of his entrenchment with three ideas in mind: a. The mutineers would destroy the station but would leave Cawnpore, so a heavier fortification like the Magazine was unnecessary. Conveniently close to the Cantonments, refreshing supplies would not present a problem. b. The entrenchment was positioned conveniently on the main road, allowing for easier movement for any relieving force c. The Entrenchment was a temporary measure only, and as such, Wheeler estimated, if he had to hold out at all, at the most, for two weeks until a force could reasonably be expected to march down from Allahabad.
Unfortunately, the mutineers would be stopped by the Nana Sahib from proceeding to Delhi. Wheeler thought he would have a ragtag band of badmashes and perhaps some sepoys to deal with. He could not have fathomed that the Nana Sahib would convince the Cawnpore regiments and artillery to remain behind, leaving him hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned from the start. He never reckoned with the treachery of the Nana Sahib or his wily advisor, Azim Ullah Khan. The Nana had always shown himself a friend to the British, often entertaining them at his palace in Bithoor. This was the wild card that no one was prepared for, but once again, Sir Hugh Wheeler had been warned the Nana was not trustworthy – Martin Gubbins and Sir Henry Lawrence had both repeatedly warned him there was treachery afoot, and this was well before the tragedy at Cawnpore unfolded, as far back as April.
So the Siege of Cawnpore was a combination of faulty leadership, hubris, arrogance and above all, misplaced faith. While a siege in the Magazine might not have ended with all lives saved, it certainly could not have ended any worse. On 26 June, Sir Hugh Wheeler surrendered to the Nana Sahib, and once again, the man who had betrayed him once would betray him again. What Sir Hugh was thinking when he accepted the offer of safe passage to Allahabad by boat, when the river was at its lowest from the very man who had done his best to kill him for three weeks, is anyone’s guess. But once he had accepted the surrender, there was no going back, and now Sir Hugh simply had to accept what was on offer. It can be no coincidence that the massacre at Jhansi occurred under a similar premise; the Rani herself had grown up at the court of Bithoor, so perhaps, there is more to her duplicitous nature than previously thought. At Jhansi, the officers and civilians were simply herded to a garden and massacred; all pretence of safe passage vanished as soon as they stepped out of the fort. At Cawnpore, the theatre was far more elaborate with terms drawn up and signed, boats organised and transport to the ghats forthcoming. In the end, it was, however, no different from Jhansi. In Cawnpore, they were herded to the river and slaughtered wholesale. Had Wheeler known the first fugitives from Fatehgarh had been murdered on the Nana’s behest barely days before his own ill-fated agreement, he might have thought twice about surrendering.
The few who managed to escape Satichaura Ghat met varying fates, and very few would live to tell the story of Cawnpore. Those taken at the river consisted of women and children who would be taken to the Bibighar to await their fate. It is considered that the Nana Sahib had planned to keep them as hostages – a bargaining chip – should he need to wheedle his way out of the Satichaura Ghat Massacre, but that is if one believes he had a conscience. There is nothing to prove he intended to hand them over to the British for his neck, either way, would have been in the noose. It is unlikely that the EICo would have looked kindly on a man who had betrayed Sir Hugh Wheeler in such a perfidious fashion no matter how many women and children he saved.
So the story of Cawnpore is one of misery but at the same turn, one of tremendous bravery in the face of overwhelming odds, knowing, as they must have done, there was no winning this particular fight. It is impossible to read the events at Cawnpore in any other light than that of a dreadful tragedy.
To understand the scale of the tragedy at Cawnpore, we must remember that the people involved were not all military men, and besides civilians, there was a disproportionate number of women and children.
The fire of mutiny spread not just to the smaller stations in the North Western Provinces and Oudh – it soon engulfed others with dreadful consequences, and with such rapidity, it caused even the most sceptical to sit up and pay attention.
At Fatehgarh, a panic breaks out. Poor decisions ensue, leading to a manic flight down the river towards Cawnpore. Indecision and quarrelling have led to the party on the boats to split, with some continuing their ill-fated path towards Cawnpore, while the others decide to return to Fatehgarh. When the mutiny finally does break out in Fatehgarh, a siege follows.
At Cawnpore, a bustling military station, there had been signs of discontent for some weeks. However, it would take the actions of one man, Sir Hugh Massey Wheeler and the machinations of the Nana Sahib to turn Cawnpore into one of the most brutal sieges in the history of the Indian Mutiny.
Meanwhile, in Central India, things are not going well and Calcutta panics.
The fire of mutiny spread not just to the smaller stations in the North Western Provinces and Oudh – it soon engulfed others with dreadful consequences, and with such rapidity, it caused even the most sceptical to sit up and pay attention.
At Fatehgarh, a panic breaks out, and a large group of civilians flee the station on 1 June. There were, however, no signs of open mutiny. A first flotilla sets sail for Cawnpore: strife, discontent and arguing lead some of the fugitives to turn back to Fatehgarh, while the rest continue onwards, with disastrous results.
Fatehgarh Part I
Fatehgarh Part II
Those who return to Fatehgarh realise the mutiny has not yet happened and return to their comfortable homes. However, the peace is only temporary, and they will soon find themselves besieged. Another flight by river and even more strife ensues. There would be survivors but their stories are harrowing and fraught with danger.
While the first flotilla was likely unaware that Cawnpore was facing a siege, the second flotilla was well aware that they were most likely heading to their deaths. The victims of Fatehgarh are a tragic reminder of what happens when foolish decisions, a lack of foresight and monumental, misguided trust rule.
It was imperative for the British officers to do everything in their power to prevent a querulous regiment from mutinying. Their own honour was at stake as that of their men; a mutiny meant they had failed their men, their regiment and above all, they had disgraced themselves. So, leaving their post was often delayed until all options had been exhausted. As the weeks progressed, disarming regiments became a common way of dealing with sepoys well before they had the opportunity to mutiny; it was more often than not the British officers who protested the loudest. They would raise the argument that their men had not done anything, and it would hurt their feelings to be treated in such a terrible fashion. So implicitly they believed in the faithfulness of their regiments that their arguments ranged from believable to absurd, but in the case of Colonel Spottiswoode, he felt the humiliation of the disarming of his regiment so keenly that he chose to shoot himself rather than witness their disgrace. Knowing the smallest spark could set off a mutiny, officers walked on eggshells around their men. The officers took to sleeping in the lines at night to show how much they believed in their men, but it must have been common knowledge that the Captain Sahib slept with loaded pistols under his pillow, and his horse was always saddled at night. However, many officers also breathed a sigh of relief when their regiments were finally disarmed. Many an officer toyed with the idea of sending their families away, but finally did not in case they upset their men. Showing a brave face is very much a feature of the mutiny. The turmoil they must have felt, caught between duty and the very human instinct for self-preservation, must have been tremendous. It is no wonder that many sought the guidance of their God.
Civilians, who had no loyalty to the military, were prevented by company directives from abandoning their stations. This was not a question of honour, but duty and obeying orders. To leave their station without permission was akin to professional neglect and would be viewed, under normal circumstances, very harshly. A civilian in the employ of the government was prevented by law from leaving; Sir Henry Lawrence realised the absurdity of these rules and issued a declaration that allowed civilians in the province of Oudh to leave their posts if they perceived an immediate threat to their lives. Unfortunately, this was an exception and not the rule, and many civilians, torn by the very horror of disobeying orders and thus losing their positions, chose to remain where they were rather than displease their higher-ups. Such misguided loyalty would unnecessarily cost many lives.
And what of the female folk? More often than not, they resisted being sent away and resented it, choosing instead to remain with their husbands and meet their fates together. Lieutenant Frederick Angelo practically had to force his pregnant wife to leave, and she delayed so long that it was only with some luck that he managed to secure a place for her and their little daughter on one of the last boats leaving Cawnpore. In the case of military wives, their husbands were often at fault. Believing that if their wives and children left, it would show they had no faith in their regiment to protect them, departure was often delayed until it finally became impossible. They were also very much guided by what the sepoys themselves were telling them; if the families leave, it can only mean our officers do not trust us. This was often cemented by open proclamations of loyalty on the part of the sepoys, who would make a tremendous show of swearing on everything holy to them – the Ganges for the Hindus and the Koran for the Muslims was common; throwing themselves on the ground and touching the lady’s feet was another, or swearing that the officer’s children were as their own. It did not prevent them, however, from cutting throats when it came to mutiny, and the children whom they had known since birth were not spared. This particular barbarism has never been thoroughly explained, although the old saying, “when you kill a snake you must kill its young as well,” was quite prevalent during the mutiny and even quoted by the mutineers. It was truly the devil’s wind that blew through India in the summer of 1857.
Fyzabad, Sultanpore and Salon
For Courage Mounteth with Occasion – Fyzabad and the doings of Maulvi and Mr Thurburn
Lieutenant Fowle Escapes from Fyzabad
Lo! thy Dread Empire, Chaos, is Restored – what Mr Thurburn did next
The Rebellion Continues – Sultanpore
Escape from Sultanpoor in 1857 – the very narrow escape of Mrs Goldney
The Small Station of Salon – the adventurous escape of three young men
The fire thus started in May would now spread from station to station in remarkable swiftness. The authorities, both military and civil, were caught off guard. While they had been warned to expect trouble after the shackling parade in Meerut on the 9th of May, no one had anticipated that their men had murder on their minds and, in their madness, would spare no one. Much to the surprise of the British, when mutiny broke out, they would be faced with mixed loyalties that wracked the minds of many of the sepoys. Several officers and their families were saved by their men, only to be murdered by those of a different regiment. In some cases, the officers were offered positions in the new army; their men pleaded for their leadership, offering them handsome salaries and “three months in the hills” during the hot weather. For a British officer, though the offer might have appeared flattering, their own loyalties would not permit them to remain. There was one thing to leave your station and be called a coward; it was a completely different beast to be named a traitor. The question also arises: why did the British not simply leave? It is easier to explain than to understand. We must remember these are not our times when duty and loyalty were more than just words. For an officer to be faced with the mutiny of his regiment, it called into question not just the men’s motivations but his own character. They believed in the men they commanded, and many had become blinded by the honour and service of their regiment. It must be remembered that several of the regiments that mutinied had been in the service of the East India Company for nearly a century. The 5th Regiment Bengal Native Infantry, had they not mutinied at Ambala, would have celebrated their centenary in 1858. So glorious had been their service and their Colours awash with names of past battles -Buxar, Carnatic, Guzerat, Delhi and Deig and the fact that they had a third Colour for their services under Lord Lake, was certainly enough to turn any young officer’s head and swell the pride of the old ones. It is not surprising, then, that old EICo officers had a tendency to refer to the sepoys under their command as their children. The regiment was everything, and everything they had was the regiment. While many long-serving sepoys, who had served in the honour of their regiment, had second thoughts about dishonouring it with mutiny, their loyalty was not to their British officers essentially; it was to their regiment, and it was their duty to remain with it, regardless of which direction they took. The British, who expected personal loyalty from their men, could not understand that the old sepoys, in their way, were trying to save the mutinied regiments from further dishonour by remaining with them. When it finally did come to mutiny, it was the determination of the sepoys to follow this path that would take the officers by surprise.
The Mutinies in Districts – June 1857
Withdrawal – Fatehpur – where it was decided to leave before the mutiny started
Duty over Life – the continuing flight from Fatehpur that takes the fugitives from Banda to Nagode and Rewa
Duty Done – the death of Mr Moore at Mirzapore; a loyal regiment and the end of the flight from Fatehpur.
No Quarter Given – Hamirpur
The Murderous Assault at Rohini – although well out of the NWP, this particular event would cause some consternation in the Santhal Parganas
With equal ferocity, events were now proceeding onwards in Shajahanpore, Mohamdi and Sitapur. The particular brutality of these mutinies would remain part of the narrative for months to come.
Mutinies and Massacres – The church massacre at Shajahanpore A Few Second Chances – Those who can, flee from Shajahanpore, with disastrous consequences Misplaced Loyalties – Sitapur Respite – the fugitives of Sitapur arrive in Lucknow; the captives of Raja Lone Singh Sold – the end of the story for the Orrs, Barnes and the Jacksons, in Lucknow
The British officers needed to do everything in their power to prevent a querulous regiment from mutinying. Their own honour was at stake as that of their men; a mutiny meant they had failed their men, their regiment and above all, they had disgraced themselves. So, leaving their post was often delayed until all options had been exhausted. As the weeks progressed, disarming regiments became a common way of dealing with sepoys well before they had the opportunity to mutiny; it was more often than not the British officers who protested the loudest. They would raise the argument that their men had not done anything, and it would hurt their feelings to be treated in such a terrible fashion. So implicitly they believed in the faithfulness of their regiments that their arguments ranged from believable to absurd, but in the case of Colonel Spottiswoode, he felt the humiliation of the disarming of his regiment so keenly that he chose to shoot himself rather than witness their disgrace. Knowing the smallest spark could set off a mutiny, officers walked on eggshells around their men. The officers took to sleeping in the lines at night to show how much they believed in their men, but it must have been common knowledge that the Captain Sahib slept with loaded pistols under his pillow, and his horse was always saddled at night. However, many officers also breathed a sigh of relief when their regiments were finally disarmed. Many an officer toyed with the idea of sending their families away, but finally did not, in case they upset their men. Showing a brave face is very much a feature of the mutiny. The turmoil they must have felt, caught between duty and the very human instinct for self-preservation, must have been tremendous. It is no wonder that many sought the guidance of their God.
Civilians, who had no loyalty to the military, were prevented by company directives from abandoning their stations. This was not a question of honour, but duty and obeying orders. To leave their station without permission was akin to professional neglect and would be viewed, under normal circumstances, very harshly. A civilian in the employ of the government was prevented by law from leaving; Sir Henry Lawrence realised the absurdity of these rules and issued a declaration that allowed civilians in the province of Oudh to leave their posts if they perceived an immediate threat to their lives. Unfortunately, this was an exception and not the rule, and many civilians, torn by the very horror of disobeying orders and thus losing their positions, chose to remain where they were rather than displease their higher-ups. Such misguided loyalty would unnecessarily cost many lives.
Fyzabad, Sultanpore and Salon
For Courage Mounteth with Occasion – Fyzabad and the doings of Maulvi and Mr Thurburn
Lieutenant Fowle Escapes from Fyzabad
Lo! thy Dread Empire, Chaos, is Restored – what Mr Thurburn did next
The Rebellion Continues – Sultanpore
Escape from Sultanpoor in 1857 – the very narrow escape of Mrs Goldney
The Small Station of Salon – the adventurous escape of three young men
Between 1836 and 1902, a large tract of what is today known as Uttar Pradesh was titled the North-Western Provinces. It had before had rather ostentatiously been named the “Ceded and Conquered Provinces”, which, while being an honest title, considering, was hardly a politic one. The extent of the North-Western Provinces included the Delhi territory (1836-1858), Merwara (1846-1871) and the Saugor and Nerbudda Territories (1853-1861). This administrative behemoth spanned a vast area of 72’000 square miles, from the source of the Ganges and Jamuna rivers in the north to the Caramnasa in the south: it was subdivided into six divisions comprised of 31 zillahs or districts. The population in 1857 was no less than 30 million, comprising one of the most culturally diverse landscapes in northern India. As there was a positive mania for subdivision, each of the six divisions had, within its boundaries, five or six zillahs. At the headquarters of each of these resided a Commissioner with authority over the police, the revenue affairs and the district officers, who in turn were named “Collector and Magistrate” in each district of the division. Courts and criminal justice were controlled by district judges at different stations, with each judge holding jurisdiction over one or two districts. The entire system was supervised from Agra, where the Lieutenant Governor, the Sudder Court (the chief civil and criminal tribunal) and the Revenue Board held office. All of these noteworthy individuals belonged to the Covenanted Civil Service of the East India Company. Geographically, Rohilkhand, bordered by Oudh to the southeast, was considered in the North Western Provinces by the British, although until 1801 it had belonged to Oudh, when it was ceded to the EICo by the Nawab. For administrative purposes, the British added it to the North Western Provinces, within the Bareilly Division. Likewise, Moradabad and Mohamdi were part of Rohilkhand.
Map of NWP, 1880 after the division from Delhi, Merwara and Saugor-Narbadda
In 1857, this NWP was one of the main centres of revolt, with station after station falling to the wrath of rebels, disgruntled landowners, unhappy villagers, and roving tribes of Gujars and bandits. It was hardly a united front, with everyone taking advantage of the sudden lawlessness to settle old scores – while they might all have had a grudge against the EICo, they bore them against each other as well. As such, it was impossible for the authorities in Agra, hampered by their own mental disquietude, to maintain control over the NWP, and much of the work would be done by the commissioners and magistrates out in the districts.
In the Districts: May 1857
Following on from Meerut and Delhi, the first mutinies occurred in what was called, in the wording of the time, in the mofussil – the regions of India outside the capital of Calcutta; stations that were often remote and distant from larger cities. However, it gradually spread to more urban towns until it became clear that any station that had sepoys was potentially at risk of mutiny.
The Gujars and Bulandshahr: Bulandshahr and Secunderbad from 12th May to 11th June
Muzaffarnagar and Sahuranpore
Deliberate Inaction – what happened at Agra, and most importantly, what didn’t happen
No Paltering Can Be Allowed: Mr Hume at Etawah
Moradabad and Mr Wilson
Aligarh – 20 May 1857
Proceedings of a Voluntary Character: Captain Stewart and his adventures after Aligarh, which take him to Delhi
A Dreadful Narrative: The civilians who were left behind and the doings at Coel and Madrak
Mr. Phillips Leaves Etah
Decisions: Rohilkhand and the mutiny at Budaon
Lieutenant De Kantzow Speaks: Mutiny at Mainpuri
Bareilly
The Adventures of E.J. Churcher, Civilian, at Etah: what happened when Mr. Phillips refused to return to his post.
Hansi, Hissar and Sirsa This looks at the mutinies in Haryana from the viewpoint of the witnesses on May 29 1857 – From the Witnesses – Hansi – From the Witnesses – Hissar – From the Witnesses – Sirsa
It was clear that taking Delhi would not be the quick victory the British were hoping for. Reinforcements were slowly trickling into India, and Sir John Lawrence had practically emptied the Punjab of all his European troops.However, on the Ridge life would continue, unremittingly, a dreadful cycle of fighting not just the mutineers, but the heat and disease.
A Desperate War
A Desperate War- the Ridge in July
Returns for July 1857, Before Delhi
Engineering the Ridge – organisation is key, and the engineers are busy
The Delhi Camp – Life on the Ridge during the Siege
Only Fit to Lead Banditti – The Story of William Hodson – one of the most controversial men of 1857, and his story will bring us into August 1857 and his exploits at Rohtak
The last reinforcements would arrive on the Ridge in August, bringing with them a sizeable siege train. In the lead was Brigadier John Nicholson, and the rebels would suddenly discover what happened when they underestimated their foes.
August in Delhi – skirmishes, the mutineers are quarrelling, Hodson leads an expedition to Rohtak
Brigadier-General John Nicholson Arrives – the arrival of the siege train and the Battle of Najafgarh
Spirited Daring – the Delhi VCs Lieutenant Alfred Spencer Heathcote, 60th Rifles Major Harry Tombs – Bengal Horse Artillery Lieutenant James Hills Tombs – Bengal Horse Artillery Private James William Thompson, the 60th Rifles Sergeant-Major Richard Wadeson, 75th Regiment of Foot Captain Charles Gough of the 5th Bengal European Cavalry
The mutiny in Meerut and Delhi spread like wildfire through India. While many believed it was a passing problem, Sir John Lawrence in the Punjab believed only the sternest measures would now suffice. The troubles had already spread to Ferozepore in Lawrence’s domain; the time to act was now before the fire turned into an uncontrollable blaze.
The British had several problems, and they all came crashing down at once, beginning with a lack of European troops. These were spread out thinly over several cantonments at considerable distances from one another. As it was not clear if more Bengal regiments planned to mutiny, it was considered unwise, for the moment, to move troops out of potentially mutinous stations. As the summer was just beginning and no one had dreamed they would have to march anywhere in May, the troops were effectively in their summer quarters; everything needed for a prolonged campaign was safely stored away in the Magazines throughout the Bengal Presidency.
However, mobilise they would have to, and the objective was to retake Delhi as speedily as possible.
The March Begins: The Commander-in-Chief has a plan
On To Delhi! – Brigadier Wilson marches from Meerut and fights
The Mutiny of the 60th Regiment Bengal Native Infantry – events in Ambala
Badli-ki-Serai – the first full-scale battle of 1857 and the rush to the Delhi Ridge
On the Ridge: events in June and the start of the siege
The Victoria Crosses for Badli-Ki-Serai and June 1857 on the Ridge
The VCs of Badli-ki-Serai Colour-Sergeant Cornelius Coughlan, HM’s 75th Regiment Lieutenant Alfred Stowell Jones, 9th Lancers Sergeant Henry Hartigan, 9th Lancers
For Valour – The Delhi VCs Thomas Cadell, 2nd Bengal European Fusiliers Thomas Hancock and John Purcell, 9th Lancers Samuel Turner 60th Rifles John McGovern, 1st Bengal European Fusiliers
From Meerut, the mutineers made their way to Delhi, the imperial city and the seat of the last Mughal emperor, Bahadur Shah Zafar. The 11th of May would be a day of singular barbarity, and caught unawares, the inhabitants had very few choices. The army in Meerut failed them, and there was no one coming to their rescue.
The Imperial City of Delhi: A Short History of a Magnificent City
11th May 1857, Delhi
God Shall Wipe All Tears from Their Eyes I: Memorials at Delhi
God Shall Wipe All Tears from Their Eyes II : Memorials and a list of the dead
The next posts look at the harrowing escapes from Delhi on 11 May, some successful, some less so:
Inconsolable Trials I – continuing on from 11th May 1857, Delhi, we begin at the Flagstaff Tower
Inconsolable Trials II – the escapes continue
Inconsolable Trials III – onwards to Meerut or would Karnal be better? Was there anywhere safe?
Inconsolable Trials IV – Harriet Tytler escapes. The daughter of Colonel Skinner, Mrs Elizabeth Wagentreiber, will guide her family to safety, but their adventure is most harrowing.
To understand the events of 1857, it is necessary to begin with a history of the Indian Army, its organisation, and its problems.
The Army has Ceased to Fear: Organisation of the Bengal Army, The Army Reforms, The Regiments The Army has Ceased to Fear II – Dressing an Army, The Irregular Cavalry in Debt, The Artillery & The Sappers and Miners The Army Rebels: Caste & Religion, The Mutiny at Vellore, Barrackpore in 1824 & 1852 Rumours and Cartridges: Those Cartridges, Berhampore, Ambala, and Mangal Pandey at Barrackpore in 1857 Of Agitators and Chapatis: Instigators, real and imaginary
The mutiny at Meerut was precipitated by some foolhardy decisions on the part of the station’s commanding officers; a parade to introduce the new drill for the Enfield cartridges turned into a fiasco, leading to 90 men facing court-martial. Eighty-five were convicted and clapped in irons in a humiliated show on the parade ground. It would be here, on 10 May 1857, that the mutiny had its first violent outburst, but had the British been aware of the sentiments in the Bengal army, long foretold, never have occurred.
The headquarters of the North-Western Provinces were at Agra. The city, situated on the right bank of the Yamuna, one hundred and thirty miles from Delhi but the province itself, extended over an area of more than one hundred and twenty-five thousand miles, stretching along the valley of the Upper Ganges from the Kurumnassa on the South-East to the Sub-Himalayas and the borders of Punjab in the North West. In no part of India was the population as dense as in this province; in 1857, it was the home of over 33 million inhabitants. The general administration was under the rule of the Lieutenant Governor – the “Civillian of Civillians” but unlike the Governor-General or the Governors of Madras and Bombay, he was not assisted in his endeavours by council, nor did he have his own army. However, the most important divisions of the army were located here, with Meerut, Cawnpore and Saugor all falling under the North Western Provinces. The Meerut Division included Delhi, Rohilkhand, and Agra, the Cawnpore Division comprised the districts of Allahabad and Benares and, at the time, included Oudh; with the Saugor Division consisted of both Jabalapur and Jhansi. Into this fray came the civil divisions but the organisation at least was consistent. The administration was handled by several EICo administrators, headed by the commissioner, under whom served judges, magistrates and revenue collectors. The principal Commissionerships were those “of Delhi, Meerut, Rohlikhund, Agra, Allahabad, Benares, Jubbulpoor and Jhansi” (Kaye, Vol. III p.195), but the headquarters of the civil government remained at Agra.
North Western Provinces and Oudh in 1857
It was from here that Calcutta would first learn of events in Meerut and where the government would turn for news of the mutiny in the North-Western Provinces. Agra would not play a prominent part in the events of 1857 unless it was to bring together the strangest set of individuals the EICo had to offer and to cover itself in some ingloriousness. Men of action would redefine boredom, stuffy officials as dusty in their personalities as their ledgers, ladies with attitudes and those without anything, fleeing civilians and a long list of harassed judges, collectors and magistrates, military men – some with little wisdom and others with too much and everything wrapped up in a veil of respectability and preservation of status and rank. The siege of Agra was not like Lucknow and would not produce heroes; it was not doomed like Cawnpore, and it lacked Delhi’s daring do. There are very few accounts of the siege, probably because there wasn’t much to write about. It was, however, marked with “divided counsels and constant bickerings between those in authority, resulting in an appearance of weakness and indecision, together with a partial failure to grasp the true situation, combined to render the annals of Agra..an inglorious record.” (H.R Nevill, Agra, A Gazetteer, 1905, Allahabad Government Press). A more apt description of the siege of Agra would be hard to find.
Agra from May until October 1857
Agra- Civilisation and Mutiny: A Short History of Agra
– Deliberate Inaction: what happened and everything that did not
Muttra Rises: the events at Mathura and the doings of Mark Thornhill
Vague Anticipations: Agra in June and July, including the uprising and the battle which brought on the siege.
Man Singh’s Garden: the only action by the Agra force, in August 1857
Thornhill Returns – the wild ride of Mark Thornhill to Mathura and back again
Life in Agra Fort – siege life
Fleeting Intelligence I: Agra until October 1857
Fleeting Intelligence II: covering the march of the Delhi Force in September to Bulandshahr and on to Agra
Fleeting Intelligence III: The Battle for Agra
The Seven VCs of Bulandshahr
Saving Lieutenant Glubb: Agra in October and the VC of Conductor Miller at Fatehpur Sikri
30th May – the sepoys of the 13th, 48th and 71st Regiments of Native Infantry broke into open rebellion at Marioan Cantonment. The 7th Cavalry was stationed some distance away at Mudkipur. 17-year-old Corenet Raleigh, only recently joined, was murdered by the cavalry troopers. The firing started in the lines of the 71st N.I. Their brigadier, Handscomb, who had been warned not to approach the lines, was shot. Sir Henry Lawrence, as soon as the first shots were fired, rode with his staff to the camp of the 32nd Regiment of Foot. He ordered one company to be posted with 2 guns on the road south of the cantonments to stop the rebels from Lucknow, and ordered the remainder to “…take post on the right of the 71st lines sweeping their front. They had no sooner done so than the sepoys of the 71st came pouring out upon the parade ground and began firing…” The 32nd answered with grape, and the mutineers fled, murdering Lieutenant Grant of the 71st at his post. He was on duty when the mutiny began – although some loyal men attempted to save his life, it was to no avail. 200 men of the 13th with their Colours and treasure, and a few of the 71st, remained loyal and fell in with the 32nd. The regiments then contented themselves with burning their own lines and plundering. It was considered useless to try to stop them, and eventually, the rioting stopped.
1st June – In the morning, it was found that only some 700 troops of the three regiments at the 7th Cavalry had remained loyal. The rest had assembled in Mudikipur, where, just like in Marioan, the lines had been plundered. Sir Henry pursued them at daybreak, accompanied by 2 companies of the 32nd, four guns and 300 horse. Finding the mutineers drawn up on a level plain, he ordered the guns to open fire. The mutineers fled towards Sitapur. Although they were pursued by the cavalry for another 10 miles, it proved fruitless. Many of the cavalry used this as an opportunity to desert to the mutineers, and the rest only half-heartedly kept up the chase. 61 prisoners were captured.
From now on, Sir Henry Lawrence devoted his energies to reinforce and stockpile the Residency and Machhi Bhawan. All remained uneasy but relatively quiet in Lucknow until the Battle of Chinhat.
1st July –The Machi Bhawan Fort is destroyed. The fort, like the Martiniere College, then on the outskirts of Lucknow, had been deemed untenable due to its distance from the Residency and the fact that the British were undermanned – it was decided to concentrate all their defences on one position rather than trying to defend two. Even though they had spent the better part of June reinforcing the Machhi Bhawan, the British ultimately decided to blow it up.
“On the 1st July, the whole force at the Muchee Bawan was withdrawn into the Residency, and this affair was arranged uncommonly well. The ammunition was all collected in one place, the guns were spiked and damaged as much as circumstances would permit; and at a given signal (at midnight), the force marched out, whilst a slow match, attached to a train leading to the magazine, was lighted. Just as our men reached the Residency, a magnificent explosion took place, and Muchee Bawan was instantly in ruins.”
Machhi Bhawan photographed in 1858
At the beginning of the siege, the inhabitants within the Residency numbered 2’994 persons, of which 1720 were officers, British and Indian troops, and civilian volunteers. 237 women, 260 children, 50 boys from the Martiniere College, 27 non-combatant Europeans and 700 non-combatant Indians made up the rest. Of the original garrison, on the 17th of November, not more than 930 were left.
“..Sir Henry had had his thigh broken by a shell from the howitzer we lost at Chinhut, and was not expected to live…It appears that, before the shell which proved so fatal, another had been pitched into his apartment, raising a cloud of dust, and his staff had begged him to shift his quarters; but he had answered, in his cheery way, that sailors always consider the safest place in a ship to be that where the shot had last made a hole, and he did not think it likely that such another good aim would be made. But the event proved otherwise. Another shell came pitched precisely as the first, and this time the effect was fatal, and Sir Henry mortally wounded. He was carried to Dr. Fayrer’s house; the wound was in the thigh too high up to allow of amputation, and all that could be done was to give narcotics to ease the pain.”
He appointed Brigadier Inglis in charge of military command and Major Banks took on the position of Chief Commissioner. Upon Banks’ death, the position was passed on to Brigadier Inglis.
4th July –Death of Sir Henry Lawrence
7th July – Sortie against Johannes’ House. Johannes was an Armenian merchant whose house boarded the walls of the Residency on the southern side. As the house was very close to the wall it was ideal for the tunnelling of mines and for sniper fire.
“A sally was made this morning by the light company 32nd and some Sikhs, under Captain Lawrence and Captain Mansfield, Mr. Green, 13th N.I., and Mr. Studdy, the latter leading the sortie. The object was to search a house outside our position, called Johannes House, where the enemy was supposed to be mining. A hole was made in the wall large enough to admit of one man getting out at a time, and we kept up heavy cannonading during the process to hide the sound and to divert the enemy’s attention. The party started at twelve o’clock, after the men had had some dinner, and John had said a few words to them. I felt very sad as they passed through our courtyard, for I thought perhaps few would return. However, in a quarter of an hour, or less, their work was done. They rushed into Johannes House. Ensign Studdy being the first to go through the wall, bayoneted some thirty men they found there, and then, reckless as soldiers are, were running down the Cawnpore road, when John called them back.”
The house was completely destroyed on the 17th of August.
20th July – first large scale assault on the Residency. This was also the start of the mining operations which were to continue until the end of the siege. In all there were 37 mines between this date and the 25th of September, of which only one was successful.
“Early this morning, all were on the alert, as the officer on the look-out tower of the Residency house reported that the enemy was moving in large masses and evidently assembling for a vigorous attack. Every man was at his post… Suddenly we heard a sound that had never greeted our ears before, like a gun being fired off under our feet. John immediately rushed out, knowing it was the explosion of a mine. That was the signal for an attack, and fierce musketry firing commenced on both sides. The noise was terrific, and that of heavy cannonading and whizzing shells was soon added. The enemy were completely repulsed with great loss. They advanced very bravely at first. Captain Birch says that the mine exploded in the direction of the Redan battery, leaving an enormous crater. Innes’ house bore the brunt of the attack, and gallantly repulsed it under Mr. Loughman, 13th N.I. On the opposite side of our position an attack was also made on the Cawnpore battery. The enemy advanced boldly, and left a scaling-ladder inside the ditch; but their hearts failed them, and the hand grenades with which they were saluted quickly drove them away…It was the severest assault the enemy had yet made, and John said the bullets fell like hail. I was speaking to a 32nd man to-day, and saying how foolish it was of the men to expose themselves as they did, when there were the trenches to protect them. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but it’s not in the way of Englishmen to fight behind walls.”
l0th August – the second large assault on the Residency position. 11th August – Part of the Residency building caves in. 12th August – Following a severe cannonade, the Cawnpore Battery becomes untenable. l7th August – Johannes House destroyed. 18th August – Third assault. A rebel mine detonates successfully directed at the Sikh Square 4th September – Fourth assault. 23rd September –Havelock and Outram’s battle of the Alambagh.
24th September – First Relief
A running fight began at the Alambagh, which ended with the seizure of the Char Bagh Bridge, held by the 78th Highlanders. The planned route had been to go along the canal as far the Bilkisha Road, to Sikandra Bagh and then to the Moti Mahal. However, the 78th lost their way and came down Hazratganj instead, while the rest of the column was already at the Chattar Manzil. Only by forcing their way through the lanes and the Sher Daiwaza, and then through Khas Bazar, did the 78th and the rest reach Bailly Guard Gate, but it was a tough fight, and the losses were large.
26th September – 2nd Defence.
Initially, Havelock and Outram, when they reached the Residency with their forces, had intended to evacuate the women and the children, the sick and the wounded to Kanpur. But it proved impossible – the relief force had lost one fifth of its strength just getting there, thus lacking the manpower to provide protection to a retreating garrison. The plan was abandoned and the generals determined to remain in the Residency. They were able to fortify the position and extend the outer lines, but from the 27th of September, the siege continued.
The Second Relief
November 9th – Sir Colin Campbell left Kanpur and joined the troops under the command of Brigadier-General Grant Hope at camp nine miles from Alambagh. As there were still some detachments on the road, Sir Colin delayed the departure of the force until the 12th of November. It is necessary to mention that the British in the Residency were made aware of both relief forces by utilising a network of spies, particularly one, named Ungud, an Indian pensioner, did excellent work, carrying messages between the garrison and the marching forces. Later, they would also make use of a semaphore. When it became clear that Sir Colin was approaching it was necessary to send him plans of the city and suggestions for the route he should take through it to get to the Residency. Included in the documents was the code of signals for communication with the semaphore. Mr. T.H. Kavanagh, a civilian with the Uncovenanted Services, volunteered to take the documents to the Campbell’s camp at Banthra. Disguised as a native and led by an Indian spy named Kanauji Lal, Kavanagh set out at night on the 9th of November – it went more or less to plan, with both Kavanagh and Lal narrowly avoiding capture, getting lost and, of all things, receiving directions from a squad of sepoys! They arrived at the camp early the following morning on the 10th of November.
12th November – 2nd Relief operations – Advance to the Alambagh
Campbell set out with a formidable force, about 5’000 strong, including 700 cavalry and 30 pieces of cannon. The arsenal consisted of 8 heavy guns (24-pounders and 8-inch howitzers) and two rocket tubes mounted on carts. These were manned by the Naval Brigade which consisted of 250 men of the crew of the Shannon. From the Alambagh, Campbell could directly communicate with the Residency by means of a semaphore erected on top of the building.
14th November – Advised to avoid the city at all costs, Campbell’s route was subsequently not very direct and entailed much bitter fighting. They proceeded first eastwards, taking the Dilkusha Palace and the Martiniere College. Both positions were occupied. They erected another semaphore on top of the Martiniere, thus ensuring an unbroken line of communication.
16th November – Storm of the Sikandra Bagh, Shah Najaf, Kadam Rasul ; storm of the Hiran Khana by the defenders. Attack on the Kurshid Manzil
17th November – Kurshid Manzil taken. Meeting of Outram, Havelock and Campbell at Kurshid Manzil.
The British now held important positions between the Dilkusha Palace and the Residency. The fight was by no means over, but it had secured a passageway of sorts, and Colin Campbell did the only thing possible – he ordered retreat. Just getting to the Residency had cost him 45 officers and 496 men, and by abandoning the position, he not only saved his forces from becoming trapped in the grounds as Havelock had, he broke the siege, rescuing the garrison from yet another prolonged fight. They were not out of the woods yet and could not leave the garrison all at once – the retreat was carried out over a space of a few days, from the 19th to the 22nd of November. The rebels would not discover until the following morning – the 23rd – that the Residency had been abandoned and the British were gone. The siege ended not as a victory but more as a truce. For the rebels, it had proved impossible to throw the British out, and when they left, no one outside the walls saw them go. The sick and wounded were the first to leave, followed by the women and the children and then by the rest of the garrison on the 22nd. The siege did not end with a slaughter as Rees had feared. He writes:
“It was twelve o’clock at night on the 22nd of November when we finally prepared to evacuate. The lights were left burning and we stole out as quietly and silently as possible the enemy keeping up the usual desultory fire of matchlocks and musketry.”
Whatever guns they could not take were spiked and the ammunition destroyed. Very little of value was left behind.
The Cawnpore Road as seen from the Cawnpore Battery, 1858.
For more about Lucknow, readers may avail themselves of the
The history of Kotah, like so many states in India, is tied up with the machinations of the EICo, but on a lesser scale. After the decisive Battle of Bhartwara in 1761, when young Zalim Singh Jhala put Jaipur in their place to prevent them from taking over Kotah, it became a stable and prosperous province. Unfortunately, he did have a falling out with the actual ruler of Kotah, Maharao Guman Singh, which consequently led to Zalim moving to Udaipur, where he presented his services to the court. The venture was so successful that the Maharana granted him the title of Raj-Rana, which he took back with him to Kotah in 1771 when Guman Singh, on his deathbed, requested Zalim’s return. The dying Maharao left the care of his young son Umed Singh to Zalim. To solidify his position, he left the State of Kotah solely under his administration until the boy came of age. From here on, and for the next decades, Raj-Rana Zalim Singh was the real ruler of Kotah, while Umed Singh was left to pursue more becoming hobbies such as hunting and as a patron of the arts, which flourished along with Kotah State. Zalim Singh repaired and fortified all the Kotah forts, introduced European weapons to the army and built two gun foundries. Although his main duty was to gather revenue for the court he served, Zalim Singh put his interest in horticulture to good use, and Kotah would be known as the granary of Rajputana.
Maharao Umed Singh of Kota
In 1817, with the threat of the Mahrattas and the Pindaris, Kotah became the first state in Rajputana to sign a treaty with the East India Company in exchange for protection. A subsequent amendment to the treaty, in 1818, guaranteed for Zalim Singh and his heirs not only the entire administration of Kotah for regular succession and in perpetuity. However, in 1819, the new Maharao of Kotah, Kishore Singh, clashed with Zalim Singh, who, blind and well into his eighties, was still refusing to relinquish his power. It was after all Zalim’s signature on the 1817 treaty and not the Maharao’s — this left the EICo in a very unpleasant position and one of their own doing: they were now forced to take a stand against the rightful heir of Kotah on behalf of Zalim Singh. The Diwan, as Zalim Singh was titled, had, after all, supported Hastings in his dispute with the Marathas and the Pindaris, and they were equally eager to keep him in his place as their supporters. Certainly, his younger son was not exactly in their court – he was actively working with the Maharao to usurp his father from power. When both sides called on the EICo to solve the dispute, as both sides, by treaty, had a right to expect, the EICo made futile attempts at reconciliation but ultimately decided to support Zalim Singh. In 1821, at the Battle of Mangrol, it was the British advance against the Maharao’s troops that secured the final victory, and the Maharao was forced to flee to Nathdwara in neighbouring Mewar. By the end of 1821, however, things had been brought to some conclusion. Zalim Singh was ordered by the EICo to grant amnesty to the Maharao’s troops, and the Maharao was allowed to return to Kotah. The Maharao was granted some administrative rights, thus reducing the power of the Dewan and Major John Caulfield was placed in the middle of the factions to ensure they continued on in some kind of peace. In 1823, Zalim died, and his son replaced him as Dewan, which was his position by right, secured by the treaty. The Kotah throne passed from Maharao Kishore Singh, who died in 1828, to his son, Maharao Ram Singh II, and the two ruling houses of Kotah decided the old argument was actually far from over. The position all around was untenable. The Maharao had, after all, the right to rule, and the British, realising there was no possible way of resolving the issue without further violence, came up with a plan. In recognition of the services of Zalim Singh and his family, the British simply made a separate provision in the treaty and partitioned Kotah. They handed over 17 districts, worth 12 lakhs revenue per annum, to Zalim Singh’s descendants and named it the State of Jhalawar. In 1838 took it under their protection and placed Zalim Singh’s grandson, Madan Singh, on the newly acquired throne. The Maharao, for his part received a reduction in the tributes he was paying the EICo for their protection, while the subsidy for his European-trained troops was reduced from 3 to 2 lakhs per annum. The force was subsequently renamed the Kotah Contingent. He was also allowed to keep his own state troops, the Raj Paltan.
Maharao Ram Singh II of Kota (r.1827-66) in procession with a delegation of British officers
The Story of Kotah begins in 1857 with the murder of Mr Burton and his sons, and ends with a siege and a very horrific battle in 1858.
The Malwa Agency was a division of the Central India Agency and comprised an area of some 8’900 square miles (23’100 km2) and comprised the Dewas States, Jaora, Ratlam, Sitamau and Sailana with protions of Gwalior, sections of Indore and Tonk along with 35 various small holdings and estates. Malwa had never quite consolidated itself to British rule, unlike Rajputana and as the events of 1857 unfurled, this would become a serious problem for the EICo.
The British defeat of the Pindaris and the Marathas in 1818 brought Malwa under direct control of the East India Company. The wars were tiresome and expensive; the EICo now needed to make Malwa profitable for their interests and replenish depleted coffers. It was not an easy process. Firstly, there was a problem with the borders – Malwa had no fixed boundaries between the states; solving this would allow the British then to regulate trade to suit their interests. They had other plans too – they needed to control arms manufacture and permanently shut down the various local mints to make way for EICo coinage. However, the more pressing concern for the EICo in Malwa was, above all, the people. Unlike other states, Malwa was populated by tribes, the largest of which was the Bhils. Others, like the Meos, Bhilalas, Barelas, Meenas and Kanjars were, like the Bhils, a law unto themselves. Besides them, freebooters, mercenaries, and military adventurers had long dominated Malwa. The EICo did not have the resources to wage yet another all-out war, coupled with the fact that the territories of the most important ruling houses of Central India were intermixed with freebooters who could plunder one village and then make their escape to another where they would find shelter. The freebooters were allowed, within the boundaries of tradition, to exist and in some cases, were even actively encouraged by the rulers to serve at their behest. A natural understanding had been in place for many a hundred years between the various clans, tribes and rulers, something which the EICo was slow to comprehend. The EICo faced resistance from the rulers, many of whom were unwilling to wholeheartedly throw their support behind this new and strange government and were lax in maintaining law and order. As for the tribes, successive rulers of Mughals and Marathas had been unable to tame their spirit and the EICo, in their first dealings, especially with the Bhils, were hardly any kinder than the previous 300 years had been.
Scenery in Malwa 1900s
The British and, in particular, the EICo government had committed grave mistakes in Malwa. Ever since the end of the Third Maratha War, they had ignored its people, had ineffectually dealt with the mercenaries and the unemployed soldiers, sent disinterested Residents to swagger around Malwa courts, had been wholly blind to the suffering of the agricultural class who was forced to plant that useless crop – opium – that only led them further into hunger and poverty. Christian missionaries were allowed to set up shop, but nothing was done to promote education at the local level. Very little was done to control the predatory tribes, who, with no other source of income and gradually forced out of their lands, were left to plunder to ensure a livelihood. Setting up a Bhil Corps to manage other Bhils was hardly enough to provide security for a much-harassed population. In typical EICo fashion, they had contributed very little to the prosperity of Malwa but were determined to reap every one of its benefits. Compared to Rajputana, where the EICo had taken great care and faced little opposition in 1857, the uprising in Malwa was the result of decades of neglect and can be placed squarely on their shoulders. They could only count themselves lucky that not everyone in Malwa and its vicinity – namely, Scindia, Holkar and Sikandar Begum – were loyal enough not to cut their throats. The rise of Firoz Shah Shahzada, under these circumstances, should not have come as such a surprise. But ultimately, it would be the regular people of Malwa who would suffer in this very bitter war.
The Malwa Field Force
With Northern India in turmoil, the two remaining presidencies of Madras and Bombay were swift to act. From Madras, Colonel Neill had set sail with the Madras Europeans in May, and further troops would be mobilised as the year continued. In Bombay, Lord Elphinstone authorised the formation of a field force whose objectives were to protect the frontier of the Bombay Presidency and prevent further insurrections in Malwa. Commanded by General Woodburn, the force, which assembled in Poona in June, consisted of:
5 Troops, 14th Light Dragoons, freshly returned from the Persia Campaign Woolcombe’s Horse Battery 4/2 Bombay Artillery 25th Bombay Native Infantry and a pontoon train.
Woodburn’s orders were to march to Mhow – had he followed directions, he might have arrived in time to prevent the uprising there or waylay the uprising in Indore, as Holkar’s men might have been less enthusiastic to have a mutiny had they known that Mhow had been reinforced not only by European troops but by the men from Bombay. Indore may not have been lost, and Holkar’s reputation may never have been tarnished. Instead, Woodburn marched first to Ahmednagar and then allowed himself to be diverted to Aurangabad, where the 1st Cavalry, Hyderabad Contingent had been manifesting themselves as mutinous. Instead of showing his presence and then allowing the local authorities to take care of the problem, Woodburn remained stationary in Aurangabad until 12 July. By then, Indore and Mhow were lost. His over-zealousness and ill-health cost him his command. The force was first ceded to Major Follett of the 25th Bombay Native Infantry, but Follett died of cholera on the march, and it was left to Brigadier C.S. Stuart to assume command. Stuart was not a man for delays, and he pushed his force onwards with some haste towards Central India. On 22 July, he reached Asirgarh. Here, he added to his force Colonel Henry Marion Durand, who would assist him as political agent. The role was purely an advisory one, and Durand was permitted to make whatever political decisions were deemed necessary. However, unlike Colonel G.B. Malleson, who would have us believe it was Durand who commanded the force in the upcoming Malwa Campaign, that privilege belonged to Brigadier Stuart. On 27 July, the force crossed the Narbada River and ascended the Vindhya Mountains, where, on 28 July, they were joined by the 3rd Cavalry, Hyderabad Contingent under the command of Captain S.G.G. Orr. On 2 August, the force arrived in Mhow; HM’s 86th Regiment of Foot marched in four days later. The force was now assembled, but suddenly, everything ground to a halt. The monsoon had broken out in earnest, and the rebels themselves were found to be scattered, making a decisive blow by the British an impossibility. The only thing to do was to wait for the end of the rains.
In “The Mutiny Begins” we can see how closely tied the events in Malwa and Rajputana were linked.
Sources: A Memoir of Central India, Including Malwa, and Adjoining Provinces. With the History and Copious Illustrations, of the Past and Present Condition of That Country Vol I & II – Sir John Malcolm (1823) The Life of Major General Sir Henry Marion Durand, Vol I – H.M. Durand (1883) The Revolt in Central India 1857-59, Compiled in the Intelligence Branch (1908) The Bayard of India – A Life of General Sir James Outram – Capt. L.J. Trotter (1909) A Short History of the Malwa Bhil Corps (1890) A Memoir of the Khandesh Bhil Corps – A.H.A. Simcox The Revolt of 1857 in Central India -Malwa – K. L. Srivastava (1966) Shahzada Firoz Shah – A Forgotten Hero of 1857 – Dr. Suresh Mishra (2018)
In order to understand the mutiny of the Gwalior Contingent, it would be remiss of this author if readers were not provided with at least a short history of the Gwalior State. This will serve to make certain aspects of this unique mutiny clear.
Until Indian Independence, Gwalior was one of the princely states of British India, ruled by the Scindia dynasty. It passed out of existence in 1947 when Maharaja Jivajirao Scindia acceded to the Government of India, and then, together with other princely states, Gwalior became a part of Madhya Bharat, which, in 1956, was in turn, merged into Madhya Pradesh. In 1971, the 26th Amendment to the Constitution of India abolished all privileges and allowances for members of royal families, including the privy purse and the last Maharaja of Gwalior Madhavrao Jivajirao Scindia, like many others, was forced to relinquish his title. Although the Gwalior State is gone, the city remains an important hub in northern Madhya Pradesh.
Current history aside, we will now go back in time.
The Beginning The Mahabaratha refers to a place called Gopalkaksh, which has been described as the victory place of Bhima. Some historians have identified Gopalkaksh as Gopadiri or Gopagiri – the old names for Gwalior. The fort itself came into being in the 8th century AD when a ruler named Suraj Sen, a Kachhwaha Rajpur prince, was seated on the throne. Legend has it, when struck down by a deadly disease, Suraj Sen turned to the healing powers of a hermit saint named Gwalipa. Gwalipa was able to cure the ailing ruler, who, in his gratefulness, named the city after him, thus giving rise, over the centuries, to the name Gwalior. Gwalior has borne witness to many different phases of Indian history. From the rule of Tomaras in the 8th Century to the Mughals, then the Marathas under the Scindias (1754). The fort itself, towering over the plains, was something of a magnate for invaders, each coveting this exceptional prize for its admirable strategic location and practically impregnable defences.
The vast hill top fort of Gwalior
Around the 10th century, various Muslim rulers tried their best to capture Gwalior Fort, starting with Mahmud of Ghazni, who besieged it in 1022 CE, but he was bought off with a present of 35 elephants, causing him to end the siege. Qutb-al-Din, the first sultan of the Delhi Sultanate, captured it in 1196, but he lost it a few years later. The third of the Sultanate’s rulers, Iltumish, recaptured it in 1232 CE. It was then captured by the Tomars in 1398, who would spend the next 200 years fighting battles against the Delhi Sultanate to keep it. They would succeed in 1516, when Ibrahim Lodi would wrest it away from the Tomars. However, shortly after Babur, the founder of the Mughal dynasty came along and made short work of the Lodis and Gwalior Fort became a possession of the new Mughal Empire. Not that this lasted very long. The Sur ruler, Sher Shah Suri, took it from the Mughals in 1542, but in 1558, Emperor Akbar once again reclaimed it for the Mughals and turned it into a prison, where he added to its already bloody history by using it as a place to execute his rivals. As the Mughal Empire weakened after Aurangzeb, Gwalior Fort was once again a seat of contention. This time, the Rana chieftains of Gohad were the lucky ones, only to find themselves facing off against Mahadaji Singh of the Scindia Dynasty. He managed to take it from Gohad Rana Chhatar Singh only to lose it – this time, however, to the British. They, in turn, returned it to the Ranas. Not that that lasted very long. The Marathas wasted no time in battering the Ranas and regaining the fort, but a series of events led them to fight the British in a series of three wars known as the Anglo-Maratha Wars. During the second war, the Marathas once again lost Gwalior Fort.
The Anglo-Maratha Wars Here, a brief history is needed. Spanning a time frame from 1775 to 1818, these three wars were fought between the British at the Maratha Confederacy. The Confederacy was an alliance formed in the 18th century after pressure from the Mughals forced the collapse of Shivaji’s kingdom of Maharashtra in western India. Following the death of Aurangzeb in 1707, the Marathas saw a resurgence of their power under Shivaji’s grandson, Shahu. He confided much of the power to the Brahman Bhat family who, in time, became hereditary chief ministers or peshwas, when, after he died in 1749, they became the effective rulers of Maharashtra. The leading Maratha families of Scindia, Holkar, Bhonsle and Gaekwar extended their conquests in northern and central India in an expansion that had started under Shahu when he pushed his armies, under the peshwas, into northern India. The Battle of Panipat in 1761 brought an effectual end to the control wielded by the peshwas. Thereafter, the Maratha state consisted of a confederacy of five chiefs under the nominal leadership of the peshwa of Pune. The first of the three Anglo-Maratha Aars (1775–82) began with meddling. The British supported Raghunath Rao’s bid for the office of peshwa (chief minister) of the Maratha confederacy, but they were defeated at Wadgaon in January 1779. Not willing to leave the field gracefully, they continued to fight the Marathas until the conclusion of the Treaty of Salbai (May 1782), which granted the British the island of Salsette adjacent to Bombay. That happened to be the only thing they gained, and of course, it wasn’t going to be enough. In the meantime, the chiefs of the confederacy were squabbling amongst each other, and this led to the Second Anglo-Maratha War. This second war (1803–05) was caused by the Peshwa Baji Rao II’s defeat by the Holkars. The British, never too far away to be helpful, offered Baji Rao protection, which, under the Treaty of Bassein, he accepted in December 1802. The Sindhia and Bhonsle’s, however, were having none of it, and they took to the field against the British, only to be trounced at Laswari and Delhi by Lord Lake and at Assaye and Argaon by Sir Arthur Wellesley Duke of Wellington. The Holkar clan then joined in, and the Marathas were left with a free hand in the regions of central India and Rajasthan. For the next ten years, both Scindia and Holkar rampantly plundered the chiefs of Rajasthan, preparing them, at least mentally, for subsequent British rule as the Marathas did little to endear themselves to anyone. Meanwhile, maurading bands of freebooters, called Pindaris, were wreaking havoc across Maratha territory. They were composed of dispossessed villagers and discarded soldiers, quite literally the flotsam and jetsam of a myriad of wars, who, with nothing left to turn to, became bandits. The Maratha princes looked at the Pindaris with a tacit countenance, but the villagers who were their principal victims were certainly less inclined to goodwill. With the end of the Napoleaonic Wars in 1815, India was once again on the agenda. The British restarted their efforts to gain both commercial and economic supremacy in India, which was made easier by the defeat of the French, who did not have much of an argument left. As a result, Lord Hastings took on the Gurkhas in the Kingdom of Nepal which ended not quite as Hastings expected (he lost in a series of battles) but in the Treaty of Seagauli in 1816, which gave the British the tract of hill country in and around Simla and it settled the relations between the British and the Nepalese for the next 130 years. Nepal remained independent and isolated but would supply the British with soldiers when required. Hastings then turned his attention to the Pindaris, who had boldly added, along with Bengal, the Madras Presidency to their list of destinations. The problem was getting out of hand, but the only way Hastings could stop them was by entering Maratha territory and negotiating with the princes. This started the third and final Anglo-Maratha War (1817-1818). Sindhia agreed after much agonising, but Bhonsle and Holkar had other ideas. Not that it really mattered. Holkar’s state was in disorder and was easily defeated. Both the Raja of Nagpur and the Peshwa Baji Rao II resisted and attacked the British forces stationed under their respective subsidiary treaties. Nagpur collapsed, but the Peshwa would keep it up until June 1818. As for the Pindaris, with nowhere left to go, either disbanded or surrendered. Baji Rao II was pensioned off the Bithur (his adopted son was, of course, the infamous Nana Sahib), and his territories were annexed. The result of this war left the EICo the undisputed Masters of India as far as the Sutlej River in the Punjab. Their conquest was completed by the acceptance of British suzerainty by the Rajput chiefs of Rajasthan, central India and Kathiawar (located in southwestern Gujarat, west-central India). It was the start of the British Empire of India.
The Settlement of 1818 The diplomatic settlement of 1818, except for a few annexations before 1857, remained in force until 1947 and, as such, deserves a little more of our time. The EICo, motivated by economy as much as by profit, wished to be saved as much of the expense of administering India as possible, especially in areas where revenue would be low. Having controlled the larger states by its subsidiary forces (for which they paid), it was content with a tribute from the rest, placing control posts at strategic points. Kathiawar was controlled from Baroda and Rajasthan from Ajmer, but this new empire had no thoughts of integrating territories, unlike the Mughals. The states remained isolated and excluded from any connection with the British. Approximately half of India remained under Indian rulers. They were devoid of any power of aggression and deprived of any opportunity to cooperate amongst each other. These states were, in the south large areas of Mysore, Hyderabad, and Travancore; in the west, the states of Shivaji’s family; across the centre to the east, Nagpur and several poor hilltract states; in the west and west-central areas were scattered numerous Rajput and other Hindu chiefs with the surviving Maratha states of Sindhia, Holkar, and the Gaekwar; west of the Yamuna River there remained some Sikh princedoms; and in the Ganges valley, the prosperous but disordered state of Avadh. This made up all 360 separate units – political fragments, retaining all the complexity of state nations but without any unity. Of course, this left the British with a rather difficult problem. Only Bengal could be said to be organised in any way, shape or form, but the areas annexed after 1799 in the north and south were under some provisional arrangements. Now, they had the former Maratha states to contend with. Over the next decades, a variety of systems would come into place in India (along with more wars, more seccessions and annexations and some disasters), but it was only by 1857 that the British were able to establish complete political control of India either by direct rule or through subordinate princes. They established an authoritarian form of government by building on the remains of the Mughal practices and traditions, supported by their very efficient civil service and their somewhat efficient army. Princely India, however, remained for the most part in stagnant traditionalism.
Gwalior as a Princely State The area in which Gwalior was in 1857 was the domain of the Scindia family of the Maratha dynasty. The foundations of the Gwalior state were laid by Ranoji Scindia about 1745 and reached its greatest extent under Scindia Mahadaji between 1761-1794. He ruled a vast territory that included parts of central India and northern India and exacted tributes from the principal Rajput rulers, including those of Jaipur and Jodhpur. Under Daulat Rao, the Gwalior state lost considerable territory to the British in 1803 and 1818, following the Anglo-Maratha Wars. Daulat Rao died without leaving an heir, but his widow Baiza Bai adopted Mukut Rao, an eleven-year-old boy who belonged to a distant but legitimate branch of the family. He became known as Jankoji Rao Scindia.
“The Regency was entrusted to Bazia Bai, the daughter of Sarje Rao…She purposely kept the young chief uneducated and did her utmost to unfit him to hold the reins of power. Had she added kindness to her treatment of the boy, in all probability, her plan would have been successful, but she possessed an overbearing and ungovernable temper and soon began to behave badly towards him with insolence and cruelty. Unable to bear her thraldom, the young chief, in October 1832, suddenly fled to the Resident. The Resident then interposed, and a truce was patched up. In December 1832, Lord Bentinck visited Gwalior, and both sides urged their claims. The Governor-General, however, would not promise more than that Jankojirao would be supported by the British as the future ruler of Gwalior. The policy of non-interference had the usual result, and things went from bad to worse until the young chief again fled for protection to the Resident. The next day, the troops broke into open mutiny against the Bai and were obliged to seek refuge in the Residency. She was soon after removed from Gwalior territory, and the chief granted her administrative powers. The same attitude was assumed by the British Government, which stated that as long as peace was preserved, it was immaterial who held the reins of power at Gwalior. The Bai was not idle and continued to annoy and obstruct those responsible for the administration in every way. She had a private fortune of 3 crores (1 crore = ten million), which she devoted to formenting intrigues and attempting to overthrow the Maharaja. Finding all her efforts fruitless, however, she finally desisted, applied for leave to return to Gwalior and lived peaceably there until her death in 1862.” (Gwalior State Gazetteer, 1908)
Gwalior under Jankoji Rao
Jankoji Rao II indhia
Jankoji Rao was a weak ruler, completely unable to stop the intrigues in his court and control his petulant army. As his adviser, he selected his maternal uncle, known as Mama Sahib, a man with no administrative background and utterly incapable of fulfilling the duties of his post. Gwalior slowly sank into a wretched condition; the sufferings of its people were met with indifference by their ruler. However, he continued to be a most loyal subject of the British, actively supporting them in suppressing thuggee and banditry in his state and arresting anyone who arrived in Gwalior with “disloyal propositions”, promptly handing them over to the British. Except for some reorganisation to the Gwalior Contingent in 1833, which had, after the 1817 treaty, been reduced from 5000 to 2000 horse, he secured from the government a cash contribution for its maintenance. Such was his reign, and he died in 1843 without leaving an heir. This left his 13-year-old widow Tara Bai open to adopt a son. She chose an eight-year-old boy named Bhagirath Rao, the son of Hanwantrao Scindia (formerly known as Jayayaji Rao). Being too young to rule and his mother equally so, the British chose Mama Sahib as regent. “The choice was an injudicious one…Tara Bai soon fell into the hands of Dada Khsagiwala, the Comptroller of the Household. He managed to poison the young Maharani’s mind through one of her attendants, while he bribed and cajoled the army and several nobles to support his designs…” This resulted in Mama Sahib fleeing the state for his life, but not before his own daughter was marked out to marry the young chief in-waiting merely two days before the Maharani formerly dismissed him. Dada Khasagiwala became Minister while the Maharani appointed herself Regent. The Governor-General refused to support Mama Sahib’s return to Gwalior, forcing him to remain in exile. This was just the beginning of the chaos in Gwalior.
“Unfortunately, the Khasgiwala was not only an unscrupulous scoundrel but a coward as well, and the army to which the party in power owed its superiority, now an overgrown and undisciplined rabble, laughed at the civil authority to scorn. The Dada, in terror of the military element, attempted to curry favour with them by dismissing all who were known to have leanings towards the British and a rule of order. Finally, an attempt was made to attack Sironj, where Mama Sahib was living.”
At this point, the Governor-General Lord Ellenborough had had enough. Considering it was ridiculously dangerous to have a mutinous mob in Gwalior very much in his rear when there was a war brewing in the Punjab, he sent Sir Hugh Gough a message to be ready to move against Gwalior at a moment’s notice.
Edward Law, 1st Earl of Ellenborough, by Frederick Richard Say, oil on canvas, circa 1845
The Resident of Gwalior at this time was one Colonel Sleeman (of thuggee fame) who reported to the government that the main problem in Gwalior was the Dada, and he needed to be removed. Mischief continued, and finally, Sleeman was withdrawn as a “mark of displeasure” and retired to Dholpur. Sleeman wrote to the Maharani – who had implored him to return – stating he would only come back if the Dada was banished. Unfortunately, she never received the letter as the Dada intercepted it. Lord Ellenborough considered this a base insult and insisted the Dada remove himself without delay. Three chiefs, tired of the constant bickering and what was turning rapidly into a future war, tried to arrest Dada, but they were thwarted by the palace court. On this, Hugh Gough was told to start his march to Gwalior. Suddenly, the Dada was handed over to Sleeman, but the Governor-General now considered that the surrender simply wasn’t enough anymore. The Maharani was informed that “the movement of the British armies could not be arrested until the Governor-General had full security for the future maintenance of tranquillity upon their common frontier.” Ellenborough then joined the force himself and declared he would settle Gwalior at a personal interview with the Maharani.
Of course, this did not turn out as planned.
The meeting or darbar was to take place in Gwalior territory. However, the councillors informed that if the army crossed the frontier before the meeting with the Maharani took place, it would be looked on by the army as a hostile action, and it would be impossible to restrain them. Sleeman wrote in a similar tone to the Governor-General, but he obstinantly refused to change his plans. The meeting was set to take place on the 26th of December in Hingona, but the war party refused to let the Maharani and the young chief leave Gwalior, and after waiting for two days, the British forces advanced.
What happened next beggars belief.
“Sindhia’s army took up a strong position at Maharajpur, unknown to the Commander-in-Chief, who had entirely underrated the force he was dealing with. On the morning of the 29th, the British force, without taking the most ordinary precautions, accompanied by the Governor-General and the family of the Commander-in-Chief on elephants, advanced leisurely on Maharajpur, where they proposed to breakfast. As they neared the village, a masked battery opened fire, and in a few moments, the engagement became general.”
This underestimation cost the British forces 800 men, killed and wounded (not including twice as many Indian officers and soldiers), and they would be forced to fight a second battle at Panniar on the same day. Hugh Gough would be forced to admit he “had not done justice to the gallantry of his opponents.” The death toll among the Gwalior forces was said to be in the thousands.
The Battle of Maharajpur as Seen by One Who was There
“In the night of the 28th, we got orders quietly to turn out at 4 o’clock in the morning, 29th December, to march without baggage or other incumbrance, with one day’s cooked rations. We fell into line exactly to time, when Lord Gough with Lord Ellenborough and staff rode along the front, speaking words of encouragement to each corps. Sir Joseph Thackwell, who had only one arm, commanded the Light Division, consisting of the 16th Lancers, Body Guards, three troops of Horse Artillery, and Outram’s Irregulars. The centre division was commanded by Colonel Vallient, comprised the 40th foot, two batteries of Foot Artillery, two corps of Native Infantry, one company of Engineers. The Left Division consisted of the 39th Foot, five Native Cavalry, two regiments of Native Infantry, and one company of Sappers under Sir Harry Smith.
Each division crossed the ravine within one mile of each other. They were in position between three villages — Maharajpoor in the centre, Juna on the right, and Chuna on the left. We marched until seven o’clock, when we halted. The enemy at once opened fire from their half-moon battery. Nothing could be more welcome; we hurrahed several times and shouted lustily, ‘There goes the Prize-Money,’ showing, without doubt, the general feeling of our army — there was no such thing as failure. The trumpeter now sounded for us ‘To Horse, To Horse,’ and away we went at a swinging trot to the front, preceded by Quarter-Master General Churchill, as it is that officer’s business to learn the position of an enemy, and the nature of the ground, we advanced in close column of troops.
Lieutenant-General Sir Joseph Thackwell. He lost his arm at the Battle of Waterloo in 1815 while serving as a captain with the 15th Hussars.
Our route lay through a cotton plantation, and on nearing the enemy, we were received by a discharge from a six-gun battery. A six-pound shot took my horse in the heart, and we both rolled over. I was extricated by some Grenadiers of a Native regiment just passing, much bruised. I was not long without a horse, as peppering had been going on by the advanced picket, a horse, minus the rider, fully accoutred, which had belonged to the enemy, passed. I seized it and soon came up with my troop. We formed in line, in front of us being a field of wheat standing in shocks; these we found occupied by the enemy’s sharp-shooters, quite concealed. A shot from one of these picked off General Churchill; as he fell, Colonel Somerset, an aide, dismounted to assist him; he was nearly as unfortunate, as a shot from one of their batteries broke his leg, killing his horse on the spot — poor Churchill died as he was being taken to the rear. The battle now became more fierce. The centre division, led by the 40th, under Colonel Vallient, charged, and at the point of the bayonet took the Village of Maharajpoor. Just then, the enemy’s cavalry were coming down like a dark cloud upon our guns, when the 16th, my regiment, and the Body Guards were ordered to charge; this we were quite prepared to do, as soldiers, at least so far as my experience teaches, do not like to be onviewers, or watchers.
From a sketch taken by a British officer, representing the quick advance of the British troops on the enemy during the capture of Maharajpur and Punniar with a distant new of Jourah. Nearly 600 killed and wounded. Death of Major General Churchill.
Charge we did, but to our astonishment, as soon as they saw our movement, retreat was their order, and we afterwards heard they never stopped until they reached Gwalior. At noon, the battle was over, and the enemy fled, leaving all their camp equipage, guns, and about six thousand dead on the field. Their force was estimated at 24,000, while ours only numbered 10,000, having left 4,000 to protect our camp and hospital. Our loss was 2,500 officers, rank and file. The following day, we pushed on, halting some fifteen miles from Gwalior. Here, we camped for a time. The Rannie, or Queen, came down with a strong guard, four thousand cavalry, to pay her respects and make terms of peace with Lord Ellenborough. He would not hear of any, only an unconditional surrender. The day after the Rannie’s visit, we marched on the capital, reaching Gwalior about nine a.m. Of all the fortified places ever I had seen, this was the most formidable. A large rock in the centre of an extensive plain, the city built in the middle, and so surrounded by the rocky wall, as to leave only one ascent, and that a zigzag one. The walls all round were loop-holed and bris-tied with cannon. Our first thought was — We are done now. But, of course, engineering skill and brave hearts laugh at stone walls. All was got ready to storm, as if taken, it must be taken at a dash, and as is always the case, a flag of truce was despatched to warn of our intention of giving them one hour to choose between unconditional surrender or the consequence of a refusal. In half that time, the Ranee and her army marched out, and a battalion of our infantry entered and hoisted the British flag on the walls. We remained in Gwalior until joined by General Grey on January 3rd. This division had marched from Cawnpore and consisted of the 9th Lancers, 3rd Buff’s, three regiments Native Infantry, 2 brigades of Artillery, and the 50th Foot, under command of Colonel Anderson. They had been engaged with other portions of the enemy at Punneah on the same day we were fighting at Maharajpoor.”
Captain J. Airey, 3rd (The East Kent) Regiment of Foot (The Buffs) He took part in the Battle of Punniar on the 29th of December, 1843. The portrait of him was drawn by Lieut. Vincent Eyre during their captivity in Afghanistan after the Retreat from Kabul during the 1st Afghan War (1838.1842)
The British forces, however, carried the day, and Gwalior State now lay at the disposal of the Governor-General. In a rare glimpse of foresight, he neither curtailed the territory of the state nor did he lower its status. A treaty was concluded on 13 January which entrusted the running of Gwalior State during the time of the young chief’s minority to an administration that was answerable to the Resident, and the army was limited in the future to 9000 men, of which no more than 3000 were to be infantry, with 32 guns and 200 gunners. The Gwalior Contingent itself was reorganised and fixed at 10000 men of all units and was to be commanded by British officers. The Maharani Tara Bai was sent into early retirement on an allowance granted her by the government. For the next 12 years, Gwalior remained in a peaceable state. In January 1853, the young chief was granted powers of administration, and standing at his side was his minister, one Dinkar Rao, later Raja Sir Dinkar Rao K.C.S.I., who would prove to be one of the ablest statesmen British India has ever had. Under his rule, Gwalior made rapid strides in progress and prosperity – every branch of administration was reformed, lawlessness was stamped out, and when the mutiny came, it was Dinkar Rao’s tact and firmness that saw them through.
The main feature of the mutiny at Gwalior is the rise and fall of its splendid army, the Gwalior Contingent. Their very name would spark fear in the heart of the British, and their every move would cause more consternation than anything the mutiny had seen.
The final events regarding the Gwalior Contingent will be found in Cawnpore.
Sources:
Ten Years in India in the 16th Queen’s Lancers: and Three Years in South Africa in Cape Corps Levies – W.J.D. Gould (1880) Gwalior State Gazetteer, Vol. 1- Text and Tables – compiled by Captain C.E. Luard M.A. (Oxon) I.A. Superintendent of Gazetteer in Central India, assisted by Rai Sahib Pandit Dwarka Nath Shopuri, State Gazetteer Officer (1908) The Encyclopedia Britannica for information pertaining to the Maratha Wars
Colour-Sergeant William Gardner – 42nd Highlanders, “The Black Watch”
“For his conspicuous and gallant conduct on the morning of the 5th of May last, in having saved the life of Lieutenant-Colonel Cameron, his Commanding Officer, who during the action at Bareilly on that day, had been knocked from his horse, when three Fanatics rushed upon him. Colour-Sergeant Gardner ran out, and in a moment bayoneted two of them, and was in the act of attacking the third, when he was shot down by another soldier of the Regiment.” — Letter from Captain Macpherson, 42nd Regiment, to Lieutenant-Colonel Cameron, Commanding that Regiment. (The London Gazette, 24 August 1858, No. 22176, page 3903)
Colour Sergeant William Gardner Following the regiment’s return from Crimea, Queen Victoria, who took an active interest in the welfare of her troops, met a number of veterans at Buckingham Palace, Chatham Military Hospital and Aldershot. She commissioned a series of photographs to be taken by Joseph Cudall & Robert Howlett – one of the men they photographed was William Gardner.
Long before William Gardner met Queen Victoria or indeed became the subject of the celebrated photograph, his life had been an ordinary one. Born on 3 March 1821 in Nemphlar, Lanarkshire, Scotland, to Daniel Gardner, a general labourer and his wife Ann. Nemphlar was not a remarkable place but a straggling settlement of stone cottages and small farms, perched high above the River Clyde. The area was famed for its fruit orchards, and while there was living to be made, William apparently felt his life as a gardener was indeed a limited one. On 9 February 1841, he joined the 42nd Highlanders. Army life seemed to agree with him – he made corporal on 1 March 1842 and swiftly rose to sergeant on 15 May. While the regiment would serve i abroad between 1847 and 1851, in 1854 the 42nd would find themselves in Crimea. For the next two years, they would freeze, starve, fight and die in that dreadful war; and while there was glory to be had, it did come at a horrible price.
Officers of the 42nd Highlanders in Crimea (photograph, Roger Fenton)
A man who would have seen the terrible conditions Crimea presented to the ordinary soldiers was Lieutenant-Colonel Alexander Cameron. Although he would not have known his father, who died while Alexander was still an infant, he likely grew up with the stories of John Cameron (of Achnasaul), who had served as a lieutenant-colonel during the American War of Independence and had once held the position of Governor of Fort William, where on 12 February 1816, he died. His sister Jessie would set sail for New Zealand aboard the Blenheim in 1840 with her husband Moses Campbell and five children, and his brother Ewan, once a captain in the 79th Highlanders, joined her there a year later. As it was, Alexander Cameron appears to have had no ambitions of settling in a far-off land; he seems to have found his place in the army. With his regiment, he would fight through the Crimea and in 1857, he would land in India. Cameron was well-liked by his men, although a mild eccentricity seems to have prevailed when he insisted his men keep to their tartans, for morale; they chaffed him a little behind his back, but no one had anything terrible to say about Lieutenant-Colonel Cameron. It was rather lucky for him, as on 5 May 1858, during the Battle of Bareilly, it would take a very determined man to save his life. That man was Colour-Sergeant William Gardner.
Gardner saves the Lieutenant-Colonel
“The Sikhs and our light company advanced in skirmishing order, when some seven to eight hundred matchlock-men opened fire on them, and all at once a most furious charge was made by a body of about three hundred and sixty Rohilla Ghazis, who rushed out, shouting ”Bismillah! Allah! Allah! Deen! Deen!” Sir Colin was close by and called out, “Ghazis, Ghazis! Close up the ranks! Bayonet them as they come on.” However, they inclined to our left, and only a few came on to the Ninety-Third, and these were mostly bayoneted by the light company, which was extended in front of the line. The main body rushed on the centre of the Forty-Second, but as soon as he saw them change their direction, Sir Colin galloped on, shouting out, “Close up, Forty-Second! Bayonet them as they come on !” But that was not so easily done; the Ghazis charged in blind fury, with their round shields on their left arms, their bodies bent low, waving their tulwars over their heads, throwing themselves under the bayonets, and cutting at the men’s legs. Colonel Cameron, of the Forty-Second, was pulled from his horse by a Ghazi, who leaped up and seized him by the collar while he was engaged with another on the opposite side; but his life was saved by Colour-Sergeant Gardener, who seized one of the enemy’s tulwars, and rushing to the colonel’s assistance, cut off the Ghazi’s head...” (Forbes-Mitchell)
It certainly is more hair-raising than Gardner’s VC citation, for the story only improves with the telling:
“There were about 150 of them screaming, “Bismillah, Allah, Deen, Deen”. They had swords called tulwars and kept their heads low behind shields as they chased Sikh skirmishers who had broken the ranks of the 42nd as they ran back through the Regiment. Sir Colin Campbell ordered ranks to be closed and bayonets used as the Ghazis came. Three dashed at Col. Alexander Cameron and pulled him off his horse. He would have been hacked to death had Sgt Gardner not killed two of them and Private Gavin the third.” At the time, Cameron was only armed with a pistol, and he had even tried to fight with his bare hands. Admirably, Cameron remained calm and most collected, although a Ghazi had quite deliberately tried to separate his head from his shoulders; with a cut on his wrist, he brushed himself off, tied a kerchief around his wound and resumed command as if nothing had happened. Gardner would receive the thanks of Sir Colin Campbell. Unfortunately, Lieutenant-Colonel Cameron would not be there to see Gardner receive his VC; two months later, on 9 August 1858, he died of fever in Bareilly. His sons would grow up without their father, but both would follow in his footsteps. Captain Ewen Hay Cameron would die in 1885 in Quetta; the other would have a longer life and see out his days as Sir Maurice Alexander Cameron, K. C. M. G.
Colour-Sergeant Gardner’s wounded hand soon recovered, and he would see out the rest of the mutiny with his regiment. On 2 December 1859, he was raised to Quartermaster Sergeant, and after 21 years of service with the 42nd, he was discharged on 4 March 1862 at Stirling Castle. His impressive set of medals included, besides the Victoria Cross, the Crimea Medal 1854-56 with clasp Sebastopol; the Turkish Crimea Medal 1854-55the Indian Mutiny Medal 1857-58 with clasp Lucknow; a Long Service and Good Conduct Medal (LS&GC), and Meritorious Service Medal (MSM). Following his discharge, Gardner married, and he served as a drill instructor at Lanarkshire RV, retiring in 1885 with the final rank of Sergeant Major. He died at home on 24 October 1897 and was buried at Bothwell Park Cemetery with full military honours.
In 2008, his great-grandson, Dr David Gardner, sold the VC and the five other medals for a princely sum of £135,000; the money from the sale was donated and distributed amongst different charities. The medals now form part of Lord Ashcroft’s collection.
The 42nd Highlanders, India, 1860
Another man would win a Victoria Cross for Bareilly, but as we shall see, his life would take a very different turn. That man was Private Valentine Bambrick of the 60th Rifles.
Sources: Forbes, Archibald. The “Black Watch” – the Record of an Historic Regiment. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1896. Forbes-Mitchell, William. Reminiscences of the Great Mutiny. London: Macmillan & Co., 1894. Groves, Percy. History of the 42nd Royal Highlanders: “The Black Watch”. Edinburgh: W. & A. K. Johnston, 1893.
Mutiny Reflections 