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Chapter 8 – The Exodus

We crossed the bridge of boats, and gazed at the gloomy but faithful walls of the fort, till a turn in the road hid it from our sight. I now reflected on the past, and thought, what a good thing it was, that we, who had been so heavily afflicted, were thrown together amongst others all more or less afflicted by the same cause, instead of being left selfishly to brood over and cherish our sorrows; in which case we might have succumbed, and perhaps lost our reason. But living in a constant state of anxiety, we were compelled to mix with others and sympathise with them; which opened our hearts, and made us feel less desolate. I had often read the essay on Despair, in “Friends in Council,” and felt the truth of this passage: “Some souls we ever find, who could have responded to all our agony, be it what it may. This at least robs misery of its loneliness.”

All the way along we saw signs of the times, in the burnt and destroyed villages. We had telegraphed to Aligarh to know if the road was safe between Agra and Aligarh, and received a satisfactory

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answer “that we might venture.” Still we felt we were running a risk when we passed large bodies of natives, armed to the teeth, who looked at us as if they would kill us any minute; but we also passed parties of our own soldiers.

We did not reach Aligarh till late. It was occupied by our troops, and Captain Murray, who had the command, rode out to meet us, and said he had got a tent pitched for our reception. The fort is a most miserable looking place, not at all like the one at Agra; though it is considered very strong. It is only a large space enclosed by thick high mud walls, and a deep moat.

The encampment reminded me of the descriptions I had heard from officers of the Crimean camp, so bleak and wild looking was it, with tents pitched all about, and little mud huts. We drove into the fort, where we were greatly cheered, after our cold dismal journey, by the sight of soldiers cooking their suppers over the bright fires; and by hearing the neigh of horses and clang of arms. We found dinner ready in the tent; Captain Murray, Dr. Mackellar, young Hennessy, and Captain Fitzgerald of the Commissariat, another nephew of Mrs. Blake’s, all dined together. After dinner, the officers retired to their quarters and sent us some charpoys: the babies and dhyes lay on beds spread on the ground. The night was bitterly cold; and the dhyes were very bad-tempered, though we had given them a

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good supper; the babies were also fretful, so that we did not pass a very comfortable night. The next morning (Sunday), I walked round the fort with Dr. Mackellar. We heard that Colonel Greathed had come up with and defeated the flying remnant of the Gwalior Contingent, and taken fifteen of their guns; but that the road was still unsafe, and would be for long. We therefore determined to go on to Meerut: Captain Murray tried to persuade us to stay till we heard more news, for fear the remains of the Gwalior Contingent might be lurking about; but finding we were determined to go on, he gave us a guard of sawars.

We reached Meerut late that night, and slept at the dak bungalow. The next morning we moved to the hotel; the master of which, Mr. Courtenaye, was very kind to us. He told us all about the mutiny at Meerut: he was not there at the time, but his wife and two of his children were cut to pieces in the outbreak. He also said he had lost eighteen relations in different parts of India, in the mutinies. We heard that the people at Meerut had been greatly alarmed about the ladies who had not escaped with the first party from Gwalior, and had even thought of going in a party to our rescue.

Our rooms were very comfortable, and we slept in real beds for the first time since our escape from Gwalior; we had sheets, – an almost forgotten luxury – and sat down to a properly spread dinner table.

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They had had a false alarm a few days before our arrival at Meerut, and all the people had rushed out in their night dresses into the street; which was soon filled with carriages ready for escape. After staying a few days at Meerut we left, on Friday, for Delhi.

All round Delhi the country had a desolated look, and I could not help thinking how short a time it was since the road we were travelling was thronged with bloodthirsty wretches panting for more blood and plunder. It seemed strange that they should have been allowed to march on to Delhi, almost unimpeded, and surprise the poor people living there in peaceful security, when there were two European regiment* at Meerut, one a cavalry regiment; perhaps it was better to be thus taken by surprise, instead of being kept in suspense. At Gwalior we lived a whole month in suspense, and the last fortnight in hourly dread of being murdered. “There is a pause near death when men grow bold towards all things else.”

The modern city of Delhi, founded by Shah Jahan, and called by him Shahjahanabad, is situated in the midst of a sandy plain, on the right bank of the Jumna. It is 956 miles from Calcutta, 880 from Bombay, and 400 from Lahore, surrounded by granite walls, 7 miles in circumference, and having eleven entrances. We passed many skeletons of camels and bullocks, and parties of armed natives. We had left our guard, and Mr. Fitzgerald, at Meerut.

Early in the afternoon we reached the bridge of

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boats, where we paid toll to a native; which rather astonished us, for we thought all natives were now excluded from public offices. After crossing the bridge, which swarmed with natives, bullocks, and flies – the latter attracted by the scent of sweet-meats, of which large amounts are made in Delhi – we thundered through the Calcutta gate into the “City of Horrors:” every spot of which is consecrated as the death-place of some hapless victim, or brave soldier. Passing through one or two deserted looking streets, we entered the “Chandney Chowk” (the principal street of Delhi), which quite astonished us by its gay appearance; for Delhi was in our minds associated with nothing but gloom and desolation. The natives either mingled in crowds or sat before their shops on pieces of carpet, with raised trays before them, on which were displayed embroidered shawls, skull caps, toys, shells, and sugar cane; here and there brilliant pieces of calico, just dyed, were hung to dry across the street. The natives were all gaily dressed with bright turbans; and they had au impudent, self-satisfied expression on their faces, very irritating to us, when we remembered the merciless and cruel deeds so lately enacted here by their brethren. This street was the bazaar, and far more eastern in its aspect than any I had yet seen. The houses are picturesquely built, and very lofty; some whitewashed, and others adorned by gaily painted representations of elephants prancing with their legs in the air, camels with huge humps,

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flowers, stars, and crescents. One picture I was much amused with: it represented an English officer, a short little man with a very red face and beard, and dressed in startling colours, riding on a horse standing almost upright, and fighting a lion rampant. There were ladies running along, all out of perspective, and bowing politely to gentlemen, or picking flowers off prim-looking bushes. Certainly the oddest and most eccentric native mind had found development in painting these pictures. The houses were oddly decorated with curiously carved shutters, doors, and balconies, and there were queer little by-lanes leading into the principal street.

The street was crowded with English soldiers in their bright uniforms, Sikhs on their wild looking steeds, funny little Gurkhas, European ladies riding on immense elephants, and gentlemen on camels, horses, and ponies. Altogether the gay crowds, the green trees, the bright pieces of calico, and the azure blue sky, formed an enlivening scene; and one might have forgotten the fearful things that had so lately taken place, but for two large gallows in the middle of the street.

Down the centre of the “Chandney Chowk” runs a raised aqueduct; and an officer afterwards told me that when we were taking Delhi, the enemy placed a gun at the top of the “Chandney Chowk,” which raked the street with grape, while a cross fire was kept up from the windows. A party forcing its

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way across to the Bankhouse was repulsed, and while rapidly retreating, a soldier fell wounded; one of his comrades actually leapt back again over the aqueduct and dragged the wounded man across it.

We alighted from our gharries at a native’s house, temporarily used as a dak bungalow, the proper one having been destroyed; and after traversing a narrow alley, mounted some steep steps into an extraordinary-looking place. On one side we looked into a garden, and on the other side, from a sort of gallery, we saw some officers comfortably eating their dinner; which was rather tantalising to us, as we were very hungry. We were then shown into some rooms, which looked dirty and forlorn, as if haunted by the ghosts of pandies; and a dead rat lay on the floor: we could not make up our minds to sleep a night there, and so agreed to go to Dr. Batson, a connection of Mrs. Blake’s. We accordingly retraced our steps, and, before getting into our gharries, refreshed ourselves with a bottle of soda-water, much to the astonishment of the natives.

After many inquiries, and turning down many deserted by-lanes, we arrived at Dr. Batson’s abode, which had formerly belonged to some grand native. We ascended a flight of narrow steps on to a terrace, and then entered a large room: like all native houses it consisted of one good room, with an intricacy of winding passages and narrow staircases. The doors at each end, and the punkah, were pierced by large

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holes caused by a cannon ball bursting in at one door and going out of the other. Dr. Batson, his wife, and daughters, received us very kindly, and after a refreshing tea, took us to a neighbouring native house which they had prepared for our reception. The part fitted up for us must formerly have been the “Zenana;” and we reached it by a flight of steps, so narrow that no stout person could have ascended. The inner room, where we slept, was separated from the outer room or gallery by “purdahs147” hung across archways.

Early next morning I was aroused by a message from Captain Garstone, the gentleman I had met at Agra in January; who, directly he heard of my arrival, had come to invite me to his quarters, where his wife and children were, in a mosque within the palace walls; but I was then too tired to move again that night.

We breakfasted at the Batsons’ house, and Dr. Batson gave us a most interesting account of his escape from Delhi, – one of the most wonderful on record. It is unnecessary for me to detail it, as his portrait and a narrative of his escape appeared in one number of the “Illustrated London News,” for 1857. He came into our camp on a camel, disguised as a fakir, sometime after the arrival of our forces before Delhi. He had passed himself off as a Kashmiri, on account of his blue eyes; but so well did he disguise himself, that, speaking the language and understanding

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the customs of the natives, he wandered amongst them a long time undetected. His wife and daughters, who were in cantonments when the mutiny broke out, escaped with the other fugitives to Ambalah.

Captain Garstone again came, and drove me to the Palace, which is surrounded by lofty walls of red sandstone between fifty and sixty feet high, at the opposite end of the Chandney Chowk. Before the barbacan were patrolling a man of the 60th Rifles, that gallant regiment which had done such good service in the siege, and a diminutive Gurkha, with a grotesquely solemn face, looking too small to shoulder his musket. We drove into a small courtyard, and then through a magnificent gateway into a long and lofty arched corridor. Here, in small recesses on each side, lived little Gurkhas, who were cleaning their arms or smoking: their downcast looks harmonised with the gloomy solitude of this once luxurious palace. We turned out of this ante-like corridor down a narrow road, leading to the small mosque, which was surrounded by tumble-down, squalid-looking buildings.

I received a kind welcome from Mrs. Garstone, who was much pleased with my baby; and they gave me one of the three compartments, into which the mosque was divided by purdahs. These purdahs looked like arras, and made me feel as if we had gone back to the old tapestry days; the effect was carried out by a large fire blazing on a brick hearth,

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which Captain Garstone had contrived out of one of the sacred recesses, some antique chairs, and a table and shelves. On these was arranged some valuable “loot” which Captain Garstone had found in the king’s palace; including a beautifully bound and illuminated Koran on vellum; a curiously carved sandal-wood cane, in which was concealed a dagger; a strange picture of some old Mogul, very like the present king; a splendid casket of ebony and mother of pearl, full of secret drawers (which Captain Gar-stone was very much disappointed to find contained no jewels); a solid silver enamelled flask for scent, and a variety of charms, bangles, signet-rings, &c.

The next day (Sunday) we went to service in the Dewan-i-Khas, and drove through the vaulted corridor into a large court-yard, which reminded me of the Armoury Square at Agra, with its rows of guns. Mrs. Garstone told me that over the gateway leading into the corridor, were the rooms formerly occupied by Mr. Jennings; in one of which, where poor Miss Jennings and Miss Clifford were surprised quietly sitting at breakfast, and murdered, the stains of blood on the walls and floor are yet to be seen. It is now used for a mess-room. Several marks are seen all over the staircase, where the miscreants killed poor Captain Douglass, who was coming down to speak to them, they having sent for him.

We got out of the carriage, and walked through a large paved marble court into the Dewan-i-Khas

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This building was formerly used as a Hall of Audience; it now looked dirty and forlorn: the gild-ding was tarnished, the white marble dingy, and the walls, which, like those of the halls at Agra, had formerly been ornamented with a mosaic of precious stones, were much defaced. Along the top is a mosaic inscription in Arabic:–

“If there be an Elysium on earth,

It is this – it is this!”

The 60th Rifles, and another regiment, were there, and though tanned and sunburnt, they did not look much the worse for their long campaign.

In the centre, a little table was placed, from which Mr. Rotton, the chaplain, read the prayers and preached. This splendid hall, which once echoed to the mandates of a despotic emperor, with sole power of life and death over millions of submissive slaves, now echoed the peaceful prayers of a Christian people. Service over, the soldiers, at the word of command, marched out, the hall resounding to their martial tread.

Captain and Mrs. Garstone, after speaking to General Penney and Mr. Saunders, showed me over the rest of the Hall. I saw the block of crystal on which the matchless Peacock Throne had formerly stood, and the garden, now desolate and ruined, the trees all torn by shot, and the walks overgrown with rank grass and weeds. Beyond, a stretch of barren country extended to the horizon. We then went to

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the king’s private mosque, near the palace, which he used for his daily prayers. It is built of pure white marble, and was now occupied by some officers, who were busy writing. We could not see the rooms formerly used by the king, as they were now inhabited by Mr. and Mrs. Saunders. All the buildings of the palace had a forlorn and dirty look.

In the afternoon Captain Garstone kindly offered to drive me round Delhi. We drove through some deserted streets, the houses of which were riddled, and the trees torn and broken by grape and round shot, and all redolent of a damp, nauseous smell. We ascended on to the ramparts, and had a good view of Hindu Rao’s house, the ridge of high ground behind which our force had encamped, the road leading to cantonments, and the open country, which lay spread like a map before us.

A little further on, I saw the cannon which the enemy had so cleverly turned on the column when forcing its way up the street, also the very spot where poor General Nicholson had fallen mortally wounded.

We then drove down a street leading to the Jumna Masjid, a splendid building, standing on an eminence, and ascended by a flight of steps on each side. It is built of red sandstone, which, though too brilliant in the midday sun,’ glows richly in the mellow evening light. The Masjid is surmounted by domes of white marble, and at each angle is a lofty minaret: it was erected by Shah Jehan, and took six years to

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build. I could not see the inside, as it was occupied by the Baluch battalion.

This building and street were very difficult to take: our troops were once repelled; and, indeed, had the place been well defended, it never could have been taken. The enemy fired from the flat roofs of the houses, and from the narrow passages, angles, and corners, with which the street was filled, and did much execution amongst our troops. Captain Gar-stone told me that some dead bodies and skeletons of the sepoys were found in the houses and back-streets; but not so many as were expected, as nearly all had been flung into the Jumna. In the Chandney Chowk only one or two skeletons were found.

On our return home we called on Mrs. Blake and Mrs. Procter, who were still at the Batsons’. Mr. Fitzgerald had also come in from Meerut. Mrs. Procter was in great distress, for her dhye, having lost her husband, had gone to look for him. Captain Garstone met the dhye some days after, still in search of her husband, and she called out to him, “O Sahib, where is my admi148?”

On Monday Capt. Garstone having to go to his house at Meerut on business, Mrs. Garstone drove me to the fort of Selimghur, which was connected with the Palace by a bridge over a small branch of the Jumna. It was occupied by some of our troops, and near it were pitched some tents inhabited by

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invalid soldiers. We stood on the bridge, the silence only disturbed by the whirr of a bird’s wing, and looked on the dark water, on which were cast deep shadows from the frowning fortress and high banks. I had time and quiet here to indulge in a reverie on the former grandeur of the Eastern Moguls, and the pomp and pageantry of their magnificent court and its ceremonies, – so different to our practical and prosaic ideas of royal state.

On Tuesday Mrs. Garstone, two of her children, and I rode on an elephant lent us by Mr. Saunders, and the other children and my baby were taken for a walk by a numerous suite of servants and a chaprasi. The elephant was a docile creature, and would salaam, when told, by raising its trunk high in the air, and then slowly lowering it; and it was amusing to see the little Garstones commanding this obedient mountain of an animal to salaam, which it did instantly. The mahout was a queer withered-looking little man: these mahouts are not long-lived, for as they almost live on the elephants’ backs, the motion injures the spine. I believe the camel sawars suffer from the same cause. We rode into the Chandney Chowk. which looked very gay: indeed, an Eastern crowd is always striking, from their long flowing white or coloured garments. Women were returning from the wells with large jars gracefully poised on their heads, the tinkling of their ornaments sounding very musical. Bheesties were staggering under their heavy burdens,

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and “mollees149” carrying trays of flowers and vegetables; some were washing themselves in the aqueduct and combing their hair, and a few (great dandies) had little looking-glasses, in which they kept admiring themselves, and then pomatuming and curling their black locks, and arranging their skull caps and turbans. They all looked impudently at us, as though they thought we had no right there. Oh how I detested them, and longed to turn them all out of Delhi!

We passed parties of Europeans riding on elephants like ourselves, or walking and driving: two pretty little children of Lady Campbell’s, dressed in the Highland costume, were walking, attended by a number of natives. From our elevated position on the howdah, we could see into the upper stories of the houses; they were all full of dirt, rubbish, broken ghurras150, and old clothes. Many of the houses in the Chandney Chowk were occupied by English officers and their families.

We met a mad elephant, with its feet fastened together by an iron chain, and were obliged to cross the road. These animals are subject to mad fits, when they are very dangerous. Mrs. Garstone told me that when she was marching in the spring, an elephant was taken with one of these attacks, and became so dangerous, that a coolie was obliged to

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run before it to warn people to get out of the way; the poor fellow unfortunately coming too near, the furious animal seized him, and crushed him to death under his feet, and then threw the body away; but the mahout, a brother of the poor coolie, ordered the elephant to take up the body, and made him carry it the whole day for a punishment; though the elephant might at any minute have made the mahout share the same fate as his brother. This shows what power these mahouts have over the animals, which are very fond of them.

Mrs. Garstone pointed out to me all the places where our poor countrymen were so brutally murdered: the Kotwall151, where several were killed, and where the bodies of the princes152 were afterwards exposed; an open space outside the palace gate, near a tank, where twenty or thirty women were massacred; and the Bank-house, where the poor Beresfords were murdered, which looked much devastated by fire, shot, and shell. It is said that when the Bank was surrounded, the inmates took refuge on the flat roof, and Mrs. Beresford actually killed two or three of the wretches herself, who were attacking her daughters. Most of these Europeans who were massacred were writers and clerks of the custom-house,

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or shopkeepers, living in the city: the officers had a better chance of escape, as they lived at cantonments two or three miles off: We also passed the Magazine, and saw the marks of the explosion caused by poor young Willoughby attempting to blow it up.

In the evening, we again went out on the elephant towards the Kashmir Gate; and on entering the Mainguard, a small court-yard, it presented a strange spectacle of ruin. When the mutiny broke out, several officers were sabred here, and the trees were torn and broken by the shot and shell. A party of sepoys and an officer formerly took turns in guarding this place. We passed over a deep, wide moat through the gateway, which is so wide that a carriage can be driven along the top: its massive strength surprised me. The road to the gate, which is commanded by the walls and bastions, winds round a raised mound immediately in front of the gate. When I perceived how difficult it was to approach the gate, and how well it was commanded by the guns of the city, I appreciated more than ever the noble deed that had been performed by that little band of heroes. I may be allowed briefly to relate this memorable exploit.

Early on the morning of the 14th of September, when the head of the first column of stormers arrived close to the Kashmir Gate unperceived by the enemy, owing to the winding of the road, a small party, consisting of Lieutenants Salkeld and Home,

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and Sergeants Carmichael, Burgess, and Smith, with four sappers and a bugler, advanced, and went up to the gate. The instant that Lieutenant Home laid the powder at the foot of the gate, the enemy perceived them, and opened, from all sides, a heavy fire on the little band. Sergeant Carmichael was just going to fire the fusee, when he was shot dead. Sergeant Burgess then took the fusee, and was also shot dead. Lieutenant Salkeld then seized it, but was shot through the arm, and fell over into the moat, breaking his leg in the fall; but when falling, he threw the fusee to Sergeant Smith, who fired the charge, which exploded, killing about seventeen of the enemy, and shattering the gate. The bugler instantly sounded the advance, and the column rushed on, and entered the city.

We went on by the road round Delhi, and saw the road leading to cantonments. The walls and bastions opposite Hindu Rao’s house were very much destroyed, and the Mori bastion was almost a mass of ruins. We also passed the Sikhs’ camp: these men are so dirty that they were obliged to be kept outside the walls; they certainly looked very wild, sitting in groups round their fires, the light flashing on their brigandish swarthy faces, khaki uniforms, and strange, fantastic weapons: they were cheering themselves by singing wild, but not unmusical, melodies. We skirted the old city of Delhi, said to be the lurking place of many escaped sepoys and citizens, who

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quitted the city on the entrance of our troops to hatch further mischief under the shelter of deserted mosques, forming extensive ruins near an old Mussulman burial ground. Most of the natives hiding here are said to be Ghazis – men who are brought up to think that by killing, mutilating, and exterminating all the Feringhis, they are fulfilling the wishes of their Prophet, and gaining for themselves a happy place in Paradise.

We re-entered the city by the Lahore Gate. Out of the eleven gates only three were allowed to be opened, the Lahore, Calcutta, and Kashmir Gates. Passing down the Chandney Chowk, we soon reached our quarters; they looked quite snug and home-like after the dismal scenes of desolation we had so lately passed through, and which were wound up by a funeral procession, chanting weird-like strains of lamentation, looking like a train of condemned spirits on their way to Hades.

Captain Garstone, having returned from Meerut, joined us at dinner; he brought me a nice little knitted hood for my baby – a very acceptable present.

It was very strange to go round some of the back streets and alleys of Delhi at night, many of them so narrow that we had to go some distance before finding a place wide enough for the elephant to turn in. These lanes were pervaded by a noisome smell, and I often fancied that dead sepoys must be lying in the houses.

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We saw bits of regimentals, shakos, and cartouche boxes lying scattered about, and the only living things visible were some wretched cats, mourning over the ruins of their habitations. The houses were utterly deserted, and as “loot” had been found in them, I kept a good look out from my elevated position, into the rooms; but I saw nothing except a music-book, for which I instantly sent the coolie who waited on the elephant. It was full of chants and hymns copied in a lady’s hand; and as I heard Miss Jennings played the harmonium in the church, I fancied it might have been hers, and thrown there by some plunderer as useless. Poor Miss Jennings was engaged to be married; and all who knew her said she was a most amiable person. Major Reid called on Captain Garstone, who commanded the Gurkhas, and had been at the mosque during the whole of the siege, and he talked pathetically of his little Gurkhas, saying that they were pining for their. blue mountains.

On Wednesday the 23rd the Nawab of Jhujjhur was hanged. He was purposely put to death before Christmas-day, to show our contempt for the natives, who had threatened a rising on that day. Captain Garstone went to see the execution, and said the Nawab was a long time dying. The provost-marshal who performed this revolting duty, had put to death between 400 and 500 wretches since the siege, and was now thinking of resigning his office. The soldiers,

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inured to sights of horror, and inveterate against the sepoys, were said to have bribed the executioner to keep them a long time hanging, as they liked to see the criminals dance a “Pandie’s hornpipe,” as they termed the dying struggles of the wretches.

Delhi now seemed a place fitted to breed malaria and fever, its back streets were so dirty, and full of stagnant water and half-charred bricks. On Thursday (Christmas Eve), Captain Garstone drove me to see cantonments, about three miles from the city; and passing the church I observed it was riddled with shot, and the pillars broken: some soldiers, looking ill and worn, were walking about near it; the church being used as a hospital.

The wind swept sharply across the plain, making us feel bitterly cold. As we drove on, Captain Gar-stone pointed out the places were our piquets were posted, showing how they had gradually drawn nearer to the city: also the spot where the General and his staff used to come out to reconnoitre with telescopes and field-glasses.

Sir Theophilus Metcalfe’s house, where we had formerly stationed a piquet, was very much destroyed; it was a large pucka house, situated in the middle of a park-like compound.

All the houses in cantonments were burnt and ruined; amongst them the house of my uncle, Colonel Stuart Menteath, who had been Brigade-major of Delhi for some years. Captain Garstone pointed out

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to me one of the bells of arms (small circular stone buildings for the sepoys to put their arms in at night), in which an officer’s wife and children had lived during the whole siege.

Before the cantonment, which was situated in a hollow, was a high ridge of ground, covered with brushwood and prickly pear, and large blocks of stone; beyond this was the site of our camp, and indications of it are still to be seen on the bare plain, – the holes where the tent poles had been erected, and the places of camp fires; also broken bottles and all sorts of fragments. Captain Garstone pointed out the exact spot on which the General’s tent had stood, and, further on, his own; and he told me that the cantonment cemetery was so full of our poor soldiers, that, before Delhi was taken, another piece of ground had to be marked out for a burial-ground.

We walked up to the flag staff; which, as the “crow flies,” is only a mile from Delhi. It was here that people from cantonments had waited for some hours, hearing the firing, dying shrieks, and triumphant yells of the assailants in the city, not knowing what to do; till at last, finding all was over, they had made off to Karnal and Meerut. I also saw the very place where the cart full of dead bodies had remained more than a month, they having been left a prey all that time to vultures and jackals. ...

Captain Garstone said he had frequently had to

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ride from our camp to the little mosque with orders; and he showed me the indentation in the earth caused by a shell which had exploded close to him, the space between the two places being much exposed to the enemy’s guns. This mosque was marked all over with round shot and shell, and it was so near the walls, that our troops could hear the sepoys singing on the ramparts. It was very strongly built, with massive walls, and was held during the whole siege by a guard of the Simoor Battalion, commanded by Major Reid, and the 60th Rifles. Hindu Rao’s house is a large pucka house, standing on an eminence, and bears many signs of the storm of shot and shell, in its broken windows, and shattered doors and balconies. I entered a room in the house, which looked gloomy and damp: here the poor wounded soldiers had been taken in to have their wounds dressed. Once a shell burst in it, and killed au officer and several men; and I shuddered when Captain Garstone told me he had seen the floor a pool of blood. Near this house we had two batteries; and from this elevated ridge you look down on one side upon the city, and on the other upon cantonments. The ground and trees were torn by shot and shell. The broken and irregular ground formed a good cover for the enemy, who used, in the early part of the siege, to steal out, concealed by the ditch round the city walls, and surprise our piquets; but being without a leader, and having no fixed

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plan of action, they never knew how to follow up an advantage.

The stillness was quite painful, and when I looked on the city lying before me, with its white houses, lofty domes, and slender minarets, shining calmly in the sun, I thought of the strange contrast it formed to the terrible confusion that had reigned so short a time before within its now apparently peaceful walls. It was a thrilling sight to turn and look on the dreary waste, where our brave soldiers for months had endured the harassing attacks of a swarming enemy under a burning sun and scorching winds, and amidst death in various forms; knowing all the time that the fate of India, their own lives, and those of thousands besides, depended on their success: only the feeling that they must conquer or die, could have sustained them; like Hannibal’s soldiers after the burning of their ships. We descended the hill and drove home, thinking of the aching hearts at home that must have waited, in fearful suspense, the news of victory or defeat; and of the many desolated lives and broken hearts the retaking of that city had cost.

Sir Theophilus Metcalfe “tiffed” with the Garstones. He is a wonderful man in the eyes of the natives, who have a wholesome dread of him. When I was at Delhi he was busy hunting out, trying, and hanging mutineers and murderers: he has a lynx eye for detecting culprits. One day, when passing General

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Penney’s house, amongst a guard of sawars, he detected a murderer, and instantly singled him out, tried, and condemned him: he also found out poor Mr. Frazer’s murderer, and had him hanged. One day, a native jeweller came to offer his wares for sale to Mrs. Garstone, who, thinking he charged too much, said, “I will send you to Metcalfe, sahib;” on hearing which, the man bolted in such a hurry that he left his treasures behind, and never again showed his face.

Hearing that Mrs. Procter had gone to Ambalah, and that Mrs. Blake intended to stay over Christmas-day, I, at Mrs. Garstone’s request, agreed to stay also. I wished to see the rooms where the “loot” was sold by the prize agents; but as it was a general holiday, being Christmas, they were not open. We often saw the commissioner, Mr. Saunders, and his wife driving about, and they seemed very popular.

Christmas-day was ushered in by troops of sleek, self-satisfied looking natives, covered with “caste marks,” coming to the Garstones, followed by coolies bearing large trays of offerings – oranges, boxes of dried grapes and peaches from Kashmir, almonds, sugar-candy, and kismuts153, which much delighted the little Garstones. These they offered in a whining, hypocritical way, till at last there was quite a pile of trays in the court-yard. It is customary with the natives to propitiate the “Sahibs” in this way on

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Christmas-day, which is quite a gala day with them: they go round for Baksheesh, and substitute garlands of yellow jessamine and tinsel for holly. We went to service in the Dewan-i-Khas, though we were rather nervous about the threatened rising. In the middle of service we heard a buzzing, chattering noise going on outside, and began to look uneasily at one another; till an officer went out and found the servants quarrelling and making a great noise, which soon ceased, much to our relief. They had a similar panic at Simla on Christmas-day, only of a more serious nature.

In the afternoon, Captain and Mrs. Garstone and myself, with another officer and his wife, went to see the King of Delhi. We drove down the Corridor into a dirty street, formerly occupied by the king’s poor relations, of which he had a great number. It is customary amongst rich natives to live in large families, clustered together in one compound, as the rick natives support their poorer relations. At last we came to a small white house guarded by a Gurkha, and then turned down a narrow passage into a large court-yard, in which were more houses occupied by prisoners of importance waiting for their trial, and guarded by Gurkhas and men of the 60th Rifles: all places of importance inside the palace walls are guarded by these men. We then came to a large, ruined, and broken-up garden, where we were joined by Mr. Omanney, a young civilian, who had charge

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of the king. We climbed some steep steps on to the terrace, where some more guards were walking before the door, and entered a dirty-looking house, then the abode of the “king of kings,” the descendant of a long line of Moguls, including Shah Jehan, Aurungzebe, and Timour. Pushing aside the purdah, we entered a small, dirty, low room with whitewashed walls, and there, on a low charpoy, cowered a thin small old man, dressed in a dirty white suit of cotton, and rolled in shabby wraps and rezais, on account of the cold. At our entrance he laid aside the hookah he had been smoking, and he, who had formerly thought it an insult for any one to sit in his presence, began salaaming to us in the most abject manner, and saying he was “burra kooshee” (very glad) to see us.

As we looked at him we thought how strange it was that this frail old man, tottering on the brink of the grave, could harbour such a plot and such deep revengeful feelings against us. His face was pale and wan, and his eyes weak and uncertain, seeming to shun our scrutiny; but an aristocratic expression of face reminded us of his noble descent. He had a venerable-looking white beard, and he swayed about in a frail decrepit way, exciting feelings that were a mixture of contempt, abhorrence, and pity: contempt, for the degraded position to which he had brought himself by his wild scheme of reinstating himself on a throne which he could only hope to

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enjoy for a passing year or two; abhorrence, that he could give up our poor countrymen to be brutally murdered, and even, it is said, feast his eyes and ears on their dying anguish; and pity, that he should have so short a time for repentance, and that the descendant of a line of kings, whose splendour and power were boundless, should be thus degraded.

We ladies, after gazing at the king and his son, Jumma Bukh, son of Zeenat Mahal, the king’s favourite wife, who had a shrewd clever face for a boy of about fourteen, were allowed to see the queen, Zeenat Mahal, – a favour not granted to the gentlemen. It seemed absurd to humour thus their silly prejudices, when they had spared no European in their power any indignity or insult. However, we raised the “chick” which separated the queen’s room from the king’s, and entered a very small bare, shabby room. Seated on a charpoy we beheld a large bold-looking woman, with not the least sign of royalty or dignity about her. She seemed about forty; her complexion was tawny, and her face large and coarsely featured, with daring black eyes and wide mouth, and dark hair partially concealed under her white cotton chudda. She wore a cotton dress of black print and but few ornaments; her small and well-shaped hands and feet were bare. Judging from her looks, she seemed capable of inciting the king on to deeds of blood, which she was accused of having done. She began asking Mrs.

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Garstone and the other lady about their husbands, and why Mrs. Garstone had not brought her children, as she wished to see them; then, looking at my black dress, she sneeringly asked me what had become of my “sahib.” I was so angry at her look and tone of heartless contempt, that I said, “Chupero” (silence), and walked out of her presence.

On the terrace outside the queen’s room were some dirty native women cooking her dinner. I had noticed, sitting near the queen, a young nice-looking girl, dressed in white, who I believe was the wife of the king’s son, the boy we had just seen. I afterwards heard that the king and queen did not live on very good terms. She said that he would still consider himself a king, and when she sent for things from the bazaar, he pronounced them not good enough for him; and that he would not smoke the tobacco when it came, because he did not consider it nice enough. He complained that she had plenty of concealed money and jewels, which she would not sacrifice to his comfort; so that Mr. Omanncy was obliged to allow him four annas a day, – about sixpence.

On returning to our quarters, I laid my dak to Ambalah, and sent on my box with the dhye’s husband and child, as we were to follow next day; and in the evening I had my last ride on the elephant. I heard in one of the streets a party of soldiers, sitting round a fire, singing “Annie Laurie:” the cheerful chorus of voices sounded strange, rising from this

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“City of the Dead,” for the greater part of Delhi deserved no better name. We were also regaled by savoury smells; for I believe all our soldiers were allowed a certain sum to provide a Christmas dinner. Our celebration of Christmas-day was a strange contrast to the celebration of it at home, where happy people were going to church, cheered by the chiming of bells and surrounded by joyful faces. We, however, contrived to have a Christmas dinner, and Captain Garstone rejoiced his children by some Christmas gifts.

Early next morning my gharry came: even it bore marks of a siege, for the lining was torn, and the doors and windows shattered by bullets.

Mrs. Garstone kindly provided mc with a plentiful supply of food, some oranges and boxes of grapes, and one or two little reminiscences of Delhi. After saying good-bye to my kind friends, I drove through the corridor, which echoed to the rumbling of the gharry, and took my last look of the moody little Gurkhas sitting in the murky darkness of their “dens,” smoking and eating their breakfasts: passing through the barbacan, I drove to Dr. Batson’s, where I found Mrs. Blake and Mr. Fitzgerald ready to start.

We soon took a last view of the “City of Horrors? I could not but think it was a disgrace to England that this city, instead of being razed to the ground, should be allowed to stand, with its blood-stained

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walls and streets, – an everlasting memorial of the galling insult offered to England’s honour. Many would forget this insult; but it cannot, and ought not to be forgotten. Yet the natives are actually allowed to ransom back their city, street by street; whereas, if it were destroyed, being their most sacred city, and one that reminds them of their fallen grandeur, it would do more to manifest our abhorrence of their crimes, and our indignation against them, than the hanging of hundreds.

Delhi ought to be razed to the ground, and on its ruins a church or monument should be erected, inscribed with a list of all the victims of the mutinies, – if it be possible to gather the names of ALL those who were massacred, – and the funds for its erection should be raised by a fine levied ou every native implicated in the mutinies, but not openly accused of murder.

Not only our victories of 1857 must be remembered, but the cruel massacres of English men and women which preceded them. Such atrocities ought never to be buried in oblivion.

We travelled along the road by which our army had marched to Delhi a few months before; the plain near it, Mr. Fitzgerald said, was strewed with bones, as there was fought the first battle, when the rebels came out to attack our force. I saw the “Serai,” which had cost us so much to gain; its high mud walls offering such resistance to our guns, and its

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court affording protection to the enemy. On the 26th of December, we reached the dak bungalow at Kurnaul, where General Anson had died of cholera: we stayed the night there. The next day we came to the end of our journey by gharry, and found our “dhoolies” waiting, as Mr. Fitzgerald had directed, by the road-side; and we arrived at the hotel at Ambalah in time for dinner on Sunday, but too late to go to service.

On Monday Mrs. Procter came to see us before leaving for the Punjab. Mrs. Blake then went to stay with Mrs. Hope Grant, and I, to Mrs. Fitzgerald, whose husband we had met at Aligarh. I then “laid” my dak to Simla, and as my dhye was an incessant trouble to me, I changed her for an European soldier’s widow, whose husband had been killed at Delhi. Here I bought for my baby some putto, a soft cloth made of camel’s hair, which the Kashmiris brought to the door, as Simla was very cold. I received a letter from my aunt, giving me directions about my journey, and saying, that a pony and servant would wait for me at the first dak bungalow from Simla. Mrs. Blake agreed to stay with Mrs. Hope Grant till she heard of the arrival of the invalids at Firuzpur, or any other way of getting home; when I hoped to join her.

Footnotes

147. Purdahs, quilted curtains.

148. Admi, husband.

149. Mollees, gardeners

150. Ghurras, earthen vessels.

151. Kotwall, police house.

152. Mirza Mogul, the king’s nephew, Mirza Kishere Sultamet, Abe Bukt; this last said he died happy, for he had seen British women dragged through the streets of Delhi.

153. Kismuts, dried fruit, like almonds

This collection transcribed by Chris Gage
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