Life was a blank to me for many days; therefore I know little of the events that happened between the time of our arrival in Agra and our going into the fort about ten days after. I lay all day in a room with a wet towel wrapped round my head, utterly stunned: everything seemed like a fearful dream. I could not believe that what had passed was real. My head felt throbbing and painful: we must all have suffered from partial coup-de-soleil – the exhaustion produced by want of proper food and rest, and distress of mind left me without the power of doing anything. The weather was oppressively hot, and we had not the proper appliances to mitigate the heat: there was no one to pull the punkhas, as the servants no longer cared to attend to us. I had nothing in the world but what I had escaped in; and though the Agra ladies sent us a few clothes, there were so many for them to be divided amongst, that few fell to my share. Mrs. Innes was very kind in getting some clothes made for me; but there was great difficulty in procuring any materials, as the native shopkeepers and bazaar people had buried all their property,
and no kupra-wallahs97 or box-wallahs98 now ventured to sell their goods; some went off to Calcutta, or Bombay, and others, securing their own goods, made themselves ready to plunder others, and take an active part in the rebellion. However, Mrs. Innes did manage, by sending a servant out, to get us a few coarse things. I had a miserable black print. We had great difficulty in procuring a little flannel, which was now very necessary.
It is a common practice with natives, when there is an alarm, to bury their property; and in this way most of the Delhi loot was found. When a native suspects treasure has been buried, he searches for the place where he thinks it has been concealed, and throws water on it; if it sinks rapidly in, he knows the earth has been recently stirred, and then begins digging; and if he is lucky, he may light on some earthen vessel filled with gold mohurs99 or rupees. I was told that Major Hodson, of Delhi renown, once, on a foraging expedition, came to a wall which his keen eye perceived to be the depository of treasure. He instantly went in search of assistance; but on his return, to his great disappointment, he found nothing but empty vessels: some one having been too quick for him had carried off the golden store.
After sleeping the first night in the garden, it was
thought safer that we should go to the barracks to sleep; as they were in a central position and well guarded. Our beds were placed under the verandah surrounding the barracks. The Campbells, Steven-sons and several others slept here. The crickets, frogs, and jackals kept up a dismal concert all night, and cockroaches, two or three inches long, swarmed all around us. We had a long drive every night; often through pouring rain (for the rainy season was just commencing); the nights were pitch dark, and we were occasionally startled by seeing some native skulking about. We had to pass several sentries, whose challenges Major Macpherson answered; but sometimes he forgot the pass-word, and we had to wait till Mrs. Innes remembered it. The first night it was “Oxford,” and the next “Putney.” The poor soldiers, many of whom were very young, looked quite worn out with patrolling and extra work.
One night the sentry close to us was fired at; instantly all the gentlemen were up, but it was not found out who had caused the alarm. Several people were thus fired at during that week. Every morning we returned from the barracks, and I again lay in my room. Mrs. Innes borrowed a Bible for me, which afforded me much consolation. I had 10l. given me from Government, which was to last me three months, as I could not get any money from Calcutta.
The weather became daily more oppressive, and affairs looked more gloomy. Life really seemed a burden; it was only one long struggle to preserve it. No one dared look forward a single day. Rumours were spread that a large force was collecting in the vicinity of Agra, against which our small force could do little good; but the fort stood us in good stead, and our deepest gratitude is due for its good service. We heard bad news from the surrounding country of Lucknow and Kanhpur, and no tidings of help coming from England then.
Major Macpherson, at my request, sent as trustworthy a native as could then be found to Gwalior to find out all particulars. Just afterwards my kitmutghar came in from Gwalior on the 24th, the first anniversary of my wedding day, and from him I learnt all, and more than I wished to know: and thus my last faint hope vanished. He told me that all the bodies of the killed had been thrown into a dry nullah100. He also said that the day after the mutiny the Maharajah had come down to cantonments, and been received by the mutinous troops as their king, and had held a parade. I hardly believed this at the time; but I afterwards remembered seeing in the paper that the mutiny
of the 34th N. I., at Barrackpur, was to have taken place the very day the Rajah had fixed for his grand fête at Calcutta. His sudden departure put a stop to it. Perhaps he thought thus to avoid suspicion; but who can find out the motives of “a doubly-dyed traitorous Mahratta”? Another mysterious matter connected with the Maharajah, and which many people have commented on is, that he in some way prevented the women from being killed at Gwalior. It is said that he knew of the mutiny, and extracted a promise from the sepoys to spare the women: else why, it is urged, did they not kill us when we were so completely in their power, and they were drunk with bhang101 and brandy? Gwalior is the only station where the women were not killed. If the Rajah could so far protect us, and give a guard and carriages to take some of the fugitives to Agra, – thus showing the sepoys he was not wholly on their side, – why did he not warn us, and send the women and children to Agra? We should all have gone on Sunday, the instant the fires broke out. Why did he not, instead of taking us to his palace, let us go to Agra, when we first made our escape to the residency, and the carriages were all ready waiting and only wanting a guard from him? for then we were not prohibited from going by Mr. Colvin’s order. I am afraid it is impossible to explain these mysterious circumstances.
It is also said that the sepoys at Gwalior were communicating long before the 14th of June – and that the Rajah knew of it – with the regiments’ of the Contingent which had left (the 1st Grenadiers and the Cavalry), and sending lists of those they particularly wished to kill.
The kitmutghar pretended to be very sorry for what had happened, and “wept crocodile’s tears.” I found out, as I had anticipated, that he had got our plate and £50. in rupees, left in our house, for his share, and that the ayah had got my dresses, &c; but he complained that the sepoys had treated them very badly, and made them give them up the plunder, and that even the villagers, on his way to Agra, had robbed him of the little he had left. The man looked dirty and forlorn; very different to his gay clean appearance little more than a week before. He, however, brought me my poor little puppy “Jack.”
Poor Mrs. Blake now heard of the murder of her brother, Mr. Ricketts, at Shahjahanpur. The mutiny there had taken place before the Gwalior mutiny, whilst the people were in church. Sunday seems to have been the chosen day for the sepoys’ rising: whether they had some idea connected with religion, or whether they thought we were less on our guard on that day, can only he conjectured. I refrain from giving any details of the horrible mutinies, accounts of which daily poured in; for the
papers have teemed with graphic accounts of every mutiny, and the massacres of Kanhpur, Jhansi, Delhi, and Meerut are seared on the hearts of many in burning characters.
I was very glad to hear from Mrs. Innes that many had escaped from Gwalior on Sunday night. During the first ten minutes after the alarm bugle sounded, they had all crossed the nullah, which in some places was very shallow, though in others they were obliged to swim: they had then met at the Lushkur, where the Maharajah very kindly received them and, as I have mentioned, gave them a guard and carriages. They gave up for lost all those left behind. They accomplished their journey to Agra in about two days without much difficulty, excepting once, when they were nearly betrayed into an ambush at Dholpur; this it was which gave rise to the fearful reports we had heard there. Those who thus escaped were the Meades, Murrays, Hennessys, Piersons, Mrs. Ferris, Mrs. Christison, Captain Longville Clarke, Mr. Smalley, Dr. Sheitz, Brigadier Ramsay, Dr. Mackellar, and Captain Ryves: the two last rode the whole way to Agra on horseback. Lieutenant Pierson, Captain Longville Clarke, Captain Ryves (who had escaped from Jhansi), and Dr. Mackellar, were the only officers who escaped, after having ridden down to the lines. They were in imminent danger of being fired at: Captain Longville Clarke was wounded, and Lieutenant Pierson
re-joined his wife, whom the sepoys actually brought to him, and carried some miles in a horse cloth, slung between their muskets. It seems very strange that the sepoys should have treated him with such kindness, when he had only arrived about six weeks before the mutiny broke out: he was adjutant in the same regiment as poor Major Blake.
Mrs. Hennessy lived in a large pucka-house, which, being not so liable to take fire, Mrs. Christison and her child took refuge in before the mutiny broke out. Mrs. Ferris, wife of a commanding officer at one of the out-stations, and her children, were also staying with her. As soon as the alarm bugle sounded, Mrs. Hennessy’s son, a youth of about seventeen, urged them to fly: he helped them, and took care of these ladies and children, and of his own little sister, and protected them all the way to the Lushkur. Mrs. Ferris and Mrs. Christison escaped without shoes or bonnets, as they were just going to bed. There were at that time six ladies and eight children at Gwalior, their husbands and fathers having left with their regiments, with no one to protect them, or even to be responsible for their safety. Lieutenant and Mrs. Procter stayed all night with Mrs. Gilbert at her earnest entreaty; she could not ride, and her servants would not let her have her carriage. Perhaps had Mr. Procter ridden off with his wife, as they had planned, he might have escaped; but he would not leave an unprotected woman.
The Meades’ house was on the banks of the nullah. Mrs. Murray, whose child had been buried that morning, had gone to her sister, so they were all together. They were just retiring to rest, I believe, when the alarm bugle sounded; they instantly snatched up their children, and with some servants, ran out and crossed the nullah, which was fortunately shallow there.. They hid in a small guardhouse for some time, till their husbands joined them. The guard of their own house hid them, and even advised them to go to the Rajah’s; so they walked as fast as they could to his palace, where they found Major Macpherson and Mrs. Innes, who had driven from the Residency to the palace, in a great state of alarm about those left behind. Seeing the sepoys hunting about on the banks of the nullah, hearing the shouts and firing, and seeing the houses blazing, they thought all was over with those left behind. All those who escaped in this manner knew the surrounding country well, and some had been born at Gwalior.
I still was very anxious to know the fate of poor Mrs. Stuart and Mrs. Hawkins; and at last heard that Mrs. Hawkins had arrived in Agra with her remaining three children and little Charlotte Stuart. She had seen her husband, her two children, Mrs. Stuart, and her child, and her nurse, a European, all killed! She afterwards described to me the horrid scene. On Monday morning the sepoys rushed into
the hut where they were hiding, and fired at Capt. Hawkins; the same bullet killed Mrs. Stuart, who was clinging to his arm; they then killed the nurse, and it was supposed the infant was killed by falling with her. A blow with a tulwah killed Mrs. Stuart’s little boy, two years old, and Mrs. Hawkins’s other child. It seems very wonderful why they spared Mrs. Hawkins’s three remaining children; for two of them were boys, and they had sworn to kill all the sahibs: poor little Kirke was only spared because they thought he was a girl. Mrs. Stuart’s bearer remained faithful to Mrs. Hawkins, and hid her three children and Charlotte Stuart on the top of a hut. Mrs. Hawkins was too weak to move, and the sepoys would not let her have any water; at last she crept down to the nullah to get some water for her children, when one, more merciful than the rest gave her some. She also got a note conveyed by some means to Colonel Filose, who lived in the Lushkur. He and his brother are descendants of the famous French officer who trained the Mahratta troops in former days; and ever since a descendant of his has had the command of the Rajah’s forces. Colonel Filose lived in a handsome house in the Lushkur, and was treated with great respect by the Rajah. He sent a cart for Mrs. Hawkins and her children, to whom the sepoys at last gave some clothes, which she sadly needed, and let them go, accompanied by the faithful bearer.
Captain Stuart lay all Sunday night in a hut, wounded, but not mortally. The faithful bearer attended to him and gave him some milk and water. In the morning he asked after his wife, and on hearing she was killed said he no longer cared to live. The sepoys then took him to the place where the elephants were kept, some distance off; and there shot him. Captain Stuart and his wife were both young; but perhaps it was better they should die together. Poor Mrs. Hawkins was very ill for some time, and as soon as it was safe went up to her brother in the hills. I shall never forget her patient endurance; though sorely tried, she never murmured.
Little Charlotte Stuart, who was about six years old, remained in the fort under the care of some kind friends; but the poor little thing, from being the merriest child in Gwalior, became quite grave and melancholy. The bearer never deserted her. One day, on meeting Mrs. Blake in the fort, she asked her if she had any pictures of Gwalior.
There was one other woman killed at Gwalior; I forget her name, but she was the widow of the conductor, who had something to do with the commissariat at Gwalior: he had risen from the ranks, and had saved a great deal of money. He died a short time before the mutiny, and his wife buried his boxes of treasure, thinking they would be safe; and on the sepoys demanding the treasure, she refused to show them where it was hid, whereupon they shot her.
Poor Mrs. Ferris, shortly after her arrival, heard of the death of her husband. He was coming in to Gwalior from one of the out-stations, to join his wife, who had been sent there for safety, when he and a young officer who was with him were stopped and dragged out of their gharry102 by the villagers, tied to a tree and flogged. Major Ferris soon died; but the young officer survived the flogging: perhaps his youth and good constitution sustained him; at all events, he came into Agra and brought the report of Major Ferris’s fate; but he was ill for a long time after. I must now return to the events at the fort.
It was now feared that the Gwalior Contingent, which had all collected at Gwalior, on finding that Agra was not destroyed and all the Feringhis killed, as they had said, would join the Nimach mutineers, who were collecting in our neighbourhood, and march on Agra; but, strange to say, they did not, being too much occupied in plundering and quarrelling among themselves to care for further conquest. Had they marched on the fort, they would certainly have taken it, and the same tragedy might have happened as at Kanhpur; for they were well disciplined, and had a heavy siege train. It was thought prudent to issue an order that all the women and children should go into the fort. At first the order was not peremptory; but many who lived at a distance from the fort took advantage of it.
The gentlemen were not included in this order, as they were to remain, and do what they could to protect the city; and many were enrolled in the militia commanded by Lieutenant Greathed. All the force we now had to depend upon, since disbanding the native regiments, was the 3rd Europeans, about six hundred strong, Captain D’Oyley’s field battery of six guns, and a corps of European volunteer cavalry under Lieutenant Greathed, about two hundred in number. The stations at Aligarh had been held, since the mutiny there on the 19th of May, by a detachment of the Gwalior Contingent; but when they heard of the mutiny at Gwalior, they would no longer remain faithful even in appearance, though they told their officers to escape. On the 23rd of June the guard at the gaol mutinied, so that it had to be guarded by some of the 3rd Europeans, commanded inside by Dr. Walker, superintendent.
Hearing there was a chance of a mail reaching Bombay, I wrote to my father and to my husband’s father; and I afterwards heard that mine were almost the only letters sent by that mail which reached England. They had unfortunately heard at home of the mutiny at Gwalior before the arrival of my letters.
It was finally arranged that Dr. Mackellar should take Mrs. Innes and myself to the fort. We started about 5 o’clock p.m. of the 29th, and I took my last look of the house and garden where some of the most miserable days of my life had been passed – days
never to be forgotten. ... I only saw it again as a mass of blackened ruins: one of the many proofs of the natives’ bitter hatred for us. We had a very unpleasant drive, having to pass through one of the crowded bazaars. The throng and noise was overwhelming, the numbers being increased by the villagers, who had flocked in ostensibly for safety, but no doubt in anticipation of the events that soon followed, when they joined in plundering and sacking the cantonments. They had brought all their household goods in hackeries103; and the growling camels, bellowing bullocks, and barking pariah dogs seemed to be trying to outdo one another in noise. We had some distance to drive, as the fort was further from cantonments than the city, and the nearer we approached it the denser became the crowd; it was now increased by carriages full of ladies and children, on their way to the fort, by carts, hackeries, and camels loaded with boxes, tables, chairs, and bedding; now and then officers on horseback, galloping along with some order, or a native chief, or sowar, glittering with arms, and showing off their horsemanship on prancing steeds, dashed through the crowd.
The native population seemed to be in a state of great excitement, evidently enjoying our retreat; but beneath this outward excitement of demeanour lurked deep and treacherous designs, only waiting an opportunity to develop themselves.
We descended a steep hill, and the fort then loomed upon us in all its massive strength, with its walls and battlements of dark red stone, and its formidable looking entrance guarded by some of the 3rd Europeans. We had not time then to estimate its merits and defects; and though its massive walls and loopholes, from which frowned the cannon, and the gateway with its drawbridge spanning the wide and deep moat surrounding the fort, were assuring, still we could not help shuddering at the possibility of its being besieged. Indeed, had the enemy then attacked it, our small force would have been quite insufficient to defend its immense extent of walls and ramparts in such an exposed position; and there were afterwards found to be numerous underground passages, leading from the city immediately into the fort. We can now look back with thankfulness that we were not exposed to a siege.
Here we had to walk, as carriages were not admitted across the drawbridge; and it was very fatiguing to force our way through the crowd that now thronged the entrance. At last we entered the barbican, and passed through the large massive doors clamped with iron, the wicket of which was only open: we had to wait some time in the outer court till the first door was shut, as only one was allowed to be open at once. We walked up a steep inclined plane, paved with rough stones, which was commanded by the walls and guns, and by a guard-house
on each side the archway, leading from the outer court; we then passed through another gateway into the armoury square, filled with cannon and piles of ball and shell arranged on each side of the centre road. The crowd and pressure was so great here that I had only time for a passing glance; but I now remembered where I was, for when I first saw the fort a mali104 had run after me to give me a beautiful bouquet gathered from the palace garden. How we ever reached our quarters I know not; for no one seemed to know where to go, and the officers from whom Dr. Mackellar asked the way were quite as much in the dark as himself; however, by dint of struggling and pushing, we found the place appointed for the Gwalior refugees by the authorities: our locality was the palace garden, afterwards denominated “Trafalgar Square,” or “Block F.” After passing through several small courts and alleys we entered a large square and ascended a flight of steps on to an extensive plateau, or terrace, whence we had a beautiful view of the Jumna flowing beneath the walls, and the country stretching far away, with the Taj gleaming softly and fairylike in the gathering darkness; but I did not notice all this at the time, being utterly dazed and bewildered at quitting my quiet room for the confusion of a crowd of excited and alarmed people. The first glance of our future dwelling-place was discouraging and disheartening in the extreme.
Before proceeding with my narrative I will attempt to give some description of the fort, which may be interesting to some, it having been the dwelling-place of many of their countrymen for six months.
The Fort, which is called the key of Hindustan, was taken, in 1803, by the English, under Lord Lake; this and the victory of Laswari put into our hands all Sindia’s possessions on this side the Chumbul. The fort yet bears marks of the siege, in the fractures of the marble and ornaments by the cannon shot.
This fort was one of the few places which remained in our possession in that part of India. Agra first came into notice in the beginning of the sixteenth century: before that it was an inconsiderable village. It was chosen by the son of Beloli, in 1501, for his residence. Sultan Baber, in 1518, defeated the emperor, and put an end to the dynasty of Lodi.
Half a century later it was further enlarged by the Emperor Akbar the Great, who built an extensive palace and again changed its name to Akbarabad; he built an entirely new city on the right bank of the Jumna and was also the founder of the fort at Allahabad. Agra continued to be the seat of the Mogul government until the year 1647, when Delhi was declared the capital of the Emperor Shah Jehan; from which time the decline of Agra may be dated.
During his residence at Agra, Shah Jehan, son of Jahangir, whom he succeeded in 1605, erected the Taj Mahal. His reign was the epoch of the greatest
splendour and prosperity of the Mogul dynasty; though its territory was afterwards greatly extended by Aurungzebe, the magnificence of whose court was unequalled, even by the tales of oriental pomp. Jahangir’s wife, Noor Jehan, was celebrated for her beauty and wit, and has been the fertile theme of many oriental poems and romances.
Shah Jehan was overthrown by the united forces of Aurungzebe and Morad, who deposed and imprisoned him in 1658. Though imprisoned in the fort of Agra he was treated with great respect, and allowed an ample establishment. He died in 1666, in the seventy-fourth year of his age, and was buried in the Taj by the side of his wife105. Aurungzebe died in 1707, and was the Great Mogul of Hindustan.
It is no easy task to attempt a description of the Fort. It is situated so as to command the town and river, and covers an immense extent of ground. Within the walls is a strange mixture of buildings, some for pomp and others for defence. In former days it must have fully realised the most extravagant ideas of oriental luxury and splendour; as it contained sumptuous palaces, lofty marble halls of audience, pavilions, towers and kiosks, terraces and balconies, labyrinths of small grottoes, like cells and passages, tyrconnels106, and subterranean passages. In more
modern times, barracks, magazines, storehouses, and hospitals were added, and every nook and corner crammed with people. The palace built by Akbar, entirely of marble, and the two large halls – the “Dewan-i-khas,” or hall of nobles, the place where the durbars were held, and the “Dewan-i-Amor,” ball of audience – are all very splendid. These halls are raised above the terraces on which they stand, by a platform several feet high, which is surrounded by a low carved marble balustrade. Another hall is called the. “Shish Mahal” or looking-glass palace. These halls, all of white marble, though falling into decay, retain much of their ancient grandeur. The walls, like those of the Taj, are of formed slabs of marble, profusely decorated with mosaics of precious stones. The natives pick out these stones many of which are very valuable, and make chess-tables, boxes, trays, and ornaments of the marble, which they inlay with the gems; such articles, as well as models of the Taj, are frequently bought by travellers.
The Zenana107 is a very curious building of two stories; the upper one used for all common purposes, and the lower being divided into cool grottoes, where, in the hot weather, the houris used to retire to bathe, and whiled away the monotony by games of play: it is a strange medley of passages, stairs, and grottoes. Down a narrow passage there is a deep well, which you can quite imagine has been the death
place of many a fair and frail beauty; the offender was dragged here, and hung from a beam which stretches above the deep dark gulf yawning to receive her dead body. This well is now nearly filled up; but formerly it was of great depth, and looked an awful depository of such dread secrets. The “Moti Masjid,” or pearl mosque, also within the walls of the fort, and next the armoury square, is considered one of the most beautiful specimens of Moslem architecture. It is built entirely of a beautiful creamy white marble, said to be what was left after building the Taj. Ascending a flight of steps of red sandstone, and passing through a vestibule richly decorated with carving, mosaic, and cupolas, you enter a large court paved with slabs of marble; in the centre is a large tank, and the court is surrounded by a row of cloisters, or cells, formerly inhabited by priests and devotees, and now by invalid officers. The Mosque itself is open to the court, and consists of three aisles of arches supported on massive pillars. The polish of the marble is so fine, that it glistens like a mirror. Like other Mahomedan buildings, the Moti Masjid is raised on a chabudra108, and ascended by two or three low steps. This place was used as a hospital during our occupation of the fort. Near the Dewan-i-khas there was a beautiful garden laid out, much like that of the Taj; but shortly after
our arrival it was rooted up, being considered unhealthy, on account of its dense foliage and trees absorbing the damp; and it was only inhabited by cows, goats, fowls, and a young donkey. Around three sides of this garden was a row of small apartments, thought to have been occupied formerly by the king’s ministers and vakeels. These rooms were allotted to the Agra civilians.
Our quarters, which were much less comfortable, were near the Dewan-i-Am: that, I think, was the name of the large marble hall, the court of which was entered, as I have said, by a gateway closed by handsome bronzed doors. Round this court ran a wide balcony or gallery twelve feet wide, the roof supported on arches; and from this balcony projected a narrow stone walk, guarded by a low parapet. This gallery, in former days, was occupied by the king’s servants; and the remains of rings are now visible, from which they used to hang purdahs or thick curtains, to divide the verandah into compartments: our “dens,” or “kennels,” as the officers used to call them, because they reminded them of their former quarters at Addiscombe and Sandhurst, only they were not so large and comfortable. We divided them by jamp-screens, made of grass and bamboo poles. The grass grows in the jungle to the height of six or eight feet; it is silky, but strong and flexible, and the natives use it for thatch and to divide their huts.
The officers who had the allotting of the quarters (a task that was no sinecure) had appointed to us each one arch, which we divided as I have before described. The temporary partitions of grass were so thin, you could hear every word uttered in the next division; and in the morning interchanges of inquiries took place, and it was amusing to hear the conspirator-like whispers people used to converse in when they did not wish to be overheard.
But to return to our first night. Dr. Mackellar was soon obliged to leave us, as he had hospital duty to perform, so we were left alone: only Mrs. Meade, Mrs. Murray and their children, Mrs. Proctor, Mrs. Innes, and myself, occupied our square; the rest had not come. The fort being so large, we were quite separated from the crowd of people that had come in that day; though afterwards the verandah below us was occupied by half-castes. We vainly tried to put things in order; for our few articles of furniture lay scattered about in hopeless confusion. It was growing darker, the poor children were hungry and tired, and their laments and the officiousness of our native servants added to our troubles: the servants, though ostentatiously attentive, seemed to enjoy our perplexity and bewilderment; but they at last got us some tea. After taking it, we found it quite hopeless to attempt putting our “dens” in order, so we had our beds put outside on the projecting stone walk, which was about four feet wide.
The children were then put to sleep, and we set out to explore some part of our future dwelling-place. First we walked on the large terrace near our quarters, and fronting the Diwan-i-Am; it is raised from the terrace on a chabudra, and we ascended into it by two or three steps. It consisted of a large outer hall, separated from an inner one by arches; and from the outer hall, which was open on two sides, we had a beautiful view of the river and Taj; the full radiance of the moon making the river shine like silver, and giving a look of unearthly whiteness to the Taj. The silence was so intense that the only sounds we heard were the rippling of the water and the hooting of the owls. We passed through the inner marble hall, ascending some more steps on to a still higher but smaller terrace, whence we had a bird’s-eye view of all the buildings of the fort and of the palace garden near us, which was not then occupied. Here was a beautiful kiosk109, octagonal in shape, the walls of fretted marble, and the circular roof of copper gilt. This kiosk, which was formerly used by the emperors as a summer-house, we afterwards called “The Tower.” The dead stillness made us feel like intruders in these ancient halls and terraces, which seemed fitted only for the habitation of the shades of their former kings. After wandering about some time, we returned
to our own balcony, where our servants, rolled in their white chuddahs110, lay about asleep.
The next day all my friends went to pass their day in cantonments, so I had a dreary day alone; and having no books I occupied myself in watching the people coming to take possession of their allotted “quarters.” The noise and confusion was deafening; coolies running backwards and forwards with furniture, boxes, &c., bringing large supplies of wood and other useful things, removing old things from their places to make room for the future occupants, and piling things on the roof of our balcony, which Bur-rounded the court-yard on three sides. Some were making the jamps, and all were screaming and shouting without intermission; for a native thinks no work can be done without a great amount of gesticulation and shouting. At last came a lull in the storm, when they were all occupied in eating or sleeping; but this silence, after the terrible noise, only lasted for an hour.
I overheard the natives in the next compartment to mine talking of the Gwalior mutiny; one of the servants who had come in from Gwalior was giving his companions a detailed account of all that had happened on that fatal day: how this “sahib was killed” and where another was shot. It was harrowing to my feelings to hear all this, for I now knew quite enough of Hindustani to understand
what they said, and I distinctly heard them go over the whole account with minute exactness, gloating and dilating on the horrible facts, and then laughing with savage glee over the number that had been killed: I heard them repeatedly speak of the “padre sahib” – my dear husband. Strange to say they had actually placed a guard over the cemetery on that night (the 14th) to prevent the graves being desecrated, for fear the spirits should haunt them; but afterwards they grew more hardy and reckless, and it is said they frequently opened the graves. I believe they opened the grave of one of the former lieutenant-governors of the north-west provinces; and that is the reason why, when Mr. Colvin died, he was buried within the fort walls.
Shortly after our occupation of the fort it was divided into “blocks;” our quarters, as I have before said, were in “block F,” and each compartment was numbered: thus letters were directed to Captain M___ Block F, No. 3, or whatever letter and number it might be. On every gateway, arch, and conspicuous place, were painted large stars, as landmarks; so that with a little questioning you could find your way all over the fort: for so large was it and provided with such a heterogeneous mixture of passages, buildings, gateways, and arches, that I have heard people say it was impossible to find your way through it without a clue. After we had been settled there, and had learnt to look on it as our home for
some time to come, everything was arranged. A staff of sweepers to keep the interior clean were paid by the authorities, and bheesties111, coolies, and other satellites necessary for order and comfort, were hired; butchers, bakers, dhobis, and others carried on their trades within the fort; walls were built and others thrown down; gardens were laid out, and all the daily offices of life were attended to and thought of; nor was death forgotten, for even coffins were made.
The fort was divided as follows: – The Agra civilians occupied comparatively comfortable quarters in the palace gardens; the large marble hall there being employed by the head civilians as a “cutchery112,” and on Sundays for service: one officer’s marriage even was celebrated in it. The officers and their families lived in tents, pitched on a large green opposite the Delhi Gate, and near the Moti Masjid. Here also was a row of small tiled houses, formerly the officers’ quarters when the fort was garrisoned, and now occupied by some of the head military officers, Colonel Grassford, Colonel Fraser, and others, with their families. There were also some other houses, in one of which Lady Outram lived, and the rest were inhabited by officers and their wives. The place where formerly the gun-carriages had stood was occupied by the nuns, and their large school; they turned one large room or storehouse into a
chapel, and fitted it up marvellously well with crucifixes, altars, and candlesticks. The Roman Catholic archbishop and his ecclesiastical staff lived in some large tents on the green, near the officers. The chaplains, Mr. Hind and Mr. Murray, had comfortable quarters, and Mr. French and the other missionaries lived in the palace garden. The unmarried soldiers lived in one set of barracks, and the married with their families occupied another set. The latter were much more comfortably off than we were, and had brought in some of their furniture; indeed some of the married soldiers’ quarters were really very snug. The places where the shopkeepers and merchants lived were very wretched. On the archways and tops of buildings they made small thatched huts, of the same grass our jamps were made of. But it would be a waste of words to describe all the extraordinary places people inhabited: sufficient to say, every available place was crammed, either with sheds of chopperwork113, or rude sorts of shanties, huts, and tents.; and the casemates and barracks were all crowded with occupants, almost as closely packed as bees in a hive. The confusion of tongues was such as to give one some idea of the confusion at the Tower of Babel. The half-castes, or “Kala-Feringhis,” as the natives call them, who are uncharitably said to have the vices of both different races, and the virtues of neither, were in immense swarms, and had to accommodate themselves anywhere. A large number
of them lived in our “square,” just beneath our balcony: the rest lived in holes, tyrconnels, or on the tops of the buildings all over the fort. Poor creatures! they must have had a miserable time of it; for their habitations were very wretched. The census of all the persons in the fort, which was taken on the 26th of July, amounted to no less than 5845; of which 1989 were Europeans, consisting of 1065 men and 924 women and children: the whole of the rest being natives and half-castes.
The walls of the fort are three-quarters of a mile in circumference, and it was victualled for a six months’ siege; but I am very glad we were never obliged to depend on the fort for defence against a heavy siege-train, or on the supplies of the commissariat officers; for in either case we should have been very ill off. The defences of the fort were, however, much strengthened: sixty guns of heavy calibre were mounted on the bastions,. mortars were placed in position, and the powder magazines were secured from accidental explosion. The external defences also were much improved by levelling some houses near; and preparations were completed for blowing up the superb Jumna Masjid, if needful: for if we had been attacked, the enemy might have occupied it, and so have commanded the interior of the fort.
There were several large archways or vestibules within the fort, besides those for egress and ingress. Two of these were in the armoury square; that at
the top of the inclined plane, being used as a shop by one or two of the Agra shop people, who had saved a few of their wares: inside, you ascended into a gallery up a narrow flight of steps, where was arranged, on hastily put up shelves, bottles of wine and beer, canisters of preserved meat, biscuits, and a few drugs, and some stationery. The gallery on the opposite side of the vestibule was occupied by the owners, who had made it into a comfortable little sitting-room; and beneath the galleries were piles of boxes and goods. The vestibule at the opposite end of the armoury square was used as the “dak” office, or post-office; and before it in the morning and eyeing, were generally seen one or two mail-carts and shigrams114.
Now to describe “block F.” Our quarters, as I have before mentioned, were on a piazza, supported on pillars, and we not only had to divide it, but to screw the front with “jamps,” so as to form small rooms. The floor was of “kunka115,” and the doorways were closed by chicks116, or screens made of thin split reeds, which admitted light and air; but as the “jamps” did not reach to the roof, which was formed of massive blocks of sandstone, the partitions had the appearance of a long range of stalls. Our quarters were characterised “stables above, and pigsties below;” the half-castes being beneath us.
Our furniture consisted of two narrow soldier’s cribs, with very hard mattresses and but scanty bedclothes, a small camp table, two or three chairs, and boxes to contain our stores and meagre wardrobe; and in one corner were the cooking vessels, and earthen pots for water. Our toilette apparatus consisted of a small “chillumchie117,” and a cracked looking-glass. A lamp, a few cups and saucers, plates, knives and forks, completed the ménage. This “den” and its furniture I shared with Mrs. Inner; and it is a sample of all the others.
In these “dens” we performed all the necessary acts of life: cooking and eating, dressing and undressing, sleeping and sitting up; but occasionally we went into the marble hall, where we sometimes carried our “rezais118” and lay down, as the breeze from the river made it cooler than our heated and crowded quarters. Many of the gentlemen and some of the ladies also, had their “charpoys” carried into the marble hall, and passed the night there, for the sake of the coolness; indeed some of the Agra people. who were richer in furniture than we, took all their meals there. One almost wondered that the ghosts of the ancient moguls and sultanas did not slut from their graves in horror and amazement at the desecration of all their sacred temples and beautiful halls and palaces, which were defiled by being turned into cooking and sleeping places by the
“cursed Kaffir:” indeed, no pen can adequately describe the metamorphosis.
I must now recur to the evening of the second day in the fort, when all my friends returned, bringing fresh and alarming reports: not only was the Gwalior Contingent expected, but the Nimach mutineers were close to Agra. An order was now issued that every man capable of bearing arms, was to be armed and take part in garrison duty. Of course this was not very cheering, for at Gwalior alone there were four regiments, besides two batteries, and guns of heavy calibre. I cannot well remember what passed the first week we were in the fort, such was the bustle and confusion of people daily arriving, who had not before thought it necessary to come into the fort; some having the barracks to sleep in, while others had houses near the fort. The authorities had given orders that no one was to bring in more than one box each, and a few articles of furniture; this order was not literally obeyed in every case, it being thought a very severe one; and many continued to smuggle in, not only a fair quantity of necessaries, but luxuries in the shape of champagne, plate, &c. It must have been very trying to leave beautiful houses, filled with books, pictures, plate, and other valuables, the collection of years, to the mercy of “budmashes119,” and released prisoners, especially as the necessity was not apparently urgent.
The destruction of property was very great; all the houses, both of the military and civil lines, were burnt, and even the barracks, which were quite new (the soldiers had never even occupied them); the handsome Roman Catholic cathedral, and our churches and colleges shared the same fate. It was afterwards said, that the cantonments ought not to have been abandoned; and certainly had a little more foresight been used, much property might have been stowed in the tyrconnels, which were very extensive; this was the opinion of many of the Agra people, who had lost upwards of £4000. or £5000. worth of property, including furniture brought expressly from England at a great expense.
On the evening of the 4th of July, the Rotate Contingent mutinied, 700 strong. It was thought to be staunch; and their officers had declared them quite safe, notwithstanding the many proofs they had had of the base treachery of the sepoys. This Contingent had been brought into the vicinity of Agra, where it was encamped between the barracks and the lieutenant-governor’s house; and a detachment of them had been sent to replace the European guard of the gaol, which contained more than 3000 prisoners of the worst character. Cannon had been planted before the doors of the goal to fire upon the prisoners should they escape in case of a rising; but all these well planned schemes were frustrated by the unexpected mutiny of the Kotah Contingent. A detachment
of 350 foot and two guns had been ordered out, to form an advance guard to repel the body of insurgents; but on the approach of the other rebels, they mutinied, as perhaps they had intended, and attempted to shoot their officers, but only succeeded in killing their sergeant-major. They then quietly marched out of Agra, and joined the other mutineers, but left their guns. Directly after this mutiny, a peremptory order was issued for every woman and child to go into the fort, and a portion of the 3rd Europeans was appointed to protect it; the rest of the 3rd, and the militia, remained in cantonments.
Early on Sunday morning Dr. Christison came into the fort, much to the relief and joy of his wife, who had not seen him since he left Gwalior with his regiment on the 14th of May; during which time she had heard frightful reports of the regiment mutinying and killing Dr. Christison, Captain Alexander, and Lieutenant Cockburn. These reports afterwards proved untrue: Dr. Christison, with several other officers, had escaped from some out-stations on Saturday evening; but they could not then get into the fort, on account of the uproar and confusion attending the mutiny of the Kotah rebels.
The same morning (the 5th of July), Brigadier Polwhele gave orders that the troops commanded by Colonel Riddel and himself, and consisting of 650 of the 3rd Europeans, one battery, commanded by Captain D’Oyley, and 200 of the volunteer European
cavalry, commanded by Lieutenant Greathed, should march out of cantonments at 11 o’clock a.m. towards the village of Shahgunge, beyond Government House, three miles from cantonments, and four from the fort.
The enemy, consisting of 7000 infantry, 1500 cavalry, and 8 guns of heavy calibre, were encamped on a large plain near the village of Sussia, on the road to Fathpur Sikri, the fourth milestone from Agra. When our troops entered the large sandy plain which lies to the right of the road, the line of battle was formed, and the enemy were seen in strong position behind the village of Shahganj, their guns flanking the village, and the cavalry flanking the guns. Our force now formed into line, with three guns on each flank; those on the right commanded by Captain D’Oyley, and those on the left by Captain Pearson of the artillery of the Gwalior Contingent; the infantry being in the middle, and the mounted militia somewhat in the rear. When about 600 yards from the village, the enemy opened fire on our right battery; which was responded to with such good effect, that after two rounds from each gun, the enemy were seen retreating in great numbers. The 3rd Europeans got the order to lie down, the guns were unlimbered, and then the fight commenced in earnest. It was evident that our guns took no effect on the high mud walls of the village, which siege guns could alone touch; the consequence
was that the enemy became emboldened, their cavalry in great numbers harassed our right, and the skirmishing of their infantry gave us great annoyance with their rifle firing, which we, from want of cavalry, were powerless to repel. After a while, the 3rd Europeans got the order to advance, which they did gallantly, under a heavy fire. A rifle company of the mutinied 72nd did great execution on our force. The village was stormed and taken; but another tumbril blowing up, we had only four guns serviceable, and no ammunition for the artillery. Poor Captain D’Oyley now received his mortal wound; but still continued to give orders supported on a gun-carriage. Want of cavalry prevented our following up the victory; we had carried the village, driven the enemy from their position, but for want of ammunition and cavalry were obliged to retreat. Immediately that the rebels perceived that their artillery was not answered, they knew there was something wrong with us; they therefore advanced upon their former position with their guns, and pursued us the whole way to Agra; firing round shot at us, and harassing us with their cavalry. The Civil Line’s infantry militia, met our troops coming in, and formed across the road a rear-guard; maintaining this position till the whole force reached the fort at 6 p.m., having been actively engaged for full three hours.
The total killed, including those who afterwards
died, was 49; wounded, 91: of the officers, Captain D’Oyley was mortally wounded, and Lieutenant Lambe afterwards died of his wounds. The officers wounded not mortally were Major Thomas, who afterwards died, Lieutenants Pond and Fellows, and five of the Civil Line’s infantry militia. Of the unattached officers six were wounded: Captain Alexander, of the Gwalior Contingent Cavalry, was wounded in the wrist by a spent-ball, and Lieutenant Cockburn, of the same regiment, had a horse killed under him by a round shot, and the concussion of the air was so great that it severely injured the sinews of his leg. The result was a total of 141 killed and wounded out of a force of about 800.
Poor Captain D’Oyley’s death was a great loss, for he was a most gallant officer. An officer afterwards told me that when he fell, overcome by pain, he said, “Ah I they have done for me now: put a stone over my grave, and say I died at my guns.” On being asked if he would like to be moved to a place of greater safety, he said it would be of no use, as he felt he was mortally wounded: but he told them to try what they could do for the other poor fellows. I believe he lived till the next day.
Another instance of bravery deserves notice. Young Hennessey, whom I have before mentioned as behaving so coolly in the mutiny at Gwalior, and who had never received any military education, or had been beyond Gwalior, except to a school in the
hills, went out with his father into the battle, by his own wish; and his gallant and plucky conduct received universal admiration. Only a soldier who has been in action can thoroughly appreciate his conduct, as every one who was in the fight, even those who had been through the Panjab and Sikh campaigns, said it was a very severe one; the shrapnel shell, round-shot, and grape flew about like hail. Young Hennessey gave us a most enthusiastic account of this his first battle, and the number of pandies he had killed and wounded. Some months afterwards he was severely wounded in his sword-arm, in an engagement near Aligarh, and he has lately received a commission in H.M.’s 24th Foot.
All within the fort were for some hours in a state of anxiety and doubt as to our own fate and that of those gone out against such fearful odds; and our suspense was painfully increased by hearing the firing and booming of the cannon for three hours. The distress and anxiety of the poor wives of those in action was dreadful to witness; the chance of their ever seeing their husbands again seemed small, as we could not help fearing that many lives would be lost.
I was too ill to go out of my “den,” having taken a dose of opium; but some of the ladies went to the flag-staff on the Delhi Gate, which being very high, commanded au extensive view, and plainly saw our force retreating, pursued by the enemy’s cavalry. The confusion and distress that ensued on our troops
rushing in was terrible. The servants instantly commenced running away to join in sacking the cantonments, crying “Sahib logue ke rajh hoguier!” (The English rule is over!). All the killed and wounded were brought in in dhoolies120; and some of the officers told us they never beheld such a heartrending scene as that near the gate, where the poor wives were waiting, asking the fate of their husbands, many of whom they met dead or mortally wounded. One poor woman, who had been waiting a long time for tidings of her husband, at last lifted up the curtain of a “dhoolie,” and saw his dead body. She had only been married to him the day the women were ordered into the fort; so immediately after the ceremony they had parted. She was a very nice young woman, who had only lately come from England with an officer’s family; her husband was a young sergeant in the 3rd Europeaus, and much respected: I had known her before in Calcutta, and frequently saw her afterwards; but she was then sadly altered. No sooner were our troops within the walls of the fort, than the budmashes released the prisoners, and they, together with the “sowers,” set to work to destroy and burn the cantonments. Poor Mr. Hubbard, whose brother we had met at Benares, was killed that night: he had very rashly gone out of the fort to see after his college. Major Jacob, who had formerly commanded the Maharajah of Gwalior’s
troops, and more than thirty native Christians were also killed.
All the non-combatant Europeans were safe in the fort by 7 o’clock; some had absolutely not come in till after the battle. The uproar in the city baffles description. The sky was lighted up for miles round by the blazing of the houses, and the natives were rushing about “drunk with enthusiasm, drunk with bhang,” setting fire to, looting, and destroying everything, and firing at and killing all the poor creatures who professed Christianity. Every one in the fort was in a state of excitement, for we did not know what might happen; and people were running about to look at the burning cantonments from different parts of the fort.
The Agra people must have felt very much enraged while thus quietly looking on at the wanton destruction of their houses and property: a good deal of furniture was thrown into the river, but the natives carried away a great quantity, which they hid in the neighbouring villages, where it was afterwards discovered by our troops in a ruined condition; and for days afterwards we had the aggravation of seeing chairs and tables floating down the river, or sticking in the sandbanks. The soldiers fired at every black face that showed itself within range; and they even threw two shells (by way of bravado, I suppose, as they did no harm) into the midst of the chaos.
The enemy never came into Agra, though they
were expected: in fact, many thought it was they who were plundering the cantonments; but their forces hovered in our neighbourhood for some time, keeping us in a state of alarm and apprehension, and eventually left for Delhi, via Muttra.
I hardly remember anything of the week following the battle, every one was in such a state of excitement. The heat was frightful, and in consequence of our servants’ desertion, we had to do everything for ourselves: this was particularly trying to us, as the climate tends to enervate people, and make them less active and energetic; and the hosts of servants every one keeps, render people dependent on them. A lady’s life in India, however, though very luxurious, is not so useless and frivolous as some imagine. We had to cook, wash our clothes, and clean out our “dens,” and those who had children had the double task of attending to them and keeping them inside the “dens,” as it was dangerous to let them be outside on the stone walk alone, the parapet was so low: little Archie Murray did fall over into the court below, a distance of twelve or fourteen feet, but happily escaped uninjured.
We had little food this week; dhal121 and rice, neither of which were very good, composed our fare: and if we had been besieged, that was all the food we should have had to depend on. However, it was said we had enough of both to last a ten monde’
siege. Our rations were served out to us by the commissariat officers; but often we had great difficulty in getting them, and when we did, the difficulty of cooking them almost took away our appetites: particularly when we had the disgusting process to go through of washing the dishes. The dhal and rice looked a very uninviting mixture; something like a pease pudding, only not so good. Some people like it; but I suppose that must be when it is better cooked, and eaten under more favourable circumstances; as it was, I could not bear it, and lived on chapatis (cakes made of flour and water – the staff of life to the Hindus). I never enjoyed anything in the way of eating so much in my life as a chapati cooked by our brigadier, and eaten after fasting nearly all day. The want of water was a great trouble to us, as it is such a necessary in India, for bathing and wetting the tatties with, as well as for drinking. What we had was not good, as it was drawn from a well inside the fort; the officers brought it for us in buckets. No one but bodies of armed men now dared leave the fort; and even they ran great risks, and were shot at; but afterwards we managed to get water from the wells outside, when things were more settled, and a staff of bheesties was kept. The want of beer, too, which is so necessary, on account of the exhaustion caused by the climate, was a great privation to us. Afterwards, however, the commissariat officers allowed
the officers and others to purchase some of the soldiers’ beer, but we had great difficulty to prevent it going sour after it was tapped, as it was not at all good: some of my friends used to put raisins, sugar, and herbs, into the barrels, which were kept in the inner marble hall. Such difficulties as these, however, I believe the Agra people did not go through, as many had brought in their own supplies; but as I did not go beyond our own quarters for the first two months, I cannot say much of the others.
The officers sometimes made parties to go into the city and loot122; but so great was the devastation, that they never brought us back anything, except a few cups and saucers and a coffee-pot. They told us it was the most wretched and forlorn sight they had ever seen; nothing but the charred walls of houses, with furniture, books, and pictures, utterly destroyed, lying about the streets.
The weather now began to be very unhealthy: July being the worst month for the rains. It is difficult to describe the effect the atmosphere has on you at that time; the damp and stifling sensation of the air is dreadfully oppressive. Cholera also began slightly to show itself: it kills so rapidly in India, that many die in a few hours; I have been told of people taking tiffin together, and of one of them being buried next day at gunfire. It is a strange but accredited fact that, in India, if a person in a
dying state lives over gun-fire at sunrise he will linger till gun-fire at sunset. The first case of cholera in the fort was that of an officer. On Sunday, the 12th of July, Captain Burlton, of the Gwalior Contingent, was talking to us just after morning service, discussing the sad events of the last few weeks, the hard life we were leading, and the extra duty he had to perform, and hoping his wife was safe, as he had not heard from her for some time. (She afterwards escaped from Goonah with the rest of the fugitives.) After talking for some time, he said, “I must try and get a little sleep; I feel so worn out with last night’s work.” As he was wet through, one lady told him he ought to change his clothes, and he replied, “I would, if I had any to change.” In the afternoon we heard that he was ill, and later that he was seized with cholera. Several doctors did all they could to save him, and as his quarters were very damp (just beneath the marble hall), they tried to carry him up a narrow flight of steps, but found it impossible. He died shortly after midnight, and was buried the following evening at gunfire.
About this time we had violent thunderstorms, which generally come on after midnight, or early in the morning; they occurred every night for more than a week. They commenced with terrific peals of thunder and vivid flashes of lightning, lighting up for an instant the white marble hall, and brilliantly
flashing on the river and opposite bank, with a weird and ghost-like effect: then all was black darkness again, and you heard nothing but the rushing torrents of rain, and the peculiar whirring, droning sound which always accompanies a tropical storm.
After a time, some of the servants began to return, and it was now found necessary to give each native a “pass,” without which they could not be admitted into the fort. These passes were cards with the bearer’s description, name, and occupation written on them. We had very few clothes, and these were diminished, as often the dhobies would not bring them back after washing them, but would say they had been stolen. The manners of the servants were most insolent and contemptuous; they often said our “rajh” was over, and considered us doomed; fully expecting that when their brethren had defeated us at Delhi, which they never doubted would be the case, they would march to Agra and cut us all to pieces with little trouble. Formerly they used to address us as “your excellency, protector of the poor,” and say, “Will it please your highness to let your slave do such a thing? “and use such hyperbolical expressions, but now they dropped even the customary “Sahib” and “Memsahib,” and often addressed as “Tum123” instead of, as formerly, “Ap124.” “Tum’ in Hindustani is considered as familiar as “tu” in French. They would also often lie down in
our rooms, and when we spoke to them, did not get up. The “budmashes” used to sing scurrilous songs under the walls, and draw pictures on them of the “Feringhis” being blown up, with their legs and heads flying into the air; they also stuck up placards, saying on such a day we should all be massacred or poisoned. One baker was really hanged for planning a scheme for poisoning all the bread; and it was feared they might poison the wells. It is said they dug up the dead bodies and exposed them in the churches before the Communion Tables, and then burnt them; and in the Roman Catholic cathedral they tore from the walls the pictures of our Saviour, cut holes in them, and thrusting their prophet’s green flag through, paraded them about the streets: they also mounted the pulpits in our churches, and preached the extermination of the Feringhis; saying we were the “Mashriks125” of the Koran.
Rumours of a depressing nature from Delhi, news of fresh mutinies, and massacres of men, women, and children, daily poured in; and the tidings from England were that, instead of sending out troops “overland” instantly, the parliament and ministers were disputing and squabbling among themselves over the causes of the mutiny, and weighing the comparative merits of greased cartridges and cow’s fat, forgetting the fearful loss of life going on in the meantime. At Delhi alone, since the 8th of June, 100 officers had
been lost, and more than 1000 men. We used to drop the English papers in despair, when we saw the troops were coming round by the Cape, and our hearts sank at the thought of how long it would be before help could come to us. I will only mention one instance of the length of time before help from England could be of use: the 7th Fusiliers, which left England early in June, did not reach Karachi till December, and were just coming up the country when I was leaving in March.
The Gwalior mutineers were still at Gwalior, their numbers increased by the Indore and Mhow troops, reckoned at nearly 5000 infantry and 900 cavalry, with thirty guns.
Sindia kept them quiet, first with one false promise and then another; but we fully expected, when they were tired of this game, they would all march to attack us. Our conduct must have seemed strangely apathetic to the natives at this time, to be thus apparently yielding up to them the country which had cost us so much to gain; and our servants would constantly ask us whether troops were really coming from England? and when we replied by giving an account of the ample reinforcements on their way, they would smile incredulously and say, “why did we not take Delhi? and why did we allow the cantonments to be destroyed at Agra?” These and hundreds of like questions they would ask, and our replies seemed to them idle tales. The natives have
no regard for truth; they seem to take an absolute pleasure in lying: I have frequently seen them shed tears over a pathetic tale that they were making up to us as they went along. On our asking questions, they would often tell us things that could never have happened, and when we charged them with it, they would say, “You asked me: what could I say?” This was the more trying, as we often wished to find out what had happened at Gwalior, and to know particulars of those who had been killed.
On Sunday the 20th of July, we received intelligence of the hideous massacre at Kanhpur. We had previously heard some bazaar rumours, but did not believe them. I shall never forget the effect this awful news had on us. We were gathered in the marble hall after service, when we first heard it. We could only think with silent horror of the fearful fate of our poor countrymen, and picture to ourselves that such might soon be our fate; for we were surrounded by swarms of enemies, and the force at Gwalior was alone sufficient to take the fort. It was a sickening task to read the long list of victims who had been massacred, just when help was at hand. But who can describe the unutterably revolting indignities our poor countrymen endured, and their harassing trials; first in the agonising suspense before they were obliged to retreat into the entrenchments, then in the days of suffering and misery endured there? What must have been their feelings when their provisions decreased day
by day, and even a drop of water was frequently purchased by the death of the volunteer who went for it? Then the base and cruel butchery of the cold-blooded monster Nana Sahib One cannot imagine how such a diabolical plot could be disguised for years under the mask of friendship.
I used often to wonder how such awful news Ira. received at home. Our daily life was only varied by accounts of fresh disasters, mutinies, and massacres; India seemed to be rapidly gliding into the hands of its original possessors. In the north-western provinces, Agra, Allahabad, and Meerut were all we could now call our own. We heard of Havelock crossing the Ganges, and being obliged to retire; of the enemy occupying a strong position near Bithur; and heard of the mutinies at Indur, Mau, and Danapur. At Sigauli, when the 12th irregular cavalry mutinied, they shot the commanding officer, his wife and child, and cut off their heads, and burnt the doctor, his wife, and child to death, in their bungalow: she was a cousin of Mrs. Campbell’s. One poor officer in the fort, who had lost his wife and all his children in the mutiny at Jhansi, used to wander about looking like a ghost.
We now got our letters again; but it was very trying to read letters addressed to those who would never read them. I heard of my uncle’s death at Simla; his regiment had been disarmed. I wished to go up to my aunt, but that was impossible. Our daily life dragged on very wearily. We rose early
in order to get a little air “on the tower,” which was free from the noise and disorder of the half-castes. Our fare began to be a little better now, for some of the natives ventured in, by means of passes, to sell eggs, butter, fowls, &c. After breathing a little fresh air from the river, we returned to breakfast on tea, “kidgeri126,” and “chapatis” which the servants had brought from the bazaar. We often sat several hours on “the tower” and took our chairs into the kiosk for shade. The pontoon bridge across the Jumna was now removed, for fear of the insurgents crossing the river. It was an amusing sight to see the natives throwing themselves from the ghats127 into the river, or washing their clothes, and saying their prayers, kneeling with their .faces towards the east, and no doubt praying most fervently for the annihilation of the “Feringhis.” From hence also we could see the ramparts, and watch the soldiers being drilled for the artillery; and just beneath us was a small court-yard, in which was a guard house, where the soldiers used to sit on a “charpoy” or swing themselves in a swing they had contrived to put up, (all but the one on duty). We used often to hear them saying to their servants, “Jildy128 jow and fetch my khana129.” Their attempts at Hindustani were rather absurd; but strange to say, the natives always
understood them. He used also to see the nuns, with their long train of pupils, taking their daily walk on the ramparts.
When the sun got hot we either sat in the marble hall or lay in our own “dens.” The weather was still intensely hot, and the glare on the white marble and red sandstone was very painful to the eyes. We contrived to put up some rude punkahs, by fastening coarse native cloth to bamboo poles; but the difficulty was to get the punkah coolies to stay, as they were always running away. We dined about three o’clock and in the evening again sat in the “tower.”
The only variety in our day was the arrival of “cossids130,” from Delhi, with news. These men were paid as much as forty or fifty pounds for taking a message, as it was a most difficult and dangerous task; for the natives always examined them, and killed them if they found they had messages: they used to hide these despatches in their hair, shoes, and “hubble bubbles.” One man hid his in a piece of stick and when he was attacked threw the stick away, but afterwards recovered it.
In July we heard of the lamented death of the brave and noble defender of Lucknow, Sir Henry Lawrence. He was wounded by a shell on the 1st of July, and died on the 3rd, to the deep distress of every one; before his death he appointed Brigadier Inglis his successor in military matters, and
Major Banks his successor as Chief Commissioner in Oude. All in the fort received the news of his death with feelings of consternation and alarm; for in him we regretted not only an able officer, but one fitted to act in such a crisis. His courage and heroism had endeared him to every one, and we all mourned his loss. One enduring mark of his beneficence is the Lawrence Asylum, in the Hills, for educating soldiers’ children.
No one, whom I knew, kept a journal in the fort; for the confusion and noise rendered it impossible: we found it quite sufficient to write letters home. We were only allowed a certain weight, and were obliged to be guarded in our expressions about Delhi and the state of the country; as it was discovered that the natives used to open our letters and read them: the baboos131 can, most of them, read and translate English. In the Punjab all the letters of the sepoys were opened, and they were found to be keeping up a regular correspondence with the rebels at Delhi, and other places. Mr. Colvin used to send letters in Greek, Hebrew, and cypher, to Colonel Greathed and the Government at Calcutta, vainly imploring aid; for we were in great dread of the Gwalior mutineers, now amounting to about 12,000, with fifty guns. The servants who came in from Gwalior told us the sepoys had regular parades, and
their officers used to dress themselves in the English officers’ uniforms, and call themselves brigadier, brigade major, &c., and drive about in our carriages. They had taken the pianos down to their lines, and. after playing on them, had torn out the wires and keys.
Mrs. Campbell gave me a Bible and Prayer Book: as a few had now been brought into the fort, and were sold. I used constantly to read over the beautiful lamentations of Job; for now I could better understand them. We also shared amongst us a volume of “Melville’s Sermons;” but we had no other books of a religious nature. Some of the Psalms now we read with a different feeling: the 79th had a fresh meaning for us. A few of my friends had other books, “Dynevor Terrace” and some others, which were greatly sought after, and lent about.
Some of the costumes worn in the fort were rather peculiar: Captain Campbell used to dress in a scarlet sallu132 jerkin, with a black belt, in which was stuck with a brace of pistols, white trowsers, and either a little Scotch cap, or a solar-topee133 and pugri134. His assistant, a half-caste who was very tall and muscular, used to follow his master about arrayed in quite small arsenal of fire-arms, and other offensive weapons. He had formerly been a pirate, and looked so ruffianish,
that I called him “Dirk Hatteraick.” He died of fever in the fort, and was a great loss to Captain Campbell, as he used to train the men to the gun exercise, of which Captain Campbell had the management in our part of the fort.
Mrs. Blake now came to live in our quarters: she had formerly lived with some friends in tents on the green near the Delhi Gate. In our “row” the Meades, Murrays, and Mrs. Procter, had the three first arches; Mrs. Blake had No. 4; Mrs. Innes and I occupied Nos. 5 and 6; and the Christisons No. 8. After them came some of the Agra people, and Mr. Nichols, a missionary who had escaped from Mainpuri. In the opposite gallery of the court lived the Piersons, and some others. The officers had a small place where they contrived to have a bath, and perform their toilettes. Dr. Mackellar had his meals with the Christisons, and slept in the marble hall. Mrs. Hawkins, Mrs. Ferris, and Mrs. Kirke, the Hennessys and the Campbells, had quarters in the Palace Garden. Major Macpherson, who was very kind to me all the time I was in the fort, had a little place under “the Tower,” which he employed as an office; he had also the next arch to us, No. 7. Mrs. Innes used to be with her brother in his office the best part of the day, and I believe assisted him very much in writing; for no native secretary could be trusted now.
The baboos or clerks understand English perfectly,
and are well educated: they read Shakespeare, Byron, and Milton for amusement. The Maharajah of Gwalior used constantly to send his Vakeel135 to transact business with Major Macpherson, and I was told the chuprassis who were waiting outside, used to lie down, and put their ears to the “chicks” to hear the conversation, which was carried on in Hindustani.
The poor children had a weary life of it; accustomed, as they were, to airy rooms and plenty of attendants, the confinement was very trying to them. They suffered much from the heat, bad food, and a troublesome sort of fever and eruption. The servants used to tell them to play at sepoys, and call one side the sepoys and the other “Gora Logue” (European soldiers). In the evening, when the weather grew cooler, swarms of half-castes and European children collected on the large terrace fronting our marble hall, and had sham fights with wooden swords: little Jungy Meade went about with a cartouche-box, and a small toy sword strapped round his waist. Some of the children had not recovered their fright at Gwalior: Archie Murray and Jungy Meade used to awake at night, and scream out that the sepoys were coming with swords to kill them: they often asked after their little playmates killed at Gwalior. The “kuppra-wallahs136“ now ventured
into the fort and sold their wares; they invariably asked us if we did not want “kala kuppra” (black cloth), and there were few who did not want it I got a black dress, cloak, and bonnet, made by one of the milliners. Many of these European milliners were entirely ruined. One I went to told me it was very hard she was obliged to leave all her goods behind, when she came into the fort; she also said she had had £300 worth of millinery “looted” on its way up the country when the mutiny broke out. She had several “dirzies” sitting at work making some wedding garments on the ground in a little court-yard full of fowls and puddles of dirty water. Shortly after, a young lady was married to a gentleman in the Uncovenanted Service, in our hall (the dewan-i-am). It was a very gay wedding considering the circumstances: the bride was in a veil and lace dress, attended by brides’-maids in pretty bridal attire; and after the ceremony, they pitched a tent on the terrace, and had a dance and supper, to which they invited all the officers.
In the cold weather, when people had become more reconciled to their confinement, they had balls and musical parties in the arsenal; but in our square the days passed on so monotonously that, as we had no almanack, we forgot the days, except when the Baptists held their meetings, every Wednesday and Friday, in a place in our square.
Our great pleasure, when the weather got cooler,
was all meeting on “the tower” (which I ought to have explained was the small terrace on which the “kiosk” stood). SIX OF US WERE WIDOWS, OWING TO THE GWALIOR MUTINY!
“Aching heart,
Breaking part,
Through this dark world driven
Meeting bright,
Endless light,
Waiteth us in heaven.”
97. Kuprah-wallah, man who sells cloth or calico.
98. Box-wallah, pedler.
99. Mohurs, a gold coin worth thirty shillings.
100. The Maharajah of Gwalior ordered all the bodies of those killed on the 14th and 15th to be buried a few days after the mutiny. Some months later the bodies were disinterred and buried in the Gwalior church-yard. Since the retaking of Gwalior, in June 1858, I have been able to have a tomb erected over my husband’s grave.
101. Bhang, an intoxicating liquor made from hemp.
102. Gharry, travelling carriage.
103. Hackery, native cart drawn by bullocks.
104. Mali, gardener.
105. Mumtaz Begum; she is frequently mistaken for the beautiful wife of Jahangir, the Nourmahal of “Lalla Rookh.” Nourjehan was buried at Lahore.
106. Tyrconnels, underground vaults.
107. Zenana, the ladies’ apartments.
108. Chabudra, terrace, plateau.
109. Kiosk, a pavilion open on all aides.
110. Chuddah, large veil; sheet.
111. Bheesties, water-carriers.
112. Cutchery, business-room; civil office.
113. Chopperwork, thatching.
114. Shigram, travelling carriage used in Bombay.
115. Kunka, beaten earth.
116. Chick, screen.
117. Chillumchie, brass bason.
118. Rezai, quilted coverlet.
119. Budmashes, rascals.
120. Dhoolies, litters with curtains.
121. Dhal, pulse: mash of peas.
122. Loot, to plunder.
123. Tum, thou.
124. Ap, your honour.
125. Mashriks, heretics.
126. Kidgeri, rice boiled with spices, rangar, &c.
127. Ghat, landing-place.
128. Jildy, mispronounced for Juldi, quick.
129. Khans, dinner.
130. Cossids, especial messengers.
131. Baboo, clerk, writer in an office.
132. Sallu, native calico, generally bright red.
133. Solar-topee, hat made of pith in various shapes.
134. Pugri, a turban.
135. Vakeel, envoy, ambassador.
136. Kuppra-wallahs, men who sell cloth, &c.
This collection transcribed by Chris Gage