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Chapter 7 – The Fort

I had now an additional source of care and anxiety in my baby, though it was of course a great comfort. Owing to the great difficulty in getting a dhye137 for him, he suffered very much, and one doctor told me if I did not get a good dhye for him, he would not live twenty-four hours, so Major Macpherson kindly allowed his chaprasis to go out and search in the neighbouring villages for one; for the Choudrini, or woman who has the monopoly of hiring out dhyes, had set her face against their coming into the fort.

Every one had been very kind to me; a room had been lent me, quieter and more comfortable than my own; Mrs. Longden and Mrs. Fraser also gave me some baby clothes, otherwise my little boy would have been almost destitute, as few of the Kuppra Wallahs had ventured into the fort until after he was born. Mrs. lanes was most kind to me, and Mrs. Campbell often came from the palace garden to see me, bringing eau de Cologne and other little luxuries. A soldier’s wife attended to the baby; she was a most kind-hearted Irish woman. Her husband

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had gone with a party to Aligarh, consisting of 150 of the 3rd Europeans, under Capt. Stevenson, 3 guns, and 30 of the mounted militia; the whole commanded by Major Montgomery: Dr. Mackellar also went out with this party. They were intended to march against the insurgents at Hattras, but afterwards went on to Aligarh, then in the possession of the Insurgents, who had set up a king under orders of the King of Delhi. The result of the engagement there on the 24th of August was most successful. Our loss, however, was 5 killed and 25 wounded. Capt. Longville Clerke was severely wounded, Capt. Murray had a horse killed under him, and Mr. Tandy one of the managers of the Agra Bank, and Ensign H. L. Marsh of the 16th Grenadiers were killed. Lieut. Lambe, who had been wounded on the 5th of July, now died, after lingering more than a month. It was very saddening to hear the “Dead March in Saul” played by the band of the 3rd Europeans, for one brave soldier after another. Wounds and fever were now diminishing our small force rapidly.

My quarters were now transferred to a small temple, in a court yard paved with white marble, near the Palace-garden Marble Hall, the “Dewan-i-khas.” The walls of my apartment were of yellowish marble, in which were innumerable small niches, in which formerly lamps were placed for illuminations: these were of great use for stowing away things in. From the window I had a pleasant view of the river beneath,

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and between the walls and the river was quite an encampment of horses and their attendants: the carriages which had been rescued from the “Budmashes” were secured under “chopper” sheds.

My Irish nurse, Mrs Cameron, was a cheery companion to me; she used to tell me long stories, and as she could not read I read the newspapers to her, and gave her all my home papers to send to her husband. One day, after I had been reading some of the particulars of the Kanhpur massacre, which related that the soldiers swore they would kill a Sepoy for every. hair of Miss Wheeler’s head, she said, “I think Hell will be almost full now.” I asked “Why?” She replied, “Because there has been such a lot of them brutes of Sepoys sent there.” This conversation took place after hearing of Havelock’s victory at Kanhpur, when he captured 15 guns, and another engagement near Bithur, making his 9th victory.

Another soldier’s wife said to a lady who had remarked that the Sepoys were like devils, “I think it is a bad compliment to the devil to say the Sepoys are like him.” The “Mofussilite” was printed in the Fort, the printing press being now in use, so we received detailed accounts of what was going on. About this time I had given me the great luxury of a bath, in the shape of half a beer barrel.

I used to amuse myself by watching the people going about on the river in boats; people being now permitted to go out of the Fort. These boats were

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like those formerly employed for coming up the river; they had each a “chopper roof and were divided into two rooms. The Meades, Murrays, and some others took the small quantity of furniture that they had recovered and lived in these boats for change of air. This mode of life was thought by the doctors to be so healthy that they sent the wounded soldiers to live in boats anchored near the shore. It was a pitiable sight to see the emaciated forms of the poor men, carried in dhoolies down to the boats, then placed on “charpoys,” and carried back to the hospital at night. I could also see the road winding towards the Taj, and people driving and riding on it; for now they could safely leave the Fort during the day: though sometimes they were fired at. I had also the amusement of watching the encampment of horses and their syces; the latter had their wives and families in small huts, making quite a colony. The horses were picquetted in rows, and it was amusing to see the specs, who were most of them tall fine looking men, grooming the horses very carefully, and sometimes washing them. They were a very savage set, however, not much encumbered with clothes, having only a “cummerbund” round the waist; some had not even turbans, and they were always fighting and quarrelling.

One day I saw a native woman beating her own infant of about a year old, in the most horrible manner, first with her hands, then with a thick stick, till

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tired of this she threw it on the ground and kicked it; the poor child of course screamed terribly the whole time, and I felt miserable at being quite powerless to prevent it. When it grew dark I could see no more till the next morning, when I saw the child lying on a charpoy, its father trying to force something down its throat, and its cruel mother lying near asleep. The poor little creature gave one convulsive shudder and died; its father then washed it, went to the Bazaar to buy a piece of cloth, wrapped the corpse in it and then walked off with the still warm body, followed by the other children; then with a spade he dug a hole and cast in the body of his child. The mother in the meantime threw herself on the very charpoy from which her dead child had just been carried, and finished her sleep. I told Capt. Campbell and Major Macpherson of the circumstance, but they said nothing could be done, as we dare not now contradict or thwart the natives.

The scene by moonlight had a strange effect; the light shimmering on the ripples of the broad river, and glancing on the groups of natives, rolled up in their white chuddas on the ground; and the horses standing like statues in rows, looked spectre-like, or as if turned into stone. On the opposite bank of the river there always glowed a bright fire at night; and I afterwards found out it was the natives burning their dead. One of my Dhyes lost her husband and came crying to me for money to buy wood with

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to burn her husband’s body; and at night she showed me the fire and said “Look, Memsahib, they burn my husband there.”

My mother had sent me out a box of clothes from home; but the country was in such a disturbed state, I could get neither them nor my money from Calcutta. Letters from England, however, came regularly now, and I received one addressed to my husband, telling him of the death of his cousin in the Austrian service, who died of consumption at Venice. This brought to my mind the happy days that my husband and I had spent with poor Captain Coopland only the year before at Vienna:–

“A sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.”

On the 9th of September, Mr. Colvin died. He had been in a bad state of health ever since his coming into the Fort; and seemed utterly powerless to act in such a momentous crisis, being both mentally and physically worn out. After lingering some days in au almost insensible state, he died, and was buried in the Armoury Square. I have before given the reasons why he was buried within the Fort walls. We watched his funeral from the “Tower,” as his quarters were in the palace near the Dewan-i-khas.

Some time in the middle of September I went out for my first drive; until then, since June 29th, I had never been beyond our square (“Block F.,”) and my only walk had been on “the tower.” I shall never forget my sensations: I felt like one in a dream.

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Major Macpherson and Mrs. Ines had often been out driving, but I had not been able till now.

This morning I was awoke by the welcome message, “Mrs. Ines’ salaam’ and would I like a drive?” I dressed quickly, and leaving baby to the care of Mrs. Cameron (who was delighted that I should have a change), got into the tonjon, and was borne along through the palace garden – where a number of other people were preparing for walking or driving – down the inclined plane, and out at the Delhi gate. The gateway was crowded with natives carrying in things to sell, bheesties with water, coolies with bags of sand for the fortifications, and people hurrying out for their drives. At last I was fairly outside the gates, and the bearers setting the tonjon down at the other side of the drawbridge, politely assisted me into Major Macpherson’s carriage, which was standing with a lot of others, waiting for their owners, the syces meanwhile whisking off the flies with chowries138. When the coachman asked me which way I should like to go, I chose the Taj road. Oh, how delightfully the fresh air blew on my face, when free from the walls of the Fort I Quickly we wound by the side of the river, on which was anchored quite a little fleet of boats, awaiting the rising of the river to continue their journey to Allahabad; and there were large boats, gay with flags, and occupied by people wearied of

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Fort life. We passed under a hill which the Coolies were digging away, and by some ruins they were preparing to blast.

The country looked delightfully fresh and blooming after the late rains, the breeze was cool and refreshing, and the air sweet with delicious scents. At last I passed the Taj, its white marble and golden tipped minarets sparkling in the bright sun against the blue sky. It was a painful contrast on approaching the cantonments, utterly destroyed and desolate; and around their blackened walls and ruined houses seemed yet to linger a sickening smell of burning: I passed the racket court, the mess house, and other public buildings all more or less ruined; the disgusting vultures, either sitting on the blackened walls, or prowling about amongst the ruins, were not scared at the approach of the carriage, and even the jackals stopped and looked at me, as if they had a right now to despise us. On my way back I passed a bazaar, the natives of which looked so maliciously at me that I felt quite frightened; for had they chosen to drag me out of the carriage, there was nothing to prevent them. This rather took away from the pleasure of the drive, and I was very thankful to return to the protection of the gloomy walls of the Fort. I passed many equestrians, some of them grotesquely attired, and soldiers returning from their walk.

I was glad to find myself in my own little room again, and baby all well.

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The next day I went for the first time to see my friends in “Block F.,” whom I had only seen when they had been kind enough to come and sit an hour or two with me in my little temple. I was quite startled when I entered our marble hall; it was completely metamorphosed. The inner hall, which was separated from the outer hall by arches, across which were hung “chicks139,” looked like a drawing-room. At one end a window had been broken through the thick wall, giving a beautiful view of the river and country beyond, and having something of the effect of a camera lucida. The floor was covered with handsome native carpets, there were two drawing-room tables, on which were placed work-boxes, desks, and despatch-boxes; sofas, arm-chairs, a piano, guitar, and flute-case, completed the effect; and, above all, to my great delight, I beheld a bookshelf: but on inspection the books were ragged and incomplete, not one set being perfect.

However, hearing that they were public property, I selected for my own reading, “The Heir of Redclyffe,” an odd volume of “Friends in Council,” and one or two other old favourites. Some servants were preparing breakfast, and the white tablecloth and the china cups looked quite luxurious.

I was also quite astonished to see the transformation our little kiosk on “the tower” had undergone,

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Captain Campbell having just had it given him for his “quarters,” as it was more convenient for him than living in the Palace garden. Round the circular kiosk a verandah of “chopper work,” supported on bamboo poles, had been put up, to keep off the glare of the sun. Mrs. Campbell had carpeted the inside with a thick Mirzapur carpet, and furnished it with a charpoy covered with a scarlet rezai, chairs, a table, and chests. The proceeds of Captain Campbell’s and “Dirk Hatteraick’s” looting expeditions were ranged on shelves; and outside, under the verandah, were also suspended little shelves, which were used for a temporary larder. I was amused to see strings of black ants ascending and descending the wall, and looking like moving bell-ropes; the scent of the provisions attracting them.

I often used to breakfast with the Campbells. Captain Campbell had bought a nice little pony for his wife, and they used to ride out every morning and evening.

The Christisons, whom I went to see, had also made many improvements. Dr. Christison, having a taste for pictures, had decorated the bare blank jambs of his den with prints which he had collected from the “Illustrated London News:” one was “Town and Country,” and another a portrait of “Madeleine Smith.” He afterwards bought, at Mr. Raikes’s sale, some books and a chest of drawers. Poor Mrs. Christison had been very ill; and I pitied

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her very much, being confined in such an uncomfortable little place; for these dens were only 12 feet by 6. Little May Christison, who was a most amusing, clever little child, and could make herself understood in English and Hindustani, though but two years old, had also been ill with fever. I was astonished to see how much better the children were dressed than formerly. Little May was dressed in a pretty silk bonnet, and checked pelisse; Jungy (Jungy was a pet name the servants gave him, and means little prince) and Archie were also arrayed in new suits, and they were taken for walks all round the ramparts, and twice a week to hear the band, which played on the Green near the Moti Masjid.

We still often sat on “the tower,” watching the sun set, and the flames rising from the villages round Agra which our troops burnt. One village which they destroyed in this way, was not gained without a sharp fight with the villagers, who offered resistance. Sixty villagers were slain, amongst whom were two women, accidentally killed, who were loading guns, and otherwise assisting their party. From this tower we could see the burial-ground, which lay on the slope of a hill not far from the Fort, and looked dreary and mournful. The graves were mere heaps of sand, occasionally varied by a tombstone, and scarcely an evening passed without some burial going on: either a little child, followed by its mourning parents, or some poor soldier, who had no

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relative to mourn his loss, and who was placed in the ground with as much speed as was consistent with due respect to the dead; after which the few soldiers who had followed him to his last resting-place returned, the band playing some lively march.

A little distance from the grave-yard was a row of gibbets, on which some wretch daily paid the just penalty of his crimes, by a death which they despised: one culprit even adjusted the rope round his own neck, and joked about it. At first the bodies of the criminals were given to their friends; but afterwards this was put a stop to, for they carried them round the walls, decked in garlands of flowers, and excited the people by the sight of these “martyrs.” One day, in returning from a drive, I met a cart loaded with these ghastly burdens. A great many of the villagers in revolt, were brought in and hanged, and also some mutinous sepoys who were found lurking in the neighbourhood. When they were being tried, some used to feign madness, and as in the most absurd way, catching flies and jabbering; others would say the most insolent and revolting things to the officers on the court-martial.

Mr. French now went out daily to teach his Btu-dents in an old ruined school-house near the Fort. The midsummer holidays had commenced just after the battle on the 5th of July, and Mr. French had given them an extra fortnight in consideration of the state of things; Mr. Leighton and Mr. Cann also

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went to the College buildings in the City afterwards. Mr. French sometimes came to see us and was very kind: he lent us “Henry Martyn’s Life;” but told us that he had lost nearly all his books. The books of the Agra bank and other valuable documents, had also been destroyed. Previously to this, Mr. Longden had gone out with a party to Secundra, a few miles from Agra, where there was formerly an establishment for native Christians who were taught different trades, also a printing press and Church. Mr. Cana of the Agra College and others had gone out soon after the battle to see if they could rescue anything: they dragged the tanks and ponds, and recovered some astronomical instruments and other things. We often amused ourselves by looking through a large telescope, belonging to the Agra College, at the Southern Cross and other constellations which Mr. Longden and Mr. Cann explained to us, and were better seen in the southern latitudes.

We were now in daily expectation of being besieged by the Gwalior mutineers: we heard from the Maharajah’s Vakeel, and by the mails which now ran between Agra and Gwalior, that on the 3rd of September the Gwalior mutineers quarrelled with those at Indore, who wished to march to Delhi, while the Gwalior wished to march to Kanhpur and Agra; that they then all marched to the residency, and there the Indore troops persuaded 600 of the Rajah’s 2nd Cavalry Corps to join them. The Rajah consequently

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discharged many of the sowers, and having paid them, sent them out of Gwalior. The Indore troops were supplied with ammunition by the Mora mutineers, in spite of their disagreements. The whole of them, consisting of the 23rd N. I., three troops of the 1st Light Calvary, 7 guns, and 600 of the Rajah’s mutinous sowers, joined by a great number of Budmashes, set out on the 7th for the Chumbul, on their way to Agra. The rains had so swollen the Chumbul, it had been previously impassable for artillery; but now that the river was sinking they were able to cross. The native officers of the Mora mutineers quarrelled with the Maharajah because he would not give them conveyance and grain, and reproached him for having detained them four months with false promises; and, in spite of the Maharajah, they forced the villagers all around to give up to them their cattle and what conveyances they had, and afterwards planted a battery of 12 guns on the road to the Phool Bagh and the Lushkur. The Maharajah was kept for some time in great suspense; but at last he came to an agreement with them, and for the present prevented them going to Agra and joining the Indore troops, who had now crossed the Chumbul, and were hovering in the neighbourhood of Agra.

The Gwalior contingent finally marched to Kanhpur, and after defeating General Windham were ‘themselves defeated by Sir Colin Campbell on the

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7th of December. They were 14,000 in number, and lost 16 guns and their baggage.

As the Indore troops were expected, a large place in the Fort was prepared under ground, and made shot and bomb-proof; and here, in case of a siege, all the women and children were to be put. I believe it was planned amongst the officers that, in case it became inevitable that the women would fall into the hands of the rebels, they should all be blown up in the powder magazine even the soldiers said they would themselves shoot us rather than that we should be treated like the poor Kanhpur ladies.

The guns were frequently loaded, as we had so many alarms. Captain Campbell, who had often to sleep all night near his guns, said “His friends gave him more trouble than his enemies.” The walls were now planted with 60 guns, and 150 trained gunners from the militia were appointed to assist the regular artillery men. I could recognise the officers voices when they went the grand rounds and visiting rounds at night, along the rampart below my quarters.

My Kitmutghar, who had often been to see me when I was unable to see him, again came and brought my little dog “Jack,” who was delighted to see me; but as I was not allowed to keep a dog inside the Fort, I gave him to Captain Campbell to give to some of the European soldiers, who are always glad to have a thorough-bred dog instead of the pariah

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ones, good sort of dogs being very scarce. I kept his collar as a little memento of Gwalior. The Kitmutghar cried over the “chota sahib140,” and gave him a pretty fan.

We were now most anxious for news from Delhi, as we had heard of the arrival there of a siege train, and reinforcements, and the assault was expected to take place on the 14th. Until now we had been very desponding about the taking of Delhi, and had expected we should have been obliged to stay in the Fort a year. At last, news came that on the 14th, four columns of British troops, each one thousand strong, had entered the Kashmir gate and taken possession of the whole line of defences from the Water Bastion to the Kabul gate, including the Mori Bastion, the English Church, and Skinner’s house; that Brigadier Nicholson had been wounded, and 61 officers killed, and 1178 rank and file killed and wounded. That on the 15th they shelled the Palace and Selimghur, and other strong places, and effected a breach in the magazine, and finally took it with 125 cannons, and that they then attacked the Palace, and on the 20th the whole of the city was in our possession. On receipt of the joyful news, a salute of 50 guns was fired; it ought to have been 101. We heard that the reason of our loss being so very great, was the defection of a native regiment which was to have covered one of ours. We soon

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after heard of the death of General Nicholson, who was much lamented as a brave and able officer.

About the end of September, Lieutenant Pond of the 3rd, was married to the sister of another officer in the Palace-garden marble hall, the Dewan-i-khas. It was a very gay affair; Mrs. Innes, Mrs. Campbell and many others were present at the ceremony; the officers being in full regimentals and the ladies in gay attire.

We were much troubled by that terrible annoyance, bugs; they swarmed in the old wood-work of the Fort. Europeans can form no idea of the extent of this disgusting nuisance, which is so bad in this part of India that whole villages are deserted by the natives to escape these pests.

My baby was now christened in our marble hall, Mrs. Campbell presenting him with a robe, and Major Macpherson a hood and cloak; and I now occasionally drove out with my friends as the weather was getting pleasantly cool. We used also to take regular walks, morning and evening, round the ramparts. Mrs. Murray and Mrs. Christison, who played very well, often had musical parties in our marble hall, when Captain Campbell accompanied them on his violin. Mrs. Kirke, having had a carriage lent her for a few days by an Agra civilian, she and Mrs. Christison one evening went down to the Delhi gate, where the carriages stood drawn up in lines on each side of the road; and having been told that the carriage was lined

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with white and drawn by bay horses, they took possession of one of this description, and went for their drive. The next evening Mrs. Christison and I went out in the same carriage, and on returning from a long drive we were surprised to see an elderly gentleman waiting at the gate, and looking very irate. As soon as we drew up, he asked the syce by whose orders he had taken his carriage out. The syce replied looking at us, “By these Memsahibs here.” We now found out that we had taken the wrong carriage, and with many apologies, we alighted. The angry owner told us that for two evenings he had been down at the Delhi gate with some ladies ready for a drive, and found his carriage gone. It was certainly provoking, though Mrs. Christison thought it a good joke; but her husband went next day to make proper explanations and apologies.

We had still very few servants, and were obliged to share them amongst ourselves, in consequence of which they got very high wages. They invariably melted down their rupees, and made them into bangles and all kinds of ornaments; and after each fresh acquisition the ayahs used to come and show themselves, loaded with ornaments, and say, “Are they not pretty? where are your ornaments?” Their necks, arms, ears, and ankles, were covered with chains, and bangles141, &c.; some of them were beautifully dressed: one ayah wore a bright blue velvet

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jacket, a coloured muslin shirt, and a white chudda142, beautifully worked.

We now heard more details from Delhi. When first our troops entered the city, most of the mutineers had sent off their baggage and then followed. The townspeople at first took refuge in the palace, but finding things were hopeless, they and their animals poured in stream out of the Ajmere gate, unmolested by our troops, who watched them from our camp; and in a few days the city was totally deserted. A column then set off to pursue the flying rebels towards Aligarh and Muttra; some of them, it was supposed, had fled into Rohilcund, Muttra, and towards Oude. We heard that Mr. Hervey Greathed, Commissioner and Political Agent, died of cholera, on the 19th of September, and was succeeded by Mr. Saunders, who had escaped from Moradabad. The conduct of Major Hodson, who shot the princes, and guaranteed the king his life, was much commented on in the fort; and we were sorry that he had spared the king, who, though old in years, was still older in cruelty and wickedness143. The gallantry of the 60th Rifles who, with the plucky little Gurkhas, had kept the mosque near Hindu Rao’s house during the whole siege, was the theme of admiration; and the noble daring of Lieutenant Salkeld, and Home, and Sergeants Carmichael, Burgess, and Smith (the last

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of whom is the only survivor) was eulogised with the greatest enthusiasm by all in the fort. We deeply regretted the death of Brigadier Nicholson; he was only 36. “The Lion of the Punjab,” as he was called, could ill be spared. His brother also was killed.

On the 21st all the officers breakfasted in the Delhi Dewan-i-khas. A few mornings before they had breakfasted in the Church, which was now turned into a hospital.

A salute of 101 guns was fired for the next joyful and cheering news of the relief of the gallant little band at Lucknow. We had all admired the patient and Christian behaviour of many who had relations at Lucknow, during the wearing suspense of many months; especially Lady Outram and Mrs. Innes: the husband of the latter had been in Lucknow during the whole siege.

On the 19th of September, Havelock had crossed the river at Kanhpur with 2700 men; Sir James Outram, with noble generosity, surrendering the command to his able and skilful coadjutor, General Havelock, who marched twenty miles the first day, and fourteen the next, leaving Outram at Kanhpur, which was threatened by the Gwalior contingent. General Havelock drove the rebels back to Luck-now, with the loss of their guns; and on the 24th, a salute announced to the garrison of Lucknow the welcome news that relief was near. On the 25th, the Presidency was relieved, only just in time, for the enemy had mined under it, and were intending

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to blow up the buildings and all in them. General Neil, who was killed, added to the long list of irreparable losses – 600 being killed and wounded; and we had to mourn the loss of many a brave officer. No one can tell how eagerly the list was looked for, as we heard so much of the frightful losses sustained by the garrison. Mrs. Kirke saw there the death of her brother-in-law, but was relieved by learning of the safety of her sister and her children, the Ommaneys. Mrs. Innes was overjoyed to hear of her husband’s safety; she had not heard of him since May. He has since been presented with the Victoria Cross, for some act of signal bravery performed in one of General Frank’s engagements. Others, too, were filled with joy and thankfulness, and we began now to hope that God was prospering our arms.

The Dewalee, or feast of lamps, which had been much dreaded, as the natives get so excited during its continuance, now commenced all over the country. The excitement in the city of Agra was prodigious, and we heard nothing but tom-toming and explosions of gunpowder: the great delight of the natives is to put the gunpowder into earthen pots, which they then blow up. They lighted up the city at night, and it was a very pretty sight; the bridge and all the houses sloping down to the river being brilliantly illuminated. They also lighted up the bridge of boats, which had now been reconstructed, and placed a little booth on it for their

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nautch girls144; and they let off fireworks representing snakes and all sorts of animals. They kept this up for many nights, and invited the officers to see the illumination, and a “Nautch,” held in the booth. As this feast happened just after the taking of Delhi and Lucknow, the hypocritical wretches pretended it was in honour of these great events.

We watched these sights from “the tower,” and tracked the fairy-like lights floating down the broad river, and looking like fire-flies in the darkness. It is a custom of the natives to send down the river a little lamp (a small saucer in which a wick is placed) or chirage; if it sinks, or the light dies out before reaching a certain point, the owner of the lamp thinks he will be unfortunate, or die soon.

We hoped now, after the taking of Delhi and Lucknow -- which showed the natives our “Raj” was not over, as they had fondly expected, and that now their green flag no longer waved over these cities – that the column which had left Delhi would come to Agra on its way to Kanhpur, and take us there en route to Calcutta: we even made preparations, and bought a camp-table each, some cooking vessels, and provisions; for we were weary of our long imprisonment, and wanted to get home to our friends. Our stock of English provisions was ebbing very low; we had no brandy in the fort, very little wine, and no sugar but the native sugar, which is either like sugar candy, or quite moist; we had but

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little medicine, either, and that of a bad kind; and worst of all, we had nearly come to an end of the quinine, which is so necessary in India.

But we now heard that our old enemies, the Indore mutineers, were coming on: tired, we supposed, of their cowardly inactivity, and disappointed of their intention of going to Delhi, they had determined to strike a blow at Agra. They had all this time been waiting at Dholpur, only thirty-six miles from Agra, and were now joined by the Nimach and some of the Delhi mutineers; consequently all the people were now ordered in from the boats, the guns were kept loaded, and double sentries placed.

We heard that Colonel Greathed had defeated the flying Delhi rebels at Malaghur, taken the fort there, and blown up the defences: unfortunately this blowing up cost the life of Lieutenant Home of the Engineers, one of the Kashmir-gate heroes. After this victory the column halted a day or two to send their sick and wounded to Meerut, reaching Aligarh on the 4th of October, and Hattras, about forty miles from Agra, on the 9th.

The Indore mutineers were actually now within a mile of Agra; but no notice was taken by the authorities, who were so supinely indifferent that they even did not take the trouble of sending out spies, though our own servants told us the rebels were very near. Colonel Fraser, the temporary Lieutenant-governor of the north-west provinces, and Mr. Read, the head civilian, sent urgent messages to

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Colonel Greathed, who only just arrived in time by forced marches. Early on the morning of the 10th we got up to see the column cross the river by the bridge of boats; many people went on to the battlements and the Delhi gate, but we went to our old post of observation, “the tower.” Oh, how our hearts swelled with pride and thankfulness as we watched this gallant band of heroes cross the bridge.

A soldier can never be sufficiently valued, thought of, and honoured; and yet how little is he cared for! Coarse food and small pay is thought good enough for one who is generally exiled from his home and friends for years, often for life; who endures untold hardships, has few pleasures, and frequently sacrifices his life for his ungrateful country, which grudges the taxes paid for his support. People who sit at home surrounded by comforts and luxuries, forget what the soldier goes through. They can admire and honour a Havelock, a Neill, a Wilson, and other great generals who have made themselves names by their great deeds; but the poor private, who in his capacity is equally deserving, is overlooked: a medal or a small pension is considered sufficient reward for deeds which are utterly unrequitable. Even in the case of the blowing up of the Kashmir gate, few remember the names of the brave sergeants. The sufferings of the soldiers during the Crimean war, and now in the arduous work of regaining India – when men were struggling against

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the climate, contending against numbers, and suffering from want of proper food and necessaries – ought to open the eyes of those British people, who perversely close them, to the deep debt of gratitude they owe their noble defenders.

But to return to the 10th of October. The column that was now marching across the bridge consisted of the Queen’s 8th Foot, part of the 9th Lancers, 2 troops of Horse Artillery, 2 corps of the Punjab Sappers and Miners; one field battery, the 2nd and 4th Punjab Infantry, 125 of the Punjab Cavalry, and 200 of Hodson’s Horse, making altogether about 3000. We watched them till the sun grew hot, and it was a most cheering sight; their bayonets glittering in the sun and their brilliant array followed by long lines of camels, elephants, and dhoolies (the latter filled with sick and wounded), and the crowd of camp followers and baggage which always attend a march in India. Many of the men looked haggard and worn out with their long campaign: most of them wore the khaki, or dust-coloured uniform, which had been adopted at Delhi, as the bright scarlet and white uniforms made the men conspicuous marks for the enemies’ guns. This khaki uniform is considered good, both for this reason and because it prevents a body of men looking so remarkable when marching. As the column passed below the walls of the fort, our men gave them a hearty English cheer. The Sikhs looked very picturesque on their wild and

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strangely-caparisoned horses. Some of the officers came to breakfast with their friends in the fort, and one who visited Major Macpherson, gave a most interesting account of the siege of Delhi.

All remained quiet till about ten o’clock, when suddenly, to the astonishment of every one, firing was heard in the direction of the “Brigade Parade’ ground, where the lately arrived force had encamped.

Some thought it at first an irregular salute; but no one knew what it really was till some of the officers rushed out to see what was going on. Strange to say, the Agra authorities had not taken the precaution of investigating where the enemy was; though the night before the whole of the militia had been encamped in Cantonments, and might have been cut to pieces, the enemy being only a mile off.

The battle now began in earnest, and the booming of the cannon sounded fearfully near. Our camp, being surprised, was in great confusion: the men were resting after their long march; some were bathing, and others breakfasting. The onset of the mutineers was made in the following manner: A soldier was quietly sitting outside his tent, eating his breakfast, when a native dressed as a faquir came dancing up towards him, playing on a tom-tom145, and, on drawing near, he whipped out a tulwah, and in an instant cut off the poor soldier’s head. Immediately a force appeared which had been hidden behind the cemetery, and their guns, which were behind the ice pits, instantly

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opened fire on our disordered camp. Many men and horses were killed and wounded ere we were aware of what was going on: and had they charged on us with their cavalry the consequences might have been most disastrous to us; as it was, they did take one of our guns, but it was subsequently retaken. The 9th Lancers were soon in their saddles, and Lieutenant French was killed, and Lieutenant Jones dangerously wounded, in retaking our gun.

As soon as our troops could be formed, they charged the enemy, who soon retreated, pursued by our men down the road towards Dholpur, and we took some of their guns. Our force was there joined by Colonel Cotton (known to many by his soubriquet of “Gun Cotton”), in command of the 3rd Europeans. The enemy’s camp was two miles in advance, and their baggage and coats strewed the road. Our infantry were then ordered to halt, and the cavalry and artillery pursued the rebels to the Kharee Nuddee, where the latter crossed the river, about ten miles from Agra. Our troops, after firing upon them grape and round shot with good effect, returned to the camp with the guns the enemy had left on this side the river; both men and horses being too tired, after their forced march, to pursue the enemy further.

The engagement had been most brilliant, and we took the enemy’s camp, guns, and treasure.

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All this time the fort had been in great confusion; reports coming in that the rebels were victorious, and our forces were retreating. Our servants, as usual all scampered off, saying our “Rajh” was over. They must have gnashed their teeth with disappointment when they found we were not defeated. At one time a report was spread that the enemy’s cavalry were sweeping round to attack the fort, and all the officers not on duty in the fort went out to join in pursuing the retreating enemy: Major Macpherson and Captains Meade and Murray also went; but Captain Campbell and others of the Engineers were obliged to stay by their guns. At last, so many officers rushed out, that an order was issued that some were to stay to protect the fort. Gradually, towards evening, they began to return, bringing glowing accounts of the engagement; saying that it was a “splendid victory, and 1000 of the rebels had been killed:” but afterwards this number came down to between 300 and 500, the horses having been too tired to continue the pursuit, and the rebels having spread themselves all over the country, hiding in the jungle, in the long grass, and in ditches. It was discovered that the Nusserabad and Nimach mutineers, the 16th Grenadiers, and some of the Gwalior contingent, had joined the Indore troops some of the buttons of the 4th Native Infantry of the Gwalior contingent were found.

The officers remarked how strange it was to see

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the dead sepoys and Sikhs lying side by side; many of the former with their breasts covered with medals received in the campaign against the Sikhs. The Sikhs behaved most bravely, and took many prisoners. No “loot” of any great value was found in the rebels’ camp, except a little jewellery and all their cooking vessels and uniforms: the rebels fighting in their native dress; but a Sikh, who knew where to look for treasure, found a saddle and holster stuffed with gold mohurs.

Many of the officers complained bitterly of the carelessness of the Agra authorities, saying it was “too bad that they could not rest and have their breakfasts in peace, after a march of forty-one miles in thirty hours.”

The Sikhs brought their prisoners into the fort most triumphantly. One Sikh was dragging’ in a sepoy, who was struggling: “You won’t struggle long,” said the Sikh, “for you will soon be hanged.” The sepoy replied, “I don’t care; for I have just killed two of your brothers.” “Have you, you pig?” cried the Sikh, “then I will take you no further;” and with that he cut off his head. Captain Meade told us he saw the head the next morning lying near the Delhi gate, with a ghastly grin of defiance on its face.

A day or two after the battle, Colonel Greathed left: not very well pleased, I believe, with his over warm welcome; but covered with fresh glory. We were all dreadfully disappointed at not being allowed

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to go with the column to Kanhpur. Mr. and Mrs. Drummond, and Mr. Harrington, however, were allowed to go; the latter being thus favoured as he had lately been made a Member of Council at Calcutta. They were not, however, allowed to set out with the column, but drove a little way on the road, and then joined it. We were sadly disappointed at having our hopes of getting home thus dashed to the ground; for now there seemed no chance of our quitting our dreary prison for a long time. I often thought of a song I used to sing at Gwalior, and which was a great favourite with my husband.

There’s a hope for every woe,

And a balm for every pain,

But the first joys of our heart

Come never back again.

There’s a track upon the deep,

And a path across the sea,

But the weary ne’er return

To their ain countrie.”

Our force only had 13 killed and 54 wounded in the battle. Some people may imagine that laks of rupees and heaps of treasure are taken, and multitudes of the rebels are killed; but generally the numbers come down to half the first calculation. The natives are too quick for us: they don’t wait to be shot at; and by their knowledge of the country and quick marches, have great advantages over us. There is little doubt that, had they been better led, we should not have regained India so easily, for our

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training had “made good soldiers of them. It appeared, from documents found in the palace at Delhi, that a sort of monarchical government was established, of a military character. The English terms were used, instead of the Persian or Arabic; and the great authority to which all matters, both civil and military, were referred, was the “Court”, a body composed of a number of colonels, a brigade-major, and “Seketur,” or secretary. All the colonels were sepoys, who cither made their mark or signed in Hindu characters. Muster-rolls of the revolted regiments were kept. One sepoy colonel seems to have presented to the King a kind of memorandum on the best mode of governing the country, after getting rid of the Feringhis; and stating that, with all its faults, as the English government was the best which Hindustan had ever had, he advised the new government to be formed on that model.

Colonel Greathed left us a guard of 200 Sikhs, wild, savage-looking men, and so ragged and dirty, they reminded me of gipsies. They had most curiously shaped swords, and wore queer sort of headgear. They said it was very hard they were not allowed to “loot” Agra, as it was such a rich city. We afterwards heard that the natives of Agra had sent fifty pounds’ worth of sweetmeats to the Indore mutineers as a present, these children of the East being fond of such childish luxuries. We heard of a Sikh finding some jewels of great value; but I don’t

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know whether the report was true, Many said the Sikhs found a heap of plunder; but not so much as was expected, the sepoys having taken a great part of the “loot” with them when they fled.

We saw a great deal of the Sikhs in our quarters; for on the terrace fronting the “Dewan-i-Am” stood a large block of black marble, on which, in the palmy days of the Mogul Empire, the emperors used to sit and hold audiences; and opposite it was a white marble block, on which the Wuzeer (or prime minister) used to sit. The natives hold the black marble seat in great reverence, and ought never to approach it without “salaaming.”

It is said that when Agra was taken, in 1784, by the Mahratta chief Madagee, he attempted to seat himself on this black marble seat; but, as such an indignity could not be submitted to, the marble split almost asunder: certainly a fissure is now to be seen. The Sikhs hold this stone in great veneration, and, after the battle, they kept coming in parties, “salaaming” and saying prayers to it. They never approached it without taking off their shoes. A Sikh having spoken to little Jungy Meade, who was playing in the Marble Hall, Jungy began talking to him, till his bearer snatched him away and told him not to talk to “that man.” The Sikh instantly drew his sword and said to the bearer, in a loud angry voice, “It is you who kill women and children; we come to protect them.” On hearing the dispute, we

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all ran out, and the Sikh began explaining to Mrs. Meade that he meant no harm to Jungy, who was a “very nice chota sahib146.”

Many prisoners were hanged after the battle, and as it was discovered they did not care for hanging, four were tried and sentenced to be blown from guns; accordingly one day we were startled by hearing a gun go off, with an indescribably horrid muffled sound. We all rushed out of our “dens” to know what was the matter; and heard that some sepoys were being blown from the guns. All our servants hurried away to see the sight; and then was heard, at short intervals, three other guns go off. The sound was horrible, knowing as we did that a fellow creature (whatever he may have done) was being blown into fragments and his soul launched into eternity at each report of the cannon; and we felt quite ill for the rest of the day. An officer told us it was a most sickening sight. The four guns, taken out of the fort, were placed near the river. One gun was overcharged, and the poor wretch was literally blown into atoms, the lookers-on being covered with blood and fragments of flesh: the head of one poor wretch fell upon a bystander and hurt him. It was a long process, fastening them to the guns; and an officer having said to a sepoy, as the latter was being tied on, “It is your turn, now,” the sepoy replied calmly, “In one moment I shall be happy in Paradise.”

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The sepoys dislike this mode of death more than any other; for the Mahomedan likes to be buried, and the Hindu thinks he cannot be saved unless his body is burnt: but who can pity these wretches, who have spared no torture or cruelty to man, woman, or child, and who are even known to have blown a lady from a gun!

A short time afterwards, as Mrs. Kirke was passing in her tonjon near the place of execution, her little boy, who was playing about, went to the spot where the bodies had fallen; when the chaprasi said, “Don’t go there: that is the place where the poor martyrs were killed;” and he looked at the spot with the greatest reverence. An officer, when trying the prisoners, asked a sepoy why they killed women and children. The man replied, “When you kill a snake, you kill its young.”

The day after the battle the doctors sent to ask some of the ladies to help to nurse the sick and wounded soldiers in the hospital. Mrs. Blake went that night, and I would gladly have accompanied her to do what I could for the poor soldiers, but I dare not leave my baby at night, and during the day there was an abundance of volunteer nurses. Mrs. Raikes, of Gwalior, who had recently lost her baby, was a very kind excellent nurse. After this, the ladies attended the hospital regularly; watching the soldiers at night in turns, giving them their medicines and cooling drinks, and moistening their bandages. The

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men were very grateful, and said it was worth while being wounded, to be waited on by ladies.

Poor Lieutenant Jones was dreadfully injured: he was hacked all over, and had twenty-one wounds; many a one of them the doctors said enough to kill him. He bore his sufferings without complaining, though they were intense. He lay in one of the small rooms, separated from the “Moti Masjid,” where the common soldiers lay, by a marble lattice now stuffed with “jamps.” Formerly these small rooms were used by the ladies of the Mogul court, to hear the service from without being seen. Mr. Maclaine was also wounded, but some kind friends took care of him. He belonged to the 3rd Europeans; and had been through the whole Delhi campaign.

I once or twice accompanied Mrs. Blake to the Moti Masjid; and standing at one end, and looking down the marble arched aisles, filled with rows of charpoys on which the wounded soldiers lay, dressed in flannel suits made by the ladies in the Fort.

Some of the sufferers looked dreadfully ill: one poor drummer-boy had been crushed by an elephant and afterwards died; but others looked quite jolly and cheerful. One Irish sergeant was a very amusing character; he made poetry on the kindness of the ladies in nursing the sick soldiers. Government had provided the hospitals with small tin mugs for their tea; but as they did not like them, some of the

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ladies brought them cups and saucers, and gave them “chota hazerai” (tea and bread) themselves.

In the court round the “Moti Masjid” the wounded officers were sometimes carried out on their charpoys for air. I went once with Dr. and Mrs. Christison to see one of them, Lieut. Glubb of the 9th Lancers, who told us all about his escape from Delhi. He said that when they all were waiting near the flagstaff, some coolies dragged up a cart full of dead bodies of the poor English who had been killed, and that afterwards when they encamped near there, on the 9th of June, he again saw the same cart, but then filled with bleached skeletons! In this court the Sikhs had their quarters, and the prisoners were kept manacled.

We heard of the murder of Major Burton, resident at Kotah, and, his two sons, by the Kotah Contingent, part of which had mutinied at Agra in July. Even at the eleventh hour they continued insatiable in their rage. The Rajah of Gwalior’s English teacher, who was a native, told us that the Contingent had left Gwalior for Kanhpur, intending to attack Outram; and that on their way they stopped at Dholpur, and took three brass guns from the Rajah of Dholpur to add to their artillery. This man also told us that the Maharajah Sindia had got possession of all our carriages, horses, dogs, and pictures. Our Brigadier (Ramsay) managed, through this teacher, to buy back two of his horses; but,

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when they came to Agra they looked so thin and ill-treated, he regretted the purchase. The teacher, who went backwards and forwards between Gwalior and Agra, promised to send us some of our property, which, however, we were to pay for; and one day a box came, but it only contained odd books from the library, and some music. But the latter much delighted the musical inhabitants of “Block F.,” and, to my great joy, I found amongst the books the very “Christian Year” I had been reading on that Sunday the mutiny broke out at Gwalior. Inside the books were written, in English, impertinent things against the “Feringhis,” and their parade movements and drill. In one was written, “Captain Campbell, first-class mutineer.” When the English teacher again came to Agra, we all besieged him with earnest requests that he would try and recover some of our property; and hearing that the Rajah had bought £30. or £40. worth of books for his school, hoping some of mine would be among them, I promised a large reward to the teacher, as well as paying for the books, if he would get me some back; most of them being my husband’s College books, with the College arms stamped on them, which I described to him.

Colonel Filose and his brother, with their families, had all this time been living in their houses at the Lushkur, though in much terror; as the natives constantly threatened them, and searched their houses to see if they had any other Feringhis concealed. The

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Colonel offered large rewards if a body of men would come from Agra and escort them back there; but it was not considered safe to venture beyond range of the fort guns, which had a salutary effect on the natives. Colonel Filose was very kind in buying back many of our things; though it was rather hard to pay full price for our own property. He said that many of our goods were sold at bazaars at the Lushkur, and people were buying them and taking theta off to Indore and Bombay. At last he sent a box of things, and we all rushed to see it opened. Mrs. Campbell found her watch, without the chain, and a velvet “Church Service;” Mrs. Murray, a Scotch shawl, and dress; Mrs. Blake, a picture and a lace shawl; the Christisons, a book of poetry; the Pearsons, a guitar; Mrs. Gilbert, a baby’s cloak; Lieutenant Cockburn, some photographs, and Captain L. Clarke, a turquoise shirt-pin. I afterwards recovered a cameo brooch with the gold setting carefully picked off; this, and the “Christian Year,” were all I ever got back of my property at Gwalior. The box contained a slip of paper with the price of everything noted down.

Some of the servants now came in from Gwalior: they all looked dirty and miserable, and complained of the treatment of the sepoys, who had starved them and taken away their plunder. Had they remained faithful to us and warned us, it would have saved me much trouble. Mrs. Murray’s ayah, gora and

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bearer brought in her dogs, and the tail of one, called “Ginger,” which had died on the way; to prove the truth of what they said, they cut off its tail and brought it to show. Captain Campbell’s dog “Bob” also came in, looking very wretched and starved; and Captain Longwille Clarke got back some of his and Captain Casseret’s dogs: the latter having left the Fort for Lucknow, Captain Clarke took care of them. The servants told us that the sepoys had rooted up our pretty gardens, and turned the houses not burnt down into cattle sheds; they had also destroyed the furniture, and scattered the dresses and ribbons about the street; emptying preserves and pickle jars over them, to spoil them: they had also burnt the books kept by the officers, with the name and description of each sepoy, to prevent their being recognised if taken; forgetting that there were duplicates of those books kept at Calcutta.

We were often much alarmed by hearing strange sounds underground, as if some one was mining under the Fort; and we knew there were underground passages leading from the city to the Fort. These mysterious sounds always began at night, and appeared to be just under the palace, where Mr. Colvin had formerly lived, but which was now occupied by Mr. Read. Many of the officers sat up all night, but could make nothing of these sounds; and as we remembered the warnings we had often had, and the pictures of the “Feringhis” being blown into the

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air, stuck by the natives on the Walls, we feared they were preparing to blow up some part of the fort.

One night the sentry caught a native prowling about near the powder magazine, with matches and other combustible matters concealed about him; the wretch was tried, and confessed that he was going to blow up the magazine. Another night, we were told, by our spies, that the Gwalior mutineers, with 50 guns, were going to attack the fort that night, and the natives said they could take it in three hours; but it turned out to be a false alarm, as the Contingent was on its way to Kanhpur.

We heard that Colonel Greathed had reached Kanhpur on the 28th of October, and that Brigadier Hope Grant had taken the command; also, that the column had been reinforced by 5000, and a large supply of provisions, and was to proceed to the Alambagh, to await the arrival of the Commander-in-chief. Later on, we heard that General Havelock was besieged in Lucknow, and had only food left for twenty days, and that Outram dared not leave Kanhpur on account of the Gwalior Contingent. We hoped affairs would now begin to brighten, as some thousand troops of the tardy help from England had arrived, and above 20,000 more were on their way.

November was a very dull, dreary month for us; we could no longer walk on the terrace at night, on account of the cold, which was very bitter. We felt it more from having been exposed to such great

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heat. Our quarters were very cold; for I had now returned to my old “den,” No. 6. which I separated by jamps from Mrs. Innes’s, on account of baby. We tried all manner of devices to keep out the cold: the Meades and Murrays had their jumps plastered outside with mud, which gave them a very ugly look; but we found double jumps the best protection. The wind blew through the chicks and starved us; so we put a jump before them at night: not during the day, as they were the only means of admitting light into our “dens.”

We bought some coarse native cloth, and hung it round the inside, like tapestry; also some common native carpets for the floor, which was “kunkur,” and, consequently, very cold and damp. We also whitewashed the wall inside our “dens,” and the roof, to keep off our old enemies: they used to keep us awake most of the night. Poor baby was a martyr to the bugs, and I have often had to pick them off him. As we could not get any English blankets, we substituted rezais, which are made of quilted cotton wool covered with chintz. But we were fortunate enough to procure some warmer clothing: lebadoes, or quilted garments, something like a dressing-gown, to wear in our “dens;” and in the bazaar we found some black and brown “shag,” which made the children warm coats and jackets. The 3rd Europeans now turned out in Khaki coloured uniforms; and the children used to shout out “Quakers” after them.

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At last it was considered safe to go to the hills. Captain Alexander, Lieutenant Cockburn, and another officer, went on sick leave up to the hills: they were well armed however. Little Charlotte Stuart, also, was taken by some friends, as she was to go home with Lady John Lawrence’s party: she came to say good-bye to us, and looked very pale and sorrowful, poor little thing I Some of the officers also ventured to go to Delhi; and poor Mrs. Hawkins and her children went to the hills with a guard of “sawars.” We heard of the murder of poor Lieutenant Neville, of H.M.’s 81st, near Pakputton on the Sutlej, on his way to England: his intended bride arrived at Bombay in the “Windsor Castle” on the very day the news of his murder reached there!

The Meades and Murrays now went out to live in tents. Some people lived in the mosques near the Taj, and others constantly made parties to go there. Mrs. Christison and I went, one day, to feast our eyes on the beauties of the Taj; we wandered in the lovely gardens, where “the flowers of earth vie with the stars of heaven,” and gathered oranges, which were now ripe. I left my baby under Mrs. Cameron’s charge, who now had the care of Mrs. Proctor’s baby: she was very proud of my little boy, saying she had saved his life; which she certainly had, by her kind care and attention. On our way back, we passed through the native city of

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Agra, where I had never been before. The principal street is paved with flags, and was crowded with natives, who looked at us with an “evil eye.”

A Jew pedlar having returned from Delhi, laden with Kashmir shawls, caps, scarfs, and slippers, I bought some, as they were now difficult to get, the looms at Delhi being destroyed.

Captain Longville Clarke, just before he went with the party to Fathpur Sikri, heard of the murder of his brother at one of the out-stations; which made him more furious than ever against the sepoys. Colonel Cotton headed the party which went to Fathpur Sikri to attack some of the rebels whom Colonel Greathed had defeated. They took a great many prisoners, and made them clean out the church; but as it was contrary to their “caste,” they were obliged to be forced to do it at the point of the bayonet: some did it with alacrity, thinking they would be spared hanging; but they were mistaken, for they were all hung.

We were now rejoiced to hear of the final relief of Lucknow, by Sir Colin Campbell, on the 17th of November, and of the arrival at Kanhpur of the poor Lucknow ladies and children. We were thankful that these poor sufferers were at last safe on their way home, after the long trial which they had so heroically and patiently borne; but we were disappointed at not being able to join them at Kanhpur as we had hoped. Our joy was also sadly damped

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by hearing soon afterwards of the greatest loss that had yet happened to us: for Havelock was not only a brave and chivalrous soldier, but a good Christian, and beloved by both his Officers and men. It was very sad that so many brave generals should have died in the first flush of victory, and, without seeing the results of their great deeds, leave their laurels to be worn by others.

In the beginning of December we heard that a column had left Delhi for Kanhpur, and would take us on its way. It was said the line of march extended fifteen miles; that we were to travel in carts, and sleep at night in tents; and on arriving at Kanhpur we were to proceed to Calcutta, either from Allahabad by steamer, or by dak gharry. After making arrangements, our hopes of release from our dreary imprisonment were again deferred, to our great disappointment; the column coming no further than Aligarh, on account of a fight it had had on the 25th of November, with the Jodhpur legion near Karnal, in which Colonel Gerard was killed. The “Cossids” told us there had been hard fighting between Colonel Wyndham and the Gwalior rebels at Kanhpur; so, as there was little hope of our getting to Calcutta, I thought of going to my aunt Monteath at Simla, and after staying there a short time, returning home via Multan and Bombay.

In the second week in December, the wounded soldiers, who had now recovered, gave a grand fete

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at the Taj, in honour of the ladies who had attended them. Regular cards of invitation and programmes were printed; the tiffin was to be spread in one of the mosques, and nearly every one went to it. We left the Fort about noon; Mrs. Christison and I drove in Major Macpherson’s carriage, and he and Mrs. Innes came after. The road was crowded with soldiers and carriages, and the river with boats, all on their way to the Taj. It was a very gay scene. In one of the mosques of the Taj, all the ladies, children, officers, and soldiers were gathered; and here and there might be seen a native, looking green with rage at their sacred building being thus desecrated. The mosque was beautifully decorated with flowers, and a table was spread with all the dainties that could be procured. Almost every one looked happy and cheerful, and the ladies went from one soldier to another saying kind words, and congratulating them on their recovery.

We staid here and had some tiffin; and I remember one man of the 9th Lancers offering me some milk punch, that being the only beverage they could procure, as the wine in the fort was drunk. After tiffin they had a dance, in which some of the ladies joined; but there were others whose deep mourning garments showed that, with them, it was a time of heavy sorrow. After watching the dancers for a short time, Mrs. Blake and I, with some others, walked in the garden. We here met Major Raikes of Gwalior, who said that he and his wife were going up to the

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Punjab; and his uncle, Mr. Raikes, one of the Agra judges, was also leaving for England, He told us that it would be long before we could get to Calcutta; and if we went further up the country, we might have a chance of going to Bombay with the invalids, who were going by the Sutlej, via Firuzpur.

After walking for some time in the garden, we returned to the fort. Mrs. Blake agreed to go to some friends at Ambalah, Mrs. Proctor to the Punjab to her mother, and I to my aunt at Simla: Lieutenant Fitzgerald, of the Artillery, Mrs. Blake’s nephew, who had just come from Delhi, was to go with us; so we all spent the next two days in hurried preparations for our emancipation. I had some difficulty in persuading my dhye to accompany me, as I had only had her a short time; but she at last agreed to go with me, if I would take her husband and child also, give her some clothes, and pay her £2. a month, and “caste” money: and I was obliged to agree to these conditions. Mrs. Christison went with me to the bazaar, outside the fort. It consisted of a long range of “chopper” sheds, near the Delhi gate, divided into compartments. The natives were now very glad to hire these little stalls from the bazaar master, to sell their wares.

We had some difficulty in procuring a few things, for the natives will bargain and charge you three times as much as the article is worth; but, in spite of their jabbering and chattering, I got some flannel

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and other warm materials to make some things for baby, and some clothes for my exigeant dhye.

We did not leave Agra till Saturday, the 12th of December, as the Raikeses had just gone, and we were obliged to wait for the return of their shigrams. We had each £150. given us by Government, as we could not yet get our own money from Calcutta. The last day was a whirl of excitement; for not only had we to pack up and prepare for our journey, but all sorts of business to attend to, and papers to sign, at which I was not an adept. My friends were very kind; Mrs. Nichols made me some pillows, as we were to take our bedding with ns; Mrs. Christison made me a plum cake, baked in a tin biscuit-case; and Mrs. Campbell fitted up and gave me a despatch-box and many other little necessaries. We also had to send off our boxes that day, with the two dhyes (one was Mrs. Proctor’s dhye) and their husbands and children by bullock train.

1 must not omit to mention Muza, who had remained faithful to Mrs. Blake, waited on her in the fort, and had done all he could for her comfort: I often tasted some of his little cookeries. Government gave him only £25., though he had lost more than that at Gwalior. Mrs. Blake (who intended going to England), before she left the fort, gave him a valuable ring, which he said he preferred to money; Mr. Raikes, the judge, also gave him a handsome sum of money. Ever since the mutinies broke out

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he had always been telling Mrs. Blake to quit the country, as now it was no fit place for women.

We all dined that day with the Campbells, and at night we all assembled, and those we were leaving behind drank to our safe journey home in some champagne that Captain Campbell had just brought us, which had come in with some things recovered from Gwalior. I don’t think we slept very well that night for thinking of our journey, and that, at last, we were really to leave our prison.

The next morning Mr. French came to say goodbye, and brought me a sermon which he had eat up the night before to copy, as I liked it very much. I had seen Mrs. French the previous evening, but he was not in then.

Early in the morning we were accompanied to the Delhi gate by about twenty of our friends, who helped us to pack our “shigrams.” We had been allowed the great favour of a guard of two sepoys; but thinking they were not the most faithful guardians in the world, we dispensed with their attendance, Mr. Fitzgerald being well armed. Mrs. Proctor, myself, our two babies, and dhyes, shared one “shigram,” and Mrs. Blake and Mr. Fitzgerald the other.

I could not agree with Shakspeare that “parting is such sweet sorrow,” for it was with keen regret and swelling hearts that we bade good-bye to kind friends whom we might never see again.

Footnotes

137. Dhye, native wet nurse.

138. Chowries, whisks, for driving off flies.

139. Chick, screen made of split cane, or reeds.

140. Chota sahib, little master.

141. Bangles; silver bracelets, generally soldered on the wearer’s arms or ankles.

142. Chudda; veil, which covers the whole person.

143. We afterwards learnt that Major Hodson had General Wilson’s express orders to spare the king’s life.

144. Nautch girls, dancing girls.

145. Tom-tom, native drum.

146. Chota sahib: little fellow.

This collection transcribed by Chris Gage
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