My three years in Manipur

by Ethel St. Clair Grimwood

CHAPTER XIV.

Up early on the eventful morning—The Jubraj does not attend the Durbar—Visit of Mr. Grimwood to the Jubraj—Finds him in high fever—Matters assume a serious aspect—Thoroughfares deserted—Terrific thunderstorm—Our servants take French leave—My ayah deserts—Melancholy thoughts—Lovely moonlight night—A Manipuri arrives to spy out our doings—The night before the outbreak—Attack on the Residency—Capture of the Jubraj’s house—Anxiety about Lieutenant Brackenbury—Stray bullets find their billet in the Residency—Attack gets hot, and big guns play on the Residency—We have to take to the cellars—The Regent invites Mr. Quinton to an interview.

It is now some time since the events took place which I am recording here, and not one vestige of the past remains to help me in my work, not a single scrap of writing or note of any kind; yet the smallest detail of those few terrible days is engraved so indelibly upon my memory that it seems but the occurrence of yesterday, and I need no reference to help me in my description of a catastrophe which almost outrivals some of the horrors of the Mutiny.

We were all up early on the morning of the 23rd. The durbar was fixed to take place at eight, and the rooms had to be prepared for the ceremony. But when eight o’clock came, it brought only a message from the palace, saying that the Jubraj was too ill to leave his house, and therefore the regent had not come; so the red cloth arranged for his reception was put away, and a consultation took place between the Chief and my husband as to what the next move should be.

It was decided to make one last attempt to get the princes to attend, and then if that failed, other measures were to be resorted to. But twelve o’clock brought no better results, and about four my husband was sent to the palace to see the Jubraj, and convey to him personally the orders of the Government, and use all his influence to persuade the prince to give himself up quietly, telling him at the same time that the proposed banishment was not to last for ever, but that it would depend chiefly on his good behaviour, and eventually, at the death of his brother, the regent, he (the Jubraj) would be allowed to return to Manipur, and ascend the throne as Maharajah. It was a veritable hornets’ nest into which my husband ventured that afternoon, accompanied only by his friend Mr. Simpson. He would not take even a single orderly with him, knowing in what an excited state the whole palace was at that time. It was crowded with Sepoys, collected, the regent told him, for the review which we had desired to witness. I got very anxious about them both when more than an hour had passed and they had not returned, but when my husband did come back I knew at a glance that his mission had failed. He said the Jubraj was certainly very unwell. He had had some difficulty at first in persuading the prince to come and see him at all, but after finding out from his people that the two Sahibs had come quite alone, the Jubraj had himself carried down to see them in a litter. The exertion caused him to faint, and my husband said that there was no doubt as to his illness, and that he found him in high fever.

Shortly before this visit to the palace took place, Mr. Melville started off on the first stage of his journey to Kohima. He intended travelling as far as Sengmai that day, a distance of ten miles. My husband tried to make him reconsider his decision to go, and I added my persuasions to his. We did not like the look of things at all, and how matters would end was, to say the least, very uncertain.

I remember so well our all standing on the steps of the Residency that afternoon, watching the coolies collecting Mr. Melville’s luggage, and begging him to remain even one day longer with us, for fear of anything going wrong; and I remember equally well his answer: ‘Thank you very much, Mrs. Grimwood,’ he said, ‘but do not fear for me. I am not important enough to be captured by these Manipuris. I shall get on all right, never fear’; and in a few more minutes he had left us. But the thoughts of his going away like that, alone, without any guard to protect him, troubled me more than once that afternoon, and I could not get it out of my head. Matters assumed a serious aspect indeed when my husband returned about six o’clock from the palace with the news that he had been unsuccessful with regard to the Jubraj. There was only one way, then, out of the difficulty, and that was to place the affair in the hands of the military, and apply force where persuasion had failed. It was a council of war, indeed, and everything seemed to combine to fill me with sensations of dread for what was going to happen. I could not feel the excitement that took possession of the men when the chances of a probable fight became known. Such an idea filled me with alarm and horror. The place had a deserted look about it, and on the principal road, as a rule crowded with people at that hour, not a soul was visible.

The clouds had been gathering up all the afternoon, and about seven o’clock a terrific thunderstorm occurred, and darkness set in, which was only lit up now and then by brilliant flashes of lightning. I busied myself about the house, where I found a state of confusion reigning. A number of the servants had taken French leave and departed, scenting danger.

My old ayah was among the first to go. She had been with me four years, and had followed me about faithfully till now; but at the first sign of danger she packed up her belongings and went off. I wondered where she had taken refuge, for she had a good many enemies, and was not a native of Manipur, so had no home or relations in the place to whom she could fly for protection. I felt her desertion very much. She was only a native, but she was at any rate a woman, and better than no one in a case like that. However, there was no good to be got out of thinking over her departure, and I had as much as I could do as it was to keep the other servants up to the mark, and get them to understand that dinner that evening would have to be gone through the same as usual. Mr. Quinton and three of the others amused themselves by playing whist until dinner-time, as, of course, going out was an impossibility; and I went to the kitchen to superintend the arrangements there, and to make preparations for the next day, as I knew that if there were fighting going on, I should be left without a single servant, and so resolved to get as much work out of them while they were there as was possible. We made a quantity of soup that night, as I thought it would be useful, and cooked some fowls to provide us with something to eat the next day in case of accidents. And then we had dinner.

No one seemed inclined to speak much that evening. With me conversation was almost an impossibility, and the rest were too excited about the morrow to be able to talk and laugh as they had done the day before. It was a relief to me when dinner was over. I felt nervous and low-spirited, and very lonely, quite out of place amongst those men whose profession it was to fight, and who were longing for the next morning.