My three years in Manipur

by Ethel St. Clair Grimwood

It was two o’clock on the morning of the 25th that we left the Residency, and it was now between three and four in the afternoon. Every fresh hill seemed worse than its predecessor, and at last we began ascending one which appeared almost impossible to climb. Its sides were very steep and rocky, and there was only the merest apology for a path to direct us in any way. It was a case of using hands and knees to perform the ascent, and it seemed as though we should never reach the summit. When, after wearily toiling on for some hours, we did arrive at the top, I felt that I could not move another step.

We did halt for a short time here, and while we waited an incident occurred which touched me very much. A young Naga, who had been a Sais[20] in our service for several months at one time, found his way to our camp at the risk of losing his life had he been discovered by the enemy, and presented me with three eggs, expressing at the same time his sorrow at not being able to do more for me. He stayed till sunset with us, and then crept back under cover of the darkness to his village. I was much touched at this simple act of kindness, and I have often remembered it since, and wished it were in my power to do something for the brave lad. But unfortunately I have forgotten his name, and that of the village to which he belonged.

Three eggs are not many among eight hungry people, not to speak of the Sepoys; but no one would share them with me, in spite of my begging them to do so. I could not manage a raw egg, though I made several valiant efforts to swallow one. Eventually they all came to a bad end, for the two remaining ones were put into somebody’s pocket for safety, and were smashed later on, so no one benefited much by the little Naga boy’s well-meant offering.

While we were halting on the top of this hill, one of the officers took a few men with him and went on to take stock of the surrounding country, as our exact whereabouts seemed uncertain. He came to a Manipuri Thana before he had proceeded far, and had a parley with the native officer in command there, who called to him, telling him he had something to say. So the party went up to within speaking distance, and the Manipuri called out that he had orders to ‘pass the Memsahib and Sepoys,’ but that all the officers must return to Manipur.

However, as soon as he was told that our party intended proceeding undivided, he ordered his men to fire on us, which they immediately did, and we had to begin marching again down the hill and up the other side of the ravine. The firing continued on both sides the whole time, and it was only when we eventually reached the summit of the opposite hill to that upon which we had halted, and disappeared over the crest, that it ceased.

The sun had set, and night was beginning to close in and put an end to the longest day I have ever known. It seemed months almost since our departure from the Residency, and yet it was but twenty-four hours.

How I envied my husband and the others, who, as I then thought, were at any rate in comparative safety, able to eat and sleep, even though they were prisoners! Not that anxiety on my husband’s account did not trouble me. I longed to know how he was being treated, and whether they would tell him of my escape, and spare him the torture of not knowing my fate, for I knew how he would fret over it if he did not know.

It seemed so terrible to be obliged to march away leaving them all behind, and at times I longed to hurry back and see for myself what was happening, while, again, I would have given anything to have reached Cachar, and been able to send up help to those in captivity. We thought that Mr. Melville had been made prisoner and brought back to Manipur, as a rumour to that effect had reached us on the 24th, and in that case we supposed he would be with the Chief and his party, a prisoner in the palace.

Perhaps the utter weariness of body and mind which threatened to overcome me at this time prevented my brooding too much on the possible fate of those we had been forced to leave in the hands of their enemies, and it may have been well that it was so.

All that terrible night we tramped on, I with bare feet, as my thin shoes had given out long since. At length, about one o’clock in the morning, we halted in a small grove of trees, lying in a hollow between two hills. We had marched more than twenty miles, and rest was absolutely essential. Here we lay down and slept. The officers gave me their great-coats and bore the intense cold themselves, and I slept as I have seldom slept in a comfortable bed at home, never waking once until someone aroused me about half-past three in the morning, and told me the weary tale again—we were to move on.