Directing attention next to the Punjaub, we may remark that those who had the keenest sense of the value of loyal integrity in times of trouble, were anxious to see the day when some recognition should be shewn of the services of three native rajahs, without whose co-operation it would scarcely have been possible for Sir John Lawrence to have sent those troops from the Punjaub which enabled Sir Archdale Wilson to recapture Delhi. These were the Rajahs of Putialah, Jheend, and Nabah—three small states which were at one time included within Sirhind, then among the ‘Sikh protected states,’ and then among the ‘Cis-Sutlej states.’ The rajahs were semi-independent, having most of the privileges of independent rulers, but being at the same time under certain engagements to the British government. If they had swelled the ranks of the insurgents, it is difficult to see how Hindostan could have been recovered; for these states intervene between Lahore and Umritsir on the one side, and Delhi on the other. From first to last the rajahs not only fulfilled their engagements, but more; and the government had abundant reason to be glad that these three territories had not been ‘annexed;’ for annexation, if not the cause, was unquestionably one of the aggravations to mutiny. Viscount Canning, in July, rewarded these three Sikh chiefs (for they were Sikhs, though not exactly Punjaubees) with estates and honours. The Rajah—or rather Maharajah, for he was of higher grade than the other two—of Putialah received certain territories in Jhujjur and Bhudour, on a certain military tenure in return for the revenues. He also received the gift of a house at Delhi which, once belonging to one of the begums of the imperial family, had been confiscated on account of her complicity in the mutiny. Lastly, his honorary titles were increased by the following: ‘Furzund Khan, Munsoor Zuman, Ameer-ool-Omrah, Maharajah Dhurraj Rajahshur Sree Maharajah Rajgan, Nirundur Singh Mahundur Bahadoor’—an accumulation, the weight of which would be oppressive to any but an oriental prince. The translation is said to be: ‘Special Son, Conqueror of the World, Chief of the Chiefs, Maharajah of Rajahs’—and so on. The Rajah of Jheend received the Dadree territory, thirteen villages in the Koolran Pergunnah, and a confiscated royal house at Delhi. The additions were: That he be allowed a salute of eleven guns; that his presents be increased from eleven to fifteen trays; that his state visits to the governor-general be returned by the secretary; and that his honorary titles be thus increased: ‘Most cherished Son of true Faith, Rajah Surroop Singh Walee Jheend.’ The Rajah of Nabah received similar presents, and the honorary appellations of—‘Noble Son of good Faith, Berar Bunsee Sirmoor Rajah Bhurpoor Singh Malindur Bahadoor.’ The revenues made over to these rajahs amounted—to the first, about £20,000 per annum; to the second, £12,000; to the third, £11,000.
Umritsir.
We may smile at these extravagances of compliment, but the services rendered deserved a solid reward as well as an addition to honorary titles. For, it must be remembered, the Rajah of Putialah maintained a contingent of 5000 troops—protected the stations of Umballa and Kurnaul at the outbreak of the mutiny—guarded the grand trunk-road from Kurnaul to Phillour, keeping it open for the passage of British and Punjaub troops—co-operated with General Van Cortlandt in Hissar—lent money when Sir John Lawrence’s coffers were running low—and encouraged others by his own unswerving loyalty. Again: the Rajah of Jheend, whose contingent was very small, did not hesitate to leave his own territory undefended, and march towards Delhi—assisting to defend most of the stations between that city and Kurnaul, and to keep open the communication across the Jumna. Again: the Rajah of Nabah, at the very outset of the disturbances, proceeded to aid Mr Commissioner Barnes in maintaining Loodianah—supplied an escort for the siege-train—gallantly opposed the Jullundur mutineers—provided carriage for stores—and made loans to the Punjaub government in a time of monetary need. The districts given to these rajahs, at the suggestion of Sir John Lawrence, were so chosen as to furnish a prudent barrier of Sikhs between turbulent Mohammedans on the one side and equally turbulent Rajpoots on the other.
Nor did the authorities neglect to recognise the services of humbler persons, although, principally from the proverbial slowness of official movements, the recognition was often delayed to an unreasonable extent. Occasion has more than once presented itself, in former chapters, for noticing the bestowal of the much-prized Victoria Cross on officers and soldiers who had distinguished themselves by acts of personal valour. Owing to the dilatory official routine just adverted to, it was not until the 27th of July that Sergeant Smith and Bugler Hawthorne received the Victoria Cross for their intrepid services at the siege of Delhi ten months before. Their regiment, the 52d foot, was at Sealkote in the Punjaub on that date; and Brigadier Stisted had the pleasure of giving the honouring insignia to them. He told them that the Victoria Cross is in reality more honourable than the Order of the Bath, seeing that no one can obtain it except by virtue of well-authenticated acts of heroism. He gracefully admitted that his own Order of the Bath was due more to the pluck and bravery of his men than to his own individual services; and in reference to the Victoria Cross he added: ‘I only wish I had it myself.’ Another bestowal of this honour we will briefly mention, to shew what kind of spirit is to be found within the breasts of British troops. The award of the Cross, in this instance, was delayed no less than fourteen months after the achievement for which it was given; and the soldier may well have doubted whether he would ever receive it. The instance was that of Gunner William Connolly, of the Bengal horse-artillery; and the conduct for which his officer, Lieutenant Cookes, recommended him for this distinction, was recorded in a dispatch from which an extract is here given in a foot-note.[[189]]
A very unexpected event, in July, was the revolt of a regiment, or a portion of a regiment, in that region of India which was believed to be more vigorously governed and in better hands than any other—the Punjaub. The facts, as they afterwards came out (mostly, however, on hearsay evidence), appear to have been nearly as follow: The 18th Punjaub infantry, stationed at Dera Ismael Khan, on the western side of the Indus, contained among its numbers about a hundred Malwaie Sikhs, a peculiar tribe different from the other Sikhs of the Punjaub. These Malwaies planned a mutiny. On a particular night, some of them were to murder the officers of the station; the fort was to be seized; and the 39th Bengal native infantry, which had been disarmed some time previously, was to be re-armed from the magazines and stores of the fort. The two regiments of mutineers, perhaps joined by the Sikhs of Renny’s regiment at Bunnoo, were then to embark in boats on the Indus, taking with them the guns, ammunition, and treasure, and were to float down to Dera Ghazee Khan; here they expected to be joined by the native garrison, with whom they would cross the Indus to Moultan; and lastly, with two regiments from the last-named place, they hoped to march upon Lahore. Such was the account, probably magnified in some of its particulars, obtained of the plans of the mutineers. So far as concerned the actual facts, the plot was discovered in time to prevent its execution. On the evening of the 20th, Major Gardiner of the 10th Punjaub infantry, and Captain Smith of the artillery, having received from some quarter a hint of what was intended, went down to the lines at ten o’clock at night, and summoned two of the men to appear. One, a sepoy, came first; he was ordered at once to be confined; but no sooner did he hear the order, than he ran off. Just as the guard were about re-capturing this man, a jemadar rushed out, cut down one of them, and wounded another. The sepoy and the jemadar, who were the ringleaders in the plot, escaped for a time, but were captured a few days afterwards. As soon as Sir John Lawrence heard of this occurrence, he ordered the disarmed 39th to be sent to Sealkote, where their movements could be more carefully watched.
Still more serious, in its nature if not in its intention, was the outbreak of the 62d and 69th Bengal native infantry, with a native troop of horse-artillery, at Moultan. These disarmed regiments, like many others in similar plight, were a source of embarrassment to the authorities. They could not safely be re-armed, for their Hindustani sympathies caused them to be suspected; while it was a waste of power to employ English soldiers to watch these unarmed men in their lines. At length it was determined to disband the two regiments, and let the men depart, a few at a time, and under necessary precautions, to their own homes. When this order was read out to them, they appeared satisfied; but a rumour or suspicion spread that there was an intention of destroying them piecemeal on the way. Whether this or any other motive actuated them, is not fully known; but they broke out into rebellion on the 31st of August. There were at Moultan at the time about 170 of the royal artillery, a wing of the 1st Bengal Europeans, the 11th Punjaub infantry, and the 1st Bengal irregular cavalry. Just as the mid-day gun fired, the two disarmed mutinous regiments rose in mutiny, seized anything they could find as weapons, and made a desperate assault on the troops at the station not in their plot. The 62d made their attack on the artillery stables and the European barracks; the 69th went at the guns and the artillery barracks. As these mutineers had few weapons but sticks, their attack appeared so strange, and was so wholly unexpected, that the loyal troops at the station were at first hardly prepared to resist them, and a few Europeans lost their lives; but when once the real nature of the mad attempt was clearly seen, the result was fearful. The misguided men were shot or cut down by all parties and in all quarters. Of thirteen hundred mutineers, few lived to return to their own Hindostan; three or four hundred were laid low in and near Moultan, others were shot by villagers, others were captured and brought in for military execution. It was the nearest approach to the utter annihilation of two regiments, perhaps, that occurred throughout the wars of the mutiny. The sepoys sometimes behaved more like madmen, at others more like children, than rational beings. In the present case they had scarcely a chance of success; for the Sikhs and Punjaubees around them displayed no affection for Hindustanis; the soldiery shot and cut them down, while the peasantry captured them for the sake of the reward offered. They possibly reckoned on the support of the 1st Bengal irregular cavalry; but this regiment remained loyal, and assisted in cutting down the sepoys instead of befriending them.
This occurrence strongly attracted the attention of the government. The disarmed sepoys, as has been more than once mentioned, were a source of much perplexity; it was not decided in what way best to set them free; and on the other hand, such an outbreak as this shewed that it would not be safe to re-arm them. There was at the same time a necessity for watching the Sikh and Punjaubee troops—now nearly 70,000 in number. Hitherto they had behaved admirably, fighting manfully for the government at times and places where the Hindustanis had been treacherous. That they had done so, afforded a justification for the confidence which Sir John Lawrence had placed in them; but that sagacious man saw that recruiting had gone quite far enough in this direction. It was just possible that the Punjaub army might become too strong, and rejoice in its strength by means of insubordination.
One of the incidents in the Punjaub during the month of August related to a physical rather than a moral outbreak—the overwhelming of a military station by a river torrent. The Indus, when about to enter the Punjaub from the Himalaya, passes through a narrow ravine in the Irhagan Hills. The rocks on either side here, undermined by the action of the water through unknown centuries, broke away and fell into the river. Half the water of the stream still continued to find its way onward; but the other half became dammed up, and accumulated into a vast lake. When the pressure of this body of water had augmented to an irresistible degree (which it did in fifteen days), it burst its barrier and rushed down with indescribable force, sweeping away villages on its banks. At Attock the level of the river rose fifty feet in one hour, carrying away the bridge of boats which constituted the only roadway over the Indus, and destroying workshops and timber-stores on the banks. The Cabool river, coming from Afghanistan, and joining the Indus at Attock, had its stream driven backwards or upwards with fearful rapidity; it speedily overflowed its banks, and destroyed nearly all the houses at the military station of Nowsherah. ‘The officers,’ said an eye-witness, ‘not knowing when it would stop, but hoping the flood would soon subside, put all their things on the tops of their houses; but the water still continued rising, and house after house went down before it.... The barracks were flooded and vacated by the troops; and all, gentle and simple, had to pass the night on some sand-hills.’ The barracks, being ‘pucka-built’ (burnt bricks and mortar), were not destroyed, although flooded; the other buildings, being ‘rutcha-built’ (unburnt bricks and mud), were destroyed. The troops were at once removed to Peshawur; but the destruction of the boat-bridge at Attock threatened a serious interruption to military movements.
Nothing occurred in the Punjaub during September to need record here; nor did Sinde depart from its usual peaceful condition. Both of these large provinces, filling up the western belt of India from the Himalaya to the ocean, were held well in hand by the civil and military authorities.