It required a month's more campaigning, the capture of two or three fortresses, and another battle at Argaum, to complete the subjugation of the region south of the Vindhya hills. Simultaneously General Lake had been engaged in a campaign far away to the northwards, overthrowing Sindia's power in the basin of the Ganges. Having stormed the extremely strong fortress of Aligurh, he had defeated near Delhi a Mahratta army consisting largely of trained troops and commanded by a Frenchman, and had restored the blind Mogul emperor, who had long been a prisoner of Sindia, to his nominal throne. Two months after Assye, Lake destroyed on the hard-fought field of Laswaree the last army with which Sindia could keep the field. He and his ally practically submitted themselves to the English. Holkar tried his fortune later, with the same result.[95] If he had combined with Sindia in 1803 there might have been a better chance for the Mahrattas. The victory of Assye, which must on the whole be regarded as the decisive one of the Mahratta war, made the East India Company virtual masters of India. The Mogul emperor was their pensioner, the rulers of Oude, Mysore, the Deccan, their willing dependents. The Mahrattas gave more trouble before they fully submitted, and there was fighting in various other quarters at one time or another during the generation which followed Assye; but these wars were comparatively unimportant. Substantially it may be said that in the Mahratta war of 1803 the political genius of Lord Wellesley, aided by the military skill of his brother, completed the British conquest of India as far as the Sutlej.

CHAPTER XVII
INDIA
PART II.—SUPREMACY

Three times, after the East India Company had become supreme in India, its dominion was exposed to serious danger of overthrow. The Afghan war, dictated by mistaken policy, and badly carried out, led to the greatest disaster in Anglo-Indian history, though it was redeemed by subsequent successes. The Sikh military power, built up by an able ruler, and disciplined by European officers, went very near to defeating British armies in pitched battles. The mutiny of the Bengal sepoys turned against England the main instrument of her previous conquests.

In the course of a long reign Runjeet Sing had become by far the most powerful Indian prince since Hyder Ali. The Khalsa, as the Sikh commonwealth was styled, was full of zeal for its creed, a reformed Hindooism. The race was hardy and vigorous, and Runjeet Sing, taking into his service many French and other adventurers, had given his army a discipline and cohesion never before approached by any oriental troops. He had conquered several provinces from the Afghans, though not uniformly successful against them, and by carefully respecting the prejudices of his people had won complete ascendancy at home. Though naturally he looked with no favour on the growth of the British power, he had the wisdom to discern its vast strength, and sedulously cultivated friendly relations with it, which the Calcutta government was very willing to maintain. One of the subsidiary purposes of the ill-advised Afghan war was to assist Runjeet Sing in increasing his dominions at the expense of the Afghan monarchy. The real determining motive was however the same which led to the equally ill-judged Afghan war of 1878-9, dread of the advance of Russia in central Asia.

In 1837 Persia, largely under Russian influence, tried to wrest Herat from the Afghan monarch, Dost Mahommed, but the attempt failed, chiefly through the energy of Eldred Pottinger. The Afghans, fanatical Mahommedans, and bitterly hostile to foreigners, only asked to be let alone. Their country is very mountainous, and difficult of access, much of it barren, and the outlying parts occupied by lawless predatory tribes. With a little assistance from India, they would have afforded then, as later, a most effectual barrier against a Russian advance. Dost Mahommed would have welcomed an English alliance, chiefly to protect him against Persia. Lord Auckland however, the governor-general, persuaded himself that Dost Mahommed was not to be trusted, and determined to replace him by a pretender who had, as the event showed, no partisans in Afghanistan. Armies were sent to invade the country by more than one route, as from the nature of the case was inevitable, and occupied it without serious resistance. Then the difficulties began. Shah Sujah, the British puppet, had no capacity and could establish no power. Almost every imaginable blunder was committed by the English authorities at Cabul, both civil and military: the envoys were murdered, the army was to all intents and purposes placed in the hands of the revolted Afghans to destroy at their pleasure. The government of India was slow to perceive the absolute necessity of retrieving by vigorous measures our lost credit, and of avenging those who had been treacherously slaughtered. Lord Ellenborough, who succeeded Lord Auckland, was less incompetent to deal with the crisis, though his policy was by no means faultless. In 1842 Afghanistan was again occupied by armies, this time well and boldly led; and then the puppet was withdrawn, and Dost Mahommed resumed his throne. The net result of the whole war was to inspire in the Afghans a feeling of active dislike towards the English, which had hardly existed before, and to diminish the elements of order and civilisation, and therefore the chances of resisting Russia in case of need, in a state always barbarous and a prey to violence.

What might have happened if Runjeet Sing had lived to hear of the disaster at Cabul, whether his fidelity to the English alliance would have been proof against the temptation to strike for Sikh supremacy in India, it is not pleasant to conjecture. He however died when the first invasion of Afghanistan was progressing, and his death was followed by virtual anarchy in the Punjab. Rulers and ministers in rapid succession rose to power by violence or intrigue, and were deposed and murdered by similar means. Every revolution made the Sikh army more and more powerful in the state, more and more conscious of its own power. The soldiers were admirably brave, and capable of enduring enormous fatigue, nor had their discipline been impaired by their political preponderance, with its consequent high pay and license of violence. Man for man they were superior to any other natives of India, and little, if at all, inferior to English soldiers. Strong in religious zeal, they believed it to be their mission to expel the foreigners, and establish, throughout northern India at least, a purified Hindoo empire. The Sikhs were well provided with artillery, on which they placed their main reliance, and trained in all the methods of European warfare: though slow to attack, they defended intrenchments with extraordinary determination. Altogether they were an enemy such as the East India Company had never yet encountered. Fortunately for England, they had no really skilful generals, and they were, at any rate in the first war, led by men who were only anxious for their own personal advantage: from the soldiery they had practically bought their offices, and might be overthrown by them at any moment. At the best these chiefs calculated that a war with the English, if unsuccessful, would bring them under less exacting masters, if successful, might lead to indefinite possibilities. Their conduct, on more than one occasion, warrants the belief that they deliberately sought to destroy their own men.

Sir H. Hardinge, who succeeded Lord Ellenborough as governor-general, was an experienced and capable soldier: he saw that a Sikh war was probably inevitable, and brought troops up within easy distance of the frontier, while avoiding such a concentration as would provoke immediate attack. On December 11, 1845, the Sikhs crossed the river Sutlej, the virtual frontier: Sir John Littler, who commanded the only British force in the immediate neighbourhood, boldly marched out of Ferozepore and offered battle, though they had five times his number. His confident attitude impressed the Sikhs; their nominal commander-in-chief, who desired to commit them as deeply as possible, represented to them that it would be much more glorious to encounter and defeat the governor-general, and they followed the insidious advice. In a few days the English commander-in-chief, with a portion of the army that was concentrating, drew near. Misinformed as to his numbers, and urged on by leaders who desired their destruction, the Sikhs did not march with their whole force to meet him at Moodkee, but sent a detachment of barely his strength, all arms included, and very weak in the most important, infantry. Sir Hugh Gough showed on all occasions impatience of everything but direct attack in front. Forming his infantry in line he advanced, regardless of the Sikh artillery in their centre: his cavalry by a brilliant charge broke the superior Sikh horse which threatened his flank, and the Sikh infantry, greatly outnumbered, were inevitably forced back with the loss of most of their guns, though they never were routed. This experience of the quality of his enemies ought to have taught Sir Hugh Gough wisdom: had it done so, the unnecessary loss of several hundred men might not have been too dear a price to pay. Three days later (December 21, 1845) the available forces were concentrated, and moved to attack the Sikh army, which had entrenched itself to await him. Their position was, to use the words of Gough's own despatch, "a parallelogram of about a mile in length and half a mile in breadth, including within its area the strong village of Ferozeshah—the shorter sides looking towards the Sutlej and Moodkee, and the longer towards Ferozepore and the open country." The governor-general, who had joined the army, intimated his readiness to serve under Gough. Whether the battle would have been less rashly fought if he had commanded in chief, cannot be known; certainly Gough, whose courage was magnificent, but who had no idea of using skill to save resort to sheer force, brought the army to the verge of overwhelming disaster.