Wanderings in India, and Other Sketches of Life in Hindostan

by John Lang

"I did so, two years ago."

"And what did the Horse Guards say in reply to your statements?"

"Precisely what the learned world said of poor George Primrose's paradoxes—they said nothing. They treated them with dignified silence, and perhaps contempt. However, I did not stop there. I went further."

"You addressed the Throne, or Prince Albert?"

"No; I did not go so far as that. We had just got the Albert hat out, and after a careful examination of it, I came to the conclusion that his Royal Highness would hardly be disposed to give much ear to my complaint touching the discomfort of the British troops in India. But I wrote to an elder brother of mine, who represents a borough in Parliament, and I begged of him to bring under the notice of the House of Commons the condition of the British soldier in India, and move for a report of the officers in command of the various regiments doing duty in this country."

"And he did so, I hope?"

"Not he. He wrote to me to say that he had never spoken in the House, and never intended doing so, as he had not the faintest ambition to become a public orator; but that he had shown my letter to several friends of his (members of Parliament), who would only be too glad of an opportunity of bringing themselves into notice; and that they, one and all, blew upon it, remarking that the condition of the British soldier in any part of the world was a frightful bore; but that the condition of the British soldier in the East was a bore utterly beyond toleration. 'My dear George,' (he went on to say to me), 'your story would only be received with an ironical hear, hear! followed by a series of coughs, as though the subject had given the House a sudden chill and a very bad cold. Even that garrulous goose, Jamsey, to whom (in despair, and in order to oblige you) I showed your letter—even Jamsey, who is always ready to talk for hours about everything or anybody, shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, sighed, lifted up his hands, groaned, It won't do, and left me. Find out some indigo-planter who has been, or is supposed to be, guilty of some sort of oppression towards a sable cultivator of the soil, and we will pretty soon grind his bones to make our bread, my boy; but, for Heaven's sake, and the sake of the House of Commons, don't inflict upon us your British soldiers."

To leave the colonel, and express my further hopes—I hope to see in every large station throughout India two Christian churches erected—one for the Protestants and another for the Roman Catholics. Both erected at the expense of the Government. I hope to see, also, in every large station, a library to which every soldier, at stated hours, shall have access. I hope to see soldiers' gardens—such as the late Sir Henry Lawrence recommended—in which the men may, when they feel disposed, work, or amuse themselves in the cold season. I hope to see a theatre in every large station built and kept in repair, not by subscription from the poor men, but at the cost of the State. I hope, in fact to see the British soldier in the East—not petted, pampered, and made a fuss of, but made as sensibly comfortable as the climate in which he serves will admit of his being made. I hope, from the bottom of my heart, never to see brave men put into such a barrack as that at Loodianah, which fell in upon, and buried in its ruins, the remnant of her Majesty's 50th Regiment of Foot: one of the most gallant regiments in the Army List. They went into the field, during the first Sikh campaign, nine hundred strong. Nine hundred bright bayonets glittered in the sun as they marched away to give the foe (in the words of Lord Gough) "a taste of cold stale." They were at Moodkee, Ferozeshah, Aliwal, and Sobraon. Out of that nine hundred, only three hundred returned to quarters in March, eighteen hundred and forty-six. In three months, six hundred had fallen in battle! The campaign over, they were quartered at Loodianah, and placed in barracks which had been frequently reported rotten, unsound, and dangerous. But of this report—though forwarded by the Commander-in-chief—the military board took no notice. The consequence was, that in a dust-storm on the night of the twenty-first of May, ten years ago, the barracks came down! Beneath that mass of dust and smoke, and unburnt bricks, lay all the men, women, and children, left to represent the glorious 50th Regiment of Foot! Beneath that mass were the heroes who had escaped the carnage of the battle-fields in which three to one of the Regiment had died! Fifty-one men, eighteen women, and twenty-nine children, were killed by the fall of those barracks; one hundred and twenty-six men, thirty-nine women, and thirty-four children, were badly wounded—many maimed and disfigured for life! Well might the Colonel of that regiment cry aloud, "My God! there is no 50th left! The enemy did its worst; but it is the Company Bahadoor that has given us the finishing blow!"

The English reader may possibly doubt the accuracy of these details; but there is a huge grave at Loodianah containing the bones of those men, women, and children of the 50th; and scores of officers still live to bear testimony to the truth of my assertions in respect to this horrible catastrophe.