On Wednesday, the 21st, the coffin was again removed to the ship. The imprudence of the former procession had struck everyone. The streets were cleared and no one admitted to the jetty except the procession. 'You cannot imagine the awful solemnity which all this precaution gave the whole thing. It was like marching through a city half-dead and half-besieged.' Nothing was to be seen but troops; and, 'when we got into Dalhousie Square, there was a battery of artillery firing minute-guns, and drawn up on the road just as if they were going to fight. Two or three bands played the Dead March the whole way, till I felt as if it would never get out of my ears. At the end of the jetty lay the "Daphne." ... The sailors, with infinite delicacy and quiet, draped the coffin carefully with its flags ... and it was raised and lowered by a steam-crane, which, somehow or other, they managed to work without any sound at all. When the ship steamed off down the river, and the minute-guns stopped, and I drove home with Henry Cunningham, I really felt as I suppose people feel when an operation is over. There was a stern look of reality about the whole affair, quite unlike what one has seen elsewhere. Troops and cannon and gun-carriages seem out of place in England, ... but it is a very different matter here, where everything rests upon military force. The guns and the troops are not only the outward and visible marks of power, but they are the power itself to a great extent, and it is very impressive to see them.
'It gives a sort of relief to one,' he adds, 'that after all Lord Mayo was, in a sense, going home: that he (so far as one can speak of his dead body) was leaving this country with all its various miseries, to return to his own native place. If one is to have fancies on such a matter, it is pleasant to think that he is not to lie here in a country where we can govern and where we can work and make money and lead laborious lives; but for which no Englishman ever did, or ever will, or can feel one tender or genial feeling.[118] The work that is done here is great and wonderful; but the country is hateful.'
One singular incident was connected with this event. The murderer had been tried on the spot and sentenced to death. The sentence had to be confirmed by the High Court at Calcutta. It was there discovered that the judge had by some mistake recorded that the European witnesses had 'affirmed' according to the form used for native religions, instead of being sworn according to the Christian formula. Fitzjames was startled to hear of this intrusion of technicality upon such an occasion; and held, I think, that in case of need, the Government of India should manage to cut the knot. Ultimately, however, some of the witnesses who were at Calcutta made affidavits to the effect that they had really been sworn, and the sentence was confirmed and executed. Otherwise, said Fitzjames in one of his last Indian speeches (upon the Oaths and Declaration Act) a grievous crime might have escaped punishment, because five English gentlemen had made statements 'in the presence of Almighty God,' instead of kissing the Bible and saying 'So help me God.'
I must mention one other incident which occurred at the end of Fitzjames's stay in India. One Ram Singh was the spiritual and political chief of a sect called the Kookas. His disciples showed their zeal by murdering butchers as a protest against cow-killing. They were animated by prophecies of a coming kingdom of heaven, broke into rioting and were suppressed, and, as the Indian Government held, punished with an excess of severity. Although Fitzjames was not officially responsible in this business, he was consulted on the occasion; and his opinions are represented by an official despatch. I need only say that, as in the case of Governor Eyre, he insisted that, while the most energetic measures were allowable to suppress actual resistance, this was no excuse for excessive punishment after the danger was over. The ordinary law should then be allowed to take its course. Meanwhile, Ram Singh was shown to be more or less implicated in the disorders and was deported to Burmah. Fitzjames was greatly impressed by the analogy between English rulers in India and Roman governors in Syria some eighteen centuries ago, when religious sects were suspected of political designs. To this I shall refer presently.
Fitzjames attended the Legislative Council for the last time on April 17, 1872. He left Calcutta the next day on his return to England. He had thus been in office for only half the usual period of five years. His reasons for thus cutting short his time were simple. He felt very strongly that he was exacting a sacrifice on the part of his wife and his family which could only be justified by a very distinct advantage. The expenses were more than he had anticipated, and he saw at an early period that he would be in any case compelled to return to his profession. Gaps at the bar are soon filled up. The more prolonged his absence, the greater would be the difficulty of regaining the position which he had slowly reached. I have some reason to think that the authorities at the India Office were not altogether pleased at what they considered to be a premature relinquishment of his post. He could, however, reply that if he had been only half the usual time in India, he had done fully twice the average amount of work. He left India without regrets for the country itself; for to him the climate and surroundings of English life seemed to be perfection. But he left with a profound impression of the greatness of the work done by Englishmen in India; and with a warm admiration for the system of government, which he was eager to impart to his countrymen at home. How he endeavoured to utter himself upon that and kindred subjects shall be told in the next chapter.
CHAPTER V.
LAST YEARS AT THE BAR
I. FIRST OCCUPATIONS IN ENGLAND
Fitzjames had passed the winter of 1871-2 in Calcutta with Henry Cunningham; his wife having returned to England in November. He followed her in the spring, sailing from Bombay on April 22, 1872. To most people a voyage following two years and a half of unremitting labour would have been an occasion for a holiday. With him, however, to end one task was the same thing as to begin another, and he was taking up various bits of work before India was well out of sight. He had laid in a supply of literature suitable both for instruction and amusement. The day after leaving Bombay he got through the best part of a volume of Sainte-Beuve. He had also brought a 'Faust' and Auerbach's 'Auf der Höhe,' as he was anxious to improve himself in German, and he filled up odd spaces of time with the help of an Italian grammar. He was writing long letters to friends in India, although letter-writing in the other direction would be a waste of time. With this provision for employment he found that the time which remained might be adequately filled by a return to his beloved journalism. He proposes at starting to write an article a day till he gets to Suez. He was a little put out for the first twenty-four hours because in the place which he had selected for writing his iron chair was too near the ship's compasses. He got a safe position assigned to him before long and immediately set to work. He takes his first text from the May meetings for an article which will give everybody some of his reflections upon missionaries in India. Our true position in India, he thinks, is that of teachers, if only we knew what to teach. Hitherto we have not got beyond an emphatic assertion of the necessity of law and order. He writes his article while the decks are being washed, and afterwards writes a 'bit of a letter,' takes his German and Italian lessons, and then turns to his travelling library. This included Mill's 'Utilitarianism' and 'Liberty'; which presently provide him with material not only for reflection, but for exposition. On April 27 he reports that he has been 'firing broadsides into John Mill for about three hours.' He is a little distracted by the heat, and by talks with some of his fellow-travellers; but as he goes up the Red Sea he is again assailing Mill. It has now occurred to him that the criticisms may be formed into a series of letters to the 'Pall Mall Gazette,' which will enable him to express a good many of his favourite doctrines. 'It is curious,' he says, 'that after being, so to speak, a devoted disciple and partisan (of Mill) up to a certain point I should have found it impossible to go on with him. His politics and morals are not mine at all, though I believe in and admire his logic and his general notions of philosophy.'