On arrival at Bombay I had an interesting conversation with the Governor, Sir Bartle Frere, on military subjects; more especially as to whether the native troops should be thoroughly trusted and armed with the best modern weapons, or be relegated, as it were, to an inferior position, and be looked on as more or less subordinate auxiliaries. I gave my opinion that a policy of mistrust was not only a mistake, but would in reality defeat itself; that the native regiments should be armed and equipped like the English soldiers in every respect; the numbers to be maintained, and their nationalities, resting of course with the Government. It was a satisfaction to find that Sir Bartle Frere entirely concurred in these views.
Leaving Bombay, and being anxious to rejoin Sir Hugh Rose quickly, I travelled through Central India, first of all for about three hundred miles on a partly finished railway, with occasional breaks; and then for five hundred miles outside a mail-cart, passing hastily through Indore, Gwalior, Agra, and Delhi to Meerut. Although I found time to make a few hasty sketches, it has always been a matter of regret that military exigencies rendered me unable to pay more than mere flying visits to so many native cities of great historical and architectural interest. Delhi and its neighbourhood especially is rich in picturesque mosques, tombs, palaces, and forts of the former Mogul dynasties.
On arrival at Meerut I found that Sir Hugh Rose had seriously injured himself, having broken several ribs by a fall out hunting, so that for the time our movements were at a standstill. However, early in 1865, as soon as he had recovered, the head quarters staff continued their tour, and arrived at Lucknow, where a somewhat amusing incident occurred. During the Mutiny, an officer had gained the Victoria Cross for gallant conduct in the residency, but owing to some delay had not actually received the decoration; and the Commander-in-Chief was therefore glad of the opportunity of presenting it to him on the very spot where he had gained it. A general parade was ordered, the troops to be formed up round the ruins of the residency; and all the civilians and ladies of Lucknow were invited to be present. On the morning, when the hour of parade was at hand, the staff assembled in readiness in a bungalow, and it was understood that the Commander-in-Chief was preparing an appropriate speech for the occasion. Search was then made for the box containing the Victoria Cross, but it was nowhere to be found, and after an anxious hurried inquiry we discovered that by some mistake it had been left behind at Simla in the Himalayas. This was awkward, especially as Sir Hugh would naturally be annoyed at so unfortunate an error. The suggestion was made that some officer of the garrison should be asked to lend his for the occasion; but that also failed, no officer nearer than Cawnpore (fifty miles off) having gained one. There was no time to be lost, and at length Colonel Donald Stewart,[68] the Deputy Adjutant General, volunteered to inform the Commander-in-Chief: an offer which was at once accepted. Stewart on entering the room found Sir Hugh engaged in considering his speech, and then cautiously and gently announced that a slight mistake had occurred, and that the Victoria Cross had been left behind. The Commander-in-Chief, as anticipated, was angry, and complained that he had been treated with neglect. However, after he had cooled down, Donald Stewart said that in his opinion the difficulty could readily be got over; and, taking the cross of the Companionship of the Bath from his breast, suggested that it should be presented to the officer on parade, in lieu temporarily of the other; pointing out that the troops and the assembled company would not be near enough to distinguish the difference. Sir Hugh at once took in the situation, accepted the compromise, and acted accordingly. The decoration was presented, the Commander-in-Chief made an appropriate speech, and the demonstration altogether was a success. My remark to the officer afterwards was that as the Queen had given him the Victoria Cross, and the Commander-in-Chief the Bath, I thought he was entitled to wear both for the future. There was a ball in the evening in honour of the occasion, and in default of a real cross he had to wear a painted leather imitation one.
In March 1866 the term of office of Sir Hugh Rose came to a close. His services in India had been of an eventful and distinguished character, not only in the field, in his celebrated march through Central India during the Mutiny, but also in military administration at a period of important changes. The position of a Commander-in-Chief in India, always a difficult one, was peculiarly so during his term of office. The extinction of a great institution such as that of the old East India Company could not be accomplished without considerable difficulty and delay; prejudices had to be overcome, and vested interests to be considered. All these circumstances must be borne in mind in judging the career of Sir Hugh Rose from 1857 to 1865. The appointment of Sir William Mansfield as his successor, an officer of long experience in the country, and of great ability as an administrator, tended to complete the work, and to produce unity of system, so essential an element of military efficiency. As he acted in concert with the Viceroy Sir John Lawrence, old prejudices and difficulties gradually disappeared, to the great advantage of the army and to the security of the Empire.
FOOTNOTES:
[68] Now Field-Marshal Sir Donald Stewart, G.C.B.
[CHAPTER XXI]
During 1865 another border war occurred in India; not as usual on the north-west frontier, but with Bootan, an almost unknown country away in the far East, and north of the great river Brahmapootra. The causes were of the usual character—incessant depredations in our districts of Assam and Cooch-Behar. The territory of Bootan, with a length of about 250 miles, lies amidst the southern slopes of the highest ranges of the Himalayas, the eternal snows forming its frontier towards Thibet. It is, in fact, a country of stupendous mountains, intersected by narrow, precipitous valleys and rapid streams. The rainfall is excessive;[69] and all along its southern border, in the low grounds at the foot of the mountains, are dense forests and marshy jungles, almost impenetrable and choked with vegetation. The whole of the lower district is very unhealthy, and is the home of wild elephants, rhinoceros, and tigers—natural zoological gardens, in short, free of charge. The people of Bootan have little or no organised military force, and such fighting men as exist are only armed with knives, bows and arrows, and a few matchlocks; so that in a military sense they are not at all formidable. The inaccessible nature of the country is its best, and indeed almost its only, defence. The people are Chinese in type, and nominally Buddhists in religion; but, though brave and hardy, are almost entirely uncivilised, and the ruling authorities are weak and treacherous. The government of Bootan appears to be of a duplicate character; one rajah being a kind of spiritual head of the State without power, whilst another has all the power but apparently no head. The result, as might be expected, is frequent anarchy, whilst the subordinate rulers along the frontier district tyrannise over the people and plunder their neighbours at discretion. For a century past, indeed, the people, instigated by their chiefs, had incessantly committed depredations in our territories in the plains: carrying off men and women as slaves, and also elephants, buffaloes, and property of all kinds. Remonstrances had been made time out of mind, and missions sent to try and bring them to reason; but all our efforts were met by incivility, almost amounting to insult, and by evasion. The rulers of the country, no doubt, relied in a great measure on its inaccessibility; and, ignorant more or less of our power, were defiant and treacherous accordingly.