While at Lucknow he visited his brother Henry’s lowly tomb, the room where the mortal wound from a bursting shell had been inflicted, and the remains of the defences which had been hastily thrown up in that emergency. He must at the moment have conjured up the thoughts to which the poet has given expression:
“Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with our lives;
Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barricade;
‘Never surrender, I charge you; but every man die at his post!’—
Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence the best of the brave.”
These ceremonial occasions can give no idea of the business-like attention which he gave to the affairs of the numerous Native States of the Indian Empire. He remembered thankfully the signal services which they (with the fewest exceptions) had rendered during the disturbances of 1857-58. In his judgment their existence was advantageous to British interests in India, as forming a safety-valve to release discontent of several kinds, which otherwise might be pent up till it burst forth injuriously. He believed that they afford a field of employment to many who cannot find any adequate scope in the British territories, and that hereby a nucleus of influence is constituted in favour of a strong imperial Paramount.
The only part of his policy remaining to be summarised is that relating to foreign affairs, which mainly concern Afghanistan. It has been shown in a previous chapter that originally he desired to avoid having anything to do with Afghanistan, but that under the directions of two Governors-General in those days, he had negotiated two treaties with the Afghan Amir Dost Mahommed, involving the regular payment of pecuniary subsidies. When he himself became Governor-General, he saw Afghanistan torn by internecine and fratricidal contests after the death of Dost Mahommed. He scrupulously stood aloof from these civil wars, espousing neither party in any contest, willing to recognise the man who should establish himself as de facto ruler, but waiting till such establishment should be complete before according formal recognition. At length he was able to recognise officially Shir Ali, who had practically fought his way to the status of Amir, on the understanding that the periodical subsidy would follow as a consequence.
But having confirmed friendly relations with the Amir of the day by substantial gifts and by moral support, he planted his foot, so to speak, on this line as on a limit not to be passed. He considered that the Amir when subsidised and otherwise well treated by us, ought to be the friend of our friends and the enemy of our enemies. Otherwise he would scrupulously respect the Amir’s independence as ruler of Afghanistan. On the other hand, he would have on the British side no offensive and defensive alliance with the Amir, lest the British Government should be drawn into complications owing to errors on the Afghan side. If this principle should seem one-sided, it was, he held, unavoidable in the circumstances. But he would let the Amir, when in the right, feel sure of British support, provided always that Britain were not expected to send troops into Afghanistan. He set his face not only against any interference in affairs within Afghanistan, but also against the despatch of British officers to Caubul, Candahar or anywhere else. He deemed that the presence of British officers in Afghanistan would spoil everything, would kindle fanatical jealousy, and would end in their own murder.
The Afghans, he was convinced, will be the enemies of those who interfere, and the friends of those who protect them from such interference. Therefore, as he would say in effect, let us leave Russia (our natural opponent) to assume, if she dares, the part of interference, and let the British adopt the attitude of protection; that would be the only chance of obtaining an Afghan alliance in British interests. In that case he hoped that the Afghans would offer a deadly opposition to a Russian advance towards India through their inhospitable country. Even then he hoped only, without feeling sure, for the conduct of the Afghans cannot be foreseen. They might, he would often say, be tempted to join the Russians on the promise of sharing in the plunder of India; but such junction would not be probable: on the other hand, if the British advance into Afghanistan to meet Russia, they ensure Afghan enmity against themselves and cause the Afghans to favour Russian interests. If Russia should send missions to, or set up agencies in, Afghanistan adverse to British interests, he would waste no remonstrances on the Afghans, believing them to be unwilling recipients of Russian messages, and to be more sinned against than sinning. He would remonstrate direct with Russia herself, and would let her see diplomatically that behind these remonstrances were ironclads and battalions. He was for telling her in time of peace, courteously but firmly, that she would not be allowed to interfere in Afghanistan or in any country contiguous to India. But if a general war were to break out, and if Russia not having been stopped by British counter-operations in Europe, were to advance towards India, then on no account would he meet her in Afghanistan. That, he affirmed, would be wasting our resources in men and money, and would be playing into the enemy’s hands. The Afghans would, he supposed, be bitterly hostile to such advance, even though cowed into momentary submission. In that case he would help them with money and material, though not with men. Thus strengthened they might hamper the movements or retard the advance of the Russians; but be that as it might, he would have the British stand made on the British frontier. If the God of battles should then steel the hearts of British soldiers as of yore, the Russian invasion would, he trusted, be repelled decisively; and then the Russian retreat through Afghanistan, with the dreadful guerilla warfare of the Afghans, would be a spectacle to serve as a warning to invaders for all time coming.
Such is the substance of the opinion which he held rightly or wrongly, and for the vindication of which he exhausted every form of expression in private letters, in official despatches, and in conversations innumerable. His policy was once described by a friendly writer in the Edinburgh Review as “masterly inactivity,” which expression contained both truth and error, and was regretted as being liable to misconstruction by the British public.
His views respecting the Russo-Afghan question were finally stated during the first days of January, 1869, in one of the last official letters of importance that he, with his Council, ever addressed to the Secretary of State in London.
“Should a foreign Power, such as Russia, ever seriously think of invading India from without, or, what is more probable, of stirring up the elements of disaffection or anarchy within it, our true policy, our strongest security, would then, we conceive, be found to lie in previous absence from entanglements at either Cabul, Candahar, or any similar outpost; in full reliance on a compact, highly equipped, and disciplined army stationed within our own territories, or on our own border; in the contentment, if not in the attachment, of the masses; in the sense of security of title and possession, with which our whole policy is gradually imbuing the minds of the principal chiefs and the native aristocracy; in the construction of material works within British India, which enhance the comfort of the people while they add to our political and military strength; in husbanding our finances and consolidating and multiplying our resources; in quiet preparation for all contingencies which no honest Indian statesman should disregard.”
He repeated the same conclusion in his reply to the company at a farewell banquet on the evening of his last day in office, a speech which was his final utterance in India. Repelling the oft-repeated charge of inactivity in Central Asia, and speaking in the presence of many who knew all the details, he declared that he had watched most carefully all that went on in those distant regions; that he had abstained from interference there because such a course would lead to wars of which no man could foresee the end, would involve India in vast expenses which must lead to such an increase of taxation as would render British rule unpopular. Our true policy, he declared, is to avoid such complications, to consolidate our power in India, to give its people the best government we can, to organise our administration in every department by a combination of efficiency with economy. This he seemed to regard as his political testament on leaving India.