Contents

My

Three Years In Manipur

&

Escape from the Recent Mutiny

by

Ethel St. Clair Grimwood

Ethel St. Clair Grimwood (1867-1928)

LONDON

RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON

Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen

1891

[All rights reserved]

Bear from the Naga Hills

CONTENTS


ETHEL ST. CLAIR GRIMWOOD
A short study of Ethel Grimwood's life, before and after the Manipur tragedy


INTRODUCTION.
A contemporary assessment of British involvement in Manipur (N.E. India).

CHAPTER I.  

My husband offered the post of Political Agent at Manipur – Arrival there and first impressions – Adventures on the journey – Coolies – Arrive at Cachar

CHAPTER II.  

Cachar or Silchar – We are fêted there – The hill tribes: Kukis, Tongkhuls, etc. – Their dress and habits – Rest-houses, and difficulties therein – Manipuri Sepoys: camp on the Makru River – Logtak Lake – Colonel Samoo Singh – The Senaputti

CHAPTER III.  

Favourable impressions of our new home, the Residency – The Maharajah – His brother the Jubraj – Polo with the Princes – The Senaputti a fine sportsman – Visits us on Sunday afternoons – Shell-firing – Prince Zillah Singh – We try to learn the Manipuri language

CHAPTER IV.  

Collect various animals around us – Habits of our pets – Our beautiful grounds – The Nagas – Amusing incident – The liquor Zu – Roast dog – Villages allotted to us for food, labour, etc. – Women do the work – Children of the Maharajah – A water-party – Every child dances in Manipur – The Manipuri women not shut up

CHAPTER V.  

Trips to the Logtak Lake – Beautiful scene on the lake – Tent pitched on an island in it – The Pucca Senna accompanies us – Crowds collect to see us – Old women dance – Natives laugh at my riding-habit – Moombi – Steep ascent – Chief of the village threatens us – Unpleasant quarters – Wet condition and hostile reception – My husband teaches the Prince English

CHAPTER VI.  

Society at Manipur – Band of the Ghoorkas – The bandmaster – His peculiar attire – The regiment ordered away, to our regret – Worse news – We are ordered to leave – Parting views – Mr. Heath appointed – Son of the Tongal general – His good and bad qualities – Magnificent scenery – The Ungamis – Their quarrelsome character

CHAPTER VII.  

Short stay at Jorehat – My husband appointed to Gauhati – Value of the bearer in India – His notions and mine not always in harmony – Arrive at Gauhati – Illness and death of Mr. Heath – Presentiments – My husband returns to Manipur – I remain at Shillong – Delicious climate

CHAPTER VIII.  

A terrible experience – A Thoppa and a journey in one – Its difficulties and dangers – The Lushais – Arrive at Sylhet – Find the coolies have levanted – A pony journey ends disastrously – A night walk – Accident to Mr. A—. – Arrive at a teahouse – Not a shadowy dinner

CHAPTER IX.  

Return to Manipur – Mr. Heath's grave – Old Moonia – A quarrel and fight between Moonia and the Chupprassie's wife – Dignity of the Chupprassies – The Senaputti gets up sports – Manipuri greetings and sports

CHAPTER X.  

Bad relations between the Pucca Senna and the Senaputti – Rival lovers – Quarrels in the Royal Family – Prince Angao Senna – Pigeon contests – The Manipuris' fondness for gambling – Departure of the Ghoorkas – Too much alone

CHAPTER XI.  

The Princes quarrel – Attack on the Maharajah – His retreat – His cowardice and accusations – The Pucca Senna departs also – Conduct of the Jubraj

CHAPTER XII.  

Vigour of the new reign – A magic-lantern performance – Conduct of the bandmaster – First mention of Mr. Quinton – Visit to Burmah – Beauty of the scenery – House ourselves in a Pagoda – Burmese love of flowers, and of smoking – Visit Tummu – Burmese love of chess – First meeting with Grant – He helps us to make a cake – Search after orchids – Arrival of visitors – Important telegram from Chief Commissioner – Coming events commence to cast shadows

CHAPTER XIII.  

Preparations for the Chief Commissioner's visit – Despair over the commissariat – Uncertainty of Mr. Quinton's intentions – Uneasiness of the Manipuris – They crowd into their citadel – Decision of the Government of India and their policy against the Jubraj – Death of our dinner and our goat – Arrival of Mr. Quinton and Colonel Skene – Mr. Grimwood ordered to arrest the Jubraj – The Regent and his brother appear at the Residency – The Manipuris suspect hostility – The old Tongal – Last evening of peace

CHAPTER XIV.  

Up early on the eventful morning – The Jubraj does not attend the Durbar – Visit of Mr. Grimwood to the Jubraj – Finds him in high fever – Matters assume a serious aspect – Thoroughfares deserted – Terrific thunderstorm – Our servants take French leave – My ayah deserts – Melancholy thoughts – Lovely moonlight night – A Manipuri arrives to spy out our doings – The night before the outbreak – Attack on the Residency – Capture of the Jubraj's house – Anxiety about Lieutenant Brackenbury – Stray bullets find their billet in the Residency – Attack gets hot, and big guns play on the Residency – We have to take to the cellars – The Regent invites Mr. Quinton to an interview

CHAPTER XV.  

Mr. Brackenbury – Scenes in the little cellar – Destruction of our home – Another moonlight night with a difference – Re-opening of the attack on the Residency – Death of Mr. Brackenbury – Preparations to escape

CHAPTER XVI.  

Escape of the servants – Mr. Gurdon comes for me – Away from shelter, and one's life in one's hands – Over the hedge and across the river – Lie in the ditch for shelter from shot – Fired on at Burri Bazaar

CHAPTER XVII.  

Burning of the Residency and of all our effects – Difficulties of retreat – No food, wet clothes, burning sun – Pursued – Exhaustive march – Kindness of a Naga boy – Fired on – Sleep after a march of twenty miles – Have to march again – Capture a Manipuri with rice – Enemy lurks around us – Come upon a stockade – Are attacked – Goorkhas in sight

CHAPTER XVIII.  

Saved – Captain Cowley pursues the enemy, and we fall on our feet – Have to wear Sepoys' boots – Halt at Semiatak – Transitions of climate – Manipuris attack – Tables turned on them – Shortness of food – The Nagas – Cross the Jhiri and regain the British frontier

CHAPTER XIX.  

Our ignorance as to Mr. Quinton's proceedings – News at last reach India and England – Take off my clothes for the first time for ten days – March to Lahkipur – The ladies of Cachar send clothes to me – Write home – Great kindness shown to me – My fears for my husband – The telegram arrives with fatal news – Major Grant's narrative

CHAPTER XX.  

Her Majesty gives me the Red Cross – I go to Windsor and see her Majesty – The Princess of Wales expresses a wish to see me – Conclusion

NOTE

The two letters written by Major Grant, and quoted on pp. 289 and 309, appeared originally in the columns of the 'Times' newspaper.


BRITISH CASUALTIES
The victims of  the 24-25th March 1891.


RETRIBUTION & AFTERMATH
The fate of the Manipuri rebels and increase of British influence in the region.

Introduction

Ethel St. Clair Grimwood (1867-1928)

Ethel St. Clair Grimwood in 1892

Ethel Brabazon Moore, was born in Muttra (Mathura), Uttar Pradesh, India on October 4th 1867. Her father, Charles William Moore, was a successful Anglo Irish merchant. Her mother, Margaret Emma, was also from the Ascendancy class, and life was good for the Moore's both in India (where Ethel was partially raised) and London, where they owned property.  In 1875 Ethel was sent to a boarding school in Hove, Sussex and stayed in England to complete her education. On  the 19th July 1887 Ethel married Frank St. Clair Grimwood at St Peters Church, Cranley Gardens, South Kensington (now called the Armenian Church of St Yeghiche, )

St Peters Church, Cranley Gardens, South Kensington

Frank & Ethel's Marriage certificate 1887

Grimwood was 13 years her senior, and had a promising career ahead in the Indian Civil Service. Barely 6 months later the couple embarked for India to take up a posting in a remote princely state on the Burmese border, called Manipur. Frank was to be the British Political Resident at the isolated capital, Imphal. His job would be to act  as an intermediary between the British government and the Maharajah of Manipur. Ethel's role would be as a hostess and housekeeper at the Residency. The British had been on friendly terms with the Independent state since the 1820's when East India Company troops helped the Manipuri's in their brutal war with the Burmese. By the time of the Grimwood's arrival, the old Maharajah had died and had been succeeded by one of his sons. The new ruler Surchandra, was supported by the British authorities in Calcutta, but was unpopular with his own people. Ethel's book, 'My Three Years In Manipur' (1891), documents his downfall and replacement by Kulachandra. 'My Three Years In Manipur' only deals with Ethel's own experiences and therefore you cannot gain an overall view of the situation, but it does act as an invaluable account of life in N.E. India during this period. The Grimwood's quickly became very good friends with the Manipuri royal family and it was rumoured that both Ethel and Frank had extra marital affairs during their posting. A vindictive letter to the authorities in Calcutta, from Surchandra, stated that Frank was involved with dancing girls and servants, and that Ethel had affairs with both Kulachandra and Lieutenant Grant, who was stationed close to Imphal. As you will read, Frank was speared to death following a badly mauled operation by the Chief Commissioner to arrest the Princes involved in the coup. This led to Ethel's escape from the burning residency to safety. Once home, she was feted as a true English heroine. She was awarded the Red Cross Medal by Queen Victoria and was the toast of London society for a brief period.
Although heartbroken by Franks death, Ethel remarried in April 1895, to Andrew Cornwall Miller. The couple emigrated to the USA in 1901 and settled in Oregon. Ethel Miller died aged 60 at Portland, Multnomah, Oregon on 11th August 1928.

3 Cranley Gardens, Kensington, where Ethel lived at the time of her marriage to Frank.

Although Ethel Grimwood is now almost forgotten (probably, due in part to the above mentioned scandals), her bravery and unflinching determination, undoubtedly saved the lives of the Gurkha's she guided to safety through enemy territory, until the relief force could reach them.

Chapter I.

My husband offered the post of Political Agent at Manipur Arrival there and first impressions
 Adventures on the journey
 Coolies
 Arrive at Cachar

MANIPUR! How well I remember the first time I ever heard the name – a name, too, which was comparatively unknown three short years ago, owing to the fact that it belongs to a remote little tract of country buried amongst hills and difficult of access, far away from civilized India, and, out of the beaten track. This is not a geographical treatise, and therefore there is no necessity to dwell much on the exact whereabouts of a place which has already been described more than once. I will therefore attempt no lengthy description, simply stating that the valley of Manipur lies between Cachar, the Kubo Valley, and Kohima, and is surrounded by six ranges of hills which separate it from the tracts of country named. A pretty place, more beautiful than many of the show-places of the world; beautiful in its habitable parts, but more beautiful in those tracts covered with forest jungle where the foot of man seldom treads, and the stillness of which is only broken by the weird cry of the hooluck ¹ or the scream of a night-bird hunting its prey.
We had not been in India many months when my husband was offered the post of political agent at Manipur. We were at the time in a very junior position in Sylhet, a place which had not fascinated either of us in our short stay there; but as a junior officer my husband could not complain. When, therefore, we got a letter one morning offering him Manipur, we were much elated. Visions of the glories heard of, but not seen, floated in front of both our minds. I pictured to myself the dignity of being the mistress of a Residency, of possessing servants in scarlet and gold, with 'V.R.' on their buttons, and a guard-of-honour to walk out with me whenever I chose. I saw visions of a large house and extensive grounds, and I pictured the ensign of Old England dominating over all. Frank, likewise, had dreams of polo ponies that played of their own accord every day of the week, and visions of many tigers only waiting to be shot, and snipe roosting in the veranda!
Perhaps some may wonder why such dreams should be ours, and why we built such castles in the air. Once, many years before this time of which I write, my husband had passed through Manipur on his way to England. He had spent a couple of days there, and had seen the lake in the compound covered with wild-duck, which were almost as tame as the familiar bird associated, as a rule, in our minds with green peas and the spring. He had played a never-to-be-forgotten game of polo with three royal princes on a ground worthy of Hurlingham, and he had taken it out of the snipe one morning. Small wonder that those two days remained in his memory, and made him long for more like them, when it was his fate to be stationed in an uncongenial spot, where polo comes like Christmas once a year, and which even the snipe desert. And small wonder, too, was it that when the letter came, offering him the coveted post, he jumped at it. How glad we were, and how we hastened to pack up our belongings and depart to the land of so much promise!
Nothing bothered us, not even when our kitchen was blown down bodily in a gale of wind one night, and our new cooking-pans were damaged, and, worst of all, our highly-valued and excellent cook gave notice to quit immediately. The latter though, I am glad to say, reconsidered his decision, and on my promising him extra pay and new cooking-pots, he kindly condescended to link his fortunes with ours for a further period. All's well that ends well, and the extreme sunniness of my temper on that occasion merited a little reward. A flying visit to Shillong, the hill station of Assam and headquarters of the Government of that province, and a hasty return to Sylhet to bid good-bye to the few Europeans there and to collect our possessions, occupied our time until the day arrived which was to see us start on our long journey.
Here in England we consider a journey long that lasts perhaps a day and a half, or even one whole day; but to anyone who has ever been in the remote parts of India, and more especially of Assam, a two days' journey would count as very little. Our journey to Manipur took sixteen days, and hard travelling into the bargain. Up every morning and in our saddles soon after six, with a fifteen-mile ride before us – hail, rain, or sunshine. People in England cannot realize what real hard travelling means. The whole of your baggage in Assam is carried by coolies. They are wonderfully strong, and can take very heavy loads – when they please, that is to say. But a disagreeable coolie can be very disagreeable indeed. We encountered many such, and the first day on our travels it happened that we had more than one unruly specimen.
We started in boats late one night after dinner, and slept on the river, while the boatmen rowed us up stream to a place some twenty miles away, where our horses were to meet us. It sounds rather pleasant travelling by boat at night on a broad smooth river, with the moon shining overhead as only an Indian moon can shine. But the situation loses much of its romance when you know the style of boat that we travelled in. They are small, awkwardly-built machines, rather of the Noah's-ark type, with a roofing made of bamboo coarsely woven into matting, and so low that it necessitated crawling in on all fours when you wished to retire for the night. Any idea of standing upright had to be abandoned. Once in, you had to lie down and shuffle off your clothes, and tumble into your blankets, which were spread upon the floor. Every time there was any steering to do, the vibration caused by the movement of the rudder awoke you from your slumbers; and, worst of all, the insects that swarmed in the woodwork were most numerous and officious in their unceasing attentions to the unhappy occupants of the boat.
Two of our crew had the misfortune to disagree upon some trivial matter during the night, and as the space for settling their differences was limited to about four square feet on the prow of the boat, the stronger mariner ejected his weaker comrade into the river with much noise, wordy and otherwise. Having ascertained the cause of the squabble, and insisted on the immediate rescue of the fallen adversary from an untimely end, we were allowed to sleep as peacefully as we could until daylight, when we arrived rather cold and very hungry at our first halting-stage, where chota hazri (early breakfast) and our horses awaited us. Then began a struggle between our domestics and the shivering crowd of coolies collected for the purpose of carrying our luggage. With one voice they exclaimed that the Memsahib's boxes were quite too enormous to be carried at all – in fact, that there never had been boxes like them before or since, and that we must pay for at least three coolies for every box. My husband made a few observations to them in a somewhat peremptory form, and the end of the matter was that two men were told off for each trunk, and eventually, with many heart-rending groans, our luggage moved off. Now, there is one point which I must touch upon before going on, and it is a point which must strike anyone who has ever travelled in India, and that is the extraordinary habit your rattletraps have of looking disreputable as soon as they come to be mounted on the back of a coolie. Whether it is that the undeniable presence of a large and unsightly bundle of bedding has a demoralizing effect upon the whole, which is not lessened by the accompanying basket of fowls and ducks destined to be your breakfasts and dinners until you arrive at your destination, I cannot say. But be your trunks the most respectable, neat, orderly trunks on the face of this earth, they will look plebeian when they come to be carried on the back of a half-clothed native, and you would scarcely recognise them were it not that your own name betrays you, painted in large white letters on them all, and your horses fail to shy at them in consequence, if they are gifted with ordinary intelligence.
We started off about two hours after our things had left, but we had not gone far when I saw a familiar object lying on the side of the road in the shape of my largest bonnet-box. Further on we spied nearly all our luggage, with the wretched cook doing 'sentry go' over it. On inquiring, we found that all our coolies had run away – no one knew where, and it was quite impossible to get them again. Eventually we raised a few more from a police Thana, and had to drive them in front of us the whole way to prevent them bolting too. Consequently we were many hours getting to our destination, and did not get dinner till about nine at night. With few exceptions, our march continued like this every day until we arrived at Cachar, a small station on the Manipur frontier.

Chapter II

Cachar or Silchar 
We are fêted there
The hill tribes: Kukis, Tongkhuls, etc. 
Their dress and habits 
Rest-houses, and difficulties therein 
Manipuri Sepoys: camp on the Makru River 
Logtak Lake 
Colonel Samoo Singh 
The Senaputti.

Dragon in front of the Royal Palace, Manipur.

CACHAR, or rather Silchar, deserves a description, as it has been of such importance during the recent troubles at Manipur. The town is about one hundred and thirty miles from the Manipur capital, but only twenty-four miles from the boundary. The state of Manipur is separated from the Cachar district by a river called the Jhiri, where we have outposts garrisoned by troops. Silchar itself is not a very large station, though it boasts of more Europeans than most Assam districts, there being a regiment always quartered there besides the usual civil authorities. The district has a very large planting community, and abounds in tea-gardens; and as the planters are constantly in and out, there is a very fair amount of gaiety, especially in the winter months, when there are always two or three race meets, each lasting for a week, which bring people in from far and near.

Silchar has seen much trouble during the last year. In September, 1890, the Lushai disaster occupied everyone's attention, and troops poured through the place on their way to the hills about Fort Aïjal to avenge the treachery of the tribes inhabiting those regions – treachery which resulted in the loss of two valuable lives. A few weeks later curiosity was rife to see the ex-Maharajah of Manipur, who had been driven from his throne by his brother the Senaputti, and was passing through on his self-imposed pilgrimage to the sacred city of Brindhaban on the Ganges, accompanied by three of his brothers. Christmas brought the usual round of races, dances, and dinners with it; but the sound of the Christmas bells had scarcely ceased when the New Year brought tidings of a disaster which caused men's faces to pale, and almost out-rivalled the horrors of the mutiny. But I am anticipating events, and must return to ourselves and our experiences three years earlier.

We stayed two or three days in Silchar on our first arrival there and made some new friends, and were fêted, as is the custom when new-comers arrive at a station in India. Hospitality is a law, and you have only to be English to be assured of a welcome from your fellow-countrymen, who are ready to put themselves, their houses, and possessions all at your service. There are disadvantages, maybe, to be met with in India which are many and great, and one loses much by having to live out there; but one never meets with such true-hearted kindness anywhere else as in India. The narrow prejudices and questioning doubts as to who you are, and what your station in life is, which assail you at home, vanish entirely when you need hospitality out there. The civil list or the army list will tell your position and income, and for the rest you are English, you come from the old country, and all are glad to see you and be kind to you. I am happy to think of the good friends made when I was out there too – friends who were ready to share their pleasures with me, and who were still more ready to help me when the dark days of trouble came and human sympathy was so needed. Their names will ever live in my heart, and may all good luck be theirs!

Our short stay in Silchar came to an end very soon, and we were on our way to Manipur in real earnest by the end of the third day. The first two marches out to the Jhiri were uneventful, and we then found ourselves on the banks of the river, with a vast expanse of forest jungle before us to be traversed the following day. Unluckily, it rained all that night, and when the morning arrived it was still damp and drizzling. We changed our coolies here, and got Nagas (hillmen) to carry the baggage. They were fine-looking men, belonging to the various hill tribes about Manipur. There were Kukis, Tongkhuls, and Kupoës, and they seemed to my uninitiated eyes very alarming people indeed. They wore very few clothes, and their necks were adorned with many necklaces made of gaudily-coloured glass beads. Their ears were split to a hideous extent, and in the loops thus formed they stuffed all kinds of things – rolls of paper (of which they are particularly fond), and rings of bamboo, which stretched them out and made them look enormous.

Their hair was cut in different ways. The Tongkhuls' heads were shaved with the exception of a ridge along the top, which extended to the nape of the neck, and gave them the appearance of cockatoos.

The Kukis' hair was long, and gathered up into a loose and very untidy knot at the back of their heads, and the Kupoës had theirs cut so that it stuck out all round their heads and made them look as though they had fur hats on. They made no fuss over the Memsahib's trunks, and I was much amused at the way they all rushed for the bath, which had a flat cover to it, and was easy to carry and cool against their backs. It was a muggy kind of day in the middle of April – a day that invariably brings out legions of horse-flies and gnats and things of that species to worry you and your horses. Worry us they most certainly did. They collected in rows under the brims of our hats and stung our faces, and they settled in swarms on our horses, and what with the dreadful state of the so-called road, and the heat and the flies, we were dreadfully tormented. We had a guard of Manipuri Sepoys with us, who marched along in front of us and helped to lead our horses through the sea of deep mud which covered the road. For seven miles we plodded on like this, and then we came to the first range of high hills and got out of the mud. These hills are the backbone of Assam, and the Manipur ranges are a continuation of those known as the Naga Hills. The highest range on the road to Manipur is about 6,000 feet, but they are all steep, and the road over them is very rough, making riding difficult in places. They are covered with bamboo jungle, and here and there you come across villages, but they are not numerous.

At every five miles the Manipuris had Thanas for the purpose of keeping a lookout against enemies, and acting as stages for the dak-runners. These Thanas were not always fortified, but the larger ones were, and they had been attacked more than once by Lushais out on a head-hunting expedition. There was great excitement at our advent at all the Thanas, and the Sepoys on guard at each stage turned out in style and gave us the 'General's salute.' They had a particular fondness for bugling, and they exercised it on every possible occasion; but I'm afraid they were not struck with our appearance that day, as we were very tired and hungry, and covered with mud.

We did not get to the end of our march till late in the evening, and we then found we had to cross a river, as our camping-place was on the left bank, and our horses had to be left on the other side. We crossed by means of a bamboo suspension-bridge – a most alarming-looking erection. These bridges are really curiosities. They are made of wire twisted into thick ropes, and stretched from trees on either side of the river at different heights. Bamboos are hung on to the wires close together to form a kind of railing on each side, and these are fastened with cane to the floor of the bridge, which is made of bamboo also, woven into a kind of coarse matting, and although they look most flimsy and airy erections, they are really very strong, and can carry any number of men on them at once, and animals too, if necessary. They are a great height from the water, which you can see between the chinks of the matting as you walk across, and they have an unpleasant fashion of swinging violently when you are in the middle of them, making it very difficult to keep your footing. I did not like going over it at all, and tumbled down in the most awkward fashion more than once, much to the amusement of the Manipuris, who laughed very heartily.

It began to rain shortly after we had arrived at the rest-house, a large barn-like place built of bamboo also, with one doorway and no windows of any kind, and a mud floor. Not an atom of furniture graced this abode, and there was nothing to be done but to sit down on the ground and wait until our luggage should arrive – very hungry, and generally out of sorts. Nothing came in until nine at night, when the cook arrived with the kitchen paraphernalia, and we had a sort of dinner on the floor, and then had to wait until two in the morning for our heavy baggage and beds, which were travelling on elephants. It was a dreadful four hours, for in the meanwhile swarms of mosquitoes and sandflies came out and attacked us – hands, faces, and, in fact, any part of us that was not covered. The delay was caused by the road being too steep and slippery for the elephants, and their having to be unloaded five or six times – a most tedious operation.

About three in the morning we got our beds put up and turned in, longing for sleep, but I hadn't been there an hour before the rain, which had poured down in torrents ever since dinner, made its appearance through the roof and descended upon my head. So we had to get up and move everything, and then were able to sleep in peace for the remainder of the night. Of course, all idea of going on the next day was out of the question, as servants, coolies, and elephants were all too tired, and, to add to this, the rain never ceased, so I made the best of things and stayed in bed all day, while the coolies busied themselves in making me a dooly out of bamboos, as we found that my horse had got a sore back from his long climb the day before, and my husband decided that it would be better to have me carried the rest of the way. I had time to notice particularly our escort of Manipuri Sepoys during our halt at this place. We were supposed to have thirty men altogether, but I never saw more than twelve. When marching, they had counted themselves over twice by running on ahead directly they had presented arms once, and going through the same performance round the corner, fondly imagining that we should be under the impression that we had double the number with us. Their uniforms were limited. There were about three complete ones amongst them, and the remainder adorned themselves in confections of their own. When halting, we were provided with a sentry to keep guard over us all day, and he was relieved about every three hours, which gave rise to a most amusing scene. A dirty-looking individual came up to the Sepoy on duty, and saluted him with the ordinary native salaam. The sentry then proceeded to divest himself of his uniform coat, belt, etc., and rifle, which he threw down on the ground; whereupon the dirty-looking person picked them up, hastily put them on his own manly form, and, having done so, came up to where we were sitting and saluted in fine style. The other man had meanwhile disappeared. At night we had two sentries, and they frequently asked us whether they might mount guard in the veranda of our hut. This meant that before very long they would both be fast asleep upon the floor, snoring so loud that we were awakened.

When marching, each man went as he pleased and whatever route he pleased. If he were of a lazy turn of mind he slid down all the short cuts, but we generally had one or two walking in front of us, one of whom invariably possessed a bugle, which he made the most of by giving us selections on it from his own imagination. I believe he meant well. Their rifles were carried over their shoulders, and their worldly possessions were done up in a cloth and slung on to the end of them in large bundles. The Manipuri Sepoy was no doubt a very funny animal indeed.

We left our wet camp at the Makru River the next day, very glad to get out of it, and proceeded on our journey towards Manipur. Every day was the same: up and down hill all day and a bamboo hut at night; but our experiences of the first day had taught us wisdom, and we put the things which we wanted most upon coolies, and the elephants carried the rest, as they went so slowly. The Nagas used to swarm out of their villages as we came along to see us, and they were, especially interested in me, as many of them had never seen an English lady before. Seven days in the hills, and the eighth brought us at last to the topmost ridge of the last range, and then I had my first glimpse of the valley of Manipur lying beneath us, looking delightfully calm and peaceful in the afternoon sunshine. It looked so beautiful to us after the hills of the previous seven days, stretching away smooth and even as far as the eye could see, and we stopped on the top of the hill some time for the pleasure of looking at it. We could distinguish far away in the plain the white walls of the Maharajah's palace, and the golden-roofed temple of his favourite god. Just below us stretched the blue waters of the Logtak Lake, studded with islands, each one a small mountain in itself. Villages buried in their own groves of bamboo and plantain-trees dotted the plain, and between each village there were tracts of rice-fields and other cultivation. The whole valley looked rich and well cared for, and we longed for the next day, which was to see us at our journey's end.

We were met at the foot of the hill by ten elephants and a guard of fifty Sepoys, under the command of a high officer of state called Colonel Samoo Singh, who was one of the most hideous old gentlemen I have ever seen. However, he was politeness itself, presenting us with large baskets of fowls and vegetables, and escorting us to the rest-house, to which we all went mounted on elephants gaily rigged out in red cloth. I wanted to go on the same elephant as my husband, but the interpreter said 'his Excellency the Colonel Sahib' would not like it if we did not make use of all the elephants brought out for our glorification, so I proceeded in solemn dignity behind my husband's quadruped. The old colonel came up to the house with us, as also did the guard of honour; and then after a final salute they all departed, and left us to our own devices.

The Grimwoods journey to Imphal 1888

Early next morning we were up and ready for the last seventeen miles into Manipur. We had tried to smarten ourselves up as much as possible, as we were to be met by some of the princes before we reached our journey's end, but, alas! a mischievous rat had busied himself during the night by eating a large hole in my husband's hat and all the fingers off my right-hand glove, and we could not get at our boxes to rummage for others, so we had to go as we were.

The old colonel rode with us, and seven miles from Manipur we were met by four princes. They had had a small hut built, which was nicely matted and arranged with chairs. As we rode up, the four royalties came forward to meet us, amidst much blowing of trumpets and presenting of arms by their several guards of honour. This was my first introduction to the Senaputti of Manipur, and little did we foresee the terrible influence he was destined to bear on our future! He was not a very striking-looking personage. I should think he was about five feet eight inches in height, with a lighter skin than most natives, and rather a pleasing type of countenance. He had nice eyes and a pleasant smile, but his expression was rather spoilt by his front teeth, which were very much broken. We liked what we saw of him on this occasion, and thought him very good-natured-looking. The other brothers did not strike us at all, and there were so many people there, including important officers of state, that I became confused, and ended by shaking hands with a Sepoy, much to that warrior's astonishment.

We were escorted to the reception-barn by the princes. The Senaputti was the only one who could speak Hindostani amongst them, and my husband was able to talk to him; but the others only knew Manipuri, so contented themselves with smiling continuously, and I followed suit by smiling back, and it didn't tire any of us. They presented us with an enormous quantity of things, and I do not know how many baskets of fowls, ducks, and vegetables they didn't give us, for they seemed unending. At last, after more hand-shaking, which entirely ruined my already fingerless glove, some polite speeches from my husband and more amiable smiles from me, we mounted our horses and, accompanied by our four royal friends and their retinue, rode into Manipur. A salute of twelve guns was fired on our arrival, and after we had taken leave of the princes at the entrance to the Palace we turned into the gates of the Residency, and felt that our journey was really at an end.

Chapter III

Favourable impressions of our new home 
The Residency 
The Maharajah 
His brother the Jubraj 
Polo with the Princes 
The Senaputti a fine sportsman 
Visits us on Sunday afternoons 
Shell-firing 
Prince Zillah Singh 
We try to learn the Manipuri language.

I ALWAYS think a great deal depends on one's first impressions of anything, be it place or people. One is struck with a house or a garden if it looks pleasant at first sight, even though a closer acquaintance with it may bring disappointment. My first impressions of our house and surroundings on this occasion were of the most favourable description. A long carriage-drive led up from the entrance-gate to the house. There were trees each side, and a delightful stretch of grassland dotted about with deodars and flowering shrubs, with a tennis-court in the centre on the right. A hedge of cluster roses all in blossom divided the outer grounds from the flower-garden surrounding the house, at the end of which was a small lake with an island in the middle of it, where, late as it was, a few wild-duck were still swimming about. We cantered our horses up the drive to the entrance, a long flight of steps covered by a porch, over which grew a beautiful Bougainvillia, whose gorgeous purple blossoms entirely hid the thatch with which the porch was surmounted.

The Residency Manipur

The Residency was a long low house with a thatched roof. The walls were painted white, and the wood-work picked out in black. A veranda surrounded it, comfortably matted and strewn about with rugs and skins. In front of the house there was a circular lawn covered with flower-beds blazing with colour, and at the end of the lawn was the flagstaff of my dreams and the ensign of Old England waving proudly in the breeze. To us, fresh from the jungles of the previous nine days, the place seemed beautiful, and even after we had grown accustomed to it, we always returned to it with a fresh sense of pleasure. The inside of the house was equally charming, and after our little hut at Sylhet it seemed a mansion. The red-coated servants were all in attendance, and a couple of Ghoorka orderlies, so that my aspirations in that direction were amply satisfied.

In a very few days we had shaken down most comfortably. We had brought with us everything we possessed, and I soon had as pretty a drawing-room as anyone could wish for. The next thing my husband had to do was to make friends with the Maharajah. For this purpose a durbar was arranged, and it took place about two days after we had been there, at eight in the morning. It was a very imposing function indeed. Red cloth was spread all over the veranda and on the front steps, and our whole escort of sixty Ghoorkas was drawn up on the front lawn. The Maharajah arrived with a grand flourish of trumpets, attended by all his brothers, and accompanied also by a large following of Sepoys, slaves and ministers of state, each of the latter with his own retinue. The Maharajah was a short, fat, ugly little man, with a face something between that of a Burmese and a Chinaman – rather fairer than the Bengal natives, but much scarred with small-pox. He was dressed very simply in white – a white coat with gold buttons, and a very fine white muslin Dhotee.2 He had a large white turban on his head, in which was stuck a spray of yellow orchids. Gray woollen stockings covered his legs, fastened at the knee with blue elastic garters with very fine brass buckles and little bows, and his feet were encased in very large roughly-made laced boots, of which he seemed supremely proud.

His eldest brother, the Jubraj, was a second edition of himself, only stouter and uglier. Next in order rode the Senaputti, whom I have already described, and he was followed by five younger brothers. My husband had to go to the outer gate to meet his highness with his hat off, where he shook hands with all the princes, and then walked with the Maharajah back to the house and into the durbar hall, which was in the centre of the Residency. The whole durbar, being only a complimentary ceremony, did not last more than ten minutes, but before he left the Maharajah expressed a wish to see me; so I appeared and shook hands with them all, and smiled amiably, as I did not know enough of the language then to speak to them. They all stared at me very solemnly, as though I were a curious kind of animal, and shortly afterwards they took their departure.

I shall not attempt a detailed account of our life at Manipur, as it was very monotonous and uneventful. We got to know the princes very well. My husband played polo with them, and I frequently rode with them. The Senaputti in particular was our very good friend. There was something about him that is not generally found in the character of a native. He was manly and generous to a fault, a good friend and a bitter enemy. We liked him because he was much more broad-minded than the rest. If he promised a thing, that thing would be done, and he would take the trouble to see himself that it was done, and not be content with simply giving the order. He was always doing little courteous acts to please us. On one occasion I mentioned to him that I had been very much frightened by a lunatic in the bazaar, who was perfectly harmless, but dreadfully deformed as well as insane. He used to spring out upon you suddenly, making terrible grimaces, which was not pleasant, and he frightened me several times. I noticed after speaking to the Senaputti about him that he had not been in the bazaar for a long time, and afterwards I was told that the prince had ordered him to be kept at home in the evenings, at the time we usually went out for a walk.

Another time I had been very ill, and when I was getting better, kind inquiries came every day from the Senaputti, accompanied by half a dozen small birds which he thought were eatable, as he had often seen my husband bring snipe home. The birds were useless, of course, but I valued the kind thoughts which prompted him to send them. If anything went amiss with my husband's polo-ponies, the Senaputti was quite ready to send him as many as he wanted of his own, and he always mounted any visitor who might be staying with us and wish for a game. He was a keen sportsman and a capital shot. In the cold weather he often organized a week's deer-shooting for my husband, to which I always went, and very good fun it was. The Senaputti would meet us at the place with a number of elephants, and we used to start very early in the morning, and generally returned with a good bag. Bigger game was scarcely known in the valley. Occasionally a stray tiger would wander down and kill a bullock or two, the news of which was immediately conveyed to the Maharajah and a shooting-party organized.

A number of men kept for the purpose would start out to the spot where the tiger was supposed to be with nets and enormous spears. They surrounded the bit of jungle first with nets and afterwards with a strong bamboo fence, which, when erected, enabled them to remove the nets. The whole of the royal family then arrived and ourselves, and ascended into little platforms built up very high off the ground to be safely out of reach of the tiger should he escape; and then, with much blowing of trumpets and shouting, the fun began. The jungle inside the fence was then cut down, each cutter being protected by another man armed with an enormous spear. By degrees all the jungle was cut and the tiger forced to appear, when the occupants of the platforms all shot at him at once and ended his career. Sometimes the tiger was speared by the men inside the fence, but the poor beast always had ten or twelve wounds in him when we came to examine him. It was exciting, but it was not sport, and I always felt sorry for the tiger. Whenever I was present the Maharajah presented me with the skin and claws, and I got quite a collection in my three years at Manipur.

The princes always seemed to like our taking an interest in their concerns, and they frequently visited us, even sometimes on Sundays with a small following, and without any ceremony. Their people remained in the veranda, and they used to come into the drawing-room and talk to us, and look at our photographs and my husband's guns.

Any new invention in the latter pleased them immensely, and they immediately wished to know where the weapon was made and all particulars. They generally stayed with us some time on these occasions. Two or three days afterwards they would ask my husband to shoot or ride with them, and we always saw something of them during the week. On one occasion I mentioned to them that I had never seen a shell fired, so they got the Maharajah to arrange for a field-day, and we rode out to their own rifle-range, and saw their two mountain-guns brought out with different kinds of shell, and fired by the Senaputti himself.

When I think over the events of the last few months, it seems difficult to realize the friendly terms on which we had ever been with the Court at Manipur. How little we could foresee the terrible destruction those same guns were to bring upon our peaceful home in the near future! I was so delighted that day at watching the effect of a shell on the hill we were firing at, and the Manipuris got the range very well, almost every shot taking effect. We were out that morning four or five hours, and all rode back together. The Maharajah rode a beautiful pony on a gold saddle, with large flaps on each side to protect his legs, also of gold. The pony's bridle was made of gold cord, and his head and back covered with balls of soft white cotton. These saddles are really curiosities, and are peculiar to Manipur. The balls of cotton are arranged to protect the pony's sides from being hit at polo, and the whole turn-out is very well made, though rather heavy for the small steeds.

It was a fine sight to see the Senaputti play polo. He was very strong; in fact, the Manipuris used to tell us that he was the strongest man in the country. He could lift very heavy weights and throw long distances, and to see him send the ball skimming half across the ground with one hit was a very pretty sight He could do strokes that few Manipuris knew, which is saying a great deal, for an average player at Manipur can beat most Englishmen. The Senaputti was a magnificent rider, and he was always mounted on beautiful ponies. He wore a very picturesque dress for polo – a green velvet zouave jacket edged with gold buttons, and a salmon-pink silk Dhotee, with white leather leggings and a pink silk turban. He had long hair, which he used to twist up into a knot at the back of his neck, and he always looked very nice on these occasions. All the princes played polo.

There was one called Zillah Singh, a boy of about seventeen, whom we used to call the Poem. He was a slight, graceful-looking lad, and he used to ride a tiny mite of a pony, and never troubled himself with too many garments. His turban was always coming off, and his long black hair streamed in the wind as he flew about all over the ground. Even the little son of the Maharajah used to play. He was a dear little fellow, of about eight years old, and once a week there was generally a youngsters' game, in which all the little royalties used to perform, and remarkably well too, considering how young most of them were. My husband played regularly twice a week, all the year round. The Senaputti liked to play for stakes, which were generally muslin cloths or turbans. These were all hung up at the end of the ground, and when the game was ended, the winning side were presented with them, and the losers had to pay for them, which gave an interest to the game, and made both sides play up.

I have said more about the Senaputti than the other princes, because he was the one of them all that we knew intimately. He could speak Hindostani well, while the other princes spoke nothing but their own language, and when we first went to Manipur my husband, of course, didn't know a word of Manipuri, so had to speak to them through an interpreter. He did not lose much time in setting to work to learn it, and he had an old pundit 3 who used to come every day to give him lessons. This old gentleman was rather a character. His name was Perundha Singh, and he deprived Government of fifty rupees annually, by virtue of calling himself 'Burmese Interpreter to the Political Agent,' which designation he had engraved on a brass plate which he wore on the front of his belt. Whether he really knew Burmese was another matter, but he had certainly been in Burmah, and had seen some fighting there and even got wounded himself. He never turned up on wet days, because the bullet, which, he affirmed, had never been extracted, got affected by the damp and became rusty, causing him much pain and preventing his sitting down.

I had a grand idea of learning Manipuri too, but the old pundit used to pay me such florid compliments over the extreme rapidity with which I was picking up the language, that my husband thought I should learn it before he did, and said we must have our lessons at different times, which I found rather dull work, so ceased them altogether. The old pundit was a grand gossip. He had a thousand stories of the good and evil deeds of all the Sahibs who had been before us, and I must honestly confess the deeds seemed chiefly evil ones. He invariably ended by saying that there never was, and never would be, such a good and excellent Sahib as the present one, which judicious piece of flattery he hoped would be productive of great pecuniary results.

Chapter IV

Collect various animals around us 
Habits of our pets 
Our beautiful grounds 
The Nagas 
Amusing incident 
The liquor zu 
Roast dog 
Villages allotted to us for food, labour, etc. 
Women do the work 
Children of the Maharajah 
A water-party 
Every child dances in Manipur 
The Manipuri women not shut up.

SUCH was our life at Manipur. It seldom varied day by day. We used to ride every morning, and directly after breakfast go the round of the place, visit the stables and kitchen-garden, and feed all the animals, from the horses down to the two little otters, which were so tame that they followed us about like dogs. What would life in India be without one's animals, I wonder? We were never tired of collecting around us all kinds of creatures, and the natives got to know it, and used to bring us anything they caught. We had three monkeys, little brown fellows, which were my delight. They lived during the day in boxes nailed to posts, and were tied by ropes long enough to enable them to run up and down. Sometimes they got loose, and we had a long chase to get them again, as we could not leave them to do their pleasure upon our garden. One of them was so clever that we had to get him a chain to fasten him by, as he could undo any knot, and gnaw any rope in half in no time. He used to untie the rope and then look cautiously round, and if he saw anyone watching him he would sit on the end he had undone and pretend to be deep in the mysteries of his toilette; but if no one were looking, he would rush off to a large bed of sunflowers on the front lawn and snatch at the blossoms, tearing them to pieces, and strewing the petals all over the place. After this he would make for the house, and, if he were not discovered, run into whatever door or window happened to be open and do dreadful damage to anything that took his fancy. Directly he was seen there used to be a grand hunt after him, when he would betake himself to a particular tree in the grounds, clamber up to the very top, where the branches were too thin to bear any man, and remain there making the most hideous faces at us below. We had to station a man to watch him, as if everyone disappeared he would immediately come down and do more mischief. Sometimes it would be a whole day before the young ruffian was caught, but he generally came down for his evening meal, and then was captured. All three monkeys slept together on a beam in the roof of my bedroom veranda, and they were as good as any watch-dog, for if anything came into the veranda after dark they would begin chattering and making a great commotion. Poor little monkeys! I cannot bear to think of what their fate must have been.

We had a bear, two otters, a tame deer, and two large gray and red cranes, besides the monkeys. The bear was a small ball of black fluff when he came to us, with tiny teeth that could not hurt. We brought him up on milk and rice, and he grew a huge beast. I was a little afraid of him when he grew up. He was always getting loose, and was almost as difficult to catch as Jacko. When he was caught, it was very amusing to see him standing up behind his post playing hide-and-seek with the servant who was tying him up. He used to put his paw round the post and give the man's bare leg a friendly pat, which must have been very painful, and he stood all the while upon his hind-legs. He got very fierce as he grew older, and one day I was out in the garden gathering flowers and suddenly noticed the Chupprassies and orderlies flying towards the house – a proceeding that always happened directly the bear was at large. He very soon spied me out, and came rushing towards me, and I began to run; but long before I could get to the house he had overtaken me. I threw the flowers I had collected behind me, hoping that he would stop for them, but he just sniffed at them and then came on. He caught me up in a moment and clawed at my back, and tore my jacket all the way down. Fortunately it was a very cold day, and I had put on a thick winter coat, which saved me from getting badly clawed; but he gave me some nasty scratches. Luckily the Ghoorka orderly saw it from the house, and ran up and beat him off; and then the other servants came and captured him and chained him up. So my husband said we must get rid of him, and the next day he was conveyed away by four Nagas and a couple of Ghoorkas to a hill covered with jungle about fifteen miles away and let loose there, with a heap of rice and a lot of plantains to keep him going.

The next day we heard that the Manipuris had kept a holy festival on the identical hill, but we never asked whether they had seen our poor bear afterwards, and we never heard of him again. Our large grounds were a great delight to us at Manipur. We had quite a park at the back, with fine large trees and bushes of gardenias and roses and oleanders. The kitchen-garden was separated from the rest of the grounds by a wall which ran all round it. It always reminded me of an English garden with fruit-trees growing on the wall, and English vegetables all the year round. We had nine gardeners, or Malis, as they are called in India.

Talking of them reminds me of an amusing incident which happened in connection with them. They were Nagas belonging to one of our villages which lay at the back of the Residency grounds, between us and the river. The Nagas never burden themselves with too many clothes, and these in particular wore little beside a necklace or two. I mentioned this fact to a spinster lady friend of mine on one occasion, and she was so horrified that she sent me shortly afterwards nine pairs of bathing-drawers to be given to them. They were very beautiful garments; some had red and white stripes, and some blue, and they were all very clean. I presented them gravely one morning to my nine Malis, and a few days after I went into the garden one evening and found two of the men at work. One had made a hole in his bathing apparatus and had put his head through it, while his arms went into the places for the legs, and he was wearing it with great pride as a jacket; and the other had arranged his with an eye for the artistic on his head as a turban. After this I gave up trying to inculcate decency into the mind of the untutored savage.

We had a good many Naga servants. My second Khitmutghar4 was a Naga, and a very excellent servant he was too, except when he was drunk, which I am sorry to say was very often. If we were going into camp, or if we had just returned, were the particular occasions which, in his mind, were the ones of all others to be celebrated with much spirituous fluid. A message would come from the village to say that Mecandaï (the gentleman in question) was very dangerously ill – in fact, that he was not expected to live through the day. At first my sympathies were all aroused in his cause, but after a little experience I discovered the nature of his illness, and had him conveyed to the house. The native doctor was then sent for, and if he said the man was ill he was put into the hospital; if not, he went under military escort to the quarter-guard.

The Nagas will drink anything, but the stronger it is the better they are pleased. They have a beverage of their own which they make of fermented rice water. They can drink great quantities of it with no bad effect at first, but they get very drunk on it if they go beyond a certain limit. They call this liquor Zu, and I have heard my husband say he found it very refreshing after a long hot march; but I never had the courage to touch it, as they offered it to one out of a bottle that was never cleaned and that everybody drank from. I suppose to a Naga there is nothing more delicious than roast dog washed down with quarts of this Zu. Poor doggies! They are only kept to be eaten. They are well fed while they are growing up, and then, when they are ready to be eaten, they are starved for a day. At the end of this they are given an enormous feed of rice and the remains of a former comrade, perhaps, which they eat up ravenously; and then the head man of the village gives the victim a blow on the head and converts him into curry and rice.

On one occasion we were going up to our hill bungalow, and our village Nagas, wishing to do us honour, erected a triumphal arch at the entrance to our garden. Fortunately I looked up at it before going under, and saw, to my horror, the head of a dog, which had just been cut off, hanging in the centre of the erection, whilst his four paws and tail graced the sides, and the whole archway was so low that I should have touched the top of it as I rode under. I dismounted, however, and walked through.

The hill bungalow mentioned was seated about fifteen miles from Manipur. It was about 6,000 feet above sea-level, with a delightfully cool climate all the year round, though the rainfall was excessive during the summer months, and damp mists came up from the valley below, hiding even the garden round the house, and making the place very cold. Still, it was pleasant to be able to get away up there for a few days' change from the heat at Manipur, and we generally went up from Saturday till Tuesday every week. The village below the house belonged to us, and rejoiced in the name of Khan-jhub-khul. We had some five or six villages, which were given us by the Maharajah, the inhabitants of which worked for us. They were situated in different parts of Manipur, and we found it very convenient. The Nagas preferred working for us to working for the Maharajah, as we paid them for their labour, whereas the durbar considered it as revenue, and gave them nothing. At the same time, the way the Manipuris managed all the hill-tribes about them was very creditable. Every village had to work for the Rajah so many months in the year – about four. Some had to cut wood, and bring so many bundles in for the palace; others had to give so much rice, or go down to Cachar or to Kohima for trading purposes, and each tribe had its own duties. This system extended throughout Manipur, and not only amongst the hill-tribes, but also among the Manipuris themselves, and was called 'Lalup.' In return for their services they got their land rent free, and were not restrained from trading in their own interests as soon as they had performed their 'Lalup' for the Maharajah. It was a system that answered very well, and the people seemed well-to-do and contented.

The women did all the hard work, as a rule. They wove all their own and their husbands' clothing, and cooked and looked after the house generally, besides working in the fields and coming every evening to the big bazaar5 with merchandise for sale or exchange. No men were allowed to sell in this bazaar with the exception of a few traders, who sat in a different part of the market and sold cloths. It was a pretty sight in the evening to see all the women hurrying along with their wares on their heads, and their little babies slung on their backs. They sat in long rows in the bazaar, and it was divided up in a most methodical way. Vegetables and fish occupied one end, and cloths and jewellery the other, and the whole of the female population turned out, and even the princesses occasionally sold in the bazaar. The princesses were more numerous than the princes, as each of the latter had several wives. The Senaputti was supposed to be the happy owner of nine wives, and the others had almost as many.

The eldest daughter of the Maharajah was about fifteen. She very often came to see me, in company with nine or ten other girls of the same age, of whom more than half were royalties. The Senaputti used to bring them, and they loved running all over the house, examining everything. They liked most of all to go into my bedroom and try on my clothes and hats, and brush their hair with my brushes, admiring themselves in my long looking-glass. They used to be very much surprised to find that my dresses would not meet half-way round their waists.

The Senaputti generally waited in the drawing-room talking to my husband. After the party had explored my room, we used to rejoin the others, and take them all out into the garden, allowing them to pick the flowers, and decorate each other, and then my husband would photograph them. They were always amused with the monkeys and rabbits, the latter particularly, as those animals are wholly unknown in Manipur. In fact, these Manipuri children were very much like any other children in their delight at seeing new things. They liked going into the dining-room when the table was laid for dinner, and asking us what all the knives and forks and spoons were used for; and they enjoyed sitting on the sofas and in the big armchairs, 'just like the Memsahib,' they said.

Once we had a water-party on the lake in the grounds. The big pink water-lilies were in full bloom, and we had about five boats crammed with these children and some of the little princes, and we all pelted each other with water-lilies and got very wet, and enjoyed it immensely. Of course it was always a drawback not being able to offer them anything to eat or drink, as their caste forbade them taking anything of the sort; but we used to give them flowers, and Japanese fans, and beads, and those kind of things, with which they were very delighted. Some of the Manipuri girls are very pretty. They have long silky black hair as a rule, and fair complexions, with jolly brown eyes. They cut their hair in front in a straight fringe all round their foreheads, while the back part hangs loose, and it gives them a pretty, childish look. They dress very picturesquely in bright-coloured striped petticoats fastened under their arms, and reaching to their ankles. Over this a small green velvet zouave jacket is worn, and when they go out they wear a very fine muslin shawl over their shoulders, and gold necklaces and bracelets by way of ornament. Very pretty these little damsels look as you meet them in twos and threes along the road going to their dancing-lessons, or to market or temple. Every child is taught to dance in Manipur. They cease when they marry, but up till then they take great pride in their nautches.

The Manipuris do not shut up their women, as is the custom in most parts of India, and they are much more enlightened and intelligent in consequence. As soon as a woman marries she puts back her fringe, but no other restrictions are laid upon her. They do not marry until they are fifteen, and I have seen girls of seventeen unmarried. From going so often through the bazaar in the evenings, I got to know several of the women very well, and they liked my coming and having a chat with them. I learnt all their little troubles and anxieties – how so-and-so's baby was teething and generally ailing, and how someone else's had grown an inch, or who was going to be married, and who had died. I liked talking to them, and I learnt a good deal of the language by doing so.

Chapter V

Trips to the Logtak Lake 
Beautiful scene on the lake
Tent pitched on an island in it 
The Pucca Senna accompanies us 
Crowds collect to see us 
Old women dance 
Natives laugh at my riding habit 
Moombi 
Steep ascent 
Chief of the village threatens us 
Unpleasant quarters 
Wet condition and hostile reception 
My husband teaches the Prince English.

FROM April to the end of October was the rainy season in Manipur, and from October till the end of March the weather was as perfect as could be, very cold, and yet bright and sunshiny, with never a drop of rain to trouble one. All our winter went in camp. We used to go out for a month at a time, and then return to the Residency for a few days before starting out again in another direction. We generally managed two trips to the Logtak Lake. This lake lay to the south of the valley, a day's journey by boat, or two days' if one rode. We preferred the boating. We used to start off early in the morning and ride about fifteen miles, where the boat would wait for us, with all our luggage packed in one end of it, and a well-filled lunch-basket to keep us going by the way. These boats were long and narrow, and were called 'dug-outs,' because each one was hollowed out of a single tree. We spread the bottom with lots of straw, and put rugs and pillows on the top, and then lay down on them and found it very comfortable.

About five in the evening we arrived at the mouth of the river, and had generally to wait some time there to allow the wind, which always got up in the evenings, to subside, as the lake was too rough to cross while it was blowing. Even when we did cross, two hours later, the waves kept breaking into the boat, and we had to set to work to bale the water out. I don't think I shall ever forget the first time I saw the lake. We did not arrive till late, and the moon was high up in the heavens, shedding a glorious silvery light on the broad expanse of waters, and making the islands, each one a small mountain in itself, appear shadowy and far off. Far above our heads flew strings of wild geese going off to feed, and uttering their strange hoarse cry as they flew. Here and there as our boat shot past some sheltered nook or tiny islet two or three ducks would paddle out, scenting danger, and curious water-birds would rise from the swampy ground and noiselessly disappear in the far distance. But the stillness on all around us, and the beautiful lake, whose surface the now dying wind still gently ruffled, had a great effect upon one's imagination, and I was quite sorry when we shot through a narrow creek and came suddenly upon the camp.

Our tents were pitched on one of the largest and most beautiful islands, under a big tree, and at the end of a long village, which was built picturesquely on the shore of the lake. The villagers and our servants came down to help us out of our boats with torches and the inevitable bugler, who played us up to our tent in grand style. We were very glad to get in and find an excellent dinner awaiting us, and still more get to bed. Every day we used to start out at six in the morning, before the mist had cleared – I in one boat, and my husband in another – and creep round the little islands after duck, and we generally returned with a large bag.

In two days once my husband got eighty-two ducks and thirty geese. He did great execution with an eight-bore he had, and generally knocked over half a dozen or so at a time with it. Duck-shooting is very exciting, and hunting wounded birds a lengthy operation. They let you come quite close to them, and you think you have got them safely, when they suddenly dive under your boat and appear again yards off; and by the time you have turned your boat and gone after them again they are still farther away. I never liked it when we had caught them and they used to be consigned to my husband's boat, as I could not bear to see them killed. Sometimes they were so tame it seemed butchery to shoot them.

One year when we went to the Logtak the Pucca Senna (the Maharajah's third brother) asked if he might come too. We were very pleased to have him, so he arrived, and every day he went out shooting with us, and as he was a good shot he made a welcome addition to party. He shot everything he could see, whether it was game or not, but he shot well. We sent all the birds we could not eat up by boat to Manipur for the Sepoys of our escort, who were very grateful for them. We stayed a week the time the Pucca Senna was with us, and he came on afterwards on a tour along the southern boundary of the valley to some very curious places, where they had never seen an English lady before, and where the people exhibited the greatest curiosity and excitement over my advent. We were always coming upon crowds collected at different places on the roads, who had journeyed many miles to see me. They all presented us with a few eggs or fowls, as the case might be, in the hope that the presentation of them would delay us, and that they would be able to get a good view of me.

Sometimes, instead of giving us anything, they brought four old women to dance before us, and we would come upon them suddenly over the brow of a hill and find them jumping about on the other side like so many old monkeys for our edification. We were, of course, obliged to stop and look at their exertions, and present them at the end of the performance with rupees. They always came round me and touched my clothes and hands, and seemed to be surprised when I turned up my sleeve and showed them that my arm was white too, like my hands. My clothes caused much curiosity. It was the time then of large dress-improvers, and they had seen me walking out at one village we stopped at in a fashionably-made costume, with at least three steels in it.

The next day I went out on my pony in a riding habit, followed by the usual crowds. We stopped for a few minutes, and I saw our interpreter in fits of laughter over something. I asked my husband what the man was laughing at, and after a little persuasion the interpreter told us that the villagers wished to know what I had done with my tail! At first I had no idea what they meant, but after a little while they explained, and then I discovered that they had imagined the fulness at the back of my dress had concealed a tail, and they could not understand why the habit looked different, We were very much amused, and when we got back to the camp I showed some of them the steels in my dress. They thought it a very funny fashion indeed.

We went away the next day, much to their disappointment, to a place a long way off in the hills, and had a number of queer adventures. The Manipuris told us that this place, called Moombi, was about eighteen miles distant, so we started very early. I commenced by riding, but before we had gone very far the hills became so steep that I got into my long chair and was carried by Nagas. My husband had to walk, and so did Prince Pucca Senna, much to his disgust, as he was a very lazy individual, aid never cared to use his legs much. This time there was no help for it, so he puffed and blew as he came up the hill, and said he felt very ill indeed. It must have been thirty miles instead of eighteen, and it was very tiring. I had to hold on to the arms of my chair to keep myself in it at all, and the road got worse and worse, until at last I had to take to my hands and knees too, as by this time the rest of the party were crawling up on all-fours like a string of ants.

We got to the top at length, and were going on up to the village, which was a few yards ahead, when a message came down from the chief of the village, sent by one of his slaves, saying that if we came any farther he would shoot at us. This was rather alarming at the end of a long and tiring march. The messenger went on to say that they had built a grass hut for us a little below the place we had halted at, and that no one would molest us if we stayed there, but we were not to go into the village. I think if we had had a sufficient armed force with us that my husband would have gone on, but as we were only travelling with a small escort of Manipuris, who seemed much more inclined to run down the hill instead of up it, we agreed to remain in the hut they had built for us, to which we then proceeded.

Tribesmen of Manipur

There was no mistake about its being a grass hut. It was built of green grass, something like pampas grass, with flowery tops which they had not cut off, but left to wave in a sort of archway over our heads. The roof was very light and airy, and full of large spaces to allow of rain or hail entering the abode if the weather were stormy. The floor was covered with loose, ungainly-looking planks, thrown down anyhow all over it, and if you trod on the end of one suddenly, it started up at the other end like a seesaw. Fortunately we always took a small tent with us to be certain of shelter in case any of the arrangements should fall through, and we had it on this occasion. We soon unpacked it, and got a place on the side of a hill cleared, and began putting it up, hurrying over it as fast as we could, as the clouds were gathering up all round us, and we knew rain was coming.

Long before we had finished erecting it, however, the storm broke. I have rarely seen such a storm. The wind blew so strongly that it needed all our forces to hold on to the tent-ropes to prevent the whole being blown down the hill on to the top of the unfortunate prince, who, by the way, was housed below us in a wretched grass shed, a copy of ours, only very much smaller. The thunder and lightning were dreadful, as the hills around us re-echoed every peal, and the lightning shone out so vividly in the darkness which had set in. At length the wind went down somewhat, and we adjourned to our hut for dinner, where we sat under one umbrella with our feet on the bath-tub turned upside down, and our plates in our laps. The rain poured meanwhile through the so-called roof, and the nodding grass-tops dripped on to our heads. We got to bed about two in the morning, when it cleared up, and the stars came out, as it were, to mock at us for the general soppiness of ourselves and our belongings. We did not dare inquire for the well-being of the prince. Streams of water we knew had rushed down the hillside quite powerful enough to carry his hut away.

Next morning very early one of his followers came up to say that his master had not been able to sleep all night, as his house had been swept away and many of his valuables lost; and that he presented his salaams to the Sahib and the Memsahib, and hoped that we did not intend remaining in so horrible a place.

It had been our original intention to stay at Moombi three days, but our wet condition, coupled with the hostile reception from the chief, decided us to make a move down the hill. First of all, though, my husband insisted that the chief should come down and pay his respects to us, which, to our great surprise, he did after a little persuasion, bringing his three wives and a number of followers, all of whom were armed with guns of very ancient design, with him. They wore very few clothes, and were not pleasant-looking men, and the women were all very short and dumpy-looking, and, oh! so dirty. They presented us with eggs and melons, and the wives gave me a curious spear and some baskets of rice. My husband asked them what they meant by greeting us with such an alarming message the night before, to which they replied that they had made a mistake, and did not mean that they would fire on us. We found out afterwards that they thought we were coming to collect some revenue which they had owed to Manipur for some time and refused to pay, and that they were afraid we intended marching into their village and forcing them to pay.

My husband hauled the chief (who, by the way, called himself a Rajah) over the coals for it, and told him that he was to come into Manipur, where the revenue case would be inquired into; but we parted very peaceably after going up to the village by the chief's own invitation, where we inspected the outside of his house. It was fenced all round with strong stakes, and on the top of each stake was a head, and more than one of them unmistakably human skulls. Whether the original owners of them had died natural deaths, or whether they were trophies of war, we did not inquire. There were some beautiful elephants' tusks in the chief's veranda, and some fine-toned Kuki gongs, one of which he presented to us. We left with many expressions of affection from the Rajah of Moombi and his wives, but we were very glad when we found ourselves at the foot of the hills leading up to his kingdom, and solemnly made a vow never to return there again. We visited the iron wells on our way home. There are about seven of them, and it was very interesting watching the men at work.

My husband amused himself in the afternoons by teaching the prince English. He used to read out of a queer old spelling-book, filled with words that one would really never use. One sentence was – that is to say, if one could call it a sentence – 'an elegant puce quilt.' Now, I don't think his highness would ever have used either word, but it amused me greatly to hear him trying to pronounce 'quilt'; it developed into 'kilt,' and never got any farther. I laughed so much that I had to beat a hasty retreat. There was one expression the prince did learn, and that was 'good-bye'; but it was a little embarrassing to meet him on arrival and be welcomed by a shake of the hand and a solemn 'good-bye.' It rather damped one's ardour. He never could understand that it was a farewell salutation, and not a general greeting.

Chapter VI

Society at Manipur 
Band of the Ghoorkas 
The bandmaster 
His peculiar attire 
The regiment ordered away to our regret 
Worse news 
We are ordered to leave 
Parting views 
Mr. Heath appointed 
Son of the Tongal general 
His good and bad qualities 
Magnificent scenery 
The Ungamis 
Their quarrelsome character.

WHEN we first went to Manipur we had a certain amount of society, as it was then the headquarters of a Ghoorka regiment, which was stationed four miles away from us, at a place called Langthabal; not a pleasant spot by any means, as it had only been roughly cleared for a cantonment, and the roads about it were little better than paths. The officers lived in huts made of bamboo, and the walls had a thin covering of mud on the outside, which some of the more enterprising inmates had painted with whitewash, making them look a little more like the habitations of civilized folks. Some of the huts had very pretty gardens round them, but small, of course, though the flowers there seemed to do twice as well as ours did in the Residency garden. We saw a good deal of the officers in the 44th Ghoorka Rifles, the regiment there when we arrived. They used to come in for polo twice a week, and to what I was pleased to call my 'at home' every Thursday, when we played tennis and had the Maharajah's band from four o'clock till six.

This band was composed of Nagas, and it was wonderful to hear how easily they learnt English music. Waltzes and any dance music came easiest to them, and they kept excellent time; but they could manage anything, and I have heard them play difficult selections from the great masters without a mistake. Their bandmaster was very talented. As a young man he had gone to Kohima to be taught by the bandmaster of the 44th Ghoorka Rifles, and he had a natural ear for music, and could even sing a little. He used to get very impatient at times when the bandsmen were more stupid than usual, and on one occasion he took to beating them, and they refused to work any longer under him. They were imprisoned, and many of them beaten, but at last, after a great deal of persuasion, backed by a few rupees, they were induced to begin again, and the bandmaster promised to cease from castigating them whenever they played a wrong note.

I shall never forget my first introduction to the bandmaster. He arrived dressed in what he called his 'Calcutta clothes,' of which he was immensely proud. They consisted of a white frock coat, made in a very old-fashioned way; black broadcloth continuations, rather short and very baggy; a red-corded silk waistcoat, with large white spots, and tie to match; turn-down collar and ancient top hat, constructed in the year 1800, I fancy. He had a small peony in his button-hole, and last, but not least, patent-leather boots stitched with white and covered with three rows of pearl buttons. He carried a light cane, surmounted by the head and shoulders of a depraved-looking female in oxidized silver as a handle. He showed this to me with great pride, and really it was a marvellous machine, for when you pressed the top of her head attar of roses came out of her mouth and nose, and if you were anywhere near you were covered with that pungent liquid. It was very difficult to avoid laughing at this curious get-up, and when he had safely embarked on a long overture from 'William Tell.' I disappeared for a few minutes to give vent to my amusement. He was quite a character, and always afforded me a weekly surprise, as he seldom appeared in the same clothes twice running, and his wardrobe seemed as endless as it was select.

Being able to have the band when we liked was very pleasant. It brought the officers over from Langthabal once a week at any rate, and we always rode out to see them every week. We were very gay there in those days, and we used to have dinner-parties, and I enjoyed the change of going to the mess to dinner now and then. Of course the four miles' journey there was a little trying. The Manipur roads never admitted of driving, so I used to be carried in a long chair by hospital Kahars, and my husband used to ride. It was terribly cold coming back late at night, and often very wet, but we did not mind that very much to get an outing occasionally.

Terribly sorry we were when the decree went forth that we were to lose the regiment. We knew that they might go any day, and a Chin expedition cropped up in the winter of 1888, which took our only neighbours off on the warpath. We were very depressed at the idea of losing them, but perfectly desolated when a letter came saying that we ourselves were to go to another station. We were out in camp when it arrived, and I never shall forget the hopeless silence that fell upon us both at the news. We had counted upon being safely installed at Manipur for three years at the least, but, alas! a number of senior men were coming out from furlough, and had to be provided with districts before the juniors. We had taken so much pride in the place during our ten months' residence there that we were very loath to go. We talked it over, trying to find some way of getting out of leaving, but came to the conclusion there was none. That was in December, but we did not really leave until February, as the officer who was to relieve us had to come a long distance from the other side of the Assam Valley, and he took as long as he possibly could in coming, being as loath to take the place as we were to give it up. Sadly we walked round our gardens, noted the rose-trees only lately arrived from Calcutta, which we had been counting on to make the place beautiful during the coming year, and gazed mournfully at the newly-made asparagus-bed that we hoped would have fed us in three years' time. I almost felt inclined to destroy everything, but my husband was more magnanimous, and even went as far as to say he hoped Mr. Heath (our successor) would enjoy it all.

We made the most of our last two months in Manipur. Two shooting expeditions to the lake, and a journey to Cachar for the Christmas race-meet, occupied most of our remaining time; but, like all things, it came to an end – all too soon for us – and one morning the guns boomed out a salute to our successor. It was a case of 'Le roi est mort. Vive le roi!' The same elephants, covered with the same crimson coverings, welcomed him in the identical manner that they had welcomed us. The red-coated Chupprassies hastened to pay their respects to the new Sahib and attend to his wants, heedless of those of the old Sahib, and I think we both felt then what leaving the place would really mean to us.

Mr. Heath was much impressed by all the glories prepared for him, but he had not been in the house very long before he told us how much he disliked coming to Manipur. He hadn't a good word to say for it, and I felt very sorry for him, as he really seemed to dread the loneliness terribly. Lonely it certainly was, and the outlook was worse for him than it had been for us, as we had each other, and the regiment was four miles off. He had no one. I knew well how the solitude would weigh on him before many days were over. It had been dreadful work for me at times, when my husband was kept in the office till late in the evening, and I had to amuse myself as best I could from eleven in the morning until dinner-time. There were no books or papers to be got under three weeks or a month's post, and then one had to buy one's books, as there was no going to a library for them. So I felt very sorry for poor Mr. Heath, as he seemed far from strong into the bargain. However, I did my best to cheer him up by taking him all round the gardens and over the house, and showing him that, as far as the place went, he could not wish for a better.

Then we went for a walk through the bazaar and on to the polo ground, and eventually, when we returned in the evening, he seemed in a happier frame of mind, and the band playing whilst we were at dinner cheered him up considerably. But next day, when the time came for us to depart, he was very gloomy, and as I was worse myself, I could not put on a pleasant outward appearance. It was very hard to leave the place, having to bid good-bye to all our pets, leaving them in the hands of the servants who might or might not look after them. I took the three little monkeys with me, as I would not part with them, and they were travellers already, as they had come to Manipur with us. My husband did suggest letting them loose in a large grove of mango-trees not far from the Residency that was filled with monkeys which we often used to go and feed with rice and plantains, but I knew how they fought amongst themselves, and how the big ones bullied the little ones, so I preferred taking my three with us. I took a last walk round the grounds, and almost directly after breakfast our horses came to the door and we had to make a start. All the servants that were remaining behind came and bid us good-bye, and some of the red-coated Chupprassies gave us little presents of dried fruits and nuts. We rode out of the place very slowly, but as soon as the quarter-guard gates had closed behind us we put our ponies into a gallop, and never stopped till three or four miles lay between us and the Residency, and neither of us spoke much for the rest of the ten that limited our journey that day.

We were going to a place over two hundred miles away called Jorehat, in the Assam Valley, near the Brahmapootra, and to get to it we had to pass through Kohima, in the Naga Hills, ninety-six miles from Manipur. It was my first visit there, and I enjoyed the eight days journey to it immensely. We were accompanied as far as Mao Thana (the boundary between the Manipur state and Kohima) by the eldest son of the Tongal General.

Before going on, I think some description of the latter officer will not be amiss, especially as he has played so important a part in the late rebellion. He was an old man, nearer eighty than seventy I should think, taller than the average Manipuri, and marvellously active for his age. He had a fine old face, much lined and wrinkled with age and the cares of state which had fallen upon him when he was quite a young man, and had in nowise lessened as his years increased. He had piercing black eyes, shaggy overhanging white eyebrows, and white hair. His nose was long and slightly hooked, and his mouth was finely cut and very determined. He was fond of bright colours, and I never remember seeing him in anything but a delicate pink silk dhotee, a dark coat made from a first-rate English pattern, and a pink turban, and when the orchids were in bloom, he seldom appeared without a large spray of some gorgeous-hued specimen in the top of his turban.

The Tongal always reminded me of an eagle. He had the same keen, rugged expression and deep-set, glowing eyes. Few things happened without his knowledge and consent, and if he withheld his approbation from any matter, there would invariably be a hitch in it somewhere. He was credited with more bloodshed than any man in the kingdom. If a village had misbehaved itself, raided on another, or refused to pay revenue or do Lalup, the Tongal would travel out to that village and wipe it off the face of the earth. Men, women, and children were cut down without the slightest compunction. Few escaped, and these travelled away and joined other villages; but every house and barn and shed was burnt, pigs and fowls destroyed, and ruin and devastation reigned where prosperity and plenty had held sway before. I believe in later years restrictions were brought to bear upon the Manipur durbar which prevented such wholesale slaughter; but in earlier days the Tongal had, as he expressed it, 'nautched through many villages' in the style described, and brought desolation into many a hillman's peaceful home.

If he had his faults, he had his virtues also. He was very enterprising, fond of building bridges, and improving the roads about the capital. Like the Senaputti, he was a keen soldier, enjoyed watching good shooting, and had been in his younger days a first-rate shot himself. He was an obstinate old man, and it was very difficult to get him to listen to any proposition if it did not please him at the outset; but when once he had promised to get anything done, he did not go back from his word, and one knew it was reliable. He lived in a large house some distance to the south of the palace, with his family. Of these, only two sons were of any importance – the eldest, called Yaima, and the second son, a very handsome young fellow, named Lumphel Singh. The latter was perhaps the most influential, and my husband always said he thought that he would take his father's place in the state when anything happened to the old man. Lumphel was the favourite aide-de-camp of the Maharajah, and he was the officer in charge of the hundred and twenty-eight miles of road between Manipur and Cachar. At durbars he used to stand behind the Maharajah's chair with a very magnificent uniform covered with gold lace, and a gold turban

Yaima, the eldest brother, was not good-looking at all, but a nice young fellow, and very hard-working. He came with us on our journey to Kohima at the time of which I write, and was very obliging, and ready to put himself out in any way in order that we might be comfortable, which, considering that we were departing, as we then thought, for good from the place, was very courteous on his part. We were very sorry to part with him at Mao Thana.

The scenery on the road between Kohima and Manipur is magnificent. Some of the hills run as high as nine thousand feet, and yet until you are within three days' journey of Kohima the road is almost level, winding in and out along a narrow valley. Forests of oak abound the whole way, and in the cold weather the trees lose their foliage, making it look very English-like and wintry.

Sometimes you find yourself riding along a narrow path which skirts round the side of a steep hill, while below you is the river, clear and blue and deep, with an occasional rapid disturbing the calm serenity of its flow. The hills around are studded with villages, and peopled by various tribes. The Nagas in the immediate vicinity of Kohima are perhaps a finer race than any hillmen to be found in Assam. They are called Ungamis, and are very fine men, most of them six feet high at least, broad shouldered, and powerfully built. Their dress is curious, and quite different to any of the Nagas about Manipur. It consists of a kind of very short kilt made of coarse black cloth, trimmed with three or four rows of shells like cowries. In old days, before Kohima was as settled and quiet as it is in these days, these rows of shells are said to have borne a meaning – a man who had never taken a human head was not allowed to sew them on to his kilt. For every head taken they affixed so many cowries, five or six at a time, as the case might be, and a warrior with three rows on his kilt was considered a great gun indeed.

The Mao Nagas were Ungamis, and used to be rather a handful for the Manipuris to manage. They were always getting up feuds with the villagers over the border, and the Manipuris were very often afraid of hauling them over the coals for it, for fear of getting the worst of the fray. We stayed two days at Kohima on our way to Jorehat, and travelled after leaving there through the Namba forest to the next station, called Golaghat. We took eight days to do this bit of our journey, as the weather was delicious, and we wanted to make the most of our time on the road, being in no hurry to arrive at our destination. This Namba forest covers an enormous area. It extends hundreds of miles each side of the road, which is constructed right through the middle of it. The scenery is wonderful. High forest jungle rises each side of you as you ride along. Here and there you come across a river, whose sandy banks show the footprints of many a wild beast. Bears, tigers, leopards, and elephants swarm in the jungle around, but one seldom sees anything more exciting than a harmless deer browsing by the wayside, or a troop of long-tailed monkeys crossing the road. It is all very wild and beautiful, and when we eventually came to the end of our eight days' march through the Namba, and reached cultivated regions once more, we were quite sorry. We stayed two days at Golaghat, the first station reached after leaving the forest, and then proceeded to our new subdivision, arriving there at the end of three days.