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.

OF course there were a great many preparations to be made in honour of the Chief Commissioner's visit. The question which occupied my attention most was how to feed so many. The resources of the country in the way of food were very limited. Beef was an impossibility, as no one was allowed to kill a cow, and mutton was almost equally unprocurable. The Jubraj kept a few sheep for their wool, and once in a way he killed one or two of them to provide a dinner for all the Mussulman officers and servants in the palace; but this occurred very seldom. We lived on ducks and fowls all the year round, and managed fairly well; but having to provide for sixteen people was a different matter altogether. My husband made several valiant attempts to secure some sheep from Cachar, and after much difficulty he got four, and we heard they had commenced their march up to Manipur. But they never arrived alive. The drover was a most conscientious person, and took the trouble to bring the four dead carcases up to the Residency for our inspection, to assure us that the poor animals had died natural deaths, which we thought very touching on his part.

We were in despair over our commissariat, but at last that invaluable domestic, the bearer, came to the rescue, and proposed that as we could not get genuine mutton, we should invest in a goat. One often eats goat in India, deluding one's self with the idea that it is sheep, because it has cost one as dear, and the native butcher swears that he is giving one the best mutton in the district. But after you have kept house for a year or two, and got to know the wily Oriental, you are able to distinguish truly the sheep from the goats. Be that as it may, when one can't get one thing, one must content one's self with the best substitute; and on this occasion I was very grateful to the bearer for his timely suggestion, and commissioned him to search the neighbourhood for the desired goat, which after some days was discovered, and brought to the Residency for inspection. We had a committee of four on it, and came to the conclusion that it was a most estimable animal, and altogether worthy of providing dinner for a Chief Commissioner. So we bought that goat, tethered him in the kitchen-garden, and fed him every day and all day. He grew enormous, and slept a great deal when he was not eating, which was his favourite occupation.

Meanwhile the days went by, and at last only one week remained before the Chief's arrival, and by that time we knew that he was bringing an escort of four hundred men with him and several officers; but we did not know how long they were going to stay, or why so many were coming, or whether they were going on to Burmah. A telegram had come some days previously, telling my husband to get coolies ready to take the party to Tummu, and he thought from that that it was Mr. Quinton's intention to pay a visit to that part of the valley; but everything seemed uncertain, and the Manipuris were very curious to find out what it all meant.

About a week before the Chief arrived Mr. Gurdon was sent on to see my husband, and talk over matters with him; but even then we were ignorant of what was really intended, and it was only on the day before they all arrived – Saturday, March 21 – that my husband was told all by Mr. Quinton himself, whom he had ridden out ten miles to meet. He started out in the morning for Sengmai, the first halting-stage on the road to Kohima from Manipur, and on his arrival he wired to me, telling me to expect eleven to breakfast the next day, which, with ourselves, Mr. Melville, and Mr. Simpson, made fifteen. Mr. Simpson and I went for a ride that evening, and as we were returning we both remarked the great number of Manipuri Sepoys we met, hurrying into the citadel. They swarmed along the road, and on getting near the big gate of the palace we had some difficulty in getting our horses through the crowds which were streaming into the fort, and I was quite glad when we got back safely into the Residency grounds again. My husband returned about seven from Sengmai, very tired and very much worried at all he had heard. I went into his little private office with him, and there he told me of what was to take place on the morrow, making me promise not to breathe a word of it to either Mr. Melville or Mr. Simpson, as it was to be kept a dead secret. He wrote off at once to the Regent, telling him that the Chief Commissioner would hold a durbar on the following day at twelve, at which he hoped all the princes would appear, and then we went away and had dinner. It was difficult to talk of other things while our minds were full of the information my husband had received, and I was very glad when the evening ended, and our two visitors had gone to bed.

It had been decided to recognise the regent as Maharajah, but his brother, the Jubraj, was to be arrested at the durbar the next day, taken out of the country, and banished for several years. That was the news my husband brought. It has been hinted of late by some that the friendship which we had both entertained for the Jubraj was infra dig., and contrary to the usual mode of procedure adopted by Anglo-Indian officials in their intercourse with the rulers of native states. But when first we went to Manipur, my husband was told that he must endeavour to establish friendly feelings between the princes and himself, and that he was to make a point of becoming acquainted with their language, in order to acquire an influence for good over each member of the Maharajah's family and over the state itself.

I do not think there was ever any loss of dignity or unbecoming familiarity in my husband's friendship for the Jubraj. Full well that prince, and all the other members of the durbar, knew that where things went wrong they would not escape his notice and reproof, even as when they went right he would give praise where praise was due; and if such a friendship were distasteful and unusual in similar circumstances, why was it never commented on by those in whose power it was to approve or disapprove, and who knew that it existed? Small wonder was it that we were both very sorry to hear of the fate which was in store for the Jubraj. We remembered all the little acts of courtesy and kindness which he had performed to help make our lonely existence brighter, isolated as we were from any English friends, and we knew how much he would feel being sent out of Manipur at so short a notice. However, we could do nothing by talking it over, and so went to rest ourselves, resolving to think no more about it until the next day.

The morning of the 22nd broke clear and beautiful over the valley. The place had never looked more lovely. Clusters of yellow roses blossomed on the walls of the house, and the scent of the heliotrope greeted me as I went into the veranda to watch my husband start to meet Mr. Quinton. There was a delightful sense of activity about the place, and one felt that something of more than ordinary importance was about to take place; white tents peeped out from amongst the trees surrounding the house, and the camp prepared for the Sepoys stretched along under our wall at the end of the lake. Mr. Simpson and I strolled down the drive, out into the road, to see the preparations in honour of Mr. Quinton's coming. Chairs were placed near the principal palace gate, and a carpet, and a table with flowers on it; and there were a great many Manipuri Sepoys lining the road by which he was expected to arrive.

I was called back to the house by the bearer with a piece of intelligence which almost took my breath away – the goat was dying! I raced back to the Residency, and rushed to the scene of action. There on the ground lay the goat, breathing his last, and with his departing spirit went all my dreams of legs of mutton, chops and cutlets. I sent to the house for bottles of hot beer and quarts of brandy, and I poured gallons of liquid down the creature's throat; but all to no purpose, and after giving one last heartrending groan, he expired at my feet. I could have wept. The pains that had been taken with that goat to make it fat and well-favoured for the delectation of my friends! and then that it should shuffle off this mortal coil on the very day fixed for its execution was altogether heartrending. I think I really should have found relief in tears, had not my attention been aroused by the sound of the salute being fired from the palace, which meant that the Chief and his party had appeared in sight So I turned away sadly, after giving orders to have the creature buried, and proceeded to the House, where I met Mr. Simpson and Mr. Melville. They both expressed much sympathy, but we could not help seeing the funny side of the affair, and ended by laughing very heartily over the sad end to my mutton scheme.

Twelve times did the gun boom from the palace, and by the time the twelfth had sounded, Mr. Quinton, accompanied by Colonel Skene and my husband, had arrived at the house, followed shortly by the other officers, who had remained at the camp to see their men comfortably housed and settled. We all went in to breakfast, but I noticed that my husband seemed troubled about something, as he scarcely spoke at all, and I wondered what fresh news he had heard. However, I had no opportunity of speaking to him at all, and the conversation flowed merrily round the table. I knew very few of the Chief Commissioner's party, as all the officers belonging to the 42nd Ghoorka Rifles were total strangers to me. Of the rest, Mr. Brackenbury and I were perhaps the oldest friends. He had been stationed at Manipur before, when we first came to the place, and we had seen a great deal of him, so were glad that he had come on this occasion.

As soon as breakfast was over, preparations were made for the durbar, and the work of the day began. I had no opportunity of speaking to my husband until he was dressing for the ceremony, and then I went and asked him what was bothering him; and he told me that he had been ordered to arrest the Jubraj at the close of the durbar. It is not for me to give an opinion on this point at all, and whether such a course of action was honourable or not; but it was only natural that my husband should feel sorry that he had been chosen to carry out such a proceeding. To be obliged to arrest a man himself with whom he had been on friendly terms for nearly three years, and see him treated like a common felon, without being able to defend himself, was naturally a hard task, and my husband felt it bitterly.

I summoned up courage to ask whether some other officer might not make the arrest, as it had to be made; but was told that the Jubraj would probably feel it less if my husband did it, as they were good friends. Precautions were taken to prevent his escaping. The doors of the durbar room were all locked with the exception of the one by which the princes would enter, and guards were stationed in the adjoining rooms, as well as all round the house and in the verandas. Most of the officers were ignorant of what was intended, and they were joking with me, and trying to find out whether I were in the secret or not, while we were waiting for the Maharajah to arrive.

Meanwhile the written orders of the Government of India had to be translated into Manipuri, and for this purpose two of the office clerks and the Burmese interpreter were brought to the Residency and given the papers to translate. The orders were lengthy, and the translation of them took some time. Each of the clerks had a sentry placed over him, and they all had to swear an oath that they would not divulge one word to anyone of the contents of the papers given them to translate. Some time before they were completed the regent and all his brothers arrived at the Residency gate. I have laid particular stress on the word all, because it has been said that the Jubraj did not accompany his brother on this occasion, though subsequent evidence has since appeared showing that he was really present with the rest. Had there been no reason for keeping the princes waiting at the gate, things might have ended very differently. But that delay enabled some of the Manipuri Sepoys to gain admission into the Residency grounds, from where they could take note of all the proceedings. They made good use of their opportunities, marked the distribution of our forces, saw the Ghoorkas lining the entrance-steps, and the officers in uniform in attendance outside. Some of them even strolled round to the back of the house, and there they saw the same preparations – Sepoys on the steps, and guards about the grounds.

Of course the Manipuris did not keep this to themselves, but made their way out again to the Jubraj, and told him of all they had seen; and he took the opportunity to return to his house with his brother, the Senaputti, giving out as an excuse that he felt too ill to remain waiting about in the hot sun. He had not been well for some time before, but whether he really felt as indisposed on this occasion as he affirmed is open to doubt. He had already made the acquaintance of the Chief Commissioner, and so had the Senaputti, as the latter had ridden out to Sengmai on the Saturday to meet Mr. Quinton, and the Jubraj had also met him seven miles out of Manipur on Sunday morning.

When, therefore, the regent was asked to come on to the Residency, he came, accompanied by his youngest brother only, Prince Zillah Singh, the Tongal General, and some other less important ministers. As soon as my husband saw that his highness had arrived without the two elder brothers, he informed Mr. Quinton, who sent out word to the regent that the durbar could not be held without the attendance of the Jubraj and Senaputti. My husband had a long conversation with the regent before his highness came into the house, and the latter agreed to send for his brothers to the palace, coming himself into the Residency to await their arrival. It seemed a long time before the messenger returned from the palace. The old Tongal was so seedy at the time that we wondered at his having been able to put in an appearance at all. I went into the drawing-room, and found the old man asleep on the floor, and got him to lie down on a sofa with a pillow under his head, where he very soon slumbered peacefully. At last the regent's messenger returned with the reply from the Jubraj that he was too ill to leave his house, and hoped Mr. Quinton would excuse his appearing; so the durbar was postponed till the next morning, Monday, March 23, at eight o'clock, and it was impressed upon his highness that his two brothers must attend. They then went away. There is little doubt that, from this moment, some inkling of what was intended penetrated the minds of the princes and their ministers, just as all the officers guessed that it was the Jubraj who was 'wanted.'

However, business being over for that day, we set to work to amuse ourselves as best we could, strolling about the grounds, and into the bazaar in the evening. We had already arranged to have a polo-match one day during Mr. Quinton's visit, in which the princes were to play; and the regent had promised to have a review of his troops, which was always a pretty sight. In addition to this, the band had been lent to us to play every evening at dinner; and we were to have a Manipuri nautch on the Monday, followed by a Naga dance the next evening, if the weather permitted. This programme had been drawn up by my husband and myself two or three weeks before Mr. Quinton's arrival, but it has since come to light that the Jubraj suspected us of treachery in asking him to arrange and be present at these nautches.

Natives of the Manipur Hills

We had never seen so many people in the Residency at once as there were that Sunday night at dinner – fifteen in all. I felt rather forlorn, being the only lady present, and wished that I had even one familiar spirit in the shape of another woman to keep me company.

The band was very much appreciated, and everything seemed very bright and cheery. No thought of evil troubled any of us, for little we knew that it was the last evening we were to spend in peace there all together.

The next day Mr. Melville was to leave us. I had tried to persuade him to stay longer, as he had only been two days with us before, and had seen nothing of the place; but his time was precious, and he had his work to do in a great many other places, so we could not get him to alter his arrangements. He agreed to compromise matters by remaining until the afternoon of the following day, the 23rd, and about eleven the party broke up and retired to rest.