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 
Captured 
A Manipuri with rice 
Enemy lurks around us 
Come upon a stockade 
Are attacked 
Goorkhas in sight.

IT was about two in the morning that we left the Residency, and we marched steadily on until daybreak. We had not gone four miles away from the station, when I turned to look back, and found the whole sky for miles round lit with a red glow, whilst from among the trees surrounding our house flames were leaping up. Those only who have feelings of affection for the places where they live, and which they call home, can picture what that burning house meant for me. All we possessed was there – all our wedding presents, and everything that goes towards making a place homelike and comfortable; and these were being destroyed under my very eyes, while I, like Lot's wife of old, had to turn my face in an opposite direction, utterly powerless to avert the terrible destruction which was overtaking all I valued.

I thought of my husband, who I believed to be a prisoner in the palace, surrounded by enemies, witnessing the demolition of the house, and not knowing where I was, or what had become of me. He would see the flames, and hear those terrible guns booming out at every second, and he would know that I was either flying for my life or dead, but no more. And yet I thought he was better off than we were. All hoped that Mr. Quinton and his party would be quite safe, even though they were prisoners, safer than we were; and I myself, knowing the Jubraj so well, thought that he would be clever enough to see his own advantage in keeping them as hostages, even if he were not influenced by feelings of friendship for my husband. And with this reflection I had to quiet my own misgivings. But it was hard to march on in silence without giving way, and it was only by resolving not to look back at all that I managed to restrain my feelings.

I was glad when the dawn came. Every misfortune seems so much harder to bear at night, and there is something in the daylight which gives us strength. If we are ill, we always seem worse during the night; if in sorrow, it is harder to bear in the dark when we are awake and the world is sleeping. And so with myself at this time. The daylight seemed to lessen the horror of the whole situation, and when the pink flush of the dawn came, it mingled with the red glow caused by our burning home, until all was merged into the full light of the rising sun. Then we halted, and had a consultation as to what route we were to pursue. If we went straight on for another six or seven miles, we knew we should have to pass a large Thana strongly garrisoned. On the other hand, if we forsook the main road and took to the hills, we stood the chance of losing our way altogether.

Our great hope was to meet with Captain Cowley and his detachment of two hundred men, who, we knew, were marching up from Cachar. They had commenced their journey to Manipur some days before the rebellion had taken place, and did not know anything of the sort was likely to occur. We knew they were due at a place called Leimatak, some thirty miles from the capital, on the 25th, so that if they had kept to their dates, they could not be more than twenty miles away from us at that moment.

It was the early morning of the 25th when we found ourselves debating over the road, twelve miles away from Manipur. It was decided at length to cut across the fields, and make our way over the hills, hoping to strike the Cachar road again at a higher point, and avoid the Bishenpur Thana.

So we started off again. I was then very exhausted. We had had no food, and the water we met with was very dirty. My feet were cut and sore from the rough walking I had already had, and my clothes still damp and heavy. By this time the sun was fairly high in the heavens, and beat down upon my uncovered head, threatening me with a bad headache at the least, and possibly sunstroke. It was quite evident that some sort of headgear must be provided, so after trying a turban, which I found insufferably hot and heavy, one of the officers gave me his helmet, and wore the pugaree himself. Our way lay for some distance across Dhan-fields.18 Owing to the heavy dew which had fallen during the night, these were very wet and soppy, and we were glad when we reached the first hill and began the ascent.

We had been unmolested for some hours now, but the boom of the guns and the crack of the bullets hitting the walls of the house had left such an impression on me that I fancied firing was still going on, and could scarcely believe the others when they told me nothing of the kind was taking place, for the noise in my ears was dreadful.

The first hill was very steep, but only a foretaste of what was to come later on. It was covered with short straggling green grass, interspersed with the rough stubble of last year, which had originally been several feet high, but had been burned, according to the custom in those parts. Here and there a long tough end that had escaped the fire hit one in the face, covering one with smuts, and leaving a black mark where it had touched one, so that after a very short time we all looked more or less like sweeps.

The hill we were climbing had a small plateau about three-quarters of the way up, and we steered for this, intending to have a really long halt, and hoping to find water. It was a shady little spot, and when we did reach it, we were all glad to lie down and rest after our terrible exertions. We had a wide view of the plain and the road by which we had travelled, so knew we should be able to note at once if the enemy were pursuing us, and could afford to give ourselves a little breathing space. Water had been found, as we expected, quite near, and as it was much cleaner than what we had discovered in the fields below, everyone drank a good deal, and the Sepoys filled up their bottles with it.

1 do not know how long we remained here, as I went to sleep almost at once on our arrival; but when I woke up at last, the others were moving on up the hill, and I had to go too with them. Some distance behind we noted a crowd of natives following us. It was difficult to distinguish whether they were Manipuris or Nagas, but as they were armed with spears and Daôs,19 we concluded they must be the latter. Manipuris would have had rifles.

They never came very close to us, for fear of being shot themselves; but we could see them the whole time dancing behind us, shouting and waving spears about. Once or twice they were fully within range, and we could have shot some of them; but it was hardly worth while, and our ammunition was none too plentiful. A terrible fate would have overtaken any straggler who might have fallen behind without the means to defend himself. His head would have been captured as a glorious trophy, carved off while he was alive, for these tribes never trouble about killing their victim first before taking his scalp unless he offers great resistance.

We had reached by this time an elevation of about 4,000 feet above sea-level, and knew that more than 2,000 feet at least still awaited us to be climbed before the top of the ridge could be reached. The Leimatak hill, towards which point we were travelling, was 6,700 feet high, and was the topmost peak of the first range of hills lying between us and Cachar.

We clambered on steadily, but very slowly. I was so tired that I could hardly put one foot in front of the other, and felt much more inclined to lie down in the jungle and go to sleep, than to march on. We were very hungry, but I think I suffered less in that respect than the men did; for though I should have eaten probably as heartily as the rest had we possessed food, as there was none to be got, I never thought much about it. Sleep seemed much more desirable.

It was two o'clock on the morning of the 25th that we left the Residency, and it was now between three and four in the afternoon. Every fresh hill seemed worse than its predecessor, and at last we began ascending one which appeared almost impossible to climb. Its sides were very steep and rocky, and there was only the merest apology for a path to direct us in any way. It was a case of using hands and knees to perform the ascent, and it seemed as though we should never reach the summit. When, after wearily toiling on for some hours, we did arrive at the top, I felt that I could not move another step.

We did halt for a short time here, and while we waited an incident occurred which touched me very much. A young Naga, who had been a Sais 20 in our service for several months at one time, found his way to our camp at the risk of losing his life had he been discovered by the enemy, and presented me with three eggs, expressing at the same time his sorrow at not being able to do more for me. He stayed till sunset with us, and then crept back under cover of the darkness to his village. I was much touched at this simple act of kindness, and I have often remembered it since, and wished it were in my power to do something for the brave lad. But unfortunately I have forgotten his name, and that of the village to which he belonged.

Three eggs are not many among eight hungry people, not to speak of the Sepoys; but no one would share them with me, in spite of my begging them to do so. I could not manage a raw egg, though I made several valiant efforts to swallow one. Eventually they all came to a bad end, for the two remaining ones were put into somebody's pocket for safety, and were smashed later on, so no one benefited much by the little Naga boy's well-meant offering.

While we were halting on the top of this hill, one of the officers took a few men with him and went on to take stock of the surrounding country, as our exact whereabouts seemed uncertain. He came to a Manipuri Thana before he had proceeded far, and had a parley with the native officer in command there, who called to him, telling him he had something to say. So the party went up to within speaking distance, and the Manipuri called out that he had orders to 'pass the Memsahib and Sepoys' but that all the officers must return to Manipur.

However, as soon as he was told that our party intended proceeding undivided, he ordered his men to fire on us, which they immediately did, and we had to begin marching again down the hill and up the other side of the ravine. The firing continued on both sides the whole time, and it was only when we eventually reached the summit of the opposite hill to that upon which we had halted, and disappeared over the crest, that it ceased.

The sun had set, and night was beginning to close in and put an end to the longest day I have ever known. It seemed months almost since our departure from the Residency, and yet it was but twenty-four hours.

How I envied my husband and the others, who, as I then thought, were at any rate in comparative safety, able to eat and sleep, even though they were prisoners! Not that anxiety on my husband's account did not trouble me. I longed to know how he was being treated, and whether they would tell him of my escape, and spare him the torture of not knowing my fate, for I knew how he would fret over it if he did not know.

It seemed so terrible to be obliged to march away leaving them all behind, and at times I longed to hurry back and see for myself what was happening, while, again, I would have given anything to have reached Cachar, and been able to send up help to those in captivity. We thought that Mr. Melville had been made prisoner and brought back to Manipur, as a rumour to that effect had reached us on the 24th, and in that case we supposed he would be with the Chief and his party, a prisoner in the palace.

Perhaps the utter weariness of body and mind which threatened to overcome me at this time prevented my brooding too much on the possible fate of those we had been forced to leave in the hands of their enemies, and it may have been well that it was so.

All that terrible night we tramped on, I with bare feet, as my thin shoes had given out long since. At length, about one o'clock in the morning, we halted in a small grove of trees, lying in a hollow between two hills. We had marched more than twenty miles, and rest was absolutely essential. Here we lay down and slept. The officers gave me their great-coats and bore the intense cold themselves, and I slept as I have seldom slept in a comfortable bed at home, never waking once until someone aroused me about half-past three in the morning, and told me the weary tale again – we were to move on.

The first glimmer of dawn was appearing as we commenced marching again – hungry, tired, and dispirited. No one knew the way, and we only had rough paths here and there to guide us through the jungle; but the actual walking was not so difficult, as we were travelling along the top of a ridge of hills, and had no very steep ascent or descent.

Every now and then we were able to see the Leimatak peak, still some distance off, which I had recognised and pointed out to the others, and I knew that the road to Cachar passed right through a small grove of trees on its summit, so we made it our landmark.

Ethel Grimwood leads the survivors

The chances of meeting Captain Cowley's party seemed growing less every hour. Had he been obliged to turn back? we wondered. Would he have gone on towards Manipur, and have passed the place where we hoped to strike the road? We knew nothing.

We were all utterly weary, and dispirited from want of food and rest It was now the morning of the 26th, and we had none of us tasted food since the 24th. I was so tired that I wished I were dead more than once, and everything seemed quite hopeless, when we came upon the road suddenly. I think from this moment fate favoured us. We had entertained so little hope of finding the road at all, that it seemed a piece of good fortune when we came upon it suddenly, even though we had all our work still before us and were without food.

The next thing that happened cheered our drooping spirits not a little. We came round a corner and found three Manipuri Sepoys sitting by the roadside, with their arms and accoutrements by them, cooking their morning meal. They were taken by surprise at our sudden advent, and two of them fled, leaving the third a prisoner in our hands. He was not so active as the rest, and the Ghoorkas were too quick for him. They tied him up with straps and anything they could find, and the poor creature evidently thought that his last hour had come. He fell on his knees when he saw me, calling me 'Ranee, Ranee,' and imploring of me to save him. So I spoke to him as well as I could in Manipuri, telling him not to be frightened; that we did not intend to hurt him.

Meanwhile, the rice they had cooked came in most acceptably, and perhaps, had a disinterested onlooker been present, he might have been very much amused at the eager way we all rushed at it to devour it. How good it seemed, even though there were scarcely two mouthfuls for each one. What there was was received most gratefully, and I felt very selfish at discovering that, in their thoughtfulness for me, the officers had managed to save a small basketful, which no one would touch, and which they insisted on keeping for me. After the rice was disposed of, we questioned the Manipuri we had captured to find out whether he knew anything of Captain Cowley's movements. He told us that he knew the Sahib had arrived at Leimatak on the 25th, and that he had not yet passed along the road towards Manipur. So we were cheered at the tidings, for we knew now that, with any luck, we must meet with the detachment before very long, and could not be more than eight miles away from Captain Cowley at that moment.

The Manipuri went on to say that there were a number of the enemy lying in wait for us about half a mile further on, and he advised us to take to the jungle again, offering to show us a path that would lead us into Captain Cowley's camp. The idea of more fighting struck terror into my heart, and had I been in command I should have been foolish enough to take the man's advice; but fortunately the others decided without hesitation to go on, and said they did not believe the prisoner was speaking the truth.

We had scarcely gone half a mile when we came suddenly upon a stockade, and as soon as we appeared round the turn in the road which disclosed it to our view, we were fired on from the hillside above us. I threw myself down for protection against the sloping side of the road, but was not allowed to remain there, as the stockade was about to be rushed, and I had to get over it too, as best I could. Fortunately it had been constructed to prevent Captain Cowley's party from getting past that point in the road, and was in consequence easier for us to clamber over, as we had come from the opposite direction; but I knew that it was useless for me to attempt climbing over it, as my dress would be certain to catch on the sharp ends of the bamboos with which the stockade was constructed, and there I should be suspended, an excellent mark for any stray bullet. So I made a rush to the other side of the road, where I lost my footing and fell, rolling down the Khud. But luckily it was not as steep as it might have been, and I managed to scramble up and get round the stockade, helped very considerably by my former friend the Bunnia, before mentioned, who stretched out his leg from a secure position, and I clambered up by it and lay down completely exhausted and panting from my exertions down the hillside.

Meanwhile firing was going on overhead, which was returned by our men, who killed one or two of the enemy. But the latter were so well screened by the trees around them that it was difficult to get a shot at them at all. I do not know how matters might have ended, but suddenly someone called out that there were more men coming up the hill. No one knew who they were, for they were a long way off, and could only be seen every now and then as they appeared in and out of the trees. Sepoys they were we knew, but were they friends or enemies?

I felt too exhausted to get up and look at them, as all the others were doing, until there was an exclamation from someone that the new arrivals were Ghoorkas. I had felt certain that they would turn out to be Manipuris, who would put an end to us in a very short time. But when opinion became divided as to their identity, the longing for life which we all possess so strongly surged up into my brain, driving me nearly crazy with excitement, and hope, that takes so much killing, rose again within me.

Still we were doubtful. We could see as they came nearer that they wore Kharkee, but the uniform worn by the Jubraj's men was almost identical with that of the Ghoorkas. We sounded our bugle, and it was answered by the advancing party; but then we remembered the Manipuri bugle call was the same as that of the 43rd Ghoorka Rifles, to which regiment Captain Cowley belonged. We got out our only pocket-handkerchief, tied it to a stick, and waved it about, but we could not see whether that signal was returned or not. The time which had elapsed since they were first sighted seemed hours; it was in reality only a few minutes.

Gradually they advanced nearer, running up the hill as fast as they could, and then the majority cried out that they were the Ghoorkas from Cachar. I shut my eyes, for I could not bear the strain of watching them while their identity was uncertain. But at last a Sahib was descried amongst them, and all doubt was over; they were the Ghoorkas, and we were saved. I remember someone asking me if I would make one last effort and run down the hill to meet them, as the firing was still going on, and a stray bullet might even then find its billet; and I remember getting up, with a mist in my eyes and a surging in my head, and running as I have never run before or since down the hill, helped along by two of the officers.

I remember putting my foot on a stone which rolled away from under it, and gave my ankle a wrench which sprained it, and turned me sick and giddy with pain; and I remember meeting Captain Cowley, and seeing his men rushing past me up the hill, and then I remember nothing more for some time. I did not faint, but I believe I sat down on the side of the road and sobbed, for the strain had been more than I could bear after all the horrors of the previous two days, and tears were a relief.