Chapter XV

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

I REMAINED where he had left me, alone for some minutes, though some of the officers were standing just outside the door of the cellar where I was sitting. It seemed so hard that I could not go with my husband. I feared being left alone without him, and felt very lonely and broken-hearted among so many men, mostly strangers to me. I knew, too, that they would look upon me as an extra burden, and wish me very far away.

I was roused to action by the doctor, who had taken advantage of the truce to get his wounded brought up from the hospital to the house, and had come up first to see what kind of a place could be got ready. I showed him the cellars, for there were several, which all communicated with each other, and formed the entire basement of the house.

Shortly afterwards the Kahars16 arrived, carrying poor Mr. Brackenbury on a mattress, and the others followed fast, so that the small cellar was very soon quite full of men lying side by side on the stone floor. The blankets and sheets that we had already collected were very useful, and I made several journeys up to the house, and gathered up every kind of covering from every direction, and all the pillows I could find. A little cooking-stove proved of great service. I fixed it securely upon a table in one corner which I reserved for cooking operations.

The soup we had made on the previous day was in great request. Fortunately there was a large quantity of it, to which I added the contents of five or six tins which I found in the store-room. Milk was the difficulty. All the cows were out in the grounds, and many of them had strayed away altogether and we could not get any milk from them, so were obliged to fall back on condensed milk, of which we also had several tins.

Some of the men were terribly wounded, but poor Mr. Brackenbury was by far the worst. His legs and arms were all broken, and he had several other injuries besides. It seemed a marvel that he was still alive and fully conscious to all that was going on around him. The doctor attended to him first of all, and had bound up his broken limbs, and done as much as possible to alleviate his sufferings; but it was a terrible sight to see the poor lad in such agony, and be so powerless to lessen it in any way. He was very thirsty, and drank a good deal of soup and milk, but we could not get him into a comfortable position. One minute he would lie down, and the next beg to be lifted up; and every now and then his ankle would commence bleeding, and cause him agony to have it bound up afresh. His face was gray and drawn, and damp dews collected on his forehead from the great pain he was suffering.

That scene will never be forgotten – the little cellar with a low roof, and the faces of the wounded lying together on the floor. We did not dare have a bright light for fear of attracting attention to that particular spot, and the doctor did his work with one dim lantern. Such work as it was, too! Every now and then he asked me to go outside for a few moments while the dead were removed to give a little more space for the living.

There were some terrible sights in the cellar that night – I pray I may never see any more like them; but being able to help the doctor was a great blessing to me, as it occupied my attention, and gave me no time to think of all the terrible events of the day, and the wreck of our pretty home. I was very weary, too – in fact, we all were – and when at about half-past ten I asked everybody to come and get some sort of a dinner, they seemed much more inclined to go to sleep, and no one ate much.

The dinner was not inviting, but it was the best that could be got under the circumstances, for I had had to do it all myself. One or two of the servants still remained, but they cowered down in corners of the house, and refused to move out or help me at all. Perhaps had we known that it was our last meal for nearly forty-eight hours, we should have taken care to make the most of it; but no thought of what was coming entered our minds, and long before the melancholy meal was ended most of the officers were dozing, and I felt as though I could sleep for a week without waking.

We all separated after dinner about the house. I went back to the hospital for a little, and found the doctor wanted more milk, so I returned to the dining-room, where I was joined by Captain Boileau, and we sat there for some time mixing the condensed milk with water, and filling bottles with it, which I took downstairs. It was quieter there than it had been. The wounded had all been attended to, and most of them had fallen asleep. Even Mr. Brackenbury was dozing, and seemed a little easier, and only one man was crying out and moaning, and he was mortally wounded in the head. So finding I could do no more there, I went upstairs again, resolving, if possible, to go to my room and lie down for a little while and sleep, for I was very tired.

I went sorrowfully through our once pretty drawing-room, where everything was now in the wildest confusion, and saw all the destruction which had overtaken my most cherished possessions. There are those who imagine that in a case like this a woman's resource would be tears; but I felt I could not weep then. I was overwhelmed at the terrible fate which had come upon us, and too stunned to realize and bewail our misfortunes.

Perhaps the great weariness which overcame me may have helped me to look passively on my surroundings, and I walked through the house as one in a dream, longing only to get to some haven of rest, where I could forget the misery of it all in sleep.

I wended my way to the bedroom through a small office of my husband's, but when I reached the door I found it would not open, and discovered that part of the roof had fallen in, caused by the bursting of a shell. So I gave up the idea of seeking rest there, and retired to the veranda.

I went down the steps and stood outside in the moonlight for a few minutes. It was a lovely night, clear and bright as day! One could scarcely imagine a more peaceful scene. The house had been greatly damaged, but that was not apparent in the moonlight, and the front had escaped the shells which had gone through the roof and burst all round at the back. The roses and heliotrope smelt heavy in the night air, and a cricket or two chirped merrily as usual in the creepers on the walls.

I thought of the night before, and of how my husband and I had walked together up and down in the moonlight, talking of what the day was to bring, and how little he had thought of such a terrible ending; and I remembered that poor lad lying wounded in the cellar below now, who only twenty-four hours ago had been the life and soul of the party, singing comic songs with his banjo, and looking forward eagerly to the chances of fighting that might be his when the morning came.

I wondered where my husband was, and why they had been away so long. They would be hungry and tired, I thought, and might have waited to arrange matters till the next day, as they had apparently been successful in restoring peace. I had an idea of wandering as far as the gate to see whether the party was visible, but on second thoughts I went back into the veranda, and resolved to wait there until my husband should return.

There was one of the officers asleep in a chair close to me, and I was about to follow his example, when Captain Boileau came out, and I went to him and asked him if he would mind going down to the gate and finding out whether he could hear or see anything of the Chief Commissioner's party, and if he came across any of them to say I wanted my husband. He went off at once, and I fell into a doze in the chair.

It was about twelve o'clock at this time. I do not know how long I had been asleep, when I was awaked suddenly by hearing the deafening boom of the big guns again, and knew then that it was not to be peace.

For a few seconds I could not stir. Terror seemed to have seized hold of me, and my limbs refused to move; but in a minute I recovered, and ran through the house down to the cellar again, where everyone had become alive to the fact that all was over for us. Where was my husband? What had become of them all? This thought nearly drove me mad with anxiety. I could not imagine what their fate had been, but I knew the anguish of mind my husband would endure when the sound of those terrible guns would tell him that we were being attacked again, as he knew we were almost powerless to make any resistance, through lack of ammunition.

We knew that our one chance lay in retreating, as that move had been meditated by Colonel Skene early in the evening, before the truce had taken place; so after an hour had gone by the doctor began moving the wounded out of the. cellar, as an immediate retreat had been decided upon.

We were still without any definite tidings of the position of Mr. Quinton and my husband, and the other officers who had accompanied them, and our anxiety on their behalf increased every hour.

It took a long time to get all the wounded on to the grass outside. Mr. Brackenbury was moved first. Poor lad! he begged so hard to be left in peace where he was, and the moving caused him terrible agony. One by one all the poor fellows were helped out. until only a few remained. I gave my arm to one of these, and we were going out through the cellar door, when we were met by four Kahars, carrying someone back into the hospital. The moonlight shone down upon them as they came, and lit up the white face of him they carried, and I saw that it was Mr. Brackenbury. The movement had killed him, and he had died on the grass outside a few seconds after leaving the cellar. Better thus than if he had lived a few hours longer to bear the pain and torture of our terrible march; but it made one's heart ache to leave that young lad lying there dead, alone in the darkened cellar. I went back there just before we left the place, and covered him up gently with a sheet that was lying on the ground, and I almost envied him, wrapped in the calm slumber of death, which had taken all pain and suffering away.

I had no hope that we should ever succeed in making our escape, and it seemed almost useless even to make the attempt. All was ready, however, by this time for our departure, and I went out too, hoping that the Manipuris would soon set fire to the house, which would prevent any indignities being heaped upon the dead by their victorious enemies.

A French depiction of the attack on the residency

Outside the noise was deafening. Shells burst around us at every turn, and kept striking the trees and knocking off great branches. All idea of going up into the house had to be abandoned, so I could not get a hat or cloak or anything for the journey before us, and had to start as I was. Just before lunch-time I had taken off the close-fitting winter gown which I had put on in the morning, and instead had arrayed myself in a blue serge skirt and white silk blouse, which gave me more freedom for my work in the hospital. I could not have chosen better as far as a walking costume went, and should have been all right if only I had been able to collect a few outdoor garments – hat, cloak, and boots, for instance. As things happened, I was wearing on my feet thin patent leather slippers, which were never meant for out-of-door use, and my stockings were the ordinary flimsy kind that women generally wear. My dress had got soiled already in the hospital, and was not improved by the march afterwards; but I managed to get it washed when we eventually reached British territory, and have it by me to this day. It will be preserved as an interesting relic.

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.

THE bustle and confusion outside were great. The Sepoys were being mustered into marching order, but around them on all sides people were rushing about, knocking each other over in their eagerness to make good their escape. These were chiefly servants, Bunnias,17 and the many followers who accumulate wherever a regiment goes.

I stood for some time watching them tearing away, until a sudden fear took hold of me that I had been forgotten and left behind. I was meditating going myself, but on second thoughts I remembered I had promised the officers to remain where I was, and they had said they would come for me; and just at that moment one of them came and told me that we were to make a move.

Out in the open, away from the shelter of the house, with one's life in one's hands, as it were, my senses nearly left me. The noise was awful, for besides the bursting of the shells, the firing was heavier than it had been before. I had not gone six yards from the house when a shell exploded almost at my feet, knocking off some branches of a big tree close by, and wounding me very slightly in the arm. I jumped behind the tree, in the vain hope that its broad trunk might save me from further injury, and there I remained for some seconds. The scurrying of those going towards the river awoke me to my senses again, and off I went, too, forgetting to look for my companion, from whom I had managed to get separated.

It was no easy matter to get on to the Cachar road from the back of the Residency, as there were many obstacles in the way. The inner garden was separated from the outer compound by a tall hedge, composed of thorns and sharp twigs. I had superintended the erection of this hedge myself. We had kept a great many cows, and they were always making their way into the flower-garden and destroying the rose-bushes. Nothing seemed to keep them out until we made this thorn hedge, and that, as I remarked to my husband when I took him to see it first, 'was calculated to keep an army of men out if it came to the point.'

Fortunately, by the time I arrived at this hedge it had become much broken down, the result of the energy of those who had already gone through it. I found a convenient hole, and got through with comparatively little damage to my raiment; but my hands received a good many scratches, and my poor stockings were dreadfully torn. However, on I went, perfectly insensible as to who were travelling with me. The next obstacle was a mud wall, low enough on our side, but with a six-foot drop on the other. I found myself sitting on the top of this, wondering how I was going to make the descent of the other side, when someone gave me a gentle push, as a sort of warning that I was stopping the traffic, and I slid gracefully down on the other side into the arms of a friendly Bunnia, who also helped me down the river bank, which was very slippery and muddy. I fell two or three times, doing considerable damage to my already dirty dress; but I got to the water's edge at last, and made a valiant effort to cross the river.

Fortunately for us, it was March, and not April or May; for had these events taken place later in the year, I do not know how we should have crossed that river. But as it was the end of the cold weather, and the rains had not commenced, the stream was low and easily waded. I did not know how deep it was, for we had never crossed it riding, as we generally did Manipuri rivers. We had often thought of doing so, but the banks were so steep and slippery that my husband said it would do the horses no good to clamber down them, and then we might find the river too deep to ford,

So with this delightful uncertainty about things, I made my first plunge, and stepped into the water, which was dreadfully cold. I had got into the middle of the stream, when I was overtaken by the doctor, who seemed rather astonished at finding me there alone. However, I explained to him that I had been too frightened to remain at the house when I saw so many people running away, and had managed fairly well up to that time, but I did not like the river.

He was certainly a good Samaritan on this occasion, for he carried me the rest of the way through the water, and was just about to land me high and dry on the bank, when his foot slipped in the mud, and down we went. We soon picked ourselves up, however, and scrambled out, and then I found that the heel had come off my shoe in the water. I was covered with mud and shivering with cold, for my skirts were dripping with water and very heavy. But there was no time to be lost, and I climbed up the bank and crossed the road, on the other side of which was a deep ditch, into which I retreated and lay down, for firing was going on, and I did not know from which side it came, whether from our men, who had all caught me up by this time, or the Manipuris. Whenever I heard shots afterwards I used to be alarmed, for I never could tell when our men were firing, and always feared the worst, unless I was actually in the midst of the Sepoys, and could see them shooting with my own eyes.

We waited in the ditch some time, until all the Sepoys had crossed the river, and then we started off again to find the way to Cachar. We went some way in the opposite direction at first, and had to come back again; but at length we turned down on to the right road, and commenced the march in real earnest. It was a moonlight night, which enabled us to see quite plainly. Had it been dark, our difficulties would have been increased tenfold. We could not march fast, for the wounded had to be brought along with us, and the number of Kahars carrying them was limited. What they must have endured no one can imagine, being jolted along for so many hours together without any food or rest. I knew every inch of the road we were travelling, as I had ridden down and up it so often in my journeys to and from Cachar, and I was able to give the others the benefit of my knowledge.

We marched along in silence for some miles. At a place called Burri Bazaar we were fired on, but we were not followed from the palace, as we had fully expected. Whether they did not know we had escaped, or whether they thought discretion the better part of valour, and preferred remaining behind the shelter of their stone walls, to following after us with hostile intent, I cannot say. But it was fortunate for us that they gave us the start, and let us get some distance away before they attempted to pursue us.

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.

Chapter XVIII

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

WE were saved! That was the one thought in my mind when I was able to recover my senses sufficiently to be able to think at all. Saved from the terrors of starvation, and from the hands of our enemies; and in my heart I thanked God for having given me the strength which had enabled me to bear all the misery and weariness of the last few days. We human beings are so given to forgetfulness, and fail so often to remember that we owe thanks to Providence for preserving us when man's help is of no avail. We are ready enough to thank our fellow-men for what they do for us, but we forget the rest. This time I can honestly say that I thanked God from the bottom of my heart.

As I sat there by the side of the road, bereft of everything I possessed in the world save only the clothes I wore, I did not think of what I had lost, but only of the life that was still mine. This world is very good and pleasant to live in. Home and friends are very dear to one at all times. But all these are never so precious as when we see them slipping from our grasp, and feel that even our breath, and the life-blood coursing through our veins, are to be taken from us; then alone do we fully rouse ourselves to action, while we struggle and fight for the life that is so dear.

It was some time before I recovered my senses sufficiently to be able to join with the rest in giving the rescuing party a detailed account of our miraculous escape. Some of Captain Cowley's men were still pursuing the now-retreating foe, and we could hear shots being fired from the brow of the hill above us. We remained where we were for some time, and our rescuers produced biscuits and potted meat and soda-water. They had whisky with them too, so we really felt we had fallen on our feet. I was too exhausted to eat much, and did not feel at all hungry; but I was glad enough to drink a peg,21 and felt very much better for it. My ankle was very painful, so the doctor, who was among the newcomers, bound it up for me, and I went to sleep by the roadside for a short time

I have said we were saved, but that does not mean that we were entirely out of danger of being fired upon by the Manipuris. They had not spared Captain Cowley's party, though they had allowed him to march up to within twenty miles of us without making themselves unpleasant. But the night before he met us he had marched as usual into a new camping-ground, wholly ignorant of what had occurred in Manipur, and to his great surprise had been fired on. Shortly afterwards fugitives from our party arrived, and told him that we were wandering about in the jungle with every chance of coming to grief before very long, unless rescued. This news was startling, to say the least of it, and caused him to hurry on to our help. When, some miles away, he heard shots being fired from the top of the hill, he concluded that we were not far off, and before long caught sight of the stockade and arrived in the nick of time with men, food, and ammunition to our aid.

The rest of our march was a different thing to what the commencement had been, though discomforts were still many and great. Food was none too plentiful for the Sepoys, though we did not fare badly, and after two days of starvation one is not particular. The 43rd had got a supply of beer, whisky, and cocoa, which were all most acceptable commodities, and I was able to get other luxuries from one of the party, viz., a brush, a sponge, a grand pair of woollen stockings, and some Sepoys' boots, which each measured about a foot and a half in length and were broad in proportion. However, beggars can't be choosers, and as my ankle was very much swollen the commodious boots did not come amiss.

After we had rested some hours we pushed on down the hill to Leimatak, which place was reached before sunset. I was carried in a dooly, as my ankle was too painful to allow of my walking.

When we arrived at the camp we found a string of elephants and mules, which had been travelling up with the detachment, and which had been left behind by Captain Cowley when he discovered the state of affairs we were in, and had to hurry on to our help. It seemed difficult to realize that we were still in a hostile country, surrounded by enemies, for the camp looked just the same as it had done in more peaceful regions.

I had travelled down from Shillong, in the winter of 1890, with the 43rd Ghoorka Rifles, and was consequently quite accustomed to the bustle and movement accompanying a regiment on the march.

We halted at Leimatak for four or five hours, and had a very respectable dinner, to which we did full justice. Afterwards I lay down and went to sleep again, until it was time to move on.

From this time our march was very monotonous. We got up at three every morning and marched until sunset. We had a meal of army rations and cocoa in the morning, and another meal of army rations and beer in the evening, after which we all went to sleep as we were, and never woke until the bugle sounded the reveille.

We were always dead-tired. The hills were very steep, and as we got nearer Cachar the heat was intense during the day, and the cold piercing at night. We could only move very slowly, and with caution, for we never knew when we might be attacked. Pickets were posted all around us on the hills at night, for the purpose of keeping a look-out against the enemy.

We were fired at several times during the march, but the Manipuris did not like the look of a large party, and kept a respectful distance, sometimes firing at us from such a long way off that we did not take the trouble to reply to it. And yet I was more nervous and unstrung at this time than I had been when the danger was really imminent, and bullets coming fast. A stray shot used to make my heart beat with terror, and at last I got so nervous that whenever a shot was fired my companions used to say it was only a bamboo burning in the jungle behind us.

We set fire to nearly all the Thanas on the road, which we found for the most part deserted and empty. At one place called Khowpum, the Manipuris had only left the Thana a few minutes before our arrival. They were lying in wait for us though, on the top of a small ridge, hoping to catch us as we came round the turn of the road. But they were caught themselves, as the Ghoorkas made a small detour and appeared on the top of the ridge instead of below it, and opened fire upon them, causing them to retreat hastily, after a very slight show of resistance.

We then marched, into the Thana, and found a quantity of rice in baskets, which had evidently just arrived from the Maharajah's Godowns 22 for the monthly rations. We could not take the whole amount with us, but the Sepoys were allowed to carry as much as they could, and it was a lucky find. It was often very difficult to procure food for the men, and they had more than once to go without dinner when they got in at night, though as a rule they had half-rations. We had managed to get a supply of rice from one of the Naga villages situated near the road.

The Nagas were for the most part friendly disposed towards us, but here and there they gathered together near their villages, which they had deserted for the meanwhile, and had a stray shot at us as we passed along. We never burned these villages, thinking they might be useful to the troops when they should return.

I walked most of the way, except the first march after meeting Captain Cowley. He had a pony which he lent me, but the hills were very steep at the best of times for riding, and on this occasion I had to balance myself as best I could on a man's saddle, with the off stirrup crossed over the pony's neck to make some sort of pommel. Riding thus downhill was an impossibility, and I never made the attempt.

My ankle pained me very much at times, but for the most part it seemed to have no feeling in it at all, and was swollen into an unsightly mass.

We came across one or two poor old Manipuri women on the road as we neared the frontier. They had been peaceably travelling up to their homes when the trouble came, and the men with them forsook them to hide in the jungles around until we should have passed by. Poor old ladies! As soon as they saw me they rushed at me and clung to my skirts, refusing to let me out of their sight for a minute. We took them with us to Cachar, and let them remain there until peace should be restored once more.

Day by day brought the same routine: the weary march in the hot sun, and the worn-out slumber at night; but at last the day dawned which was to see us across the frontier in British territory once more, saved in every sense of the word.

It was sunset on the last day of March as we crossed the river Jhiri. I had come all those weary miles through dangers great and terrible, and was alive to tell the tale. Illness had spared us all. We might have had cholera amongst us, to add to the rest of our troubles; but we had been free from that.

To me, a woman, solitary and alone amongst so many men, the march had been doubly trying; but to hear them say that I had not been a burden upon them was some reward for all I had endured.

It has been said lately by some that this retreat to Cachar was in a great measure due to my presence in Manipur at the time, and that my helplessness has been the means of dragging the good name of the army, and the Ghoorka corps in particular, through the mire, by strongly influencing the officers in their decision to effect 'the stampede to Cachar.'

But I scarcely think that they would have allowed the presence of, and danger to one woman to deter them from whatever they considered their duty; and had they decided to remain at the Residency that night, I should never have questioned their right to do so, even as I raised no argument for or against the retreat to Cachar.

I think that the honour of England is as dear to us women as it is to the men; and though it is not our vocation in life to be soldiers, and to fight for our country, yet, when occasion offers, I have little doubt that the women of England have that in them which would enable them to come out of any dilemma as nobly and honourably as the men, and with just as much disregard for their own lives as the bravest soldier concerned.

But such an insinuation as I have quoted is not, I am happy to think, the unspoken opinion of the many to whom the story of Manipur is familiar. It is but the uncharitable verdict of a few who are perhaps jealous of fair fame honestly won, and who think to take a little sweetness from the praise which England has awarded to a woman.

That such praise has been bestowed is more than sufficient reward for what, after all, many another Englishwoman would have done under similar circumstances.

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.

DURING the eventful days which had elapsed between March 23 and April 1, nothing definite had been known by the authorities in India as to Mr. Quinton's proceedings and whereabouts. All that was certain was that he had arrived at Manipur, and had been unable to carry out his original plans for leaving again the day following his arrival, owing to the refusal of the Jubraj to obey the orders of Government; but the tidings of the fight which had followed had never been despatched to head-quarters, owing to the telegraph-wire having been cut immediately after the contest began.

That communication, in this manner, was interrupted was not as serious an omen as might have been supposed. Cutting the telegraph-wire was a favourite amusement of the Manipuris; and even during the small revolution in September, 1890, they had demolished the line in two or three directions.

But when several days went by, and still the wire remained broken, and no information of any kind as to what was going on in Manipur reached the authorities, people became alarmed.

Rumours came down through the natives that there was trouble up there; and a few of the traders found their way into Kohima with the news that all had been killed

Then excitement rose high, and every day fresh rumours reached the frontier, some of which said that I and one or two others had escaped, but the rest were either killed or prisoners.

The first definite information came from our party. An officer was sent on by double marches on the 31st with the despatches, civil and military; and before another day had passed the whole of India knew the names of those who had escaped, as well as of those who were prisoners, and in a few hours the news had reached England.

To some, that news must have been snatched up with great relief; but there were many who read it with terrible misgivings in their hearts for the fate of those dear to them who were in captivity.

A person who does not know the sensation of never taking his or her clothes off for ten days can scarcely realize what my feelings were when, on arriving at the Jhiri rest-house, I found a bath and a furnished room. Nothing could ever equal the pleasure which I derived from that, my first tub for ten days. I felt as though I should like to remain in it for hours; and even though I had to array myself again afterwards in my travel-stained and ragged garments until I reached Lahkipur, the sensation of feeling clean once more was truly delightful.

I was covered with leech-bites, and found one or two of those creatures on me when I took off my clothes. They had been there three or four days, for we had fallen in with a swarm of them at one of the places where we had camped for the night during the march. It was near a river and very damp, and the leeches came out in crowds and attacked everybody. But the men were able to get rid of them better than I was, and I had to endure their attentions as best I might until we got to the Jhiri, and I could indulge in the luxury of taking off my clothes.

I slept on a bed that night, and was very loath to get up when the bugle awoke us all at the first streak of dawn.

We marched ten miles into a place called Lahkipur, where we found a number of troops already mustering to return to Manipur.

I found clothes and many other necessaries at Lahkipur, which had been sent out for me by the ladies of Cachar; and I blessed them for their thoughtfulness.

The luxury of getting into clean garments was enchanting; and though the clothes did not fit me with that grace and elegance that we womenkind as a rule aspire to, still, they seemed to me more beautiful than any garments I had ever possessed. They were clean; that was the greatest charm in my eyes.

Then came breakfast, such as we had not indulged in for a very long time, and everything seemed delicious.

Immediately after breakfast we all sat down to write home. It was hard work for me after all I had gone through, and with the keen anxiety I was still feeling about those left behind, to put the account of the terrible disaster into words; but I felt that if I did not write then, I should not have the strength to do so later on, and I managed to send a full account home by the next mail.

We halted at Lahkipur all that day, and we started to march our last fourteen miles into Cachar on the night of April 2, or, rather, the early morning of the 3rd. A number of the planters in the neighbourhood came in to Lahkipur to see us before we left, and hear from our own lips the narrative of our escape, and the news of it all got into Cachar long before we ourselves arrived.

Everyone seemed anxious to show us all kindness; but the efforts that were made to secure comforts for me in particular were innumerable as they were generous. When I eventually did arrive at Cachar, I found myself made quite a heroine of. There was not one who did not seem honestly and heartily glad to see me there again safe, and I shall never forget the kindness I received as long as I live.

But amongst them all, there were some old friends who received me into their house, putting themselves out in every possible way to add to my comfort, to whom I owe a debt of gratitude that I never can repay. It would not perhaps be quite agreeable to them if I wrote their names here; but when this record of my terrible adventure reaches them in their far-off Indian home, they will know that I have not missed the opportunity, which is given me in writing about it, of paying them a tribute of gratitude and affection for all their goodness to me in a time of great trouble.

It was delightful to have a woman to talk to again, although my companions on the march had one and all shown me how unselfish and kindhearted Englishmen can be when they are put to the test. They had never let me feel that I was a burden on them, and though often I felt very weak and cowardly, they quieted my misgivings, and praised me for anything I did, so that it gave me courage to go on and help to endure the horrors of that terrible retreat.

For a week I remained with my friends at Cachar, tormented by anxiety concerning my husband, The general opinion seemed to be that he and his companions would be perfectly safe, but I was full of terrible misgivings. I remembered stories of the Mutiny in bygone days, and had read how the prisoners then had often been murdered just at the moment when rescue was at hand.

I feared that when the troops should go back, the Jubraj would refuse to make terms with them, and would threaten to kill the prisoners if our troops came into the place, and I wondered what they would do in that case.

I sent two letters up by Manipuris to my husband, care of the regent, telling him of my escape. I was only allowed to write on condition that I said nothing of the preparations which were being made to rescue Mr. Quinton and his party. But it was a relief to me to be able to write a few lines, for my one idea was to spare my husband the awful anxiety which he would endure until he should hear of my safety.

I had been a week in Cachar when the news came which put an end alike to all hope and all fear. Troops had been hurrying back to Manipur, and the station was alive with Sepoys of all regiments. All the officers and men who had come down with me from Manipur had gone some way on the road back there. The wounded had been placed in the Cachar hospital, where I went to see them two or three times. Poor little fellows! they all seemed so glad to see me.

At last one evening, exactly a week after our arrival, a telegram arrived from Shillong to say that authentic news had come from the regent at Manipur to the effect that all the prisoners had been murdered. I saw the telegram arrive. I was in the deputy commissioner's bungalow when it was handed to him, and made the remark that I disliked bright yellow telegrams, as they always meant bad news.

In India a very urgent message is always enclosed in a brilliant yellow envelope. But the officer said that he did not think anything of them, as he was receiving so many of them at all hours of the day, and for the time I thought no more about it.

Shortly afterwards I noticed that he had left the table. Then I went out too, and met my friend outside, who seemed rather upset about something, and told me she was going home at once. So we went together.

But as soon as we had got into the house she broke to me, as gently and mercifully as she could, the news that my husband had been killed. It was a hard task for her, and the tears stood in her eyes almost before she had summoned up the courage to tell me the worst. And when she had told me I could not understand. The blow was too heavy, and I felt stunned and wholly unable to realize what it all meant. I could not believe, either, that the news was true, for it seemed to me impossible that any authentic intelligence could have been received.

Frank Grimwood is speared by Kajao Pukhramba Phingang

But after a night of misery, made almost heavier to bear by reason of the glimmer of hope which still remained that the news might be false, the morning brought particulars confirming the first message, and giving details which put an end to any uncertainty. The regent had sent a letter saying that the prisoners had been killed. I believe he stated they had fallen in the fight at first, but afterwards contradicted himself, and said they had been murdered by his brother, the Jubraj, without his knowledge or consent. I cannot dwell on this part of the story. It is all too recent and painful as yet, and too vivid in my recollection. There are no words that can describe a tragedy such as this. Besides, the fate of those captives is no unknown story. All know that through treachery they found themselves suddenly surrounded by their enemies, with all hope of help gone, and without the means to defend themselves.

And the ending – how they were led out one by one in the moonlight to suffer execution, after having been obliged to endure the indignity of being fettered! How, of that small band, one had already fallen dead, speared by a man in the crowd; and one was so badly wounded that he had fallen, too, by the side of his dead friend, and had to be supported by his enemies when he went out, as the others had to go, to meet his fate.

A contemporary Indian illustration of the murder of Quinton,
Cossins, Col. Skene & Lieut. Simpson between the Kangla Sha dragons, March 1891.
(Grimwood had been murdered prior to this event)

And yet in all that terrible story there is one ray of comfort for me in the fact that my husband was spared the fate of the rest. I am glad to think that he did not suffer. He never heard those terrible guns booming out, proclaiming the work of destruction which was being wrought on the home he had loved. He did not see the cruel flames which reduced our pretty house to a heap of smoking ruins, and he did not know that I was flying for my life, enduring privations of every kind, lonely, wretched, and weary at the outset.

He was spared all this, and I am thankful that it was so. For before the guns commenced shelling us again on that dreadful night, the tragedy described had already taken place within the palace enclosure.

Well for me was it that I was ignorant of my husband's fate. Had I known, when we left the Residency that night, that he and I were never to meet again on God's earth, I could never have faced that march. It had been hard enough as it was to go and leave him behind me; but thinking that he was safe helped me in the endeavour to preserve my own life for his sake.

It is time to end this narrative of my own experiences, for all was changed for me from the day that brought the terrible news; but the account of the incidents of March, 1891, would scarcely be complete without my touching on some other events which were occurring in a different quarter in connection with the Manipur rebellion.

I allude to the noble part taken by Mr. Grant (whom I have referred to earlier in this volume) in the affair as soon as tidings of the disturbance reached him. To describe his share in my own words would scarcely be a satisfactory proceeding, so I have thought it better to add his letter, giving all the details of what occurred, to my own narrative.

The news first reached him on the morning of March 27, and in his letters home he describes the subsequent events as follows:

MAJOR GRANT'S NARRATIVE.

Major Charles J W Grant (VC)
(1861-1932)

'On March 27, morning, thirty-five men of 43rd Ghoorka Light Infantry came into Tummu, reporting there had been a great fight at Manipur on 25th. Chief Commissioner Grimwood, the Resident, same who came to see me with wife, Colonel Skene, and many others, killed, and five hundred Ghoorkas killed, prisoners, or fled to Assam; the thirty-five men of 43rd Light Infantry had been left at the station Langthabal, four miles south of Manipur, and after the others broke they retreated to Tummu in forty-eight hours, only halting four hours or so, fighting all the way and losing several killed. I wired all over Burmah, and asked for leave to go up and help Mrs. Grimwood and rest to escape, and got orders at eleven p.m. on 27th.

'At five a.m., 28th, I started with fifty of my men, one hundred and sixty rounds each, thirty Ghoorkas, Martini rifles, sixty rounds, and three elephants; marched till five p.m., then slept till one a.m., 29th, marched till two p.m., slept till eleven p.m., marched and fought all the way till we reached Palel at seven a.m., 30th, having driven one hundred and fifty men out of a hill entrenchment and two hundred out of Palel, at the foot of the hills, without loss. Elephants could only go one mile or so an hour over these hills, 6,000 feet high, between this and Tummu, but road very good. Prisoners taken at Palel said that all the Sahibs killed or escaped; Mrs. Grimwood escaped to Assam. Poor Melville, who had stayed a week before with me at Tummu (telegraph superintendent), killed on march.

'I marched at eleven p.m., 30th, and neared Thobal at seven a.m., meeting slight resistance till within 300 yards of river, three feet to six feet deep, and fifty yards broad; there seeing a burning bridge, I galloped up on poor "Clinker" (the old steeplechasing Burman tal I had just bought on selling my Australian mare "Lady Alice"), and was greeted by a hot fire from mud-walled compounds on left of bridge and trenches on the right in open all across the river. I saw the wooden bridge was burnt through, and made record-time back to my men, emptying my revolver into the enemy behind the walls.

'My men were in fighting formation. Ten my men 2nd Burmah Battalion of Punjaub Infantry (new name), and ten Ghoorkas in firing line at six paces interval between each man, and twenty my men in support 100 yards rear of flanks in single rank, and twenty my men and twenty Ghoorkas reserve, baggage guard 300 yards in rear with elephants, and thirty followers of the Ghoorkas (Khasias, from Shillong Hills). We opened volleys by sections (ten men) and then advanced, one section firing a volley while the other rushed forward thirty paces, threw themselves down on ground, and fired a volley, on which the other section did likewise. Thus we reached 100 yards from the enemy, where we lay for about five minutes, firing at the only thing we could see, puffs of smoke from the enemy's loopholes, and covered with the dust of their bullets. I had seen one man clean killed at my side, and had felt a sharp flick under arm, and began to think we were in for about as much as we could manage; but the men were behaving splendidly, firing carefully and well directed. I signalled the supports to come up wide on each flank; they came with a splendid rush and never stopped on joining the firing line, but went clean on to the bank of the river, within sixty yards of the enemy, lying down and firing at their heads, which could now be seen as they raised them to fire; then the former firing line jumped up and we rushed into the water. I was first in, but not first out, as I got in up to my neck and had to be helped out and got across nearer to the bridge, the men fixing bayonets in the water.

'The enemy now gave way and ran away all along, but we bayoneted eight in the trenches on the right, found six shot through the head behind the compound wall. At the second line of walls they tried to rally, but our men on the right soon changed their minds, and on they went and never stopped till they got behind the hills on the top of the map; our advance and their retreat was just as if you rolled one ruler after another up the page on which the map is.

'When I got to (A) I halted in sheer amazement; the enemy's line was over a mile long. I estimated them at eight hundred, the subadar at one thousand two hundred; afterwards heard they were eight hundred men besides officers. They were dressed mostly in white jackets with white turbans and dhoties, armed with Tower-muskets, Enfield and Snider rifles, and about two hundred in red jackets and white turbans, armed with Martinis, a rifle that will shoot over twice as far as our Sniders. I simply dared not pursue beyond (A), as my baggage was behind, and beyond them I had seen two or three hundred soldiers half a mile away on my right rear.

'At eight a.m. I was in the three lines of compounds, each compound containing a good house about thirty by twenty feet (one room), and three or five sheds and a paddy-house. We carried over our baggage on our heads, leaving a strong party at (A), and set to work to prepare our position for defence. I had used eighty of our one hundred and sixty rounds per man; only one man was killed. I found I was slightly grazed, no damage, and three of my six days' rations; and I could not hope to reach Manipur, therefore I must sit tight till reinforced from Burmah, or joined by any of the defeated Ghoorka Light Infantry troops from Cachar.

'We filled the paddy-house with paddy, about a ton, and collected much goor (sugar-cane juice) and a little rice and green dhal and peas from the adjoining houses. Then I cleared my field of fire – i.e., by cutting down the hedges near and burning the surrounding houses and grass; my walls were from two feet to four feet high, and one to three feet thick, and, I thought, enough. Put men on half ata and dhal; shot a mallard (wild duck on river), and spent a quiet night with strong pickets.

'On April 1, at six a.m., my patrols reported enemy advancing in full force from their new position. I went to (A), where picket was, and took a single shot with a Ghoorka's Martini into a group of ten or twelve at 700 yards. The group bolted behind the walls at (B), and the little Ghoorkas screamed with delight at a white heap left on the road, which got up and fell down again once or twice, none of the others venturing out to help the poor wretch.

'Then a group assembled on the hill, 1,000 or 1,100 yards off, and the Ghoorka Jemadar fired, and one went rolling down the hill; I fired again, but no visible effect. The enemy then retired under cover; but at three p.m. they advanced in full force. I lined wall (A) with fifty men, holding rest in reserve in the fort.

'The enemy advanced to 600 yards, when we opened volleys, and after firing at us wildly for half an hour, they again retired to 800 yards, and suddenly from the hill a great "boom," a scream through the air; then, fifty feet over our heads, a large white cloud of smoke, a loud report, and fragments of a 9-lb. or 10-lb. elongated common shell from a rifle cannon fell between us and our fort; a second followed from another gun, and burst on our right; then another struck the ground and burst on impact to our front, firing a patch of grass; they went on with shrapnel.

'I confess I was in a horrid funk, for although I knew that artillery has little or no effect on extended troops behind a little cover, I dreaded the moral effect on my recruits, who must have had an enormously exaggerated idea of the powers of guns; but they behaved splendidly, and soon I had the exact range of the guns, by the smoke and report trick, 900 or 970 yards; and after half an hour, during which their fire got wilder and wilder, both guns disappeared, and only one turned up on the further hill, 1,500 yards from (A), from which they made poor practice, as the Ghoorkas' bullets still reached them, and they only ran the gun up to fire, and feared to lay it carefully. All this time the enemy kept up their rifle fire, from 600 to 800 yards, but I only replied to it when they tried to advance nearer.

'By this time it grew dark, and when we could no longer see the enemy we concentrated in the fort, as the enemy had been seen working round to our left. I sent the men back one by one along the hedges, telling each man when and where to go; none of them doubled.

'It was quite dark when I got back, and posted them round our walls, which seemed so strong in the morning, but were like paper against well-laid field-guns; I felt very, very bitter.

'I was proud of the result of my personal musketry-training of my butchas (children), all eight months' recruits, except ten or fifteen old soldiers, who set a splendid example, and talked of what skunks the Manipuris were, compared to the men they had fought in Afghanistan and the North-West Frontier; but they all said they had never seen such odds against them before. Our total day's loss – a pony killed, and one man slightly wounded.

'All night the enemy kept up a long-range fire without result, which was not replied to, I tied white rags round our foresights for night-firing. I slept for about two hours in my east corner, and at three a.m. turned out to strengthen the walls in four places against shell-fire, made a covered way to the water, and dug places for cover for followers. Luckily much of the compound was fresh ploughed, so we only had to fill the huge rice-baskets with the clods, and the ration-sacks, pails, my pillow-case, and a post-bag I had recovered, everything with earth, and soon I had five parapets in front and flanks, each giving cover for eight or ten men. The enemy had retired behind the hill.

'At three p.m. a patrol reported a man flag-signalling. I went out with white flag, and met a Ghoorka of 44th, a prisoner in Manipuris' hands, who brought a letter signed by six or eight Babu prisoners, clerks, writers, post and telegraph men, saying there were fifty Ghoorka prisoners and fifty-eight civil prisoners, and imploring me to retire. If I advanced they would kill the prisoners; if I retired the durbar would release them, and send them to Cachar. I said those prisoners who wished could go to Cachar, and I would retire to Tammu with those who wished to come with me.

'I also wrote to the Maharajah, and also on 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th messages passed from me to Maharajah and his two brothers, Jubraj and Senaputti, the heir and the commander-in-chief.

'Maharajah wrote saying he was not responsible for the outbreak; and Senaputti told the messengers he had 3,000 men in front of me, and would cut us all up.

'I wrote refusing to move without the Ghoorka prisoners at least, and said "I didn't care for 5,000 Manipuri Babus." 23

'At last Jubraj said the prisoners had been sent away to Assam, and sent me 500 pounds ata and 50 pounds each dhal and ghee to retire with. I sent back the rations, and refused to move without a member of the durbar as a hostage, to remain at Tammu till prisoners arrived at Cachar and Kohima. They offered me a subadar. I said he was no one. I had signed all my letters as Col. A. Howlett, Com. 2nd B. Regt., to impress them with my strength and importance, and put on the subadar's badges of rank in addition to my own.

'The next morning (6th) they attacked again at dawn, and as I had only seventy rounds per man for Sniders and thirty for Martinis, I closed into the fort. At first, after forty minutes' shelling, they made determined efforts to cross the walls 100 to 200 yards in front of my front and left; but nearly every man was hit as he mounted the wall, and then they remained firing from behind the walls.

'At eight a.m. a good lot had collected behind the wall 200 yards from my left. I crept out with ten or twelve Ghoorkas, who held my rear and right under the hedge, and drove them with loss by an attack on their right flank, and we bolted back to fort without loss.

'Then at eleven a.m. there was firing from behind the hedges to our front with a weapon that rang out louder than their rifles. I crept out with a havildar and six Ghoorkas close in the ditch under the hedge, out to our front from our right, up to within ten yards of the nearest of them. They opened a wild fire, and bolted as we attacked their left flank; but then we found ourselves in a bit of a hole, for thirty or forty were in a corner behind a wall, six feet high, over which they were firing at us. I had my D. B. sixteen-bore shot-gun, and six buckshot and six ball cartridges, and as they showed their heads over the wall they got buckshot in their faces at twenty yards.

'When my twelve rounds were fired, and the Ghoorkas also doing considerable damage, we rushed the wall, and I dropped one through the head with my revolver, and hit some more as they bolted.

'When we cleared them out we returned to the fort along the ditch, having had the hottest three minutes on record, and only got the Ghoorka havildar shot through the hand and some of our clothes shot through; we had killed at least ten.

'Next day I visited the corner, and found blood, thirty Snider and fifteen Martini cartridges, and one four-inch long Express cartridge, '500, which accounted for the unaccountable sounds I had heard.

'Next day I heard I had killed the "Bhudda" (old) Senaputti, or the commander-in-chief of the old Maharaj, father of the present lot of scoundrels, and also two generals; but that is not yet confirmed.

'Well, as I said, we bolted back into the fort, and I had thirty minutes' leisure to go all round my fort, and found I had only fifty rounds per man, enough for one hour's hard fighting, and only twenty-five for Martinis; so I ordered all the men to lie down behind the walls, and one man in six kept half an hour's watch on their movements. The men had orders not to fire a shot till the enemy were half-way across the open adjoining compounds; but the enemy declined to cross the open, and the men did not fire a shot all day. I picked off a few who showed their heads from the east corner, where I spent the rest of the day, the men smoking and chatting, and at last took no notice of the bullets cutting the trees a foot or six inches over their heads.

'Thus the day passed, the enemy retiring at dark, and we counted our loss – two men and one follower wounded, one by shell; one pony killed, two wounded; two elephants wounded, one severely; and my breakfast spoilt by a shell, which did not frighten my boy, who brought me the head of the shrapnel which did the mischief – I will send it home to be made into an inkpot, with inscription – and half my house knocked down.

'Next day, 7th, quiet, improved post and pounded dhan to make rice.

'Saturday, 8th, ditto. Large bodies of Manipuris seen moving to my right rear long way off.

'At five, 7th, two Burmans came with letters from Maharajah to Viceroy, and a letter from "civil" to poor killed chief commissioner. I opened and found that large army comes up from Burmah "at once." A small party three or four days before would have been more use. Maharajah's letter a tissue of miserable lies and stupid excuses.

'At noon, 8th, white flag appeared, and a man stuck a letter on road and went back. Went and found it contained a letter from Presgrave, with orders from Burmah for me to retire on first opportunity, and he was not to reinforce me, but to help me to retire. I was sick, but the orders were most peremptorily worded. So at 7.30 p.m., on a pitch-dark, rainy night, we started back – a splendid night for a retreat, but such a ghastly, awful job!

'We had two wounded elephants with us, and made just a mile an hour, only seeing our hands before our faces by the lightning-flashes. I had to hold on to a Sepoy's coat, as I could see absolutely nothing; but they see better in the dark than we do. We were drenched to the skin, and were halting, taking ten paces forward when the lightning flashed, and then halting the column half an hour at times; but the feeble Manipuri, of course, would not be out such a night, and we passed through three or four villages full of troops without a man showing.

'At two a.m., 9th, a man said sleepily, "The party has come" – that was all – and the next moment Presgrave had my hand. He had heard that I was captured, and all my men killed or taken at two different places; had returned nearly to Tummu, but the two Burmans with Maharajah's letter told him where I was, and he marched thirty-six hours without kit or rations, only halting for eight hours, and was coming on to Tummu. He went back to meet some rations, and then, after passing the night in a Naga village, returned to Palel and here, with a hundred and eighty men and eleven boxes of ammunition – forty of them our mounted infantry.

'At Palel we found three or four hundred Manipuri soldiers who did not expect us; they saw us half a mile off, and bolted after firing a few shots. I went on with the mounted infantry, and after trotting till within 300 yards of the retreating army, we formed line on the open and went in.

'I rode for a palki and umbrella I saw, and shooting one or two on my way got close up; but a hundred or so had made for the hills on our right and made a short stand, and suddenly down went poor Clinker on his head, hurling me off. Jumped up – I was covered with blood from a bullet-wound in the poor beast's foreleg, just below the shoulder. Two men came up. I twisted my handkerchief round with a cleaning-rod above the wound, stopping the blood from the severed main artery, and, refilling my revolver, ran on.

'By this time the men had jumped off and were fighting with the enemy on the hill; the palki was down, and I fear the inmate of it escaped. We killed forty of them without loss, excepting poor Clinker and another pony. After pursuing three miles we stopped, and returned to the infantry, which were rather out of it, though they doubled two miles. Found poor Clinker's large bone broken, and had to shoot him at once.

'We collected the spoil and returned to camp, where we had a quiet night, and were joined by the Hon. Major Charles Leslie and four hundred of his 2nd-4th 24 Ghoorkas, and two mountain guns; Cox of ours. Total now, eight British officers; all very nice and jolly; but to our disgust we have to halt here for rest of ours, rest of Ghoorkas, two more guns, and General Graham.

'Cox brought me telegrams of congratulations from Sir Frederick Roberts, General Stewart, commanding Burmah, and Chief Commissioner, saying everything kind and nice they could. I sent in my despatches next day, and so the first act of the Manipur campaign closes.

'My men have behaved splendidly, both in attack, siege, and retreat, and I have recommended all for the Order of Merit, My luck all through has been most marvellous; everything turned up all right, and there was hardly a hitch anywhere. Poor Clinker! He was 300 yards from eight hundred rifles for twenty minutes and never touched, and a shot killed him at full gallop. Now "bus" (enough) about myself in the longest letter I have ever written.'

'Manipur Fort, April 28.

'We arrived here yesterday, and found it empty. We gave them such an awful slating on the 25th that they resisted no more either at my place, Thobal, or here. On the 25th I went out from Palel with fifty my men, Sikhs, fifty our Mounted Infantry under Cox, and fifty 2nd-4th Ghoorkas, the whole under Drury, of 2nd-4th Ghoorkas. We had orders only to reconnoitre enemy's position, not to attack, as remainder were to arrive that morning.

'The road ran along the plain due north towards Manipur, with open plain on left and hills right. Saw the enemy on the hills and in a strong mud fort 1,000 yards from hills in the open. I worked along the hills and drove the enemy out of them, as we found them unexpectedly, and had to fight in spite of orders. Then Drury sent on to the general to say we had them in trap, and would he come out with guns and more men and slate them. Then he sent the Mounted Infantry to the left to the north-west of the enemy, and we worked behind the hills to the north-east, thus cutting them off from Manipur. We went behind a hill and waited.

'At 11.30 we saw from the top of our hill the column from Palel, two mountain guns, and one hundred 2nd-4th Ghoorkas. The guns went to a hill 1,000 yards to the east of the enemy's fort, and we watched the fun. The first shell went plump into the fort; soon they started shrapnel and made lovely practice, the enemy replying with two small guns and rifles. Then we got impatient and advanced, and worked round to their west flank. The guns went on sending common shell and shrapnel into the fort till we masked their fire. The Ghoorkas, also under Carnegy, advanced from south from Palel. We did not fire a shot till within 100 yards, fearful of hitting own men. Then our party charged, but were brought up by a deep ditch under their walls; down and up we scrambled, and when a lot of our men had collected within ten paces of their walls, firing at every head that showed, the enemy put up a white flag, and I at once stopped the fire. Then they sprang up and fired at us. I felt a tremendous blow on the neck, and staggered and fell, luckily on the edge of the ditch, rather under cover; but feeling the wound with my finger, and being able to speak, and feeling no violent flow of blood, I discovered I wasn't dead just yet. So I reloaded my revolver and got up.

'Meanwhile my Sikhs were swarming over the wall. I ran in, and found the enemy bolting at last from the east, and running away towards Manipur. My men were in first, well ahead of both parties of Ghoorkas.

'After I had seen all the Manipuris near the fort polished off, I sent for a dresser and lay down in one of the huts in the fort. Soon had my clothes off, and found the bullet had gone through the root of my neck, just above the shoulder, and carried some of the cloth of my collar and shirt right through the wound, leaving it quite clean. I was soon bound up, and men shampooed me and kept away cramp. It was only a very violent shock, and I felt much better in the evening.

'As soon as the enemy got clear of the fort the shrapnel from the hills opened fire on them, and when they got beyond, then Cox cut in with his mounted infantry, and only five or six escaped; but poor Cox got badly shot by one of them through the shoulder, but is doing well.

'Carnegy and Grant, of the 2nd-4th, found twenty or thirty of the enemy in a deep hole in the corner of the fort, where they had escaped our men, and in settling them Carnegy got shot through the thigh, and Drury got his hand broke by the butt of a gun. Two of my men were wounded, and two of the 2nd-4th killed, and five or six wounded, I think because they were in much closer order than my men, who were at ten paces interval.

'We gathered seventy-five bodies in the fort and fifty-six near it, and the shrapnel and mounted infantry killed over one hundred. The Manipuris here say we killed over four hundred. So we paid off part of our score against their treachery. We spent the night there.

'They were tremendously astonished and disgusted when they heard in Palel we had had such a fight. The fact is we left them no bolt-hole, and they thought, after their treacherous murder of the five Englishmen at Manipur, that we would give them no quarter, and so every man fought till he was killed.

'Next morning we advanced to my fort at Thobal, and found it deserted; and the royal family and army fled from Manipur as soon as they heard of the action of the 25th. So yesterday, the 27th, we marched in here, my Thobal party, by order of the general, being the first to enter the palace on our side, the Cachar and the Kohima columns arriving from the west and north just before them.

'I, alas! in my dholi, did not get up till two hours after, as it poured all the march, and the mud was awful; but I slept last night, and to-day am feeling fit and well.

'General Collett, commanding the army, came to-day to see me, and said all sorts of nice things to me, and his A.-G. asked me when I would be a captain, and said I would not be one long, meaning I would get a brevet majority. But all these people are very excited now, and talk of my getting brevet rank, and V.C. and D.S.O.; but when all is settled, if I get anything at all I will be content, and it will be about as much as I deserve. I have asked leave if I might stick to my men, as they had stuck so well to me at Thobal. I have had such luck, the men in this regiment will do anything for me, and I hate the idea of changing regiments again, so I may remain if a vacancy occurs.

'I went out for a "walk" in my dholi this evening, and went round the palace – a very poor place.'

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.

Ethel St. Clair Grimwood (1867-1928)

LITTLE remains now to be added to the record of my three years in Manipur, and escape from the Mutiny. Mr. Grant is now a major and a V.C., and never were honours more bravely won. England has given me unstinted praise, and her Majesty has honoured me of her own accord with the Red Cross, of which I am proud to be the possessor.

Shortly after my arrival in England in June, I was invited to Windsor and had an audience of her Majesty, during which I related some of my experiences, which, I believe, interested her. The Red Cross is an honour doubly valuable as having been presented to me by her Majesty in person; but the warm interest she has since been pleased to take in me I look upon as an equally great honour, and my visit to the Queen at Windsor will for ever be remembered as a red-letter day in my existence.

Before I had been many days in England, the Princess of Wales was also kind enough to express a wish to see me, and her royal highness has honoured me greatly by interesting herself in me in many ways; so that though I have lost much, I have received great sympathy; and I know that there are few hearts in England who have not felt for me in my trouble.

But sometimes the thought of the future, and the fate in store for me, seems very dark and dreary. Few of us are without ambitions, and I had mine in the days that are gone; but when they have all been destroyed at one blow, it is difficult to raise up new ones to take the place of the old – difficult to battle for one's self in this eager, hurrying world, when one has grown accustomed to having someone always ready and willing to battle for one; and difficult to accustom myself to a lonely, solitary existence, after four years of close companionship with one whose sole wish was to make my life happy.

Ah, well! life, after all, does not last for ever, and maybe some day we shall awake to find ourselves in a different sphere, where our lost ambitions may be realized, and where disappointment and death have no part.

In this book I have endeavoured to avoid writing anything which may be construed into an accusation or insinuation against any of the persons concerned, whether they be alive or dead. Far be it from me to speak of blame, or to attempt to place any extra responsibility on any one person. It is not in my power to do so, and if it were, I should hesitate.

We know that those five brave men sacrificed their lives sooner than listen to the terms of ignominy and disgrace proposed by their victorious enemies. The touching answer given when the ungenerous proposal was made to them shows that they never wavered from their duty. 'We cannot lay down our arms,' they said, 'for they belong to Government,' And each one met his death bravely for the honour of England.

* * * * *

I have since heard of the escape of most of our servants. They were made prisoners and kept by the Jubraj in gaol for some time, but released before the arrival of the troops, Mr. Melville's sad fate filled all with horror, and seemed doubly hard as he had never had anything to do with Manipur before this year, 1891, but merely happened to be in the place at the time.

A new Rajah has been appointed now on an entirely different footing. He is only a little fellow of five years old, a descendant of some former monarch, and it will be many years yet before he can govern the country and the people, and restore the old feelings of peace which existed between our Government and Manipur.

Those by whose orders Mr. Quinton and his companions were murdered have paid the penalty by forfeiting, some their lives, and others their liberty, and order is once more restored.

But in more than one home in England there is sorrow for those who are not. Their vacant places can never be filled up, even though in time, when the grass has grown green above them, we shall learn to think of them not as dead, but as living elsewhere purer, truer, freer lives, unhampered by the sorrows and cares of this world.

Time may, perhaps, do that for us, but meanwhile hearts will ache, and longings will arise for 'the touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that is still,' and the hard lesson will have to be learned that nothing is our own – no, not even those who seem part of our very lives, around whom all our tenderest interests and highest hopes cling,

Well for us if, in learning the lesson, we keep our faith and trust in the Being for whose pleasure we were created, and whose right it is to demand from us what we value most. And if, when our time comes, and we look back across the vista of years at all the disappointments and all the sorrows, which, after all, outweigh the happiness in our lives, we can say, 'It was all for the best,' then the lesson will not have been learnt in vain, and it will indeed be well with us.

THE END.

BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.

J. D. & Co.

 Editor: Mary Mark Ockerbloom

Notes

1 The hooluck is a black monkey, peculiar to Assam.

[Page 32]

2 Dhotee – the usual dress a native wears instead of trousers.

[Page 42]

3 Pundit – tutor or interpreter, who will coach you in a language.

[Page 50]

4 Khitmutghar – butler, table-servant.

[Page 55]

5 Bazaar – market.

[Page 95]

6 Belat – England.

[Page 106]

7 Khud – precipice, cliff.


8 Thoppa wallah – bearer, or man who carries Thoppas.


9 Nautch – ball.

[Page 134]

10 Mahout – driver.


11 Doolies – a sort of palanquin, made of cane, in which people are carried.

[Page 146]

12 Ghuddi – throne.

[Page 157]

13 Myouk – a civil officer in Burmah corresponding to an extra assistant commissioner in other parts of India.

[Page 164]

14 Shikari – sportsman, or a man who will go out shooting for you or with you.

[Page 200]

15 Baboo – native clerk.

[Page 219]

16 Kahars – hospital assistants.

[Page 231]

17 Bunnias – grain-sellers, provision merchants.

[Page 243]

18 Dhan – rice.

[Page 245]

19 Daôs – knives.

[Page 248]

20 Sais – groom.

[Page 263]

21 Peg – whisky and soda.

[Page 269]

22 Godowns – storehouses.

[Page 300]

23 Babu – office-clerk; used here as a term of contempt.

[Page 308]

24 2nd-4th – 2nd Battalion 4th Ghoorkas.