‘How,’ said the Hindostanee, ‘can I give you water to drink? You are a “Chumar.”’
Upon this words were exchanged between them. The Chumar said: ‘You do not give me water to drink and affect to be so religious; and the fat of the cow and pig which I prepare with my own hands you will bite off with your teeth.’
These and similar words having been exchanged between them, they came to blows. The other people, who had heard the talk about the ‘fat,’ rescued the ‘Chumar,’ and made inquiries from him in a conciliatory manner.
Then two men went along with him to that place [The place where cartridges were said to be made], which was a little removed from the cantonment. There they saw with their own eyes about fifty or sixty Chumars working and putting on the fat of both animals on the cartridges. They returned from thence homewards, and described all to the Soubahdars10 and other officers.11
For an untouchable to address a high-caste sepoy with such a request was in the first place a gross breach of social protocol; what was even worse was the implication of his revelation. As the Enfield cartridges had to be torn open with the teeth, it seemed as if the sepoys would be required to touch with their mouth, and thus possibly ingest, a mixture of pig’s and cow’s fat, which would be extremely offensive and ritually defiling to both Hindus and Muslims. The story of the khalasi at Dum Dum not only revealed the odious composition of the grease, but also illustrated how, as a consequence of biting the cartridge, high-castes would have to share water with untouchables. The threat posed by the greased cartridges was, in other words, one that erased all distinction between high and low, pure and impure. As the story of the cartridges circulated throughout northern India, sepoys undergoing instruction at the schools of musketry complained to their officers that their comrades would refuse to eat with them when they returned to their respective regiments. At Dum Dum, a British officer sought to allay their fears, assuring them that the grease was made up with sheep fat and wax, which were, given the context, both inoffensive substances. The sepoys replied: ‘It may be so, but our friends will not believe it; let us obtain the ingredients from the bazaar and make it up ourselves; we shall know what is used, and be able to assure our fellow-soldiers and others that there is nothing in it prohibited by our caste’12 The fear was accordingly as much about being ostracised as it was about the actual composition of the grease. Within weeks of the first appearance of the rumours, the British military authorities responded to the sepoys’ concerns by stopping production of the pre-greased cartridges on 27 January 1857; in the future, cartridges were to be distributed ungreased and the sepoys could themselves purchase materials and apply the lubricant themselves.13 This change in procedure was broadcast to all the regiments of the Bengal Army, and the British assumed that the issue had been put to rest.
The truth of the greased cartridges was that the British themselves could not say for sure whether or not fat from pigs and cows had been used. When Governor-General Charles Canning later stated that the sepoys’ fears were ‘well founded’, he was not in possession of any decisive information, one way or the other. According to the Inspector-General of Ordnance, Colonel A. Abbott, ‘No extraordinary precaution appears to have been taken to insure the absence of any objectionable fat.’14 The sepoys’ fears were accordingly well-founded in the sense that the British authorities could not guarantee that the grease on the Enfield cartridges was not contaminated. Yet the focus on the composition of the grease distracts from the fact that, contrary to the story of the khalasi and the Hindostanee, no sepoy had actually seen the greased cartridges, let alone handled them. The only troops in India equipped with the Enfield rifle in 1857, and who were therefore using greased cartridges, was the British 60th Regiment stationed at Meerut. The greased cartridges that were being manufactured at Dum Dum, were either for the 60th or for the future use of the regiments of the Bengal Army, and that process came to an end in January. The only place where sepoys used Enfield rifles were at the schools of musketry at Dum Dum, Ambala and Sialkot and they had up until January only used ungreased blank cartridges since the purpose for the initial stages of the instruction was merely to practice the process of loading and firing. Not a single greased cartridge for the Enfield was ever distributed to sepoys anywhere during 1857.15 Yet this mattered little as the story of the khalasi was told and retold throughout the cantonments of northern India. When troops at Barrackpore were shown the paper from which they were to make their own cartridges, they noted that it was different from the usual paper to which they were accustomed, and voiced their suspicion that ‘there was something in it.’ Frustrated by the stubbornness of the sepoys, the British officers held an inquiry and questioned their men on the matter:
‘Question: Did you make any objections to the materials of which those cartridges were composed?
Answer: I felt some suspicion in regard to the paper, if it might not affect my caste.
Question: What reason have you to suppose that there is anything in the paper which would injure your caste?
Answer: Because it is a new description of paper with which the cartridges are made up, and which I have not seen before.
Question: Have you ever seen or heard from any one that the paper is composed of anything which is objectionable to your caste?
Answer: I heard a report that there was some fat in the paper; it was a bazar report.’16
When asked whether he would bite the cartridges, after having been satisfied that it was not greased, another sepoy replied that ‘I could not do it, as the other men would object to it.’17 Peer pressure thus played a significant role and since the sepoys did not actually know what the greased cartridges looked like, they implicitly distrusted any material used for ammunition. Testimony from a later inquiry provides a brief glimpse of how the sepoys would discuss the matter amongst themselves. One Jemadar Sewbuccus Sing, of the 70th BNI stationed at Barrackpore, described an exchange that had taken place in his hut between him and a couple of other Indian officers, while they ‘had a smoke and a chat’:
‘I and Isuree Sing, Havildar, Light Company, were talking together in my hut regarding furlough. [Jemadar Salickram Sing then arrived] After the usual salutations, I asked him to sit down; he then said: “Now tell me; I want only your opinion now, and I place great hope (tawakku)18 in you.” He said—“Tell us what is the state of your mind about it.” I said: “About what?” He said: “About biting the cartridges.” I replied: “I will bite cartridges if I get the order, and will obey whatever I get; I don’t care if any one should say that I have lost my caste by biting them. I will still obey the Government, from whom I get my livelihooed.” He said: “I will not bite them; I will cut them with my sword.” Subadar Ram Kissen was passing my door at the time, so Salickram got up and joined him. Issuree Sing and I were left alone.’19
In his testimony, Sewbuccus made sure to present himself in the best possible light as a loyal officer, but what is truly noteworthy is the fact that months after the military authorities had stopped making greased cartridges, the sepoys still talked about them as if they were the real issue. Whatever the British had done to alleviate the fears of their men, they had not succeeded in conveying the fact that no greased cartridges would be distributed. To individual sepoys, it was furthermore difficult to ascertain the facts of the matter, let alone discern between the different stories circulating. Initially, the rumours did not create much of a stir at Sialkot but elsewhere things were getting increasingly out of hand and the news that reached Alum Bheg and his men in this isolated corner of the world were ever more worrisome.
Around the time that the rumours of the greased cartridges gained credence, cases of arson had become an almost nightly occurrence in and around the cantonment of Barrackpore and later also at Ambala. The buildings set on fire were in some instances merely store-houses or empty bungalows, but in other cases they revealed a measure of intent. When the telegraph office at Raniganj, a few hundred miles north-east of Barrackpore, was
fired at the end of January, the attack struck at the very nerves of the British communication-system. According to Mainodin, the sepoys who carried out the attack ‘calculated that the burning of a telegraph office would immediately be communicated along the line from Calcutta to the Punjab.’20 Just as the British would read out orders during morning parade, and inform sepoys of news concerning other regiments, the sepoys too were ‘communicating’ throughout the Bengal Army, and not just by letters. Arson attacks, sometimes targeting the huts and bungalows of unpopular officers, were both an act of protest by exasperated sepoys and a way to send a message to other regiments that these stations were actively resisting what was generally considered an assault on their honour and status. Throughout 1857, the actions of the sepoys were shaped by the fear of being ostracised—by their brothers in other regiments, and by their families back home. When the Indian troops complained to, and negotiated with, their British officers during these tense months, there was always this imagined audience shaping the way men like Alum Bheg acted.
At the end of February, the sepoys of the 19th BNI at Berhampore, refused to accept percussion caps for their muskets in preparation for firing practice the following morning.21 The station commander consequently arranged for both artillery and cavalry to be present the next day, to ensure that things did not get out of control; the artillery consisted of British personnel while the cavalry were recruited outside Awadh and thus considered reliable. News of these precautions, however, reached the sepoys during the night and they immediately broke into the kotes, or bells-of-arms, and armed themselves. Following a tense stand-off that lasted several hours, the sepoys eventually laid down their muskets, while the British officers agreed to retire along with the artillery and cavalry. The parade was held the following morning and went off without any problems, but the incident revealed just how fraught the situation was: this was the first open act of defiance by sepoys of the Bengal Army in 1857. A later petition written by the men of the 19th BNI gives some insight to how the sepoys experienced the whole issue of the cartridges:
‘…on the 26th of this month we received orders, on the following day to fire fifteen rounds of blanks cartridges per man. At four o’clock in the afternoon the cartridges were received at the bells-of-arms and inspected by us. We perceived them to be of two kinds, and sort appeared to be different from that formerly served out. Hence we doubted whether these might not be the cartridges which had arrived from Calcutta, as we had made none ourselves, and were convinced that they were greased. On this account, and through religious scruples, we refused to take the caps. At half-past seven o’clock the colonel accompanied by the adjutant came upon the parade, and very angrily gave orders to us, saying: “If you will not take these cartridges, I will take you to Burma, where, through hardship, you will all die. These cartridges are those left behind by the 7th Regiment, Native Infantry, and I will serve them out to-morrow morning by the hands of the officers commanding companies.” He gave this order so angrily that we were convinced that the cartridges were greased, otherwise he would not have spoken so. The same night, about a quarter to eleven, shouts of various kinds were heard; some said there is a fire, others that they were surrounded by the Europeans; some said that the guns had arrived, others that the cavalry had appeared. In the midst of this row the alarm sounded on a drum, then from fear of our lives the greater number seized their arms from the kotes. Between twelve and one o’clock, the 11th Regiment, Irregular Cavalry, and the guns with torches arrived on the parade with the commanding officer, which still more confirmed our suspicions of the cartridges being greased, inasmuch as the commanding officer appeared to be about to carry his threats into execution by force. We had been hearing of this sort of thing for the last two months or more, and here appeared to be the realisation of it.’22
The confrontation at Berhampore stemmed from the mutual distrust between the sepoys and their officers—the soldiers were increasingly convinced that their officers were deliberately, and insidiously, trying to undermine their ritual purity, while the British simply considered the sepoys to be guilty of gross insubordination. The finer details of general orders furthermore got lost in translation, especially when officers lost their head and berated the men. In this case, the sepoys’ fears became self-fulfilling as their panic during the night had brought about the very thing they had feared would happen: namely, British artillery being deployed. The British response to the incident at Berhampore was prompt and Lord Canning, the governor-general, ordered that the 19th BNI be marched to Barrackpore to be disbanded in the presence of British regiments: ‘Mutiny so open and defiant cannot be excused by any sensitiveness of religion or caste, by fear of coercion, or by the seduction and deception of others.’23 The British had by this point convinced themselves that the sepoys were being manipulated by ‘designing persons’ such as dispossessed Indian rulers or disgruntled Hindus opposed to British rule on the grounds of superstition. There was no evidence for the existence of such conspiracies, but to many of the British officers it was inconceivable that the sepoys should be genuinely alarmed by the rumours of the greased cartridges.
Things were, however, only about to get worse. Two days before the 19th BNI was due to arrive, a sepoy of the 34th BNI at Barrackpore named Mangal Pandey attacked two British officers and seriously wounded them.24 Pandey might have been under the influence of bhang, a strong cannabis concoction, but his panic was triggered by the arrival of a small detachment of British troops. Wearing his uniform jacket, forage cap, and dhoti, Mangal Pandey ran to the parade ground with his rifle and a sword in hand, calling out to his comrades: ‘Come out, you bhainchutetes, the Europeans are here. From biting these cartridges, we shall become infidels. Get ready, turn out all of you.’25 None of the sepoys of the 34th joined him, but then none of them came to the aid of their officers either. After a desperate struggle, Mangal Pandey was eventually disarmed and later sentenced to death. On 8 April 1857, the British carried out the first execution of a sepoy for to open mutiny. The execution took place at Barrackpore in front of all the sepoys of the 34th, as well as a sizable contingent of British troops as a precaution. An eyewitness-account was later published in the newspapers:
‘At about a quarter to 6 a.m. Mungul Pundy was brought on the ground in a cart with the mehters who had been procured to execute the sentence, escorted by a party of the Body Guard and HM 53rd Regiment. The cart was at once drawn up under the gallows, and the rope adjusted round the criminal’s neck, when the cart was drawn away and the man left hanging. He appeared to suffer a good deal judging from the apparently convulsive throes. The General then addressed the Native Regiments, when they were marched up to the front of the gallows to see the man hanging and afterwards returned to their lines. The man, it seems, had previously refused to make any disclosures, which it was expected might have been elicited, so there remained no alternative but to carry out the sentence.
We are told that the spectacle had a most disheartening effect upon the sepoy regiments upon the ground. The 34th were completely cowed …’26
After yet another inquiry into the state of the Bengal Army, the 34th was also ordered to be disbanded and within the space of just a few months, the British had thus dismantled two entire regiments of sepoys. These developments were disseminated all over India, and made a deep impression on troops elsewhere, as Ahmed Khan noted:
‘When the regiment at Barrackpore was disbanded and the general order announcing the same was read out to each regiment, the deepest grief was felt throughout the army. They thought that the refusal to bite the cartridges, the biting of which would have destroyed their caste, was no crime at all; that the men of the disbanded regiment were not in the least to blame, and that their disbandment was an act utterly devoid of justice on the part of the Government. The whole army deeply regretted ever having had anything to do with Government. They felt that they had shed their blood in its cause and conquered many countries for it, that in return it wished to take away their caste a
nd had dismissed those who had justly stood out for their rights. There was, however, no open rebellion just then, as they had only been disbanded and had not been treated with greater severity; but partly from feeling certain that the cartridges were mixed with fat, partly from grief at seeing their comrades disbanded at Barrackpore, and still more by reason of their pride, arrogance, and vanity, the whole army was determined, come what might, not to bite the cartridges.’27
Although an illicit correspondence between sepoys from different regiments had been going on since the beginning of the year, the disbandment of the 19th and 34th BNI gave new impetus to the mobilisation of solidarity within the Bengal Army. At Cawnpore, disbanded men of the 19th BNI were heard telling locals that ‘we shall quarrel with Government presently; for new cartridges prepared with cows’ and pigs’ fat are going to be served out, and the sepoys refuse to receive them.’28 According to Hedayut, the men of the 19th BNI stated, ‘We have lost our bread, but have held fast to our religion. The Government wanted us to bite the cartridges, and thus lose our caste, but we would not do it.’29 By disbanding the sepoys of the Berhampore and Barrackpore garrisons, the British had, contrary to their intent, only managed to stoke resentment against the colonial state amongst its most trusted, and most needed, allies. At the time of their disbandment, further evidence of the seditious activities of the 34th BNI also came to light. A sepoy of the 37th BNI, who was on leave at Benares, took a letter, supposedly from an Indian officer of the 34th BNI, to the Raja of Rewa offering the support of 2,000 men if the Raja would rise against the English.30 The Raja, however, seized the sepoy and sent him to the army station at Nagode where the hapless conspirator pretended to be mad. The officer of the 34th BNI was promptly arrested at Barrackpore, and it was reported in the newspapers that the Government ‘has made a discovery of some papers belonging to the subedar-major of the 34th NI. They consist of a correspondence with, it is said, all or nearly all the sepoy regiments in Bengal, and the contents disclose a general conspiracy to rise at an appointed time, and murder all the Europeans.’31
The Skull of Alum Bheg Page 7
