5
TENANTS OF PANDEMONIUM
The apparent calm in the cantonment on the eve of the 9th was deceptive. Just as the news of the outbreak at Meerut in May had reached Alum Bheg and the sepoys at almost the same time as it did their officers, so too had the news of the outbreak at Jhelum made its way to the ‘native’ lines on the evening of the 8th. The authorities had done everything in their power to keep any information, and any fugitives, from reaching Sialkot: along the Jhelum and Chenab rivers, all bridges had been broken and all boats had been seized. Yet these efforts merely delayed the news travelling the 70 miles from Jhelum to Sialkot.1
Alum Bheg and the other Indian troops were already uneasy. After their former friends, the 35th BNI, had been disarmed by Nicholson, they had sent letters to Sialkot ‘requesting the 46th and 9th Cavalry to come down and free them.’2 If the Sialkot troops were to make it to Jandiala, just outside of Amritsar, the 35th there promised they would ‘murder their officers with their bayonets,’ which they still retained.3 These were the desperate pleas of disarmed sepoys with no options left, but they struck a strong cord with Alum Bheg and the others at Sialkot, since they were much more immediate than the distant shaming by the rebels at Delhi. When news of the outbreak reached the troops at Sialkot late on the 8th, they did not rejoice or plan to join their friends; they knew that the 46th and 9th would be next on the list of regiments to be disarmed. That very evening, two sowars of the wing of the 9th BLC which had been attached to the Movable Column, arrived at Sialkot on furlough.4 These men regaled their old comrades with stories of the disarmament and executions they had witnessed, and crucially ‘reported that the Column was moving up, had reached Umritsur, and was probably coming to disarm the Sealkote troops.’5 Once they had disarmed the sepoys, it was said, the British troops would ‘blow away several men from guns.’6 Alum Bheg and the other sepoys had very clear examples before them of what would happen if they allowed themselves to be disarmed—whether it was the fabled massacre at Barrackpore in 1824, or any number of more recent cases. At both Berhampore, Ambala and Meerut earlier in 1857, the mere rumour that British troops were approaching to disarm the sepoys was enough to cause a panic, and in the latter case actually triggered the final outbreak. According to one of the nuns at Sialkot, ‘the native soldiers heard they were to be disarmed the following day. They became furious, and secretly planned a revolt.’7 Very few Indian troops were at this point fully committed to mutiny, but the situation was sufficiently tense for the rumours to tip the balance. According to Ahmed Khan, the sepoys cursed their fate after they had rebelled in 1857: ‘“What could we do,” said they, “except rebel? We were never sure what punishment was in store for us, as Government had no confidence in us. On an opportunity offering, we should have been compelled to do anything.”’8
Before sunrise the next morning, 9 July 1857, the A troop of the 9th BLC woke up and saddled their horses. These were the very men who had prepared a kill-list and who had been poised to rebel back in May. As had been the case at Meerut and elsewhere, it was the cavalry sowars who seized the initiative and became the ones to force events. The sowars were highly mobile, and since they were almost exclusively Muslim, they formed a much more tight-knit unit than even the high-caste majority sepoy regiments. Within a small company, it was also possible for just a few individuals to take action and effectively force the rest to join in. According to one Indian officer of the Bengal Army, ‘there is one knave and nine fools; the knave compromises the others, and then tells them it is too late to draw back; they either actively join, or run away for fear of the Europeans’ vengeance.’9 Thus at daylight, the men of troop A ‘mounted their horses and dispersed about the station shooting at whoever they met in European garb, the 2 other troops, namely B and C troop were forced by threats to do likewise.’10 Sowars were simultaneously despatched to the lines of the 46th.
Captain Caulfield had been on guard duty during the night with a picket of the 46th and was just returning for the morning parade. As his wife later described it:
‘The next morning, when it was the time for taking the pickets off, C—observed a body of troopers coming towards our lines, and thinking it suspicious and our men getting unsteady he collected them and marched to the parade, but as they came near it they fairly left C—and rushed down to their lines.’11
In the lines of the 46th BNI, Alum Bheg and the other sepoys, along with most of the British officers, were assembling for the morning parade, when suddenly the sowars came riding down. They ‘flashed off their pistols, shouted rebellion, yelled about religion, cursed the “Feringhee kaffirs,”12 and intentionally committing themselves they committed the best intentioned others.’13 There were also rumours that a letter had arrived from the Mughal Emperor, and one account even mentioned that sepoys had been ‘seduced by spies from Delhi and other quarters.’14 Whether another proclamation from Bahadur Shah had indeed reached Sialkot is unknown. What is certain is that the sowars riding down to the lines of the 46th, called out that ‘the chhuppa (printed letter or circular) had come.’15 One Indian officer of the 46th thus explained ‘that four Sowars of the 9th Cavalry had early that morning been in our lines telling the men to get ready, for “the letter” had come.’16 The very claim that a letter had arrived could be mobilising in and of itself; in the Mughal capital, the local head of police, Mainodin described how ‘In every instance the Kings perwanah had the effect of causing the soldiers to mutiny and make their way to Delhi. At the sight of the King’s perwanah the men who had fought for the English forgot the past, in the desire to be re-established under a native Sovereign.’17 At Jhansi, for instance, the outbreak was also triggered by the arrival of a letter from Delhi. In this case, a servant: ‘brought a chit from Delhi station that the whole army of the Bengal Presidency had mutinied and as the Regiment stationed at Jhansee had not done so, men composing it were outcasts or had lost their faith. On the receipt of this letter, the four ring leaders … prevailed upon their countrymen to revolt and to carry out their resolution.’18 Alum Bheg and the men of the 46th were also cowed by the sudden arrival of the excited horsemen, and one Indian officer later explained that ‘What could we, unarmed and on foot, do against armed men on horseback?’19
Meanwhile, a party of forty to fifty sowars led by the quartermaster Havildar headed down to the jail, mid-way between the cantonment and the city. As it turned out, the sowars were well-acquainted with the darogha of the jail, and the thirty prison guards, most of whom were ‘Hindustani’, did not put up any resistance as the troopers went about liberating the prisoners.20 The mounted police, who were locally recruited, remained inactive and at no point intervened in the events that were unfolding. The breaking open of prisons was a recurrent pattern in the outbreaks that had taken place ever since Meerut, and the local police and jail guards had almost invariably joined with the mutineers. British rule in India, it should be recalled, was entirely dependent on the collaboration of local allies and in the absence of British troops, the power of the colonial state rested exclusively with the sepoys and sowars. British authority, which was precarious at the best of times, and tolerated rather than accepted by the local population, collapsed in a matter of hours when the 9th and 46th rose up at Sialkot. Much of the turmoil and violence during the events of 1857 was a direct outcome of this sudden implosion of the entire structure of British authority, and local police and prison guards were not going to oppose the rebellious sepoys, who ultimately held the real power.
The prison was of course one of the most potent symbols of the colonial state, and therefore an obvious target for the mutineers. Freeing the prisoners released them from the condition under which they had become socially ostracised due to British policies—just as the sepoys had, by the very act of rising, prevented the British from forcing the greased cartridges upon them, as they feared they would. There was furthermore a strategic purpose to breaking open the jail: by releasing the prisoners, 366 in total, the sowars not only added to the
general confusion at Sialkot, but also unleashed an angry and impoverished crowd, intent on plunder and with a grudge to settle with the colonial authorities.21 After their release, the prisoners joined forces with the prison guards, and at Meerut, for instance, one officer of the jail guard was actually seen leading a group of freed convicts.22 With the British as a common enemy, the very circumstances of the outbreak allowed for unexpected alliances to be forged among different group of Indians. We should not, however, make too much of the solidarity between the sepoys and the prisoners, since released convicts were afterwards often forcefully conscripted as labourers for the rebels. For many prisoners, their freedom was short-lived.
During the outbreak at Sialkot, it was not just the Indian troops of the Bengal Army who played a central role; Hurmat Khan, the former flogger of the District Court, emerged as an unlikely leader during the turmoil. ‘This man,’ according to Gordon, ‘“breathing out threatenings and slaughter”23 against the local authorities, and being in sympathy with his fellow Purbias, was a chief mover in the horrible business of the 9th of July.’24 Khan was a Pathan from Bareilly and ‘a man of great size and strength and a renowned swordsman.’ He had been employed as the official flogger of the Court, but Monckton had recently demoted him to the Kotwali, or town police, after he had a quarrel with a clerk about a woman.25 Evidently expecting the outbreak, the first thing he did early that morning was to dispatch men to kill the Commissioner. He then went to the cavalry lines where troop A was still trying to convince the other sowars to join them, and was ‘instrumental in forcing them to break out.’26 With his work completed in the cantonment, Hurmat Khan took advantage of the complete chaos that reigned and, according to Gordon:
‘went down to the city to murder a court clerk, with whom he had had a quarrel about a woman, which had resulted in his own degradation from his late position as flogger. Not finding the clerk at home, he cut down a servant at the door, and then came up to the jail, where he, in company with others, was liberating the criminals.’27
As the official flogger, Khan was used to inflicting violence with moral impunity, and this made him a central figure at a time of crisis. His social position was similar to that of a European executioner, in that he was both feared and shunned, yet he possessed a unique skill-set, and a willingness to deploy it, which was indispensable during the outbreak. At Meerut, for instance, it had been a local butcher, with some skill in using a knife on carcasses, who during the outbreak very deliberately killed and mutilated the pregnant Mrs Chambers.28 The same was the case during the infamous massacre of European women and children at Bibighar in Cawnpore, just a few days after the outbreak at Sialkot, where at least some of the men who did the killings with swords were butchers.29 Violence, and especially the killing of Europeans, was required to transform the panic and tumult into an open mutiny that went beyond the point of no return. This was an important mental barrier to breach, and only someone like Hurmat Khan could be relied upon to bloody his hands without hesitation.
And so it was that the reverberations of the original outbreak at Meerut eventually reached Sialkot after two full months. While mutinies were spreading and the uprising was raging all over northern India, Alum Bheg and the Indian troops had essentially remained true to their salt. Now an entirely contingent series of events—the mutiny at Jhelum, their seemingly imminent disarmament, and the rumoured arrival of a letter from Delhi—finally pushed them over the edge. Yet even at the moment of mutiny, just as Alum Bheg and his brothers of the 46th BNI cast off their allegiance to British rule, and burned all bridges behind them, their actions were far from unequivocal.
* * *
It was as yet dark during the early morning hours of 9 July 1857 when the first stirrings of the outbreak began. Brigadier Brind was up and about, drinking coffee at his house with Joint Magistrate Chambers and Captain Balmain of the 9th BLC, discussing how best to intercept any of the Jhelum mutineers that might make their way to Sialkot. These fugitives were expected any moment, and Brind was actually thinking of deploying the 9th and 46th against them. Suddenly, the window was shattered by a bullet, putting an end to any illusion that the storm might pass Sialkot over.30 While Chambers remained with Brind, Balmain rode off to see what was going on in the lines of the Indian cavalry. Noise and gunshots could be heard from the direction of the lines, which were just next to the Brigadier’s house. Lieutenant Montgomerie of the 9th, who was fast asleep in his quarters at the time, later recalled:
‘I was awoke by a woman running in screaming. This was the wife of our Sergeant-Major, who was followed shortly after by her husband, with a wound in his forehead. He said that he had had five or six shots fired at him by our men. By the time I had dressed and got my pistols and sword on the Havildar-Major came and said that early that morning the Mussulmans of the 1st troop began saddling their horses, and as there was no parade ordered he asked them what they were doing, when they told him to mind his own business. I rode to the Brigadier’s, and in a short time he came out with Chambers, the joint magistrate.’31
Balmain had gone down to the lines along with the young Lieutenant Princep who had only just finished his duties for the night and was preparing for a morning ride, when he became aware of the tumult. Princep had already been warned off by one trooper of his regiment, yet he and Balmain went back again:
‘We went down, intending to go to the stables, but, as we passed the men’s houses some rushed out, and said, “Come in here, Sahib; come in here.” We went in, and found some six men with a native officer, who said that all the rest had gone, and if we did not go into their house we should be killed immediately. B—returned to inform the Brigadier, while I stayed some minutes longer.’32
At the Brigadier’s, Montgomerie and the other officers were still trying to convince the station commander that it was time for them to leave and seek refuge in the fort, when Balmain returned and recounted how he had been warned off by the Hindu sowars. Brind finally gave in, and they all left for the fort. The delay, however, proved fatal to the Brigadier and ‘soon after leaving his bungalow a trooper fired his carbine at him from behind, the ball entering his back close to the spine. [Brind] turned on the man, but his pistols had been previously unloaded by his Khansamah (cook), and clicked harmlessly. He then seized the barrel of his pistol, and riding the trooper down, broke his jaw with the butt-end of the weapon.’33 Montgomerie later described their ignominious flight:
‘Brigadier Brind, Balmain, Chambers, and I rode out of the compound, and then we perceived a large body of our men posted so as to cut us off from the fort in the city, who immediately they saw us commenced chasing and firing at us. We first of all made straight for the cantonments, so as to bring them after us, and then on a sudden we turned off to the right and rode for a bridge which was between the cantonment and the city. By this manoeuvre I found myself leading, and being mounted on a good horse I could have gone off without coming into collision with the rascals again. As I was nearing the bridge Balmain, who was close behind me, called out, “Stop and make a stand, or the Brigadier is lost!” We both turned on the bridge, and I then saw the Brigadier trying to get across the nullah with a number of our men after him. The foremost of them, who was a little in advance of the others, as soon as he saw me stop, turned from following the Brigadier and came at us. I had just time to draw and cock my pistol when down he came on me at full gallop, with carbine levelled. I could have almost touched him when he fired, and the bullet whizzed past me. At the same moment I fired, but, owing to the pace he was coming, I missed. I was perfectly cool, and made up my mind not to fire until he had done so and was close on me. If I had used my sword instead of my pistol I must have killed him. Balmain had two shots at him but also missed. All this did not take half a minute, but it gave time for the Brigadier to cross the nullah, and we then rode on to the fort without interruption.’34
It was only after the officers arrived at the fort, which was held by the new Sikh levies, who were not involved i
n the outbreak, that they realised why Brind had been lagging behind: he had been mortally wounded ‘and it was only with difficulty he bore up.’35 Montgomerie, meanwhile, did not stay at the fort, and, putting his faith in the speed of his horse continued riding to Gujranwala, 33 miles away, which he reached by 9 am ‘more dead than alive’ some five hours later.36 Back in Sialkot, Lieutenant Princep was still in the lines of the 9th but found his situation becoming increasingly untenable:
‘I heard shots fired right and left; and the few men remaining not seeming much inclined to protect me, I thought it time to go too. I was then mounted on a troop-horse with my parade saddle. I galloped back to my bungalow, to try to get some powder to load my revolver from B—’s servants, having none of my own. Found that it was all locked up. I found a few grains in an old flask of mine, and loaded one of the chambers. I then went to join the Brigadier, but found that he had gone down to the fort in the city. I followed and met one of his servants, who was crying and wringing his hands, saying, “They are killing the Brigadier.” I asked which way he had gone, and, putting spurs to my horse, dashed after him.’37
Prinsep, however, found his way blocked by the same troopers who had pursued Montgomerie and Brind a little earlier:
‘About half-way between fort and cantonments I saw six troopers drawn up on the side of the road. I drew my revolver, though of no use, and there being no other escape proposed to run the gauntlet with my horse at full speed. I came opposite the first, who fired his pistol; the rest did likewise as I came opposite them, but without effect. The last gave chase, drawing his second pistol. I covered him with my revolver, which kept him off for some time, but suddenly closing in two yards he took steady aim at my head and fired. I felt as if I had been hit a severe blow with a stick on the right arm, having covered myself as well as possible with it. He gave a shout and closed; I thought it was all up with me; but, finding I could draw my sword, began to feel rather jolly again. When he came alongside I rammed it into him, but, having no strength, could only get it in about two inches into his side. He knocked it out with his pistol. I struck him again, but with like effect. He then shot ahead. I put spurs to my nag, and as I came up banged at him. He bent forward to avoid, and I only got about one inch into him, but he almost lost his seat, and pulled up. I had almost done so, too, but pushed along and he fell behind. I now thought I should reach the fort, but was disappointed. Seeing some more men ahead of me I turned to the right, and took a pull at my horse.’38
The Skull of Alum Bheg Page 14
