With his path to the safety of the fort cut off, Princep set out for Wazirabad. Despite his wounds, he managed to reach it safely later that morning and eventually joined Montgomerie at Gujranwala later that evening.
From the lines of the 9th BLC, on the western side of the cantonment, the unrest spread to the 46th BNI, whose quarters were right in the middle on the northern side. In the official report, Colonel Farquharson described the moment he and the other officers lost control:
‘It appears that early on that morning a few troopers came to the light company of the 46th N.I. and the whole of the left wing soon rose and armed themselves, as did also the right wing after some hesitation. Most of the officers were by this time on the parade, but their endeavours to check the men were unavailing.’39
The sepoys had already been in a state of excitement, but the arrival of the sowars seemed to decide the matter: ‘The men asked permission to get to their arms to keep our troopers off’, one officer recorded, but ‘As soon as they obtained it they rushed to their lines, instead of to the places where the arms are usually kept, and then came out and began firing at their officers.’40 One officer of the 46th had run down to the lines of the sepoys, dodging the groups of mounted sowars who were sweeping through the cantonment:
‘In a short time I was joined by some more officers and the Colonel. We tried to reassure the men, and gave them order to take their arms and fire on the cavalry’ instead of firing on the cavalry, they fired on us. A Sepoy of my regiment seized the bridle of a brother officer’s (Smith’s) horse, and led him under shelter, telling him to gallop for his life; he started off immediately, followed by Horsford, another of ours, and I came last. In passing a side street I was fired at, but most providentially missed; the ball passed close to my nose.’41
This officer also relied on his horse to carry him to safety at Wazirabad. What was remarkable was that even though Alum Bheg and the sepoys of the 46th were disobeying their officers, and for all intents and purposes breaking out in mutiny, they did not actually attack their officers. These officers were completely outnumbered and could easily have been overpowered, as happened in many other instances during the uprising. Instead, it seemed as if Alum Bheg and the sepoys were throwing off allegiance to the East India Company, but without the usual accompanying violence against their officers to mark this dramatic shift in loyalty. Even as Alum Bheg and his men were abandoning their loyalty to the British, they did not completely sever the relationship between officers and subalterns.
This bond was to be demonstrated in even more remarkable ways. After most of the officers of the 46th had either escaped on their own, or been led to safety by sepoys, the regimental commander, Colonel Farquharson, along with Captain G. Caulfield, remained at the quarter guard of the grenadier company. Caulfield’s wife described her husband’s peculiar situation as he remained in the lines of a regiment, which had ostensibly cast off its loyalty to the British:
‘The grenadier company would not let C—go, but forced him into the Kote havildar’s hut,42 declaring he would be killed by some of the excited Sepoys, and promising to escort him to the fort in the evening if he would trust them. He remained, for he had no choice, as the work of devastation was going on everywhere; and presently the colonel and sergeant-major were brought in. The men were of his own company, and were kind, even carrying their kindness to the length of offering him 1,000r. a month, and the colonel 2,000r., if they would accompany and command them!’43
The sepoys, in other words, offered employment to their officers ‘if they would remain with them and lead them to Delhi against the English.’44 Farquharson and Caulfield were furthermore promised ‘six months leave in the hills every hot weather, and only to be stationed in the best Cantonments once the English had been defeated.’45 This peculiar offer is highly revealing in terms of how Alum Bheg and the other sepoys of the 46th perceived the struggle they were caught up in. This was evidently not a conflict determined simply by race or religion, and the sepoys perceived their officers as essentially mercenary in nature. The political vision of the sepoys, if it can be described as such, was moreover one that did not preclude them being commanded by British officers after the uprising, and where British officers could still retreat to comfortable hill-stations in the summer. Tellingly, the conditions that Alum Bheg and the others imagined after 1857, did not seem that different from what they had been under British rule. Despite their situation, Farquharson and Campbell politely turned down the generous offer and the sepoys seemingly accepted their decision. The wife of the quartermaster sergeant had also been brought to the quarter guard, and she was sitting and weeping by herself:
‘The havildar in charge of the guard came forward and asked her what was the matter; to which she replied that though they had saved her life, she was penniless as everything had been left behind in her bungalow. The havildar at once got some men together, and with fixed bayonets marched her back through the Cantonment to her house, where she was given time to collect her cash and other valuables. They then returned to the quarter-guard.’46
Although the power dynamics of the colonial state were rapidly collapsing, some bonds evidently remained intact. Caulfield, for instance, sent his wife to the fort accompanied only by a trusted sepoy, Maharaj Missur, while he himself went to the lines of the 46th. Later in the day, the dobee, or washerman, of the Caulfield household, also served as a go-between, carrying messages between the worrying wife in the fort, and her husband in the sepoy lines.47 Some personal relationships, in other words, were unaltered by the mutiny and general breakdown of colonial order. These expressions of affection between the British officers and their men were later to raise questions as to why British officers had not warned the civilians at the stations about the impending outbreak. The mother of Thomas Watson, an artillery officer at Sialkot, wrote to her son on this matter: ‘While you were soundly sleeping on your bed…Captain Caulfield was protected by the men; while your property was destroyed, his was untouched. With an almost Indian wife it was far more likely that he had intimation than you had but we know no-body had warning given him.’48 Caulfield’s wife was probably half-Indian, and during the crisis of 1857, that was enough to make the sepoy’s protection of him seem somewhat suspicious.
The ethnic background of Caulfield’s wife, however, had little to do with the way the Indian troops treated their officers, and in the cavalry lines, where the outbreak had originated, a similar scene played out. At 5am, Colonel Campbell, the commander of the 9th BLC, and his wife had been woken up by loyal sowars who came to warn them of the outbreak. The two quickly got dressed and made their way to the Brigadier’s house. During their approach, they saw Brind and the other officers in headlong flight, being chased by a group of sowars who were firing their pistols. Campbell’s wife described what happened next:
‘We immediately rushed into the mess-house and out at the back door, which is opposite the cavalry lines, when troopers met us, and said they would not kill my husband, and begged us to go with them and they would try and save us. I thought every moment would be our last. Oh! the expression of their faces was awful to behold. Two of them hid us in a mud hut of a native officer, when in a minute the door was surrounded by the soldiers demanding us. L.49 kept out of sight, and held his revolver ready to fire at them when the men who protected us said “It is the Colonel and his wife; don’t kill them.” They said, “we will not kill the Colonel if he comes out;” so we were obliged to go out among them, and they declared if we would follow them to the quarter-guard that they would protect us from the infantry and police. How can I describe our feelings—running along among horses’ feet, and the men firing at all Europeans! We got into the quarter-guard, and I saw five or six police at the door, and when they saw me sitting on a charpoy, they waved about their swords and wanted to get at me, but the troopers kept them off, and said “The Colonel and his wife are to be saved, as he has always been kind to us.”’50
In the lines of both the 9t
h and of the 46th, British officers and their wives were protected by the very Indian soldiers who had cast off their allegiance to the rule of the East Indian Company. But it would be a mistake to assume that the mutiny at Sialkot was characterised only by the bonds of friendship and loyalty—as indeed the attacks on Brigadier Brind and other officers had shown. As Mrs Campbell and her husband were sitting in the quarter guard, with nothing to do but wonder about their fate, and with men running to and fro and shots going off in all directions, a distraught Sarah Graham was brought in by a pair of troopers.
Early that morning, at the palatial Graham residence, the neighbours, Dr Guise and Mr Smith, had rushed over to warn the doctor of the outbreak. Dr Graham was already up and getting dressed but Sarah was still in bed. Since she had only just recovered from her fever, her father did not want to alarm Sarah and merely told her it was time for their morning ride. As she was slowly getting ready, her father calmly prepared for their departure. ‘The Doctor was perhaps too much averse to either taking or giving alarm’, Gordon noted, ‘and there was no hurry in their movements.’51 Waiting on the veranda, Dr Guise and Mr Smith were now getting increasingly nervous about the delay and hearing shots being fired in the sepoy lines close by, they decided to make a run for it on their own. Guise started off on foot but was soon picked up by Smith, who had fetched his buggy, and together they hastened through the Sudder Bazaar and along the road down the eastern side of the city. They could see sowars riding through the cantonment behind them and drove furiously until they reached the bridge at the intersection of the roads to Gurdaspur and Pasrur, on the south-eastern corner of the city. Smith had thought of continuing towards Lahore, but Guise disagreed—an exchange later described by Gordon:
‘“No,” said the Doctor, “there is danger of the villagers rising, and danger from sunstroke, if we should drive out into the country; let us turn back to the fort.”
“Perhaps we may not be able to get through the city,” said Smith; “a mile through the public streets is very hazardous; but I’ll try it, Doctor, if you say so.”
The Doctor began to doubt, and hesitatingly inquired: “But can you guarantee that the people of the city have not risen?”
“Guarantee?” said Smith. “No, I can’t guarantee anything just now.” Then, turning the horse, they dashed through the narrow streets of the city, and finding themselves still alive on reaching the fort entrance, they dropped the reins, leaped from the buggy, and passed inside the massive gates.’52
As Guise and Smith made it to safety, and with the mutiny in full swing a few hundred feet away, Dr Graham was still trying to gently nudge his daughter out the door without raising her suspicions. Having called for servants to prepare their buggy, Dr Graham and Sarah finally left the house and drove westwards, to the end of the cantonment and then turned south along the main Pucka Road. A little past Brigadier Brind’s house, which now stood empty, Sarah noticed sowars galloping off to the right near the jail and started getting nervous:
‘“I fear,” said she, “the Sepoys have mutinied.”
“O, no,” replied her father, endeavouring to quiet her fears.
“But do you see those sowars coming across the race-course?”
“Yes, my child, but do not feel alarmed; they have been at the riding-school, and are returning.”
“But, papa, dear, that is not the place for the riding-school; and I see two of them coming in this direction. Oh, I am so much afraid! See! They are coming at a gallop, and coming straight towards us.”’53
Dr Graham, however, continued to drive on at a leisurely pace in the direction of the fort. The approaching sowars at first appeared to be veering off toward the cantonment, and for a moment it seemed as if they would pass by the buggy. On reaching the road, however, they suddenly turned round, and riding up close, one of them shot Dr Graham in the back of the head with a pistol.54 According to Gordon’s account, ‘The wound was mortal, and he sank heavily against his terror-stricken daughter, in a dying condition. Miss Graham seized the reins and endeavoured to support her dying father as well as she was able, whilst his life-blood flowed fast, and the frantic horse ran back into the cantonments, not coming to a halt until after reaching the compound of the Gen. Hearsey’s house.’55
General Hearsey’s house was a massive Georgian house, even grander and more imposing than the Graham residence, which stood in a large park-like garden with several outbuildings and servant’s quarters, in the western end of the cantonment, and a stone’s throw from the Brigadier’s bungalow. At the time, the house was occupied by Dr J.H. Butler and Captain J. B. Saunders, medical officer and quartermaster, both of whom belonged to the 9th BLC. Along with their wives, children, nannies and servants, more than a dozen people were gathered at the house. Like so many others, Butler had been woken up early that morning by a servant who came rushing into his bedroom, calling out: ‘sahib, sahib! Jildee utho sowar log bundook chalata, aur pultun bigra hai [‘Sir, Sir! Quickly those troopers are firing carbines, and the troop has become disaffected’].’56 Butler immediately roused his family and Captain Saunders armed himself with a revolver and went out on the veranda, from where much of the Pucka road was visible. Here he ‘saw several sowars riding about, some leisurely, others furiously, and heard pistol shots in several places.’57 The families had already planned what to do in the event of an outbreak and prepared their carriages, packing only a few spare items to take with them. Before leaving, however, Saunders rode down to the mess of the 9th BLC. Upon passing three sowars on the road outside, he asked them what was going on, but they simply responded ‘bag jao’—‘run away’.58 The sowars continued and stopped outside the compound of the Hearsey house and after a minute’s discussion, turned around and headed for the lines of the 46th, as did several other parties of cavalrymen. Butler was still standing on the veranda, trying to gauge the situation:
‘About half an hour elapsed from the time I came out to the moment when things had progressed so far—a pistol shot was heard to our extreme left, when some of our servants (most of whom were congregated in one part of the house) said, there is the Doctor Sahib’s buggy coming. I looked in that direction and saw Miss Graham coming in the buggy apparently alone, screaming and crying most piteously. I helped her alight, the pistol shot I had heard was fired by a trooper (she afterwards told me) who rode after them, passed her side of the buggy, and went round to her poor father’s and shot him. She told me the sowars had possession of the bridge along the road to the fort. I assisted in taking her father’s body out of the buggy, and had it placed in one of the verandahs of the servant’s houses, and then we determined upon not venturing out in that direction and knew not, in fact, what to do.’59
By now, they had now all but given up the plan of trying to leave the house, and Sarah’s story showed just how dangerous it would be to venture out on the road. In the event of an outbreak, Butler had anticipated that the mounted police would be deployed to guide people in the cantonment to the safety of the fort, and he kept waiting for this escort—which, as it turned out, never came. In a later letter, Butler put this down to the fact that the mounted police and the sowars of the 9th cavalry had been allowed to fraternise.60 So far, none of the sowars had taken any notice of Butler and the others, but that was about to change as Saunders suddenly returned, with several sowars in hot pursuit. When he entered the compound, Saunders was riding so fast that the horse did not stop outside, but barged through the front door and entered the house with the officer still on its back.61 The pursuing sowars did not approach the house just then, although one of them did ride up and, pointing his carbine at the servants, told them to leave if they valued their lives. He also directed the coachman to take the carriages to the lines, definitively ruling out the chance of the families escaping. Butler and the other Europeans, including Sarah Graham, were now convinced by the servants to go back into the house and shut the doors, since sowars were bringing sepoys of the 46th down to the house.
Just as the
Indian troops were favourably disposed to some of their officers, they also harboured an intense dislike of others, and Saunders was one of them. We do not know exactly why the sowars bore such ill-will towards their quartermaster, but Butler did state that ‘the mutineers had vowed to take Saunders’ life for the part he played in the Moonshee case.’62 Apart from this cryptic allusion, we have no further details about the ‘Moonshee case’. The regimental munshi, or clerk, whom this presumably referred to, was responsible for paying the soldiers their salaries, paying out advances and keeping the books for the regiment.63 As quartermaster, Saunders would have played an important role in the day-to-day administration of regimental affairs and he may have been responsible for the dismissal of a well-loved munshi, or possibly have protected a munshi perceived by the troops to be corrupt. Whatever the case might have been, it seems clear that Saunders was one of the officers on the sowar’s kill-list. Now that he was hiding in the Hearsey house along with Sarah Graham, Butler and all the women and children, his presence put everyone at risk. What is particularly noteworthy, is how organised the hunt for Saunders was. Butler described how ten minutes after the sowar had entered the compound and threatened the servants, a party of sepoys of the 46th arrived, ‘brought up by the sound of the bugle, to do their bloody work.’64 The actions of the sepoys who put their lives on the line to protect those officers they respected, was mirrored by the persistence and commitment to hunt down those against whom they held a grudge.
The Skull of Alum Bheg Page 15
