Complete Fictional Works of John Buchan (Illustrated)

by John Buchan

  IV

  In April the Mintos went by way of Agra, Delhi, and Dehra Dun to the North-West Frontier, and visited Peiwar Kotal and the Kurram valley, the scene of the Viceroy’s old campaign with Roberts. On this trip occurred the incident which has been narrated elsewhere.*

  * Footnote: See Chapter Three: “While riding through the village he met a tall bearded Pathan about whose appearance there was something familiar . . . . “

  In the first week of May came the news of King Edward’s death. Behind the stately memorial services there was evidence of a sincere national mourning throughout India. Thirty of the accused in the Nasik case were anxious to send a message of sympathy to Queen Alexandra, and were surprised when the prison authorities forbade it. There was a great Hindu demonstration on the Maidan at Calcutta, when the Maharaja of Darbhunga pronounced a eulogy on the dead monarch. “After all that has passed,” Minto wrote to the Secretary of State, “I am sure you will think the manifestation of feeling most remarkable — Surendra Nath Banerji, Bhupendra Nath Basu, and Moti Lai Ghose on bended knees before a picture of the King-Emperor! What an emotional people! And yet the fact that they are so ought to give us a master-key to many of the secrets of governing them.” Lord Morley’s note is worth quotation: —

  “He (King Edward), had just the character that Englishmen at any rate thoroughly understand, thoroughly like, and make any quantity of allowance for. It was odd how he had managed to combine regal dignity with bonhomie, and regard for form with entire absence of spurious pomp. As I told you, I had an audience just a week before he died, and the topic was one on which we did not take the same view. He was very much in earnest, but not for an instant did he cease to be kindly, considerate, genial, nor did he press with an atom of anything like overweening insistence. Well, he is gone. The Queen Alexandra took me to see him yesterday, and he lay as if in natural peaceful slumber, his face transfigured by the hand of kind Death into an image of what was best in him, or in any other great Prince. I had known him off and on in various relations since he was a boy at Oxford, where I was; and it was moving to see him lying there, after the curtain had fallen and the play come to an end. The part he had played was generous and high.”

  Meantime Lord Kitchener had arrived in London after an absence of eight years, and had been enthusiastically received. When he had his first interview with the King and was created a Field-Marshal, he left his baton in the hall of Buckingham Palace, and was in a great state till he discovered its whereabouts. The advent of Kitchener meant that the appointment of Minto’s successor could not long be delayed. Lord Morley records his impression of the distinguished soldier: —

  “I was a good deal astonished, for I had expected a silent, stiff, moody fellow; behold I could hardly get a word in, and he hammered away loud and strong with manly gestures and high tones. He used the warmest language, as to which I was in no need of such emphasis, about yourself; it was very agreeable to hear, you may be certain. He has the poorest opinion possible of your Council, not as an institution, but of its present members. He talked about the Partition of Bengal in a way that rather made me open my eyes; for, although he hardly went so far as to favour reversal, he was persuaded that we must do something in bringing the people of the two severed portions into some species of unity. We got on well enough — he and I — for nothing was said about his going to India. At night he dined alone with Haldane, and then he expressed his firm expectations with perfect frankness, and even a sort of vehemence. Haldane told him that the decision would be mine; whatever my decision might be, the Prime Minister would back it (though, by the way, I hear that the Prime Minister personally would be much better pleased if the lot fell upon K.). To-day I had an audience in high quarters and found the atmosphere almost torrid!”

  Minto, as we have already seen, had hoped for Kitchener as his successor, his only doubts being as to his shyness, his brusqueness, and the want of a wife. Mr. Asquith was in favour of the appointment, but Lord Morley was adamant on the ground that at that juncture a military Viceroy would be fatal. “My own mind has been clear enough for a long time, that Lord K., while he would be no bad Viceroy, and indeed from his marked personality and his fame might be an extremely good one, still would produce an impression that might easily set back the clock that you and I have with no ordinary labour and pains successfully wound up.” To this argument Minto reluctantly assented. There was much gossip, the names of Lord Selborne, the Master of Elibank, Sir George Murray, and others being tossed about by rumour. Late in June the appointment was announced of Sir Charles Hardinge, the permanent under-secretary at the Foreign Office. On 16th June Minto wrote: —

  “I cannot but feel that I am only now commencing to gain an insight into many things, and that no successor could start where I leave off. In many ways he will have to begin the game over again. But I hope the great principles for which we have fought so hard are safe. As far as I can judge, Hardinge’s appointment is excellent. I hardly know him myself, but he has a record, and his family connection with India will stand him in good stead, for the stories of British administration of old days are cherished here. Lady Hardinge, too, will, I know, play a great part in a world where a lady leader has great and growing opportunities for good.”

  Lord Morley early in the year had told Minto of his intention to leave the India Office simultaneously with Minto’s relinquishment of the Viceroyalty, and there were signs throughout the summer that the Secretary of State was beginning to bow under the burden of his work. A tartness appeared in a correspondence previously so urbane, and phrases like “grave displeasure” and “painful inadequacy” became frequent. Vexatious little incidents arose to make a rift in the harmony. There was the complaint of Mr. Ramsay Macdonald that on his Indian visit he had been shadowed and his letters tampered with; complaints decisively answered by the production of the instructions to the police that there was to be no sort of surveillance, and by the explanation that in the mail-bags in the hot weather sealing-wax was apt to melt. A more difficult matter arose in connection with the question of a new Education department. For this it was decided to appoint a member of Council from the Indian civil service, and it was therefore possible to appoint a man from home, as Lord Morley desired, to the vacant department of Commerce and Industry. He selected Mr. (afterwards Sir William) Clark, who had been Mr. Lloyd George’s secretary, and was thought well of by the future Lord Inchcape. Against Mr. Clark personally there was no word to say, but to Minto it appeared that he scarcely met the requirements of the office. “The commercial world in India,” he wrote, “wants, quite justifiably, to have an experienced representative on the Viceroy’s Council, and it will not admit that a young official from Whitehall can be in touch with its interests. Moreover, from the Viceroy’s point of view, there are even stronger reasons against such an appointment, as what he needs to assist him is not merely departmental experience, but a wide knowledge of India and its requirements. If he does not find this assistance he must assert himself and rule alone, or with the help of an inner circle of his Council, and that is not what is wanted. The Viceroy does not want a pupil, but an adviser.” But Lord Morley’s obstinacy (it was his own word) had been aroused by the newspaper clamour against Mr. Clark and what he described as the “unreasonable pretensions of the I.C.S.,” and, though shaken for a moment by the Viceroy’s disapproval, he persisted in the appointment.

  But the most serious difference between India and Whitehall was the work of Mr. Edwin Montagu, the under-secretary for India, who, in his Budget speech in the beginning of August, had this passage: —

  “The relations of the Viceroy to the Secretary of State are intimate and responsible. The act of Parliament says ‘that the Secretary of State in Council shall superintend, direct, and control all acts, operations, and concerns which in any way relate to or concern the Government and revenues of India, and all grants of salaries, gratuities or allowances, and all other payments and charges whatever out of or on the revenues of India.’ I
t will be seen how wide, how far-reaching, and how complete these powers are. Lord Morley and his Council, working through the agency of Lord Minto, have accomplished much. . . .”

  The last sentence roused a storm of criticism in India, for it asserted unequivocally that the Viceroy was merely an agent of the Secretary of State, and the Government of India a registry office. The doctrine was bad alike in constitutional law and in constitutional practice. The supreme authority of the Secretary of State was beyond doubt, but, both by statute and custom, that authority had been limited to certain definite functions. Mr. Montagu was unfortunate in his statutory citations. His quotation was from the Act of 1833, but section 39 of the same Act provided that “the superintendence, direction, and control of the whole civil and military government of all the said territories and revenues in India shall be and is hereby vested in a Governor-General and Councillors to be styled ‘The Governor-General of India in Council.” The Act which Mr. Montagu quoted described the powers of the old Board of Control, which were transferred to the Secretary of State by the Government of India Act of 1858. That Act in section 3 declared that the Secretary of State should have and perform the powers and duties which might have been held and performed by the Company and the Board of Control. What these were has been described by an authority whom Lord Morley was bound to respect. The Board of Control, said Mill, “is not so much an executive as a deliberative body. The executive government of India is, and must be, seated in India itself.” It is clear from the Act that, while the Secretary of State had full ultimate powers of supervision, their exercise was contemplated as the exception and not as the rule. As for the accepted practice, the reader may consult Chapter V. of Sir John Strachey’s great book on India. In such a case the letter of a statute is less authoritative than that customary law which has grown up out of urgent practical needs. The Viceroy was the visible ruler to millions who had never heard of the Secretary of State. To reduce him to the level of a docile agent was to strike at the root of British prestige.

  Lord Morley apologized for Mr. Montagu’s manner as “not felicitous,” but he adhered to the substance of the doctrine. Minto contented himself with a good-humoured protest, for he did not wish to mar his last weeks with a quarrel; but he regarded the matter as one of the first importance, and, had the incident occurred earlier in his term of office, he would undoubtedly have fought the fight to a finish. His views are best gathered from his personal letters to Sir Arthur Bigge (Lord Stamfordham), from one of which (July 5,1910) a long quotation is justified: —

  “What is important is the constant insistence by the S. of S. on his sole right to appoint members of Council, together with perpetual interference with the details of administration in India. By statute the members of Council are appointed by the King — and there is no mention of recommendation by either S. of S. or Viceroy. I had much correspondence about this when I first came out — my argument being that, whilst quite recognizing the S. of S. as the King’s constitutional adviser, it seemed to me reasonable to assume that it was intended that the Viceroy should be consulted as to appointments to his own Council which concerned him more than any one else, and that great weight should at any rate be given to his objections.M., on the other hand, arrogates to himself complete independence, and I am bound to say that the appointments he has made off his own bat have been most unfortunate. I have constantly felt that I must depend upon myself alone with the exception of one or two advisers I had managed to secure, and that those sent me were not only useless but mischievous. As to lieutenant-governors, they are appointed by the King on the recommendation of the Viceroy, and consequently have always been considered as the Viceroy’s appointments; but though I have succeeded in maintaining them as such, it has been after any amount of useless correspondence and often of useless objections. Besides the damage done to Indian authority by interference of this sort at home, the door is thrown open to wire-pulling in England by the friends of candidates for appointments, and the Viceroy is bound to feel that his advice is handicapped by that of personally interested and unqualified persons.

  “It seems to me that, as regards these high appointments made by the King, the position of the Viceroy is so peculiar, as being answerable for the safety and good administration of India, and that the authority of the King-Emperor is so direct towards India itself, that the King would be fully and constitutionally justified, when such appointments are submitted to him, in asking for the Viceroy’s opinion and in being largely influenced by it in his decision. As long as I am here I cannot feel justified in writing to the King about one of his own Ministers. I must serve H.M.’s Government straightforwardly, but if I had been going to stay longer I should have felt bound to ask that the position of the S. of S. towards the G. of I. should be considered. No one except those who have been behind the scenes here knows what the interference has been about every little thing. I used to imagine that the S. of S. aimed only at directing great principles of Indian policy, and that the administration of the country rested with the Government of India, but there has been interference in everything. It only results in intense worry for the Viceroy, for, do what he will, the S. of S. cannot administer India. . . . As a matter of fact, I believe I have gained my point hi everything since I have been here, but it has generally been by not losing my temper when I should have been thoroughly justified in doing so — sometimes by not answering — often by asserting myself in the most courteous language — and often by humouring the peculiar personality with whom I had to deal. Ever since I have been in India it has seemed to me of vital importance to run the ship as best I could, regardless of the inexcusable troubles hurled at me from home. . . . So I have been determined to sit tight, to say what I wanted, and to get it, without raising the personal question on my own behalf — and so far I know I have won the game — and there are only a few months more. But for the sake of the future of India things must not be allowed to go on as they are.”

  Lord Morley’s conception of his office was in the truest sense despotic — a despotism but little tempered by lip service to a Parliament which he believed he could manage. He was prepared to accept a friendly Viceroy as a junior colleague, but with these two began and ended the government of India. With Minto personally he would deal, but he jibbed at the “Governor-General in Council,” and he always tended to ignore the existence both of his own Council and of the Viceroy’s. With little talent for practical administration, and with an imperfect sense of those arcana imperii which are more potent than the text of statutes, he attempted by fits and starts the task of direct government, and only Minto’s stalwart resistance prevented disaster. But the method he followed had inevitably a malign effect upon the efficiency of the Indian Government. His policy was in the strictest sense retrograde, a relapse into bureaucratic and personal rule. His denial to the Viceroy’s Council of a voice in foreign policy led India to take too narrow a view of her imperial responsibilities; his substitution of private communications to the Viceroy for official correspondence weakened the prestige and energy of her executive officers. As has been well said, Lord Morley narrowed India’s institutions at the top while broadening them at the bottom; in the Great War she suffered the penalty of this impossible regimen, and the report of the Mesopotamia Commission is the best comment on its unwisdom.

  The series of letters to Minto which Lord Morley has printed in the second volume of his Reminiscences is a contribution to English epistolary literature which will not soon be forgotten. But it is an anthology, not the full text, and its humour and kindliness, its blend of wise saws and modern instances, its occasional pedagogic tone as if instructing a promising pupil, do not give the reader a fair conception of the relations between the two men. Some of Lord Morley’s sagest passages are, when read in conjunction with Minto’s letters which occasioned them, curiously beside the point; often his arguments are captious, the result of a misunderstanding; often they are pleas which in practice he was compelled to abandon. An innocent suggestion
that England did not readily understand Indian conditions would elicit a spirited defence of the plenary inspiration of the English people, but in a month’s time the Secretary of State would be repeating the Viceroy’s suggestion as his own considered opinion. Minto complains of parliamentary ignorance, Lord Morley replies that no King Canute can restrain the ocean, Minto rejoins that “we nowadays know of some most effective sea-walls,” and presently the Secretary of State himself adopts the attitude of a haughty Canute towards the tides of ill-informed popular opinion. In reading the full correspondence the impression grows that it was the Viceroy who from start to finish had the more consistent and considered view of Indian problems, and that by tact and patience he invariably got his way with the Secretary of State. It is difficult for a man whose chief equipment is a wide reading in the history and philosophy of politics and a long experience of party strife to keep an even keel in the yeasty seas of foreign administration, for the aphorisms of philosophy may be useless, since they can be summoned to support either of two opposite practical policies. Minto’s arguments are often met to begin with by opposition, buttressed by stately citations from the past; but in the end they are accepted and come forth eventually as the ukase of the Secretary of State, dressed in all the purple and gold of the literary graces.

  It is necessary to make this clear, for Lord Morley’s publication of one side of a correspondence may well leave a false impression. It is necessary, too, to remember that this correspondence was not always the friendly docile affair which the letters in the Reminiscences would lead one to believe. There was much stiff and strenuous argument, and much plain speaking. But it is no less necessary to emphasize the deep underlying friendliness, the fundamental respect, sympathy, even affection of the two men for each other. As Minto’s term of office drew to its close he communicates to Lord Morley his feelings as freely as he would to a brother. Though he is tired out, he hates the idea of leaving his work before it is completed.