It is interesting to see how Seaton’s own much fuller account of this incident differs in detail, if not in essence, from Walker’s:
Outside the village was a large well, shaded by a few trees, round which the men eagerly clustered to draw water and satisfy their craving thirst. As soon as all needful precautions were taken, I got some refreshment myself, and then lay down by the road-side on my horse-cloth, my officers around me. When the allotted hour had expired, I desired the adjutant [Shebbeare] to have the usual call sounded for the men to fall in. The officers at once repaired to their several posts, but the soldiers came slowly, and with apparent reluctance, many of them still lingering round the well and talking loudly to each other. I had the call repeated, and then went to the well myself to hurry the men off. I was not at all surprised at their delay, for, as there was but this one well for the whole regiment, and as the men wore their woollen coats and had a good weight to carry, the heat and dust must have made them awfully thirsty, and many would draw water twice, or even three times.
When I came near enough to be heard, I called out—‘Now, men, don’t delay; fall in quickly, and let us get this march over in the cool of the morning.’ These words were followed by perfect silence, while one of the men came up, and saluting with his musket at the old ‘Recover’, said, in an abrupt and rather rough way —
‘My lotah has fallen into the well: I want leave to stay behind to get it out.’
I had reason to suspect that this was a mere excuse to remain behind for some purpose; but, instead of refusing leave, something prompted me to say quietly (all paying great attention) —
‘What is the value of your lotah?’
‘A rupee and a half, sahib.’
‘Did you hear yesterday that the people of this country killed some of our camp followers ?’
‘Yes, Colonel Sahib.’
‘Well, don’t be so foolish as to stay behind and risk your life for this trifle. Come on into camp, and I will give you a new one. A lotah is nothing to me, but a sepoy’s life is a great deal.’
The man’s demeanour changed. After making due acknowledgements, he snapped his fingers, and called out, cheerily, ‘Come along, brothers, you hear what the Colonel Sahib says—fall in quickly.’
In five minutes we were off. My reflections at the moment were that a few kind words and a little sympathy will have their effect even on these disaffected men; and I thought no more of the matter. (S)
Later, on reaching Delhi, a Sikh servant told him that the whole business had been stage-managed by the men of the Grenadier Company, and that had he been high-handed with the sepoy with the ‘lost’ lotah he would have been shot by him, as his musket was loaded.
While on the march to Rohtuck we struck on a road on which a mutinied regiment, The Hurrianah Light Infantry, had just marched en route for Delhi. So eager were they to get out of the way, luckily for us, that they left a quantity of their baggage at the crossroads. Our colonel halted us, and explained to the men that as this was the property of murderers and mutineers they might help themselves to it. Not a thing was touched, which we looked upon as a bad sign. (W)
Again, Seaton’s account differs slightly in detail.
We reached Rohtuck at sunrise, and found that the Hurrianah Light Infantry had passed through the day before, marching rapidly on Delhi. They had not only abandoned some carts and baggage, but had also left behind some women — circumstances which showed they were in desperate haste. Several dead bodies lay extended on the road, apparently sepoys; but I could gain no reliable information regarding them, excepting they were not natives of Rohtuck. The people of the town said that there had been a dispute about division of plunder, which was not at all unlikely. (S)
There is no mention of the offer to the men to help themselves to the baggage!
The regiment camped in the grounds of the government offices, which had been ransacked and burnt by the rebels, and for three days, apart from enduring the heat and discomfort, little of note occurred.
On 4 June another incident took place, about which Seaton and Walker’s accounts are at some variance, but one might incline towards the Colonel’s recollection as being the more reliable.
On the 4th June I was in the mess-tent writing to the adjutant-general, to whom I was reporting the hopeless state of the regiment, which I said it would be impossible to keep together unless I could get information that Delhi was taken, or that we had been successful in some engagement against the rebels, when the adjutant came in and said, ‘Colonel, I wish particularly to speak to you.’
It was close on 5 pm; and as several officers were in the tent, I went outside with the adjutant.
‘Well, Shebbeare, what is it?’
‘Why, Colonel, I have just heard from two of our drummers, who have their information from particular friends amongst the men, that the regiment is to mutiny tonight, murder the officers, and be off to Delhi.’ (I quote his words exactly)
Although I had it constantly in mind that this catastrophe would surely overtake us, it was startling enough to hear it was so close at hand. And now that the difficulty stared me in the face, how, with this small body of officers, in the midst of a wild country, and surrounded by an inimical population, was I to meet and grapple with reckless and determined mutineers? It was not to be put off or evaded, had we wished it ever so much. But as this was not the time to flinch or show indecision, making up my mind, I said —
‘Well, Shebbeare, let me see the men. I’ll make a few inquiries first. I will go to the hospital; do you lounge out that way, and let the drummers go round.’ As I had been accustomed to visit the hospital about this hour, my going there would excite no suspicion.
In a few minutes I had obtained the information I desired, and found it to be too true that an outbreak was planned for that night. Meanwhile, as the adjutant was looking anxiously at me, I addressed him with these words —
‘Now, Shebbeare, will you stand by me?’
‘Yes, Colonel,’ replied the gallant fellow, ‘that I will.’
‘Very well; now I’ll tell you what I propose to do. In half an hour the men will all assemble in front of their tents for evening roll-call. I will go on parade; and, as there is nothing like facing a difficulty, I’ll tax them with their intended outbreak, and we will see what they will do. Tell the officers to look out.’
Accordingly, at sunset I went on parade, assembled the native commissioned and non-commissioned officers in front, at some distance from their respective companies, and taxed them with their intended treachery. As I had expected, the sepoys were utterly confounded when they became aware that their atrocious plot was discovered, and that we had been able to anticipate them. In their confusion, they flatly denied the intended treachery, and swore by all their gods, and by all they held sacred, that they would be ‘faithful to their salt’, and that no harm would happen to us. The native officers then begged permission to appoint a guard of their own selection to keep watch in the camp at night, as there ‘might be some badmashes in the regiment who had entertained the idea of treachery, and it would be as well to guard against it’. I acquiesced in this proposal, though it was a dangerous experiment; but as we were entirely in their hands I thought the best thing we could do was to show, however uneasy we really might be, that we had no fear of them. We felt, indeed, that our only chance of safety was to take things coolly, still seeming to trust the men, and to humour them as much as possible, keeping at the same time a sharp look-out . . .
Whilst taxing the native officers with their intended treachery, the men of the different companies were looking on — they were too far off to hear, but they seemed to take their cue from the native officers, who were quiet and very respectful. The European officers, who were also looking on, to my great relief wisely kept at a distance; so that, had anything happened to Shebbeare and myself, they would have had time to escape. Leaving the circle of native officers, I went to each of the companies in succession, and met with the same protes
tations and vows of fidelity from all, which I took at their proper value — a delay of two or three days, as circumstances might turn out.
As I came from parade after this trying scene, the officers inquired anxiously, ‘What is it, colonel — is it all right?’
‘Oh, yes,’ I replied, as cheerfully as I could; ‘I think our throats are safe for tonight, and you may turn in without fear.’
But, though I endeavoured to keep a calm exterior, my mind was anything but at ease, for until I had seen the guard that was to be selected by the native officers, and questioned the adjutant about the men composing it, I could not tell whether they were intended to be our protectors or our executioners! When I saw that the guard and the adjutant had looked through the ranks, I felt more at ease for the night, but my anxiety continued no less for what the coming day might bring forth.
The next and the following days, however, passed quietly enough, but in hourly expectation on our part of news from the force. The regiment meanwhile was so quiet, that I began to hope that the anticipated outbreak would still be delayed for a few days longer, by which time we should surely hear that Delhi had been taken, when all fear of mutiny would be at an end. (S)
In Walker’s version of this, his own role is given some prominence:
One day the subadar-major, the senior officer [there were twenty in all], reported to Colonel Seaton that the men intended to mutiny that night and murder the officers, but that there were a number of faithful men who would try and prevent it. The colonel called us all up, and informed us of what had been reported to him. He concluded by saying, ‘Now, gentlemen, what do you intend or wish to do?’
‘Stick to you, sir,’ replied one and all in a breath.
‘I shall stick to the regiment as long as feasible,’ said the colonel. He then asked who was the orderly officer of the day. I replied that I was. He ordered me at once to visit the guards. I did so and found several men absent from their guards, it being about dusk. I reported this, and ordered the sergeant-major to send other men to replace the absentees.
On returning to my tent, I found my servant taking my bed over the doctor’s tent, the largest in camp. On going over there, I found all the officers, except the colonel and Shebbeare the adjutant, assembled, their beds also having been brought there. It was for mutual protection and defence, and would enable us to make a good fight if attacked. Shebbeare and the colonel were going to sleep in the latter’s tent just opposite. (W)
The situation regarding the supply of beer and wine was indeed dire, as Robert Shebbeare mentions. Walker notes that the Abdar (man in charge of the drinks) reported that there was only one bottle of beer left. This was put up for auction and amidst much good humour was bought by the doctor, Surgeon-Major Keates, for six rupees — twelve shillings in those days, which was a lot of money!
The actual mutiny of the 60th took place on 10 June (Walker says the 8th, Robert Shebbeare the 9th). From the accounts of Seaton and Walker we get a good idea of the adventures of the two groups of officers which left Rohtuck separately for Delhi. Colonel Seaton’s account is reproduced in its entirety, as it casts a lot of light on the conduct of Robert Shebbeare during this episode.
The night of the 9th passed off quietly enough. In the morning I could detect nothing suspicious in camp, or in the countenance or bearing of the men; they were civil and respectful to me personally, as, indeed, they had been throughout, and everything was going on as usual in the line.
Five of the young officers of the regiment made arrangements for going out shooting in the afternoon, and as all seemed quiet, I had no objection. The forenoon passed, and, after luncheon, I sat down to write some letters.
At 4 pm, when I was in the usual hot weather deshabille shirt, loose white cotton drawers, shoes, and stockings, all at once I was startled by a loud explosion, like that of a musket bursting. My first idea was that some accident had happened to one of the young officers who had proposed going out shooting; so, with my pen in my hand, I ran out to see what was the matter, or if anyone was hurt. I could neither hear nor see anything extraordinary; no crowd was assembled anywhere; there were no officers about; not a sound was to be heard; the men were mostly lying down, sleeping after their day’s meal; and a few were still cooking or eating. I then went through the centre of the camp towards the cause of the explosion. I could just see the arm-racks in front of the two centre companies, when the havildar-major [native sergeant-major], and several of the sepoys, came rushing up to me. The former, catching me in his arms, said, hurriedly, and with a very agitated voice —
‘Colonel, Sahib, don’t go to the front.’
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘The grenadiers are accoutring themselves.’
‘Accoutring themselves!’ I said. ‘By whose order?’
‘Biggur-geea our kya.’ (They have mutinied; what more can be said?)
The hour for which I had trembled had come at last! I instantly called out for the native officers, especially for one Gungah Persaud, who had been profuse in his vows and protestations, but not one was forthcoming. I then saw that the game was up. The grenadiers, warned by their late failure, had conducted matters so secretly that no intimation of their design had been allowed to ooze out. They had chosen the hour when they knew that most of the sepoys, drowsy after their midday meal, would be asleep in their tents, and they had quietly and silently got together and accoutred themselves in their tent, so that no one might see them. They knew that if muskets were once discharged in mutiny, fear of the consequences would draw nine-tenths of the men into the vortex.
I tried in vain to collect one or two of the native officers. Not one of them answered my appeal. The havildar-major and the sepoys continued to entreat me to be off whilst there was time; so I turned and went towards my tent, and sitting down on the steps of a bungalow close by, I put on a pair of corduroy trousers my servants had brought me. In the meantime our grooms were saddling our horses; some of the officers had already ridden off, and others were preparing to follow, when the sergeant-major rushed past me. A dozen musket-shots were fired at him from the right of the tents, and immediately the whole body of the grenadiers burst out of their tent, firing their muskets as they ran towards us, and shouting with all their might, to rouse the regiment and hurry it into mutiny. In an instant all was confusion. The sleeping men, roused by the unusual noise, started up and stared stupidly about them. Some of them ran into their tents, many to their arms, but not one of the native officers could I see; they all kept out of the way, whether from shame or cowardice I cannot say. The hubbub increased every moment. The shouts of the officers for their grooms and servants, the cries of terror from the camp-followers — some of them were wounded — the galloping of horses, the rush of the people to get out of the way, the fierce shouts of the mutineers, the sharp and frequent reports of the muskets, and the whiz of the balls, may be better imagined than I can describe them.
The sergeant-major was wounded, but Dr Keates took the man up into his dog-cart and drove off at a gallop, in the midst of a shower of bullets and imprecations, for the sergeant was thoroughly hated. In the meantime I rushed into my tent, snatched up my watch and keys, thrust them hurriedly into the breast of my shirt, jumped on my horse and rode off. I had not time to take my sword, for the mutineers were within ten paces of me. The delay of a second more and I might have been bayoneted. Fortunately, the nearest mutineers had discharged their muskets, and, though many were reloading, I managed to escape. I had got a few seconds’ start, and in a melee like this a second makes the difference between life and eternity.
I was immediately joined by Lieutenant Shebbeare, and we rode off together. Just outside the camp we overtook Major R. Drought, who was walking, as he had been unable to get on his horse. Shebbeare instantly exclaimed, ‘Colonel, the poor old fellow will be murdered. I’ll put him on my horse and run for it.’ It was a noble and heroic act, and deserves to be recorded.
The major was mounted in all haste and started
off, for the musket-balls were now flying pretty sharply about our ears, and the servants and camp-followers were calling out for me to ride for my life.
‘Now, Shebbeare,’ I said, ‘we will ride and die.’
‘No, Colonel, I will not; I am young and strong, and I can run.’
‘Very well, then, we will keep together.’
So, making him get on the lee side of my horse, he laid hold of the stirrup, and I went off at a round canter. We went on like this for some four hundred yards, when Shebbeare got blown, for he was of a stout habit of body, and unaccustomed to running. So we pulled up and walked quietly along, the mutineers making no attempt to follow us, and their shots now flying wide.
At about eight hundred yards from camp, the road made a slight bend to the left, and the elbow shut out the view of the camp. Here we found the officers assembled, waiting for any who might escape, and hoping that some of the better-disposed sepoys might join them. But the mutineers had provided against this, and had planted a line of sentries along the rear of the camp, to prevent even our servants from accompanying us. One man alone got away, I think his name was Laik Sing; and subsequently half a dozen joined us at camp in Delhi.
The only wounded person was the sergeant-major; the officers were all unhurt. But where, all this time, were our five young comrades who had gone out shooting? What should be done about them? We could not allow them to return to camp, to be murdered, without an attempt to save them; so we moved off the road onto the plain, in sight of the camp, to a spot where we could see through an opening between the camp and the jungle where they had gone to shoot. Thus, when they returned, we should be sure to see them, and one of us would immediately gallop forward, give them timely warning, and bring them off.
Indian Mutiny and Beyond Page 6
