Thus far Harlan's story rests largely on a biographical sketch by the missionary, Dr Joseph Wolff; they met briefly during Harlan's governorship of Gujerat, but Wolff (who of course never had the advantage of reading the present packet of the Flashman Papers) confesses that he knows nothing of the American after 1839. In fact, Harlan returned to the U.S. in 1841, married in 1849, raised Harlan's Light Horse for the Union in the Civil War, was invalided out, and ended his days practising medicine in San Francisco; obviously he must have revisited the Punjab in the 1840s, when Flashman knew him. Of his appearance and character other contemporaries tell us little; Dr Wolff describes "a fine tall gentleman" given to whistling "Yankee Doodle", and found him affable and engaging. Gardner mentions meeting him at Gujerat in the 1830s, but speaks no ill of him at that time.
His biographer, Dr Joseph Wolff, D.D., LL.D (1795-1862), was a scholar, traveller, and linguist whose adventures were even more eccentric than Harlan's. Known as "the Christian Dervish", and "the Protestant Xavier", he was born in Germany, the son of a Jewish rabbi, and during his "extraordinary nomadic career" converted to Christianity, was expelled from Rome for questioning Papal infallibility, scoured the Middle and Far East in search of the Lost Tribes of Israel, preached Christianity in Jerusalem, was shipwrecked in Cephalonia, captured by Central Asian slave-traders (who priced him at only Ł2.50, much to his annoyance), and walked 600 miles through Afghanistan "in a state of nudity", according to the Dictionary of National Biography. He made a daring return to Afghanistan in search of the missing British agents, Stoddart and Connolly, and narrowly escaped death at the hands of their executioner. At other times Dr Wolff preached to the U.S. Congress, was a deacon in New Jersey, an Anglican priest in Ireland, and finally became vicar of a parish in Somerset. As Flashman has remarked, there were some odd fellows about in the earlies. (See Gardner; The Travels and Adventures of Dr Wolff (1860); Dictionary of American Biography; D.N.B.)
24. Flashman's is by far the fullest of the many descriptions of the murder of Jawaheer Singh on the 6th of Assin (September 21), 1845. He differs from other versions only in minor details: obviously he was unaware that two of the Wazir's attendants were also killed, and that for a time Dalip Singh was a prisoner of the troops. But his description of the Rani's reaction, while more graphic in detail, is borne out by other writers, who testify to her hysteria and threats of vengeance. (It has been suggested that she was a party to her brother's death, but this seems most improbable, although on one occasion she had contemplated his arrest.) That Jawaheer knew of his peril is certain; he had, as Flashman says, attempted to buy his security on the previous evening, but on the fatal day he seems to have believed that he would escape with his life. In fact, he was foredoomed, not only because of Peshora Singh's death, but (according to Cunningham) because the Khalsa believed he would "bring in the British". (See Cunningham, Carmichael Smyth, Khushwant Singh, Gardner, and others.)
At first glance, Flashman's comparison of Jeendan to Clytemnestra would seem to refer to the Hon. J. Collier's celebrated painting of Agamemnon's queen, but this cannot be the case. Flashman wrote the present memoir before 1902—so much is clear from his noting on p. 20 that it was written before his Borneo adventure, which he set down in or soon after that year. Since Collier's painting was not exhibited until the Royal Academy of 1914, Flashman must be refer-ring to some earlier, as yet unidentified, painting of Clytemnestra.
25. Confirmation of the details of this deplorable episode is to be found in Carmichael Smyth.
26. Flashman's detailed eye-witness account of this durbar can-not be confirmed in all its particulars, but its substance is to be found in other authorities, including such contemporaries as Broadfoot and Carmichael Smyth. Jeendan plainly knew how to manage her troops, whether by overawing them with royal dignity, or captivating them by appearing unveiled and dressed as a dancing-girl. Carmichael Smyth describes her initial refusal to listen to their entreaties after Jawaheer's death, her dictation of terms at the Summum Boorj, her insistence on Lal Singh as Wazir rather than Goolab, and her dispersal of the Khalsa on the understanding that she would soon launch it across the Sutlej. Broadfoot's account, quoting Nicolson, speaks for itself:
Court's brigade was in favour of making Raja Gulab Singh minister; the other brigades seemed disposed to support the Rani, who behaved at this crisis with great courage. Sometimes as many as two thousand of these reckless and insubordinate soldiers would attend the Darbar at one time. `The Ranee, against the remonstrances of the chiefs, receives them unveiled, with which they are so charmed that even Court's brigade agreed to confirm her in the government if she would move to their camp and let them see her unveiled whenever they thought proper.' These strange disorderly ruffians, even when under the direct influence of her great beauty and personal attractions, reproved her for her unconcealed misconduct with Raja Lal Singh, and recommended her, as she seemed to dislike solitude, to marry; they told her she might select whom she pleased out of three classes, namely, chiefs, akalis, or wise men. She adopted a bold tone with the troops, and not only reproached them, but abused them in the grossest language, whilst they listened with pretended humility.
27. Flashman is consistently vague about dates, and does nothing to clear up the longstanding mystery of when exactly the Sikhs invaded across the Sutlej. December 11 is the favourite date, but estimates by both British and Indian historians vary from the 8th to the 15th. Sir Henry Hardinge formally declared war on the 13th, and as Khushwant Singh points out, this almost certainly followed the crossing of the first Sikh units; the whole operation must have taken some days. Nicolson, at Ferozepore, says the invasion began on the 11th; Abbott, however, is definite that Broadfoot received word of it on the morning of the 10th.
28. If Flashman were not so positive, one might be tempted to regard this reference to "Drink, puppy, drink" as another misplaced musical memory; elsewhere in the Papers he occasionally errs in "remembering" tunes (e.g. "The Gal-loping Major", "Old Folks at Home") before they have been written. At first sight, "Drink, puppy, drink" and "The Tarpaulin Jacket", which he quotes on p. 233, look like similar cases of faulty recollection; both were written by Flashman's fellow-officer, George Whyte-Melville (1821-78), none of whose writings appear to have been published before his first retirement from the Army in 1849. So how can Flashman have known them in 1845, and be so sure of "Drink, puppy, drink" that he refers to it no fewer than three times in his memoirs of that year?
There is a plausible explanation. Although no reference to Whyte-Melville has yet appeared in The Flashman Papers, it is quite possible that they met as early as their first year in the Army, when Flashman was stationed at Glasgow and Whyte-Melville was a subaltern in the 93rd (later Argyll, and Sutherland) Highlanders. In such a small society it would be strange if two young men with so much in common did not come together: they were the sons of landed gentlemen who had married into the aristocracy, were both outstanding horsemen, keen sportsmen, and popular convivialists, and may even have discovered a bond of suffering from their schooldays (Flashman at Arnold's Rugby, Whyte-Melville at Eton under the notorious Keate). And when it is remembered that Whyte-Melville's considerable literary talent was of that precocious, carefree kind which may be called amateur in the true sense (in later life he gave all his royalties to establishing reading-rooms for stable boys, and similar charities), it seems quite probable that such songs as "Drink, puppy, drink" were being sung in messes and clubs long before their genial author had even thought of looking for a publisher.
An interesting discovery, from Flashman's dungeon ordeal, is that in roasting Tom Brown so memorably before the schoolroom fire at Rugby (see Tom Brown's Schooldays), he was simply passing on a lesson learned from the deplorable Dawson, to whom he also refers in Flashman in the Great Game.
29. How many Sikhs crossed the Sutlej it is impossible to say, far less how many were in the field on both sides of the river. Flashman's.eventual figure of 50,000 may not be far out, but it can be regar
ded as a maximum; Cunningham's estimate is 35,000-40,000, plus another force of unspecified size advancing on Ludhiana. Against this Gough had about 30,000 at most, but only 22,000 of these were on or near the frontier, and they were widely dispersed. The Khalsa, according to Cunningham, had a superiority of almost two to one in artillery.
30. Lal Singh did send this note to Peter Nicolson, word for word except that where Flashman gives "Khalsa" Lal wrote "Sikh army". He also informed Nicolson of Jeendan's friendship, with the hope that the British would "cut up" the invaders. Nicolson's reply was that Lal should not attack Ferozepore, but delay and march to meet the British—thus confirming what Flashman had already told the Wazir. These proofs of treachery by the Khalsa's own leaders were not published immediately, as a result of Nicolson's death, but Dr M'Gregor, writing within a year of the event, obviously knew the truth: having pointed out that a leader like Runjeet Singh would have caused as much havoc as possible by burning and sacking on a wide front, he adds: "We are almost tempted to believe that the Sikh leaders wished to keep their troops together, in order that the British might have a full and fair opportunity of destroying them!" In 1849 Cunningham was stating bluntly that the object of the Sikh leaders was "to get their own troops dispersed by the [British]". He knew of Lal's correspondence with Nicolson, but not the details. In the light of what these two respected historians wrote at the time, it is remarkable to find William Broadfoot, forty years later, disputing the charge of treachery against Lal and Tej. Nor was he alone; at least one other British historian discounted it. If, in the light of the evidence available, any doubt remained, Flashman has surely dispelled it. (See Cunningham, Khushwant Singh, M'Gregor, Broadfoot, and Herbert Compton, "Mudki and Firozshah", in Battles of the Nineteenth Century (1896))
31. Flashman's memory is almost certainly at fault. Lieut.-Col. Huthwaite may well have been able to tell which guns were being used, but the British howitzers did not arrive at Mudki until the following day. (See Fortescue.)
32. A fair judgment, and Flashman had cause to be pleased with his strategy, for although the British force was only slightly larger than the Sikh, it had an advantage of four or five to one in infantry, which was decisive. "Unsatisfactory and unduly costly" is Fortescue's verdict, and he is rightly critical of Gough for attacking head-on an enemy stationed in jungle. But considering that the British force had covered sixty miles in two days before going into action, it could have been worse.
33. This remarkable observation, so characteristic of Broadfoot, was originally made by him after a skirmish in Afghanistan from which he emerged perspiring heavily and with a blood-stained sabre, having killed three men and been wounded himself. (See Broadfoot.)
34. This is the only existing account of the extraordinary exchange between Hardinge and Gough before Ferozeshah, although the gist of their conversation was communicated to intimates soon afterwards. Charles Hardinge, in his father's biography, was an eye-witness from a distance, but apparently out of earshot. Unique or not, the dispute arose from Hardinge's decision to place himself under the military command of Gough, while retaining overall authority as Governor-General. In theory it was a risky arrangement, but understandable; it would have been foolish not to use Hardinge's military experience. He had been twice wounded in the Peninsular War, losing a hand, served as deputy quartermaster-general of the Portuguese army, and been attached to Prussian headquarters in the Waterloo campaign, in which he was again badly wounded. He was active in politics, serving as Wellington's Secretary for War, before being sent to India as Governor-General. (See Hardinge, and Note 40.)
35. This military pleasantry was still going the rounds in the Second World War. Only the 9th Foot (Royal Norfolk) could take a lady into barracks, the "lady" being the figure of Britannia on their cap badge.
36. Historians disagree about the behaviour of the Sikh cavalry. One describes their advance as hesitant, Fortescue says they were stationary, but an eye-witness called it "the most splendid sight of the campaign, their horses caracoling and bounding, and the bright sunlight flashed from steel armour and spears … they came on at a rapid pace to within four hundred yards of the British line," Gough's biographer hardly mentions it. Obviously it depends on the point of view, but Flashman is probably right in thinking that White's intervention was decisive.
37. This incident is true. Gough "with my gallant aide" (C. R. Sackville West; he had obviously forgotten Flashman) deliberately rode ahead to draw the Khalsa's fire, and succeeded. He has been criticised for needlessly endangering himself; on the other hand, it has been argued that the effect on his troops' morale was considerable. Gough himself probably never gave a thought either to danger or morale; he seems to have acted emotionally, on the spur of the moment.
38. Flashman's account of the two days of Ferozeshah is so full and accurate that little need be added to it. For both sides, it was a battle of missed opportunities: the British should have had it won on the first day, but they ran out of daylight (thanks to Hardinge, according to Gough supporters) and in the confusion of the night fighting they lost the advantage they had gained. The Sikhs should have overwhelmed Gough's force on the second afternoon, but Tej's treachery robbed them of victory; a point Flashman does not mention is that Tej seems to have waited until he was sure Lal Singh's defending force had been thoroughly routed (some had deserted in the night, including Lal himself, whose personal headquarters had been attacked and looted by the furious Akalis).
It has been suggested that on the first night of the battle the British commanders had decided to surrender: one Sikh historian says it quite flatly, quoting the diary of Robert Cust, a young political officer who was not even at Ferozeshah. In fact, it is plain from the papers of both Gough and Hardinge that surrender was never contemplated. Hardinge says clearly that he was approached by some officers "with timid counsels of retreat" which he flatly rejected. Gough too was approached by officers ("some of rank and in important situations") who urged retreat, two of them claiming that they spoke for Hardinge. Gough did not believe them, stated his intention of fighting on, and consulted Hardinge, who repudiated the officers' statement, and agreed with Gough "that retreat was not to be considered for a moment". Plainly there were some in favour of retreat (apart from the unfortunate Lumley); just as plainly, Gough and Hardinge gave them short shrift.
Flashman has dealt fully with Tej Singh, subscribing to the general view that it was his treachery alone that turned the tide. That Tej was a traitor seems obvious, but it is just possible that the reasons he gave for not attacking Gough's exhausted force had some justification; he probably did not know, for example, that the British artillery was out of ammunition, and hesitated to attack their fortified position. It is also possible that some of his commanders agreed with him. for what seemed to them sound military reasons. At any rate, it is difficult to believe that the Sikh army were turned back against the united will of their regimental commanders, simply by Tej's word alone.
Napoleon's sword, which had been presented to Hardinge by Wellington, was sent back from Ferozeshah, and Dr Hoffmeister, one of Prince Waldemar's suite, was killed on the first day. (See Rait, Hardinge, Fortescue, Compton, Autobiography of Sir Harry Smith, ed. by G. C. Moore Smith, vol. ii (1901); Cunningham, Broadfoot, M'Gregor, and History of the Bengal European Regiment, by P. R. Innes (1885).)
39. This was, in fact, the excuse given to Hardinge by Lumley for appearing in informal dress. (See Hardinge.)
40. Flashman's attitudes to his military superiors vary from affection (Colin Campbell, Gough, Scarlett) to poisonous hatred (Cardigan), with degrees of respect (Ulysses Grant, Hugh Rose, Hope Grant), contempt (Raglan, Elphinstone), and amused anxiety (Custer) in between, and most of them are understandable. Why he so disliked Hardinge is less obvious, for the Governor-General seems to have been an amiable man enough, and not unpopular; his portrait gives no hint of the pomposity and coldness that Flashman found in him. It is quite likely that their instant mutual antipathy was our hero's faul
t; enjoying the euphoria of having done good service for once, he probably let his natural impudence show, and was less inclined than usual to toady (as witness his uncharacteristic outburst to Littler). The bouncy young political no doubt brought out the worst in Hardinge, and Flashman, a ready hater, has repaid with interest in a portrait which probably does the Governor-General less than justice, especially where Gough is concerned. Hardinge was surely sincere in writing to Peel that Gough was "not the officer who ought to be entrusted with the conduct of the war", and can hardly be blamed for seeking the appointment of a less mercurial C-in-C. Disaster had been avoided by a miracle, and the Governor-General might well be nervous of a general who was once heard to say, when his guns ran out of ammunition, "Thank God, then I'll be at them with the bayonet!" At the same time, Hardinge failed to recognise that many of Gough's difficulties had been created by Hardinge himself, and it may well be, as Gough's biographer suggests, that the Governor-General had a tendency "to attribute to himself all vigorous action" and to take all credit for success. Whether he was right to override Gough at Ferozeshah we cannot know; he may have averted a catastrophe or prevented Gough winning a victory at less cost in lives. It was a curious and difficult situation for both men, and it says much for them that they remained on good terms and co-operated efficiently throughout the campaign. Gough never knew of the letter to Peel, and while Flashman (smarting at the suggestion that politicals were of little use) would emphatically disagree, this was probably tact on Hardinge's part. (See Rait.)
41. Christmas trees were reintroduced into England by Prince Albert after his marriage to Queen Victoria in 1840.
42. Gough and Hardinge were repeating, at Sobraon, their quarrel at Ferozeshah: Gough wanted to make a frontal attack, but Hardinge insisted that he must wait for heavy artillery from Umballa (Gough had, in fact, asked for these guns weeks before, and been refused by Hardinge). The Governor-General proposed that an attack be made by crossing the river and falling on the Sikhs' reserve position, but this was vetoed by Gough.
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