Victoria’s Scottish Lion

by Greenwood, Adrian; Haythornthwaite, Philip;

  Since the impetus behind the outrage came from the emperor, he decided, as a calculated blow against the Dragon Throne, to burn down the Imperial Summer Palace, a vast pleasure garden covering over 80 square miles, encompassing over 200 buildings and housing the greatest collection of Chinese art treasures on earth. The French protested that to destroy it was pure vandalism, a complaint robbed of conviction since, along with the British, they had already looted the place. And so, on 18 October the British 1st Division set it ablaze. ‘It will give you some idea of the extent of the conflagration when I tell you that 3,500 men were employed for two days burning’, noted Allgood.60 The smoke was such ‘that it seemed as if the sun was undergoing a lengthened eclipse’. Six days later, Elgin was received in Pekin. The emperor accepted the Treaty of Tientsin, and as a final dressing-down had to cede Kowloon, the area of mainland China opposite Hong Kong Island, to the British in perpetuity.

  Campbell missed the denouement, having sailed from Calcutta on 4 June 1860. ‘He came to my room quite early on the morning of his going away’, Canning recalled:

  We talked for about quarter of an hour … he went away quite calmly, almost jauntily, I saying that we should meet again just before he set off. In about five minutes he came back, leant upon the table for several minutes, it seemed, without saying a word, and then said ‘I know it’s very unmanly’ and burst into tears, thanking me for my kindness and support, etc., etc. I don’t think I was ever more upset … Poor old Colin, he really is very tender-hearted to those who are fond of him.

  As before, he left India under a cloud. His censure of European officers for their complicity in the White Mutiny, and his support for the amalgamation of the Indian and British armies, had made him many enemies.61 He seemed haunted more by his political battles than by his military ones. ‘Poor Colin’, the viceroy told his wife:

  The Funeral of Lord Clyde, Illustrated London News, 29 August 1863.

  He was in a great taking at last about the attacks on him for his supposed condemnation of Company’s Officers, and I’m afraid, did himself great harm by the way in which he talked of it right and left. I took great pains to do him little honours – had all the civil and military staff, etc. to meet him in the Marble Hall as he went away, and walked him down by the arm to the carriage. His levee had not been well attended – nothing to what Rose’s was yesterday. Think of the absurdity of giving him that ball.

  Campbell reached Paris on 13 July. He had planned on visiting General Vinoy, but the Duke of Cambridge requested he return to London to defend the union of crown and Company armies in the Lords.62 As he set foot in Dover on the 18th, The Times reported he looked ‘much the same, except that the bronze on his countenance was a tinge deeper, and his hair a trifle grayer’.

  Always a reluctant politician, his intervention in the parliamentary debate was as brief as possible. As he later told Lady Stuart de Rothesay, Lady Canning’s mother, ‘I had rather fight a battle than hear my own voice in that place.’63 An ‘almost inaudible’ Campbell explained that ‘his experience in India had entirely convinced him of the absolute necessity of having only one European army, moveable as one force, maintained at one point of discipline, and acting, as it were, with one soul’.64 After half a dozen sentences he sat down.

  Public speaking of any kind increasingly unnerved him. Asked to speak at the Mansion House, he had his speech ‘printed out’ on paper to make it easy to read, and rehearsed it thoroughly. On the evening in question, ‘Lord Clyde’s health was proposed and received with enthusiasm. He rose to reply amid deafening cheers’, wrote Norman:

  When they ceased, he began, ‘My Lord Mayor, your Royal Highness, my Lords and Gentlemen’. Then he paused, and cheers rose again, to be followed by the same words and the same hesitation. This occurred thrice, and then the audience, somewhat wearied, cheered for only a brief time. I could see Lord Clyde vainly trying to recall his speech, but failing, he indistinctly uttered a few words and sat down, to be greatly cheered again.

  ‘I forgot the whole of it, and I could not read it although I had it printed,’ he told a reporter from The Times, ‘but if you wish to know what I intended to say, you are welcome to this’, he said, handing the slip to the journalist. It duly appeared in full in The Times next morning, as if he’d been word perfect.65

  Having done his parliamentary duty, Campbell decamped to the French spa town of Vichy to recover for a few weeks. On his return he rented chambers in the Albany, the exclusive St James’s block of bachelor pads. For a wealthy general, renting might seem eccentric, but the Indian prize money was in dispute, so the Albany was a useful stop-gap, and a very grand one at that. That did not stop Campbell finding fault. Upon discovering that the charwoman provided was a mother, he complained vociferously. When the manager replied that ‘he did not see how the children could interfere with him, as they kept out of the way’, Campbell declared, ‘I will tell you. If the woman is a respectable, decent body and looks after her bairns as she should do, she washes them in the morning; and I object, sir, to my breakfast being served up by a woman who washes children.’66

  There were those who still had their reservations about the time he had taken over the mutiny, over his reorganisation of the army in India and over his reluctance to wreak revenge on the mutineers, but in Victoria’s England, a victory was still a victory. The queue of institutions keen to honour him was even longer than when he returned from the Crimea, and Campbell was equally ambivalent, always claiming he sought no garlands, but accepting them nonetheless. The London livery companies vied to see who could make him an honorary member first. In an ironic twist, he became Colonel of the Coldstream Guards, despite having spent much of his time in the Crimea vilifying Guards officers.* The North British Daily Mail even reported that he was to be given a Scottish estate by a grateful government.67 Ships, racehorses and pubs were named after him. Madame Tussauds unveiled a likeness of him and Thomas Barker’s painting The Relief of Lucknow, showing the highly stylised meeting of Havelock, Campbell and Outram, was exhibited by Agnews at 6d a go for two years (see Plate 29). When Canning arranged for society portraitist Sir Francis Grant (Hope Grant’s brother) to capture his likeness, Campbell drew the line, and Canning had to depute Lady Sydney, Lady Clanricarde** and a Colonel Metcalfe ‘to poke at him till he’ was ‘safely committed to the picture’.68

  In April 1861, an exasperated Campbell left for Paris, to provide ‘an excuse for declining various tokens of respect of a public nature’, as Shadwell put it.69 Journeying to Milan, he met General Marmora, the Sardinian commander in the Crimea, who broke out the troops for him to inspect. After Verona and Venice, he crossed the Alps into Germany in early June, before heading home, but as soon as he had disembarked a new round of honours rained down. Before the month was up the queen had announced his appointment to her new order of chivalry, the Star of India.70 The viceroy, the governors of Bombay and Madras, Sir John Lawrence, Sir Hugh Rose, Sir James Outram, Campbell himself and the now elderly Viscount Gough were all elevated, but the largest group was drawn from loyal native princes such as the Maharajah of Gwalior, and allies like Jung Bahadoor. Duleep Singh, long since stripped of his birthright but something of a hit in London society, was made a knight companion (see Plate 34).

  After decades spent in unwholesome colonial outposts, Campbell’s health, often patchy, now declined markedly. ‘An ominous pain in the left region of the chest would cause him to stop short when walking with a companion, bear with all his weight upon him, and even force him sometimes to groan aloud,’ recalled Shadwell.71 He was strong enough to return to Germany that September for Prussian military manoeuvres72 and to watch their innovative breech-loading rifles, but the old shade of melancholy was creeping upon him again. ‘One moment he would be uneasy under the weights of the honours which, in his judgment, had been lavished upon him’, Shadwell explained. ‘At another he would trouble himself concerning the distribution of the Central India prize money, his claim to which had been contested.�
�73 Campbell, who claimed his life was ‘one unvarying protest against luxury’,74 who labelled his wealth ‘dross’, and in 1861 alone gave away £6,792 (enough to purchase a very comfortable country house),75 seemed determined to deny Rose his loot (see Plate 35).

  Without a war to occupy him, he took up Napier’s hobby of picking fights. Apart from the dispute with Rose, which was eventually settled by Campbell’s executors in Campbell’s favour, his most vicious and unnecessary row was with his old friend, cousin and staff officer, Anthony Sterling. While the mutiny was still raging, Sterling had published his Letters from the Army in the Crimea, Written by a Staff Officer. Though it was anonymous, anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of the war could identify the author as Sterling. Campbell always denied that this was the reason for their quarrel, but for a very private man the book must have come as a betrayal. The stated reason was so pettifogging as to be implausible. Campbell accused Sterling of altering his recommendation of knighthoods to favour himself over Colonel Pakenham. ‘What his real cause of enmity against me may rest upon, I am at a loss to divine,’ wrote Sterling, ‘but whatever it may be, his mind is jaundiced.’76 Campbell refused to discuss the issue, forcing Sterling to publish a series of letters to make his case. Certainly the testimony of Mansfield and Norman contained within indicates Campbell was picking on an insignificant secretarial omission, but the intervention of friends and colleagues did not settle the dispute.

  As luck would have it, another conflict broke to focus his attention, this time in America. Union and Confederacy had been at war since April of that year (1861). Early indications suggested the slave states might pull off a victory, but so far the fighting had been inconclusive. Officially, Britain was neutral but economic considerations, in particular the need for American cotton for the mills of Lancashire, predisposed parliament towards the Confederacy. In November a Union warship, the USS San Jacinto, intercepted the British mail steamer RMS Trent. Inside were two Confederate politicians travelling to the UK to gain diplomatic recognition for the South. The Union navy seized them. Palmerston demanded their release and an official apology. War seemed imminent. There were calls to reinforce Britain’s Canadian garrison, and to send an old stalwart to command. ‘I find much conjecture respecting my being sent to Canada in case of war’, wrote Campbell. ‘I have no desire or ambition to be further employed. Personal ambition has left me. I have none’, though he admitted, ‘If asked to go, I am quite ready.’77 In truth, the idea of war with the US was unthinkable. The Americans were fielding armies of unprecedented scale while the British forts in Canada were crumbling, the garrison tiny and civilian reserves (the unhappily-titled ‘sedentary militia’) pitifully small. But, as so often with Palmerston’s huffing and puffing, it worked. The Americans backed down. The two Confederate envoys were handed back and landed in Southampton in late January 1862. Campbell could put his sabre back over the mantelpiece.

  In confirmation that his fighting days were over, on 10 November 1862 the London Gazette announced Campbell’s promotion to field marshal, in company with the Duke of Cambridge, Viscount Gough and Sir Edward Blakeney. ‘Her Gracious Majesty has indeed filled my Cup of honours to overflowing’, he told the Duchess of Cambridge in a now noticeably shaky hand.78 ‘I would have been far better pleased to escape this honour’, he claimed, but typically accepted it anyway. ‘The Field Marshal’s patent is too often the harbinger of a summons of a mightier foe than any of this earth’, observed one Victorian historian, and so it was to prove. That same month Campbell purchased No. 10, Berkeley Square. It was to be his last home. Over Christmas he suffered with fever. His eyesight was now so bad he had to have the newspapers read to him aloud. The Surgeon-General, Mr Longmore, diagnosed non-specific heart problems and poor circulation.

  It can’t have helped that so many of his friends and contemporaries had passed on. Lady Canning had died in India in November 1861, and hardly had her husband returned to London in the summer of 1862, than he succumbed to a liver abscess. Then came Outram’s funeral on 25 March 1863 in Westminster Abbey. ‘We remember being struck by his sad, contemplative look, as he stood over the open grave’, wrote one Indian navy officer. ‘Deeply affected by the death’, Campbell ‘could not shake off the mental depression caused by that sad event’.79 On 17 May he fell ill again and this time his doctor advised him to prepare for the worst. In London he was deluged by those wishing to pay their respects and so, anxious to get away and despite his condition, Campbell travelled to Chatham to stay with his friend General Henry Eyre.*

  Two weeks later, having turned the corner, he returned to Berkeley Square. He felt well enough to attend the visit of the Prince and Princess of Wales to the Guildhall80 on 8 June, but a cold sent him back to Chatham a few days later. Soon he was too weak to leave the house. He became confused. After hearing a bugle outside he jumped up from his chair, shouting ‘I’m ready!’ On 21 July the Dundee Courier and Argus reported his recovery to be ‘considered almost hopeless’, and the next day the Blackburn Standard jumped the gun by announcing his death.

  The queen, in mourning since Prince Albert’s death two years earlier, wrote from Osborne, commending him on his loyal service and hoping, ‘God may lessen your sufferings and grant you peace.’81 Advised not to exert himself with conversations, he refused to see anyone except medical staff. Even his sister was sent away. Then on 1 August Campbell suddenly demanded to see her. He was unable to walk or even sit up in a chair, eating little, drifting in and out of consciousness. For a fortnight he faltered. Suddenly, towards midday on 14 August, his condition worsened. General Eyre and his wife, Campbell’s servant White and his sister Alicia gathered round his bed. Half an hour later, he was dead.

  Notes

  * Following Indian independence, the statue of an angel by Marochetti (who also sculpted Campbell’s statue in Waterloo Place) over the well at Cawnpore was relocated to the memorial church built at the site of Wheeler’s entrenchment. In its place is a bust of Tantia Topee (see Plate 38).

  ** Stanley became President of the Board of Control after Ellenborough, and with the coming of the Raj, Secretary of State for India.

  * For some reason, possibly Chillianwala, Campbell had a great dislike of the Bengal Artillery.

  * The answer was new taxes. By 1863, India was showing a surplus (Maclagan, Clemency Canning, 260).

  * The silver tael varied in weight from region to region. However, assuming the imperial standard of 1.2 Troy ounces, the bullion would today be worth £58 million.

  * ‘Preparations in India were made in the first instance without any instructions from home upon the receipt of the intelligence from China of the affairs at the Peiho’, Sir Charles Wood explained to the Commons. ‘The consequence was that a much larger force was ultimately sent to China than was thought necessary by the Cabinet’ (Hansard/HC/Deb.13/7/60, Vol.159, cc.1894).

  ** This in turn created a further problem. Those who had taken their discharge now had the bounty originally denied them by Canning, leaving those who had not protested, and instead accepted their transfer to the queen’s army, out of pocket. To compensate them, two years’ ‘service’ was added to their record (RA/VIC/ADDE/1/2426).

  *** Robert Napier was made Grant’s No. 2 instead (see Plate 33). Even Grant was surprised that Mansfield was not appointed to overall command (BL/Add.Mss.52414, 22 Feb 1860).

  * The emperor had fled Pekin, leaving the prince to negotiate with the British.

  ** Nevertheless, he did demand 300,000 taels’ compensation for the British victims and their families (Leavenworth, 198).

  * ‘His antipathy to the Brigade [of Guards], as a privileged corps is great’, wrote Rokeby (RA/VIC/MAIN/G/36/118).

  ** Lady Sydney was the wife of Earl Sydney, Lord Chamberlain of the Household and daughter of the Marquess of Anglesey. Lady Clanricarde was Canning’s sister.

  * Not to be confused with Vincent Eyre, a hero of the mutiny. Henry had, as a captain, commanded the 98th’s depot companies in the 1830s.r />
  1 Shadwell, II, 403.

  2 Shadwell, II, 439.

  3 Shadwell, II, 327.

  4 Hare, III, 49.

  5 Maclagan, White Mutiny, 280.

  6 Metcalfe, H., 79.

  7 Verner, I, 224.

  8 Hansard/HC/Deb.12/2/58, Vol.148, cc.1287.

  9 Maclagan, White Mutiny, 279.

  10 Verner, I, 225.

  11 Shadwell, II, 332.

  12 Lee-Warner, Memoirs, 221.

  13 RA/VIC/ADDE/1/13360.

  14 Shadwell, II, 410.

  15 RA/VIC/ADDE/1/13369.

  16 BL/IOR/L/MIL/17/2/466.

  17 Verner, I, 228, 229, 232.

  18 Wylly, Neill’s Blue Caps, II, 137.

  19 Verner, I, 237.

  20 Shebbeare, 103.

  21 Russell, My Indian Mutiny Diary, 202.

  22 RA/VIC/ADDE/1/2313.

  23 Maclagan, Clemency Canning, 248, 242.

  24 Verner, I, 233, 234, 227.

  25 Maclagan, White Mutiny, 300, 297.

  26 Maclagan, Clemency Canning, 250.

  27 Verner, I, 166.

  28 Douglas and Dalhousie, II, 458.

  29 Verner, I, 237.

  30 Maclagan, Clemency Canning, 239.

  31 Douglas and dalhousie, II, 424, 433.

  32 RA/VIC/ADDE/1/13354.

  33 RA/VIC/ADDE/1/2166.

  34 Beames, 113.

  35 Roberts, F., Forty-One Years in India, I, 456, 459.

  36 Illustrated London News, 7 April 1860.

  37 Roberts, F., Forty-One Years in India, I, 476.