Twelve Years Of A Soldier's Life In India Part 1

Twelve Years of a Soldier's Life in India.

by W. S. R. Hodson.

The heart of England has not, within the memory of living men, been so deeply moved as by the Indian rebellion of 1857. It was a time of real agony,--the waiting, week after week, for those scanty despatches, which, when they came, and lay before us in the morning papers, with huge capitals at the top of the column, we scarcely dared take up, we could not read without a strong effort of the will. What it must have been to those of us whose sisters, brothers, sons, were then in the Northwest Provinces, they alone can tell; but of the rest we do believe there was scarce a man who did not every now and then feel a cold sinking of heart, a sense of shame at his inability to help, a longing to make some sacrifice of money, ease, or what not, whereby to lift, if it might be, a portion of the dead weight from off his own soul. By degrees came the light. As the trial had been, so had been the strength. The white squall was past; and though that great and terrible deluge still heaved and tossed, we began to catch sight of one and another brave ship riding it out. Our pulses beat quick and our eyes dimmed as we heard and read how the little band of our kindred had turned to bay, in tale after tale of heroic daring and self-sacrificing and saintly endurance and martyrdom. The traces here and there of weakness and indecision only brought out more clearly the soundness and strength of the race which was on its trial; and from amongst the thousands who were n.o.bly doing their duty, one man after another stood out and drew to himself the praise, the grat.i.tude, and the love of the whole nation. In all her long and stern history, England can point to no n.o.bler sons than these, the heroes of India in 1857. Thank G.o.d, many of them are left to us; but the contest was for the life itself, the full price had to be paid, and one after another the heroes paid it. Some fell, full of years and honors, whom the mutiny found with names already famous; others in their glorious mid-day strength; others fresh from England, in the first daring years of early youth; of all ranks and professions,--generals, governors, cadets, missionaries, civilians, private soldiers; but each heard the call and obeyed it faithfully, loving not his own life; and we believe that even in this hurrying, bewildering, forgetful age, England and Englishmen will not let the name of one of them die.

At any rate, there is little chance that the subject of this paper will be forgotten by his countrymen, for not only has he carved out with his sword a name for himself which knows few equals even in Indian story, but he has left materials which have enabled his brother to put together one of the best biographies in our language.

_Twelve Years of a Soldier's Life in India_ is the history of the career of Hodson of Hodson's Horse, the captor of the King of Delhi, compiled from private letters written to different members of his family.

To the book itself, as a literary work, high praise may be awarded.

There are four pages only which we could wish omitted; we mean those (from p. 432 to p. 436) which contain the extracts from newspapers.

Able leading article writers and special correspondents, who as soon as the firing is over, bustle up to battle-fields where their country's n.o.blest are dying, and sit down to catch the tale of every _claqueur_, and spin the whole into thrilling periods, doubtless have their use, and their productions are highly valued,--or, at any rate, are highly paid for,--by the British public. The extracts in question are favorable specimens, on the whole, of such commodities. But Hodson has no need of them, and they jar on one's soul at the end of such a book. With this exception, the book is a model of its kind. There is not a word too much of the letters; in fact, we long for more of them, while confessing that no additional number could bring the man or his career more livingly before us; and the editor has, with rare tact, given us just what was needed of supplementary narrative, and no more, and has shown himself a high-minded gentleman and Christian by his forbearance in suppressing the names of the men who enviously and wickedly persecuted his brother. In a charming little preface he compares that brother to Fernando Perez, the hero of the later Spanish ballads, and then seems to doubt whether affection may not have bia.s.sed his judgment. We think we may rea.s.sure him on this point. The career of the Indian Captain of Irregulars may fairly challenge comparison with that of Fernando Perez or any other hero of romance, and we may well apply to the Englishman, lying in the death chamber at Lucknow, the poet's touching farewell to the peerless knight Durandarte, stretched on the b.l.o.o.d.y sward at Roncesvalles,--

"Kind in manners, fair in favor, Mild in temper, fierce in fight; Warrior n.o.bler, gentler, braver, Never shall behold the light."

But it is time for us to turn from the book to the man, and we think our readers will thank us for giving them the best picture which our s.p.a.ce will allow of him and his work, as nearly as may be in his own words; only begging them to bear in mind that these letters were written in the strictest confidence to his nearest relations, and that so far from wishing to make his own deeds known during his life, he resolutely refused to allow his letters to be made public.

William Stephen Raikes Hodson, third son of the Archdeacon of Stafford, was born in March, 1821, and went, when fourteen years old, to Rugby, where he stayed for more than four years, two of which were spent in the sixth form under Arnold. At school he was a bright, pleasant boy, fond of fun, and with abilities decidedly above the average, but of no very marked distinction, except as a runner; in which exercise, however, he was almost unequalled, and showed great powers of endurance. None of his old schoolfellows have been surprised to hear of his success as the head of the Intelligence Department of an army, or of his marvellous marches and appearances in impossible places as Captain of Irregular Horse. Such performances only carry us back to first calling over, when we used to see him come in splashed and hot, and to hear his cheery "Old fellow! I've been to Brinklow since dinner." But, as a boy, he was not remarkable for physical strength or courage, and none of us would have foretold that he would become one of the most daring and successful swordsmen in the Indian army. We only mention the fact, because it is of great importance that the truth in this matter, which the lives of Hodson and others have established, should be as widely acknowledged as possible. A man born without any natural defect can, in this as in other respects, make his own character; no man need be a coward who _will_ not be one; and a high purpose steadfastly kept in view will, in the end, help a man to the doing of n.o.bler deeds of daring than any amount of natural combativeness.

From Rugby he went to Trinity, Cambridge, where he took his degree in 1844; but, fortunately for his country, and (let us own it, hard as it is as yet to do so) for himself also, a const.i.tutional tendency to headache led him to choose the army rather than a learned profession.

After a short service in the Guernsey militia, which he entered to escape superannuation, he got a cadetship, and embarked for India. Sir William Napier, then Governor of Guernsey, gave him a letter to his brother, Sir Charles, and himself wrote of him, "I think he will be an acquisition to any service. His education, his ability, his zeal to make himself acquainted with military matters, gave me the greatest satisfaction during his service with the militia." His brother's letter never was presented to Sir Charles Napier, as we infer from the pa.s.sage at p. 156, where it is mentioned again, "I didn't show him his brother's letter," writes Hodson in 1850, "that he might judge for himself first, and know me 'per se,' or rather 'per me.' I will, however, if ever I see him again." He never saw Sir Charles again; but what a glimpse of the man's character we get from these few lines.

On the 13th of September, 1845, Hodson landed in India, and went up country at once to Agra. Here he found the Hon. James Thomason, Lieutenant-Governor of the Northwest Provinces, a family friend and connection, with whom he stayed till November 2d, when he was appointed to do duty with the 2d Grenadiers, and began his military career as part of the escort of the Governor-General, who was on his way to the Punjab. In that quarter a black cloud had gathered, which it was high time should be looked after.

Hodson, however, marches on, all unconscious, and his first letters give no hint of coming battle, but contain a charmingly graphic description of the life of an Indian army on march. Here, too, in the very outset, we find that rare virtue of making the best of everything peeping out, which so strongly characterized him.

"It is a sudden change of temperature, truly,--from near freezing at starting, to 90 or 100 at arriving. It _sounds hot_, but a tent at 84 is tolerably endurable, especially if there is a breeze."

At Umbala, he attends a grand muster of troops, and sees the Irregulars for the first time.

"The quiet-looking and English-dressed Hindoo troopers strangely contrasted with the wild Irregulars in all the fanciful _un_uniformity of their native costume: yet these last are the men _I_ fancy for service."

This was on the 2d of December. On Christmas-day he writes:--

"I have been in four general engagements of the most formidable kind ever known in India. On the 10th, on our usual quiet march we were surprised by being joined by an additional regiment, and by an order for all non-soldiers to return to Umbala."

Then comes the description of forced marches, and battles which one feels were won,--and that was all. The same story everywhere as to the Sepoys; at Moodkee,

"Our Sepoys could not be got to face the tremendous fire of the Sikh artillery, and as usual, the more they quailed the more the English officers exposed themselves in vain efforts to bring them on.... At Ferozeshah on the evening of the 21st, as we rushed towards the guns in the most dense dust and smoke, and under an unprecedented fire of grape, our Sepoys again gave way and broke. It was a fearful crisis, but the bravery of the English regiments saved us. A ball struck my leg below the knee, but happily spared the bone. I was also knocked down twice,--once by a sh.e.l.l bursting so close to me as to kill the men behind me, and once by the explosion of a magazine. The wound in my leg is nothing, as you may judge when I tell you that I was on foot or horseback the whole of the two following days.... No efforts could bring the Sepoys forward, or half the loss might have been spared, had they rushed on with the bayonet.... Just as we were going into action, I stumbled on poor Carey, whom you may remember to have heard of at Price's at Rugby. On going over the field on the 30th, I found the body actually cut to pieces by the keen swords of the Sikhs, and but for his clothes could not have recognized him. I had him carried into camp for burial, poor fellow, extremely shocked at the sudden termination of our renewed acquaintance.... I enjoyed all, and entered into it with great zest, till we came to actual blows, or rather, I am (_now_) half ashamed to say, till the blows were over, and I saw the horrible scenes which ensue on war. I have had quite enough of such sights now, and hope it may not be my lot to be exposed to them again.... We are resting comfortably in our tents, and had a turkey for our Christmas dinner." (pp. 66, 67, 68, 69.)

In the next letter the fight at Sobraon is described:--

"On we went as usual in the teeth of a dreadful fire of guns and musketry, and after a desperate struggle we got within their _triple_ and _quadruple_ intrenchments; and then their day of reckoning came indeed. Driven from trench to trench, and surrounded on all sides, they retired, fighting most bravely, to the river, into which they were driven pellmell, a tremendous fire of musketry pouring on them from our bank, and the Horse Artillery finishing their destruction with grape. I had the pleasure myself of spiking two guns which were turned on us."

A rough baptism of war, this, for a young soldier! No wonder that when the excitement is over, for the moment he thinks he "has had enough of such sights." But the poetry of battle has entered into him, witness this glorious sketch of a deed done by the 80th Queen's (Staffordshire).

"I lay between them and my present regiment (1st E. B.

Fusiliers) on the night of the 21st of December, at Ferozeshah, when Lord Hardinge called out '80th! that gun must be silenced.' They jumped up, formed into line, and advanced through the black darkness silently and firmly; gradually we lost the sound of their tread, and anxiously listened for the slightest intimation of their progress;--all was still for five minutes, while they gradually gained the front of the battery whose fire had caused us so much loss. Suddenly we heard a dropping fire,--a blaze of the Sikh cannon followed, then a thrilling cheer from the 80th, accompanied by a rattling and murderous volley as they sprang upon the battery and spiked the monster gun. In a few more minutes they moved back quietly, and lay down as before on the cold sand; but they had left forty-five of their number and two captains to mark the scene of their exploit by their graves."

And so in another month, when the war is over and the army on its return, he "catches himself wishing and asking for more."

"Is it not marvellous, as if one had not had a surfeit of killing? But the truth is _that_ is not the motive, but a sort of undefined ambition.... I remember bursting into tears in sheer rage in the midst of the fight at Sobraon at seeing our soldiers lying killed and wounded."

His first campaign is over, and he goes into cantonments. The chief impression left on his mind is extreme disappointment with the state of the Sepoy regiments, which he expresses to Mr. Thomason:--

"In discipline and subordination they seem to be lamentably deficient, especially towards the native commissioned and non-commissioned officers. On the march, I have found these last give me more trouble than the men even. My brother officers say that I see an unfavorable specimen in the 2d, as regards discipline, owing to their frequent service of late, and the number of recruits; but I fear the evil is very wide-spread. It may no doubt be traced mainly to the want of European officers. This, however, is an evil not likely to be removed on any large scale. Meantime, unless some vigorous and radical improvements take place, I think our position will be very uncertain and even alarming in the event of extended hostilities. You must really forgive my speaking so plainly, and writing my own opinions so freely.

You encouraged me to do so when I was at Agra, if you remember, and I value the privilege too highly as connected with the greater one of receiving advice and counsel from you, not to exercise it, even at the risk of your thinking me presumptuous and hasty in my opinions."

Acting upon these impressions, he applies for and obtains an exchange into the 1st Bengal Europeans, in which he is eighth second-lieutenant at the age of twenty-five, the junior in rank of boys of eighteen and nineteen. He feels that he has difficult cards to play, but resolves to make the best of everything, and regrets only "that the men who are to support the name and power of England in Asia are sent out here at an age when, neither by education nor reflection can they have learnt all, or even a fraction of what those words mean. It would be a happy thing for India and for themselves, if all came out here at a more advanced age than now, but _one_ alone breaking through the custom in that respect made and provided, must not expect to escape the usual fate, or at least the usual annoyances, of innovators."

At this point an opening, of which he was just the man to make the most, occurs. Mr. Thomason writes to Colonel, afterwards Sir Henry, Lawrence, the new political agent at Lah.o.r.e, introducing Hodson; and at once a friendship, founded on mutual appreciation, springs up between the two, to end only with their lives. The agent manages to have the young soldier constantly in his office, and to get all sorts of work out of him. As a reward, he takes him on an expedition into Cashmere, in the autumn of 1846, whither they accompany the forces of Gholab Singh, to whom the country had been ceded by treaty. The letters from Cashmere on this occasion, and again in 1850, when he accompanied Sir Henry on a second trip to Cashmere and Thibet, are like nothing in the world but an Arabian Night which we feel to be true. The chiefs, the priests, the monasteries, the troops, the glorious country so misused by man, the wretched people, an English lady, young and pretty, travelling all alone in the wildest part on pony-back, all pa.s.s before us in a series of living photographs. We have room, however, for one quotation only:--

"The women are atrociously ugly, and screech like the witches in _Macbeth_,--so much so, that when the agent asked me to give them a rupee or two, I felt it my duty to refuse, firmly but respectfully, on the ground that it would be encouraging ugliness.

"I am the luckiest dog unhung (he concludes) to have got into Cashmere. I fancy I am the first officer of our army who has been here save the few who have come officially."

Colonel Lawrence was not the man to let his young friend's powers of work rust, so on their return we find Hodson set to build the famous Hill Asylum for white children at Subathoo.

We may as well notice at once, in this early stage of his career, the man's honest training of himself in all ways, great and small, to take his place, and do his work in his world-battle; how he faces all tasks, however unwonted, ill-paid, or humble, which seem to be helpful; how he casts off all habits, however pleasant or harmless, which may prove hindrances. And this he does with no parade or fine sentiment, but simply, almost unconsciously, often with a sort of apology which is humorously pathetic. For example, when set to work on the Asylum, he writes:--

"Colonel Lawrence seems determined I shall have nothing to stop me, for his invariable reply to every question is, 'Act on your own judgment,' 'Do what you think right,' 'I give you _carte blanche_ to act in my name, and draw on my funds,' and so forth."

Which confidence is worthily bestowed. Hodson sets to work, forgetting all professional etiquette, and giving up society for the time.

"Cutting trees down, getting lime burnt, bricks made, planks sawn up, the ground got ready, and then watching the work foot by foot; showing this "n.i.g.g.e.r" how to lay his bricks, another the proper proportions of a beam, another the construction of a door, and to the several artisans the mysteries of a screw, a nail, a hinge. You cannot say to a man, 'Make me a wall or a door,' but you must, with your own hands, measure out his work, teach him to saw away here, to plane there, or drive such a nail, or insinuate such a suspicion of glue. And when it comes to be considered that this is altogether new work to me, and has to be excuded by cogitation on the spot, so as to give an answer to every inquirer, you may understand the amount of personal exertion and attention required for the work."

Again, a few months later, November, 1847,--

"I am in a high queer-looking native house among the ruins of this old stronghold of the Pathans, with orders 'to make a good road from Lah.o.r.e to the Sutlej, distance forty miles,' in as brief a s.p.a.ce as possible. On the willing-to-be-generally-useful principle, this is all very well, and one gets used to turning one's hand to everything, but certainly (but for circ.u.mstances over which I had no control) I always labored under the impression that I knew nothing at all about the matter. However, Colonel Lawrence walked into my room promiscuously one morning, and said, 'Oh, Hodson, we have agreed that you must take in hand the road to Ferozepore. You can start in a day or two;' and _here I am_."

Again, in January, 1848, he has been sent out surveying.

"My present _role_ is to survey a part of the country lying along the left bank of the Ravee and below the hills, and I am daily and all day at work with compa.s.ses and chain, pen and pencil, following streams, diving into valleys, burrowing into hills, to complete my work. I need hardly remark, that, having never attempted anything of the kind hitherto, it is bothering at first."

Again, in April, 1848, he has been set to hear all manner of cases, civil, criminal, and revenue, in the Lah.o.r.e Court.

"The duty is of vast importance, and I sometimes feel a half sensation of modesty at being set down to administer justice in such matters so early, and without previous training. A little practice, patience, and reflection, settle most cases to one's satisfaction however; and one must be content with substantial justice as distinguished from technical law."

Again, in a letter to his brother,--

"Did I tell you, by-the-bye, that I abjured tobacco when I left England, and that I have never been tempted by even a night's _al fresco_ to resume the delusive habit? Nor have I told you (because I despaired of your believing it) that I have declined from the paths of virtue in respect of beer also, these two years past, seldom or never tasting that once idolized stimulant!"

We have no s.p.a.ce to comment; and can only hope that any gallant young oarsman or cricketer bound for India who may read this, will have the courage to follow Hodson's example, if he finds himself the better for abstinence, notwithstanding the fascination of the drink itself, and the cherished a.s.sociations which twine round the pewter. My dear boys, remember, as Hodson did, that if you are to get on well in India it will be owing, physically speaking, to your digestions.

These glimpses will enable the reader to picture to himself how Hodson, now a.s.sistant to the Resident at Lah.o.r.e, as well as second in command of the Guides, was spending his time between the first and the final Sikh war. Let him throw in this description of the duties of "The Guides":--

"The grand object of the corps is to train a body of men in peace to be efficient in war; to be not only acquainted with localities, roads, rivers, hills, ferries, and pa.s.ses, but have a good idea of the produce and supplies available in any part of the country; to give _accurate_ information, not running open-mouthed to say that 10,000 hors.e.m.e.n and a thousand guns are coming, (in true native style,) but to stop to see whether it may not really be only a common cart and a few wild hors.e.m.e.n who are kicking up all the dust; to call twenty-five by its right name, and not say _fifty_ for short, as most natives do. This of course wants a great deal of careful instruction and attention. Beyond this, the officers should give a tolerably correct sketch and report of any country through which they may pa.s.s, be _au fait_ at routes and means of feeding troops, and above all (and here you come close upon political duties) keep an eye on the doings of the neighbors, and the state of the country, so as to be able to give such information as may lead to any outbreak being nipped in the bud."