Twelve Years Of A Soldier's Life In India Part 7

The fortune of war has again interfered between me and my good intentions of answering all my correspondence by this mail. We have been knocked about for some days so incessantly that there has been no chance of writing anything; and even this scrawl, I fear, will hardly reach you. You will hear publicly of our great victory of the 10th,[2] and of the total and final rout of the Sikh force.

But first, I must tell you that the 2d Grenadiers were sent back about a week ago to the villages and posts in our rear, to keep open the communication. Not liking the notion of returning to the rear while an enemy was in front, I applied immediately to do duty with another regiment; my pet.i.tion was granted; and I joined the 16th Grenadiers on the evening of the 9th inst. About three in the morning we advanced towards the Sikh intrenchments along the river's bank. Our guns and ammunition had all come up a day or two before, and during the night were placed in position to sh.e.l.l their camp. At daybreak, seventeen heavy mortars and howitzers, rockets, and heavy guns commenced a magnificent fire on their position; at half-past eight the infantry advanced,--Sir R. d.i.c.k's division on the right, and ours (Gilbert's) in front,--covered by our fire from the batteries. 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 pell-mell, a tremendous fire of musketry pouring on them from our bank, and the Horse Artillery finishing their destruction with grape. The river is literally choked with corpses, and their camp full of dead and dying. An intercepted letter of theirs shows that they have lost 20,000 in killed, wounded, and missing; all their guns remaining in our hands. I had the pleasure myself of spiking two guns which were turned on us. Once more I have escaped, I am thankful to say, unhurt, except that a bullet took a fancy to my little finger and cut the skin off the top of it,--a mere pin scratch, though it spoiled a buckskin glove.

I am perfectly well; we cross in a day or two, but I fancy have done with fighting.

_To his Sister._

LAh.o.r.e, _Feb. 27th, 1846_.

In honor of your birthday, I suppose, we crossed the Sutlej on the 17th, and are now encamped close to old Runjeet Singh's capital, without a shot having been fired on this side the river! The war is over: sixty days have seen the overthrow of the Sikh army, which, when that period commenced, marched from the spot on which the victors are now encamped, with no fewer than 100,000 fighting men, _now_

A broken and a routed host, Their standards gone, their leaders lost.

So ends the tale of the mightiest army, and the best organized, which India has seen.

I hope you will have got a sc.r.a.p I wrote after the fight at Sobraon in hopes it would reach you before the newspapers, as I have no doubt you were all anxious enough on my account, and indeed you well might be, for I can hardly imagine (humanly speaking) how it was possible to go through that storm of bullets and shot unhurt. I have indeed much to be thankful for, and I hope I shall not forget the lesson. A campaign is a wonderful dispeller of false notions and young imaginations, and seems too stern a hint to be soon forgotten.

About this time Mr. Thomason says, in a letter to my father:--

"I hear of William constantly from friends in camp, and am glad to find that he is a great favorite in his regiment. I had some little fear that his great superiority in age and attainments to those of his own standing in the army might make him the object of envy and disparagement. I felt that he had no easy task before him, and that it would be difficult to conduct himself with discretion and becoming humility in such a position. He was quite aware of the difficulty when we talked the matter over at Agra, and I am much pleased to see the success which has attended his prudent exertions."

LAh.o.r.e, _March 4th, 1846_.

The army breaks up now very soon, but I shall be posted before that. I am trying to get into the 1st European regiment, now stationed at Umbala, who have just been styled Fusileers for their distinguished service. It is the finest regiment in India, with white faces, too, and a very nice set of officers. I have been brigaded with them all along.

It seems an age since the campaign opened. One _day_ of fighting such as we have had fastens itself on the memory more than a year of peaceful life. We must really have a natural taste for fighting highly developed, for I catch myself wishing and "asking for more," and grumbling at the speedy settlement of things, and the prospect of cantonments instead of field service. 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. Don't let any of my friends forget me yet. I have found a new one, I think, in Major Lawrence,[3] the new President at this Court, thanks to the unwearying kindness of Mr. Thomason.

In a letter of the same date to Hon. J. Thomason, the following sentence occurs:--

I must thank you very much for making me known to Major Lawrence, from whom I have received every sort of attention and kindness. I have been very much struck with his superiority, and freedom from diplomatic solemnity and mystery, which is rather affected by the politicals and officials.

CAMP, NUGGUR GHAT, ON THE SUTLEJ, _March 27th, 1846_.

The last returning regiment of the army of the Sutlej crossed that river yesterday morning, and by to-morrow every man will have left its banks, on their way to their stations. It was a most interesting and picturesque sight to see the army filing across the splendid bridge of boats constructed by our engineers at this place. So many of the native corps have been required for the new province and for the Lah.o.r.e garrison, that we had hardly any but Europeans homeward-bound, which gave an additional and home interest to the pa.s.sage of the river. Dusty, travel-stained, and tired, but with that cool, firm air of determination which is the most marked characteristic of English soldiers, regiment after regiment pa.s.sed on, cavalry, artillery, and infantry in succession, their bands playing quicksteps and national tunes, as each stepped upon the bridge. To _you_ the sight would have been only interesting; but to those of us who had seen the same corps three months ago, their reduced numbers and fearfully thinned ranks told a sadder tale. Regiments cut down to a third, individual companies to a fourth or fifth of their former strength, gave a silent but eloquent reply to the boastful strains of martial music, and to the stirring influence of the pageant. As each regiment moved up on this side the river, our fine old chief addressed a few words of congratulation and praise to each; they pushed on to their tents, and a genuine English cheer, caught up and repeated from corps to corps, and a thundering salute from the artillery, proclaimed the final dispersion, and bid an appropriate farewell to the army of the Sutlej.

Thus ends my first campaign! To-morrow I march with the 26th Native Infantry to Umbala, where I hope to be transferred to the 1st Europeans. I was posted to the 26th a few days ago, but have not joined yet, as I applied at once for an exchange. Marching and living in tents is becoming unpleasantly hot now, and in another fortnight will be very bad. Yesterday we had a regular storm of wind and dust, filling everything with sand, and darkening the air most effectually; one's mouth, eyes, ears, and pockets get filled with dust; you sit down to breakfast, and your plate is ready loaded with sand, your coffee is excellently thickened, and your milk would pa.s.s for clotted cream,--but for the color. Then you get a sheet of paper, and vainly imagine you're writing, but the sand conceals the last word you write ere the ink can dry, and your pens split of themselves with the dryness of the air. In truth, it is next to impossible to do anything while the storm lasts, for one's eyes smart and cry with the plenitude of grit; and if you talk, you are set coughing with eating small stones! Yet all this is far better than the damp-exhaling heat of Bengal. Here the ground and air are as dry by night as by day, and no exhalation poisons the freshness of any wind that may be stirring.

UMBaLA, _April 13th, 1846_.

Here I am once more. I am writing in a comfortable house, and actually slept in one last night,--the first time I have eaten or slept under a roof since the 3d of November; and on the 10th I saw a lady again!

I find General Napier has written to his brother about me.

Scindh has been given over to the Bombay army, so that Sir Charles can't do anything for me, but still the kindness is all the same. Unfortunately, the note reached me three days after Sir Charles left the army to return to Scindh, or I might have had the pleasure of seeing him and speaking to him.

CAMP, MORADABAD, ROHILCUND, _April 29th, 1846_.

It is time indeed to be getting under cover, for we have been in the thick of the "hot winds." This sounds a very mild word, but you should only just try it! Do you remember ever holding your face over a stove when it was full of fire? and the rush of hot air which choked you? Well, something of that sort, of vast volume and momentum, blowing what they call at sea "half a gale of wind," comes quietly up, at first behind a wall of dust, and then with a roar bursts upon you, scorching you, and shrivelling you up as if you were "a rose that was plucked." It feels as if an invisible, colorless flame was playing over your face and limbs, scorching without burning you, and making your skin and hair crackle and stiffen until you are covered with "crackling" like a hot roast pig. This goes on day after day from about eight or nine o'clock in the morning till sunset; and, accompanied with the full power of the blazing sun of India, produces an amount of heat and dryness almost inconceivable. The only resource is to get behind a tatta (or wet gra.s.s mat) hung up at one of the doors of the tent, and to lie on the ground with as little motion as possible, and endeavor to sleep or read it out. _Nunc veterum libris, nunc somno et inertibus horis_,--I cannot go on, for the "sweet forgetfulness" of the past is too much to expect!

To-day we have a new nuisance in the shape of a plague of wood-lice; our camp is pitched in an old grove of mango-trees, and is literally swarming with huge pale lice, in numbers numberless. You cannot make a step without slaying them, and they have already (noon) covered the whole sides of the tents, chairs, beds, tables, and everything.

But one is really getting used to everything, and I hardly expect to be _proud_ again. Our rest has been terribly destroyed by this last month's marching, the usual hour for the _reveille_ being two A. M., and this morning a quarter to one!! and no power of quizzing can move our worthy major to let us take it easily, though I don't scruple to tell him that he has sold his shadow or his soul to the evil powers, and forfeited the power of sleep, he is such a restless animal! We breakfast at seven, or even a quarter past six, constantly, and dine at seven P. M.; so one has a fair opportunity of practising abstinence, as I rigidly abstain from eating in the mean time, or drinking. After all, it is very healthy weather, and I imagine there is less harm done to the health in the hot winds than even in the cold weather. I have never been so well in India.

NYNEE TAL, _May 14th, 1846_.

I am writing from the last new Hill Station, discovered about three years ago by an adventurous traveller, and now containing forty houses and a bazaar. It is a "tal," or lake, of about a mile in length, lying in a basin of the mountains, about 6,200 feet above the sea; the hills rising about 1,800 feet on all sides of it, and beautifully wooded from their very summits down to the water's brink. How I got here remains to be told. You will remember that I had applied, some time ago, to be transferred to the 1st Bengal European Fusileers. Well, after keeping me in suspense some seven weeks, and sending me the whole way from Lah.o.r.e to Bareilly in April and May, I received notice that my application was granted, and a civil request to go back again. I had had enough of marching in the plains, and travelling dak would have been madness for me, so I determined on going up into the hills, and making my way across the mountain ranges to Subathoo, where my regiment is stationed. A good-natured civilian at Bareilly offered to take me with him to this place, from whence I could make a good start. We started on the morning of the 11th, and drove to Rampoor, stayed there till midnight, and then set off for the hills. By daylight we got to the edge of the "Terai,"

the far-famed hotbed of fever and tigers, swamps and timber, along the whole ridge of the Himalayas, stretching along the plains at their feet in a belt of about twenty miles from the Indus to the Burhampooter. Here we found horses awaiting us, and, mounting at once, started for a ride of twenty-seven miles before breakfast. The first part of the "Terai" is merely a genuine Irish bog, and the oily, watery ditches and starved-looking cows shout out "Fever," on all sides of you. The last ten miles, to the foot of the hills, is through a dense ma.s.s of ragged trees in all stages of growth and decay, "horrida, inculta, hirsuta,"--moist, unpleasant, and ugly. At length we reached the first low woody ranges of the hills, and following the dry bed of a mountain stream, by noon we doubled the last ridge, and descended upon our lake. None of these hills are to be compared in beauty with Scotland and Wales, though very fine, and inexpressibly refreshing, almost _affecting_, after the dead flat we have lived in so long. As soon as my servants arrive, I start hence by myself, through an unfrequented sea of vast mountains, by way of Landour, for Mussoorie, to Simla and Subathoo. It is about 340 miles, and will take me thirty-two or thirty-four days to accomplish. I mean to take no pony, but trust that my old powers of walking and endurance will revive in the mountain air.

FOOTNOTES:

[2] At Sobraon.

[3] Sir H. Lawrence, K. C. B.

CHAPTER III.

FIRST BENGAL EUROPEAN FUSILEERS.--LAWRENCE ASYLUM.--APPOINTMENT TO GUIDE CORPS.

SUBATHOO, _June 16th, 1846_.

When I wrote to you last from Sireenuggur, I hoped to have been able to reach this place by way of the hills and Simla; but, before I got to Mussoorie, the early setting in of the rains made it so difficult and unpleasant (and likely to be dangerous) to get on, that, after spending two days there, I rode down to Deyra Dhoon, and came dak through Saharunpoor and Umbala to Kalka, at the foot of these hills, where I found my beast awaiting my arrival, and mounted the seventeen miles of hill at once. Here I am, at last, with my own regiment, and with the prospect of being quiet for four months. I am eighth Second Lieutenant; a distinguished position (is it not?) at the age of five-and-twenty. The campaign, I am sorry to say, did me no good in the way of promotion, owing to my not having been "posted" permanently before it commenced.

SUBATHOO, _July 3d, 1846_.

I hope you will congratulate me on getting into my present splendid corps, the 1st Fusileers, now, alas, a mere shadow of what it was six months ago. We could only muster 256 men under arms when we were inspected by Sir R. Gilbert on the 1st; but, then, there was a most picturesque body of convalescents present with their empty sleeves, pale faces, and crutches, but looking proudly conscious of their good conduct, and ready "to do it again." We are under much stricter discipline in this corps, both officers and men, and obliged to be orderly and submissive. No bad thing for us either. I hold there is more real liberty in being under a decent restraint than in absolute freedom from any check.

I have been much more reconciled to India since I joined this regiment. It is pleasant to have white faces about one, and hear one's own tongue spoken; and then, besides, there is a home-loving feeling in this corps which I have never met with in India. I believe we would each and all migrate to England, if we had our own way.

_To his Father._

SIMLA, _Sept. 2d, 1846_.

I came here on the 31st for a week, to stay with Major Lawrence (now a Colonel and C. B.), who dined and slept with me at Subathoo last week, and pressed me to come here. I am nothing loth, as I like him amazingly, and value his friendship very much, and pick up a great deal of information as to India, and Indians black and white. He has kindly offered to take me with him for a tour through Jullunder Doab, and up to Jummoo, Rajah Gholab Singh's camp and court. He says he can give or get me leave to accompany him. My colonel says he won't give any one leave after the 14th of this month. Which is right remains to be seen, but I think you may calculate that the "Agent to the Governor-General" will prevail, and I shall see Jummoo.