My Huguenot Ancestors and the Indian Mutiny of 1857
Author Jane Larsen
My Huguenot Ancestors and the Indian Mutiny of 1857
It would not have crossed their minds that there was any danger attached to the life of luxury and ease that beckoned when my grandmother, Francis Siddall, and her two sisters, Mary and Mittie, set sail for India. They were of Flemish Huguenot [Protestant] stock. Their family had settled in Snaith in England at the time of the Huguenot Persecutions. They were prosperous woollen weavers but went out of business when “shoddy” goods [clothes made from recycled rags] came on the market, hence the necessity for these three sisters to find economically sound husbands.
The purpose of the visit was to find husbands among the Indian Army officers, who would give them an economically stable and satisfying domestic life with lots of servants and an entertaining social life with dinners, dances and balls.
All three women found husbands connected to the army. My grandmother married Joseph Alleyne Foster, an officer in the Army of the Nizam of Hyderabad; Great Aunt Mary married General Woods, who became a Knight of the Garter, and Great Aunt Mittie married James Graham a Senior-Surgeon in the Indian Army Medical Service
The purpose of the visit was to find husbands among the Indian Army officers, who would give them an economically stable and satisfying domestic life with lots of servants and an entertaining social life with dinners, dances and balls.
All three women found husbands connected to the army. My grandmother married Joseph Alleyne Foster, an officer in the Army of the Nizam of Hyderabad; Great Aunt Mary married General Woods, who became a Knight of the Garter, and Great Aunt Mittie married James Graham a Senior-Surgeon in the Indian Army Medical Service
The Indian Army at the time of 1857 was comprised of the forces of the East India Company (a highly successful trading organization) and paid for out of the East India Company’s own revenues. This army was larger than the British Army itself. The Company’s officers were British and had been trained in the UK. Most of the Company’s soldiers were high-caste Hindus and were called Sepoys.
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Attached to this formidable force were Queen’s Regiments, actual units of the British Army lent by the Crown to the East India Company. There was polite rivalry between the two groups of officers. The Company officers thought the Queen’s officers snobbish and the Queen’s officers thought the Company army was second-rate.
Unfortunately, rumblings of discontent were not far below the surface of the serene existence of the officers and their families. The British seemed at this time to have lost touch with their Indian subjects. This was possibly due to the advent of the steamship, which meant faster travel between India and England, making it an option for officers to go home on leave and for wives and children to come out and live in India. Before this, it had been customary for officers to spend time with their Sepoys or with Indian prostitutes or mistresses; some even “went native” (in the pejorative phrase of the time) and adopted Indian dress and customs. The Indians were also fearful of missionaries, who might try to convert them to Christianity. Before this, the British had always taken a liberal and tolerant attitude to the many Indian faiths and religions. Another cause of unrest was the Doctrine of Lapse whereby it was decreed that if an Indian ruler died without a male heir his lands would be forfeited to the East India Company.
All these mutterings and rumours came to a head when a new cartridge for the Enfield rifle was introduced. It required the end of the cartridge to be bitten off and rammed down the muzzle of the weapon. To help this process the cartridge was heavily greased with animal fat.
Unfortunately, rumblings of discontent were not far below the surface of the serene existence of the officers and their families. The British seemed at this time to have lost touch with their Indian subjects. This was possibly due to the advent of the steamship, which meant faster travel between India and England, making it an option for officers to go home on leave and for wives and children to come out and live in India. Before this, it had been customary for officers to spend time with their Sepoys or with Indian prostitutes or mistresses; some even “went native” (in the pejorative phrase of the time) and adopted Indian dress and customs. The Indians were also fearful of missionaries, who might try to convert them to Christianity. Before this, the British had always taken a liberal and tolerant attitude to the many Indian faiths and religions. Another cause of unrest was the Doctrine of Lapse whereby it was decreed that if an Indian ruler died without a male heir his lands would be forfeited to the East India Company.
All these mutterings and rumours came to a head when a new cartridge for the Enfield rifle was introduced. It required the end of the cartridge to be bitten off and rammed down the muzzle of the weapon. To help this process the cartridge was heavily greased with animal fat.
The Sepoys heard about this and passed on the news that the grease was of cow fat (sacred to the Hindus) and pig fat (abhorrent to the Moslems). Biting such cartridges would break the caste of the Hindus and defile the Moslems. The British soon realised their error and tried to persuade the Sepoys to make an alternative grease of beeswax and vegetable oil, but in the prevailing atmosphere of discontent the damage had been done.
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These incidents combined with several other events eventually resulted in the Siege of Lucknow in 1857 and smaller mutinies in surrounding outposts.
It was my Great Aunt Mittie who suffered the most from the Mutiny. She lost two little daughters at Lucknow and her husband was murdered as he drove their remaining daughter Sarah to Sealkote (one of the forts) for safety. Sarah somehow survived. Her two little sisters are buried together with their father at Lucknow.
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Amongst Great Aunt Mittie’s papers was found her following handwritten unedited narrative of the experiences of a Mrs Mabe, wife of Dr. Mabe an Army Surgeon, which recounts the deprivation endured by one British family and their courage in adversity when the Sepoys took their revenge. Mark Twain also tells this story in an abridged version in his book “Following the Equator”. It was quoted to him by Sir G. O. Trevelyan (the Historian) as an example of how ladies and children accustomed to ease, comfort and plenty suffered under such a cruel experience.
THE INDIAN MUTINY OF THE 12TH REGIMENT AT NOWGONG
Some days previous to the Mutiny at Nowgong Major Kirk made all the officers leave their bungalows and stand in line to show the men what confidence was placed in them.
The left wing mutinied on the 24th when my husband and I were at dinner when Lieut. Jackson came in and told us that Mr. Shepherd from Ghadinaba had arrived bringing the sad intelligence of the murder of Capt. Dunlop and Ensign Taylor. The man said that all the soldiers/sahibs there had been murdered. About 3 o’clock next day Major Kirk had a parade. Captain Scott informed the men of the Mutiny. I hoped that the right wing would hold true. The Regimental Colours were placed in front and he told the men that all those who intended to be faithful to the service were to come towards the colours. |
The Sepoys all moved forward but reluctantly. We were looking at them from our window and I cannot tell why but from the first my poor husband and I doubted the men. The officers were questioned and said that the right wing would stand fast. The Native Officers came afterwards to Major Kirk and told him that the right wing wished to volunteer. The next day he sent the Adjutant to ask them if they were of the same mind, they said “yes”.
On the evening of the 7th June Dr. Mabe said to me that he feared the men would break out soon and we would be set on and joined by the 14th Irregulars (Skinners corps) who had become most indolent. My husband was the only doctor at Nowgong and had medical charge of the OCT I Artillery. At about 5 p.m. Dr. Mabe went in his buggy to the Map House where he knew he would find the Major to try and shake his confidence in the men and to ask him to move the Panjar [ceremonial chest] to some other place where there were troops.
On the evening of the 7th June Dr. Mabe said to me that he feared the men would break out soon and we would be set on and joined by the 14th Irregulars (Skinners corps) who had become most indolent. My husband was the only doctor at Nowgong and had medical charge of the OCT I Artillery. At about 5 p.m. Dr. Mabe went in his buggy to the Map House where he knew he would find the Major to try and shake his confidence in the men and to ask him to move the Panjar [ceremonial chest] to some other place where there were troops.
I little thought then that he would never cross his own threshold again. I dressed my little girl and sent her out with the Bearer [house valet]. The wing was paraded as usual to march off the guards by the Sergt. Major. I was dressing when my Ayah [a nanny] who was standing by the window exclaimed “Oh what is the matter, the Sergt. Major is running away”. I instantly looked out and saw Lucas with his sword raised above his head running towards the
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bungalow. He saw me at the window, called out “Mrs Mabe fly the men have mutinied”. I felt paralysed both husband and child out and both at their mercy. I rushed out into the road to try if I could see either of them. I ordered our Punkhar Bucket Bearers [servants] to go and look for the child but they would not stir. Neither would our Khitmaster [senior servant] who was standing at the door. I heard shots fired and feared that Dr. Mabe was at the hospital and would be killed. None of the servants would stir, as for me I was standing in the road crying when I saw him driving furiously from the Mess House and baring his whip. I ran to him and saw our Bearer bringing our little girl in the rear of the lines. I snatched her from him and got into the buggy and drove back to the Mess House where all the officers were assembled. About 60 to 80 Sepoys had joined them and said they were true. The Sergeant Major was shot by the Sepoys while I was standing outside, I saw him lying on his face on the ground. We might have been a quarter of an hour at the Mess House when we were obliged to leave it as the men were seen at the guns and we had gone only a short distance when a shot whizzed close by us but no one was hurt. We were first off in our buggy. The Bandmaster’s buggy was broken at starting so he, his wife and baby were put into a camel carriage. We were told to go towards Chattapore but instead of going the direct road Dr. Mabe went by a road round a hill which Captain Scott had gone a few days before while escorting 4 Artillerymen there who had used seditious language and during the night we were constantly alarmed lest the Cavalry should follow us. We saw fire after fire as our bungalows were burning. I do not know how many left Nowgong there were besides the 8 officers, the Bandmaster, Sergt Major, several of the band and their families, the Brigade Major’s wife and an old Artilleryman.
Next morning we arrived at Chattapore and were put into the serai [caravanserai]. The Major got a thousand Rupees from the Ranee [wife of a Rajah]. Before the Mutiny she sent word to him that her guns and Treasury were at his service when he required them. There was very little money among the party. That day Lt. Townsend and Capt. Scott were sent back to Nowgong to try and recover property and bring out Mess stores.
Major Kirk went to the Rajah Songessin he and the other 20 Officers joined us at Mahoba later. We were with Mr Carne. We left on the 17th for Callinger, the Major borrowed 1000 Rupees, 50 Rupees were given by him to my husband and other Officers to take care of the Sepoys who asked to have 70 Rupees given to the villagers which though objected to by some of the Officers was done.
At daybreak we were set upon by Matchlock men and had to fly. The (faithful) Sepoys all made off except 10 or 12. Lieut. Townsend was shot dead. After we left I saw the Subedar [a person of authority] who was shot in the stomach on horseback. We hoped to reach Mahoba. Again and after a weary walk of 10 miles, we arrived but alas the people had risen and we had to proceed. Dr. Mabe and I carried our child alternately. Mrs Shearer died near this place from sunstroke. We had no food. I felt quite exhausted. One of the Officers kindly lent me his horse and Dr. Mabe was lent another. We were very faint. The Major died on the road between Mahoba and Kubsen and was buried also the Sergt. Major and some of the women. At Majobs we were joined by a Sergt. Kirschoff and his wife on the 18th. The Sepoys all left on the night of the 19th and the Burdees [women] likewise. We were fired on by Matchlock men and set on by the Banda Road. The party consisted of Capt. Glen, Capt. Scott, Lieut. E. Jackson and James Basher, Ensigns Pennington and Franks, Dr. Mabe, Mr. H. Kirk (not in the service), Mrs. Smalley and the two little children, Sergt. Kirschoff and his wife.
On the morning of the 20th Capt. Scott took Lottie on his horse. I was riding behind my husband as she was so crushed between us. She was 2 years old on the 1st June. We were both very weak from want of food and the thirst was dreadful and added to the burning sun. Neither Lottie or I had any head cover and Dr. Mabe only a Sepoy’s cap that I found on the ground at Kusbar. Soon after sunrise we were followed by villagers with cattiens [clubs] and spears, one of the latter struck Capt. Scott’s horse in the leg and he galloped away followed by Lieut. Franks and Pennington. My poor husband never saw his child again. We rode on for several miles keeping away from villagers and crossed the river. Our thirst was awful and my husband got dreadful cramps. I had to hold him on the horse. I was very uneasy about him. The day previous I saw a drummer’s wife eating a chapatti, I asked her to give a piece to the child which she did.
Next morning we arrived at Chattapore and were put into the serai [caravanserai]. The Major got a thousand Rupees from the Ranee [wife of a Rajah]. Before the Mutiny she sent word to him that her guns and Treasury were at his service when he required them. There was very little money among the party. That day Lt. Townsend and Capt. Scott were sent back to Nowgong to try and recover property and bring out Mess stores.
Major Kirk went to the Rajah Songessin he and the other 20 Officers joined us at Mahoba later. We were with Mr Carne. We left on the 17th for Callinger, the Major borrowed 1000 Rupees, 50 Rupees were given by him to my husband and other Officers to take care of the Sepoys who asked to have 70 Rupees given to the villagers which though objected to by some of the Officers was done.
At daybreak we were set upon by Matchlock men and had to fly. The (faithful) Sepoys all made off except 10 or 12. Lieut. Townsend was shot dead. After we left I saw the Subedar [a person of authority] who was shot in the stomach on horseback. We hoped to reach Mahoba. Again and after a weary walk of 10 miles, we arrived but alas the people had risen and we had to proceed. Dr. Mabe and I carried our child alternately. Mrs Shearer died near this place from sunstroke. We had no food. I felt quite exhausted. One of the Officers kindly lent me his horse and Dr. Mabe was lent another. We were very faint. The Major died on the road between Mahoba and Kubsen and was buried also the Sergt. Major and some of the women. At Majobs we were joined by a Sergt. Kirschoff and his wife on the 18th. The Sepoys all left on the night of the 19th and the Burdees [women] likewise. We were fired on by Matchlock men and set on by the Banda Road. The party consisted of Capt. Glen, Capt. Scott, Lieut. E. Jackson and James Basher, Ensigns Pennington and Franks, Dr. Mabe, Mr. H. Kirk (not in the service), Mrs. Smalley and the two little children, Sergt. Kirschoff and his wife.
On the morning of the 20th Capt. Scott took Lottie on his horse. I was riding behind my husband as she was so crushed between us. She was 2 years old on the 1st June. We were both very weak from want of food and the thirst was dreadful and added to the burning sun. Neither Lottie or I had any head cover and Dr. Mabe only a Sepoy’s cap that I found on the ground at Kusbar. Soon after sunrise we were followed by villagers with cattiens [clubs] and spears, one of the latter struck Capt. Scott’s horse in the leg and he galloped away followed by Lieut. Franks and Pennington. My poor husband never saw his child again. We rode on for several miles keeping away from villagers and crossed the river. Our thirst was awful and my husband got dreadful cramps. I had to hold him on the horse. I was very uneasy about him. The day previous I saw a drummer’s wife eating a chapatti, I asked her to give a piece to the child which she did.
At a distance we saw water in a Mullah [ravine] and we all rode towards it, the descent was very steep. We all dismounted and had a drink our only drinking vessel was the cap attached which I have still with me. The horses were getting water and I was bathing my neck. As I had no stockings my feet were dreadfully
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scorched and blistered my shoes being much torn when two Cottiwallahs [peasants] were seen on the hill over the Mullah [ravine]. They told us to go away, we were all frightened and mounted immediately and rode off. Sergt. K. was holding our horse while Dr. M. put me up and mounted. I think he must have got suddenly faint for I fell and he over me on the road just as we were riding off. Some time before Mr. Barber and Dr. Mabe said they could not live many hours. My poor husband felt he was dying before he reached the Mullah [ravine] and told me his wishes about the children and myself and we took leave of each other. I felt as if my brain was burnt, the relief of tears was denied me. As soon as he fell the Sergt. let go the horse and went away thus cutting off our escape. We sat down on the ground awaiting our death for we felt sure they would come and murder us, poor fellow he was very weak and his thirst frightful. I said I would go and bring some water in my dress and his cap. Just as I was leaving him the villagers came down. They took 80 Rupees from him which he had round his waist and his gold watch. I had on a handsome guard ring which they saw. I bent towards the Mullah [ravine] and drew off my wedding ring and twisting it in my hair replaced my guard ring, they came to me and pulled it off my finger. I tore part of the skirt of my dress to bring the water in but it was of no use for when I returned my beloved’s eyes were fixed and though I called and tried to restore him and poured water into his mouth it only settled in his throat. He never spoke to me again. I held him in my arms till he sank gradually down. I felt frantic but could not cry. I knew the being I had idolised nearly fifteen years was gone and I was alone. So I bound his head and face in my dress for there was no earth to bury him. This thought wrings my heart day and night. The pain in my hands and feet was dreadful so I went down to the Mullah [ravine] and sat down in the water on a stone hoping to get away at night and look for Lottie. When I came back from the water I saw they had not taken his little watch chain and seal so I took it and tied it to the string of my petticoat under my jacket. It was a parting gift from Lieut. H. Campbell of the 52nd N.I. before he left the Regiment in November 1854 to take our four little girls to Ireland.
I had been about an hour at the Mullah [ravine] when some 30 villagers came in search of me. They dragged me out of the water and took off my jacket to search for money. Though I told them they had taken all from Dr. Mabe they found the little chain and took it. They then dragged me to the village of Mummerpore one and a half miles distant, mocking me all the way and wondering to whom I was to belong. They had sent on some of their party and when we arrived the whole village was out to look at me tired and broken. I asked for a charpoy [sleeping mat] and laid down outside a door. I asked them for some milk as dozens of cows were passing, but they refused. At last when night came and the village was quiet an old woman brought me a cupful of dahl and rice, but my throat was so parched that I could not eat. She brought me a small earthen vessel with some drink which she said was made from Bhons [water]. Next morning some of the men told me I must go to Banda. I refused and said I would go to Allahabad, but about an hour afterwards the Nabob [a governor in India] sent a Palanquin [a type of carriage] for me and the Sobar [horseman] gave me the grateful news that a little child was there and their sahibs. How I hoped it was Lottie.
On arrival I found it was my little one. She was greatly blistered from the sun. The Officers were the two young men and the Bandmaster. We were there fourteen days after I arrived and we were both guarded, not allowed to speak to anyone, but kindly treated. We were in one room and were often poorly fed. The evening they arrived the Begum [a Muslim lady of high rank] sent for the child and gave her twenty Rupees. This of course I made common property and with it we bought a few clothes. I got needles and cotton etc to make them. We often got food at night from the Begum [a Muslim lady of high rank].
The Begum [a Muslim lady of high rank] sent for me some days after I had arrived and talked a long time with me for she said she could understand me. I suffered dreadfully all the time I was at Banda from my feet. I sent for a simple ointment to the Native Doctor and he sent me Mercurial instead which nearly sent me mad. I am partly a cripple even now. God knows what agony I endured.
All our property is gone, my watch chain, rings, some presents from the ladies of the 52nd with which Corps we were nearly eight years. My poor husband was with it at Mootter. With my husbands medals and clasps for Mootter and Gujerat [military campaigns] were it possible I wish to get another for my son to have, he will be 12 years old in January. He was born in camp at Sabjulkate when we were coming from Sutra. During the Satley Campaign with Sir C. Napier’s force. I have four little girls at school in Dublin also and hope with God’s blessing to get home soon to see them.
It is not recorded what happened to Mrs Mabe, but most of the women who survived the Mutiny were taken to Allahabad and put on a ship to Calcutta. The ship was overcrowded and conditions less than comfortable but trivial compared with the hardship and deprivation they had just suffered.
My Great Aunt Mitty despite her ordeal stayed in India for another twenty years. Sarah, her daughter, who was three years old at the time of the Mutiny and who was with her father when he was shot in his Buggy on the journey to Sealkote, developed into a great beauty. From letters to her from Edward VIIth (then Prince of Wales) and Prince Louis of Battenberg, which I have in my possession, she was much admired and invited to all the Balls and Social events given by them during their tours of duty and visits to India in the 1870s. The Mutiny and its atrocities seemed far away as they corresponded on the latest gossip, sketched pictures of the latest ball gowns, and decided which would be the best horse to ride each day.
Unfortunately the deep-seated prejudice, hatred and bitterness left by the Mutiny confirmed and strengthened the gulf between the two races. Distrust was increased and the British could never see their steadfast and loyal servants in the same light again. The Indians had in the eyes of the British become murderous fiends who had perpetrated the most heinous massacres on British women, children and soldiers. The British extolled extreme and cruel retribution on the Indians.
I had been about an hour at the Mullah [ravine] when some 30 villagers came in search of me. They dragged me out of the water and took off my jacket to search for money. Though I told them they had taken all from Dr. Mabe they found the little chain and took it. They then dragged me to the village of Mummerpore one and a half miles distant, mocking me all the way and wondering to whom I was to belong. They had sent on some of their party and when we arrived the whole village was out to look at me tired and broken. I asked for a charpoy [sleeping mat] and laid down outside a door. I asked them for some milk as dozens of cows were passing, but they refused. At last when night came and the village was quiet an old woman brought me a cupful of dahl and rice, but my throat was so parched that I could not eat. She brought me a small earthen vessel with some drink which she said was made from Bhons [water]. Next morning some of the men told me I must go to Banda. I refused and said I would go to Allahabad, but about an hour afterwards the Nabob [a governor in India] sent a Palanquin [a type of carriage] for me and the Sobar [horseman] gave me the grateful news that a little child was there and their sahibs. How I hoped it was Lottie.
On arrival I found it was my little one. She was greatly blistered from the sun. The Officers were the two young men and the Bandmaster. We were there fourteen days after I arrived and we were both guarded, not allowed to speak to anyone, but kindly treated. We were in one room and were often poorly fed. The evening they arrived the Begum [a Muslim lady of high rank] sent for the child and gave her twenty Rupees. This of course I made common property and with it we bought a few clothes. I got needles and cotton etc to make them. We often got food at night from the Begum [a Muslim lady of high rank].
The Begum [a Muslim lady of high rank] sent for me some days after I had arrived and talked a long time with me for she said she could understand me. I suffered dreadfully all the time I was at Banda from my feet. I sent for a simple ointment to the Native Doctor and he sent me Mercurial instead which nearly sent me mad. I am partly a cripple even now. God knows what agony I endured.
All our property is gone, my watch chain, rings, some presents from the ladies of the 52nd with which Corps we were nearly eight years. My poor husband was with it at Mootter. With my husbands medals and clasps for Mootter and Gujerat [military campaigns] were it possible I wish to get another for my son to have, he will be 12 years old in January. He was born in camp at Sabjulkate when we were coming from Sutra. During the Satley Campaign with Sir C. Napier’s force. I have four little girls at school in Dublin also and hope with God’s blessing to get home soon to see them.
It is not recorded what happened to Mrs Mabe, but most of the women who survived the Mutiny were taken to Allahabad and put on a ship to Calcutta. The ship was overcrowded and conditions less than comfortable but trivial compared with the hardship and deprivation they had just suffered.
My Great Aunt Mitty despite her ordeal stayed in India for another twenty years. Sarah, her daughter, who was three years old at the time of the Mutiny and who was with her father when he was shot in his Buggy on the journey to Sealkote, developed into a great beauty. From letters to her from Edward VIIth (then Prince of Wales) and Prince Louis of Battenberg, which I have in my possession, she was much admired and invited to all the Balls and Social events given by them during their tours of duty and visits to India in the 1870s. The Mutiny and its atrocities seemed far away as they corresponded on the latest gossip, sketched pictures of the latest ball gowns, and decided which would be the best horse to ride each day.
Unfortunately the deep-seated prejudice, hatred and bitterness left by the Mutiny confirmed and strengthened the gulf between the two races. Distrust was increased and the British could never see their steadfast and loyal servants in the same light again. The Indians had in the eyes of the British become murderous fiends who had perpetrated the most heinous massacres on British women, children and soldiers. The British extolled extreme and cruel retribution on the Indians.
There was little mercy in the hearts of the British troops, in fact in a debate (http://www.geocities.com/Broadway/Alley/5443/indmut6.htm) in the Oxford Union one speaker declared, “When every gibbet is red with blood, when the ground in front of every cannon is strewn with rags, flesh and shattered bone, then talk of mercy. Then you may find some to listen”.
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On the line of the march the inhabitants of whole villages were hanged and few Sepoys were left alive. No prisoners were taken and the bayonet was used liberally.
Equally for the Indians the bloodthirsty outbreak of the Mutinies of 1857, the years of repression by a foreign country (Britain) with all the grievances that build up under such circumstances together with the harsh reprisals metered out to them had not resolved or diminished their problems and their discontent continued to fester for many years to come. As a result, some of the more liberal assumptions were suspended. Indian progress and political development was arguably set back decades.
The 1857 Mutiny was a turning point in the history of Britain’s relationship with India. The East India Company was the main casualty of the uprising. It continued to trade but in very diminished circumstances. The Crown took over the government of India. The Governor General was given the title of Viceroy by Royal Proclamation and the British Government established a Secretary of State for India and a Council of Fifteen to advise him.
REFERENCES:
Equally for the Indians the bloodthirsty outbreak of the Mutinies of 1857, the years of repression by a foreign country (Britain) with all the grievances that build up under such circumstances together with the harsh reprisals metered out to them had not resolved or diminished their problems and their discontent continued to fester for many years to come. As a result, some of the more liberal assumptions were suspended. Indian progress and political development was arguably set back decades.
The 1857 Mutiny was a turning point in the history of Britain’s relationship with India. The East India Company was the main casualty of the uprising. It continued to trade but in very diminished circumstances. The Crown took over the government of India. The Governor General was given the title of Viceroy by Royal Proclamation and the British Government established a Secretary of State for India and a Council of Fifteen to advise him.
REFERENCES:
- http://www.army.mod.uk (accessed 20th January 2007) http://www.army.mod.uk/infantry/regts/the_rifles/history_traditions/origins_campaigns/the_indian_mutiny.htm
- http://www.kapadia.com (accessed 20th January 2007) http://www.kapadia.com/index.html
- http://upload.wikimedia.org (accessed 20th January 2007) http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/5/5f/SepoyMutiny.jpg/300px-SepoyMutiny.jpg
- http://www.geocities.com/Broadway/Alley/5443/indmut6.htm (accessed 11th August 2006)
- http://www.kamat.com (accessed 20th January 2007) http://www.kamat.com/kalranga/freedom/2401.htm
The following version was published on the Pulford Media Website in 2006.
Death Stalked Refugees from Indian Mutiny
[Copyright Jane Larsen, 2006. This article may not be reprinted or distributed without permission. First published at http://www.pulfordmedia.co.uk/i_pages/i_features/stalked.htm]
For 19th century women of good family Britain’s Indian empire promised security and glamour. For Mittie Siddall, however, the reality was tragedy in the 1857 Indian Mutiny. JANE LARSEN, her descendant, tells a tale of horrors based on Great Aunt Mittie’s graphic account.
IT would not have crossed their minds that there was any danger attached to the life of luxury and ease that beckoned when my grandmother, Frances Siddall, and her two sisters, Mary and Mittie, set sail for India. They were of Flemish Huguenot [Protestant] stock. Their family had settled in Snaith in England at the time of the Huguenot Persecutions. They were prosperous woollen weavers but went out of business when “shoddy” goods came on the market, hence the necessity for these three sisters to find economically sound husbands.
The purpose of the visit was to find husbands among the Indian Army officers, who would give them an economically stable and satisfying domestic life with lots of servants and an entertaining social life with dinners, dances and balls.
All three women found husbands connected to the army. My grandmother married Joseph Alleyne Foster, an officer in the Army of the Nizam of Hyderabad; Great Aunt Mary married General Woods, who became a Knight of the Garter, and Great Aunt Mittie married Senior-Surgeon James Graham.
The Indian Army at the time was comprised of the forces of the East India Company (a highly successful trading organization) and paid for out of its own revenues. This army was larger than the British Army itself. The Company’s officers were British and had been trained in the UK. Most of the Company’s soldiers were high-caste Hindus and were called Sepoys. Attached to this formidable force were Queen’s Regiments, actual units of the British Army lent by the Crown to the East India Company. There was polite rivalry between the two groups of officers. The Company officers thought the Queen’s officers snobbish and the Queen’s officers thought the Company army was second-rate.
Unfortunately, rumblings of discontent were not far below the surface of the serene existence of the officers and their families. The British seemed at this time to have lost touch with their Indian subjects. This was possibly due to the advent of the steamship. It meant faster travel between India and England, making it an option for officers to go home on leave and for wives and children to come out and live in India. Before this, it had been customary for officers to spend time with their Sepoys or with Indian prostitutes or mistresses; some even “went native” (in the pejorative phrase of the time) and adopted Indian dress and customs.
The Indians were also fearful of missionaries, who might try to convert them to Christianity. Before this, the British had always taken a liberal and tolerant attitude to the many Indian faiths and religions. Another cause of unrest was the Doctrine of Lapse whereby it was decreed that if an Indian ruler died without a male heir his lands would be forfeited to the East India Company.
All these mutterings and rumours came to a head when a new cartridge for the Enfield rifle was introduced. It required the end of the cartridge to be bitten off and rammed down the muzzle of the weapon. To help this process the cartridge was heavily greased with animal fat.
The Sepoys heard about this and passed on the news that the grease was of cow fat (sacred to the Hindus) and pig fat (abhorrent to the Moslems). Biting such cartridges would break the caste of the Hindus and defile the Moslems. The British soon realised their error and tried to get the Sepoys to make an alternative grease of beeswax and vegetable oil, but in the prevailing atmosphere of discontent the damage had been done. These incidents combined with several other events eventually resulted in the Siege of Lucknow in 1857 and smaller mutinies in surrounding outposts.
It was my Great Aunt Mittie who suffered the most from the Mutiny. She lost two little daughters at Lucknow and her husband was murdered as he drove their remaining daughter Sarah to Sealkote (one of the forts) for safety. Sarah somehow survived. Her two little sisters are buried together with their father at Lucknow. Amongst Great Aunt Mittie’s papers was found the following handwritten, unedited narrative, on very fragile paper which is becoming more and more faded. The narrative tells of the experiences of a Mrs Mabe, wife of Dr Mabe, an army surgeon. It recounts the deprivation endured by one British family and their courage in adversity when the Sepoys took their revenge. Mark Twain also tells this story in an abridged version in his book, Following the Equator. It was quoted to him by Sir G. O. Trevelyan (the historian) as an example of how ladies and children accustomed to ease, comfort and plenty suffered under such a cruel experience.
THE INDIAN MUTINY OF THE 12TH REGIMENT AT NOWGONG
Some days previous to the Mutiny at Nowgong Major Kirk made all the officers leave their bungalows and stand in line to show the men what confidence was placed in them.
The left wing mutinied on the 24th when my husband and I were at dinner when Lieut. Jackson came in and told us that Mr. Shepherd from Ghadinaba had arrived bringing the sad intelligence of the murder of Capt. Dunlop and Ensign Taylor. The man said that all the soldiers/sahibs there had been murdered.
About 3 o’clock next day Major Kirk had a parade. Captain Scott informed the men of the Mutiny. I hoped that the right wing would hold true. The Regimental Colours were placed in front and he told the men that all those who intended to be faithful to the service were to come towards the colours. The Sepoys all moved forward but reluctantly. We were looking at them from our window and I cannot tell why but from the first my poor husband and I doubted the men. The officers were questioned and said that the right wing would stand fast. The Native Officers came afterwards to Major Kirk and told him that the right wing wished to volunteer. The next day he sent the Adjutant to ask them if they were of the same mind, they said “yes”. On the evening of the 7th June Dr. Mabe said to me that he feared the men would break out soon and we would be set on and joined by the 14th Irregulars (Skinners corps) who had become most indolent. My husband was the only doctor at Newpong and had medical charge of the OCT I Artillery. At about 5 p.m. Dr. Mabe went in his buggy to the Map House where he knew he would find the Major to try and shake his confidence in the men and to ask him to move the Panjar [ceremonial chest] to some other place where there were troops. I little thought then that he would never cross his own threshold again. I dressed my little girl and sent her out with the bearer. The wing was paraded as usual to march off the guards by the Sergt. Major. I was dressing when my Ayah [nanny] who was standing by the window exclaimed “Oh what is the matter, the Sergt. Major is running away”. I instantly looked out and saw Lucas with his sword raised above his head running towards the bungalow. He saw me at the window, called out “Mrs Mabe fly the men have mutinied”. I felt paralysed both husband and child out and both at their mercy. I rushed out into the road to try if I could see either of them. I ordered our Punkhar Bucket Bearers [servants] to go and look for the child but they would not stir. Neither would our Khitmaster [senior servant] who was standing at the door. I heard shots fired and feared that Dr. Mabe was at the hospital and would be killed. None of the servants would stir, as for me I was standing in the road crying when I saw him driving furiously from the Mess House and baring his whip. I ran to him and saw our Bearer bringing our little girl in the rear of the lines. I snatched her from him and got into the buggy and drove back to the Mess House where all the officers were assembled. About 60 to 80 Sepoys had joined them and said they were true. The Sergeant Major was shot by the Sepoys while I was standing outside, I saw him lying on his face on the ground. We might have been a quarter of an hour at the Mess House when we were obliged to leave it as the men were seen at the guns and we had gone only a short distance when a shot whizzed close by us but no one was hurt. We were first off in our buggy. The Bandmaster’s buggy was broken at starting so he, his wife and baby were put into a camel carriage. We were told to go towards Chattapore but instead of going the direct road Dr. Mabe went by a road round a hill which Captain Scott had gone a few days before while escorting 4 Artillerymen there who had used seditious language and during the night we were constantly alarmed lest the Cavalry should follow us. We saw fire after fire as our bungalows were burning. I do not know how many left Nowgong there were besides the 8 officers, the Bandmaster, Sergt Major, several of the band and their families, the Brigade Major’s wife and an old Artilleryman.
Next morning we arrived at Chattapore and were put into the Serai [caravanserai, or inn]. The Major got a thousand Rupees from the Ranee. Before the Mutiny she sent word to him that her guns and Treasury were at his service when he required them. There was very little money among the party. That day Lt. Townsend and Capt. Scott were sent back to Nowgong to try and recover property and bring out Mess stores.
Major Kirk went to the Rajah Songessin he and the other 20 Officers joined us at Mahoba later. We were with Mr Carne. We left on the 17th for Callinger, the Major borrowed 1000 Rupees, 50 Rupees were given by him to my husband and other Officers to take care of the Sepoys who asked to have 70 Rupees given to the villagers which though objected to by some of the Officers was done.
At daybreak we were set upon by Matchlock men and had to fly. The (faithful) Sepoys all made off except 10 or 12. Lieut. Townsend was shot dead. After we left I saw the Subedar [person of authority] who was shot in the stomach on horseback. We hoped to reach Mahoba. Again and after a weary walk of 10 miles, we arrived but alas the people had risen and we had to proceed. Dr. Mabe and I carried our child alternately. Mrs Shearer died near this place from sunstroke. We had no food. I felt quite exhausted. One of the Officers kindly lent me his horse and Dr. Mabe was lent another. We were very faint. The Major died on the road between Mahoba and Kubsen and was buried also the Sergt. Major and some of the women. At Majobs we were joined by a Sergt. Kirschoff and his wife on the 18th. The Sepoys all left on the night of the 19th and the Burdees [women] likewise. We were fired on by Matchlock men and set on by the Banda Road. The party consisted of Capt. Glen, Capt. Scott, Lieut. E. Jackson and James Basher, Ensigns Pennington and Franks, Dr. Mabe, Mr. H. Kirk (not in the service), Mrs. Smalley and the two little children, Sergt. Kirschoff and his wife.
On the morning of the 20th Capt. Scott took Lottie on his horse. I was riding behind my husband as she was so crushed between us. She was 2 years old on the 1st June. We were both very weak from want of food and the thirst was dreadful and added to the burning sun. Neither Lottie or I had any head cover and Dr. Mabe only a Sepoy’s cap that I found on the ground at Kusbar. Soon after sunrise we were followed by villagers with cattiens [clubs] and spears, one of the latter struck Capt. Scott’s horse in the leg and he galloped away followed by Lieut. Franks and Pennington. My poor husband never saw his child again. We rode on for several miles keeping away from villagers and crossed the river. Our thirst was awful and my husband got dreadful cramps. I had to hold him on the horse. I was very uneasy about him. The day previous I saw a drummer’s wife eating a chapatti, I asked her to give a piece to the child which she did.
At a distance we saw water in a Mullah [ravine] and we all rode towards it, the descent was very steep. We all dismounted and had a drink our only drinking vessel was the cap attached which I have still with me. The horses were getting water and I was bathing my neck. As I had no stockings my feet were dreadfully scorched and blistered my shoes being much torn when two Cottiwallahs [peasants] were seen on the hill over the Mullah. They told us to go away, we were all frightened and mounted immediately and rode off. Sergt. K. was holding our horse while Dr. M. put me up and mounted. I think he must have got suddenly faint for I fell and he over me on the road just as we were riding off. Some time before Mr. Barber and Dr. Mabe said they could not live many hours. My poor husband felt he was dying before he reached the Mullah and told me his wishes about the children and myself and we took leave of each other. I felt as if my brain was burnt, the relief of tears was denied me. As soon as he fell the Sergt. let go the horse and went away thus cutting off our escape. We sat down on the ground awaiting our death for we felt sure they would come and murder us, poor fellow he was very weak and his thirst frightful. I said I would go and bring some water in my dress and his cap. Just as I was leaving him the villagers came down. They took 80 Rupees from him which he had round his waist and his gold watch. I had on a handsome guard ring which they saw. I bent towards the Mullah and drew off my wedding ring and twisting it in my hair replaced my guard ring, they came to me and pulled it off my finger. I tore part of the skirt of my dress to bring the water in but it was of no use for when I returned my beloved’s eyes were fixed and though I called and tried to restore him and poured water into his mouth it only settled in his throat. He never spoke to me again. I held him in my arms till he sank gradually down. I felt frantic but could not cry. I knew the being I had idolised nearly fifteen years was gone and I was alone. So I bound his head and face in my dress for there was no earth to bury him. This thought wrings my heart day and night. The pain in my hands and feet was dreadful so I went down to the Mullah and sat down in the water on a stone hoping to get away at night and look for Lottie. When I came back from the water I saw they had not taken his little watch chain and seal so I took it and tied it to the string of my petticoat under my jacket. It was a parting gift from Lieut. H. Campbell of the 52nd N.I. before he left the Regiment in November 1854 to take our four little girls to Ireland.
I had been about an hour at the Mullah when some 30 villagers came in search of me. They dragged me out of the water and took off my jacket to search for money. Though I told them they had taken all from Dr. Mabe they found the little chain and took it. They then dragged me to the village of Mummerpore one and a half miles distant, mocking me all the way and wondering to whom I was to belong. They had sent on some of their party and when we arrived the whole village was out to look at me tired and broken. I asked for a charpoy [sleeping mat/wooden bed] and laid down outside a door. I asked them for some milk as dozens of cows were passing, but they refused. At last when night came and the village was quiet an old woman brought me a cupful of dahl and rice, but my throat was so parched that I could not eat. She brought me a small earthen vessel with some drink which she said was made from Bhons [water]. Next morning some of the men told me I must go to Banda. I refused and said I would go to Allahabad, but about an hour afterwards the Nabob [a governor] sent a Palanquin for me and the Sobar [horseman] gave me the grateful news that a little child was there and their sahibs. How I hoped it was Lottie.
On arrival I found it was my little one. She was greatly blistered from the sun. The Officers were the two young men and the Bandmaster. We were there fourteen days after I arrived and we were both guarded, not allowed to speak to anyone, but kindly treated. We were in one room and were often poorly fed. The evening they arrived the Begum [Muslim lady of high rank] sent for the child and gave her twenty Rupees. This of course I made common property and with it we bought a few clothes. I got needles and cotton etc to make them. We often got food at night from the Begum.
The Begum sent for me some days after I had arrived and talked a long time with me for she said she could understand me. I suffered dreadfully all the time I was at Banda from my feet. I sent for a simple ointment to the Native Doctor and he sent me Mercurial instead which nearly sent me mad. I am partly a cripple even now. God knows what agony I endured.
All our property is gone, my watch chain, rings, some presents from the ladies of the 52nd with which Corps we were nearly eight years. My poor husband was with it at [indecipherable] with my husbands medals and clasps for Mootter and Gujerat [military campaigns]. Were it possible I wish to get another for my son to have, he will be 12 years old in January. He was born in camp at Sabjulkate when we were coming from Sutra. During the Satley Campaign with Sir C. Napier’s force. I have four little girls at school in Dublin also and hope with God’s blessing to get home soon to see them.
It is not recorded what happened to Mrs Mabe, but most of the women who survived the Mutiny were taken to Allahabad and put on a ship to Calcutta. The ship was overcrowded and conditions less than comfortable, but this was trivial compared with the hardship and deprivation they had just suffered.
Great Aunt Mittie despite her ordeal stayed in India for another twenty years. Sarah, her daughter, who was three years old at the time of the Mutiny and who was with her father when he was shot in his buggy on the journey to Sealkote, developed into a great beauty. From letters to her from Edward VII (then Prince of Wales) and Prince Louis of Battenberg, which I have in my possession, she was much admired and invited to all the balls and social events given by them during their tours of duty and visits to India in the 1870s. The Mutiny and its atrocities seemed far away as they corresponded on the latest gossip, sketched pictures of the latest ball gowns and decided which would be the best horse to ride each day.
The 1857 Mutiny was a turning point in the history of Britain’s relationship with India. The East India Company was the main casualty of the uprising. It continued to trade but in very diminished circumstances. The Crown took over the government of India. The Governor General was given the title of Viceroy by Royal Proclamation and the British Government established a Secretary of State for India and a Council of Fifteen to advise him.
Unfortunately the deep-seated prejudice, hatred and bitterness left by the Mutiny confirmed and strengthened the gulf between the two races. Distrust was increased and the British could never see their steadfast and loyal servants in the same light again. The Indians had in the eyes of the British become murderous fiends, who had perpetrated the most heinous massacres on British women, children and soldiers. The British extolled extreme and cruel retribution on the Indians.
There was little mercy in the hearts of the British troops. In a debate in the Oxford Union one speaker declared, “When every gibbet is red with blood, when the ground in front of every cannon is strewn with rags, flesh and shattered bone, then talk of mercy. Then you may find some to listen.” On the line of the march the inhabitants of whole villages were hanged and few Sepoys were left alive. No prisoners were taken and the bayonet was used liberally.
Equally for the Indians, the bloody outbreaks of 1857, the years of repression by a foreign country (Britain) with all the grievances that built up under such circumstances together with the harsh reprisals meted out to them, had not resolved or diminished their problems. Their discontent festered for many years to come. As a result, some of the more liberal assumptions were suspended. Indian progress and political development were arguably set back decades.
For 19th century women of good family Britain’s Indian empire promised security and glamour. For Mittie Siddall, however, the reality was tragedy in the 1857 Indian Mutiny. JANE LARSEN, her descendant, tells a tale of horrors based on Great Aunt Mittie’s graphic account.
IT would not have crossed their minds that there was any danger attached to the life of luxury and ease that beckoned when my grandmother, Frances Siddall, and her two sisters, Mary and Mittie, set sail for India. They were of Flemish Huguenot [Protestant] stock. Their family had settled in Snaith in England at the time of the Huguenot Persecutions. They were prosperous woollen weavers but went out of business when “shoddy” goods came on the market, hence the necessity for these three sisters to find economically sound husbands.
The purpose of the visit was to find husbands among the Indian Army officers, who would give them an economically stable and satisfying domestic life with lots of servants and an entertaining social life with dinners, dances and balls.
All three women found husbands connected to the army. My grandmother married Joseph Alleyne Foster, an officer in the Army of the Nizam of Hyderabad; Great Aunt Mary married General Woods, who became a Knight of the Garter, and Great Aunt Mittie married Senior-Surgeon James Graham.
The Indian Army at the time was comprised of the forces of the East India Company (a highly successful trading organization) and paid for out of its own revenues. This army was larger than the British Army itself. The Company’s officers were British and had been trained in the UK. Most of the Company’s soldiers were high-caste Hindus and were called Sepoys. Attached to this formidable force were Queen’s Regiments, actual units of the British Army lent by the Crown to the East India Company. There was polite rivalry between the two groups of officers. The Company officers thought the Queen’s officers snobbish and the Queen’s officers thought the Company army was second-rate.
Unfortunately, rumblings of discontent were not far below the surface of the serene existence of the officers and their families. The British seemed at this time to have lost touch with their Indian subjects. This was possibly due to the advent of the steamship. It meant faster travel between India and England, making it an option for officers to go home on leave and for wives and children to come out and live in India. Before this, it had been customary for officers to spend time with their Sepoys or with Indian prostitutes or mistresses; some even “went native” (in the pejorative phrase of the time) and adopted Indian dress and customs.
The Indians were also fearful of missionaries, who might try to convert them to Christianity. Before this, the British had always taken a liberal and tolerant attitude to the many Indian faiths and religions. Another cause of unrest was the Doctrine of Lapse whereby it was decreed that if an Indian ruler died without a male heir his lands would be forfeited to the East India Company.
All these mutterings and rumours came to a head when a new cartridge for the Enfield rifle was introduced. It required the end of the cartridge to be bitten off and rammed down the muzzle of the weapon. To help this process the cartridge was heavily greased with animal fat.
The Sepoys heard about this and passed on the news that the grease was of cow fat (sacred to the Hindus) and pig fat (abhorrent to the Moslems). Biting such cartridges would break the caste of the Hindus and defile the Moslems. The British soon realised their error and tried to get the Sepoys to make an alternative grease of beeswax and vegetable oil, but in the prevailing atmosphere of discontent the damage had been done. These incidents combined with several other events eventually resulted in the Siege of Lucknow in 1857 and smaller mutinies in surrounding outposts.
It was my Great Aunt Mittie who suffered the most from the Mutiny. She lost two little daughters at Lucknow and her husband was murdered as he drove their remaining daughter Sarah to Sealkote (one of the forts) for safety. Sarah somehow survived. Her two little sisters are buried together with their father at Lucknow. Amongst Great Aunt Mittie’s papers was found the following handwritten, unedited narrative, on very fragile paper which is becoming more and more faded. The narrative tells of the experiences of a Mrs Mabe, wife of Dr Mabe, an army surgeon. It recounts the deprivation endured by one British family and their courage in adversity when the Sepoys took their revenge. Mark Twain also tells this story in an abridged version in his book, Following the Equator. It was quoted to him by Sir G. O. Trevelyan (the historian) as an example of how ladies and children accustomed to ease, comfort and plenty suffered under such a cruel experience.
THE INDIAN MUTINY OF THE 12TH REGIMENT AT NOWGONG
Some days previous to the Mutiny at Nowgong Major Kirk made all the officers leave their bungalows and stand in line to show the men what confidence was placed in them.
The left wing mutinied on the 24th when my husband and I were at dinner when Lieut. Jackson came in and told us that Mr. Shepherd from Ghadinaba had arrived bringing the sad intelligence of the murder of Capt. Dunlop and Ensign Taylor. The man said that all the soldiers/sahibs there had been murdered.
About 3 o’clock next day Major Kirk had a parade. Captain Scott informed the men of the Mutiny. I hoped that the right wing would hold true. The Regimental Colours were placed in front and he told the men that all those who intended to be faithful to the service were to come towards the colours. The Sepoys all moved forward but reluctantly. We were looking at them from our window and I cannot tell why but from the first my poor husband and I doubted the men. The officers were questioned and said that the right wing would stand fast. The Native Officers came afterwards to Major Kirk and told him that the right wing wished to volunteer. The next day he sent the Adjutant to ask them if they were of the same mind, they said “yes”. On the evening of the 7th June Dr. Mabe said to me that he feared the men would break out soon and we would be set on and joined by the 14th Irregulars (Skinners corps) who had become most indolent. My husband was the only doctor at Newpong and had medical charge of the OCT I Artillery. At about 5 p.m. Dr. Mabe went in his buggy to the Map House where he knew he would find the Major to try and shake his confidence in the men and to ask him to move the Panjar [ceremonial chest] to some other place where there were troops. I little thought then that he would never cross his own threshold again. I dressed my little girl and sent her out with the bearer. The wing was paraded as usual to march off the guards by the Sergt. Major. I was dressing when my Ayah [nanny] who was standing by the window exclaimed “Oh what is the matter, the Sergt. Major is running away”. I instantly looked out and saw Lucas with his sword raised above his head running towards the bungalow. He saw me at the window, called out “Mrs Mabe fly the men have mutinied”. I felt paralysed both husband and child out and both at their mercy. I rushed out into the road to try if I could see either of them. I ordered our Punkhar Bucket Bearers [servants] to go and look for the child but they would not stir. Neither would our Khitmaster [senior servant] who was standing at the door. I heard shots fired and feared that Dr. Mabe was at the hospital and would be killed. None of the servants would stir, as for me I was standing in the road crying when I saw him driving furiously from the Mess House and baring his whip. I ran to him and saw our Bearer bringing our little girl in the rear of the lines. I snatched her from him and got into the buggy and drove back to the Mess House where all the officers were assembled. About 60 to 80 Sepoys had joined them and said they were true. The Sergeant Major was shot by the Sepoys while I was standing outside, I saw him lying on his face on the ground. We might have been a quarter of an hour at the Mess House when we were obliged to leave it as the men were seen at the guns and we had gone only a short distance when a shot whizzed close by us but no one was hurt. We were first off in our buggy. The Bandmaster’s buggy was broken at starting so he, his wife and baby were put into a camel carriage. We were told to go towards Chattapore but instead of going the direct road Dr. Mabe went by a road round a hill which Captain Scott had gone a few days before while escorting 4 Artillerymen there who had used seditious language and during the night we were constantly alarmed lest the Cavalry should follow us. We saw fire after fire as our bungalows were burning. I do not know how many left Nowgong there were besides the 8 officers, the Bandmaster, Sergt Major, several of the band and their families, the Brigade Major’s wife and an old Artilleryman.
Next morning we arrived at Chattapore and were put into the Serai [caravanserai, or inn]. The Major got a thousand Rupees from the Ranee. Before the Mutiny she sent word to him that her guns and Treasury were at his service when he required them. There was very little money among the party. That day Lt. Townsend and Capt. Scott were sent back to Nowgong to try and recover property and bring out Mess stores.
Major Kirk went to the Rajah Songessin he and the other 20 Officers joined us at Mahoba later. We were with Mr Carne. We left on the 17th for Callinger, the Major borrowed 1000 Rupees, 50 Rupees were given by him to my husband and other Officers to take care of the Sepoys who asked to have 70 Rupees given to the villagers which though objected to by some of the Officers was done.
At daybreak we were set upon by Matchlock men and had to fly. The (faithful) Sepoys all made off except 10 or 12. Lieut. Townsend was shot dead. After we left I saw the Subedar [person of authority] who was shot in the stomach on horseback. We hoped to reach Mahoba. Again and after a weary walk of 10 miles, we arrived but alas the people had risen and we had to proceed. Dr. Mabe and I carried our child alternately. Mrs Shearer died near this place from sunstroke. We had no food. I felt quite exhausted. One of the Officers kindly lent me his horse and Dr. Mabe was lent another. We were very faint. The Major died on the road between Mahoba and Kubsen and was buried also the Sergt. Major and some of the women. At Majobs we were joined by a Sergt. Kirschoff and his wife on the 18th. The Sepoys all left on the night of the 19th and the Burdees [women] likewise. We were fired on by Matchlock men and set on by the Banda Road. The party consisted of Capt. Glen, Capt. Scott, Lieut. E. Jackson and James Basher, Ensigns Pennington and Franks, Dr. Mabe, Mr. H. Kirk (not in the service), Mrs. Smalley and the two little children, Sergt. Kirschoff and his wife.
On the morning of the 20th Capt. Scott took Lottie on his horse. I was riding behind my husband as she was so crushed between us. She was 2 years old on the 1st June. We were both very weak from want of food and the thirst was dreadful and added to the burning sun. Neither Lottie or I had any head cover and Dr. Mabe only a Sepoy’s cap that I found on the ground at Kusbar. Soon after sunrise we were followed by villagers with cattiens [clubs] and spears, one of the latter struck Capt. Scott’s horse in the leg and he galloped away followed by Lieut. Franks and Pennington. My poor husband never saw his child again. We rode on for several miles keeping away from villagers and crossed the river. Our thirst was awful and my husband got dreadful cramps. I had to hold him on the horse. I was very uneasy about him. The day previous I saw a drummer’s wife eating a chapatti, I asked her to give a piece to the child which she did.
At a distance we saw water in a Mullah [ravine] and we all rode towards it, the descent was very steep. We all dismounted and had a drink our only drinking vessel was the cap attached which I have still with me. The horses were getting water and I was bathing my neck. As I had no stockings my feet were dreadfully scorched and blistered my shoes being much torn when two Cottiwallahs [peasants] were seen on the hill over the Mullah. They told us to go away, we were all frightened and mounted immediately and rode off. Sergt. K. was holding our horse while Dr. M. put me up and mounted. I think he must have got suddenly faint for I fell and he over me on the road just as we were riding off. Some time before Mr. Barber and Dr. Mabe said they could not live many hours. My poor husband felt he was dying before he reached the Mullah and told me his wishes about the children and myself and we took leave of each other. I felt as if my brain was burnt, the relief of tears was denied me. As soon as he fell the Sergt. let go the horse and went away thus cutting off our escape. We sat down on the ground awaiting our death for we felt sure they would come and murder us, poor fellow he was very weak and his thirst frightful. I said I would go and bring some water in my dress and his cap. Just as I was leaving him the villagers came down. They took 80 Rupees from him which he had round his waist and his gold watch. I had on a handsome guard ring which they saw. I bent towards the Mullah and drew off my wedding ring and twisting it in my hair replaced my guard ring, they came to me and pulled it off my finger. I tore part of the skirt of my dress to bring the water in but it was of no use for when I returned my beloved’s eyes were fixed and though I called and tried to restore him and poured water into his mouth it only settled in his throat. He never spoke to me again. I held him in my arms till he sank gradually down. I felt frantic but could not cry. I knew the being I had idolised nearly fifteen years was gone and I was alone. So I bound his head and face in my dress for there was no earth to bury him. This thought wrings my heart day and night. The pain in my hands and feet was dreadful so I went down to the Mullah and sat down in the water on a stone hoping to get away at night and look for Lottie. When I came back from the water I saw they had not taken his little watch chain and seal so I took it and tied it to the string of my petticoat under my jacket. It was a parting gift from Lieut. H. Campbell of the 52nd N.I. before he left the Regiment in November 1854 to take our four little girls to Ireland.
I had been about an hour at the Mullah when some 30 villagers came in search of me. They dragged me out of the water and took off my jacket to search for money. Though I told them they had taken all from Dr. Mabe they found the little chain and took it. They then dragged me to the village of Mummerpore one and a half miles distant, mocking me all the way and wondering to whom I was to belong. They had sent on some of their party and when we arrived the whole village was out to look at me tired and broken. I asked for a charpoy [sleeping mat/wooden bed] and laid down outside a door. I asked them for some milk as dozens of cows were passing, but they refused. At last when night came and the village was quiet an old woman brought me a cupful of dahl and rice, but my throat was so parched that I could not eat. She brought me a small earthen vessel with some drink which she said was made from Bhons [water]. Next morning some of the men told me I must go to Banda. I refused and said I would go to Allahabad, but about an hour afterwards the Nabob [a governor] sent a Palanquin for me and the Sobar [horseman] gave me the grateful news that a little child was there and their sahibs. How I hoped it was Lottie.
On arrival I found it was my little one. She was greatly blistered from the sun. The Officers were the two young men and the Bandmaster. We were there fourteen days after I arrived and we were both guarded, not allowed to speak to anyone, but kindly treated. We were in one room and were often poorly fed. The evening they arrived the Begum [Muslim lady of high rank] sent for the child and gave her twenty Rupees. This of course I made common property and with it we bought a few clothes. I got needles and cotton etc to make them. We often got food at night from the Begum.
The Begum sent for me some days after I had arrived and talked a long time with me for she said she could understand me. I suffered dreadfully all the time I was at Banda from my feet. I sent for a simple ointment to the Native Doctor and he sent me Mercurial instead which nearly sent me mad. I am partly a cripple even now. God knows what agony I endured.
All our property is gone, my watch chain, rings, some presents from the ladies of the 52nd with which Corps we were nearly eight years. My poor husband was with it at [indecipherable] with my husbands medals and clasps for Mootter and Gujerat [military campaigns]. Were it possible I wish to get another for my son to have, he will be 12 years old in January. He was born in camp at Sabjulkate when we were coming from Sutra. During the Satley Campaign with Sir C. Napier’s force. I have four little girls at school in Dublin also and hope with God’s blessing to get home soon to see them.
It is not recorded what happened to Mrs Mabe, but most of the women who survived the Mutiny were taken to Allahabad and put on a ship to Calcutta. The ship was overcrowded and conditions less than comfortable, but this was trivial compared with the hardship and deprivation they had just suffered.
Great Aunt Mittie despite her ordeal stayed in India for another twenty years. Sarah, her daughter, who was three years old at the time of the Mutiny and who was with her father when he was shot in his buggy on the journey to Sealkote, developed into a great beauty. From letters to her from Edward VII (then Prince of Wales) and Prince Louis of Battenberg, which I have in my possession, she was much admired and invited to all the balls and social events given by them during their tours of duty and visits to India in the 1870s. The Mutiny and its atrocities seemed far away as they corresponded on the latest gossip, sketched pictures of the latest ball gowns and decided which would be the best horse to ride each day.
The 1857 Mutiny was a turning point in the history of Britain’s relationship with India. The East India Company was the main casualty of the uprising. It continued to trade but in very diminished circumstances. The Crown took over the government of India. The Governor General was given the title of Viceroy by Royal Proclamation and the British Government established a Secretary of State for India and a Council of Fifteen to advise him.
Unfortunately the deep-seated prejudice, hatred and bitterness left by the Mutiny confirmed and strengthened the gulf between the two races. Distrust was increased and the British could never see their steadfast and loyal servants in the same light again. The Indians had in the eyes of the British become murderous fiends, who had perpetrated the most heinous massacres on British women, children and soldiers. The British extolled extreme and cruel retribution on the Indians.
There was little mercy in the hearts of the British troops. In a debate in the Oxford Union one speaker declared, “When every gibbet is red with blood, when the ground in front of every cannon is strewn with rags, flesh and shattered bone, then talk of mercy. Then you may find some to listen.” On the line of the march the inhabitants of whole villages were hanged and few Sepoys were left alive. No prisoners were taken and the bayonet was used liberally.
Equally for the Indians, the bloody outbreaks of 1857, the years of repression by a foreign country (Britain) with all the grievances that built up under such circumstances together with the harsh reprisals meted out to them, had not resolved or diminished their problems. Their discontent festered for many years to come. As a result, some of the more liberal assumptions were suspended. Indian progress and political development were arguably set back decades.