Wanderings in India, and Other Sketches of Life in Hindostan

There is an enormous mountain at Simlah, and around its base there is a good macadamized road, some fifteen feet wide. This is the favourite ride of the visitors, and every fine afternoon some sixty gentlemen, and nearly as many ladies, may be seen upon it taking the fresh air.

Simlah is a much more expensive place to spend the summer at than Mussoorie, in consequence of its great distance from the plains, whence almost every article of food and all descriptions of "stores" are carried on men's shoulders. The mutton of the hill sheep is not equal to Welsh mutton; but when properly kept and dressed, it is very good eating. The hill cattle also afford tolerable beef; but the joints are very small. House-rent at Simlah is also much dearer. The furnished abode, for which we paid 100l. for the season, we could have got at Mussoorie for 60l. The same may be said of articles of clothing and of merchandize. The majority of the European shopkeepers (there were only five or six) appeared to be doing a good business; but I question whether they made money. They have to give, in most cases, very long credit, pay high rates of interest to the banks for money, and high rents for the extensive premises they are obliged to occupy, to say nothing of having to live as all English people must live in India. The hotel did not pay the proprietor, notwithstanding his house was generally full of people, and his charges were seemingly exorbitant.

There was no club at Simlah when I was there; but, since then, one was established. Its existence, however, was very brief. The fact is, people in India very soon grow tired of a thing; and, what is even worse, you will find that when a large number of persons, who have really nothing to do but amuse themselves, very frequently meet, they wrangle, quarrel, split into small coteries, and become on very bad terms with each other. How the old Himalaya Club at Mussoorie has existed so long, is miraculous. A club in India is not like a club in England, where scores of the members are unknown to each other, even by name, and possibly do not meet more than once in a month.

Some of the views at Simlah are magnificent; and from several points may be seen, in the far distance, the river Sutlej, stealing its way through the mountains. The water has the appearance, when the sun is shining upon it, of a narrow stream of quicksilver. Some of the hills are literally covered with rhododendron trees, fifty or sixty feet high, and when they are all in full bloom the effect may be easily imagined.

To Jutsy, some five or six miles from Simlah, and where one of the Goorkha battalions was always stationed, I have already alluded. There are but two or three bungalows there, and they are occupied by the officers of the battalion.

The season that I spent at Simlah was a very pleasant one, and notwithstanding it was enlivened by several exciting incidents – to wit, a duel, a police affair, a court martial, and an elopement, – I was very glad when it was over, and we could return to the plains.

TANTIA TOPEE

When I visited the Nena Sahib, I saw this miscreant, who has since so distinguished himself as a soldier and a general, and has recently been captured and hanged. He was not called Tantia Topee at Bhithoor, but "Bennie," simply. He was not a servant exactly – at all events not a menial servant; but one of those numerous "hangers-on" of Nena Sahib who repaid by flattery the favours they received in the shape of board, lodging, and presents. The name of "Tantia Topee," so a native gentleman in India informs me, was an assumed one; and I will, therefore, speak of the hero as "Bennie," whom I remember sufficiently well to describe him. I had not the least idea when I gave him a general letter of recommendation, that he would fill so many pages of Indian history, and give brigades and divisions of British troops such trouble and vexation before they succeeded in catching him.

Bennie was not more than thirty, and at the time of his execution his age could not have exceeded forty years. I question even if he were so old as that, though he may have looked older. He was a man of about the middle height – say five feet eight – rather slightly made, but very erect. He was far from good-looking. The forehead was low, the nose rather broad at the nostrils, and his teeth irregular and discoloured. His eyes were expressive and full of cunning, like those of most Asiatics; but he did not strike me as a man of eminent ability. There were a few men amongst Nena Sahib's flatterers who were really clever men, but they were not Mahrattas; and my impression is that Bennie was not a Mahratta, but a member of some obscure family in the Upper Provinces of India, under British rule. Like the rest of the tribe of flatterers who surrounded Nena Sahib, Bennie was obsequious and cringing to every European who visited Bhithoor. This demeanour, of course, was not the offspring of respect, but prompted rather by the impression that it might tend to some advantage.

There are many persons in India, natives especially, who are of opinion that Nena Sahib did not dictate the atrocities that were committed at Cawnpore; but that they were committed by order of the various adventurers, such as Bennie, who became powerful the moment that Nena Sahib consented to rebel and raise his standard. Asiatics are frequently placed in the awkward position of being responsible for the acts of their retainers – acts that they not only do not sanction, but forbid. This was the case with Moolraj, the Governor of Mooltan. From the first, and to the day of his death, he declared (and his declaration was supported by the very strongest circumstantial evidence) that so far from giving an order to his turbulent soldiery to kill or attack Messrs. Vans Agnew and Anderson, he did all in his power to shield them from harm. Indeed the verdict of the camp which condemned him, rather inconsistently, brought in a verdict of "Guilty; but a victim of circumstances."

That Nena Sahib well deserves the fate that is in store for him, whenever he is captured, there can be no species of doubt; but, in the absence of some proof, I should be sorry – especially after the letters I have read on the subject – to attribute to the man that fiendish treachery and horrible massacre which took place at Cawnpore in July, 1857. Nena Sahib had seen so much of English gentlemen and ladies, and was personally (if not intimately) acquainted with so many of the sufferers that it is only fair to suppose, when he ordered boats to be got ready, he was sincere in his desire that the Christians should find their way to Calcutta, and that what ensued was in violation of his orders, and the act of those who wished to place for ever between Nena Sahib and the British Government an impassable barrier, so far as peace and reconciliation were concerned. No one knew better than Nena Sahib that, in the event of the British becoming again the conquerors of India, the very fact of his having spared the lives of those who surrendered, would have led to the sparing of his own life, and hence the promise he made to Sir Hugh Wheeler. One friend (a gentleman of great experience) writing from India on this subject, says: —

"In my opinion it was the Mahommedan soldiery who insisted on that awful measure. Having so many helpless Christians in their absolute power, they could not resist the temptation of sacrificing them, for their faith's sake."

It is to be regretted that previous to hanging "Tantia Topee," some statement was not extracted from him touching what took place at Cawnpore. Of course, it could not have been relied upon per se, but, as evidence, confirmatory or contradictory, of other statements made by other miscreants, who may yet fall into our power, it would not have been entirely valueless. I do not mean to say that the culprit should have been allured to confess by any promise, or insinuation, that his life would be spared if he spoke the truth. That is, I would not have breathed the word of promise to his ear, and then have broken it to the hope; nor would I have subjected him to any corporeal torture. Nevertheless, I would have had "out of him" something like "the truth" – if not "the whole truth, and nothing but the truth," and so would Sir John Lawrence, or Mr. Wingfield, now at Lucknow, or Mr. Dampier, or Major Elwall, and a score of ex-Thuggee officers now living. It is a sad mistake to hang this sort of people in a hurry; or, for the matter of that, to hang them at all. They have not that dread of death that Europeans have, but almost invariably meet their fate without exhibiting the faintest fear. There are punishments which, to their minds, are far more terrible. They are not as "cowards who die a thousand deaths in dreading one which must come at last." They are rather cowards who die a thousand deaths in dreading one life which they long to end. I was never more impressed with the truth of this than when, with the permission of Lord Dalhousie, I had an interview with Moolraj in his cell at Lahore; he was then under the charge of Dr. (now Sir John) Logie, who is "in attendance" on the Maharajah Dulleep Singh. The constant cry of the wretched captive was, "Ah, let them take my life by one blow; but not draw it out of me by slow degrees!" As far as I can recollect, it was not then decided whether his life should be spared or not.

I would treat culprits like Tantia Topee, Nena Sahib, Bahadoor Khan, the Nawab of Bandah, &c., much in the same way as the convicts of Norfolk Island were treated in former days – make death the first favour for which they should crave, and the last which should be granted unto them; but with this difference, that if they murdered each other, the hope of ending their days for the deed should be a vain one. To hang such men is to frustrate the end and real object of all punishment, which is to deter others from the commission of the same offence. When such men are exterminated they are speedily forgotten, and their end is not regarded as an example for the prevention of evil; but so long as they are living, and suffering what to them is far worse than death, the case is otherwise. Be it known, however, that I am not an advocate for the abolition of capital punishment in this country for the crime of murder. The gallows, judiciously used, is, in my humble judgment, a very wholesome terror.

THE END

1

The word "logue" simply signifies people; but, when applied as above, it is nothing more than a plural. "Sahib logue" (sahibs) "mem logue" (ladies), "baba logue" (children).