The First Sikh War:

1845-1846

The two Sikh Wars of 1845-6 and 1848-9 were the last serious trials of strength for the British in India—except, of course, for the Mutiny¹—until the Independence Movement gathered momentum from 1919 onwards. Of all the many tribes and people with whom the British fought in order to establish their rule in India, the Sikhs were probably the most formidable, and Sita Ram makes it clear that the sepoys of the Bengal Army were most reluctant to cross swords with them. A Hindu sect founded by the first guru, or teacher, Nanak (1469–1539), the Sikhs were distinguishable by their beards and long hair, which they were forbidden to cut, martial characteristics and fine physique. Their home was in the Punjab and they suffered centuries of persecution by the Mughuls until, at the beginning of the nineteenth century, their numerous warring clans were united as a result of the genius of Maharajah Runjeet Singh (1787–1839).

As good a clue as any to Ranjeet's character can be obtained from the Punjabi couplet he was fond of quoting:

Four things greater than all things are,
Women, and Horses, and Power, and War.
(Kushwant Singh)

By a combination of cajolery and force he united the Sikhs and pacified the Punjab, and then looked for farther fields to conquer. He fought the Afghans and took from them the fertile provinces of Kashmir and Peshawar. He extended his rule southwards to Multan and had ambitions in Sind. He dearly wished to bring under his control the Sikh clans who lived to the south and east of the River Sutlej, but that river formed the boundary between the Sikh empire and that of the East India Company. Runjeet Singh was determined not to antagonize the powerful British; he signed a treaty with them at Amritsar in 1809 and faithfully adhered to it thereafter.

The British plenipotentiary who negotiated this treaty was Charles Metcalfe and he was accompanied to Amritsar by an escort of Bengal sepoys. Runjeet Singh was greatly impressed by their discipline and appearance and decided to train his own soldiers along the same lines. He obtained the services of numerous European mercenaries, paid them well, and gave them a free hand to produce an army as good as the Company's. He was particularly interested in artillery and established an arsenal in Lahore which produced excellent guns. Within a comparatively few years the Sikh army was probably capable of taking on the Bengal Army on equal terms, apart from the stiffening of European troops which always seems to have been an encouragement to the sepoys. Fortunately for the British, Runjeet Singh never put matters to the test, and died at the early age of fifty-two. Even his iron constitution had to yield in the end to the strains he put upon it.

His death was followed by the usual struggle for power which was bitter, protracted, and bloody. The Sikh army, which had frequently resorted to mutiny even under Runjeet Singh, became the main power in the land. The court at Lahore was divided against itself, and realized that it could not stand out against the army which was clamouring for war with the British. It was therefore decided, according to Sir Henry Lawrence, 'to fling the soldiery upon British India, supplying them with every means of success, taking, if unsuccessful, the chance of clemency and forgiveness, and, if victorious, the merit and profit of repelling the English from Hindustan'. The Sikh army accordingly crossed the River Sutlej on 11 December 1845, and war with the British was inevitable.

Sita Ram's regiment was stationed at Ferozepore on the Sutlej frontier and formed part of the Division under Major-General Littler. Sita Ram was not present at the first battle, Mudki, but seems to have taken part in the battles of Ferozeshah and Sobraon which followed, although his regiment was not at Ferozeshah, and he may have been reporting the battle from hearsay. A large British force had been collected on the Punjab frontier under the command of Sir Hugh Gough, the Commander-in-Chief, with whom the Governor-General, Sir Henry Hardinge, was serving as second-in-command. This force, 'The Army of the Sutlej', took some hard knocks from the Sikhs at Mudki and Ferozeshah before finally driving them from the field at Sobraon. Gough was a much respected commander, especially among the British troops, but he was no tactician; he preferred the bludgeon to the rapier and came near to defeat on more than one occasion. He was saved by the superior discipline of his troops, although the sepoy regiments came under criticism at Ferozeshah. However, they redeemed themselves at Sobraon where they fought well.

Sita Ram admired the courage of the Sikhs and the handling of their artillery. He was, however, critical of their leadership, and with good reason, for treachery and divided counsel on the part of the Sikh leaders weighted the scales against their own forces. The Company's army occupied Lahore on 20 February 1846, and the First Sikh War was over. Much to everyone's surprise, including the Sikhs, the British did not annex the Punjab. The frontier was advanced from the Sutlej to the Beas incorporating the fertile district of Jullundur in the Company's dominions, and a British Resident was established in Lahore. An indemnity of £500,000 was demanded and, since the bankrupt treasury of Lahore could not produce this sum, a transaction was entered into with the Dogra Rajah of Jammu, Gulab Singh, who had been a feudatory of the Sikhs. The fertile valley of Kashmir was taken from the Sikhs and handed over to the Jammu ruler in return for £1,000,000.

Sita Ram has a lot to say in this chapter about the poor spirit he found in the Bengal Army when he returned from his captivity in Afghanistan. All authorities are agreed that there was a significant and progressive deterioration in discipline among the Bengal regiments from about 1830 onwards. Some of the cause for this was attributed to the abolition of flogging, which was in fact reinstituted in 1845, but probably more was due to the loss of prestige suffered by the British as a consequence of the First Afghan War. The war in Sind (1843) had also been unpopular, and the sepoys resented having to serve beyond what they considered to be the confines of Hindustan without adequate compensation in the form of extra batta, or field allowance. This short-sighted cheapening by the Company's financial authorities caused great resentment, and was felt as keenly by the British officers as it was by the sepoys they commanded. However, much of the blame for the malaise that was afflicting the Bengal Native Army must be laid on the shoulders of the British officers. The young and ambitious among them soon tired of regimental duty and found more profitable, or more interesting, employment with the civil government. Those who remained at regimental duty, and who wanted to be efficient, found themselves frustrated by regulations of every kind and description, and by senior officers who were worn out by the climate and waiting for promotion. Colonels of sixty-five, and generals of over seventy, who clung to the regulations and seldom if ever went on parade, were completely out of touch with their men. A wishy-washy paternalism took the place of the ordered discipline to which the Bengal sepoy had been for so long accustomed. Undue attention to the sepoy's susceptibilities, reluctance to punish when punishment was essential, and a failure on the part of the Higher Command to support Commanding Officers, began to sap the morale of the Bengal Native Army. It could only be a matter of time before discipline collapsed altogether, and that time was fast approaching.

After waiting six months the Colonel sahib informed me that the Sirkar would pay my ransom; but, as there were no accounts to show how many months' arrears of pay were due to me, or to any others of Shah Shujah's Levy, the money could not be given unless I could find some officer of my late regiment to certify how many months' pay was due to me at the time of the retreat from Kabul.² Since the day on which I joined the remnants of the European regiment at Kabul was the last day on which I saw any of my own regiment, I imagined that all the officers must

have been killed. I repeated all the officers' names I could remember to the Colonel sahib, but he was unable to tell me where a single one of them was. However, I was extremely fortunate to get even my ransom paid, and all this was due to the Colonel sahib. I should never have succeeded had he not been as a father to me. Although I had regained my caste, and was made a good deal of by the officers, I was nevertheless regarded with jealousy by the men of my regiment. I had prevented a naik and a sepoy from being promoted by my return, and I was constantly taunted with having been circumcized [i.e. being made a Mahommedan], and also with having eaten beef³ while with the European soldiers in Kabul.

The Government's disasters in Afghanistan had become a common topic of conversation all over India. Many declared that the English were not invincible, and this was particularly the case in Delhi. I imagine it was from this time that the Mahommedans began to feel that one day they would be able to drive the Sirkar out of the country. The sepoys were discontented, for they found they were liable to be sent across the Indus at any time. They complained that the Sirkar had not fulfilled the promises made to induce the sepoys to go to Afghanistan; and now they had returned without gaining anything, neither promotion nor reward. The Mahommedans boasted that they all came originally from Kabul and Persia and could fight the English just as well as the Afghans. Several emissaries from the court of the Badshah⁴ at Delhi came into our lines and tried to discover the temper and general feeling of the army. When the sepoys pointed out that the Sirkar had easily recaptured Kabul, these people replied that had not the foreign army returned so quickly on the onset of the winter, it would have been as easily destroyed as the first army had been.

As I have mentioned previously, I was always regarded with some degree of suspicion in my regiment. I was not myself spoken to on the subject but I still heard the matter openly discussed. I reported all this to the Quarter-Master sahib, who only laughed at me, and I went to the Colonel sahib who listened to me very attentively. However, he said he was afraid that I had brought an accusation against the regiment out of spite, and he warned me not to talk to him again on such a subject. He considered it was all idle gossip from the bazaars. Of course, after this reprimand, I did not report anything again to a sahib as it only got me into trouble. After the Kabul war and the campaign in Sind most of the Sirkar's regiments between Delhi and Ferozepore were ripe for mutiny, and it was only the incredible good luck of the Sirkar that prevented a general uprising. The sepoys complained that additional field allowances had been promised in order to persuade them to go down to Sind, but after they had arrived there they were told that it had been a mistake and had never been authorized—although their commanding officers had said they would certainly receive it.

You, my Lord, were in India then, and know that several regiments were in mutiny.⁵ In only four or five regiments did this show itself very openly, but discontent was deeply seated throughout. Many people expected a general mutiny throughout the army. Mahommedan agents were at work in every station and numbers of Afghan, Persian, and other spies, who promised that if the army would rise, their countries would join in against the foreigners and wipe out the disgrace they had suffered in Kabul when their bazaar was destroyed. They also said they would restore the throne of Hindustan to the Delhi Badshah. Every Rajah and Nawab was sounded; if friendly to the scheme, proposals were put forward to them to help in getting rid of the English. It is true that many had just cause for complaint. I myself had been promised promotion and extra pay, but had obtained neither the one nor the other. The Sirkar had, however, paid my ransom, and I was a free man instead of being a slave. The recollection of this was never absent from my mind. The year passed without any further signs of disaffection. It was well known in Delhi that during the Afghan War the Sirkar itself had been afraid. It had ordered the artillery to fire more than usual that year in order to remind the people of Delhi of its power. But the disasters in Kabul went a long way towards showing that the Sirkar was not so invincible as had always been supposed. It was certainly not feared as much now as had been the case formerly.

Another year passed and then the murmurs of discontent, together with the excitement, subsided. At this time it was said that the Sikhs were anxious to try their strength against the Government. Their army was very large, well drilled, and was confident of beating the English army. The Sirkar now began to move up regiments to Ambala and Ludhiana.⁶ We arrived at Ludhiana and remained there for some time. I think the English officers imagined the Sikhs would confine themselves to blustering on the far side of the river and would never dare to cross it. Large numbers of them were seen on the banks of the Sutlej but none had yet crossed. Eventually a party of Sikh horsemen crossed the river at Hurreeputtun⁷ and cut up a number of grasscutters, as well as looting some stores belonging to the Sirkar. This was the first evidence of their intentions. Nevertheless the British officers thought the Sikhs would never invade Hindustan, but more troops were moved up to Ferozepore. Orders soon came for my regiment to proceed there, which we did by forced marches in four days.

The Khalsa⁸ army had a great name because they had been drilled by French sahibs⁹ and had muskets like the Sirkar's army. Their guns were innumerable. Most of the sepoy regiments were afraid of fighting the Sikhs, but there were several European regiments in the force and this gave the sepoys more confidence. After a few days some horsemen came galloping into Ferozepore with the news that the Khalsa army had actually crossed the Sutlej—at least 500,000—and were intending to attack the station. Officers were sent to see, and they reported it was true but that their numbers were about 20,000.¹⁰ There were only seven or eight regiments at Ferozepore; however General Littler sahib¹¹ moved out against

the Sikhs, but to everyone's surprise the Sikh army retired and did not come to Ferozepore. It was said later that they thought the entire cantonment had been mined, and therefore they wished to fight it out in the plain.

A few days after this we heard heavy firing at some distance from Ferozepore. News came in the evening that a battle had been fought. Some said that the Sirkar's army had been defeated and was retreating to our station, while others reported that the Sikhs had been worsted and their army routed. There was another rumour that neither army had won the day but were occupying the same ground on which the battle had been fought.¹² However, several officers arrived during the evening and it then became known that the Sirkar had been victorious and many Sikh guns had been taken. All the troops were ordered from Ferozepore to join forthwith with the army.¹³ We marched by night and went by a circuitous route in order to avoid the Sikhs who were reported to be ready on the road to cut us off. Next day, at 12 o'clock, we joined the other large division of the Sirkar's army, but we were in great want of water, very tired, and unfit for fighting. Despite this, the order was immediately given to prepare for battle.

Owing to some movement of the Sikhs the fight was delayed until the sun was nearly down and night was closing in on us. This was fighting indeed—I had never seen anything like it before!¹⁴ Volleys of owing to the treachery of one of the Sikh commanders, Lal Singh, who was in correspondence with the British political officer in Ferozepore, Captain John Nicholson (of Mutiny fame). musketry were delivered by us at close quarters, and were returned just as steadily by the enemy. In all the previous actions in which I had taken part one or two volleys at short range were as much as the Sirkar's enemies could stand; but these Sikhs gave volley for volley, and never gave way until nearly decimated. They had their infantry placed between, and behind, their artillery, and their fire was terrible, such as no sepoy has ever had to endure. The Sirkar's guns were almost silenced and the ammunition wagons exploded. I saw two or three European regiments driven back by the weight of artillery fire which rained down on us like a monsoon downpour. They fell into confusion, and several sepoy regiments did the same. One European regiment¹⁵ was annihilated—totally swept away—and I now thought the Sirkar's army would be overpowered. Fear filled the minds of many of us.

When it was almost dark a loud shout was heard. This did not sound like the Sikhs, and we next heard the roaring noise of cavalry. The 3rd Dragoons rushed right through the enemy's entrenchment and rode over and cut down their gunners. This charge was so sudden, and cavalry charging right into artillery batteries so unheard of, that the Sikhs in perfect amazement left their guns for a short space. It now became quite dark and the Sirkar's army left off fighting, but the Sikhs continued firing whenever they saw a light. The force I was with under General Littler sahib lost its way in the darkness. For fear of marching straight into the Sikh camp we were ordered to lie down. This night was nearly as bad as some of those in Kabul. We dare not light a fire, for fear of the enemy's round shot, there was no water, and we had nothing to eat except the few chapattis some men had put in their haversacks. The sahibs said this was real fighting and the Sikhs were noble enemies but they nevertheless looked anxious and wondered what the morning would bring forth. The weather was bitterly cold and nothing was heard among us but the chattering of teeth on empty stomachs.¹⁶ I remember on this night a sahib from a regiment next to mine kept walking up and down singing; he was checked by the other officers but he still continued. The sahib was not drunk but was trying to solace himself for the absence of the officers' mess tent.¹⁷ It was a dreadful night. The English had not abandoned the field, nor had the Sikhs been driven from their breastworks. It was a drawn game.

When morning dawned the English army got into shape again and we were ordered to storm the Sikh entrenchments. My column joined up with the division from which we had become separated the previous night. The Governor-General sahib himself rode about the field, speaking to the European soldiers, and telling his aides-de-camp to bid us fight like men, and victory was certain. I do not understand how it was, but some said that the Governor-General sahib was serving under the command of the Commander-in-Chief.¹⁸ It was said that the former had been a great general in England, and had fought many battles, in one of which he had lost an arm. 'Lad Guff' sahib was a great favourite with the European soldiers, for whenever he came near a regiment they began cheering him.¹⁹ The Europeans rushed the batteries and the Sikhs fled. Then the horse artillery came up quite close and poured grapeshot into the enemy ranks, but the English army was too tired and faint from lack of food to be able to pursue the enemy. The Sikhs got to the ford and crossed the river. The whole of their camp was captured and 100 guns,²⁰ but they had set fire to their tents, and powder was continually exploding. Several men were killed as a result while engaged in looting. However, much booty was captured, such as tents lined with silk and shawls, belonging to the Sikh sirdars, and arms of every description. Many men were severely burnt while trying to save these tents.

After this great battle, while the whole of the English army was cooking its food, the bugles sounded the alarm, and it was reported that all the Sikh cavalry was coming down on us. The fight began again, but the Sirkar's guns were unable to fire since their guns had expended all their ammunition. The luck of the Sirkar was indeed great—

without any apparent cause the Sikh army retreated! Everyone was astonished since the Sikhs were all fresh troops. Some said they suddenly heard that another army of the Sirkar was in the rear, but whatever the reason they fired only a few rounds and then withdrew. They were not attacked by the English army since they never came within musket range. It was reckoned that they possessed about 100,000 cavalry, which was quite enough to have surrounded our force and totally destroy it. Some said that Sirdar Tej Singh was afraid to fight.²¹ The sahibs were as surprised as every one else, and the retreat of the Khalsa gave the sepoys great confidence as they thought the Sikhs dare not fight the Sirkar again. Our army halted some days, throwing up entrenchments, and waited for the big guns to arrive. An English army was in rear of the Sikhs, but it must have been a long way off as it did not arrive for ten days or more afterwards. We then heard that there had been an engagement near Ludhiana and that some of the Sirkar's guns had been captured, and also all the baggage. Then news came that there had been another battle in which the enemy had been defeated and all the lost baggage recaptured. This was true.²²

At the beginning of the month [February 1846] all the armies of the Sirkar had been assembled, as well as the siege artillery. It was now a very large force, such as had never before been seen in India, but the Sikh army was reported to be at least 60,000 strong, with 400 guns. The Sikh army had marched to Sobraon²³ and had defended the position with

100 guns. The English force moved at night and came upon the enemy's camp early in the morning. It was clear that the Sikhs had not learnt of its approach; there was great commotion in their camp and their bugles sounded the alarm. The fight was commenced by the artillery and the fire was terrible. One part of the Sikh army was on the other side of the river Sutlej, and the other inside British territory, with a bridge of boats across the river. After three hours' cannonading orders were given to charge the batteries. If it were possible, the fire on this occasion was more severe than at Ferozeshah. Sections of the English army were destroyed by the guns of the Khalsa, but it still stood firm. Several European regiments rushed on the guns,²⁴ followed by some sepoy regiments. It is well known that the sepoys dreaded the Sikhs as they were very strong men,²⁵ but in spite of everything their officers led them on. Through the smoke the flashing swords and helmets of that wonderful regiment the 3rd Dragoons were again seen²⁶—they charged into the batteries a second time. Never was there such fighting in India ever before. At last there was a tremendous shout, which was taken up by the whole of the Sirkar's army, that the Sikhs were retreating over their bridge.

Both sides of this bridge were defended with guns, but the enemy dared not fire from the other side of the river for fear of killing their own men. They marched down to the bridge in sections and many regiments managed to get across. The Sirkar's artillery moved close up and poured in grapeshot at close range, mowing down hundreds. Infantry advanced and fired volley after volley. But the Sikhs marched on and seldom now answered the fire. Not one of them asked for mercy. Thousands of the Sikhs fell into the river which was very deep. Hundreds jumped

into the water in order to avoid being carried to the bank where the English forces were lined up. The slaughter was frightful. I have seen nothing like it. The river was full of masses of struggling men, who clung to each other in their despair, and who were swept away by the current to rise no more alive.

I narrowly escaped with my life near this bridge. I saw a large round shot bounding straight into the leading files of my company and called out to my comrades. However, the cannon ball turned in some fashion and went straight for the place where we had opened out in order to avoid it. Five sepoys and one Havildar were swept away. The Havildar was thrown many paces by the force of the cannon ball. One of the sepoy's muskets was dashed against my chest and I fell down unconscious. When I came to, I found my regiment had moved on. I was unable to move, but by good fortune was picked up later by parties sent out to search for the wounded, and was sent to hospital.

The losses of the Sirkar's army in this action must have been very heavy.²⁷ One General sahib was killed, and I heard that 100 officers were killed or wounded.²⁸ Everything belonging to the Sikh army was captured, and the plunder was very great. Some of our sepoys got as much as 100 Nanukshaee rupees²⁹ from one dead body. If the river had not been so swollen, the Sirkar's cavalry would have cut up hundreds of the enemy, as the river was not usually so difficult to cross at this time of year.³⁰ However, the boats from which the bridge was made were carried miles downstream when the bridge broke, and all the other boats near at hand had been destroyed by fire. More boats were collected after a few days and our army crossed the Sutlej into the Punjab.³¹

It was always said that the Sikh troops had been drilled by French officers, but all of these had left before the war began. They had either refused to fight against the Sirkar, or else the Sikh Sirdars, jealous of their influence, had used their influence to have them dismissed. It is certainly true that I never saw any European officers among the Sikh troops, nor did I ever hear of any being seen.³² The Sikhs fought as no men had ever fought in India before, but it was clear that their leaders did not know how to command an army. When they had decided advantages in their favour, they failed to make use of them. Their cavalry never came near any battlefield so far as I could make out, and when I was in Lahore I heard many Sikhs loudly proclaim that Sirdar Tej Singh was a traitor, and that he well knew, at the time he gave out that an English army was in his rear (after the feint attack at Ferozeshah which I have already mentioned), that the said army was miles away.³³

I remember, when I was close by the head of the bridge [at Sobraon], seeing an English soldier about to bayonet what I thought to be a wounded Sikh. To my surprise, the man begged for mercy, a thing no Sikh had ever been known to do during the war, and he also called out in English. The soldier then pulled off the man's turban and jacket, and after

'. . . a sahib from a regiment next to mine kept walking up and down singing'

this I saw him kick the prostrate man and run him through several times with his bayonet. Several other soldiers kicked the body with great contempt and ran their bayonets through it. I was told later that this was a deserter from some European regiment who had been fighting for the Sikhs against his comrades.

The Sirkar's army marched on Lahore a few days later and the whole of the Punjab lay at the feet of the mighty Company Bahadur, whose power none could withstand, and against whom it was useless to resist. All this happened towards the end of February 1846. The Sirdars had a meeting with the Governor-General Sahib, Lahore was occupied by an English force, and the pride of the mighty Khalsa was trampled in the dust. Large numbers of the Sikh army came to lay down their arms and it was curious to see these men. They freely admitted that they had been defeated by the Sirkar, but they said their time would come another day. It was general opinion in the Punjab that the English would take possession of it, as had been the case elsewhere in Hindustan. However a treaty was made, by which Rajah Lal Singh became the chief minister, and the country of Kashmir was sold to Maharajah Gulab Singh.³⁴ The Sirkar then retired over the river to its own territories, leaving the Punjab to itself and its interminable disputes.