'At first I found it very disagreeable wearing the red coat'

The Gurkha War:

1814-1816

Sita Ram devotes part of this chapter to a description of his British officers, and their relations with the sepoys, and he also touches on the relationship which existed between certain British regiments he knew and the Bengal Native regiments. He then goes on to tell of his experiences in the war against the Gurkhas which began in 1814 and lasted nearly two years.

There is considerable obscurity regarding the regiments in which Sita Ram served. Lord Sidmouth devoted forty-five years' study to this and concluded that Sita Ram was either continually changing his unit, or through deliberate intent, or loss of memory, embroidered his story.¹ Quite apart from Sita Ram's haziness over dates, he never mentions any of his regiments by their numbers. This is not altogether surprising since the Bengal Army underwent several reorganizations in the course of his service, and in 1824, in particular, the numbering of regiments was completely changed. Moreover the sepoys usually referred to their regiments by their popular names, as a soldier from the Middlesex Regiment might have referred to his unit as the 'Die Hards'.² Most sepoy regiments were known by the names of the British officers who had originally raised them, but Sita Ram does not use even this method to identify his regiments, although he does refer later in his narrative by their popular names to three regiments which took part in the First Afghan War (1838-42). His memory may have been failing him, as Lord Sidmouth suggests, or he may have felt this was a matter of no concern. However, the most likely explanation is that he was anxious to cover his traces for fear lest his frank comments should incur the displeasure of the all-powerful Company and endanger his precious pension. His translator, Norgate, may have entered with him into this conspiracy of silence in order to overcome Sita Ram's initial reluctance to write his memoirs.

We can be fairly certain, however, that Sita Ram's first regiment was the 2nd Battalion of the 26th Bengal Native Infantry.³ It was the only sepoy regiment stationed at Agra at the time when Sita Ram says he enlisted, and moreover he tells us that his first commanding officer was 'Estuart' sahib. 'Estuart' is a common rendering of Stewart in the vernacular, and there was a Major Benjamin Stewart serving with the 2/26th BNI at Agra. Although he was only the third major in order of seniority, the other two majors were employed elsewhere, and Stewart was probably acting as Commanding Officer.

Sita Ram's great hero was his first company commander whom he calls 'Burrumpeel'. Like any other young soldier, his company commander meant a great deal more to him than his Commanding Officer, and 'Burrumpeel' certainly seems to have been an officer of character. He was wounded during the Gurkha War, and again later. By the time Sita Ram came to write his memoirs 'Burrumpeel' had become the paragon of all military virtues. This is hardly surprising. I can remember my first company commander, who did not rise above the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, far better than my first Commanding Officer who became a very distinguished General. Attempts to identify 'Burrumpeel' have unfortunately failed. It is probable that it was a nickname. Sita Ram says that he was wounded at the storming of Kalanga during the Gurkha War, but the officer commanding the company of the 2/26th BNI in that action was Thomas Thackeray, uncle of the novelist, and he was killed shortly afterwards at Jaithak. Whereas 'Burrumpeel', according to Sita Ram, recovered from his wound after sick leave in England, and returned, only to be wounded again in the operations against the Mahrattas. 'Burrumpeel' must therefore remain a mystery.

The East India Company, after patiently enduring frontier skirmishes with the Nepalese for many years, went to war with them in 1814; the campaign which followed is usually known as the Gurkha War. The ruling class in Nepal is of Indian origin, being Rajputs who took refuge in Nepal from Moslem persecution early in the fourteenth century. They first established themselves in the little town of Gurkha from where they eventually conquered the whole of Nepal as we know it today. By the end of the eighteenth century they had extended Nepal's boundaries to include Simla in the north-west and Sikkim in the east and their expansionist policies had brought them into conflict with the Company. Gurkha rule was not popular among the hill people who said of them, 'They had no law to guide them, nor did they care for peace and prosperity'; but they were formidable soldiers and the British thought hard and long before it was decided to bring the Gurkhas to heel.

Four columns of British and Indian troops took part in the operations; there was also a fifth, or subsidiary, column composed mostly of irregular troops under Gardner and Hearsey. The northern column was directed against the Gurkha strongholds in the mountains around Simla, and it was commanded by David Ochterlony, as fine a soldier as ever served Britain in India. The centre column marched from Meerut to assault the fortress of Kalanga and to cut the Gurkha communications with Nepal. It was commanded by Sir Rollo Gillespie, a name to conjure with in India at that time. The third and fourth columns operated farther to the east with the aim of forcing the passes into central Nepal and seizing the capital, Kathmandu.

Only Ochterlony’s column was successful. Gillespie was killed while leading the storm of Kalanga; he was buried in Meerut cemetery where his obelisk rises high above the jungle surrounding over a century’s worth of British graves. Kalanga eventually fell, but not before its ninety surviving defenders had made their escape; while at Jaithak, the next fort to be attacked, there was a complete reversal. Sita Ram was present at both these actions. There was similar failure in the east, but Ochterlony’s success had alarmed the Nepalese. Their general, Amar Singh Thapa, and the Nepalese Government, asked for terms.

Several months of negotiations followed, and this respite was utilized by the Gurkhas to strengthen their defences covering Kathmandu. They then refused to ratify the peace treaty. War broke out again and Ochterlony was given command of all the Company’s troops. He out-manoeuvred the Gurkhas, capturing their supposedly impregnable fortress at Chiriaghati after a daring night approach-march which could equally easily have resulted in disaster. The Gurkhas capitulated in order to avoid the occupation of Kathmandu. A peace treaty was signed at Sagauli in 1816. By this the Nepalese lost Simla, Dehra Dun, parts of the Terai, and Sikkim, but retained their independence. They agreed to accept a British Resident in Kathmandu⁴ and allowed the Company to recruit Gurkhas for the Bengal Army.

I took my place as a regular sepoy in my uncle’s company, Number 2,⁵ eight months from the day I had entered the Sirkar’s service. But my annoyances did not cease here. Through some influence of the drill havildar, the European sergeant of my company took a dislike to me and was continually finding fault and getting me punished. I discovered that I had never given the usual present to the drill havildar when I had passed my drill, and I determined never to do so after his bad treatment of me. This fee was sixteen rupees, of which five or six went to the European sergeant of the company to which the recruit was posted. At this time there was a European sergeant with each company of sepoys.⁶ Some of them knew the language quite well, and on the whole were kind to us, but others did not know our language, or could not make us understand their meaning, and instead resorted to low abuse. Numerous complaints were made to the Adjutant, but he nearly always took the side of the European sergeant, and we could obtain very little or no redress.

At first I found it very disagreeable wearing the red coat; although this was open in front, it was very tight under the arms. The shako⁷ was very heavy and hurt my head, but of course it was very smart. I grew accustomed to all this after a time, but I always found it a great relief when I could wear my own loose dress. The uniform of the British was always very tight and prevented the free use of arms and legs. I also found the musket very heavy, and for a long time my shoulder ached when carrying it.⁸ The pouch-belt and knapsack were a load for a coolie.

There were eight⁹ English officers in my regiment, and the Captain of my company was a real sahib—just as I had imagined all sahibs to be. His name was 'Burrumpeel'. He was six feet three inches tall, his chest as broad as the monkey god's,¹⁰ and he was tremendously strong. He often used to wrestle with the sepoys and won universal admiration when he was in the wrestling arena. He had learnt all the throws and no sepoy could defeat him. This officer was always known among ourselves as the 'Wrestler'. Nearly all our officers had nicknames by which we knew them. One was the 'Prince' sahib, and another was known as the 'Camel' because he had a long neck. Another we called 'Damn' sahib because he always said that word when he gave an order. Some of the officers were very young, mere boys, and when they were not on duty they were always hunting and shooting.

The Colonel sahib owned four elephants and often organized tiger hunts. At the time I am writing about there were tigers in abundance in the jungles around Agra, near Bharatpore, and on the road to Mutthura.¹¹ These jungles have since been cleared away and there is not a tiger to be seen, but Colonel 'Estuart' sahib seldom returned from a hunt without two tigers. He was well-known all around and the villagers came from as far as thirty miles away to inform him where the game was; they were certain of receiving a good reward. Nowadays the sahibs do not go out all day during the hot weather, but formerly they bore the heat just as well as we do, and sometimes even better.

Most of our officers had Indian women living with them, and these had great influence in the regiment. They always pretended to have more influence than was probably the case in order that they might be bribed to ask the sahibs for favours on our behalf. The sepoys themselves were sometimes instrumental in persuading the officers to take their female relations into their service, but such men were usually of low caste, or else Mahommedans.¹² In those days the sahibs could speak our language much better than they do now, and they mixed more with us. Although officers today have to pass the language examination, and have to read books, they do not understand our language. I have seldom met a sahib who could really read a book or letter although he had been passed by the examining board. The only language they learn is that of the lower orders, which they pick up from their servants, and which is unsuitable to be used in polite conversation. The sahibs often used to give nautches¹³ for the regiment, and they attended all the men's games. They also took us with them when they went out hunting, or at least all those of us who wanted to go.

Nowadays they seldom attend nautches because their Padre sahibs have told them it is wrong. These sahibs have done, and are still doing, many things to estrange the British officers from the sepoys.¹⁴ When I was a sepoy the Captain of my company would have some of the men at his house all day long and he talked with them. Of course many went with the intention of gaining something—to persuade the company commander to recommend them to the Colonel for promotion, or to obtain this or that appointment in the regiment—but far more of us went because we liked the sahib who always treated us as if we were his children. I am a very old man now and my words are true. I have lived to see great changes in the sahibs' attitude towards us. I know that many officers nowadays only speak to their men when obliged to do so, and they show that the business is irksome and try to get rid of the sepoys as quickly as possible. One sahib told us that he never knew what to say to us. The sahibs always knew what to say, and how to say it, when I was a young soldier. If I am speaking too boldly, your Honour must forgive me!

The officers of the Royal Army¹⁵ since the Mutiny do not treat us in the same fashion as they used to do. I am fully aware of the execration my unworthy brethren deserve for their brutal conduct during the Mutiny, but surely this should come from their own officers, and not from officers of the Royal Army. Even when it was known that I had served with the force which relieved Lucknow, I can nevertheless remember being called 'a damned black pig' by more than one officer of the Royal Army. And yet I can recall that officers of the 13th and 41st Foot,¹⁶ when I made chappatis¹⁷ for them in Kabul, told me, 'Jack sepoy is a damned good fellow!' I have not served forty-eight years with English officers without knowing the meaning of all this. It can largely be attributed to hastiness of temper, and who can struggle against fate? I always was good friends with the English soldiers, and they used to treat the sepoy with great kindness. And why not—did we not do all their work? We performed all their guard duties in the heat. We stood sentry over their rum-casks. We gave them our own food.¹⁸ Well, English soldiers are a different breed nowadays. They are neither as fine nor as tall as they used to be. They can seldom speak one word of our language except to abuse us, and if they could learn polite expressions as quickly as they can learn abusive ones, they would indeed be apt scholars.

I have noticed that a regiment new to India, both officers and men, always abuse us Indians more than an old regiment. The 17th Foot always called us brothers; the 16th Lancers never walked near our cooking places nor spat on our food, and we served with them for years.¹⁹ I have heard it said, and once I asked a Colonel sahib who could understand me a little whether it was true that the Sirkar's best soldiers were all killed by the Russian cannon [in the Crimean War]. He told me that very few were killed, but that thousands died of cold and sickness as they did in Kabul. However, it was thought during the Mutiny that the Russians had killed all the Sirkar's soldiers and that only boys could be recruited in Britain. Some of this must be true because I have seen only boys in many red-coated regiments in recent years.²⁰

A short time after I became a regular sepoy it was rumoured that the Company was going to take Nepal from Amar Singh Thapa,²¹ and our officers were full of hopes of going with the army which was being assembled at Mutthura. Orders soon arrived and we marched from Agra to Mutthura in two days. There we were attached to General 'Gilspy's' force.²² There was also another force under General 'Loneyackty'.²³ We marched until we came to Dehra Dun, near the mountains, without seeing any of the enemy, but we heard they were all collected at Nala Pani,²⁴ which was a fort on a hill. The Gurkhas were always considered to be brave soldiers, and their knives were much dreaded.²⁵ A touch from them meant certain death. Our force was ordered to march on the fort. The approach road ran through thick jungle and several of my comrades were wounded by arrows. These came from the jungle without making any sound and we saw no-one. Many of the sepoys said it was magic and the work of demons. We fired volleys of musketry when the arrows came thick, but the jungle was so dense that we never knew whether any of the enemy were killed.

As we approached the fort, the General sahib ordered four columns for the attack. These were to approach the fort from different directions, but the paths were so bad and steep that one column arrived before the others. It was exposed to such heavy fire that it had to retreat, leaving behind many dead.²⁶ This disheartened the sepoys very much, and seeing the European soldiers running back made it worse. At this moment General 'Gilspy' led a European regiment²⁷ to the attack, but despite all his bravery (and he was a veritable lion), he was beaten back two or three times. He was on foot, cheering on his men, when he suddenly fell dead. Then we retreated again, and my regiment covered the withdrawal.

We retreated about one mile, and then halted for four or five days until the big guns could arrive from Delhi under Captain 'Hallow' sahib.²⁸ The walls of the fort were not very high, and the officers of my regiment wanted to try scaling ladders which we soon made from the jungle trees. But General 'Maulay' sahib²⁹ would not allow the attempt to be made because our losses had already been so terrible. In my regiment forty-eight men had been killed. The British regiment had lost nearly two companies,³⁰ but they never lost heart and went into the attack again and again. They were like young fighting cocks. The sepoys were rather dispirited, but their spirits revived when the guns came up. The walls were battered and breaches were made. Another assault was then mounted, but although we pushed forward as hard as we could, the British actually running up the breaches, we were still driven back. No-one succeeded in entering the fort. It was the sight of the arrows filling the air which frightened many of the men, rather than the sound of the matchlock balls which we could not see. The Mahommedans in the ranks were the most disheartened; as three attempts had failed, they said that Allah must be against them.³¹

However, next morning, when a grand attack was launched on the fort from all sides, we advanced nearer and nearer without an arrow or a shot being fired at us. A drummer boy ran up the breach and then called out that the fort was deserted.³² The Nepalese had all escaped through the jungle without our knowing anything of it, or hearing a sound. It was now the turn of the British soldiers to be down-hearted because they were angry that the enemy had tricked them.³³ I escaped without a wound, but my Captain sahib received an arrow in the chest. It was difficult to remove on account of its broad point and the Doctor sahib said that the Captain would die if the arrow was extracted. However, the sahib suffered great pain and was in such agony that he pulled out the arrowhead himself. Blood and froth gushed from the wound and he nearly bled to death. I never expected to see my Captain sahib recover. He was so loved by the men of his company, and was such a universal favourite in the regiment, that his absence was hard to bear. But 'Burrumpeel' sahib was sent to England, and the regiment lost its champion.

At this time a new General came, 'Martindale' sahib,³⁴ to take command. The enemy had collected at another fort, Jaithak, and our army was ordered to march against it. Here again the British troops attacked like tigers and fought like madmen, but we were all driven back with considerable loss. My uncle was wounded in the knee by a matchlock ball which caused him great pain. I was permitted to look after him in the hospital tent. All the Mahommedan sepoys now said that the war was an unlucky one, and that it would never succeed, but my uncle said that the sahibs and their British soldiers always fought the better for being beaten at the outset of a campaign.,

The next day we heard that the Sirkar's army which had advanced by way of Gorakhpur and Bettiah had been destroyed by the Nepalese.³⁵ The sahibs began to look anxious, although our General told us that only several companies had been cut off, but the entire army had not been destroyed. Nevertheless most of us believed the rumour, and my uncle was the only one who believed the General's story. The army was now in a sad state and not much fit for fighting. Most of the wounded men died from green fever.³⁶ The local people thought the Company's good fortune had vanished, and several local potentates, taking advantage of this, began to collect soldiers to use against the Government. Our column retired to Dehra Dun to rest the soldiers. The enemy did not harass us; being hillmen, they were afraid to venture out into the open plains.

Within a few weeks we received news that 'Loneyackty' sahib had beaten Amar Thapa and that peace had been made.³⁷ Our force then marched to Saharanpore [near Meerut] where there was a large fort. The Sirkar permitted Amar Thapa to go back to his own country because of his bravery. The English respect brave men and do not kill them. This is curious, for is not a brave man the most dangerous enemy? Indeed, as we all expected, as a result of the Sirkar's letting Amar Thapa go free, war broke out again after a few months. I was never able to understand the sahibs. I have seen them spare the lives of their enemies when these were wounded. I have seen an officer spare the life of a wounded man who shot him in the back as he turned away.³⁸ I saw another sahib spare the life of a wounded Afghan, and even offer him some water to drink, but the man cut at him with his curved sword and lamed him for life. 'The wounded snake can kill as long as life remains,' says the proverb, and if your enemy is not worth killing, surely he is not worth fighting against?

My regiment was now ordered to join General 'Loneyack- ty's' force by forced marches. One night, when we were near a place called Peithan, the alarm was sounded. A dreadful uproar took place in the camp and at first we could not account for it. A herd of wild elephants had entered the camp and were attacking our transport elephants, ³⁹ which had broken their chains and were running wild. They ran among the tents, screaming and roaring, upsetting tents, and trampling to death a European soldier and two officers' servants. The European soldiers wanted to open fire on the elephants, but in the dark it was impossible to tell which were wild, and which were the Commissariat elephants. The officers had great difficulty in preventing their men from opening fire. Had the soldiers done so, no-one can say what damage would have been done; the musket balls would doubtless have killed some of our own men. After a while the wild elephants moved off and quiet was somewhat restored. The mahouts⁴⁰ succeeded in recovering all their elephants except two, and these were never seen again.

I was on sentry duty that night and never shall I forget it. I had never been so frightened before. I expected to be trampled on at every moment and yet I dared not leave my post. Even my uncle admitted to being afraid because he had not yet recovered from his wound and was unable to run. The guyropes of one tent became entangled with an elephant's feet and the tent was torn down before the occupants could get out. They were enfolded in the tent like fish in a net and were dragged for some distance. The sides of the tent saved them from being seriously injured, but they were frightened as I had never seen men frightened before. They were greatly laughed at the following morning when the new way they had chosen to strike their tent became known. I saw the European who had been killed. His chest was stove in, his face was black, and his eyes nearly started out of his face. It was an awful sight.

Our column joined the rest of the army near Chiriaghati⁴¹ where the enemy had taken up position. We marched round towards Makwanpur, and two battles were fought in which the Gurkhas were severely beaten and the village of Bichukuh⁴¹ was taken by storm. The

Gurkhas thought that Kathmandu would be captured as we were not more than thirty miles away from their capital. They sent envoys with flags of truce and peace was proclaimed. The terms of this peace were very hard.⁴² The Company Bahadur took large provinces from the Gurkhas for security, but they also returned some small places the enemy seemed to value. This part of the war had only lasted a few weeks.