The Skull of Alum Bheg

by Kim A. Wagner

  In this circular we see many of the same themes contained in the rumours that circulated before May 1857, but now being deliberately mobilised for the purpose of propaganda.55 The rumours and proclamations operated within a continuum of anti-British narratives. But whereas rumours had, by their very nature been transient phenomena, ephemeral and unprovable, the proclamations presented the very same stories as provable facts, authenticated by the alleged author. The power of such texts was thus partly derived from the sheer familiarity of the narratives they presented. While someone like Alum Bheg might have dismissed bazaar rumours concerning the greased cartridges as baseless, it was far more difficult for him to ignore the same claims being made in writing. This was especially so when the account was accompanied by a powerful call to arms by the Mughal Emperor, Bahadur Shah, himself:

  ‘But there are some of my countrymen who have joined the English, and are now fighting on their side. I have reflected well on their case also, and have come to the conclusion that the English will not leave your religion to both you and them. You should understand this well. Under these circumstances I would ask what course have you decided on, to protect your lives and faith? Were your wives and mine the same we might destroy them entirely with a very little trouble, and if we do so we shall protect our religions and save the country. And as these ideas have been cherished and considered merely from a concern for the protection of the religion and lives of all you Hindus and Mussulmans of this country; this letter is printed for your information. All you Hindus are hereby solemnly adjured by your faith in the Ganges, Tulsi, and Saligram; and all you Mussulmans, by your belief in God and the Kuran, as these English are the common enemy of both, to unite in considering their slaughter extremely expedient, for by this alone will the lives and faith of both be saved. It is expedient then that you should coalesce and slay them. The slaughter of kine is regarded by the Hindus as a great insult to their religion. To prevent this, a solemn compact and agreement has been entered into by all the Mohamedan chiefs of Hindustan, binding themselves that if the Hindus will come forward to slay the English, the Mohamedans will from that very day put a stop to the slaughter of cows, and those of them who will not do so, will be considered to have abjured the Kuran, and such of them as will eat beef will be regarded as though they had eaten pork; but if the Hindus will not gird their loins to kill the English, but will try to save them, they will be as guilty in the sight of God, as though they had committed the sins of killing cows and eating the flesh.’56

  The emphasis on religion in proclamations such as this, and in much of the rhetoric deployed by the rebels of 1857, served as a powerful tool of propaganda. It also reveals how the events were understood by those who rose up against the British. Rather than a politically illegitimate rebellion, religious rhetoric cast the uprising as a just struggle in defence of their way of life, both physical and spiritual. Just as the danger posed by the British was conceptualised through the consumption of polluting meat or other adulterated foodstuffs, the repercussions for those who did not heed the call to arms were conceived as similarly polluting. Joining the rebels gathered at Delhi under the Mughal banner thus became a divine duty, not merely a political choice. Bahadur Shah represented true authority, and those who served him became the honourable defenders of deen and dharma, of faith and social duty and obligations. The rebels, in short, fought to preserve the moral order and fabric of north Indian society.57

  While the original rumours concerning the greased cartridges had merely implied a shared bond between Hindu and Muslim sepoys, based on their being equally threatened by the British, the proclamation explicitly emphasised the unity of the two faiths produced by the common danger posed by Christianity. The reference to the slaughter of cows by Muslims pointed to one of the recurring causes for conflict between the two communities. Hindu-Muslim unity was accordingly not something that could simply be taken for granted as the norm within north Indian society, but had to be actively encouraged. The proclamations thus sought to forge a close relationship between Hindus and Muslims, and to mobilise both against a common enemy. The references to ‘Hindustan’ in this, and other similar, proclamations, furthermore suggested a cultural and geographically-bounded sense of solidarity—an imagined community that extended beyond the walls of Delhi, beyond the ranks of the sepoys, which encompassed what may be described as the Mughal heartland. This was more than local patriotism yet less than the fully-fledged nationalism of a later age. Like rumours, the proclamations projected hopes and aspirations in equal measure, describing as fact a future still to be achieved.58

  In mid-June, the sepoys gathered at Delhi sent a letter to their brothers in the regiments of the Bengal Army stationed in Punjab, castigating them for not yet having cast off their allegiance to the British.59 As such the letter may be regarded as an unofficial counterpart to the proclamations issued in the name of Bahadur Shah, one which was addressed directly to Indian soldiers such as Alum Bheg. In full, it read as follows:

  ‘From your Brother Soldiers, Hindoo and Mahomedan, who have assembled at Delhi,

  To our brothers, Hindoo and Mussulman, who are employed at Lahore and other places in the Punjab.

  Peace be to you! Ram! Ram!60

  It is a matter of much regret that although we have for the sake of our religion revolted from the English, and considering you our associates have collected treasure from every place and made arrangements for fighting, and moreover have killed all the European Soldiers, the enemies of our faith, and through the assistance of God been victorious, why then are you, who are our relatives and connections and brothers in arms, sitting idle there? Such conduct is unbecoming. In whatever way you can, destroy the enemies of your religion and come to Delhi. It is proper to fight in defence of our faith; thousands of Hindoos and Mussulmans have joined us for the purpose. Don’t remain there on any account, and if the European Soldiers should oppose you on your way kill them by all means.

  Don’ think of your pay and services; through the blessing of God there are appointments of Rs 12 per month61 here and food and drink in abundance. Those who are slain in this contest if Mahomedan will become a martyr, and if Hindoos, will become “Bykont Bashees.”

  Do not entertain any fears, but come at once. All the sepahees have in consultation issued a proclamation throughout Hindoostan. All the country, Hindoo and Mussulman, &c., is with us. A copy of the proclamation is forwarded to you with this. Hear its contents and become acquainted with the particulars. You should have 10, 20, 50 or more copies of it written in a legible hand and suspended in every place where there may be a cantonment, so that all our brothers, both Hindoo and Mahomedan, in the Punjab may be put on the alert and may perform whatever they are capable of. Do not fail in this.

  The arms of a soldier are his hands and feet. Never at a verbal order resign your arms and thereby, rendering yourself helpless, suffer the imputation of cowardice. While you have life do not give up your weapons, and should European soldiers oppose you on your way do not let them escape: you should be ashamed of your conduct. We are all assembled at Delhi while you are scattered at various places. What is the cause of delay? Act up to the instructions contained in this proclamation.’62

  Similarly to the official proclamations, the uprising was thus described in distinctly religious terms and both Hindus and Muslims were encouraged to join. Much like the original letters sent out by the sepoys of the 34th BNI at Barrackpore in the spring of that year, the main purpose of this proclamation was to rally the troops and shame those sepoys who did not heed the call.63 Casting doubts about the bravery of the troops in Punjab was akin to long-distance peer pressure. But the letter also reflected the purely professional concerns of the soldier: double pay was promised those who joined the rebel army, in addition to better food and drink. The mutiny had in other words not dissolved the military organisation or ethos of the sepoys, who perceived themselves simply as having changed allegiance to a new ruler, who could offer better terms. Yet this was not mere
ly about the level of pay and that those who fell in combat were promised martyrdom and an honourable death. Speaking to physical as well as spiritual needs, the rebel soldier was promised a reward in both this world and the next. The letter was clearly intended to be reproduced and further disseminated as a sort of chain-letter—giving some indication as to how such material was designed to be spread throughout ‘Hindustan’, or northern India.

  Alum Bheg and the troops at Sialkot were thus torn between loyalty to their regiment and officers—the life they knew—or the choice to risk everything by joining a rebellion far away, the reality of which must have seemed very distant from the frontiers of the Himalayas. A poster found in Sialkot later that summer, for instance, claimed to be a royal firman, or decree, by one Maharajah Shere Singh, ‘Ruler of Hind and the Punjab.’ According to the poster, the British had been driven almost entirely out of India and the king of Burma was supposedly in Calcutta with 140,000 troops.64 Who was to say that that was any less true than the proclamations supposedly coming from Delhi, or the stories the British officers told about executions and the disbandment of disloyal regiments? Apart from the departure of some of the European families, and the suspicious looks of the remaining Sahibs, daily life in Sialkot had changed little. What was Alum Bheg to believe? The sepoys had no access to concrete information and were thus unable to distinguish fact from fiction. Alum Bheg and the other sepoys and sowars of the 46th and 9th BLC at Sialkot were evidently conflicted about their loyalties, and on 14 June submitted a written petition to their officers, ‘offering their services against the mutineers’ at Delhi.65 This was far from a unique occurrence and several similar petitions exist from other regiments. One submitted by the Indian officers and sepoys of the 39th BNI, also in Punjab, read as follows:

  ‘Whilst we deeply regret that the Govt has lost all confidence in the Poorbea Sepoys, owing to so many Regiments having proved unfaithful to their salt, we heartily rejoice to hear that those scoundrels who have repaid the favors and bounties of the Govt with the basest ingratitude and treachery, will soon reap the first reward of their villainous and traitorous conduct, and we sincerely and earnestly pray to be sent against the exciters of mutiny and sedition to Delhi or elsewhere, wherever they may be, that we may prove to the Govt and to the world, our zealous and devoted loyalty.’66

  This was not a calculated attempt at duping the British by sepoys already committed to joining the uprising but reflected the indecision of so many Indian troops during these crucial months. That there was considerable tension amongst the Sialkot troops, who were probably far from unanimous in their declaration of loyalty, also became apparent a few days later, as Dr Graham noted on 19 June:

  ‘Here we continue quiet. A sepoy of the 46th [native infantry] used threatening langue to the subadar major yesterday. He was tried immediately by a native [regimental court] martial. It proved a case of mere black-guardian, and want of temper. The court however did its duty [and] was quite ready to hang the fellow if occasion required, and gave him five years with hard labour on the roads, and got rid of the rascal.’67

  As long as the British openly demonstrated their faith in the Indian troops, and did not give them any cause for alarm, the sepoys and sowars remained contented. Furthermore, there seemed to have existed a remarkably close relationship between at least some of the British officers and the Indian troops at Sialkot—personal ties that ultimately allowed the precarious stalemate to continue for the time being. Up until this point, Brind’s desperate strategy had paid off and even as Alum Bheg and the others kept receiving letters and proclamations urging them to rise, life continued at Sialkot, perched as it seemed on the edge of a volcano.

  4

  ESCAPE AT ONCE FROM THIS HORRIBLE PLACE

  Sometime during the summer, a warning note was found attached to a garden gate between Sialkot Cantonment and the town:

  ‘This order is addressed to the English blackguards.

  Beware that when we advance towards Lahore you will find it difficult to escape. The Punjabee Troops will join us. Rest assured the Punjab shall never be yours. We know that your bones will be reduced to powder in this country.

  If you wish well to yourselves, fly immediately to your country. You may then perhaps escape, but you are powerless. God has misled you. You can do no good.’1

  Though obviously fanciful in its depiction of the political situation, the note nevertheless reinforced the pervasive sense of vulnerability amongst the Europeans at Sialkot. Spurred on by the rumours and threat of Indian conspiracies, Gordon and the Americans finally managed to borrow some money from Captain C. M. Fitzgerald, which was not the first time this officer had helped them out. With these funds, they could rent two carriages to send the women and children to Lahore—one carriage drawn by bullocks, and one by coolies. Since a man was required to accompany the women, and Gordon’s little son was still desperately ill, it was decided that he should go while Hill, Stevenson and the two Indian converts, Swift and Scott, remained behind to look after the mission compound.2

  Due to the heat, Gordon and the women and children would have to travel at night and they aimed to make the journey in two days, stopping half-way at the dak bungalow at Gujranwala. Before leaving Sialkot, Gordon wrote to the Hunters, asking them to join their small party on the journey to Lahore—Thomas and Jane, however, declined the invitation.3 Late in the evening on 11 June 1857, the Americans set out on their own for what they expected to be safer quarters. Travelling in the dark, at a snail’s pace and through an unknown countryside, Gordon was too concerned about his precious charges to be afraid himself:

  ‘…these mothers, with darling babes in their arms!—how could they thus cast off fear? As I moved down the road towards Gujranwala with my precious charge, in the solemn stillness of that fearful night, it was most painful to witness the forebodings of approaching danger from which some of our little company continually suffered. A Persian-wheel creaking in the distance, the hoot of some lonely owl, a bat flitting by in the air, would cause them to quake. Imagination transformed almost every object that met the ear or eye into a murderous Sepoy; and it was difficult often to persuade them that these imaginary enemies were not actually pressing upon us.’4

  Twice during their journey, the fearful party was overtaken by Indian troops, whom they expected would attack, but nothing happened. After two days of travel they finally reached the safety of Lahore. Gordon had spent fourteen hours in the saddle during the final leg of the trip, holding on tightly to his revolver the entire way. The spacious fort at Lahore offered a welcome change from their previous situation at Sialkot: hundreds of Europeans had also sought refuge there and the presence of British troops provided a much-needed sense of security. Having effectively abandoned the mission he had originally founded, Gordon was now at pains to explain himself to the elders of the church back in Philadelphia:

  ‘Had it not been for the sake of the women and children, none of us would have left the Mission premises to come so far—seventy miles—but having heard of the horrible manner in which women and children have been abused, tortured, and murdered, by the rebels at Delhi and some other places; knowing also that the mutiny is every few days breaking out in some new place, and that our families would be quite helpless in case it should break out at Sialkot, we unanimously concluded that we ought to take them to the nearest place of safety.’5

  The Americans who had remained behind at Sialkot, however, did not last long and after more alarming rumours reached Sialkot, they hastily joined their friends at Lahore. Before leaving, one of the missionaries, Stevenson went by the Hunters to persuade them to join the party, but they declined as Gordon later recounted:

  ‘They offered no good reason for not yielding to his entreaties. They had a small bundle of clothing and other necessary articles in readiness. Even the nursery lamp for baby and a supply of such articles of food as it would require, were placed every night by their bed-side. They were just “biding their time,” as poor Mr. Hu
nter said, and holding themselves “in readiness to start at five minutes’ warning.”

  Mr. Stevenson still urged them to come along with him, and insisted that if it should come to a matter of only five minutes’ warning, he feared it might then be too late. Failing finally, to accomplish the object of his visit, he reluctantly bid them farewell…’6

  Although they were now all safely gathered at Lahore, the American missionaries felt guilty for having fled. As Gordon put it: ‘I always felt as if it were wrong for us all to leave our post while some civil and military officers remained at theirs. It appeared like affording the enemy an occasion to reproach.’7 To stay or to flee was really a spiritual question for the missionaries who regarded the Indian rebels as the forces of evil incarnate. Thomas Hunter, however, was adamant in his decision to stay in Sialkot with Jane and their baby, as he reported to his church back in Scotland:

  ‘My earnest desire has been to preach the Gospel among natives, directly and widely. Just as my way seems clear, all the doors are unexpectedly closed. I forebear laying before you our positive danger—about fifty Europeans to defend us against more than 1200 sepoys. We have not followed the example of almost everyone, and taken refuge in the Fort of Lahore. We hope still to continue at our post. May the Lord be our Keeper!’8

  Remaining at their post, as Thomas and Jane Hunter did, was not only an act of solidarity with the military personal who had no option but to stay, yet it was also an affirmation of faith: they had not been sent into the world to spread the word of God only to flee and abandon their work in the face of danger. While everyone else was leaving, they saw it as their divine duty to stay.

  Dr Graham and his daughter had also remained behind, though for very different reasons. ‘This station is deserted, nothing but empty houses,’ the Doctor noted as he and Sarah found themselves increasingly alone as Sialkot slowly turned into a ghost-town.9 The daily correspondence with Graham’s nephew at Landour offered some respite from the sense of isolation and Sarah described in one letter why she had not yet left: