‘On parting with them several of the men shed tears, touched their feet, the most respectful mode of native salutation, and deplored the separation between them. On being urged not to join in the mutiny, they said they could not avoid doing so. They must fight for the general cause.’58
Within a matter of hours, Alum Bheg had gone from being a soldier in the Bengal Army, to being a mutineer, and one who was moreover tainted by the blood others had spilled. Whatever his personal feelings were, he was swept along by the current of events bigger than himself.
One of the most persistent myths of the outbreak at Sialkot, was the story that the mutineers had strategically placed pickets all around the cantonment to intercept any Europeans trying to flee. The Hunters had supposedly been stopped by one of these pickets when trying to leave Sialkot via the Wazirabad Road, which is why they turned around and went south past the jail and to their death.59 But apart from the sowars riding around along the two roads leading from the cantonment to the fort, there had been no such ‘road-blocks’ deliberately set up—and dozens of fleeing Europeans made it to safety along those very roads. Crucially, this also means that the description of the outbreak in the note found with Alum Bheg’s skull is in essence incorrect. The note claimed that Alum Bheg had been a ‘principal leader in the mutiny,’ and that he:
‘took possession (at the head of a small party) of the road leading to the fort, to which place all the Europeans were hurrying for safety. His party surprised and killed Dr Graham shooting him in his buggy by the side of his daughter. His next victim was the Rev Mr Hunter, a missionary, who was flying with his wife and daughters in the same direction. He murdered Mr Hunter, and his wife and daughter after being brutally treated were butchered by the road side.’
The existing evidence makes no mention of a party of sepoys waylaying British fugitives, and the Hunters and Graham were also killed on different roads leading to the fort. There is also nothing to indicate that Jane Hunter and her two-year-old son (not daughters), were ‘brutally treated,’ as a euphemism for sexual assault, before they were killed. We do not know exactly where Alum Bheg was during the outbreak on 9 July, nor what role he played in the chaotic events. He might have been one of the loyal NCO’s who protected Farquharson and Caulfield at the Quarter Guard in the lines of the 46th, or he may have been with the party that tore the Butler mansion apart in their search for Saunders. What is clear, however, is that Alum Bheg was not responsible for the murders of Thomas and Jane Hunter and their baby, nor of Dr Graham; these were all very explicitly recorded as having been killed either by sowars of the 9th BLC or by Hurmat Khan, the chauprassi. Several of the key eyewitnesses to the outbreak were furthermore clear on this general point: the men of the 46th BNI did not kill anyone at Sialkot. Alum Bheg, in other words, was innocent.
7
GORGING VULTURES AND HOWLING JACKALS
By nightfall on 9 July 1857, Alum Bheg and the other mutineers from Sialkot were heading towards Delhi where British rule had been overturned and the Mughal Emperor reinstalled. Further south, at Banda, the sepoys asserted their role when the local Nawab proclaimed his rule with the words: ‘Khulq khodi ki, mulk Badshah ka, Hukm Subahdar sepoy Bahadur ka’—‘the world is God’s, the country is the Emperor’s, and it is the rule of the soldiers.’1 This reflected the belief among the mutinying sepoys that they constituted the real power behind the throne—a somewhat lofty role the British had never accorded them. To their former employers, the sepoys were merely an instrument of power, but the sepoys saw themselves as kingmakers. By reinstating Bahadur Shah, the Meerut and Delhi mutineers had created the possibility of an alternative source of legitimate authority. Elsewhere the sepoys gathered around local figures of power such as Nana Sahib at Cawnpore or Lakshmi Bai at Jhansi. When sepoys and civilians offered their allegiance to these new rebel governments, it was not, according to Ahmed Khan, considered a betrayal:
‘It must be borne in mind that for centuries past the condition of India has been unsettled, that from time immemorial its people have been accustomed to flock in thousands to the standard of any powerful noble (Ameer) who attained any success in the field, and that they never held their doing so to be criminal, accepting responsible posts in the administration of his country for the time being. It is well known in India that the taking of service is no offence. Whoever pays is served. It is thought wrong not to tender allegiance to a king who may have been proclaimed king in the place of another deposed. The various kings and princes of Hindustan have never, on conquering an enemy’s country, attached any blame to the servants, whether civil or military, of that enemy, and the people were aware of this.
When the leaders of the rebellion called for recruits, thousands of poor men, wanting service, flocked in and took it. They thought there was nothing wrong in doing so, as their livelihood was procured by such service. Many thought that the British rule in Hindustan was at an end, and that therefore it was their duty to tender their allegiance to the reigning powers, i.e., to the rebels.’2
In one sense, the mutiny at Sialkot was not so much an anti-colonial uprising as much as it was the suspension of a contract of service. The next step was to receive the blessings of a new patron—one who would could offer political leadership and safeguard their status and honour. Without that, they were merely a mutinous rabble of mercenaries. Alum Bheg and the men of the 9th and 46th did not simply plunder the treasury at Sialkot, throw off their uniforms, and then scatter to the four winds with as much loot as they could carry home. Their shared Purbiya identity tied them together, especially since they were thousands of miles from their villages back in Awadh. More than that, however, it was their shared military identity that provided a sense of cohesion even at the moment of mutiny. The Sialkot troops remained together as functional military units and they chose not to divide up the cash taken from the treasury. Instead, they intended to take it to Bahadur Shah, and somewhat ironically, offer it to him so that he could provide them with a formal salary for their service.3
Since the Movable Column was known to be at Amritsar, the rebels planned to circle around Lahore and Amritsar, and then travel via Gurdaspur and Jallandahr down to Delhi. The plan was to join forces with the various regiments along the way—the 2nd Irregular Cavalry at Gurdaspur, 4th BNI at Nurpur, and the 16th Irregular Cavalry at Hoshiapur—and thus arrive at the Mughal capital with a substantial force.4 The distance between Sialkot and Delhi, however, was more than 300 miles, and they would have to cross both the Ravi and the Beas Rivers, which were at their highest during the rain season. The sepoys had plenty of horses, camels, carriages and other modes of conveyance, but they also had hundreds of camp-followers and other Hindustanis from Sialkot in tow—including women and children. They were additionally weighed down by their loot, which included everything from the regimental mess plate of the 52nd, to the old signal gun from the cantonment, a heavy old 12-pounder.
Alum Bheg and the Sialkot mutineers knew that there was no British force in pursuit, and since their route took them far from any of the bigger stations, they did not hurry. On the day of the outbreak they only marched ten miles before making camp, and after three days they had made it no further than the Ravi River, fifty-six miles from Sialkot. Their progress was halted at the river since the British had destroyed the boats and placed guards at the ferries and fords between Madhopur in the north and Lahore to the south.5 Two sepoys of the 46th were sent ahead to Gurdaspur to alert the 2nd Irregulars of their arrival, and a sowar from that regiment later rode out to show the rebels where the river was fordable at a place known as Trimmu Ghat.6 There was an island in the middle of the river at Trimmu Ghat, but as luck would have it the water levels were so low that it joined up with the mainland on the north-western side. On the side closest to Gurdaspur, the water was sufficiently shallow to be crossed on foot. The entire body of sowars, sepoys, and camp-followers, along with the carriages and animals weighed down by plunder, now hurried across the river; only the cannon was too heav
y to drag across the channel where the water was chest-high, and so it remained stuck on the small island. While the sowars could easily cross mounted on their horses, the sepoys had to wade across the ford, carefully holding their rifles, cartridge-pouches, and reserve gunpowder above their heads, to prevent them from being soaked and ruined by the water. Just before noon on 12 July, shortly after everyone had finished the crossing, scouts from the 9th BLC, who had been sent ahead in advance, came galloping back to report that a sizeable force was approaching from the direction of Gurdaspur. It was unclear who these troops were, since Amritsar was more than forty miles away, but soon Alum Bheg and the others spotted mounted sentries advancing in the distance. The rebels now scrambled to meet this unseen foe, its approach revealed by a cloud of dust like the smoke from a burning field.
By the time the Sialkot mutineers had reached the Ravi, Alum Bheg and most of the men would have replaced the white trousers with the loose dhoti commonly worn by men in northern India. Many, however would have also kept their red uniform and probably also the white Kilmarnock or forage cap with the regimental insignia. We know that the sowars of the 9th BLC were still wearing their flamboyant, instantly recognisable, French-grey uniforms, which had earned them the nickname the ‘Ornamentals’.7 The rebels represented a sizable force: the 46th consisted of almost a thousand men, while the wing of the 9th was at least 200 strong. In other words, this was no ragtag group of rebels or armed peasants—this was a highly-trained military unit, which had furthermore maintained its operational cohesion. While they no longer had any senior commanders, which invariably consisted of British officers, the entire Indian staff, including NCOs like Alum Bheg, was there to lead the troops.8
The entire Sialkot brigade deployed in formation, across the road leading from the ford to Gurdaspur, just as they had been drilled to do for years. Alum Bheg and the sepoys of the 46th formed a line, two men deep, both of which kneeled until they had to fire when the rear line would stand.9 As was the norm at the time, the cavalry formed on the flanks.10 Immediately on their left was a tiny village, Allowal, while their right flank rested on an old dilapidated serai and another village, named Nutteree.11 They had the Ravi to their rear, and the landscape before them was flat, but green with fields that were irrigated by small canals and water from the river and were lined by trees. The simmering heat, heavy with humidity, was steadily climbing towards its peak of around 45 degrees Celsius. The position of the rebels was not a bad one, however, and many of them were under the cover of trees, while their enemy would be out in the open.12 Across the fields, they could now clearly see Sikh cavalry materialising out of the dust in front of them, and an indiscernible mass behind, infantry and what might be some artillery. Judging from the khaki uniforms what was clear to Alum Bheg and the rebels was that the force that now blocked their route to Delhi seemed to consist mainly of Punjabi soldiers.
Waiting in the stillness of the midday heat, the rebels allowed the opposing force to cross the creek that separated them, the cavalry and infantry wading across the knee-deep water, while the artillery crossed using a small bridge. The sight of more than half a dozen artillery pieces unnerved Alum Bheg and the others, since all they had was the old 12-pounder signal gun that was now stuck on the island well to their rear. As the enemy slowly deployed, the Punjabi horsemen in front moved back, revealing no less than nine horse-drawn cannon being unlimbered, as well as what now turned out to be an entire regiment of British soldiers. This was an unpleasant surprise to Alum Bheg and the other sepoys and sowars, none of whom had ever faced European troops in battle before. Contemporary British accounts assumed that Indian troops simply could not stand up to white soldiers, but this says more about the racist assumptions of the time than anything else. British soldiers, however, were well-disciplined and did indeed have a fearsome reputation.
* * *
The force facing Alum Bheg and the other mutineers on the banks of the Ravi was none other than Nicholson’s Movable Column, including the very troops who had left Sialkot in late May. Back then, the 52nd Oxfordshire Light Infantry had been dressed in white uniforms, but they had since changed to the new khaki colours, which is what the Punjabi Sikhs usually wore. This was one of the first times that khaki was ever used by British regiments, and in this instance, it had served well to hide the identity of the troops until the last moment.13
As soon as the British authorities were alerted to the outbreak at Sialkot, the wing of the 9th BLC, along with another sepoy regiment, were disarmed.14 Nicholson, who was then at Amritsar with the Movable Column, learned of the outbreak in the morning of the 10th and immediately put into action a long-prepared plan: British infantry were loaded onto no less than 200 pony ekhas, or small carriages, while the cavalry horses of the disarmed wing of the 9th were handed over to some of the newly recruited Sikh soldiers.15 Using this configuration, the Column could move much faster than usual, especially considering the temperatures, which Ensign Wilberforce of the 52nd estimated was ‘a tremendous’ 54° Celsius.’16 The British force consisted of 658 men of the 52nd, horse and light artillery, 184 men of the 3rd and 6th Punjab Infantry and two troops of newly recruited Punjabi levies.17 Nicholson’s plan was to cover the more than forty miles between Amritsar and Gurdaspur by forced marches in order to intercept the Sialkot mutineers. This would have been considered a risky move at the best of times, but during the hottest month of the summer is was little short of reckless. Against all odds, the Movable Column managed to reach Gurdaspur before the rebels did, but not without paying a high cost:
‘The heat during the previous day had been so excessive that it was difficult to grasp the brass sword-handle; many horses died of sunstroke during that day, many men were invalided, and some died of heat apoplexy on that march of forty-two miles in twenty-one hours, most of it in the full blaze of a July sun.’18
Nicholson seemed quite prepared to risk the lives of his men for what he saw as the greater good, and he drove them onward without mercy. As one officer of the 52nd put it in a somewhat understated manner, ‘our Brigadier did not consider the season.’19 The plan worked, yet by the time the Movable Column deployed against the Sialkot rebels along the banks of the Ravi, the effective strength of the more than 650 men in the 52nd had been reduced to just 220.20 Nicholson ordered those men to deploy on both flanks in skirmishing order, with his nine guns in the middle. In the rear, the rest of the 52nd, many of whom were still recuperating from the march, the Punjab infantry and the cavalry levies were kept in reserve. The British force then slowly advanced across the open field.
It was too late for Alum Bheg and the rebels to avoid a battle. Moreover, their path to Delhi was now blocked by the approaching force. Maintaining their cool, the rebels allowed the enemy to advance to within 250 yards of their position. The rear ranks of the 46th now stood up and the regiment ‘poured in a rattling volley, which lasted two or three minutes’.21 Alum Bheg and the sepoys were still armed with the old smoothbore musket, yet they still managed to inflict a deadly blow against the British lines. As one British officer described it, ‘they opened a fusillade, and in about five minutes we had about 40 casualties in the force.’22 The rebels still had their buglers and regimental colours, and one eyewitness described the salvo as being ‘delivered as simultaneously as if on parade at Sealkote.’23 The 52nd were on the receiving end of this volley and had not seen action since Waterloo in 1815. According to one of their officers:
‘The men behaved very steadily, considering it was the first time they had been under fire. The first volley astonished them. They made a sort of swerve at first, when the bullets whistled about their heads, as if looking for cover; and some of us felt very much as if we should like to take up a position under a gun-waggon too.’24
Immediately after the volley, the rebel cavalry charged on both flanks; the infantry, Alum Bheg and the 46th BNI, followed right behind them. It was now the turn of the British to unleash a devastating volley of fire using grapeshot from the cannon and
the new Enfields which the 52nd had recently been equipped with. The grapeshot, which consisted of clusters of smaller balls bound in canvas rather than solid round shot, tore through the ranks of the sowars and their horses like a giant shotgun. Nevertheless, the rebel cavalry charged on, speedily covering the ground between the two forces, and riding right in amongst the artillery where they ‘cut right and left at the gunners and drivers.’25
One contemporary account of the battle, by John Cave-Browne, dramatised the clash between the two forces as the culmination of the outbreak three days before:
‘With what feelings must the Column have thus confronted its old acquaintances of Sealkote! The Sealkote brigade, for such virtually it was, facing the Sealkote mutineers! The blood of the brave old Brigadier, of the kind-hearted generalé doctor, the respected Mr Hunter, and others, each and all of whom had friends in the Column, called aloud for vengeance. Thus they met—the murderers and the avengers of blood.’26
The truth, however, was more complicated. One of the Indian officers of the 9th BLC who charged the guns was Havildar Mirwan Singh, who, on the morning of the outbreak at Sialkot, had been the one to wake up and warn Colonel Campbell. Now, this same man ‘led one of the attacks on the guns and fought with great desperation. Failing to shoot a horse artilleryman with his pistol, he hurled the weapon with so strong an arm and so true an aim as to knock out several of his opponent’s teeth and bring him to the ground.’27 Men who had put their own lives on the line to protect their officers on Thursday, now fought the British in desperate battle on the following Sunday. Some of the soldiers who clashed at Trimmu Ghat were even personally acquainted, and in the midst of the fighting, Gunner James Brabson heard his name called out by one of the sowars. As Cooper recounts, ‘One desperado of the 9th Cavalry galloped up to an artillery sergeant, saying, “Salaam, Brabazon Sahib,” and slashed him over the head, inflicting a wound of which he afterwards died.’28 The battle of Trimmu Ghat reflected the confusing nature of the outbreak at Sialkot, and the unexpected intrusion of personal relationships exacerbated the usual chaos of the battlefield.
The Skull of Alum Bheg Page 18