CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY

I propose to give some account of India in her romantic and picturesque aspects. In no year since the beginning of British rule has she been more prominently before English eyes than in 1897. The Diamond Jubilee of the Queen Empress brought many of the native representatives to England. Though not native Sovereigns of the first rank, many of them were native Princes, others were nobles; and many were soldiers, no doubt carefully chosen by the Government of India for their martial bearing, their war-record, their social status, in addition to military rank. Certainly they represented India handsomely and gracefully. They gave to Englishmen a favourable idea of the inherent manliness and of the true gentility pertaining to the best classes of native society. They doubtless inspired many of our countrymen with a desire to know more, and if possible to see something of the land whence these people came. They suggested by their presence the thought that the birthplace of such picturesque figures must in itself be replete with pictorial effect.

But this ideal mind-picture of India in 1897 has had-like realistic and material pictures-its deep shades as well as its high lights. For few years have seen such long and ever lengthening shadows been cast right across India from end to end as the year just passed, namely, 1897. These sorrows sprang upon her just at the zenith of her strength, her prosperity, and her splendour. This was indeed providentially fortunate, inasmuch as the burden fell upon her at a time when she was fairly able to bear it. The year opened with one of the severest and most widespread famines ever known, extending over various provinces in Northern and Western India, and in several districts elsewhere. India has always been the land of famine, arising from atmospheric causes of a far-reaching character quite beyond human control. For now nearly two generations the British Government has striven to prevent famine by constructing works of irrigation, the finest known in any age or country. But prevention by these means is found to be impracticable though the possible area is contracted. Still during the same era Government has devoted its energies and resources to averting or mitigating the consequences of drought and dearth. On this dread occasion the Indian people faced the calamity with all the old endurance for which, indeed, they have been proverbial. The Government combated the sufferings with all the old resourcefulness and administrative capacity for which it has been famous. The sympathies of England were aroused, and the subscriptions for relief of famine exceeded half a million sterling, the largest sum, or one of the largest sums, ever raised for a charity of this description. These efforts in the British Isles, and in India itself under British auspices, were beginning to prove successful, and were blessed by such improvement in the season as gave hope of a speedy recovery, when a new trouble was added in the shape of plague and pestilence.

During the spring the plague appeared sporadically in Western India, and then became for a while endemic in Bombay, decimating the inhabitants in some quarters of the great city, and causing such an exodus of the busy population as to paralyse for a while the industry of this queen of Asiatic commerce. This was on the coast at the foot of the Western Ghaut Mountains. Then the plague crossed the mountains and appeared at Poona, a great civil and military station, and the capital of the Bombay Deccan. Meanwhile the Government of Bombay had been doing its utmost to check the evil, by internal sanitation in dwellings, by disinfecting processes, by isolation of distressed localities, and so forth. This benevolent work, designed solely to save the lives and to promote the health of the people, was introduced at first in Bombay and soon extended to Poona.

Then at Poona certain persons pretended that this good work was vexatious and oppressive. On this particular ground the people were urged by seditious publications to rebel. Two meritorious English officers were actually murdered on this very pretence, and the murderers were not at the time discovered.

Soon it became evident that the treason went further and deeper. Newspaper articles were published invoking the memory of the national hero Sivaji, who more than two centuries ago raised the standard of Hindu revolt against the Great Mogul. With an eloquence peculiarly appealing to the Hindu mind, the people of to-day were urged to treat the British in the same way. At least to the British understanding this was the substance and tenor of the admonition. All this was done not at all by ordinary natives but by men who had been at our schools and colleges and had studied at our University in Bombay. At first sight it was most discouraging to see such an outcome of Western civilisation. There had been mutterings of the storm for some time in the native press. After long-suffering patience, which had perhaps been too far protracted, the Government acted with its wonted energy. Criminal prosecutions were instituted; several natives of social consequence were brought to the bar and received judicial sentence. These proceedings checked the publication of seditious and treasonable matter. Hardly any overt act of rebellion occurred. But nobody supposed that the inflammable material had been removed, although the rising flame had been stamped out. Indeed those who, like myself, are thoroughly acquainted with that locality and with the people concerned, know well that in and about Poona there resides in some bosoms an inextinguishable hatred against British rule,-implacable notwithstanding humane legislation, just laws and honest administration.

Thus in the summer, just when England was ringing with the Jubilee cheers, when the colonies and dependencies from every clime were swelling the chorus of congratulation, when the inhabitants of the British Isles were giving munificent proofs of sympathy with their Asiatic fellow-subjects, when the Indian Government was signalising itself by immense efforts for the sake of suffering humanity, treasonable symptoms of the worst kind manifested themselves in Western India. Never was mischief of this sort more ill-timed. The people of England were perhaps too much absorbed in the Imperial triumphs of the moment to pay close attention to the matter. But they thought it dangerous, and wondered why this time of all other times should be chosen for such manifestations. This wonderment of theirs is shared indeed by those who are most experienced in these affairs. The truth probably is that in that particular quarter the discontent is abiding, and only awaits any chance event that may seem to promise an opportunity. It was thought by the evil disposed that such an opportunity might be afforded by the dissatisfaction, real or supposed, of the people, at the measures taken for the prevention of the plague. Never was benevolent effort more unjustly misunderstood.

But the apprehension of people in England regarding these events soon became quickened. For rioting, not amounting to rebellion, but still most grave, broke out very soon in Calcutta. A dispute arose about a building and some land claimed for a mosque, regarding which a judicial decree had been issued. The affair was small, but the mob became great, and the rioting spread largely before the authorities were able, by the employment of troops, to put it down. After these events, first on the west, then on the east side of India, rumour came in with its hundred tongues. Insolence of demeanour before Europeans, ominous expressions casually dropped, were commonly reported; and no doubt many Europeans, who ought to be well-informed, did think that an unaccountable spirit of unrest was in the air. As this became known in England some genuine alarm was felt by many Englishmen. It was graphically depicted in an eminent London weekly journal by an illustration of the tiger. I often heard them ask whether there was not going to be another Mutiny, alluding of course to 1857. This would presuppose or imply some sinister signs in the native army. But in truth in 1897 there was not the slightest trace of this. On the contrary, the native army was sorely tried during this very year, and evinced the most gallant loyalty.

Then another physical calamity supervened. Earthquake shook parts of Calcutta, and appeared with still greater force in the valley of the Brahmaputra, underneath the eastern Himalayas, threatening the tea-producing regions. The station of Shillong in Assam was nearly destroyed. India is indeed a buoyant country; still this recurrence of calamity must have caused some gloom to settle down on the public mind.

Immediately, however, a new excitement arose in a widely different and distant part of the country. Far away on the North-West frontier, near Peshawar, and round about the celebrated Khyber Pass that leads towards Caubul, there was an uprising of the independent tribes that occupy a long though narrow belt of mountains between the Indus valley and Afghanistan. It was found that fanatical Moslem priests had been stirring up all these wild and intractable tribesmen to resist, and if possible drive back, what were considered the British encroachments on their territories. Whether this fanaticism had anything to do with current events...