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Preface By Sir John Kaye

When the first volume of this book was published, I had little expectation that the second would be so long in course of completion, as the result has shown it to have been. In truth, I had not measured aright the extent of the work before me. But when I came to take account of the wealth of my materials, and to reflect upon the means of converting thorn into history, I saw clearly that the task I had undertaken was a more arduous and perplexing one than I had originally supposed.

It is not difficult to make the reader understand my perplexities; and I hope that, understanding, he will sympathise with them. The events to be narrated covered a large area of space, but were compressed within a small period of time. Chronologically they moved along parallel lines, but locally they were divergent and distracting. The question was how it was best to deal historically with all these synchronous incidents. To have written according to date, with some approach to fidelity of detail, a number of separate narratives, each illustrative of a particular day, or of a particular week, would have been easy to the writer, and would in some sort have represented the character of the crisis, one of the most distinguishing features of which was derived from the confusion and distraction engendered by the multiplicity of simultaneous outbursts in different parts of the country. This mode of treatment, however, though it might accurately reflect the situation, was not likely to gratify the reader. The multiplicity of personal and local names rapidly succeeding each other would have bewildered him, and no distinct impression would have been left upon his mind. But though the nature of the subject utterly forbade all thought of unity of place and unity of action, with reference to the scope of the entire work,

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there was a certain unification of the several parts which was practicable, and which suggested what might be called an episodical treatment of the subject, with such connecting links, or such a general framework or setting, as historical truth might permit. And, in fact, different parts of the country were so cut off from each other when mutiny and rebellion were at their height, that each series of operations for the suppression of local revolt had a separate and a distinct character. Certainly, in the earlier stages of the War, there was no general design – little co-operation or cohesion. Every man did what was best in his eyes to meet with vigour and sagacity an unexpected crisis. The cutting of our telegraph-wires and the interruption of our posts were among the first hostile efforts of the insurgents in all parts of the country. Joint action on a large scale was thus rendered impossible, and at the commencement of the War it would scarcely have been desirable. For our people had to deal promptly with urgent symptoms, and references and consultations would have been fatal to success.

Thus circumstanced with respect to the component parts of this History, I could not easily determine to what particular events it would be best to give priority of narration. One thing soon became unpleasantly apparent to me. I had made a mistake in forecasting the plan of the entire work, in an “Advertisement” prefixed to the First Volume. It was impossible to write adequately, in this instalment of my book, of all the operations which I had originally intended to record. With materials of such great interest before me, it would have been unwise to starve the narrative; so I thought it best to make confession of error, and expunge my too-hasty promises from subsequent editions of the work. In pursuance of this revised scheme, I was compelled to put aside much that I had written for this Second Volume, and though this has necessarily retarded its publication, it has placed me so much in advance with the work to be accomplished, that I hope to be able to produce the next volume after a much shorter interval of time.

The selection made for this volume from the chapters which I had written may not perhaps be the best, but it is at least sufficiently intelligible. After describing the earlier incidents of the mutiny, as at Mirath and Dehli, at Banaras and Allahabad, and at different stations in the Panjab, I have narrated, up to a

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certain point, those two great series of operations – the one expedition starting from Bengal with troops drawn from the Littoral, the other from the North-Western Frontier, with forces derived from the Hill Stations and the Panjab – which were consummated in the capture of Dehli and the first relief of Lakhnao. In the one I have traced the movements of Neill and Havelock, under the direction of Lord Canning, and in the other of Anson, Barnard, Wilson, and Nicholson, with the aid and inspiration of Sir John Lawrence. It is by thus following the fortunes of individuals that we may best arrive at a just conception of the general action of the whole. For it was by the energies of individual men, acting mostly on their own responsibility, that little by little rebellion was trodden down, and the supremacy of the English firmly re-established. It will be seen that I have adhered very closely to pure narrative. The volume, indeed, is a volume of fact, not of controversy and speculation; and as it relates to the earlier scenes of the great struggle for the Empire, it is mostly an account of military revolt and its suppression.

Dealing with the large mass of facts, which are reproduced in the chapters now published, and in those which, though written, I have been compelled to reserve for future publication, I have consulted and collated vast piles of contemporary correspondence, and entered largely into communication, by personal intercourse or by letter, with men who have been individually connected with the events described. For every page published in this volume some ten pages have been written and compiled in aid of the narrative; and if I have failed in the one great object of my ambition, to tell the truth, without exaggeration on the one hand or reservation on the other, it has not been for want of earnest and laborious inquiry or of conscientious endeavour to turn my opportunities to the best account, and to lay before the public an honest exposition of the historical facts as they have been unfolded before me.

Still it is probable that the accuracy of some of the details in this volume, especially those of personal incident, may be questioned, perhaps contradicted, notwithstanding, I was about to say, all the care that I have taken to investigate them, but I believe that I should rather say “by reason of that very care.” Such questionings or contradictions should not he too readily accepted; for, although the authority of the questioner may be good, there may be still better authority on the other side. I

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have often had to choose between very conflicting statements; and I have sometimes found my informants to be wrong, though apparently with the best opportunities of being right, and have been compelled to reject, as convincing proof, even the overwhelming assertion, “But, I was there.” Men who are personally engaged in stirring events are often too much occupied to know what is going on beyond the little spot of ground which holds them at the time, and often from this restricted stand-point they see through a glass darkly. It is hard to disbelieve a man of honour when he tells you what he himself did; but every writer, long engaged in historical inquiry, has had before him instances in which men, after even a brief lapse of time, have confounded in their minds the thought of doing, or the intent to do, a certain thing, with the fact of having actually done it. Indeed, in the commonest affairs of daily life, we often find the intent mistaken for the act, in the retrospect.

The case of Captain Rosser’s alleged offer to take a Squadron of Dragoons and a troop of Horse Artillery to Dehli on the night of the 10th of May (illustrated in the Appendix2) may be regarded as an instance of this confusion. I could cite other instances. One will suffice: – A military officer of high rank, of stainless honour, with a great historical reputation, invited me some years ago to meet him, for the express purpose of making to me a most important statement, with reference to one of the most interesting episodes of the Sipahi War. The statement was a very striking one; and I was referred, in confirmation of it, to another officer, who has since become illustrious in our national history. Immediately on leaving my informant, I wrote down as nearly as possible his very words. It was not until after his death that I was able orally to consult the friend to whom he had referred me, as being personally cognisant of the alleged fact – the only witness, indeed, of the scene described. The answer was that he had heard the story before, but that nothing of the kind had ever happened. The asserted incident was one, as I ventured to tell the man who had described it to me at the time, that did not cast additional lustre on his reputation; and it would have beers obvious, even if he had rejoiced in a less unblemished reputation, that

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it was not for self-glorification, but in obedience to an irrepressible desire to declare the truth, that he told me what afterwards appeared to be not an accomplished fact, but an intention unfulfilled. Experiences of this kind render the historical inquirer very sceptical even of information supposed to be on “the best possible authority.” Truly, it is very disheartening to find that the nearer one approaches the fountain-head of truth, the further off we may find ourselves from it3.

But, notwithstanding such discouraging instances of the difficulty of extracting the truth, even from the testimony of truthful men, who have been actors in the scenes to be described, I cannot but admit the general value of such testimony to the writer of contemporary history. And, indeed, there need be some advantages in writing of events still fresh in the memory of men to compensate for its manifest disadvantages. These disadvantages, however, ought always to be felt by the writer rather than by the reader. It has been often said to me, in reply to my inquiries, “Yes, it is perfectly true. But these men are still living, and the truth cannot be told.” To this my answer has been: “To the historian all men are dead.” If a writer of contemporary history is not prepared to treat the living and the dead alike – to speak as freely and as truthfully of the former as of the latter, with no more reservation in the one case than in the other – he has altogether mistaken his vocation, and should look for a subject in prehistoric times. There are some actors in the scenes here described of whom I do not know whether they be living or whether they be dead. Some have passed away from the sphere of worldly exploits whilst this volume has been slowly taking shape beneath my pen. But if this has in any way influenced the character of my writing, it has only been by imparting increased tenderness to my judgment of men who can no longer defend themselves or explain their conduct to the world. Even this offence, if it be one against historical truth, I am not conscious of having actually committed.

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I have but a few more words to say, but because I say them last it must not be thought that I feel them least. I am painfully sensible that in this narrative I have failed to do justice to the courage and constancy of many brave men, whose good deeds deserved special illustration in this narrative, and would have received it, but for the exigencies of time and space, which have forbidden an ampler record. This, perhaps, may be more apparent in other volumes than in this. But, whatever may be the omissions in this respect, I do not think that they will be attributed to any want of appreciation of the gallantry and fortitude of my countrymen in doing and in suffering. No one could rejoice more in the privilege of illustrating their heroic deeds than the author of these volumes. It is one of the best compensations of historical labour to be suffered to write of exploits reflecting so much honour upon the character of the nation.

J. W. K.

Penge – Midsummer, 1870.

Footnotes

2. [Transferred in sufficient detail as a footnote to the page in which the transaction is recorded. – G.B.M.]

3. It may be mentioned here (though not directly in confirmation of the above) as a curious illustration of the difficulty of discerning between truth and error, that the only statement seriously impugned in a former work of history by the author of this book, was the only one which he had made as the result of his own personal knowledge – the only fact which he had witnessed with his own eyes.

This collection transcribed by Chris Gage
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