From Egypt to Japan

CHAPTER XVIII

In reviewing the terrible scenes of the Mutiny, one cannot help asking whether such scenes are likely to occur again; whether there will ever be another Rebellion; and if so, what may be the chance of its success? Will the people of India wish to rise? How are they affected towards the English government? Are they loyal? We can only answer these questions by asking another: Who are meant by the people of India? The population is divided into different classes, as into different castes. The great mass of the people are passive. Accustomed to being handed over from one native ruler to another, they care not who holds the power. He is the best ruler who oppresses them the least. But among the high caste Brahmins, and especially those who have been educated (among whom alone there is anything like political life in India), there is a deep-seated disaffection towards the English rule. This is a natural result of an education which enlarges their ideas and raises their ambition. Some of the Bengalees, for example, are highly educated men, and it is but natural that, as they increase in knowledge, they should think that they are quite competent to govern themselves. Hence their dislike to the foreign power that is imposed upon them. Not that they have any personal wrongs to avenge. It may be that they are attached to English men, while they do not like the English rule. Every man whose mind is elevated by knowledge and reflection, wishes to be his own master; and if ruled at all, he likes to be ruled by those of his own blood and race and language. This class of men, whether Hindoos or Mohammedans, however courteous they may be to the English in their personal or business relations, are not thereby converted to loyalty, any more than they are converted to Christianity.

But however strong their dislike, it is not very probable that it should take shape in organized rebellion, and still less likely that any such movement should succeed. The English are now guarded against it as never before. In the Mutiny they were taken at every possible disadvantage. The country was almost stripped of English troops. Only 20,000 men were left, and these scattered far apart, and surrounded by three times their number of Sepoys in open rebellion. Thus even the military organization was in the hands of the enemy. If with all these things against them, English skill and courage and discipline triumphed at last, can it ever be put to such a test again?

When the Mutiny was over, and the English had time to reflect on the danger they had escaped, they set themselves to repair their defences, so that they should never more be in such peril. The first thing was to reorganize the army, to weed out the elements of disaffection and rebellion, and to see that the power was henceforth in safe hands. The English troops were tripled in force, till now, instead of twenty, they number sixty thousand men. The native regiments were carefully chosen from those only who had proved faithful, such as the Goorkas, who fought so bravely at Delhi, and other hill tribes of the Himalayas; and the Punjaubees, who are splendid horsemen, and make the finest cavalry. But not even these, brave and loyal as they had been, were mustered into any regiment except cavalry and infantry. Not a single native soldier was left in the artillery. In the Mutiny, if the Sepoys had not been practised gunners, they would not have been so formidable at the siege of Lucknow and elsewhere. Now they are stripped of this powerful arm, and in any future rising they could do nothing against fortified places, nor against an army in the field, equipped with modern artillery. In reserving this arm of the service to themselves, the English have kept the decisive weapon in their own hands.

Then it is hardly too much to say that by the present complete system of railroads, the English force is quadrupled, as this gives them the means of concentrating rapidly at any exposed point.

To these elements of military strength must be added the greater organizing power of Englishmen. The natives make good soldiers. They are brave, and freely expose themselves in battle. In the Sikh war the Punjaubees fought desperately. So did the Sepoys in the Mutiny. But the moment the plan of attack was disarranged, they were "all at sea." Their leaders had no "head" for quick combinations in presence of an enemy. As it has been, so it will be. In any future contests it will be not only the English sword, English guns, and English discipline, but more than all, the English brains, that will get them the victory.

Such is the position of England in India. She holds a citadel girt round with defences on every side, with strong walls without, and brave hearts within. I have been round about her towers, and marked well her bulwarks, and I see not why, so guarded and defended, she may not hold her Indian Empire for generations to come.

But there is a question back of all this. Might does not make right. A government may be established in power that is not established in justice. It may be that the English are to remain masters of India, yet without any right to that splendid dominion. As we read the thrilling stories of the Mutiny, it is almost with a guilty feeling (as if it betrayed a want of sympathy with all that heroism), that we admit any inquiry as to the cause of that fearful tragedy. But how came all this blood to be shed? Has not England something to answer for? If she has suffered terribly, did she not pay the penalty of her own grasping ambition? Nations, like individuals, often bring curses on themselves, the retribution of their oppressions and their crimes. The fact that men fight bravely, is no proof that they fight in a just cause. Nay, the very admiration that we feel for their courage in danger and in death, but increases our horror at the "political necessity" which requires them to be sacrificed. If England by her own wicked policy provoked the Mutiny, is she not guilty of the blood of her children? Thomas Jefferson, though a slaveholder himself, used to say that in a war of races every attribute of Almighty God would take part with the slave against his master; and Englishmen may well ask whether in the conflict which has come once, and may come again, they can be quite sure that Infinite Justice will always be on their side.

In these sentences I have put the questions which occur to an American travelling in India. Wherever he goes, he sees the English flag flying on every fortress – the sign that India is a conquered country. The people who inhabit the country are not those who govern it. With his Republican ideas of the right of every nation to govern itself, he cannot help asking: What business have the English in India? What right have a handful of Englishmen, so far from their native island, in another hemisphere, to claim dominion over two hundred millions of men?

As an American, I have not the bias of national feeling to lead me to defend and justify the English rule in India; though I confess that when, far off here in Asia, among these dusky natives, I see a white face, and hear my own mother tongue, I feel that "blood is thicker than water," and am ready to take part with my kindred against all comers. Even Americans cannot but feel a pride in seeing men of their own race masters of such a kingdom in the East. But this pride of empire will not extinguish in any fair mind the sense of justice and humanity.

"Have the English any right in India?" If it be "a question of titles," we may find it difficult to prove our own right in America, from which we have crowded out the original inhabitants. None of us can claim a title from the father of the human race. All new settlers in a country are "invaders." But public interest and the common law of the world demand that power, once established, should be recognized.

According to the American principle, that "all just government derives its authority from the consent of the governed," there never was a just government in India, for the consent of the governed was never obtained. The people of India were never asked to give their "consent" to the government established over them. They were ruled by native princes, who were as absolute, and in general as cruel tyrants, as ever crushed a wretched population.

No doubt in planting themselves in India, the English have often used the rights of conquerors. No one has denounced their usurpations and oppressions more than their own historians, such as Mill and Macaulay. The latter, in his eloquent reviews of the lives of Clive and Warren Hastings, has spoken with just severity of the crimes of those extraordinary but unscrupulous men. For such acts no justification can be pleaded whatever. But as between Clive and Surajah Dowlah, the rule of the former was infinitely better. It would be carrying the doctrine of self-government to an absurd extent, to imagine that the monster who shut up English prisoners in the Black Hole had any right which was to be held sacred. The question of right, therefore, is not between the English and the people of India, but between the English and the native princes. Indeed England comes in to protect the people against the princes, when it gives them one strong master in place of a hundred petty tyrants. The King of Oude collecting his taxes by soldiers, is but an instance of that oppression and cruelty which extended all over India, but which is now brought to an end.

And how has England used her power? At first, we must confess, with but little of the feeling of responsibility which should accompany the possession of power. Nearly a hundred years ago, Burke (who was master of all facts relating to the history of India, and to its political condition, more than any other man of his time) bitterly arraigned the English government for its cruel neglect of that great dependency. He denounced his countrymen, the agents of the East India Company, as a horde of plunderers, worse than the soldiers of Tamerlane, and held up their greedy and rapacious administration to the scorn of mankind, showing that they had left no beneficent monuments of their power to compare with those of the splendid reigns of the old Moguls. In a speech in Parliament in 1783, he said:

"England has erected no churches, no palaces, no hospitals, no schools; England has built no bridges, made no high roads, cut no navigations, dug out no reservoirs. Every other conqueror of every other description has left some monument either of State or beneficence behind him. Were we to be driven out of India this day, nothing would remain to tell that it had been possessed, during the inglorious period of our dominion, by anything better than the orang-outang or the tiger."

This is a fearful accusation. What answer can be made to it? Has there been any change for the better since the great impeacher of Warren Hastings went to his grave? How has England governed India since that day? She has not undertaken to govern it like a Model Republic. If she had, her rule would soon have come to an end. She has not given the Hindoos universal suffrage, or representation in Parliament. But she has given them something better – Peace and Order and Law, a trinity of blessings that they never had before. When the native princes ruled in India, they were constantly at war among themselves, and thus overrunning and harassing the country. Now the English government rules everywhere, and Peace reigns from Cape Comorin to the Himalayas.

Strange to say, this quietness does not suit some of the natives, who have a restless longing for the wild lawlessness of former times. A missionary was one day explaining to a crowd the doctrine of original sin, when he was roughly interrupted by one who said, "I know what is original sin: it is the English rule in India." "You ought not to say that," was the reply, "for if it were not for the English the people of the next village would make a raid on your village, and carry off five thousand sheep." But the other was not to be put down so, and answered promptly, "I should like that, for then we would make a raid on them and carry off ten thousand!" This was a blunt way of putting it, but it expresses the feeling of many who would prefer that kind of wild justice which prevails among the Tartar hordes of Central Asia to a state of profound tranquility. They would rather have Asiatic barbarism than European civilization.

With peace between States, England has established order in every community. It has given protection to life and property – a sense of security which is the first condition of the existence of human society. It has abolished heathen customs which were inhuman and cruel. It has extirpated thuggism, and put an end to infanticide and the burning of widows. This was a work of immense difficulty, because these customs, horrid as they were, were supported by religious fanaticism. Mothers cast their children into the Ganges as an offering to the gods; and widows counted it a happy escape from the sufferings of life to mount the funeral pile. Even to this day there are some who think it hard that they cannot thus sacrifice themselves.

So wedded are the people to their customs, that they are very jealous of the interference of the government, when it prohibits any of their practices on the ground of humanity. Dr. Newton, of Lahore, the venerable missionary, told me that he knew a few years ago a fakir, a priest of a temple, who had grown to be very friendly with him. One day the poor man came, with his heart full of trouble, to tell his griefs. He had a complaint against the government. He said that Sir John Lawrence, then Governor of the Punjaub, was very arbitrary. And why? Because he wanted to bury himself alive, and the Governor wouldn't let him! He had got to be a very old man (almost a hundred), and of course must soon leave this world. He had had a tomb prepared in the grounds of the temple (he took Dr. Newton to see what a nice place it was), and there he wished to lie down and breathe his last. With the Hindoos it is an act of religious merit to bury one's self alive, and on this the old man had set his heart. If he could do this, he would go straight to Paradise, but the hard English Governor, insensible to such considerations, would not permit it. Was it not too bad that he could not be allowed to go to heaven in his own way?

Breaking up these old barbarities – suicide, infanticide, and the burning of widows – the government has steadily aimed to introduce a better system for the administration of justice, in which, with due regard to Hindoo customs and prejudices, shall be incorporated, as far as possible, the principles of English law. For twenty years the ablest men that could be found in India or in England, have been engaged in perfecting an elaborate Indian Code, in which there is one law for prince and pariah. What must be the effect on the Hindoo mind of such a system, founded in justice, and enforced by a power which they cannot resist? Such laws administered by English magistrates, will educate the Hindoos to the idea of justice, which, outside of English colonies, can hardly be said to exist in Asia.

The English are the Romans of the modern world. Wherever the Roman legions marched, they ruled with a strong hand, but they established law and order, the first conditions of human society. So with the English in all their Asiatic dependencies. Wherever they come, they put an end to anarchy, and give to all men that sense of protection and security, that feeling of personal safety – safety both to life and property – without which there is no motive to human effort, and no possibility of human progress.

The English are like the Romans in another feature of their administration, in the building of roads. The Romans were the great road-builders of antiquity. Highways which began at Rome, and thus radiated from a common centre, led to the most distant provinces. Not only in Italy, but in Spain and Gaul and Germany, did the ancient masters of the world leave these enduring monuments of their power. Following this example, England, before the days of railroads, built a broad macadamized road from Calcutta to Peshawur, over 1,500 miles. This may have been for a military purpose; but no matter, it serves the ends of peace more than of war. It becomes a great avenue of commerce; it opens communication between distant parts of India, and brings together men of different races, speaking different languages; and thus, by promoting peaceful and friendly intercourse, it becomes a highway of civilization.

Nor is this the only great road in this country. Everywhere I have found the public highways in excellent condition. Indeed I have not found a bad road in India – not one which gave me such a "shaking up" as I have sometimes had when riding over the "corduroys" through the Western forests of America. Around the large towns the roads are especially fine – broad and well paved, and often planted with trees. The cities are embellished with parks, like cities in England, with botanical and zoölogical gardens. The streets are kept clean, and strict sanitary regulations are enforced – a matter of the utmost moment in this hot climate, and in a dense population, where a sudden outbreak of cholera would sweep off thousands in a few days or hours. The streets are well lighted and well policed, so that one may go about at any hour of day or night with as much safety as in London or New York. If these are the effects of foreign rule, even the most determined grumbler must confess that it has proved a material and substantial benefit to the people of India.

Less than twenty years ago the internal improvements of India received a sudden and enormous development, when to the building of roads succeeded that of railroads. Lord Dalhousie, when Governor-General, had projected a great railroad system, but it was not till after the Mutiny, and perhaps in consequence of the lessons learned by that terrible experience, that the work was undertaken on a large scale. The government guaranteed five per cent. interest for a term of years, and the capital was supplied from England. Labor was abundant and cheap, and the works were pushed on with unrelaxing energy, till India was belted from Bombay to Calcutta, and trunk lines were running up and down the country, with branches to every large city. Thus, to English foresight and sagacity, to English wealth and engineering skill, India owes that vast system of railroads which now spreads over the whole peninsula.

In no part of the world are railroads more used than in India. Of course the first-class carriages are occupied chiefly by English travellers, or natives of high rank; and the second-class by those less wealthy. But there are trains for the people, run at very low fares. There are huge cars, built with two stories, and carrying a hundred passengers each, and these two-deckers are often very closely packed. The Hindoos have even learned to make pilgrimages by steam, and find it much cheaper, as well as easier, than to go afoot. When one considers the long journeys they have been accustomed to undertake under the burning sun of India, the amount of suffering relieved by a mode of locomotion so cool and swift is beyond computation.

Will anybody tell me that the people of India, if left alone, would have built their own railways? Perhaps in the course of ages, but not in our day. The Asiatic nature is torpid and slow to move, and cannot rouse itself to great exertion. In the whole Empire of China there is not a railroad, except at Shanghai, where a few months ago was opened a little "one-horse concern," a dozen miles long, built by the foreigners for the convenience of that English settlement. This may show how rapid would have been the progress of railroads in India, if left wholly to native "enterprise." It would have taken hundreds of years to accomplish what the English have wrought in one generation.

Nor does English engineering skill expend itself on railroads alone. It has dug canals that are like rivers in their length. The Ganges Canal in Upper India is a work equal to our Erie Canal. Other canals have been opened, both for commerce and for irrigation. The latter is a matter vital to India. The food of the Hindoos is rice, and rice cannot be cultivated except in fields well watered. A drought in the rice fields means a famine in the province. Such a calamity is now averted in many places by this artificial irrigation. The overflow from these streams, which are truly "fountains in the desert," has kept whole districts from being burnt up, by which in former years millions perished by famine.

While thus caring for the material comfort and safety of the people of India, England has also shown regard to their enlightenment in providing a magnificent system of National Education. Every town in India has its government school, while many a large city has its college or its university. Indeed, so far has this matter of education been carried, that I heard a fear expressed that it was being overdone – at least the higher education – because the young men so educated were unfitted for anything else than the employ of the government. All minor places in India are filled by natives, and well filled too. But there are not enough for all. And hence many, finding no profession to enter, and educated above the ordinary occupations of natives, are left stranded on the shore.

These great changes in India, these schools and colleges, the better administration of the laws, and these vast internal improvements, have been almost wholly the work of the generation now living. In the first century of its dominion the English rule perhaps deserved the bitter censure of Burke, but