Cawnpore: Massacre at The Bibighar
Trouble had been brewing in British India for sometime. It was run, in theory at least, by the East India Company, which governed through graft and corruption, co-opting local officials and dignitaries, and through its private army of 40,000 British and more than 200,000 Indian Sepoy troops.
Trouble had been brewing in British India for sometime. It was run, in theory at least, by the East India Company, which governed through graft and corruption, co-opting local officials and dignitaries, and through its private army of 40,000 British and more than 200,000 Indian Sepoy troops. It was dismissive of Indian customs and traditions, derisive towards its religions, and heedless of the needs of its people. It should have come as no surprise when the simmering, bubbling powder keg that was British India erupted into open rebellion, but through a combination of arrogance and hubris, it came to surprise everyone.
The Indian Mutiny broke out in Meerut on 10 May, 1857. The Indian Army, which was in large part manned by the proud warrior peoples of the Indian sub-Continent had once been a well-disciplined and highly respected body but it had long since been degraded by many years of neglect and the grievances of the soldiers were manifold: poor pay, the unavailability of promotion, insanitary quarters, the arrogance and lack of respect of their white officers. The spark that lit the powder keg was the issue of the new Lee Enfield rifle, the paper cartridges of which had to be bitten off. The rumour had long been in circulation that these cartridges were greased with pork and beef fat, anathema to both Muslims and Hindus. To touch them at all would violate the Sepoys. The order had actually already been issued to leave the cartridges ungreased so the Sepoys could grease them as they wished but this had just seemed to confirm them in their original fears. The order had come far too late, the damage had already been done.
On 24 April, Lt-Colonel George Carmichael-Smyth, a brutal and unsympathetic man, had ordered the 3rd Bengal Light Cavalry to do a fire drill. Of the 90 men present on the parade ground, 85 refused to do so. Carmichael-Smyth, red-faced with rage at the disobedience, ordered that the 85 be arrested. On 9 May, the entire garrison was assembled to witness their court-martial. They were sentenced to be drummed out of the service, imprisoned to ten years hard labour, and deprived of their pensions. Their comrades had to watch as they were publicly humiliated, physically stripped of their uniforms and shackled. As they were led away they noisily berated their fellow Sepoys for not supporting them. In the early hours of the following morning they broke into the prison where they were being held and released the convicted men. In opening the prison gates they released onto the streets hundreds of murderers, thieves and bandits who took their vengeance on any white person they could find, men, women or children. Christian missionaries were hacked to death, off-duty soldiers attacked in the bazaar, prostitutes murdered their clients. The reaction of the Sepoys was mixed, some helped British families to escape the carnage, a few remained loyal, but there was little doubt that they were now in open rebellion.
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