THE BRITISH METHODS IN WAR.
WE republish on this page, from the London Illustrated Times, an illustration which appeared in that journal in the year 1857, representing THE BLOWING OF SEPOY PRISONERS OF WAR FROM THE MOUTH OF CANNON. The circumstances of the case bear some analogy to those which are recurring
at the present time in our Southern States. The natives of British India, whose grounds of discontent with their Government, unlike those of the Southern rebels, were substantial and grievous, rose in arms to strike for their freedom. The British Government, at first unsuccessful in its struggles with the rebellion, at length gathered up its energies and put them down. How it dealt with
the prisoners of war taken in fight our illustration shows. The following extracts from British journals contain the narrative of a couple of executions :
A late mail from India brought accounts of two such executions. On 12th June, at Pashawar, forty men were tried, convicted, and sentenced to be blown from the guns. The execution was a dreadful sight. Three sides of a square were formed by British troops, and in the centre ten
guns were planted, pointing outward. In dead silence the decree of the court was read, and this ceremony concluded, a prisoner was bound to each gun-his back placed against the muzzle, and his arms fastened firmly to the wheels. The signal is now given, and the salvo fired. The discharge, of course, cuts the body in two; and human trunks, heads, legs, and arms may be seen for an instant flying about in all directions. As there were only ten guns used on this occasion, the mutilated remains had to be removed four times. All of these forty criminals met their fate with firmness, with the exception of two; and to save (Previous Page) time, they were dropped to the ground, and their brains blown out by musketry.
Another execution of a similar nature took place on the 13th of June, at Ferozepore. All the available troops and public establishments were convened to witness the scene. Some of the mutineers were to be hung, and around the gallows, erected during the night previous, the soldiers were drawn up. The mutineers were then brought into the centre, and the proceedings of the general Court-Martial was read. Upon being informed that if they would become Queen's evidence they would be reprieved, twelve of the criminals accepted the offer and were marched to the rear. Two were taken to the gallows. They ascended the ladder with firm steps, and to the last moment betrayed no emotion of fear.
The remaining ten were now led away to the artillery guns, and while their irons were being struck off some cried, "Do not sacrifice the innocent for the guilty!" Two others rejoined, "Hold your sniveling: die men and not cowards—you defended your religion, why then do you crave your lives? Sahibs! they are not Sahibs, they are dogs!" Others then began to upbraid their commanding officer. The wretched beings were quickly fastened to the muzzles of ten guns, charged with blank cartridge. The commanding officer directed port-fires to be lit. "Ready!" "Fire!" and the drama was played out. An eye-witness says: "The scene and stench were overpowering. I felt myself terribly convulsed, and could observe that the numerous native spectators were awe-stricken—that they not only trembled like aspen-leaves, but also changed into unnatural hues. Precaution was not taken to remove the sponge-and-load men from the muzzles of the guns; the consequence was that they were greatly bespattered with blood, and one man in particular received a stunning blow from a shivered arm!"
Another witness, W. H. Russell, LL.D., then as now correspondent of the London Times, wrote as follows :
A French General, in a letter to Sir Colin, expressed his regret that certain violences attributed to some of our officers in cold blood—I presume alluding to Hobson shooting the Princes of Delhi, and things of that sort—but he should know that here there is no cold blood at the sight of a rebel . . . . . . When Neile marched from Allahabad his executions were so numerous and indiscriminate, that one of the officers attached to his column had to remonstrate with him, on the ground that if he depopulated the country he could get no supplies for the men.—Diary, vol. i. p. 222.
And again, the same witness said:
The officer in command (Renaud) was emulous of Neile, and thought he could show equal vigor. In two days forty-two men were hanged on the roadside ; and a batch of twelve men were executed because their faces were "turned the wrong way" when they were met on the march. These severities could not have been justified by the Cawnpore massacre, because they took place before that diabolical act. An officer remonstrated with Renaud, on the ground that if he persisted in this course he would empty the villages and render it impossible to supply the army with provisions.
In another instance Mr. Russell stated that a helpless boy, leading a blind man, sought the protection of an officer of Fusiliers, when the latter drew his revolver, snapped it at the wretched suppliant's head—but it missed fire—cocked and snapped it again and again, until the fourth time, when it went off, and the "boy's life-blood flowed at his feet!"
IN CONNECTION WITH THE BRITISH PROTESTS AGAINST THE STONE BLOCKADE, ON THE GROUND OF HUMANITY, THESE REMINISCENCES ARE INSTRUCTIVE.
MARCHES.
MARCH, march, march!
Through road, and alley, and street;
Tramp, tramp, tramp!
With weary and aching feet.
Over the thirsty plain,
Over the dreary hill,
Over the dangerous ford,
Over the prairie chill,
Over the tottering bridge,
Over the desolate marsh, Through the mountainous pass, Flinty, and wild, and harsh!
On, on, on!
With weary and aching feet,
From sunset to midnight and dawn, From dawn to the noontide heat.
Tramp, tramp, tramp!
All through the weary night;
Clamp, clamp, clamp! Under the fierce sun's light.
Peering for ambushed foes, Startled with strange alarms, Exhausted and falling out,
Tottering under their arms; Hungry, and cold, and damp,
Weary, and sick, and sore, Pursued, we must tramp or die,
Till the weary march is o'er.
Oh, the sad and solemn marches!
Oh, the long and dreadful marches!
Oh, the forced and midnight marches
Of the troops!
March, march, march!
With banners and pennons gay,
With faces happy and bright,
In the light of the early day;
With the burnished muskets gleaming,
And the blazoned banners beaming,
And every brave heart dreaming
A dream of victory.
On, on, on!
No footstep now moves slow;
Still fleeter and fleeter move,
We are marching on the foe!
Hurry, and hasten, and run,
Move fleetly, we care not how;
We are marching toward the foe, And the toil is nothing now.
No matter how fast we move,
Our hearts are ahead of our feet;
Our faces are toward the foe-
Hurrah! let our steps be fleet!
With our hearts all on the fight-
For never a thought must roam,
As we march toward the foe,
To the loved ones left at home.
No time for tenderness now,
No time for the dreams of love;
To-day the whole world looks on,
To-day we must heroes prove. Then march, march, march!
With hearts and footsteps light;
No hardship in the march,
When we march toward the fight.
Oh, the glory of the marches!
Oh, the thrill of forward marches!
Oh, the prayers that speed the marches
Toward the foe!
March, march, march!
The day is fought and won;
We are following their retreat,
Let us run, run, run!
Fleeter than frightened hares,
Pursue them as they flee,
And cheer, and shout, and sing Wild songs of jubilee;
While every heart keeps time
To the notes of victory.
Dash, dash, dash!
Onward and ever on;
Clash, clash, clash! The foes before us run;
Crash, crash, crash! They are firing as they run.
Tramp, tramp, tramp!
We can think of our sweet-heart now,
And how proudly she will view
Battle laurels on our brow.
We can think of them all at home, Reading the battle news,
And talking of all the brave,
And giving us all our dues.
And so we march, march, march!
In our hearts but a single pain—
The thought of the brave, brave boys
Who will never march again:
The thought of the ones who fell
'Mid the battle's rush and roar, And who ne'er will bivouac
With their camp-mates any more.
'Tis this alone that saddens
The grand pursuing marches!
The glorious forward marches
Of the troops! HATTIE TYNG.
MRS. D- AND CAPTAIN L-.
IN the city of Baltimore lives a lady named—No, we will keep back the real name from publication, and give only an assumed initial, calling her Mrs. D—.
Mrs. D— is the wife of a gentleman engaged in mercantile pursuits. He is neither rich nor socially ambitious; though, by carefulness and attention to business, he has accumulated some property, and lives in good style for a man of his means.
Mrs. D— is very much unlike her husband in some respects. Social ambition is one of her weaknesses. In marrying Mr. D—, whose father had been a mechanic, she felt that she was letting herself down; but, as the puny scion of an old aristocratic family that was decaying for lack of both moral and intellectual force, she wisely accepted the chance of being ingrafted on a more vigorous stock, even though, in her estimation, the quality were inferior. Of this, however, a fair difference of opinion may exist.
By birth and education Mrs. D— considered herself a "lady." That is, a person of superior quality—made of finer stuff—than the great body of the people ; and, for this advantage, entitled to deference and service from those who were held to be graded below her. Toward all persons who ranked in the same grade with her husband, Mrs. D— assumed an air of dignified superiority that offended some and imposed upon others. Assumption always carries weight with a class. Her poverty before marriage—for the family had about exhausted itself by extravagance, dissipation, and want of thrift—had separated her from many early friends; and her marriage with the son of a mechanic, though a strong, true, and rising man, had caused others to drop an acquaintance which had not for some time been looked upon as desirable.
For several years after her marriage Mrs. D—, whose husband could not afford display in living, found it hard work to maintain her standing with any portion of the proud exclusives with whom it was her ambition to associate. Still she was ever at the gate, gliding in upon all accessible occasions, and holding a place by intrusion if not under acknowledged right. By flattery she kept in favor with some, and through them drew to the side of others, whose repellent coldness would have held a sensitive and truly independent mind far in the distance.
Such was Mrs. D—. As her husband's means increased she pressed him closely for a more liberal dispensation thereof at home. To this he yielded, even beyond his own judgment ; but never to an extent that touched his safety. She dressed extravagantly; but he saw that her bills did not exceed a certain sum that could be afforded. Gradually, through elegance of attire and assumed importance, Mrs. D— widened her sphere among
the exclusives, and, in corresponding degree, drew off from certain excellent people, held as inferior, who had rather tolerated than enjoyed her society.
