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OBSERVATIONS ON THE DISTURBANCES IN THE MADRAS ARMY IN 1809.

BY JOHN MALCOLM,

LIEUTENANT COLONEL IN THE HONOURABLE EAST INDIA COMPANY'S MADRAS ARMY, RESIDENT AT MYSORE, AND LATE ENVOY TO THE COURT OF PERSIA.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR WILLIAM MILLER, ALBEMARLE STREET; AND JOHN MURRAY, FLEET STREET.

J. MOYES, PRINTER, Greville Street

PREFACE

I have hitherto abstained from controversy regarding the late unhappy proceedings at Madras. The part which I had taken in these proceedings had placed me in possession of much information, and I had given a shape to my sentiments upon the subject; but the knowledge of these was limited to a few intimate friends, and to them only under the strictest injunctions of secrecy. I have been applied to more than once for papers and information upon this subject, but have invariably refused; as I deemed it improper to give publicity in any mode to communications, whether verbal or in writing, which had been, at the moment at which they were made, considered as private, or confidential. Nothing could have led me to a departure from this principle but a perusal of the dispatch under date the 10th of September, 1809, from the Government of Fort St. George to the Secret Committee of the Court of Directors, printed by order of the House of Commons. That dispatch contains an implied censure upon my conduct, which nothing but a conviction of its justice could induce me to pass over in silence.

Injustice is aggravated by the power of the individual or body by whom it is committed, and by the want of ability or opportunity in the person who suffers to repel the attack. Had not this dispatch been printed by order of the House of Commons, my character would have secretly received a deep and incurable wound: for as it is not likely the Honourable the Court of Directors could have ever thought it possible that so deliberate and grave an authority as the Government of Fort St. George, could have pronounced censure on the character of an officer who stood at the moment as high in rank and trust as the local Government of India had power to raise him, it becomes probable, that most of those who read this dispatch would be satisfied, without a minute examination of the documents by which it was accompanied: and if any readers went into this detail, and were struck with the remarkable difference between the apparent premises and the conclusions drawn from them, it is more likely they would conclude, that grounds, not yet brought before them, existed, which would warrant the assertions made by Government, than that they should ever suppose the latter had committed such an injustice towards any individual in their service.

I cannot, on this occasion, limit myself to an account of my mission to Masulipatam, which is that part of my conduct to which the Government of Fort St. George exclusively refers: justice to my own character demands that I should give a narrative , which will show, in a clear and concise manner, the part I took, and the advice I gave, throughout the whole of those unhappy and guilty proceedings which have lately afflicted our country in India. To render this narrative intelligible to all, I shall prefix a general view of the principal acts of the Government of Fort St. George, from the commencement to the termination of the late violent agitations on the coast. My object in this publication is to vindicate myself, not to attack others. A plain statement of indisputable facts will show, that though my judgment might on some occasions have been wrong, I was invariably actuated by an indefatigable zeal, and an undeviating principle of public duty; that I predicted at the commencement, and at different stages of the proceeding, every event of importance that occurred; that if any one of the many slighted suggestions which I offered had met with attention, the most serious evils would have been averted; and that my efforts were such as ought to have entitled me to the praise and gratitude of those by whom I now find my conduct misrepresented and my character calumniated.

Sir George Barlow has, I observe, from the volume of papers printed by order of the House of Commons, placed upon record a number of my private and confidential communications. This I did not anticipate; and these letters were written in a less guarded style, and with more warmth, than they would have been, if I had foreseen the public use to be made of them. I do not, however, conceive that I have any right to complain of this act: the letters contain not one sentiment of which I am ashamed: they were all on public subjects: and that alone, when they were addressed to Sir George Barlow or his Secretary, rendered them public. But I must claim to myself an equal privilege in bringing forward such private documents as are necessary to prove what I have stated, and to defend myself from those imputations which have been thrown upon my character from a partial, and, I trust I shall prove, a most unfair statement of my conduct when employed at Masulipatam.

I should feel unworthy of that station which I hope I hold in life, if any motive upon earth had such power over my mind as to make me silent under reflections upon my conduct: and where those have been, from any cause, brought before the public, my reply must of course be submitted to the same tribunal. This is a circumstance which I by no means regret. Publications in England on the affairs of India have been rare, except on some extraordinary epochs, when attention has been forcibly drawn to that quarter; and a groundless alarm has been spread of the mischiefs which must arise from such free disclosure, and consequent full discussion, of the acts of the Indian Governments. This practice, in my opinion, will have a direct contrary effect. It must always do great and essential good. The nature of our possessions in India makes it necessary that almost absolute power should be given to those entrusted with governments in that quarter; and there cannot be a better or more efficient check over these rulers than that which must be established by the full publicity given to their acts, and the frequent discussion of all their principles of rule. Such a practice will expose imprudence and weakness, however defended by the adherence of powerful friends in England: and it will be more certain to prevent oppression, or injustice, than the general provisions of law, which may be evaded; or the check of superiors, who may, from conceiving the cause of an individual identified with that of authority itself, feel themselves condemned to support proceedings which they cannot approve. This practice, in short, must have the most salutary effects. Its inconveniences are obvious, but trifling when compared to the great and permanent benefits which it must produce: and I am confident that every effort made to repress such discussion is not merely a sacrifice to personal feeling, and to momentary expedience, of one of the best and most operative principles of the British Constitution; but a direct approximation to the principles of that oriental tyranny, which it is, or ought to be, our chief boast to have destroyed.

OBSERVATIONS, &c.

Some agitation, though of a trifling nature, had prevailed among the Company's officers on the coast establishment from a period as far back as the publication of the Regulations of the year 1796, which they conceived to entitle them to a complete equalization of allowances with the officers of the Bengal establishment. These feelings had little time for operation in the course of that active and brilliant service in which the Madras army was employed during the administration of Lord Wellesley. The increase of establishment rendered necessary to preserve the great accession of territory acquired by that nobleman, occasioned a promotion, that, for a period, silenced their discontent; but that spirit was revived in the year 1805 and 1806, when, in addition to their former grievance, they conceived that there was an evident and injurious partiality shown towards his Majesty's officers, who were said to be promoted to commands and staff situations to the injury of the officers of the Company's service. Addresses to Government and to the Court of Directors were at this period agitated and in circulation; but none, to my knowledge, were brought forward; owing, perhaps, to the orders from the Honourable the Court of Directors, who, it would appear, had, on private representation, adopted some measures to redress those grievances of which the army at that moment complained. This spirit of discontent might have died of itself; or, at all events, it would have been more easily repressed, had not the flame of discord burst out in a higher quarter. The quarrel which occurred between the Governor, Sir George Barlow, and the Commander-in-Chief, General McDowall, may, no doubt, be deemed the remote source of all the violent and indefensible acts of the army, and in that view merits a short notice. The mind of General McDowall was much irritated at his not being appointed to council; and he gave way, in consequence, to a language of complaint and discontent, of which, it must be concluded, he could never have calculated the effect. Every act of Government that affected the wishes or interests of either an individual or a class of officers naturally caused complaints, which the Commander-in-Chief certainly did not discourage. He must have thought that the influence and importance of a seat in council would have enabled him more easily to have satisfied or silenced their murmurs; and he cannot be supposed to have felt much sorrow that Government should have experienced the inconvenience of an exclusion which he considered as so great a personal grievance: and when his mind was further irritated by what he deemed to be slight and neglect, on the part of Sir George Barlow, of his rights in his military character of Commander-in-Chief, these feelings had probably a wider action. In the temper which I have shown the coast army was in at this moment, it is not surprising, when they saw such an example of discontent, and felt unrepressed by that high authority which was immediately over them, that they should have been more bold, and that their violence should have taken a more formidable shape towards Government, against which this spirit was, by the proceeding of the Commander-in-Chief, very unadvisedly and inconsiderately, however unintentionally, directed. But if a want of reflection on one part led to such consequences, can we say there was much more wisdom on the other, which, if it did not provoke, never made one attempt to prevent, the occurrence of those evils with which it was threatened? A cold, even, mechanic course of action, which gave great attention to the ordinary rules of public business dignified with the name of public principles, but none to human nature, was opposed at this period to the proceedings of the Commander-in-Chief and the army; and had the effect, which was to be expected, of accelerating that crisis which it was so important to avoid.

It may be here necessary to explain what was meant by the term public principle. It was constantly used at Madras to denote the rules of public business founded either in precedent or in written law, and certainly well adapted for order and convenience in the common course of affairs. But if such rules were sufficient, no talents would be necessary to govern mankind. A copying clerk, or even the regulation-book which he copies, might rule a state. Success in this endeavour will be always agreeable to the character of the Government. The more despotic that is, the more easily may we preserve inviolate such rules or principles. For though great commotions will occur in the most despotic states, and force their rulers to an occasional deviation from such principles, these deviations will be unfrequent to what must arise in more free and liberal governments, in which the rich fruit which was ripening in profusion around her;--Lucy also took some fruit for she was very fond of it, and she thought she ate it very carefully; but presently she felt something wet upon her arm, and when she looked to see what it was, she found she had dropped some of the juice on the front part of her dress, which had already taken out the color in several places.

Now this was her best and her favorite dress, it was a present from her father when she left New York to visit her aunt, and it was quite new. She felt very uncomfortable at this sad sight, and she already began to wish she had not put it on:--however she could do nothing to it, and she continued to walk slowly and carefully through the shrubs and flowers, until she saw the party all collected round a fish-pond at the bottom of the garden, viewing something very attentively.

"O the beautiful gold fish," exclaimed Lucy, "I had quite forgotten to ask about them, I dare say they are in that pond, and I do long to see them," and away she ran with all her speed, thinking only of the pretty gold fish which Emily had told her about so often; but the wind filled out the light folds of her beautiful silk dress, and as she passed a turning in the walk, the trimming was caught by the briars of a rose-bush and torn almost entirely off, before she could stop herself. Lucy stood aghast at this sad rent! the delicate trimming was quite in tatters, and the thought of what her aunt had said to her made her ashamed to look her in the face; however, she pinned it on as well as she could, and again she walked slowly and carefully, quite forgetting the gold fish and every thing but her misfortunes and her shame, and wishing she had not been so self-willed and perverse. But when little children will not be guided by the experience and judgment of their best and wisest friends, and will try for themselves, they often learn through much suffering and trouble, and pay dearly for the instruction which they might have had for nothing.

The little girls were very much frightened when they saw such a great loose horse so near to them, and they began to run towards the house as fast as their limbs would carry them, for they thought the black horse was close at their heels, and they did not stop to look behind them. Sarah Russel and Emily got on a great deal faster than Lucy, because her slippers were tight and her dress troublesome, but she used her utmost speed, and had nearly reached the stone wall over which the girls were jumping, when in attempting to leap across the ditch her foot slipped in, and down came poor Lucy flat upon her face. What a sad situation she was in! she had lost her shoe in the black muddy ditch,--her unfortunate silk frock was all covered with green slime, from the slippery grass on the banks,--she had hurt her ancle so badly she could scarcely stir,--and she expected every moment that the great black horse would be upon her, and trample her to death,--the other little girls thinking she had kept up with them had jumped over the wall and were gone out of sight and hearing, and she could not possibly get up alone.

"Oh! dear, what shall I do?" cried Lucy, "will nobody come to save me."

Now it happened that young Mr. Thomas Russel had come out to assist John in catching his horse, and he was already so near that he heard Lucy's cries. He came to her, kindly took her up and quieted her fears, and showed her that the horse was a long way distant, and then he felt with his stick round in the ditch to find her beautiful lilac slipper. Alas! it was beautiful no longer; for when he fished it out of the muddy gutter on the end of his cane, it was so filled and covered with the filth that no color could be seen. Mr. Russel kindly carried her in his arms to the house, and then he took her slipper to the pump and pumped upon it till he got it clean enough to dry at the fire. An old shoe of Sarah Russel's was found for Lucy to put on, after her stockings and her clothes had been wiped, but it was much too large for her to walk in, if she had been in a condition to walk.

Lucy shed most bitter tears. She had not the consolation under all these accidents, of feeling that she had had good or innocent motives for wishing to wear the improper dress, and that her friends would pity her; and again she wept over her vanity, her wilfulness, her envy, and malice.

Thus Emily kindly tried to divert poor Lucy till supper was ready. Now Lucy had thought a great deal about the nice supper, and the good things which she expected to see on the table, but she had cried till her stomach was sick, and her appetite quite gone; she could not taste any of the delicacies on which she had depended so much, and besides, she did not wish to show herself before her aunt and Mrs. Russel in such a condition, so she crept into the carriage which had been drawn up to the door, and waited there till her aunt and cousin were ready.

Lucy, however, was more mortified and angry than repentant; she had thought so little about correcting her faults, and submitting to the government of older and wiser people, that she had a great deal more to suffer before she could resolutely set about becoming docile, obedient, humble, and submissive; she had never restrained her inclination, or controlled any of her desires or passions, and knew very little about self government; for no one had taught her till she came to her aunt's, that she ought to do so.

Emily's mother had done as she said she would, for she always kept her word in every thing. She had advised her about the gown she was to get for poor Nurse Hooper, the day after she had received her crown piece; she had done more than she had promised; she had cut and fitted the gown, and shewed Emily just how to make it all herself, so that she had double pleasure in giving it to her. It was now done and folded neatly, and Emily went with her mother to carry that, and some other little comforts, to the poor woman.

One morning a few months after their ride to Brookline, while Lucy was sitting in her chamber opposite to the open door, putting together a dissected map which her father had just sent to her, she saw her aunt come up stairs and go into her own room, with a little package in her hand, wrapped in white paper and tied with twine. Lucy supposed that it had come from New York with her map, and she felt very curious to know what it could be, that her aunt had folded up so neatly in white paper. She immediately thought that her aunt had received some pretty present from New York, and she watched her to see if she opened the paper, and what she did with it, and saw that she went to her closet, stood up in a chair, and reaching to the highest shelf of her closet, opened a small trunk, and put the parcel into it; then she went to her bureau drawer, opened that, and laid something in, shut the drawer and left the chamber.

All this puzzled Lucy exceedingly; so she determined to ask her aunt as she went down stairs, what was in the paper, though she ought to have known it was impertinent to question her aunt about a thing which did not at all concern herself, and that she ought to restrain her curiosity.

"Did you get that little bundle from New York, aunt?" said Lucy.

"No, my dear," replied her aunt.

"What was in it, aunt?" continued the inquisitive little girl.

"It is nothing which it concerns you in the least to know, my dear," said her aunt; "nothing that would please you, or interest you in any way; you should be less curious."

She continued to allow her curiosity to puzzle over the little white bundle, instead of trying to forget it, till her map no longer pleased her in the least; so she left it on the table, and sauntered into her aunt's room, and would not attempt to conquer her idle curiosity, but kept wondering, and wishing to know what was in the paper, that her aunt had taken so much trouble to put up so high and so secretly. It came into her head that she might get up into the same chair and look into the trunk! She saw her aunt walking at the very bottom of the garden, and thought she would never know any thing about it.

Lucy crept down carefully from the chair and stood before the bureau--she stopped there--for something said to her that "she was sinning;" but she did not turn resolutely away and busy herself about something else--she did not fly from temptation--but kept thinking that she might easily enough open the drawer, and see if it really was the key which her aunt had put there; till at last she said to herself, "there is no harm in just seeing if the key is in here, I am not obliged to touch it."

She gently opened the drawer; the little key lay down in front, so that she could reach it without opening the drawer any wider. She stood looking awhile--and then this temptation also was too strong; she slipped in her hand and took up the key to see if it was the very same; having it in her hand she no longer hesitated, but once more got upon the chair and put the key into the lock--she turned it--the trunk was opened--and Lucy saw the little package tied up in its white paper, laying in one corner.

O, why did not she then stop and sin no more. Alas! when we go so far wrong it is hard to find the right path back; every step we take renders return more difficult. Lucy had now gone so far out of the path of duty, that she no more thought of any thing but satisfying her curiosity. She took up the parcel, and untied the string; but what can express her great disappointment when she found it contained--only a little white sugar, as she thought it was. Lucy loved sugar, and had often taken a little pinch from the sugar dish on the table, and as she had untied the paper, thought she would just taste a little before she did it up again; she took a pinch of the sugar and was beginning to fold up the paper.

The servant who had been alarmed at the noise, and was with her in the chamber, went instantly for the Doctor. Poor Lucy, though she was suffering dreadfully from a broken leg, heard all her aunt had said, and she was certain she had spoke the truth, her countenance was so full of pity and of fright; she well knew what she suffered on her account. Lucy thought she must surely die, and to die in the very moment when she was sinning so sadly, to die in consequence of her own wicked conduct, to die in such agonies and convulsions as this poison produces--how shocking! she was already in so much distress from her broken leg, that it was exceedingly difficult to get her on the bed. No one who has not been so unfortunate as to break a bone, can tell how very painful it is.

At last the Doctor came; but before he could set the bone and relieve the distress in which poor Lucy lay, he said "he must give her most disagreeable medicines, for he feared he might already be too late." No one could tell how much or how little she had taken of the arsenic, because it was all spilled from the paper and mixed with other things; so the Doctor gave her the most powerful emetics. Fortunately for Lucy she had spilled the most of the poison as she carried it to her mouth and had but tasted it, so that the immediate attention prevented her suffering so much from that as was expected; but the fright and the pain she endured, and the quantities of medicine she took, all united to confine her a long time, and made her suffer prodigiously. Lucy remained some months very feeble; she lost much of the beauty which she had prized so highly. She was but the shadow of herself. The hours of penitence and sorrow she had passed--the tears of grief which had flowed for her many transgressions during this long confinement had reduced her strength, but they purified her heart, her repentance was sincere and her amendment sure, because she was now in earnest.

"No my dear, penitent girl," said her aunt, kissing her affectionately, "you have indeed paid most dearly, for your instruction. I rejoice to see that you are determined to improve by these painful lessons, they will not I am sure be lost upon you; God has mercifully spared your life. When I think of your dreadful fall, and all the circumstances of that sad day, I am truly astonished that you have lived through them all, that your neck as well as your limbs was not broken; and when I remember the chance there was of your taking so much of that horrible poison into your stomach, as would have rendered all medicines useless, I shudder at the thought; you have felt the danger, and have suffered much pain--you know your own faults have caused it all--you say you repent, and if you do so sincerely you will amend."

"Oh, I do, I do repent," sobbed Lucy.

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