victory of Guzerat. The Sikhs were crushed, the Afghans driven back, and Lord Dalhousie annexed the Punjaub. The Maharajah of Lahore offered in sign of submission the famous diamond the Koh-i-Noor, now one of the crown jewels of England.

The kingdom of Oudh had long been under the protection of the East India Company. The terms of the treaty imposed upon the native princes the duty of governing well the popula tion submitted to their rule. The sovereigns of Oudh failed signally in keeping this engagement; their misgovernment was extreme, and its effects were felt by the neighboring nations, frequently molested by bandits in the service of the King of Oudh. Notwithstanding, these neighboring people were far from grateful when Lord Dalhousie seized upon the territory of Oudh in the name of outraged justice and humanity, and submitted the entire region to the regular and equitable rule of the British government; everywhere existed the same feeling brooding beneath the heavy yoke, now less odious because so firmly established.

The discontent spreading among the Sepoy troops, the far-off rumor, strangely exaggerated, of English disasters in the Crimea, the uneasiness caused by the wars in Persia and China, served, in 1857, the bitter hate and long-cherished rancor of the Indian princes. The leaven of revolt was beginning to work in the hearts of all. All subsequent inquiries have not been able to establish the fact of a determined and general plan; however, a concerted signal seems to have excited a simultaneous outbreak at many different points. This was the mysterious distribution of chupatties, or cakes of unleavened bread, through the villages of the north and north-west. Two of these would be brought by a native policeman to the head man of a village, with orders to make ten more, and give them in turn to the policemen of the five next villages. Like the fiery cross of Scotland, calling out the population more rapidly than the regular

orders of the best organized government could do it, these chupatties conveyed a mysterious intimation to be ready for some momentous event at hand. Nowhere in the villages still under the control of the Indian princes were these cakes distributed. It was against British rule that the population was thus called to revolt. The propitious moment for the outbreak appeared to be early in the year 1857, shortly after Lord Canning had succeeded Lord Dalhousie, and it was in February of that year that the signal above described was given.

The outbreak of the revolt was local, and manifested itself among the native troops who had been for more than a century employed by the East India Company under the name of Sepoys. Many times, in their various wars with the Hindoo princes, the English had tested the fidelity of the native regiments. The number of native soldiers in the employment of England throughout northern India at that time amounted to about one hundred and twenty thousand, and the European soldiers to about twentytwo thousand. In the whole extent of the three presidencies were nearly three hundred thousand native troops, and only forty-three thousand Europeans in all, of whom five thousand had just been detached for the expedition to Persia, and others had also been ordered for service in China.

The native soldiers in the presidency of Bengal had been since the beginning of the year in more or less open mutiny. Some regiments had been disbanded, some Sepoys executed and others imprisoned. On the 9th of May, several of the Bengal Native Cavalry at Meerut, who had been tried by court-martial for refusing to use the cartridges, were put in chains in presence of their comrades, preparatory to imprisonment for a term of years. On the following day, May 10, at five in the evening, all the native troops encamped at Meerut broke out into open mutiny. They fired upon their officers, killing some of them, broke open the jail, released their comrades and with

The

them fourteen hundred convicts, and massacred some European residents. The English troops rallied, and repulsed the Sepoys, but the latter made their escape and took the road to Delhi, thirty-five miles away. There in a vast and fortified palace, a very lair of Oriental corruption and conspiracy, still dwelt the old King of Delhi, dispossessed of his sovereign authority, it is true, but richly endowed with pensions and privileges, the last representative of the Great Mogul. revolted Sepoys of Meerut had conceived the idea of taking refuge with this prince, important as a symbol of the past dominion of his race. They were allowed to escape without being pursued, and at nine o'clock on the morning of the 11th, their advanced troops were seen approaching Delhi. They crowded into the palace, claimed the king's protection and promised him theirs, and planted his standard upon the walls. An attack was at once made upon all the white residents of the town, and a frightful scene of carnage followed. The English rallied and defended themselves with the courage of despair, but the Sepoy regiments in and near the town united with the mutineers. A few English officers finally made their escape; forty-three persons, chiefly women and children, remained, who had taken refuge in the palace under the idea that the king would protect them, but on the 18th these were deliberately massacred.

The

The blaze broke out in all quarters simultaneously. Punjaub seemed particularly endangered, for it had been but recently annexed after a violent struggle. Sir John Lawrence, the governor, was, however, a man of distinguished ability, as reasonable and moderate as he was able and brave. The population had been well governed and they knew it. Lawrence was absent from Lahore at the moment when news

Sir John

was received by telegraph of the mutiny at Meerut and Delhi,

the last message sent from Delhi before the city fell into the