The priest walked by, pretending not to see us

From The Great Mutiny by Christopher Hibbert. Page 153.

Most of the Europeans in Agra had expected John Russell Colvin, the Lieutenant-Governor of the North-Western Provinces whose offices were in Agra, to order a withdrawal of the Christian population to the fort as soon as news was received of the uprising at Meerut. This, indeed, was what Colvin had first intended to do. But, though a brave and capable man, he was neither self-reliant nor decisive. Conscientious and kind, he had been considered an excel- lent administrator in times of peace; but when the crisis came he looked to other men to guide him and gave way to the most commanding. At a special meeting of Europeans called the day after the massacre at Delhi, he appeared quite incapable of controlling the noisy assembly as men voiced opposing views, and officers who had not been asked to the meeting burst into the room to offer their advice. The general feeling was that it would be a sign of weakness to withdraw to the fort; the outbreaks of mutiny were merely localized military revolts, the rural disturbances the work of irresponsible mobs. Their own servants remained for the moment obedient and deferential. So they imagined the rest of the population, apart from a few troublemakers, would also stay quiet.

The leading advocate of their views was Robert Drummond, Magistrate at Agra, an energetic, resolute man, stubborn, unpopular and overbearing. He argued that it would be folly to exhibit any sign of fear. The population of Agra could effectively be overawed by the British going quietly about their business as though nothing unusual had occurred elsewhere. The police might be increased, and a corps of volunteers might be raised; but any further action would defeat its own purpose.

Colvin gave way, evidently persuaded that Drummond was right. He sent several telegrams to Calcutta, assuring the Governor- General's office that the troubles in the North-Western Provinces would soon be over, and contented himself for the time being with holding a parade of the British and native troops at Agra. The parade was not a success. Colvin first addressed the British troops, exhorting them not to distrust their native comrades but at the same time reminding them of the Delhi massacre, which naturally inclined them to distrust them all the more. Turning to the sepoys he assured them of his confidence in their loyalty which prompted their officers to call for a cheer. The sepoys responded by uttering a yell and 'looked with a devilish scowl at the Europeans'. The confidence which their officers reposed in their loyalty was, however, by no means shaken. And when Lieutenant Henry Henderson, Assistant Executive Engineer of Agra, presumed to express doubts about the dependability of the native infantry there he caused an uproar in the mess of the 44th. The Colonel turned on him 'in an awful rage" telling him 'he had a great mind' to put him under arrest.

Despite their confidence, real or assumed, that the disturbances would soon be over, the British at Agra could not but feel concern when inexplicable fires kept breaking out in the city and rumours spread of the secret meetings of conspirators. On 23 May, after reports had been received of the mutiny of the 9th Native Infantry, panic seized the British and native Christian communities. Carts, packed with furniture and women and children, raced towards the fort; people rushed through the streets, shouting that the mutineers were crossing the bridge. Edith Sharpley, the ten-year-old daughter of an army officer - who, with her two sisters, was living with an older brother and a cousin at Agra so that she could attend a school there kept by an American couple - was standing on a bench in a classroom at the school, pointing out places on a map, when 'suddenly there were rapid footsteps and several gentlemen, all armed' burst into the room. Her cousin was among them. He picked Edith up, called for her two elder sisters to follow and ran from the room. On the way home

we encountered a native who appeared to be a Hindu priest running towards us [Edith recalled years later]. His long flowing hair was covered with ashes and flying loose all over his body. He was shouting curses on the Europeans and brandishing a naked sword. As soon as my cousin saw him he put me down on the ground and told us three sisters to get behind him. He then drew his own sword and we all walked forward. The priest walked by, pretending not to see us.

After this the Europeans in Agra moved at night into those houses which were the most defensible. 'We were all drilled in various ways,' Edith Sharpley said. 'Every woman had to learn how to load muskets. The children were taught to get the caps, powder and bullets to take to the women when they wanted them.' They had dinner at five o'clock so that the servants could get home before dark. One evening after dinner a native on horseback rode up to the high wall of the garden where Edith and her sisters were playing, pointed a revolver over it and fired a shot. The men in the house chased after him, but he escaped.5