secretly collected troops, entered the kingdom of Oudh like a thief in the night, marched the British force directly upon Lucknow, and then, with the capital of Oudh virtually in his own hands, gave the first intimation to the King of his impending fate. Wajid Ali, of course, was unable to resist, and Oudh became from that moment a province of the British Empire.
It is impossible to describe the mixed feelings of indignation and hatred which pervaded the whole Mussulman population of India when they heard of this deed. Naturally treacherous themselves, they yet had an instinctive admiration for honest and truthful dealing, and they had hitherto placed implicit confidence in the word of an Englishman. When, however, they learned the story of the annexation, the juggle by which the King of Oudh had been done out of his dominions, their hearts filled with rage and a desire for revenge. Our Mahomedan Sepoys were by that act alienated at once and for ever, and the Hindoos began to reflect that the kingly power which could condescend to trick a king out of his dominions, might by a similar manœuvre cheat them out of their religion.
Such were the consequences of Lord Dalhousie's last act. He had first, in the instance of the 38th Native Infantry at Barrackpore, in 1852, sown the seed of revolt by provoking a mutiny and failing to check it. He followed this up in the early part of 1856 by the perpetration of a dark deed, calculated to raise a spirit of disaffection, dislike, and distrust throughout the native army of India, and the fruits of which I am now about to record. He did all this, I may add, in spite of, and in direct contrariety to, the warning voice of the great man whom his paltry littleness and petty jealousy had driven from the country.
Lord Dalhousie left India in the early part of 1856. So utterly ignorant was he of the real feeling of the native army, and of the effect of his ill-judged measures, that he left upon record his opinion that their position could not be improved. And yet he himself had done a great deal to affect that position most injuriously. Before Lord Dalhousie's time, the roads were free to man and beast; that nobleman imposed a tax upon all travellers. Previous to his arrival in India, a Sepoy's letters were allowed to travel free of postage all over India; under Lord Dalhousie's administration he was subjected to the same charge as his officer. These imposts were small in themselves, but they greatly restricted freedom, and told upon the pocket of the man who received only fourteen shillings monthly, with which to support his family hundreds of miles distant, and to provide himself with food and all the necessaries of life.
Lord Dalhousie left India in March 1856. It might have been supposed that the feelings of the native Indian community would have been relieved sensibly by his absence. And so, undoubtedly, they were for the moment. But it was soon found that, although he himself had quitted the country, he had left his counsellors and satellites behind him. It is a matter of necessity for a newly-arrived Governor-General, ignorant of the machinery and working of the Indian Government, to continue in office, for a time at least, the
