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TO INDIA AND BACK

1862

The 77th Regiment was raised in 1787, and for twenty years served in India, taking part in the fierce campaigns against Tippoo Sahib in 1790-91, in the storming of Seringapatam in 1799, and in many minor operations. On their colours are also recorded the suggestive names, Albuhera, Ciudad Rodrigo, Badajoz, Vittoria, Pyrenees, Nivelle, Nive, Peninsula. In the Crimea they had charged at the Alma and at Inkerman; they had shivered in the trenches before Sebastopol, and had taken part in the final assault of the Redan. There were many officers and men still with the colours in 1862 who had three clasps to their medals, and also wore the French medal, and in the ranks there was an exceptional number of Gallant Conduct medals.

Without doubt the fine record of the regiment and the fact that all the senior officers had been proved in actual warfare, as their medals so brilliantly testified, had a stimulating effect on the juniors.

Unfortunately the 77th sailed for Sydney, New South Wales, just before the news of the Indian Mutiny reached England; and being detained there, they did not reach India till June 1858, too late to take a share in any but the minor operations incident to the disturbed state of the country.

As subaltern

The regiment was at Hazaribagh, in Bengal, when Ensign William Gatacre joined on June 5, 1862, but was shortly afterwards moved to Allahabad. It was while Gatacre was doing duty with a detachment in the Fort that Major Henry Kent (now Colonel-in-Chief of the Middlesex Regiment) first saw the new subaltern; he describes him as good-looking, thin, smart, and gentlemanly, adding that he took an immediate fancy to him.

It is to General Kent, who still speaks of Gatacre with great affection, that I am indebted for the following story.

Sir Robert Napier, who at that time was Military Member of Council, was passing through Allahabad on tour that winter, and took a walk round the Fort one evening. Seeing a smart young officer with the famous 77th on his cap, he accosted him.

"Ah," he said, "I see you belong to the 77th, which Lord Gough commanded at the battle of Barrosa."

"Yes, sir."

"And you captured a French Eagle there?"

"Yes, sir, we did."

"Well," said Napier, "what have you done with the French Eagle? Have you got it out here?"

"Not at present, sir," came the audacious reply: "we are putting up a memorial in St. Paul's Cathedral to all our poor fellows who fell in the Crimea, and we have sent the Eagle home to have a model taken of it."

Now all this was an imaginary story invented to ease the situation, for Napier was wrong in his facts. It was the 87th that Lord Gough had commanded, and the 87th who had captured the French Standard; but Gatacre's intuitive sense of discipline, even at nineteen, led him to try any way of escape before putting his senior in the wrong.

Major-General Sir Harcourt Bengough, who was a few years senior to Gatacre in the regiment, writes thus:

"The impression I retain of him as a young soldier is that of a strong will and a quick determination to succeed, combined with a very kindly disposition and a great charm of manner."

Another officer tells us that in the hottest weather Gatacre was always cool, smiling, and good-tempered. He was noticeably abstemious and frugal, and very careful of his appearance. At one time he used to clean his own boots because he was too hard up to pay for this service. When he related this in after-life he added, with the pride of efficiency, "And they did shine!"

An officer's wife who knew Gatacre in these early days, and saw him at intervals throughout his career, tells us that there hung about him when he first joined a certain countrified simplicity of mind and manner, as opposed to the conventionality of a town-bred man. Though he enjoyed society, social distractions got little hold on his self-contained nature, and it was rarely that any of his friendships developed into intimacy. He had, however, a ready sympathy, was easily interested in whatever went on around him, and, being very unselfish, was always prepared to do any one a service.

1865

Young Gatacre's letters to his mother from Allahabad disclose a reasoned industry inspired by ambition. The reiteration of the recurring features of his life, cholera, rain, and work, is suggestive of the monotony of existence in the summer months. But his experiences and his surroundings differ in nothing from that of every other subaltern in the Plains. That he worked with assiduity at acquiring the language is shown by his having been placed first out of twenty-two in the Higher Standard, after only two years' study. When the 77th moved to Bareilly, Gatacre was made secretary to the Mutton and Poultry Club, and kept a quailery, which was a venture of his own. The following letter shows the real interest that he took in his charges:

July 31, 1865.

"When the musketry instructor comes down from leave on September 30, I shall try for fifteen days' leave. I cannot get more, as the course begins on October 15, with all its hard work. It is raining very hard here, and I am sitting in the verandah watching all my ducks and geese enjoying themselves. I have both my horses in the field round the house: one of them has a peculiarly unpleasant temper with strangers. The other day the doctor was breakfasting with us; when he went away and had got a short distance, he saw this animal coming at him open-mouthed, but he turned and ran for my room, and both the doctor and horse came into the room together. He does not run at me, as he knows me so well, but I never trust him much; they are very uncertain in India."

On leave

In November 1866 the 77th was sent to Peshawur, and in the following May young Gatacre took six months' leave to Kashmir. But he did not confine himself to shooting in the Happy Valley; he was filled with an adventurous curiosity to see the temples and wild scenery of the mountains beyond. He felt that his pleasure in the trip would lie in his freedom to go where he chose, and when he chose, and as fast as he chose. He knew that his mobility would outstrip that of any companion, and so decided to go alone. In this decision, in which we see the first indication of originality, Gatacre showed a fearlessness, a confidence in his own resources, and a willingness to sever communications with all external support that are remarkable in a lad of only twenty-three. These characteristics never faded; they may be traced throughout the record of his life whenever occasion arose for his individuality to take action. What other man would have attempted to explore the forests of Abyssinia unaccompanied at the age of sixty-one! His fearlessness and his confidence were with him to the end, and to the end he preserved a mobility that preferred to be unhampered.

1867

Young Gatacre's first objective was Leh. He left Srinagar on May 2, and halting at Manasbal Lake one night, reached Kangan. Here he learnt that the road over the Zoji-La between Sonamarg and Dras was still blocked with snow, and so made up his mind to halt for a time. His diary during this fortnight's halt shows that he was more interested in what he saw than in what he shot. This is the feature of his trip; he writes much more of the temples that he has sketched than of the game that he has killed. One day when he had run across some friends he writes: "Saw a gerau deer that Troop had killed; would like to get one to make a sketch of." He subsequently collected many of his sketches in a book; and these early water-colours are quite surprising in their freshness and finish. They are not pictures, but most painstaking studies of what he saw—picturesque men and women, animals, temples, idols, and occasionally the detail of some designs from the temples. He records with the greatest interest the flowers and birds that he sees, and speaks of its physical features if the country he was passing through was of special interest. It is clear that he had at some time studied the elements of geology, for he writes of the Zoji-La: "Rocks very barren, and look very old—no sharp points."

Goes after bear

After ten days he moved one march up the road to Reval, and spent ten days there shooting, whenever the rain and the snow allowed. On May 16 he writes:

"Fine morning at last; put everything in the sun to dry. Went out shooting after breakfast, and had a good day; killed a black bear about 200 yards from camp. Had a shot at an ibex; saw nine, but did not hit one. Slept under a tree for about an hour; on my way back killed a brown bear with a beautiful silvery skin, and hit a barrasingh buck in the chest; tracked him a long way, found some blood. Night was coming on and it began to rain, so had to give up the search or should probably have got him—a magnificent beast, horns about a foot high, just beginning to grow. In jumping across the stream I fell in and got wet through; water very strong, was carried down like an arrow; caught hold of a stone and came ashore, took off my things and stood in the sun to dry: sketch reserved."

There is a pleasant vein of boyish humour in some of the entries.

"Went after a huge black bear that we saw on the hill-side, but could not find him. Climbed one of the stiffest and most slippery hills that I ever was on after the aforesaid bear, and found his cave. Thought him a fool for selecting such a spot; going up there once was bad enough, but to have such an ascent to one's residence was absurd. Found some one of the name of Thorpe had arrived at the camping-ground, asked him to dinner, but he refused as he was so tired; could not understand his reason—the very one why I should have accepted, as he could have gone to bed directly afterwards, my dinner being ready and his not.

It was not till May 23 that he got really started, and even then the road was still deep in snow, or the melting snow was flooding over the road in many places. Under date May 25 we read:

"Passed some dead men in the pass; they were men going to Yarkand (eight men and a woman) several days ago, when they were overtaken with snow and smothered, all their bedding, clothes, etc., lying about."

Next day, writing from Dras, he notices the great change that has come over the country; and here he spent three days, partly because his servant had fever, and partly because he finds so much to sketch that he cannot tear himself away. The same motive kept him at Lama Guru, of which he gives an excellent description. He reached Leh on June 9, having accomplished the 250 miles from Reval in seventeen days, or deducting four halts, thirteen days; which works out at an average of over nineteen miles every marching day.

At Hemis

The following day he started off for Hemis, where there was a great gathering for the visit of the Burra Lama: this involved a stony and arduous march of twenty-four miles, but he was up early next morning and was very much interested in what was going on.

June 11, 1867.

"Went all over the Monastery and gained a little information—not much, as the monks keep no records, only from year to year. The place is about 1,300 years old, well built of stone with a whitening on it, on the side of a rock. There are several halls of worship (Gompas) hung round with splendid silk flags and banners, all Chinese silk. There are a few idols, but very small ones, magnificently woven pictures of gods on silk being the chief things. About 10 o'clock the tamasha began, monks dressed in the most magnificent silk garments and quaint tall hats and masks dancing; the costumes were varied about every quarter of an hour and every one equally grand as the former. They each held in their hands a drum like a warming-pan and either a bell or a rattle. They danced a sort of war-dance in a circle, occasionally singing and drumming. Under the verandah of the Quadrangle were seated about thirty monks dressed in red and yellow silk gowns, with fan-shaped hats on their heads; some with drums, some with cymbals, and some with long trumpets, silver and copper, formed the band; they played from music and it went very well with the wild dance. One dance was performed with bears, another was supposed to be a wild man's dance: about ten monks—dressed in hideous masks, yellow embroidered silk jackets, on the shoulders of which tigers' heads were embroidered, and round whose waists were strings of bells, from which were suspended strips of tiger skins—danced in a circle, beating drums and ringing bells. The figure of a man bound hand and foot was placed in the centre. After they had danced round the figure some time, one of them cut off his head with a sword. One of the side walls of the Quadrangle, about 30 ft. high and 12 ft. broad, was covered with a single cloth or flag on which was most beautifully woven the figure of one of their gods and other subjects—worth about 5,000 or 6,000 rupees. This was at first covered with long silk streamers, which were removed; and when the large banner had been duly worshipped and admired, it was rolled up and replaced by another equally splendid, but not so large, by a third and by a fourth. Each dress could not have cost less than £80 or £100—I never saw anything so magnificent; the whole Quadrangle was hung round with silk streamers too. Round the Quadrangle, the prayer-books—viz. rollers of wood with the prayers written on them—are placed, one turn of which is equal to saying a prayer. All the villagers have them at their doors; at one corner of the Quadrangle there is a room in which there is a huge prayer roller. They are called Marni-prayer."

Gatacre was determined to make the most of his opportunities, and insisted on seeing the Burra Lama, whom he thus describes:

"He is a short, stout, middle-aged man, clothed in fine scarlet cloth, sitting on a throne on which incense was burning; he is never seen by any one except on the occasion of the festival, when he comes and sits on a platform in the Quadrangle for about half an hour. I could not wait till evening to see him, so as a special favour was allowed to see the mortal whom no vulgar European eye had seen before. He received me graciously, and asked me to be seated and how I was; asked me if I had anything to give him. I had brought nothing from Ladak with me, but had some matches with me, which I gave him. He comes from Lhassa; it is three months' journey from here, and he comes once in every five or six years. It was great luck my seeing this festival, as occurring so early in the year it is seldom or never seen."

The Salt Lakes

On his return to Leh, Gatacre was horrified at getting letters telling him to hurry back to Peshawur, as cholera had broken out. But he was too cunning to take this very literally, and at once got his friend the Wazeer to lend him ponies to ride to the Salt Lakes; he adds most sapiently: "If I don't see them now, probably never shall."

It was, however, a very long way (ninety-eight miles) to the Salt Lakes at Rupshu; he did this journey in two days, and on the second day writes:

"The distance I came to-day was fifty-eight miles; I was nearly dead with fever, and sun and cold, and walking, and riding in a wooden saddle all day."

He spent one day in his tent with fever on the snow-covered plain, but was better next morning and able to get about, and on the following day he started on the return journey, which he accomplished in two marches as before.

After four days spent at Leh with some friends who had turned up, he marched back by the same route, covering 265 miles from Leh to Kangan in twelve days, one of which was a halt at Lama Yuru, where he "slept nearly all day."

Off again

Writing from Baltal on July 1, he comments on the change that has taken place in the Zoji-La in his absence:

"The Pir is a very different-looking place from what it was when I came through it before. Then it was a wilderness of snow, ice, and rocks; now it is the most beautiful pass, hills covered with grass and flowers and shrubs and trees that were before buried in the snow. The snow rivers are very full and furious; nearly lost a pony in one of them; drove him through it and carried saddles, etc., over the snow some way higher up; the pony was rolled over and over and with difficulty came to land. Now that the snow has disappeared, one sees what a quantity there must have been in the pass when I went through, at least 70 or 80 ft. in some places. The Pir is covered with sweet peas and flowers of all colours and shapes, excessively pretty.

"The hills wear a quite different aspect to what they did when I came up. The snow has melted except on a few of the highest peaks, and the grass has grown, likewise the shrubs. The barley and all the corn is in the ear; it was hardly sown when I came, just a month ago. There are waterfalls from nearly every rock, which looks very pretty and the water is such as 'only teetotallers desire or deserve.' The wild roses, white, red, and yellow, are covered with blossoms, and their smell is delicious."

But before he reached Srinagar the orders for his return were cancelled, and we find him shooting in his old haunts round Kangan.

It is clear that he was enjoying himself thoroughly, that he felt no impatience to return to civilisation, and that he considered his march to Leh and back very much worth doing, for at the end of July he started on another extended tour. It is about 120 miles from Kangan to Skardo, about 200 thence to Leh, and about 250 from Leh to Srinagar, so that he added another 570 miles to his score in the fifty days between July 28 and September 15. Leaving the Sind River by the tributary valley to the north called Wangat, he crossed into the valley of Tylel by a little-known route "said to have been a track made by a gang of horse dealers who came from Tylel into Kashmir years ago." There were two very steep hills, of which the coolies only managed to accomplish the first.

Turning north-east, he made his way across the plains of Deosai, but there was a difficult pass to negotiate before he descended into the valley of the Indus. On August 7 he writes:

"Got up early and started for Skardo. Got to the top of the ridge in about an hour, all snow and ice, great trouble to get the ponies over the glacier, as it was a nearly perpendicular sheet of ice—they slid down most of the way. From the bottom of the glacier there is a descent of about eight miles down the valley, which opens out into the plain of Skardo. Skardo consists of a number of villages scattered over a stony plain covered with apricot-trees which yield great quantities of fruit. The plain is surrounded with high rocky hills, no grass or trees on them. The Wazeer is an old man with long grey beard, uncle to the present Wazeer Labjar of Ladak, who was formerly Wazeer here. His name is Myraram, he came to see me on my arrival, bringing a large basket of apricots as a present."

A snow pass

The last sentence is a sample of many entries, for wherever he went he made friends with the headmen of the village, and he seems nowhere to have been in difficulties about supplies. As it is unlikely that the Hindustani of the plains of India would be understood in Thibet, he must either have mastered working fragments of the dialect, or he must have talked Persian with the more educated natives. Later on he says: "Met some Tartars who had been to Simla, and had a long talk with them." And in another place: "Had a long talk with a Sepoy who was in one of the four regiments sent by the Maharajah to assist in the capture of Delhi, and saw General Nicholson fall."

Three officers of the 11th Hussars came in to Skardo the day after Gatacre's arrival, and fired him with the desire to see Shigar, a town a few miles higher up the Indus, where they had seen the original game of polo.

After five days' halt at Skardo, Gatacre started on his return journey, via Leh. Both Skardo and Leh are on the Indus: he did not, however, follow the course of this river, but chose to make his way up the valley of the Shyok. This necessitated a passage over the Indus at the junction of the two streams on the second day's march, which he thus describes:

"Started at daybreak, and reached this at 6 o'clock. Crossed the river at Kiris on twelve mussocks fastened together by eight bamboos or thin sticks—the luggage in the centre, I on one side, Collassie on the other, and two steerers at one end, who steered with long sticks. When they got into the middle of the stream they began their tarnasha, namely, turning the raft round and round like a top by digging their sticks deeply into the water."

Two days later he crossed the Shyok in the same manner, and found the stream "very fast and furious," although it was half a mile across. It is difficult to picture these watercourses, which, with the manners and appearance of mountain-torrents, have the volume and grandeur of mighty rivers. After following the Shyok for about fifty miles, he left it at Paxfain, and turned southwards along the side-stream which leads up to the Chorbat-La, a pass 16,696 ft. above the sea. Writing that evening, he says:

"Marched at break of day and walked on steadily till the sun went down—a very long march; the first four or five hours were occupied in getting to the top of the pass—a terrible climb—after that it is all down-hill. The Pir was covered with snow, with an immense glacier reaching right across it for about 200 yards."

The next day he struck into the valley of the Indus once more, and reached Leh in six marches on August 26. On the way "a very civil Sepoy turned up," who was also on his way to Ladak. While in his company Gatacre found that he met with unusual politeness and attention, which was accounted for later when "the Sepoy turned out to be the new Thanadar of these parts."

On September 1 he started back on the direct route to Srinagar, which must have seemed quite familiar to him on this, his third journey. On the Zoji-La he notes that "all the grass that was so beautifully green is now withered up." At Sonamarg he found it "very cold," and writes of his blankets being frozen hard in the morning, and quite white. On September 15 he reached Srinagar, having marched the 285 miles from Leh in sixteen days, making an average of eighteen miles a day. He seems to have done most of his travelling on foot, though it is clear that he sometimes had ponies for his baggage, and that he sometimes rode them. When he was making long marches he had great sympathy for his beasts, and often notices that the ponies were very tired. The rate at which he travelled would, of course, be nothing exceptional on made roads, but it must be remembered that in no case was there any road at all, as we understand the word, and that he habitually moved by double marches.

He found several friends at Srinagar whom he had come across in his travels, and enjoyed an easy fortnight with them there before rejoining at Peshawur.

On sick leave

This season had proved itself a very trying and unhealthy one for the 77th; the regiment had been attacked with cholera and Peshawur fever, and had lost five officers and forty-nine men. Colonel Kent tells us that on his return Gatacre had a sharp attack of fever, and that he and another subaltern had been so very ill when they were sent off home that it was feared they would never again be able to serve in India.

Even after his arrival in England Gatacre had severe recurrences of fever, but home nursing triumphed; and before long he was posted to a depot battalion then commanded by Colonel Browne of the 77th, and stationed at Pembroke Dock. Writing on August 13, 1909, Colonel Browne says:

"Gatacre's relations with his brother officers were always very smooth, and I cannot recall to mind his ever exchanging an angry word with any one of them, but as a rule he did not encourage intimacy.

"Whatever Gatacre was asked or had to do he did well and thoroughly. Whilst he joined heartily in whatever socially was going on, he never in the days I speak of put himself prominently forward; but there was something about him which I at least recognised as showing a dormant power which only awaited opportunity to exert itself, and this view of him has been fully borne out by his later career."

When Colonel Kent brought the battalion home in March 1870, Lieutenant Gatacre was on the quay to greet his regiment on its arrival at Portsmouth.

The Clarence Barracks in which the regiment was first quartered were at that time old and dilapidated, and have since vanished. In those days every officer who took part in a route-march had to send in a report to the General Officer Commanding. The opening sentence of one of Gatacre's reports amused his wing-commander so much that it survives: "Starting from the Clarence Barracks, long since condemned as unfit for habitation by the Royal Marines, etc."

1870

The events of 1870 on the continent were of course followed with breathless interest by all intelligent Englishmen, and many soldiers must have longed to go and see the ground on which these sanguinary contests had been fought out. This desire was anticipated by the War Office, and special regulations were issued forbidding such an attempt. But to Gatacre the call was irresistible. Having taken first leave that autumn in order to see something of his brother John before his return to India, he slipped away via Harwich and Antwerp to Brussels, which he reached on November 6. He seems afterwards to have followed the route taken by the First German Army under Steinmetz in early August—in fact, Saarbrucken was the scene of the first encounter. Gravelotte had been fought on August 18, but doubtless to a soldier's eye the ground occupied by the combatants could still be identified. Metz had capitulated on October 27, so that the state of a city in which 150,000 men had been blockaded for three months was exhibited in all its horrors.

Continental battlefields

Writing from Luxembourg on Sunday, November 6, 1870, he says:

"I started again at 6.30 this morning, and got here, without stopping, at 1 o'clock; nothing but soldiers, horses, and baggage, besides sick men by the hundreds, hospitals filled. I never saw such a sight. To-night I am going to Treves, and then on to Metz, via Saarlouis and Saarbruck, as the road via Vionville is not open on account of the French holding it. I will write from Metz and let you know my movements. I mean to attach myself to the English Ambulance, if possible, for a while, if I can see anything more by doing so."

And again on November 13, from Brussels:

"From Luxembourg I went on to Treves, Saarbruck, Metz, and then round by Ottange, through Belgium to Brussels again. I went to Gravelotte and several battlefields, and picked up heaps of things, most of which I have got with me; but as nothing is allowed to go over the French frontier, there was a difficulty about passing. I met a man named Caldecott in the service, and he and I travelled together all the way; we drove across the frontier with our things, and so got them through. Metz is in a terrible state; nothing to eat or drink, or place to sleep. I could not write, as all postal communication is stopped, and most of the country round Metz a desert.

"I shall come by the coach Thursday night, so if you could send the cart to Shipley to fetch my things, I will just walk over."

1871-3

Writing on the day following his return, his sister gives Stephen a rchauffé of the traveller's tales:

"Metz is not injured in the least, but is full of soldiers, and that is why there was no place to sleep in there. When Willie left, the shops were open and provisions coming in. Willie travelled with another Englishman in a waggon with a poor starved horse, and was going about in this way for four or five days. The cold intense; deep snow. He saw 25,000 prisoners going into Germany, packed in trucks, forty officers and men in a truck like cattle, and snow among them. He slept in a hospital three nights, 1,700 men in it.

"I do not think, from what he says, that travelling is over safe—that is, on the French side. The sentries are very sharp; an Englishman who was foolishly travelling by himself, and at night, and could speak no language well, was shot a month ago.

"Willie is glad he went; he met an old gentleman who knew grandpapa at Saarbruck."

It is much to be regretted that the daily impressions of this tour were not recorded with the accuracy of the Kashmir trip, but 1867 seems to have been the only year in which he kept a journal. We hear nothing of how he contrived to get anything to eat, or to get about at all, in a region stripped of supplies by the armies that had passed through; but the interesting fact remains that he did visit this ground, and reappeared at home on Thursday, November 17.

Colonel Henry Kent was very popular in the 77th regiment, which he had first joined in 1845. He held the command for twelve years, and had brought the battalion into a very high state of efficiency when he resigned in 1880. It is notified in General Orders of that year that for the third time in succession the 77th was the best shooting regiment, and that Private H. Morgan, of this corps, was the best shot in the army.

Staff College

In February 1873 Captain Gatacre was admitted to the Staff College. He had worked hard to prepare himself for the entrance examination, had taken private lessons to rub up his mathematics, and had been abroad to polish his French; for not only had he to secure a vacancy in open competition, but he had to dispute the place with another officer in the same corps.

It is clear that even in these early days Gatacre had acquired the art of making himself valued among his fellows. Colonel Kent was dining with the Rifle Brigade at Aldershot one evening when he had the gratification of hearing the laments of some of his contemporaries at the Staff College at the prospect of losing Gatacre. But the Colonel, highly delighted at the success and popularity of his young friend, reassured them, saying:

"Never mind, I have another quite as good to send in his place. I am sending Bengough next term."

"Ah, yes," they said, "but we shall never have another like Gatacre; we shall miss him dreadfully. Why, what can the 77th be made of!"

"Gatacres and Bengoughs," was the proud reply. General Kent affirms, moreover, that His Royal Highness the Duke of Connaught was present on this occasion.